Short Play: Hard Hitting Harrowing Subject matter, that is topically relevant.

I don’t usually do requests, Shedders, unless it’s to get a round in at the Goitre and Shovel, my local, but today is an exception. A sparkling moment in a sea of shitty bollocks.

“what’s the difference that’s made the difference?” you cry, as you have all been collectively trained in the manner of solution focused brief therapy popularised by Steve DeShazer and Insoo Kim berg. You clever swine!

Well, I happened upon this video ‘Rap against Rape’ that was tweeted by Saliwho.

If you’re so lazy you can’t be arsed to click on that link, PLEASE RECONSIDER. This is a video that is unparalleled, not only in its awareness raising that “rape is wrong” and that every one of all ages can be raped “even a simple child”.

Heavy Stuff. This is punctuated with some great mime by the dancers at the beginning. Miming the terror that might be on a woman’s face if she were about to be raped. Moving.

Apparently rape has been happening for ‘some time’ according to RAR, which was filmed in the early nineties, which makes it sound like it has been around since approximately 1985.

The ‘rappers’ are cunningly disguised as electricians wearing ‘dad jeans’ and moustaches meanwhile their angry sister, modelling herself on Yazz, stomps angrily in the background, occasionally shaking a fist, miming “what did I do wrong?”.

What didn’t you do wrong? That dance is just the tip of the iceberg. I remember my mate Liz doing a dance like that at the local underage disco. She didn’t get off with anyone that night.

Ah, I see! Effective.

Anyway, my pal, Sherby57, asked me if I’d write one of my famous short plays about ‘da issuez’. I’m not sure which issue he’d like me to raise awareness of, so I’ve chosen to use all of them. Possibly interchangeably. Not rape though. I think ‘Rap Against Rape’ have made the position on rape perfectly clear.


Ok here’s the short play:


person 1: Don’t do that, it’s wrong.

person 2: Is it?

Person 1: Yes. It hurts people/the environment/animals in some direct or indirect form.

Person 2: Really? I did not know that.

Person 1: Yes, it does. Can you stop it?

Person 2: Sure thing. Thank you for opening my eyes.

Person 1: You’re not even going to put up a fight?

Person 2: Your argument was very erudite and cogent, so no. And I fancy you slightly.

Person 1: Can you not put up a bit more of a struggle?

Person 2: No, sorry. I don’t like doing wrong things.


Francois Part 2

Oh my good god, part 2 of my life saving Twitter story ‘Francois’ now has it’s sister part. Read part 1 here,

Of course, you’ve read it. I know this cheri. You probably read it every day, just to validate your existance. You might read it to your boss to secure a promotion at the polystyrene cup factory. You might sing it, like a song, to someone you hope to entreat to be your aggressive lover.


When I feel that raw, dull ache, I know Francois is hard at work to break down the wall I have built. It’s a dry stone wall. He hates walls.  He held a fondness to deconstruct them with naught but a crudite in his elegant hands. I think of his aristocratic sneer & congugate verbs.

Everytime I pass a disabled toilet with radar access, a brick is removed. It’s very obtrusive. Especially as you can see inside the bog.But is it he who is deconstructing the wall or do I deconstruct it with my own gnarled beaks? It’s him. I told you that at the start.

I loved the way his thyorid problem made his eyes bulge alluringly, like frogspawn in a pond. The more they bulged, the closer he was to me. I shudder, like a biro and think about speaking english in a foreign accent.

The manure farmer strayed from his watch, and all my hard work fell around my ears, like quadratic equations.

The farmer had claimed me in our most vulnerable point of our relationship. When we’d split up. It’s difficult to sustain your relationship when you’ve split up. The not seeing or speaking to each other really takes it’s toll. That’s how the farmer weedled his way in, like a weedle…

Let me tell you how it began…

Angel’s short plays: Crime Drama!

Watch out, there’s an intriguing twist in the tale!

Kowlaski: Listen up, chump. I got a knark that puts you in the place where the ice cream murders were committed. The guys at the Forensics found ice cream DNA on your craghoppers gilet.

Suspect: I wasn’t there. I was staring at some pitta pockets.

Kowalski: Maybe it wasn’t you then.

Suspect: It wasn’t me.

Kowalski: the forensics are pretty compelling, punk. I still think it’s you and you were sighted masturbating by an ice cream van, so you have a motive.

Suspect: Yeah, it was me. Sorry that I lied.