The Car Boot Sale

One box. Thirteen tapes. One pound. No haggling.

Mo Tibbs has been working the Sunday car boots for twenty-two years, and she has a gift. She can spot a rare Denby jug across a muddy field in the dark. So when a polite grey man in an anorak sells her a box of old VHS tapes for a pound, and won't take a penny less, she knows she has found something special.

She's right. Each tape is a home movie of a stranger's last day, filmed from places no camera could fit: inside the coats in the hall, behind the fridge, at the top of the stairs. Every one ends in a perfectly lit, beautifully framed fatal accident.

The newest tape has her name on the label.

It is still recording. It films her from inside her airing cupboard. It films her while she watches it. And there are only three hours on an E-180.

Mo can't bin it, burn it, bury it or sell it on eBay. Royal Mail sends it back marked ADDRESSEE DECEASED. To stay alive she'll need her conspiracy-podcaster son, her nosy next-door rival, a retired video repairman who hasn't seen a sunset in thirty years, and everything the nation once knew about taping over Top of the Pops.

Somewhere out there is a dead wedding videographer who never got his final shot. He is very particular about lighting. And he is running out of tape.

A darkly funny, very British horror-comedy about bargain hunting, bad lighting and the one thing you should never do at a car boot sale: pay full price.