TOAST Part 3 of 3

Well, you’ve not exactly been impatiently clamouring for the final part, which leaves me thinking maybe I’m talking to thin air. If that’s the case, then thank you, air, for being a wonderful audience. And also my mother, who I presume is still reading. If she isn’t, then it’s a sad day for my readership numbers… they’ll probably halve.

If you’ve not read the earlier parts, then start here.

So, here we are with the anti-climactic final part.

TOAST (continued, continued)

TOM: One of us should go and check. You went first last time, so it’s my turn.
MIKE: Right.
TOM: I’m just going upstairs, to get dressed, while I wait for the toast.
Mike sees him leaving, and realises he’s been tricked.
MIKE: W-! oh, never mind.
Tom exits.
GIRL: Come and have a bowl of cereal.
MIKE: Okay, but erm… just a small one.
He sits down.
GIRL: Well?
MIKE (cautious): Well what?
GIRL: Go and get a bowl.
MIKE: Oh. Right.
GIRL: I think you need to drink more of that coffee.
Mike looks at his cold cup of coffee.
MIKE: Maybe later.
He stands to get the bowl. She rises too, and goes over to him.
GIRL (smiling curiously again): You know, Mike, you’re acting very strangely. Are you sure you can remember happened last night?
MIKE: Yes! Of course I remember! Well… bits of it…
Short pause. She looks at him.
MIKE: I remember meeting you…
GIRL: (starting to catch on) Oh yeah.
MIKE: I was… with Tom…
GIRL: He’d just gone to the toilet.
MIKE: Yeah, he’d just gone to the toilet. Little details, I can’t remember, that’s all.
MIKE: He never had good bladder control, Tom.
GIRL (laughing): I know.
This really unnerves Mike again.
GIRL: But I thought he was being sick.
MIKE: You’d remember better than me. You were sober.
GIRL (sidling really close to Mike): Come on, Mike. Tom’s upstairs. He can’t hear us. You don’t have to keep up the act…
MIKE: I don’t?
She puts her hand on his chest.
MIKE: You – you’re right, I don’t.
He leans in towards her for a kiss, and the toast pops up. They both pull back in surprise at the noise.
GIRL: Oh, it’s only the toast. Now where were we?
They move in close again, when Tom bursts into the room. They pull back quickly.
TOM: Was that the toast?
MIKE (straightening his shirt): Yes, it was. (bitter) You dressed quickly.
GIRL: And now I’d better dress, or I’ll be late. (looks seductively at Mike)
MIKE: Late? Late for – ?
TOM (interrupting): Yes, you’d better hurry.
Girl leaves. Mike starts to follow. Tom grabs him.
TOM: What are you doing? Don’t start asking questions now, you almost gave the game away!
MIKE (distracted, looking eagerly out of the door after her): Oh. Sorry. What did you find out?
TOM: It’s strange. I think I slept in my bed, and you in yours…
MIKE: Yeah, yeah.
TOM: But I’ve got no idea where she slept.
MIKE: I could guess.
TOM: What?
MIKE: Nothing.
TOM: Did you find anything out?
MIKE: That I met her when you were being sick, and that she said she “knows” you have bad bladder control.
TOM: That doesn’t help much.
TOM: But she said she knew I burnt the toast… so, I mean, it must have been me, really?
MIKE: Listen. Tom. It’s just that… well… you said she looked like your mother.
TOM: Yeah.
MIKE: Only with less of the –
TOM: Yeah, but what’s your point?
MIKE: Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? You can’t take a girl like that home to meet the parents. Oedipal complex and all that. SO embarrassing. Plus, your dad would probably –
TOM: Yeah, but who said anything about taking her home. I’m just talking about last night.
MIKE: Yeah, well, about that. I’m thinking about it logically now, and you know (looks out towards staircase like that)… a girl like that… she’s… she’s kind of out of your league.
TOM: What?
MIKE: No offence, mate, but… I don’t mean it like that, it’s just girls like that know what they want.
TOM: And what’s wrong with what I’ve got to offer!
MIKE: Well, you could stand to lose a few –
TOM: It’s all muscle! (Pause) Muscle weighs more than fat!
MIKE: And you’ve got a great personality, but girls can’t tell that from one night.
TOM: Great personality!?
MIKE (thinks he’s getting the idea. Eyes the door again) There you go mate. And you’re always telling jokes – like that drinking problem one. Very funny.
TOM: Girls like her leap at me every night! I’m beating them off with a stick!
MIKE: Look, I don’t want to hear about what you get up to in private!
TOM: Listen, she obviously came back with me. It’s about time you sat back and accepted –
MIKE (pointing casually): Oh, your toast’s ready!
TOM: Eh?
Tom looks at the toast, and starts to pick it out of the toaster. Mike sees his chance and sprints for the door.
TOM: What! You can’t go up now, she’s getting dressed!
Tom turns back to the toast, realising he’s burning his fingers off. He throws the toast down onto the side, and turns to chase Mike upstairs. The phone rings. Tom looks at the phone, then the toast, then upstairs, and moves to pick it up.
TOM: Hello? …… oh, hi Mum!…… Funny, we’ve just been talking about you!…. Oh, nothing… I’m fine, and you?………… is she? (he glances upstairs) …… no, not yet…… well, that’s good to know……yeah….. listen, this isn’t a great time. I’ll ring you up later and – ……. Yeah……. Okay, lunchtime……. Okay. Speak to you soon… bye.
He puts the phone down.
TOM: Mike? Could you come here for a minute?
The girl storms into the room, pulling her shoes on.
GIRL: What the hell does he think he’s doing?
TOM: You’ve grown a lot since I last saw you.
GIRL: Your friend – oh, (smiling) finally cottoned on, have you? I thought you’d get to it in your own time. You should have seen your faces first thing this morning when I walked in! I certainly confused Mike a bit earlier, for a laugh, but… perhaps I took it a little too far.
TOM: Oh, did he – and you –
GIRL: It’s my own fault really. I could’ve put him out of his misery, but… it was funny messing around with him first.
TOM: Maybe we could catch up sometime – go out for a drink?
She looks at him, grinning.
TOM: Okay, maybe not too much to drink.
GIRL: I’d love that, Tom.
She kisses him on the cheek, as Mike enters.
GIRL: Call me.
She leaves.
MIKE: What the hell do you –
TOM: Stop. After all, what’s a kiss between cousins?
MIKE: What?
TOM:  She’s my cousin.
MIKE: Oh, yeah, like I’d believe –
TOM: The phone rang just now. It was my mum, ringing to say Cousin Angela had just come into town and that I should meet up with her. And now I think about it, she’s got Uncle Henry’s –
MIKE: Hang on a minute – you said she –
TOM: Yeah, I haven’t seen her for 6 years. She’s grown a bit, that’s for sure.
MIKE: But she –
TOM: She figured us out. Probably right from the start, she could tell we couldn’t remember a thing. So she thought she’d joke around a bit. Mostly with you, it seems, although that toast thing had me flummoxed. (to himself) Hang on – 6 years ago – I had good bladder control. Cheeky minx.
MIKE: But where –?
TOM: Slept on the sofa, probably.
MIKE: Oh. Oh, well, it was fun while it lasted.
A short pause.
MIKE: Coffee?
TOM: Make it two.

TOAST Part 2 of 3

Wasn’t sure if I should post the second part in a Mid-Week post or not. See, with NaNoWriMo just round the corner, I should conserve what written material I have, as I’ll be busy writing crap all through November, and that might limit my posts.

But then I thought – what the hey? It’s nice to stick all three parts back to back, and it might make me write more new stuff to get this up.

For those of you who missed it, go back to Part 1 before reading this.

TOAST (continued)

They walk offstage hurriedly together. Throughout this scene she is eating breakfast half-dressed, and the audience can hear Tom and Mike off stage frantically whispering.
MIKE: She must have come back with you. I wouldn’t forget a woman like that. I don’t think.
TOM: Come on, we were both pretty hammered.
MIKE: Yes but – what’s her name? Where’s she from.
TOM: I’ve never seen her before. Not in a pub, or a club, or on the street. I think I’d remember a figure like that.
MIKE: Let’s have another look, now I’ve woken up.
TOM: No! She could see us!
MIKE: We’ll be quiet. Let’s see if we recognise her.
Silence. Slowly, the pair poke their head out past the curtain, watching her intently. They look at each other, and shake their heads. They look again. Following conversation is all in whispers.
TOM: Well… come to think of it, she does remind me of someone…
MIKE: Well?
TOM: I don’t know why though…
MIKE: Come on! Who?
TOM: I don’t want to say – (looks at Mike’s angry face) Oh, all right. My mother.
She stops chewing, and turns around fairly slowly. They quickly pull back. She looks back to her breakfast. Faces re-emerge.
MIKE: No, I don’t see the resemblence.
TOM: Well, you have to trim a few years. In the older photos, she used to –
MIKE: Oh I see, and I suppose the –
TOM: Exactly. Just a few details.
MIKE (chuckling): And she’s got your –
TOM: Let’s not go into that.
Heads go out of view. Voices from off stage.
TOM: (shakes his head) Look. We’re going to have to go back in there.
MIKE: Why?
TOM: Well, we just have to! She could be there all day! She might want a ride home!
MIKE: I suppose we could try and get her to tell us, without asking.
TOM: Yeah. So what are we going to say?
GIRL: What are you two doing back there?
TOM (out loud): We’re just coming!
MIKE: Wait!
TOM: What?
MIKE: We can’t go out together!
TOM: Why not?
MIKE: It’ll make us look gay, or something. Attached at the hip.
TOM: Okay, then. You go in first.
MIKE: If I look like I’m getting stuck in the conversation, come in, and change the subject.
TOM: Okay.
MIKE: Okay.
He pushes Mike on. She turns around. He goes to get his coffee.
GIRL: Cold enough for you?
MIKE: Hmm?
GIRL: The coffee. Is it cold enough?
MIKE: What? Oh yes, the coffee. Yes. It’s just the way I like it.
She looks at her cereal as he drinks a sip. He grimaces in disgust, but manages to swallow it.
MIKE: So, I, urm… I can’t remember how we got back last night. Did we take a taxi?
Tom is poking his head out.
GIRL: You can’t remember? I drove us back.
TOM: (whisper): She was sober, and she came back with us! Or even – with me!
MIKE: Did you? I don’t remember… er… much… I mean… well, the early evening was clear – I mean, crystal, ha ha, every little detail, you know? Except, you know, by the end…
GIRL (almost to herself): Oh. That is a shame.
MIKE: Sorry?
GIRL (smiling curiously to herself): Oh nothing. (leaning forward) So, what was the last thing you remember?
Mike looks urgently at Tom. Tom comes in.
TOM: Oh. Hi. Is there any jam left, or did we finish it last night – er, I mean, yesterday morning?
MIKE (relieved): I can’t remember. Check in the cupboard.
TOM: Yeah. Okay.
Tom walks to the cupboard. Silence, which Tom feels he has to fill.
TOM: Urm… yeah, I can see the honey, and the Branston pickle… and…. Yeah, there’s some jam at the back.
MIKE: What flavour?
TOM: Er… apricot.
MIKE: Have we got any strawberry jam?
GIRL: I’ve got the marmalade out.
MIKE: Good. Don’t worry, Tom, I’ll have the marmalade.
TOM: Okay.
Tom brings out the apricot jam, and puts it on the table too.
TOM: I’ll make us some toast.
MIKE: No! Let me! You sit down, have a bowl of cereal. I’ll get the toast.
TOM: No, I’m fine.
MIKE: But you always burn it! (to the girl) He always burns it.
GIRL (grinning): I know.
TOM: Yes, but – you know?
GIRL (as if it was obvious): Of course I do.
MIKE: Of course she does.
TOM: Tell you what, we’ll both do our pieces together.
They walk to the toaster, and get out some bread.
TOM (frantic whisper): How does she know that?
MIKE: That settles it. She must have come back with you.
TOM: Yes, but if I’ve never seen her before, how does she know I burn the toast?
MIKE: You must have had some last night.
Together, they lean over the toaster, looking into it.
GIRL: What are you doing?
They jump.
MIKE: Er, I think that the far sides hotter.
TOM: One side’s always hotter.
GIRL: You both make a bit of a fuss over breakfast, don’t you?
MIKE: Yes, well –
TOM: Most important meal of the day.
TOM: So…. Have you got any clean clothes? For today, I mean.
GIRL: No, but the ones in my room will be fine.
MIKE (whispering): Wait! Which room did she sleep in?
TOM: One of us should go and check. You went first last time, so it’s my turn.
MIKE: Right.
TOM: I’m just going upstairs, to get dressed, while I wait for the toast.
Mike sees him leaving, and realises he’s been tricked.
MIKE: W-! oh, never mind.
Tom exits.


I hope this is building the tension. Don’t brace yourself too much, it’s not the most astounding ending.

TOAST Part 1 of 3


The beach isn't quite this empty yet
The beach isn't quite this empty yet

Well, it’s been a busy two weeks, but it looks like my life is set to take on a semblance of order once again. I’m back in Barcelona, I’m back to teaching, and I’m reminded that I love it.

Still, I won’t waffle on about the events of the past two weeks, except to say that if you’re a teacher in Barcelona and your company needs an excellent, enthusiastic teacher for morning or afternoon classes, then I’m your man.

I was routing around through my old things, and I found “Toast”. Once upon a time, I used to be a bit of an amateur actor… with the emphasis on Hamateur. I also used to try and write plays. SO I’ve made a new category for my posts. I’ve called it “Stage“. Here, I’ll post anything theatrical I come up with, which will include any comedy I work on for my stand-up comedy routine.

I thought, to buy myself some more writing time, I’d post this little skit in pieces, one after the other. So, the tantalisingly short (and probably least funny) first part of Toast.


A kitchen with doors upstairs (Stage Left) and outside (Stage Right). There is a square table centre stage with 2 or 3 chairs around it, and a rectangular block/set of drawers front stage, slightly stage right, facing away from the audience, with a toaster and coffee machine, and 2 mugs on it There is another mug in the drawers below.. The block comes up to about chest height. Stage right, there is a set of high cupboards, containing cereals, bread, bowls, spoons, etc. breakfast things. A man staggers in, groaning, suffering from a headache. He walks slowly to the kettle, and starts to boil himself some water for a cup of coffee. Another man pokes his head round the side of the door slowly. Both men have messy hair and clothes, and sunken eyes, and at first, talking takes great concentration.

TOM: Make it two.
TOM: Two mugs.
He starts pouring.
TOM: No. Two mugs.
MIKE: I’ve got two mugs out.
TOM: Yeah, but I want two mugs, and you want one.
He staggers in.
TOM: After a night like that, I badly need some.
They stand in silence, one measuring out a large amount of coffee, the other staring at the kettle.
MIKE: What… what happened?
TOM: I can’t remember… there was a white toilet I seem to remember being sick in… or around…
MIKE: No, I mean, why were we drinking?
TOM (smiling): Wait, I’ve got a good line for this.
MIKE: What?
TOM: You know, you say that, and then I say something really witty back.
Short pause.
MIKE: Why were we drinking?
TOM: Because – No, I’ve forgotten it.
MIKE: Oh, what an anticlimax.
TOM: I thought you were in the shower, anyway.
MIKE: I thought you were.
TOM: I heard the water running.
MIKE: Oh, did we leave it running last night.
TOM: I… don’t think I had a shower.
MIKE: Me neither.
TOM (slowly, making sure he gets it right): To forget that we’ve got a drinking problem!
MIKE: What?
TOM: That’s the witty line!
MIKE: But I don’t have a drinking problem.
TOM: No, neither do I. Drinkings not the problem. It’s when to stop that I fall down. Or I fall down when I stop. One or the other.
MIKE: Tom! You’re jokes are bad enough when you’re sober! Don’t try my patience.
TOM: Sorry.
MIKE: So, who’s in the shower?
They listen. Silence.
TOM: No one.
MIKE: Good. That’s settled then.
TOM: But I heard it running a minute ago.
MIKE: I think I did too.
TOM: Maybe it was something else.
MIKE: Is it raining.
TOM: No.
MIKE: Not that then.
TOM: No.
A beautiful girl, wrapped revealingly in a tight dressing gown, walks in. Her hair is wet.
GIRL: I feel much better now. Nothing like a shower to clear your head in the morning.
Tom and Mike stand in silence looking at her.
GIRL: What’s wrong with you two? Oh. I see you’re making me a cup of coffee (seeing the three cups), but no thanks, I’ll be fine. I’ll be back in a minute, I’m just going to dry my hair.
MIKE (recovering): Err… don’t worry, I’ll drink it.
She has left. They have both woken up now, and start to get breakfast things out of various cupboards.
TOM: Drink what?
MIKE: The coffee.
TOM: But you were going to anyway.
MIKE: Yes but – who is she? Where did you find her, and why didn’t you tell me?
TOM: I was about to ask you that too.
MIKE: You mean you didn’t bring her back?
TOM: Then you must have. She can’t have just broken in.
MIKE: A night of pleasure, and I’ve completely forgotten it! I don’t think so.
TOM: You probably fell asleep!
MIKE: YOU did! I’ve never seen her before!
GIRL (re-entering): Seen who before?
MIKE: Erm, that old lady outside.
TOM: Mike’s a bit paranoid about, er, people breaking in, and things.
MIKE: Yeah.
GIRL: Oh. For a minute I’d thought you’d forgotten who I am. (jokily) You were very drunk at the time.
TOGETHER (insistent): No! I , er we, er I haven’t forgotten! No!
GIRL: Good. You’re obviously better at holding your drink than I thought.
Silence, as she combs back her hair, and gets some cereal.
MIKE: Er… yeah… I’ve just got to go and get dressed.
TOM: Me too.
GIRL: But you haven’t finished your coffee!
TOM: It can wait.
MIKE: I prefer it cold.
They walk offstage hurriedly together.

More on this story later!
More on this story later!

Tempting Bathos

Hello. Everywhere I go these days, I carry a little notebook with me. The current notebook has drawings of palm trees, random thoughts, story ideas, and at the back, reminders and notes on some stand up I still need to fix. Me writing funny things down in my notebook has led to some strange situations, where friends tell jokes and then look at me, as if to say, “What? Aren’t you writing it in your clever little intellectual notebook?”

Also, since my lovely old mini camera broke, I’ve been using to write down drunken musings – both my own and any I can get out of the people with whom I am drinking.  From these occasions, I came to the conclusion that I was more creative when drunk.

With this in mind, I dared myself to take part in a social experiment I devised. I would drink a bottle of wine, 1009525554_5121b39880alone, on a quiet night, and see what happened. If it was a success and it made my write in floods, I would become what Kipling once deemed irredeemable – a man who becomes an alcoholic quietly and in private, a drunk artist, sinking lower and lower until all self-esteem, credibility and hygeine were lost.

Half way through the bottle, I decided it would be more fun to watch a DVD than write, so I did. After the DVD and wine were finished, I thought, “Oh crap! I’d better write,” and in a spurt of very worrying creativity, I bashed out three medium length poems and a big part of a short story I’ve been stuck on. Resigned to my fate as a closet drunk, I toasted my success with the dregs, burped, and carted myself off for a mere 6 hours of sleep.

The good news, though, is that when I read my masterpieces this morning, I found, amongst other extracts, these bits:

1) We haven’t spoke in months.
Sure, Facebook, once or twice.
Does that count? Still, it’s
your voice, this time. Different.

(note the bad present perfect in the first line)

2) And for WHAT? That is the question,
It’s not to be or not, it’s Yorick,
the “comic” stopper in an otherwise
tragic tale. Gravediggers indeed.

and, from the short story:

3) Was this one of the “stolen” horses I’d heard abou?If so, how would Mitchell know?But then the light came on.


One lesson from this is, as I’m sure you all already know, is that when we’re drunk, we think we’re better than we are. And what we think is poignant and deep is actually a load of codswallop. Seriously, all 3 poems, while based on reasonable subjects, are just plain terrible. I can salvage about 5 halflines from 30 full ones in each poem.

HOWEVER, The short story stuff is actually quite good. Not just the material – there’s a great scene where the guy holds an imaginary conversation with an intimidating horse that I could never have written sober – but also that the brash confidence got me through a passage I was stuck on, and barged me through an extra thousand words.

SO I’ve decided to cut alcohol from my writing. Except as a sledgehammer to my writer’s blocks. And I’ll rely on you guys for an intervention if my drinking gets too heavy and solitary. Look after me!

My Favourite Philosophers
My Favourite Philosophers