Читать книгу The Oberon Book of Modern Monologues for Women: Volume Two - Catherine Weate - Страница 10

BUD TAKE THE WHEEL, I FEEL A SONG COMING ON

by Clara Brennan

This play was first performed at The Underbelly, on 5 August 2010, as part of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, produced by Reclaim Productions and SPL.

FRANCES is a troubled sixteen-year-old who lives with her family in an old mill town, deep in the English countryside. She is pregnant to Liam (in his early thirties) who is apprenticed to her father, the local thatcher. FRANCES’ brother, Christian (in his late twenties), has returned after an eight-year absence hoping to develop the old mill for the company he works for. It has been a painful journey back as their father beat him savagely as a child. FRANCES has not exchanged a single word with her father since her brother left. In this monologue, FRANCES tries to bring Christian up-to-date with her life – at least, superficially. She begins by explaining the terms ‘Epic Win’ and ‘Epic Fail’.

FRANCES

Like – last summer I went to an ‘Epic Win’ party in a field out by White Farm with my mates. We camped. Some of them had just gotten back from this trip to Barcelona, my art teacher organised it. But I couldn’t go – which was an Epic Fail. I’m the only one that even had a job – shampoos and sets at fucking Snips, that lame-ass hairdressers next to Abbey National? I fucking hated it and I still didn’t have enough to go, pay for the bed and board and the flights. But I was the only one who knew who Antoni Gaudi was. I mean, Christie, that school’s still a fucking shit-hole! You know the director of the Architecture College Gaudi went to, said once: ‘ I don’t know if we’ve given the degree to a genius or to a lunatic. Time will give the answer.’ I thought that was brilliant, you know – half my teachers hate me and half of them think the sun like, shines out of my arse. You were the same, I remember. So in 1926, he, Gaudi, goes for a little walkabout like all days, and gets run over by a streetcar. He had no ID on him, and his clothes were old, the poor sod looked like a tramp, and so they took him to a hospital for poor people. Finally, at the very last minute, a priest recognized him. They always do, don’t they. Three days after, he died. A genius or a lunatic. Epic.

Ha, and my mate Georgina, I don’t think we were friends when you were at home we only met at Secondary, she saw a photo of his Sagrada Familia and thought she was going to fucking Disney Land! Disney Land, that’s just genius, isn’t it?! Anyway, my mates all come back saying how they’d had the most amazing time, like, ever? And how they’d gotten pissed with Mr Holdsworth, my art teacher, the one who’s obsessed with Bonnard’s wife in the bath? Anyway, they’d drunk sangria, and then this authentic Spanish thing, which is red wine mixed with coca-cola. So that’s what we were drinking last summer in a field full of crispy-coated cowpats. The usual glamour. We had a fire, there were guitars, we got wasted. I lost my virginity to my friend Dave. Yeah, Little Dave. But he’s my mate, it wasn’t anything. He can play The Beatles catalogue by ear. We sang the whole of Rubber Soul. We shared a tent. It was, curiosity. I mean, we were just kids. And the big surprise is – the incredible thing is – Dave didn’t tell anyone. And neither did I until now. And that’s weird for teenagers. It is. Believe me.