Harold Pinter Had A Dream…

or THE BOX OFFICE IN HEAVEN

A play in one act

by

Richard McNeill Douglas

The Characters

KATE / JANE AUSTEN

SUSANNA / MARIA CALLAS

DAVID / ALBERT EINSTEIN

HANNAH ARENDT / JOAN OF ARC

HUW / VLADIMIR ILLYICH LENIN

BRIAN / OSCAR WILDE

HAROLD PINTER

ANGEL

The Setting

The behind-the-scenes of a box office; ie, the office part, that which remains invisible to the public. The office is not too large (there is seating for about ten people), but it is open plan, which makes it seem spacious. On each desk there is a computer terminal and a telephone with a headset. There are film and theatre posters on the walls. In one corner is a partioned-off area; this is the manager’s office. At the rear of the office is a small kitchen area. In another area there is a concentration of metal wire filing trays and box files, housing various bits of paper. There are two exits, one rear stage left which leads out of the office altogether, another front stage right, which leads to the box office counter in the foyer.

BRIAN Heard but not seen yet; voice coming from the manager’s office. He has an Irish accent. Ant or Dec?

Enter KATE (from the manager’s office), pursued by BRIAN (who is clutching a magazine).

BRIAN Ant or Dec? Come on, it’s got to be one of them.

KATE is searching for something, up-ending piles of programmes and bits of paper on one desk after another.

KATE I’m not marrying either Ant or Dec.

BRIAN Come on, you don’t have to marry them. Just sleep with them. One night only. Come on.

KATE I don’t have time to worry about this, Brian. I’ve got to find that key.

BRIAN Oh, you’ll find that key sure enough. What about these two, though? Which one of these’d win the key to your heart? Looks at picture in the magazine. Which one’s the Mummy, do you think, and which one’s the Daddy?

KATE What — they’re not . . . ?

BRIAN ’Course they are. At it like ninepins. They’re in showbusiness! They’re all gay! I’ve had ’em.

In the course of his last remarks the door at the rear of the stage has opened, and SUSANNA and DAVID have entered, each carrying trays with cups of coffee and slices of cake.

SUSANNA Hello everyone! We’ve been to the canteen! Look what we’ve brought back! Cake! Who’ve you had? Who’s gay?

SUSANNA and DAVID set down their trays.

BRIAN Ant! Or Dec! I can’t remember. It was dark, I’d had a lot to drink. It was definitely the Mummy, though. Cute little so and so.

KATE Brian, would you please stop talking bollocks and help me look for this key.

SUSANNA Ooh, what key?

KATE The safe key!

SUSANNA You’ve not lost it, have you! On your first night in charge! Oh Kate, imagine that! Hey David, imagine that! Imagine if Kate lost the safe key on her first night in charge!

DAVID Is anyone on the phones?

BRIAN Shit! Dives to a terminal. Three calls waiting. Begins to answer a call.

KATE Right! Can everyone just answer the phones and everything! And I’ll — commit suicide.

DAVID sits at a terminal and takes a call. Enter HUW, from front stage left. He is dressed in some kind of customer service uniform, perhaps a white shirt and coloured waistcoat. He wears a name-badge. He is carrying a credit card.

HUW Hey, you’ll never guess who I’ve got up there.

KATE Who?

HUW No, try and guess.

SUSANNA Ooh, is it Mr Martineau? I fancy Mr Martineau.

HUW Yeah, we know. No, no — he’s famous.

KATE Becoming concerned. He’s famous?

HUW Oh yeah.

KATE Very famous?

HUW Oh yeah.

SUSANNA Ooh, ooh — is he good-looking!

HUW Well I wouldn’t –

KATE For God’s sake, who is it?

HUW All right. Harold Pinter.

SUSANNA Who’s he?

KATE Not the playwright?

HUW Yeah. “Do you know who I am?” he says to me. And I — I go like this: Stares blankly for a few seconds. And he says, “What’s the matter with you, are you some kind of vegetable?” And I go… I thought you liked pauses.

KATE: Wait, wait, wait. Harold Pinter is up there now?

HUW: Yeah. I’ve got his credit card here.

KATE: Why — what — ? What are you doing down here?

HUW: Oh, he’s lost his tickets or something. I could’ve reprinted them up there, but I thought, no one, not anyone treats me like that, I don’t care who they are, all punters, they’re all the enemy, they’re always trying it on –

KATE: Jesus, give that here. Grabs the credit card and exits front stage left.

Brian and David have finished their calls.

BRIAN What’s this? What’s this? Did I hear, out of the corner of my ear, something beginning with Harold Pinter’s up at the counter?

HUW: Yeah, that’s right. You should’ve seen me, I wasn’t taking any shit, I don’t care who it is, no one –

KATE: Voice from offstage. Brian! Huw!

BRIAN and HUW look at each other.

KATE emerges back on stage, supporting a clearly very ill HAROLD as she does so.

KATE: He’s having a seizure or something!

HUW and BRIAN rush to help. DAVID gets to his feet; SUSANNA gets in the way.

They lay HAROLD onto the floor.

KATE: Someone call an ambulance.

DAVID is already doing so.

HUW: Whoa, whoa, whoa. I swear, when I left him up there –

BRIAN Come on, Huw, there’s no need to panic. We’ll back you up. Tips him a big wink.

KATE: I can’t believe you two –

SUSANNA: Is he going to die? Imagine that! If someone died in the box office, and then it might be haunted or something!

BRIAN Haunted by the spirit of Harold Pinter . . . Just as long as he never answered the phones. He’d take forever to make a single booking.

KATE: For fuck’s sake, Brian! David, have you rung 999?

DAVID: Yeah. They’re on their way. And they shouldn’t take that long, because St Thomas’s is only just around the corner. And that’s St Thomas’s, you know, not St Thomas’, like they’ve actually got on that big sign on the hospital. That’s just really annoying because that’s not how you say it. You don’t say St Thomas’, you say St Thomas’s. It’s not hard –

KATE: Right, right — This is my first night in charge, I’m only acting up, I’m getting paid a shitty eight pounds extra, I’ve lost the safe key and now I’ve killed a world famous playwright! I’m just going to have a breakdown! Rushes off to the manager’s office. SUSANNA follows her.

HUW: Do you reckon he’d have a look at my screenplay if we like saved his life? Do you reckon he could get it into production?

BRIAN Too fucking right. He could be our fucking meal ticket out of here. Wait there, Mr P, don’t you be dying just yet, I’ve got a script in my locker, it’s for a sitcom, oh, it’d be a smash on Channel Four, we just need someone to have a word in someone’s ear, you know.

HUW: That’s the stuff, that’s the stuff. Don’t die, Mr Pinter, don’t die, don’t die…

A recording of HUW’s voice is distorted and broadcast over a speaker: . . . die, Mr Pinter, die Mr Pinter, die, die, die . . .

A screen comes down (or the lights go down), blotting out all characters and stage furniture save for HAROLD, and a desk, front stage left. HAROLD remains on the ground, front centre stage. A wingéd ANGEL appears, stage right. He carries a clipboard and a wand, the latter functioning as a pen. He tiptoes over to HAROLD. HAROLD wakes up.

HAROLD Sitting up. Where am I?

ANGEL glances at his wings, as if to say, “Where do you think?”

ANGEL Full name?

HAROLD What do you mean?

ANGEL Well it’s a simple enough question. Full name.

HAROLD Harold Grayson Pinter. What’s it to you anyway . . . Clipboard Boy?

ANGEL Date of birth?

HAROLD Why are you asking me all these bloody questions? Anyone would think you were from the CIA.

HAROLD looks hard at ANGEL. ANGEL shakes his head.

ANGEL I just need your date of birth.

HAROLD Thirteenth of the fifth, Nineteen thirty-four.

ANGEL Date of death?

HAROLD What do you mean?

ANGEL Mr Pinter, I know it may take a little while to adjust to, but you are dead. Come on, the sooner you admit it to yourself, the easier it’ll be. This is your new life.

HAROLD Impossible! I don’t . . . believe in you.

ANGEL You’re not the only who gets a start, you know. You should have seen the look on Karl Marx’s face . . . Come on, look, I don’t know why they get us to ask you these questions, it’s just to check you’re all still compos mentis. And look at you, you’re all over the place. Well you’re bound to be, aren’t you luvvy? Let’s not worry about them, eh?

ANGEL offers his hand, pulls HAROLD up. Enter HANNAH, stage left, unnoticed. She sits at the desk.

ANGEL Here, look, let’s get you settled in, eh? I’ve set you up for an interview with a Job Seeker’s Life-After-Death Opportunities Co-ordinator. Lights up on HANNAH. Look, there she is.

HAROLD Job Seeker? What do you mean? I’m Harold Pinter, the playwright, I’m — I’m famous . . . What’s going on?

ANGEL That’s it, luvvy. You just speak to this nice lady here, and I’ll be back in a bit. Exit ANGEL, en point.

HANNAH She wears a prominent name-badge. She has a faint Germanic accent. Ah, Mr . . . Looks at her notes. Pinter. Do take a seat.

HAROLD does so, reluctantly.

HANNAH Now then, Mr Pinter. What can you do?

HAROLD Snorts. I’m a playwright!

HANNAH Yes, but what can you do? What skills have you got?

HAROLD What do you mean? What, do you think it’s easy writing a play? God, you should try it some time. I’m sweating cobs, fucking cobs, every time I pick up a fucking pen!

HANNAH Really, Mr Pinter, there’s no need for that language. Now, so you have an interest in the theatre — we have a vacancy in a box office, how would you like that?

HAROLD Now just you listen here, Grendel’s Mother, I’m not working in a box office! I write plays, I don’t sell the tickets!

HANNAH Hmm. Makes a show of looking through her papers. It’s funny, I don’t seem to see any vacancies here for a playwright . . . Of course there aren’t any vacancies for a playwright, Mr Pinter! What kind of a world do you think this is? You’ll be saying you want to play for England next!

HAROLD Cricket?

HANNAH Really, Mr Pinter, you’re being most unamusing. Do you think I want to be doing this stupid job? I’m Hannah Arendt! I wrote The Origins of Totalitarianism! And now look at me!

HAROLD I’m sorry –

HANNAH Banality of evil? I tell you, the banality of evil’s got nothing on the banality of banality. File this, interview that — I’ve got ideas! I want to analyse things, I want to expose the underlying truth — but oh no, that’s not what they want to hear. “This is Heaven!” I keep being told. People want to be entertained! Oh! Buries her face in her hands.

ANGEL reappears, unnoticed by the other two. HAROLD watches HANNAH for a second. Then ANGEL takes him by the arm and leads him centre stage. Light dims on HANNAH; she exits.

ANGEL Now I wish you all the best in this new position. I hope you’ll find it challenging and rewarding, and that you’ll find plenty of opportunities to enhance your career.

HAROLD Enhance my career? Enhance my arse, more like! I deserve better than this!

ANGEL There just remains one thing. Sticks a large badge to HAROLD’s lapel. It reads: “HAROLD”. There. I think the customers’ll like you.

HAROLD Looking down in horror. This is demeaning! I’m a world-renowned playwright! Not some . . . scurf-ridden, crater-faced bishop-basher!

As HAROLD delivers this remark at his lapel, ANGEL tiptoes off. HAROLD looks up, to see ANGEL disappearing. The screen, or light, goes up, allowing us a view of the rest of the stage again. HAROLD’s attention is caught; he turns round, now and then anxiously doing double-takes and looking behind him; looking for help, for guidance, for some idea of what is going on. As all this is happening we begin to hear a conversation in mid-flow.

VLADIMIR He has a Russian accent. Three out of five! Satisfactory! I’m satisfactory! How do you like that?

Now we can see the rest of the stage in full. It is much the same scene as originally — only instead of HUW, KATE, SUSANNA, BRIAN, and DAVID, we have VLADIMIR, JANE, MARIA, OSCAR and ALBERT — each with their own name-badge, just like Harold’s. They bear an uncanny resemblance to Vladimir Illyich Lenin, Jane Austen, Maria Callas, Oscar Wilde and Albert Einstein. JANE is standing, wire in-tray in hand, stage left. OSCAR is seated, with a telephone headset on his head. ALBERT is rummaging through the office. VLADIMIR is expounding generally, centre stage; in front of him is a desk covered with large envelopes, programmes and bits of paper. MARIA is making tea and coffee in the kitchen area, rear stage right.

JANE Very ill, Mr Lenin — though I dare say, none might list it quite so ill as your good self.

VLADIMIR And what am I satisfactory at? Look! Putting things in envelopes! The others, bar MARIA and ALBERT, have noticed the new arrival, but VLADIMIR goes on. I wouldn’t mind so much if I was outstanding at putting things in envelopes, but no! Just satisfactory!

JANE Ahem, Mr Lenin? Motions to direct VLADIMIR’s attention to new arrival. To HAROLD. Sir, I don’t believe I have had the pleasure.

HAROLD I’m . . . new here.

MARIA Oooh! Someone new here? Oooh, a man! Runs up to HAROLD.

OSCAR What took you off, then?

MARIA Oooh, I bet you’re strong? Can I feel your arm? Does so. Oooh, what muscles!

HAROLD Spends a moment working out what OSCAR’s question means; then: Angry snort. Some bloody . . . Neglect. I was waiting –

VLADIMIR Can you put things in envelopes?

HAROLD I’m sorry?

VLADIMIR Can you put things in envelopes? You know, this goes in here, you seal, and so, the little bastard’s done.

HAROLD Of course I can put things –

VLADIMIR Then you’ll get on fine here. For all eternity.

JANE Pray you, Sir, don’t say that!

OSCAR Oh, we’re none of us made for such vulgarity. Our souls are too noble for Heaven.

JANE For this Heaven, they most certainly are, Mr Wilde!

MARIA No, but — I’m Maria, by the way — oh, you could see it on my badge — silly me — Pause. Er . . . where was I?

OSCAR So what did take you off?

HAROLD I . . . I lost my bloody theatre tickets –

OSCAR And they had the good sense to kill you for it? The world’s improved with age.

HAROLD No! I . . . must have had a . . . All I remember was the lost tickets — and then some great fairy. And now here.

OSCAR Now that sounds like a night out. Answers call.

MARIA Do you like singing? I’m a singer. I’ve got an audition next week. I could be a star!

The others roll their eyes, etc.

JANE Mr Pinter, would you care for a cup of tea?

MARIA Oh yes — silly me, I’ve forgotten to ask you. I am silly, aren’t I? What can I get you?

HAROLD Oh . . . I’ll have a Darjeeling.

MARIA Oh dear. We’ve only got tea or coffee.

JANE Darjeeling is a type of tea, Maria.

MARIA Well how the fuck am I supposed to know that? Showing me up in front of — suddenly changing tone — our nice new gentleman. Oh — can I call you Harold? You can call me Maria. What about PG?

HAROLD PG is processed wee; you only get a poo with Typhoo.

MARIA Oh, well there’s no need to be like that about it. Walks briskly back to kitchen area.

JANE Mr Lenin, perhaps you would like to make our new friend feel at home? You could show him what you’re doing there?

VLADIMIR Oh yeah, like he’s really going — Okay, sure — All right, Harold, you see what I’m doing here? I’m putting things into envelopes. There’s nothing to it… That’s what you think, uh? And you’re completely right! It’s mind-numbing! And we’ve got this whole sack to get through!

HAROLD Wait a minute. It really is you, isn’t it? I really am here! Ulyanov! I can’t believe it!

VLADIMIR Oh boy.

HAROLD It’s bloody Lenin! Hugs VLADIMIR, against the latter’s will. I’m talking to bloody Lenin!

VLADIMIR Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s just hold things right there, uh? It’s all right, I’ve heard it all before — “Oh, Vladimir Illyich, I’ve finally met you, I’ve seen you in your mausoleum before but never seen you . . . in the flesh . . . ” Yeah, yeah, yeah. Well let me tell you, things have changed, okay? What do you think, we’re going to have the dictatorship of the proletariat up here? There is no proletariat. Oh down there it was all, “Oh help us Lenin, save us Lenin, show us the way Lenin” — and up here? It’s all DVD and PlayStation.

HAROLD But . . . surely there’s still something to fight for?

VLADIMIR Makes a pretence of thinking about it. Beats me. All I can think about now . . . is putting things in envelopes.

Pause.

JANE I believe there still is something worth fighting for. I believe you still believe that yourself, Mr Lenin.

VLADIMIR Whatever. Here, Harold, let’s get down to it. Now, the ones who are renewing their membership, they need a programme, a new card, five pound-off vouchers, and one of these yellow forms. Unless they’re late in renewing, in which case they don’t get the vouchers. Or unless they’re lapsed renewals, in which case, well, it depends how long ago — better ask me when you see one. Now, the ones who are new members, they want the same, but instead of the pound-off vouchers, they want a free ticket voucher. You got that? But that’s not all — if their renewal form is green, that means they’re entitled to extra benefits — hey, you’ll pick it up as you go along, that’s the best way.

HAROLD is hesitating. JANE sits down and gets on with work: opening envelopes and date-stamping the contents.

VLADIMIR Hey, look, I don’t want to be here, either. But that’s just the way it is.

HAROLD Well . . . If it’s good enough for Lenin . . . Takes a seat and starts following VLADIMIR’s direction.

OSCAR Throws down his headset. On the point of shouting something ruder; struggles to contain himself. Monster!

JANE Mr Wilde, what can be the matter?

OSCAR It’s that awful Mr Hitler again.

ALBERT Oh no.

OSCAR Unspeakable man. He says to me, he must have his tickets! tickets! tickets! Yesterday! yesterday! yesterday!

ALBERT Frantically rummaging now. I know, I know. I spoke to him about twenty minutes ago. I told him it looked like we’d lost his booking form.

General oh-no’s.

JANE Mr Einstein. What were you thinking?

ALBERT I know, I know. I’ve just got to . . . hope I can find it . . . He’s bound to write in, you know. He’s got my name.

VLADIMIR Chuckling. Just as long as old Winston — nodding towards the counter; front stage left, from where HUW made his entrance earlier — doesn’t get to hear about it. Did you see them in the foyer last time? Almost wanted to kill each other!

JANE Can’t we cancel his membership? Like we did with that . . . Searches for the name. Mr Hun . . .

ALBERT You’ve got to catch them doing something that contravenes the rules…

OSCAR Tickets! tickets! tickets! Yesterday! yesterday! yesterday! I felt like telling him, you know, we’re not all mental defectives, just because we’re answering the phone for a living.

MARIA Tea’s ready! Only it’s not the tea, it’s just tea! I’d like to see you try and eat it! No, I’m being silly. Starts coming round, distributing mugs.

ALBERT Pausing from his rummaging. I’ll get into trouble. I know it. And . . . Sometimes I get so frustrated. I don’t want to be in the box office forever. I’ve got ideas, I’ve got things to –

MARIA Handing Albert his tea. I’ve got an audition next week. I’m going to be a singer!

ALBERT Stopped in his tracks. Oh . . . Yes, I know. I wish you good luck.

MARIA I’m going to buy a new dress and look wonderful!

JANE You must be sure and tell us all about it Maria.

MARIA Yes of course I will! Beat. Here, you’re not taking the piss out of me, are you? ’Cos I’m warning you, if you do that I’ll never forgive you, I’m tempestuous, I’m Mediterranean, I’m hot blooded, I’ve got a song in my heart and a spring in my step, and I just want to dance, dance, dance! Does a little dance.

Enter JOAN, rear stage left, unseen by MARIA. She bears an uncanny resemblance to Joan of Arc.

MARIA What do you think?

JOAN She has a general Euro-accent. Oh very good Maria.

MARIA Oh! I wondered who that was. I wasn’t that bad, was I?

JOAN You were very good. Oh, Albert, Anna wants to see you next.

ALBERT Here we go. I’ll be getting told off already. Exit ALBERT.

VLADIMIR What did you get? What mark?

JOAN Oh, three out of five. Satisfactory.

VLADIMIR Satisfactory! We’re all satisfactory! That’s it!

HAROLD What is this . . . three out of five business?

VLADIMIR We’re being assessed. By Anna, our sales and marketing manager. Every year we get assessed. Every year it’s the same. Three out of five. Satisfactory.

JOAN I did think, this year, you know . . . I did such a lot of overtime.

JANE Don’t concern yourself, Joan.

JOAN No, don’t worry. I have different fish to cook. I’ve nearly finished my screenplay. Then I’ll be out of here.

VLADIMIR Whispering to HAROLD. I’ve been hearing that for the past eighty years!

OSCAR answers another call. MARIA has gone back to the kitchen area to tidy up.

MARIA Would you like a tea, Joan?

JOAN Wait. Walking over to the kitchen area. I’ve got my own. Uroboros. It’s like tea . . . but it’s got, like, you know, ancient herbs in. Or something. My tennis partner, Boudica, recommended it to me. Apparently tea is really bad for you, or something.

JANE I thought tea was meant to be good for you.

JOAN It’s . . . got like these . . .

JANE Now coffee, that’s bad for you.

JOAN You know, tea’s actually got more caffeine in it than coffee.

JANE That can’t be right!

JOAN It is!

JANE Hmm. I think we shall have to ask Mr Einstein about it when he comes back.

JOAN has her cup of whatever it is now.

JOAN What needs doing?

JANE Oh . . . Well, somebody else needs to go on the phones.

MARIA Oh I’ll do it! I like talking to everybody on the phone. Here Jane, I flirt with everyone, you know — I am terrible! Well, not everyone, obviously — just with the men! I mean, I’m not a pervert or nothing. Oh, no offence Joan.

JOAN Oh, none taken of course. Jane, maybe I can give you a hand with the post. Sits down at a desk with a bundle of envelopes.

MARIA logs onto a terminal and gets ready to answer the phone. Everyone else is getting on with their work. OSCAR finishes his call and starts playing solitaire on his PC. MARIA fidgets; takes off her headset. Looks around, finds a paper; settles down again, and has a read.

A few moments of office hum.

JANE Did anyone see EastEnders last night?

There is a noticeable lessening of tension — save from HAROLD, who shows signs of agitation.

MARIA Oh no, I missed it — what happened?

JANE It was most amusing. Mr Butcher had a contretemps with Mr Mitchell, before Mrs Wickes intervened. It was a most lively encounter.

MARIA That Pat’s a right old fat slag, inn’t she? And you know in real life she’s a — you know — oooh, sorry again, Joan!

JOAN That’s quite all right, Maria. Lots of people are ‘– you know’, as you put it.

A return to office hum.

Enter ANGEL. No one notices him, except for HAROLD.

ANGEL Two minutes to Bagpuss!

HAROLD looks around, after ANGEL, and around at his companions, astonished that they did not remark ANGEL’s entrance; still, he stays quiet, and the office returns to a quiet hum for a few moments.

OSCAR You know what I saw last night? I was flicking around cable at about two in the morning. Dukes of Hazard.

HAROLD is yet more agitated; but the others are delighted.

JANE Oh I remember that!

MARIA Oooh, the Dukes of Hazard! That used to crack me up!

JOAN What . . . ? What was this programme?

VLADIMIR Those crazy Duke boys . . . Always they were getting into their car through the windows, uh? So funny!

HAROLD Not you as well, Ulyanov!

VLADIMIR What? What? Can’t I watch the Dukes of Hazard all of a sudden?

HAROLD is undone; stammers; falls silent and gets on with his work.

ANGEL One minute to Bagpuss!

Still no one but HAROLD bats an eyelid.

OSCAR Oh it’s amazing all the stuff you can pick up on cable TV. It’s the only residium of taste in the whole of the afterlife.

JANE What else can you get on it, Mr Wilde?

OSCAR Oh well, now. Do you know what I saw the other day? Cheggers Plays Pop.

JANE Poor old Mr Chegwin . . .

MARIA Here, did you see him on Channel Five — he was all — dissolving into hysterics — naked . . . you could see everything . . . Hysterics. . . . cracked me up…

JANE Did you remark this wonderful exhibition, Mr Wilde?

OSCAR I was out on the town that night, I’m afraid. It’s been a constant source of shame to me ever since — missing Cheggers on Channel Five, that is. Still, cable TV will work its blessing, and give us a repeat one of these days.

ANGEL Ten — nine — eight — seven –

MARIA Laughing. . . . cracked me up . . .

ANGEL Six — five — four –

JANE You know what I wish they’d show again? Oh, what was it called?

ANGEL Three — two — one.

JANE Bagpuss! That was it!

MARIA Oh, Bagpuss! I remember that! “Bagpuss, Oh Bagpuss” — and he’d just sit there, and then he’d wake up –

OSCAR And when Bagpuss woke up, all his friends woke up.

JANE The mice, on the mouse organ.

OSCAR Gabriel, the . . . toad, with a banjo.

JOAN What is this? What is this programme?

JANE Madeleine, the rag doll.

VLADIMIR And Professor Yaffel — nya nya nya nya nya!

MARIA And Emily loved him!

ANGEL The next Bagpuss reminiscence will commence in one hour. On the hour, every hour; Bagpuss reminiscences, until the end of time! Exit.

HAROLD It’s been building up, and now it explodes. Wait! Wait! You mean to say — Lenin, Austen, Wilde — you mean to say, you’ve all got nothing better to talk about than bloody Bagpuss!

VLADIMIR Hey, Bagpuss was good. That cute little cat with the funny purple stripes — and those little mouses, always . . . sewing and cleaning . . . Such a happy programme . . .

HAROLD I — I — can’t believe it. Jumps to his feet. Stammering. I — What is this? I don’t understand. It’s wrong! What’s . . . got into you all? What’s wrong with you!

JANE Well, I am sorry Mr Pinter, if our conversation does not amuse you. As one who has spent so very much more recent a time among those cosmopolitan circles of the living, you of course are qualified to judge our simple habits of thought gauche and uncharming.

MARIA Yeah. What the fuck kind of right have you got to come up here, telling us what we can talk about?

HAROLD So this is Heaven, eh? This is what it all amounts to? Bloody typical! Bloody bloody hell!

VLADIMIR Hey, Harold, calm down.

HAROLD Calm down! I — I’m disgusted! What are you all doing with yourselves? Why are you stuck here, in this shitty box office, talking about Bagpuss, when you should be . . . changing the world!

Pause.

VLADIMIR Ha, Harold . . . Changing the world . . .

JANE Don’t you think we’d be doing that if only we could?

HAROLD Well what’s stopping you — you’re geniuses!

JANE Thank you. You’re very kind. But . . . This isn’t our time — eternity. What do people want? Fun. Explosions.

OSCAR Porn!

VLADIMIR DVD! PlayStation!

MARIA H out of Steps!

JOAN Harold . . . We’re all trying, you know. We’ve all got plans. I’m writing a screenplay — it’s nearly finished. Jane, she’s writing a novel — that’s right, isn’t it Jane?

JANE Well, yes . . . I had some interest from an agent a little while back. But I was trying to move on, develop . . . and all they said was, couldn’t I write a little more like Kathy Lette? She is visibly upset.

JOAN What about you, Oscar? Aren’t you working on a sitcom?

OSCAR Oh, I have ideas. I’ve an idea for a remake of The A-Team, only with washed-up snooker stars from the 1980s. Kirk Stevens would be Face, Cliff Thorburn would be Hannibal, of course who else could be BA Barracus but Bill Werbunik, and as for Howlin’ Mad Murdoch? John Virgo. Of course, Snooker’s Very Own Mr Loopy. Oh, it would be a smash.

JOAN So you see, Harold, we’re all trying. But it’s so difficult. Imagine, having to compete with Homer, with Shakespeare –

JANE And he lost his muse years ago. Brandishes a copy of Time Out. Look at this — The Terminator of Venice! It’s all stunts and computer graphics! There’s hardly a shred of dialogue left.

JOAN So many of us, all working away, all hoping . . .

HAROLD What about you, Ulyanov?

VLADIMIR What am I doing? Well, well. I come here, I want to make revolution. But no go. So then, here I am, I want to write about politics; you know, magazines, newspapers. No one’s interested. So then, then I become the union rep; and — still no one’s interested. Nothing really changes. So then . . . I just sit here. I put things in envelopes. When I’m feeling crazy, I play a little game on the computer. Minesweeper, or Solitaire — I won two hundred pretend dollars the other day.

OSCAR It’s amazing how many minutes it’ll pass, changing the wallpaper on your PC.

HAROLD Can’t you . . . try, just for once? A serious conversation?

VLADIMIR A serious conversation?

OSCAR We heard enough of those when we were alive.

JANE No — Mr Pinter’s right. We ought to make the effort! Go on, Mr Pinter, do lead the way.

JOAN Yes, Harold, start us thinking again.

HAROLD Well . . . A serious conversation . . . His face contorts; it seems as if the effort to dredge his memory is causing him physical pain. Er . . . Chechnya . . . global warming . . . the railways, privatisation . . . third world debt . . . Nestle, milk for babies . . . Almost collapses.

The others look at each other, and begin to have their go. It will cost them as much effort as it did HAROLD.

JANE Well . . . There’s Chechnya . . .

JOAN Uh . . . global warming?

VLADIMIR Nestle . . .

OSCAR There’s . . .

MARIA Rail . . . thingy . . .

JANE Uh . . . third . . . world . . .

The phone rings; OSCAR answers it. The tension is broken. Everyone begins to go back to their various chores. HAROLD is left, still standing, still frowning.

JOAN That was interesting, Harold.

JANE We must try it again one day.

MARIA Looking up from her paper. Here, there’s an interview with George Clooney in here — I could give him one!

JANE takes an interest.

VLADIMIR Hey Harold, come on, don’t worry, get used to it — you’re in Heaven, serious things don’t mean anything up here. Come on, here’s some more envelopes, and here’s some more things to put in them.

HAROLD slowly sits down.

They all get on with their jobs for a few moments; save for HAROLD who sits, motionless.

Enter ALBERT, from rear stage left. He is clutching a piece of paper. He shambles forward, unremarked. He appears crestfallen.

JOAN Noticing him. Albert. What did Anna have to say?

VLADIMIR Three out of five, uh?

ALBERT says nothing, just stands there in the middle of the stage, staring off into the middle distance.

JANE Is anything the matter, Mr Einstein?

ALBERT After a pause. I’ve been fired.

A chorus of ‘What?!’s.

JOAN Albert, I’m so sorry.

JANE Whatever for?

MARIA Getting up and hugging him; on the verge of tears. Oh Albert . . . That fucking bitch, I’m going to fuck her up . . .

ALBERT No . . . Please . . .

MARIA desists, perches on a desk.

OSCAR What was the matter, Albert? Anna not take to your new filing system?

ALBERT Sudden outburst. If only everyone would keep to this system, you must have alphabetical ordering within chronological ordering — we’d find those booking forms so much more easily! Pause. No . . .

VLADIMIR So tell us. What’s the deal?

ALBERT Downcast, ashamed. You know that room, when we were doing that mailshot last month . . . There was a terminal in there, connected to the Internet. I was in there on my own quite a lot. And so I . . . I was surfing the Internet . . .

JOAN What, is that it?

JANE That’s hardly a sackable offence.

ALBERT I . . . was bored . . . He proffers the sheet of paper in his hand.

JANE Takes it. Reading. Record of Internet Searches for User Albert-E. Maedchen. Atombusen. Big tits. Oh — I can’t read this!

MARIA Takes it. Here, let’s have a look. Starts laughing. Horny women. Foot-worship — urgh, why do you want to do that? Girl-on-girl. Laughs.

OSCAR Takes it. S&M, spanking, rubber nurses — Albert, I never knew you had it in you. Not that it stays in you for very long, by the sounds of it.

JOAN You should have told me, Albert. I could’ve taken you to one of my clubs.

ALBERT I deserved to get the sack. It’s disgusting. I was bored . . . And lonely. No one ever wants to go out with me. Girls just say they think of me like a brother. Whenever I want to chat a girl up, I always get so nervous. And when I get nervous, I start talking to them about wormholes in space and the possibilities of time travel, and then I just see their eyes glassing over, but it’s no good, I can’t stop, and before you know it I’ve started talking about string theory and the search for symmetry across multiple dimensions, and then I’ll look up, and they’ll have gone . . .

HAROLD Leaping to his feet. That’s it! I’ve had enough! Anywhere but here! Looks upwards. Do you hear! Einstein getting the sack for surfing porn! It’s the last straw!

Enter ANGEL.

HAROLD You! Yes, you — Angel Delight! Get me out of here! I don’t care where you send me!

Light begins to fade down on the others, leaving only HAROLD and ANGEL visible.

ANGEL Now luvvy, don’t be angry with me. It’s just one of those things. A clerical oversight, we like to call it. Otherwise known as a cock-up.

HAROLD What? What are you on about?

ANGEL Well, it would appear — I mean this doesn’t happen very often. It never used to happen at all, but since we got contracted out, they’ve cut down staff, and we got this new computer system which nobody’s been trained how to use and it keeps crashing and, let me tell you, we’re all at our wit’s end.

HAROLD Get on with it!

ANGEL All right, luvvy, you see the thing is — you’re not dead. You were only resting.

HAROLD I knew it! Thank bollocking fuck!

ANGEL I know, it must be something of a relief. Anyway, um . . . We can see about getting you back to the land of the living, now, eh? All you have to do is lie down like you were before . . .

HAROLD lies down.

ANGEL Points his wand at him. Now don’t die, Mr Pinter, don’t die, Mr Pinter . . .

The words are broadcast over the speaker again — Don’t die, Mr Pinter, don’t die, don’t die . . .

Lights go up again. The scene is much as it was when HAROLD was having his seizure; but we only have BRIAN and HUW on stage.

BRIAN Hey hey! You’re back with us, Mr P! Oh, you sure gave us a bit of a fright.

HAROLD Fighting to get up. Get off me! Get off me! Let me get up!

HUW Whoa, whoa, whoa — you just take it easy for a sec; the ambulance’ll be here in a mo.

HAROLD Get off, get off! Fights his way to his feet. I’m not spending another second here! And I’m never bloody coming back! Storms off.

Enter KATE.

KATE The ambulance should be here any — where’s he gone?

BRIAN He’s gone.

HUW Just got up and left. He was fine.

KATE What was all that about? He was dying!

BRIAN You won’t see any of us getting out of here that easily. We’ve got a life sentence.

KATE A life sentence of ‘Ant or Dec? Which one would you shag if you had to?’

HUW Damn, I didn’t get a chance to slip him my screenplay.

Lights down.

Enter HAROLD front stage, in spotlight. Marches along, on his way home. Suddenly stops. He has noticed the ‘HAROLD’ name-badge, still attached to his lapel. He removes it, looks at it in bafflement and horror.

The theme tune to Mr Benn strikes up.

END