One night this week a Parliamentary candidate was introduced and spoke between musical numbers. It should be only a step to the day when the candidate himself with oblige with songs.
SCENE: Political meeting of future. CHAIRMAN, rising, calls for silence. CHAIRMAN: Ladies and gentlemen -- those of you that are -- I wish to introduce to you a brilliant rising star. In other words, our Mister Stodge, the Party's candidate, The perfect type of man we need in this electorate. I don't propose to waste your time with any lengthy speeches; But Mr Stodge will sing his speech, accomp'nied by Miss Peaches. Enter MISS PEACHES -- platinum blond who bows, dimples delightfully, and begins piano introduction. VOICES from back seats breaking in: Oh, sad and sorry night! Why can't the bloke recite? 'Tis nought but song the whole night long. The thing becomes a blight. CHAIRMAN (rising): Silence, gentlemen, I crave! Don't you know how to behave? MISS PEACHES (some kid) repeats piano introduction. CANDIDATE (rising): Mister Chairman, ladies And gentlemen. I beg Your patience while I trol my littlelay, For on the road to Hades, On no uncertain leg, Our poor, benighted contry goes today, The only thing to save her -- To drag her from the mud -- I do not hesitate to state is blood, new blood. AUDIENCE (harmonising): Hear, hear! Hear, Hear! Give the lad a lusty cheer! CANDIDATE: Now take the butter bonus, Or take the price of cheese, The Empire will disown us Unless we cleave to these. And what we need, it seems to me -- BACK BENCH: Oh, have a heart! You're off the key. CANDIDATE: Or take again, I pray you, Bulk handling of our wheat. Oh, gentlemen, what say you? Here's muddle most complete. The traffic problem; as for that -- BALD GENTLEMAN, in front row: Tut tut, young man! You're singing flat. CANDIDATE: No, no; not flat! Nunno! Nunno! BALD GENT: Enough of that! I say 'tis so. BACK BENCH (to brisk melody): Out on all these songs and speeches! We want Peaches! We want Peaches! CHAIRMAN: Please: These most unseemly breaches -- BACK BENCH: We want Peaches! We want Peaches! CHAIRMAN: Cease those awful howls and screeches! CANDIDATE (desperately): Tho' you scorn my tuneful note, Give, ah, give at least your vote. See, a broken bard beseeches -- AUDIENCE (omnes and fortissimo): We want Peaches! We want Peaches! MISS PEACHES, smiling adorably, tosses back her beautiful blond mane and suddenly breaks into the rousing rhythm of a rollicking rumba. CANDIDATE and CHAIRMAN sneak off stage and out of the hall by back exit. AUDIENCE rises as one man and begins to rock to rhythm. MISS PEACHES dimples inimitably and increase tempo. CURTAIN falls slowly while innocent merriment is at its height.
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2005|