Domestic Cherry

Return of Barry: Office at the Top

2019-04-22T08:59:00.002-07:00

“Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.” — Allen Ginsberg.

"Domestic Cherry 7, coming soon, to the party off the line." Barry.

Barry: I CAME back to Swindon on a wet April morning with the sky the grey of Calne sandstone. I was alone in the compartment. I remember saying to myself: ‘No more zombies, Mabel, no more zombies’. My stomach was rumbling with hunger and the drinks of the night before had left a buzzing in my head and a carbonated-water sensation in my nostrils. On that particular morning even these discomforts added to my pleasure. I was a dissipated traveller–dissipated in a gentlemanly hi-viz sort of way, looking forward to the hot bath, the hair-of-the-dog, the black coffee, and the snooze in the silk dressing-gown. My clothes were my working-week best: an ergonomic 3D fit trouser for ease of movement, featuring tuck away holster pockets, a self-fabric gusset, reinforced hem and triple-stitched seams at stress points. Knee pads were available but sold separately: No one pulls one over on me. These had cost fourteen quid, a plain grey tie underneath, plain grey socks, and brown shoes. The shoes were the most expensive I’d ever possessed, with a deep, rich, nearly black lustre. My Waterproof, hi-visibility motorway jacket with taped seams, full length front zip and storm flap wasn’t up to the same standard, it smelled of rubber, and the hat was faintly discoloured with hair-oil. Later I learned, among other things, never to buy cheap hi-visibility, to wear a shower cap before placing my hat and not to have my clothes match too exactly in shade and colour. But I looked well enough that morning.

Mabel: And what brings you back Barry? I’ve rented your room out to Roy. He’s taken down your European flag and dirtied your slippers.

Barry: As I had a dream about you last night I thought it was time to get in touch. Don't be alarmed, it wasn't anything creepy, in fact all I can remember was that you were in it.

Mabel: You’ve begun to acquire a middle-aged spread and, whether it sounds sentimental or not–I had a sort of eagerness and lack of disillusion as soon as I saw you on the doorstep- which more than makes up for the new coat and hat and the ensemble like a uniform.

Barry: The other reason is I found a photo of myself taken shortly after I came to live at Swindon. My hair is plastered into a skullcap, my collar doesn’t fit, and the knot of my tie, held in place by a hideous pin shaped like a dagger, is far too small. That doesn’t matter. For my face is, not innocent exactly, but unused. I mean unused by poetry, by money, by making friends and influencing people, hardly touched by any of the muck one’s forced to wade through to get poetry published. This was the face that Ursula saw. I was holding a copy of Domestic Cherry, you on the front. It all made sense Mabel.

Mabel: So you want The Cherry back? The Office at the Top?

Barry: I want us back together again. I’ve missed your pale, composed face and dark hair turning grey. Your smile from your eyes, an expression of personal friendliness, not the usual social grimace.

Mabel: This isn’t the prettiest part of Swindon. Remember the fish-and-chip shop, and the seedy-looking Commercial Hotel - nothing has changed Barry, except me. But we’ve got an inbox bursting with desperate poets expecting us to publish them and invite them to the launch. Can you do it Barry, can you do it all again?

Barry: There’s a positive maze of streets behind that hotel Mabel and I’m up for working my way around.

Mabel: I feel quite sorry for those poor men, the ones you rejected. I still see their grey faces to this day, their dirty brown poems sinking into the mud floods of 2013, Lydiard woods.

Barry: We have to reject Mabel. Rejection is the purest form of acceptance.

Treachery!

2019-01-11T07:28:00.000-08:00

A resigned Roy promotes an INCREDIBLE attack on Mabel as Barry prepares to leave Europe.

Roy: Why should I ever agree when you have us rulebound and powerless? It's not the EU in this house Mabel!

Mabel: Roy! You are using your sexist stereotypes, plotting to strengthen the 2016 EU membership referendum result. I say we need a second referendum, and new house plants.

Roy: The people have voted! Get over it, or get out you stupid woman.

Mabel: I'll take the Persian cat with me, back to Persia where it belongs.

Roy: That's not Europe, and you're not taking my cat.

Mabel: Get a British Shorthair. Why should foreign cats get to stay, you can't have it all your own way.

Roy: Leave my cat out of it, Traitor!

Mabel: We should reject this deal and I think you should reject this cat!

Roy: Somebody needs to speak up against the dictatorial way this cat is being fed. I never agreed to Kitti Kat, and it's owned by the French. Traitor!

Mabel: You are hysterical and aggressive Roy. Have you ever been to Europe?

Roy: I've never even been to Chippenham. It's not safe.

Mabel: You've got what is known as, “Swindon paralysis” - a type of small-mindedness only grown in small jars with tight lids.

Roy: We must leave Wiltshire, and the EU, decisively and completely and in a few years time we will wonder what all the fuss was about. It will be like the year 2000 bug. Never happened.

Mabel: And how do you propose we ever get Barry back?

FOOTBALL'S COMING HOME?

2018-07-08T02:44:00.002-07:00

MABEL: I believe football's coming home.

BARRY: It F....ing is not.

MABEL: Language Barry! I hope you kept that to yourself at the meat raffle? You'd be beaten with a side of beef for that.

BARRY: Some beatings are worth it. And no it's not coming home.

MABEL: Yes it is, everyone is singing it, even in the COOP.

BARRY: I've not heard that.

MABEL: Are you living in a different time and space?

BARRY: I hope so. They talk about football coming home to refer to the fact that football games as we know them originated in Britain. What Brexshit!

MABEL: I thought it was German!

BARRY: Everyone seems to know the score.

MABEL: 2 - Nil. Impressive!

BARRY: Not if you count the corners.

MABEL: I never count corners.

BARRY: Or the women.

MABEL: I didn't see any. Are they any good?

BARRY: They were after the First World War, then it was banned in 1921

MABEL: And for good reason. Can't be distracting the girls from the twin tub.

BARRY: One had a shot so hard she once broke the arm of a professional male goalkeeper.

MABEL: That would never happen in the kitchen.

BARRY: Informal kickabouts became a popular pastime for the women and this was not missed by factory management.

MABEL: Stop there!

SHAME

2017-12-13T11:33:00.001-08:00

MABEL: Some people love to shame other people.

BARRY: You must be shamed and often Mabel!

MABEL: On Facebook? Barry ... it was not the place.

BARRY: Yes, it’s where all the plagiarists, women-haters, racists, car thiefs go to die Mabel. High Court on social media. Guilty and therefore shamed. It’s how I show off my radical views and mint intellectual prowess!

MABEL: But what about my feelings Barry? It was just a small typo with a cardigan on.

BARRY: A typo is a major offender of the great Oxford Dictionary - SHAME!

MABEL: But why photograph my typos and put them on Facebook Barry? Ursula has been sharing my shame all morning and now a crowd of sensitive poets are embarrassing themselves exercising their ‘right to miss-spell’ and miss-spelling on purpose. It’s unsightly and disturbing.

BARRY: Your miss-spellings have created utter chaos - they are writing an anthology of miss-spelt poems in your honour - it’s an ugly mess.

MABEL: Will I get a reading out of it?

Poetry Warriors

2017-12-13T11:31:00.000-08:00

after Owen Jones

Roy: Are you drooling over Owen Jones again Mabel.

Mabel: I'm not drooling, I'm gaining an education.

Roy: We need to stand above class and think of the nation!

Mabel: I hope you've stopped hugging hoodies, that's so 2010.

Roy: I make it my daily accomplishment. In Asda yesterday, I met a young man who has been homeless for seven years. I hugged him and gave him a Big Mac. Good deeds is what it takes and getting the deficit down.

Mabel: You are merely defending the privileged - a Big Mac! He needs a place to live.

Roy: Well, we can't get too sentimental about the poor. They need to pull themselves up by the bootstraps!

Roll a 6

2017-12-04T23:42:00.002-08:00

Mabel: So, why didn’t you answer today?

Barry: I just didn’t feel like it.

Mabel: You are a sweet potato!

Barry: Kanazawa!

Mabel: Do you like red?

Barry: Never. It’s not even a colour.

Mabel: You look so great in red.

Barry: It’s not a colour.

Mabel: You were born to wear red.

Barry: Pink?

Mabel: Sounds like a game.

Barry: Roll a 6.

Sisters in a Domestic

2016-02-08T05:28:00.001-08:00

After Anton Chekhov

Inside Mabel’s house. A sitting room with a two bar electric heater, with a door leading to a large dining room. It is midday; outside it is raining. In the dining room beyond the table is being laid for lunch and Barry sits reading the paper. Mabel is in a blue dress, the official dress of mad poetesses She is continually editing poems ready for next year’s TS Eliot awards. Her sister Doreen is visiting from Wales. She has no need for poems but is trying to understand their value, preferring the short story or a walk to Lidl.

MABEL: Father died exactly a year ago, on this very same day, on the fifth of May, on your name day, Doreen. It was very cold, and rain was falling, like it is now. You were lying in a faint, as if you were dead. But look, a year has gone by and we can remember it lightly, you are already wearing white, and your face is full of brightness…

DOREEN: Why do you insist on remembering it! Poets (TUT).

(Through the door in the dining room, Barry appears near the table.)

MABEL: Today is raining too, we can’t even have the windows open - but the birch trees are still not in leaf. Barry has taken over the Poem Society, already everything is in flower, everything is flooded with Rain. Good God! This morning I woke up and bubbled up inside my heart … this year I will win the TS Eliot prize, I am sure.

DOREEN: Isn’t that for ‘The Men’? Heavens they need it. Even if we don’t.

MABEL: Its absolutely not true. Sarah, dear Sarah won this year. What a powerful poetess. She’s like a Lioness, I am thinking in rhyme today sister.

DOREEN: Well don’t, it's nonsense. Not even a good rhyme, just an 'ess' sound.

(Mabel, deep in thought over her idea of winning the TS Eliot award, starts to whistle a tune.)

DOREEN: Don't whistle Mabel. How could you! Deranged!

(Pause.)

I continually have headaches from all the poetry churning out in this place, and the thoughts I have are those of an ageing old woman, who will never write one. Not one. And really and truly, while I have been working in the Coop, I feel as if every day my youth and my strength have been oozing away drop by drop. The only thing that grows and strengthens is one single dream ….

MABEL. To work in Lidl?

DOREEN. No! To be new editor of Domestic Cherry. I want what you had. Power! To reject poetry, or learn to love it?

(Barry laughs. Mabel gasps)

MABEL: Oh bother! You hate poems so much, at any rate the only difficulty is with poor Roy. He is after the role. I have the Eliots to concentrate on, no time for cherries Doreen.

DOREEN: I can work on it the whole summer, every year. Forget the Eliots. Try the People's Friend, that's where the real poems live.

(Mabel softly whistles a tune.)

MABEL: With God's help it will all work out. (Looking out of the window.) What crappy weather today. I don't know why everything is so bright inside me.

DOREEN: Today you are all radiant, you are looking unusually beautiful. And even Barry is beautiful. Roy would be handsome but it’s just not possible. He has grown rather stout, and that doesn't suit him.

MABEL: Today, I am free. Domestic Cherry is all yours sister. Everything is fine, everything as God wishes, but it seems to me, that if I were to win the Eliot it would be much better.

BARRY: Leave it to me, we’ll make you a winner.

Pause.

MABEL: I would love that.

DOREEN:You talk such rubbish, it's annoying to listen to you.

MABEL: Well, of course, we'll be delighted for you to be new editor. But how will you overcome poems?

DOREEN: At the most, I can read forty, or forty-five in a year. As long as they are not too long.

MABEL: You talk like a sort of half-wit, speaking all manner of high-blown phrases. I should have given it to you long ago. Perfect.

BARRY: (Coming from the dining room into the sitting room towards DOREEN.) With one hand I can lift up fifty pounds, but with two I can lift one hundred and fifty, perhaps even two hundred. From that I can conclude that two men are stronger than one not by twice as much, but three times, even more … Domestic Cherry is yours. Take it, make it strong Dor, make it dangle.

DOREEN: For loss of hair... two scruples of naphthalene in half a bottle of surgical spirit... dissolve it and use the mixture every day... (Writes in a notebook.) Yes my dear fellow, we'll make a note of it. (To Barry.) So, let me explain to you, you get the cork pushed into the bottle, or whatever, have a glass tube running through the cork... Then you take a small pinch of completely ordinary poems … Domestic Cherry 5 is on its way.

The Rise of Roy

2015-04-18T09:18:00.001-07:00

after Hitler: The Rise of Evil (2003) Movie Script

MABEL: Have you heard how Roy's gone Ukip?

BARRY: Does Ursula know?

MABEL: She locked him out of her bedroom. For going Ukip, he quoted something about Aids victims and immigrants and you know how Ursula reacts to that sort of a thing. Since the dog.

BARRY: When I was a boy, I heard the story...I heard the story of the Holy Grail...and how it could only be found by one who was pure of heart. Roy will never find the Holy Grail.

MABEL: Indeed, we have a history of Nationalism in this country. Especially when we fall on hard times. Our economy collapsing. But it's not poverty or weakness that's our problem...it's indifference.

BARRY: Is anyone listening? That's the problem nowadays, isn't it?

MABEL: No-one cares.

BARRY: No wonder we face extinction.

MABEL: Pride... pride is a weapon.

BARRY: A sword to be used against our enemies.But don't be deceived. They are strong.
Stronger than we are. And it's not Swindon or Chippenham I'm talking about.

MABEL: Our enemies... live among us.

BARRY: It's the Ukips and the Tories.

MABEL: Communists? Bankers?

BARRY: Roy would say foreign invaders who come to our country to destroy us and take over our lives! Swindonian democracy has given birth to dozens of political factions.But none is growing more rapidly than those Ukips whose fiery speaker... what's his name...Nigel...something...sits in the pub ...preaches against the influence of foreign invaders. Who alone are responsible for the moral decadence that now riddles our society.

MABEL: Roy says they call themselves English! but have always been unwelcome, unwanted, and they are everywhere. He says he is just being honest and has the guts to speak the truth.

BARRY: (In Roy's voice) Invading our government, stripping us of our savings, raping our families and our heritage.(Laughing)

MABEL: Isn't that the Tories?

Enter Roy.

MABEL: Oh, it's good to see you.

ROY: I've just come from the pub with Nigel.

BARRY: Shame on you. Here's Mabel, she was raised in Chippenham, but don't worry, she's bred from good Swindon stock... Her family's from Wootton Bassett.

MABEL: I apologise for the mess. I'll have it clean by morning.

ROY: They've asked me if I'd like to join. The Ukips. I haven't... accepted yet.

BARRY: You should we be concerned about them. That's all you need to know. It's club life of the lowest form, Roy.

ROY: But I like the underlying politics. "The Nationalist agenda must include elimination of the unwanted" he said over a beer, easy enough. You disagree?

BARRY: Oh yes! (In anger, shaking his fist) Just drive them out. Deport them if necessary.

ROY: Can you imagine a world without them?

BARRY: How pure!

MABEL: How holy!

ROY: Do you think...there are any blacks in Wootton Bassett yet?

MABEL: Oh, they wouldn't dare.

ROY: I might move there.

MABEL: (Throws her paddle agitator at Roy, hitting him between the eyes) Oops. Idiots are men like you with nothing to say! ... Shut up!

ROY: (Rubbing his head) When are you women going to learn that extraordinary times demand extraordinary measures?

MABEL: (Picks up her paddle agitator and raises it into the air) I'm prouder of this than of any Iron Cross (throws it again at Roy)

What do you think has happened to Barry?

2014-10-19T09:10:00.000-07:00

After Oscar Wilde

"Civilisation is not by any means an easy thing to attain to. There are only two ways by which man can reach it. One is by being cultured, the other by being corrupt."

URSULA: The poets are still discussing poor Barry's disappearance.

MABEL: I should have thought they'd have got tired of that by now.

URSULA: Poets! Tired! It's the poetry of the tired and the tired writing poems -

MABEL: May dear Ursula, they have only been talking about it for the last two weeks. Since he stormed out after his big performance - he could have been famous, he could have had it all!

URSULA: It's an odd thing, but everyone who disappears is said to be seen in The Harvey.

MABEL: It's a delightful pub, and possesses all the attractions of the Hard Rock Cafe.

URSULA: What do you think has happened to Barry?

MABEL: I have not the slightest idea! If Barry chooses to hide himself, it is no business of mine.

URSULA: If he is dead, I don't want to think about him. Death terrifies me - that's it.

MABEL: Death and vulgarity are the best two things one can look forward to in Swindon.

URSULA: Let's take a sherry together up at The Harvey. You can read your latest poem.

MABEL: OK. I shall get my coat (sighs) Poor Barry, I was very fond of him.

URSULA: This house is so lonely without him. Of course he is merely a habit, a bad habit. But then one regrets the loss of one's worst habits. Perhaps one regrets them the most.

MABEL: Ursula, has it occurred to you that Barry may have been murdered?

URSULA: Barry is very popular and always wears Hi-Viz. He'd be difficult to murder. Why should he have been murdered? He was not clever enough to have enemies.

MABEL: Roy?

URSULA: Roy doesn't count. He is really dull and not up to any murdering.

MABEL: He writes poems, he could also murder. He told me years ago, that he had a wild adoration for you, that you were the dominant motive of his poems.

URSULA: I am fond of Roy. But he is not clever, or civilised.

MABEL: I know there are dreadful places in Swindon, and Barry was the sort of person to go to them.

URSULA: Crime belongs exclusively to the lower orders. I don't blame them, but Roy is above that.

MABEL: I don't think Barry would have done much more good work any how. His poems were going off a bit.

URSULA: When you and he ceased to be great friends. He ceased to be a great poet. It's a habit bores have.

MABEL: Oh Barry was never boring,

"Like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart"

URSULA: Yes, that is what it was like! (laughing) How grave you are. Don't be so serious.

Domestic Cherry 4

2014-09-17T03:10:00.000-07:00

WITH POSTAGE (UK ONLY)
WITHOUT POSTAGE
For overseas postage please see HERE

DOMESTIC CHERRY 3

WITH POSTAGE
WITHOUT POSTAGE
WITH POSTAGE
WITHOUT POSTAGE

WITH POSTAGE
WITHOUT POSTAGE

Billy Bob, Poet?

2014-09-15T08:01:00.001-07:00

I wasn’t sure if you were

the body builder Billy Bob or

THE POET.

A foul-mouthed hatred

that stunk out the Poetry

Book Society: all your dirty

frothing and filth to tell

the truth? Billy Bob – your insult

beginning with Rocky

Horror on your wall will kill
us, Dammit Billy Bob!

We can’t all be ugly and clever

from Oxford waving a PHD and

a terrible poem , or two (yourself).

My advice, like your advice,

is stop! This car-park

scuffling with poetry is not

necessary

or dangerous. It is Tesco

on a bad day

with all the cup-cakes sold out.

Mrs Hongo

Mrs Hongo is a poet and horse rider from Devon. She was disappointed not to be included in the Next Generation list, after her collection, Elvis Lives in a Honolulu Anagram was published in 2011, but she wishes all on the list well! 'What a top list!' she cried. Mrs Hongo blogs HERE, sometimes.

Domestic Cherry has its own list. Let poets eat cake we say: CAKES

Advice page for sour poets: MAKE IT REAL

Cakes

2014-09-14T15:43:00.001-07:00

Domestic Cherry's top ten cakes to dominate the sweet bread-like treat landscape over the next ten years. You can find all of these cakes at www.tesco.com/cakes/topten

Angel Cake: Mr Kipling

Battenburg: Lyons

Bakewell Slice: Mr Kipling

Carrot Cake: Marks and Spencer's

Jamaica Ginger Cake: McVities

French Fancies: Mr Kipling

Viennese Whirls: Mr Kipling

Chocolate Mini Rolls: Cadburys

Banana Lunch Box Loaves: Soreen

Lemon Layer Slices: Mr Kipling

A Woman Can Cross Dress: The end of Mabel and the beinning of Barry

2014-07-14T07:10:00.002-07:00

See Part 1 HERE

"It’s something useless, sudden, violent; something that costs a life; red, blue, purple; a spirit; a splash; like those hyacinths (she was passing a fine bed of them); free from taint, dependence, soilure of humanity or care for one’s kind; something rash, ridiculous... ecstasy..." Virginia Woolf

Summary of part one: Mabel asks Barry for a kiss. Barry refuses. Mabel won't take 'No' for an answer (she's the editor of the greatest Int. poetry magazine: Domestic Cherry). Barry still refuses, poetry is poetry, there are no queens. Mabel faints. Barry slaps Mabel and leaves her to pick up some skips. Mabel pretends to be Cynthia and orders a skip. Barry delivers the skip to Cynthia's house. Mabel chases Barry. Barry is run down by a truck. Barry is dead.

Part 2:

Mabel takes the hi-viz jerkin off Barry’s dead body and runs to Ursula’s house. She collapses on Ursula’s front porch, clutching Barry’s jerkin. Ursula finds Mabel and tucks her into bed. Time makes a crinkly shape in the sky, and a strange noise.

100 years later

She stretched herself. She rose. She stood upright in complete nakedness before us, and while the trumpets peeled Truth! Truth! Truth! we have no choice left but to confess − she was a man. She was Mr. Barry Dicks.

To be continued:

The launch of Domestic Cherry 4 with performance artist Diane Torr on Sunday 5th October, 2014. Meet Mabel as Barry. A Drag King Poetry Night with Mabel Watson, Clare Shaw and Myfanwy Fox! Music from the wonderful Faye Rogers.

www.swindonfestivalofpoetry.co.uk for tickets, residential weekend, and festival passes. Don Share of Poetry Magazine will be with us for the entire festival.

The end of Barry, the beginning of Mabel (Or Venus and Adonis in Swindon)

2014-06-29T03:08:00.000-07:00

After Shakespeare (Venus and Adonis)

BARRY: I wish the sun would come out. It's looking rather purple out there. Makes me weep!

MABEL: You are late for collecting the skips today. I've already done three loads of washing.

BARRY: Why always compare us Mabel? I'll go when I'm ready. It was a late one up at the Harvey and those poets kept coming.

MABEL: I went home at 9pm Barry. You are so much better than myself, and I began to have unnecessary feelings for you during your recital of 'The Visible Man'. I wondered about you giving me a kiss!

BARRY: (Palms sweating) Now Mabel! Don't start this kissing thing again. I'm working ... and Ursula will object.

MABEL: Here! Come and sit ... I'll smother you with kisses. (Pulling Barry by the sweaty palm towards her)

BARRY: You are a lusty horse woman! Go and sit on your twin tub and think of Dickens!

MABEL: Oh you are a dull boy today Barry (Takes Barry under her arm, paddle agitator in the other). Come on, I'll be quick.

Mabel pushes Barry to the ground, strokes his cheek and purses her lips for kissing.

BARRY: (Pouting and frowning) You know the worst thing about this Mabel? The worst thing is that paddle agitator in my ribs.

MABEL: (Disappointed. Lips sulking) Why chide me like this Barry? (Crying)

BARRY: Ok Love. Come on. Let's kiss. (Offers up his lips)

As Mabel brings her lips to Barry. Barry takes his teeth out and grins.

MABEL: All I want is a bit of kissing. Why can't you oblige me just this once? Don't be coy. Touch my lips with those tough lips of yours. Look in my eye-balls, there your visibility lies.

BARRY: Look, no more of this love! The paddle agitator does break my ribs. I must remove.

MABEL: Your truck has more lust in it. You have taken my heart Barry.

BARRY: Now, this melancholic malcontent won't be helping anyone. And I need to be working, so let it drop Mabel. I've missed the bus now and it's your fault, keeping me with all your weird love stuff. I don't recognise you.

A war of looks is exchanged between them

MABEL: Why not stay then Barry? I'll make some tea.

BARRY: I know your kind of tea.

MABEL: Just imagine us naked in the bed - whiter than white! I don't know why you can't take advantage of this tea and lust I offer you.

BARRY: I just want to get to work Mabel, pick up a few skips, have a rummage. That's my love. You hurt my head with your whingeing; let us part, and leave this idle theme, this bootless chat: ope the door and let me get the bus.

MABEL: I have done my load , now it's press'd. How your looks and words kill me Barry (Mabel collapses in her lust and rejection)

Barry slaps Mabel's cheeks to revive her, believing she is dead. He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks, he bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, he chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks to mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd: he kisses her; and she, by her good will, will never rise, so he will kiss her still.

Suddenly she wakes and Barry and Mabel enjoy some loving.

Some hours later.

BARRY: Now I really must go. I have a skip to collect at 1pm and you have kept me far too long.

MABEL: And tomorrow? Tell me, Barry love, shall we meet to-morrow? Say, shall we? shall we?

BARRY: No; to-morrow I intends to collect more skips with certain of my friends.

MABEL: Those skips! I know you take Ursula with you (Going a sudden pale, trembles, throws her arms around his neck: sinks down, still hanging by his neck. Barry falls down upon Mabel's belly. Mabel covers him in more kisses)

BARRY: Now now! Let me go. You are crushing me.

MABEL: Oh do stay the night instead Barry. The skips can wait!

BARRY: I am going off you Mabel. I like you worse and worse. No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,
but soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. (Exit Barry breaking out of Mabel's embrace)

Mabel's tedious woeful ditty:

How love makes young men thrall and old men dote;
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty:
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,
And still the choir of echoes answer so.

Mabel takes a bus to Cynthia's house and uses her phone with a fake voice, the plastic mouth of it against her sore pale lips. She calls Barry, orders a skip, in a fake voice, to Cynthia's address, scowling. The world's poor people looking on from the street as Mabel stands and waits for Barry's skip.

MABEL: (Screaming in the street) Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, hateful divorce of love,

grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm.

As the skip arrives with Barry at the wheel, he sees Mabel and flees from the truck into an on- coming car and is severely wounded.

MABEL: (Running towards the death scene) Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!

With this, she falleth in the place she stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood.

CURTAIN

You can enjoy the Lucky Fin production of Venus and Adonis at the Swindon Festival of Poetry on Sunday 5th October at 6pm. See HERE for full details.

Men and Masters

2014-06-05T22:47:00.002-07:00

After Dickens

BARRY: Well Mabel (in a windy manner). What's this I hear about Roy, refusing to be Mr. Tuttle's friend on Facebook, because he is friends with me?

MABEL: You know he is very sore Barry. And his book ... less said the better. He can be a pest, you are better off without him.

BARRY: I have reported him to the powers that be at Facebook management. He's a cyber bully!

MABEL: I wouldn't go that far. Just a bid sad.

BARRY: He has blackened my name to Mr. Tuttle. I didn't get my free bus pass last week, had to pay £2.45 to get to Lidl. Many cyberstalkers try to damage the reputation of their victim and turn other people against them.

MABEL: You should ask him to speak up for himself, like a man, since he is a man. Is he man?

BARRY: Ursula should know. There's history there.

MABEL: What kind of history?

BARRY: Just, history, his words not mine. I presume he means the history of some kind of sin. A wide-open comment. I am unsure, but he is certainly wary of me and lets the general public know. He is lowering my good name, or at least, that is his intent. Which is bullying in my book. He described me as a 'mischievous stranger' when I first met Ursula, this was on Twitter.

MABEL: He's just a mere specimen going in the wrong direction. Whereas you Barry. A man to be marvelled at. It can't be easy for Roy.

BARRY: His back-handed comments need to stop. He de-friended Murial Sparks when she wished me happy birthday on my wall and told her that anyone who wishes me happy birthday is no friend of his.

MABEL: Now that's something to complain of. Look how we live, and in what numbers, and by what chances, and with what sameness; and look how the twin-tub is always a going: death!

BARRY: Look how he considers us, and writes of us, and talks of us, and goes up with your deputations to the Poetry Society about us, and how he is always right, and how I is always wrong, and I never had a reason to sin, or write erotic Man-Lit! What planet is he on?

All the events, characters, and situations on this blog are a work of fiction. Any connection to real-life events is purely a coincidence and the writer takes no responsibility for the shame you might feel.

Swartz Metterklume, Poet

2014-06-04T10:08:00.000-07:00

After Saki

Mabel picks up a new poet, Swartz Metterklume, at a poetry reading. Jeremy Paxman critizes the poets with regard to their taste in poetry and orders an inquisition. Barry takes care of it by asking Schwartz Metterklume, poet, a few questions down at the Harvey. Mabel advises that poets are allowed to run completely wild. Eventually, Mabel decides to go along to the Harvey to see what would happen.

MABEL: How Provoking. These poetry super-prizes are so careless. Why have that Paxman fella as a judge? Does he even write poems Barry?

BARRY: Does he need to? I think he has a point. I've invited him to The Harvey tonight, for a bit of poet questioning. First up, that Swartz Metterklume, he makes no sense.

MABEL: But Roy has been disgusted by the nature of this charge thrust upon us all. He has learned that Ursula has an artistic temperament when he asked her to account for 'Father Samuel'.

BARRY: Why. What did Ursula do?

MABEL: Russian!

BARRY: Her Russian poem that no one can understand, not even Russians?

MABEL: She also used a colloquial expression, as in the poem by Swartz Metterklume. The general public dislike it a lot. Not a very illuminating experience!

BARRY: I've never met him but, the least show of unexpected resistance goes a long way towards rendering them cowed and apologetic.

MABEL: When the new editor of Poetry Revenue failed to express wonderment at Ursula's efforts in Russian, she spoke only French for three days.

BARRY: I trust you are exaggerating! He drinks like a fish and beats his wife!

MABEL: And he's quite the most irritating bridge player.

BARRY: Tiresome. We will talk of this some other time. let's get down the Harvey and question some poets with Paxman.

(Mabel strides out over the West Swindon horizon destined to have a trail of embarrassment in front of her)

we're so trendy? but who is the modernist...

2014-02-11T05:36:00.003-08:00

Taking care of Futurism in 1982

Tainted Love is number 1, Pam Ayres is on Wogan and Marc Almond has his stomach pumped.

Barry Broadcasts jingles for Oxford shopping centre on Radio Oxford.

Ursula buys a Mina bird and calls it HD.

The Mina bird starts to copy Barry's jingles.

Ursula hires Dr Doolittle to re-program the bird.

Dr Doolittle turns out to be the grandson of DH Lawrence.

Dr Doolittle and Barry fall out out over the arrival of Amy Knowall from America and wrestle each other naked (Barry wearing a glowstick necklace) in front of Mabels 2 bar electric fire.

Knowall refuses to appear in Domestic Cherry alongside Mabel and threatens to destroy the annual.

Barry is arrested in a car park in Bath and is sent to a Stratton mental hospital for slandering the Brunel Centre.

Mabel's mother, Eliza Pound, has asked her to go and see Roger McGough at Newbury. Mabel has never been to Newbury. Mabel hasn't seen her mother since she ran off with a paedophile 20 years ago. The last communication they had was a recipe for fruit cake. Barry said, 'the relationship with your mum seems to have been one long fruitcake of events Mabel.'

Roy was in Chieveley working on a project commissioned by Caspar Garland to photograph a KFC Family Bucket in every franchise across Berkshire.

When Roy saw a red camper in the disabled bay with a 'For Sale' £5000 note in the window, he immediately thought of Barry Dicks, the windscreen visor BARRY & MABEL above fluffy cherries clinched it. What was that Hi-VIS Lo-Morals merchant up to this time and how did Mabel fit into the story? Roy felt something warm on his foot, it was a breast, one of Colonel Sanders'. He had been so engrossed in his attempt to rumble Dicks that the bottom of his bucket had disintegrated under a layer of grease: more breasts and wings slumped to the floor. Roy was attempting to pick the fried chicken up when he heard the saliva sluicing tones of Barry Dicks just behind him, 'finger lickin' good is it Roy?'

Roy didn't even give Barry the satisfaction of him looking up, but was compelled to listen as the stop start motor mouth spilled the details of his latest project. 'I'm just off to Cairo via Yugoslavia on a top-secret mission.' A small crowd had gathered to listen outside the RAC Promotions Hut, Barry clambered onto the roof of the camper and continued,

'Mabel's bringing the camper back tonight, we're off to RAF Northolt together, where my human visibilty skills will be flying off to the Sahara to find Mark Thatcher'

The crowd had now been boosted by the arrival of a Wallace Arnold coach full of pensioners on their way to the matinee performance of ' the Romans in Britain' at the South Hill Park Arts Centre in Bracknell.

Finishing his speech with a call to arms and the cryptic statement that,

'I can see the son of Maggie in a grain of sand.' Barry jumped down to whoops and cheers. Roy was crouched over his bent cardboard bucket, attempting to protect the chicken from being trod into the car-park by the zip up slippers of the third age theatre fans.

It was the same week that Dani Androlove, a Polish poet from Penhill, tried to stab Barry with a pair of Ursula's tweezers during the latter's denouncement of the song from the future, You're My Favourite Waste of Time (1986) as being a one hit wonder. Barry contented himself by using a marker pen to black out every poem in her notebook and writing.

Don't Look Now Barry!

2013-12-08T21:18:00.002-08:00

after Daphne du Maurier

Barry and Ursula are in their room at the Lonsdale Hotel in Margate.

BARRY:
Extremely difficult parking, not comfortable with leaving things in the car in this area. I'm tired now with such a lot of carrying required.

URSULA:
I've had a wonderful day though Barry. Not had so much fun since Mabel died. And check-in at reception was excellent. The corridors are a little pokey, as is this room - I hit my head on the TV.

BARRY:
The "water hammer" plumbing is well in evidence too. The lift had alarming door tendencies, so we won't use it again.

URSULA:
Well, it's ours for the moment, but no more. While we are in it, let's bring it to life.

Exit Barry to the en-suite. Barry turns on both taps in the bathroom, water gushes in the bath, the steam rises. He takes off his jerkin and picks up Ursula's diaphragm laying by the tap, shudders. He puts it back down.

BARRY:
(whispering) Now at last is the moment to make love to Ursula Pitt.

Barry enters the bedroom. Ursula understands, opens her arms and smiles. Barry takes his teeth out. They make honest, real and perfect love.

Afterwards

URSULA:
Shall we stay in the hotel for an evening meal? I'm not really that hungry.

BARRY:
God, no! All those rather dreary couples at the other tables. I'm ravenous. I'm also gay. I want to get rather pissed.

URSULA:
Oh go on Barry. I'm tired and I don't want to get lost tonight down one of those Margate alleys.

BARRY:
(Puts his teeth back in. Kisses Ursula) Anything for you baby,

Later in the restaurant.

BARRY:
What is the dessert?

WAITER:
Don't know.

BARRY:
Could you find out?

WAITER:
Before I take your order?

BARRY:
Fool!

URSULA:
Barry! Mind yourself.

BARRY:
What wines are available?

WAITER:
Don't know.

BARRY:
Could you find out?

Waiter disappears and comes back producing one bottle of red.

WAITER:
This is all that's available.

BARRY:
How much is it?

WAITER:
Don't know.

BARRY:
Can we agree a price?

WAITER:
Tenner?

URSULA:
Let's Dance!

****

Some days later

BARRY:
(On the telephone) I'm not in Swindon. I'm still in Margate.

URSULA:
(On the other end of the telephone) Still in Margate? What on earth for? Wouldn't the car start?

BARRY:
I can't explain. There was a stupid sort of mix-up...

URSULA:
What sort of mix-up? (suspicious)You weren't in a crash?

BARRY:
No, no, nothing like that...(silence)

URSULA:
Your voice sounds very slurred. Don't tell me you went and got pissed.

BARRY:
I thought...I thought I saw you, in a stretch limo, with Mabel Watson.

URSULA:
How could you have seen me with Mabel? You knew I'd gone to Bingo. And Mabel is ... dead. Really Barry, you are an idiot.

BARRY:
I'm not sure she is dead. I saw her last night disappearing into Margate caves wearing a little hi- viz rain coat and a pixie hood.

URSULA:
Oh Barry, catch the train back to Swindon, tomorrow, won't you?

BARRY:
Yes, of course.

URSULA:
I still don't understand what kept you in Margate...It all sounds a bit odd to me. However...thank God Roy is going to be all right and I'm here.

BARRY:
You better go (he could hear 'The Price is Right' in the background) My regards to the Brunel Plaza, and...Roy.

****

BARRY:
There has been a terrible mistake. I don't know how to apologise to you. I feel a fool.

DORIS:
I don't understand. My name is Doris, I don't know any Mabel.

BARRY:
A mistake, that's all. Sorry love.

POLICEMAN:
So this is all a pack of lies? This statement.

BARRY:
I believed it to be true. This woman is the spit of my dead friend Mabel. I could have sworn on Michael's Work-wear that I saw her with Ursula Pitt last night. Now I realise I was mistaken.

DORIS
I ain't been near no Ursula Pitt, I've been ill for days.

POLICEMAN:
So where is this Ursula Pitt now?

BARRY:
I think my eyes deceived me. I thought I saw Ursula but she's in Swindon, watching 'The Price is Right' with Roy, who's been sick, very sick.

DORIS:
Sick! How sick?

BARRY:
What's it to you?

POLICEMAN: (Points at Barry) You, are a very lucky man. This woman could file a complaint against you - a very serious matter.

BARRY:
Sorry...she looks just like Mabel.

DORIS
No problem. Come on, I'll walk with you out of here.

Barry and Doris exit

DORIS:
You did see me Barry. And Ursula too. But not last night. You saw us in the future.

BARRY:
I don't follow.

DORIS:
I'm psychic, but I can't talk here, don't want to go into a trance in the street. Follow me.

Later

Barry is down a dark Margate alleyway. He has seen the skinny woman in the yellow hi-viz rain coat and pixie hood again. He follows her.

BARRY:
It's all right Mabel. Come on, I won't let Spatz hurt you. It's all right.

The skinny woman in the hi-viz raincoat and pixie hood is crouching down in the alleyway.

BARRY:
It's all right Mabel (holds out his hand)

The skinny woman in the hi-viz raincoat and pixie hood stands to her feet, the pixie hood falls to the floor. Barry stares at the figure, his face turning from incredulity, to fear. The figure grinned at him and snapped a shot from his mobile phone causing Barry to flinch at the flash. When he came to, the figure was gone.

BARRY:
Fool! What a bloody silly way to be caught on camera.

Eplastic Head

2013-12-02T01:27:00.001-08:00

after David Lynch

Scene 1: The Harvey

BARRY:

Are you Roy?

ROY:

Yes.

BARRY:

Girl named Bianca called on the pay-phone. Said she's at her parents and you're invited to dinner.

ROY:

Oh, yeah? Thank you very much.

Scene 2: Bianca's parent's house

Later

BIANCA:

You're late, Roy.

ROY:

I didn't know if you wanted me to come or not. Where have you been?

BIANCA:

You never come around any more.

Scene 3: At Mabel's house

Suddenly, the phone rings, Mabel picks it up, she listens.

MABEL:

But Roy, I've never owned a pair of black gloves in my life....

ROY:

That's not the point Mabel, I was just making pictures.

Does Barry Dream of Electric Ursula?

2013-11-29T01:33:00.001-08:00

After Philip K. Dick

A huge cloud descended over Swindon. People were asked to relocate to other cloudless, safer towns such as Chippenham. Some refused to leave and were branded as 'Special.' No one knew what was in the cloud, but it contained an omnipresent dust of befouling filth and everyone who remained in the town suffered from a depression that could only be controlled by mood organs. Each household was given an electric person to cheer them up.

Barry is in a pair of hi-viz pyjamas. Mabel is sleeping on the sofa. She has not touched her twin-tub in days.

MABEL:

Keep your hand off my settings! I don't want to do the washing.

BARRY:

You set your Penfold too weak, let me reset it? If you surge yourself high enough you'll be happy to do the washing. At setting C you'll be dancing with your electric paddle agitator again.

MABEL:

Get your crude road-digger hands off my paddle agitator.

BARRY:

I'm not a road digger, I haven't dug a road since the cloud came.

MABEL:

You're worse. You make road-blocks to keep people from leaving this town. People that refuse to be 'special'.

BARRY:

Only the electric people.

MABEL:

They're still people. Ursula's on the roof. Would you stop Ursula?

BARRY:

She was a real woman once, a lovely woman.

MABEL:

I'd like a real woman friend again.

BARRY:

Impossible.

MABEL:

Exactly, which is why my schedule for today is a six hour self-accusatory depression.

BARRY:

What? Why did you set it for that? It defeats the purpose of the mood-organ. You might as well go live in Chippenham.

MABEL:

Never, I'd rather have electronic depression thank you.

BARRY:

Why are you so bent on being depressed? Who will do the washing?

MABEL:

I saw that awful commercial again, the one for Hotpoint Lead Codpieces. I felt sad about the past and the direction Hotpoint were being forced to go in. So I shut off the sound and I heard the…(Mabel gestures to the houses next door)

BARRY:

The emptiness, the silence?

MABEL:

I was in a 382 mood, so although I heard the noise intellectually, I didn’t feel it. I was grateful for my Penfold at that point and stroked the twin-tub in deep appreciation, loading it with a pile of washing I had already done. But then I realised how unhealthy it all was, sensed an absence of life. I miss the real Ursula.

BARRY:

But despair like that. You’ll end up in Reading!

MABEL:

I’ve got an automatic resetting for three hours later. A 481: awareness of the manifold possibilities and joy in housework.

BARRY:

Let’s dial a 104 together, forget all this. Then I’ll set mine for collecting a skip, ready for work, then I'll pop up on the roof to check on Ursula.

MABEL:

Look what happened the last time someone dialled what you wanted them to Barry. Ursula happened, she dialled for ecstatic sexual bliss and bang! The end of her. So I won’t be taking advice from a road-blocker, or skip-remover if that’s the job of the day.

BARRY:

You turn into a bloody snob when you are depressed. You belong in Bath. Not here, with the Swindon Specials.

MABEL:

Just keep off my settings and go to work.

After breakfast, Barry abandons Mabel in her six-hour self-accusatory depressive state and leaves for work. First, he goes to check on Ursula. Despite his lead, hi-viz codpiece, the cloud filtered in and at him, brought him daily as long as he refused to move to Chippenham. He was now, quite special. Doug, another Swindon refuserite had come to check on his human too.

DOUG:

I’d give you five hundred pounds a month for your electric human. I do like her.

BARRY:

But that’s my Ursula, I can’t sell Ursula.

DOUG:

There’s none like her in stock.

BARRY:

I had her specially designed.

DOUG:

But for you to have a unique person, it violates the whole basic theological and moral structure of Swindon.

BARRY:

Not really, if you didn't have your own human there on the roof, I’d see some logic in your position. And if I had two electric humans and you didn't have any, I’d be helping to deprive you of true fusion.

DOUG:

I think Ed down the road had his wife made up into an electric one but possibly he’s just pretending. How did you get her done like this?

BARRY:

When she was real, she dialled for some ecstatic sexual bliss on the mood organ and I came into the bedroom to find her lying on her back on the floor, legs in the air. I managed to lift her up but after a moment or two that was it, she keeled over.

DOUG:

Women get strange reactions to this mood organ.

BARRY:

Any organ.

DOUG:

So what did you do next.

BARRY:

We had her buried, as usual and Mabel and I started to miss her. No mood-dialling worked on the loss we felt. So I took her photo to one of those shops that manufacture humans. They made her up for us. Pity she can’t live in the house, rules are rules.

DOUG:

It’s not the same though is it? Don't you dream about her?

BARRY:

I have some funny electric Ursula dreams that is true. Some involving button 377.

DOUG:

Good lord! 377 ... no one goes on 377. I didn't know organs still came with that one. Better watch that Mabel of yours in there then, she could die like Ursula died. Keep a sticker over those settings. When you get home from work this evening, you might find her laid out, feet in the air, like a bug.

Barry strode off, car key in hand, and in silence plucked open the door of his hover-car. He had nothing to say to Doug.

Malevolent Ivy

2013-11-27T21:23:00.000-08:00

after Daphne Du Maurier

Mabel and Ursula are having breakfast together at the Queens Hotel, Blackpool. After Mabel's abduction by aliens, a mini-break seemed the answer.

MABEL:
Last night I dreamt I went to Swindon again.

URSULA:
You've been gone some time Mabel.

MABEL:
It seemed to me I was stood by the iron gates leading to Town Gardens, and for a while I could not enter, because the way was barred to me.

URSULA:
They lock it up after 5pm. What shall we have for breakfast?

MABEL:
Then, like all dreamers, I was possessed all of a sudden with supernatural powers and passed the barrier before me.

URSULA:
I'm having full English.

MABEL:
I reached the rose garden with plants standing fifty feet high and with naked limbs.

URSULA:
That's symbolic.

MABEL:
Their branches like a strange embrace, making a vault above my head like the archway of a church.

URSULA:
Big rose bushes...hadn't anyone pruned them?

MABEL:
And weeds had thrust themselves out of the quiet earth, along with monster shrubs and plants, none that I can remember.

URSULA:
It seems to me Mabel, you should stop the idea of this wedding with Mr. Tuttle, and any dreams of children, (although that might not be possible at your age of course). This nightmare of thrusting weeds and strange embraces is all about fear of your hidden female psyche Mabel and very unhealthy.

MABEL:
But then Ursula, vast and secretive, was our cafe with its myriad of chairs extending to the iron gates on the other side, so many chairs Ursula.

URSULA:
Weddings again ... cancel the whole thing.

MABEL:
Then those rose bushes came out of the garden like serpents and entered into alien embraces with the pansy displays that look so lovely in March.

URSULA:
Do I need to say any more? a bus driver and a poet...doesn't add up. It will lead to misery.

MABEL:
Then a primrose mated with a rhododendron!

URSULA: Very crude. Reminds me of Sandra and Charlie, the babies they might have made if things lasted longer than a week.

MABEL:
Then to bind them, evermore closely, the malevolent ivy...

URSULA:
Hmmm, that'd be Barry. He introduced you to Tuttle at the Harvey. Always an enemy to grace! My kind of man.

MABEL:
I'll have a boiled egg.

Snubbed at the Meat Raffle

2013-11-21T01:43:00.003-08:00

Ursula Pittposted toBarry Dicks

22 hours ago

Clown-faced pork luncheom meat was there, but were you?

Ursula PittBarry Dicks

You were invited to the meat raffle at The Harvey last night were you? I dreamt about Mabel Watson and she told me that you had won some tenderloin, is this true?

Like · · 22 hours ago ·

WE LIKE THIS (SPEAKING FOR EVERYONE).
Barry Dicks I was and I did, what's it to you? If the Harvey want me down there it's up to them, why have you always got to get so upset about things that don't concern you. And Mabel Watson she's dead isn't she? I should know.

22 hours ago · Like
Ursula Pitt Indeed you should know, we know you should know, you know, get over it. Is the seance still on? Or am I excluded from that as well?

5 minutes ago · Like
Mabel Watson I'm not dead. I was up the Harvey as well Ursula Pitt. Get over yourself!

a few seconds ago · Like

Ursula Pitt Hacking a dead woman's Facebook account, very noble Barry Dicks

a few seconds ago · Like

Mabel Watson ps - how big must this 'Dick's'' guys ego be? (i've heard stuff)....

a few seconds ago · Like

Delete all cookies, fire an empty biscuit barrel at the moon

2013-11-20T09:58:00.000-08:00

An empty warehouse lit by a projected image of YouTube on the far wall.

A figure sits at a laptop with his back to the audience.

He is a wearing a hi vis jacket and woolly hat

A YouTube video of Big Arts Day 2011 plays

The figure turns away from the projection

We hear Barry Dicks’ voice shout ‘You fool’

The figure holds his head in his hands.

The figure reveals himself as Barry Dicks.

The video pauses.

He turns back to his laptop.

A browser history page opens, still projected onto the wall.

BARRY:

Where are you? Backspace, backspace, right click, save as.

Pause

Mabel’s disembodied voice loudly fills the warehouse.

MABEL:

Just call Roy. Roy. Roy. Roy.

BARRY:

Watson is that you?

MABEL:

Elementary my dear Barry.

BARRY:

There’s a séance at Ursula’s on Thursday 8 for 8:30pm, be there, two knocks for yes.

MABEL:

Find me Barry. I am have been shared beyond my ‘likes’ I am an invisible Friend Request, I have been retweeted way beyond Swindon to a dark place of freeze dried poetry and giant nappies.

BARRY :

Are you in Oxford?

Mabel is Back 2: Death by Paddle Agitator

2013-11-18T08:46:00.001-08:00

READ MABEL IS BACK 1 HERE

Barry takes a small device from his belt and starts to adjust it when suddenly a large shadow falls over him from behind. He hears a monstrous howl and turns to see an eleven-foot-tall shape towering over him. It is the Mabel-like machine creature, lunging at him ferociously.

BARRY:

Aaargh!

Barry grabs for his spanner, but is hit flat in the face by a huge hand holding a paddle agitator. He falls unconscious onto a Swindon pavement, and in a moment his milk-float makes a bang, then a smash as the wind-screen is broken.

The Mabel-like machine creature grabs Barry by one ankle and drags him away across the Swindon pavement.

EXT. SWINDON – MABEL’S KITCHEN - DAY

The Mabel-like creature loads Barry into her twin-tub and closes the lid, securing the spinner seal beforehand.

Enter, Ursula

URSULA:

All right, don't lose your temper. It wasn’t Barry’s fault you were abducted. We all thought you’d been murdered by a teapot. Until the massages started. Now stop right there and I'll come right over and give you a hand to pull him out.

Mabel takes up her paddle agitator and lunges at Ursula. Ursula sprays her in the face with some window cleaner and Mabel faints.

MABEL:

(coming too … groans)

Ursula?

URSULA:

Yeah…Ursula! Any sign of life in that twin-tub? You put Barry in there. You'll know if he comes around!

MABEL:

Ursula, I've got to leave. I can't stay any more. They've got Roy.

Ursula, is standing at the cooker nearby, is dressed in a short white combat jacket and pants. Her hair is braided across her head in a Nordic fashion. She seems somewhat distressed.

Mabel is Back: The Cherry-Shrouded Crater

2013-11-18T02:00:00.001-08:00

EXT. GALAXY - PLANET EARTH

A Cherry Tree moves through space, releasing Imperial probe cherries

from its underside.

One of these cherries zooms toward the planet Earth and lands on its brown surface. An explosion marks the point of impact.

EXT. EARTH - CHERRY CRATER - SWINDON PLAIN - DAY

A weird fruity smell rises above the scent of Ursula Pitt, stuck in her downstairs room since the disappearance of Mabel. A strange probe-robot (looking like Mabel Watson), with several extended sensors, emerges from the cherry-shrouded crater. The ominous mechanical woman floats across Swindon and disappears into the distance.

EXT. PLAIN OF SWINDON - DAY

Barry rides across a windswept Swindon slope. The Hi-Viz rider is mounted on a large white milk-float.

Barry rides up a slope and brings his milk float to a stop. Pulling off his protective goggles, Barry notices something in the sky. He takes a pair of electrobinoculars from his utility belt and through them sees smoke rising from where the woman had crashed. He thinks he's just seen Mabel.

The wind whips at Barry’s fur-lined Hi-Viz cap and he activates a comlink transmitter. His milk-float shifts and groans in the cold air.

BARRY:

(into comlink)

Echo Three to Echo Seven. Urs, old girl, do you read me?

After a little static a familiar voice is heard.

URSULA:

(over comlink)

Loud and clear, lover. Where are you? The milk-round never usually takes this long.

BARRY:

(into comlink)

Well, I finished my round. I am picking up life readings and I think she’s back.

URSULA:

(over comlink)There isn't enough life in Swindon to fill a milk-float!

Do you really think she’s back?

BARRY:

(into comlink).

There's a meteorite that hit the ground near here. I want to check it out. It won't take long. I’ll know it’s her if I see it.

Barry clicks off his transmitter and starts up the cold milk-float.

He pats the truck on the steering-wheel and off he goes. The float is playing up, it jerks about, appears nervous.

BARRY:
Hey, steady old boy. What's the matter? You smell something?