How could I maintain a blog archiving my old writings (and new ones, if I ever get round to any) without including a Mortimer & Mears sketch. Think ‘Morecambe & Wise’. Think ‘complete rip-off’. And bear in mind I made Wise/Mears a woman and you have all the information you need to read them. You probably think this is the first one I wrote but that’s what ze would be expecting….it was actually the third one to be published (and may or may not have been the third I wrote — I don’t remember):
….being a story in which Mortimer insults Mears, Mears insults Mortimer, and the Editor makes a special appearance. In fact, much the same plot as the first two stories.
Mortimer: Well folks, here I am again to brighten up your lives. Mears is on holiday this issue and she’s taken the editor with her, so I’m in charge.
Editor: Sorry to disappoint you, Dick old dear, but I’m still here and so is she, so watch your tongue or I’ll hire Mears’ mother as your new partner.
Mortimer: Don’t threaten me. Remember the photo!
Editor: Sorry again, but Sarah’s given it me back.
Mortimer: The traitor! And after the Christmas present I gave her an’ all.
(From behind the editor):
Mears: It’s because of the present that I gave it to him.
Mortimer: What?! Was that your armpit talking? it’s a good trick that you know. Join the circus with a trick like that and you could have free buns for the rest of your life.
Mears: It’s not his armpit, it’s me you fool.
Mortimer: Oh, so there you are, you…you….not very nice person you. I’m not surprised you’re hiding behind the editor’s ample, robust, let’s face it, Fat physique.
Editor: I’m not fat!
Mortimer: You are too! You’re so well-padded, you lay down once in Lewis’s and someone mistook you for a three-piece suite and offered to pay on nine monthly, interest-free terms.
Mears: Ignore him, he’s ranting.
Mortimer: Shut your face, you! Ju…das!
Mears: I’m not a Judas.
Mortimer: Then why-O-why do I hear the constant jingle — as if of silver coins — every time you move, hey? Answer me that, why don’t you?
Mears: That’s my jewelry. (She waves a shiny new gold charm bracelet at him) See!
Mortimer: You’ve been buying those cheap crackers again.
Mears: I have not. The editor bought me this.
Mortimer: The editor!? But he’s so mean I’ve only ever seen him breate in.
That’s why he’s that size you know.
Mears: And we thought it was twins.
Mortimer: Ate a cheese and onion sandwich once, burped, and lost 17 stones! There were quakes as far away as Cheshire.
Anyhows, onward! What do you mean, the editor bought it you?
Mears: Just what I said, the editor bought it for me. We’re getting on very well, the editor and I. Aren’t we, Honeybuns?
Editor: It’s her pet name for me.
Mortimer: Sit! Sit! Or I’ll hide your lead. You can’t be serious, Mears, going off with this oversized settee and matching cushions. We’ve been together at least two episodes now.
Editor: Can’t you remember then?
Mortimer: Ah, well, the author writes these things well in advance, and not always in sequence. He could have written this six months before the Christmas episode, you never know.
Mears: It’s no good, Mortimer. The editor and I are made for each other. We’re going to honeymoon in the Caribbean, and when we come back we’re going to team up and do the show together. Just the two of us.
Mortimer: What does it all mean?
Editor: It means you’re fired! Without a partner. No, wait a minute, Mears where’s your mother? I’ve got a job for her.
Mortimer: Never!! I’d rather starve first. Besides, she’d never fit on the page.
Mears: She would too!
Editor: Your choice, Mort’ old pal.
Mortimer: Mears, you can’t do this to me. Not after all those pages we’ve shared together (not to mention, all those games of strip Monopoly…).
Mears: Should we put him out of his misery yet?
Mortimer: What, yet again, does it all mean?
Mortimer: You mean “April Fool”?
Mears: No, you’re one all year round.
Mortimer: You mean you and the editor aren’t running off together?
Mears: No, it was all a joke.
Mortimer: Thank heavens for that!
Mears: Ahhhh, you mean you’d miss me?
Mortimer: No, it’s just that the editor and I were planning to run off to Hawaii together. (To the editor: By the way, you do have the tickets?).
Editor: Yes, and we’d better hurry. The ‘plane leaves at one.
(They exit arm in arm, leaving a bemused Sarah.)
Mears: Hey! it was only a joke. Come back!! Hey…hey…oh, what do I do now?
Both (from afar off): Ring your mother!! Bring us sunshine….
©John Steele, 1991, 2008
Finally, the author must acknowledge the assistance of a Daryl John Farrington in various bits of this script.