Tag Archives: Dialogue

Telyn, the Harp.

“I’m Telyn, the Harp.”

“Telling the harp what?”

“No. My name is Telyn, and I am a harp. The Harp.”

“Oh.”

“And what, may I ask, are you?”

“May you well ask. I am… fanfare of drums… a piece of metal that has been twisted into a shape.”

“A triangle.”

“That’s it. I have been twisted into a triangular shape… but, I don’t know what I am called.”

“Perhaps, ‘Tingy’ might be a good name for you.”

“Ooh! That would be lovely. Tingy the thing made into a triangular shape. How happy I am!”

And with that, he struck himself on the head with a small rod of metal.

“Ting!!!!”

Telyn sighed, a lovely glissando of a sigh, but, a sigh nevertheless.

Say ‘Ling!’

Say, ‘Ling!’

Ling?

Ling!

Ling!

We are saying ‘Ling!’

across the water

then home again.

OneUpManShip

1: I’ve got a Courgette 2-20 in the drive.

2: Hmmm. I’ve got a brand new Banango M5… in the garage.

1: Well, the Courgette, that’s just the wife’s runaround, there’s also my Aardvark Columbian Series 4 in the ‘double’ garage.

2: My ‘second’ wife uses the Banango to go to the gym – I have a Padre 3.6 or a 1947 Podcast Cabriolet for the school run (which I ‘never’ do) and a Camel Two-Seater open-top for my trips to the shop, the pub, or the golf club.

1: The Camel! So last year. I’m high on the list for the new Series 8 Poteen Exclusive – the 5-door, 7-seater, 6-wheeler.

2: The ‘Poteen!’ Isn’t that an Irish blended, post-modern version of the De Lorean without the gull-wings, but with gull-attitude?

1: Might be, but I had to get on the list – Cholmondeley-Brown has been on the list since April.

2: He’s the one with the Pravda Tempura, isn’t he?

1: Yes, the ‘Golden Chamber-Pot with the Red-Stripe’ we call it.

2: Ha! You’ll never see me behind the wheel of one of those.

1: No, but, I do believe they are making a driverless version for the American market.

2: Probably, and then they’ll come over here and drive you on the wrong side of the road.

1: As like as not.

2: Whatever happened to the good old fashioned family car?

1: it went out the window with the good old fashioned family.

2: Shame.

1: Yes, an absolute shame.

‘Local Election-Night Special’

‘Local Election-Night Special’

1: So, who are you going to be voting for in the up and coming, forthcoming local elections, then?

2: Oh, I don’t do politics, I was going to… abscond.

1: Abscond?

2: Absail? Abstem-i-ous? Absinthe? Aberystwyth? Abingdon? Oh, no, that’s a place. Abyssinia? (Fades out) Arbroath? Abba?

“Ding! Ding!” said the Cyclist.

(‘Ha! Ha!” said the clown – but, that, was many years ago.)

‘Ding! Ding!” said the cyclist, as he saw the man and his two dogs.

The man turned, saw the cyclist, and moved his entourage to he side of the narrow lane. The cyclist passed by, calling his thanks.

“My bell doesn’t have a bike!” he offered.

“Don’t you mean ‘your bike doesn’t have a bell?’ queried the man.

“That, too!” he replied, as he faded into the distance. “That, too!”

I considered the strangeness of the world – for ‘I’ was that man.

Then we carried upon our way.

Later, I was near the church when I heard a familiar sound, ‘Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!’ and so on, until twelve ‘Dings!’ had been ‘dinged!’

There, in front of the church, was the cyclist – now garbed in black, accessorised by a starched white dog-collar.

“My bell doesn’t have a church.’ he offered.

“Surely you mean-“ I started.

“That, too!’ he admitted. “That, too!”

I unwrote a radio script today.

Sadly, that is what I did: whilst trying to listen to a ‘notes’ document on my iPhone I managed within two or three seconds to delete the whole thing.

Not the end of the world, nor a major catastrophe, but I felt the sadness that losing something precious brings.

It’s not like losing a friend or a relative – as also happened today – and in comparison losing a sketch, poem, or script is nothing – but it set my mood on a downward slope that has been hanging around me since.

Losing a friend of Jane’s today is much more serious, and my error pales into insignificance – however, some things we can avoid, and some things we can’t.

It’s been quite a rubbishy Friday, and all on top of the current crisis in the world.

Sharing a thought for those who lose, and those who are lost in the world today, and every day.

G❤️

Hazelnuts.

Red: Hazelnuts.

Grey: What’s that, you say?

R: Hazelnuts!

G: Hazelnuts? What about ‘em?

R: I’ve been thinking upon them.

G: In what way?

R: Well, not in a sexual way, If that is what you were thinking?

G: No, I wasn’t. I wasn’t, but, now…

R: Well you can stop with that train of thought, right away. In fact, you being a squirrel, I would expect better of you.

G: What has my being a squirrel got anything to do with anything?”

R: It’s typecasting! Squirrels are Hazelnuts – Hazelnuts are Squirrels.

G: I really don’t know what you are on about – I’m beginning to think that you are one Hazelnut short of an oak tree.

R: Or the other way round.

G: Yes, or the other way round.

R: And we’d better not even mention ‘Acorns’.

G: Acorns?

R: Yup! Acorns, those little critters that grow on…

G: Trees!

R: Yup, trees.

SD There is a very slight pause.

R: So, are you feeling hungry by any chance?

G: Ravishing!

R: I don’t think that ‘that’ is the right word. Try ‘ravenous’.

G: Ravenous!

R: I thought as much. Here, have some of these Cob Nuts.

G: Cob Nuts? No. I never touch them, I can’t abide Cob Nuts.

R: Filbert?

G: That’s not my name.”

R: No, Filbert Nuts! They are the bees knees, apart from the fact that only bee’s knees are the bees knees.

G: I can’t say that I have ever tried Filbert Nuts. What are they like?”

R: Absolutely delicious. I swear by them.

G: Well, being a swearing squirrel is not something to write home about.

R: Then I shalln’t write home and mention it. My parents are strict wotsits.

G: Wotsits?

R: Yup! They go to church every Sunday.

G: To pray?

R: Don’t be silly! Religious Squirrels? No, they visit the trees around the graveyard – good pickings there. And, you’ve got to have a routine: Church on Sunday; local park on a Monday; Woods on a Tuesday; and so on and so on.

G: (mulling this over) Right. (Pause) So, where were we?

R: Discussing Plato? Or was it Sartre?

G: Haven’t a clue – although I did feel that lunch came into the equation somewhere.

R: Oh, you’re a squirrel that can do mathematics!

G: Not all squirrels are illegitimate.

R: Illiterate.

G: I knew that – I was just testing you.

R: Anyway, ‘illiterate’ applies to not being able to read, ‘inumerate’ is the term for not having a basic understanding of numbers.

G: Oh, aren’t you the university professor type squirrel? Oxford or Cambridge?

R: School of Hard Knocks ‘and’ the School of Life’.

G: So, is your colouring given to you as being like your graduation robes?

R: No. I was born red, proud to be red. Red I shall stay.

G: Hmmm. Grey is better.

R: How? Where’s your logic to back up that bold statement?

G: We are bigger! There’s more of us! We live in more parts of the country than you do!

R: And you use more exclamation marks than Red Squirrels.

G: Probably!

R: And your heads seem to be bigger.

G: Do they?

R: From where I’m standing, yes, I would say that you do have a big head.

G: Well, it’s probably got to be big so as to cope with the size of my brain – that must also be big.

R: Quantity, not quality springs to mind as an expression that could be used in this case.

G: And what does that mean? You know what? I am beginning to become a little fed up with all your hoity-toity talk. Talking is for intellectual snobs!

R: And the rule of strength is for boorish bully’s?

G: Might be. Here, take this and see.

Gray attempts to stick a punch on Red’s nose, but the little red squirrel is too agile and his fancy footwork is beyond the dreams of the gray squirrel.

R: Ah, well, Gray one, it was… almost nice talking to you – good luck with evolution.

And the Red Squirrel ran nimbly back to his forest home well away from the Gray Squirrel domain.

He had some rather excellent Hazelnuts awaiting his return – or were they Cob Nuts? or Filberts?

Thinking on this the little Red Squirrel laughed heartily as he ran along, and all that saw him smiled at his passing.

“Mr. Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives the Third!”

“Mr. Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives the Third! “Mr. Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives the Third!”

“What is it, woman?”

“It’s your son, “Mr. Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives the Third!”

“What, Robert Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives the Fourth?”

“No. Your other son!”

“What. Anthony Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives the Unnumbered?”

“Yes – the very same.”

“What has happened to my other son, Anthony Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives the Unnumbered?”

“He’s sprained his wrist signing a cheque.”

“Ah, the old Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives curse has struck again.”

Bird Song

I was sat in the garden,

listening to the bird song

‘with a little bit of this,

and a little bit of that…’

it was going to be

one of those mornings.

Population Question.

Historian: … and it came to pass, that the worlds population was divided by half –

Think on that… the worlds population… divided by a half…

Audience Member: But…? Doesn’t that mean, that, the population doubled?

H: What?

AM: Dividing something by half doubles it.

H: No. Doubling it, doubles it.

AM: Okay. I’ll leave you to do the Math on that one.

H: Maths!

AM: Whatever.