Shouting Shakespeare

Shouting Shakespeare (c)

By

Michael Casey

Well I threatened to write this, so here it is. As you all know Covid19 is annoying us all, young Covid needs a slap, and he’s getting one right now as I speak, thanks to NHS and labs the world over. So what about me? I need a slap and tickle, just the slap, you are all so cruel. I’ll have you know Colombia is reading me today, they think I’m Joan Wilder, or is it Michael Douglas, the local double glazing fitter? I did post a photo with a banana on my head, but if you don’t expand the photo you don’t see the banana. Can’t see the banana for the head, and my toilet should be flushed down the head for all you sailors out there, the navy is no lark after all.

Still with me, remember I am the bastard, you know that already, what I meant to say before you rudely interrupted me was that, I am the bastard love child of Joyce Grenfell and Ronnie Corbet so does that make my writing style so Gerald, not Duncan and Sandy kind of Gerald, but Gerald Wiley. It’s a form of indulgence, not Papal Indulgence, it is Lent after all, Francis does like Cadbury’s cream eggs so I’m told, all so very Easter. I get all my gossip when I go to Confession, it’s the best place for news why do you think old mothers go so often. Not unless they get a pint of Guinness from the priest while they are in there.

But this is but the prologue, Ian Dale gets a quid a word, so 278 quid so far if I were him, no wonder he waffles on, but I like waffles, but only potato waffles, I tried the other and they were too sweet and set fire to the toaster. So what has all this got to do with Shakespeare, and I was called his agent by an Open University tutor I’ll have you know, then the next year my play Shoplife was accepted for the stage, so I am like Shakespeare. Though he was produced and was I not, I think they did Rocky Horror show instead, 30 years ago. But that could be an excuse.

Which brings me too Shouting Shakespeare, finally I hear you all groan, any more cheek and I’ll come and knock on your door. But sadly I cannot I am in Isolation for 3 months, me and my broken heart and assorted ailments. I heard you all look to the Heavens and say thank you God, and that was just the non believers. So we are all in this together, Cameron should have trade marked that phrase he’d be even richer now, he’d have so many caravans he could open a caravan park, for writers who cannot write, no I don’t mean me. The cheek, I don’t sit here talking to you to get abuse, I get enough from the neighbours already, well when I Shouted Shakespeare that is.

So a stray word gave me the idea, Shouting Shakespeare. It was and is so quiet here on our hill, so I thought I’d cheer the neighbours up, as I normally do with the folks in my local shop. But as I’m staying in, the Government insists, is it just me, what have I done to upset Boris. I’ll ask him if ever I meet him. Anyway so I thought the Bard, that’s what they need. So I went to the bottom of our garden and started to quote, though the neighbours prefer I choke.

To Be or not to Be, measure for measure, a stitch in time saves nine, and on I spoke, just trying to get their attention. Then I thought I’d put a silly voice on, my Topol impersonation voice. They seemed to like that, but it gave me a sore throat after 2 hours. Shouting Shakespeare in a silly voice does hurt. As it grew dark the nude sunbathers decided to go back inside, so they all wanted me to shut it, so very Frankie Howard of them. But I persisted, Shakespeare should be heard, I know it sounds absurd, but you must, you can, and you will, Will Shakespeare that is, or was it Kenneth Corner practising his chat up line in an old Carry On film.

Then the neighbours started throwing things at me, tins of beans because they thought I was just an old fart. Then one card threw a toilet roll, to go with the beans. I was so affronted, and with the size of my behind, I can be very affronted, but that’s just at the back. They even threw stale rolls, but I’ve seen Heide so I knew I could toast them and they’d be ok. Now is the Winter of our discontent made glorious, I continued to shout. They would have beaten the c(*& out of me, luckily I had plenty of toilet paper now. Only the social distancing meant all they could do was throw things at me, even the kids threw things at me. Luckily I have a sweet tooth, and gelly babies don’t hurt when they hit you.

Finally as I looked at the debris surrounding me I realised I had enough for my dinner, and I could wipe the plate afterwards with bread rolls, and as for my behind, my audience had also provided paper for my behind. So I don’t get a pound a word like Ian Dale on the radio, but I’ve nearly reached 1000 words now, just by Shouting Shakespeare, so perhaps I’ll send it to him. Though I doubt the radio would pay me for it, maybe I’ll send it to Isabel Oakshot if I got her name right, she has better hair than him. Though she’ll just think I’m a nanna, I do have a banana on my head after all, some card put superglue on it when they threw it. Expand the photo to get the full picture, like reading newspapers, it’s dying art, I am an old fart.