There’s a very simple, apparently inconsequential scene in Jack Rosenthal’s “Ready When You Are, Mr McGill” that runs, in total, like this:

EXT. STREET: WALL OF A HOUSE. MORNING

A DECORATOR, carrying ladders, paint, brushes, snap-tin and morning paper wanders past the unit, watching their preparations with blank-faced fascination. He starts to organise himself, preparing for his own day’s work – painting the entire wall of the house.

The unit mentioned there is a film crew: this one-off TV play is about the making of a film — well, no, that’s so wrong as to be embarrassing. It’s about the people, but what they’re doing is making a film.

What they’re doing is excruciating and feels so real that you can believe Rosenthal’s claims that it got confusing when the director called cut but there’d be a beat while people worked out if it were the real director or the character, and whether they should cut or not.

To this day I have been known to quote lines from this play, I adore it.

But just about the one character who is not involved in the film is this decorator. It’s not a long play — there was a 2003 remake that made it feature-length and it wasn’t as good — so in about 52 minutes, the decorator appears at 9 minutes or so.

And then while we see him and his progress from time to time, it’s about 48 minutes in when we get this:

EXT. STREET: WALL. EARLY EVENING

The DECORATOR stands back to appreciate his day’s work. The entire wall is now painted. Satisfied, he collects his snap-tin, paint, brushes, ladder, etc., lights a cigarette stub and walks off.

While he’s been achieving that painted wall, the film crew cast have failed to do anything at all. So much effort, so much energy, so much time, and nothing achieved whatsoever.

Completely unrelated, I’ve been sitting and typing in this chair for the past few days while four men put up a shed in our garden.