Living Newspaper: Edition 4

CRISIS AFTER CRISIS WE PERSIST by Caro Black Tam, Stacey Gregg, Tanika Gupta, Ellie Kendrick, Sabrina Mahfouz and Stef Smith

INTRO 0.0 – 1.08 1: Crisis 2: after crisis 3: Crisis 4: after crisis 1: We persist! 1+2: We are pissed! 4: Twist us twisted 1: PERSIST 2: PERSIST 3: PROTEST 4: PROTEST 1+2: PROTEST PERSISTS

3: PERSIST PROTEST ALL: We protest. 1.08 - 2.10 BLM chants 1+2: Back up back up we want freedom freedom All your racist sexist cops we don’t need em need em 1+2+3+4: Back up back up we want freedom freedom All your racist sexist cops we don’t need em need em Back up back up we want freedom freedom All your racist sexist cops we don’t need em need em 5: Back up back up All: Back up back up we want freedom freedom All your racist sexist cops we don’t need em need em Back up back up we want freedom freedom All your racist sexist cops we don’t need em need em 2.10 - 2.54 SPOKEN over music 1. How do your eyelids feel today? Your thumbs? Your toes? Your liver, spine, your nose? How’s it sound inside you? 2: Is the force of our lungs and the movement of our tongues tickling your eardrums yet? 1: Hold steady, we’ll vibrate you inside out

so you can feel us there inside your cells readjusting your molecules to our rhythm listen something’s growing... 2.54- 3.14 3+4: Do you think words sleep scattered just for you? Like culled lavender buds Lilac, fragrant, waiting? 3.14 - 3.54 3: Let’s stare at the sea Until similes sting our eyes until we agree standing on a rock older than poetry that this land can only ever belong to those who love no matter what the checkpoints say or how loud the rockets scream we know that love is enough because there is nothing more and we learnt that through words when touch was disallowed so read me the poems as I drown my love. 3.54 - 5.04 4: They can’t kill us all They can’t kill us all 4+5: Can they? Can they? They can. Can’t. Will. Won’t. Do. Don’t. They don’t do anything. They’ve done everything.

5: They can’t kill us all. A fever of feeling, Share this breathing. Oxygen like its oxytocin, take another dose in. It’s catching, It’s catching. They can’t kill us all. All: They can’t kill us all. (repeat) 1+2: Alerta (repeat) 5.04 - 6.48 ALERTA Alerta Alerta Alerta Alerta, alerta, alerta al que camina Mujeres feminista por las calles de Lima Y tiemblin, Y tiemblin, y tiemblin los machistas Que America Latina va a ser toda feminista! Alerta Alerta Alerta Alerta, alerta, alerta al que camina Mujeres feminista por las calles de Lima Y tiemblin, Y tiemblin, y tiemblin los machistas Que America Latina va a ser toda feminista! Alerta Alerta 6.48 - 7.56 NO HUMAN IS ILLEGAL

All out of sync: No human is illegal (repeat) All: No human is illegal No human is illegal No human is illegal No human is illegal 4: Borders break us Borders break us Borders break us Break the borders 3+4: Borders break us Break the borders Borders break us Break the borders Borders break us Break the borders 2: some people have seen cracked clouds of boats above skinned tails of mermaids, spoke to their babies through salt-mills and still they must just want nice teeth. 7.56 - 9.14 1: We want our bodies back We want our bodies back We want our bodies back We want our bodies back You took them when you told us

they were statues ones never to be built but to stand proud in shadows You took them when you told us they were made to remake the world better to remake the world than make a mark you said Our bodies will not leave any marks 2: We walk and the small flame of our candle simply melts white wax as we walk streets we walk streets same as he did we walk streets same as he did 1+2: We want our bodies back We want our bodies back We want our bodies back 9.14 - 10.15 5: Take the streets And we take the stage You can’t tell us what to say All: Take the stage And we take the sky You can’t make us love your lies Take the streets And we take the stage You can’t tell us what to say 1+2+5 Take the streets And we take the stage

You can’t tell us what to say Take the stage And we take the sky You can’t make us love your lies Take the streets And we take the stage You can’t tell us what to say 5: Take the damn stage. (Heartbeat to end with no vocals)

Dots of Death Sabrina Mahfouz

Bounce - one two three - holding boobs. Bounce - one two three - let them free. Bounce - three four five - close your eyes. Bounce - six seven eight - cross your legs. Sit down. Roll neck around.

Individualised rituals have grounded us this past 12 months, right? I mean, you might not have a trampoline. But you do something to keep yourself from flipping out cos you’re here, so you haven’t flipped out. Yet. Met those fears of death, and fears of an end to a way of living life we’re supposed to be looking back on as if it wasn’t right but secretly we all had something we really fucking liked, met those fears with some kind of daily…balm. Even though fear isn’t new to me, my trampoline is so that’s what I do.

I’ve thought I was gonna die three times before in my life. I mean, not like oh this hangover is so bad I’m gonna die, or don’t do that you nearly gave me a heart attack stuff. I mean when I felt in the starry part of my soul, I’m really about to kick the fucking bucket into the next world, never to return. One time on a plane and it went sideways. Over a mountain range.

Middle of drinks service and the wings just went whoosh underneath and everyone fell on me cos I was on the side where the wing went down and they were screaming and praying, and I was calm like, okay, inventory time of all you’ve loved about life and then somehow the wing came back up and there was puke on the seats, but we were alive. The other two times were men. Not much more to say there. Except no they weren’t clients and those times I wasn’t calm and I couldn’t remember what I’d loved about life.

I live on my own now. Bounce around. Lockdown making my job a safe haven. Online only. Still make good money. Which is lucky, cos there’s no furlough for sex workers and my self employment grant didn’t cover the expenses of being self-employed, basically. I say it’s a ‘safe haven’, working from home but really, I’m scared to even open the front door, spraying my hands before I take the bag from the courier, spraying again after I close the door with my foot. I’ve always been mad for hand sanitiser, but not even that can save us these days. I do try to go for a walk when its quiet at night, my friends tell me I’m mad to be doing that, considering. But I’m not scared of the police grabbing me after dark. Though I get why some people are. Lot of women, they’ve gone through life so far thinking the police are maybe a bit bullish but overall - nice.

Heart in the right place. First 3 numbers you think of in an emergency, typed out on your phone walking home at night. They’re probably white. Those women. I mean maybe not, but probably. And they’ve probably never been sex workers. And they’ve probably never had specialist domestic violence officers offer to take them back home before he gets suspicious. Heart in the right place. Sex workers could’ve saved a lot of time and a lot of lives if people had listened to us about the way police treat women. But that would mean people would have to treat us as women. Heart in the right place. All of us in the same boat. I went on a cruise once. That’s a boat, everyone on it was on it. It wasn’t the same for all of us, though.

My trampoline is made out of recycled plastic. I thought that was great. What a way forward. Because plastic, it means nothing, unless you count death. It doesn’t live, it can never live. It can’t break down and become something else. It can kind of decompose over hundreds of years, but it’ll all still plastic, just miniscule bits of it. It can’t become something else. That is really death. To not be able to ever become something else. It’s the only thing I can think of that’s like that.

We made plastic for an easier life and the price is death. Yeh so I was well happy with this recycled trampoline because at least it’s death being reused into something useful for life, without creating more death. Then I read that recycled plastic items emit micro plastics every time you use them, whereas if they were in landfill it’s not nice, but the particles aren’t being spread about as much. You can see I use this trampoline very energetically. Clients love it as well, paying to just watch me bounce, tracksuit or towel or underwear, however I’m feeling. I’d never have thought of it before. It’s been interesting, having this creative freedom. But it’s a trap. Each bounce releasing micro plastics. Invisible dots of death. But I’d rather die this way, than that.

A WESTERN CHRONICLE: Fragments from the Front Line by Ed Thomas ONE Such a lo-fi beginning An unremarkable place on the Western edge The disturbed districts between land and sea a hinterland a bar an itch to scratch stretching back over centuries an injustice a colony land stolen blood spilt words spoken lost defeat a common butterfly -cabbage white rises from a flower - nondescript spreads its paper thin wings and then the universe tilts TWO The phenomenon has reached the city the paper light wings once so delicate is now a whirlwind It really is a fast moving story -and lets not forget how unfamiliar the city has suddenly become to a great number of people I shant forget No

I really shant already the architecture is changing the shape of the streets even the nature of thought I know Its so incredibly strange Yes Weightless Completely I’m at a loss Me too How do you explain the inexplicable? Cover all angles There will be so many stories Look for the truth in the gaps Follow the beat of your lonely heart Will do Do you know who I am? I have no idea Thank you No no-thank you EIGHT I cant say that I knew him No Not to speak to as such No But I remember him Of course I do I’ve walked past him often enough after all On this corner of the city This street I remember how odd he looked Hunched up against the cold Not much more than a shape An old coat on a hanger Hanging on a wire Held up in the middle by a cleft stick Blowing in the wind

This could be you remember He said to me once You could be next Never forget that We’re fighting over crumbs That’s the truth of it Yes I said Yes Now a butterfly lands on his hat -Cabbage white -Unremarkable -paper thin wings if I hadn’t already heard the story I would never have felt the lightest breath of wind on my cheek a revolution And he noticed and smiled This wont be the first time its happened he said Oh no Things have collapsed before he said Yes Yes Then he looked me in the eye Do you understand? He said Do you? I understand I replied I completely understand This is a moment I never want to forget I said Not ever THIRTEEN In the city grown strange

-It’s such a lo-fi ending Under a stone the rubble is a word Which they took with them when they came in the night and took everything -all the words but this one word they overlooked the buildings are fallen and the streets are ruined but its still there still alive and it may have been this word she heard that day drifting on the wind on the way to the city which made her say what she said This is a moment I will never forget she said Not ever And I believe her

FOURTEEN I’m speaking to you now in all honesty In all faithfulness In all humility and with all the grace I can muster Because this may be the only time That we will ever again be together in the same place It may be the last time some of us will ever see each other again And to those I say in advance I shall miss you I shant forget you To those who remain here still Let me remind you That this day will not be recorded in audio or image It will merely have existed In our scattered imaginations And for that I am grateful to all of you So from the very bottom of my heart Thank –you

Farewell Good luck We love you

TRAIN Bukky Bakray

SEGUN walks into his dressing room,(as a train passes by) palms sweaty and his head is heavy. counting to ten in his head, doing different exercises to warm his body. breathing out and in. He looks at himself in the mirror for a while then breaking eye contact goes back into the space. Segun must make an artistic speech about his homeland, everyone in his class chose their mothering countries so segun followed fashion. segun practices his piece. SEGUN:

Ok. When we were young, hopping around like caged bunnies, life was funny. I knew stories, written testimonies accompanied by false prophecies. We wanted to play with pro-tools until the elders used them, directed by old fools, nephew documented the whole thing. What bleeds from the corner of my eyes seems to find its way back in, that’s why the pores on my face are hollow shells like girls who dream birkins. The same girls who cried bells for their brothers, their fathers and their mothers, the same girls who turned pages and prayed for our return but they never returned.

A train passes by. Segun's head turns but his eyes don't move. Segun grawels with frustration.

This is gonna be so dead! There's one girl called charlene, she's from ireland. i heard her practicing and yooo. she's out here having interludes of her speaking gaelic. another one Chris, he has the most mundane name but he's from australia and he's black. the first day we met him he spoke about how him and his family were some of the only indeginous left in the place. the Lies, the lies, the lies because why are you here then? and oh my God bisi, she's from nij like me. but she's actually been there. she was born there. In fact I'm sure she smells like the place. Mr

Akinbola our professor said he's expecting something so magnificent for the both of us… especially because of everything that's happening. Train passes by.

Segun reaches towards his laptop then closes it sharply. Trying to come back to us.

The thing about Bisi is, a couple of her people have been touched by it. My people too but it's different for her. She ate stew from the same pot as them. Mashed cassava using the same stick. I only had a couple phone calls even then there was a high level of reluctance. I couldn't wait to click the red button and go back to my P5. The hello auntie and hello uncle was like prayer to me. I say it again and again but in all honesty do i believe what i'm saying? I want to though. When i see bisi talking about back home it's like all the light in the room is reflected onto the sceler of her eyes. She just gets so happy. segun remembers but when the videos surfaced that light was lost and scattered around the room. segun sinks into himself, trying to convince us. trying to act The nights they all died, there it was, a banquette of videos on my phone. Videos of sisters wailing… It was like the sound wasn’t coming out my headphones, but through my bedroom window. I watched for so long until my phone died. And then I thought of bisi again and how her heart must be feeling. I thought about hers because I couldn't seem to think of mine. Train passes by. When I saw my reflection through my phone, I saw how dry my eyes were. Segun laughs

Ask me about the food or the music. I can tell you about the diaspora’s history and how many wives of Fela Kuti. I can tell you about Mansa Musa and the imagery provided by Chinue Achebe. Segun begins to make a proclamation. Let’s talk about culture . Beat. And as I sit here with the thought of my Artificial intelligence and poetry, I think about my people and their sudden departures, I still can't feel a thing. Or Hear a thing because the congregations crying is getting louder and you know when Nigerians cry… (laughing a little) That cry like their tonsils are paining them, or they are recuperating from all the years they have refrained from them.and i don’t know why but it sounded so much like bisi, the tone, the pitch. Train passes by I want to feel it too. I want to know how it feels to know how it feels. Train passes by, Segun looks towards the window. Seguns alarm goes off. He turns it off and throws his phone Tell me what it is you need me to do. If it’s tears that you need for us to reunify, then bleed through me, because my body can’t. Cry through me, because my eyes won’t! beat. I remember the first day Mr Akinbola came to our campus. He heard everyone call me segun. And then he just looked at me, the same way you would look at a dying plant. Lola Lola (right pronunciation) Damilola. Train passes by. Segun sits. Surrenders.

Train passes by. one more time. When we were young, and life was just funny … we saw the big boys with guns and thought they looked pretty cool, we ran around says braa braa trying to imitate but the ones who held the guns had evil masters directing them on how to use these protools. In the story books they used them on the bad guys and the villains but i saw brothers and sisters scraped away like peach fuzz and period blood. one boy said his country ‘cant come and kill me’ and it did exactly that. the tears that bleed from her face, just sat there and it didn't run down, so i'm sure it sunk through her skin then made another round. i didn't feel her pain because i wouldn't know what it feels like.to pray for you brothers and mothers but their fathers put their hands over your mouth and don't let you finish. i wonder if this all would have still happened if they had just let you finish.

Train passes by. one more time. As the train passes by the sound overpowers Seguns voice as he recites his piece again.

Life’s Work by Caitlin McEwan Note on the Text: Any text in bold is thought - it’s not spoken out loud but it should be heard. We never see the wealthy man, but I’ve included stage directions to provide some idea of his movements, when he’s listening to the young woman and when he’s not. A young woman sits behind the desk of the Royal Court box office. There could be very faint music in the background - a jazzy cover of ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears, maybe. Something a bit shit. The woman stares out of the glass doors, her eyes glazed over. I wonder how many minutes I’ve spent looking out of this window. When you add it all up. Probably weeks. Or months. Watching the trees in the square doing the whole - cyclical business. And the people I wonder what they’ve been doing this year? I can’t even imagine what most of them do in Normal Times. Apart from, like, Be rich. Walk around everywhere like they own the place. Except for when they’re in, like. A Big Lidl. Maybe even then. I don’t know. , What was I going to look up? She picks up her phone, looks at it. No. She puts it back down. Furrows her brow slightly, thinking. Suddenly, a brainwave. OH. She types, urgently. Fuck ME. She’s never. , Nigella Lawson’s not sixty-ONE. , That is unbelievable. Think I would be sick if she came in. I reckon I could look Tom Cruise straight in the face but Nigella -

No. She’s on a different level. , What’s a funny tweet? What’s a funny thing I could tweet? , This is alright, isn’t it? Not as bad as I remember. , Quite want a Diet Coke. A Wealthy Man’s face appears at the door. Oh for fuck’s sake NO, no thank you please go away I don’t want to - hang on, that’s, you can’t be angry about having to do your job, that’s ridiculous, don’t be - some people don’t even have a job, just - be nice. She puts on a very forced smile. The man tries to push the door, but it doesn’t budge. YOU HAVE TO PULL IT? He pulls it, it doesn’t move. It’s heavy, but not as heavy as he’s making it out to be. He tries the door next to it, pushes it, pushes it again, then pulls it. It finally opens on his third try. Good Evening. Hang on, I recognise this guy. He walks over to the board where a list of financial supporters’ names and organisations are listed. He taps it twice, with a smile. Oh my god, he’s the one who always tells us he gives the theatre a thousand pounds a yea- yep, there we go. Like clockwork. Fuck this guy. Great. Thanks for your support. How can I help? His fingers are gripping the sides of the desk. Get your hands off it, you little rat, there’s a pandemic. Let me check - you’re in luck. I’ve got one ticket left. The phone starts ringing. She flinches. Jesus Christ Forgot about the sound of that phone.

Ok. It’s pay what you decide, so either £10, £20 or £30. What is it about it that makes me want to cry? The man’s mobile starts ringing. Pay what you decide, yep. Christ, that’s pathetic of me. It’s more about, like, accessibility than what the performance is worth The man answers his phone. Sure, mate, answer your phone while I’m in the middle of a sentence, why the fuck not? The phone on the other, empty desk, also starts to ring. The two phones ring on different rhythms, in anxiety-inducing canon. She has a physical reaction to it. As if she can feel its ring in the pit of her stomach. If only there was someone to answer that If only Sophie would stop going to auditions on her break and even though she’s got to go to Camden and back she tells me she’ll only be an hour and we both know she’s lying but also what can you do, she doesn’t get sick pay and at the end of the day On the desk, the woman’s mobile buzzes. A text. She looks down. Not now, mum. Two more texts. I only spoke to her this morning. , Another text. She picks up the phone. The other one still rings, relentlessly. Good evening, Royal Court theatre box office, how can I help? Another text. Right , Right Three texts in quick succession. Should check she’s She picks up her mobile. Why has she said ‘think you’re at work’, you know I’m at work, I told you -

Farrar Hornby, Sales Manager, enters. He lingers by the desk. Oh no, it’s Farrar. Is he just coming to say hi or does he Want Something? She smiles at him. Why’s she sent me a picture of her wardrobe? Ah, we don’t offer refunds, I’m afraid. Oh my god, mum, I don’t know when I’m going to be able to come home, it’s a fucking She looks at her mobile, then puts it down. That is completely understandable, but unfortunately we can’t control whether or not the District Line works She screams in frustration. She gives a sort of jokey eye-roll to Farrar, he indicates he’ll come back later and goes back up the stairs. The Wealthy Man has hung up the phone now and is looking expectantly at her. Probably checks his watch. The woman on the other end of the phone has changed her tune now and is actually being quite nice. You’re very welcome, thank you. She puts down the phone. She replaces the receiver and it immediately starts to ring again with another call. She looks up at the Wealthy Man. Sorry about that. So, £10, £20 or £30. Up to you. £20? And how did you reach that decision, sir? Okay, and are you paying by cash or card? He puts a card in the card machine. Card, ok. Right. I’m so jealous of the people I work with who can just shrug it off when someone’s rude to them. I don’t know what their secret is. Did I go to the toilet on a training day and miss being told about it or something? Because I’ve tried, but I can’t do it. And it makes me feel so stupidThe phones get louder. It’s a bit surreal to be back, actually. Mhmm, I was furloughed. It was quite nice to get a rest, to be honest. Yeah. A rest.

THAT. THAT’S THE BIT I HATE THE MOST. THAT LOOK. The one that says ‘Oh no. Where did it all go wrong for you?’ ‘I’m so glad my child doesn’t do what you’re doing’. ‘This won’t happen to my child because her godfather used to run this place’. She looks at her screen. Even when they think they’re being nice, that look is a pretty clear indicator of what they see when they look at me. Do you know what mate, if you’re going to treat me like shit I’d rather you really went for it like that woman on the phone, because otherwise it feels like I’m overreacting when actually, although not explicitly rude, five years of being treated like this does grind you down a bit! I’m so angry I don’t even think I can look up. She takes a deep breath. Looks up. That’s your receipt and your ticket. Meeting point’s outside, ten minutes before. The bar’s open downstairs. He walks away. You’re welcome. Love to be a sentient ticket dispenser. Hope he didn’t hear that. If he does and he complains I’ll just lie and Actually, no. Fuck him. I am busy behind this desk, not that it matters, but I have Done Stuff. Sure, a lot of the time I am looking up pointless shit and watching videos of Gemma Collins but when I am NOT I am busy. VERY FUCKING BUSY. Have you given anyone that look? You’ll probably turn to whoever you’re watching this with, give them a sage nod and say something like ‘real food for thought, that, wasn’t it? OH MY GOD THESE FUCKING PHONES. I WROTE THIS. I ACTUALLY WORK HERE THIS ISN’T A METAPHOR. I WROTE THIS WITH MY HANDS AND BRAIN AND MY FUCKING HEART, ACTUALLY. Anyway fuck you. Literally not bothered so. Enjoy the show.

She sits back, looking like she’s going to cry. The phones are deafening now. She looks at her mobile, sends a text. Looks at the phone. She really doesn’t want to pick it up. But she does. Good evening, Royal Court theatre box office, how can I -

THE SPIKE I’m not here by Michael Wynne 1 Jason, a fifteen-year-old white boy, in an orange jacket climbs on the Chelsea War Monument opposite the Royal Court theatre in Sloane Square. He occasionally looks over at the theatre on the other side of the road, intrigued. 2 From inside the box office, we can see Jason peering through the glass doors from outside. He is from Birkenhead and has a Scouse accent. Jason Can I come in? He looks through another window. Am I allowed? He tries the doors, they’re locked. Ah go ‘head, let me in. He’s locked outside. 3 Jason is on the back stairs. He speaks to camera. Jason I snuck in round the back. I just ended up outside here and thought I’d have a look in. I’ve never been anywhere like this before. Shush. I’m not here. You can’t see me. He moves off to look around more. 4 Jason is in the circle bar – taking in the space. He looks about as he talks to the camera, so he’s not caught. Jason

They keep on trying to throw me out. It’s weird here isn’t it. I’ve been excluded. Again. I’m done with school. It was great when the first lockdown happened. Off school with nothing to do. Like the summer holidays, times a hundred. Although you weren’t meant to go anywhere or do anything. And we didn’t hear anything from school while we were off. Me mate, Louis, he goes to the posh school, St Anselm’s now, he had to do schoolwork the whole time. All day every day. All the kids where I live had nothing to do. It was great. And we don’t have a computer at ours that works properly anyway. Just me mums old iPad that cuts out all the time. So when they did want me to do stuff, months after lockdown started, they couldn’t get me to do anything. Happy days. He hears a noise behind him. Is that someone coming? Shush. No sign of anyone. I think I’m alright. Me mum doesn’t know I’m here. But she hardly knows what’s going on any more. She’s like a zombie. She just sits and stares at the wall and smokes. Everyone knows her round our way. There’s not many mums who drive a double decker bus. She loved it. Tiny behind that big wheel. Chatting to everyone. When me nan got ill, she started going bing bong. Then me nan’s sister, me Auntie Dot got sick too. They lived together. Have for years. One day they were fine and then all of a sudden, they couldn’t breathe. So, they took them up to Arrowe Park Hospital. You know, that place where they brought all those people coming home from China right at the beginning. They flew them in on that special flight, then bussed them all up and locked them away in these old nurses’ flats. Of all the places in the world, you bring them to Birkenhead! Anyway, me nan and Auntie Dot ended up there. Me mum didn’t think they were gonna be in there long, they seemed to be on the mend. Then next minute they get told there’s nothing they can do for them … They’ve got a week to live … And we’ve got to go in and say our goodbyes. Me mum just started shaking. We go in in these full hazmat suits. Like we’re nuclear scientists or something. They’re sat up in their bed in masks and things, just these little eyes poking out. They’re over there and we’re over here. Me mum wanted to hold me nan’s hand, but she wasn’t allowed. Me nan was talking about Jesus and God and that we’d all see each other again soon. Auntie

Dot didn’t say a word. Then we had to go. We sort of said goodbye, me nan said it as if she was just going the shop and we’d see her later. Me mum could hardly walk. I had to hold her up, but no one else would come near us. We don’t know how they got it. Auntie Dot never went out anyway. Me nan had been over to Liverpool for St Paddy’s Day the week before. She’d go every year on the bus. Me mum told her not to go but me nan said she was allowed. ‘If the rules say I can go, then I’m going.’ She said they let Liverpool play that big footie match a few days before and thousands flew in from Madrid … Me mum thinks maybe she gave it to them. She was always in and out of theirs and still driving her bus, but she doesn’t even know if she’s had it. She had what she thought was a cold but now she thinks it wasn’t. That’s what turned her into zombie, the idea that she gave it to them, killed them. I was talking to some bloke outside here. Dead posh. Wanted to know what I was doing. Probably thought I was on the rob. He couldn’t believe it, that I knew people who’d died. Told him I know six people off our estate. He was well shocked. He doesn’t know anyone. I was like, ‘Haven’t you seen the news? Where’ve you been living?’ I’d never been to a funeral before. I didn’t wanna go. I didn’t have a suit to wear. I wore me school uniform. Hardly anyone could go, so all the neighbours stood out on the street as the cars went past. The local priest, Father Dom, has been good. He gave me mum some money to help pay for the funeral. Me mum doesn’t even go to mass but me nan did. She used to clean the church and do the flowers. Went to mass every day. Which is mad. Seeing the two coffins go down into the ground, one after the other. Me mum’s on sick pay now. You can’t live off it. I go to different food banks to get food. You can only go to the same one a few times. It’s like I’m the parent now looking after her. This bloke outside, I was telling him about me mum. He said, ‘can’t she work from home?’ What’s this working from home thing? I told him she was a bus driver. How do you work from home if you’re driving a bus? I didn’t wanna go back to school after the summer, me head was all over the place but me mum made me go. The first morning back, Miss Ackland, our form teacher … She was a pain before, dead stuck up, but when we went back … She did this big speech, wanting to talk about what’d happened since we’d been off, how sad it’s been. I thought she was gonna talk about, you know, the pando, the pandemic, all the deaths, how bad it’s been round ours … But she’s hardly said anything, and she starts crying … And we all thought, shit, some of her family must have died … But then she started going on about George Floyd and Black Lives Matter … How bad she felt. We were all like … And that she wanted to apologise. There’s only one black kid in our class, me mate Kent Johnson, and she keeps on looking over at him and crying. Saying she was sorry. Sorry for what? He didn’t know where to look. He’s looking at all us, like will someone

make her stop. But she kept on going on. All about how he must feel and making out he was a victim or something. He’s alright. His dad’s got a good job and a dead nice car. Then she was saying this is a wake-up call. And that we’re all … What’s the word? Privileged. That like, all the problems of the world are our fault. I just laughed when she said we were privileged. She didn’t like that and started saying that me laughing was part of the problem. I just said I didn’t know what she was talking about. Then she started kicking off, saying that it was time to listen and learn what we’ve done. We can’t pretend we don’t know. All this other stuff. That we had to look at our history and what our fathers have done. I said I don’t even know me dad. Kent burst out laughing at that and then she was all over the place. Saying she wanted me out of the class. I was happy to go. I just walked out and kept on walking. Excluded again. I reckon the school are glad ‘cos if they have too many kids like me, it looks bad on their Ofsted. I now have to go to ‘Knobhead School’ as we call it. It’s this place just for excluded kids like me. We don’t have to do much if we don’t want to. Just need to show face for a couple of hours a day. There’s like a badge of honour that we’ve been thrown out and we’re all knobheads. ‘Hey Knobhead, how you doing?’ ‘I’m good Knobhead, how’s you? I did do some maths the other day and the teacher said I was good at it. But most of the time I can’t be arsed. He said that kids, well, boys like me do the worst in school in the whole country. That’s not really a surprise. But then I don’t know if I believe him ‘cos if that was true it’d be on the news and people would be talking about it wouldn’t they? For a moment I thought maybe I should try a bit harder. Then I thought, naah, what’s the point? A noise of someone approaching. Oh shit. There’s someone coming. I’d better be off. I’m not meant to be here. He dashes off. End.

friction ellie kendrick “Literal”-ness should be avoided (IE no awkward club dance miming) Line breaks don’t mean long pauses, just a progression in thought rhythm NO1: So I’m feeling like my baby-blue bubble boom-box, 1998 Hit Me Baby One More Time CD stuck in the tray “hit me – hit me – hit me – hit me – hit me – hit me – hit me -” Britney in suspended animation I need a flick. I’m craving difference and the dialogue of other people’s bodies. I want to meet a stranger again. I want to see all my friends at once I’d do anything to get the chance to go back to a queer club on the gold wings of a pinger listen: (does she look into the camera here?) my mouth, your ears, every story starts with finding a way for orifices to meet so let’s go: BANG A flash of light. Summer 2008, it’s 11pm, a Thursday night down a back alley in Soho with my best friend at my side we are gangly and transparent with fear we step down the stairs into a room full of dykes for the first time in the history of the universe and finally I’m feeling arrived I’m hyper conscious, can’t focus peripheral vision on overdrive but I’m cool yeah sooo cool who’s that don’t look SHIT she saw me what yeah Hi oh hi and strike up some kind of awful conversation around footwear she wants to WHAT go outside?

I watch our feet ascend the stairs into fresh air and finally I can feel my fingertips sharing a cigarette with this stranger my back to the bricks and I realise I’ve let this huge organ of skin go invisible my whole life until this moment and I can sense it something’s about to happen it takes courage to enjoy it so I stretch out my hand and push open the door and it’s ten years later, Summer 2018: my whole body is electrified I’ve found my people now and it’s these lot, my queer crew we’re sweating together in a packed club I’m kissing my best friends without fearing! Actually I should do cos tomorrow we’ll all have tonsillitis but tomorrow doesn’t exist yet and now I see (she really sees us now, connects) you a stranger across the crowd across spacetime we see each other we can witness and be witnessed in this sweet caramel sticky liquor of queer rippling flesh we are open we are fleshy we are raw and wet and now! The drop a roomful of strangers GASP together with joy at the feeling of being a body in a sea of bodies we’re leaking out of ourselves and into each other and now we’ve got four thousand fingertips six hundred noses and uncountable tongues twenty thousand hearts pumping blood through one gigantic artery one massive nerve centre a new synaptic mesh

sprouting fresh neurons at each junction dancing with a stranger drawing close without fear without fear without fear without fear … . Hello? are you still here? Ancestors That space was your gift to me. Glorious queens and butches and femmes and trans prophets bodies taken before your time in a great plague of unimaginable scale. Ancestors you went through so much worse than this and never got a vaccine. Decades went by without world summits or roll outs. Tell me where do I go from here? OLD1: Fuck off. NO1: What? OLD1: Fuck off. I’m no one’s ancestor. NO1: Who are you? OLD1: Not your ancestor. NO1: Oh. OLD1: What am I doing here? You woke me up. I was having a lovely dream.

NO1: You look like me.

OLD1: Yes. That’s cos I am. Like you. NO1: Sorry. I don’t understand. OLD1: Wanging on and on about ancestors like I’m some sort of dyke Dionysis. Get me down my face is cracking off. NO1: Down from where? OLD1: Down from this place you conjured me into, it’s chilly and aeroplanes keep flying through my ear holes. NO1: Sorry. OLD1: All that grandy bollocks. You sound like a numpty.

NO1: How should I be then? OLD1: How should I know? Probably just been too long since you laid a stranger and stepped out a bit of techno. Which, by the way, we invented and you’ve butchered. NO1: Of course, yes. I wasn’t thinking. You’ve been through so much worse OLD1: Oh why do we have to keep TALKING about that? That’s all you bloody want us to talk about! What about the other stuff I could tell you? Like how to catch mackerel? Did you know I was absolutely fantastic at that. No, not a euphemism. Just mackerel. NO1: Tell me about the mackerel. OLD1: No. You’ve ruined it now. Shan’t. NO1: What shall I tell them then? OLD1: I dunno. NO1:

May I ask you something? What’s it like not having a sexuality or a body? OLD1: How should I know? I’m not dead. NO1: Wait. What? OLD1: No. I live in Bolton. NO1: Oh. OLD1: I just fell asleep and found myself here. You could come up and introduce yourself. Bring some Quality Street. But you won’t. NO1: I find you a bit intimidating. OLD1: Well I’m awfully sorry that I’m not your fantasy fairy toothmother. I wasn’t born to make you happy. (beat. NO1 stings) OLD1: Oh, alright, go on then. Let’s hear what you’ve got. Sits back and watches. NO1: clears throat. More self-conscious now. Ancestors Queer Ancestors: how did you turn friction into dialogue? Old1 finds this loftiness very funny. OLD1: Chickie. Listen. I had a gang. They didn’t want to be ancestors. They wanted a future. They had blueprints for it. She laughs sadly Oh, it was gonna be wonderful. Time. Funny thing. It keeps on going. Before you. And after. Pause. She thinks That club. When you were 18. Where is it now?

NO1: Um. It got pulled down. Crossrail, I think.

OLD1 wanders towards the door, yawning. What’s being built outside your window, chickie? Who’s laying the bricks? Old 1 points to a spot in the room. I had my first ever orgasm right there. Chuckles. I’m off now. Back to bed. Ta-rah. Pops her head back round the door. You’re not the only one in here, you know. Turns off the light. The door slams. The space is cold, empty, dark. The loo flushes NO1: AAAH! Who’s there? YOUNG1: Are you finished yet?

NO1: Who are you? YOUNG1: Can you find the light please. NO1: I can’t see you. YOUNG1: That’s cos the lights are off.

The light flickers back on. No one is there but NO1. NO1: Are you a ghost? YOUNG1 No. NO1: Where are you? YOUNG1 (from inside the toilet cubicle) In here.

NO1: How long have you been in there? YOUNG1: This whole time. I’ve been waiting for you to leave. But you wouldn’t stop talking. NO1: Oh. God. I’m sorry. I had no idea. YOUNG1: Yeah well. NO1: You want to come out? YOUNG1: No. NO1: We could say hello. NO1 knocks on the door softly. It opens a crack.

Silence I could tell you a story? YOUNG1: I’m 18. Not 5. OLD1: Why don’t you come out? Teasing: You scared? Silence. YOUNG1 (quietly) Yes. NO1: Oh. beat. Thinking. Why? Of what? YOUNG1: People.

NO1: Not me? YOUNG1: (yes) No. NO1: Come out here then. YOUNG1: Why should I? I don’t want to. Maybe ever. (silence) - I don’t want any of that stuff you were on about. I just want to be with my friends and feel safe. NO1: You deserve a space for that. Yeah. A blueprint. Silence I’ll hold this feeling for you. For when you’re ready. Like a seed bank in the ice. Cos I want you to feel safe and round and whole and beloved in your body. Each of your cells is holy. Every / hair follicle YOUNG1: (interrupting) OK I get it. silence NO1: Can we hang out a bit after this then? YOUNG1: No. NO1: Come on. Please. YOUNG1: Urgh. Fine. Yeah. I might be open to that. Okay. NO1: I want to tell you a story.

YOUNG1:

What about? NO1: A woman who’s a fantastic mackerel-catcher. YOUNG1: Sounds shit. NO1: No, it’s better than you’d think. YOUNG1: Yeah ok then. NO1: Do you want to take it from here? Young 1 looks uncertain. No1 stretches out her hand. This is scary for Young 1. Maybe she takes it, maybe it’s too much right now. No1 leads her out into the main space. Do they hold hands? YOUNG1: (nervous, checking with NO1, psyching herself up:) Okay. Yeah. Okay. YOUNG 1 TAKES A BREATH TO SPEAK. I guess…. I guess… I guess the story starts… It starts with four walls and a floor

INTERNET BOY (1999 - Present)

Eoin McAndrew

A museum exhibit. There’s a sign saying:

‘Internet Boy (1999 - Present) Please do not tap on the glass.’ Then lights come up on an INTERNET BOY, sitting on a chair, inside a glass case. He winces at the bright lights, but then he can see us.

Ooh. Bright. Um.

He looks to the side, as if he’s not sure if he should just start talking or not. He’s on edge but wants us to like him He speaks quickly, and only gets quicker as he goes on.

Okay. Okay so this was a couple of years ago (you probably won’t remember it) But McDonalds did like a promotion. You could go on the website, build your own burger, name it, and it went up on the site so everyone can see it and vote for their favourite burger or whatever. Doesn’t matter. But the thing about the competition was that it was completely unmoderated. Whatever you typed in, that’s what came up on the official McDonalds website.

So a couple of us on the board are like, okay, let’s go mess with this huge corporation that apparently has no idea how the internet works. We started entering stuff like (embarrassed) I mean it’s stupid but stuff like… ‘The Girth Burger.’ And ‘The Sad European.’ And ‘The We Don’t Pay Our Employees Anything Burger.’ And ‘This Burger Glows Under A UV Light - Is It Blood Or Is It Semen?’ Sorry, gross, but stuff like that. And then people started spamming ones like: ‘Ronald McDonald Touched Me.’ ‘Ronald McDonald Is The Zodiac Killer.’ ‘Ronald McDonald Is A Thicc Daddy Who Knows How To Have A Good Time.’ And like ‘The Mein Kampf Burger’ and stuff like that. And they got so so so many of these that eventually the site crashed and the mods had to shut down the whole competition. Which, you know, is like,

(smirks)

A little funny.

That’s when I first started like… Properly interacting on the boards.

He’s got a bottle of Fanta in there with him.

I’m just gonna drink some of this.

Just because these lights are really bright and glass, like, uh heats

And I think my body’s lost a lot of its natural moisture.

Takes a swig of Fanta.

So like ninety nine point nine percent of the people I ever met on the boards were really nice. Honestly like the sweetest funniest guys. Yes. Some of the stuff we joked about was not that socially acceptable. I admit that. But they were jokes. No-one meant anything by them. It was - I don’t wanna say ironic but - Yeah! No! It was kinda ironic. And I know irony is like the worst excuse for anything ever but -

It was kind of like a competition. To see who can say the most awful shit. (sorry for swearing) Like no-one ever explicitly said that or put it in writing but that was definitely the vibe that I got and I worked on that understanding. And if that’s the, like, game you’re playing, and everyone involved is onboard with that, doesn’t it kind of make it a little bit more okay maybe?

And that’s not me excusing it, obviously.

But some of the things that people came up with were really creative. Like one guy, he made this - Oh my god he made this meme that was like ‘what do you get when you cross a --' (actually I’m not gonna repeat it) But if you, you know, look past the content, it was actually pretty inventive in it’s like, use of language and

metaphor-

And, yeah, could some of the jokes be described as like ‘anti-women’ or - ? I mean, maybe, if you only took them at face value. And like only looked at the literal words we were saying. And ignored all the… myriad factors that But these people came on the boards and they were like ‘oh my god this is horrible’ and I want to scream ‘Yes! That’s the point!!!’

And there were other guys. Bad guys. Posting trap and gore stuff and like racist stuff. I never did that. I never did race stuff. Cause that’s not me! Why aren’t they up here? Actual bad, you know, people. Why am I beingI was just making memes and shitposts (sorry for swearing that’s just what they’re called) And no-one believes me but I didn’t know at the time that that particular cartoon frog was like an alt-right Nazi symbol. No-one ever told me that.

But I would never hurt anyone. In my life In my actual life

I am not a bad person.

I’m almost completely vegetarian. Every time I see a dog I start to cry. I have a little sister and a Mum Who I have like so much respect for After all they’ve had to

And if you met me, in the real world You’d be like. ‘He’s normal.’ ‘He’s a nice guy.’ You probably don’t believe me now. But you would.

And I would never ever even threaten violence in the real world. I hate violence. It’s the epitome of all that’s fuckin’… the worst. And please forgive my swearing but I only did as an indication of how strongly I feel about this. I would never do that in real life.

Pause.

I kinda feel like you hate me. I mean I get that. I hate me. Who the fuck am I? Sorry but I’m no-one! I’m just like ‘a guy’ and I don’t know anyone and I don’t have any money and I’m just fuckin - sorry - skin flakes and jeans and my stupid shitty hair sorry and I mean look at me! Look at this! How can me, making a dumb meme on the internet, have any impact on like, anyone?

Shrugs.

It’s a meme. End of the day: Come on! I made memes. I made dumb internet posts on a board and I sent some dumb messages. That is all that I did. So don’t look at me like that.

Don’t look at me like you’re so fuckin’ - you know?! Sorry!

But, you tell me: how can a meme be hate speech? How is a meme, which is a joke anyway, how can that possibly be a threat? Like a genuine threat? I mean like obviously I’m not gonna do it! I don’t even know where any of these women live so I couldn’t even if I - That’s what’s so ridiculous about all this! How can a fucking meme be misogynistic? What does that even - ?? How can a meme be fucking death threat you dumb bitch it’s got a fucking Cartoon Frog In It Jesus Christ! Sorry! FUCK!

As he says ‘FUCK’ he bangs on the glass in frustration. Instantly regrets it. Deflates. Takes a moment. Calms himself down.

Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.

Mirror on the Moor By Tanika Gupta

Characters Rishi Sunak

Chancellor of the Exchequer

Priti Patel

Home Secretary

Maya Kapoor

Priti Patel’s intern. Young Asian/mixed race woman

Margaret Thatcher

Voice

Dadabhai Naoroji

First Indian MP 1891 (Liberal party)

This piece should be done in the style of an Indian/Bollywood soap – high emotion/melodrama, Bollywood style back/g music, over the top sound effects -bangs, crashes, gongs and the camera focus should go in and out of faces. === A dark and stormy night on a barren moor. The wind whistles, owls hoot, wolves howl. PRITI enters dressed as a Bollywood lady villain. Some kind of Bollywood villain music accompanies her. She looks smug and unafraid of the surroundings or scary noises. PRITI

(SHOUTS) Come on Maya! Shift your scrawny arse!

MAYA

(OS) Coming…steep hill…quite heavy…

PRITI

Quit moanin’!

MAYA enters. She is a young intern, thick spectacles and awkward. She huffs and puffs as she wheels a large object into the middle. It is covered in a dust sheet. PRITI

Careful…careful…it’s very precious.

PRITI walks around the mirror – peers underneath the cloth, strokes it lovingly. PRITI

Beautiful. Tonight, the truth will out.

MAYA

(Out of breath) Are you sure about this Ms Patel?

PRITI

Of course I’m sure! Where the hell is everyone?

MAYA checks her phone MAYA

The Chancellor’s on his way – just dropped his wife at home. The Business Minister’s not responding, and The Attorney General’s gone into labour…

PRITI hisses PRITI

(HORRIFIED) She’s joined Starmer’s lunatic fringe Tory party?

MAYA

Not the political party…the um – you know – having a baby.

RISHI SUNAK enters. Big fanfare as he enters dressed as a Maharajah, complete with earrings and bejewelled turban. He does a little twirl, an energetic Bollywood dance around his red case. It’s a grand entrance. PRITI rolls her eyes. RISHI

Greetings Sister Priti…little sister Maya.

PRITI

Brother Rishi, when the tabloids called you the ‘Maharajah of the Dales’, you did realise it was a piss take?

MAYA

I rather like the outfit.

PRITI

Who asked you?

RISHI

Thank you Little Sister – you have good taste. (bumps fists with Maya) It was for the opening of a new Michelin star Indian restaurant…you should both come next time. I was their guest of honour. ‘Dishy Rishi night’

PRITI

Please tell me those aren’t real diamonds in your turban?

RISHI

Oh, I don’t know, I just borrowed the mother in law’s earrings.

MAYA takes a closer look MAYA

They’re real.

PRITI

Brother Rishi! We’re supposed to be low profile!

RISHI

No one followed me.

PRITI

Because Our Leader would string us up.

RISHI

Boris needs to wake up and smell the humous. He’s knackered, out of touch and looking a total mess. You seen those bags under his eyes? Big blue veins…euch.

PRITI

And he’s definitely a bit whiffy these days – as for his hair…awful, awful!

MAYA

(Mutters) Um, forget his physical appearance – what about his diabolical policies? Robbing from the poor to feed the rich?

PRITI

What did you say?

MAYA keeps shtum. PRITI glowers at her. RISHI

Where are the others?

MAYA

Um - I don’t think they’re coming –the Business Minister’s not responding and Mrs Braverman’s having a baby.

RISHI

Brother Alok got cold feet?

MAYA

Um - He mentioned that he didn’t have the stomach for it. His exact words were ‘A bit too cloak and dagger for me’.

PRITI

Doesn’t have the balls he means. Bloody wuss.

RISHI

I don’t think he’s ever really hankered for the post.

RISHI spots the mirror and approaches it. RISHI

How did you get hold of this?

PRITI

Maya stole it from…

MAYA

You…you…made me!

PRITI

Shuttup Maya! Don’t talk before you’re asked! Stupid little runt. I borrowed it from Carol’s home.

RISHI

You mean you committed a criminal act?

PRITI

I didn’t she did (points at MAYA)

MAYA looks upset It used to stand in her mothers’ bedroom. It was her favourite lookin’ glass. And it has magical properties. You have to concentrate and focus on her – and she will come and tell whoever is assembled before her, who will be the next Prime Minister. Dramatic Asian soap music. The camera focuses on Rishi’s face, then Priti’s face over and over again – exaggerated and melodramatic. Bollywood-style violin strings play as MAYA whips off the cloth and reveals the mirror. Cue music - PRITI does a slightly wooden Bollywood dance in front of the mirror – or perhaps she’s really good at it? PRITI

(BARKS) Come on Maya. I only gave you this job to stop your grandmother nagging me. Join in or I’ll dock your wages.

MAYA

What wages?

MAYA reluctantly joins in the dance. RISHI stands back and laughs at PRITI. Eventually the dancing stops and PRITI stands in front of the mirror. PRITI

(Chants) Mirror, mirror on the moor Which Asian here is most pure? Who will first claim the seat At Number Ten Downing Street?

More dramatic music. The mirror lights up and projects a reflection of Margaret Thatcher (or just has a picture on it). MAYA and RISHI look shocked to see Thatcher. PRITI does one of her smug, lop sided smiles to camera and bows to the image. PRITI

Your Majesty

THATCHER

(VOICE) We so much welcome the resourceful Indian community here in Britain. You have brought the virtues of family, of hard work and of resolve to make a better life.

PRITI

Oh mighty Dame Thatcher – I am Priti Sushil Patel. Priti is a feminine Indo-Aryan name which means ‘love’ or ‘satisfaction’.

RISHI jumps in competitively RISHI

Dearest Dame Thatcher – I am Rishi Sunak – erm Rishi is a Vedic term which means ‘the enlightened one’ … And I have used my Winchester Head Boy acting skills to hide the fact that I am a Tory Brexiteer through and through, and have taken the humble navy suit, the quotidian uniform of men the world over, and imbued it with such finesse as to make it a political power piece, exuding strength, stability and style. Combined with my unwavering uniform of crisp, slim-fit white shirts (always white) and army of skinny pastel ties, my business attire exudes a refreshing sartorial savoirfaire quite at odds with the rest of Westminster.

PRITI thumps RISHI and jumps back in. the two of them speak over each other in a competition to gain THATCHER’S ear. PRITI

I do solemnly declare that I am followin’ hard in your footsteps. I have worked tirelessly to embolden the Home Office’s hostile environment policies ensuring life is as difficult as it can be for migrants. I believe in the removal of all asylum seekers.

RISHI

/My latest Budget was a masterpiece of mis-direction …so generous and so benevolent on the surface … but I promise you that just as you would have it, I gave no additional money to social care, childcare and public sector workers.

PRITI

/Mass deportations, stoppin’ children overseas from joining their families here, increased use of detention centres, greater powers for the Police and the denouncement of the dreadful Black Lives Matter protests. I enact harmful policies that disproportionately affect black and brown people. I did my best to ensure as many of the Windrush generation were deported. My immigration bill wouldn’t even have allowed my own parents to settle here and my aim in life is to expedite

RISHI

/I froze the pay of 2.6 million public-sector workers - so they’ll be even worse of. No implementation of decent sick pay … so that black and

brown people will most likely have to live paycheque to paycheque doing jobs that can’t be done from home - so they have no choice but to fuel our great economy, working on zero hour contracts and taking all the risks. THATCHER

You are displaying splendid qualities of enterprise and initiative, which benefit not just you and your families but the Indian community and indeed the nation as a whole.

PRITI

What we ask of you oh wise one, is which of us will become the first ever Asian Prime Minister?

Drums roll, close up on RISHI’S, then PRITI’S eyes, then MAYA’S look of horror PRITI

I am the true believer

RISHI

I may be young, but I have the confidence of the people. I am the ‘Maharaja of the Dales, The Coronavirus Chancellor’. Oh, and according to You Gov polling, I am currently the most popular political figure in the UK.

PRITI

(Hisses at RISHI) You don’t know what it’s like for normal people. You’re worth £430million – richer than Her Majesty the Queen.

RISHI

(Hisses at Priti) And you’re a rottweiler, an unpleasant, nasty bully.

PRITI

Smug, spoilt, smarmy - stinking rich narcissist. Dame Thatcher! I am your worthy successor!

RISHI

No, No! It’s me! I am the future! Everyone says so! I live next door to No.10, so I wouldn’t even have to go very far.

THATCHER

Your job is to serve not to seek power.

PRITI

My entire career has been to serve your legacy.

THATCHER

It is quite wrong that immigrants should be given council housing whereas white citizens are not.

RISHI

Um I can assure you, housing is not a problem for me.

THATCHER

People are really rather afraid that this country might be swamped by people with a different culture.

RISHI and PRITI exchange a worried look BEAT PRITI

I agree with you Dame Thatcher. We really don’t want any more foreigners in this country.

THATCHER

The British character has done so much for democracy, for law and done so much throughout the world that if there is any fear that it might be swamped people are going to react and be rather hostile to those coming in.

MARGARET THATCHER cackles. Her laughter echoes and reverberates around the room. It is eery and menacing. THATCHER

A black Prime Minister of the United Kingdom?

RISHI

Oh…ah… see, we’re not black, we’re brown. There is a difference.

THATCHER

Black or brown. Leader of my Conservative Party? Over my cold dead body.

THATCHER’S image fades as her maniacal cackle hangs in the air. PRITI looks distraught. PRITI

Oh please don’t go…please…can’t we at least discuss this?

THATCHER

(Voice in distance) The Lady’s not for turning.

PRITI

How could she do this to us?

MAYA

Can’t say you’re surprised though. She just racially abused you.

RISHI

Maya, film me please.

RISHI hands his phone to MAYA who films him RISHI turns on the charm RISHI

(Dictates) As a British Asian, of course I know that racism exists in this country. And I know people are angry and frustrated. But a better society doesn’t happen overnight…

PRITI

What the fuck Rishi?

RISHI

Composing an Instagram status … Look at me – who would have thought that the geeky little Indian boy would grow up to be Chancellor before the age of 40?

PREETI

You are so full of shit – so entitled.

RISHI

Just trying to put a positive spin on things. I think I’ll head off…

The Mirror starts to shine, thunder cracks, the wind whistles. PRITI

(Excited) She’s coming back! Oh, Dame Thatcher – do not forsake us! We may be Brown and come from immigrant stock, but we are just as capable, fierce in our devotion to you. Come back please and shower us with your blessings!

RISHI

Mirror, mirror on the moor Who among us is most pure? Which of us Asian Britishers Will be the first brown Prime Minister?

Suddenly, the sun comes out, birds start tweeting and a small, bespectacled Indian man wearing black robes and a Parsi hat steps out from/behind the mirror.

NAOROJI

Good afternoon.

PRITI

Who the hell…?

NAOROJI

Dadabhai Naoroji, at your service.

MAYA

(Excited) OMG! It’s – it’s – WOW!

RISHI steps forward and shakes NAOROJI’S hand RISHI

Are you lost?

NAOROJI

No, I think you called me? Wanted my advice?

PRITI

Are you legal? Did you come over by boat?

NAOROJI

I came through the mirror.

PRITI

This is the property of the Thatcher family, what are you doing in there?

NAOROJI

The mirror originally came from my family in Bombay.

RISHI

Love Bombay…

Maya tries to contain her excitement MAYA

Um - So, this is Dadabhai Naoroji. First elected Indian MP in 1891 to the constituency of Finsbury. Gladstone’s last government.

PRITI

A liberal! How utterly disgustin’. Did you do this Maya? This some kind of a sick joke? If I find out it was you, it’s photocopy duty for six weeks.

MAYA

Ms Patel. He just appeared. But I studied him at Uni - First Indian economist to teach at London university.

RISHI

An economist eh?

MAYA

And a businessman. Came to the UK in 1855 from Bombay.

NAOROJI

What an accomplishment – Indian Cabinet members of a Government. You know when I was standing for election – Lord Salisbury – leader of the Tories said, ‘I doubt if the British electorate will ever vote for a black man as their member of Parliament’. They called me terrible names – Carpet bagger, coon…

MAYA

You proved him wrong.

PRITI

You’re not black.

NAOROJI

I’m Zoarastrian.

MAYA

Like Freddie Mercury.

NAOROJI

You mean Farrokh Bulsara

PRITI

Who?

MAYA

Freddie Mercury’s real name.

PRITI

(Outraged) He was a foreigner?

NAOROJI

The point is that I was the first and it warms me to see that one hundred and thirty years on, my legacy continues in the House of Commons.

PRITI

Never even heard of you!

RISHI

To be fair Priti, this chap, even though he’s rather strangely dressed, was our forerunner.

MAYA

Um - He is a super impressive man. In the late 1840s, he opened schools for Indian girls, in Britain he supported the Suffragettes, American antiimperialists, African-Americans, and black British activists.

PRITI

I hate activists! They should all be locked up. He’s a bloody Marxist!

NAOROJI

I met him once

MAYA

(In awe) You met Karl Marx?

NAOROJI

Yes. We discussed British imperialism and he wrote, I quote, ‘In India serious complications, if not a general outbreak, is in store for the British government.’

PRITI

Please, go back to where you came from, we are not interested in your ruminations on your outmoded leftist ideals.

RISHI

With all due respect kind sir, Gotta get an early night – Cabinet bash tomorrow and I have to work out my wardrobe.

Thunder bolts and lightning as NAOROJI eyes flash and his anger begins to show as he shakes. Sparks fly. PRITI and RISHI yelp and have to do some quick leaping and jumping out of the way. PRITI

That sort of violence is uncalled for! Thuggery… As Home Secretary, I promise to double the sentences for those who assault Police Officers.

NAOROJI

(BOOMS) Shame on you! Barbarians! Have you forgotten your history? Your roots?

Close up on NAOROJI’S face and eyes, as he gets angrier. Then back to PRITI’S face who is gunning for a fight. RISHI looks from one to the other, sweat pouring from his face. MAYA is thoroughly enjoying herself. NAOROJI

The sacrifices we made so that you could have a better future, to be free, to have equality - and you turn your back on the blood spilled by your ancestors?

PRITI

You sound just like my aunty Shila.

NAOROJI

When I first came to this country in 1855, I was utterly stunned by the wealth and prosperity I saw. and I began reflecting on why my own country remained so impoverished.

MAYA

He’s right. You could learn something from him you know.

PRITI

Whose bloody side are you on Maya?

NAOROJI

I challenged one of the most sacred claims of the British Empire: the idea that imperialism brought prosperity to colonial subjects. And I came up with my ‘drain theory’ British rule was "bleeding" India to death, unleashing catastrophically deadly famines, enslaving an entire race.

PRITI

Shit - he’s one of those.

RISHI

‘Blame it all on British imperialism’.

PRITI

Without imperialism, none of us would be here.

MAYA

Yeah – But – um - it doesn’t make it right.

PRITI

One hundred and twenty years on – we’re free- so you don’t need to worry yourself old codger – just head back to wherever you came from and let us…

NAORIJI

You want to be the first British- Asian Prime Minister?

RISHI

Yes!

PRITI

Yes!

NAOROJI

I have the power to look into the future.

PRITI and RISHI get excited. More drums. NAOROJI

Is your race important to you?

RISHI

Absolutely. I took an oath in Parliament on the Bhagavad Gita, I don’t eat beef and I’m a teetotaller.

PRITI

I am a proud Patel.

NAOROJI

As you should be.

PRITI

The Indian Prime Minister conferred me with the ‘Jewels of Gujarat’ award in Ahmedabad.

NAOROJI

Ahh…but as politicians, do you represent one sector of society or all sectors?

RISHI

We’re One Nation conservatives. Of course we’re for everyone.

MAYA

What about the poor? The workers? Muslims as well as Hindus? Black communities? Disabled? Women? …You’re just super wealthy people in government looking after your own.

NAOROJI

From what I gather, you only represent your class. Your gang. Where is your morality?

PRITI

Why the hell are we listening to this?

MAYA

You are victims of imperial history. East African Asians descended from Indians, employed by the British to oversee the East African Protectorate on their behalf. Your ancestors acted as sub imperial agents.

NAOROJI

And here you are again, being used and exploited by the same types of politicians that called me a ‘coon’.

PRITI

(Yawns) Nobody is exploiting me.

MAYA

The party has used your identities as inoculation from any charges of racism.

RISHI

Ridiculous

MAYA

You both do Boris’s dirty work – virtual toilet cleaners.

PRITI

How dare you!

RISHI

Our Government and our Cabinet is the most diverse Cabinet ever. We are fully representative. Progress!

NAOROJI

But you are not using your positions to alleviate oppressions of other groups. This kind of representation is not progress. History repeats itself.

MAYA

Yeah. Indians in the Government equals indirect rule of the empire. Divide and Rule.

PRITI

Maya, has this man possessed you? Do your job for once - get rid of this carping old man and get Maggie back.

NAOROJI

That’s what Mahatma Gandhi called me G.O.M Grand Old Man.

PRITI

Don’t tell me, you taught him everythin’ he knew.

NAOROJI

Not everything. He had a few of his own ideas but yes, my drain theory, the Salt tax and Home rule for India did influence him.

PRITI

I’m not sure how I feel about Gandhi to be honest. He was a fellow Gujarati and believed in peaceful protest. But he was a troublemaker.

Another crack of thunder NAOROJI

You will never be Prime Minister Ms Patel. You are too cruel and lacking in humanity – not someone people warm to – though a useful tool for the White Supremacists.

PRITI

Damn you!

RISHI

And what about me?

NAOROJI

You? No.

RISHI

(Pouts) Why not?

MAYA

I’ll tell you why not. You’re too full of glib, self-congratulatory propaganda. You talk of honesty, but you’re a liar and people will eventually see that you have no plan for the people. ... you're absolutely part of the imperial system that continues to drain wealth from the Global South ... the racist neoliberal system propped up by the IMF ... the City Hedge Fund speculators who profit from perpetuating the poverty of billions of people... the crony and corrupt Tory party who give away billions in public money to their dodgy mates, the pedlar of pernicious myths about the supposed superiority of the private sector over the public, the bullshit worshipping of the free market when there's never been a level playing field....

NAOROJI

YOU Mr Sunak ARE the establishment... the ultra-elite... the imperialist ...

MAYA

The nought point nought one percent. And the freeports in your budget tell us what you are really about... tax free zones for big multinationals who can plunder at will and shift their profits to offshore havens and use the UK as a playground for the rich and unscrupulous.

NAOROJI

I know your type and I see your ego and ambition.

MAYA punches the air MAYA

Boom!

RISHI

No! You’re wrong! I am Rishi Sunak! A Jedi Knight

NAOROJI

You serve no-one and nothing but your ambition... But you (he points at MAYA), I believe once you get away from your bullying boss, in time, you will be a worthy Prime Minister.

MAYA

(Delighted) Really? Me?

PRITI

Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a nobody!

NAOROJI

Maya means ‘the power by which the universe becomes manifest’. Remember my words.

NAOROJI steps back through the mirror. RISHI and PRITI look stunned. MAYA takes her glasses off and shakes out her hair – like Clark Kent becoming super man – or in this case Super Woman. Drumbeats etc. MAYA

So, I resign.

PRITI

What? You can’t!

MAYA

yeah – I can actually. I never had the same politics as gran. Only took the internship to shut her up. To be honest, I think you’re crap Priti Patel.

PRITI

Get out of my sight you traitor!

RISHI

You can come and work for me.

MAYA

Jojes – yeah? You’re just as bad – smarmier version. Be seeing you.

MAYA exits PRITI

I’ll get you for this Maya! You think you’re so clever but I’ll make sure you never have a political career…you’re a nobody…a peasant…

MAYA returns and looms over PRITI who suddenly looks afraid and cowers MAYA

Oh Rishi Rich – your phone.

MAYA hands the phone back to RISHI Your wife sent a text saying your father in law’s on the war path. Something to do with you nicking the family diamonds? RISHI

Shit.

RISHI reaches up to his turban. MAYA exits. RISHI

You said this mirror had magical properties.

PRITI

Someone’s tampered with it.

RISHI

Instead, Maggie racially abused us, and some ancient politician bitch slapped us and gave us a ‘I’m so disappointed in you’ Indian Dad lecture.

PRITI

(Upset) He said I’d never be Prime Minister.

RISHI

Or me. But what do they know? It’s all fake – dippy hippy magic mirror my arse. I have the votes, the people behind me.150k Instagram followers. I will be Prime Minister.

A crack of thunder as RISHI stands triumphant and savours the moment PRITI looks menacingly at RISHI and steps closer towards him. RISHI

Why are you looking at me like that? Sister Priti?

PRITII

Over my dead body.

PRITI goes for RISHI and they do an OTT Bollywood soap style fight. Lots of loud smacking sound effects and dramatic drums. The Mirror shatters. END

Short-term memory By Caro Black Tam

Someone is trying to stick a bunch of posters (barely/without glue) on a wall. The erasure/clean up comes from someone else. We can't identify who they are. The cycle starts: They don’t see each other while doing their physical action. We can see the posters on the wall and how those end up swimming in the floor. STATE: Excuse me, Miss Miss Son? You Ehr - Excuse me, it doesn’t work that way. Excuse me. You don’t get to choose what to put up there. We do. We can erase it all, you know. We will. Whenever we want. We have to maintain this city as clean as possible. Maybe if… If you change your clothes. If you change your language. Or - the way you are saying it Or - maybe if… Who’s making that noise? Excuse me. Don´tWhat are they going to say about us? Clean that up. (Voice fades out) Excuse me. Excuse me.

FOR POSTERS (OPTIONAL): Inti, seguimos de luto. Te asesinaron por alzar la voz, por luchar por tu país. Buscamos justicia sin parar. Hemos despertado,

no nos vuelven a callar. - by Pacha Sotelo Camargo (Inti’s brother) Lo insufrible es el egoísmo y su hijito: el dolor: contra ello sí va la rebeldía. ¡Adelante mortales, a llenar los corazones de sueños! - by Luis Hernández MORE POSTERS: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/0/folders/1Bv5KkFsK5IYqJOgGiOqGOm-6t9vygYTF

CONFIT By Stef Smith Ava – Scottish Jane – English

Ava is behind the bar; Jane is pottering around. As they talk, they get ready for work. They are put on their aprons, organising stock, utensils, etc. Ava has worked her awhile, Jane is relatively new to the job. Ava:

Do you want a drink?

Jane: I’m fine. Thanks. Ava:

They don’t mind. You know? If we have one or two.

Jane: I’m okay, thanks. I’m still… Taking it all in. Ava:

I get it. Did I show you last shift how to write off waste?

Jane: Yeah. Ava:

Good. There is a real push to try and get on top of that.

Ava looks at the choices of drink. I’m swithering. I feel like something strong. Solid. A red wine. Or a… whiskey? I’m learning to like whiskey. It’s a beamer that it gives me the boak. Considering my genetic disposition to the drink. Jane: What does boak mean? Ava:

Wretch.

Jane: Oh. I’ve never been to Scotland. Ava:

Oh, you should go.

Jane: Yeah. Ava:

It’s less than five hours on the train.

Jane: Is it?

Ava:

Quicker if you fly.

Jane: Course. Silence. Ava takes a swig of her drink. Ava:

To be honest I am trying to drink less. Drink less and cry more.

Jane: All things considered; that seems sensible. It’s – wild out there. At the moment. Ava:

Keep the heid – is what my Mum would’ve say. Keep the heid. Stay calm. Hold your nerve. I hadn’t heard it in years. And then it descended into my ear drum. Coming through the telly at teatime. Nicola Sturgeon.

Jane: Oh, yeah. She seems cool. Ava:

She drinks pints. I googled it. Nicky loves a pint.

Jane: Course she does. Ava:

Maybe to try and get the wee bam vote.

Jane: Or maybe, she just loves a pint. I think she’s done well during the pandemic. Ava:

Better than the blethering bawbag called Boris.

Both: Get a haircut! Jane: You’re lucky you’ve got a woman in power. She seems strong. Solid. Ava:

I like her. But I’m nervous about anything that nudges into nationalism.

Jane: Countries are just a bad idea that got out of control. Ava:

Truth. Poor Nicky has had a rollercoaster though.

Jane: I never really understood all that stuff with Alex Salmon. Ava:

I mean… it wasn’t that complicated. Sleekit Salmon was saying she is part of his downfall regarding all those allegations of sexual assault and then it became about her evidence and the dates not quite adding up… amongst other things. But she didn’t get done for it. You know. Got cleared of it all. Plus, we all know the real reason, she got pulled into it all -

Both: The Patriarchy!

Ava:

Though Alex Salmon is setting up his new party. He is somehow making himself the centre of a whole country’s conversation about itself.

Jane: Is he? Ava:

D’you not get much Scottish news down here?

Silence. Jane: I do - try. And keep up with it. And I mean, I love Nicola’s colourful suits. It’s amazing seeing a women front a country, isn’t it. Ava:

Women standing were men once walked.

Jane: Kamala Harris. Ava:

Angela Merkel.

Jane: Jacinda Ardern. Ava:

And… Some other women who are doing really wonderful jobs.

Jane: I think there is loads of them actually. Ava:

Warrior women.

Jane: I’ll raise a glass to that. Ava:

Not that female leaders are faultless.

Jane: Fuck no. Ava:

Just look at Aung San Suu Kyi. From Nobel Peace Prize to Genocide.

Jane: Just awful. I mean what is happening there now? With that situation? They both hesitate, not able to answer. Ava quickly jumps in when it starts to get awkward. Ava:

But the point is, female leaders.

Jane: Go the clitter-ati!

Silence. Like the Illuminati but with / Ava:

The joke isn’t funny if you need to explain it.

Jane: Fair. Ava:

My mother’s mother was the matriarch of our little family. She was from the tip top of Scotland. Her first language was Gaelic. My Mum learnt some. And I learnt none. That’s the way of it I suppose.

Jane: My family is from Stoke. Ava:

Cool. Where is Stoke again?

Jane: North. Ava:

Cool. You don’t sound like you’re from there.

Jane: No. Ava:

Is it near Newcastle?

Jane: No. Long silence. Ava:

I’ve never been to Stoke.

Ava gets interrupted by the sound of wolves or maybe dogs, or it could be hyena’s but anyway it’s a pack of animals with sharp teeth. Both Ava and Jane know where the sound is coming from and they aren’t fussed by it. They let it pass unremarked upon. There is a banality to the horror of it. Ava pulls out a massive, giant, slab of meat. It’s basically half a cow. And she begins to cut it up. Ava:

It’s from Ayrshire. The meat. West coast of Scotland.

Jane: I expect nothing else. Ava:

D’you know what the national animal of Scotland is?

Jane: A deer? Ava:

Guess again.

Jane: A Salmon?

Ava:

Funny but wrong. It’s a unicorn.

Jane: What? Ava:

Exactly.

The sound of animals fills the room again. Jane: They’re early. Ava:

Or I’m late. You’ve family?

Jane: Yeah. Pretty normal really. My sister had a lisp when she was little but got over it with speech therapy. Ava:

That’s good.

Jane: Yeah. Ava:

Most trustworthy sounding voice, did you know that? A mild Scottish accent.

Ava is doing a good job of this – she isn’t simply hacking at it. Jane: Do they ever bite? Ava:

Who?

Jane: Them outside. Ava:

Sometimes. They are mad for a young Scottish lassie. Foreign enough to feel exotic, without being too scary or too different. Plus - all they can hear is the naivety in this voice. Do you want a shot?

Jane: A drink? Ava:

No. A try. It’s Scottish for - do you want a try?

Jane: Of chopping? Ava:

Aye.

Jane: No, thanks. Ava:

Tha gaol agam ort. That’s Gaelic for I love you. I know that much. Tha gaol agam ort. I learn to say that on the day she died, after a lifetime of proving penitence has no place in happiness. She was a sad woman. My Granny. But she was funny, with a humour so dry it would make the Sahara seem humid. A woman in a long line of woman just trying to keep their shit together. She was no Nicola Sturgeon, she did nothing of note, she was – a no one. Just a wee wuman. Anonymous as air. She was Scottish. That was her main defining feature.

Jane: I’m sure it wasn’t. For the sake of this story – it is.

Ava:

Ava brings out a meat tenderiser and begins to bash the meat. Because that’s all folks want isn’t it. A wee wumin. Sad and steamin. And some tartan. And tennents. And the highland clearances. And Robbie Burns. Braveheart. Beer. Gaelic. Gie something laldy. Socialism. Sectarianism. Salmon. Sturgeon. Salmon. Sturgeon. Salmon. Sturgeon. Salmon. Sturgeon. Salmon. Sturgeon. Salmon. The sound of the animals fills the room. They are so loud it covers Ava’s yelling and hammering. Exhausted, eventually she stops. And then the animals stop. Ava:

Scottish beef. Canny beat it.

Ava starts to get ready to move the meat, but Jane doesn’t move. Silence. Ava:

You alright?

Silence. Jane: It’s a lot isn’t it? All of this. All this everything. Silence.

Ava:

Aye Just keep the heid. Pal. Keep the heid.

UNCLE AGZ’ by Nathaniel Martello - White

A YOU TUBE TYPE CHANNEL. Uncle Agz’. Bare bags. A lot of stuff. A forgotten King? Orjust a homeless brer? He speaks in an American accent. Questions appear as text on the screen. The subtexts is, thisis how Uncle makes a living. Are people tuning in taking unbeknown joy at his expense...or are these pearls of wisdomactually landing? That’s for you to decide. A MANSCAPE ADVERTISEMENT APPEARS ON THE BOTTOM OF THESCREEN. UNCLE AGZ’ Hey folks...thanks for tuning in...just before I unleash all matter of spiritual food and epiphany on ya’ll - I’d just liketo give a little shout out to someof our sponsors...Manscape is justwhat you need...we all need to keepare balls in check...cant have allkinds of vines- and stubborn hairs-unsettling you-when you’re tryingto go about your day...Maybe you’retrying to get some reading done...or maybe you repackaged a return item and made your way downto the local post office...the lastthing you want- is to be standingin lineruffling-and writhing around your balls...how’s a man supposed to concentrate, if he cantkeep all matter of exponential Jungle-growth from growing out hisbelow parts...just cause you’re mandoesn't mean you can get off lightly...hygiene is important. Its really important. Uncle looks through 12 bags/boxes and finally unearths ashaver. UNCLE AGZ’ (CONT'D) Manscape are offering a deal on this below shaver here and ever since I been using it...I must say-my general stress and anxiety levels are down 40% to 500...so yeah...make sure you subscribe tothe channel and click on the link...mmm..yeah...

2.

AUDIENCE They keep hijacking my stories,what should I do? UNCLE AGZ’ Yeah yeah yeah...I had that...I hadthat too...its funny isn't it? Theymake you explain you. They expressinterest in you - they say you arewhere its going/heading and then they get you to dilute the brew...what you got to do is this...well first, come up with something that’s way off the markof where you’re going - intendingon going...say well, when it was meI Uturned from a Rom-com and landed into a psychological Neo- political thriller...so pitch afarand then pull back in- like how planes do- when waiting for permission to land...then - what I’d do...is have a back up...my back up would essentially be. Do you have a pen? You got a pen thereor something? Ok...use mine...ok now take down this number...0989667553...you got it? Great - ok. (MORE)

3. UNCLE AGZ' (CONT'D) So before your very last green- light meeting you’ll need to prep...I would suggest, doing theusual, meditationbreathing exorcises - pick out something niceto wear - maybe go the extra mile...and the night before you call this number- if you’ve got abad feeling...somebody will answerthe phone - you tell them - Jimmysent you...Jimmy gave you the number...you tell him the names ofthe financiers who’ll be attendingthe meeting - in fact - just givehim the name of the most senior one...the individual on the phone-who for the purposes of privacy we’ll call the BLACK NAPOLEON, willpay a visit the night before to -said namebroadcaster and basically threaten to skin them alive - and any pets for that matter too, if tomorrow isn't a swift green-light...I hope that’s helpful. AUDIENCE Are my politics the right politics? AGAONY AUNT Yes. Ask another question. Uncle checks some of the comments on the screen. UNCLE AGZ’ Don’t forget to leave comments. Iwanna make sure ya’ll getting theexistential assistance you need inthese violently antagonist times...lets see the commentsCOMMENTS “This guys a fake.” “How old is this brer?” “Uncle Agz- when’s thelast time you went on a date?” “This dudes a joke” “Die Agz Die”“he looks funky...he’s so funky” UNCLE AGZ’ (Looks at the comments) Mmmm...sameusual satirical comments. Not to betaken literally...in answer to my age...that’s a tricky question. (MORE)

4. UNCLE AGZ' (CONT'D) I’ve reincarnated around 6 times...and thrice in a parallel universe where black people were never enslaved...I happened to slipthrough a worm whole and wind up inthis god forsaken council block inLewisham...but in answer to your question...my age...approximately. I’d say...wait. One sec. Uncle ruffles through all manner of stuff. UNCLE AGZ’ (CONT'D) In this incantation- taking into account the amount of time I lastedin previous iterations...well letssee- I was twice ordained- once murderedthrice imprisoned for things we wont go into now...I’m currently...lets see... Uncle takes out a calculator. UNCLE AGZ’ (CONT'D) 473...473 years old. AUDIENCE I’m not sure if this is a legitimate question...but do youhave a lighter? Uncle spends approximately 2 minutes looking. Its Beckett brilliance. UNCLE AGZ’ U No. I Don't. Black.

AUDIENCE Am I sick?...No I mean spiritually? UNCLE AGZ’ We’re all sick babe. But its ok.The first step is admitting it. Iam sick. Spiritually. (MORE)

5. UNCLE AGZ' (CONT'D) I...well, ok- here’s what you do -now you’ve admitted it...the nextthing you have to do is get better...you do that basically byeating all the things that make youfeel good....do that...eat the things that make you feel good...twice over the course of each day and then throw up at abouta quarter past nine...there’s no point healing your soul if you thengo and make your body sick. Ok? Nowseen as that was a relatively shortanswer - I’m going to recommend youask question 3.5. QUESTION 3.5 Should I run again in 2024? UNCLE AGZ’ If you do I’ll personally hunt youdown. I may look a push-over but I’ve done 50 tours - to standing ovations...did I also mention I wasking? Way back when. In a former world...with serious dominion? AUDIENCE He likes to watch comedy...I liketo watch elevated-slashers-with a sociopolitical undertone...it’s beginning to create real tension.We tried doing a rota - but I findit hard, enjoying something I knowsomebody else is quietly hating. UNCLE AGZ’ Mmmm...oh yeah...been there before...break it off.

AUDIENCE When will this be over? UNCLE AGZ’ You know...before all this happened. People used to go to thetheater...and they’d have very highexpectations wouldn't they? Oftentime, you’d see people - myself included being like...why did theyprogram this? Why did they programthat? (MORE)

6. UNCLE AGZ' (CONT'D) Oh my God there’s another two and ahalf hours of my life I’ll never get back...and yet. As I see it now...as we were stood their on those steps...hubristically-sipping-vodka-slimline-sodas and regurgitating-over-hotwusabi’s...what none of us realizedwas those two hours were maybe hours we’d crave for again in the worst way possible...that those twoand a half hours...nestled in a dark room. One maybe with a sloppedfloor-tilting towards that platform - where actors sweatily wept and placated one-another - as you heardthe cacophony of coughing...everynow and again...and you positionedyour wine carefully between your feet - and negotiated the space between the armrest and your neighbor...that maybe you’d neverget that again. That maybe you wereactually living your best life...already. That maybe your community could be taken away. Justlike that...and how you lived. Whoyou werethe people you loved...could even end up as a faded memory...so. Yes. It will beover...it will be over friend...andI hope to be stood out front...maybe this time swigging aMalbec or I dunno fuck it...Dom Perignon. And I’ll be out there again...complaining, probing, tellin’- begging to be touched byPinter-esque-sounding dialogue-thatisn't a cheap imitation but entirely its own thing. With blackcharacters...but this time I’ll know...this time I’ll know friend -just how fucking privileged I am,to be stood out front - with human bodies all around - in close proximity - “Do you mind Sir? Do you mind?...Coming a little closer?”(long somber pause. (MORE)

7. UNCLE AGZ' (CONT'D) Then) Now I’m sorry if that was a diatribe...I’m sorry if that was shit advice...I’ve just found myself pretty under the iron thesedays- and as I’m preachin’ to you Iguess I’m also preachin’ myself ...and look...here’s what It is...never. Ever. Underestimate what’s around the corner...I don'tmean that in any sorta ominous way...no no...this will be over...something new will presentitself...and the something new willhave its own obstacles...but obstacles I’m telling you I will invite. Hopefully you will too. Amen.

AUDIENCE Should I go to this rave? UNCLE AGZ’ No. Black. AUDIENCE How do I escape the algorithms? UNCLE AGZ’ Cookie central, its cookie centralout here...other day accidentallywent on a website to investigate fungus conditions and ever since been getting targeted by steroid manufacturers...how is it possibleto function in the old world whenwhatever you do is an opportunityfor them to hunt your behavior...and sell it back to youin the form of an over priced fungal cream...it wasn’t even likeI needed the cream in the first place. I been shaving off my funguswith a razor blade just fine...I been shaving my bacteria off - realeasy...it doesn't even matter if I’m low on toes...what the hell isa man s’posed to do - if he keepsgetting stress-related fungal conditions- all my chicken wings beorganic! (MORE)

8. UNCLE AGZ' (CONT'D) What the hell more do you want forme? Athletes foot is not for the meek...especially when you have totread the concrete in cheap flip flops...where do you get off...where do you get off cominghere and making all these kinds of fungal projections about me and my feet...no no no...back it up...backit up...if we’re gonna do this I can’t have you making any more fungal assumptions about me and mymagisterial disposition...so call the number. Call the number at thebottom of the screen and make anydonations you want to my vegan campaign...I’ve made a decision. I’ve finally decided. If I can raise a clean hundred-thou- I willconsider going vegan...I will certainly considering it. But fornow if you please sister-brother, call the number on the bottom of your screen and make a generous contribution and stop making fungalassumptions about me. Does that answer your motherfukin question? AUDIENCE Will the revolution be televised? UNCLE AGZ’ No. You’ll have to be there inperson I’m afraid. Black. End.

Annie Siddons REBELLION The performer turns over a card. We see The Hierophantreversed, Rider-Waite-Smith pack. Wow, ok. This is a strong card. Let’s see. Let’s seeeeeeeeeeeeee. Tiny pause and then…. Ok. This is the time of the reversed Hierophant .. See him there, With his robe and staff, With his retinue, With his pomp and circumstance, with his harking back, with his tradition, with his entrenchment, with his bald-headed yes-men. Let’s flip him! Let’s do a 180! Let’s tear down walls! Let’s bite the hand that don’t feed us! Let’s lift up that old fustian robe and mock the encrusted jewels beneath! Let’s slip outside the strictures he created, Or his forefathers did - or theirs. You have to be nimble, baby! You have to quick quick and side step! You have to duck n roll There are traps everywhere. The ones that should protect you won’t protect you ! You have to organise, honey. You have to refuse to swim in despair for too long, even though those tears keep rising like Alice and you could sit in those tears until your skin goes pruny. You can’t, baby. Moisturise and rise! Find your kind, Your kin, Your skin-sisters, your coven. Don’t tell your story if it will hurt you. You don’t have to bare your breast; your face tells me everything I need to know; What roads you have walked and what it has cost to walk them; How your soles are cracked with the walking. But this card - this card tells me it’s time You can smell it, like violets. Reach out your hand and your other hand ,. There’s

three of you Now there’s Five Now there’s a whole Fibonnacci sequence of you and it’s unstoppable what you can do when you organise.

LOVE The performer reveals 7 of cups. UTOPIA Hexen Tarot. Ok. Ok. Interesting. How shall I ex plain this one to you? Ok, so. In summer, the equatorial streams where mudfish live dry up for months at a time, caked hard by the tropical sun. When the dry season comes, the fish burrow in the mud and secrete a slime which they mix with the mud to form a cocoon. Here, they estivate. That’s what summer hibernation’’s called. Each fish breathes just enough air to keep it alive but not enough to dry it out. That’s how we all got through this dry, dry season with love. We became mudfish! You became mudfish and you thirsted and you fantasised; and then you stopped. You estivated. So no wonder you’re deskilled in love right now. Even if you’ve loved hard, your livestock and your young, your family, your lover, you’re deskilled in loving in the world. You’re the mudfish coming out of estivation. Don’t be giddy now, there are bad choices waiting to be made about where to put your love. You have to sit in the muddy discomfort of not knowing whether you chose right and you also have to choose before the gambusia comes to eat you. You have to choose the tributary that brings you more life.

TRANSFORMATION The performer reveals 5 of wands modern witch tarot pack She gets up and dances. This is a rhythmical chant to a 4 4 beat. There’s only one way to respond to this card. You don’t have to join in. But you can. Everybody’s in the room! Everybody has a stick! (Shake your stick mama shake your stick) The crips have a stick and the women have a stick !(Shake your stick mama shake your stick) The yellow and the black and the brown have a stick! (Shake your stick mama shake your stick)

The bis and the gays and the trans ones have a stick !(Shake your stick mama shake your stick) The aspies and the autys and the dispracks have a stick !(Shake your stick mama shake your stick) Gotta choose your woooooooooords (clap clap clap clap) If you wanna be hearrrrrd (stamp stamp stamp stamp) Gotta sit in the noiiiiiise (click click click click) If you wanna find joyyyyys (stamp stamp stamp stamp) (whispered) Gotta listen listen listen To achieve your vision (loud) Gotta shake your stick (clap clap clap clap) For the realpolitik (click click click click) Shake your stick mama shake your stick (whispered) shake your stick mama shake your stick

MYSTERY The performer reveals The Moon, Rider Waite Smith Tarot Ok Good. We can work with this. Did you hear the one about the crayfish, the wolf and the

dog?

You probably know your wolf and your dog - they are your wild and tame selves - but how much time you spent with your crayfish, baby? Your crayfish is all the things crawling around in your subconscious that are affecting your current existence and believe you me, they need an airing. Your least evolved, crustacean parts. You know the ones I mean! You have to own your crayfish, sweet cheeks, or it has a tendency to nip you when you least expect it. Or worse, nip the ones you love. Acting out behaviours? That’s your crayfish right there, trying to get attention. I’m talking shadow work here, sitting with your worst self, your scared self, your vulnerable self, and getting comfy with it. It’s not work for pussies. You have to be courageous. In my world everyone gets free therapy but in this world? Make sure you look after yourself as you dig into your shadow if you’re d-i-ying. Even activists have shadows. Even do gooders. And the work you do in the world will be so much more powerful if you let that lil old crayfish into the light. Dig deep baby. Dig deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

PURPOSE The performer reveals the HERMIT, LONDON LORE TAROT CARDS: Kate’s Cellar. Oh nice, I love this one!

Kate was a hermit who lived in Epping forest in the 14th century. You can still visit her gaff and feel her vibes. She was a witch. I talk to her often and she guides me. There’s a clamouring right now, a sea of hungry voices and hands, there’s a surge of anger and vocalising, and it’s necessary, it’s time for it, goodness. But you cannot be effective in this world if you try and feed all the mouths and heal all the hands, if you try and listen to all the bibblebabble. You want to be effective? Go to the forest and take some time like Kate. You want to be purposeful? Talk to your witchy forebears, the ones that appear in your dreams. Go to the forest! See that dappled light, smell that bark and listen to your soul. Inside is your best guide. (Oh, and to do this, you have to disconnect from the so- cials for a while. Sorrynotsorry.)

ABUNDANCE The performer reveals the 3 of cups Modern Witch Tarot I spoke to you of the mudfish once. This card has a connection with that one.

You’ve been starving. You’ve been lacking. Maybe you haven’t been touched in a sex way for a while. Maybe your eyes haven’t feasted on global cities. Maybe you didn’t eat out to help out and it’s been a minute since you sat in a bar nursing a mojito and check ing people out. Maybe you lost someone. Maybe you suffered. Maybe you isolated.

Maybe you just put one foot forward and then the other foot forward because you are a key worker, a parent

teaching children at home, someone living alone, someone marginalised. I see you. I’m here to tell you that joyful times are coming. They’re coming! Word to the wise. Just as your first meal after a fast should’t ideally be goose (fatty) you might have to go slow with this abundance, not glut yourself and rinse yourself. But it’s there. It’s happening. There will be parties, and there will be hugs, and there will be dancing, and there will be touching, and there will be colours and there will be reckonings. It’s all unfolding. Take your time. Don’t be hasty with it. Let the good times roll.

Signs from the Divine

Rachel Shapes’ Oracle reading

LOVE Card pulled: The Druid Message: “Hold the Space” Rachel’s Reading: Have you heard of the Druids? These were the wise ones of Britain Revealing treasures written deep in Valleys and Stories hidden in stars This is an age of wild chaos Change winds blow in from your cosmos Uncertainties may loom And doubts rush to enter So the druid reminds you to Hold space to re-centre My heart Trust in the process! Remember Lives with strong roots Draw nutrient from Love And grow trees with luscious fruit As it is below So it is above

PURPOSE Card pulled: The Spring Message: “See your seeds grow” Rachel’s Reading: This spring is your herald Of great change on the horizon It is time to embrace the potential That dances home with this season While Jupiter the orb of abundance Moves through Aquarius The mighty sign of revolution Opportunities multifarious and unchartered Your guides offer solutions The question they ask is: Are your eyes open to them? There is discomfort in expansion Growth in life and soul Your purpose guides you To heal wounds in the whole

TRANSFORMATION Card Pulled: The Drum Message: “Dream and Journey” Rachel’s Reading: Welcome dreamers Story-weavers Travellers of all realms Must honour the drumbeat and power found Taking the helm Of a chariot between worlds O! The power sound of Mother Earth’s heartbeat Living in the echoes of a drum Dear one Summon the will to listen To the beat of the earth And rebirth your inner wisdoms Show they are stark And flowing There really are no secrets Only truth’s and unknowings When you listen to your dream state The signs become clear Your intuition becomes honed You find your inner eye And inner ear.

REBELLION Card Pulled: The White Witch Message: Be the Light Rachel’s Reading: The White Witch is a Light Worker Low energies increase her sight To cycles that do not serve you She illuminates trappings of spite Respect the wisdoms of elders And remember You are a divine daughter Of a Mother Goddess Without a gender The innocence in creation A love so tender O! You are goodness Celestial born terrestrial Made of dirt and stars The same light lives in all One way to rebel Is to reject darkened spells No dramas or bickerings Have claims to your voice You are a child of the light How you use it is your choice.

MYSTERIES Card Pulled: The Earth Guardian Message: “Stay Rooted and Grounded” Rachel’s Reading: The Mysteries live in Water Yet this card pulls to Earth A foetus before birth accepts That growth happens in the dark It knows it is the spark To connect deep to the grounding Of Earth Mother’s integrity There’s no rush to react New information is a process Distill illusion from facts Shed unnecessary excess If you move based on fear You may fall into the abyss And miss the growth you deserve A non-binary elemental This guardian shapeshifts They want your feet planted firm Before you receive your true gifts Dreamcatcher in hand Ready to bring goals to reality The need is to Breathe – There is the mystery to liberty.

ABUNDANCE Card Pulled: The Direction Guardian Message: “Choose your Path” Rachel’s Reading: The guardian of the crossroads Can see you’re unsure whether to take One path over another Cherub, lion, bull or eagle An angel with 4 faces Discovered by Ezekiel Sooths uncertainty with graces There is a question mark within you A unique problem you want solved But you don’t know which route is best For everyone involved What tingles in your loins? What makes your heart sing? What space calls you to join? Which voice mends your broken wings? There lies universal abundance When you choose what’s right for you Blessings will rain down in lessons Of what’s lies and what’s truth.

With enormous thanks to all supporters of the Royal Court who have stood so generously by our side during these difficult times and enabled us to create this work with these extraordinary writers. Thank you.