A desolate hillside on Saddleworth Moor, the border between Yorkshire and Lancashire (that's in the UK, boys and girls, and just up the hill from my house). A long straight road stretches into the distance. The ground is heather and peat. The only life here: the occasional sheep. At the side of the road, a broken bicycle stands upside down, waiting for someone to mend its punctured tyre.
In the foreground, away from the road, a mound of recently disturbed earth is visible. Is this a grave? Has someone been buried here?
Close on the grave. A hand tears up from the earth, grasping for life.
David Kohl claws his way out of the grave, peaty soil tumbling from his hair. He’s wearing a dark jacket and a “Relaxed Muscle” T-shirt. He looks really pissed off.
KOHL: Not again.
Kohl steps out into the road, shaking the soil from his clothes. He’s wearing dark jeans too. He’s really, really pissed off now. The overturned bicycle taunts him.
KOHL: What is it this time? Suffer Little Children? I Know It’s Over?
KOHL: Oh, great – the punctured bicycle. Always the bastard bicycle…
As Kohl kicks the bicycle out into the road, a huge red double-decker bus can be seen hurtling towards him along the moorland road. The destination on the front of the bus is Strangeways. The bus is being driven by an evil cartoon headmaster with a mortar board hat and cane, like a character from The Beano.
KOHL: I fucking hate fighting Smiths fans…