Act II Scene II

[Not much to say about this bit, because I'm not sure I fully understand it myself. But does it r--e--a--l--l--y matter? There are one or two ACTUAL dates quoted, which should give you a subtle clue as to when parts of this were originally scrawled (New Years' Days of 1975 and 1991 respectively)]
 

...And Ruth Creased The Yellow Curtain
ACT II SCENE II

(A garage forecourt. A sign reads "Television Studio A - Rory McGroon's Hogmanoony Show". Another sign reads "Vatican Radio". A fully-equipped Italian Film Crew knocks at the door. Dunx, the man who says "Scrotum!" all the way through Scene I, answers the door.)

DUNX THE MAN WHO SAYS "SCROTUM!" ALL THE WAY THROUGH SCENE I: Piss off wops!

(He slams the door.)

A FULLY-EQUIPPED ITALIAN FILM CREW MEMBER: Sod it then! Let's go to the pub for some spaghetti!

ANOTHER FULLY-EQUIPPED ITALIAN FILM CREW MEMBER: No... We'd better find a window to climb in... or find a conduit to filter through...

A FULLY-EQUIPPED ITALIAN FILM CREW MEMBER: Is it worth it, Luigi?

ANOTHER FULLY-EQUIPPED ITALIAN FILM CREW MEMBER: Thirty Six Million Lire say it is, Nicademus!

A FULLY-EQUIPPED ITALIAN FILM CREW MEMBER: No one wants to see this crap in Milan...

ANOTHER FULLY-EQUIPPED ITALIAN FILM CREW MEMBER: Ah! But they do in Umbria... The Pope is partial to a bit of Caledonian tomfoolery!

(They climb through a window. We hear Dunx's voice, offstage, crying "Hoots Mon! Dagos!". Enter Narthor The Narrative Mole and his new accomplice, Magnet The Coat)

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE:(sings)
Green grow the three round swans,
Spawn of damp pune in grass clothes.
Bloo bone, the rodent was...
(spoken) Get the equipment, Magnet The Coat!

MAGNET THE COAT: Musical tilt in an undertow, thick vegetable soup in a painting by Bosch!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: Sinning by numbers! Trade in your memories for a new dress of airplane scales. Meet Mr Slime, King of the Anorak People!

MAGNET THE COAT: Flick Russian architects like bogies, would you, Ra, Sun God of the Mail People?

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: Begone flat coypu! Remove your scarred face from my egg-methane crumble!

MAGNET THE COAT: Drag rubbish bins to Deptford! Illustrate pistons!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: Quickly, before the return of the lizard... evaluate the situation and vacuum-wrap it, so you can transport it to the place of polish! Summon up a magic beerglass-full of posters, pierced by a million tiny cigarette-papers. Be a good witch and use a polished and sanded guitar-tutor. Music may not be everything, but twelve mattery Italian root-bear salesmen say it's three grades of diving suit...

MAGNET THE COAT: This is the first line of writings of 1975 - Can you d-i-g-i-t, Soul Mole? This is the last tin canary to be dragged through the verbal assault course of a Chinese retirement party. Dead clocks don't make cats grow smoke trails.

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: In that case...

MAGNET THE COAT: The scholactic error was not rectified and all the people were sent home... We are now only - well, I'm only - nine years old!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: And now it's 1965 and The Beatles might get around to writing "Paperback Writer"... I love Paul... Will Sandy Shaw ever wear shoes?...

(The Italian film crew suddenly appear, doing a line-dance to Zorba The Greek-type music and wearing plastic police helmets - they leave just as quickly, to cries of "Mama Mia! Wrong studio!")

MAGNET THE COAT: Most peoples budgies haven't even been born yet... Mr Woodhouse was a desert rat until 1963, then he found himself swaying through the mists of Snow White... and prematurely blew his mind, staring at Bridget Riley drawn with a cooler. Isn't Scouts a drag, what with our new-found maturity?

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: I am in the company of total strangers and yet... I feel cool!

MAGNET THE COAT: I, in my present state, do not exist.

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: I am, at present, suffering from the future. It is very disconcerting. I am ten years younger, but still nearing old age and senior school...

MAGNET THE COAT: I'd like to see me mates, but I don't know them yet.

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: My trousers don't exist... even my fingernails aren't the same calcium.

MAGNET THE COAT: Indeed! My fingernails are ten years growth shorter.

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: It's going to be weird, going to school with my hair the way it's grown overnight. I look like all The Rolling Stones put together.

MAGNET THE COAT: Mick said in Rolling Stones Monthly, "Long hair is good - if things get tough, you can hide in it."

NARTHOR THE NARATIVE MOLE: Hooray! I'm gonna read a Jennings book...

MAGNET THE COAT: Bob Dylan's going electric this year!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: A lot of things in the attic don't exist... Only Afghans wear the coats...

DUNX THE MAN WHO SAYS "SCROTUM!" ALL THE WAY THROUGH SCENE I: (Voice off) Hoots Mon! Dagos!

(Narthor The Narrative Mole and Magnet The Coat break into an "Agadoo" dance routine)

MAGNET THE COAT: She Loves You, Yeah Yeah Yeah!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: Liverpool is the centre of the universe, culturally...

MAGNET THE COAT: Bleeeurgghhh! I like Frank Ifield's "Wayward Wind"!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: This is my big chance to watch "Ready Steady Go!".

MAGNET THE COAT: Cathy McGowan is great!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: Stoker Henwood is stupid!

MAGNET THE COAT: BSA...

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: Norton...

MAGNET THE COAT: Carol...

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: Triumph...

MAGNET THE COAT: Royal Enfield...

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: Clapton might be God...

MAGNET THE COAT: I guess I'm pretty tough... I think, one day, I will dive into the sea - any sea - and save someone from drowning... despite not being able to swim... and will modestly walk away, without telling anyone who I am, leaving them staring in admiration...

(Magnet The Coat, without any provocation from the others, turns on a transistor radio and occasionally switches between stations, producing an interesting effect. While this goes on, three roadies bring on a large gaily-painted box which has the required number of air holes. A Houdini lookalike comes on, led, James Brown-style, by several helpers. He is handcuffed, chained up and helped into the box, then the box is roped securely. There is a dramatic drum-roll, then nothing whatsoever happens. The box remains on the stage for the remainder of the scene)

VOICE OF THE TRANSISTOR RADIO: ...And on "Kiss My Colobus" tonight... (FX - Fzzzt Squeeek)...lightly over a low gas and leave it to simmer. While this is happening, you can prepare the flan dish with a little herring butter... (FX - Phweet Zzzzzz Kkkkk Bip) ...then you hurl it up against the wall and the other guy has to catch it in a kind of wicker handbag... and that's Pelota... or as they call it in... (FX - Scree Thwippetee) Mississippi Lemon Turd Cart With Whammy Greens... (FX - Dwish Dwish Dwish) ...Oomlau! Oomlau! Ze Takeaway Meal! Ze Bread's First Rate And Ze Apricot's Real! Oomlau! Berlin's Favourite... (FX - Squich Squich Coochweeeelp) ..in-a-lifetime, Get-a-break, Piece-o'cake. Shake-a-snake, Get Down and... (FX - Fiddly Dee) ...Welcome to the Home Service... (FX - Fiddly Pea) ...an' oi'll tell yer fer whoi, Peter... You can't expect a man ter live in Croydon all 'is loif an'... (FX - Phwad Phwad) ...then from out of the lush Pumsiva foliage, I saw what no white man has ever seen before... I was privileged to see a fully grown adult... (FX - Fwiddle Deeep) ...Postman, according to a British Telecom engineer (FX - Preedle Skrutchit Kkkkzzz) ...who's in the Listening Corner today... (FX - Kwwweeeepp) ..."here comes my husband!" (FX - Whiddley Drit Ka Deedee) ...down the Cresta Run at 100mph... (FX - Flattidy Dish) ...in through yer mouth and out yer ear like a... (FX - Siddley Niddley) ...terracotta cucumber... (FX - Shreeels) ...Bell helmet... (FX - Loopala Loppala) ...useful bubo grater... (FX - Peeoowee) ...have personally won... (FX - Fazak Fazak Fazakakalaka) ...wool or acrilan in a willow pattern. Mrs Filto, does that answer your question?" "Does that include milk stains?" (FX - Quizbillet) ...You're under arrest, Simpson! You have the right to remain sile... Gibbon and a Titulated Orak and a Greville Toaster Oriole... and we keep them all in a... (FX - Fistule Kitty Kitty Kitty) ...warm oven until further notice... (FX - Bizwiggit Masterlinseed) ...fights tooth decay... (FX - Coozoozoozoo) ...shortens curtains in a flash! (FX - Vavoonmumg Luggit) "Will y'noo tak' the sproots tae Aberdeen, Hamish?" (FX - Steelbiscuit Zit) ...until 1962, when the modern building was opened by Prince Charles, then... (FX - Gozo) ...merely a turtle... (FX - Funzal Geegee) May I, Mr Speaker, draw the attention of the Right Honorable gentlemen to... tremors in the... (FX - Nattaderr Nattaderr) ...marrowbone jelly... (FX - Frrrrtttt) ...of the Prime Minister... (FX - Wadpalleeridong Tootle) "When did you first discover your incredible skills at radio mimicry, Mr Lapworth-Hewitt?" (FX - Croak Soon Wimpeygraph) "What sort of static was that, Mr Lapworth-Hewitt?" "Pardon?" (FX - Finpy Bridgeoverthee Riverpimby) ...and stretch! And bend! And breathe! And bend! And stretch! And left! Bend knee twice! And right shoulder up and over... (FX - Kikidee Kikidee) ...my dead body, Professor! (FX - Laglagalagala) Sing Something Simple... (FX - Arthritic!) ...we've got self-assembly halibuts, we've got teak-veneer tortoises... Get down now to MFI and get... (FX - Snappa Snappa) ...tied to a tree... And a late result from the Rothmans Lid-Heading Sportathon... Cherry Pip Rovers - One... (FX - Fizzagong Blot Winkys) ...Find me a squirrel. Rover! (FX - Pondgrazedimqueel) That's all oi really wanner say really, Peederr... (FX - Click) Excuse me, where is the Hogmanoony Show, please?

(The radio is silenced and conversation goes on as "normal")

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: It's a doing word!

MAGNET THE COAT: It's FAB!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: It's gear!

MAGNET THE COAT: Smoking turnips or paper string, to see what it's like... Aye Verily! 'Tis A Play for Smoobs!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: Fetch me my tryke-o-ethylonic, Kardinly... Sorry, only my pipe!

(A member of the Italian film crew sticks his head round the lavatory door. He addresses his unseen colleague, who we can't see because he is outta sight. A sign on the toilet door reads "AFORE YE GO - WASH YER HANDS, YA STOATIE!")

A MEMBER OF THE ITALIAN FILM CREW: Zis is ze bogs, mon army!

ANOTHER MEMBER OF SAID ITALIAN FILM CREW: (unseen) You are right, Kemo Sarby! We have been duped!

A MEMBER OF THE ITALIAN FILM CREW: Yes mon capitano! Done up like ze kippers!

ANOTHER MEMBER OF SAID ITALIAN FILM CREW: Let's film the idiots in the next studio... We can tell the Pope they are Scottish people...

(They shut the door)

MAGNET THE COAT: As you can see, this diagram holds the key to existence.

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: If you exist!

MAGNET THE COAT: No! No!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: Yes! Yes!

MAGNET THE COAT: So after that, the limpet was blowtorched to surrender? If only Mama could see us now!

(Enter The Stuffed Fillmore Seal)

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: React to my nasal sounds, The Stuffed Fillmore Seal! Slide wet banana geese between my shiny potassium puree!

MAGNET THE COAT: I and only I know what the Navee wanted... Quickly I removed the raccoon cage that stole surreptitiously toward my mother, purely on the off-chance of seeing a loaded soap creature...

(Exit The Stuffed Fillmore Seal)

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: You see, Gentlemen... That sentence has carried us to the edge of the world... Only The Marble Civet Cat can answer the thrice-requested question... Am I really The Photon Digitoid?

(Enter The Marble Civet Cat and The Opulescent Stirrup)

THE MARBLE CIVET CAT: Beau Tie is in the eye of the bee holder...

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: (screams) I'm loaded!

THE OPULESCENT STIRRUP: (retorts tartly) Even better!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: (screams) Tetrylchlorocaribou Leoleo! Carnex of plates!

(Exit The Marble Civet Cat and The Opulescent Stirrup. Enter Rory McGroon)

RORY McGROON: (sings)
Frae Scara Brae
Tee Ben McDwae,
Frae Fort McCraig
Tee Edinbraig
Och! Come all ye
And bide awhile
At the dear ol' Hogmonoony!
(spoken) Hellooo! My name's Rory McGroon and I'm your compere for tonight, live from Newbury in the heart of the Trossachs... That's right, Missus! Trossachs! We've got a greet line-up of acts to welcome in the New Year... 1991... Just think of that, nineteen-bloody-ninety-one... Let's check the clock to see how far we've got to go 'til nineteen-bloody-ninety-one...

MAGNET THE COAT: Dogger bite of slime, Toad! The ever ready Ed, crapit lizard stringer to a nation... We'll see about this, when Daddy's rotund profound geodexcaligraph... Onerous, did you say? Dixie Dixie! My banjo container's been bitten by a snark baiter's son...

RORY McGROON: Ladies and gentlemen, lairds and lasses... The Glamis Castle Ceilidh Cavalcaders!

(A ramshackle dance routine ensues in which the protagonists hop to the left, stop, waggle their arms, hop to the left, lie on the floor, stand up again and shout "Dennis, where's yer trooosers!". There are also accordions involved. Dissecto saws his own arm off. The candle moulder lerbs with the grace of a shrimp-net, then snaps off at the face. The giant sodium lamprey cries, "Leggins The Cat! Leggins The Cat!")

MAGNET THE COAT: Crimp McCoy erected the goal apparatus, then bent double... then limped badly, before the court...

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: (passing out) I'm not a well...

MAGNET THE COAT: Excuses, excuses!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: This is an ordinary toy balloon... (squeak balloon) This balloon is the same colour... (squeak)

MAGNET THE COAT: Wrong pantomime, Mr Glowplug!

(The audience showers them both with bits of screwed-up paper, crying "Abdul, where's yer troosers?" - Enter Ken "Carwash" Grindle again - For the best effect, this bit should be delivered very loudly whilst standing in a dustbin)

KEN "CARWASH" GRINDLE: I can talk in confidence, can't I? Eeh, Ah've got such a boil on me backside! Ah 'aven't sat down fer a moonth! 'Ave you ever 'ad one, Missus? A boil, I mean... heh heh heh! Ooh, Ah should be at 'ome, cleanin' me car... Ah said to the doctor, "Doc, Ah've got a boil on me backside the size of a small volcano... Can yer do owt for it, Doc?" ...'E said "Ken... Ken... Go 'ome an' tell the wife to rub three pints of bitter on it..."So I went 'ome... the Missus rubbed three pints of bitter on me bum... Nothin' 'appened! So I went back to the Doc an' he said, "Make it a gallon, Ken... and a packet of pork scratchings..." ...Ah tell yer, ah smelled like a bloody pub carpet! Didn't work... Wife 'ad t'knit me special pair of trousers!

(The audience become visibly disinterested. One man crunches loudly on crisps.)

KEN "CARWASH" GRINDLE: ...Bugger-all 'appened! So I walked to that Lourdes... with a boil so big, I 'ad to support it in a bloody shoppin' trolley... A priest came up t'me an' ah said, "Look chum! Ah've 'ad no luck with me boil, ah think ah'll become an 'Indu!" ...'E said, "Ken... Ken! Look on your boil as a gift from God... You use it to your advantage and reap the reward!" So I 'it 'im over the 'ead with it an' pinched 'is Visa card! Thank you! Thank you!... Ladies and gents, please don't welcome on stage, The Humming Goatherds of Bavaria!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: (murmers) Stab your goat...

MAGNET THE COAT: ...And the Luddites marched on yesterday's dinner, smiling gently to the demolished crowd of auto mollusc salesmen.

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: Hebbit the lozenge peddlar bid us Good Day, then plunged his genetalia into crushed Swahili voyeur soup.

MAGNET THE COAT: The Mouthy Robol Carnel Boot attempted but failed... We all died together!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: (shrieks) No! The only place for a Babbitt is a crutch!

MAGNET THE COAT: Jasmine perfume has seeped into my Nolan gland... Touch the Galactile Lozenge to escape the cortege!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: (bleating in the style of Exonule Rapier Onyx Gorgon) Pune! Pune!

MAGNET THE COAT: (retorts in the style of a squid fisherman) Piss off! Out the door, first on the right, ya stoatie!

(We hear the continuing strains of "Agadoo")

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: Firmly, we grip the wailings of a dove's mother, heating The Barren Nights slowly over a picnic stove... Is that any way to treat apes?

MAGNET THE COAT: Deep deep is my only crayon's face! If only Bryans was here, the cargo would be contained in his omnipresent pouchorographica!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: (inflates the unique toy rat) It looks at me and grows a blue wing, it flies up to the roof... I buy it for three shillings, but it doesn't quote even numbers... so I play it Gas Chamber Music... and it grows as tall as a tower and flames shoot five hundred yards from its blue wing... So Craven Nesbit is crowned "Miss Tea Vymura Garage Accessory 1977"? ...which is enough to make a quince wince... or a Plantagenet exaggerate... or a certificate defecate... or a comet vomit! Hello Jam lies back, thick on my plate, like a hot-wattle sonnet in your Jasper- covered scream...

MAGNET THE COAT: Three dead moths of detention barned out the cable cart infirm-marionations. Come on, baby, unzip the French Prime Minister's oval cuttlefish with me!

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: (stoons as Eamonn) It may be my life!

MAGNET THE COAT: Violent Carson hangs upright from a military pole, craving the wet kiss of the pompous stadium. Prehistoric caveholders, well-known by themselves, with their names spelled out in geraniums across their infertile chests, weep purest phosphates when they can, as a stimulant to the groaning ground... Spiny beer on the cast-iron throat of Redundancy, payments made out of the hand of the land, to crush or caress...

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: (Eamonnly stooning) You unnecessary device of a nyfe-craners bolus! Grapple with me, would you... Would you? You you you you... if only you want!

MAGNET THE COAT: Every picture waits to taste the queue relentlessly... (breaks into song)
Eleven electric
Anti-Christ Madonnas
Parade bizarre,
It's seen by four
Surreptitious cranes...
Nice!
Tick tack!
Ladder rack!
Choke a bird for real!
Lull the crate of awaiting herd styles,
Matching strains in an Unread Book,
Yon thrice!
Wire coating
Tune of bats
Faithful!
"Collington Crescent!"
Said the psychedelic brush salesman,
"Warburton Avenue!
Pass the multicoloured adhesive,
That I may build a fire
Out of copper-bottomed secretaries' bricks!"

NARTHOR THE NARRATIVE MOLE: (resignedly) Chrome your scooters, blokes! It's 1965!

(Exit both, on children's red-plastic scooters, about which there is nothing mysterious. Curtain.)