Thursday, 25 August 2011
Location: hairdressing salon
Characters: Lisa - mid-twenties, brandishing a hairdryer. Amy - seventeen, brandishing her pocket money.
Lisa: I love doing your hair. Look how shiny it is now.
Amy: Oh, er, thanks.
Lisa: I was in a right mood before. Half an hour with your head and I'm all relaxed again.
Amy: Er -
Lisa: Did I tell you I moved in with my boyfriend last week?
Lisa: But I'm moving out tonight.
Lisa: He bloody made me a packed lunch this morning, didn't he?
Amy: Aww -
Lisa: He shouted down the stairs 'There's a packed lunch for you in the fridge'.
Amy: He's -
Lisa: 'Cheese and ham' he shouted.
Amy: Don't you like -
Lisa: And then at lunch time he sent me a text, didn't he?
Amy: A text?
Lisa: Yes, it said 'Look inside the sandwich'.
Amy: Was it a ring?
Lisa: A ring?
Amy: An engagement ring?
Lisa: No. (BEAT.) I peeled back the bread and there's this message on the ham.
Lisa: He'd cut the cheese into letters.
Lisa: He'd written I love you inside my sandwich.
Amy: Awww ...
Lisa: In cheese.
Amy: But -
Lisa: I love you in bloody cheddar!
Amy: It was a nice -
Lisa: Cheddar! Cheddar cheese! I said to him 'I'm not having anyone saying anything to me in cheddar! I'm going back to me mum's!' (BEAT.) Anyway, love, do you want serum on your hair?
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
This afternoon, whilst my wrinkled old retainer was working his way through the to be filed pile, he came across a cablegram received in 1938*. Once he'd wiped it down, we read it.
URGENT STOP LORD BURDOCK IGNORANT OF ALL INTERCEPTED CABLES
STOP DENY DENY DENY STOP HE ON HOLIDAY EXCLAMATION MARK STOP AND WASN'T LISTENING ANYWAY STOP RUBBISH SCOOP IN DAILY BRUTE STOP UPFOLLOW URGENTLIEST WITH NEW STORY STOP RUSH UNREST ESSENTIALEST STOP PM FRANKLY QUESTION MARK STOP CONTINUE CABLING UNREST BRACKET BETTER STILL WARS CLOSE BRACKET OPEN BRACKET BETTER STILL VICTORIES CLOSE BRACKET UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE STOP ED.
Honestly, you couldn't make it up.
* He might be slow but he's very slapdash.
Monday, 15 August 2011
Transcript of top secret, long distance telephone conversation leaked to Moptop Towers by an underground mole*.
David C: Mr Bratwurst, frankly I am delighted that you have made the time to talk to me.
Bill Bratwurst: Mr President, I have many happy memories of the Ukraine, the Beatles in particular.
David C: The peasants have been revolting and, frankly, I've had enough.
Bill Bratwurst: Shoot 'em. What do you guys call it? The Glorious Twelfth?
David C: Peasants! Oiks, yobs and hooligans - I mean, hoodlums.
Bill Bratwurst: Ya wan' me to shoot 'em for ya?
David C: I want your advice. We have a problem with gangs.
Bill Bratwurst: Uh-huh?
David: Do you know that since 2009 we've had thirteen gang-related murders in London?
Bill Bratwurst: Thirteen?
David C: Dreadful, isn't it?
Bill Bratwurst: A pissant thirteen murders? That all? Why, we had one hundred and fifty seven. And LA has half the population of London Town. You guys are freakin' amateurs. No offence, Mr President.
David C: Yes, well, that's why I'd like you on board. We'll do whatever it takes -
Georgie-O: (HISSES) - As long as we don't have to fund any youth clubs.
Bill Bratwurst: How many were killed last week?
David C: Sadly, five.
Bill Bratwurst: I can see ya problem from here. Ya wanna issue officers with semi-automatic weapons. Why, in 1992 my officers shot double that number in LA alone.
David C: (HASTILY) Er, we'd rather not talk about police shooting the public. Frankly.
Bill Bratwurst: The Mayor of New York raised taxes - gave me an extra five thousand police officers.
Georgie-O: Raised taxes??
David C: We probably won't fill the current vacancies at The Metropolitan Police - Police Commissioner, Assistant Police Commissioner, that sort of thing. Theresa's doing a marvellous job. You know how good the ladies are at multi-tasking.
Bill Bratwurst: Poker.
David C: (HORRIFIED) Theresa??
Bill Bratwurst: It's about keepin' a straight face and playing the hand you're dealt. Mr President, I've been an outsider in every department I've worked in -
David C: Excellent. Just the ticket.
Bill Bratwurst: - 'Cause Trigger couldn't manage the steps.
David C: Trigger?
Bill Bratwurst: My horse flies Club.
* Where else would it be? - Ed.
Saturday, 13 August 2011
Dear Mr Cameron
Have you ever engaged in the genteel sport of snorkelling? I ask because I know your holiday was cut tragically short and you had to restore your socks toot-sweet.
The Youth has been revolting again and you must be at your wit's end. (I surmise that the singular possessive apostrophe is correct.)
The pallid complexion disguised by the expensive Tuscan tan doesn't fool me for a second, Sir! You need the oxygen of good publicity. A few favourable headlines in The Daily Beast, what? And, of course, now you've been forced to disown Mr Murdoch (père et fils) these headlines aren't quite so easy to come by.
I feel your pain.
So, tomorrow morning pop along to the Serpentine in your Boden trunks, belly flop into the shallow end by the - sshhh! - duck house, splash around for a few minutes - feather-footed through the plashy fens - and just under the rusting Coke can and the empty packet of Scampi Fries you'll find a large stash of Roman jewellery. Rings, bangles, buckles, cigarette cases and those things they wrapped around their upper arms - I forget the name. I got them all from Past Times and they are guaranteed genuine reproductions.
(I've gone for jewellery as cracked vases will leave you open to various media wags chanting What's a Greek urn? Best avoided, eh?)
Anyway, take care not to drown as I can't imagine the Police Diving Squad will be all that swift in coming to your assistance after those remarks you made.
I've been on the blower to an Assistant Chief Constable and he's already sold the info to Fleet Street's Finest so, Mr C., remember to look surprised when the flashbulbs go off.
It's worked for Vlad and it'll work for you, mark my words.
All best wishes &c, &c
P.S. Apols to any comment-makers. Blogger has declared me persona non grata and won't let me reply to any comments.