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1 EXT. THE BEACH. DAY<br />
1<br />
July 1962. <strong>Chesil</strong> <strong>Beach</strong> in summer calm and late afternoon glory.<br />
We are looking along a seventeen-mile-long, narrow finger of<br />
shingle, running between the English Channel and a salt lagoon<br />
know as the Fleet.<br />
Shimmering in the far distance, at the limits of optical<br />
resolution, two figures, EDWARD MAYHEW and FLORENCE PONTING,<br />
approach us.<br />
CREDITS<br />
Now we see that they are holding hands.... that they are man and<br />
woman. Their voices and laughter are close, as is the tramping<br />
of their feet on the shingle.<br />
EDWARD (V.O.)<br />
So, we’re in E<br />
FLORENCE (V.O.)<br />
The tonic.<br />
No, E.<br />
EDWARD (V.O.)<br />
FLORENCE (V.O.)<br />
All right.<br />
EDWARD (V.O.)<br />
So, er, four bars of that, you know<br />
the sort of thing, Woke up this<br />
morning, head felt so bad, then, um, a<br />
nice seventh, then into A...<br />
FLORENCE (V.O.)<br />
The sub-dominant...<br />
EDWARD (V.O.)<br />
Never mind that.<br />
FLORENCE (V.O.)<br />
And what does he say now?<br />
EDWAR D (V.O.)<br />
He says, Woke up this morning, head<br />
felt so bad. Same thing, different<br />
chord, see.
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