Category Archives: dialogue

Goldfish in a Bowl


Me: I called my fish Jeckyl and Hyde. They are both the same

You: Then, how can you tell which one is which?

Me: There is only one.

You: Ah! That explains the wire mesh on the top of the bowl.

Me: Exactly.


One day in the life of our Baking Street Heroes


Shylock: Look! There’s the ‘smoking bun!

What’sOn: Don’t you mean ‘smoking gun?’

Shylock: It’s a bun, What’sOn; and there is smoke rising from it. But, I do see what you mean. It ‘is’ also a smoking gun.

What’sOn: Shall I bag it up for evidence, Shylock?

Shylock: It may be wise to douse the flames first, What’sOn. Or you shall encourage the conflagration to escalate.

What’sOn: Ah! Well spotted, Shlock. I was just seeing if you’d notice that.

Shylock: Yes, What’sOn, most plausible. And please don’t call me Shlock, or I shall have to trim your moustache whilst you sleep, again.

What’sOn: Yes, Shy-lock. Right, here goes.

SD What’sOn pours a carafe of table water over the smoking bun. The smoke and flames are doused.

Shylock: Well done, What’sOn.

What’sOn: Thank you, Shylock.

Shylock: However…

What’sOn: Yes, Shylock?

Shylock: It may have been wiser to pop a glass bowl over the bun; thus extinguishing the smoke and any flames by removing the air from the vicinity.

What’sOn: That’s true.

Shylock: Instead of which, you have ruined the evidence. You are almost an idiot!

What’sOn: That’s true, too, Shylock.

Shylock: Oh, well; back to the drawing board.

SD There is a slight pause

Shylock: What’sOn?

What’sOn: Yes, Shylock?

Shylock: Don’t give up your day job.

What’sOn (resignedly): No, Shylock.

A little mathematics may add up to sum such thing


“That’s just adding insult to injury!”
He had said to me

‘injury + insult = ?’

I thought long and hard
But, couldn’t work out the answer.

I ran after him.

“What did you mean when you said that I was ‘adding insult to injury?’ ” I called out when I was alongside the tall, stately looking man.

He never slowed his pace; but, talking across to me, he answered: “I meant that you not only hurt my pride but you insulted my intelligence.”

“So, it wasn’t a mathematical equation?” I uttered.

He stopped and looked at me. “You’re weird!” He stated. Then turned his back upon me once more. He strode off without a backwards glance (again).

I let him go.

“I’m weird.”

I mulled this over.

“He could have something there.”

I thought further.

‘injury + insult = weirdness!’

“No. That makes little sense. He was just winding me up.”

I walked off, mumbling to myself.

“insult… injury… weird… injury… insult… ”

People watched the young man curiously as he wended his weird way up the street.

Such is life.

A Radio Sketch


Ann 1: And now we have for your delectation : Glen Miller in the nude

Ann 2: in the ‘Mood!’ You donk!

Grams (a poor kazoo version of In The Mood starts up, initially it’s soft and subtle; but, then…)

SD 1 (just after it starts; before it goes bad) Ah, nice.

SD After a few moments Ann 2 states

Ann 2: That’s not Glenn Miller.

Ann 1: But, he is in the nude. Hey, mate; give it a rest, that’s fair doing my ears in… and it’s not doing much for my eyes, either. Get some togs on, will ya?

Ann 2: Did you book him?

Ann 1: If I was a cop I’d book him for something. I thought he was a sure winner; Glen Miller is very popular.

Ann 2: He died in 1945.

Ann 1: I thought he was younger. Just goes to show.

Ann 2: Show ‘what’ Exactly?

Ann 1: That you can’t judge a book by its cover.

Ann 2: Fair enough. Glenn?

Glen: It’s ‘Glen’ not ‘Glenn’.

Ann 2: Whatever. How old are you?

Glen: Forty-three, give or take.

Ann 2: Okay. I’ll ‘give’ you some advice; then you can ‘take’ it away with you. Sound fair?

Glen: Sounds fair to me.

Ann 2: Don’t give up the day job – and please don’t tell me that ‘this’ is it.

Glen: Certainly not, Madam. I am a qualified chartered accountant.

Ann 2: Figures.

Glen: Precisely.

Ann 2: Oh, well; good luck with that. And back to the show. Craig?

Ann 1: Thank you: and now ‘You can leave your hat on…’

Ann 2: Good grief.

Ann 1: By Tim Jones.


The Ying Tong Theory

Narr: “And now we present for your informative needs… (big and echoing) The Ying Tong Theory!

SFX music / noises from the Silurian Swamps

Narr: It is a commonly held belief (by those that believe in it) that the World, as we know it, was created by a ‘Big’ ‘Bang!’ That is an ‘interesting’ theory (for those who are interested in that sort of thing) but, maybe there is another possibility…

SFX Intriguing music.

Narr: Today, we may find out the amazing truth.

SFX Dramatic Chords over Narr.
Narr: Or we may not.

Narr: Firstly, we must return to where and when it all began – the year… dot!

SFX Dripping.

Narr: Obviously, we cannot actually be there at the year dot! As mankind had not yet been invented. This is just our idea of the possible scenario as it may have ‘possibly’ been. Possibly.

SFX Continue

Eccles: That tap’s dripping again.

Bluebottle: Again! I didn’t hear you say that the first time.

Eccles: That’s because I didn’t say it the first time.

Blue: Oh.

Eccles: No. I only thought it the ‘first’ time. I said it… the ‘second’ time.

Blue: That it is what it is what it was and what it shall be.

Eccles: A-men!

Blue: Where?

Eccles: Not yet; but, if you stick around a few billion years…

Blue: Y-es?

Eccles: You’ll be very old.

Blue: I will?

Eccles: Yes. Or very dead.

Blue; I don’t want to be very deaded!

Eccles: Nobody does. But (and here I get all serious, folks) everybody has gotta die sometime. (possible music chords to ‘Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometime’ by The Korgis)

SFX those three music chords

Eccles: What was that?

Blue (Pause): What? Eccles, can I be deaded at three clocks in the morning. I’ll be asleep then, and won’t know a thing about it.

Eccles: Yes, my little chum; I’ll write that down.

Blue: What on?

Eccles: Ah. We’ve got no paper to write upon.

Blue: And I can’t use my super Boy Scouts propelling pencil, either.

Eccles: No?

Blue: No. (Sadly and escalating) Because, it hasn’t been inventorated yet.

Eccles: Shame on those inventorator-types.

Blue: ‘They’ haven’t been inventorated yet, either.

Eccles: Bother!

Blue: Has anyone inventorated Max Geldray and Ray Ellington yet.

Eccles: No. Those two fine gentleman are yet to be inventorated.

Blue: So, no music.

Eccles: Just the dripping of the tap.

Blue: Can we inventorate a song to the rhythm of the drips, Eccles?

Eccles: Well, if we can’t… there’s nobody else who can do it.
SFX Dripping and added E & B

Blue: Yippee!

Eccles: If only we could inventorate a round of applause.

Blue: What! Like this one?

SFX: huge applause.

Eccles: No! (Applause stops abruptly) Like this one. (sparse and sporadic clapping).

Blue: I thought mine was better.

Eccles: We shall work up to yours, little Scouting fellow; firstly we shall hone our craft.

Blue: Yes. Then we can sail away upon it.

Eccles: Precisely.

Both: Huzzah!

Captain’s Log Entry – A Red Cloud Approaches.

Mr.S: It’s Strawberry Jam, Jim
But, not as we know it.

JTK: You mean, it’s ‘preserve?’

Mr. S: I shall have to carry out further analysis, Captain.

JTK: In your jim-jams?

Mr. S: That is not even remotely funny, Captain. Vulcans do not wear ‘jim-jams!’

JTK: Vulcans don’t wear PJs?

Mr. S: Not that I am aware of, Captain. Vulcan is a planet of propriety and sobriety.

JTK: So, you’ve never been to a Pyjama Party?

Mr. S: I do not believe a Vulcan has ‘ever’ attended one. We do know what they are – as we have sought knowledge upon many subjects – and have neither desired to attend or arrange one. Much can be said that that statement also applies to Garden Parties and Toga Parties.

Checkov (whispered to Sulu): Pooper!

Mr. S: Thank you, Mr. Checkov, I have extremely acute hearing; and consider your remark to be… I shall say, at the least… uninformed!

Sulu (whispered to Checkov): he probably sleeps in his uninform!

SD Sulu and Checkov giggle about this.

JTK: Gentlemen. Much as I love our little banter sessions; I think we should really be thinking about dealing with the red, amorphous cloud that is fast approaching us.

Mr. S: thank you. As I said Captain; the cloud is similar in many ways to an old-fashioned breakfast preserve from the 19th and 20th centuries, containing, as it does, a high percentage of natural Fructose sugar (and pips) an analysis of such has given results which I am strongly of the opinion indicate Strawberries.

Lt. Uhuru: We are receiving a transmission from the red cloud, Captain.

JTK (slightly bemused) We are?

Lt. Uhuru: It’s definitely coming from there, Captain.

JTK: Okay, let’s hear it, Lieutenant.


“Hardly, Thomas Hardy!”


Hardly, Thomas Hardy (as Thomas Hardy): ‘She had the hard, half-apathetic expression of one who deems anything possible at the hands of Time and Chance except, perhaps, fair play!’

Theo Duncan-Thrush: Well, it’s hardly Thomas Hardy!

HTH: I never said that it was going to be exactly like him. In fact, I distinctly remember saying that it was going to be more of a homage to the great man; with elements of his novels and his poems liberally scattered amongst snippets of his life story in an hour-long performance that incorporated song, dance and the mime routines that he will always be remembered for.

TDT: It may have seemed like a good idea to you when you first had it; but, if after that you had realised what little demand there was for Mister Hardy and his tales of woe in distant Devon… Did you say ‘mime routines?’

HTH: I did. Little known fact about Thomas that he was a big fan of Marcel Marceau.

TDT: Wasn’t!

HTH: He was. They were both performing in the mid 1920s.

TDT: Marcel Marceau was ‘four’ when Hardy died.

HTH: And?

TDT: Hardly going to be a mine artist at four!

HTH: he started early.

TDT: Took his dog?

HTH: What?

TDT: Emily Dickinson. A poet. Contemporary with Hardy.

HTH; Whatever. I need to specialise. I can’t do every poet under the Sun.

TDT: Well, aim for just the one, then.

HTH: I shall. Good advice for once.

TDT: Any idea which one?

HTH: Ha ha ha!

Both: Hardy!

Both laugh.

HTH: I shall go for Thomas Hardy.

TDT: In mime?

HTH (mimes): Maybe…

Have I just discovered a way to make myself even funnier (Hello, is there anybody out there?)

Me: Am I Funny Yet? You: A bit further.

Me: Am I Funny Yet?
You: A bit further.

Me: I was hoping you’d be on the train.

You: Out of here? Or on my way back to you?

Me: Yes, something along those lines.

You: That’s not even remotely funny.

Me: People say that ‘the further away you are; the funnier you become.’

You: Me?

Me: Yes, ‘Me.’

You: You’re crazy!

Me: It has been mentioned that that may be a probability of being a possibility.

You: Stay there, I’m just going to make you a lot funnier.

Me: How?

You (fainter): Pardon? You’ll have to speak up a bit.

Me: I said ‘How?’

You (shouting from a distance) What?

Me: HOW?

You (really far away): It’s working.


SFX (Nothing)


Nothing like the Present


Me: Let’s play ‘Time Fly Spy’

You: No. I want to stay here in the present.

Me: But, that ‘present’ you speak of is now in the past.

You: It is?

Me: Most surely. As an ‘is’ it is now a ‘was’.

You: Oh! But, I want to stay in the present.

Me: There is only one way for you to stay in the present.

You: There is?

Me: Indeed. Do you see this box?

You: Yes.

Me: It’s yours. I’m giving it you.

You: Thank you. It’s rather large.

Me: Yes. Any smaller and you won’t fit into it.

You: Sorry!

Me: You can live in it.

You: Really?

Me: Yes. Enjoy your present.

You: Gee, thanks!

Radio Show Script April 2015


Announcer: …and it’s rapidly approaching three o’clock here on Radio Fourply, when we shall be travelling back in time to the cruel North Atlantic Ocean at the height of the Second World War, in this afternoon’s play: Convoy ON 42

SFX The Pips
piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii (continues)

Voice: Oh, no! The radio has died. Crash Team!

SFX medical noises

Voice: Dial 360. Clear!

SFX defibrillator noises

Voice (over pips): It’s back – good job, team.

SFX sea noises (wind and rain)

Announcer: it is Nineteen-forty-one, we find ourselves on board the doughty HMS Mallard, somewhere in the North Atlantic Ocean.

SFX fade in Morse Code

In the radio room a message is being received

SFX Morse Code (continues for a few seconds and then ends)

Radio Officer: Well, I’ll be- (speaks into voice tube to Captain) Captain; we’ve just received a message from the Admiral.

Captain (with voice tube effect): What does it say, Sparker?

RO: I have no idea, Captain; the Morse is quite correct – I checked it twice – but, the message must also be in code. It just doesn’t make sense.

Capt.: Let me here it, Sparkers; see if we can fathom it out.

RO: Okay. It says… ‘We meet at the edge of the pond… for the sake of the ducks.’

Capt.: The ‘ducks?!’

RO: Precisely.

Capt.: Very strange. The ‘Pond’ could refer to the Atlantic ocean, and ‘we’ could be the ‘sitting ducks…’ Let me have a copy, I’ll work on it.

RO: Aye, aye, Captain.

Announcer: Meanwhile, close by, in the German üntersea-boat, U-471…

German Radio Officer: Herr Kapitän; we haff intercepted a message in ze Morse code from the Englisher fleet.

Kapitän: Ver Gut! Haff you translated it?

German Radio Officer: Yah! Herr Kapitän, I have used our special new decryption methods (unt a pencil and paper); but, I think that zay may haff used ze code words as well.

Kapitän: Ver cunning. Read it out, unt let us see.

German Radio Officer: Ja wohl, Herr Kapitän; it says: (slowly) ‘Ve meet at ze edge of ze pond; for ze sake of ze ducks!’

Kapitän: Ze ‘ducks!?’

German Radio Officer: Ja! Zat is ze message, Herr Kapitän.

Kapitän: Mmm, let me think upon it. These darn cunning Englishers.

Announcer: And that is why the Allies ultimately won the Battle of the Atlantic – with the help of the ducks!

All: The Ducks!!!!

Announcer: That was Convoy ON42; which is now available as a downloadable podcast.

Next on Radio Fourply – The Arts!

2nd Announcer: The Theatre is alive and the Bard is still relevant in this modern age; so let us listen in to a performance at The Rose Theatre, London with eminent thespian, Sir Wanton Thameside upon the stage before an enraptured audience. We find Sir Wanton as Henry V the night before Agincourt…

SD fade into Henry V speech

Sir Wanton:
‘And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother…’

Heckler 1: Rubbish!
Heckler 2: Get off!
Sir Wanton: What do you mean ‘Rubbish!’ It’s the Bard – Shakespeare!
Heckler 1: it’s a bit high-brow; why don’t you do one of the classics?
Sir Wanton: One of ‘the Classics!’ Did you have anything in mind?
Heckler 3: Do ‘The Ducks!’
Heckler 1: Yeah! Do ‘The Ducks!’
Heckler 2: We want ‘The Ducks!’ We want ‘The Ducks!’
SD Heckler 1 and 3 join in as does the rest of the audience.
Sir Wanton: Enough! Enough!
SD: The audience vocalisation of ‘We want ‘The Ducks!’ subsides (with a few ‘quacks!’ here and there).
Sir Wanton: Oh, very well; but, I shall expect a standing ovation at the very least!
SD A quiet descends.

Sir Wanton: We meet… at the edge of the pond… for the sake of the ducks.

Audience: The Ducks!

The End

PS if you have no idea what is going on in the above (and that is quite probable) I shall put Paul ‘Haribo’ Bailey’s ‘We Feed The Ducks’ to help. First performed in 2013, WFtD has become a classic in our concentric circles. Please enjoy. G:)

We Feed the Ducks

We meet at the edge of the pond
For the sake of the ducks
The Ducks must come first
How we love to feed the Ducks

And now the wretched come
With their tracksuits
And their ringtones
They Push Alfred in the pond
They Ride upon Stanley’s mobility scooter
And readjust his adjustable seat
Wendy, bless her she’s not as young as she was
She only succeeds in stabbing and drowning one of the scallywags
The others flee
How they flee
Like the cowards they are
Wendy lets them run
The ducks have their blood offering now

Paul Bailey
February 2013