Hoodening Play 1995 (30th year)

Moll:
The Hoodeners are here!
Quick outer my way, give us some room
Or you'll feel the weight of the back of my broom!
Old Dobbin's a comin', best stand well back
Those flashing feet could give quite a whack!
[Enter the others struggling with Dobbin]
All:
Whoa! Dobbin Whoa! Whoa!
[Dobbin runs around]
'arry:
Dobbin's lively, bin frisky all day
Best stand back, keep out of his way
Watch out, those hooves could possibly kill
Boy:
He's crashing around like Damon Hill
Sam:
He's scattered those chairs, headbutted that table
He seemed OK when he came out of the stable
Moll:
There does seem a problem with his sight
Praps some chaff in his eyes?
George:
You could be right
Sam:
What shall we do, is there a vet-in-'ere?
Maybe someone could look at his retina.
Boy:
You can't get eye jokes cornea than that
'arry:
Steady Dobbin, watch my old hat!
All:
Whoa! Dobbin Whoa!
'arry:
Now he's steady let's talk to these folk
Let's tell our tale, and maybe a joke
[Sam tells joke…]
Moll:
What a year we've had, without a doubt
It's bin so dry…
George:
The year of the drought
'arry:
It shrivelled my beetroot and withered the buds
Of my runner beans…
Sam:
It buggered my spuds
Boy:
I thrashed around, couldn't sleep at night
Kept sweating buckets…
George:
Yeah, you're right
Sam:
I spent my lunchtimes down at the pub
To put back the liquid…
Moll:
And scoff all the grub!
Sam:
Lazing in the garden, all on my todd
Boy:
Just look at his guts, the fat old sod!
'arry:
You cheeky wazzock, keep that tight
He's far too lippy George…
George:
Yeah, you're right
Whoever:
Now just as we do every year
Some special lines, just for 'ere
[Special lines]
Moll:
All this dry weather, it's just not the same
Unnatural it is, something's to blame
'arry:
That Richborough power station is what I think
Is changing the climate and causing a stink
Boy:
No, that's Sam making that smell
He's hot you see, and he's farted as well
Moll:
There's so much pollution, where will it stop?
It's affecting us all, also our crops
Sam:
It's coming to the end of its working life
Just like our Dobbin… he's due for the knife
Orimulsion is the fuel that they use
You must have heard of it, it's been in the news
The soot and fumes have billowed for weeks
Boy:
Just like what happens when Sam parts his cheeks!
'arry:
No, that's a different kind of toxic emission
There's enough force down there for nuclear fission!
George:
The French 'ave got nothing on our old chum
When he unleashes his atom bum
Moll:
Don't you mean bomb?
George:
I knows what I means!
Moll:
Our boy's been to college and gained some new skills
He's learned how to plough and use the seed drill
Boy:
No! That's not what I'm doing, that's not my vocation
I'm gonna get a proper education!
'arry:
That's not like you boy, using them big words
Now get on with your work and clear up them turds!
Boy:
What turds? We ain't got any this year!
[All look at Dobbin, who obliges with some turds]
All:
That's better…
Boy:
This year is special, I shall digress
For thirty years Moll's been wearing a dress
'arry:
We reenact this custom of old
Its origins I shall unfold
We represent a ploughing team
Whose play is on an ancient theme
Moll:
We've bin going for so many years
Sam:
[aside] These poor buggers must be bored to tears!
Boy:
It's about time Dobbin was laid out to grass
'arry:
[to others] Would someone give him a kick up the arse?
[Someone obliges]
Boy:
Dressed up all tatty and covered in grime
[looks at clothes & face, then Sam]
Boy:
And Sam's half pissed on lager and lime!
I don't think our play could get much worse
George:
It might 'ave helped if we'd rehearsed…
Moll:
Stop your banter, we'll be 'ere all week
Boy:
That bloke over there's already asleep!
Moll:
This year our script has been split
We've all had a go, written our bit
Sam:
It's not been done before, it's something different
We're sorry if it sounds inconsistent
George:
That's what I had the other week or two
All day long I kept needing a p…
[Sam interrupts]
Sam:
Incontinent's what he means, he's got all mixed up
'twas that vindaloo that buggered you up!
George:
Who's in the Continent? Not me, I'm right here
The land of cricket and nice warm beer
A pint down the pub on a Friday night
Nothing can beat it…
Boy:
Yeah, you're right
[Pause; George glares at Boy]
'arry:
But for how long, eh? That's what I say
Our pints of ale 'ave seen their day
Sam:
A drought at the brewery? Is that what you mean?
Moll:
Haven't you heard Sam? Where have you been?
We're having to adopt metriculation
Sam:
That's disgusting!
'arry:
No — she means an invasion…
… from the Continent, of litres and stuff
George:
Who's incontinent?
Boy:
Oh that's it, I'm off!
[Boy goes out]
'arry:
Where're you going Boy? Boy? [Pause; as aside…] Too late, he's gawn
Moll:
Maybe he's fetching old Dobbin some corn
He's had trouble eating, poor old hoss
Sam:
Who cares about 'im? I don't give a…
[Moll threatens him with her broom]
Sam:
… f-f-f-f-f-fig
Though the less he pulls, the more we 'ave to dig
'arry:
He stumbles around, can't walk a straight line
George:
Bit like you, 'arry, after too much wine!
Moll:
His eyes really must be getting bad
I don't think he's a shirker, not like the lad
'arry:
Hold your tongue, Moll, he plays his part
Sam:
Hang on, I think I'm about to… [Chorus: Oh No!]… start
To see a solution to Dobbin's ills
He might need specs, instead of pills!
'arry:
Specs on a horse? Have you gone mad?
[To Moll & George] I'm inclined to give his job to the lad
[Boy returns with oversize specs]
'arry:
Here he comes now… oh no, what's that?
You're as daft as he is, you stupid pratt!
Boy:
I thought these might help to get Dobbin well
Sam:
You're a genius Boy, and physic as well
George:
[aside] No Sam, you mean psycho…
'arry:
Aren't those the specs that make you see in 3D?
Boy:
That's right, everything starts to look groovy…
George:
Oh no, he'll flip, just like Sam did last year
D'you remember Sam, how you felt a bit queer?
Sam:
Indeed I do! But now I've changed
I no longer act quite so deranged
'arry:
[aside] That's a matter of opinion…
Sam:
I've mended my ways, I've seen the light
[to 'arry] What'd you say? You want a fight?
[Fight is successfully avoided…]
Moll:
Come on then, let's see if they fit
He'll prob'ly be raring to go in a bit
[All try to fit specs on Dobbin — eventually succeed; Dobbin begins to look around wildly]
Boy:
There, you see, they livened him up
Let's go and have a bite to sup
It was all a Blur, it affected his health
— but I prefer Oasis myself!
Moll:
Who?
Sam:
Oasis — that's in the desert, a fertile spot
That's where they should send the whole flipping lot
[Dobbin gets wilder]
'arry:
Wait a minute, summat's a bit odd
Sam:
Just admit he's cured, you silly sod
'arry:
No, look out! He's off his head!
Grab his reins now, before he sees red!
[Dobbin rushes around and knocks the Boy over; others manage to grab onto him]
Moll:
You've killed him! I think he's dead
Now unlike Sam he'll never be wed
The crack in 'is skull is a metre wide
And all his brains have trickled outside
Fetch a cloth, to clean up this mess
Who'll tell his girl? One of you, I guess…
Sam:
Do shut up, you stupid old witch!
Can't we just leave him in the ditch?
Pretend he's had an accident
After all, his head's only a little bent
Moll:
Whoever finds him will have a dreadful fright
Especially in the dead of night…
George:
Yeah, you're right
[Song — words at end of script]
'arry:
Pack up singing that spooky twaddle
Moll:
I'm sure I saw his eyelids wobble
'arry:
We'd better start to clear some space
Now Dobbin's accustomed to this place
And George! Just hold the nag's reins in
Get a bucket to put the boy's brains in
Docile Dobbin can carry him home
Be careful as you handle his dome
Help us to lay him up on his back
Sam:
You'd better tie him to the jade's tack
We don't want the corpse looking any worse
Before they chuck him in the back of the hearse
Moll:
Help us while we lift the young pup
Hold 'im tight till I've tied him up
Something moved… I felt it quiver
Sam:
One of his organs… praps his liver
Moll:
George don't let go, don't dither
Watch out! He's starting to slither
Sam:
Whoops… right down past Dobbin's wither
Moll:
Something moved…
George:
Gives me the shivers!
'arry:
You stupid buggers, you've let him drop
When's this disaster going to stop
Sam:
We need a lawyer… praps O.J. Simpson's
Moll:
Look how he lies, oh so winsome
Quiet! I'm sure I heard a moan
Sam:
No you didn't, he's as dead as a stone
Moll:
Wasn't that a little cough?
Around his mouth a little froth?
Sam:
Search his pockets for his money
Moll:
Sam! That really isn't very funny
I'm sure his nose is a bit runny
George:
Look, I really think he's coming round
Help to lift him off the ground
All:
He's alive!
George:
Boy! You OK? You look a bit groggy
What is that stuff that's gone all soggy?
You looked dead, all that blood and gore
And your brains scattered over the floor
Boy:
No, pillock, that's nothing nasty
Just the remains of me Cornish pasty
Under me 'at to keep it warmer
Sam:
Couldn't do that with a chicken korma!
Boy:
Stop making a fuss, you stupid git
I was only knocked out for a bit
In fact, that knock has helped me remember
That at this time in mid-December
The Boss had just given me our Christmas bonus
I thought at first he was going to moan us
He gave it me while back at the farm
I was just keeping it safe from harm
George:
It's not in that mess under your cap
I don't want mine all covered in crap
Boy:
No, it's here in my top pocket
It's quite safe, so don't you knock it
The Boss said Christmas was a time for giving
And not to waste it on riotous living
George:
So off to the pub to invest it
Food in litres…
Sam:
… ale in tonnes to digest it
Boy:
Mine's a bitter, I've money to buy
Moll:
I'll have a Carling — like Princess Di
All these metric names leave me in the lurch
You knew where you were with a rod, pole or perch
Boy:
A hectare's a measure of land, you see
Sam:
Well here's two "acres" to you from me
[Sam knees Boy in groin]
George:
Before we go let's set Dobbin right
But how to improve his impaired sight?
'arry:
And then remove those stupid specs
Moll:
Another problem's too much sex!
That's what made my eyes bad
Won't say too much in front of the lad
Boy:
I'm sorry, I don't see what you mean
George:
On getting his oats the 'oss is keen
Sam:
She means old Dobbin's been to stud
Boy:
That's about as clear as mud
George:
Look, unlike Sam who likes to celebrate
Poor old Dobbin's got to stay celibate
'arry:
On that note, our playlet's ended
Luckily the boy's life wasn't suspended
Boy:
We just hope that we haven't offended
So our hands for charity are extended
Sam:
We've several charities in mind this year
Which ones we'll choose is still not clear
'arry:
But we'll keep you informed via the local rag
Otherwise known as the Parish Mag
George:
The National Lottery has taken its toll
So please give your change to our Mystic Moll
Moll:
I'm able to predict this could be a big earner
Sam:
I still think she looks more like Anthea Turner
Boy:
So give to our cause, give the lottery a miss
Give the cash in your pockets, while we go for a…
Moll:
Please fill our nose bag to the brim
Because their plight is really grim
All:
And if ye the Hooden Horse do feed
Throughout the year ye shall not need

Song (to celebrate the Beatles' revival…)

When we were younger, and still had some hair,
Many years ago…
He was the apple of his mother's eye,
Kissed all the girls and made them cry,
Now he is dead and shall be no more,
Let's not be unkind
Will he be missed? Or shall we get pissed?
I bet he wouldn't mind…

The Boy is a ghost now, with Casper and friends,
In the land beyond,
Praps he's getting drunk with the angel crew,
I wonder if they've got any MasterBrew?
Or is he back with us, flying around,
Like a demon ghoul?
Will we be haunted? Will we be taunted?
Let's just play it cool!

Produced by (contact details). All rights reserved. .