Updated: Jul 14
Once upon a time, Agnes Lockheart had been a star. A real, black and white, silver screen goddess tripping the light fantastic in Hollywood, gay as you like. Her name had been legendary and had been linked with some of the biggest heartthrobs of the day, every little girl had wanted to grow up to be Agnes Lockheart and snog the face off Rudolph Valentino.
Unfortunately, Agnes' world had come crashing down with the advent of the talkie when it transpired that she'd never been able to shake off her broad northern accent and had a singing voice eight octaves lower than Caruso. Shattered, she fled back to Blighty and hid herself away in the small flat above the cinema at the end of the High Street in Little Hope where she pottered about with her mop bucket and broom dreaming of the good old days...
(A standing ovation please for my friend Viv!)