Legz Akimbo Theatre Company

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scripts and Legz  Akimbo Theatre Company © TLoG

 

 

Scumbelina
OLLIE:

Good evening, we are Legz Akimbo Theatre Company... thanks a lot-ooh! Some of you may remember us from... a couple of Christmases ago... we came here and we did Bins and Needles- it was a play about tramps on heroin. But we’re back here today to perform my new piece which is about a small girl growing up in the North. It’s called Scumbelina... and we’ll be performing that for you right here on the stage in a few minutes! My name’s Oliver Plimsolls by the way, and I’ll, er, I’ll get all your names in a minute coz there are far too many of you. A lot of my friends did turn to me and say “Ollie, what are you doing writing a play about the North, you’re from-Chiswick.” I said to her, “Sue, for years, writers have sat on their fat arses getting rich, writing lies about real, Northern people. I...want... to do that too.” Very exciting time for the company, first time I’ve written a play for adults! I’m not standing up here today as teacher. You know, I’m not “Sir”. I’m not “Mum”. I’m not “Dad”. I’m Ollie Plimsolls, and, I’m not gonna patronise you, patronise means “to talk down to you”. So, yeah, there’s a little girl with a round face there, if you’ve got something to say, miss, pop your hand in the air, we’d all love to hear it. There’s obviously something frightfully funny going on down there, d’you want to share it with the rest of the group? I’d love to know what the joke is! I’d love to be as funny as you! I’d love to be as popular as you! Oh please let me learn from you! Oh, it’s not nice being bullied is it? Maybe don’t! Oh, we’re nearly there, OK. Sit back and enjoy Scumbelina...which I wrote...sssh!
ALL:

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaah!
DAVE:

Got me bird comin’! 
PHIL:

Comin’ around!
OLLIE:

Comin’ to see me!
PHIL:

Nice tits...
ALL:

Sound!
DAVE:

Out to’t boozer...
PHIL:

Out on’t razz!
OLLIE:

Down to’t night-club...
PHIL:

Bri...
DAVE:

Si..:
OLLIE:

And Gaz.
PHIL:

Hair
DAVE:

Shave
OLLIE:

Tie
PHIL:

Hair
DAVE:

Shave
OLLIE:

Tie
PHIL:

Hair
DAVE:

Shave
OLLIE:

Tie
ALL:

Hair, shave tie. Hair, shave tie. Hair, shave tie. Hair, shave tie. Hair, shave tie. 
DAVE:

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee... why?
PHIL:

Parky out.
DAVE:

Parky in.
PHIL:

Parky out.
DAVE:

Parky in.
PHIL:

Parky in.
DAVE:

Parky out.
PHIL:

Where you goin’?
DAVE:

Mind your own stink
PHIL:

Oh, mind your stink
DAVE:

Stink, stink, stinking skint, skint...as I am...
PHIL:

Oh, poverty. Poor. Poverosity.
DAVE:

That’s right ma. No bastard listens to’t voice of the’t little person. Not here in’t dump. But why don’t you? Can’t, or won’t? There’s poetry in our voices only it don’t come out right. Poverty is poetry with an extra...
ALL:

V...
DAVE:

Only nowt rhymes whi’it. Haah, but you’re all welcome. Quick, get the fire lit, Ma, faither’s home.
PHIL:

Has ye fetched t’coal in, luv?
OLLIE:

Fuck a duck!
PHIL:

Aye, no! Me duck’s fucked, me duck’s fucked off.
OLLIE:

Fucked off, mucked off, more like. Mucked off wi’ my luck. England’s a duck, England’s an old duck in the lake. She wants to fly
DAVE:

Fly...
OLLIE:

But she never can do.
PHIL:

Can do.
OLLIE:

She wants to fly
DAVE:

Fly...
OLLIE:

But she never will do.
PHIL:

Will do.
OLLIE:

They’re always a’clippin’, a’flippin’ a’clippin’ her wings.
PHIL:

She sings.
OLLIE:

I preferred them days. Not these days, sleaze days, them days, them lazy hazy gazy days. Not these, cold, old, no soul.
PHIL:

Can I do a speech? Can I? I will then. Taps. Big taps on me bath, rusting away...
DAVE:

Like the country?
PHIL:

Country? Cunt tree more like. Resting, rusting away like the taps on Ma’s big bath. Big, brown, bleach-burning bath. I want the taps to work. I want me man to work. I want work for me man but there in’t none. Not here in’t Narth.
OLLIE:

Not here in't Naaarth.
DAVE:

Not here in’t Naaaaaaaaaaooooooooooooaaaaaaaaooooorth.
OLLIE:

Kendal.
DAVE:

You know me?
PHIL:

Waaaay!
DAVE:

Nooorth! Blast off, blow off, let off steam, iron and steel magnolias, only as old as you feel, licks the cat weasel, bang goes the top of the range Grange Hill, why won’t you speak to me rowland of hope and glory, hallelujah chorus-and them, us and them, us and them
PHIL:

Them who made us this way?
OLLIE:

Who made us this way? Who?
DAVE:

Jim Cartwright.
PHIL:

Willy Russel.
OLLIE:

John fucking Godber.
ALL:

Cartwright, Russel, Fucking Godber. Cartwright, Russel, Fucking Godber. Cartwright, Russel, Fucking Godber. Cartwright, Russel, Fucking Godber. A-Cartwright, a-Russel, a-Fucking a-Godber. A-Cartwright, a-Russel, a-Fucking a-Godber. A-Cartwright, a-Russel, a-Fucking a-Godber. A-Cartwright, a-Cartwright, a-Cartwright... 

PHIL:

Mmmm...
OLLIE:

 

 

They can't write!