FAQ: a dialogue for two combatants

Performed at the Progress Theatre Play Festival, Reading, and the Blue Orange Theatre, Birmingham.

FAQ, a dialogue for two combatants.
 

A, motorist.  B, car-park attendant. 

A walks over to B.

A:  ‘Scuse me, is this a private car park?

B:  Does it look public?

A:  (gestures behind him at his car) Would it be all right to leave my car

      here?

B:  You here for the meeting?

A:  Is there a meeting?

B:  Can’t you read the signs?

A: When does it start?

B: So you are here for the meeting?

A: Could I just park here before it starts?

B: So you’re not here for the meeting?

A: Twenty minutes, half an hour, would that be ok?

B: What’s the purpose of your parking?

A: It is late-night shopping tonight, isn’t it?

B: So that’s your purpose?

A: So would twenty minutes be ok?

B: How about one of the designated car-parks?

A: This isn’t designated, then?

B: Did I say it wasn’t designated?

A: So it is designated?

B: And what did I say it was designated for?

A: (slight pause) For the meeting?

B: Can’t you read the signs?

A: So where are the designated car-parks, then?

B: Where were they last time?

A: Last time?

B: Where did you find them last time you went shopping?

A: But are they the same?

B: The same?

A: For late-night shopping?  Can you use the same ones you use for

     daytime?

B: Why wouldn’t you?

A: Mightn’t they be coned off?

B: Why would they be coned off for late-night shopping?

A: Special regulations?

B: And who goes round keeping folk from parking in car-parks?

A stares momentarily at B.

A: Look, would fifteen minutes here be ok?

B: Can’t you find one of the designated car-parks?

A: Are they near this one?

B: Can’t you read a map?

A: Do you have one?

B: Do I look like I have one?

A: Where’s the nearest one?

B: Map?

A: Car-park?

B: Do you know Bullivant Street?

A: Is that off Spring Lane?

B: Where on earth is Spring Lane?

A: Between the precinct and the old church, isn’t it?

B: Which precinct do you mean?

A: I’d only be ten minutes, ok?

B: Nippy shopper, are we?

A: Aren’t you, when you know what you want?

B: Does that make any difference?

A: To what?

B: Can you do it in ten minutes?

A: Why wouldn’t I?

B: What about dawdling?  Using your mobile?  Bumping into a friend?

A: Do I look like I’d dawdle?

B: Do I look like I’d know if you would?

A: Barely ten minutes, is that ok?

B: So you think you can make it?

A: Do I look like I couldn’t?

B: (holds hands up) Have I demanded to give you a health check?

A: Can’t you trust me?

B: Feel your pulse?

A: Can’t you have faith?

B: Hear your heartbeat?

A: Can’t you give me a chance?

B: Tap your knees?

A: Can’t you let me try?

B: So you know which shop?

A: Why would I say ten minutes--?

B: Barely ten minutes, wasn’t it--?

A: --if I didn’t know?

B: And one of the other car-parks?  It wouldn’t be nearer?

A: Would you say it’d be nearer?

B: Which shop is it?

A: Does that matter to you?

B: Mightn’t another car-park be better?

A: So where’s the nearest to here?

B: Do you know Bullivant Street?

A: Will you let me go?!? 

Pause.

B: Seven minutes?

A: There and back?

B: Shall I time you?

A: Do you think you’ll need to?

B:  (produces watch)  Are you ready?

A: What does it look like?

B: Are you steady?

A: You think I’ll need as much as seven minutes?

B: Will you go like the clappers?

A: Has any other car arrived since we’ve been talking?

B: Fly like the wind?

A: Is there really a meeting?

B:  (holds watch ready)  Like a bird in the sky?

A: Are those notices your way of coning this car-park off?

B: Shall I press the button . . . ?

A: (turning, running)  Shall I show you a clean pair of heels?

A exits.  B looks after him.  Smiles.  Walks over to where A indicated his car was.  Takes out book, starts to write ticket.

B: Do you think I’m a fool?

Tears ticket off.  Freeze.

Curtain.

Hackery-Pokery

'Piglet?'

'Hmm?'

'Does this mean we can actually have a private conversation without all and Sunday reading it?'

'Sadly not. He's been sorted out, apparently.'

'So what exactly happened?'

'He was hacked.'

'Goodness. Badly?'

'Tigger says so. And he knows who did it.'

'Who's that, then?'

'Some bruiser called Mal Ware. Keeps a lock-up on the outskirts of Profile Pending.'

'I've no idea what a lock-up is.'

'Nor me. Just sounds dead human to lob it in.'

'Ah, yes, like "if you look at the stats"--'

'Which is just a mispronunciation of "if you look at the spats", which chaps used to say in the 1920s when they were trying to gain admission to "Ducky Footwear" evenings in Knightsbridge.'

'So, well…he was hacked, eh?'

'Well and truly.'

'How much of him fell off?'

'Tigger says it's better to ask how much of him was left.'

'How much of him was left?'

'As much as didn't fall off.'

'Of course. So what did however much of him that didn't fall off do about it?'

'He had to Report A Problem.'

'I've always liked the way you say capital letters.'

'Thank you, Pooh. Yes, always a good opportunity to go a bit Nordic.'

'What did he have to…mind if I try…?'

'Please do.'

'What Did He Have To Report?'

'Hmm, touch of the Catalan in the H's, Pooh, but that's nice…mellifluous.'

'Gosh. Thank you. So what did he--?'

'Oh, now, he had to tick a box saying Someone Is Trying To Be Me As I Was Before I Was Hacked.'

'That all?'

'No, Tigger says. Then he had to choose from a list of fall-y-off-bits.'

'Ah, right. Like arms, one / two, fingers and thumbs, one…'

'That's it, Pooh.'

'Two…three…four…five--'

'Pooh, do you want to hear a bit more Nordic?'

'För all del.'

'What's that?'

'Swedish. Owl got it from an old phrase book for travellers.'

'Meaning?'

'I'm guessing that he got a talon under the front cover, lifted it up right to left--'

'The phrase, Pooh. What does it mean?'

'What everything always means in travellers' phrase-books.'

'Ah, yes…the behaviour of your concierge has been less than seemly…'

'...given this load of combustible postillions.'

 

Chaos for Beginners.

'But why us, Piglet?'

'Tigger says someone has to do it.'

'But we're not even part of…you know…Out There.'

'It's a crisis. Tigger's words.'

'How so? Sow ho?'

'Apparently they've been quietly not doing it for months and now they're openly not doing it.'

'But running their country, Piglet…how would we manage it?'

'Oh, I don't think managing comes into it much. Tigger says it's like taking a dog out.'

'Oh, my life…you mean guns and concrete boots and--'

'No, no, like taking a dog for a run.'

'I don't like the sound of that. Owl says lots of people say they're taking their dogs out for a run and then just leave them tied to a lamp-post in another town with a sign saying "Please look after this Mad Hatter, here's ten-and-six".'

'We can't do that, Pooh. That's exactly what they've been doing to their country.'

'Well I wouldn't know where to start.'

'Titles.'

'What?'

'You get to have titles. So if we give ourselves a title apiece, that might give us a hint about what to do next.'

'What sort of titles?'

'Well…you could be…Minister Without Portfoolery.'

'What do you do when you do how you do that?'

'Owl says you have to make sure that nobody abuses wines or spirits.'

'Gosh, does that happen often?'

'It never not happens. That's how they are where they are.'

'All right. I'll try that. What about you, then, Piglet?'

'I rather fancy Minister for International Degeneratement.'

'Sounds important.'

'It's a big brief.'

'Big brief what?'

'Tigger hasn't got that far in his book.'

'Book?'

'Chaos for Beginners. But he'll let me know when he gets there.'

'Ah.'

'Though it would mean a lot of travel.'

'Gosh, can I come with you?'

'You'd be indispensable, Pooh.'

'You mean they abuse wines and spirits everywhere?'

'It's part of what Tigger calls global-facing degenerationism. That's why everyone is where they are.'

'Well shouldn't we be degenerational too?'

'Oh, no, Pooh, we have to signal a new start. A gentler, kinder degeneracy, Tigger says.'

'Maybe if I came up with a new hum.'

'Ah, now, we may have one.'

'Really?'

'Old friend of Eeyore's, Shetland pony, sent him an old Scots ballad--'

'Shouldn't that be Auld?'

'What?'

'Like that New Year's song…Any Auld Iron.'

'Auld, then, Pooh, auld. It's a stirring song of bright dawns and new beginnings, apparently.'

'What's it called?'

'The Twa Corbyns.'

'I look forward to hearing it.'

'No, Pooh, the term is, I will hear it going forward.'

'Don't tell me…Tigger says.'

'I think that's what he said. At the time he was putting clear blue water between where we were and where we are where we are.'

'Trying to jump the stream, then.'

'He nearly made it.'

Pesky Blenders

'Pooh?'

'Hmm?'

'What else?'

'What else what?'

'On our walk home yesterday you said Tigger was organising this quiz "for a start." What else?'

'Ah, well, he's getting two pitches ready.'

'Oh, he's not going for that after all, is he? Where will we put them all? Brazil's bigger than us.'

'No, Piglet, tv pitches. Ideas for programmes.'

'Oh. Ah. What programmes?'

'Well, a very popular drama has just started a new series with a stellar cast.'

'Pooh, are you reading that from something?'

'No, Eeyore's words. He's watching it avidly.'

'Meaning somewhere between indifference and disdain.'

'Well, yes.'

'What's it about?'

'Apparently, a gang in Birmingham in the 1920s who are in constant battle with a mob of wild, ungovernable accents.'

'Goodness.'

'Oh, yes. In one episode, Eeyore says, the gang leader has an hour-long arm-wrestle with a farm-worker accent from the Wiltshire-Dorset borders--'

'Really?'

'--who then escapes by turning into an unassuming crofter from the Kyle of Lochalsh.'

'Hoots, mon.'

'Piglet. Never in the entire history of Scotland has anyone ever said "Hoots, mon".'

'Not even under their breath?'

'Especially not under their breath. But Eeyore found the latest episode riveting--'

'--so…mildly distracting--'

'Well, yes. Some of the accent mob infiltrate the gang and sound plausibly Brummie. For about three minutes. Then they throw off their--whatever it is accents wear--to reveal themselves as a Geordie, a Salopian and a hapless drugs mule from Bogota.'

'So what are these pitches Tigger's going on about?'

'Ah, well, he intends to produce reality versions.'

'Of this accent show?'

'Yes. One's a sort of Candid Camera thing, but all very good natured, with everyone shaking hands afterwards--well, if they've still got hands after the pranks.'

'Dare I ask what he intends--?'

'Perky Blunders.'

'And the other?'

'Now, this one is more of a public service effort. You know, the dangers of the kitchen.'

'Oh, right…How Limp Is Your Lettuce sort of thing?'

'Well, more to do with rogue appliances.'

'I'm bracing myself for--'

'Pesky Blenders.'

'But what about the original? Are they meant to sort of fall in with all this?'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, is the gang-leader meant to break off from another arm-wrestle with a duplicitous non-Brummie accent and say "Will you look at the cut of that whisk?"'

'Probably. You know Tigger. As he says, he'll run it past the envelope.'

'A Wiltshire-Dorset accent, eh? Does it say "Bah, b'ain't natural"?'

'Don't do that, Piglet.'

'Not even quietly?'

'Especially not quietly.'

 

Trend-facing slam-dunk

'Piglet?'

'Hmm?'

'I see Tigger's busy.'

'Oh, dear. What now?'

'Well, for a start, he's organising a quiz night for the next May Rain Holiday.'

'I wondered when that would happen. I'd say he's been itching to play quizmaster.'

'Oh, no, he's getting someone in from, you know, Beyond.'

'Really? One of his friends on that Off-Yer-Facebook?'

'Possibly. Or a Twitteree. Or a Linkedinbred.'

'How many people do those gradations cover?'

'Oh, everyone, Tigger says. Long dead, yet-to-be born, all sorts in between.'

'Goodness.'

'He says the Borgias are following him.'

'Well, they're sort of known for that.'

'And Mid-Sized Tim.'

'Not the Tiny one, then?'

'He doesn't do social media, Tigger says. Tried it once. Sat in his corner and cried 'God Tweet Us, Every One.'

'And?'

'Nothing. Well, his dad came in with a heart-warming book on a plate for their Christmas dinner.'

'That was generous.'

'Ten pages each and they made soup out of the spine.'

'Gosh. They must have used one of the recipes from those programmes Eeyore watches.'

'Must have done. One of those artisanal things, Tigger says.'

'It doesn't do to say that word slowly.'

'No. Brings out the truth of the matter, though.'

'Certainly does. But this quiz-master he's got in. Or mistress. Or both / neither / if other please complete box.'

'Oh, an old hand at it. Been dishing out the questions for years.'

'Who is it?'

'Bambi Gascoigne.'

'Well as long as there isn't a sports round…'

'Have no fear, Piglet. Tigger's already said there's just one answer to all the sports questions.'

'Ah…oh, well, they deserve it.'

'Don't they, though? Tigger says that they're becoming Secretary-General of the UN when that Mr Ban-Ki Moon steps down.'

'My, my…what, all eleven of them?'

'Under one name. Red Leicester, apparently. You know, extra appeal to the Communist-Lonesome Cowboy vote.'

'Yes, well, Secretary General and all that. You need to sound nifty.'

'Indeed you do. Dag Hammarskjold, eh, Piglet? Who wouldn't get their deli queue ticket pronto with a name like that?'

'Ah, but you can't beat U Thant. Marvellous. Just the one letter. That's what Tigger would call a trend-facing slam-dunk.'

'Does Tigger understand the things he says?'

'Nary a clue.'

 

Throwns

'Pooh, I shouldn't worry about it.'
'I'm not worrying, Piglet. It's just that Eeyore's been watching it on his new tv and keeps raving about it.'
'Raving? Eeyore?'
'Well, muttering that it's actually quite fair-to-middling, all things considered. But he won't explain the title.'
'All right. Try me.'
'All right. What exactly is Game Of Throwns?'
'Quoits.'
'Oh...oh, yes. Well, thank you.'
'Don't mention it. And have you discovered what Howard's Way actually involved?'
'Piglet, let's not go mad.'
'No. Sorry.'