One Day, In Doctor Prentice’s Waiting Room and Office.

One Day, In Doctor Prentice’s Waiting Room and Office.

Jake (singing): Oom-pah-pah! Oom-pah-pah!

That’s how it goes,

Oom-pah-pah! Oom-pah-pah!

Ev’ryone knows.

They all suppose what they want to suppose

When they hear… oom-pah-pah!! Ha!

Receptionist: Dr. Prentice will see you now, Mr. Thackray.

Jake: Righty-o! Thank you, miss.

SD Jake goes into the doctor’s office.

Dr. Prentice: Ah, Mr. Thackray, What can I do for you?

Jake: I’m having a little trouble, Doctor – with my sister, Josephine.

Dr. P: Is that a euphemism, Mr. Thackray?

Jake: No, it’s my acou-stic gui-tar.

Dr. P: Yes. Well, if you could just pop it on the table for me.

Jake: I shall, just after I’ve put my guitar against the wall over there.

Dr. P: Lovely. So, is it your ‘actual’ sister, Josephine?

Jake: Oh, yes.

Dr. P: What seems to be the problem with her?

Jake: She’s come over all ‘lah-di-dah!’

Dr. P: You should have brought her with you.

Jake: I did. Oh, Sister,


SD Josephine walks in.

Dr. P: Ah, good morning… miss?

Jo: And a good morning to you, too, Doctor Prentice; I am ever so sorry to bother you upon such a beauteous morning as this one is; I do hope that I am not taking up the time that could be put to good use treating a person that is unwell in body or mind.

Jake: Do ‘you’ see what I mean, Doctor?

Dr. P: Yes, I do – it could be a most unusual case of Poshivitus!

Jake: Is that serious, Doctor?

Dr. P: Well, it can prove… in the worst cases… quite annoying.

Jake: Oh! What can we do, Doctor? What can we do?

Dr. P: Well, I think we shall have to take some drastic measures.

Jo: Do I get any say in this at all, good Doctor? I mean, it is ‘my good self’ that you are discussing here – I ‘am’ in the room. I should be involved in any decision making that there is to be made. It is my right as a twentieth-century lady.

Jake (gradually becoming posher as he goes); It’s getting worse, Doctor. Her sentences are becoming longer, rather convoluted, and harder to understand with every passing minute. Her ‘joie de vivre’ is increasingly incomprehensible to one of such a Northern lad as I – brought up on the bare heaths of Yorkshire as storms raged and plagues and pestilences ravaged the wiley moor… and, to be quite truthful, Doctor…

Dr. P: Yes, Mr. Thackray?

Jake: I think that it is contagious!


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