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Listeners' Fantasies |
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It's Quarter to Three
by Piers Plowman
 A sad monologue from the Fantasy Archers topic of .
(Frank Sinatra is singing on the jukebox: "It's quarter to three, there's no one in the place except you and me...")
... Men! Don't talk to me about men! Take it from me, they're all the same. Present company excepted, of course, Sid. Give me a horse any day. You always know where you are with a horse. He'll never let you down. But you're my friend, right? You and Jolene. You're my only friends. (Pause) Top this up for me, would you Sid? I don't know what I would have done without you. But just between you and me, next time I wouldn't mind a little more enthusiasm. After all, it's my pub. Yes, yes, I know you're partners -junior partners. Fifty-one per cent I own. Remember that one per cent, it's important. A pub, ha! I could buy ten pubs from my pin money and not notice it was gone. I could put you out of business easy as lifting my little finger, see? Oh, yeah? Well, remember that next time you have a run of slow Tuesdays and muggins here has to tide you over. I thought I asked you to top up my drink. Well, do it again. But I don't want to argue. We're friends right. Best friends. One for all and all for one, right? And I need all the friends I can get. Family? What do you mean, family? Like Tony and Pat, the couple that put the "bore" in "Borsetshire"? Thanks, but no thanks. Here, give me that glass, I can polish it for you. I was born and raised in this pub, I think I can polish a glass. Just give it to me, Sid! My Dad was a lush, you know. Jack blooming Archer. Hey, you know, maybe that's where I get it. Here's to you, Dad! Bottoms up! (Empties glass) Another gin and tonic, Sid, and easy on the tonic, if you know what I mean. Just do what I say, I know when I've had enough and I haven't had enough. (Sound of breaking glass) Oops, sorry Sid. Sweep it up later, I'm talking to you. Never mind, there's always some breakage in a pub. Adam's a nice boy, though. If he had to marry a man, at least he had the sense to marry one who could cook. (With contempt) Annabelle Shrivener! What has she got that I don't got? Don't answer that, Sid. But I keep myself fit, I'm still attractive, aren't I. You find me attractive, don't you, Sid? You're not so bad yourself, you know. Oh, married man, shmarried man! I'm no babe in the woods. You're all the same. Men! Don't talk to me about men ...
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Archers fantasies
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