World's Worst Radio Play

"Of course my dear Verandah. Did you really think I'd forgotten that night in Llandudno? Do you honestly think I will ever forget it?"

"I can't believe you didn't like the creamy silk scarf I was wearing, Philip"

"Please don't Verandah, it's too late for that now - you know I always adored the sheen of that golden hemorrhage across your moonlit skin...my God, did the Irish Sea ever look so divine?"

"How can you speak of the sea at such a moment? It seems so irrelevant all the while I am trying to count these roseberry beads "

" Phlip"

We must try to forget. We must forget that time - when was it? And that thing we did, whatever it was. We must forget each other's names - um - you. Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were somebody I knew.

"Really I've never seen YOU before. What the hell are you doing in my chalop?It's only for immigrants like me! OUT!! And point that gun at yourself, you moron"

"Honestly, how did this gun get in my hand? Ugh, I never know anything anymore"

Hah, your mind folds like an intricate napkin in these situations darling, a perfect complement to your flock wallpaper bodice. That reminds me, we're unfashionably late for dinner.

What a shame everybody just died. Never mind, I'm sure the Boffin Book in the basement will tell me how to bring them all back to life with electricity, forces of darkness and a vitamin-rich diet.

I had napkins for breakfast sweetheart and these boots are killing me. Do you think they would mind if I went to the cellar party on bare feet?

"Oh Philip! I believe I have dropped the besds..."

I used to have faith in you David- that is your name isn't it? I seem so engulfed in these beads.. it's such fun counting them. So relaxing

So many beads, so little time to count them. Each one has a Tory to sell. I mean story to tell. Wasn't this bottle full a moment ago? Let's get another.

Soft my sweet, deal with what is to hand; your love of the cryptic and the grape may be piqued by the clue among the lees in this one.

How charming, Phillip, it's your lost script........

Yes dear Roseberry I thought my script had been stolen but here it is and really dear I don't care much for grapes but the cryptic does taste good with a bottle of wine. Hic

Let us dance the knees-up to the sound of gypsy violins. You did remember to bring the gypsies?

My dear Phlip,Do you think I am completely comatose- of course I brought the gypsies! I'll tell you a wee secret: I wouldn't be counting beads if I hadn't brought the gypsies! Now give me that gun so I can shoot someone!

What gun? Oh ya, this one. Sorry, but I accidentally shot your foot when I was picking up another bead. Apparently that was the last bullet, 'cause... what was that again?

Savannah

Dearest, you've just shot the famous toe-tapping lead tapdancer with Humphrey's wandering band of minstrels! My foot, however, is about to connect with your valuables...and I don't mean the roseberry beads....

Oh, you mean the collection of old masters I inherited from the Old Master? Some say he dabbled in the occult and is certain to return as a zombie but I don't believe that nonsense. He'll be a vampire. Wait, here he comes now, and he's a...

That scampering gaggle of eccentrics and luminaries are currently paddling in the Irish Sea. You told them of the roseberry oyster bed in one of your marmite induced frenzies...and he is a she, where are your spectacles....

A drag queen? Who would have thought it. He won't be diving for oysters in that outfit. Do you think the football boots really go with that frock?

It is a Dark Stormy Night I grant you my peach, you may have the truth of it, a vampire unable to check his/her look in a mirror. What now, oh, 's'he protests that as yet, no one has mentioned The War......

The War of football heroes? Well I thought s'he'd forgotten that. Goes to show what sort of memory vampires have!

Oh no, it's just the Old Master in a dark and stormy nightie. Grant me your peach, my figgyblossom, and I will plant the stone as a symbol of our enduring game of hide and seek.