Z - Creative Writing Class (A Sketch)

Creative Writing Class

(Small college classroom. Simon is the new student, the other students
are all past retirement age. Sat around a large table. Gill, the
teacher is at the head. She is twin-set and pearls. Simon is stood
finishing the end of a poem he has written - 'black, despair'
style.)

Gill: Oh no, no, no, that won't do at all. You'll never be published
with horrible poems like that.

Simon: But actually, that one was published...

Gill (interrupts): No, to be published these days, you need to be far
more adventurous. Carole, perhaps you could read 'Lily'.

Carole: Oh, I couldn't...

Others: Oh yes, go on, please do etc.

Carole: Here goes then...
Here is the lily,
The pretty lily.
A pretty little flower
Is the lily.
It grows in my garden
And it cheers me up.

(Applause.)

Gill: Thank you Carole, that was wonderful. Do you see now? Do you?
Carole's poem was daring, avant-garde, cutting edge even. Yours was...
how can I put this? Rubbish.

Simon: But surely...

Gill: Let me stop you there. One thing I won't allow in my class is
constructive criticism. But don't worry dear, we can make you a better
poet. Ernest, will you do the honours please.

Ernest: This is the 'Better Poem Poem'...
Find some words and then
Find some better ones if you
Can and then you'll be good.

(Applause.)

Ernest: That's a Haiku.

Simon: No it isn't.

Gill: It's close enough.

Simon: But there's an extra syllable in the last line.

Gill: You can never have enough of a good thing.

Simon: You can when it's a set form.

Gill: Oh dear. I can see we're going to have trouble making you forget
all that 'London' nonsense.

Simon: But I live in a mining village in South Yorkshire.

Ernest: If it wasn't for London, there'd still be coal.

Others: Quite so etc.

Simon: Look, I understand that I'm new here, but are there any other
students still to arrive? Maybe some with a little less... life
experience?

Gill: Well, there was a younger chap here last year, but he left
us.

Simon: Left you?

Margaret: Well, he could hardly stay, could he?

Simon: Why?

Margaret: Well, he wasn't married, was he.

(Murmurs and nods of disapproval.)

Ernest: Can't not be married at his age. Not natural. London ideas you
see.

Simon: This is bloody stupid.

(Paul screams and puts his hands over his ears.)

Simon: What the fuck...?

(Paul screams louder.)

Gill: Simon, please move to that chair in the corner.

Others (chanting): DL chair, DL chair, DL chair.

Simon: What the bloody hell is the DL chair?

(Paul screams again.)

Gill: The DL chair is the Dirty Limerick chair. It's where the naughty
people have to sit. There's no place for smut and filth in this class.
Poor Paul is a committed Christian. He can't hear words like
that.

Simon: Like what?

Gill: Like... Oh, you'll not trick me like that, you Devil. Just watch
your language please... and go and sit in the chair.

(Simon stands.)

Gill: Now class, we'll carry on from last week looking at our 'Pet
Misadventure' stories.

Simon: I'm leaving now. This place is worse than a fucking
asylum.

(Paul cries and hits himself with birch twigs.)

Gill: Ignore him everybody, he's just showing off like a very naughty
boy. Now Elizabeth, if I remember rightly, you were just about to
enthrall us with another tale of your dirty, stinking, old pussy.

(Simon leaves, slamming door behind him.)