INT. DAY. HOUSE IN LEAMINGTON:
I'm sorry I have a cold.
TRACKING WASTE PAPER BINS IN EVERY ROOM, EACH FULL OF PAPER TISSUES. TRAIL OF TISSUES FROM ONE BIN TO THE NEXT.
I have a lot of things to do and I have a cold.
ME (MALE, WHITE, 50ISH) IN BED, SURROUNDED BY PAPER TISSUES, READING ROB LONG'S SET UP JOKE, SET UP JOKE AND CHUCKLING
I don't know what to do. I am enjoying having a cold now. When is the right time to return to civilisation and breathe on people? When should I rearrange the appointments with people I let down yesteday? When shall I shop for my wife's birthday tomorrow and can I do that and still be off sick? Where are my clothes?
TRACKING PACKAGING OF NEW WARDROBES AND CABINETS, PILES OF CLOTHES IN EVERY ROOM, OLD BROKEN WARDROBE AND CHEST OF DRAWERS IN FRONT ROOM
Days like this take me out of my comfort zone, (pause) days with things to do.
TRACKING ME GETTING OUT OF BED AND WANDERING FROM ROOM TO ROOM, HALF-HEARTEDLY PICKING UP CLOTHES AND TISSUES. STOPPING TO COUGH.
Writer? Vicar? Writer? Vicar? Writer? Vicar?
CUT TO: FRONT DOOR. INT.
Sign here please.
CUT TO: FRONT ROOM. DAY. ME IS OPENING HUGE PARCEL. A PERSON GETS OUT, DRESSED ENTIRELY IN WHITE, HOLDING A CLIP BOARD.
Sorry did I order a white middle class stereotype?
No. I am Gratis. I am your conscience. You are faulty goods. You never had a conscience fitted. No-one can see me but it's too late to be fitted internally. I will accompany you for the rest of your life. I'll be handy. You watch. Clear up those tissues and put them in the dustbin. (He ticks clipboard with pen).
ME, GULPING DOWN BREAKFAST AND RUNNING TO CHURCH MEETING.