Scotland Before the Bomb
Page 8
Trev nixed the next song, Yoko Ono’s 30-minute ‘Fly’, in which the Japanese wailer makes dipteric noises without musical accompaniment for that duration. The couple then went on to complain in pithily incoherent terms about Trev’s “classic alternative” choices. They called My Bloody Valentine’s ‘To Here Knows When’ “trippy ear-sore ouch”; Captain Beefheart’s ‘Neon Meate Dream of a Octafish’ “burbly word-mangle”; Stereolab’s ‘Monstre Sacre’ “huffing but nothing blah”; Liz Phair’s ‘Canary’ “mood-plonk snore”; Björk’s ‘Hunter’ “ice-room twaddle”; The Birthday Party’s ‘Big Jesus Trash Can’ “screamy hell-noise”; Le Tigre’s ‘Hot Topic’ “sad bouncy listing”; Television’s ‘Marquee Moon’ “the long same thing”; OP8’s ‘Crackling Water’ “moony suicide cack”; The Beta Band’s ‘Inner Meet Me’ “the sound of no”; Cocteau Twins’ ‘Beatrix’ “a dead boy’s platter”; and Patti Smith’s ‘Radio Baghdad’ “a skin of terror”; all of which were accurate summaries, but failed to incorporate the manic, effusive appreciation Trev had expected as the proper response. He left the palace enraged at the twosome’s failure to have any sort of musical taste whatsoever. As a sneering comment on their ignorance, he put The Best of East 17 on the stereo, as if to remark “that is about your level.” The couple, enchanted by the catchy chart stylings of the foursome, had a laugh that sent a spark sizzling into their lapsed lovingness, and returned to their thrones with smiles.
In the paper the following morning, Trev’s face appeared next to that of the Walthamstow chart-throbs East 17, with the headline “Record Shop Saviour”, explaining how Trev turned up with a copy of their Greatest Hits, and saved the country from oblivion, omitting the stuff about Swans, Mothers, or Lou Reed. The nation revered him as a king. His friends, however, refused to speak to him ever again, and after his business collapsed, his body was found in a reservoir in a state of partial decomposition.
[‘The Legend of Trev’, in Perth Lore, Bob Gumbo, Alpaca Books, Tehran, 2039.]
“Just a Lifetime”
[BRAEMAR]
Transcript, Episode #904 [BBC Radio 4]
NICHOLAS PARSONS: Welcome to Just a Minute! [theme music and applause] Yes, thank you, thank you! My name is Nicholas Parsons, and as the Minute Waltz fades away, once more it’s my huge pleasure to welcome our many listeners, not only in this country, but from around the world, but also to welcome to the programme four exciting, talented, individual players of the game. But before I do that, I would like to make a special announcement. This is my fiftieth year hosting this programme, and my 94th year on the planet, so now seems a perfect time to announce that back in 1949, I worked with Robert Oppenheimer, Heinz Wolff, and Des O’Connor on a secret formula for everlasting life. I am the world’s first immortal man. [applause] Yes! But what’s more interesting is that over the last fifty years, I have spent a large portion of my fee assembling a fleet of tanks, armed land rovers and humvees, with which I intend to invade the small village of Braemar in the Scottish Highlands. I have long wanted to occupy that magnificent Aberdeenshire beauty spot, and tomorrow I will invade and become ruler over Braemar for eternity. But that’s not the best part! There, I will instigate a permanent game of Just a Minute, where the residents will play this wonderful game for the rest of their lives, or suffer a forfeit. Yes! You couldn’t care less, could you? All right, let’s crack on with show. Please welcome, on my left Paul Merton and Sue Perkins, and on my right, Graham Norton and Tony Hawks, would you please welcome all four of them! [applause]
Transcript, Episode #1 (Day 1: 0900HRS) [Braemar Loudspeaker]
NICHOLAS: Welcome to Just a Lifetime! [theme music] My name is Nicholas Parsons, and as the Minute Waltz fades away, it’s my pleasure to welcome you to this special, permanent game of Just a Minute. As you know, last night the Parsons Panzer Division invaded Braemar village, and is currently erecting a border wall around the perimeter to prevent any citizens from escaping to Balmoral Castle or Glenshee Ski Centre, so I would like to welcome our 978 players to this special edition to see if they can play the game without any hesitation, repetition, or deviation. Our hidden microphones have been carefully positioned across the village, and smuggled into the clothing of every villager, and our team of sharp-eared listeners, among them Julian Clary, Liza Tarbuck, the reanimated corpse of Clement Freud, and Paul Merton, will be listening keenly to detect any instances of hesitation, repetition, or deviation in your everyday speech, as you endeavour to play this wonderful game of Just a Lifetime. Right! Let’s start the show with Eileen from the corner shop, and who better? Your subject is ‘Turning the Corner’. You have sixty seconds, starting now.
ELLEN FROM THE CORNER SHOP: What in the holiest of holies is this about?
BUZZER
NICHOLAS: Paul Merton, you challenged.
PAUL MERTON: That’s deviation! Terrible deviation, you hear that? Holiest of holies? I’ve never heard such deviation in all me life!
NICHOLAS: [chuckles] Yes, Ellen from the Corner Shop, I’m afraid that is not on the topic of ‘Turning the Corner’. You will have to eat seven rotten apples at knifepoint as your forfeit. Could my soldiers enforce that, please? Let’s pass the subject to Pete the Farmer. Pete, you have fifty-six seconds, starting now.
PETE THE FARMER: I’m off to milk the cows, love. Aye, milk the cows. What d’you mean they said my name?
BUZZER
LIZA TARBUCK: Repetition of ‘milk.’
NICHOLAS: Yes, Pete the Farmer, I’m afraid you rather milked that one. I think for your forfeit, you should drink a pint of rotten milk at knifepoint.
PAUL MERTON: Excellent chairman, excellent chairman. Best one we’ve got.
NICHOLAS: The only one you’ve got!
PAUL MERTON: That’s what I mean.
NICHOLAS: You wicked so-and-so!
Transcript, Episode #1 (Day 1: 1123HRS)
NICHOLAS: Right, Simon from the bank. This is an interesting topic, and very apt for where we are now, ‘The Queen’. You have sixty seconds, starting now.
SIMON FROM THE BANK: What do you mean start talking about the Queen? What are they going to do if I don’t? What? No, I didn’t hear what happened to Claire at the pharmacy. They made her swallow two oestrogen pills? Rubbish.
BUZZER
THE REANIMATED CORPSE OF CLEMENT FREUD: Three whats and two dos.
NICHOLAS: Yes, that’s right, we let one go, but three is repetition. Simon, your forfeit is to eat £250 with chips. All right, Clara the lazy socialite. You have forty-four seconds to speak on ‘The Queen’, starting now.
CLARA THE LAZY SOCIALITE: I have no idea who you scoundrels think you are, coming here and threatening us with this silly panel game, but you are not going to get away with—
BUZZER
CLARA THE LAZY SOCIALITE: —this. My uncle is a very prominent lawyer, and—
NICHOLAS: Just a minute, Clara, you’ve been challenged by Julian Clary.
JULIAN CLARY: Well, she’s not talking about The Queen, she’s on about panel games and lawyers.
NICHOLAS: So what’s your challenge within the rules of Just a Lifetime?
JULIAN CLARY: Deviation.
NICHOLAS: Deviation, correct. For your forfeit, Clara, we will dismiss your home help, and force you to clean the entire estate yourself. Right, Donald the Museum Curator, please take the subject of ‘My Fatal Flaw’. You have sixty seconds, starting now.
DONALD THE MUSEUM CURATOR: Me? Oh, erm . . . what topic was it? I wasn’t ready.
BUZZER
PAUL MERTON: Hesitation.
NICHOLAS: It was hesitation, but since he hasn’t played the game before, we’ll be generous and let him continue. So you have a point for a correct challenge, and Donald, take a breath and get ready to begin. All right? You have fifty-six seconds on ‘My Fatal Flaw’, starting now.
DONALD THE MUSEUM CURATOR: Oh, I don’t know what to say, my um . . . my fatal flaw, I don’t . . .
PAUL MERTON: Hesitation.
NICHOLA
S: That was a hesitation this time. Donald, your forfeit is having to pretend you are an Armenian peasant for a week. Paula the Schoolteacher, the next subject is ‘Dressing to Kill’, sixty seconds, starting now.
PAULA THE SCHOOLTEACHER: OK. Sometimes you dress to kill when you are going to a business meeting because you want to impress, and you suit up and put on lippy, or whatever, and you want to impress. Ah!
BUZZER
NICHOLAS: Oh! It’s a difficult game. Well done, you went for eleven seconds! Not bad for a first time player. Liza, you pressed your buzzer first, what was your challenge?
LIZA TARBUCK: Repetition of ‘impress’.
NICHOLAS: Correct. Right, well done, Paula. You forfeit is to have your head flushed down the toilet by your fourth form class, and for the video to be uploaded to youtube.
Transcript, Episode #1 (Day 13: 1444HRS)
NICHOLAS: Right, Emma the Receptionist, will you please take the subject of ‘Being at the Edinburgh Fringe’. You have sixty seconds, starting now.
EMMA THE RECEPTIONIST: We have had enough of this cruel, arbitrary persecution. We have a plan, you twisted assholes, and we are putting it into effect shortly.
BUZZER
JENNY ECLAIR: Three wes.
NICHOLAS: A bit sharp, but yes, we let two go, but three, no. Emma, your forfeit is to refuse your children dinner and breakfast, and scare them into thinking you will never feed them ever again. Right, John the Barman. Could you talk on the subject of ‘Stamp Collecting’.
JOHN THE BARMAN: We’re planning to fuck you.
BUZZER
TONY HAWKS: Philately will get you nowhere.
NICHOLAS: Hahahahaha. Very good, Tony. We award you a bonus point because we loved the challenge, but we let John the Barman continue with the subject of ‘Stamp Collecting’, fifty-seven seconds, starting now.
JOHN THE BARMAN: Your pathetic, tyrannous parlour game is about to be comprehensively fucked by our plan.
BUZZER
SHEILA HANCOCK: He stopped talking. And this has nothing to do with stamp collecting.
NICHOLAS: Yes, Sheila, deviation and hesitation. I can only give you one point. John the Barman, your forfeit is to consume seven pints of Strongbow before a ten-hour shift. Cassie the Kilt Seller, could you speak on the subject of ‘Oscar Wilde’, sixty seconds, starting now.
CASSIE THE KILT SELLER: Here it comes.
BUZZER
PAUL MERTON: Hesitation.
NICHOLAS: Yes, she stopped. Cassie, your forfeit is to walk up Glenshee Road in your bra and pants. Right, Callum from the sports shop, your subject is ‘Invading My Privacy’. Sixty seconds, starting now.
CALLUM FROM THE SPORTS SHOP:
BUZZER
GREG PROOPS: He hesitated?
NICHOLAS: That’s right, he didn’t even start. Try again, Callum. Fifty-eight seconds, ‘Invading My Privacy’.
CALLUM FROM THE SPORTS SHOP:
BUZZER
PAUL MERTON: Déjà vu.
NICOLAS: Hahaha. But have you a legitimate challenge with the rules of Just a Lifetime?
PAUL MERTON: Hesitation.
NICHOLAS: Yes. Callum, your forfeit is to French kiss your wife’s mum. Alan the Clerk, please speak on the subject of ‘Swiss Cheese’, starting now.
ALAN THE CLERK:
NICHOLAS: No? All right, Jill the butcher.
JILL THE BUTCHER:
NICHOLAS: We will forfeit you all, you know, if you keep silent. Simon the MP, speak.
SIMON THE MP:
NICHOLAS: This isn’t clever. Play along. Don’t spoil our fun! Play Just a Lifetime! Simon the MP, please?
SIMON THE MP:
NICHOLAS: Bernard the Laird?
BERNARD THE LAIRD:
NICHOLAS: We will make the forfeits worse! We will poke you with cattle prods, we will kidnap your children, unless you speak! Speak, or we will hurt you!
THE VILLAGE OF BRAEMAR:
NICHOLAS: None of you are speaking! If you’re not speaking we can’t play Just a Lifetime! Please will somebody utter a single sodding word! Stop ruining this wonderful game we love to play so much!
BUZZER
PAUL MERTON: Mass hesitation.
NICHOLAS: Because we enjoyed Paul’s comment, we’ll give him a bonus point. But please, people, you have to start talking, or we won’t be able to continue this game we love so much, that is listened to not in only in this country, but around the world! Please, start talking! Start talking now, or we’ll blind you all, start talking . . . now!
THE VILLAGE OF BRAEMAR:
[Transcripts from Just a Minute and Just a Lifetime, courtesy of BBC Radio and the Braemar Wartime Archives.]
“The McCulloch Inheritance”
[BANFF]
“I HAVE CALLED YOU here, my legitimate and adopted children, because in seven weeks’ time I will be in the incinerator. I have a well-known terminal illness, the specs of which are easily googleable, and I have chosen not to fight. The odds are not on my side. As you know, I am looking for an heir to take on the leadership of this magnificent country, so I have called you here today to allow each of you in turn to make your case to me for the position of the Heavenly Ruler of the Hallowed Nation of Banff. I will call each of you into the conference room I have alloted for this purpose in under twelve minutes. In the meantime, I would like to ask one of you to place my incinerated remains inside a biodegradable urn made from cornstarch or bamboo, and scatter my ashes inside the soups and stews of my mortal enemies. Please decide among yourselves who will assume this responsibility. Thank you.”
BRIDGET
“Hello mum.”
“Please state your case, Bridget.”
“I think I would make an excellent ruler because . . . like you, I’m a practical person. Things occur when I act. For example, when I opened my cake shop, the bank were like, “we need another two thousand”, and I wrote to my uncle in Corsica, who wired me the funds. I was able to open the shop five months later. And when we needed another server because sneezy Alice kept blasting sputum onto the brownies, I called my uncle in Deptford, who emailed me the phone number of an employment agency, who sent me a replacement worker who kept control of her sinuses in a kitchen environment. And when sneezy Alice was evicted from her flat, I bought her a packet of antihistamines, and transferred £20,000 to her account. And when the cake shop went into liquidation, I wrote to my uncle in Bombay, who told me that I could work for his advertising agency in Westminster, in a small unobtrusive role, provided I kept myself out of the way, and said nothing in meetings.”
“Bridget, you are not the next Heavenly Ruler of Banff.”
“OK. Can I have a Saab for my birthday?”
“Of course, honey.”
JEREMY
“All right?”
“Please outline your reasons, Jeremy.”
“Outline? Hey, I wasn’t warned I would have to outline! You know me, I can’t even inline, never mind lining of the out variety! All right, so here’s where I’m at at the moment. Let me clear a little corner in my headspace. Right, so. Last year, I hiked to Tamri in Morocco to see the tree goats. I stood there in the 49º heat watching these amazing branch-grazing creatures, and I thought, “Hey! Isn’t that just like us?” We’re all perched precariously on our self-made branches, hiding from the brutalising forces of the police, the council, the criminals. We’re huddled together in our little spaces, day in day out, seeking respite and never moving forward. I had a “holy shit!” moment at that moment. I thought our whole society needs freeing up, loosening the fuck out, if you’ll pardon the sweary. So I want to totally transform the way the place is run, like offer more freedom for people, like free money for people when they want some, to help people move away from the predictability of their lives. I want to transform the nature of reality, to make reality more unreal, so life has the flexibility of a dream. You see? Loosen it up, limber it out, louche it down. Don’t you think that would blow everyone’s brains clean out of their skulls and
make for an amazing world of life in Banff?”
“Jeremy, you are not the next Heavenly Ruler of Banff.”
“Shit.”
“Language.”
KATRICE
“What?”
“Please limn your logic, Katrice.”
“I’m not interested in being leader. Boring waste of time.”
“If you had to come up with something?”
“I’m not up for it. But if I had to come up with something I would bulldoze the fuck out of Inverkeithny.”
“Is that all?”
“No. I would have all the inhabitants of Rothnie rounded up and massacred with a twelve-bore. I would make Daniel Sparrow eat shrapnel sandwiches, shrapnel corn-on-the-cob, shrapnel pumpernickel, and shrapnel al dente. I would erect an enormous middle finger statue outside Forglen House, and a mooning statue at the rear. I would bind the feet and legs of everyone in Boharm. I would run the roads through with sewage, and the pavements with porridge. I would assemble the lairds and make them writhe around naked in a pig trough. I would have all of Cowies implicated in war crimes. I would have Scuth Castle spraypainted pink and cerise. I would reintroduce the cougar to Cullen. I would have Daniel Sparrow tilt-a-whirled until his brain splattered out his ears.”
“Daniel still not answering your calls?”
“I’m not even bothered.”
“Katrice, you are not the next Heavenly Ruler of Banff.”
“I wouldn’t have done it anyway.”
“You’ve come the closest so far.”