(no subject)
Nativity Play.
The quintessential Christmas story, in three acts.
Cast:
God - Peter Doherty
Gabriel - Adam Green
Mary - Drew McConnell
Joseph - Carl Barât
Innkeeper - Annalisa Astarita
Wise Men - Gary Powell / Mik Whitnall / Anthony Rossomando
Shepherds - Didz Hammond / Adam Ficek / Tom-Paddington / Josh-Paddington
Sheep - Grant, Lloyd and Martin Paddington / The Holloways.
Act 1
Scene 1:
[On a cloud, somewhere in heaven. God is sitting on a threadbare Parker Knoll chair, picking at a polystyrene container of jellied eels. His white robe comes down to his calves, skinny black jeans and grubby feet are visible beneath]
God: Oiy, Gabe, get over here - gotta little job for you.
[Enter Gabriel, stage Right, wearing an iridescent robe and huge wings covered in sequins]
Gabriel: What now? Haloes don’t polish themselves you know.
God: Less with that tone, sunshine - I’m your boss, remember. This job - it’s not big or difficult, though it’s …delicate… heavens you might even enjoy it.
Gabriel: Oh really? You got renegade angels you want chastising?
God: No, and if I did I’d fucking well do it meself. No, this is a very special little job - we’re talking once in a lifetime - I ‘ope - it’ll look good on your CV Gabe, m’boy - you’ll go down in history.
Gabriel: You said that last time - and does anyone remember my heroics over the donkey and the vat of jam? Is it in the Old Testament? The fuck it is.
God: No, no this time…c’mon, trust me - I’m God.
Gabriel: Oh god.
God: Exactly. Listen up - d’you remember a couple of months ago, I was…pre-occupied with a certain young lady…
Gabriel: I tried to ignore it…
God: Well… nobody can ignore it now… I got a bit carried away you might say…
Gabriel: Oh fuck.
God: Kind of. Well, I enjoyed it.
Gabriel: Oh, bugger me.
God: Not now - we haven’t time - need to get this sorted out. Basically, me lady friend is up the duff and…
Gabriel: And…
God: I need you to explain it to her - Son of God and all that malarkey.
Gabriel: (jaw dropping): You’re fucking joking, right?
God: No. She needs to know.
Gabriel: And why is that my problem? Can’t you just text her? I’m sick of doing your dirty work.
God: I don’t want you to do any dirty work - you just have to tidy up.
Gabriel: (heavily) Look my friend, I don’t mind telling you that I’ve been in negotiations with the Other Side - I’m thinking of going over. Very attractive package he’s offering me - much warmer down there, and no shit jobs.
God: Gabriel - my boy, my main man, my main angel - can’t survive without you. Promotion, a new harp - anything.
Gabriel: A new harp? You sure?
God: A harp, Gabe.
Gabriel: An electric one?
God: (sighing) An electric one.
Gabriel: Ok then, mate. [Gets up to leave the cloud]
God: Err Gabe - this is a two part job… there’s another bit.
Gabriel: Right…
God: She’s got a bloke.
Gabriel: And? Your point is?
God: You need to tell him.
Gabriel: No way.
God: I trust you - you’re discrete, beautiful, slightly terrifying, and if he hits you I know that you can hit him back.
Gabriel: Too bloody right… Is he likely to?
God: Well…he can be a bit of a psycho. And he’s never slept with her, and you need to explain that Mary is having my baby, and he has to marry her but can’t shag her until the baby is born.
Gabriel: He’s gonna be ecstatic.
God: Well, precisely…I’ll buy you new wings…
Gabriel: Shit. He’s gonna beat the crap out of me isn’t he?
God: Nah, you’ll talk him round - you can do this.
Gabriel: Just remind me again why you can’t do it?
God: Wouldn’t be right sunshine. And besides - you deserve the publicity, you’re a hero.
Gabriel: And you are a twat.
Scene 2:
[In a scruffy kitchen in Hackney. Mary is dressed in a fetching tight blue robe over skinny jeans, freshly cut fringe swept over her right eye. A double bass rests in the corner of the room.]
Mary: Fuck me, I feel sick again. Can’t have drunk that much last night. [Searches in fridge - pulls out a jar of pickled onions and a carton of strawberry fromage frais. Sits down at the kitchen table and begins to eat.]
Gabriel: [enters stage Left] Hi!
Mary: Holy fuck - who are you?
Gabriel: Aha - you know why I’m here then?
Mary: You what?
Gabriel: Holy fuck - was it good?
Mary: [pinches herself] I’m dreaming - these onions must be off.
Gabriel: (musing) It’s his grubby fingers that I never fancied…
Mary: Who the fuck are you?
Gabriel: Hey babe - I’m Gabriel. See the wings [wiggles], the robe [swishes], the general air of angelic wonderfulness?
Mary: Right - are you one of Joseph’s mates? - God, he’s got some weird friends…
Gabriel: Madam, I’m with the Lord.
Mary: Oh really? Well I’m with the Woolwich - if you’re trying to sell stuff, I’m not interested.
Gabriel: Look, Mary I’ll be honest - you seem like a nice kinda guy…girl… That guy you met in that bar - remember? Dirty fingernails and too much bling?
Mary: Oh God, yeah.
Gabriel: Exactly… well, you know how you thought that you just had a drink and then went home to bed on your own…? You didn’t.
Mary: Ehh?
Gabriel: He came too. In fact, I guess he was the only one who did come. You’re pregnant, love.
Mary: Fuck.
Gabriel: With me? In these wings? Sorry hon, not when I’m on duty. In fact, not at all for you until after this baby appears.
Mary: What baby?
Gabriel: Bloody hell - are you always this thick? Your baby. God’s baby. (sniggers)
Mary: Did you say no sex? Joseph will go crazy. I’ve been making him wait till the honeymoon. He’ll kill me.
Gabriel: Only after he’s killed me - apparently it’s down to me to tell him.
Mary: Really? Oh you angel!
Gabriel: Yeah, quite. Tell me, your Joseph, is he very psycho?
Mary: Yep. Can be.
Gabriel: Oh God.
Scene 3:
[A dingy bookshop, somewhere in East London. Joseph is arranging a display of books on a small table in the middle of the room. His dark hair has a luscious sheen. His robes trail on the ground behind him, he has to hitch them up when he moves in order not to trip over them]
Gabriel: [standing outside] Better be a bloody good harp - no crap off EBay - some of those books look really heavy, and I don’t wanna get a bent wing when he starts chucking ‘em. [Tries to walk silently into the shop, but his wings catch in the doorway, and the shop-bell rings very loudly in the silence] Oh fuck.
Joseph: You alright, mate?
Gabriel: Yeah - bloody fancy dress costume…stupid wings…
Joseph: Well, its different - I’ll give you that. Can I give you a hand? [Joseph crosses the shop and pulls at Gabriel’s hand - Gabriel tries not to flinch]
Gabriel: So, you’re Joseph then? Nice place you got here.
Joseph: (suspiciously) How d’you know my name?
Gabriel: It says ‘Joseph’s Bookshop’ on your sign.
Joseph: (nods) Fair point. Can I help you at all?
Gabriel: Its more about how I can help you - I come bearing tidings of great joy!
Joseph: Are you trying to sell me something?
Gabriel: Funny, that’s what your Mary said. Do I look like the man from the Pru?
Joseph: “My Mary”? What are you up to, sunshine?
Gabriel: (takes a deep breath) Haven’t-been-up-to-anything-it’s-God’s-fault-she’s-having-a-baby-and-you-have-to-marry-her-and-you-can’t-sleep-with-her-and-isn’t-that-good-news!
Joseph: You what? [Moves menacingly towards Gabriel]
Gabriel: Don’t make me say it again…
Joseph: I knew it. I fucking knew something was going on. That’s it - no wedding. Bloody hell, all this no sex malarkey and all the time she was having it off with someone else - right bloody mug she must think I am. I’ll bloody show her.
Gabriel: Now just hold on there - your Mary is a delight - an innocent - a sweet young thing…
Joseph: Oh God - you’ve bloody ‘ad her an’ all…
Gabriel: I have not. Just cause God can’t keep it in his robes, doesn’t mean the rest of the angelic host don’t have standards. Look - she didn’t know anything about this till five minutes ago. Didn’t even know she’d slept with him.
Joseph: Blimey - he must be crap then.
Gabriel: Wouldn’t know, love - but marry her, there’s a good lad. Once the baby is born, it’ll be fun all the way for you. And I’m sure that God will reward you.
Joseph: No sex?
Gabriel: Nope.
Joseph: You’re ‘aving a laugh.
Gabriel: Nope.
Joseph: [picking up a very heavy book] Get out of my shop with your fucking poncy wings and tell God that when I see him, I’ll fucking kill him...
Gabriel: Certainly, Sir [exits swiftly, pursued by a book]
Act 2
Scene 1:
[Seven months later, in a Mini, somewhere on the North Circular]
Mary: So let me get this right - the letter from the census people says we have to go back to where you were born?
Joseph: [keeping his eyes on the road] Yep.
Mary: And you were born in Liverpool, “just like the Beatles”?
Joseph: (looking shifty) Yep.
Mary: But because you can’t drive, I’m having to get us all the way to Liverpool in this sodding Mini even tho’ I’m sure I’m about to have this baby.
Joseph: (looking a bit pale) Don’t say that…
Mary: You’re not from Liverpool are you?
Joseph: Errrr…
Mary: You lying bastard, you’ll be sorry if I have this fucking baby on the hard shoulder of the bloody M6… please tell me you come from somewhere closer to London.
Joseph: (whispers) Holloway…
Mary: Right - “just like the Holloways” ehh? Pull the other one. Where the fuck do you come from?
Joseph: (mumbling) Basingstoke.
Mary: Where? God you are such a bloody mumbler.
Joseph: (shouts) Bloody BASINGSTOKE right - happy?
Mary: Happy that it’s not bloody Liverpool with me contracting an’ all - thank fuck for that I say. Stupid bloody place to come from tho’.
Scene 2:
[Outside a pub in Basingstoke.]
Joseph: Let’s try here -it says it has rooms.
Mary: You just want a drink don’t you? It looks like a fucking dive to me.
Joseph: Yeah - a drink would just hit the spot right now.
Mary: Well you can fuckin’ forget it [doubles over suddenly in pain]. Bloody hell - this fuckin’ hurts - make mine a double brandy.
Joseph: Comin’ right up my sweet [knocks on door]
Innkeeper: What?
Joseph: Double room, double Jamesons an’ a double brandy please.
Innkeeper: Joseph - is that you?
Joseph: (nervously) Yeah…
Innkeeper: Well fuck off.
Joseph: Sorry?
[Innkeeper opens door wide.]
Joseph: Oh shit.
Mary: Joseph, I’m in fuckin’ agony here, where’s my sodding drink?
Joseph: (to innkeeper) I’m sorry about what happened…you’re really special…you…
Innkeeper: How many times? You come and stay, you tell me you love me, you drink the place dry - this is the fourth Inn I’ve had and you still keep fuckin’ turning up. Now fuck off.
Joseph: Darlin’ please.
Innkeeper: Fuck off.
Mary: Ow. Ow. Fuckin’ ow.
Innkeeper: Who the hell are you?
Mary: (with dignity) Joseph’s wife.
Innkeeper: His what? Holy fuck.
Mary: How did you know?
Joseph: Bloody hell - that cunt of an angel promised me he wouldn’t tell everybody.
Innkeeper: (to Mary) Why are you moaning?
Mary: Cause I’m in sodding labour and nobody will get me a sodding drink.
Innkeeper: Shit - look, even if I wanted to give you a double room - which I don’t - I haven’t got any. Its really busy round here - you have no idea how many people actually turn out to come from Basingstoke. I’ve just booked my last room out to a group called The Three Wise Men - I’m guessing they’re a band…need to look ‘em up on Myspace before they get here.
Joseph: That’s it. We’re fucked. (Mutters to himself) I bloody wish - fucked, what does that even mean?
Mary: Ow. Ow.
Innkeeper: My, my you are the happy couple (mutters to self) had a lucky escape there, m’girl…
Joseph: We’re desperate - I’ll pay.
Innkeeper: That is what you always say sunshine. Ok… there is no room in here, but there is a lock-up round the back I guess you could use.
Mary: Thank God.
Joseph: Thank him? He wants beating to a pulp, not thanking. The bastard.
Innkeeper: What’s this got to do with God? Thought you were an atheist, Joseph?
Joseph: Fuckin’ am now. Does this lock-up come with room service?
Innkeeper: Why, what do you need?
Joseph: Double Jamesons an’ a double brandy please…
Scene 3:
[In another pub, this time in Hackney. Three men sit in a corner booth, playing snap and drinking beer]
Wise man 1 (Mik): Snap!
Wise man 2 (Stan): Awww fuck man, I saw that.
Mik: Not fast enough, laddie.
Wiseman 3 (Gary): Who is that weird bloke who keeps staring at us - do we know him?
Mik: Probably just a fan - ignore ‘im.
Stan: Or do we owe him money…?
Gary: I thought we’d paid all our debts…
Mik: Yeah - Stan did that last week.
Stan: Errr…did I?
Gary and Mik: Oh Shit.
Gabriel: (shimmying across the room) Hi, guys - could I get an autograph?
Stan: Course, man - delighted. What’s the name?
Gabriel: Could you write ‘Dear God…’
Stan: You what?
Gabriel: Never mind… now listen up guys. And listen good - you are not going to believe this!
Mik: Right…
Gabriel: Remember that guy Joseph - short guy, guitarist - thinks he’s Gods gift…
Gary: Auditioned for the band? Yeah - why?
Gabriel: Well…. To cut a long story short, his wife has just had a baby, and you guys really need to go and visit them.
All three together: Why?
Gabriel: Because it’s God’s will.
Stan: We’re busy - I’m winning here. Tell God to get screwed.
Gabriel: (patiently) He’s done all the screwing he needs to do if you ask me… just go…
Mik: What’s in it for us?
Gabriel: Food, beer, whiskey, gin, brandy - all free of course. God’s opened a tab. And the Innkeeper is pretty fit if you ask me…
Gary: Well, we are kinda free right now. Where is this party?
Gabriel: Basingstoke.
Stan: Right - man, where the fuck is Basingstoke?
Gary: We go by plane, yeah?
Gabriel: Nope - tube to Paddington, then train. Just follow the star, guys. See ya! [Disappears in a flurry of glitter]
Gary: What fucking star?
Mik: How do we see a star when we’re on the bloody Tube?
Scene 4:
[In the Shepherd’s Bush Empire. A band are in the middle of a sound-check.]
Gabriel: (to himself) God said ‘get me some shepherds’. Dunno where the bush is, but I guess these guys must be shepherds - just like it says on the map… (Shouts) Hey, guys?
Shepherd 1 (Didz): Shhh… we are trying to work here.
Gabriel: Don’t shush me young man - sounds like a bloody racket anyway to me.
Shepherd 2 (Adam-Shambles): Who the fuck are you to come in here telling us we sound like a racket?
Didz: Hey - are you the catering guy? I’m getting hungry.
Gabriel: [drawing himself up to full height, wings fluttering] Do I look like a sodding waitress?
Shepherd 3 (Tom-Paddington): well if you’re not the catering, then who the fuck are you? This is supposed to be a secret rehearsal.
Gabriel: I’m God’s own messenger.
Adam: Oh fuck it’s a bible basher, who let him in?
Gabriel: I let myself in - see these wings? I have powers you know…
Shepherd 4 (Josh-Paddington): Prove it - restring my guitar.
Tom: Clean my flat.
Didz: Get me a pizza.
Gabriel: Fuck off you grubby indie oiks; I have something much better than that.
Adam: Ohh - a record deal?
Gabriel (proudly): A baby.
All (except Didz): What the fuck?
Didz: I quite like babies, actually. Do we get to keep it?
Gabriel: Nope - it belongs to Joseph-of-Basingstoke. You just get to visit it.
Tom: Joseph?
Adam: Yeah - short guy, auditioned for the band. We gave you the job instead.
Tom: Aw thanks guys. Group hug?
[All hug]
Gabriel: Fucking hell. Indie bands - they are the fucking limit. (Loudly to the group) When you have quite finished…
Didz: Sorry…
Gabriel: Right - God wants you to gather up your sheep and go and worship this damn baby of his.
Tom: ‘old on - I thought you said it was Joseph’s baby?
Gabriel: Shit - did I give the game away? Silly me.
Josh: What bloody sheep? We don’t have any sheep!
Gabriel: Well find some - bloody hell, do I have to do all the work round here?
Adam: We’ll take Lloyd, Grant and Martin, and the Holloways…they could do with the exercise…
Act 3
Scene 1:
[In the lock-up behind a pub in Basingstoke. Fairy lights hang from the rafters. Mary sits on an old leather sofa, baby in one hand, half pint of brandy in the other. Joseph leans against the wall, chain-smoking, bottle of whiskey in hand. There is a sound of singing from outside…]
The Wise Men: (singing) We three wise men of Hackney town are/ one on the drums and two on guitar/ beer and whisky/ tea and biscuits/ following yonder star…
Joseph: What the fuck is that racket?
Mary: Just happy people darling, you wouldn’t understand… (Gazes at baby)
Gary: Yo Joseph!
Joseph: For fuckssake (shouts) shut the fuck up - the baby is asleep! (Baby starts wailing). Fuck.
[Enter the Three Wise Men, carrying gifts.]
Mary: Oohh…presents. Hi, guys!
Joseph: You lot… (Bitterly) How’s the band?
Stan: (nervously) Fine, man, just fine… but look at you, happily married (Mary snorts with laughter) and with a baby…
Joseph: Yeah. Nice.
Gary: Anyway…presents. [Hands 3 packages to Mary, who rips at the paper in excitement.]
Mary: Oohh - jewellery [holds up a thick, heavy gold chain]
Mik: I bought that - that’s your gold.
Joseph: Its bloody ‘orrible.
Gary: Open mine! Open mine!
Mary: Burberry cologne - lovely!
Gary: That’s your frankincense.
Joseph: Bet it stinks - and could it be any more chav?
Stan: You’ll like mine, man…
Joseph: Yeah, right.
Mary: Tea leaves?
Stan: (indignantly) Tea leaves? That is the best grass Hackney could provide! Closest thing to myrrh I could get at short notice - it’s a bit specialised.
Joseph: Grass? Now you’re talking… Who’s got the Rizlas?
Innkeeper: [enters stage left] Oy, it’s a no smoking lock up. Can’t you read?
Joseph: You’re ‘aving a fucking laugh, darlin’ - I’m the father of the son of God, I can do what I bloody well like.
Innkeeper: Fair point. There’s some more people at the door…lots more. Some of them reckon they’re sheep…
Stan: Ahh, they’ve already been smoking this grass?
Joseph: (wearily) Let ‘em in, fuckin’ liberty hall.
[enter, Shepherds (Didz, Adam, Tom and Josh), and sheep (Grant, Lloyd, Martin Paddington and assorted Holloways)]
Mary: Hi guys. More presents?
Adam: Errr… shit.
Didz: I said we needed to stop at Toys’R’Us… would you lot listen? No. I feel a right prat - this lovely baby and no presents.
Mary: You think he’s lovely? [She peers at the baby] I thought he was a bit of an ugly git.
Joseph: Like his bloody father.
Tom: How about a sheep? We’ve got plenty of them - maybe the baby would like one of them?
Mary: Err…no offence but…
Innkeeper: Drink anyone?
Everyone together: (emphatically) YES!!!
Joseph: (to Tom) So, how’s the band?
Tom: Great thanks, really good…oh. Sorry. Anyway, what you up to these days Joe?
Joseph: (menacingly) Don’t you fucking ‘Joe’ me, you runt. I’m mainly being the father of the Son of God at the moment - what does it fucking look like?
Tom: That’s brilliant. You must be…
Joseph: Pissed off? Fucking livid? Sex starved? The laughing stock of Basingstoke?
Tom: I was gonna say proud.
Joseph: Well don’t - I may have to deck you.
Tom: With boughs of holly?
Joseph: Fuck off twerp.
Stan: Joseph - I’ve rolled a beauty. A real Basingstoke baton. Sit down man - chill…
Sheep: (breaking into song) I could get a record player/ and a generator/ generate the music that makes you feel better…
Mary: The sheep sing! Maybe I will have one after all!
[The innkeeper hands around drinks, Stan and Didz produce guitars and begin to play. Joseph takes a long drag on his joint]
Scene 2:
[On a cloud somewhere in heaven. God sits on his threadbare Parker Knoll, looking down at the revelry in the lock-up in Basingstoke]
God: Oiy, Gabe…
Gabriel: [enters carrying a shiny electric harp] Yep?
God: I see you’ve done well Gabe - everyone’s happy.
Gabriel: Thank fuck for that. Can I get back to my harp now? I’ve got an offensive song about women to write.
God: Another one? Bloody hell. Anyway - I need to get me to that party.
Gabriel: Haven’t you caused enough trouble for one millennium?
God: Ooh no - think of the trouble I could cause if I sent Johnny Borrell into that party…
Gabriel: Okay, okay, I’ll try and get you in. Just behave tho’ won’t you?
Scene 3:
[Back at the lock-up, the party is in full swing. Drinks have been drunk, joints have been smoked. Even Joseph has mellowed. Stan is chatting up Mary whilst Didz cuddles the baby]
Innkeeper: Another guest, Joseph - I had no idea you had so many friends. Or indeed, any friends.
Joseph: [laid out on the floor, his head on a sheep] Let ‘em all in - and more whiskey over here love.
Innkeeper: Go fuck yourself.
Joseph: That’s all I have been doing for the last nine months…
[Enter God, stage Left. Joseph sits up with a start]
Joseph: Holy fuck. Who invited you? You’re not on the bleeding guest list.
God: Am so.
Joseph: Are not.
God: Am so.
Joseph: Are not.
Innkeeper: [making eyes at God] Hi!
God: Hi, babe - you come here often?
Innkeeper: Yeah, every time I need to get the lawn mower - it’s my fucking shed!
God: Classy [turns to Joseph] So…
Joseph: You-fucking-girlfriend-shagging-immortal-fucking-white-robed-bastard.
God: Yeah. Hi.
Joseph: [takes a big drag on his joint] No, ‘m serious - nice robes.
God: Why thank you. Hmmm…did I choose the wrong person to, err, consort with…?
Joseph: You what?
God: You’re rather lovely in real life. I’ve been watching you, you know, these last nine months…
Joseph: (blushing) Right.
God: Nice wrist action.
Joseph: Had enough bloody practice.
God: Quite - three times a day is it usually?
Joseph: More like five, surely?
God: You must be due a little relief…
Joseph: You offering?
God: Well, actually - I am. Got a private cloud. Very discrete.
Joseph: Bugger discrete - are you any good?
God: I am God.
Joseph: That’s what they all say…
God: What would you like?
Joseph: A fuck would be nice.
God: Then step this way. Wish it was you that had been in the pub that night not Mary - would have saved meself so much bother.
Joseph: You wouldn’t ‘ave got the Son of God out of me mate.
God: Hmmm… still not quite sure how I got the Son of God out of that particular Mary…
Joseph: Good point. Not quite sure how I ended up engaged to that particular Mary either - I’m straight.
God: Course you are lad, course you are - now follow me…
[God and Joseph leave the lock-up, hand in hand.]
All sing: [to the tune of Hark the Herald Angels Sing] Listen now, the sheep can sing / worship all this newborn ‘thing’/ song in here, all quiet outside/ God and Joseph reconciled / brightly all you bandmates play / thanks for coming to visit today / listen now the sheep can sing / worship all this newborn ‘thing’…
Close curtains
The end