Path: news.nzbot.com!spool1.sonic-news.com!news-out.sonic-news.com!not.news-service.com!not.alt.net!not.highwinds-media.com!t3!artnm!sb07!feeder.news-service.com!feeder.news-service.com!feeder2.cambriumusenet.nl!feed.tweaknews.nl!193.201.147.87.MISMATCH!news.astraweb.com!border2.a.newsrouter.astraweb.com!not-for-mail
From: HMS Victor Victorian <victorvictorian@hushunomail.com>
Newsgroups: alt.fan.prettyboy
Subject: Re: The Difficulty with Nigel Act 1 Scene 2
Date: Thu, 07 Oct 2010 07:24:32 -0600
Message-ID: <ieira6lbrdtvmsrabgoiqe3ba5bs0a36m7@4ax.com>
References: <k5ija6h37kommt8mg92fvsjmq6pmb0fr72@4ax.com> <Grant-me-that-0410102@Grant.Grant>
X-Newsreader: Forte Agent 4.2/32.1118
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
Lines: 161
Organization: Unlimited download news at news.astraweb.com
NNTP-Posting-Host: 23f77cef.news.astraweb.com
X-Trace: DXC=\AEdUdV5Qa:R@Y?`:@TCo5L?0kYOcDh@:[bT<g`McNK0Ro>;Wc]IC^7_9EoVZXGDn>J4nI_kcnSg10l5SM4jc\]1OG6]^WbI:S7];c;R`h>Hn7
Xref: news.nzbot.com alt.fan.prettyboy:13085
On 4 Oct 2010 18:04:02 -0500, " +Grant. " <+Grant@grant.grant> wrote:
>In article <k5ija6h37kommt8mg92fvsjmq6pmb0fr72@4ax.com>, HMS Victor
>Victorian <victorvictorian@hushunomail.com> wrote:
>
>> Act 1, Scene 2
>>
>> Father
>>
>> Monday, March 29, 6:45 pm
>>
>> The Macmillan parlour at the end of the work day. Mr. Roger Macmillan
>> is a thin man, tall and lanky, with a prominent nose set in a sober
>> face of almost severe features. He has just arrived home by train
>> from his position as a design engineer for a construction firm in a
>> city some distance from home. It has been raining, and even with his
>> mackintosh, galoshes and bumbershoot, he appears at the door drenched.
>> "My God, the weather!" he announced, stomping into the foyer.
>>
>> Peeling the mac off, Roger tossed it over a chair and slipped off
>> his rubbers.
>>
>> "Hello, kids!" He grinned.
>>
>> "Hi, Dad." Claris and Nigel replied, hardly looking away from the
>> television.
>>
>> "Is that a way to greet your dad?" Mum scolded and turned to give
>> Roger a kiss as her husband moved to hang up his umbrella on a wall
>> hook.
>>
>> Dutifully, Claris dragged herself off the divan to give her dad a hug.
>> Nigel, who had been lying on the floor cuddled up in his favourite
>> blanket in the whole wide world, a fleecy Pooh throw with frayed
>> corners, and stroking Poohkums, the family's tan and brown long-haired
>> cat that he'd personally named to the exclusion of everyone's
>> preferences, shrugged off his blanket and stood up. Mr. Macmillan
>> abruptly froze in the act of hanging up his umbrella.
>>
>>
>> "Oh, dear," Angela lamented.
>>
>> "Nigel," Father asked firmly. "Where the blazes are your clothes?"
>>
>> "In the bedroom, I think, sir." Nigel replied softly, squeezed
>> Poohkums, and gave his dad a small smile
>> .
>> Roger sighed an apology. "I'm sorry for the bad language, Nigel, dear
>>
>> "Well," Nigel offered, "That I'm starkers?"
>>
>> "Bonkers is more like it," Claris interjected. "Barmy."
>>
>> "Be quiet." Nigel retorted, wrinkling his nose in disdain.
>>
>> "Oh, Roger," his wife reasoned, "It's just a passing phase. Lots of
>> little boys do it."
>>
>> "Well, I dare say I've never done it." Roger shook his head. "I
>> thought you said he was past it already. How long has this been going
>> on?"
>>
>>
>> "Weeks? Weeks you say! Well, it's got to stop." Dad demanded,
>> him locked up in a cellar with a bone and a bowl of water, or
>> something rubbish like that. People think the worst. We'll have some
>> social worker from the child welfare knocking us up before long."
>>
>> "I hope they take him off," Claris said. "And put him in a home."
>>
>> "Will they take me away, Mummy?" Nigel asked quietly, for the first
>> time looking alarmed.
>>
>> "No, no, dear. Heavens, no!" Mum said, and knelt beside her son. She
>> hugged him warmly, her large arms enveloping and pressing him into her
>> ample bosom. "I love you darling. No one's taking you off."
>>
>> "Oh, yes they will. He's bonkers."
>>
>> "That's enough, Claris," her father warned, and looked down at Nigel,
>> who seemed close to tears. "Now, darling. Nigel. Son. Please.
>> You've just got to keep your clothes on. Can you do that for your old
>> Dad?"
>>
>> "But, why?" Nigel asked.
>>
>> Mum rolled her eyes. Nigel saw the look.
>>
>> "Well, no one tells me a GOOD why!" the boy protested
>> .
>> gently. "People will talk about us and say things. Think of how our
>> family will look. We'll be the laughing stock of the town, and we
>> bobbing up and down. You could get a cat scratch or get it caught in
>> a door."
>>
>> "Poohkums won't scratch my willy!" Nigel protested. "She just likes
>>
>> "You let the cat bat your willy about?" Claris exclaimed in disgust
>> .
>> "Goodness!"Mum interrupted, "That's quite enough, Nigel!"
>>
>> "Now I need to talk to your mother," Father finished, "So back to
>> your programme, both of you."
>>
>> Nigel sat back down on the floor with thump, released Poohkums and
>> threw his Pooh blanket back over him in a huff. Mr. Macmillan
>> motioned Mrs. Macmillan into the adjoining kitchen.
>>
>> "I think it is time perhaps that you-know-who goes to see you-know-who
>> about you-know-what." He said. "Could you make an appointment
>> tomorrow morning?"
>>
>> Angela gave a dejected sigh.
>>
>> "Yes, yes. I suppose we should have someone see Nigel, but I had so
>> hoped we'd not have to."
>>
>> "Not so loud, dear. The children will hear." Roger said, and gave his
>> wife a kiss. "It will be fine. We just don't want it to get any
>> worse."
>>
>> In the parlour, Claris grinned malevolently and pressed up against
>> where her brother's head was hidden under the Pooh blanket.
>>
>> "They've got special white coats just for your type," she snickered.
>> "With long sleeves and buckles."
>>
>> "Oh, belt up." Nigel growled from within his fleecy sanctuary.
>
>
>I like your story, or play. Or something. Naked is good!
>But a GIRL cat? LOL
Ah, yes, Grant. But life isn't perfect, now!
As well you know!
All My Best,
V
God Save the Queen.
God Bless the Prince of Wales.
God Preserve the Windsors.
Rule Britannia!
|
|