AT THIS ELEVENTH HOUR

A man of a certain age wakes up one morning and he knows he's had a traumatic dream concerning a clock but the trouble is he can't remember one thing about it except for a fading memory of a battered clock cabinet and one missing hand. So he rubs his head for a moment and then decides to write the back-story of that clock. He plucks two innocents from the fifties – not real people at all – and gives them lives. And the story grows until it's the document you see before you. A love story maybe a gritty love story (minus the sex there's no call for that in this kind of saga) emerges at the end of the process. And of course this is it.