A Play, In One Act

The scene: The UGM, the typical rabble present.

Enter a shambling man, bald save for a frosted trim of downy white, his pixie ears lacking their usual impish vim; he feels every one of his long years in his bones, and in his soul; the gathered throng's morbid dirge that greets him grinds in his ears, mocking his lost youth, taunting the flight of his sprightly vigour. HOWARD DAVIES (for it is he) speaks:

I am here to bore you. I made a bit of a tit of myself last time, but no more. No. I shall speak. Slowly... haltingly... in a drone so fiercely dull... that... oh christ... I might just end it all here... School... too big... too many... kids everywhere, damn them... being all young... so no more of them... League tables are rubbish, wrong sort of weighting... except for the ones that aren't... which conveniently are the one's we're good at... and the one's we do ourselves... which is nice... being mean to each other is mean... dialogue free speech Janet Hartley cor blimey I definitely... wouldn't want anyone to feel... unhappy... Thank you

AU wag: Marry me Howard!

HD: See how they mock me! I was young and virile like them once! How the blood coarsed through my veins when in pursuit of some young filly! Oh, the tales I could tell from my McKinsey days!

The new US cohort downsatirs: Staplers! Hole Punches! Yah boo sucks to Hamas!

HD: To think, it's come to this. In my glory days... ah... back at the FSA. You know I addressed a dinner at the London Metal Exchange once? Made a cracking joke about 'backwardation towards the bar'... these loss-making (oops, there I go again) parasites wouldn't know backwardation from their backsides.

AU whinger: Blah blah whinge everyone's mean to me...

HD: Christ. This is a low. Thank God for that swift brandy (or three!) I had beforehand... Sorry. I shall let Andy Farrell deal with it all...

Exit (Terminal).

Later, the wake is ruined by the Hacks and The Beaver going toe to toe over who is allowed to use James Sausage for their own ends the most...