THE FUTILITY OF LIFE

(Not Only But Also, BBC2, 1970)

DUD: Tea's up, Pete.

PETE: No, thank you.

DUD: What, no tea?

PETE: Would you like me to submit a memo? No.

DUD: Oh. Have you got the collywobbles or something? You feeling a bit peaky?

PETE: No.

DUD: I thought perhaps those whelks might be clashing with the eclairs.

PETE: They are not, and if they were I would keep it to myself.

DUD: I'm not sure that you'd have the option. What's the matter?

PETE: No words can convey the merest inkling of my innermost thoughts.

DUD: On the contrary. What you've just said has conveyed to me in detail the nature of your malaise. You're feeling a bit droopy.

PETE: A bit droopy? You ' re the sort of person who'd have gone up to Joan of arc as the flames licked round her vitals and said,

'Feeling one degree under? Like a nice cup of tea?'

DUD: You know what my mother would say?

PETE: No.

DUD: 'Somebody has got out of bed the wrong side this morning.'

PETE: If your mother said that to me today, I'd smash her in the teeth with the coal scuttle.

DUD: Oh, I see. You're feeling a bit temperamental. As Dr Groarke would say 'half temper, half mental.'

PETE: These glib platitudes are, if anything, exacerbating an already unbearable mood of depression.

DUD: If you're depressed, there's no point sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. That won't get the washing up done.

PETE: Dud, your uncanny grasp of domestic trivia is of negligible therapeutic value, and if you tell me to pull myself together or snap out

of it, I might well do something rash.

DUD: I wouldn't say anything like that. Get a grip on yourself, look on the bright side.

Dud and Pete (together): Count your blessings.

DUD: Ooh, Mr Acid Drop himself. Come on, you'll feel better if you get it off your chest. You can confide in me. I mean, what am I here for?

PETE: In your fumbling way you have actually articulated the fundamental question. What are you here for? What am I here for? What is the purpose of life?

DUD: The purpose of life? Well, we are here on this earth for a brief sojourn, life is a precious gift, the more we put into it, the more we get out of

it, and if on the way I can have spread a little sunshine, then my living shall not be in vain.

PETE: Thank you, Patience Strong. Have you ever thought about death? Do you realise that we each must die?

DUD: Of course we must die, but not yet. It's only half past four of a Wednesday afternoon.

PETE: No one knows when God in his Almighty Wisdom will choose to vouchsafe His precious gift of Death.

DUD: Granted. But chances are He won't be making a pounce at ) this time of day.

PETE: As far as I'm concerned, He can get a bloody move on.

DUD: That's morbid. Think of all the good things in life.

PETE: Like what?

DUD: Just look out the window.

(Dud opens the curtains, then quickly closes them again.)

DUD: Perhaps not.

PETE: I think it was rightly said, 'See Dagenham Dye Works and die.'

DUD: Yes, but think of all the happy times you've had. That's what I do when I'm feeling below par. This room is filled with joyous memories. Look at this - a certificate proving we've been up the Post Office Tower.

PETE: And why did we go up it?

DUD: Because it was there, Pete, a challenge.

PETE: A brief escape from a life consisting of cups of tea, interminable games of Ludo and rhg occasional visits to your Aunt Dolly.

DUD: Well, what does this remind you of? (Dud shows Pete a souvenir programme.)

PETE: It reminds me of our dismal visit to the Planetarium.

DUD: That was nice, wasn't it? Seeing the sky at night during broad daylight.

PETE: And emerging into a cold wind and drizzle, buying a newspaper only to read the headline 'London Airport Disaster - thirty old ladies sucked to death in Jumbo Jet engine.'

DUD: But think of the millions of old ladies who weren't sucked to death in a jet engine, who are now happily playing snap up and down the country.

PETE: The mental image of millions of old ladies shouting 'Snap' at each other merely confirms my ideas about the futility of life.

DUD: What about that time we went to the National Gallery then?

PETE: And you spent four hours with your nose up against one of Rubens's more voluptuous nudes.

DUD: I was bewitched by the Dutch master's handling oflight and shade.

PETE: With particular reference to busty substances.

DUD: My apparent concentration on this area was due to the fact that I had heard that Rubens had used these busty appurtenances to obliterate an earlier more controversial study of Clapham Common.

PETE: Did you perceive any blades of grass peeping through the opulent pink orbs?

DUD: No, but I could see the dim outline of Battersea Power Station looming up through her nether regions. I think I've got the postcard somewhere.

PETE: Yes, it's up in the bedroom amongst your art collection of Spick and Span and Beautiful Britons.

DUD: Actually, I think you borrowed it to use as a bookmark for your copy of La Vie Parisienne, or was it Lilliput, edition number 159? One or other of your nudie books.

PETE: I purchased that copy of La Vie Parisienne for the very interesting article on marine life by Captain Cousteau.

DUD: Strange then that it should always fall open at a page not so much connected with the sea bed as with a scantily clad adagio dancer from the Moulin Rouge.

PETE: That must have been caused by the previous owner. I'm not interested in that sort of thing.

DUD: No wonder you're depressed. It's not healthy not to be interested in ladies of the opposite sex.

PETE: Nothing is seething beneath my mackintosh save for a general feeling of despair and futility and boredom with you.

DUD: I know. I know what will perk you up. Sausages and Mash.

PETE: I'm not hungry.

DUD: No, the game, Sausages and Mash. You read a book out loud and put the word 'sausage' for every word beginning with's' and 'mash' for every word beginning with 'm'. It's very funny. Look what happens. 'I mash go down to the sausages again, to the lonely sausage and the sausage. And all I ask is a tall sausage and a sausage to sausage her,’ by John Mash.

PETE: Bloody stupid.

DUD: Bloody sausage, you mean. I mean, you mash. I mash, you mash.

PETE: What's this then? ' Sausage sausages sausage sausages on the sausage sausage. The sausages sausage sausages are sausage sausages for sausage.

DUD: Keats?

PETE: No, 'She sells sea shells on the sea shore.' We could also waste our time playing 'Fish and Chips'.

DUD: I don't know that one.

PETE: I'll give you an example. Why don't you fish off, chips chips.

DUD: I don't get that one. Fish off

PETE: I'll give you a clue. The 'chips' in 'chip chips' stands for 'chops'.

DUD: Oh I see, so it's 'Why don't you fish off chip chops.' Oh, I sausage what you mash.

PETE: What?

DUD: I see what you mean.