THE PASSION OF SINCLAIR (Patreon)

Hola, all. I'm still completely knackered, so no Digi post again today. I'm just glad I've got a bunch of Digi Mini videos banked so you all have some stuff. What little creative energy I've got left I'm trying to funnel into the last couple of bits of day job I need to get done before I can have some sort of break over August to recover from the past 12 months.

Hopefully those of you who were at Digi Live on Saturday enjoyed yourselves. The reports since seem pretty much unanimously positive - I don't think I've ever done anything which has been so well received. I'm still reeling from that a bit; I'm used to being a bit more divisive! 

Anyhow, thought you might want to see what could sort of be described as a deleted scene. One of the plans for the finale of the show was to do a play about the life of Sir Clive Sinclair. I was going to narrate, none of the cast would have seen the script beforehand, and would have to sort of just go along with it. Again: chaos built into the format. I couldn't really get it to a place where I could envisage it working, though.

But I thought you might like to read an extract from the script (which was never finished):

THE PASSION OF SINCLAIR

NARRATOR: Once upon a time, young Clive Sinclair was sitting in his bedroom dreaming about becoming a famous inventor. 

SIR CLIVE: Get a load of me - I’m gonna be a famous inventor!

NARRATOR: Clive closed his eyes, lolling his head from side to side, as he clicked his fingers in time to an imaginary beat. 

(CLIVE CLOSES HIS EYES, LOLLS HIS HEAD FROM SIDE TO SIDE, AND CLICKS HIS FINGERS IN TIME TO AN IMAGINARY BEAT)

SIR CLIVE: Yeah, yeah – wooh! One day I’m gonna be the greatest inventor who ever lived! Wooh, yeah. Sweet. Nice one. Love it. Let’s have some more of that, yeah?

NARRATOR:  While all the other boys and girls were out having fun, Clive Sinclair preferred to stay indoors eating chalk, because he firmly believed it made him more intelligent.

(SIR CLIVE STARTS EATING CHALK)

SIR CLIVE: This chalk is delicious. It’s so starchy.

(TWO HIPPIES ENTER)

HIPPY 1: Hey, Clivey-baby – are you coming out to take drugs and get naked in a field with us at Woodstock?

SIR CLIVE SINCLAIR: Sorry, Aquarius. I wish I could enjoy the summer of love, but I’ve got all these inventions to finish.

HIPPY 1: Pah! Clive Sinclair – more like Clive The Square!

SIR CLIVE SINCLAIR: Please. It’s very cruel to laugh at a person’s name. That’s a known thing.

HIPPY 2: Let’s leave the boring boffin baby to his inventions, and go do some cool LSD and listen to Jimi Hendrix in Carnaby Street! Come along, Pongo.

NARRATOR: Clive didn’t listen to the hippies’ mockery. He was too busy thinking of ideas.

To help him concentrate he began doing an interesting dance, scuttling back and forth across his workshop, snapping his hands like claws, while tucking his chin repeatedly into his chest, and huffing and puffing like a bellows. 

SIR CLIVE: Eat your heart out, Pan!

(CLIVE DOES AN INTERESTING DANCE)

SIR CLIVE: I’m a whimsical mollusc!

NARRATOR: Fortunately, Clive wasn’t entirely alone in his obsession. There was somebody he could always rely upon…

(ENTER SYSSIS THE ROBOT, WITH A CUP OF COFFEE)

SIR CLIVE SINCLAIR: A g-g-g-g-ghost!!!

SYSSIS: I’m not a ghost, Mr Clive, sir. I am Syssis, your robot manservant of the past four years. You built me, remember? I have an iron thorax, a tin head, and a galvanised coccyx.

SIR CLIVE SINCLAIR: I’d like to galvanise your coccyx. 

SYSSIS: What’s that, sorry?

SIR CLIVE SINCLAIR: I didn’t say anything.

SYSSIS: I’ve brought you your morning coffee, sir. It’s just how you like it: brown.

SIR CLIVE SINCLAIR (big sigh): Thank you, Syssis. You’re a real good robot.

SYSSIS: Is something wrong, sir? You just did a mighty sigh.

SIR CLIVE SINCLAIR: It’s my watch, Syssis. I’ve been staring at it for hours, and I can’t make head nor tail of it. There are numbers, and pointers, but none of them seem to make a jot of sense. I wish there were some way to improve it.

SYSSIS: May I take your mind off things by licking your hands?

SIR CLIVE SINCLAIR: If you would…

NARRATOR: Syssis got down on his knees, and began licking Clive’s hands furiously. 

(SYSSSIS GETS ON HIS KNEES AND BEGINS LICKING CLIVE’S HANDS FURIOUSLY)

SIR CLIVE SINCLAIR: I’m really enjoying that. It’s making me feel very loved. 

SYSSIS: Has it helped with the ideas, Mr Clive, sir?

SIR CLIVE SINCLAIR: Do you know what, Syssis? I think it has! I’ve had a real cool idea about watches. 

NARRATOR: And with that Syssis emitted a powerful, and unnecessary hiss – 

(SYSSIS HISSES LOUDLY)

NARRATOR: - as Clive began working long into the night, banging and sawing, until he had perfected his new invention.

(CLIVE BANGS AND SAWS)

SIR CLIVE: It’s finally finished – the world’s first digital watch. 

SYSSIS: Well done, Clive, sir. I have just one question: what are you going to invent next? 

SIR CLIVE SINCLAIR: It’s funny you should ask me that. 

SYSSIS: In what way is it funny?

(CLIVE PRODUCES AN ABACUS)

SIR CLIVE SINCLAIR: I’ve been trying to do some really complex sums on this abacus, like 12 divided by 9 and that, but I keep getting my fingers trapped beneath the ruddy beads. If only there were some way to do adding up that wasn’t so dangerous all the time.

SYSSIS: Woah there, Mr Clive, sir. No need to swear. If anybody can create a solution, it’s you.

NARRATOR: Sir Clive huffed and puffed, and strained his brain – 

(CLIVE HUFFS AND PUFFS AND STRAINS)

SYSSIS: What’s going on, Sir Clive? Are you doing a sweet poo?

NARRATOR: Yes I am Syssis – if by poo you mean inventing the pocket calculator!

(CLIVE PRODUCES A CALCULATOR)

SYSSIS: Holy smokes – that’s hella sick, Clive. This is gonna make you a fucking fortune.