Our thanks again to Mrs and Mr Retired Hack for this brilliantly funny Christmas panto. As we mentioned before, any similarity to anyone, alive or otherwise, is purely coincidental … Ed
ACT Two Part Two
Baron Wells-up strides in and looks fondly at his two favourites. “How could anyone wear the glass slipper better than one of you two.
“Turnerella will be in with the tea, mind, so you’ll have to shift off my sofa, Pughtridde.”
Turnerella bustles in with a tea tray and a box of mince pies left over from last Christmas. “I didn’t like to offer them to the food bank. They don’t take date-expired stuff.”
Pughtridde: “The ungrateful f***ers.”
Dennettini, Turnerella’s gatekeeper and eminence grise, arrives with the Pimms. She notices a shoe-horn on the floor: “And what are you two up to, may I ask?”
Seelia: “Well I’m practising for when the glass slipper arrives, if you must know. Pughtridde wants a go too, but she’s still suffering the after-effects of a bothersome Bunion. She’s paid out thousands to get rid of it, but it’s still niggling.”
Pughtridde: “Why don’t you f***ing leave us alone? I’ve absolutely no interest in any glass slipper. I’m trying to read the local paper, the Candy Press.”
Dennettini looks scornful: “Do you read that often?”
Pughtridde: “No, I never read that Hofton. She doesn’t show me enough f***ing respect. I just stick to the news pages. They never used to f****ing leave us alone, now they f****ing well ignore us.”
“Now then, now then” interjects Baron Wells-up, “stop bickering, girls, it’s not time for the glass slipper yet. I have to get Cook Lumley in to sort out our menus – if I can tear her away from watching ‘Downton Abbey’.”
Cook Lumley enters, wearing a resigned expression and a big hat: “Fre a long time Ah wez on me aan labouring doon there, leik y’know. Noo Ah’ve got a workmate but it’s still hard, wi just the two of weh. Ahm just sorting oot yer posh menus – waad yee leik a fishie on a little dishie?”
Baron Wells-up: “I’m sorry you’re so busy, pray sit down.”
Cook Lumley: “Pray? Pray? If you’re starting tha rubbish, Ahm back off te the kitchen. Ahve got a geezer from Ryde calling wi a load of dodgy ped-eggs he wants te offload fre Christmas, ye knaa what ah mean leik.”
Seelia: “Ped-eggs? Oooh, Pughtridde’s been troubled by a Bunion that she doesn’t want recurring. She’ll have one.”
Pughtridde: “Why don’t you f***ing leave us alone?”
Sir Buttons (KGB with bar, EGO first class, etc etc) strolls in, hoping for a quiet word with Turnerella, but realises that now is not the moment.
Sir Buttons: “Just to let you know I’m off home to Totland, which, strictly between these four walls, is a good ten miles to the the west of Newport. You know the drill if you’re in a tight spot. Just shout ‘Izzy wizzy, let’s get Blizzy’.”
Right on cue, good old Blowina Blizzard appears in the French windows, pitchfork in hand. “Now then, you lot, I’ve not got Hants in my pants, I’ve got sand down my britches, does anyone have a cure?”
Before anyone can suggest a solution to the Sandown problem, Blizzard hands Turnerella a sack. “Hoy, Turnerella, here’s yer terrier back. I put her in there ‘cos she’s been trying to get at my ferrets. You need to keep the beast under control, or you’ll be in all sorts of trouble.”
Blizzy turns to the Baron: “You look like you could do with a laugh. Here’s a good one, there were these three Indy councillors, on this committee, right – one for, one against and one abstention, no, sorry, forgot the punchline to that. How about ‘what’s grey, beautiful and wears a glass slipper?'”
“No idea,” admits the Baron, despite himself.
“Cinderelephant,” roars Blizzy, as everyone gawps at him.
Two figures are shown into the dining hall. One, a John Wayne-impersonator, seems incapable of standing still or stopping his arms from flailing wildly. He introduces himself: “I’m Deputy Stubby, and this lady’s Smart.”
“She knows ever such a lot about glass slippers, and you two are on a hiding to nothing.
“Oh no we’re not,” roar Pughtridde and Seelia together, their sibling rivalry momentarily forgotten.
“Oh yes you are,” said the lady. “It’s a failed Enterprise, if you ask me. No project manager, y’see.”
“Don’t say that word,” mutters Baron Wells-up, it’s got a lot of bad connotations around here.”
Deputy Stubby looks puzzled. “What, failed?”
Baron Wells-up: “No, we’re quite used to that. It’s the e-word I’m not so keen on.”
“Why don’t we all have a bit of a sing-song?” suggests Turnerella, to keep the peace. ” I could ring up for that new(ish) boy band, Wrong Direction. There’s only two of them, but they’re the latest trend – everyone screams when they see them. It won’t be expenses, sorry, I mean expensive.”
She pulls out her mobile, curses because she can’t get a signal, and finally races off into the garden to tweet them @rolleduptrouserlegs.
“Ooh, I love a good tune,” sighs Seelia. “The ‘X-Factor’ is my favourite TV show.”
Pughtridde: “Is that the one where the public gets to vote off people they don’t like? Sounds f***ing horrid.”
Come back tomorrow (Friday) for the final act of TURNERELLA (or let’s all go to the cabal)
