A soliloquy which failed to make the final cut by Bill Kirton
Sometimes I cheat with these blogs. This month, for example, I'm quite busy so, by way of relief, rather than do any thinking, I've just had some fun turning a sketch I wrote ages ago for our Festival Fringe show into blank verse. In case it's not obvious, it's supposed to be funny. It might help if you imagine hearing it in the posh Edinburgh accent used by my wife when she performed the original.
Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons |
(Enter Lady Macbeth
with dog.)
To Birnham Wood I come with my wee dog
That he may run in Nature’s bosky glades.
(To the dog)
Away now, cur. Disport thee at thy will
Whiles I reflect on what this week may bring.
(Exit dog.)
I am not sorry to quit Dunsinane,
There is such brash kerfuffle at the news
Of good King Duncan’s plans to stay a while.
I doubt it will be more than just one night
But cryptic notes from my dear Lord – he’s Thane,
You know, of Glamis – insist the king has made
Him Thane of Cawdor, too. What smashing news.
There’s nothing like an extra Thanedom when
You’re keen on keeping up with the MacDuffs.
However, all is not as it would seem.
My Lord insists he met three ancient crones
Whose mien and whose bizarre accoutrements
Suggest to me they come from Morningside.
And these three persons prophesied a bit
Then vanishèd into the darkening air.
A likely story, you may think, but then,
You do not know his Thaneship’s little ways.
He is obsessed with psychic premonitions.
At breakfast, every day, he eyes his porridge,
Then turns his gaze to me and he’s aghast
To feel once more the fear of déjà vu.
But anyway, it seems these wifies said
That my dear husband would be Scotland’s King.
And he’s asked me should he accept or not.
That’s typical! The man has no ambition,
Nor any drive. Without me, he’d be lost.
Just last week, on the day before the battle,
At dead of night came he into my room -
I was awake, just having a wee wash.
He asked, ‘Fiona, dear, when’s Banquo due?
And how about Macduff? And when’s the battle?’
I said ‘Tomorrow and
tomorrow and
Tomorrow.’ And of course, that Banquo came
With all his silly games and jokes. He spoiled
A lovely dinner party. I suppose
He thinks it’s funny but it’s really not.
It costs a fortune to use so much ketchup.
Ah well, no matter. Time for me to go.
I must be getting back before it’s dark
Our stupid porter takes so long to ope the gate.
Now, where’s that doggie got to. Spot! Here Spot!
(Exit in search of dog.)
Comments
And so, sweet ladies, good night.
I do actually have a (not very good quality) recording of the sketch. It would be an excellent cop-out to post it instead of my next blog but I don't think that's allowed. I'll investigate.
Morningside is thought even by other Edinburghians to be putting on airs and not as grand as it thinks it is. 'All fur coat and no knickers,' as Fran puts it. Another insult is 'verra pan-loaf.' (A pan-loaf is a loaf so grand that is is actually baked in a pan.)
I think I have this right. If not, I'm sure someone will correct me.
Reb, I just took all the relatively familiar bits of Macbeth, gave them a twist and put them into the mouth of a posh-sounding Edinbburgher. Banquo's ghost comes to their feast covered in blood; one of Macbeth's many great speeches begins 'Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow/Creeps in this petty pace from day to day; etc., etc. I often struggle with punchlines, so I was particularly grateful to Shakespeare who, in the play, has Lady Macbeth sleepwalking, trying to scrub the blood from her hands and saying 'Out, out, damned spot'.