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Before I jetset off to Grahamstown again, I thought I should springclean my Drafts folder and work on all those unfinished posts from Italy…

Well. It seems I have unfinished stuff from as far back as June 2009…

As promised (over six months ago!), the scripts of the monologues I performed for my Drama Practical exams in June 2009 🙂

1: An extract from Demigod, by Richard LaGravenese


I know that you’re going…I know it. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said and I believe that you love me too…And I understand that she gives you something else, something you need. But two years…what does a person do? Do I have a nervous breakdown? Do I start a new career? I mean what do I do? I’m not coping Frank.

I mean I was doing our laundry, like I always do on Sundays. And in the middle of folding our bedspread, I noticed your jockstrap in the washing machine. Drowning in the wash cycle. It was twisting and turning, being mangled and manipulated into all sorts of painful positions. It looked as if it were crying out for help. Then the strangest thing…I imagined you were still in it…the jockstrap I mean. I got hysterical. I couldn’t stop laughing. …People started staring at me…This woman came up to me and said “Dear, you should be careful not too inhale too much of that fabric softener”…Then all of sudden I heard your voice. So I ran over to the machine, lifted the lid, and I swear I could hear you in there, choking on the Sunlight and the Lemon Fab. But I couldn’t make out what you were saying, so I yelled, “Frank, what is it, what are you saying?” And the manager of the laundromat yelled back, “Lady, I’m gonna call the police if you don’t stop screamin’ at your wash!”

It made me think, Frank. It made me think that maybe I’m not handling this too well. I can’t drop two years of being lovers and go back to being friends, like ‘adults do’. We never were friends, Frank. We slept together on the first date, remember? I don’t want to be your friend. I loved you, but I never said I liked you. And if being adult means throwing me away for that..that slut rag you picked up on the train platform, then the most mature thing I could do for you would be to rip your face off!

2: Extract from The Star-Spangled Girl by Neil Simon (adapted to the character of a middle-aged Italian woman)

Mr Cornell! I have tried to be friendly, I have tried to be neighbourly, I have tried to be cordial. I do not know what it is you are trying to be. That night you carried my trunk up the stairs, I was thankful. The fact that it slipped and fell five flights and smashed to pieces was not your fault eh… And when you started leaving me messages scribbled on the staircase, I thought it kind of sweet, if a little crazy eh?

But things have gone too far, Mr Cornell. I cannot take the gifts from a man I hardly know! I do not need you tying little bottles of perfume to my cat’s tail. The poor baby was swishing it around last night and almost beat herself to the death with it! And really I do not need you painting my balcony without telling me. At least you could say, Mrs Marconini, I would like to paint your balcony. Instead, what happen? I went out there last night, and my slippers from Roma – Roma ti dico! – are still glued to the floor! And I certainly do not need you watching me go to work every morning through your big fancy telescope! In short Mr Cornell, and I do not want to say this again. Leave me alone!

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