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Lockie’s Umbrella

01 May

(extract)

SCENE 1

INDOOR SWIMMING POOL AMBIENCE. CLOSE ON A BODY SLOWLY PUSHING THROUGH THE WATER

LOCKIE: (V.O.) I’m in the swimming pool again. I walk the length until the water reaches my upper lip, then, I stop and turn about. Then, back I go. Then, turn again. I wade ahead, one-third speed. Like a funeral march. Swimmers make way. I do this every day now, I think. Don’t know how long I’ve been at it – all morning, maybe. It calms me. For a time, at any rate. Don’t know how long.

(V.O.) Maybe this time I won’t stop. I’ll keep walking.
Keep wading. Let the water over me. Let it into me…

HE SINGS TENTATIVELY – The Umbrella Man

(V.O.) Oh – look, I’m turning early. I’ll get out now. Yes.
Ah, there she is – my wife, Bel, watching over me. She’ll
know how long I’ve been in the water. She must have got me here.

BEL(calling): Lockie…

WADING STOPS

LOCKIE: I see you.

BEL: I’ll meet you on the other side.

LOCKIE: What?

BEL: I’ll be outside the changing room.

LOCKIE: I need to put the bins out.

BEL: We can do that.

LOCKIE: Rotten, they are.

BEL: Come out and dry yourself. I’ll get us home.

LOCKIE: I’m all right.

BEL: I know you are.

LOCKIE: Bel, where’s my umbrella?

BEL: I don’t know. It isn’t wet. We don’t need it.

LOCKIE: I need it.

WADING RESUMES. HE SINGS AGAIN.

FADE WITH FAINT ECHO

* * *

 
 

Jumping Hedges

01 May

(extract)

LARRY(calling):Hey-ho, Piglet.

Bring that line into me now, Florence.

FX: CLAMBERING INTO THE BASKET; ANOTHER BLAST FROM THE BURNER –

And we’re off. Snifter?

FLORRIE: Not yet – Oh my God – Mrs Piglet – Piggot,
she’s very keen.

LARRY: She likes to get me up. Likes to get on
with the job.

Florrie confides in us –

FLORRIE(V.O.):When Larry let go, we rose up effortlessly
from the meadow.

Over the roof of the grand house – the sun
glinted in the water that was trapped in the gullies.

Over the church spire, over the adjoining
graveyard – there were rabbits in the briars.

Just over the tree tops, birds taking
flight, coming out from the branches
then back into the canopy in a great loop behind us.

Over the lanes and the hedges – a car
passed under us like a giant slater.

Larry had been drinking, and like all
drunks, he was trying to be sober. He
was very good at this. There was not a
word out of him while he got us safely aloft.

FX: ANOTHER BLAST FROM THE BURNER

LARRY: There now.

FLORRIE: This is amazing.

LARRY: You can still see Mrs P in the follow car?

FLORRIE: Ehhh – yes. There she is.

LARRY: Hanging above scenes of great natural
splendour, and I must constantly keep track of my wife.

FLORRIE: It’s good the way she’s – so involved.

LARRY: It goes beyond good. My wife, with whom I
speak very little, is a fully integrated, fully bonded member of this little team.

FLORRIE: Bonding. Yes.

LARRY: Do I detect a sneer?

FLORRIE: No-no. And it’s good that Justin is there
with her.

LARRY: You saw – a sack of potatoes would have
been more useful at the launch.

FLORRIE: Does your wife ever come up?

LARRY: Certainly not. You have to get the
distance right.

FLORRIE: Of course you do…what distance, exactly?

LARRY: Between you and them.

FLORRIE: Them?

LARRY: Women, mostly.

FLORRIE: Ah…

LARRY: I’ve tried to teach Justin, but his
mother…

FLORRIE: She’s not big on distance?

LARRY: Don’t act the fool with me, Florrie.

FLORRIE: Sorry.

LARRY: I do what I want. I’m no slave. I have
wings because –

FLORRIE: Because you’re a success. I wish Justin
was like you.

LARRY: Now you’re being a cheeky pup. I like
that.

FLORRIE: I’m in tune, Larry.

LARRY: Young men who have trouble with their
women make trouble in business. That’s my
experience.

FLORRIE: And you think Justin –

LARRY: Justin is a disaster. Question is – is
there any hope of nailing the bugger.
Getting him thinking right.

FX: LARRY HAS SWIG FROM HIS HIPFLASK

FLORRIE: If we get the seed money.

LARRY: Me – I’m never out of range.

FLORRIE: I’m going to have a serious talk with
Justin. Get his personal life sorted.

LARRY: Get the distance right.

FLORRIE: We’ll get the distance right, Larry.
You’ll see.

FX: SHORT BLAST FROM THE BURNER

LARRY: We talk on the walkie-talkies, me and
Mrs Piggott. That’s essential.

FLORRIE: Would it matter if you lost sight of the
follow car?

LARRY: It’s their job to be watching us.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t be following,
would they?

FLORRIE: No.

LARRY: She likes to flirt, that’s the thing. We use these at home as well as up here. You
wouldn’t call it flirting, but I know what
it is. Watch this –

FX: LARRY OPERATES HIS SHORT WAVE RADIO –

Balloon One to Mrs Piggott. Over.

FLORRIE(gently scoffing): Balloon One…

LARRY: You think that’s funny?

FLORRIE: No. Sorry.

FX: MRS P REPLIES OVER THE RADIO –

MRS P: Mrs here. Yes?

LARRY: Darling, Over.

MRS P: Yes, Over.

LARRY: Nothing. Just – darling. Over.

FX: RADIO CUTS

You see, Florrie?

FLORRIE: I see. I do.

LARRY: You learn about your relationships – not
too late, we hope.

FLORRIE: It’s simply amazing what you can see from
a balloon.

LARRY: Where is she? Do you see her?

FLORRIE: There.

LARRY: Ha-ha – yes.

FX: RADIO ACTIVATED –

Balloon One to Mrs Piggott.

FX: MRS P REPLIES OVER THE RADIO –

MRS P: Mrs here. Yes? What now? Over.

LARRY: There’s a tractor ahead of you, beyond
that bend. It’s blocking the road. Take
the next left and cut across under me.
Next left. Over, darling.

MRS P: Next left, and under you. Over.

FX: RADIO CUTS

* * *

 
 

One Way Telephone

01 May

RTE, 2015

(extract)

SCENE 1

FX: A TELEPHONE RINGS – CALLER’S PERSPECTIVE.
THE RECEIVER IS LIFTED, BUT THERE IS NO
VOICE, JUST THE OPEN LINE.

Bartley conducts a rhetorical conversation with himself. Clearly, he is a man attempting to suppress his anxiety, and this adds to the tension –

BARTLEY: I know you’re there, old man. I know you’re listening.

On your one-way telephone. Didn’t I hear
you pick it up? I know you hear me.

Don’t tell me there’s a technical problem – or do – go ahead, speak.

Tell me you’re getting a mobile phone, like everybody else. You want me to get it for
you? You wouldn’t want me coming down there to deliver it, believe me.

No. You’re just not talking to me, are you?

You want to torture me. It’s part of your
new isolationist regime, isn’t it?

FX: A CLICK, THE LINE GOES DEAD. Bartley slams down his receiver, dials again. Handset is lifted at the other end. Bartley jumps in–

Me again. Speak.

No reply.

Bartley lets out guttural expressions of
frustration that are cut with incredulity. This
gives way to muttering designed to show
forbearance, even a measure of understanding –

Look, I know, in these times…
A man of your age – it used to be simpler, but we must keep up…

Strange what you can hear on an open
line…electric air.

I keep thinking I’m going to hear
seagulls…

He grows impatient again, gives a shrill whistle down the line.

Say something. Anything.

FX: RECEIVER IS SLAMMED DOWN. REDIALING. THE PHONE IS LIFTED AT THE OTHER END, BUT NOTHING IS SAID. THERE ARE FIZZLES AND POPS – WE ARE THROWN INTO THE CONFUSION OF A CROSSED LINE –

INTERLOPER 1: (D) Anyway, Paula, I told her she
should have it seen to without delay.
You know how these things are, Paula, I know you know.

INTERLOPER 2: (D) I do. I know. But he won’t let her. I mean, they’re her feet.

* * *

 
 

On Being Flattened

01 May

RTE, 2013

ON BEING FLATTENED

a radio play by Philip Davison

(extract)

A busy city street. Car and lorry horns sound – sustained blasts, left to right, right to left. Passing shouts – somebody is in the way.

A gentle shushing that, nonetheless, is heard above the harsh sounds of the traffic.

MARIANNE(calling): Dad – get in off the road.

JAS: Can’t.

MARIANNE: Come on the pavement.

JAS: Shhhh.

More car horns. Marianne and her father now in close
perspective –

MARIANNE: What are you at?

JAS: Crossing the road.

MARIANNE: No you’re not. You’re just standing there,
staring up at the sky. Are you trying to get
yourself killed?

JAS: Shh. I have the chips.

MARIANNE: So I see.

JAS: With salt and vinegar.

MARIANNE: Oh well then. That’s everything sorted,
isn’t it?

He sits down with a weary sigh.

What do you think you’re doing?

JAS: I’ve been drinking.

MARIANNE: I know you’ve been drinking. Get up off
that curb.

JAS: Are we nearly home? We are, aren’t we?

MARIANNE: I’ve been looking for you everywhere.

JAS: You can rest now.

Change perspective – Jas moves along the pavement –
sonic waves of unintelligible conversations passing right to left, left to right.

Background traffic becomes foreground sound.

JAS(in the head): Shhhh.

Traffic sounds waver and recede. Jas’ footfalls become more distinct, then, he stops. Distant perspective –

MARIANNE: Are you all right, Dad?

JAS: Too much noise.

MARIANNE: Too much noise in you head?

JAS: Around my head. In my head. Too much.

MARIANNE: It’ll pass.

JAS: I look up. It goes away. Then – bang.

MARIANNE: Bang. Yes. You’ve told me. But what are you saying?

JAS: I see you brought that bloody tape recorder.

* * *

 
 

Being Perfect

06 Aug

a play for radio

(RTÉ, 2004)

(extract)
DUMPHY: Anyway…
LUKE: What do you mean – anyway?
DUMPHY: Aren’t you after being in an accident? And aren’t you both alive?
a beat; Luke’s former exhilaration has a reprise –
LUKE: Fran, what are you looking at me like that for? Lookit – I’m not perfect…
FRANCES: You used to be.

 
 

The Duke

06 Aug

a play for radio

(RTÉ, 2004)

(extract)

The ticking of a mantelpiece clock

DUKE: Yes, it’s curious, isn’t it?
BILLY: What?
DUKE: It’s got nothing to do with closing your eyes.
BILLY: No?
DUKE: Nothing to do with the blackness of sleep. BILLY: I suppose not…

The rustle of a newspaper

DUKE: I seem to be going further each night.
BILLY: Really? Further? How do you mean – further?
DUKE: Further. Into wherever the hell it is I go.
BILLY: When you’re asleep?
DUKE: When I’m asleep.
BILLY: You haven’t been sleeping properly, then?
DUKE: Oh, I’ve been sleeping. It’s just I’ve been going places.

 
 

Lennon’s Guitar

06 Aug

a play for radio

(RTÉ, 2005)

(extract)

The sound of a guitar being tuned
The guitar is now tuned. Several false starts, then a piece of MUSIC is played on the guitar. The music develops a WAVERING ECHO. The echo is taken up in the opening exchange, accentuating the air of unreality –
JEMMIE: This meeting isn’t real, is it, Hector?
HECTOR: No, it isn’t. But since when has that stopped you, Jemmie?
JEMMIE: Exactly. Now, Hector, I’d like to say I’m very disappointed. Know what I mean?
HECTOR: I do, Jemmie. I know what you mean.
JEMMIE: I thought you were a man of vision.
HECTOR: So did I, Jemmie.
JEMMIE: I have the next Beatles here. Agreed?
HECTOR: Agreed. But these are outrageous terms you’re asking.
JEMMIE: I was going to hum you a Beatles song, but now I’m annoyed.
HECTOR: All right. You win. Let’s all make a lot of money.
JEMMIE: Good man, Hector. Except…now the terms have changed. I want more.

Guitar music stops abruptly. Reality bites – the sound character is now entirely realistic – a car coming down multi-storey car park, screeches to a halt.
JEMMIE: Lovely car you drive, Mr Longhorne, sir…Hector…
HECTOR: The answer is no. Out of my way or I’ll run you over.
JEMMIE: I’m not moving until we have a talk.

Engine revs. The sound of Jemmie leaping onto the bonnet.

 
 

The Fishmonger

06 Aug

(RTÉ, 2006);
(extract)

BRIDIE:

The run-up to our anniversary has been like the run-up to Christmas. It has involved no running. Only a few heavy sighs – and they might have nothing to do with any anniversary. Never mind. We remain as we are. Today’s the day. I was up early. Couldn’t sleep.

It’s a lovely day for an anniversary. People in hot climates don’t know what this kind of a sunny day is like. Sun beating down on our street.

He’ll be at the door of the shop, sweating on his chair. Breathing through his gills. Pouting like a big mullet. He should drink more water. I’m drinking more water. ‘It’s good for the kiddlies,’ I tell him and he laughs. ‘Diddle I already know that,’ says he.

I’ll be in the cool of our dry aquarium. Behind the ranks. I might have a little sing. Just to mark the occasion. I Dreamt that I Dwelt in Marble Halls.

I have something for him. Something small. I’m putting it on the mantelpiece. He won’t see it, of course. I’ll have to point it out to him this evening.

It’s a gold tie-pin, and cuff-links with his initials engraved.
’Maybe he hasn’t forgotten. Maybe he has something for me that would fit in his pocket.

 
 

Some Lizards

06 Aug

(RTE, 2009)

(extract)

GRAHAM: ‘It won’t be long,’ she tells me. ‘You’re falling to pieces.’

JACK: Who tells you?

GRAHAM: Irene, of course. The person formally known as my wife.

JACK: Graham, you did the right thing getting out of the house and calling to see me.

GRAHAM: ‘It’s come to this?’ I say to her.

JACK: It’s more than a scrap, right? You’d better give me some background.

GRAHAM: There was something not right about her breathing when she said it. She was wheezy. Like we were after a few ruts. I knew there was something more than the usual when I heard the wheeze.

JACK: Wait a minute – formally known as your wife? Are you telling me she’s walked?

GRAHAM: It won’t be long now. You’re falling to pieces. That’s a terrible thing to say to a person.

JACK: And you said?

GRAHAM: And I said…

JACK: You said what?

GRAHAM: I said…nothing.

JACK: Oh – very good. That’ll fix it. Sit down, you fool. So then what?

GRAHAM: Then, she gets out of bed.

JACK: Then?

GRAHAM: She leaves the flat.

JACK: Then?

GRAHAM: I play a tune on my guitar.

JACK: You played a tune on your guitar.

GRAHAM: Then I take my ankles in my mouth.

 
 

Love and Animals

06 Aug

 
(BBC World Service,RTE,CBC,ABC,RNZ, 2010)

Recorded Introduction

This play is about a man who has come to believe that sustaining love is entirely based on his ability to provide cash. He is a capable and, at times, ruthless individual, but he is not without humanity. And now, he’s in trouble. In this story money and personal identity are intricately linked.

Some time ago, I read an article about a strange condition known as Capgras Syndrome. The sufferer believes loved-ones are interlopers. Imposters, out for some indeterminable gain. This struck me as a clear prism through which I might view one man’s trials, and see the new person coming through.

The play isn’t about the condition, rather, about somebody having to deal with it.

Something else that provided a useful perspective was my being randomly asked to take part in a police line-up – to be one of the known innocent parties, I hasten to add.

Again, the question of identity… the live, unfixed aspect of it.

Picture our man standing with an iron bar in his hand, trying to explain human nature and fiscal rectitude to a stray dog that won’t be chased away. A man trying to retrieve the moment when, as he puts it, he brushed his head on the underside of heaven.