card game / house party

image by julia jamieson

I don’t know what this is. Part of me is convinced I’m on the path to a new and better way of writing scripts, most of me thinks I’m an idiot. There’s no part of me that thinks this script is anything other than a weird exercise in incomprehensibility, but I have to confess I like it all the same. There are no characters marked, and the story shifts from scene to scene with no breaks. Sometimes scenes overlap, sometimes the characters in one scene start enacting other characters and a scene develops out of that. There are some bits that flow between scenes which sort of half work, and big sections which are just rubbish (sad threesomes jumps to mind).

The stories, so far as I can follow them, include:

  • a group of teenagers at a house party waiting for liquor to be delivered, designing a set of playing cards based on the people in their school year. Every card has a set of statistics and a special skill that represents its real-life counterpart. Each player gets dealt two cards, and combines their two characters to reveal what the outcome of the party will be for them. (the story moves in and around this house party a lot – if there is a linking thread, this is it.)
  • a group of drowned bodies floating in the waves are about to be washed up on the beach – they discuss their prospects and debate the idea that God will be waiting for them.
  • there is a holy pimp, whose religious idealism sits uneasily with his depraved lifestyle.
  • a threesome in a car is interrupted by a camera-crew. One of the participants in the threesome is God, and he escapes being filmed in an incriminating position by travelling back in time with one of his two sex-partners.
  • one of the young party-goers is in the shower after someone vomited on her skirt when God appears. God helps her get dressed and they go out to the party together.


Download card game / house party.doc

all the pieces that weren’t up to standards at a bunch of fives


photo from

Jorian Gardner’s monthly monologue evening at the Street Theatre, A Bunch of Fives, came to an end in December 2006. I was lucky enough to be invited to perform at the final show, so I gathered together all the monologues I’d considered performing over the years but rejected, and mashed them up into one gibbering trail of glue entitled: all the pieces that weren’t up to standards at a bunch of fives.

A pretty cheery review from

David Finnigan is a revelation. His piece, half-jokingly entitled ‘All the pieces that weren’t up to standard at a Bunch of Fives’, was delivered in a rapid-fire, spittle-enhanced machine gun rattle, a flow of words so quickly delivered that one was laughing at stuff half a (not present) page behind this probable savant.

Beginning with the lyrics of REM’s ‘The End of the World as we Know it’, Finnigan traversed a wide swathe of modernist verse and gonzoid ramblings, rushing from Hunter S Thompson (RIP) through Dylan, Brett Easton Ellis (and possibly others I missed) and back to Stipe with nary a pause, for breath or for anyone as uptake-challenged as I to catch up.

photo from


World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed, tell me with the rapture and the reverent and the right – right – you vitriolic patriotic slam fight bright light feeling pretty psyched – it’s the end of the world as we know it…

Michael Palin
…spending four days on the tarmac at Luton Airport on a five day package tour with nothing to eat but dried sandwiches and you can’t even get a drink of Watney’s Red Barrel because you’re still in England and the bloody bar closes every time you’re thirsty and the kids are crying and vomiting and breaking the plastic ash trays and they keep saying it’ll only be another hour, although your plane is still in Iceland and has to take a load of Swedes to Yugoslavia before it finally loads you up at 3 in the morning and you sit on the tarmac until 6 because of ‘unforeseen difficulties’ ie. the permanent strike of air traffic control in Paris…

Neal Cassady
…without any preliminary objective remarks: ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Where are you going?’ I immediately launched into a completely passionate, completely personal, completely subjective and so to speak, penetrating her core way of speech: to be shorter, by 2am I had her swearing eternal love, complete subjectivity to me and immediate satisfaction – I, anticipating even more satisfaction, wouldn’t allow her to blow me on the bus, instead we played, as they say, with each other…

Hunter S. Thompson
This is the main advantage of ether: it makes you behave like the village drunkard in some early Irish novel… total loss of all basic motor skills: blurred vision, no balance, numb tongue – severance of all connection between the body and the brain. Which is interesting, because the brain continues to function more or less normally… you can actually watch yourself behaving in this terrible way, but you can’t control it.

Bob Dylan
Johnny’s in the basement
mixing up the medicine
I’m on the pavement
thinking bout the government
man in the trench coat
badge out, laid off
says he’s got a bad cough
wants to get it paid off
look out kid
it’s something you did
god knows when
but you’re doing it again

Bret Easton Ellis
…and I don’t know where I am but I’m in the middle of a major-league anxiety attack, and I’m reaching in my pockets for a spare Xanax or a Halcyon or a Valium, and I’m standing outside a jeans store and the music coming from inside is a Madonna single, and the lyrics: ‘Life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone’ sober me up just long enough that I walk towards a nearby Corman’s to buy a teapot…


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