I have pictured a scene. And here I am, picturing it.
1. INT. MORNING. Swish London apartment. Double height windows. Lots of marble and wood and glass and that (think the apartments in that Billie Piper filth-fest).
CHARLES enters main living space (as Kevin McCloud would no doubt call it on Grand Designs). He’s exaggeratedly posh, rakish, and expensively dressed (Armani suit, etc) with stubble.
The curtains automatically open showing stunning vista of London.
2. INT. Bedroom. Beautifully and tastefully decorated, with massive king-size bed. There’s somebody in it, but we can’t see who.
CHARLES goes to bedside table and picks up Rolex. Slips it on.
(TO BED) Ah, you’re awake. Thank you for a wonderful evening.
PULL BACK to reveal TWO BEAUTIFUL WOMEN in the bed, obviously in the nip (although covered up with those special U-shaped sheets).
CHARLES picks up some car keys.
I’m sorry I can’t run you home. Duty calls, I’m afraid … (THROWS KEYS TO WOMEN) … but please take the Porsche …
BEAUTIFULLY DISHEVELLED THIRD WOMAN (also in nip) crawls out from under sheets at the other end of the bed.
… and the Lamborghini. (THROWS SECOND SET OF KEYS)
3. INT. Apartment block lobby. Lift doors open. CHARLES strides out through lobby, talking on mobile phone.
CHARLES… God’s sake, you’re my stockbroker, not my mother. It’s only £250k. I pissed half that away last night. Just put it on, it’s my risk, not yours …
4. EXT. Entrance to apartment block. CHARLES exits building past COMMISSIONAIRE.
… Anyway, see you on the court. I’m at work now. Ciao. (SWITCHES OFF PHONE).
I’ve brought it round, Sir.
COMMISSIONAIRE hands CHARLES copy of the Daily Star.
CHARLES walks over to dirty Shell petrol tanker with paper under arm. Climbs in to cab. Drives off, beeping horn.