Mildred and Fergus sit on a wall beside a quiet road. Countryside surrounds them and a light winter breeze briefly disrupts the otherwise mild day.
Mildred: (sighs) So, what’s he been up to then?
Fergus: Writing.
Mildred: Writing?
Fergus: Writing.
Mildred: (frowns into the silence) What about?
Fergus: It’s a bit all over the place really.
Mildred: Okay…?
Fergus: I’m not sure I have the energy to get into it.
Mildred: Don’t be droll, enlighten me, please.
Fergus: Why do you care so much anyway?
Mildred: It’s my job to care.
Fergus: (stuffing tobacco into an old, bent pipe) Hmm.
Mildred: Oh do get on with it.
Fergus: Fine. Well… (taps his chin with the now smoking pipe) it started with the novel.
Mildred: (deflates, exasperated) I’m aware of the novel… it’s all he’s spoken about for the last eight years… what else?
Fergus: Okay, so after that it’s short stories. Lots of them.
Mildred: How many are we talking?
Fergus: Too many to count.
Mildred: Oh.
Fergus: Indeed.
Mildred: Okay, take me through them
Fergus: All of them?
Mildred: You’ve places to be?
Fergus: What if I said yes?
Mildred: Then I’d know you as a liar as well as a fool.
Fergus: (raises his eyebrows and sucks at his pipe) Blimey. (his brief, smoky silence ends as he catches Mildred’s glare) It started with three deaths.
Mildred: Three?!
Fergus: Oh you’re not going to like this recap if you’re squeamish.
Mildred: Has he been vile?
Fergus: You know what he can be like. He’s a mucky little mind-
Mildred: -okay, okay! (winces and then composes herself) Three deaths?
Fergus: Yes, and in separate places and in separate times, but they’re somehow linked…?
Mildred: You’re asking me?
Fergus: No, I’m painting a picture with my words. It’s a timeloopy-kinda-thing.
Mildred: (shaking her head) Fine. Next.
Fergus: Then it went a bit Black Mirror-y.
Mildred: Let me guess: an over-reliance in technology has disastrous results.
Fergus: Well done you. Maybe you should try your hand at writing…
Mildred: (rolls her eyes) Next?
Fergus: Another death. But this time it’s a little funny…?
Mildred: He’s writing comedy?
Fergus: It’s sardonic, self-reflective.
Mildred: I want nothing to do with it.
Fergus: Very well. Next is a story about drones in two parts.
Mildred: Set in New Jersey I assume?
Fergus: Nope.
Mildred: Two parts? Aren’t these supposed to be short stories?
Fergus: Things can run away from him, you should know that more than most.
Mildred: What’s that supposed to mean.
Fergus: Nothing, anyway, then we have musings on societal fragmentation in the sixties-
Mildred: -two decades before he was born-
Fergus: -infinite yoga-
Mildred: -exhausting-
Fergus: -and an exorcism gone wrong.
Mildred: What’s the matter with him? Can’t he write anything nice?
Fergus: (takes a long drag on his pipe while he gazes off into the middle distance) No. Next is an island being destroyed by a bigger, richer country’s waste.
Mildred: Yikes.
Fergus: How do you feel about nuclear war?
Mildred: I’m less than thrilled by the concept.
Fergus: Okay, I’d skip the next two then.
Fergus: That brings us to the screenplay.
Mildred: The what?
Fergus: Screenplay.
Mildred: Where’s that come from?!
Fergus: Who knows.
Mildred: Is it at least more light-hearted than the stories?
Fergus: (winces) I’ll move on.
Mildred: (sighs, exasperated) Please.
Fergus: He then leans into the horror a bit.
Mildred: I’m shocked.
Fergus: We have a ghost at the end of the garden-
Fergus: -a bonfire night gone wrong-
Fergus: -and a family battling a cult.
Mildred: What kind of cult?
Fergus: Religious.
Mildred: He doesn’t give them a name does he?
Fergus: Oh goodness no, he’s at least circumspect.
Mildred: Good for him. I do hope there is some levity in this list.
Fergus: The next one was actually about children.
Mildred: (surprised, optimistic) Oh?
Fergus: Murderous children in a hellish play group.
Mildred: I have no words.
Fergus: A family then have their portrait painted-
Mildred: -oh this must be some Dorian Gray rip-off-
Fergus: -it’s original work… but there is a likeness.
Mildred: Ha, I knew it!
Fergus: Are you still a little spooked by AI?
Mildred: What the autonomous, omnipotent monster we’ve unleashed on society with little to no governance? Yes, just a touch.
Fergus: Skip the next one then.
Fergus: We then have a meditation on grief in modern society.
Mildred: Sounds about right.
Fergus: It’s tactful though. There’s no violence or death, apart from-
Mildred: -the death?
Fergus: (squints into his exhaled smoke) Yep. Next was an ethical unpicking of veganism.
Mildred: Sounds dry.
Fergus: There’s a talking fox.
Mildred: Righto.
Fergus: Then a true crime podcast spills over.
Mildred: I can’t stand podcasts.
Fergus: What do you like?
Mildred: I like stories about love and life, with humour-
Fergus: -ah! Well the next is about a stand-up comedian!
Mildred: and…
Fergus: He’s performing as the world ends.
Mildred: Should we stage an intervention?
Fergus: He’s fine!
Mildred: He’s lost the plot.
Fergus: Well, actually, he then wrote something quite mild: a young boy thinks himself a detective in a harbour.
Mildred: What’s he investigating?
Fergus: Does it matter?
Mildred: You know it does.
Fergus: A beheaded cat.
Mildred: I give up.
Fergus: And then it was the Christmas story.
Mildred: (turns to Fergus, stunned) A Christmas story?
Fergus: (sheepish) Yep.
Mildred: You’re telling me he wrote a nice fluffy Christmas story?
Fergus: It’s set at Christmas and there are carol singers.
Mildred: Oh, I see. Murderous carol singers?
Fergus: You’ve got it! And that’s that.
Mildred: Thank goodness.
Fergus: Maybe next year will be more up your street.
Mildred: I’ll not hold my breath.
Fergus: (gazing off to the hills in the distance) I am sure he can write at least one thing where somebody doesn’t have to die.
Mildred: (brandishing a short knife from within her jacket) I very much doubt it.
Just brilliant