My cinema SMASH HIT

Just like Thelma & Louise – but in our kitchen

Writing for Woman’s Weekly is a real treat, but I can’t help wondering whether I might have been better turning out scripts for films or television.

People who work in films and television are taken seriously. Newsnight would probably invite me into the studio to ask my views about inflation in Venezuela, and that sort of thing. This assumes, by the way, that they do have inflation in Venezuela.

What has prevented me from being huge in films and television is that I’ve never had a single idea for a script. Most of my career has been spent as part-owner of a provincial hardware store, and there isn’t much scope for action and adventure in small hardware stores.

Even the comic potential is rather limited, despite a brave attempt by the Two Ronnies.

Customer: I’d like four candles.

Mrs Dear: Oh, I’m afraid we only sell them in pockets of 10.

Customer: Fair enough. I’ll take some torch batteries instead, then. Mrs Dear: What size? Customer: I’d better have a couple of packets of the Ds.

Mrs Dear: Here you are. Isn’t it lovely out this morning?

Customer: Fair to middling.

See what I mean? Yet now I might be on to something.

You’ll probably remember from last week that my daughter Rachel was asking my advice about men. Which, to be honest, is a bit like asking Queen Victoria to help pick out an iPhone.

What was really bothering Rachel was a

‘You just have to keep looking for the one that suits you’

question that women have asked since the very dawn of time: what do men want?

It is this eternal search that will be the subject of my first film. The quest of a mother and daughter to nail this once and for all. So here is the opening scene of this year’s smash hit blockbuster, Men, Eh?.

We are in the kitchen at Dear Towers.

The camera pans across the table, if pan is the right word, where we can see the remains of two chocolate pancakes.

Our protagonists are seated at the table. Miss Dear is looking rather glamorous, her shiny black hair newly styled into a smart bob. Mrs Dear has the remains of some chocolate on her upper lip.

Mrs D: Do you fancy some coffee, love? All right, all right. This is not exactly the most rousing line in the history of film. It doesn’t come close, for example, to ‘The hills are alive with the sound of music’. But I’m setting the scene. I am creating atmosphere, and giving the impression of a mundane domestic setting. Miss D: Yeah, OK.

Mrs Dear rises from the table, but the camera remains on Miss Dear. Which is understandable, all things considered.

Miss Dear: The thing is, Mum, that I never seem to get it right with men. How did you manage with Dad?

The camera switches to Mrs Dear. In an actor of any ability whatever, she would be looking thoughtful. Instead, her expression suggests that she’s just been struck down by indigestion. Which, given the quality of her chocolate pancakes, is perfectly possible.

Mrs D: If I’m honest, I don’t think your father is a typical example of manhood.

He’s very easy-going, although he has a bit of a butterfly brain. My secret has been to keep him occupied.

Miss Dear sighs, and looks downcast. Using her fingers, she picks up a small piece of chocolate pancake that has been left on her plate.

Miss D: I’ve had boyfriends who wanted me to be tough and dynamic, and I’ve had boyfriends who wanted me to be a doormat. I’ve had boyfriends who sometimes wanted me to be tough, and sometimes wanted me to simper. They’re the worst. I just wish they’d make up their minds.

‘I’ve had boyfriends who wanted me to wait upon them hand, foot and everything else, and I’ve had boyfriends who wanted to show how liberal they were in taking on an equal share of the chores.’

Mrs D: Well, that’s something.

Miss D: No, it wasn’t. They didn’t actually take on an equal share of the chores, they just talked about it.

Mrs Dear returns to the table, with two cups of frothy coffee.

Mrs D: I’m afraid there’s no real answer to this one. The truth is that all men are different. That’s part of their charm. You just have to keep looking for the one that suits you.

Miss D: Great. Thanks,

Mum. Thanks a lot.

Mrs D: You’re very welcome.

Credits roll.