“Where are you going?”
“There and back. See how far it is.”
“How will you know when you get there?”
“I’ll be on my way back”.
“How will you know you’re on your way back, if you don’t even know you got there?”
“I’ll recognise things I saw on the way”.

***

                        You’ve got that look. The same one she had. It’s in your eyes. The eyes don’t lie. They never do. Tell a lie…be betrayed by an eye. Right now, I’m your best friend. You’re nice to your friends, aren’t you?

Simone            That’s fine. Just as you are. Stand against the notice board. That’s it.

We’d tell our mums we were off, in the mornings. Me and my mates. We’d pack a bag, full of sandwiches. Peanut butter was my favourite. Peanut butter sarnies and a bottle of pop. No peanut allergies back then! Full of E numbers and we’d trot off into the country.

 

 

                        (Dave puts his coat on.

Dave                Huh? You’d think they’re trying to make us feel comfortable, or something. I suppose that means we are in for a long wait. Some light entertainment wouldn’t hurt.

 

If you have the patience, here is Act I of a new two-act piece I have co-written with a friend, Vivian Gündlach.

  Dan trembled as he held the calendar in his hand. The day he had been dreading had arrived. Six months ago, when he had pencilled in the message, now seemed like another age. It was there, in his unmistakeable script, and there was nothing he could do to avoid the task in hand - D- Day had arrived. He didn’t relish speaking to his wife, Jean, at all. For six long months it had remained unspoken. She knew it was there, but she had retreated into silence, refusing to acknowledge the event they had both agreed to.