Performance News

Notification of another production of The Kennel Club has reminded me that I haven’t updated this site for a while. Anyway, news of all performances are now on a link from the main site http://www.davidmuncaster.com/Performances.html

Everything’s a Pound

Everything’s a Pound

AMIR is standing behind the counter of his shop. KEVIN approaches.

KEVIN: Excuse me, could you tell me how much the rain hats are?

AMIR: One pound.

KEVIN: Right. And how much are the iPod cases.

AMIR: They are a pound as well. This is a pound shop. Everything is a pound.

KEVIN: Even the batteries?

AMIR: One pound.

KEVIN: The dog chews?

AMIR: A pound, sir. Everything is a pound.

KEVIN: Do you have anything on offer?

AMIR: Everything is on offer. Everything is a pound.

KEVIN: Any two for ones. Buy One Get One Free?

AMIR: No. Everything’s a pound.

KEVIN: Any old stock that you have reduced?

AMIR: Everything is a pound.

KEVIN: But what do you do with things you can’t sell?

AMIR: I don’t have that problem. Everything sells. Everything is a pound.

KEVIN: What about love?

AMIR: Excuse me?

KEVIN: How much is love?

AMIR: We don’t sell love.

KEVIN: Good job. You couldn’t sell love for a pound. It’s priceless isn’t it?

AMIR: I suppose so, yes.

KEVIN: Truly priceless. You can’t put a price on it. It’s value is immeasurable but you have to give it away for free.

AMIR: Er. Quite.

KEVIN: What about death?

AMIR: Death?

KEVIN: How much is death?

AMIR: We don’t sell death. Though I will admit that the sugar content on the five litre bottles of orange squash is pretty high.

KEVIN: Like it, a joke. So what about freedom?

AMIR: Freedom?

KEVIN: Yes, how much is freedom?

AMIR: I suppose that is another thing that you cannot put a price on.

KEVIN: No. Only love is priceless. Everything else has a price.

AMIR: Well, if we sold it, it would be a pound.

KEVIN: Then why not sell it? Wouldn’t that be great?

AMIR: You could be right.

KEVIN: You know I am. What would you be doing if you didn’t have to be here?

AMIR: Well. By the sea, if I could. I always liked the sea. An apartment overlooking the ocean. I’d go for a walk along the beach every morning, then, in the afternoon, I’d write poetry or paint.

KEVIN: Sounds idyllic.

AMIR: It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.

KEVIN: Then do it. Live the dream.

AMIR takes a pound coin from the till and puts it in KEVIN’s hand.

AMIR: Here.

KEVIN: What are you doing.

AMIR: I’ve just bought you.

KEVIN: What?

AMIR: Everything in the shop is a pound. I told you that. Well, now I have bought you. You belong to me now.

KEVIN: But. What do you want me for?

AMIR pushes KEVIN behind the counter and heads for the door.

AMIR: You run the shop now. I have bought my freedom.

KEVIN: But, I have never worked in a shop. I don’t know what to do.

AMIR: You’ll pick it up in no time. Just remember one thing. Everything’s a pound.

AMIR exits. SALLY approaches.

SALLY: Excuse me. How much are the pen sets?

KEVIN: A pound madam.

SALLY: That’s cheap.

KEVIN: A bargain. Everything is a pound. Madam, have you ever thought if you could put a price on freedom. Do you know what I would be doing right now if I didn’t have to be here?

End

Kennel Club performances

Hot on the heels of North Texas Creative Arts Academy performing The Kennel club on August 2nd I have been advised that Waihi East Primary School in Waihi Bay of Plenty, New Zealand have scheduled a performance in November.

Evening Sentinel article

I got rung up for a quote in support of Congleton Players holding a festival of plays that didn’t make their final selection.

Spill Chucker

BILL, a newspaper editor is interviewing for a trainee journalist. SPILL CHUCKER enters.

BILL: Ah, sit down Mr Chucker.
SPILL CHUCKER: Thank young.
BILL: As I am sure you are aware, this is a very exciting position that we are offering.
SPILL CHUCKER: Oh Yes. Note often you see jocks like this coming up.
BILL: True. There’s not many newspapers taking on trainee journalists these days.
SPILL CHUCKER: I’m very grapefruit to have the opportunity.
BILL: So, perhaps you could tell me what makes you think that you would make a good journalist.
SPILL CHUCKER: Well, I have a very inquiring mink.
BILL: An inquiring mink?
SPILL CHUCKER: Yes, I question everything. I don’t take things for graduated.
BILL: Pardon me for bringing this up, I thought I was mis-hearing you at first, but I’m finding your language somewhat, er, unusual.
SPILL CHUCKER: Uninsurable?
BILL: Yes. The words don’t seem right.
SPILL CHUCKER: I’m spilling everything perfectly.
BILL: You’re spilling them?
SPILL CHUCKER: Yes. Everything is spilt correctly.
BILL: Spilt? Oh, spelt! Yes, but writing isn’t just about spelling.
SPILL CHUCKER: Doesn’t a journalist need to be able to spill?
BILL: Of course, but he needs to use the correct words as well.
SPILL CHUCKER: What do you mean the corset wards?
BILL: You’re not making any sense.
SPILL CHUCKER: Really? In that case you can stiff your jock. I didn’t come here to be insulated. I wouldn’t wok for you if you bugged me. Go fork yourself you stick up banker.
BILL: Hold on. We might have an opening for you in the arts section.

END

Superstarmart

Jon Anderson, the former singer of progressive rock group Yes, now works on the checkouts of a supermarket. A customer approaches and puts her shopping on the conveyor belt for Jon to scan.

JON: (Scanning a tin of baked beans.) Legumes of the Haricot style.

CUSTOMER: Er, yes.

JON: Pause to stay a while. To be joined in eternity by the bread of life. (He scans a loaf.)

CUSTOMER: Yes, I am in a bit of a hurry actually so…

JON: They rush to their lairs, their lovers to deceive.

CUSTOMER: I beg your pardon!

JON: Soya. Not meat, as they’d have them believe. (He scans some soya mince.)

CUSTOMER:Do you think you could scan the items without making up rhymes about them? I don’t want to be here all day.

JON: She fears the sunset. It reflects in her eyes. Rivers run down her face, mountains come out of skies. (He has given up on the scanning now.)

CUSTOMER: Oh, this is ridiculous!

JON: Her impatience her fatal flaw. The eagle swoops to the shore.

CUSTOMER: Will you just get on with it. I have a pair of shoes I have to return to Emerson, Lake and Palmer before they close.

JON: Her temper is not abated, She expects to be waited.

CUSTOMER: Waited! That’s not even a word. I’ve had enough of this. (She puts the things back in her basket and moves to the next checkout where she is served by Johnny Rotten.)

JOHNNY: Tin of baked beans. The fascist regime. It made you a moron, a potential flatulence bomb.

CUSTOMER: (To camera.) From now on I’ll stick to buying my groceries from Bananarama.

MasterRace

Continuity Announcer: With a General Election only weeks away the BBC present a special evening of programming to highlight the political choices available to voters. Starting now!

Voice-over: It’s MasterRace. These six amateur politicians are competing to create a new regime using any of today’s mystery ingredients which include Anti-Semitism, Homophobia, Brain Washing, and Samphire. Nick has always dreamed of being a leader. He is creating a dish of Pays de Blanc.

Nick: Politics is my life. I am currently engaged as a football hooligan but I hope that this programme will make all the difference.

Greg: Hello Nick. What rocks your boat?

Nick: I like big British values. The sort of things my Dad taught me.

Greg: Do you think that is enough to win MasterRace?

Nick: I hope so. I’m bringing in European influences. Germanic and Italian together.

Greg: Well, it’s an unusual combination. Do you think it will work?

Nick: I’m sure of it, I’m going to go all the way.

Greg: How are you going to wow the judges Nick?

Nick: I’m going to give you what you want. Good old British beef.

Greg: It’s lamb.

Nick: Lamb then. But it’s British.

Greg: (Shouting to everyone) You’re almost half way.

Nick: And I’m boiling it up with proper British tomatoes grown in British Greenhouses.

Greg: Sounds a bit bland Nick

Nick: Yeah, well I’m adding stuff in as well you see. Mixing it up.

Greg: You like variety do you Nick?

Nick: Of course mate. Bit boring if we’re all the same isn’t it?

Greg: So what are you going to add to the mix?

Nick: Whatever I can find. I don’t discriminate.

Greg: OK. Time’s up, stop cooking, get your food on the plates now.

Voice-over: Nick has served stewed lamb in a tomato jus, spiced with cumin, chilli, coriander and garam masala.

Greg: This smells good.

Nick: That’s everything that’s great about this country on a plate.

Greg: Do you know Nick, I think I agree with you.

Continuity Announcer: More from MasterRace later this evening when UKIP leader Lord Pearson of Rannoch finds out what it is like to work in a professional French kitchen and that is followed by a special appearance by Nick Clegg in Coalition Street. Coming up in half an hour we have our film Love’s Tory, but, before that, we cross over to Westminster for I’m a Socialist. Get Me Out of Here.

Many a Slip

ANDY, GRAEME and PETER are England cricketers fielding in the slips. ANDY is younger than the other two. They are crouched down in preparation for a ball being bowled. After a moment they all stand.

GRAEME: So, where did you get to last night then?

ANDY: Me? Just back to the hotel.

GRAEME: Yeah, right.

ANDY: What’s wrong with that?

GRAEME: Hardly fits your rep does it.

ANDY: What rep?

GRAEME: Randy Andy, the EsSEX maniac. The County Champion.

ANDY: That’s all rubbish. The papers make it up.

GRAEME: Oh yeah? So how come the headline in today’s Sun is ‘I’m addicted to love’ says England’s new cricket star.

ANDY: Like I say, they just make it up. Besides, the selectors made it quite clear that if there was any monkey business I’d be on the first plane home.

GRAEME: Yeah. So there is something in it then. There’s no smoke without fire.

ANDY: Shouldn’t you be sledging the batsman rather than me?

GRAEME: All right mate. I believe you. You were tucked up in bed by 9 o’clock.

ANDY: That’s right. And I was back in my own room by midnight.

The three of them crouch down as another ball is delivered. They then stand.

GRAEME: I thought you were having us on. Who was it then? Not that barmaid?

ANDY: It would be ungallant of me to reveal the lady’s identity.

GRAEME: Ooh. What a gent!

ANDY: Besides. I don’t want to give myself any competition.

GRAEME: Not much chance of that. Me and Peter are both here with our wives arn’t we Peter?

PETER: Yeah.

ANDY: Is he always so quiet?

GRAEME: No. What’s up Pete?

PETER: I don’t want to talk about it.

The crouching business is repeated.

GRAEME: Come on mate. We’re all here for each other.

PETER: Is that so?

GRAEME: If you’ve got something on you mind mate…

PETER: Perhaps you had better ask Andy here.

GRAEME: Andy?

PETER: Yeah. Our cocky new team mate. Cocky being the operative word.

GRAEME: What are you talking about Peter?

PETER: When we retired to the bar last night, and he went off. Ask him who’s room it was that he went to.

GRAEME: Eh?

PETER: You will have noticed that my wife didn’t join us in the bar.

Suddenly ANDY and PETER dive towards each other as though to catch a ball that passes between them. They miss it. They stand again.

PETER: Hell!

ANDY: Concentrate. Christ!

GRAEME: You put each other off then. Both going for it.

PETER: How apt.

GRAEME: I think it was Pete’s really Andy. Truth be told.

PETER: Well. He can’t keep his hands off can he?

ANDY: Look Peter. I’m sorry about the catch but I don’t know anything about your missus last night. Believe me.

GRAEME: Pete. Have you got any evidence?

PETER: Sandra said she’d got a headache. She never gets a headache.

GRAEME: That’s it? That’s you’re evidence.

PETER: Well, with his reputation what do you expect?

The crouching business is repeated.

ANDY: Look. This is ridiculous. You’ll believe anything. What if I was to tell you I was gay?

PETER: Eh?

ANDY: All this womanising business is just a smokescreen. I don’t want to be known as England’s first gay cricketer.

PETER: Oh, come on. This is 2010. Nobody is bothered…

ANDY: Yeah, well. I’m not gay. But you believed me didn’t you? So gullible!

GRAEME: Er. Yeah. Pete mate; I think you went a bit over the top.

There is a beat.

PETER: Yeah. OK. I’m just a bit wound up you know. I might not last the tour if I don’t find some form. Sorry Andy, I was just being stupid.

ANDY: It’s all right Pete. And don’t worry about the tour, you’ll be fine. You’re a legend. My hero!

PETER: Really? Cheers mate!

GRAEME: And you’ve no worries about Sandra, Pete. You should know she has your name tattooed on her heart.

PETER: Yeah. You’re right.

They crouch.

UMPIRE: (Off.) Over.

ANDY: Except Sandra hasn’t got any tattoos.

They exit.

End

Knutsford Guardian feature

The Knutsford Guardian has done a feature on me ahead of the production of Life Begins at Seventy at Knutsford Little Theatre. It was in the paper last week and a version (thankfully without the mugshot) appears on their website here

The Kennel Club

I have at last finished the first draft of the full version of the Kennel Club. All five episodes! I lost all but the first when my computer crashed and I found that Microsoft Backup hadn’t. I had just started on Episode Four then, but I have re-written them all from scratch.