The Red Hat of Patferrick

	Violent violins. Organ music. Stephen in a deep leather 
	burgundy hide wing chair with dimpled buttons. He is 
	reading. He looks up.


Stephen		Hello, I'm Gelliant Gutfright, your host on The 
		Seventh Dimension. Tonight's story is called "The
		Red Hat of Patferrick". I must add a warning. The
		BBC do not advise that you watch the unfolding of
		this dark tale if you are in any way of an erotic
		disposition.

	He walks towards an office set.

		Office life. Ha! It seems so ordinary, doesn't it?
		So mundane. What is the worst that can happen in an
		ordinary publisher's office? Susie loses the Tippex.
		Carol forgets to fax that contract to Stuttgart. The
		wrong manuscript is DHL-ed to San Francisco.
		Nothing sinister about a modern office. Is there?
		Is there? Or is there?

		Jonathan Hadey. A nice guy. One of the world's
		good scouts. Governor of his local primary school.
		Rotarian. Chief High Coven Priest of the Amersham
		and District Satanic Abuse Club. An ordinary,
		decent British guy. Every day is much like the day
		before for publisher Jonathan Hadey. Except today.
		Except April the twenty-ninth of October. Oh yes,
		except for today ...

	Camera has been zooming in on Hugh, and Stephen's 
	last few words are over. The telephone on Hugh's desk 
	rings.

Stephen		(Over) Louise is out of the office, flirting with
		Ted from marketing while she makes Jonathan's
		mid-morning coffee. He might as well answer the
		telephone himself for once.

Hugh		Hello?

Voice		(Telephone distort) I want to speak to Jonathan Hadey.

Hugh		This is him ... he ... him. I mean ...

Voice		You have the Red Hat of Patferrick.

Hugh		The what?

Voice		Don't play games, Mr Hadey. You have just seven
		hours to return it to it's rightful owner.

Hugh		Shall I put you through to marketing?

	Phone click. Dialling tone.

	Hugh stares into the phone. Puts it down slowly.

	Louise enters with a coffee.

Louise		Sorry I took my time, Mr Hadey, but Ted
		from marketing was licking my breasts. Who was
		that?

Hugh		I don't know. A wrong number probably ...
		except they asked for me. Something about a
		hat.

Louise		(Slightly guilty, suspicious) A hat?

Hugh		Yes, a hat from Portmerrick or something.

Louise		Not ... Patferrick?

Hugh		Yes! That's it! The hat of Patferrick.

Louise		(Terrified, but trying to hide it) Did they say what
		... what ... colour?

Hugh		The red hat I think they said.

Louise		(Screams) No! Not red! Please God not red. No,
		no, no, no!

	She runs to the open window behind Hugh's desk 
	and throws herself out.

	Hugh rushes to the window and looks down.

Hugh		My God, Louise ... oh sweet Jesus heaven,
		Louise why ...

Louise		(Off) I can't explain Mr Hadey.

Hugh		But for the Lord's sake girl. Whatever it is, you
		can't stay down there.

Louise		If you don't mind Mr Hadey I will. For the
		time being.

Hugh		But ...

	Hugh is interrupted by a voice off behind him. It 
	is the voice of Gerald Dandridge, his boss.

Dandridge	Hadey!

Hugh		(Spinning round) Mr Dandridge!

Dandridge	Can't have my editorial directors staring out of the
		window all day. Not got enough work to do?

Hugh		No, sir it's not that ... it's ...

Dandridge	Well, man ... speak up.

Hugh		I'm afraid Louise is ... behaving rather oddly.

Dandridge	Probably her time of the curse or whatever they
		call it. Give her the day off.

Hugh		Yes, that's probably it. Got rather upset about
		some sort of Hat. The Pink Hat of ...

Dandridge	(Gasping in fright and astonishment) Pink hat?
		Did you say pink hat?

Hugh		(Surprised) Well ...

Dandridge	The hat of ... the Pink Hat of where, man?

Hugh		Well it was some phone call ...

Dandridge	(Grasping Hugh's collar) In the name of mercy,
		Jonathan! THE PINK HAT OF WHERE?

Hugh		Well, I think he said Patferrick ... does that sound
		right?

Dandridge	(Instantly relieved and relaxed) Patferrick? Oh that's
		all right. The Pink Hat of Patferrick. Fine,
		my boy. Fine.

Hugh		Well come to think of it, it was red, the Red
		Hat of Patferrick, he said.

Dandridge	(Hugely loud scream) No! Oh suffering hell,
		NO !!!! The Red Hat of Patferrick!!

	Dandridge runs to the window and jumps out.

Hugh		Sir! Mr Dandridge?

	Pause.

		Mr Dandridge? Sir?

Dandridge	(After a pause. Hissed whisper) Go away!

Hugh		But what are you ...

Louise		Please, Mr Hadey. Just leave us alone.

Dandridge	Buzz off.

Hugh		Oh. Right.

	Hugh backs away from the window, scratching his chin 
	and very puzzled. The telephone rings very loudly in his 
	ear.

		(Answering it) Hello? ... Police? ... Yes, what is
		it? My wife ... what kind of accident? Oh my God
		... squashed! In heaven's name, what by? A hat? A
		hat? What kind of hat? Sort of maroony, burgundy-ish
		crimson. Damn it man, you mean red. If it's red say
		so. A red hat ... from the dust on the brim it could
		only come from one place, you say? Don't tell me, I
		already know. Patferrick. My God, it was the Red
		Hat of Patferrick.

	He drops the telephone and buries his head in his arms.

	Louise enters with a coffee and shakes him on the shoulder.

Louise		Wake up, Mr Hadey. It's your coffee.

Hugh		What ... I ... the pat ... the hat ... the redferrick
		of hatpat ... I ... oh.

Louise		Dreaming again, Mr Hadey. I don't know.

Hugh		But it was so ... so real. (Laughing) What's the
		matter with me? I think I need a holiday.

Louise		Oh there's a man on his way up to see you. Says he's
		bringing "The Red Hat of ..." somewhere or other.

Hugh		NO!!! Oh my Christing hell-god no! The red
		hat of where? Speak, girl.

Louise		Well Pat-something, I think he said.

Hugh		Oh God, no. The Red Hat of Patferrick! No.

	Hugh runs and jumps out of the window. Louise 
	clutches her cheeks and screams.

	Enter Stephen as Gelliant Gutfright. A bundle of 
	papers under his arm.

Stephen		Something wrong, my dear?

Louise		It's Mr Hadey, he just ... twenty-three floors
		up and he just ... oh! (She shudders)

Stephen		Ah. Well. I had better take The Red Hat of Patferrick
		somewhere else, hadn't I?

Louise		The Red Hat ... that's why Mr Hadey jumped.
		What is it?

Stephen		Oh just a manuscript of a story my dear. A wholly
		improbable tale. It concerns a young publisher who
		has a dream about a hat, and when he awakes ...
		but it is (turns and stares into the camera) nothing
		but fancy. It could never really happen. Could it?
		Could it? Or could it? Perhaps it could. Or could
		it? Goodnight.

Stephen		I've found that young people are no
		longer enticed into church simply
		on the promise of guitars and a
		little folk music. We have to move
		with the times. We've started
		showing leather and bondage films
		in St Barnabas's and the results
		have been very good. We were
		packed last Sunday. Mostly Young
		Conservatives, but it's a start.