Monday 10 March 2014

Act II Scene IV

["Love this bit!" he exclaimed modestly, "I found myself laughing out loud several times while I was formatting it..." - This penultimate scene mostly consists of our idea of what an episode of the popular BBC 'soap' "EastEnders" looks and sounds like (although one or two references to Gosport still got snuck in there). The thing is, none of us had actually watched "EastEnders" except briefly for the purpose of 'research', so this is much funnier... or so I would imagine... I bet they don't have as many fart gags as us, anyway.]
 
...And Ruth Creased The Yellow Curtain
ACT II SCENE IV

(NB: For this scene you will need a pair of scissors - The scene is a typical East End street scene. Atmospheric oompah-stroke-accordion music. Various members of Johnson's Gridling Band walk past, some in disguise, some wearing shades and one wearing antlers and a straw hat. Newspaper vendors vend their wares and wear their vests. One of them, Ken, is approached by Mr Cracknell.)

ONE OF THEM, KEN: (loudly addressing passers-by) Runcorn Aaaahgaaas! Raaaan Khooon Aaaaah Garrrz! Run Gorn Aaaarrrgghh Aaaaaz! Ra Ngom Nargas! Reeed Orl Baht It! "Tuna Fish Beast In Postmistress Five Men In A Bucket Scandal!"

MR CRACKNELL: Morning Ken! I'll take one of those, please!

ONE OF THEM, KEN: Morning guv! There y'go mate!

MR CRACKNELL: Morning, Ken! And a packet of toffees!

ONE OF THEM, KEN: Morning Guvnah! This chuner fish whassname is a rare t'do, Mr Cracknell!

MR CRACKNELL: Yes Ken and no mistake! Morning!

(He reads aloud from a newspaper article entitled "How To Grow Latrine-Attendants On Damp Blotting Paper")

MR CRACKNELL: Beware the Auntie Edna-vore and the Clitumnestradon, because neither exists... which means, if you see them, you're in pretty unusual trouble... Tom Mix Comics, like delinquent encyclopaedias, act only in the interests of self-radio, when they eat kippered herons... Laugh at antipodean devils from the safety of your own park bench... Let a cigarette-end be your torch, let the sinuses amalgamate and play Dorchesters, hearing as the node computers sessionaries, Millet Kong, there's elastic in them thar' hills... Gold-pin seasoning, father on the road, grey ham sandwiches in a card house, built on a stormy day at sea... Morning!

ONE OF THEM, KEN: Morning Squire! Let's go motorcycling in the sea... or order some aftershave from a Male Odour Catalogue... I say! Isn't that a Neal's Portable Hand-Mug you've got there?

(They enter a nearby Fake Pub. Rinky Dink On The Ol' Joanna. Here we encounter Numerous Cheerful Cockneys)

DOT: Cor blimey! I dunno... wot wiv me an' Alf gettin' thrown aht of the maisonette... an' our Barry's Norma pregnant... Well, I 'ad to go back on the ciggies... 'Ow's your Willie, Ethel?

ETHEL: Mine's a little stout, Dot!

DOT: 'Ere! 'Ave you seen Den wiv 'is new fancy bit? Accordin' to Lottie, she was a barmaid at the Dagmar durin' the war...

ETHEL: (conspiratorially, is that a word?) Shut up Dot! 'Ere's 'is Nibs!

DOT: Pardon me, I'm sure!

(Enter Henrietta Mimling's Famous Burmese Glove Poopettes)

FIRST GLOVE POOPETTE: You stole the sausages! (taped laughter)

SECOND GLOVE POOPETTE: No! You stole the sausages!

FIRST GLOVE POOPETTE: Surrealism is the mistress of illusion! (real laughter)

SECOND GLOVE POOPETTE: Art triangle! (applause)

FIRST GLOVE POOPETTE: Have you read about this Tuna Fish Beast, Mike?

SECOND GLOVE POOPETTE: Yes! It's really scary! I won't go out at night!

FIRST GLOVE POOPETTE: Hmm! I've bought an alsatian!

SECOND GLOVE POOPETTE: Why, Dave?

FIRST GLOVE POOPETTE: Well, I reckon that the Tuna Fish Beast would be more likely to eat a dog than a glove...

SECOND GLOVE POOPETTE: You've got a point there...

FIRST GLOVE POOPETTE: Fancy a beer?

SECOND GLOVE POOPETTE: Righto...

(Glove Poopettes move off to another part of the bar. Nearby we see Mrs Fluidlink being questioned by a constable. He is showing her various dubious pictures of Tuna Fish Beasts with terrifying ears, insane grins and green woolly hats crudely drawn in blue biro. Ken "Carwash" Grindle walks into the pub, goes up to the bar and tells the landlord a joke about a man going into a pub and going up to the bar. He sits down un-noticed. Mr Cracknell continues his conversation with One Of Them, Ken.)

ONE OF THEM, KEN: Moles, of purest cauliflower, test accountants on a southbound train to Venus.

MR CRACKNELL: The bottle of accordionists salutes a partial granite salesman, Lemurama!

ONE OF THEM, KEN: Finally we arrived at the cheese counter and Uncle Sertola bought half a pound of mild Lancashire with a dead ant's face in it. If all the people in baths at this moment sang "19th Nervous Breakdown" by The Rolling Stones, it would be a coincidence.

MR CRACKNELL: Dry Fry can elongate on a long gate, on a snarling vanilla mutant.

ONE OF THEM, KEN: Ball and chin... Park cold operators beside freshly festered mutants!

MR CRACKNELL: Taste calm, green statements... If all the people in this pub were laid end to end, I wouldn't be at all surprised...

KEN "CARWASH" GRINDLE: (stands, addresses rest of pub - big build-up) Heh heh heh... Hello gang! It's great t'be back in Swanage... What?... Gosport? Heh heh heh... That's right, Gosport! Heh heh heh, Ah 'ad a mate who lived in Gosport... 'E 'ad t'clean 'is car on Wednesdays! (applause and cat calls, but no cat appears) Thank you... Thanks! Calm down missus, or ah'll 'ave t'cover you in suds... no missus, ah said "suds"! (canned laughter operated by someone behind the bar) See this suit? I got married in this suit... Heh heh heh! We couldn't afford a church weddin'! (laughter) You're on form t'night! Do you fancy a sing song? Or shall I clean me car? Seriously... I'ad the pleasure of workin' with the one and only Emerson Lakenpalmer, this summer in Blackpool... an' we did a little duet, just the two of us... Ah'd like to do that number for you now... only ah'd like t'do it as a mon-o-ette 'cos ah'm on me own... Heh heh heh! The next act to appear are a pair of up-and-coming stunt motorcyclists from Evesham... In all my years in newspaper selling, I have never seen such an exciting performance... They almost make those motorcycles talk! They have starred at the London Palladium, The Hippodrome, The Swanage Trocadero... their successes are endless! For three years running, they have won the Golden Nutmeg of Montreux... they have been nominated for several Oscars, notably for their appearances next to Bugs Bunny in the "Death Rabbit 2000" series of films... I could go on... but judge for yourselves... Ladies and gentlemen! Hold on to your seats and be amazed by...

VOICE OFF: Someone's pinched the bloody wheels!

ONE OF THEM, KEN: (for some reason, taking up Ken "Carwash" Grindle's introductory schpiel) Become enthralled to the marrow by...

NO! YOU VOICE OFF: It's a soddin' student prank!

ONE OF THEM, KEN: Um... Ladies and gen...

VOICE OFF YOURSELF: Bastards! Get the curtain down and start the disco!

ONE OF THEM, KEN: Oh well.. We'd better have the Dancing Shed sketch then...

(For the next couple of minutes, accompanied by a crackly old '78 of Les Paul & Mary Ford doing "The World Is Waiting For The Sunrise", a professional dancer, dressed in a 'Shed' suit constructed from cardboard boxes and carrying an umbrella, with two others wearing lampshades on their heads and three-pin plugs hanging from their trousers, dance around in a provocative but pointless manner. Eventually they are joined by some more dancers dressed as garden gnomes. Then they leave. No one is to react to their appearance at all.)

ONE OF THEM, KEN: Look Mr Urbanrenewalprogramme! It's raining children!

MR CRACKNELL: Take a wife... Any wife... and buy her a curtain! Avec 'tis mine!

ONE OF THEM, KEN: Come in, dear... take your chosen socks off...

MR CRACKNELL: Alfred The Grate was a brightly-coloured woolly terrorist with a manicurist up his sleeve!

ONE OF THEM, KEN: He held up bridges with a gun carved from a bottle of Swarfega!

MR CRACKNELL: He became a hi-jacket...

ONE OF THEM, KEN: He was pretty turf...

MR CRACKNELL: In fact, he slept in a bed with bubonic bubos, instead of a teddy...

ONE OF THEM, KEN: Alfred The Grate's mate dated Kate's mate's Mother's Mum.

MR CRACKNELL: Learn to torture a typewriter - In seven days, you could be strumming! Whiskey on the bone, please!

ONE OF THEM, KEN: Will all the passengers for East Mekon, please take tricycles to pieces in the sumptuously-appointed reception area, as indicated in the manual on frog-wrestling... and do not drop spiders on the stationmaster while he's construing timetables for old ladies in luminous dresses. Your Royal Highness, Admiral Sir Drake, ladies and gentlemen, please stand for the National Anthem... except for Your Majesty and friend, of course...

(Taped music - Jimi's Woodstock rendition of "Purple Haze")

MR CRACKNELL: Yessir! Everyone's a banality! Salute to taste!

(Enter Kelvin, a typical Cockney of the coloured persuasion. He approaches the landlord, Den "Dirty Den" Spadgitt)

KELVIN: How de do dere Den! Gimme skin - but not on de top o' me pint! Mi saw ya out wahr-kin' de hippo last night!

DIRTY DEN: 'Ere Kelv! You watch yer mahf! That was no 'ippo, that was me fancy bit on the side! 'Ave yer got the address, Kelv?

KELVIN: What's "The Address" rhymin' slang for, Den? Mustard and cress? New blue dress? Stress fracture?

DIRTY DEN: Yer askin' for a Naked Lunch, my san!

KELVIN: What's a Naked Lunch den, Den?

DIRTY DEN: A panch ap ver bracket, my san! Get Arfur aht of the pickled eggs, someone!

LOFTY: Up yer cam, Arfur, mate...

ARTHUR: (talks bubbles, but not in the accepted sense) Leave me alone, Lorfty lad... Yer a good boy, not like yer farver... I've 'ad enough of this series, Lorfty lad... I've lorst me job dahn the centre an' me budgie's been taken by the 'emeroids, just after I bought 'im free quid's worf of dodgy cuttlefish of Den... It wasn't always like this Lorfty lad... Nah! This street was a street t'be prahd of... Y'know. we 'ad a party, right by yer ol' Auntie Moll's allotment... all the kids was there... It was the day Chelsea won at Wolves...

DIRTY DEN: (screwing lid back on pickled egg jar) 'Night Arfur!... An' you shut up an' get Ethel a poisoned Mackeson, Lofty, or I'll put you in there wiv 'im...

KEN "CARWASH" GRINDLE: (standing and announcing for no apparent reason) Thank you! A great bunch of lads... Remember, you can always spot a good musician by the state of 'is car... Ah tell yer... y'can see yer bloody face in these guys' Datsuns! Ladies and gentlemen... I'd like to sing my latest hit... no! No, hang on... I went to one of them acid house parties, the other night... Phew! Bloody 'ell... (does a ludicrous jerky dance movement) ...There was one of them "punk rockets" there... you know the type... drainpipe kilt and 'arf a scrapyard nailed through 'is ears... ah said to 'im, ah said, "Why 'ave you got that bloody great mohican 'aircut?"... 'E said, "Ken.... ah use it t'clean me car on Wednesdays!" (polite audience laughter and applause) Heh heh heh... My daughter's one of them punk rockets... Eeeh! Yer would'nt believe the names on some of them punk records! 'Ave you 'eard the Six Pistols? Don't bloody bother! but this next number 'as got class... Ladies and gentlemen, from my next album... Ah'd like t'sing this little song written by my good friend... yes, you've guessed it... 'Ank Telford... "Love, Love d'Amour The Merrier"... Take it away Denny!

(He sings his song accompanied by Dirty Den on a trombone)

DIRTY DEN: (on completion of song) You stole the sausages!

DOT: Arfur's drahnin' again in the Public, Eth! You certainly wouldn't catch me givin' im mahf-ter-mahf... Poooh! Yer can smell 'im from 'ere! 'Ere Lofty! 'Ow abaht two Gin'N'Its for me an' Ethel? Y'know, Eth, 'e's never worn that cardy I knitted for 'im last year!

ETHEL: Probably never will now, Dot! Nor the cheese-striped jacket!

(Enter Professor Drake & Martin The Performing Grapefruit. Professor Drake addresses the occupants of the pub.)

PROFESSOR DRAKE: (hushed tones) Ladies and gentlemen... I will now put Martin, a highly dangerous African Bull Grapefruit, into my mouth... This trick has never, to the best of my knowledge, been performed in the East End before...

(There is the usual kind of theatrical drum roll and Drake puts Martin into his mouth - It may be necessary to cut the grapefruit into segments at this point... it depends on the size of the grapefruit and/or mouth in question, really...)

PROFESSOR DRAKE: ...And now, for my next trick... Aaaaaaggggghhhh!

(Using the magic of stagecraft - a bit of string, copious amounts of blood capsules, the acting ability of Professor Drake and the imagination of the audience - Martin appears to leap off the stool, tear at Drake's throat and grapple him to the floor. Several stage hands rush on with butterfly nets, 'catch' Martin and help Drake 'out of the pub' and offstage. Dot addresses the audience)

DOT: Remember, ladies and gentlemen... Citrus fruit can be dangerous! Don't try any of these tricks at home... And always ask a grown-up before you eat an orange!

DIRTY DEN: Where's my kid, Ange you slut! Just read this!

ANGE: "Cette Sauce de Haute Qualité... Art Guinnefs... Made in Dublin..."

(FX: Bottle smashing on skull)

DIRTY DEN: You cah! Get back to Doug at the Dag! My solicitor knows abaht the whippets in the taxi! You've ruined my life, you cah! Lofty! Take over the pub! I'm orf to Morocco to settle a debt...

LOFTY: ...As we Eastenders say when we go to the toilet! 'Ere's yer poisoned Mackeson, Ethel...

ETHEL: Ta Lofty! Is poison extra?

LOFTY: Not to regleear customers, Ethel! Who's put napalm in the staff Xmas box?

KEN "CARWASH" GRINDLE: We've got an 'Ungarian for yah tonight... all the way from 'Ungary... 'E's a great lad... great lad... 'E's a master of the ventriloquial art and very very funny in an 'Ungarian sort of way... Heh heh heh, 'E cleans 'is car on Wednesdays! Heh heh heh... Why do Skoda's 'ave 'eated rear windahs? Heh heh heh... Yeah! To demist 'em in cold weather! Heh heh heh! An old 'Ungarian joke there... Ladies and gentlemen... the great, the amazin', the very wonderful... Vlad, The Great Dissecto!

(Nothing much happens at all - somebody lies on the floor, covered in stage blood)

DOT: Wicksy looks a bit pale tonight, Eth! 'Ave you bin givin' 'im your old crimbo cake? The Doctor says I 'ave to relieve my wind, Ethel, so beg pardon! (amusing raspberry sound) It's the gin, Dear... sumfink to do wiv alcohol and bacterial eructations of the lower colon... My George reckons I could do wiv anover operation... (raspberry) Beg pardon again, Ethel! My George won't let me do that at 'ome... 'course, 'e was a submariner, 'an they're touchy abaht that sort of thing, wot wiv no winders... I'm a martyr to me bowels... (raspberry) I'll just pop to Morocco...

DIRTY DEN: I'll do yer operation if yer like, Dot, we're a bit slack! Was it a resection or just tie a knot in it? 'Ere Lofty, put yer finger 'ere a minute! Right, now if you blow off again, you'll blow yer eyes right aht yer 'ead an' into the snug!

LOFTY: I 'ate doin' operations, Den! It ain't no job for the bar staff... can't I do the crimbo decorations instead?

WICKSY: There's a bloke ahtside says 'e wants t'see Den... 'an 'e's got a suitcase...

ETHEL: The rest is silence, I suppose... (she dies)

DIRTY DEN: Get the bloke wiv the suitcase in, to take Ethel out... 'an check the expiry date on the Mackesons... Any Iranians out there wanna buy an Exocet, slight seconds? Tanker very much sir!
DOT: I always knew Den would come to a sticky end, Lorfty! (raspberry) Beg pardon!

WICKSY: ...'an 'e says Arfur's 'ad a big pools win... twenty-seven draws an' Joanna Lumley's gonna present the cheque...

DOT: 'Ere Lofty! Get Arfur aht of the pickled egg jar an' dry 'im aht in the microwave! Cor stripe me pink! So ol' Arfur's come up on the pools at last... small world, ain't it, Ethel?... Ethel?... Oh gawd!

DIRTY DEN: Bring Ethel into the snug, I'll see if Ange 'as left 'er.... The cah! She 'asn't!

ARTHUR: Don't you come near me!... Pauline, help me!

PAULINE: Just a minute, Arfur, I've got to get Martin orf t'sleep an' clean Dr Legg's surgery an' clean up after that daft ol' woman wot lives wiv us an' clean up after the woofters an' take the bodies aht at the Vic an' get Michelle married orf to some sucker... Evenin' Lorfty!... an' look! Dot's bowels come undone... Here, Dear... Put yer finger there, Lofty...

LOFTY: Gawd Mrs Fowler... I'd rather marry Michelle than do that again!

PAULINE: I swear that launderette will be the deaf of me, look at my ankles! Now Martin's started cryin'... Give 'im 'is dummy wiv jam on, Arfur... Oh gawd! The clock's wrong... we'll 'ave to eat a snack at Ali's or we'll be...

(FX Off - Car skidding and crashing)

LOFTY: (breathlessly) There's bin a... dreadful axydint... girl on rollerskates wiv a tray of Martinis... come in the Vic an' Den shot 'er wiv 'is shooter... I fink 'e's sorry 'e lorst 'is temper, vo...

PAULINE: Well you'd better 'ave a cuppa tea Lorfty! Oh gawd! That volcano's started Martin orf... Mam! Give Lorfty a cuppa tea!

DIRTY DEN: I dit'n't mean it... I was provoked... I fort it was one of Wal's crahd!

PAULINE: I'm never gowna speak to you as long as I live, Den Spadgitt! 'Ere's my Ladies' Darts Team rota sheet an' badge!

DIRTY DEN: Ah's abaht I get my barman to marry yer pregnant daughter an' I stop the volcano so's Martin can get to sleep an' I'll pump aht Arfur into the bargain an' I'll get yer a Launderette all yer very own to skivvy in... then will yer stay in the darts team?

PAULINE: But wot abaht Lou?

DIRTY DEN: I was gonna use 'er to plug the volcano...

PAULINE: You'll do no such fing, Den Spadgitt! I wouldn't accept your Launderette, not even if you was the lorst man on erf! Come on Mam! I'll buy yer a Rickendorfer Wangdanger at the Dag!

LOU: I always did like the toilets at the Dagmar... lovely wooden seats...

PAULINE: Are you comin' Arfur?

ARTHUR: I ain't goin' to the Dagmar, wiv its 'Oity-Toity toffs... If the phone rings, I'll be on me allotment, plantin' next year's Pearly King Assortment...

PAULINE: Suit yerself Arfur! Come on Mam... I'm payin'!

DIRTY DEN: Eat pumice lava, Looby Lou! An' just watch yerself, mixin' Martinis in the Launderette's centrifuge drier for the Dagmar, Pauline! I knows all abaht yer tricks... an' stop Arfur growin' them olives!

(As they exit, fade up the megaphonically-challenged voice-off of the Narrator-Cum-Mole, giving a fascinating illustrated lecture about fish. The lights dim a notch or two and a number of colourful slides of fish are projected on to the backdrop)

NARRATOR-CUM-MOLE: ...and this is the Swiss Army Mullet... note the useful corkscrew, to open wine bottles... or with its whisk attachment, it can quickly make a rich Christmas pudding... Now, behold the Crenelated Wallpaper Newt, available in over thirty seven up-to-the-minute colour combinations, ideal for that Lost Lounge of Atlantis... And here's the unassuming little Sea Wha's's'ame, distantly related to the Paper hanky. Note how it blends in with its surroundings... And lo! The Bearded Tiffin Loach, small but magnificent to the eye... Any more?

(Curtain - Audience shuffles in their seats but there is no applause)



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