It was in this period that I first saw The Good Life by John Esmonde and Bob Larby, a show which established Margot Leadbetter as a television institution, and suddenly the light entertainment trade was in search of "vehicles" for Penelope Keith. It was the radio hierarchy who asked me to come up with something for her.  It was in response to this suggestion that I connected up a earlier thought with a later experience.  Margot was the putative Lady Muck I had heard about in her Thames valley exile, and also one of those green wellied-dreadnoughts I had seen in such numbers in my creative doldrums in the sticks.  My thought was, what would Margot be like if she actually was all she pretended to be?  The answer was, of course, Audrey fforbes-Hamilton.  I had my situation and lead character.I then started building the situation round her.  Having her usurped by a cockney comedian, while humiliating to her sense of superiority, I knew was wrong.  Then I wondered what would happen if the manor was bought by a wealthy American, who had seen it while he was in this country looking for his roots, and then discovered he was in fact descended from the fforbes-Hamiltons. This was the version that Penelope Keith starred in for a radio pilot in about 1976. That show was never broadcast because television got interested in the idea on the strength of the star's enthusiasm for it, and commissioned the seriesI knew that the American angle had not really worked because it was too hackneyed and obvious.  I contemplated having her displaced by pop stars, Arabs, French, Dutch, leisure park operators - almost anybody who seemed to be buying up old England at the time, and anything which would offend Audrey's upper-class possessive territorial instincts. Of course all these were in danger of becoming stereotypes but that wasn't the real problem.   Up against a character as forceful as Audrey they would present no contest, and if she was to have no difficulty lording it over them, it would have been a war of uneven sides. The kind of war I needed for the comedy could not be a walkover, so I had to plant somebody as her antagonist who was a s strong as she was. We also needed somebody who was on the face of it perfectly in order as the custodian of her beloved manor, and even credible as a potential prospect fo a dynastic remarriage.  So what about somebody who appeared to be the perfect English gentleman, only who wasn't?  The idea of Richard DeVere-the urbane, wealthy, and tough millionaire, born Bedrich Polouvicki in Bratislava, Czechoslavakia - was probably another year in coming. 
 
   Writing the first series I came upon a problem which must have bothered dramatists since dot.  It put me in mind of the lines of the lyricist, Harry Ruby: 
 
 "I run my fingers through my hair 
 And pace about and curse my luck 
 As I imagine what Baudelaire 
 And Shelley did when they were stuck." 
 
  Here was the problem.  If a principal character is successful pretending to be something he is not, how do we know what he actually is? In other words, if Richard DeVere is successfully passing himself off as an Englishman, how could Audrey find him objectionable? If, on the other hand he is constantly giving himself away, then he is not successful.  In that case we lose the comedy of her trying to knock him into shape, who to us (the audience) DeVere is already patently in shape.  She was also a spectator to another spectator to another quandry.  The story was about two main characters who lived alone, having a real potential of nil.  So I came up with the idea of having a mother-in-residence: DeVere now had a person to talk to and confide in.  For the same reason, I came up with the idea of Marjory and Brabinger.  After that, everything fell into place. 
From the beginning to the end of the series, Richard DeVere never betrayed the trace of an accent, a mannerism, a lapse of taste, or committed a breach of English etiquette.  Yet we never lost sight of this background.  How?  The trick was the mother.  I had almost finished the series before I realised that we had needed DeVere's mother from the beginning and had to back up through the entire series.  Mrs Poulouvicka was always flitting in and out of the action with her appalling English and old Czechoslovakian sayings, to remind the audience why Audrey was putting up such a fight against such a civilised and considerate man, who in all that time did not put a foot wrong. Once DeVere's mother was fully enshrined in the series, (wonderfully played by Daphne Heard), I knew we had a situation we could get a lot of comedy out of which hadn't been possible before.  She was the key to why the situation worked, and she only appeared in the series a matter of weeks before the first recording. 
  
  This is the story of the show from the writer's point of view; it was lucky because it had a lot of other things going for it as well, not just in the acting and production departments, but also with its timeliness in respect of the political climate of the country and the ascendancy of women.In piecing together a show for the light entertainment market, a personal social and political statement on the part of the writer has to be on the bottom of the list of ingredients. If there had been one in this case, it would have been that the economic and social structure of England was in the process of being turned on its head.  "He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek."  In both Audrey and Richard DeVere, we had protagonists of two almost indefensible positions, yet the viler I tried to make them in pursuit of their naked ambitions, the more the great British public liked them.  They took them, and their underlying romance, to their hearts, and interpreted the show as an indication that old feudal England was standing firm, and that everything in the garden was lovely.  Ironically, the actual facts presented in the show were saying precisely the opposite. 
  
  Another question the writer of material which purports to represent real life is often asked at parties is: "Where do you get your ideas from?"  What they want is the source of inspiration to be identified.  If accused of taking an episode, story, incident, speech pattern, line, or even manner of dress, from the person I am talking to, I would deny it vigorously.  Then I realised that this was totally wrong, and that people are indeed flattered to find their characteristics paraded on t he television.  Now I have no compunction in saying that they themselves were, are, and will always continue to be my inspiration.  Odd that, but they seem to go away much happier. 
But I digress.  Sorry, what was the question again? 
"Oh yes.  How long does it take to write a comedy series?".  Well, not that I was working on it exclusively all the time, but about ten years.