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After the Party

(a short radio play in three scenes)

CHARACTERS

Yvette Late twenties, smart clothes, carrying a handbag

Murdo Late twenties, smart-casual clothes

Jack Middle aged, jeans and polo shirt

Bob Late teens, jeans and polo shirt

SCENE ONE

Location - In a black taxi – FX taxi noise

Time – 4pm, Saturday afternoon, March 2023 (the new age of austerity)

1 Yvette

And the way that guy kept on about his yacht… What was his name?

2 Murdo

Oh yes, that guy - Guy

3 Yvette

Oh yes, Guy – humblebragging about almost drowning himself when he fell overboard off St Lucia after drinking Cristal champagne all day.

4 Murdo

It wasn’t Cristal that Roger was pouring into our glasses back there.

5 Yvette

Some sort of fizzy plonk for the plebs I think. I saw Lucinda take a sip and she screwed her face up at him. And the place, I expected at least a decent three course sit-down – just a buffet – and nachos and melted cheese. I ask you, a ‘buffet restaurant’, and they called it a Swiss raclette or something. It was definitely cheddar. I thought that fondue business went out with the dinosaurs. Slices of cold ham, potato salad, French bread, and that gateaux was awful. I could have made a much better meal at home. To be honest, I think Roger and Lucinda are feeling the pinch.

6 Murdo

I got that impression too – though admittedly they were paying for everything. Guy could have stumped up. I heard him virtue-signalling, telling you his usual story about how he started out as a brickie’s hod carrier and ended up owning the whole nationwide company. It’s sort of true. He did work on a building site for a couple of weeks during college vacations. But it was in his uncle’s building firm. His uncle never married. No kids. Guy inherited everything. But anyway, it was only a Saturday lunchtime get-together. Roger just wanting to mark his birthday with some old pals.

7 Yvette

Saturday night is more appropriate. Shame about Lucinda’s working – what did you say – second job driving nightshift taxis? Lunchtime is more like something for kids, a children’s birthday party. The only thing missing was candles on that dreadful cake.

8 Murdo

Maybe they didn’t think about it? They haven’t got any kids. Kids are such an enormous expense, aren’t they? If you were keen we could maybe think about children in a year or two. Roger’s NHS salary must be worth a lot less that when I first met him a few years ago. But at least he’s managed to get on the housing ladder – huge mortgage – Lucinda’s taxi work must help pay for it. He was gobbling food like he hadn’t eaten for weeks. What is it Wodehouse says – ‘getting himself outside of’ - whole platefuls of cold ham, pakora, sausage rolls and samosas.

9 Yvette

Not quite the haute cuisine you’d led me to expect. What does Lucinda do?

10 Murdo

She was waitressing for a couple of years after graduating. Hotel receptionist now… I got some hot runny cheese on my best shirt. One for the dry-cleaner’s. Even dry-cleaners charge a fortune these days.

11 Yvette

At least we can drop the forced smiles now and have a pleasant evening with a glass of decent wine and some chocolates.

12 Murdo

That’s true. We may not be in Guy’s league but we aren’t quite counting the pennies yet.

13 Yvette

Well, as we agreed when we moved in together last year, you count your pennies and I’ll count mine – except of course for the big things, like me being lumbered paying the rent.

14 Murdo

You’re not going to bring that up again are you? We agreed. You’re the rent -and your phone contract of course - but I’m everything else – council tax, gas, electricity, water, broadband, tv licence, tv subscriptions – Netflix, Disney+, Prime, -food, drink, taxis…

15 Yvette

No need to rattle on about it Murdo. I sometimes think dividing up our finances this way suits you because whenever we’re out with other people you can give the appearance that you pay for me, for everything - meals, alcohol, entertainment, - that certainly seemed to be the impression that bitch Sophie had when she joked that if we were a business partnership I must be the sleeping partner.

16 Murdo

She was talking about herself, her own business Yvy, not us.

17 Yvette

She was implying I sleep with you in exchange for financial support. How does that Sophie besom manage to live so well anyway? What does she do?

18 Murdo

Her dad made money. Spent years buying old flats cheap, doing them up then selling them at a profit. He moved on to letting them out instead of selling them. Then he let Sophie take over. These days I think there are more than a dozen properties she lets out.

19 Yvette

Sounds like easy money to me. That man Cameron she’s with. Grinning like a hyena. ‘Isn’t it great how house prices keep shooting up’ he says. I just smiled sweetly. I know you said Cammy’s parents bought that place for him when he was a student but it doesn’t help. I tried talking to him about my work. He said he was sure I made a wonderful shop assistant – I am not a shop assistant Murdo!

20 Murdo

Of course you aren’t Yvy. You’re in retail, you’re the deputy manager of a classy little boutique in the St James Quarter.

21 Yvette

There’s still that prat James above me; thinks he’s God’s gift. But I could hear that Sophie sniggering behind my back, implying to your friends that I was some kind of kept woman.

22 Murdo

That’s a little paranoid Yvy. You make it sound like she was trying to undermine you, gaslighting you.

23 Yvette

She sort of threatened to come into my shop and make me serve her while she tried on the most expensive dresses – talked about haute couture – wouldn’t know haute couture if it fell on her head. Well, anyway, gas lighting would be up to you. You certainly wouldn’t want to stump up for gas lighting.

24 Murdo

You’re right there. The way fuel and food prices have been rocketing up I think I got the worst of the bargain when we divided up our overhead costs.

25 Yvette

The rent’s not cheap Murdo. I think they’re planning to put it up again soon.

SCENE TWO

Location – Front door of flat on arrival home

Time – 4.30pm, Saturday afternoon

1 Murdo

[about to put key in door] The fares black cabs charge is really getting beyond a joke Yvy.

2 Yvette

Well I don’t understand why you’ve let the garage keep our car all this time. That must be three weeks now they’ve been working on it. I mean how much repair work needs doing after an MOT? Unless you make a fuss tradesmen are just in no hurry at all these days are they?

3 Murdo

I know Ubers and minicabs look a bit cheap to you Yvy but honestly these days you can make a good case for just taking the bus – a proper and sensible thing to do - fighting climate change and so on. The bus would have been just as quick. …. Wait a minute, did you forget to lock the door?

4 Yvette

No, of course not. And you were last out as usual.

5 Murdo

[peering closely at the lock] Well anyway, it’s still open. Hells bells Yvy, it looks like the lock’s been forced.

6 Yvette

Oh God, has someone broken into the flat?

#reekie revelator #drama #plays #austerity #social problems

Cowboy Boots

What’s there to say about fashions today, Mary Quant’s gone But the world carries on. Roll up for your cowboy boots, Real leather made in China. Oh, you want the real old Texas job? My friend I’ve nothing finer. So you want to dance in a line, Wear a stetson, tasselled skirt, Or lasso little dogies And fight them in the dirt? Maybe wear your boots to work in At the office or building…

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#boots #fashion #poetry #reekie revelator

The Rescue of the Gaelic Ghost Dance

A Short Story

The once a year traditional event rolled round again. The ceilidh with ‘the 1950s’ as its theme would be held in the community hall that night. Somhairle Mhic Leòid - Sorley McLeod - had been looking forward to it for weeks. There was a lot going on in Stornoway these days but the 1950s ceilidh was a real horo-gheallaidh – shindig, still his favourite day on Leòdhais - Lewis.

The long mirror on the bedroom wall of his small flat reflected a satisfactory image. It was the way he saw himself, the way he wanted to be, his soul made manifest. The fair Viking hair dyed black and brylcreemed into a DA, the powder blue drape jacket with its black velvet collar, the drainpipe trousers and black brothel creepers. He would have tied a bootlace tie to complete the image but it hadn’t arrived in time. Otherwise, what was not to like about this gloriously authentic outfit, assembled from car-boot sales and online auctions, other than his own thin and wiry twenty year old frame on which the dazzling jacket hung a little too loosely? He smiled widely, preening himself, turned his head left and right in narcissistc admiration. In his mind he was already jiving, birling round the hall with local lassies, twirling and throwing them while Chuck Berry skipped addictvely through the verses of the black boy reaching the Promised Land, Buddy Holly joyful with Oh Boy!, and Eddie Cochran insisting on Somethin Else. It struck him that too many great rock ‘n’ rollers died young, Buddy in an aeroplane and Eddie in a car, but at least none had died at sea.

#reekie revelator #short story #ghost story #scotland #Western Isles #lifeboat

Language Evolves

While the Earth revolves language evolves. Maybe I missed the meeting, or the memo seemed meaningless, but tell me anyway – When did very become super, reaction become pushback backtrack become row back conclusions become takeaways my fault become my bad and my mistake even badder? When did I’m well become I’m good in future become going forward an increase become an uptick a…

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#language #old age #reekierevelator

After Bagpipe Music

It’s no go the big tick shoes, it’s no go the Facebook, All we want is a life to live and money for some new look. Their houses are made of old cardboard, their jobs suck more than Dyson Their flats are lined with pizza boxes and their ears with fashion items. It’s no go the three stripe breeks, it’s no go video walls It’s no go streaming music and dodgy avatars for pals. All we want is a…

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#bagpipe music #Poem #reekie revelator #scotland

Fraying at the Edges - novel available

This is the story of a murder in Scotland at the time of the Scottish Independence referendum. The main suspect is a young member of an established family which runs a private bank, some of whose members hold strong views for and against independence. The suspect’s brother finds himself taking the lead role in trying to prove the suspect’s innocence. Dysfunctional family relationships, political…

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#crime #independence #ireland #murder #Novel #reekie revelator #referendum #scotland

My Body's Giving Up On Me

Arthur Williams – mural by Shona Hardie, – Arthur Street, Leith My body’s giving up on me, it says it’s had enough, I asked it what’s the problem, it said there’s lots of stuff. Said there’s been too much stretching, bending, twisting, treated rough, Now it’s shrinking, no-one cares, and it doesn’t feel tough. My body’s giving up on me, it says that now’s the time, It helped me through the…

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#old age #reekie revelator

The European Monarch

Here’s to Harald, Carl Gustaf, and Hans-Adam Two And all the rich people who travel with you. Here’s to Margrethe, Philippe, Albert Two Henri, Felipe, Willem-Alexander, who knew? Francis, Joan Enric; yes it’s really all true Charles Third’s not alone though Europe’s not grown And John Dunlap’s Smom keeps it small. Albert IIPrinceMonacoCarl XVI GustafKingSwedenCharles IIIKingUnited…

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#europe #kings #monarchs #queens #reekie revelator

School Mates

I was thinking about old school mates But I couldn’t remember their names And I worried, what were their fates? I was thinking about old school mates And how forgetting their names was a shame How decades on their faces remain the same. I was thinking about old school mates But I couldn’t remember their names.

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#memory #nostalgia #reekie revelator #school

Dark Days

Some days are short some days are long Light’s always at a premium Dictators divide then start war’s sad old song. Some days are short some days are long Scan ‘friends’ online to relieve the tedium, Or smash the screen, see beyond the medium. Some days are short some days are long Light’s always at a premium.

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#reekie revelator #world despair

St. Valentine

Eichteen hunner year or so ago A bishop lost oot tae Roman gods. Christians, miracles, were a’ no go, Eichteen hunner year or so ago. Sae they kilt Valentine, the sods, Fur protectin bees agin the odds. Eichteen hunner year or so ago A bishop lost oot tae Roman gods

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#Poem #reekie revelator #scotland #scots language #valentine&039;s day

Friday the Thirteenth

I was still stacking shelves that afternoon, a zero-hours job in a supermarket, when the call came through. A flat. A genuine offer of a Council flat after all three of us had been living for almost year crushed together in that dingy single room. I only had to review the premises and agree to move in. The keys to the flat would be left for me in the supermarket supervisor’s office. The urge to desert the shelves and rush out immediately was almost overwhelming. It took a great deal of effort to control myself. I rushed off to collect the keys the minute my shift ended.

That morning my fellow workers had been chatting about Friday the Thirteenth being unlucky. It led them on to talking all sorts of nonsense about black cats, walking under ladders, breaking mirrors, and thirteen being unlucky because of the Last Supper. But far from unlucky this Friday 13th seemed my luckiest day in a long time.

#short story #Palestine-Israel allegory #reekie revelator #religion #territory

THE CHRISTMAS CLICHÉ – It’s a Wonderful Life

We were temporary contract labourers on a building site, our Jaikets on a shoogly peg. Most days I would hear my pal Eddie Moore say Don’t let the bastards get you down, Money isn’t everything, We’re all Jock Tamson’s bairns, Life is a terminal illness, No rest for the wicked, Tomorrow is another day, and No point crying over spilt milk. Everything always Cost an arm and a leg. When Eddie talked football it was Got his retaliation in first in A game of two halves, and Thrashed them nil-nil, if indeed they were Lucky to get nil. Wonder about his age and he reminded you Sixty is the new forty. When the job was going well he was Cooking with gas, Gien it laldy. When the foreman criticised it was Just as well we’re all millionaires and only doing this for fun. And after the clocks turned back it was Christmas comes but once a year, and when it does it’s very dear.

We had wives and kids but never earned enough to give them the Christmas the advertisers insisted they deserved. Marry in haste, repent at leisure was the wives’ mantra, pointing to furniture or kitchen equipment always On its last legs.

#christmas #cliches #employment

On The Other Foot - Alle’s Tale

A short fairytale for our times

I had a very happy childhood in Edinburgh. Being an only child my loving mother doted on me. But I saw very little of my father, John Rednic. My mother told me he loved me very much, but during those early years he was in the process of leaving his job as a manager at Oilygas Co. and setting up his own solar panels business. He worked all the hours God gave, seven days a week. He left for work before I woke up and arrived home after I’d gone to bed. I suppose all that work must have paid off. We became quite wealthy and moved to a big house in the Grange. We even had a housekeeper there, a lovely older woman called Meg. She rented a room several streets away and had lots of friends. But sadly, as I entered my teenage years my mother died. Fortunately, Meg took me under her wing. She virtually took over as a substitute mother. Always cheerful and optimistic she liked having a young boy around to talk to. I took to following her as she worked. I watched how she carried out tasks - shopping, cooking, cleaning rooms, making beds, all the jobs necessary for the smooth running of a household.

A year after my mother’s death one of our neighbours, Mrs Trublane, a widow who lived in a small gas-guzzling bungalow nearby with her two teenage sons, Driz and Antsy, began pestering my father with phone calls. Meg told me Mrs Trublane was constantly pleading with him for help, saying how hard it was for her without a husband to keep her house decent, find the money for her sons’ private education, and so on. I’d come across Driz and Antsy before, big lads but not the brightest, and faces like bags of nails. They were aggressive and, till now, I’d managed to keep out of their way.

One day Meg mentioned that to help with Mrs Trublane’s financial problems, and to prevent her persistent phone calls, my father had found her a minor job in his company. And not long after that there were rumours that this had only made things worse for him. In the office Mrs Trublane was said to be constantly flirting with him, flouncing around, conniving to make other staff believe she was his favourite and that she enjoyed a special relationship with him. Her failure to get any work done also grated with the other staff and her constant interruptions distracted my father from important work.

#fairy tales #energy #edinburgh #Reekie Revelator #scotland

Lost and Found

a short story

“Been waiting long?” I asked urgently, having struggled to the bus stop after work, my umbrella inside out, my hair flattened, rivers of rain pouring down my black vinyl jacket and black cotton slacks sticking to my legs.

“Aye, a wee while. Weather causing havoc with the timetables. Ye’re fair drookit. About time Edinburgh had fully enclosed bus stops. That no right, eh?”

The barely adequate street lighting was sufficient that dark dreich night to reveal bright eyes twinkling in a wrinkled unsmiling face half-hidden under the brim of an old-fashioned flat cap. A long tweedy overcoat seemed a throwback to fashions of yesteryear and smelled of soaked heather moors. The incongruous white canvas shoes on his feet seemed sodden and leaky. I inwardly registered him as a bohemian of some kind, a beatnik survivalist.

“Whew,” I spluttered. “It’s a while since I’ve run for a bus, especially in weather like this. In heels as well. I suppose I’d got used to my boyfriend picking me up.”

“Boyfriend out the picture then?”

#short story #scotland #edinburgh #Reekie Revelator

A Flight of Fancy

a short story by Brian Bourner

“Chorying gear from Wilson’s shed ? It’s not your brightest idea Askew.” I kept trying to tell him but his money worries were so bad he was talking of topping himself. Wilson’s stack of nicked gear was the only thing preventing it, what Askew saw as his only hope. He said he could break in and sell some of the iPhones to pay off the loansharks who were hunting him down.

I’d only known Iain a short time, long enough to know he always went by his surname, Askew. I’d recently been posted to Edinburgh to assist with work on a transport bypass, an intersection having problems with hitchhikers. I found the cost of living prohibitive. The accommodation allowance I’d been allocated was not very big so I’d ended up living in Muirhouse. That was where we met. He was my neighbour and we’d become friends. He didn’t mind that my hunchback made me look a little deformed, or that I was pale enough to seem almost translucent. It impressed him as an extreme scheme tan. I’d met Maggie, the girl he lived with, and their small daughters. They were the epitome of the ‘just barely managing’ family.

“He’s got that shed wired with a security system,” I reminded him. “If that alarm goes off…” but Askew had the bit between his teeth and desperation was making him determined.

“Makes it easier,” he interrupted, insisting “Any numptie with bulging biceps and boltcutters can get past shed locks and chains. Even a specimen like you could hide boltcutters under that old coat you’re always wearing. But chopping up padlocks? Leaves behind clear evidence of a break-in. Now with an electronic security system all you need is the passcode. Then you just open the door, walk in, take what you want, close the door again and nobody’s any the wiser, especially not Mad-Dog Wilson.”

“At least until he’s checking his stock again before moving it on to his fence. And how do you get the code anyway?”

#edinburgh #Reekie Revelator #fantasy #short story #Scots language

Cookery Lesson

Wash hands, check Flour, check Eggs, check Butter, check Sugar, check Bicarb, check Lemon, check Mix bowl, check Whisk, check Oven tin, check Greaseproof, check All present and correct And all the money gone If I knew you were comin’ I’d’ve baked a cake, You said I couldn’t Now watch me make Easy peasy, Lemon squeezy, No problemo Walk in the park Cakewalk Piece of…

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#cake #Energy prices #food #hunger

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