Therapy

I’ve got, I’ll have to owe you the ten pee, alright? Cheers. Yes, well, he made an appointment to see me this morning. I thought perhaps he’d had a brilliant new idea about how to get rid of Debbie’s part, but no such luck. Instead it turns out that he wants to try his hand at straight drama. Yeah. You won’t believe this, George. He wants to do a series about a geezer called Kikkiguard. Oh, is that how you pronounce it? You’ve heard of him, then? Yeah, that’s right, a Danish philosopher. What else do you know about him? Well, I didn’t even know that much, till Tubby told me. I was gobsmacked, (a), that he was interested in the subject, and (b ), that he thought we would be. I said to him, very slowly, “You want to write a drama series for Heartland Television about a Danish philosopher?” I mean, if he’d said it was about a Danish pastry it wouldn’t have sounded any dafter. He just nodded his head. I managed not to laugh in his face. I’ve been through this before with comedy writers. They all get ideas above their station eventually. They want to do without a studio audience, or write about social problems. The other week Tubby had a reference to abortion in his script. I ask you — abortion in a sitcom! You have to either humour them or tell ’em to get stuffed. I still have hopes Tubby may see sense about The People Next Door, so I humoured him. I said, “OK, Tubby, pitch it to me. What’s the story?”
    Well, there was no story, to speak of. This, whatsisname, Kierkegaard bloke, was the son of a wealthy merchant in Copenhagen, we’re in what, the Victorian period, early Victorian. The old man was a gloomy, guilt-ridden old bugger, who brought his children up accordingly. They were very strict Protestants. When he was a young man Kierkegaard kicked against the traces a bit. “They think he may have gone to a brothel once,” Tubby said. “Just once?” I said. “He felt very guilty about it,” Tubby said. “It was probably his only sexual experience. He got engaged to a girl called Regine later, but he broke it off.” “Why?” I said. “He didn’t think they’d be happy,” he said. “He suffered a lot from depression, like his father.” “I can see this isn’t going to be a comedy series, Tubby,” I said. “No,” he said, without cracking a smile. “It’s a very sad story. After he broke off the engagement, nobody could understand why, he went off to Berlin for a while and wrote a book called Either/Or. He came back to Copenhagen, secretly hoping for a reconciliation with Regine, but found she’d got engaged to another man.” He stopped and looked at me soulfully, as if this was the biggest tragedy in the history of the world. “I see,” I said, after a while. “And what did he do then?” “He wrote a lot of books,” Tubby said. “He was qualified to be a minister, but he didn’t agree with making religion a kind of career. Luckily he’d inherited a substantial fortune from his father.” “It sounds like the only bit of luck he did have,” I said. Oh, did she say nineteen, George? Over here, my love, we’re nineteen. One steak and kidney and one chicken and mushroom, that’s it. Lovely. Thanks. That was quick. Microwaved of course. You want to be careful with your first bite, they can burn your bloody tongue these pies. They’re hotter inside than they look. Mm, not bad. What’s yours like? Good. So. Tubby Passmore, yes. I asked him if Kierkegaard was famous in his lifetime. “No,” said Tubby. “His books were considered peculiar and obscure. He was ahead of his time. He was the founder of existentialism. He reacted against the all-encompassing idealism of Hegel.” “This doesn’t sound like the stuff of prime-time commercial television, Tubby,” I said. “I would only glance at the books,” he said. “The main emphasis would be on Kierkegaard’s love for Regine. He was never able to forget her, even after she got married.” “What happened?” I said. “Did they have an affair?” He looked quite shocked at the suggestion. “No, no,” he said. “He saw her around Copenhagen — it was a small place in those days — but they never spoke. Once they came face to face in church and he thought she was going to say something, but she didn’t, and neither did he. It would make a great scene,” he said. “Tremendous emotion, without a word spoken. Just close-ups. And music, of course.” Apparently that was the nearest they ever