Tassel Filled Follies
The old stone building stood on the crest of a shallow hill, far from the house. It was domed and it was useless. Up there, it was a presence you wanted to forget but could not, like a leaky tap in a back room.
For the first time since it was foolishly built by the third earl a century and a half ago, however, it had a purpose. A shoestring company of dubious and shadowy origins had used the house for filming the last hurrah in its rickety lifetime. It was an all or nothing final fling, make or break. Needless to say, it broke.
The vision was an epic. Big, over the top, colourful, loud and with a cast of thousands. Taking Samuel Goldstein’s absurd quote literally it had hundreds and hundreds of scantily-clad showgirls for the mammoth opening and closing numbers.
Needless to say the production hit problems and the money ran out. Before clearing out hurriedly they stashed all the costumes and props in that old folly, on the crest of a shallow hill, far from the house.