Small Plays About My Day

… tiny true dramas in a Charing Cross Road bookshop

Shut Up, Peggy

Posted on | July 1, 2010 | No Comments

American man in sun visor: Help, help, help, help, help.
Emily: Hi.
American man in sun visor: I’m looking for a book.
Zoë: OK, which one?
American man in sun visor: The Memoirs of Field Marshall Kesselring
Zoë: I’ll just have a look on the catalogue for you. How do you spell that?
American man in sun visor: K – E – S – S – L  – R – I – N – G.
Zoë: Nothing’s coming up…
Enter blonde woman with map.
Blonde woman with map: (Loudly) He’s missed out the E.
American man in sun visor: I have not.
Blonde woman with map: You always do.
American man in sun visor: I do not. K – E – S – S – L – R – I – N – G.
Blonde woman with map: There’s another E in there! K – E – S – S – E – L – R – I – N – G.
American man in sun visor: I said that. K – E – S – S – L –
Blonde woman with map: There!
American man in sun visor: Shut up, Peggy.

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  • "In a town like London there are always plenty of not quite certifiable lunatics walking the streets, and they tend to gravitate towards bookshops, because a bookshop is one of the few places where you can hang about for a long time without spending any money."
    George Orwell