Hoodening Play 2007

Copyright (c) The Hoodeners. All rights reserved.

Moll:

The 'oodeners are here!

C'mon give us some space.

You lot are too rowdy, you're such a disgrace!

Now look at this litter — some paper a tin

I'll just drop them off in my new wheely bin.

But I'm awful confused 'bout fortnightly collections

I'm finding it hard to make a selection.

Take this tin does it go in a black bin or blue?

I'll just close my eyes — any bin will do!

HOODENERS APPROACH, "SINGING" (to the tune of Any Dream Will Do)

All:

We close our eyes

When sifting debris

Yes, no or maybe

Any bin will do!

The council claim

It's wheelie easy

The smell makes us queasy

Any bin will do!

Boy:

Your attitudes wrong and you've got to change.

The Boss has demanded that we re-arrange

The way that we work as we're so out of date

We've got to do something before it's too late.

Sam:

That's rubbish, our 'orse is as green as they come

He's got zero emissions

(THE HORSE DUMPS AN EARLY LOAD)

Sam:

                      Except from his bum.

George:

We've got to recycle, I'm not quite sure why.

Bill:

Because if we don't then the planet will die!

We've got to consider the next generation.

Boy:

The ozone's depletion is a complete aberration!

We have to preserve and protect our resources

For the future of earth and mankind

'ORSE:                      And of horses

Sam:

Shut up you old windbag, who rattled your cage?

This environment thing has got me in a rage.

It makes me see red and I get in a stew

What about you George?

George:

                      Oh yeah, yeah. Me too.

Moll:

He's all hot and bothered — he needs a few beers.

He's so stroppy that smoke's coming out of his ears

George:

Oi, no smoking in here! 'cos that is the law

You'll have to join the chavs (or frequent smoker e.g. Clive)

                      outside of the door

Bill:

Whilst old Sam's busy turning a dark shade of pink

This recycling business has caused me to think.

We're not getting no younger — some call us old codgers.

Sam:

Hey, speak for yourself. I'm no coffin dodger!

Moll:

What's your point Bill, what're you trying to say?

Are you trying to tell us to call it a day?

Bill:

I'm saying there's no-one to take up the foil

When we've shuffled off our mortal coil.

It's all well recycling for the kids of the planet.

But once we've gone, who'll hooden in Thanet?

Our days are numbered and I'll tell you why

We've got no children, the tradition'll die.

Sam:

I see what your mean, the penny has dropped

When we've all gone the Hoodeners will… stop.

Moll:

We're none of us married, we've not any kids.

George:

Except the old 'orse and he's got hun-drids.

Sam:

That's true the old 'orse has spread his seed far

All over St Nicholas

Boy:

                      And Chislet

George:

                      And Sarre.

Bill:

A prolific breeder, is our trusty nag.

Sam:

There's naught he likes better than a good hearty…

All:

SAM!!

Sam:

                      … breakfast.

George:

Our problem is such that we're over the hill

We cannot perform

Bill:

                      Without help from a pill.

Boy:

You speak for yourselves — I'm still a young lad

There's many a chavvy that might call me dad.

George:

That's not what you say when you're drunken and merry

You told me last week that you'd not lost your cherry.

Bill:

He might be our best hope though, before it's too late

We really should try to procreate

Moll:

It's not just the lad that's still in his prime.

I might meet a suitor — there's still loads of time.

Sam:

But who'd want you Moll? With your wrinkled old face

And your smelly old clothes, you're such a disgrace.

Bill:

The lad needs a young lass, who'll agree to our scheme

It's quite a tall order…

George:

                      But the lad — he can dream

THE BOY IS IN A STATE OF DREAMY REVERIE

Boy:

Come on, wheel 'em in then. I'll show them who's boss

I quite like Posh Spice or p'raps that Kate Moss.

Sam:

You've got lots to learn Boy if those are your heroes

Round here in East Kent, we don't do size zeros!

Bill:

Let's look at the facts — there are no lasses here

Sam:

They see us lot coming and then disappear

Bill:

Our Moll is still fertile — that's what we've been told

Sam:

But she's probably lying.

George:

                      She's ever so old.

And wrinkly…

Sam:

                      And ugly and fat…

Bill:

                      That's as maybe

But I say that Molly should have the Boy's baby!

Moll:

I'm not sleeping with him, you're having a joke

I envisaged a hunk of a man, a real bloke.

Boy:

Ugh, yuk! Not a chance. Absolutely no way!

Anyway, I forgot to tell you… I'm gay!

George: [aside]

He's the only one in the village then

Bill:

Now don't be so daft, that's not where I was at

There's more than just one way to skin a cat

We could try to inseminate the artificial way

Sam:

Just like the pigs do!

Boy:

                      Get lost Sam. No way!

I'm not going to do it. You've all gone quite mad

One of you others will have to be dad.

ALL TAKE A STEP BACK, INCLUDING THE 'ORSE

Sam:

What about George?

George:

                      My sperm count's too low

Bill:

Are you quite sure?

Moll:

                      How do you know?

George:

I counted them up! There's not many there

And they're all a bit slow, so, it wouldn't be fair!

What about Bill?

Bill:

                      Well I'd love to help out

But there's something that you lot just don't know about

George:

Oooh! Do tell!

Moll:

A secret!

Sam:

                      I thought he looked shady

Bill:

Well I'm quite manly now but I once was a laydee

Sam:

No you weren't!

Bill:

                      Yes I was! A petite ballerina

BILL TWIRLS TO DEMONSTRATE

Bill:

My name isn't Bill. I was born Wilhelmina!

Boy:

I have always thought that he's prettier than Moll.

Sam:

Well most people are, 'cos she looks like a troll.

George:

She's not much of a looker

Moll:

                      Hey less of your lip.

Boy:

Sam could be dad

Sam:

                      No! I've had the snip!

All:

Have you?

Sam:

Well it wasn't quite planned. There was a mistake.

Involving some shears and a rusty old rake.

HOODENERS ARE LARGELY RENDERED SPEECHLESS

Bill:

So it's back to you Boy, without you we're stuffed

Sam:

Without you we can't get old Moll up the duff!

Boy:

I'm not really sure, 'cos what's in it for me?

Sam:

Well, you'll go down in Hoodening history!

Boy:

Oh, OK.

Bill:

You've got to do the business and fill a small pot

Boy:

What, from 'ere?!

Moll:

Here you are lad (HANDS BOY A LARGE PICKLE JAR)

Boy:

                      Is that all that you've got?

Are you sure that it's sterile?

Moll:

                      I gave it a rinse

George:

The smell's pretty pungent

Sam:

                      It's making me wince!

Boy:

No I can't use that jar, the smell is just rank

[HANDS JAR BACK]

Sam:

Oh bugger off Boy, just go and… perform.

George:

He'll need some material.

Moll:

                      What do you mean?

George:

You know, a picture from a certain magazine.

Bill:

I've got What Car? here or maybe Men's Health?

George:

No, I'm thinking more risque, a bit more top shelf.

Sam:

Voluptuous women like J-Lo or Kylie

Or Jordan, Dawn French…

George:

                      Or p'raps Carol Smillie!

Bill:

I've a picture right here, I could lend it to you.

It's Ann Widdecombe

Boy:

                      OK, That'll do.

BOY SNATCHES PICTURE AWAY AND RUNS OFF

INSERT SPECIAL LINES IF ANY

BOY RETURNS

Sam:

Crumbs! That was quick

Boy:

                      Oh it don't take me long.

I've put it in the fridge.

GROANS ALL ROUND

Boy:

                      Why, have I done wrong?

Bill:

You plonker! That stuff is meant to be warm

Sam:

The idiot Boy just don't know he's born.

George:

You'd best hurry off Moll. The Boy's such a waster.

Sam:

Here, don't forget this. It's a new turkey baster.

EXIT MOLL. HOODENERS TWIZZLE ROUND WITH SIGN SAYING 'SOME MONTHS LATER…'

Bill:

Our Molly is pregnant, she's doing just fine

George:

She's putting on weight which I think's a good sign.

Sam:

There's no morning sickness

Boy:

                      She's eating a-plenty

George:

She's eating for two

Sam:

                      She's eating for twenty!

ENTER AN ENORMOUS MOLL

Moll:

I ain't felt it kick yet.

Boy:

                      I wonder what it's like?

Sam:

I can help you find out (KICKS BOY)

Boy:

                      Get off! On your bike!

Bill:

The 'orse is put out — well he's feeling neglected.

George:

He's seeking attention — I think that's expected.

Sam:

It's not that, it's because his food ration's diminished

I gave him some oats and they're already finished.

We're one worker down and money is tight

What do you say George?

George:

                      Yeah! You're right!

Bill:

The money's diverted to Moll and the bab

We're all a bit peckish

Sam:

                      I could go a kebab.

Bill:

But they have to come first as a matter of course

Sam:

Bloody hell, I'm starving, I could eat an 'orse

'ORSE LOOKS NERVOUS

George:

If money's tight now with no cash left for beer

What will he drink when the baby is here?

Sam:

The poor lad'll starve and be dry as a bone

Moll:

He might have to resort to getting a loan.

Boy:

It won't just be me; we can all share the cost.

George:

Oh no we can't

Bill:

                      You're joking!

Sam:

                      Get lost!

Moll:

Don't be naive Boy, you'll have to pay

Boy:

You've got to be kidding, on my wage, no way!

Sam:

You've got cash a-plenty you tight-fisted sod

George:

Yeah! We're fed up of you saying, "Just look at my wad"!

Boy:

Thems are my savings that I've put away

For when things get tough or a dark rainy day

Sam:

Where's your cash hidden? 'neath your bed in a sock?

Boy:

Nope it's safer than that — it's with Northern Rock

Bill:

The powers that be will catch up with you lad

You've got to get used to being a dad!

Boy:

I'll deny I'm the father and p'raps run away

Sam:

They'll catch up with you Boy, that there CSA.

Boy:

That's OK, I'll just take the risk

George:

I've already found your name on this disc!

SOUND OF LOUD FARTING IN THE VICINITY OF MOLL AND THE 'ORSE

Sam:

Quick! The 'orse is letting one go

Bill:

Bring him 'ere quick now, don't be too slow

George:

The gas that he generates does us just fine

As power for our personal wind turbine.

Sam:

That ain't the 'orse that's stinking the place

That's our dear Molly — just look at her face.

Bill:

Oh crikey, the baby! Do something quick!

Take her to hospital. I think that she's sick!

Sam:

Get on the 'orse Boy and go fetch the cart

Stick Molly on it and make a swift start

BOY ATTEMPTS TO MOUNT THE 'ORSE, 'ORSE PROTESTS AND RUNS OFF TAKING FARTING MOLL WITH HIM. THE BOY IS LAYING ON THE FLOOR.

Bill:

Oh blimey he's fallen, the 'orse kicked his head.

George:

Is he breathing or not?

Sam:

                      I think that he's dead.

Bill:

We'd best cover 'im up them, have you a sheet?

Sam:

What about this? (PRODUCES SHEET FROM SOMEWHERE)

Bill:

                      Yes, that'll do a treat.

George:

Shall we sing him a song? A lament of some kind

Sam:

I s'pose that we ought, what have you in mind?

ALL SING LAMENT TO TUNE OF 'NEARER MY GOD TO THEE'

Oh, what a pity that our Boy is dead

He's not so pretty with a hoofprint on his head

He used to make us laugh

We'll write his epitaph

We'll share his money out when the Will is read!

George:

If you don't mind me saying, it's a little extreme

Sam:

What are you on about?

Bill:

                      What do you mean?

George:

The maintenance payments — he's now off the hook

A kick in the head, that's all that it took.

Sam:

We can plunder his savings and have a few beers!

Bill:

A shed full of ale, while we shed a few tears.

Sam:

I quite fancy a holiday — sailing to port

George:

What down in the Solent?

Sam:

                      No Tewkesbury, I thought!

George:

Why not sail to the Gulf? Visit a pyr-A-mid…

Buy a souvenir teddy… You could call it Muha…

Bill:

Before we get carried away or go wild

I think we should put some away for the child.

George:

Let's hope Moll's OK and the baby, of course

She's been left on her own, with only the 'orse.

Sam:

She'll be quite upset when she learns the Boy's dead

She'd entertained hopes of them getting wed.

GASP OF HORROR FROM THE BOY ON THE FLOOR. MOLL RETURNS.

George:

Hey, here she comes now! Come in, have a seat.

Bill:

You must take it easy, take the weight off your feet.

Moll:

I've something to tell you, it might be a shock

There's something amiss with my biological clock

You see I'm not three months, or four months or five

I'm not pregnant at all…

Boy:

                      Oh! Thank God!

All:

                      HE'S ALIVE!!

Moll:

What's the matter with him?

George:

                      He passed out on the earth

Sam:

He wouldn't have been that much good at the birth.

Bill:

So what did the Doc say? What about your big tum?

Moll:

Trapped wind in my belly, that came out of my bum.

He says I'm obese, I've a high BMI

I've got to lose weight or I'm going to die.

Sam:

But how did you think you were pregnant at all?

George:

Did you not do a test?

Moll:

                      Yes, of course, I'm no fool!

I think I've still got it — I've got it right here

I thought it would make a nice souvenir

MOLL SHOWS PREGNANCY TEST TO OTHERS WHO ALL PEER IN

Sam:

I've never seen anything quite so pathetic

You're not pregnant Moll, you're just diabetic!

George:

You picked the wrong pack up!

MOLL:

                      There's so many self-tests.

I couldn't work out which one was the best.

Sam:

A pregnancy one might have just done the trick!

Moll:

Well I knew that I had to wee on a stick.

Bill:

So it seems there's no baby, we're back to square one

There'll be no-one to hooden, once we've all passed on.

George:

You should still see the Doc though and sort yourself out

You're no use to us if you faint or pass out

You must eat more fresh veg to reduce your girth

There'll be lorry-loads soon from that new "Thanet Earth"

Sam:

Now p'raps we should tell them 'bout this year's good cause

Bill:

And it's nothing to do with old Moll's menopause

Moll:

The money will go to the Paula Carr Trust

George:

They drive around here in a thing like a bus

Boy:

They provide local diabetics with a specialist service

Sam:

Checking their eyes, for those who are ner-viss

Bill:

So give us your notes or your change which is loose

Moll:

And we will ensure that it's put to good use

George:

It's all above board, we're not into scams

[WINKS TO AUDIENCE]

No questions asked, Mr Abrahams!

OCCASIONAL ADDENDUM: ENTER SMALL '2ND GENERATION' PERSON DRESSED JUST LIKE A HOODENER.

REPLICA:

I have heard tell one of you is mi dad

Which one of you is it, or have I been had?

All:

It's him!! (ALL POINT AT EACH OTHER)

All:

For if ye the hooden horse do feed

Throughout the year ye shall not need.

[Tune: 'Get The Party Started']

Our 'orse has not been well we had to call in the vet
The bill was so exorbitant that we're now in debt
Thinking how to pay it back has caused us such pain
Maybe one of us will have to go on the game!

Chorus: (x2)
Hey! What's that smell? I can tell you that the 'orse has farted

We were quite concerned that it could be foot and mouth
'Cos we know  —  like Molly's boobs  —  it's been heading south
It could have been blue tongue because his head don't look right
Make sure you don't get up too close, he'll give you a bite

Chorus

The vet was not much cop, he didn't know much for sure
He felt the 'orse's hoof print as he went through the door
By now the 'orse was worse 'cos he had got diarrhoea
We made our diagnoses  —  he had had too much beer!

Chorus

[Tune: 'I Vow To Thee My Country']

We didn't win the rugby  —  we didn't win F1
We didn't win the football… Our sporting days are done!
We're not much good at cricket, and at tennis we are crap!
There is only one thing we can hope will put us on the map.
We can binge drink for Europe, so long as we have beer
We'll prove it to you now, if you bring it over here!

Also sang:
- All Along The Rails
- Come Landlord
- Hail To The Master

Copyright (c) The Hoodeners. All rights reserved.