(Mears is onstage and Mortimer enters gyrating
his body and singing silently to himself.)
Mears: What are you doing?
Mortimer: What do you mean?
Mears: Gyrating your body like that. You could bend something vital doing that.
Mortimer: Ah, well, you see, I’ve just been to see this marvellous new play at the Old “I’ve been round here fourteen times and I still can’t find my way out!” Theatre, called “Good Golly, They’re Going to Knock My House Down!” by Rob’s Aten.
Mears: Rob Eaton!
Mortimer: That’s what I said, he’s aten.
Mears: Good was it?
Mortimer: I just told you that, “Good Golly, They’re Going to Knock My House Down!”. I just told you that! I do wish you’d pay attention, you know.
Mears: No, I mean you enjoyed it?
Mortimer: We both did.
Mortimer: Me and Gladys.
Mears: Gladys? The Gladys? Your fan?
Mortimer: That’s the one! I took her for services rendered.
Mears: Please! This is a family mag.
Mortimer: Hey? I don’t understand that remark.
Mortimer: No, I took her for all those letters she’s written — in various handwritings — saying how good we are. Well, mainly how good I am, cause she doesn’t like to lie, you see.
Mears: I see.
Mortimer: Good seats we had an’ all. None of you balcony rubbish. No, front row, central to the band, and an entire table to ourselves.
Mears: A table?! In a theatre?
Mortimer: Ah! Theatre in the round. More intimate. They like to involve the audience, and, as it was mainly set in this Working Person’s Club — we’re not sexist..
Mears: Aren’t we?!
Mortimer: No. Only when there’s a cheap laugh to be had. Anyways, as I was saying, they like to involve the audience (cheaper than extras) and they had replaced all the front row seats with bar-room tables.
Mears: But what has all this to do with your coming on dancing?
Mortimer: Rock n Roll.
Mears: Rock n Roll?!
Mortimer: Don’t mind if I do. (He gyrates again)
Mears: I’m warning you, you’ll ruin your girdle!
Mortimer: I’m not wearing it…one…ever. (You’re going to ruin my macho image you are. Hundreds of women out there think of me as their pocket Hercules. You’re going to disillusion them and ruin their thinggy lives.)
Mears: Thinggy lives?
Mortimer: Ah, well, as you said this is a family mag.
Mears: And what’s all this about ‘hundreds’?
Mortimer: Well, dozens then.
Mears: Try ‘Gladys’.
Mortimer: There’s no answer to that!
Mears: And you got up and danced at this show, did you?
Mortimer: Both of us. Cleared the floor we did.
Mears: Good were you?
Mortimer: Ah, well, truth to tell it had more to do with Gladys than me.
Mears: She was good?
Mortimer: No, but she makes you look like Twiggy! A double-hunchfront!! Turned quickly, doing the Twist, and half the front row lost their programmes! Went flying they did. One even hit the show’s producer, none other than Brian Sugarpuff!!
Mortimer: Then why-O-why does he spend all his time in the wardrobe department, trying on all those ladies’ dresses. Tell me that, if you can.
Mears: Moving right along now, you haven’t explained yet why you came on dancing like that. It’s alright saying you were dancing last night, but why are you dancing now?
Mortimer: Well, as I was sitting there with my free plastic glass of cold tea (Mears: Cold tea? — Theatrical beer — pretend!) — and I thought to myself what this show needs is some modern music.
Mears: Modern music?! In a magazine?!!
Mortimer: That’s right: Rock n Scroll! Because every issue we end our show either by being chucked off by the editor — despite the photo of him and that…erm….
Mears: From Berryhill High?
Mortimer: That’s the one! — or by singing Morecambe & Wise’s greatest hit, “Bring Me Sunshine”, and I thought it was about time we updated our approach for a younger, more with-it audience.
Mears: You mean Gladys’s daughter, Beryl?
Mortimer: Double our audience figures in one stroke.
|Editor: You’d better hurry up then, you’re running out of space.|
Mears: He’s given himself a box now!!
Mortimer: Editors! Power mad, the lot of them.
Mears: Well, you heard him, get gyrating again.
…..and a one, two, three, four…
Bring me sunshine, babe
In your smile, yeah
(He stops singing)
Mears: Is that it?
Mortimer: Well, I’ve never had to sing it all the way through before, and I don’t know the words.
Mears: Hopeless, you are. Say goodnight to everybody.
Mortimer: Goodnight, Gladys.
Mears: And Beryl.
Mortimer: I’ll do that later!
Copyright John Steele, 1990, 1999, 2011
This was the second Mortimer & Mears script, I self-published in The Bentilean, Issue 2. This one was my own tribute to the musical, “Good Golly, Miss Molly“, by Bob Eaton, that I seen at the New Victoria Theatre the previous year.
Once again the author wishes to acknowledge the assistance of Daryl John Farrington in the writing of various bits of this script.