Correction Protocol is a tale of misapplied machine learning and one intern’s unexpectedly thorough performance review. When Jenna Marks wanders into the prototype labs, she unwittingly triggers a correctional sequence involving automated discipline, escalating misunderstandings, and the uncomfortable realisation that — to get ahead — you sometimes have to start from behind.
Act 1 – Meet the Robots
The soft lighting of Clarion Dynamics' empty offices cast an eerie glow over the deserted desks and darkened conference rooms. The only sound was the whir of computers and the faint thump of music drifting from the distant launch party. When the party invites went out, Jenna Marks was notably absent from the guest list.
She sat alone, burning with resentment, staring at the to-do list in front of her. The tasks blurred together as a constant reminder of her disgrace. She was alone, stuck, and frustrated that one small mistake had been enough to land her in this administrative purgatory.
Confessions of a Vicar’s Daughter is a tale of toasted buns, exposed hypocrisies, and one young lady’s intimate education in accountability. When the vicar’s golden-haired darling engineers a scorched teatime scandal, she anticipates a delicious view through the keyhole. But, what follows is a brisk turn of events, an unflinching lesson in consequences, and the most unwelcome use of a hairbrush.
Act 1 — Through the Keyhole
At first glance, Tabitha Bloom seemed like the very embodiment of virtue, a beacon of sweetness and light. As the beautiful, twenty year-old daughter of the vicar, her smile could make the sternest of hearts melt like butter on a warm crumpet. She was always ready to lend a helping hand, whether it was arranging the flowers for Sunday service, handing out scones at vicarage garden parties, or assisting her father in his duties. Her halo shone so brightly, no one noticed the horns hidden beneath her golden blonde curls. In every way, she should have appeared to be the perfect daughter.
At second glance, those who looked beyond her angelic façade might discover a more complex and intriguing personality, one that belied her initial purity. Perhaps slipping an occasional stinging-nettle into one of the flower arrangements, or contributing a splash of hot chilli sauce when spreading jam on the scones, or even replacing her father's sermon notes with a recipe for currant buns. Tabitha's fertile mind was like an iceberg: smooth on the surface, treacherous beneath, and always drifting toward someone else’s misfortune.
At the quaint parish of St. Agatha’s (Nether Wippley), decorum reigns — until Lettice Fallowfield’s sultry soprano and scandalous disregard for choir robes strike a chord that’s anything but sacred. With a flustered organist, an incriminating photograph, and the unyielding eye of Miss Thistlecroft upon her, Lettice soon learns that some consequences are felt below the waistline.
Act 1 – Treble Trouble
In the hushed sanctuary of St Agatha’s, Nether Wippley, the organ loft was bathed by a kaleidoscope of colours pouring through the stained glass windows. Douglas Cresswell, a keen amateur photographer when not occupied with organ duties, was in a flurry of artistic fervour and nervous energy. His eyes darted towards the vision that was Lettice – the most recent, and most delectable addition to St Agatha's choir.
The striking twenty year-old soprano was a veritable siren, whose voice was as sweet as her smile, and whose reputation was daringly unconventional.
When society darling Clarissa Fairweather descends upon the ancestral halls of Wildmere for a weekend visit, she expects a life of pampered ease. But amid the scent of furniture polish and formidable standards, she soon discovers that polished households have unique methods for dealing with tarnished attitudes. In some corners of the country, the butler doesn't merely serve tea.
Act 1 – Arrival at Wildmere Hall
The gravel crunched under the tyres of the little red MG as it skidded to a halt before the ivy-clad facade of Wildmere Hall. A faint haze of late summer-dust floated in its wake, settling gently onto the stone lions flanking the steps.
Clarissa Fairweather emerged, her floral chiffon mini dress clinging to her hips while its playful skirts billowed like silken gossamer in the gentle breeze. She paused dramatically, one hand on her hip and the other playfully tossing her hair over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she surveyed the house.
When an ill-timed remark, and a cheeky glimpse of red silk delicates, cause a stir at the most respectable event of the parish calendar, Clara Pimm finds herself under the unyielding supervision of Miss Rosalind Fairleigh — a governess with a reputation as polished as her hairbrush. A tale of lace, lemonade, and lessons delivered with impeccable form.
Act 1 — Miss Pimm's Mischief
The vicarage garden party, highlight of the parish's social calendar, had reached its fragrant, bustling peak. Under a marquee adorned with bunting, the ladies of the district clustered like brooches on a pillow. Lace parasols bobbed gently as teacups clinked. The usual uninspiring raffle prizes, from toffees to a mechanical egg-whisk, were displayed on a linen-draped table.
At the centre of this meticulously arranged scene stood Miss Rosalind Fairleigh, a renowned governess known throughout the county for her stern demeanour and unyielding discipline. Tall and composed, her sharp blue eyes constantly assessed her surroundings, missing nothing and forgiving even less.
At the elegant Arabica Luxe, the lattes are legendary, the clientele discerning, and the staff impeccably trained, or so they thought, until Sophie’s playful streak lands her in hot water. In a café where reputation is everything, one cheeky mistake warms up more than just the milk, setting the stage for a frothy tale of daring pours, stern corrections, and the surprising art of knowing when to toe the line.
Act 1 — Grounds for Trouble
Nestled between a boutique selling overpriced scarves and a gallery showcasing abstract art that looked more like a toddler’s finger painting, stood Arabica Luxe. The air shimmered with the aroma of freshly ground coffee and warm, buttery croissants. The marble counters gleamed, the brass fixtures sparkled, and the pastries sat in their glass case with the delicacy of edible Fabergé eggs.
Behind the counter, twenty-two-year-old Sophie worked with the calm precision of someone who could pour a perfect rosette while still half asleep. Her latte art had fans, followers and occasional flirters. But today, under the mischievous influence of her best friend Tasha, she was venturing into more risqué territory.
When Susie Pembroke and her mischievous friend Linda sneak home from an unsanctioned pool party, they find themselves in rather hot water. With stern morals, a trusty hairbrush, and a zero-tolerance policy for scandalous swimwear, Mrs Pembroke is ready to deal with immodesty in her own unforgettable fashion — while Linda tries, desperately, to stay hidden... and to suppress her giggles.
Act I: A Suspiciously Sunny Afternoon
The Ford Escort that crunched up the gravel drive of 13 Garden Terrace, left a trail of golden dust and ABBA in its wake. Two girls tumbled out in a flurry of giggles and tangled beach towels. Susie Pembroke, dripping chlorinated water onto her mother’s prized rhododendrons, and Linda Marchant, who was balancing precariously on a pair of cork-soled platform sandals.
Both wore bikinis of a design that would have made any self-respecting WI committee clutch their pearls in horror. Daisy chains twined around their wrists and completed the look of reckless summer abandon. Home for the University summer break, they were determined to make the most of this lovely weather.
When a genteel tea party at Thistlewood Grange descends into mayhem, the blame can (as usual) be traced to Arabella and Georgina Worthington. A misjudged jug of lemonade, a toppled cake stand, and an ill-timed flirtation send the nieces headfirst into the ornamental fountain—and directly into a rather damp reckoning. With wet bloomers, rattled china, and one deeply conflicted vicar, Fountain of Misfortune is a spirited tale of toppled decorum, toasty buns, and traditional discipline, applied with rhythm, conviction, and more than a few droplets of moral clarity.
Act 1: Tea, Bickering, and the Baptism of Battenbergs
The garden terrace at Thistlewood Grange had long been a battleground and the scene of countless skirmishes. Most of these campaigns were launched by Lady Worthington's nieces, Arabella and Georgina, whose antics ranged from mere border raids on the biscuit tin, to full-scale sabotage of afternoon tea.
While these forays occasionally yielded temporary gains, Lady Worthington maintained the upper hand with her fearsome arsenal — of which the hairbrush was both first resort, and final recourse. It was said to have quelled more uprisings than the Home Guard, and even had its own campaign medal.
When a bottle of Ruby Rouge nail varnish collides with a priceless Persian rug, Daisy the housemaid finds herself on the sharp end of Lady Worthington’s unyielding standards. After a very instructive encounter with a wooden hairbrush, the redness might well extend beyond the rug. The Ruby Rouge Calamity is an exquisitely upholstered tale of red stains, raised eyebrows, and lessons thoroughly learned.
In the well-upholstered calm of post-war England, where domestic staff still curtsied while polishing the silver every Thursday, there resided in a grand Mayfair mansion one Lady Henrietta Worthington.
She was a buxom, formidable creature, discreetly entering her fifties, and possessed of the stature of an Edwardian sideboard—with a similar air of uncompromising permanence.
When Lady Octavia Berridge steps onto the stage at the annual Pageant of Virtue, she expects to deliver a rousing speech on modesty—not to find herself embroiled in a scandalous mishap orchestrated by her own niece. What follows is a tale of moral outrage, theatrical missteps, and one very public brush with discipline—literally. The Velvet Curtain Scandal is a cheeky lesson in artistic excess, familial correction, and why one should never mix Greco-Roman studies with a morality play.
Lady Octavia Berridge would sooner be caught reading a scandalous paperback novel—in public—than allow the annual Pageant of Virtue to descend into chaos.
For forty-three years, the event had proceeded without scandal, disruption, or so much as an improperly positioned petticoat. Which is why, on a bright Thursday in spring, as she mounted the village hall stage to deliver her customary speech on the perils of modern behaviour, she had every reason to expect yet another triumph.