My unfinished 'Nan Taylor special' script idea. Written in October 2009

 
About five years ago, I had an idea for a 'Nan Taylor special. Catherine Tate's BBC television show character had always, to me at least, seemed to be the ideal vehicle for a spin off series, but never seemed likely to happen - until, that is, I decided to, for a bit of fun, write  an episode. I thought however, after I'd written a few scenes, that I'd check with Mathew Horne to see if anything was in the pipeline. And, apparently, there was, but then clearly it got put on hold, only to become a live project again last year. It's just been announced there will be a couple more made this year. Anyway, having written the bulk of a script for what I dreamed up as a possible special, I approached one of the writers involved in the latest show and he told me he couldn't read it "for legal reasons" . So, after banging my head against a brick wall for a while, I decided to reproduce it here for any fans of the character. The wartime stuff is based on the actual experiences of my own mother who shocked me one day with her revelations. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. And if an ending springs to mind, let me know!

SCENE ONE EXT. LIVERPOOL STREET STATION DAYTIME.

NAN TAYLOR AND HER GRANDSON ARE QUEUING UP TO BUY TICKETS FOR A DAY TRIP TO SOUTHEND.

GRANDSON: Here Nan. Did you know, it’s got the longest pleasure pier in the world?

NAN: Who has?

GRANDSON: Southend of course. And, it was a popular seaside resort for the Victorians.

NAN: Gawd, hark at you. Who do you think you are? Alan Bleeding Whicker?

GRANDSON: I just thought you’d like to know something about the place you’re visiting, that’s all.

NAN: Oh I know about it alright. I mean, of all the places, what did she have to go and move to Southend for?

GRANDSON: She wanted to be by the sea.

NAN: Who did?

GRANDSON: Your sister!

NAN: Oh her! She’s daft if you ask me. Lost it. Yup, it’s her last stop before the twilight home.

THE GRANDSON SHAKES HIS HEAD AS NAN CONTINUES TO MOAN.

NAN: Ain’t it good eh? Ain’t it bleeding good?

GRANDSON: Ain’t what good?

NAN: All this queuing nonsense. Look, she’s paying with shrapnel.

GRANDSON: Eh?

NAN: Small change. The woman is paying with small change. The fares will have gone up by the time I get to the window.

THE WOMAN IN QUESTION, FLUSTERED, TURNS TO NAN AND APOLOGISES FOR TAKING TOO MUCH TIME

WOMAN: I’m sorry about that, only my aunt has been taken ill you see, and I really must go and see her, but I didn’t have quite enough money. I’m afraid I had to raid my son’s piggy bank.

NAN SMILES SWEETLY AND IN HER KINDEST TONE, REASSURES THE WOMAN

NAN: Oh!. Don’t you worry about that sweetheart, you take your time, It’s quite alright. There’s plenty of trains to Southend. If we miss this one we can always get the next.

WOMAN: Oh you really are too kind. It’s nice to know there’s still a bit of kindness left in the world.

NAN: My pleasure love. That’s it. Mind how you go.

THE WOMAN PICKS UP HER BELONGINGS AND WALKS OFF ACROSS THE CONCOURSE.

NAN: What a fucking liberty. People like her ought to be strung up.

GRANDSON: Nan! She's beside herself. Her aunt’s not well!

NAN: The only thing she's been beside is that bleeding counter for too long emptying the contents of her purse. She should be with her aunt, not here palming off all her old coinage on British Rail.

GRANDSON: There’s no such thing as British Rail anymore.

NAN: Who is it?

GRANDSON: I said there’s no such thing as British Rail.

NAN: Who runs it now then?

GRANDSON: A load of different franchises.

NAN: French Houses? The French? The French run our railway system? Gawd help us. No wonder it’s in such a state.

GRANDSON: No, not the French! Look it doesn’t matter. Come on, I’ll get our tickets.

NAN: Oi! Oi! You put your money away. I may be old but I don’t need no charity. Oh no. Have my own grandson pay for me ticket? No way Jose!

NAN GOES UP TO THE WINDOW, CLEARS HER THROAT AND SPEAKS THROUGH THE GLASS.

NAN: Two returns to Southend please sweetheart.

TICKET VENDOR: (officiously) When you coming back?

NAN: What's that? Hep.

TICKET VENDOR: (shouting) I said when are you coming back?

NAN: Oh as soon as bleeding possible ducks. You ever been there? Hideous place, Southend. Longest pleasure pier in the world so he says. Mind you, that’s the only time you’ll hear the words Southend and pleasure in the same sentence (cackles). I don’t even want to go there to tell you the truth.

GRANDSON: Nan! Don't be so disrespectful. Your sister lives there.

NAN: And don't I know it. She's been nagging me for months to go and see her new bungalow. The East End wasn't good enough for her was it. Oh no. Not her with her airs and graces. A bleeding bungalow! I ask you! I don’t know what the fuss is about. I mean, it's hardly Buckingham Palace is it?

TICKET VENDOR: So, when are you coming back then?

NAN: Are you deaf? (turns to Grandson)  The man’s deaf. (back to ticket vendor) I already told you, as soon as possible.

TICKET VENDOR: Today then.

NAN: Thank the Lord! The penny's dropped! Cor, talk about not being able to get the staff these days.

TICKET VENDOR: That will be sixteen pounds forty then please madam.

NAN: How much? I want to visit the place, not buy bleeding shares in it!

TICKET VENDOR: I'm afraid the war's over madam.

NAN: War? War? What do you know about war? Listen, I did my bit for king and country for the likes of you. I've seen things, me.

TICKET VENDOR: Well if you don't give me sixteen pounds and forty pence madam, I'm afraid you won't be seeing Southend today.

NAN: And that wouldn’t be such a bad thing neither, mark my words. I'm only going because his Lordship here is taking me under Durex.

GRANDSON: Nan! It's duresse.

NAN: Daylight bleeding robbery, that's what it is. I should report him to his superior.

GRANDSON: For what? Doing his job?

NAN: And you can piss off out of it 'n all. Making me pay for my own ticket. I’m a pensioner you know. (turns back to ticket vendor) Come on then, hurry up, before we miss the bleeding train.

CUT TO:


SCENE TWO INT. TRAIN CARRIAGE

NAN AND HER GRANDSON ARE NOW ON THE TRAIN. THE ESSEX LANDSCAPE PASSES BY THROUGH THE WINDOW

NAN: Sixteen pound forty, each! In my day you could buy a house for that. Well them what had that sort of money could anyway. I’ve never had much me. No wonder with the likes of you fleecing me for all I’ve got

GRANDSON: Nan, I offered to pay for both of us. And, the man was just doing his job. He doesn’t set the prices you know.

NAN: No, bleeding Mickey Mouse does that.

GRANDSON: And he's right. The war is over. That's the going rate these days.

NAN: I don't know how all them computers afford it.

GRANDSON: Eh?

NAN: Computers. Them what spend hours every day going backwards and forwards to work on the trains.

GRANDSON: I think you mean commuters.

NAN: I know what I mean.

GRANDSON: They buy season tickets.

NAN: (ignoring him and carrying on) Wasting their lives, day after day. Giving their money to the bleeding French. What a carry on! You wouldn’t catch me doing that. Oh no!

GRANDSON: It's the way of the world nan. A lot of people can't afford to live in London. Some choose to live in the country.

NAN: What? Do me a favour! Southend's not the country. It’s the back end of beyond. The arse end.

GRANDSON: You can’t say that. It’s home to some people.

NAN: I’m telling you. You look at a map. Scotland's the head, Wales is the tits and Southend is the arse end. Fact.

GRANDSON: What does that make the West Country then?

NAN: A bleeding great... cor (changes topic as she looks out of the window) would you look at that! Romford. Awwwww, we're going through Romford. Blimey, I haven't been there since, oooh let me see now, 1941 it would be. Awwww, Used to be a lovely place Romford.

GRANDSON: Nan, it's only 20 miles down the road from where you live.

NAN: What would I want to go to bleeding Romford for? It's worse than Southend.

GRANDSON: You just said it was lovely.

NAN: Lovely? What? Romford? No dear. Not Romford.

GRANDSON: But you were getting all misty eyed about it!

NAN: What? I’m telling you, I can't stand the place. Hate all of Essex as it goes. Flat as a pancake. No character. I mean, look at it. Just look at it. It's all the same. You get lost in one of them towns you'd go fruit loop trying to find your way out again.

GRANDSON: Don’t be silly nan.

NAN: Mark my words. The in laws moved out to Dagenham years ago when it was one of them new towns. The day they moved in, I swear on my mother’s grave, one of them popped out for a pint of milk and they didn't see him for two days! Two days! As God is my witness.

GRANDSON: That's ridiculous.

NAN: I'm telling you! The poor man popped out for a pint of milk and was gone for two days. The streets all look the same in Essex! Fact.

GRANDSON: If you hate the place so much, why did you just go all melancholy when we went through Romford just now then?

NAN: Melon what? It just brought back a few memories that was all.  I mean, I was given another chance in Romford wasn't I?

GRANDSON: What do you mean?

NAN: Him upstairs. The Holy Spirit. Gawd Almighty. He looked after me in Romford.

GRANDSON: Did he? How?

NAN: During the war I was only a nipper, but you was allowed out on your own then. We hadn't even heard of kiddy fiddlers or speedofiles.

GRANDSON: Nan! It's paedophiles!

NAN: (looking around) Who? What? Where? The dirty bastards.

GRANDSON: No! Not here. The word. It's paedophiles.

NAN: Yeah, whatever! Anyway, one day I caught the bus from Stratford to Romford. Lovely morning it was. Mild. Still. Lots of people milling about. You'd hardly have known there was a war on. Then, all of a sudden, out of the sky there it was. Whoosh! A bleeding great German fighter plane.

GRANDSON: Oh no! What did you do?

NAN: What do you think I did? I bleeding ran for it of course. We all did. Shooting the High Street up with his machine guns he was. Probably just getting rid of the leftovers before flying home, you know. That’s what they used to do see.

GRANDSON: Nan, that's awful! I'd no idea.

NAN:  What are you talking about? You've never had any idea! (cackles) We were used to it back then. I tell you, you lot today don't know how lucky you are. You know what we used to do for a bit of entertainment? We’d go outside and watch the planes fighting overhead. We didn't have telly or them bleeding DVBs and computer games back then. Oh no, all we had was one of them ‘baker light’ wirelesses, a ration book and Vera bleeding Lynn.

GRANDSON: So what happened?

NAN: Well this particular day it was a Wednesday, and Wednesday, well it was always half day closing in them days. Traditional see. Come one o'clock everything shut down. You couldn't buy a thing on Wednesday afternoon for love nor money, not that we ever had much of course. We’d have had even less if greedy sods like you’d been around, but we were happy with our lot.

GRANDSON: And?

NAN: Alright, chill out. I'm getting to it. The youth of today! No patience. Now, where was I?

GRANDSON: Romford High Street.

NAN: What was I doing there? (pause) Oh yes! Stop interrupting will you? I'm not senile yet! So anyway, there I am running down the High Street, the bullets doing an Irish off the streets

GRANDSON: An Irish?

NAN: Rick O'Shea. Keep up will you?

GRANDSON: Nan! You can't say things like that. It's politically incorrect.

NAN: I'll give you politically incorrect! If I want to say Rick O'Shea, I'll bleeding say Rick O'Shea. And manhole cover and blackboard. So put that in your pipe and smoke it! What they going to do? Lock me up? At my age? It's a bleeding disgrace. A prisoner to my own language, that's what I am.

GRANDSON: Come off it nan. There's just certain rules these days, that's all. People hear you saying that stuff they’ll come and take you away.

NAN: I’d like to see them try! Now, you going to let me finish this story or what?

GRANDSON: Nan, it was you that went off on one. Please, carry on.

NAN: I've forgotten where I was now! That’s your fault that is.

GRANDSON: You were in Romford.

NAN: Romford! Yes, that's right! Cor, people screaming and running everywhere they was. Babies crying. Pand-new-monia it was.

GRANDSON: It sounds it.

NAN: Then suddenly, out the corner of me eye, I saw one of them underground loos. You know, public lavatories, spend a penny and all that. You don't see them no more, or if you do they've been turned into some fancy bar or lar-dee-dar restaurant.

GRANDSON: Yes, I know what you mean.

NAN: You wouldn't catch me in one of them, oh no! Filth! I mean, you don't know who's been down there squatting, with their doings round their ankles, launching torpedoes.

GRANDSON: Nan!

NAN: Oh get a life, you bleeding great prude!

GRANDSON: Nan! What happened?

NAN: Well, there I am scurrying down the stairs of this public lavatory see, when suddenly this woman appears in the entrance, blocks my way, points at the clock and and says "sorry ducks, we're closing"! Sure enough, it was two minutes past one. She had me banged to rights. The woman had me banged to rights.

GRANDSON: But nan, there was a German fighter plane flying up and down the High Street shooting at people!

NAN: I know there was! I was there wasn't I? I saw it with my own two eyes, may God strike me down if tell a word of a lie.

GRANDSON: So what did you do?

NAN: Well, luckily enough, just at that very moment, a bus came along, so I jumped on it....

GRANDSON: Thank goodness for that. Phew! That was a close shave.

NAN: ...and five minutes down the road it got blown over by a doodlebug that landed in a field.

GRANDSON: That's terrible. Were you hurt?

NAN: Hurt? Hurt? The boy's asking me if I was hurt? Of course I was bleeding hurt. I'd just paid my fare back to Stratford and we'd only got as far as Goodmayes.

GRANDSON: Oh nan! That's shoocking! How come you've never mentioned any of this before?

NAN: No one ever asked me did they? That was just how it was back then. We didn't think twice about it. We just got on with it. Stiff upper lip and all that.

GRANDSON: I can't believe how matter of fact you are about it all.

NAN: Well, as it goes, I did make a fuss on this occasion. Oh yes! I went back the next day and give that old dear a piece of my mind.

GRANDSON: Good for you!

NAN: I asked her what was she playing at, shutting up shop when there was a bloody great German plane out on the High Street shooting at anything that moved?

GRANDSON: Did she apologise?

NAN: Sort of. She said that if ever I was in Romford again she would let me use the toilet facilities for free.

GRANDSON: Oh, that was nice of her. Did you take her up on it?

NAN: Take her up on it? No, I’ll tell you what I did. I told her to take her lavatories and her cleaning stuff and her facilities and shove them right up her arse. I’ve never been back there since.

FADE TO:


SCENE THREE INT. TRAIN CARRIAGE. DAYTIME

THEY ARE STILL ON THE TRAIN BUT NEARING SOUTHEND

NAN: We there yet? We must be there.

GRANDSON: About five minutes I think.

NAN: Five minutes? Five more minutes? Are we still in England or what? I seem to have spent a lifetime on this bleeding train. Oh look, there's another Heiffel Tower.

GRANDSON: That's a pylon! And it's only been 40 minutes nan.

NAN: 40 minutes? Forty bleeding minutes? Is that all I’m getting for my money?

GRANDSON: That's what it costs, the man told you.

NAN: Yes, and I shall be writing to his employer, don't you worry about that.

GRANDSON: Nan, you really shouldn't get yourself so worked up about these things. It's not good for your heart.

NAN: There's nothing wrong with my heart.

GRANDSON: That doctor said you've got high blood pressure. He said you weren't to get stressed.

NAN: I'm not stressed. Love a duck. If anything's going to give me a heart attack it's you with your no girlfriend and no job. You'll be the death of me, not bleeding stress. A broken heart, that's what I'll die of.

GRANDSON: I’ve got a girlfriend.

NAN: Oh yeah? Then how come I've never seen her then? In fact, my little gay friend, how come no one round our way has seen her?

GRANDSON: She's just a bit shy, that's all.

NAN: Shy? Shy? Gawd’s truth! You ought to tell her to bleeding well snap out of it. You get nothing in this life going round acting like a wallflower. What's wrong with her? Bit simple is she?  Short sighted? Not quite the full shilling?

GRANDSON: Nan! Her eyesight is fine and she's got a degree if you must know!

NAN: Ooooh a degree! How frightfully poash’! What does she see in a simpleton like you then?

GRANDSON: I am not simple!

NAN: So why haven't you got a job then?

GRANDSON: I don't want to just rush into the first job that comes up. I'm waiting for the right opportunity.

NAN: Lord help us. Listen. Beggars can't be choosers you know. Back in my day we had to take what we could get, and we were grateful for it. Why, when I was 14 I was working as a telephonist in the Minnories.

GRANDSON: Really? I didn’t know you used to work uptown.

NAN: Oh yes, I used to be one of them ‘computers’. Every day, regular as clockwork, I'd catch the 7.45 from Stratford to Liverpool Street then walk through the previous nights bomb damage to my workplace. Buildings ablaze and collapsing all around, the services trying to fight the fires as best they could. Two years I did that for. All for 8 shillings a week. That wouldn't get me one stop on the buses now would it?

GRANDSON: Well as the man said, the war IS over.

NAN: I wouldn't mind, but one day, as I made that same walk past those bomb damaged buildings, I turned the corner, and would you believe it, the buildings both sides had been burnt to the ground but mine was still standing! All them people either side of us got sent home on full pay. We had to work in bleeding candlelight for the next two weeks. Talk about bad luck!

GRANDSON: I'm sure they were very grateful.

NAN: Grateful? Oh no love, not them. They said I was too short.

GRANDSON: Really? But you must be what? Five foot six? And that's with old age shrinkage!

NAN: No, you dozy sod! Too abrupt! They said I was too bleeding abrupt. I ask you. Me? Abrupt?

GRANDSON: I can’t imagine where they got that idea from!

NAN: Anyway, that was the end of that. They sacked me. Gave me my cards. Goodnight bleeding Vienna.

GRANDSON: And hello Southend!

NAN: Oh! About bleeding time. I've been dying for the loo since I got on this train.

GRANDSON: Why didn't you go then?

NAN: What? On a train? Do me a lemon.

GRANDSON: Lots of people do.

NAN: Exactly. You won't see me sharing no toilet seat with complete strangers. It's filth that is. You never know what you might catch. Oh no, not me. No way. And the paper in them, cor it's like parchment. Like wiping your arse on the bleeding Magna Carta. Haven’t they seen those advertisements with them puppy dogs?

GRANDSON: Nan, when was the last time you were on a train? It's all changed.

NAN: Listen, the bleeding French might be running them these days, but people's ‘arrises haven't changed. Shit is shit, no matter how you dress it up. I'll wait til we get to Ivy's thank you very much.


CUT TO:

SCENE FOUR

A MINICAB PULLS UP OUTSIDE A BUNGLAOW. NAN AND THE GRANDSON GET OUT AND MAKE THEIR WAY HURRIEDLY UP THE PATH AND RING THE DOORBELL.

NAN: If she doesn't open this door soon I’m going to pee myself. I’m telling you.

GRANDSON: And I told you, you should have gone on the train.

NAN: And I told you, I haven't used a public convenience since 1944 out of principle. I have no intention of starting now thank you very much.

GRANDSON: You'll do yourself a mischief holding it.

NAN: What do you suggest I do then? Give her bleeding flowers a water? (cackles)

GRANDSON: Don't be silly nan.

THE DOOR OPENS, IVY APPEARS.

IVY: Sorry about that. I was just on the……

NAN BARGES PAST AND HEADS OFF DOWN THE HALL.

NAN: Out the way Ive. Emergency coming through. Cor, it’s boiling in here!

IVY: ……phone.

NAN FIDDLES WITH WHAT SHE THINKS IS A THERMOSTAT CONTROL ON THE WALL

GRANDSON: I told her she should have gone on the train

NAN: (OOV) Where is it? Where is it? It can't be that hard to find a bleeding toilet. The woman's only got one floor.

IVY: It's the last door on the right.

NAN: (OOV) What a place to put a toilet.

GRANDSON: So how are you then Great Aunt Ivy?

IVY: Oh, you know, mustn't grumble love.

GRANDSON: No, best leave that to your sister! She's far better at it.

IVY: And how's my favourite great nephew? You got a girlfriend yet? She was telling me, you've not had a girlfriend in a month of Sundays. People have started talking she says.

GRANDSON: People? What people? Listen, I've got a girlfriend.

IVY: Oh thank gawd for that. I was worried about you.

GRANDSON: There's no need to worry Great Aunt Ivy, I'm fine, really.

IVY:

Go on love, take a seat. I'll go and make us a nice cup of tea. You fancy a piece of Battenburg? I got a nice bit of Battenberg, special, when I heard you was coming.

GRANDSON: I don't want you go to any trouble.

IVY: Oh don't you worry about that, It's no trouble. Sit yourself down there and I'll be back in a minute. (turns to camera and whispers ‘what a fucking liberty’)

GRANDSON: OK, thanks

IVY DISAPPEARS INTO THE KITCHEN. THE GRANDSON LOOKS AROUND THE ROOM OF HER NEW BUNGALOW.

GRANDSON: (shouting) It's a nice place you've got here.

IVY: (OOV) What's that?

GRANDSON: (shouting) I said it's a nice place you've got here.

IVY: Oooh no love, I’ve not got any fish. You'll have to make do with cake.

GRANDSON: (shouting) No, I said..... oh it doesn't matter.

THE GRANDSON SINKS BACK INTO HIS CHAIR THEN REALISES THAT NAN HASN'T RETURNED FROM THE TOILET

GRANDSON: (thinking out loud to himself) Where's she got to?

GRANDSON GETS UP AND GOES INTO THE HALL, JUST AS NAN EMERGES FROM THE TOILET LOOKING SOMEWHAT FLUSTERED. THEY MAKE THEIR WAY BACK INTO THE LOUNGE JUST AS IVY APPEARS WITH A TEA TRAY WITH CUPS, CAKE ETC. ON IT.

NAN: What a carry on. Her toilet doesn't flush. Brand new house as well.

GRANDSON: Don't be silly Nan. Course it does.

NAN: I'm telling you, the thing won't flush. Pulling on the cord like a bleeding clippy on the number 38 bus I was. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I had to pour water down it in the end to get rid of the evidence.

GRANDSON: Nan! Spare us the details, please.

NAN: I was just saying to the boy Ive, your loo isn’t working properly.

IVY: That’s strange. It was fine this morning.

NAN: You just don’t get the workmanship anymore see? That’s what it is. They just chuck these things in and move on to the next one.

IVY: Well I’ve not had any problems with it before.

GRANDSON: Trust you to break it nan!

NAN: I did NOT break it! It was bleeding faulty to start with.

IVY: Never mind. I’ll get my handyman to come in and have a look at it. Now, who’s having tea?

NAN: Yes please Ive. I’m spitting feathers here.


IVY: Ooooh me too! You can’t beat a nice cup of tea. (to GRANDSON) You want tea? I’ve got some squash somewhere in the cupboard if you’d prefer.

GRANDSON: No, no. Tea will be fine thanks.

NAN: Get him some squash Ive. He likes squash, don’t you?

GRANDSON: No, honestly. Tea’s fine.

NAN: The boy wants squash.

GRANDSON: I don’t!

IVY: Awww, you want squash love? Wait there then. I’ll see if I can find it. I don’t get many visitors see. I’m sure I had some somewhere though.

IVY GETS UP AND GOES OFF TO FIND THE SQUASH.

GRANDSON: What did you do that for?

NAN: Excuse me? What? Pardon?

GRANDSON: What did you tell her I wanted squash for?

NAN: You like squash. Ever since you was a little boy you’ve liked squash. You used to drink it by the gallon.

GRANDSON: Nan! One of the first rules when visiting old people is never drink their squash.

NAN: Why’s that then?

GRANDSON: Because they’ve usually had it tucked away in a cupboard since about 1965

NAN: Well have tea then.

GRANDSON: I asked for tea!

NAN: You know your trouble don’t you? You’re like your mother. Always changing your bleeding mind.

CUT TO:


SCENE FIVE INT. HODGES SECURITY. DAYTIME

A SECURITY OFFICER IS ON THE PHONE IN AN OFFICE. HE LOOKS PUZZLED.

SECURITY OFFICER: I don’t understand it. There were several calls for help but when I tried to get her on the intercom, nothing.

BOSS: Have you tried phoning?

SECURITY OFFICER: Yes, several times, but it’s permanently engaged.

BOSS: I don’t like the sound of it, you’d better get the police to go round there sharpish.

SECURITY OFFICER: OK, will do.

HE PICKS THE PHONE UP AND, AFTER A FEW SECONDS HE GETS THROUGH TO THE LOCAL POLICE STATION.

SECURITY OFFICER: Oh hello. Hodges Security here. Slight problem, may turn out to be nothing. We’ve had an alarm call from an Ivy Best of 12 Sidwell Gardens (pause). Yes, that’s right. We’ve tried contacting her on the intercom and by phone but we can’t raise her. Thought maybe your boys might want to take a look, make sure everything’s OK? (pause) Ambulance? No not yet. (pause) Yes, I suppose you’re right. OK I’ll give them a call. In the meantime you’ll send someone round to have a look will you? (pause) Smashing. OK. Yes thanks Bye.

CUT TO:

SCENE SIX INT. IVY’S SITTING ROOM. DAYTIME

NAN, THE GRANDSON AND IVY ARE IN THE SITTING ROOM TALKING. THE GRANDSON CLUTCHES A GLASS OR SQUASH THAT HE CLEARLY DIDN’T WANT AND ISN’T ENJOYING.

NAN: Here, Ive, I don’t suppose you still got them photos of us from when we was kids? You know the ones of the war and all that? I was telling the boy on the way down about that day in Romford. Do you remember?

IVY: Ooooh yes! That was a near miss that was. Funny you should mention the photos though. I’ve got a bloody great drawer full of them. I was only thinking just the other day of throwing them out. Not much use to anyone these days I don’t suppose.

GRANDSON: Aunt Ivy! Don’t be daft. They're part of history. You, are part of history. I’d love to see them.

NAN: What? I’m not sitting here all afternoon going through old bleeding photographs.

GRANDSON: But Nan. You said...

NAN IS UP AND GETTING HER COAT ON

NAN: Come on Ive. Let’s take a stroll.

IVY  GETS UP AND FOLLOWS SUIT

IVY: Oh, er, yes, okay. Where do you want to go?

NAN: How should I know. It’s your bleeding manor. Let’s just get a bit of fresh air.

IVY: Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?

BY NOW THE GRANDSON IS BUSY WADING THROUGH A DRAWER FULL OF OLD PHOTOGRAPHS

GRANDSON: No. I’ll be fine thanks. These photos are great. They could be worth something you know.

IVY: What, those old things? No dear, I shouldn’t think so. There’s some more in the bottom drawer too if you’re interested. You can have any that you like.

GRANDSON: Wow! Really?

IVY: Yes, of course. No point me keeping them.

NAN IS OFF DOWN THE HALL AND SHOUTS AFTER HER

NAN: (OOV) Come on Ive! Leave him to it.

IVY: Coming! See you later son.

BY NOW, THE GRANDSON IS ENGROSSED IN THE PHOTOGRAPHS AND PAYS LITTLE ATTENTION TO NAN AND IVY’S EXIT.

GRANDSON: Yeah. See you later.

CUT TO:

SCENE SEVEN EXT. SOUTHEND ON SEA. DAYTIME

A MONTAGE OF SHOTS SHOWING NAN AND IVY OUT IN SOUTHEND. PLAYING THE MACHINES ON THE PIER AND GENERALLY HAVING A GOOD TIME.

CUT TO:

SCENE EIGHT IVY’S SITTING ROOM. DAYTIME

THE GRANDSON HAS PHOTOGRAPHS SPREAD OUT ALL OVER THE SITTING ROOM FLOOR. HE IS MARVELLING AT THEM, AMAZED THAT IVY COULD THINK THEY AREN’T WORTH ANYTHING. SUDDENLY THERE'S A LOUD KNOCK AT THE DOOR.

So there we have it. I left it unfinished as there seemed to be a special in the pipeline back in 2009, even though it didn't make our screens until 2014!
But how should this episode end? Maybe we'll never know!