Journaling – the Stories we Tell Ourselves

“You don’t need to call yourself a journaler,” the organiser tells us - “the emphasis is reflective writing.”  

Hinterland is a CIC – Community Interest Company, and tonight - 13th August - is the second Journaling Club ran by the vegan restaurant. The main writing prompts revolved around the theme of The Stories we Tell Ourselves. 

Prompt: ‘I came here because…’  

I came here because the last group was really interesting. I got good practice with journaling and met some cool people. I’m always looking for something different to try out and I was in Manchester anyway after a restaurant trip with family. How do I make this interesting for the blog post? And why the fuck did I wear black on a hot day like this? Why not shorts? What a ridiculous decision. This is, however, a departure from the norm of cocktail bars, steak houses and the sports centre. I can’t stay in watching Viking dramas all week.    

The organiser asked us where our ideas for journaling may come from, and what elements get filtered out or chosen either for writing or are just the thoughts we may have about ourselves. We came up with suggests as a group and I copied this from the flipchart:

Second journaling event at Hinterland Manchester, 13/8/25, this time on the theme 'The Stories we Tell Ourselves.'

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— Matt Tuckey 🇬🇧 (@matttuckey.bsky.social) August 17, 2025 at 10:00 AM

The next prompt: ‘I sometimes assume I’m the kind of person who…’ 

Isn’t smart enough to do what other people do. A lot of my colleagues do all sorts of work that I wouldn’t have a clue how to do. But then I remind myself that a lot of what other people do, they can because they can remember the processes, not because they have some innate ability that I lack. I have to remind myself that a psychologist I saw when I was 9 years old told me I had the reading age of a 14-year-old. That I got writing published in a local paper when I was 15. That I edited pre-recorded radio shows that went out on air when I was 22/23.  

The facilitator here (at Hinterland) has asked us, ‘what’s underneath this?’ Mistakes I make due to memory are embarrassing. When you don’t get diagnosed til you’re 27, your character gets framed during a period when you don’t have any understanding of why you can’t do what you need to. 

The gong is tapped, indicating the end of the writing time. 

Next we’re given 4 prompts on the board to choose from:  

If I allowed myself to let go of the story… 

Short story: Once Upon a Time… 

Letter: Dear… 

Myth: There once lived someone brilliant… 

Ideally, I’d have come up with something for ideas 2 3 or 4, but it just wasn’t happening, so I did what the NHS repeatedly tells me not to and ran around my own head, settling for the first idea.  

If I allowed myself to let go of the story, I’d probably spend the rest of my days approaching every attractive woman I saw at all times. The story I hold is that I’m not going to be good enough. It’s a lifelong problem stemming from primary school, or mainly secondary. It’s such a stupid reason to live an unhappy life. I think I’d probably find the right person without the fear. I’ve done it so many times, though – broken through the fear and met people I’ve been enamoured with, only to find they’re from Lincoln, or they’re not that bothered. 

The gong hits again. The organiser flips the chart. The new discussion points:  

What does it mean to be part of a tribe or community? 

What’s your role in the community? 

How can I feel the feeling under the story? 

How can I feel the story differently? 

Dwelling in the feeling 

Be with it. 

After a chat on this, the session ends here. 

Hinterland’s events offer up something different – an alcohol free environment, vegan food, engaging discussion, a good mix of people.

Journaling - What is Freedom?

After running a few meetups in Hinterland last year, I found that the vegan cafe could no longer accommodate us due to their own events. Their roster started to stack up with philosophy and poetry nights, all things that, in fairness, I’d be tempted to try out. I’ve been trying to find things to do that aren’t just going to bars and sampling cocktails, so an alcohol-free bar like Hinterland made a good start. 

On Wednesday 2nd July they hosted a journaling class organised by Fi, who had chosen the theme for the evening:  

What is freedom, really? 

Fi encouraged us to free-write, in prose or poetry, what we thought of the word ‘freedom,’ and encouraged us to speak from our own perspective. We were given a few minutes to put together a piece on the subject. 

Here’s mine: 

The hardest thing about freedom is that you don’t realise how valuable it is until it’s taken away from you. Lack of money or time, or other obligations like family commitments can take over your life. But when they don’t, your freedom can allow you opportunities to try new experiences. Freedom, however, has its dark side. Too much freedom and not enough commitment, can bring out other frustrations.

2/7/25 Journaling event in Hinterland Manchester. #creativewednesday

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— Matt Tuckey 🇬🇧 (@matttuckey.bsky.social) July 16, 2025 at 10:00 AM

Fi asked us for our thoughts on ‘Freedom,’ or lack thereof, and she added them to the board. 

 • Self judgement / expectations 

 • Holding contradictions 

 • Staying open 

• Allowing things to be messy / unresolved 

Another prompt with a 10-minute free-writing exercise came next, on the title: A part of me that longs for freedom is… 

I splurged this out onto the page: 

A part of me that already is free, but I’m afraid to take that step. I could more, solo. I’ve never gone abroad alone. 

 I have memory difficulties. The restriction here is that new places are hard for me to get around. I rely on my phone a lot. New places require organisation. I’d be screwed without Google Maps. That said, I have managed it in other British cities live Liverpool and Newcastle. It could be done. Is a foreign country really going to be that different? It’s a big step, but I’m tempted to test that freedom and plan out a slow adventure. I’d be free from other people’s restrictions, other plans and priorities. If I want to try that club, that museum, I can. 

Do I dare, though? 

So, yes. Automatic writing rarely results in anything other than drivel, but hey, it’s honest drivel. Isn’t that why you read my stuff? 

And Goddamn I need to practice Teeline. Trying to decipher my own shorthand after a few days was like trying to read the Zodiac’s letters, only I’d written it myself. 

I think someone read out a poem at this point, then we dove into a new prompt:  

The Place that I Find Freedom 

The pen upon the page, bringing factual or fiction 

whatever you can think of, without any restriction 

not getting any younger, traverse across the land, 

take the opportunity, embrace with both hands 

order from the chaos, all you need’s a pen 

That’s as far as I got before the timer went. 

Enjoyable group. Good mix of people. Not too pretentious, great venue (I’ve never been to a bad event in Hinterland) and well ran.

Oldham Library Writers Group

Social Prescribing advised me that this writing group was meeting monthly in Oldham Library, so I figured I’d try out Oldham Library Writers Group session on 4th February. Haven’t been to a writers session since some time before the pandemic, and haven’t written anything creative since some time before that meeting, but I figured I’d at least attend and see what the deal was with this new group and whether it would be worthwhile. 

Gonna blow my own trumpet here: I’ve been writing for some time and I’ve had bits of things published here and there. I don’t claim to be particularly good at many things, but I can write. If I’m going to go to a writers’ group, I’m going to want to be surrounded by people who are going to push me to be better, and they need to be good too. 

Oldham Library Writers Group are a well intentioned bunch, but I didn’t feel like they were going to help me to improve. 

We did do an interesting writing exercise, though, in which we all had a sheet of paper each and started with the line, ‘He woke up to find the city deserted.’ We wrote for a few minutes, then when the timer went we passed the sheet on. Each iteration was the same length of writing time but with an increasing extended period beforehand to read over what had been written so far. It was difficult as nobody’s handwriting – not even my own block capitals – were clear enough for other people to read. There were, if I’ve got this right, 9 of us in the session, so the story below is written buy all the members of the group. We then read each story out, each member reading the story that they started to write. 

I've typed out the piece featuring the opening section I wrote, and I've included an asterisk page break to show where the next person took over. 

-- 

He woke up to find the city deserted. His back hurt from sleeping on the concrete bollard blocking the road, although he had no recollection of climbing onto it. He was very thirsty and his head pounded. 

* 

Thoughts of the night before invaded his mind. Too much alcohol, he thought. Oh, why did he have to drink so much? He hadn’t a clue of why he’d ended up here, and pondered why there was no-one else around. He picked himself up. His back was wet from sleeping in a puddle, his legs cold – one of his socks was missing. He felt a bruise on his arm. Was that mustard on his shirt? 

* 

He sniffed the shirt, not mustard, but something unpleasant. His nose wrinkled. ‘Oof.’ He spied the empty burger wrapper by his feet and heard his stomach growl in protest. A wave of nausea hit him then. 

* 

He was gross. The city may be empty, his life might be desolate but he needed to get his act together. “Ugh.” He slowly dragged himself to his feet and dragged himself forward. His body ache in places he did not know he could ache. 

* 

“Let’s do it,” he said to himself. “Let’s go.” 

He didn’t know where he was going but actually moving physically was the best he could do. Somewhere in his psyche he knew that getting up would motivate him. 

* 

Where was he going? Who knows? Because he sure as hell didn’t. This is what life has come to? The endless self-deprecation questions swirled in his head, but life had challenged him every step of the way, and he always had a trick up his sleeve – he just needed to know what game this was. 

* 

He would not give up. So much was depending on him.

  – 

I think we really needed a little more time to flesh out the narrative each iteration. But most of the stories from this session followed the same 28-Days-Later theme. 

The next session is Tuesday, 18th February.

Inaugruation Day Limerick

BREAKING: Joseph R. Biden has been sworn in as the 46th President of the United States of America. https://t.co/5lTqNoetMC #InaugurationDay pic.twitter.com/ICjbnz13ml

— ABC News Politics (@ABCPolitics) January 20, 2021

There once was a moron called Trump
of his habits, the world got the hump
he took a good hidin'
from Democrat Biden
at the polls, he was certified 'dumped'#parlershutdown

— Matt Tuckey (@matthewtuckey) January 11, 2021

Once Upon a Time in Great Britain: Part 14

Callum smiles at Devant, sinister, proud of his latest killing.

Devant pulls out a silenced Glock 17 and shoots Callum in the hand. He’s a good shot.

Callum SREAMS.

Tom is frozen stiff with fear, convinced he’s going to die.

Balaclava 2 takes 2 tea towels twists one and offers it to Balaclava 1,who’s trying to shut out the pain. As he bites down, his Balaclava twists out of shape.

DEVANT

I expect you’ll want an explanation, Tom.

Devant pulls out a DVD from his overcoat. He takes it out of the case and puts it in the drive.

Balaclava 2 yanks the knife out quickly. Blood spurts all over him. Balaclava 1 SCREAMS. Balaclava 2 takes the other tea towel and ties it tight around the wound.

The DVD shows CCTV footage from a police station. Callum is sat in a room talking to a technician on computer. The techie is making a photo fit image. As Callum talks, the face changes shape, the hair shortens, and the image starts to look like Tom. The technician applies a darker skin-tone. Now it really resembles our narrator. After a few adjustments to the hairline and jaw line, it’s practically Tom’s image on screen. It becomes, we realise, Tom’s photo fit image from the news report.

DEVANT

I didn’t spend all this time and money solving this country’s problems just to have everything ruined by an unstable sixteen-year-old with a vendetta. With regards to the censor's office, what’s done is done Tom. And I can clear it up. I won’t have to clear your name because they will never find you- unless, of course, Callum walks out of this room.

Callum is sobbing uncontrollably.

DEVANT

You’ll never have to kill again. You’ll never have to worry about money.

FLASHBACKS

The Job Centre exploding.

The burned-out car.

Firing at the police and security, chasing him outside the sensor’s office.

The clip from Apocalypse Now.

MARLON BRANDO’S VOICE

The strength to do that…

Tom takes the gun from Devant. Devant nods to the other men. They leave.

Tom looks Callum in the eye and shoots him in the head. A look of determination changes instantly to apathy.

DEVANT

Good choice, Tom. The worst is over. You did as you were told. But Callum… he had issues. He liked his films too much. The two psychologists that I’d sent him to had no idea how unstable he was. They knew he had... a condition. He’d had a hard day. His work colleagues were making his life difficult, he felt under pressure from breaking the law and the secrets he kept. Then he found out that his legitimate job in fast food and his work colleagues didn’t exist any more. And all he wanted was to go home, watch a film and forget about the world. But the film was edited for violence. Because of his condition, that is one thing Callum could not tolerate. So he went behind my back, found out as much information about the censors as he could, then made a plan to kill them all. The people he killed only edit current news, so the people who edited his film weren't even targeted. They're in London. The people he killed were helping the campaign's PR. He's caused me a lot of problems. But anyway, he needed a getaway driver and a scapegoat. So he stumbled across you… It didn’t really go to plan for him. But now all of this is over, you probably want to ask the same question that anyone drowning in self pity would ask. 'Why me?'

He points to the TV.

CCTV footage flickers to life.

Tom, in his student days, is on the street at night. He has a girl on his arm.

We’ve seen this event in the opening scene, but not from this angle. A tall man argues with Tom. The girl steps into the argument. BAM! Tall man punches the girl in the face, hard. Her head flies back.

Tom SNAPS. He punches the man three times, throws a knee in that drops him, then Tom kicks him twice in the stomach and once in the face.

The video cuts.

The video now shows Tom working in the computer office. We saw some of this in the opening scene too, but it’s a continuation of this. At the edge of the shop floor, the manager’s office door flies open. Tom marches out, angered. Tom turns and shouts back into the office. We can lip read 'Fuck you!' Tom walks out. A nicely aligned, 2-metre-high stack of printer paper has been constructed on the shop floor. Tom pushes it all over. Customers jolt. The manager emerges, a little cautious, and glances to the camera.

TOM

You found all this out overnight?

DEVANT

No. We were watching you, Tom. We’ve been watching since you enrolled at university. Then we sent you the letter and hoped you’d turn up at the recruitment fair. It has taken me until now to get this campaign organised. Besides, how else would you get away with what you did? You broke that man’s eye socket and two of his ribs.

Tom gets the shivers. Devant knows so much about him.

DEVANT

We knew you were perfect for the role. You’re intelligent and hard working, like a lot of graduates, but you are also resilient and strong-willed. We knew you wouldn’t fold under the pressure.

TOM (Sarky)

Not even when you put my photo fit image on national television! Have I made you proud?

Devant leans on the doorway. He relaxes his business persona.

DEVANT

Tom… Getting a terrorist campaign passed through parliament would never have been the easiest thing to do. So we didn’t even try to pass it. The government have been very… particular about terrorism since Guy Fawkes got caught. Not many MPs know that I orchestrated the events in Manchester yesterday. Some of the few that do didn’t agree with it. They wanted the campaign stopped. They must have a problem with developing public health and well-being-

Tom cuts him off.

TOM

Right, first off- that is bollocks. And it’s not about testing graduates abilities either. Tell me the truth or I will do nothing for you.

DEVANT

It’s all of those and more, Tom. There are people stopping this country developing, very influential businessmen- people in power who could very easily persuade members of parliament not to follow the Prime Minister’s plans. These people are afraid of change, even though everyone agrees- change is all that is needed. I needed help with this, so I looked for a graduate. Someone who was looking for a challenge: a life-changing opportunity, who wanted it so bad they’d approach a stranger at an unmarked stall at a recruitment event full of adverts. I wanted someone proactive. The only encouragement I gave you was was posting you a leaflet. I knew you had a history of violence…

TOM’S FACE suggests, 'Oh, come on…'

DEVANT (Cont)

And I figured you could handle it. Other people, other graduates, and my colleagues, they couldn't.

TOM (realising)

That's why that guy tried to stab me!

DEVANT (genuinely concerned)

Someone tried to stab you?

TOM

In the middle of the street, Devant, he came right at me. I killed him too.

DEVANT

Was he- was he in all black, with sunglasses?

TOM

Yes. Yes, he was.

DEVANT

Where?

TOM

The back alley by Boots.

DEVANT

I will have it cleaned up. Tom, I have put you through a lot in the last few days. I planned a lot of it, but I didn't plan that and I apologise. Do you understand how close we came to losing? He must have been the last one. The rest are dead. I've had confirmation.

Devant nods to the screen. The images now show Tom, more recently, suited and booted, walking into the Job Centre, about to hand over the package.

Tom in the GUM clinic, package in hand.

And from a distance, Tom walking into McD’s.

Certifiable damning evidence of his guilt. It looks like Tom was walking into each place with full knowledge of what he was going to do. It looks like he was brainwashed from the start. His enthusiasm for the job looks like his enthusiasm for terrorism.

DEVANT

Your face was used because the other MP’s wanted the campaign stopped. You were the scapegoat. (Pause) Thankfully, as the government has at least some control over illegal immigration, we have a plentiful supply of scapegoats of our own. It wasn’t difficult for our contacts to pin it on someone who looks like you. Round about now the police will be killing an unknown foreigner who they will later accuse of the attacks. Now. You have a choice: go to the police – I don’t think you want to know what would happen if you did, but I’m advising you against it- or stay on the payroll. There’ll be more control, more power, more money.

TOM

What am I doing?

DEVANT (off the cuff)

You’ll have absolute control of all piracy in Manchester. All you have to do is find a legitimate cover job. Part time.

TOM

Not really a choice, is it…

FADE OUT

FADE UP

INT.COMMUNITY CENTRE-DAY

The building is housing a career guidance centre of sorts: like the Job Centre, but everybody in there is being designated a job. An employment officer is talking to a reluctant young man in a tracksuit.

EMPLOYMENT OFFICER

What are you going to do? You either turn up at 9am, or I hand you over to custody.

RELUCTANT YOUNG MAN

It's only 22 hours.

EMPLOYMENT OFFICER

There are other people who need this work too. You're job sharing.

It’s much more efficient. Employers stand in a group, looking for candidates. They don’t have stalls like in the recruitment fair. A sign on the wall states:

EMPLOYMENT GUARANTEED!

TOM (V.O)

Looks like I’m back in admin again. The cycle repeats itself… I’d be quite happy to update customer details for the rest of my fucking life, just as long as I’m not opening the post for everyone. You don't know what might be inside those packages. My CV’s not improved in months, but I’m not signing on- none of us are- and I know whatever job I get into I’m not going to be in it long. Because Devant needs me. The government needs me. What I’m about to take over is going to cause a lot of misery for a lot of people. But it’s not my misery. I’ve got a piracy network all to myself, not to mention a luxury city centre apartment. I know that I can take this. I can handle whatever card I’m dealt, no matter how much ammonium nitrate it’s been dipped in. There is nothing that can hurt me now.

ZOOM OUT

Tom is just another jobseeker in a room full of jobseekers, joining a queue.

FADE OUT

END

Once Upon a Time in Great Britain: Part 13

A door slams.

TONY’S VOICE

Fuck fuck fuck…

DAVE’S VOICE

Lock it.

TONY’S VOICE

Right, I’m not fucking joking. Never again. NEVER again. No more coke.

FADE UP

INT. TOM'S BEDROOM IN THE APARTMENT-DAY

TOM had gone back to bed, and he isn’t impressed with being woken up again. DAVE and TONY are in the corridor.

TOM (V/O)

If I weren’t so tired I’d have gone out there and beaten the shit out of both of them. But I suppose that’s a catch twenty-two situation. If I hadn't have got into this shit in the first place I could get a good night's sleep.

DAVE’S VOICE

What have we got…

Kitchen drawers rattle, he’s rifling through them, pulling metal things out.

Tom gets out of bed wearing the bulletproof jacket and sticks on a dressing gown. Nothing will make him take that jacket off.

TONY

Tom! Man of the moment! Listen, you’ve gotta do a huge favour for me.

TOM (Facetious)

Have I?

TONY

You bought a gun, didn’t you?

TOM

Everyone seems to know this.

TONY

Get it. Load it.

FLASHBACK

Tom is firing at the security services outside the sensor’s office.

CUT TO FLASHBACK

He’s sat in the car afterwards. No gun.

TOM

I lost it. (Pause) What have you done?

DAVE

This clown…

(Points at Tony, who’s stressing out)

DAVE (Cont)

Only did a couple of lines. Then told a load of customers at the bar all sorts of shit.

TOM

What?!

TONY

Not about you, or the bombs. Just about Yanyan and Devant. And us.

TOM (Sarcastic)

Oh, just that? Well…

Tom mock-wipes his brow.

TOM (cont)

They’ll never find me now, will they? Fuck me… Wait a minute. What about Yanyan?

Tony looks over at Dave. Dave nods.

TONY

She’s dead, Tom.

Tom contemplates this. Tries to act like it doesn’t bother him.

TOM

I’m fucking sick of your secrets, Dave. I move out today.

DAVE

She was leaving business cards all over the place.

FLASHBACK

The card Tom found in Bar Code.

DAVE (Cont.)

She was seeking attention. There are certain people in that bar that you do NOT want to get on the wrong side of. And if those people had found out I’m head of a national piracy network, she’d have been deported, and I’d have gone to jail for all that shit.

Dave points at the cupboard holding all the copying hardware.

TOM

You’re not the head of a 'national piracy network,' you pretentious cunt. You’re a Del Boy.

DAVE

There was a job you didn’t do, Tom. The mail services are losing thousands of letters a year. Devant wanted us to sort them out. We did that when you were asleep.

FLASHBACK

The smoke Tom saw when he was handing out the packages.

DAVE (Cont.)

Not that many people died, so it hasn’t had much news coverage. We didn’t find out we had to do it ‘til we’d already had about four lines of coke. You were out cold.

Dave looks over at Tony.

DAVE (cont)

And now thanks to NUMPTY over here, everyone in Code knows it was us.

The landline rings. Tony picks up.

TONY

Yes. No, don't let them in. I'm serious. Do not let them-

There's a SCREAM from down the phone.

TONY

My brain's going into meltdown, man.

BANG BANG BANG.

There’s someone at the door. They’re not very polite.

CU-TOM

FLASHBACKS

Quick frames of the police all over Manchester.

DAVE

Out the window. Come on.

TOM

What?!

Dave is already opening a window near the kitchen area.

TOM

We’re on the fourth floor, you knobhead!

DAVE

Shh!

BANG BANG BANG.

They’re not just knocking. They’re knocking it through. Dave roots through the kitchen drawers, shaking. We’ve never seen him nervous before.

TONY

There’s no way that’s the police.

DAVE

Fuck. Somebody at Bar Code shopped us.

TONY

That dickhead manager probably.

DAVE

Tony!

DAVE rugby-throws a large kitchen knife at Tony, cutting his arm.

TONY

Argh! You fucking prick!

DAVE pulls an even bigger one out of the drawer.

BAM! The door is put through. Four men charge into the room. They wear full black including balaclavas. One has a MiniDV camera. Two have crowbars. The cameraman wears a T-shirt saying GUNCHESTER. We’ve met him before.

Moments after the men walk in, CALLUM enters, sporting a different Benneton jumper. Tom’s face slips from fear to despair when he recognises him.

Tony picks up the knife and freezes.

Dave steps forward, yelling, knife raised. Balaclava 1 tries to turn away, and Dave sinks the knife into his shoulder. Balaclava 1 screams. Dave is not backing down.

Dave and Balaclava1 are shoved aside by the other intruders. 2 of them grab Tom by an arm each. Tom’s really mad. He’s pushing them together like he’s on the pec deck. They struggle, but manage to trip him and hold him down. He has to watch.

A crowbar lands in Dave’s face. Blood goes all over the kitchen work surface and pristine utensils. He’s not handsome any more. As he’s knocked away he holds onto the knife, which rips a large fissure in Balaclava 1’s shoulder, but stays embedded.

Tony has backed into a corner when the blows start raining down on his face and body.

Tom, eyes scrunched closed, starts to open them and watch the scene unfold. He’s becoming accustomed to violence and death. The despair he felt when the bombs went off is a distant memory.

But during this, Tom can hear footsteps. He turns to look away from the carnage. He glances to the broken door where these men came in.

SLOW MOTION

Executive shoes and black suit trousers are stepping forward.

TOM’S FACE:

Oh no.

CU TONY AND DAVE

They're almost dead, covered in blood, which is also splattered all over the flat. The blows keep raining down on them as the cameraman films. Dave and Tony become victims of the kind of material they peddled.

Executive shoes and trousers walk closer.

The balaclava-wearing men and Callum, all now drenched in blood, give Dave and Tony one last whack on the head. They’re dead.

And in walks Devant, the same black suit and meaning business. He stands over Tom in this scene of carnage without a speck of blood on him, technically. But Devant, we now know, is the guiltiest man in the room. He glances at Callum, straight-faced.

Once Upon a Time in Great Britain: Part 12

INT. ROYAL APARTMENTS- DAY

Tom shuts the door and locks it. He presses his back against the door and sighs, nervously. There’s no one in. Dave and Tony are probably on the bar. Tom switches on the TV. It’s an amateur pirate broadcast, probably made by students- a studio programme with dodgy lighting. Two people are being interviewed in front of an audience. Tom puts the tracksuit top in a bin liner from under the sink. He pours some Jack Daniels and ice into a glass and sits, sipping it, in front of the TV.

GUEST A

They were detonated in places supposed to represent political problems. The probable motives being bandied about: I’m not prepared to believe them at the moment and I’m even less inclined to believe this theory about the attack in the sensor’s office. In fact I believe the opposite. If he hadn’t seen so many films, which is what the gentleman here is suggesting: If he didn’t have this apparent obsession with violent cinema, this terrible scene wouldn’t have happened in the first place. He would have had no need.

PRESENTER

Now the police received an anonymous phone call from a young man with a strong Lancashire accent claiming responsibility for the sensor’s office atrocity. We don’t know yet whether this person is the person in the photo fit image. The suggestion is that it was the fact that a particular film that this young man had seen-

Presenter looks off-frame.

PRESENTER (contd.)

I’m being told not to mention the name- it was the fact that this film had been cut by the sensors that tipped this man over the edge. If these films had been left in their original form, this latest attack-

Cheers from the studio audience. Presenter raises his voice over them.

PRESENTER (contd.)

Wouldn’t have happened and the workers in this censor’s office would still be alive today.

GUEST A

But take a step back from this. It was this man’s obsession with violent cinema that-

WHACK.

An egg slams into guest A’s face, hard. He’s stunned.

VOICE (O.S)

Fuck you, you fucking Nazi! I’m an adult, why don’t I get treated like one?

Guest A is taking his eggy glasses off with shaky hands.

GUEST A

Possibly because you don't behave like one?

Studio camera pans around. Amateur security is dragging out a dreadlocked guy.

Tom switches the TV off.

BLACK.

Once Upon a Time in Great Britain: Part 11

INT. APARTMENT LOBBY- DAY

Tom is dressed in a white tracksuit and white baseball cap, with black wraparound sunglasses.

TOM (V/O)

It’s as far away as I could get from a suit. The only people out today are scallies, trying to prove they’re not scared. The theory is I’ll blend in perfectly.

Tom walks through the shopping centre- businesses are brave and proud, and have mostly stayed open. The police are everywhere.

TOM (V/O Cont.)

It’s a good job it’s hot. I’d still be sweating like a paedophile in a crèche if it were January.

Yanyan is further ahead, still looking over her shoulder, although her face is obscured as she tries to sell. Tom approaches her discreetly. But he’s not discreet enough for some…

RANDOM METROSEXUAL GUY

‘Scuse me mate.

Tom eyes the man suspiciously. He’s carrying a large guitar bag on his back.

METROSEXUAL

‘Scuse me. You look familiar.

TOM (Apprehensive)

I don’t recognise you.

METROSEXUAL

Is it Tom?

Tom's eyes widen in panic.

METROSEXUAL

I’m Chris; I’m Gina’s fella. From Student Village.

FLASHBACK

Corridor party from the opening scene. Chris wears the name tag ERIC CARTMAN on his forehead.

A combination of realisation and relief washes over Tom.

TOM

Fucking hell mate. How're you doing?

Chris and Tom shake hands, Chris eyeing him suspiciously. Tom didn’t normally wear tracksuits at uni.

CHRIS

Good. We’ve got another album out now, our third one.

TOM

Cool.

CHRIS

You’re braving it today aren’t you?

TOM

Yeah, you could say that.

CHRIS

I should have got a taxi to practice, really. Gina would go fucking mental if she found out I walked through Manchester.

TOM

Nah, nothing's gonna happen today.

CHRIS (confused)

How… do you know?

Tom realises he’s made an error and said too much.

TOM

You’re right. But God forbid. You know.

CHRIS (Cont)

So what you up to these days?

Pause.

TOM

I’m in business support.

CHRIS

Oh, like admin? Yeah, been there. Not my bag to be honest.

FLASHBACK

The laptop cases in the apartment

TOM

It’s not mine either, to be honest. I’m trying to get out of it.

CHRIS

Can’t really advise you mate, other than stay in it. There’s nothing out there. I’m caretaking at the recording studio at the moment but it’s just not paying the bills.

TOM

Things will improve, I guarantee. They’re just gonna have to get a hell of a lot worse before anyone does anything about it.

CHRIS

They can’t get much worse than this, mate. Remember Cambridge Louise?

FLASHBACK-

The corridor party again, and the girl labelled KATE WINSLET.

CHRIS

She died. Somewhere out here. Her mum just blanket texted me.

TOM

Jesus Christ.

CHRIS

She’d got a new job; She’d only come back up to Manchester a week ago.

Guilt hits Tom.

CHRIS

Hey, listen- I found some dodgy channel this morning- between channel four and five- It was like watching the news, only made by people who didn’t have a clue what they were doing. The lighting was bad and the cameras weren’t even fixed down, but they knew their facts. You couldn’t make it up. They’ve passed a new law in parliament. They’re basically saying that they can’t arrest terror suspects, because their 'intelligence'-

Chris makes speech marks with his fingers-

CHRIS (Cont)

-Wherever they’re pulling it from- is telling them that suspects are going to blow themselves up if anyone tries to apprehend them. They’re having to shoot to kill on sight. PM said it’s been happening in Afghanistan for long enough, and it’s only a matter of time before it was, you know, necessary here.

Tom nods, staring into space.

TOM

Scary times.

Pause.

CHRIS

Well, I’ve got practice.

TOM

Yeah. Stay in touch, Chris.

Tom hands him a business card.

CHRIS

You too mate. Here, check our website.

Chris hands him a card from the pocket of his guitar case.

TOM

Will do. See you later.

Tom approaches Yanyan, who's ahead of him with her back turned.

TOM

Yanyan.

No response. Tom grabs her arm and she looks up, terrified. It’s not Yanyan. It’s another, much younger Chinese lady doing the same job.

TOM (confused)

Sorry, uh…

He wanders off. He approaches a white guy running a news stand. The stand has loads of pictures of Tom’s photo fit all over the papers.

TOM

I’m looking for Yanyan.

WHITE STALL CLERK

Who?

TOM

Yanyan. Chinese woman.

WHITE STALL CLERK

She’s there.

TOM

That’s not Yanyan mate, that’s someone else.

WHITE STALL CLERK

I dunno, they all look the same, mate.

Pause.

TOM

That’s ‘cause you’re a fucking ignorant Nazi, you prick.

Tom walks off briskly, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Store clerk is stunned.

TOM (cont.)

For fuck’s sake.

Passers by glance nervously, more so than in previous scenes.

TOM (cont., to himself)

Where the fuck is she?

Tom walks down a back alley, away from any Police.

A man in all-black- suit, shirt, tie, sunglasses- is walking the other way. Unprovoked and without emotion, the man pulls out a knife and thrusts it at Tom’s chest. It hits the spider-silk vest but won’t go through. In PANIC, Tom instinctively grabs the arm holding the knife and SNAPS it with his elbow. The knife immediately points up to the assassin’s throat. ASSASSIN has only just started screaming when the broken half of his wrist points the knife towards himself and his throat is cut. Blood SPRAYS all over Tom’s face and chest. The man convulses and dies slowly.

Tom’s expression changes from fear to arrogant impatience, waiting for him to die- as if he’s becoming immune to the horror.

The convulsions stop, and the weight of the situation sinks in. Tom tries to suppress the panic hitting him.

He takes off the tracksuit top and wipes as much blood off his face as he can. Then he folds it to hide the blood.

He composes himself then steps out, wearing the white tracksuit bottoms and black spider silk vest.

As he walks further from the shops, he passes two SCALLIES.

SCALLY 1

He’s got the right idea, look. Where’d you get that flak jacket, mate?

TOM (dazed)

Uh… from the market.

SCALLY 1

What, the black market?

Tom senses the possibility of a racist undertone to the remark.

TOM?

What? What you tryin’ to say, you fucking nazi?!

Tom steps towards them and they run off. Bystanders on the high street notice and Tom curses himself, walking off.