Helen and Lee. Sweet, isn’t it. Dollies. Posters. A drum-kit.
She’s going to stab him and, having learned from her mistakes, she’ll get it right this time (it’ll take a bit more force, Rob having been a bit flabbier than the incumbent eejit). Her attempts to frame Henry will fail on the grounds of force exerted and a couple of other inconvenient forensic findings.
Life sentence. Chokes on a warder’s biceps.
Uncle Johnny pulls a Princes in the Tower manoeuvre.
Tom raises an army. So does the mouth-breathing clod. Tom’s army stick sausages in their hats, being not entirely au courant.
Forces join battle… where?
Then perhaps Ruth and Pip can (after prostituting themselves to the soldiery) become collateral damage.
Dayveed to be cut down at the door of his own farmhouse, defending the honour of
Jill, who is baking flapjacks on an industrial scale: a quarter each for the opposing armies (‘Well, they’re going to be getting hungry, dear: I’m sure most of them came out without a proper breakfast’) and the other half for ordnance.
Jim mutters something about the Geneva Convention. No one listens.
Alice canters up on Banjo, tits to the wind, très Delacroix…
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