Jimmy Clifford is a thirty-year-old movie addict and film memorabilia shop owner. He is also very fed up. He is fed up with his best friend Oswald’s stupid, made-up card games, his drug dealer Pluto’s novelty drugs are losing their novelty and his anti-depressants don’t appear to be working anymore.
But when he discovers that the Crypt – a local, independent cinema that he regards as his ‘spiritual home’ – is to be demolished, he feels compelled to act. Getting together with his friends and a fellow shop owner they decide upon an idea – there will be a ‘Save the Crypt’ cabaret night (featuring local performers) to highlight the situation and raise money in the process.
All Jimmy has to do for his part is get out and find seven acts in two months – not so easy when you’re an agoraphobic and you’re up against giant egos and a psychotic property developer.
Targeted Age Group:: 18+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
Like the main character I am a movie lover (especially old ones) as well as being a great admirer of old art deco cimemas.
I also despair at the amount of damage that has taken place to our town centres over the last decade or so. Much of the character has been eroded so that often one centre looks like any other.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
The main character is partly based on myself. As well as sharing his love of old movies I have also struggled with depression.
Others are based on friends or acquaintances that I have known.
The character Sebastian Drake, I have to admit, was completely made up.
We're waiting for Pluto. We're always waiting for Pluto these days.
'Knock one,' says Oswald. He knocks on the table and places a card face up.
'Knock two,' says Nerrin, and does the same.
'Transfer one,' says Norman. He places one card face down and picks another up.
They look at me.
'Your move, old son,' says Oswald.
We're playing Jemmy, one of Oswald's ridiculous made-up card games. Jemmy is a 'cocktail', which is Oswald's name for two games mixed together – in this case Diesel (another card game invented by him) and chess.
I rub my eyes. I'm tired, my head hurts, my stomach hurts, my face is a wall of tension and I'm sweating a lot.
Oswald laughs through his nose, like he can't believe what he heard.
'What d'you mean, why? You do want to remain in the Grand Tournament, don't you?'
We're sitting around my white-painted wooden table in my flat at 228a Lion's Hill Road. There are four empty teacups on the table. We'll be on the beers soon. That's the normal routine. And then Pluto turns up. We've been in this curious time-loop for at least two years.
Heavy smoke fills the air. We all smoke, apart from Nerrin. I like the look of a smoky room – it reminds me of film noir. If only we existed in black and white.
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