Screen mixes from white to slightly blurry 1970s film stock footage of British housing estate. A group of four chirpy young men are walking down the street, close together. Two are carrying buckets and sponges, the other two are handling a ladder between them. All are wearing white coats, perhaps overalls, and mottled jeans. Images are accompanied by a fast disco-funk piece of music.

Image zooms in, onto the face of the first man.

Caption: TERRY

Terry looks directly at the camera, and grins, running a hand through his longish hair.

Caption: JEZ

The camera pans across to the face of Jez; a thinner, short-haired man who wears a scarf, which he flicks over his shoulder.

Caption: DAVE

Again the camera pans across, revealing the face of Dave; a rather chubby character, with a somewhat spotty complexion. He walks with a slight limp, and visibly stumbles a little before the camera pans across to the final man of the group.

Caption: LORD ROTHERSYTH "WHISKERS" CHASE VII

The fourth man has a monocle. His hair is greased and neatly styled. He is smoking a cigar, and his expression reveals nothing of his emotions.

The camera pulls back, and we see all four men walking purposefully towards the camera; at this point, Dave stumbles, knocking into Jez, who spills the contents of his bucked onto the floor.

The camera zooms toward the mess on the pavement; it is not chamois leathers and cleaning agents, but prescription pads and stethoscopes.

Freezing on the image of medical paraphernalia, a new caption flies onto the screen in chunky white lettering, with a slight black shadow.

Title: THE RUNG DOCTORS

The music reaches a crescendo, with a synthesised drum ending, before the image fades away with the music.

Scene: Front room of a semi-detached house on a pleasant housing estate. There is a sofa, two chairs, a coffee table and a television set atop a handsome cabinet.

Terry and Dave are playing on a games console, sat on the sofa, while Dave watches with a plate of sausage and chips on his lap. Whiskers is sat in one of the chairs, smoking a cigar.

Whiskers: Come on, chaps; we cannot continue like this. Money is tight, yet we’re sat around vegetating.

Dave: Mm.

Whiskers: Verbose as ever, Dave. Terry? Jez? Any ideas?

Jez: Well, what do you expect us to do? We trained as doctors, we got told we’d passed, now we find out it was a clerical error?

Terry: And thirty seven people died.

Jez: Because Dave was eating chips again.

Dave: Chips and gravy, lads. Chips and gravy.

Whiskers: Yes, yes; but we need money now – we’re not doctors anymore!

Terry: We could set up an internet business? Sell our stuff on eBay.

Whiskers: Too short term, Terry. This is the long game.

Jez: Well, my dad left his ladder here when he fixed the gutters last week; we could see if the neighbours need their windows cleaning or something?

Whiskers: Hmm. Doctors cleaning windows?

And so on in the same style for about 27 minutes.

Anyway, this is all a long-winded way of saying that I really will get around to doing something with this site, and hopefully rather soon. In the meantime, carry on reading my Twitter feed; there are at least two good posts for every seventeen hundred.