There's an idea for Schweppes.
I've spent most of today feeling like I'm trapped beneath a collapsing tent. Poles keep poking me in the face, I can't see anything, and I've stubbed my toe on a little travel stove. It's been collapsing for hours. Who would have thought there could be so much tent?
I'll soldier on, though. I can make a hole in the tent with my bayonet. I'm nearly there.
There must be a there, right? If there was no there, there would be no incentive for people to keep going. And people do keep going. They can't all be mistaken. They're just more clued-up on the wherefore of the there, and know exactly where it is. I'll just follow them, as long as I don't lose sight of them through the tenthole.
Don't think about anything right now, anyway. Ignore the tentish rain (vinyl, might it be?). Let's do an amusing dialogue between two unlikely characters. That's my trademark. Sometimes there are more than two. But I can't claim to have invented that.
***
Laertes: I hope you're not expecting anything "Shakespearean".
Matthew Clark: What do you mean?
Laertes: Some people expect a load of thous and alases. I just wanted to make it clear before we get going.
Matthew Clark: To be honest, I had expected that.
Laertes: *shrugs* Well, sorry.
Matthew Clark: So you're not going to do any of that stuff? At all?
Laertes: Nope.
Matthew Clark: I have to say that's a bit disappointing. I'd promised Chris that...
Laertes: Who's Chris?
Matthew Clark: My son. My son, Chris. This is his birthday party.
He gestures towards the decorative banner, which reads 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRIS'.
Laertes: Oh, right. *pause* You called your son "Chris"?
Matthew Clark: What's wrong with that?
Laertes: Oh, nothing. *rolls eyes*
Matthew Clark: So, what are you going to do?
Laertes: I was just going to get another beer.
Matthew Clark: No, not now. For your act. I thought when I was hiring Laertes to perform at my son's party, there would be a strong Shakespearean element to the show.
Laertes: *puffs out cheeks* Nope.
Matthew Clark: But you're Laertes. That's what you're best known for.
Laertes: I'm multifaceted. I want to get away from all that stuff.
Matthew Clark: But your business card is in an Elizabethan font. There's a skull on it. Wearing a ruff.
Matthew Clark holds up the business card.
Laertes: That's one of the old ones.
Matthew Clark: So, what's your plan? How are you going to entertain eight ten-year-olds for half an hour?
Laertes: I've got loads of stuff. Bit of crowd work. Impressions. Balloons.
Matthew Clark: If I wanted balloon animals, I'd have booked a clown.
Laertes: Who said anything about animals?
Laertes pulls an unopened bag of cheap balloons from his coat pocket. He nonchalantly throws it at Matthew Clark, misses, and knocks over two paper cups full of cola. The drink seeps into the paper tablecloth.
Matthew Clark: Chris is going to be pretty disappointed. He specifically asked for you, because he's a big Hamlet fan.
Laertes: Your ten-year-old son likes Hamlet? Tell him to get out more.
Matthew Clark: I can't believe you have so much contempt for your fans!
Laertes: Look, I got stabbed, OK?! By a poisoned sword! Do you want me to relive that every weekend?
Matthew Clark: I... no. No, I don't want that. But would it kill you to make a small boy happy - on his birthday - by just approximating Shakespearean speech? For money?
Laertes: *sighs*
Matthew Clark: Wouldn't you have liked it if your dad had done something nice for you?
Laertes: My dad was an idiot. *pause* I mean, who hides behind a tapestry?
Laertes starts to cry. Matthew Clark puts a consoling hand on his shoulder.
Matthew Clark: Look... do you want a goody bag?
Laertes: *protracted sobbing and sniffing* *nods*
Young Chris Clark enters the room, looking excited. His eyes widen.
Chris Clark: Wow! Are you Laertes?
Laertes looks at the boy, then to the boy's father. They lock eyes, and share an understanding. Laertes forces a smile.
Laertes: Yea. 'Tis I.
***
We've won an important battle today, ladies and gentleman. We've all come out of this smelling of roses.
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