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

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

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.

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.

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