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Mrs. Monk's Would-be Diary, should have been written by Mrs. Monk, since she is the "Writer" in the family.
However, since she is a writer only in the conceptual sense, I have undertaken to fill these pages on her behalf.
If not by her, these pages will certainly be about her, and other important matters of the day

Leslie Monk



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Unmade Films .........

Clip Clop, This Sea Is Dead

Spetses Island on location,

The sound man waits and

His audacious audio ignores

The clip, clipperty, clop

Of  passing ponies.


Beckenbauers and  Löwenbräus,

All with Sunmed and all well fed.

With no bras and no cars,

And no care for what Cousteau said.


And Cousteau said, “This sea is dead”


But the “18-30s” are looking like Frankie,

Back from Hollywood,

Misplaced and unremitting,

The flip flipperty flip flops of the sun seeker.


As the frail get weaker,

And the hot get sicker

And the cool get cooler


And the click clickerty clock,...


As Gatwick beckons,


Just a slow Crawley away,

From this Dapia Dock,

The clay bird song,

And the buzz of an outboard motor.


Thinking out loud, the sound man cries,

“My car is sick, back home in Surburbiton”


For the Löwenbräus and the Beckenbauers,

And the no bras, and the no cars,

For the well fed of Sunmed,

Sound man cares for what Cousteau said,


And Cousteau said, “This sea is dead”



The Greek Island of Spetses is a holiday Island for French, German, and British Tourists.

No Cars are allowed on the Island, and the tourists get about by horse and buggy.

My visit coincided with “Frankie Goes to Hollywood” who could be heard in every bar.

“Dapia”, I assume, is Greek for “dock”, since that is what they call the tiny harbour, which is at the centre of it all.  I was waiting for the ferry, to leave the beautiful island for the last time, and there I wrote this offering.

Later I speculated that a short film might exploit the mini-dramas of such a situation.  Each small event described what might somehow relate to where I was imminently bound, in this case, Gatwick Airport, Crawley.

An outboard motor reminded me of my broken car.  The Greeks arguing, might have reminded me of Heseltine and Scargill.  The clay bird song, was more annoying than the electronic tin hiss of a Walkman.  And so on.

A film without dialogue, I wondered.  Like “Tati”, a silent film with sound.  But darker:  “Delicatessen in the Sun?”    

The Sound Man

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