No stranger to the P45 - The Movie
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Transcript of No stranger to the P45 - The Movie
As if...As if...
www.nostrangertothep45.comwww.nostrangertothep45.com
No stranger to the P45No stranger to the P45
-- The Movie The Movie --
Welcome to DanlandWelcome to Danland
As a writer of a book (see Book) it is oddly inevitable
that one day I would imagine meeting an individual eager
to adapt this shit for the screen. Don’t fret, dear friends,
it really is purely my imagination...
Shortly before the romper-suits and the pac-a-macs of
the guardians of convention bludgeon me into obscurity
with a biscuit and half a shoe, barely a moment prior to
hurling me into the back of a unicorn-drawn turnip and
whipping me away to yet another job in a shop, I thought
I’d take this opportunity to write a new introduction to my
book. Whyever not? I ponder aloud. And then
immediately realise that no one in this café has a clue of
what I’m talking about. A middle-aged couple stare at
me as if I’m mad. An attractive woman laughs with a
horsey-snort. Out of nowhere I emit a half-cough-half-
sneeze. I decide to call it a snough. And now I feel very
silly indeed.
In one chapter of the book (see Book) I describe - a
somewhat loose and rather inaccurate term - a brief job
on a million-dollar film. I began writing that piece by
imagining a scenario way beyond my pickled shock in
which I flog the rights to the book and the whole wodge
of this pudding-like nonsense is one day made into a
movie. Of course, there’s a great deal of spitting-out
both my dignity and whatever basic capability I have for
rational thought right across the table - much in the same
way that hearing of the sheer absurdity of the notion one
1
would splurt the crumbs of a croissant, or perhaps a slice
of cake. For now though, since I have nothing better to
do I’m going to pursue this stupidity and imagine the
scenario once more. This time I’m going to imagine the
movie as if it had a trailer. Sorry about that.
2
First, try and remember one of the most recent movie
trailers you have seen. If you were in a cinema try not to
recall how angry you were at paying such an absurd
amount of money for popcorn or even the seat, or if you
were at home the infuriating advert in the commercial
break that very nearly pushed you beyond mere rage as
some motherfucker tried yet again to embed a directory
service’s telephone number into your head barely seconds
after trying yet again to embed a directory service’s
telephone number into your head, barely seconds after
trying to embed a directory service’s telephone number
into your head... On and on it goes. And on and on and
on and on and... JUST FUCK OFF! IT’S NOT FUNNY. IT
NEVER WAS. I WOULDN’T EVEN USE YOUR FUCKING
SERVICE IF IT WAS THE ONLY POSSIBLE WAY IN THE
WORLD TO STOP THE LARGE HADRON COLLIDER FROM
IMPLODING ALL ELEVEN KNOWN DIMENSIONS INTO
ONE ANOTHER IN AN INSTANT, THUS ELIMINATING THE
FABRIC OF ALL KNOWN EXISTENCE... FOREVER. IN ALL
HONESTY, IT WOULD BE SOMETHING OF A RELIEF
NEVER TO HEAR THAT SHIT AGAIN... AND AGAIN AND
AGAIN, AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND...
3
Oops. Where was I?
Oh.
Okay. Try to forget all that and listen to your mind’s
ear and to the deep, guttural, tension-building idiolect of
a movie-trailer voiceover. The trailer of No stranger to
the P45 begins thus...
4
[Blank screen, image fading in]
‘Almost forty years in the making... Across two
continents...’
We’re in a vast warehouse with cabinets and boxes
stacked a mile high. The warehouse stretches out as far
as the eye can see. There’s a gremlin sitting on the lid of
a dustbin and he’s playing the mouthorgan. He tips us a
wink and nods his head towards a box. It opens and
images leap out like fireworks. In one, a gentle wind
blows tumbleweed across a desert floor. The voiceover
continues...
‘One man stands alone... He’s thinking. He really
shouldn’t being doing that...’
Within the image the camera pans around and focuses
upon a distant figure gawping into nothing from the
summit of a rocky outcrop. It travels past him and
speeds way off into the distance. We’re suddenly at a
velocity similar to that of a fighter jet as both the ground
below and the clouds above rush by as if travelling far
beyond the speed of even time itself. We stop, and we
see that same distant figure. He’s closer now. And he’s
5
sipping a cup of coffee in the evening.
We’ve paused in an almost-gothic, city-centre square.
A horse-drawn carriage trundles past. Ronnie Corbett is
dressed in drag and has his arms around two pretty
waitresses. Moments later and we see our hero again,
standing in a doorway. A crocodile hurtles through the air
towards his head. Far away and a whistle blows as steam
billows out through the pistons of a sixties locomotive
somewhere in Eastern bloc Poland.
Suddenly another image flashes across the screen: it’s
the immediate aftermath of an armed robbery and the
police are in rapid pursuit as beautiful girls in cocktail
dresses fire AK47s out through the windows of a Ferrari.
A BMW explodes on another city street. The camera’s
shutter closes and immediately reopens revealing the
carnage of a thousand corpses of the undead scattered
about: zombies and chavs in pools of blood as a wide-
angle shot takes in the Royal Crescent being obliterated
by the vast fireball of an alien mothership.
A moment passes and then that same gravelly voice
of before speaks over scenes of beauty and calm; over
the lush green meadows of rolling hills, over sandy
beaches and moors strewn with boulders and gorse. It
speaks of narcotics trafficking, of mercenaries and of
international organised crime. It speaks of political
intrigue and the ‘World’s Most Powerful Man’. It speaks of
6
corporate fraud, of sex and champagne and of superstar
actors and musicians. Disco lights merge into the flashes
of the paparazzi while Russian mobsters mill about eating
bags of chips.
There’s passion, unrequited love and a great many
biscuits. Chilling, bloody violence fills the screen along
with a stealthy assassin and a homemade nuclear bomb.
Casino chips roll across smooth green felt as Bambi is
forced into a blender with a hammer.
Black-clad figures of the SAS drop from helicopters
and hurl flash-bangs through windows of a portacabin. In
the Oval Office our hero’s imagination very nearly
becomes the cause of World War Three. Sometime later
and it very nearly gets him shot by the US Secret Service,
too.
A surreal time-travelling incident, Gandalph, and a
rainbow of preposterous poodles flash by as if captured
within a dream. A marauding crowd of the mass
populace pursue our hero with burning torches and
pitchforks while waving copies of books by Katie Price.
A crescendo of orchestral music melts into a
heartbeat, slowing into a single tone as the camera pans
out from the mind of our hero: a man sitting alone in a
cafe, his face a gawp into nothing, his mouth catching
flies as a dribble of saliva drips onto the page of an empty
pad.
7
The camera pulls further out: out above the cafe,
above the City of Bath and beyond the Earth. With the lid
of the box in one hand, his mouthorgan in the other, with
the dexterity of a being of great skill the gremlin pushes
each of those images back inside the box. He turns to
the camera, gives a wink, a sigh and a shrug and says
simply, ‘Welcome to Danland’.
[Blackout]
And... CUT!
Hmmm... Okay... Sorry about that.
And... CUT!
8
And so, there it is: my imaginary trailer for a movie
concept so absurd that the mere mention of such a thing
almost invokes in me a snivelling mess of lunacy, not to
mention its inevitable resignation to the limits of the nor-
malities of the mass populace. At least it’s given me a
few minutes of preoccupation which, perhaps you: my
solitary reader (nay, bored sociopath with frequent, un-
controllable masochistic urges to read gibberish and
shite) may find of interest. You may be inclined, on the
basis of what you’ve read in these pages, to draw the
conclusion that this is absolute nonsense; that this is, in
fact, a work of complete fiction. It would of course be a
fair conclusion to draw were it not for the fact that every-
thing within is actually, to all intents and purposes, true.
Welcome to Danland. Welcome to No stranger to the
P45. And please, help yourself to a doughnut.
*
FOR AWARDS CONSIDERATION PURPOSES ONLY. FOR AWARDS CONSIDERATION PURPOSES ONLY.
(Ha, Ha, Ha!)(Ha, Ha, Ha!)
There is no chance that this will ever be a
SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLERSUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLER
byby
Dan W.GriffinDan W.Griffin
No stranger to the P45No stranger to the P45
‘It’s not sh‘It’s not shiit t -- it’s Art!’ it’s Art!’ -- Marvellous MalcolmMarvellous Malcolm
‘Dan, you should be in prison’ ‘Dan, you should be in prison’ -- Mrs H.DowningMrs H.Downing
‘Buy this book! (or else)’ ‘Buy this book! (or else)’ -- Andy McNab, Author Bravo Two ZeroAndy McNab, Author Bravo Two Zero
WARNINGWARNING Contains strong language, bloody violence Contains strong language, bloody violence
and scenes of a sexual nature and scenes of a sexual nature
www.nostrangertothep45.comwww.nostrangertothep45.com
for more excerpts from the book plus videos & games (including one about an ostrich and another about a yeti
thwacking a penguin with a bat) please visit....
www.nostrangertothep45.comwww.nostrangertothep45.com
Copyright © Dan W.Griffin
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The rights of Dan W.Griffin to be identified as the Author of this Work has
been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act, 1988
Downloading of this file is subject to the condition that it shall
not, by way of trade or otherwise, be reproduced, stored in
an alternative retrieval system, transmitted elsewhere or
otherwise circulated in any form or by any means without the
prior written permission of the author. This document is for
single machine viewing purposes only.
Sorry about that...