The first casualty

'They're running out of ideas for new TV soaps. And they rang me because they thought I might be able to help. They must be desperate'

The other day I was telling you about a television production company called Inktank. Inktank make the kind of soaps you see in the afternoon when you are looking for something quite different. Cookery programmes. Court-case programmes. Constabulary programmes. Clinical programmes. Programmes in which people look seriously at each other and say, often in Australian accents: "If I'd known you felt that way about Laura, Steve, I'd never have told you what I've just told you," and you don't know what they're talking about, and you never find out, because you switch off instantly.

That's the kind of soap that Inktank makes.

And they're running out of ideas for new programmes.

And they rang me a week or two ago because they thought I might be able to help them.

They must have been desperate.

But this week I've been ringing them, because I think I've got an idea for them, and I wanted them to have it from me before they thought of it themselves.

"The meeting is all yours," said Ken, when I went round to Inktank's premises in Soho. They are plush without being ostentatious. They are also four months behind with the rent. I rose and addressed the eager faces.

"This is my local paper," I said, waving The Bath Chronicle at them. "Last week they reported that our big local hospital, the Royal United, was having trouble with violent patients. Mainly people suffering from drink or drug problems who are brought to the Accident & Emergency unit, and who attack staff."

"Nothing new about this," said a young man called Kevin. "You see it in places like Casualty all the time."

Young men like Kevin clearly think that Casualty is a real place. He has probably never been to a proper hospital in his life.

"Ah," I said, "but this is different. The local police are taking action. They are actually going to set up a permanent police station inside the hospital. They are going to provide on-the-spot police back-up for the beleaguered doctors and nurses."

"You mean...?" started another young man, called Ben.

"I mean," I said, going very serious and significant,"that using that setting, you will be able to combine a police and a hospital soap at the same time! Police drama combined with hospital intrigue!"

"My God," said Ben.

"I see it now," said Kevin. "The terrified junior doctor cowers away as the crazed drug addict lurches towards him."

"He's got a syringe in his hand," said someone else.

"The doctor knows it contains HIV infection."

"Suddenly a voice rings out, loud and clear: 'Don't move another step!' It's lovely Police Constable Dawn Vereker, who has arrived in the nick of time. She attracts the attention of the crazed drug fiend, nimbly disarms him and slips the handcuffs on him."

"The junior doctor cannot contain his relief. 'You saved my life,' he says. Then he faints."

"No, no," said Kevin. "He doesn't faint. He impulsively goes over to the lovely policewoman Dawn Vereker and is about to shyly embrace her..."

"But he doesn't, because she raises a hand before he can get any funny ideas and says, 'Oh, doctor, I was wondering if you could just take a look at a pulled muscle that has been troubling me'..."

"Later, they are found in his office. He is examining the pulled muscle, which involves the removal of several items of clothing. As he is conscientiously going about his medical business, the door opens and Dawn's senior officer comes in."

"He is called Inspector French. Harry French."

"He rather fancies Dawn Vereker himself."

"So he is horrified to come across what looks like a piece of hanky-panky, and mistakenly accuses her of misconduct while on professional duty. He suspends her from duty."

"However, later on as she is bitterly leaving the hospital to go home, she sees two drunken patients in the A&E unit attacking Harry French, and she has this ethical problem – should she forget her burning sense of injustice and go to his aid, even though suspended?"

"Or should she just leave him to stew in his own juice?"

I left them to it. It wasn't a programme I particularly wanted to watch, myself. Just send me the money.