On the man walking into the Rabbit Hole drinking warren, I speculated things might get messy for this hard drinking handyman, a spitting image or doppelganger for a famous writer called Shriver, who had disappeared from the literary stage in a blaze of infamy and ingloriousness twenty years ago.

Deep into ‘A Little White Lie’ which popped up on the streams, I was being sucked down the rabbit hole with the handyman. He had been seduced by a literary festival promoter into playing the role of his namesake, Shriver, a legendary author behind the ‘Goat Times’ masterpiece. The wrong person, in the wrong place, on the wrong timeline.

Before long the confused handyman was being pitched manuscripts by would-be writer strangers in the street, engaged in heated debate by the town’s feminist revisionist trapped in an elevator, and surreally pursued by a troop of local college cheerleaders round his tiny motel pool.

Be careful what you wish for was the moral to this cinematic tale for this depressed anti-hero, as his little white lie began to unravel before my eyes. Shriver the handyman looked every bit a four foot man trying to scale a six foot conversation.

And as the battery cut out, plunged dramatically into the silent pulse of the night, I was left in the darkness scripting my own ending to this tale of a handyman who would be a writer, who fell down a rabbit hole.