Hoodening Play 2005

Moll:
The Hoodeners are here!
All right you lot, keep clear of my broom
Stand back to the wall, give us some room
I could 'ear you lot halfway down the street
So keep quiet, stop stamping your feet
I've had enough, can't hear myself think
I'm hungry and thirsty — is that your drink?
Moll helps herself
Must get on or we'll never get done
Where are the others? Ah, here they come
George (in pubs):
Cor, the smell of smoke couldn't get much stronger
Still we won't have that for very much longer
Enter Sam, George, Boy, Dobbin
Sam:
It's parky outside, I can't feel my toes
There's a dewdrop forming on the end of my nose
Why do we work when the weather's like this?
I'm knackered and shattered
Boy:
                      I need a p…
Moll:
Boy!
(Boy goes off)
Sam:
I must say, now he's gone to the lav
He's turning into a right little chav
George:
He'll be back wearing a Hoodie in a minute
Sam:
That's why we're called the Hoodeners, innit?
At some venues sing "Hoodies… Hoodie Hoodie Yum Yum" [Goodies theme]
George:
This cold gets deep down into your bones
All we get from Molly is groans
About this and that and all things mournful
Sam:
It's either than or she's being scornful
Times are hard and money's tight
Desperate, George…
George:
                      Ay, you're right
Boy returns
Moll:
Time we all had a few days' break
Had a rest for goodness' sake
I'll ask the Boss to see if he might
Give us Christmas off…
George:
                      Yeah, right!
Sam:
Dobbin needs it, he's on his last pole
We go on like this, we'll be on the dole
Moll:
It's time this horse cheered up for sure
He really is no fun anymore
George:
It might be that diet that's stopped his frolic
Moll:
Either that or a dose of colic
George:
Give him a pill for his digestion
Praps that will ease his congestion
Moll:
Dobbin will then cease to shirk
Maybe then we'll finish the work
Boy:
If 'arry had stayed and not gone to France
The work would be done…
Dobbin:
                      Fat chance!
Moll:
He's just working there, not planning to stay
A few roofs to mend, some bricks to lay
We'll manage without him, that's all I'll say
Sam:
He never did that much anyway
Boy:
He did more than you, yer miserable git
Sam:
You cheeky wussock, watch your lip!
Moll:
He's been drinking again, binging it's called
Sam:
A right little p…head, I'm really appalled
George:
The amount he drinks is totally absurd
Takes after his father, that's what I've heard
Sam:
The other night he was thrown out the Anchor
Out of his head, the little…
Moll:
Sam!
Sam:
He's on something, from what I can see
George:
Praps he got it from that Tory MP
Boy:
Am I bothered? I can hold my liquor
I can down ten pints without a flicker
Then a dozen shorts to end the night
Sam:
Do you ever throw up?
Boy:
                      Sometimes I might
Moll:
Flintoff don't worry when you go to the wicket
This boy just drinks, he can't play cricket
Sam:
You said he'd got a good cut and can catch
Moll:
No, half cut I meant, that's most of the match
Sam:
I've seen him slash down to deep extra cover
Moll:
If he does that again I'll tell his mother
Sam:
I've seen him drop balls at silly mid-off
George:
That's because of his nasty cough
Boy coughs. Enter Bill.
Moll:
What do you want?
Bill:
                      What's it to you?
I've come to see what's to do
'arry said I could take his place
I'll need new clothes, his were a disgrace
George:
You can't just waltz in like some flaming Mathilda
'arry's clothes fit — if you've a bum like a builder
Boy:
Yeah, go take a hike
Or I'll slap your face. On yer bike
Bill:
He's a stroppy bugger, a right little brat
I'll mark his cards, be sure of that
Bill goes out
Sam:
Don't worry if he gets your goat
I'll tighten that Burberry scarf round his throat
Moll:
Best be careful 'case we get the sack
Look out… he's coming back!
Bill slaps envelope on Boy
Bill:
There, I'll come back when it suits me
I travel about for a living, you see
Moll:
What is it Boy?
Boy:
                      He must be a warder
All:
Why?
Boy:
It's an anti-social behavement order
What can I do? It's spoilt my night
Moll:
Best behave, eh George?
George:
                      You're probably right
Sam:
I hear rumbling afar
Moll:
                      Is it cannons praps?
In honour of Victory won by Nelson's fine chaps?
Boy:
If it's cannons, I'm hiding and downing my tools
I don't want to be hit by one of those balls
Moll:
You daft little sod, there's no need to break ranks
I'm pretty sure that they only fire blanks
Sam:
I quite see myself as Nelson you know
A fine English bloke who knew where to go
I hope to be mounted upon a big column
Moll:
That could be arranged, with this broom up your bottom
George:
I don't think that noise means we're going to be shot
I think that it's coming from one of you lot!
Sam:
There's turbines and windmills a-whirlin' offshore
And I think I heard tell that they want to build more
Boy:
If it's wind that they need then ol' Dobbin's for rent
Our 'orse farts for Britain, he could power all Kent
Moll:
It won't be long before Dobbin quits
I think he's getting a dose of the squits
Whoever:
As we're here Hoodening today
We've some special lines we'd like to say… [or not]
Sam:
We've got a few minutes before it gets dark
Let's play some cricket, just for a lark
Music: Soul Limbo!
George:
We'll 'ave Molly's broom to use as a bat
Sam's apple for a ball…
Sam:
                      I dunno about that
Boy:
We need something else to use as the stumps
Let's use Dobbin, he's down in the dumps
Moll:
His back legs and tail will probably do
George:
What about bales?
Sam:
                      I think he's got two
George:
Come on Boy, your turn at the crease
Work on the ball, Sam, use your grease
Sam bowls
Sam:
Howzat George, must have been tight?
Plum LBW?
George:
                      No, not quite
Boy misses next ball, hits Dobbin who kicks back
Moll:
Oh no! Dobbin's felled our poor boy
Sam:
Tossed on the ground like a broken toy
George:
Felled by a hoof from our vicious horse
Now let nature take its course
Moll:
It's the danger of drink that's caused his demise
Sam:
He lost his balance when he closed his eyes
Anyway, did the last ball go for four?
Did anyone stop it?
George:
                      I'm not sure
Moll:
You two, how can you, have you no compassion?
Our Boy's laid out
George:
                      He took quite a bashin'
Moll:
Dobbin's upset, he meant him no harm
Dobbin kicks out at Boy
Moll:
Anymore of that and you'll go back to the farm
Sam:
Out of the way, no ifs or buts
Those pills have upset Dobbin's guts
Dobbin craps over Boy
Moll:
As usual for this time of year
Dobbin's got a bad case of diarrhoea
George:
Let's cover him up, 'cause I think he'd dead
Get out the sheet, tuck it under his head
Sam:
That proves it, he's dead 'tis true
I hope he ain't got that there bird flu
George:
Should we wait a while before we dig a hole?
Moll:
He may still come round, the poor little soul
Sam:
We could of course always cremate
In which case, I've an idea… wait
He wanted to give them Aussies some bashes
Now he can — he can be the Ashes!
All:
Sam!
Enter Bill
George:
Oh no, it's him again
He really is a bit of a pain
Bill slaps ABSO on Dobbin
Bill:
I'm a part-time doctor and I'll find a cure
What's up with the lad?
Moll:
He's dead
Bill:
                      Are you sure?
I'm not much of an expert, but I think you'll note
That there's an apple gone and lodged in his throat
Sam:
I'll give him a slap on the back of his neck
Moll:
It's out!
Sam:
             Howzat?
George:
                      Flipping 'eck!
Boy splutters back to life
All:
He's alive!
Boy gets up
Sam:
You pulled him through — saved us some strife
How can we thank you for saving his life
Bill:
You can take me on, put me in charge
I'm right for the job… Is this hat too large?
Moll:
The Boss won't agree, that's all I can say
So thanks for your help, but…
George:
                      On your way!
Bill:
I'll be back later when you've made up your mind
I'm right for the job, I'm sure you'll find
I must pop back and see [to] my wife
See you later…
Boy:
                      He saved my life!
Moll:
Seriously Sam, we must not tarry
Someone's needed to replace 'arry
Sam:
There's nobody else, not in this house
We need someone with a bit of nous
George:
Bill's not bad, useful I'd say
Boy:
He saved my life
Sam:
                      Yeah, OK
Moll:
But we must ask the Boss if it's OK to hire
Next time we see him we should enquire
Sam:
He's bound to agree, we'll give Bill a shout
Boy, go find him, and don't hang about
Boy:
OK, I'm going, that apple was rife
I must find him — he saved my life!
Moll:
Go quick as you can, there's no time to be lost
George:
So best not go via Westwood Cross
Boy goes off. Sound of Dr Who music and arrival of TARDIS. Bill emerges.
Sam:
Crikey, what's that? Is it some form of art?
Moll:
Don't be daft, you stupid old fart
Sam:
It has the look of the Turner Centre
George:
I rather think it's the return of our mentor
Bill:
I said that I travelled, and was a doctor part-time
I hope you like this TARDIS of mine?
Moll:
What an entrance, take my advice
Give him the job… Name your price!
George:
That beats riding Dobbin for sure
I want a go!
Bill:
                      Stand back from that door…
Right, stand in line, there will be no slacking
Anyone who skives will be sent packing
Enter Boy
Boy:
Who's he, I know his face
Move aside, I need Space
Bill:
You certainly came in well on cue
Join with me as one of the crew
Boy:
The Boss answered our Christmas suggestion
He said it spoilt his digestion
Moll:
What else did he say?
Boy:
                      My ear got cuffed
And just like the turkey, we can all get stuffed
Sam:
I think we're all in need of a drink
Best tell about our cause, I think
George:
Please dig deep, give all you can afford
For care of the elderly at St Augustine's Ward
Moll:
They need a new scanner to look in the bladder
When mine's full, nothing makes me madder
Sam:
You leave it too late, that's even sadder
Help us to climb this financial ladder
Boy:
We want your quids, not your tanners
Bill:
They come expensive, diagnostic scanners
George:
However much money that we sends
Will be topped up by the League of Friends
Sam:
And finally, by way of a marker
In memory of the late Ronnie Barker
Moll:
An item of late news we must say:
Dobbin's decided to call it a day
George:
Yes, he's confirmed the worst of our fears
He's hanging up his hooves after 40 years
Sam:
So it's goodnight from us
All:
And it's goodbye from him
For, if ye the Hooden Horse do feed
Throughout the year ye shall not need

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