A WRITER TYPE

by Anton Wills-Eve


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/ghostwriter/”>Ghostwriter</a&gt;

A WRITER TYPE

I am in no doubt that  I would choose William Shakespeare to write my biography. But I would insist that he wrote it as a play. It would go something like this.


SCENE: A nursing home at High Wycombe, a town in Buckinghamshire where a mother has been rushed in from her mansion on the Thames at nearby Bourne End: She is a very well known theatrical celebrity and the staff at the hospital are disputing who should have the honour of delivering her second child. She already has a daughter: It is almost midnight on May the ninth, 1942 with German bombers in the sky overhead, but the fearless unborn baby has not yet been told of this. This is why he is fearless. The curtain rises on the ward where his mother lies still waiting for him to appear, and two nurses, Mabel and Jane are watching over the scene:

Mabel: Ho, varlet, who goes there?

Jane: I’m not Violet, she’s doing the bed pans with Clarrie. Look there they are approaching each other from yonder doors at each end of the ward.

(cue to audience for loud laughter at upcoming really awful joke)

Mabel:  Yea, verily I see them as they meet adjoining each to t’other and then separating as off our stage they truly do take their exit. An I mistake me not they were but two shits that passed  in the night.

(look I warned you. It gets worse, and I’m not even born yet).

Jane: Indeed, great Mabel, to either end of this new babe we must attend. I the famous surgeon shall announce that he might with his stout scalpel outward force the heir to this long liege line of laughter makers and forthwith make this merrie England merrier still. Whatever the hell all that means.

Mabel: It doth forebode the victory of this sceptered Isle over the Jerry and the Hun who do this very night drop death upon us from the skies. But look, the cock doth crow twelve and being now the tenth day of the month as Churchill hath believed the babe may now be born. Let pomp and splendour rain upon us as we watch the imminent nativity.

All: (a lot of people who come on the stage from God knows where). “A boy, a boy let all our firkins of ale and vats of wine be drunk full well this most auspicious night. But hush, the babe doth speak !”

Male babe:  I am come our realm to free of all her enemies and with the last drop of my family’s blood I shall smite down the nasty Nazi who to his bunker flees. There proud Eva Brick doth him await to ‘eave a brick at him. Oh mother, thou has endowed me with a wicked wit of the west, that I may send them rolling in the aisles with the best.”

Scene ends with babe giving a strong hint of his true purpose in life by downing a whole bottle in one swig.

Land of hope and glory can be heard from far off Windsor Castle where the news has reached the palace. Our author turns to his wife as he lays down his quill and says. “I’ll make a fortune out of this one, I know I will. What sayest thou, Anne?”

Scene two starts tomorrow when the Babe is named. Don’t miss it, or the following 500 acts. Will has drafted them already.

AWE

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