Tuesday 28 April 2009

BUCKLES ACT 2

ACT TWO

SCENE ONE

Dennis and Dusty are in almost identical positions, but are now held in a prison cell. Dennis still sits with his swollen leg, but he is now in a wheelchair. He is wearing all denim overalls similar to Dusty’s usual outfit. Dusty is staring vaguely upward as usual. There are the usual prison accruements around them, bunk bed, metal table etc. Dennis looks thoroughly depressed. Dusty suddenly snaps into life and continues a conversation seemingly started previously.

DUSTY: …so I said, you don’t get many of them to the pound.

DENNIS: [Surprised] What?

DUSTY: I said to man in the station, you don’t get many of them to the pound.

DENNIS: What are you talking about?

DUSTY: [Thinking] Oh? It was the… Oh. I think I’ve lost my thread.

DENNIS: You’re going to have to go into the corner Dusty.

DUSTY: Am I?

DENNIS: I’m afraid so. Please, go into the corner.

DUSTY: And be silent?

DENNIS: Correct. You are learning.

Dusty rises and sits in the corner facing the wall.

DUSTY: [Happily] Is this to your satisfaction?

DENNIS: Yes indeed it is. Silence now.

The two men sit in silence for a period.

DENNIS: Dusty?

DUSTY: Yes?

DENNIS: Could you do something about your breathing?

DUSTY: Breathing?

DENNIS: Yes, your breathing is quite irregular. And has a rasped quality. Could it be avoided?

DUSTY: I’m not certain.

DENNIS: Perhaps try another route. Do you favour your mouth? Or your nose?

DUSTY: I’ve never given it much thought.

DENNIS: Well, how can you possibly be expected to answer this line of enquiry if you’ve never had it under consideration? You must be prepared for any eventuality.

DUSTY: Are you sir?

DENNIS: Not half. Ask me anything.

Dusty quickly returns to the table then sits silently thinking for a long time. An announcement over an unknown loud speaker suddenly erupts. The ANNOUNCER has a man’s voice, similar to the one often used on the London Underground.

ANNOUNCER: Ladies and gentlemen. Your attention please. There is a window cleaner currently scaling B Block. Repeat. This is a window cleaner. Not an escapee. Do not encourage him or erroneously egg him on. He is merely cleaning windows.

DUSTY: Have you ever killed yourself?

DENNIS: No, but I was once accused of considering suicide. I was waiting for an Underground train. This was before the leg. The thing of it was, I was carrying a pasty, which I’d recently purchased. On street level of course, not underground. Sadly the tube system is not that advanced. And I was standing near to the edge of the platform when a woman accused me of contemplating suicide. I mean, why would a man bearing a pasty suddenly decide to end his life? Surely he would eat it first? Or forego the purchase altogether. It would be uneconomic and slightly mercenary.

DUSTY: Very good.

DENNIS: You see how I was prepared for that? Didn’t take the obvious route you notice. A slightly different slant was engineered. Preparation. It’s the watchword of the beneficial man.

DUSTY: [Looking around] Did you redecorate?

DENNIS: What? No. We’re in prison.

DUSTY: Really?

DENNIS: We’ve been here three months.

DUSTY: Are you sure?

DENNIS: Yes, of course. Don’t you remember the trial?

DUSTY: No, no, no. Could you recount it for me?

DENNIS: Recount the trial? Here in the cell? I don’t think so.

DUSTY: No?

DENNIS: No. I mean, it’s such a cliché isn’t it? The two of us, tried and convicted and then discussing the judicial proceedings here in our cell. All a bit obvious isn’t it?

DUSTY: So I was guilty then?

DENNIS: Yes, though led astray apparently. By me, as if that were possible. I tried to explain, I was just a bystander in all of this. There’s that word again. Bystander. I tell you being a bystander, nothing good ever comes of it.

DUSTY: No?

DENNIS: No, its to be strictly avoided if possible. Though I think there’s a certain amount of eventuality about it. I tell you something else you don’t want to be.

DUSTY: What?

DENNIS: A gentle giant. Always getting into terrible trouble gentle giants. Bound by tragedy and misadventure. If there’s been a positive story revolving around a gentle giant then I’ve yet to hear it.

DUSTY: You know, I knew a gentle giant once.

DENNIS: You do surprise me. Let me guess, it was your bald wife in Guernsey. She was both bald and enormous?

DUSTY: No.

DENNIS: Then the fellow with the salvaging device similar, but not exactly the same, as a midget submarine?

DUSTY: No.

DENNIS: Oh good, that means it was your pal Chatty.

DUSTY: Yes, that’s right. He was a gentle giant. A great hulk of a man. People always willing to fight him, due to his tremendous size. He ended up in prison once. Due to the fighting.

DENNIS: [Depressed] I know.

DUSTY: Fought himself right into a cell.

DENNIS: You tell me every day.

DUSTY: Quite popular in jail though. Due to his chatting capabilities.

DENNIS: Sometimes several times a day.

DUSTY: They eventually released him. Again it was down to his chatting.

DENNIS: I wish he was in here. Instead of you.

DUSTY: I didn’t know I was here.

DENNIS: [Exasperated] God, look, fate has thrown us together for whatever reasons of cruelty and, while the situation persists, I demand you at least attempt to be a better cellmate.

DUSTY: What do you mean? How can I improve?

DENNIS: You could pick up a bit more of the slack.

DUSTY: Eh?

DENNIS: Your topics. They are very distinct.

DUSTY: I don’t know what you mean.

DENNIS: You have five streams of conversation that appears to be provoked by any utterance.

DUSTY: I think I might dispute that.

DENNIS: You bald wife…

DUSTY: I had a bald wife once…

DENNIS: [Interrupting] You pal chatty…

DUSTY: I had this chatty friend…

DENNIS: [Interrupting] Shouting…

DUSTY: Used to do a bit of shouting myself. Uniformed types mostly….

DENNIS: [Interrupting] And, for some bizarre reason, an alternative word for coving…

DUSTY: Funny you should say that, I’ve been wondering that myself. I’m sure there is another word. But it just evades me…

DENNIS: I could supply any random series of syllables and it would provoke one of your prescribes tales.

DUSTY: I just can’t see it.

DENNIS: [Disbelieving] Can’t see it? Fine, pass me that newspaper.

Dusty tosses a newspaper to him. Dennis opens it, closes his eye, and sticks his finger onto a word at random.

DENNIS: Chestnuts.

DUSTY: I had this wife once, she was moored somewhere on the Channel Islands. She had this beautiful chestnut hair, came down to the small of her back. But one day she chopped it all off on a whim. Never the same after that.

Dennis picks another word from the newspaper.

DENNIS: [Reading] Pedigree.

DUSTY: Oh I had a pal, old Chatty, lived up Bury way. He had this lovely dog, a Spaniel, pure bred, took it everywhere with him. Good conversation starter.

DENNIS: [Annoyed, shouting] Tractor.

DUSTY: Having a shout are you? I used to like a bit of a shout myself. Tended to be anyone uniformed…

DENNIS: Oh God…

DUSTY: Firemen, security guards, parkies…

DENNIS: [Reading, defeated] Hollyhocks…

DUSTY: That was the name of my friend’s submarine, it was a midget one, used it for salvage…

DENNIS: Oh yeah, I forgot about that one….

DUSTY: He had a taste for Hollyhocks, all flora really, which he missed while at sea.

DENNIS: Right, one more. [Reads] Oh [Surprised] …coving…

DUSTY: Now there’s an interesting thing. I must say I miss that being in this room. No ceiling decoration at all. The wall just rises and then meets those tiles up there. No interest in that at all. There are some interesting stains though. If a stain could be thought of as interesting which I certainly believe it can be. That one there looks like a bishop. Not a tall bishop. But a definite bishop. With the hat and everything.

DENNIS: Could we not start the afternoon off by being irreligious.

There is a sudden booming ANNOUNCEMENT from an unseen speaker.

ANNOUNCEMENT: Ladies and gentlemen. Residents in C Wing are advised that the burning of the following items is forbidden. Mattresses, pillowcases, window-boxes, shoes, socks, sheetings, wallpaper, toiletries, bread. Residents are asked only to burn the items set aside for burning.

DENNIS: Why does he say ‘ladies’? There’s no ladies here. Nor are there likely to be any.

An unseen GUARD, begins to shout into the cell.

GUARD: You all right in there?

DENNIS: Not particularly.

GUARD: Is it the ventilation? We often get complaints about the ventilation.

DENNIS: Why does he say ladies? In his announcements? There’s no ladies here.

GUARD: Yes. There’s one. In the physiotherapy pool.

DENNIS: Physiotherapy pool? I’ve never heard of such a thing. Surely if anyone needs physiotherapy it’s me. Look at this leg.

GUARD: No you can’t. It’s out of bounds.

DENNIS: Then what is it’s purpose?

GUARD: Physiotherapy.

DENNIS: For who?

GUARD: Those who earn the privilege. Who, to date, has been no one.

DENNIS: Well, either way, it should be ‘lady and gentlemen’ in any future announcements.

GUARD: That’s not common parlance.

DENNIS: It’s accurate.

GUARD: Accuracy is another privilege. You are here to be punished.

DENNIS: I’m certainly being punished.

GUARD: Good. In what regard particularly. I should report it.

DENNIS: The company.

GUARD: Company?

DENNIS: Why did you place us in a cell together? That seems odd.

GUARD: Well, we knew you’d committed the crime together, so we thought we’d incarcerate you together. Give you something to talk about. Keep you company.

DENNIS: I believe in the court case I was referred to as the mastermind of the whole scheme, whereas Dusty here was portrayed by his particularly corrupt representative as some kind of naïve simpleton.

GUARD: I didn’t attend.

DENNIS: Well he did, indicating that I was in some way superior to my companion here and possibly responsible for his downfall, so surely it is the height of the irregularity to encase us together.

GUARD: Out of my jurisdiction I’m afraid. I’m just here to stop you killing yourself and damaging the furniture.

DENNIS: In America this would be described as cruel and unusual punishment.

DUSTY: I had a wife once. She tended to be quite cruel and her appearance was quite unusual.

DENNIS: [Groans] Oh God.

GUARD: See, I’ve leave you know to happily chat together.

He leaves.

DENNIS: I don’t understand why I’m being punished. Prison time is surely women’s work. Certainly I committed the crime, that was established during the trial. But a quick examination would tell you that I’m hardly a danger to others. Sitting here idle, I’m offering no constructive assistance to anyone. At least have me outside, being useful. I should be allowed to nominate an alternate to be punished in my stead. Midge would happily oblige. She’ll just be out there. Fornicating.

DUSTY: Midge, now who would that be?

DENNIS: I’m not telling you.

DUSTY: Why not?

DENNIS: I’m not telling you that either. I’m onto you Dusty. I was onto you when you were gallivanting with my wife…[Realising] Oh damn it…

DUSTY: Wife you say. I was once in possession of a wife…

DENNIS: I must have died. I must be in hell. It’s the only logical explanation. God has forsaken me.

DUSTY: …she had this thing about crickets.

DENNIS: Really? You haven’t mentioned that before.

DUSTY: Have I not?

DENNIS: No. Did you say crickets or cricket?

DUSTY: I’d rather not say. Come to think of it forget it was ever mentioned.

DENNIS: No really, is it cricket or crickets? The sport or the insect?

DUSTY: I Mustn’t say.

DENNIS: What, I’ve demanded some attempts at conversation from you. You include the first piece of even vaguely interesting information in one of your ghastly tales for the first time in an age and then you take the decision to clam up.

DUSTY: Ah, shouting is it. I was once a shouter…

DENNIS: No, no, no. You won’t pass the sticky baton like that. I want to know about these crickets or this cricket. Was it the size of the thing or the speed of the ball or the sound they make or the bales? What elements of these two disparate things were so unsettling to your wife?

DUSTY: Wife?

DENNIS: The wife with no hair in Guernsey. What was it with cricket singular or crickets plural or both which troubled her?

DUSTY: Would you have a run round with me?

DENNIS: [After a stunned pause] What?

DUSTY: A run round. A lovely run round. Round the room.

DENNIS: You’re trying to derail me again Dusty.

DUSTY: No, no. I just be wanting a run round. A real hankering for a lovely run round.

DENNIS: This is ridiculous.

Dusty begins to move the beds with enthusiasm.

DENNIS: Are you mad? What are you doing?

DUSTY: Preparing the track. We’ll put all the furniture at the centre of the room and then have a lovely run round the outside. Some laps. Help me with the bed.

DENNIS: No I can’t. Look at me. Look at my leg. I’m housed in a wheelchair. I am in no position to move furniture or begin laps.

DUSTY: Have a heart to an old soldier. A quick run round would set me up lovely. Oblige me please.

DENNIS: Stop it at once, you’ll implicate us.

Dusty shifts a unit which houses the sink and reveals a large hole in the floor, large enough for a man to get into. It seems to lead to a tunnel.

DENNIS: What is that?

DUSTY: A hole.

DENNIS: Quick, put the back. It will cause all sorts of trouble.

DUSTY: There seems to be a tunnel leading from it. [Dusty leans in] Hello?

DENNIS: Stop it at once? You’ll attract attention. Who do you expect to be down there?

DUSTY: But I can’t leave it uncovered. Once I start my run round I’m liable to fall into it.

DENNIS: Then cover it. Put that sink back.

DUSTY: But the sink will encumber me during my run round.

DENNIS: As I’ve told you many times Dusty, prioritisation is a sign of a fruitful mind. What is more important? Not having a run round and leaving the sink there nor not falling into a large hole and potentially injuring myself?

DUSTY: Are they my only options?

DENNIS: I’m afraid so.

DUSTY: I could skip over the hole.

DENNIS: I’m tempted to say that you couldn’t.

DUSTY: But surely if I leave the hole uncovered and then don’t run round then that will be the ideal situation that will encourage all parties to be satisfied.

DENNIS: Don’t seduce me with your crypto-logic. [Getting aggressive] Just return that sink at once.

DUSTY: Shouting are they? That takes me back…

DENNIS: Stop that at once and move that item.

Dusty reluctantly begins to move the sink back. He takes a crafty peek down the hole.

DENNIS: Don’t look down that hole. Forget about the hole. That’s it. [Dusty slowly complies] There you go. Very good.

DUSTY: But the hole…

Dusty begins to stare longingly toward the hole.

DENNIS: Forget all about that hole. [To himself] How can I distract him? I must distract him? How can this be achieved? Oh yes, by mentioning anything at all.

DUSTY: You see that hole there…

DENNIS: Dusty. Tent pegs.

DUSTY: Oh tent pegs is it? My pal was involved with the salvage industry. He had a device much like a midget submarine but fitted with a mobile arm or crane to assist with the salvaging. He once told me he’d discovered a tent peg eleven miles out and two miles down, deep on the ocean bed. I mean, how could that have possibly got there?

DENNIS: Fell off a ferry?

DUSTY: My first suggestion, but there wasn’t a particular route. In fact shipping steered clear of the area as it was claimed a mythical beast, similar to a Kraken but with the head of a maggot, patrolled those waters.

DENNIS: Your friend wasn’t troubled by this?

DUSTY: Oh no, he held no sway with things spiritual. He once published a pamphlet called ‘Jesus – Was It Suicide?’ He was never again allowed onto sanctified ground in the Banbury area.

DENNIS: Mythical sea beasts are hardly spiritual.

DUSTY: I take the point but what I’m trying to get across is the vision of him as an arch-realist. Not interested in the frippery of life. Just the here and now. That’s why we had no funeral for him.

DENNIS: He was killed?

DUSTY: Oh yes, in that very region I was mentioning. His submarine device was torn apart like a paper bag. His body was never discovered, just some torn flesh, though to be from the thigh region, with teeth marks in it. The coroner ruled it misadventure.

DENNIS: But the tent pegs?

DUSTY: What?

DENNIS: How could he tell you of the existence of tent pegs in these waters if he was killed?

DUSTY: He transferred the message by morse code only moments before his suspected demise.

DENNIS: Suspected?

DUSTY: His body was never discovered.

DENNIS: Oh yes.

DUSTY: Now what about this hole?

DENNIS: Damn.

The Guard returns. He is still unseen.

GUARD: Who is moving things in there?

DUSTY: I am sir. I was readying for a run round.

GUARD: You should have thought of that before committing your heinous acts.

DENNIS: Sir, may I please request a transfer?

GUARD: These are antics. I don’t like antics. I need you both to sit still and consider the meaning of your punishments. Not gad about.

DENNIS: I’m not gadding sir. I’m an invalid.

DUSTY: I was just needing a run round.

GUARD: You can run round when your sentence is complete. In the meantime sit perfectly still.

DUSTY: Well could you advise on this other matter, you see we’ve just come across…

DENNIS: [Interrupting, shouting] Dusty…

Dennis begins to distract Dusty by grabbing his newspaper and wafting it in the air. Dusty’s eyes follow the newspaper, transfixed. He continues to wave it though the following exchange.

DENNIS: [To Guard] We’ve…erm… just come across this Bible passage that’s been troubling us.

GUARD: Oh, I’m quite a whiz with things Biblical, let me hear it I’m sure I can put your minds at rest.

DENNIS: [Struggling] Oh right…yes…its that part about…erm…the bread…

GUARD: And fishes?

DENNIS: Yes that’s the one. What’s that all about?

GUARD: Well, that’s quite self-explanatory. He needed to feed a lot of people so he divided but the bread and fishes in a miraculous way and every one had a bit.

DENNIS: But bread and fish. Seems a strange combo?

GUARD: I suppose its what was around at the time.

DENNIS: So you’re saying this miracle could have been achieved no matter what the foodstuff?

GUARD: Indeed. In fact I believe that if our Lord had no food at all he could have miracled something up from somewhere.

DENNIS: Really? Even meat?

GUARD: I’m quite sure of it.

DENNIS: But would he have cooked the meat first then divided it? Or divided it raw? Or cooked it while conducting the miracle, by the power of His holy actions?

GUARD: Hmmm, yes I see. Well, I suppose he would have crossed that bridge when he came to it. He was quite handy in that respect. Always a very practical person. That’s one of the main traits I admire in him. That and the Godhead.

DENNIS: Well, that’s given us plenty to consider, many thanks.

GUARD: No problem. Like I say, it’s quite my forte.

Dennis stops waving thinking the Guard has left.

DENNIS: [Rubbing his arm] Christ my arm.

GUARD: What’s that about Christ’s arms?

DENNIS: [Waving the paper suddenly again] They were great weren’t they?

GUARD: They did the job.

DENNIS: In those paintings, they always look quite…muscular.

GUARD: I hadn’t considered it, but I suppose He did perform a certain amount of manual labour in his early days.

DENNIS: That’ll be it then.

GUARD: You have a visitor.

DENNIS: [Taken aback, he stops waving] What? Me?

GUARD: Yes. That’s why I popped over. You have a visitor.

DUSTY: Visitor is it? My pal…

DENNIS: [Interrupting] Shut up Dusty. A visitor? Today?

GUARD: Why not today?

DENNIS: Aren’t they usually sanctioned on specific days? Of which this is not one?

GUARD: Well, you know Thursday?

DENNIS: Yes.

GUARD: Well, three days after Thursday it’s the Bank Holiday isn’t it? Bank Holiday Monday.

DENNIS: OK.

GUARD: And today’s Tuesday, which is practically Thursday in my book, so we thought we’d make an exception, considering it’s more or less the Bank Holiday.

DENNIS: Right. Do I have to do anything?

GUARD: I’ll get some assistance. So you can be wheeled to the necessary wing.

DENNIS: Can’t you do it?

GUARD: I don’t like to enter the cells. I’ve had all sorts on things hurled at me. I seem prone to it. They’ve got my picture on the wall down at that dry cleaners.

SCENE TWO

Dennis painfully wheels himself across the stage towards Midge who is sitting behind a glass partition popular in prison visiting rooms. Dennis is struggling valiantly, while Midge looks on, slightly bored and unconcerned.

DENNIS: [Angry] You could help.

MIDGE: How can I help?

DENNIS: That’s always your stance. Push me.

MIDGE: I can’t. I’m contained behind glass. I can’t get anywhere near you.

DENNIS: You could ask for dispensation. On compassionate grounds. We are husband and wife.

MIDGE: I don’t think that sort of thing goes on.

Dennis is about eight feet away from the partition.

DENNIS: Well this will have to do. We’ll have to converse from here and if the conversation is particularly illuminating I’ll attempt to get closer.

MIDGE: Can’t you ask one of your jailers for assistance?

DENNIS: It doesn’t work like that. They’re not here to help. Only to puncture our hope.

MIDGE: Puncture your loaf?

DENNIS: [Shouting] Hope. Hope.

MIDGE: Sorry, you’re quite far away and I’m behind glass.

DENNIS: I suppose I’m at fault for that?

MIDGE: The far away part certainly.

DENNIS: Don’t get bolshy Midge, just because you’re behind glass. You’ve got previous with this before.

MIDGE: Previous?

DENNIS: It’s a lags word Midge, I’ve been corrupted, It was unavoidable. I’m housed in a penitentiary with cutthroats and vagabonds of the highest order. But we’ll come to that. I’m now concerned with your behaviour behind glass. I’ll refer to your time as an usherette.

MIDGE: I wasn’t an usherette, I was a box office operative.

DENNIS: Just verbal bunting Midge. Don’t try to sweep the jousting under the carpet. I’m not concerned about your title but rather your activities, because I recall vividly that when you were housed behind the glass of the box office of which you were an operative you took on airs.

MIDGE: I refute that.

DENNIS: Only because you were clouded behind a veil of power fuelled insanity, precipitated by your relative encasement behind glass. Behind that meagre panel of cracked Perspex, you acted like the leader of any reputable junta.

MIDGE: I told you at the time Dennis, I couldn’t just give you free sweets. Mr Mancini counted them up at the end of the night. He would have noticed any shortcomings.

DENNIS: Poppycock.

MIDGE: [Appalled] Dennis!

DENNIS: Well, as I told you, I’m caged next to the rougher type of society and their vernacular is bound to rub off. I’m being polluted at every turn.

MIDGE: Oh dear.

DENNIS: Oh dear? Is that the best you can come up with?

MIDGE: I’m not attuned to this situation Dennis. It’s hard to know how to react.

DENNIS: Sobbing and renting would be apt.

MIDGE: Renting? Should I take a lodger?

DENNIS: The renting of clothes. Renting them asunder, tearing at them in a hysterical manner.

MIDGE: [Unenthusiastically] Should I? Aren’t there people watching?

DENNIS: Oh don’t mind it Midge. And I forbid you to take a lodger.

MIDGE: Yes, funny you should mention it, as I’ve been considering taking a lodger.

DENNIS: I forbid you from taking a lodger.

MIDGE: But he could take the damp room. It’s not used.

DENNIS: I have plans for that damp room. And why is he a he?

MIDGE: He? Who?

DENNIS: This lodger I’m forbidding. He has to be a male lodger does he?

MIDGE: Aren’t they always male? By design?

DENNIS: By your designs perhaps. Your demented designs.

MIDGE: I thought lodger was a male term. Like dentist.

DENNIS: Dentist isn’t gender specific.

MIDGE: It isn’t? I’ve only ever had a male one.

DENNIS: So have I, but I’m sure female ones exist and if they did they would also be dentists. Not dentistettes or dentesses.

MIDGE: It doesn’t have to be a man lodger. I’d be happy with a lady lodger. Anything to get the rent paid.

DENNIS: I find the thought of a female lodger slightly more grubby than the male one proposed.

MIDGE: Then I’ll switch back to man lodger.

DENNIS: All are forbidden.

MIDGE: How about animals? Could I take in animals?

DENNIS: What variety of animals?

MIDGE: Sick ones I suppose.

DENNIS: What would you do with a sick animal?

MIDGE: I could offer them succour.

DENNIS: I beg your pardon?

MIDGE: Or sympathy. A shoulder to cry on.

DENNIS: If I were to be in possession of a wounded animal, say a hare. I hardly think I’d pop round to the close and hand it over for you for a bit of sympathy. I’d take it someone registered. With medical training.

MIDGE: I wouldn’t have thought you’d be allowed animals in here.

DENNIS: We are not. These animals are hypothetical.

MIDGE: Perhaps I could get some animal training.

DENNIS: This is what I feared.

MIDGE: What?

DENNIS: Without my pervasive influence, you would become rudderless. Now there’s no masculine line to tow, you would succumb to any number of vague platitudes.

MIDGE: What do you want me to do?

DENNIS: Sit at home, perfectly motionless, until I return and direct you.

MIDGE: For seventy-seven years?

DENNIS: If necessary. But I won’t be in here seventy-seven years will I? Those sentences are completely arbitrary. Any newspaper reader knows that. Besides I can appeal.

MIDGE: Can you?

DENNIS: Yes and I shall.

MIDGE: The Judge seemed quite certain.

DENNIS: He had a grudge against me. I can’t believe he allowed he’s personal feelings to influence his judicial duty. It was disgraceful.

MIDGE: He called you Hitler 2.

DENNIS: I’m aware of that Midge. It was a sound bite to ensure he got his name in the papers. Just inflammation, nothing more.

MIDGE: He seemed regularly inflamed.

DENNIS: No thanks to you. Why weren’t you leaping to my defence?

MIDGE: My lawyer claimed it wouldn’t help my cause.

DENNIS: I bet he didn’t. After all this is the man who had you pleading the menopause as your defence. I mean Midge, the menopause? I didn’t know where to look.

MIDGE: It wasn’t my idea.

DENINIS: I’m sure many a Borgia claimed the same thing. But here we are. You hot on the lodger trail and me getting seventy-seven years.

MIDGE: I suppose.

DENNIS: And that’s another thing. How on earth did that Judge learn of my distaste for that particular number? Was that you?

MIDGE: Of course not, I had no contact with him.

DENNIS: Could have given me eighty years, or seventy-five even. That would have been preferable. But seventy-seven. Of any double-digit number, that is my least favourite. He knew he couldn’t get away with seven hundred and seventy-seven so he zoned in on that one. He should be struck off.

Another Announcement suddenly bellows out.

ANNOUNCEMENT: Ladies and gentlemen. The library buggy is making its way along the fourth floor gantry. If you have a fine to pay, cheques are no longer acceptable. Please ensure all items of your body are kept away from the moving parts, as the librarian on duty has no medical training whatsoever.

MIDGE: What was that?

DENNIS: Another torture. This place is full of them. Why are you here anyway?

MIDGE: Do you remember that fungal thing your cousin had?

DENNIS: What?

MIDGE: Your cousin Ray, remember he had that fungal thing on his feet?

DENNIS: On his feet?

MIDGE: Yes, he was showing us at the wedding.

DENNIS: Which wedding?

MDIGE: Our wedding.

DENNIS: He was showing us his fungal feet at the wedding?

MIDGE: At the reception. He had them out on the table. Right before the speeches,

DENNIS: Ray the policeman?

MIDGE: No, Ray the attendant.

DENNIS: Oh him. I’ve never seen that block and tackle again. Feet or no feet.

MIDGE: Well, do you remember his fungal thing?

DENNIS: It’s hazy, but I suppose. Why?

MIDGE: The lady at the bank has something similar. I was trying to remember if he was on some kind of cure. She was interested.

DENNIS: No, he said he was letting nature take its course. Why were you in the bank?

MIDGE: I had some pennies to exchange for larger currency.

DENNIS: And that provoked some conversation about Ray’s feet?

MIDGE: In a roundabout way.

DENNIS: And that’s why you came all the way down here?

MIDGE: Well…yes.
DENNIS: Three months I’ve been in here. No letters, no visits. And the you suddenly arrive under the auspices of chiropoditary information for some anonymous bank teller.

MIDGE: She’s not anonymous. She’s called Mrs Chang.

DENNIS: Hardly elevates my spirits Midge.

MIDGE: I was letting you settle. The last exchange we had involved you hurling a loafer at me. In the court.

DENNIS: If that’s how you want to remember it.

MIDGE: I’ve still got the scar where the eyelet scratched me.

DENNIS: How could a loafer have an eyelet?

MIDGE: Well something scratched me. That was attached to the shoe you hurled.

DENNIS: Hurled? Hurling? Very violent imagery portrayed Midge.

MIDGE: It was a violent incident.

DENNIS: That’s a matter of opinion.

MIDGE: The Judge thought so – he gave you an extra four years.

DENNIS: We’ve surmised that the Judge had a personal vendetta against me so his attitude can be ignored for a start.

MIDGE: Well how can throwing a shoe at my head from across a crowded courtroom be considered non-violent?

DENNIS: If it was brought about by some involuntary spasm or twitch.

MIDGE: It would be a hell of a twitch it if got your shoe off.

DENNIS: I was under a lot of stress.

MIDGE: So you’re saying that it was caused by a bodily tremor?

DENNIS: I refuse to be drawn on it. Last time it was brought out in public it lengthened my sentence considerably, so I think I’ll avoid the subject altogether.

MIDGE: If you wish.

DENNIS: I’ve never worn a loafer in my life. They’re the footwear of the spiv.

MIDGE: I bought you those!

DENNIS: I think they pass off a bad impression.

MIDGE: I thought it might help with your leg. Add a bit of comfort.

DENNIS: But at what expense?

MIDGE: And I was sick of seeing those slippers. No wonder the Judge threw the book at you.

DENNIS: If he basis his judgements on the accused footwear then he has no right to be wearing the wig at all.

MIDGE: You seem happy to.

DENNIS: What?

MIDGE: Base your judgements on footwear. You said spivs wear loafers.

DENNIS: But I’m not in a position of authority. Lives don’t hang in the balance based on my decisions. Any reputable Judge should look upon me as a blank canvas. He shouldn’t form opinions on dress. I could be standing in the dick wearing a Gestapo officer’s uniform and he should still eye me with a calm reticence.

MIDGE: What footwear do they give you in here?

DENNIS: The tortuous, institutional kind. To sap our hopes further.

MIDGE: Does it help your leg?

DENNIS: Oh now my leg comes about. We’ve dealt with the affairs of Arthur and Martha so finally we’ve sunk so low as to mention my leg. I’m in this wheeled contraption as you can see.

MIDGE: Does it help?

DENNIS: In my humiliation certainly.

MIDGE: Have you had it seen to?

DENNIS: Oh they love looking at it. It’s practically a prison past-time, fiddling with my leg. They spend most afternoons poking at it with their pipes.

MIDGE: Pipes?

DENNIS: The doctor has a pipe. A smoking pipe. He stands over it in a superior way and then gives it a few light prods with the stem of his pipe and I’m returned to my cell. It’s almost biblical in its cruelty.

MIDGE: Maybe that’s what I can smell.

DENNIS: I’m sorry?

MIDGE: [Sniffing] I can smell something. Can’t you smell it?

DENNIS: I don’t want you sniffing at things in here. Its an all-male environment, you don’t know what you’re smelling.

MIDGE: [Sniffing] It could be pipe tobacco. No, it’s a sweet smell.

DENNIS: It’s not the place for sweet smells my dear.

MIDGE: [Sniffing] It’s very familiar.

DENNIS: it could be all manner of things in here. Anything goes.

MIDGE: It smells like…Turkish Delight.

DENNIS: That would be unlikely.

MIDGE: No, I’m sure it’s that.

DENNIS: Perhaps they waft it in here to agonise us. To remind us of all that we’ve lost.

MIDGE: [Sniffing] Or it could be petrol.

DENNIS: Smell was never your fiercest sense Midge. I remember that aftershave you bought for me during the Falklands conflict.

MIDGE: What was wrong with that?

DENNIS: It had an eggy odour.

MIDGE: It was supposed to. That was the base component.

DENNIS: Egg aftershave? That chemist preys on you Midge. He sees you coming from a mile off.

MIDGE: It was a move in a new direction for male grooming. Experimental.

DENNIS: So why was I the guinea pig?

MIDGE: You don’t normally go for fine smelling things so I thought I’d try something a bit different and see if it suited.

DENNIS: It provoked hunger in those passing me in the street. People suddenly had the urge for an omelette.

MIDGE: First my shoes, then the aftershave. I shall stop buying you anything in future Dennis, if that’s your attitude.

DENNIS: Have you bought me anything today?

MIDGE: No, not really.

DENNIS: Why not?

MIDGE: I didn’t know what would be appropriate.

DENNIS: Appropriate? Any thing would be appropriate. I’ve been shorn of any creature comforts or home luxuries. We have nothing here.

MIDGE: Somebody’s got some Turkish Delight from the smell of it.

DENNIS: That’s in your mind.

MIDGE: I don’t have the relevant realms of understanding.

DENNIS: What do you mean?

MIDGE: I know what to take when you visit someone in hospital. That’s not a problem. And I’ve made regular house visits before, to relatives or what have you. But this is my first time entering this kind of establishment and I was unaware how to be equipped.

DENNIS: It’s common knowledge.

MIDGE: Not to me. If I pitched up here with a pound of grapes or magazines or an Easter egg or a puzzle or a ham radio and then they told me such things were contraband and I had the choice of returning all the way home with them or disposing of them there at the facility, you wouldn’t be too happy would you?

DENNIS: I certainly shouldn’t.

MIDGE: Well them This was a dry run.

DENNIS: Dry run?

MIDGE: Is that the term? I thought it was and then it didn’t sound right coming out.

DENNIS: It’s a term. I grasped your meaning.

MIDGE: You’re always stretching practicality Dennis. You’ve pounded it into me often over the years. I was merely acting upon it.

DENNIS: I’ve also stressed the importance of initiative. Both go hand in hand like… [Thinking] …cheese and biscuits.

Midge pulls a face.

DENNIS: I know I know, my powers of description have been sapped by my time in here. It’s one of the many detriments.

MIDGE: What would you like me to bring?

DENNIS: Oh, are you coming again then?

MIDGE: I have to don’t I? It’s my wifely duty.

DENNIS: I would have hoped we’ve alleviated some of that convention during our marriage Midge.

MIDGE: I wasn’t aware of it.

DENNIS: I always pictured us s quite a dynamic, trend-bucking young couple. The envy of the Close.

MIDGE: Really?

DENNIS: Or rather whatever it is now it’s not a Close anymore. Or just a close in name only.

MIDGE: No, it’s a Close again. They changed it back.

DENNIS: They did? Why?

MIDGE: All the foot traffic. Crime tourists.

DENNIS: Crime tourists?

MIDGE: They visit the residences of the notorious. You’re a new addition.

DENNIS: Oh.

MIDGE: The area couldn’t cope with the increased numbers. The residents association asked the council to close it up again to stem the tide.

DENNIS: And did it?

MIDGE: Yes, but we’d been taken off the tour anyway.

DENNIS: How dare they. Why would they do such a thing?

MIDGE: We were too far away from any other notorious abodes. They couldn’t stretch that far. There was a strangler in Babsford Avenue, but his crimes weren’t considered sufficient enough to include. So they’ve re-routed and missed us out.

DENNIS: I am solidly persecuted at every turn.

MIDGE: I don’t know why you’re complaining, I was the one having to make tea and sandwiches.

DENNIS: You were providing refreshments for them?

MIDGE: I had to. Court order. Part of our recompense to society.

DENNIS: I’ve had you sandwiches they’ll recompense no one.

MIDGE: And I had to make conversation.

DENNIS: I hope you weren’t revealing intimate details of our lives.

MIDGE: Nothing salty. But I was polite.

DENNIS: What sort of things did they ask?

MIDGE: Mainly how tall you were. They were quite obsessive about statistics.

DENNIS: Really? Nothing about my motivations?

MIDGE: Oh no. It was all, ‘how tall was he’ ‘what was his shoe size’ ‘how many teeth did he have’. That sort of thing.

DENNIS: How repellent.

MIDGE: They were quite sweet. Many of them were Scandinavians.

The two of them fall silent. There is a long pause.

DENNIS: How’s my mother?

MIDGE: Killed herself.

There is a very long fade to black.



END OF ACT TWO

Wednesday 22 April 2009

BUCKLES ACT ONE

ACT ONE

In an ordinary looking suburban living room, perhaps with a slight 50s/60s look and feel, we see DENNIS, a man in his early forties sitting in a comfortable chair. His left leg is grotesquely and ludicrously swollen and looks quite painful. He is looking at a nearby clock and growing increasingly agitated. He mutters to himself with growing aggression.

DENNIS: It’ll be seven past, you see. Every time. How does she manage it? Here we go. It’s six past now. Six past and counting. She’ll be gearing up, ready to burst in at the stroke of seven. She knows how I feel about that particular number. It has to be deliberate. Right, here we go. Final stages now. [Getting very agitated] On the launch pad. Getting closer. [Almost screaming] Up the garden path. Up the garden path. Approaching the door, here it comes. Here it comes…

There’s a pause then MIDGE enters in a particularly unspectacular way, given the build-up. She’s a woman of a similar age to Dennis. She carries some bags of shopping and seems a bit sweaty and flustered. On her entrance Dennis erupts into frustrated fury.

DENNIS: [Shouting] A ha! I knew it. Seven past. Every time. You always do it. How do you manage it Midge? How can you enter this house at seven past the hour, or derivative of seven past such as 17 and 27 past the hour on every single occasion.

MIDGE: [Calmly] I’m not aware of it Dennis.

She drops the shopping on the table and begins to wearily unload items as they speak.

DENNIS: You must be. It happens every time. I even change the clocks. I fiddle with the hands at random so they make no sense and you still manage it.

MIDGE: I don’t. I don’t pay attention to it.

DENNIS: You must. You knew perfectly well my aversion to that particular number. Yet you’re in here at seven past like clockwork. [Amused] Like clockwork! You see Midge, humour in the face of adversity. You couldn’t manage a thing like that. Despite your persistent torture.

MIDGE: Please Dennis.

DENNIS: You do it deliberately to derail me. It’s like an addiction.

MIDGE: Don’t start. You can see I’m carrying things.

DENNIS: I have an utter disdain for the number seven that has plagued me since adolescence. My daily commute was hindered by my refusal to board a bus bearing that number. Added several hours to my journey. And I spend most Julys in bed.

MIDGE: I am aware of that Dennis.

DENNIS: I expected you hours ago. What could you have possibly been doing to bring about this delay?

MIDGE: You know very well what I’ve been doing. You set me to it. Look at the state of me. [She indicates her sweaty state] A woman of my age - toiling.

DENNIS: [Shocked] Toiling? I hardly think what you do could be considered toiling.

MIDGE: What would you know about it?

DENNIS: Toiling. The act of toil. It brings miners to mind. Or those who construct our railways. That’s toiling. That’s the essence of toil. Sweat, dirt and the like. You’re as clean as a flu. There’s barely a streak on you. And what’s age got to do with it?

MIDGE: I’m tired Dennis.

DENNIS: All mental. If you believe you’ve been toiling then your body is bound to react to it. But toiling is nowhere near what you’ve been up to.

MIDGE: Fine. How would you describe my recent activities?

DENNIS: [Thinks] Pandering.

MIDGE: What?

DENNIS: No…not pandering. What’s the word I’m after?

MIDGE: I’m sure I don’t know.

DENNIS: [Thinking] Pandering? It’s got a ring like that. Well, pandering will have to do. I don’t have the time to get hung up on this.

MIDGE: Thank Christ for that.

DENNIS: Don’t vain the Lord’s name Midge. Now I believe I was asking you where you had been.

MIDGE: No, you asked me what I had been doing. Can I put this cod away? [Indicates shopping] It’s beginning to spoil.

DENNIS: Not cod again Midge. What’s this fascination with cod? I’ll begin to resemble a cod at this rate.

MIDGE: There are those who would say that transformation has already begun.

DENNIS: Don’t attempt humour Midge. It doesn’t sit well with you.

MIDGE: Then let me get on.

DENNIS: Fine, then jam the kitchen door ajar so the flow of conversation can be kept constant.

She exits.

DENNIS: [Shouting through door] Well, what or where are irrelevant. They are both contributing to my demise.

MIDGE: [Off stage] I thought they were irrelevant.

DENNIS: Don’t dangle the logic Midge.

MIDGE: [Off stage] Demise is a bit dramatic isn’t it Denis?

DENNIS: I’m wild with hunger. Can you deny me a bit of drama?

MIDGE: [Off stage] If you insist

DENNIS: Either way I have been sitting here alone. Starving. Waiting.

MIDGE: [Off stage] Why didn’t you get up?

DENNIS: With my leg? You know that can’t be achieved. It hurts just to look at it.

MIDGE: [Off stage] I’m not asking you to look at it.

DENNIS: Well someone needs to look at it. [Looks at leg, pulls at trousers] It’s blown up considerably. The pressure on these seams is unbelievable.

MIDGE: [Off screen] Why didn’t you put the television on?

DENNIS: How will that help my leg?

MIDGE: [Off stage] It would have been a bit of company for you.

DENNIS: I tried. Nothing on. Just extreme close-ups of penetrative sex set to a soft-rock soundtrack with the occasional saxophone solo.

MIDGE: [Off stage] Not one of your videos. Watch something else.

DENNIS: What do you expect me to watch? Television? A channel? Like the common herd? You know me better than that Midge.

MIDGE: [Off stage] There’s the news, you might have seen me on the news.

DENNIS: Don’t tell me your developing a notoriety for yourself Midge. That would be very dangerous, I don’t want you getting ahead of yourself.

MIDGE: [Off stage] I didn’t say I’d enjoy it or even consider it particularly. I’m merely suggesting it could act as a distraction for you.

DENNIS: Oh I’ve had plenty of distraction thank you very much. Sizing up what you’ve been up to while out on the streets.

MIDGE: [Offstage] What do you mean?

DENNIS: You’re head.

MIDGE: [Offstage] How about my head?

DENNIS: So easily turned.

Midge returns.

MIDGE: Do you want me to try rubbing it again?

DENNIS: Rubbing what?

MIDGE: The leg.

DENNIS: No chance. You nearly dislocated it last time. Dug your claws right in.

MIDGE: It’s you. You keep twitching.

DENNIS: That would elicit sympathy in most wives. Not induce the urge to cripple your partner.

MIDGE: I don’t know my own strength. Here, I bought something for it.

She walks over to the table and rustles around in a bag.

DENNIS: What? What is it? Where did it come from? Is it from a reputable source?

MIDGE: I asked the lady in the chemist.

DENINS: Which lady? The short one or the one with the extra finger?

MIDGE: Extra finger.

DENNIS: And you’re asking her for advice? The woman has an extra finger. If she can’t deal with a blindingly obvious situation like that, how is she supposed to deal with a complicated case like mine?

MIDGE: Her extra finger isn’t medical. She was born with it.

DENNIS: Born or not you’d think she’d tackle it. Especially working with the needy as she does.

MIDGE: She said give this a go.

Midge hands Dennis a bottle.

DENNIS: [Reading] Polge-Tex? What’s this when it’s at home?

MIDGE: She said it would help with the swelling.

DENNIS: How will it help?

MIDGE: She wasn’t clear.

DENNIS: Side effects?

MIDGE: She didn’t mention any.

DENNIS: But you asked of course?

MIDGE: I thought if it was important she would have pointed it out.

DENNIS: No Midge, you have to ask. They can’t tell you things, otherwise they’re liable. You have to winkle out any salient information. Who knows what havoc this concoction could wreak on my leg. It might muddy the waters considerably.

MIDGE: Well it’s up to you. I thought it might help. You can sample it if you wish to.

DENNIS: If you pain becomes so severe that my treatment enters an experimental stage I might consider it.

Midge takes a seat at the table. There is a long pause.

DENNIS: How was the bombing?

MIDGE: Fair to middling.

DENNIS: Victims?

MIDGE: Only bystanders.

DENNIS: Bystanders. Funny word that. Bystanders. I mean they’re just people who are standing by when something happens. Right? But I mean no one else gets that kind of attention. People standing far away aren’t called farstanders are they? Somebody staring from a passing bus aren’t bus-starers. If a soul is not involved in any way they are not dubbed involve-nons. Why do bystanders get the privilege?

MIDGE: I can’t tell you.

DENNIS: Don’t use contractions Midge. They’re vulgar and they can’t compete with the real thing.

MIDGE: You just used three in that sentence.

DENNIS: [A bit caught out] Erm…I’m a professional around language. I’m fully trained.

MIDGE: What danger can come of it? I’m just trying to save a little time.

DENNIS: If you’re unconcerned about your standing and how you’re considered by the wider world then please, contract away.

MIDGE: I’ve used them enough in the past amongst all sorts of people and it’s never been to my detriment.

DENNIS: What sorts of people?

MIDGE: Doctors, accountants. People who might pull me up on that sort of thing.

DENNIS: They’re not going to say it to your face woman. They’ve got their finances to think about. They can’t alienate every passing vessel that uses contractions. Wait a minute, what did you say?

MIDGE: I didn’t say anything.

DENNIS: A minute ago.

MIDGE: What?

DENNIS: Detriment. You said the word detriment.

MIDGE: And what of it?

DENNIS: It’s not a word commonly in your cadence. And that blazer? Where did that blazer come from?

MIDGE: Where or why?

DENNIS: I’m not likely to say why did that blazer come from are I?

MIDGE: You’re liable to say anything when you’re in one of these moods.

DENNIS: You’re skirting Midge. There’s a story behind that blazer.

MIDGE: Don’t be silly.

DENNIS: I’m far from silly Midge, I’m considering that blazer.

MIDGE: [Angrily] It’s not a blazer. It’s a smart jacket.

DENNIS: Ah ha! So you reveal yourself.

MIDGE: What do you mean?

DENNIS: Smart. Smart jacket. And words like detriment. A pattern is beginning to decipher.

MIDGE: Oh Dennis. You’re seeing things that aren’t really there.

DENNIS: This is Dusty. This has the touch of Dusty all over it. Did Dusty give you the blazer?

MIDGE: Dusty? Are you serious?

DENNIS: Deadly Midge, deadly.

MIDGE: Where would Dusty get his hands on a blazer? He can barely stand upright.

DENNIS: So now it is a blazer? It’s magically transformed from a smart jacket?

MIDGE: I’m using your terms so this ridiculous conversation doesn’t become any more convoluted.

DENNIS: Convoluted. My, you’re like a walking dictionary today. All these roads lead to suspicion.

MIDGE: That’s not my intention.

DENNIS: But you saw him today didn’t you?

MIDGE: Who?

DENNIS: Dusty.

MIDGE: You know I did. He was my accomplice.

DENNIS: You needn’t say it with such affection.

MIDGE: I was applying my regular tone. I wasn’t aware of any particular emphasis.

DENNIS: Emphasis? Where did you pluck a word like that from? They’re Dusty words. Very Dusty words.

MIDGE: He was your choice of accomplice. I wanted Basil.

DENNIS: I bet you did Midge, but we broke up that little sorcery didn’t we? So now you’ve turned your talons on Dusty.

MIDGE: No ones turned anything on Dusty. If you feel so strongly about this let’s abandon the whole campaign. I’ll never see him again.

DENNIS: You know that’s impossible Midge. There’s no escaping the campaign. Even if it does force you into the arms of Dusty.

MIDGE: I’ve never been anywhere near Dusty’s arms. And I resent the suggestion.

DENNIS: That’s what I’d expect you to say if you were kicking up dust.

MIDGE: Kicking up dust?

DENNIS: Covering your tracks.

MIDGE: There’s no tracks to cover Dennis. It’s a ridiculous suggestion.

DENNIS: That’s another dust kicking expression.

MIDGE: There’s nothing for you to be suspicious of.

DENNIS: Yes, I fully expected you to say that also.

MIDGE: We are simply colleagues.

DENNIS: Yes, yes, all forming a pattern of what I completely expect you to say.

MIDGE: The Burmese may have a reputation for speed but their close work in crafts is precise and complementary.

DENNIS: [After a pause] All right, I wasn’t expecting you to say that.

MIDGE: I don’t know how you think I have the time and energy to engage in anything nefarious with Dusty when I’m so busy with the campaign.

DENNIS: Nefarious. Another Dusty word. You’re practically painting me a picture.

MIDGE: Have you actually met Dusty? He’s not known for his verbal fireworks Dennis. He tells the same story. Over and over. As you well know.

DENNIS: I have not spent as much quality time with the gentleman as you.

MIDGE: All you are doing is creating a poisonous atmosphere. You know he’ll be arriving any minute.

DENNIS: What? The scoundrel’s coming here?

MIDGE: Of course he is. He requires debriefing.

DENNIS: I’ll refrain from the obvious comment.

MIDGE: He requires debriefing as per your orders.

DENNIS: Your ability to wrangle this situation so I’m made out to be some kind of facilitator while you are an innocent party is quite remarkable Midge and I feel this also has the hand of Dusty in it.

MIDGE: You will accuse me of changing the subject if I brought up the cod at this point, so by acknowledging this I hope you realise that I am not attempting to change the subject, though it will be an added bonus, but rather I would like to get an answer about this cod.

DENNIS: I didn’t know cod was on the agenda.

MIDGE: Cod is firmly on the agenda.

DENNIS: You say this as if we were bantering merrily about cod since your arrival at the despised seven past the hour, when you have seized it out of thin air.

MIDGE: We were discussing the cod earlier.

DENNIS: Only in terms of it’s constant appearance in our dietary lives. There was nothing specific attached to it.

MIDGE: Well I’m attaching it know. The cod. What is it going to be?

DENNIS: It’s a bit late for philosophy Midge. I imagine it will always be a cod. Unless you have plans for it.

MIDGE: That’s what I’m try to ascertain…

DENNIS: Dusty word.

MIDGE: …what do you want to do about this cod? How do you want it prepared?

DENNIS: What are my choices?

MIDGE: Poached in a sauce with new potatoes or fried in batter.

DENNIS: With chips?

MIDGE: We’re not allowed chips. You said they were the prison bars of the establishment used to hold the proletariat in stasis.

DENNIS: Just checking.

MIDGE: Or it could be bread-crumbed I suppose.

DENNIS: What did we have yesterday?

MIDGE: Poached in sauce.

DENNIS: Best to avoid that then. Is there anything else? Other than cod?

MIDGE: You could have the new potatoes in sauce without the cod.

DENNIS: I fancy some chops.

MIDGE: We can’t stretch to chops. All the budget’s gone on the campaign.

DENNIS: Again, I’m swivelled into the villain position. Due to my beliefs we’re forced to live on cod. Old devil Dennis makes Midge the martyr eat cod at gunpoint. Is that what you want to hear?

MIDGE: Or there’s eggs.

DENNIS: Oh right, now you remember eggs. Once the damage is done. I’m out on a ledge here, and suddenly there’s eggs on the menu. Since when have we been an egg household?

MIDGE: I always have some eggs in. Just in case I need to do some baking. Or it’s Pancake Day.

DENNIS: Another holiday we don’t celebrate and so another needless expense. And so how I’m branded as Jack the Ripper over here. You’re splashing out on eggs and I’m the baddie for forcing cod.

MIDGE: I’m flustered when the campaign is underway. I’ve told you before, I don’t like to combine domestic tasks with the specifics of the campaign. But since your leg, I haven’t had any choice. I can’t really take shopping along to the atrocity and after the atrocity, my concentration has wandered to the point where I hone in on the familiar. So cod it is.

DENNIS: As Jesus said, thy complains too much, Midge. There’s still an element of dust kicking, I can taste it. Most functioning adults could perform a simple bombing and then visit a grocer’s and not necessarily fall back on the staples.

MIDGE: Well perhaps I’m not cut out for it. Perhaps we should suspend things until your leg is cured and then you can act how you wish.

DENNIS: Sometimes I think your commitment must come under scrutiny. You seem all too willing to throw the hat of shirk into the ring.

MIDGE: I’m sorry?

DENNIS: The hat if shirk. You’re always throwing it into the ring.

MIDGE: What ring?

DENNIS: The ring of…you know what ring I mean. The metaphorical ring that’s always connected to hats. The ring that hats are thrown into when hats are thrown as a symbol of…you know…appeasement.

MIDGE: You’ve lost me Dennis.

DENNIS: It’s your mind tricks. They’re all pervading.

MIDGE: A bit of cod might set your thinking straight. I just need direction on its preparation.

DENNIS: That’s another hat you insist on throwing…

Off stage we hear a door opening and closing sharply and heavy footsteps.

DENNIS: Oh, here we go…

Both characters follow the sound of the footsteps as they walk across the floor, then climb some stairs.

DENNIS: Another punctual article…

The footsteps stop, a door opens and then closes with a slam. Midge and Dennis look at each other then back at the ceiling. The sounds of sexual congress begin: the squeaking of a bed, a headboard hitting a wall and the rhythmic grunts of a man. These sounds continue throughout the next passage of dialogue.

DENNIS: It’s the inevitability that I find so depressing. Every evening the same functions in the same order.

MIDGE: He certainly seems to have a lot of stamina.

DENNIS: Please try and keep it on a suitable level Midge. I don’t think I want you delving into his stamina levels. He’s a beast.

MIDGE: Be charitable Dennis. He lost his job.

DENNIS: He didn’t lose his job, he just stopped going. And we know what he’s doing instead. [Nods towards the ceiling]

MIDGE: You don’t know the full circumstances. You’ve never even seen him. I often cross him on the stair.

DENNIS: Oh, another convert to your harem. It’s all coming out tonight. First you had Dusty, then the man upstairs and…wait…wasn’t there another one?

MIDGE: Basil.

DENNIS: Thank you, Basil. It must be an animal instinct. When the alpha male is injured and encumbered, his mate slopes off to liaise with the Basil’s of this world. I don’t blame you Midge, you might not even know your doing it. It’s your instincts in overdrive.

MIDGE: Alpha male?

DENNIS: Why the mocking tone?

MIDGE: No, nothing. I’d never heard you referred to in those terms, that’s all.

DENNIS: Not everyone has such a abstract opinion of me. You once held me in high esteem. Don’t you recall your vows?

MIDGE: Wedding?

DENNIS: What other vows have you taken with me? Unless you’ve uttered a few while I slept.

MIDGE: I think it might do you good to get out and about. Why don’t you go and visit your mother?

DENNIS: How can you possibly mention my mother in the same environment as that?

He points towards the ceiling.

MIDGE: Should I wait until he’s finished and then bring your mother up?

DENNIS: If a suitable distance has elapsed. However, I can’t visit my mother while the campaign is in full flow.

MIDGE: Why?

DENNIS: Why? She might be implicated.

MIDGE: What about me? You don’t mind implicating me.

DENNIS: Blood is thicker than water Midge.

MIDGE: But you hate your mother.

DENNIS: Like I say, I don’t think a discussion of her is appropriate at this time.

MIDGE: You’re the one talking about her.

DENNIS: Well, obviously I can talk about her. My close relationship with her supersedes the filthy goings-on above. It is my mother after all.

MIDGE: So I’m to be mute?

DENNIS: When it concerns my mother during the sexual congress of the man upstairs and just before the congress begins and for a decent period after he’s finished, then yes.

MIDGE: How will I know it’s before he begins?

DENNIS: Because he’s always at it. If there’s a lull up there you know he’s just finished or about to start. If he’s at it at all. I’m wondering if he’s at it at all.

MIDGE: Isn’t it obvious?

DENNIS: We live in compounded times. It could be a ruse?

MIDGE: A ruse?

DENNIS: Considering our current activities. The love-making could be a cover. A mask of sound to cover their surveillance.

MIDGE: Who is their?

DENNIS: Ugh, what an ugly sentence . Couldn’t you couch it in more attractive terms?

MIDGE: [Thinking] When you say their surveillance, the people conducting the surveillance could be considered as what?

DENNIS: Marginally better Midge, but still fairly painful. The there is the authorities. They could be on to you.

MIDGE: [Alarmed] To me?

DENNIS: Well you are the one conducting the atrocities.

MIDGE: But you’re the one behind the whole thing.

DENNIS: They can hardly perform surveillance on that can they? Don’t be so far-fetched. Unless the dark agencies can suddenly hear my thoughts and make a recording.

MIDGE: I hope you’ll stand up and be implicated if that’s the case.

DENNIS: We will assess situations as they arise. His humping could be an innocent activity. Truth is stranger than fiction. But in my position I have to consider all possibilities.

MIDGE: Do you have a contingency? If these situations do arise.

DENNIS: Contingency? We’re back to Dusty are we? Can’t keep him away from your thoughts for any length of time can you? Perhaps it’s this aural stimulation that brings him to mind.

MIDGE: Don’t be dirty Dennis.

DENNIS: You’re the man consistently dragging your paramours before my poor, disabled eyes.

MIDGE: I’m not doing that at all. Now what about this cod?

DENNIS: Every time your obvious dalliances are brought out into the open, your cod fascination lurks from the shadows. A psychiatrist could base a whole conference around you.

MIDGE: That’s not a very nice thing to say.

DENNIS: The truth is a painful mistress.

MIDGE: You’re cooped up Dennis. You need to get some fresh air. Perhaps I could look into getting a wheelchair.

DENNIS: I don’t think it’s necessary to bring attention to myself in such away. Why don’t I limp out into the street bearing a loud hailer and announcing ‘I am conducting a campaign’ up and down the Close?

MIDGE: It’s not a Close.

DENNIS: What?

MIDGE: It isn’t a Close. Not any more.

DENNIS: I should know what variety of street I live upon. Chillingford Close. Would you like to see the mortgage agreement?

MIDGE: They’ve opened it out at one end.

DENNIS: Who has?

MIDGE: Whoever’s responsible for that sort of thing. The council I suppose.

DENNIS: They don’t have the authority. Surely I have some say if my street is being altered. Particularly from a Close to a common road or thoroughfare.

MIDGE: Something to do with the drains. There was a sign attached to a lamp-post.

DENNIS: You decide to bring this to my attention now?

MIDGE: Well it doesn’t really affect you. Being stuck in that chair.

DENNIS: You can be a cruel woman sometimes. As if the indecencies of being in my current climate isn’t intolerable enough. I have to be chafed further by having seismic alterations in my environment kept from me, as if I’m a pot-plant.

MIDGE: That wasn’t my intention. I thought you would have heard the work.

DENNIS: I could certainly make out certain sounds of industry in-between his efforts [Points to ceiling] and any other distractions I can provide, but I never dreamed it was my whole world crashing earthwards.

MIDGE: I didn’t think you felt so strongly.

DENNIS: I opted for a Close, rather than an avenue, a Cul-De-Sac, which I’ve never trusted, a crescent, a terrace or a lane. There’s a certain distinction to a Close. Plus, in times of revolution, there’s only one entrance. Makes defensive measures far more palatable.

MIDGE: We’re still a Close.

DENNIS: You said they’d opened up one end.

MIDGE: They have. They put through that section of hedge near to the sub-station and linked us to Pansard Street.

DENNIS: That’s hardly a Close then.

MIDGE: But we’re still called Chillingham Close. They didn’t change the name.

DENNIS: Why ever not?

MIDGE: It would have confused the postal workers. It’s quite a complicated process to change the name. All sorts of departments have to get involved.

DENNIS: How are you so knowledgeable about the process?

MIDGE: I talked to the lead man. When the work began.

DENNIS: My God Midge. Now there’s another one? Have you been taking lessons from our friend upstairs?

MIDGE: It was a passing conversation in the street. I saw a digger and grew curious. I think I’m obliged if such a thing is happening on my road.

DENNIS: Close.

MIDGE: Close.

DENNIS: Then why keep it from me? Why make a secret of it? If it existed in all innocence?

MIDGE: Nothings being kept. It’s the complications of the campaign. Juggling the bombings and the shopping and trying to maintain my disguise, it slipped my mind.

DENNIS: That’s one explanation. One of many possibles.

MIDGE: That’s my stomach growling. I’ll need to eat something soon.

DENNIS: There you have it again. Your peccadillo with the councilman is over-turned and suddenly you’re back onto the cod again. Do these men pay you in cod? Is that why you constantly make the connection?

MIDGE: Don’t be foul. I’m prepared to allow you certain realms of fantasy but I refuse to be labelled a cod whore.

DENNIS: Don’t be excitable Midge. I’m merely trying to establish certain facts. If you crumble this easily under my pressure, how will you cope with a thorough police interrogation?

MIDGE: I have no intention of allowing myself to be in that position.

DENNIS: All possibilities have to be considered. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? More cod obviously, but beyond that.

MIDGE: I’m happy to forego cod tomorrow if we can decide what form today’s cod will hold.

DENNIS: Can it be baked?

MIDGE: Baked cod? I’m sure it’s not impossible, but I can’t confirm its quality.

DENNIS: I’m just trying to think laterally Midge. I’m reading a book on that very matter. Adapting situations and taking a more considered approach. It appears this cod is the perfect subject to attempt this new technique. We may be used to taking cod in certain forms but sometimes it is valuable to go against the grain. So, I say, why not a baked cod?

MIDGE: Fine, one baked cod coming up.

Midge exits. The sexual grunts from upstairs continue, accompanied by the clanging of pots and pans as the meal is prepared.

DENNIS: [Looking skyward] I was a young man once. Even so, I was able to control my urges. My spread my seed certainly, occasionally on barren ground. I was even known to onanise. That’s how it all began. All those lonely summers in the cabin. That’s all I had for entertainment. That and a tennis ball. Not even a deck of cards. That’s a point, I’ve never seen a trace of a woman. Maybe he’s on his own up there. [Shouting off-stage to Midge] Does he even have a woman up there?

MIDGE: [Off stage] What?

DENNIS: Him upstairs. Have you ever witnessed a woman on her way up there? Perhaps he’s on his own?

MIDGE: [Off stage] Don’t shout he’ll hear you.

DENNIS: He’s too involved with his own actions. I could start playing the French Horn and I doubt his stroke would alter.

Midge returns

MIDGE: Cod’s in.

DENNIS: Fabulous.

His grunts suddenly cease.

DENNIS: Thank goodness for that.

Almost immediately there’s a knock on the door.

DENNIS: If it’s him from upstairs wanting my stepladder again, do not give him access under any circumstances. He gave them back all bent last time. God knows what use he’s putting them too.

MIDGE: [Getting up] He’s never done anything against you Dennis. He just enjoys himself, that’s way your offended.

DENNIS: [Shouting as she exits] Enjoying yourself is not reason enough to act in a disgraceful manner. That excuse is levelled at any degenerate behaviour these days. As if enjoyment is a fundamental right, rather then a privilege reserved for those of us who have some grasp on propriety.

DUSTY enters. He is every inch the old-fashioned washed-out hippy. He wears blue denim from head to toe, a scruffy beard and large frizzy hair. He moves in a jerky uncoordinated manner and talks in a gibbering, uncontrolled way. Midge walks in behind him, looking a bit sheepish.

MIDGE: It’s Dusty.

DENNIS: So I see.

DUSTY: Your shouting there I hear. Having a good old shout. Reminds me of my shouting days. Always one for a good shout I was. Particularly at policemen. See a copper, always had a good shout at them. About their obvious defects. Or postmen. Anything in a uniform.

DENNIS: I was not shouting. Not in the provincial, uncontrolled manner which you just alluded to. I was merely completing a conversation with my wife and raising my level so she could hear while leaving the room.

DUSTY: Oh right. I had a wife once. In Jersey. Or Guernsey. She was a blond. Or a red head. She never really had much hair, as I remember. Kept it cropped close to the skull as a symbol of sympathy. I think it had something to do with French lorry drivers. Being in the Channel Islands changes the strength of sympathy with our French cousins.

DENNIS: I think the subject of wives, close cropped or not, is a sensitive one we probably shouldn’t dabble into at this time. Not if we want to keep blood of the walls.

MIDGE: [Trying to defuse] I’m just baking some cod Dusty. Would you care for a portion?

DUSTY: No thank you. That sounds disgusting.

MIDGE: Oh.

DENNIS: I think that was unnecessary Dusty.

DUSTY: You can’t bake a cod. I see as I find.

MIDGE: I’ll just see how it’s doing.

Midge exits.

DENNIS: Now we are men alone Dusty, I think we may have to have a chat.

DUSTY: Used to know a man down Bury way. Loved to chat. I think they called him chatty. Not his birth name obviously. As a moniker, you know. Chatty. Could hold sway on any number of topics and age wasn’t a restriction. Nor race. He’d chat away to all and sundry. He wasn’t married, but had any number of admirers. He was useful in social situations, like the start of a party where disparate groups were in attendance. Old Chatty could build bridges like that.

DENNIS: I’m not sure this is the sort of chat your pal Chatty would excel at. I said chat to keep you at ease and not sully the atmosphere. But really chat is hardly the term. What I really wish to have with you is quite a serious talk, perhaps leading into an argument.

DUSTY: [Chuckling] Oh no sir. Couldn’t argue. Not me and you. Never could argue. Shouting, I used to be a bit of a shouter. Uniformed types mainly, happy to shout away at them. But it never escalated into an argument. I remember coming close to an argument once. I used to be married to this woman. It was on one of the Channel Islands. She’d decided to chop off her hair in solidarity with the Irish Nationalists. Wasn’t happy about that, and we had crossed words…

DENNIS: Dusty please. This doesn’t concern your bald wife, your shouting or your friend Chatty…

DUSTY: [With joy] Old Chatty? Did you know him? From Bury way? Lovely chap old Chatty. Never a dull word from him. He could hold firth like nobody’s business…

DENNIS: Please attempt to concentrate Dusty. I need to address you on a serious issue.

DUSTY: Oh right, yes. Ok, yes, alright. Got me now sir, I’m very much listening.

DENNIS: Good because I have concerns that your loyalties within the mission are beginning to alter…

Dusty is staring at the corner of the room in a distracted way and not paying attention at all.

DENNIS: Dusty? Dusty?

DUSTY: Now. Is that coving?

DENNIS: What?

DUSTY: Coving. That up there. Is that coving?

DENNIS: I don’t think I follow.

DUSTY: Because I know there’s coving and there’s some other stuff, it’s a bit like coving but it goes by another name and often someone who is not in the know can make themselves appear quite uncultured by their mention of coving when in fact what they are looking at is the other thing. Only I can’t quite remember what that other thing is. Does it come to you Dennis?

DENNIS: I don’t think it does. I’d say that was coving.

DUSTY: But are you aware of the other term? If you’re not then your hardy qualified to identify it are you.

DENNIS: [Confused, flustered] What? Dusty, you keep throwing me off course. I anted t have a serious talk to you. Then you start on coving.

Midge returns. Dusty returns to staring at the ceiling.

MIDGE: [Under breath to Dennis] You see? You think I’m picking up syntax and possibly much more from this?

DENNIS: It could be a cover. He might be playing the giddy goat to throw me off the scent.


MIDGE: No Dennis. This the crux of your campaign. This is what I have to put up with on a day-to-day basis. Which is why questions about my fidelity, especially connected to him, is all the more galling.

DENNIS: No, no. He’s a sly one. I’ve come across his types before. He hides his bushel under a veil of befuddlement. Then he fiddles while all our backs are turned.

DUSTY: [Suddenly, with animation] No it is coving. That’s it. Coving. Don’t know what I was thinking of. What was I thinking of? Coving. Is it coving? Now, there’s another word for it isn’t it. Ballistrade. A word like that. Something that looks decorative and also sounds decorative. Because coving doesn’t sound decorative does it? Not a pleasing sound at all. You see, I think the sort of people who deal with coving on a professional level wouldn’t be happy with the word coving and would rather have a far more fanciful name for it. Something like ballistrade, or braiding or something akin to that. Do you know what I mean? That sort of people?

DENNIS: What the hell is he talking about?

MIDGE: That is the phrase that I find myself coming back to continually in my interactions with him.

DUSTY: How’s that cod coming along?

MIDGE: I didn’t think you were interested?

DUSTY: I’m not planning on eating it, but I’m curious about its condition.

MIDGE: It’s gone a bit hard.

DENNIS: That doesn’t sound appetising.

MIDGE: You should see it.

DENNIS: Is it salvageable?

MIDGE: Don’t say salvage.

DENNIS: Why ever not?

DUSTY: I had a friend in salvage.

MIDGE: Because you learn in your dealings with Dusty.

DUSTY: Had himself a midget submarine.

MIDGE: There’s certain words its best to avoid.

DUSTY: Moored that’s what he called it.

MIDGE: Because certain words have a tendency to provoke.

DUSTY: Had it in a bay.

MIDGE: These particular stories.

DUSTY: Used to go scouring the ocean bed when the weather was clement.

MIDGE: That go on and on.

DUSTY: Had this mobile, mechanical crane or arm.

MIDGE: And on and on.

DUSTY: Used to gather items of scrap metal or booty.

MIDGE: And on and on.

DUSTY: Then he used the submarine as his abode.

MIDGE: And on and on.

DUSTY: A houseboat sort of a set up.

MIDGE: And on and on.

DUSTY: There was some seepage in the autumn and winter.

MIDGE: And on and on.

DUSTY: And during high tides.

MIDGE: And on and on.

DENNIS: [Shouting] Perhaps a small sherry is in order.

There is a moment of stunned silence.

DUSTY: Having a bit of a shout are you? I used to be quite the shouter. Often found myself shouting at those bearing a uniform for some reason.

MIDGE: You see?

DENNIS: He’s a genius or a simpleton. The two are often confused when dealing with visionaries.

DUSTY: There was a St. John’s Ambulance man once. He got a hell of a bawling off me. It was the hats or the collars. Something set me off.

DENNIS: Is there any way to stop it?

MIDGE: None that I’ve learned.

DUSTY: Landed me in quite a few scrapes.

DENNIS: [Sternly] Dusty, we must speak of today’s actions. How was the mission?

DUSTY: What?

Dusty’s eyes begin to widen as he looks on at Dennis with open-mouthed disbelief. He slowly begins to snigger, which then develops into full scale hysterical laughter, he starts to scream with laughter, and roll around on the floor in unstoppable hilarity. He continues to laugh throughout the following conversation.

DENNIS: [Alarmed] Have you witnessed this behaviour before?

MIDGE: Only once. It was outside a shoe shop.

DENNIS: What triggered it on that occasion?

MIDGE: I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s important.

DENNIS: Not important? How can you say that?

MIDGE: It’s not important to know what causes this behaviour. The important part is knowing this behaviour exists and so to avoid it as much as possible.

DENNIS: That’s quite profound Midge.

MIDGE: He brings that out in me.

There’s a banging from the ceiling as the man upstairs begins to thump the floor violently and shout incoherently. Dusty continues to laugh.

DENNIS: What’s that now?

MIDGE: The man upstairs. I presume he’s upset about the noise.

DENNIS: How can he be? Isn’t he aware of his own noise?

MIDGE: It’s a different noise. Certain sounds cut through people.

He bangs the floor again and shouts more angrily. Dusty continues.

DENNIS: This evening is descending into chaos. How did this happen?

MIDGE: It’s an unfortunate side-effect of life with Dusty.

DENNIS: I’m going to try something.

MIDGE: Be my guest.

DENNIS: Here we go.

MIDGE: Go on then.

DENNIS: [Shouts] Coving!

Dusty stops immediately into a stunned stupor and stares up at the ceiling. The man upstairs offers one final burst of abuse then falls silent. Dusty struggles to his feet and seems to be dealing with something incredible that’s troubling him.

DENNIS: Are you alright?

DUSTY: The coving?

DENNIS: Yes?

DUSTY: Was the coving…shouting?

DENNIS: What?

DUSTY: The coving? It was shouting?

DENNIS: Take a seat Dusty. You’ve had a busy day. Midge, do we have any brandy?

MIDGE: There think there’s some stout.

DENNIS: That’s hardly a suitable replacement.

She goes over to a sideboard and begins to root through it. Dusty wearily takes a seat.

DUSTY: The coving was shouting.

DENNIS: No, it was the man upstairs. He’s a hypocrite.

MIDGE: Here’s something.

Midge pulls out a bottle from the sideboard.

MIDGE: [Reading] Greetings from Hartlepool. That doesn’t tell me anything.

DENNIS: Give him a bolt of it anyway. It can’t make him any worse.

DUSTY: It was wasn’t it? It was shouting at me.

Midge takes a glass and pours some contents of the bottle into it.

MIDGE: Here you are. Try this Dusty.

Confused, Dusty takes the glass and has a sip. His face contorts into an expression of surprise and disgust.

DUSTY: Urrgggh.

DENNIS: That should have an effect.

MIDGE: I’ll see how dinner is coming along.

Midge exits. Dusty falls silent.

DENNIS: How is it old man?

DUSTY: [Distracted] Sorry?

DENNIS: The drink. How is it?

Dusty looks dumbly at his glass.

DUSTY: Vile.

DENNIS: Can you identify the taste? We’re at a bit of a loss.

DUSTY: Tastes like…road.

DENNIS: Road?

DUSTY: The marks on road.

DENNIS: Marks?

DUSTY: Where the tyres have been.

DENNIS: Oh. Sort of a rubbery thing.

DUSTY: Precisely. I feel quite worn out.

DENNIS: Yes, you’ve been through quite a lot.

DUSTY: My heart’s beating ten to a penny.

DENNIS: Just have a little rest.

DUSTY: I need to tell you about the mission.

DENNIS: Plenty of time for all that. You just calm yourself.

DUSTY: No, I had something important to report.

DENNIS: Well, if you think you’re ready fire away.

DUSTY: The coving…

DENNIS: No, no, no. Put that from your mind for now. You were about to tell me about the mission. What did you have to report?

Midge enters.

MIDGE: Right. It’s inedible. You need to make a decision Dennis.

DENNIS: Not now Midge. He’s about to tell us something.

MIDGE: What? Him?

DENNIS: He says he’s got something important to report.

MIDGE: I doubt it. I’m going to the chip shop.

DENNIS: [Outraged] The chip shop?

MIDGE: Well you’re incapable of making a decision and I’m growing faint.

DENNIS: I made a decision about the cod.

MIDGE: And now it’s inedible. So we’re back on the starting blocks. Last time it took you an age to decide to bake the cod. I’m not prepared to go through that again. I’m going to the chip shop.

DENNIS: I didn’t know there was a chip shop.

MIDGE: It’s far closer since they opened up the Close.

DENNIS: My world is crumbling around me.

MIDGE: Possibly. What do you want to order.

DENNIS: From a chip shop? I wouldn’t know where to start.

MIDGE: It’s a fairly limited menu. There’s a selection of battered fish, or pies and there’s chips of course.

DENNIS: It all sounds foul.

MIDGE: I’m having haddock. Would you also like haddock.

DENNIS: Will it be wrapped in paper? Like in the films?

MIDGE: I expect so.

DENNIS: I can’t rightly fathom it.

MIDGE: I’ll take that as a yes. Dusty?

DUSTY: Hmmm?

MIDGE: Do you want anything from the chip shop?

DUSTY: Battered sausage.

MIDGE: Very well. I won’t be long.

Midge exits. Dennis looks stunned. Dusty still seems rather distracted.

DENNIS: I never would have expected, when I rose this morning, that the day would grow so complicated. Eating out of paper. My father would have beaten me for such an action.

DUSTY: I had a father once…

DENNIS: [Interrupting] No, no, no. We’re not taking that route again. Now, Dusty, no more nonsense. You had something to tell me.

DUSTY: About the running?

DENNIS: Running?

DUSTY: When I was running?

DENNIS: When were you running?

DUSTY: Isn’t that what I said?

DENNIS: [Frustrated] No, you were going to tell me something about running.

DUSTY: When I was running?

DENNIS: [Angry] I don’t know. You haven’t told me. Were you running?

DUSTY: Today?

DENNIS: Yes. Ok. Today. Were you running today?

DUSTY: I had to run.

DENNIS: Why did you have to run?

DUSTY: They were running too.

DENNIS: Who was running?

DUSTY: The ones I used to shout at.

DENNIS: [Exasperated] Good God, Right. So. You were running. From the ones you used to shout at. Now, you told me, frequently during the length of out brief relationship that you used to shout at people in uniforms. [Scared, realising] Wait. Uniforms? You were running from people in uniforms?

DUSTY: So was I.

DENNIS: What?

DUSTY: That was me. A minute ago. Running away from the uniforms.

DENNIS: [Panicking] Before you came here? They were chasing you?

DUSTY: I should coco.

DENNIS: Did they follow you?

DUSTY: I don’t know. I’m indoors.

DENNIS: [Panicked] Midge! Midge! Oh no, she’s gone to the chip shop. I knew no good would come of that.

DUSTY: Having a shout are we. I used to dabble in that myself…

There’s a sudden violent banging on the door.

DENNIS: Christ Dusty. What have you done?

They bang on the door again.

DUSTY: Once at a Park Keeper. He wasn’t happy.

DENNIS: No, no, no.

We hear the sound of wood splintering as a door is demolished.

DENNIS: What will become of me?

END OF ACT ONE

Tuesday 21 April 2009

Brother

Any statement that begins "My brother..." is always going to end badly. I was sandwiched between two people at the bank. The woman in front of me was trying to take out £1 - ONE POUND - using an expired debit card. Not a crazy lady, as far as I could tell, or a conceptual artist. Just some regular looking lady trying to take out £1 - ONE POUND - with a card from, I believe the stunned cashier said, 2001. 'Oh yes, that's a really old one' said the lady confirming this, then dug around in her bag for an extended period. At no point was she asked, 'why do you only want a pound?' Perhaps you're not allowed to ask. Perhaps it's beaten into you at cashier school: 'Never start a conversation - it will never be interesting'

The man behind me announced himself by gasping frequently and at an inappropriate volume. I turned around to face a man with a dangerously unkempt moustache. It was all over the place, like a neglected hedge. He was swathed in a grey sweat-suit ensemble and generally didn't look like someone who should be in a bank. This was confirmed when he reached the other cashier and started his story with, 'My brother...'. No legitimate bank transaction will ever begin with 'My brother...' To make matters worse he instantly named his brother. So it wasn't simply 'my brother did this' or 'my brother said that'. He said, 'My brother Stan...' I instantly saw the fear in the cashier's eyes when he was faced with 'My brother Stan...' followed by a complicated plot involving a mix-up with cheques, a series of different accounts, negligent postal work and possibly a Spaniel, though I might have misheard that last part.

It is a particularly good way to spook anyone involved in the service industry: cashiers, estate agents, bankers, sales assistants. Just begin your interaction with the words 'My brother...' bellowed a little too loudly. And watch their eyes light up.