INT. A colossal theatre in Rochdale, a new city in the north of England. The space is cavernous, filled from the back with plush, velvet chairs, occupied by a man in black-tie, or a lady in a ball gown. As the slope of the room levels out towards the stage there are arranged twenty large, circular tables, each seating twelve people, almost imperceptibly better dressed than those at the back, unless as observed be a connoisseur. The energy in the room is frenetic, and dozens of waiters buzz about the space tending to the guests. It is impossible to understate the glamour of the event.

A number of people are returning to the main hall from side doors, indicating that we have joined the action in a break from the main proceedings.

A hushed silence begins to fall across the room as the hosts (DEAN and CARLA) return to the podium and all stragglers retake their seats. Both hosts have affected a generic American awards persona, reducing them to having no discernible personality.

DEAN: OK, guys. Welcome back. I hope you have all relieved yourselves, and whatever else you did in the toilets during the break? [Dean taps the side of his nose]

[Laughter breaks out across the room]

Keep reading