Cous cous

Cous cous

A dinner party, just fabulous, great.
and I've been invited, so eating can wait.
I'll go without breakfast, elevenses too.
No such thing as a free meal? Says who?
And this little soiree is French don't you know.
the food will be gorgeous. My French is so-so.
The truth is the only thing I can say
is je ne comprend, parle vous de engleis?
Yes, my trip to Brittany was financially based.
I brought over a mime show. Dressed up and white faced,.
'coz mime mate, it's great. You don't have to depend
on the spoken word. You just have to pretend
that you've got a great big glass bloody box,
walk into a high wind, darn make believe socks.
And the French are not the only ones ready
to watch a young acrobat castrate a teddy,
Or fool them he's balanced upon a tight wire.
Or get hypnotised before juggling with fire.
The Germans, the Swedish, the Spanish, it's true,
Portuguese have no money, but they like it too.
Artistic? They love it . You gettin' the picture?
They fold up the money 'for throwin' it at ya.
What with Jacque Tati and Marcelle Marsaux
A whole history of watching these non-verbal shows
but this might surprise you, it really did shock me.
The only street theatre in England is cockney.
One has to be loud, aggressive, Obtuse
Must pepper ones public with verbal abuse.
No, you can't get away with mime here in Britain
If it's slightly artistic they start feeling threatened.
So I'd jumped on the ferry to Calais from Dover,
hoping to Christ that my humour comes over.
First stop was Paris, the obvious choice
to start making money without use of voice.
Out side in the square of the Pompidue centre
I premiered my brand new Spectacle. It went , er..
It went down o.k. Not bad I guess.
But learning about it is part of the quest.
One has to work at it to carry it off.
To hold the attention of beggar and toff.

See, the audience make-up is like you and me.
They run the whole gambit from A through to Z.
butchers, and bakers, and candle-stick makers,
Racing car drivers, retired undertakers,
Octogenarian dowager aunts,
Alcoholic itinerants caught in a trance,
Cocky young man who is trying to impress
his dippy girlfriend in her floral dress.
From bourgeoisie to Mr. and Mrs Lumpen
And I'm pissing around, runnin' and jumpin'
On the back of the man with the red umbrella
An arbitrary choice, seems like a nice fella'
Get him involved, see. now everyone is captured.
with him participating , everyone's enraptured.
It's very straight forward busking psychology.
They're now all thinking " Thank fuck that's not me!"
So you know that they'll definitely all stick around
Just to watch A.N. Other roll round on the ground.
the excuse for this abuse is purely financial
coz commandment eleven clearly states, "Thou shalt
never loose an audience", It's not 'till the end
that you get them to part with their money my friend.

So, it's been six weeks now. The shows up and rocking.
The laughter is hearty, the crowds they are flocking
And the cash flow is flowin', I'm talk of the town,
and I'm thinking more about sticking around,
It's great to get paid for just showing off, friend.
I don't think I'll ever be working again.
And I wake each day in my rented room.
Up and at 'em by the crack of noon.
Go out and have breakfast in a street cafe,
just round the corner from where I work every day.
And I get free coffee and a chocollatenne
'coz I seem to be bringing more customers in.
And life's really simple, but my French is still shit.
I just mime what I mean until they get it.
An intricate dance of movement and gesture
seems to work, but I must confess, ye'

can only get a little bit conveyed
by dancing and pointing at what's displayed.
Mime you want cheese. OK. Mime you want gouda?
Like every English person, I just MIME LOUDER.
"That's it!" I say. I must learn to converse
This Monoglot mime artist thing is a curse.
so I've been trying to speak in fractured franglaise,
Upsetting the locals in so many ways.
I open my mouth, their ears are offended.
Conjugate the verb? I friggin' up-end it.
Coming from the Latin word conjugari
It's literal meaning. To have it away.
I keep trying hard, and today it worked out,
'coz this lovely French couple invite me to their house.

So the background is covered, it's all set out.
So we finally get to what this story's about.
Stick with me friend, trust me it's worth it.
I honestly couldn't make up this shit.
I turn up, I'm starvin'. Haven't eaten all day.
Start munching away at the table display.
The place is gigantic, the biggest I've been in.
The decor divine. don't know where to begin.
Paintings and tapestries hung on the wall.
You needed a moped to get down the hall.
And everyone else is dressed up to the nines.
With best bib and tucker, they all look devine.
It might not be black tie but I did my best.
Summer time. I wore shorts and a vest.
They must have noticed my jaw had dropped
surprised they'd avoided the guillotines chop.
Yet they welcomed me in and gave me a drink.
assuming I'd later throw up in the sink.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Do I sound angry?
I suppose deep down I am, quite frankly.
'Coz when I'm out working all day in the street
I meet a lot of people who have nothing to eat.
A destitute woman had the humour to ask
if she could live in my invisible box of glass.

Forgive me my little class war sermon.
The hosts were both French, the guests mostly German.
We all were sat down to dine.
with the finest foods and the very best wine.
The thing is, regarding the etiquette of dinner
to be quite truthful, I'm just a beginner.
As I had not eaten, my hunger was focused
I fell on the nibbles like a plague of locusts.
Using two hands stuffing into my face,
I devoured twigglettes like it was a race.
The crisps were a goner, The olives in brine,
Loading my mouth up "This is all mine".
My primary needs now saited it seems
in through the door comes a huge soup turine.
I take a large bowl of the beautiful brew
As I am slurping a thought kind of flew
through my mind, "have I messed up the timing here"
My brow starts to furrow, I start to perspire.
If the food just keeps coming through,
Once I'm full, What am I supposed to do?
I can't speak any of the languages here.
I suppose I just drown myself in this beer.
So now I'm drunk and I'm stuffed to the gills.
Having eaten half of France and had eight cans of pils.
And the food's still comin' and the other guests knew
That the food would never ever stop comin' through
so they paced themselves. Little bits at a time
and now the job of entertainer is mine.
So, I tried my best, pissed as I may be
To try to put over a sense of play, be
the centre of attention, act the fool.
He who finishes first. That's the rule.

The woman facing me, she's a German.
Aryan hair that used to have a perm in.
she sits up straight. Probably on the pill.
Dissects her dinner with a surgeons skill.
The alcohol by this time has turned to lust,
Sort of find myself staring at her bust.

Fall over myself trying to impress
this tutonic babe with the ample chest.
The never ending cornucopia
Like a gustatory utopia
Carried on like a background hum.
'coz now the real game of the evening's begun.
With drink but no common language to share
I ask using mime " Can I come over there?"
She nods to say yes, and I must confess
I wanted to know what was inside her dress.
But she still keeps on eating , I start to feel queer.
I'm immediately going off the idea.
I've packed myself so full of all this free food,
And she just keeps eating. I'm not in the mood.
So now I have to back peddle in mime.
A trick I do sober, some of the time.
And I manage to somehow slur my body language
She can't understand that I don't want a sandwich.
And my gorge is rising, I've lost my cool.
My mouth is filling with gallons of drool.
You know when it's time to dash for the door.
But it's clear that I can't feel my legs any more.
I get up to leave, Find it hard to breath.
whipe of some spit on the side of my sleeve.
Hoping to cover before I just spew
the one hundred meters 'twene here and the loo.

I made it! Of course I did. What did you think?
I'd fulfil a prophesy ? Chuck in the sink?
Not me. No siree bob. now please do excuse
if I don't describe all of the textures and hues.

Cause I'm taking you with me back to the table
for the final chapter of this modern-day fable.
Now, a well timed pratfall can rescue a show
if some of your audience have started to go.
And as most of the guests I had pushed out the way
While trying to stop them from catching my spray,
They may have assumed that I'd just been sick.
So I try to regain my street cred quick.

My hosts on the one hand sort of had the feeling
that unless they calm me down I'll soon be swinging from the
ceiling.
and on the other were the guests who just think this is funny.
while they gobble down another plate of cous-cous and honey.
I start to think that there's some similarity
Between the situation here and the status polarity
I use in my show, Picking on a Joe
it becomes pretty obvious to me, you know?
Here I am, lowest status at the whole damn meal.
And this is the one thing that pride cant conceal
So, It's now time to play, Yes! I think. That's the way.
And as I sit down,I move my own chair out the way.
Hilarity arose, but the timing that I chose
made the German woman blow a mouth of cous-cous out her nose.

Now cous- cous.... sorry to be a food bore,
but , fuck it, I'd never had it before.
is this sort of cereal which comes in a bowl
When covered in water, expands, so I'm told.
To a size a little bit smaller than rice.
and strange as it sounds, it tastes rather nice.
But watch out if the cous-cous you wish to try
'coz this big breasted woman looked likely to die.
With a hand filled with cereal and snot,
she tried to breath in and found she could not.
See. when she inhaled to un-clog her nose,
it did free some cous-cous, and what do you suppose?
It shot down her wind pipe, So she coughed and then
It lodged itself back in her synus again.
This continued, she turned blue
If I'd studied first aid I'd have known what to do.
Then this super hero type slaps her on the back.
She stops coughing and I think "I could have done that"
Bends her down onto her knees, she throws up on the floor,
I realise I'm not saddest person anymore.
Sure she gets lots of real sympathy
While I project an air of "Nothing to do with me."

Turns out her name's Olga and things being equal,
(not thinking this story can stretch to a sequel)
The fact she's still breathing not withstanding
The synal-trapped cous-cous jus' kept on expanding.
Up round her eyes man, and all round her nose.
From what I could gather this stuff grows and grows.
Her face just inflated . yeah! like a balloon.
Sunken in eyes, a bit like a baboon.
The hosts took her post haste to Paris E.R.
saying " its not just a serious case of catare."
After hearing the tale the doctors proposed
to flush out her face with a water hose.
I thought it best before my hosts return
to utilise a lesson you had all best learn
If you've been a prat and vomited all over the place,
made someone laugh and cough and then explode their face,
The best thing you can do is make yourself scarce.
Miming apologies only makes things worse.
By the time I get to my place it all seems strange
after fucking up a dinner at a stately grange,
And I'm glad to impart, I am glad to say
that I saw ample Olga in my audience today.
She laughed once again when I fell to the ground
and I'm really pleased to see that the swelling's coming down.
She came up and smiled but said not a word.
This mono-linguistic stuff's really absurd.
I looked at her face, I looked in her eyes.
looked at her breasts, that I tried to disguise,
But I looked at her close and I noticed a twitch,
On the side of her face, could have been just an itch
Then I realised that a sneeze had begun
Like a young Cowboy in " How the west was won"
I went for my...hanky and offered it up
She quickly accepted and then blew her top.
The sneeze was so huge, it folded her in half.
When she looked back up, we started to laugh.
Then the moment was gone, she handed me my tissue.
I checked it out later, there was cous-cous in the issue.