Radio trauma

Saturday nights are always late to conclude, although to my great joy, last night nobody seemed to feel especially inclined towards late-night drug taking and getting into fights.

By five past three the nightclub was empty and the doors were closed. Not a soul was left wandering the streets of Bowness, and we rushed off home before one turned up.

People seem to be spending just as much as they always did, even though they are newly impoverished by their electricity bills and National Insurance contributions. They are just upset about it.

My last customers were in a terrible state of being cross with the world. This was because they were so intoxicated that the doormen on the nightclub, who are possibly the most tolerant people in the world, had refused them admittance.

They did not believe that the fare at three in the morning ought to be more expensive than the fare at three in the afternoon, when they had started drinking, and demanded to know the name of my employers. The exact conversation went: That’ll be eleven pounds, please. Who do you work for?

I explained, wearily, that I did not have the benefit of an employer, but they refused to believe that this might be possible. Indeed, they became very righteously indignant, insisting that I told them who it was, and asserting, triumphantly, that I was supposed to have the name of said employer written on the side of the taxi.

They were too drunk to make it worth the effort of trying to explain the principles of self-employment, so I just requested that they hand over the cash and told them to get out.

They paid up eventually, although with an air of deep suspicion, and a conviction that I must be, in some way, committing a crime. Their parting shot was a promise to report me to the police for being a taxi without an employer. 

I was sanguine about this.

I used to carry some of Paddy’s taxi cards for this eventuality, and hand them over whenever somebody wanted to complain, which saved a lot of explanations, but Paddy stopped giving them to me when he realised I was doing it.

We collapsed into bed as quickly as we could, because of course today was the day of my all-day lecture, which necessitates being up and dressed and fortified with coffee by eleven o’ clock in the morning.

This is over now, and I am weary but educated.

I should not be as weary as I am, because as soon as the lecture was over we both went straight back to bed again, where we passed out for a further two hours, until we had to drag ourselves back to consciousness in time for work.

I am on the taxi rank as I write these very words. Mark helpfully made our picnics and pegged out the washing whilst I occupied myself with learning how to write radio drama. I brought the washing back in whilst he was emptying the dogs later, which was mildly unsettling, because he had hung it in unexpected places.

I explained the right way to do it to him when he came home, but he just nodded and laughed, and I do not think he was really paying attention.

We had to write a radio drama in five minutes during the class. I used to listen to lots and lots of radio drama, until I switched off the BBC a couple of years ago. I do not listen to anything at all on the BBC any more, because even the Afternoon Play has turned into politically correct nonsense.

Regular readers will probably recall that I used to like The Archers very much, but alas, these days it is all written by modern-thinking young people. Today it has become full of dynamic plots about relevant social issues instead of the really gripping sort of features that I used to like. It used to be about about ploughing and ragwort and the correct approach to dealing with leaf curl. These days it is all about people wondering if they are boys or girls, committing crimes and coming to terms with traumas, and I was truly saddened to recognise that it is just not interesting any more.

The radio drama we wrote today had to start with a sound effect, followed by a line of dialogue and another sound effect. After that there had to be two more lines of dialogue and end with a third sound effect, so I pretended that I was writing The Archers.

The complete text is below:

Explosion

Farmer George:  Goodness me, the pub’s exploded again.

Much concerned mooing.

Farmer Albert:  There, it’s upset them there cows. Why, we won’t be getting much milk tonight then. They be traumatised now. Have to ring the Ministry and ask for another subsidy. Did you know you could do that?

Farmer George:  Why, no I didn’t, that’s handy, is there much paperwork? I’ll do that tonight then, thank you very much. Well, time to feed the chickens. Goodbye then.

Sound of a tractor starting up.

I might even send them a job application.