| (The pub once more. Arthur is reading a book or paper. Gordon enters carrying two pints | |
| and two packets of crisps. He sets the glasses down carefully, and displays the crisps.) | |
| Gordon | Do you want -- er -- Prawn and Badger, or Curried Ferret? |
| Arthur | No Ready Salted? |
| Gordon | Landlord says he's instituted a change of policy. |
| Arthur | Perhaps we should institute a change of landlord. |
| Gordon | Says they don't stock salted crisps any more. Reckons he has to consider the health of his |
| customers. Told me I was digging my grave with my teeth. | |
| Arthur | Well that's just stupid! |
| Gordon | I know. |
| Arthur | I mean, you might be going for cremation. |
| Gordon | (Holding out a packet.) Prawn and Badger crisp? |
| (Arthur shudders and shakes his head. Gordon opens one packet, and leaves the other | |
| in front of Arthur.) | |
| Arthur | So which way do you lean? |
| Gordon | It's none of your business. That's between me and my tailor. |
| Arthur | No, I meant -- burial -- or cremation? The grave or the oven? |
| Gordon | Well neither, if it's today. |
| Arthur | I used to think it would be rather nice… asleep in the peace and quiet of a country graveyard. |
| Birds twittering in the trees… butterflies floating about… | |
| Gordon | … The neighbourhood cats peeing on your grave. |
| Arthur | The only thing is -- Thelma wants to be buried with me. Although not at -- |
| Gordon | -- the same time, no. Is that a drawback? |
| Arthur | Well of course, I love Thelma dearly, but the thought of putting up with her snoring for the rest |
| of eternity --- | |
| Gordon | We could plant you with ear-plugs. |
| Arthur | Nothing works… I've tried everything. |
| Gordon | Surely being dead would help a bit? |
| Arthur | And if things ran true to form she'd probably move about a bit -- take up more than her fair |
| share of the grave. | |
| Gordon | Yes… and of course she did promise. Till death us do part. |
| Arthur | That was the agreement. |
| Gordon | Well I'm leaving instructions in my will… I want to be permanently immersed in a huge vat |
| of hot custard. | |
| Arthur | But that would be a great burden to your children. Wouldn't that be enormously expensive, |
| to keep it heated? | |
| Gordon | Oh, enormously, yes. It'll cost twice, three times what I'm leaving them. |
| Arthur | How would they do it? |
| Gordon | Electricity. |
| Arthur | Electric custard…. |
| Gordon | Electrically heated custard. I've always liked custard, so being buried in it will be quite |
| amusing. | |
| Arthur | You don't think that it's just a teeny trifle eccentric? |
| Gordon | Maybe so. My children already think I'm a nuisance, so -- |
| Arthur | What? |
| Gordon | I want to go on being a nuisance as long as I possibly can. They all have extremely short |
| memories, so… you know… | |
| Arthur | How else would they remember you? |
| Gordon | You've got it. Sure you won't have one? |
| (He offers his packet. Arthur shakes his head.) | |
| Gordon | And I can't stand funerals. I shan't go to mine. |
| Arthur | You won't have any choice. |
| Gordon | Well then I won't listen. I mean, all this utter crap about what an awesome human being one |
| was, what an absolute Saint… how one'll be sadly missed… all the congregation sniffling into | |
| their Kleenex's, the Vicar Speaking in that curious voice that Vicars learn at Vicar College… | |
| Arthur | Dearly beloved… |
| Gordon | And the minute it's all finished, they'll be round the pub, laughing at the relief that it wasn't their |
| turn yet, and saying "God, I thought he'd never go!" | |
| Arthur | I think you're being a bit uncharitable, Gordon… |
| Gordon | And the truth of it is, most of us are absolute stinkers, one way or another. |
| Arthur | I wouldn't say you were a stinker, Gordon. |
| Gordon | You think not? Bridget may take all the day-to-day decisions in our house, but I'm in charge |
| of flatulence. | |
| Arthur | I'm not surprised, eating Prawn and Badger crisps. |
| Gordon | I wonder if I could manage to fart in the coffin as they carry me into church -- |
| Arthur | You'd start a riot. Not a bad epitaph though. |
| Gordon | I've already thought of my epitaph. I want -- here lies Gordon, so fuck you all. |
| Arthur | Yes but the Vicar's not going to allow that, is he? |
| Gordon | He will if I leave him a grand in my will, and make it conditional on there being a hereafter. |
| Arthur | Yes, where do you stand on that? The hereafter? Are you a believer? |
| Gordon | I am, yes. I am a believer. I believe that everyone else will be here after I've gone. |
| Arthur | Everyone's got different opinions. The Vicar wants me to believe there'll be eternal singing |
| and hosanna's, whatever they are, in some sort of heavenly building along the lines of the | |
| Guildhall. Thelma's convinced in the old playing-harps-on-clouds theory. | |
| Gordon | Bridget's inclined to believe that too. She's already started taking harp lessons from this |
| chap down the road. Getting on quite well, she says. | |
| Arthur | But she hasn't got a harp, has she? |
| Gordon | Spends hours at his place, playing with his instrument. |
| Arthur | Really? |
| Gordon | Gives her special fingering exercises. Yes, she's almost looking forward to sitting on her |
| cloud and… you know… strumming an arpeggio. | |
| Arthur | Clouds are going to be damp. That's going to play havoc with my rheumatism. |
| Gordon | Bridget thinks that all her family will be sitting on this cloud, waiting for her to join them. My |
| family too. | |
| Arthur | That's going to spark a bit of a riot, isn't it? They can't stand each other. |
| Gordon | And she hasn't thought it through. If we all have to wait for the others to catch up, that implies |
| that her family's family were waiting on this cloud too. And their family, and theirs | |
| and back umpteen generations. | |
| Arthur | How much weight will a cloud bear? |
| Gordon | Exactly. That's a non-starter. Now my son-in-law -- |
| Arthur | Mountjoy… |
| Gordon | -- he believes in a Flying Spaghetti Monster, and an afterlife featuring a factory that turns out |
| strippers. It's all ludicrous. | |
| Arthur | I've got my own theory… |
| Gordon | Oh yes. Why doesn't that surprise me? |
| Arthur | You've heard of the heavenly Host? |
| Gordon | Yes. |
| Arthur | Well I think that Heaven will be the most enormous pub you've ever seen. |
| Gordon | Well that's a thought. It won't be the host here, though? Nothing heavenly about him. |
| Arthur | It'll be staffed entirely by young, nubile women with friendly smiles and attractive bosoms. |
| Everyone will be young again. | |
| Gordon | Oh God, I couldn't go through that again. |
| Arthur | All the drinks will be free, there'll be no juke-boxes or gambling machines, and no Prawn and |
| Badger crisps. (He crushes the packet.) | |
| Gordon | Sounds like heaven. Well, it is heaven I suppose. When can we leave? |
| Arthur | Well we don't know the date on our ticket, do we? But when we arrive, we can sit around all |
| day and drink ambrosia. | |
| Gordon | That's creamed rice, isn't it? |
| Arthur | It's beer, Gordon. We can sit in the pub all day forever, and talk about whatever comes into |
| our heads. | |
| Gordon | Really? Well, I'll drink to that. |
| Arthur | Cheers! |
| (The lights fade.) | |
| © Leonard Morley 2009 |