Driving Lessons Page #2

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Played Ophelia.

I've really no idea.

Haven't heard her

name for a while.

That's not

saying much, is it?

When was the last time

you went to the theater.

We went to the West End

last Christmas.

That was panto.

I'm sure Dame Eve's

never done panto.

We must invite her over, Ben.

Perhaps she can help us out

with The Story of Christ's Miracles.

On second thought, maybe

we should save her for

Peter's International Day.

Give the Muslims

something to think about.

Excuse me.

Who is it?

Ben.

Come in.

Mum thought you might

like some crumble.

What's that one?

A skylark.

Skylark?

It's found mainly in the Highlands

now, I think.

Its call is

a sort of chirruping...

It's not to be confused with

the woodlark, which has a quieter...

Aye.

Oh, you can borrow the book,

if you like.

It's okay.

Well, it's on the shelf.

Anytime.

Thanks.

Thanks for the crumble.

God, I loathe gardening.

One beastly patch of grass

and my bloody back's in agony.

And whoever made up

all these ridiculous Latin names

should be shot.

Floria Fuckabundee.

As if anyone gives a sixpenny f***

what the Romans called them.

Stop that bus!

Are these

the best available seats?

I must say I prefer

to sit nearer the front.

I say, I would prefer

to sit nearer the front.

Since nobody appears to be moving,

I suppose we shall have to make do.

Goodness me,

somebody forgot to wash.

Oof!

Lovely London.

Sweetie? Christmas in a lick.

No, thanks.

For a boy of 17, you show

a lamentable lack of curiosity.

No doubt you're suppressed

by your upbringing,

but that's hardly enough to explain

what frankly amounts

to little short of social autism.

I shall have to imagine

your curiosity for you.

You're a healthy 17-year-old boy.

You're not, of course,

but you take my point.

You see an attractive woman

living on her own.

You wonder,

"Is she a roaring lesbian?"

Answer, no.

For your information, I've been

married and divorced three times.

Once to an actor,

once to an English lord,

and once to a Californian.

All work flings.

My mistake.

You, on the other hand,

might well be gay.

I must introduce you to Dougal,

old agent friend of mine.

Hopelessly queer, of course,

but the old-fashioned type.

Bent gent.

I'm not gay.

I beg your pardon?

I'm not gay.

Not gay, apparently.

Can I help?

I wish to see your equipment.

My equipment?

Show me everything you've got.

Wait. Stop.

Ben.

Can you put your

shoulder under my arse?

Always dreamed of camping,

even as a child.

Half in, half out.

Of course, my parents would

never have dreamt of it.

The lower middle classes

are the worst snobs.

You sound faintly Cockney.

Are you?

No.

No. What are you, really?

I don't know.

I mean, middle class, I suppose.

Nothing to be ashamed of.

Middle classes are

the engine room of England.

It's just their

parents I can't stand.

"They flee from me

that sometime did me seek

"With naked foot

stalking in my chamber

"I have seen them gentle,

tame and meek

"That now are wild,

and do not remember

"That sometime

they put themselves in danger

"To take bread at my hand"

Any luck with this one?

Sadly,

your prices are beyond us,

but for your aid and succo

we thank you.

Look, a camping stove.

Come on.

Where on earth have you been?

It's 6:
00.

I got held up.

Got held up?

We had a driving lesson at 4:00.

You should have let me know.

There was nowhere to call from.

If I had a mobile...

Mobiles give you cancer.

Come on. I'll drive.

If I am alive

this time next year

Read that.

We'll have a theory lesson.

Will I have arrived

in time to share

And mine

is about as good this far

And I'm still applied

to what you are

Ben. Where were you

this evening?

We had a driving lesson.

Is that all?

Yes.

Ben, are you asleep?

Whatever happens

behind these walls, Ben,

we're God's ambassadors.

We show the world a smiling face.

Put it away.

Sorry.

You do not touch my things!

I was tidying.

You do not touch my things!

Yes.

I'm sorry. I'm very sorry.

You tidy around them.

Evie? I've got your shopping.

Evie?

Sink.

-Sorry?

Sink.

-Sorry, I...

Sink!

You all right?

-No.

I've got puke in my hair.

Sit me down.

Okay?

No.

Sofa.

It's gonna be all right.

F*** off.

Goody f***ing two-shoes.

No.

Stay. Please.

Just till I go to sleep.

Thank you.

Give me oil in my lamp

keep me burning

Give me oil in my lamp

I pray

Give me oil in my lamp

keep me burning

Keep me burning

till the break of day

Sing hosanna, sing hosanna

Sing hosanna

to the King of kings

Sing hosanna, sing hosanna

Sing hosanna to the King

Evie.

Quick, quick, come! You'll never

believe what I've just found.

I've come to hand in my notice.

Yes, yes, later.

Come. Close your eyes.

I've got something to show you.

Eyes shut!

Open.

It's a tent.

Not the tent, my books.

My Shakespeares, my Chekhovs.

They were in a crate

in the living room.

You must have moved them when

you were going through my things.

That was one of the reasons...

But nonsense. I thought

I'd lost them forever.

I won't lie to you, Ben.

Lately, I've found myself

a stranger to the Bard.

I had money problems.

My last husband...

Oh, well, be that as it may,

I was obliged to take TV work,

a daytime drama series

set amongst wealthy

shipping magnates,

called, rather unimaginatively,

The Shipping Magnates.

I believe they still

run it somewhere on Sky.

No money in it for me, naturally.

I auditioned for Nurse Ratched

in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

You're Coriolanus.

I'm your mother. I disown you.

"This fellow had

a Volscian to his mother,

"his wife is in Corioli

and his child like him by chance.

"Yet give us our dispatch:

"I am hush'd until

our city be a-fire,

"and then

I'll speak a little. "

"My sister, my sister... "

"Oh, my dear orchard,

"my sweet and lovely orchard.

"My life,

"my youth, my happiness,

"farewell!

"Farewell!"

"I'll met by moonlight,

proud Titania. "

"What, jealous Oberon!

"Fairies, skip hence:

I have forsworn

his bed and company. "

"Tarry, rash wanton:

am I not thy lord?"

"Then I must be thy lady. "

"Kill me to-morrow:

let me live to-night!"

"Nay, if you strive... "

"But half an hour!"

"Being done,

there is no pause. "

"But while I say one prayer!"

"'Tis too late. "

Born to it.

Absolutely born to it.

We did Othello at school.

It wasn't like...

I mean, it wasn't very good.

The thing is, you don't

understand the jealousy bit

until you've actually

strangled someone yourself.

Ah, there, you see,

the poetry, the pain.

I write poetry.

How intriguing.

May I hear one?

I'm not...

I mean, I don't know

any off by heart.

Another time, perhaps.

Now, then, I was thinking

we could go camping tomorrow.

Somewhere not too far.

Try out the old tent.

Something the matter?

How long would we be away for?

Oh, a day.

Two days at the most.

Hello, there.

And what brings you here?

Mmm?

Do you think Mum

will let me go camping?

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