Blacknwhite George/Impressionist

From a heat-filled family-filled summer room back in the early days in a black n white film the youngest moptop, George, escapes.

From his anxious sisters he shins up the drainpipe of his dad's council house in a middling area of Liverpool, wearing his leather waistcoat and white shirt. George was the youngest and most naive Beatle, anaemic and easily led, but harbouring depths. But here in the early days he was still grinning and wacky, shinning up drainpipes like a boy's adventure story, past the frosted glass window, the stone cladding, till he reaches the guttering and lays the flat of his palm on the rainwet tiles. The roof is a good place to be.

The neighbour watches, a potbellied retired factory hand. George has reached the pinnacle and now he can't get down. He will have to drop to a whitewashed milestone post, a debris-littered weed-strewn yard, full of sawdust and rubble. An adjunct to the semi-detached council house.

Imagine if black n white George went through time to his modern bedroom and found in his place a latter day hipster rolling up a big fancy joint. Reclining on a low bed, some unobtrusive dance track trickling from a shiny stereo. This geezer is an old raver, has a colourful T-shirt and a baldy head. He's delighted to see George and of course offers him a puff.

But this is early pre-hippy George in his leather waistcoat, and he pretends to be disgusted, sticks quite well in his naive role. An innocent working class lad, always up to high jinks but not into all that stuff.....

(That female impressionist guest stars in sitcoms and appears on chatshows. Camera angle below. As a spy as superwoman as a superhero sidekick. In the dressing room talkin to the comedy hero. What is she there for? Her versatility, her sex appeal, a certain token of comedic value.

But, then, says another voice, what is their relationship were to degenerate, and become that of the hooker and her client. And she becomes intent simply on getting the movie hero off, with a callous humour and disregard. Because the English sincere movie actor is a secret kerbcrawler and in this dingy dressing room sweats and opens his shirt and pants compulsively, his dark mop of hair in his eyes, to the shiny costume of the Impressioniste.

Dressing-rooms are anonymous spaces, like bathrooms, warehouses, alleyways. Full of shadows.)