Music to Mine Ears

Music to Mine Ears

Florrie: The price of things in that supermarket, Jack - it's criminal. Do you know when I was a child you could eat well for a couple of pounds. You wouldn't get a loaf of bread and a bit of cheese for that now.

Jack: No, Mum. Bread and cheese - do you think that's what Trevor will get in prison.

F: Oh, Jack, don't remind me - my poor nephew a mere prisoner. Cilla's had a heart attack just thinking about it.

J: Even I Mum, didn't think the judge could convict Trevor. He looked so innocent. Two years for possession.

F: Yes, Jack, at least it had nothing to do with boys, you and your smutty thinking. Trevor is pure, pure as the driven snow. He's first class godammit, how could anyone of that calibre do anything wrong? The whole thing is a big mistake. When they said he had weed, I'm sure it meant dandelion and daisies - nothing to do with drugs. After all, Trevor's hobby is gardening. What would a man who does gardening be doing with illegal drugs?

J: Smoking them probably, Mum.

F: Oh, Jack, don't ever besmirch the name of a virgin. Do you know Trevor has never had a girlfriend?

J: Oh, Mum, you are sucked in, he's probably had plenty at Wolverhampton university - don't you remember that girl from Poolfish Walk - Caitlin, she was there with him. Some people thought she had an abortion.

F: Oh, Jack, you say terrible things. I'm sure Trevor would never do that. How can you impugn the name of a first class graduate from Wolverhampton? I expect Trevor to conduct the London Philharmonic one day at the very least. He'll be like that Andre Privet, you know that cool American trendy guy that married Daisy in the Great Gatsby.

J: Oh, Mia Farrow.

F: Yes. I can imagine Trevor marrying Mia Farrow. They would be well-suited. Two shining stars that burn so brightly, Jack. Everyone is in their shadow.

J: I don't think so, Mum. I think you are getting things out of proportion. I think Trevor is very ordinary - he's nothing special at all.

F: Don't be ridiculous, Jack. He's going to make his name. He will be famous, I can feel it coming.

J: All I can feel coming is disappointment.

F: Look, Jack, your Aunt Cilla had him on special vitamins from when he was a boy. He's taken fish oil and kelp ever since he was three.

J: Oh, Mum, that is so false.

F: Maybe, Jack, but look at the result. Everyone thinks he's a genius. He was reading 'Look and Learn' when he was four, just like Prince Charles.

J: A veritable prince then now, Mum.

F: Oh, don't be silly, Jack. I just know how different Cilla's made Trevor.

J: Oh, you can say that again. Nobody wants a genius, Mum.

F: Well I do, Jack. I am proud of his first class brains.

J: They are addled if you ask me. I bet you a pound to a penny he ends up on the dole.

F: Oh, Jack, that is a ridiculous suggestion. Trevor has so much to offer. Easington Working Mens Club has offered him use of their club room.

J: But, Mum, that's miles away. What can he do in a Working Men's Club room?

F: I don't know, Jack. Tom Jones used to frequent them. Trevor may meet a great singer, possibly write hit songs for someone. I don't know, stranger things have happened.

J: Well, first class in electronic music from Wolverhampton, I suppose the world must be your oyster.

F: Exactly, Jack. Easington is the gateway to the world.

J: Is that via the corner shop or the local sex market?

F: Oh, Jack, you are so cynical. I expect New York to come begging for it.

J: Begging for what, Mum?

F: Well, Trevor's attention, what else? His thoughts are like golden nuggets and the honey that drips from his sweet lips, Jack, a rare delight indeed, in fact a jewel, Jack, of great price. The world turns on its dark side only for Trevor to appear, baton in hand, to conduct the syphilis of the world.

J: Well, Mum, I think you are optimistic. At the moment he's inside doin' time for takin' drugs.

F: Oh, that, that is a mere hiccough, Jack. A blimp on an alien's radar.

J: Well, I think prison will finish him. I would say that Wolverhampton will strike him off their books.

F: Oh, Jack, such perfidy. I would lose all faith in academics. Surely we can trust the finest brains in Britain and believe me, Jack, they all reside in Wolverhampton.

J: I don't think so Mum. I think they are in London.

F: Oh, do you? I know for a fact they are in Wolverhampton. That Stephen Hawking was found visiting on an away day with British Rail.

J: Oh, was he?

F: Yes, Jack, he has the finest mind in Britain. He took an honorary doctorate from Wolverhampton. Pity was, he couldn't get his wheelchair up two flights of stairs so had to decline them. How sad is that, Jack?

J: Well about as sad as my cousin Trevor doin' bird in the Scrubs for a bit of a drug habit. I think he will leave prison with a criminal bent now, Mum.

F: Oh, Jack, that would break my heart if Trevor were to fall into the hands of real criminals. What would happen to Wolverhampton?

J: I have no idea, Mum, but it'll probably give Trevor's psyche a boost other beers simply cannot reach!