Perchance to Dream Sorry!

WIND MOANS

Excuse me, headmaster, um...

I rather think - I know this may seem silly to you -

-but I rather think I'm having a nightmare.

-What, boy?

Well, I'm not AT school any more. I'm 41, I earn my living.

I'm a librarian.

-Why are you wearing pyjamas?

-I'm in bed!

-Nonsense!

-See me in my study at 9am.

-No, you don't understand, sir!

-Get back into line.

-I'm sorry, I'm sorry -

what I'm trying to say is that I ought not to be here at all.

I mean, I ought to be at work. It's time to go!

-You should've gone before prayers.

-No, not "gone", "been".

I've been. I mean "gone", "go".

-You know, this is all a terrible mistake.

-We'll see about that.

What's the capital of Tanganyika? What happened in 1252?

What's the French for haircut? Oh, stop mumbling, boy!

This is such a mix-up! I ought not to be here! I left school 25 years ago!

Playing truant, eh?

-I am not here, I want to wake up!

-I'll wake you up, lad.

Mr Throxley, the cane, if you please.

You can't cane me! I'm grown up!

You'll groan by the time I've finished with you.

Put your hand out.

Timothy?

All right then, hit me.

Ooh! Ow!

I'm going to tell my mother, I'm going to tell my mummy!

-Timothy! Wake up!

-What...?

What are you doing down here?

What am I doing where?

Here, down here?

It's the kitchen!

-Where's the headmaster?

-What headmaster?

Have you had visitors?

He hit me! I've been sleepwalking.

All this noise.

I thought it was the cat having one of her turns.

It's 5:45am, have you no consideration?

I'm sorry, Mother, I didn't realise it was 5:45am.

I'll try and sleepwalk at a more convenient time.

I could take the day off work and do it at lunchtime, if you like.

And don't try and blame that steak and kidney pie.

We've had that pie six days running and no harm to anyone.

What was this silly dream all about?

Well, it's the school nightmare again, Mother, you know, with the

headmaster asking me these questions and I don't know the answer.

Well, I know the answer, but I can't get them out...

-It's that hair on your head.

-What is?

-Why you get nightmares.

Mother, it is not the cause of the nightmares.

It's just, I'm so nervous, don't you see,

about this interview on Thursday, that's all.

Well, so am I, with your hair like that.

Mother, my hair is not all that long.

There are hairier people in the library service than me.

The county archivist looks like Demis Roussos in a force-eight gale.

-How disgusting.

-Well, she likes it that way.

And before Thursday, Timothy,

do do something about your dreadful ears.

Let's not have all that again, Mother.

Sticking them down with Elastoplast every bedtime.

Just let them stick out, you know?

They stop my glasses from falling off.

Not the way the stick out, it's the fact that they're full of hairs.

Mother, I can't help that, I'm sorry.

Happens to be a sign of a virility.

We'll have no virility in this house, thank you.

I'm not surprised you fail your interview every year.

Mother, it has got nothing to do with hair anywhere. You understand?

-It's just that get I tongue-tied.

-Tongue-tied? You?

You're never at a loss for a bit of smart-aleck cheek with me.

In that speech, the part of the mother

was played by the 29th Heavy Ack-Ack Regiment.

There you are, typical, as always.

Oh, Timothy, you're up early.

This is my time for a quiet smoke

before I'm on parade with your Mother's tea.

-What are you doing?

-Bleurgh!

-Get that cigar out of here.

-Cheroot, dear, cheroot.

I don't care what it is, get it out of my house!

Oh, fair enough, Phyllis.

-I'm going back to bed. You get your hair cut today.

-Yes.

-Head, ears, nose, under the armpits...

-Don't be disgusting.

-It's you that being Freudian, Mother, not me.

-Language, Timothy.

-Sorry, Father.

-Bit early for that kind of smut.

-Yes, Father.

I said, get that thing out. Go on.

And if you don't get this jungle dealt with today,

I'll cut it myself.

Sidney, I'll have the Earl Grey.

And if you want a cup of tea, there's a perfectly good teabag

-on the draining board that's only been used once.

-Fair enough.

Presto!

Quickness of the hand, you know, Timothy.

I used to drive the dog mad doing this.

Looking a bit pale, old chap?

Steak and kidney pie, is it? Spot of mother's revenge?

No, I've been having these nightmares again, Father. And sleepwalking.

Yesterday, the milkman found me out in the back garden,

waiting for the bird table to ask me another question.

If you're going to walk around in public in your pyjamas,

better get the fly sewn up.

Some problems, Father, can't be solved by sewing up the fly.

-True, true, yes.

-I think I'm going to have to go and see one of those...

You know, one of those...

One of those?

You're not mixing with one of those, are you?

-One of those, one of those chaps...

-What chaps?

You know...

You know, chaps.

You won't like it if I say it.

Oh, come on, Timothy, I'm your father, you can tell me anything.

Now, what chaps?

-Psychiatrist chaps.

-Language, Timothy!

That's not language, Father, there's nothing wrong with psychiatrists!

Shh, shh, your mother might hear!

You know what she's like about anything up there,

or down there, for that matter.

Why is Mother so old-fashioned, Father, about medicine?

-What do you mean?

-Well, you know. I mean, look at the bathroom cabinet.

She's got half a tin of Zam-Buk reduced to 11d ha'penny,

two jars of slightly rusty iron jelloids

and enough thermogene to lag a church organ.

I mean, she's 100 years out of date.

It's more a matter of not facing up to things.

You see, there's quite a lot of nerves in your mother's family.

Nerves?

What do you mean, what do you mean? They're barmy, or something?

-What do you mean?

-I think you're old enough to know.

You see, your mother's brother, Herbert, is a bit, you know...?

As for Uncle Stanley, well, he's bit, ttt-ttt-ttt.

And there's cousin Deirdre, she's a bit... AND a bit, ttt-ttt-ttt.

Oh, dear, perhaps I'd better see a psychiatrist then.

No, I don't know, Timothy, lots of people have recurring dreams.

As a matter of fact, I have one meself.

Bit of a rum setup, on a ship.

And on this ship, there's harem. Now, not a word to your mother,

but I'm in this harem with these two girls

and, frankly, they're all over me!

-Father!

-Well, I'm just telling you the facts.

-Yes, of course.

-Anyway, it's a glorious party, and then, dammit...

-What, what?

-All of a sudden, you come in and ruin everything.

-Me?!

Yes, I mean, I've been trying not to hold it against you for years.

-Oh, I'm sorry, Father...

-No, no, no, don't worry -

next time, I'm going to lock the door.

-That's what you should do, take action.

-What, what do you mean?

Well, take action.

If this headmaster asks you any questions you can't answer,

-punch him on the nose.

-What a good idea!

I mean, the worst that can happen is that I wake up.

That's it, self-help. Better than going to some trick cyclist.

Damn sight cheaper too.

Well, I'll go back to bed and I'll punch him on the nose.

Better still, Timothy...

Straight left to the breadbasket, as his head comes down,

give him a faceful of knee.

Do you think so, Father?

-Well, it works wonders with your mother.

-What?!

Oh, no, different dream, different dream.

Oh-ho, I've had that dream quite often too, as a matter of fact.

Steer 0-2-0.

Steer course 0-2-0. Aye, aye, Sir.

Hello, I'm looking for the headmaster? I was wondering if...?

Wait a minute, this is a boat, isn't it?

-You look just like the headmaster.

-Who the devil are you?

Cabin boy, sir.

You ARE the headmaster!

-I have come here to punch you on the nose.

-Get off my bridge!

Oh, well, if you put it that way... Goodness me, my legs won't work.

-Ship on port bow, sir. Cruiser.

-Ah, devil it is.

You there, cabin boy, you know your silhouettes -

-is that the Prince Eugen or the Graf Spee?

-It's, um... It's...

It's the capital of Tanganyika, sir!

-What are you blithering?

-Wait a minute, wait a minute...

-Another interview failed.

-One last chance.

-Your starter for 20 lashes - what's the French for haircut?

-Er...

I know it, but I don't know how to say it, sir.

-You'll walk the plank for this, into the ocean with him!

-Aye, aye, sir.

I'm doing my best! Oh, my legs are working again. Oh, good.

Will you excuse me, please?

I've just got to go and, you know, er...splice the barnacles.

Oh!

Oh, excuse me.

FATHER COUGHS

Father?

-Timothy, dammit, I locked the door!

-I'm sorry...

-I thought this was my dream! Not yours!

-It's all ruined, either way.

Not good enough, Timothy.

I'll go.

Argh!

Many men come in here, only eunuchs go out.

Eunuchs?!

No, I don't count, this is all a big mix-up. I'm supposed to be at school!

It's time for work! I want to wake up!

Help!

Mother!

Argh, Mother! What are you doing?!

I'm cutting your hair.

Oh, hair! Oh!

Thank goodness for that, Mother, I had the most terrible nightmare.

Why, what did you think I was going to do, you silly-billy?

Well, it just crossed my mind you were going to, you know,

splice my barnacles, Mother, that's all.

-FROM OTHER ROOM:

-Language, Timothy!

Language, ho-ho! What about you, Father, you randy old rascal!

Timothy.

I'd just like to go on with what I was saying before,

only I had to stop when someone came in.

What I wanted to tell you about was Father.

I don't want to seem to blame Father for my nightmares,

but the fact is, well, I was a little backward for my age.

And there was this girl, Celia, who used to live next door,

you know, but one, where the Morrises live now.

I'm sorry, that's... You don't know them.

Well, nor do we, actually.

He is in abrasives, and I think Mother rubbed him up the wrong way.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry - that was a joke.

When you play this back, don't listen to that bit.

Anyway, this Celia wasn't backward for her age.

She was, if anything, ten years forward.

And she said, "Let's go behind your garden shed and, you know."

And I didn't know.

So I thought it was time I did. So we did.

By the by, this isn't the shed we have now. It was a smaller one.

With more room behind, you know,

more room behind where two people could, you know...

share their sherbet.

It was a lovely day, and I said, "Look at the way the sun is

"casting myriad spangles of light off the greenhouse."

And she said, "So it is, let's take all our clothes off."

I said, "What for?" She said, "To see if we're different."

So we did.

And, as a matter of fact, we were.

Sorry, sorry, of course, you know that,

because you're professional person, after all.

Well, at that moment,

who should burst into this little space behind the shed but Father,

because he's not allowed to smoke, cough, blow his nose or cut his nails

in the house, you see?

And the upshot of it was that I never saw Celia again.

And I was given six of the best by Father with a ping-pong bat.

And here's what I'm getting at - it wasn't the rubber side.

No, it was the sandpaper.

So, obviously, I've got this thing about women dressed in sandpaper.

-Steady on, steady on!

-What?

I never gave you six of the best with a ping-pong bat.

That was your mother.

Well, I know it was, I know it was, but if I tell the psychiatrist

it was Mother, he'll think there's something wrong with me.

Well, there is, isn't there?

Well, yes, I know that, but there's no need to tell him, is there?

It wasn't six of the best, it was only one.

Well, I have to make it sound exciting, don't I?

I mean, he listens to so many stories like that.

KETTLE WHISTLES The kettle.

If you've got to blame me for everything,

-don't forget that my childhood was no picnic.

-No, I won't.

Every time I wet the bed, my Father made me sing

Onward Christian Soldiers right through.

I can tell them all about that, you see,

I'm telling all about my problem on his recording machine, you see.

I see.

Mind you, I think you're barmy going to a shrink.

You think I'm dressed properly for a psychiatrist?

It's a bit boring and ordinary, isn't it?

I could... Ah!

Bit of parsley for the buttonhole, that might...

That makes it look a little bit - when I get it in -

that'll make it look a little bit sophisticated?

-Smart, but still a bit...

-Neat.

-Neat, neat!

Who turned that kettle off?

What's going on?

You're wearing a suit!

Why's it got parsley in the buttonhole?

It's a herringbone suit, Mother.

Ow!

Don't be cheeky.

-Steady on, Phyllis, the young fella doesn't deserve that.

-You be quiet.

I sometimes think I'm the only sane person in this house.

I'm glad you're feeling better.

Anyway, I'll see you on Tuesday.

Yes, yes, the same time. Goodbye.

-Is this the psychiatrist's?

-Yes, yes.

Your first visit? Certainly mine.

-Has he got somebody in there?

-In where?

-I'll have a peep.

-At what?

Ooh, very dark, isn't it?

Does he do hypnotism?

It's the broom cupboard.

Oh, so it is!

Ha-ha, by Jove, you certainly know your way around, anyway!

-Do you come here often?

-Every day.

I'm the psychiatrist.

Oh, the psychiaTRESS? Ha-ha!

I had a bit of parsley in my buttonhole...

-Do sit down, Mr Lumsden.

-Yes, all right then.

I'm not really that bad, to be honest.

-Perhaps I can come back another day...

-Sit down.

Where would you like me to sit?

On a chair.

Excellent, excellent.

Now, Mr Lumsden,

thank you for the messages you left on my answering machine.

I've only had time to transcribe about half of them.

-There seemed to be such a lot to tell, really.

-Hmm.

-Yes.

Well, I think I ought to ask you some questions.

Certainly, by all means, fire away.

You know, give it to me hot and strong, no holds barred.

-Thank you.

-Thank you.

-What is your name?

-Lumsden.

The thing is, it's this interview, you see?

Now, I'm not the psychiatrist, obviously,

-otherwise I'd be sitting here talking to myself...

-First names?

-Timothy.

But I think the dream is symptomatic, in a funny sort of way...

-Just Timothy?

-Timothy CR.

Symptomatic of the very fear of the interview itself,

do you know what I mean?

Is that something Jung or Freud would have said?

-What does the CR stand for?

-CR?

-Your middle names?

-Christopher.

Only, what will happen...

What will happen at the interview will be that I will simply,

I simply sort of dry up. Just absolutely, you know, dry up.

And I wondered, could it possibly be, um, you know...

bad potty training?

-Christopher what?

-R.

And what does the R stand for?

Robin.

Now, I was wondering...

Christopher Robin?!

Your parents called you Christopher Robin?

Well, you know...

Tell me, aren't you going to give me tests or something like that?

-Like what?

-Well, I thought perhaps the inkblot test?

Oh, we don't do that any more.

Not since ballpoints came in.

Well, what about, for example, that mark on the wall over there now?

-What about it?

-Aren't you going to ask me what that reminds me of?

And what does it remind you of?

Of that mark on the wall over there, do you see?

-And what does that tell us?

-Well, I'm not the psychiatrist, of course!

-I'm a psychotherapist, in fact.

-Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

-Word associations.

-What?

Wat? Tyler.

-Pardon?

-Burp.

-Please.

-Thank you.

-That's enough!

-Sorry, Mother. Ooh!

-Mother, hmm.

-Oh, yes.

To go back to this Christopher Robin business...

Yes, I don't think you'll find that has anything to do with it.

Have you ever had any frightening sexual experiences?

I'm sorry, what was that?

Have you had any frightening sexual experiences?

Well, they've all been fairly frightening!

-Do you love your mother?

-Well, um...

Do you love your mother, yes or no?

Good heavens, look at that out of the window!

These pigeons, these two pigeons, what are they doing?

Oh, that was very quick!

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, what was the question?

I think we may be able to help you, Mr Lumsden.

Oh, wonderful, wonderful!

I'm thinking initially of 24 sessions.

24? But the interview's this afternoon, you see?

I did squeeze you in, and I do have another patient.

Yes, I mean, if I don't get this interview,

you see, the dreams will go on and on...

Relax, enjoy the interview.

-Accept it as an experience.

-That's rather like saying, "Don't be shy!"

Well, as a simple, practical first step...

I'm not having my hair cut.

..change out of that dreadful suit.

Dreadful? It's not dreadful.

-Mother bought this.

-Quite.

Yes, it is a bit dreadful, isn't it?

Wear something casual, don't try too hard.

No, I try not to.

Well, I won't try at all.

-That way if I don't get the job, I'll have succeeded.

-More or less, yes.

Well, brilliant. I feel so good about this now. I feel, you know, I feel...

So...

-I COULD be suave.

-Don't be suave.

-No, no...

-Don't try to be anything!

-No, no, right. Well, I could be laid-back.

-Yes.

-That I can be. Laid-back, spaced out, upfront, hopefully.

Well, ciao.

That's the Italian for toodle-oo.

And that's still the broom cupboard.

Yes, but now I don't care, ha-ha!

MUSIC ON THE RADIO

Timothy, what are you doing here? It's your interview, isn't it?

I know, I'm going to take this suit off, you see. I'm going casual.

-Your mother'll murder you!

-Where is Mother?

-Upstairs.

HE SNIFFS

-What is that, burnt socks?

-No, no, it's her latest stew.

-There's enough here for a month.

-DISTANT:

-Timothy, is that you?

I'm down here, Mother.

What're you doing in the living room?

What are you doing in the HOUSE, it's your interview, isn't it?

Timothy?

-Have you seen him, Sidney?

-No, dear.

He's gone out.

-Sidney! Sidney!

-SHE POUNDS THE DOOR

What's going on?

Don't stir it with your fingers!

-I'm not stirring it, I dropped something in it.

-What?

I forget.

Are you in your room?

Timothy, are you upstairs?

SHE SNIFFS

That stew's burning.

Sidney!

You're not stirring the stew!

Ashes?

-What...?

-RADIO STOPS

What's happened?

The power's gone!

The fuse has gone.

He's blown the fuse with that razor of his.

Timothy!

Where are you?

Timothy. Are you upstairs?

I know you're hiding from me.

-Where are you?

-RADIO STARTS AGAIN

Good Lord, Timothy, you can't go to an interview dressed like that.

That's what I came to say - don't tell Mother I've changed.

-Even if she twists your arm.

-She usually twists my nose.

-Don't say anything, whatever she twists.

-Good luck!

-Cry God for Harry, England and St...

-Timothy!

-Good afternoon.

-Afternoon.

-Good afternoon.

3pm?

Yes, some chap named Mills is in there at the moment.

DOOR KNOCKS

Come in?

What-ho?

-Lumsden's the name.

-Hello.

-Hello.

-Hello. Hello.

-Hello.

-Hello.

Hello.

Well, I expect you'd like me to tell you a little bit about myself, eh?

Basically, I'm pretty laid-back.

Spaced out.

And, funnily enough, I don't want the job, in fact.

Now, last year I did,

but curious enough, this year, in a kind of strange way...

Are there any questions you'd like to ask me at all?

Not really.

Oh, excellent, wonderful. Pushover, absolutely.

Short-circuits the whole thing, doesn't it?

-Well, I'll tell you a little bit about myself...

-Do you have to?

No, I don't HAVE to.

I don't have to, no.

No, it's just that I thought, since we were here and talking...

No, I don't have to. There's no question of having to, no.

But I thought you might like to know

that I was basically born at my place of birth,

and I was educated at school, where I gained six passes,

three O-levels, two A-levels, and one at Phoebe Tugwell.

Now, if that isn't laid-back, I don't know what is. And I was going to...

-A Mr Bone?

-No, no, not Bone, dear, no, no.

Lumsden. Lumsden, Timothy CR.

-Lumsden. Who'd have a funny name like Bone?

-I would.

-Oh, I'm sorry.

-It is a funny name. Funny bone, I suppose!

-This way, Mr Bone.

Oh, it's all over, is it? Have I passed?

Well, that's an absolute doddle, isn't it?

Very laid-back, very spaced out.

Shall we have a cup of Earl Grey by way of celebration, shall we?

Oh, my God! Oh, dear! Oh, I've dropped a clanger!

Still, it doesn't matter now, once you're in, you're in!

Now, are you going to have...?

Could we keep it a little quieter, please?

Oh, er...

Mr Chairman?

-Shouldn't you be in here?

-In the waiting room?

-The waiting room? It's the waiting room!

-What?!

-Wh-wh...

What's your name?

Um, wait a minute, wait a minute...

I know it, it's on the tip of my tongue...

I told you it a minute ago!

It would be on the back of my tie if I was wearing one! Silly, isn't it?

We saw you last year, didn't we? Properly attired, wearing a suit?

Yes, I'm afraid that's at the psychiatrist's...

The cleaner's! I'm sorry!

Look, sit down and pull yourself together,

and try to remember your name - it could be useful.

Yes, you've been more than kind. Perhaps next year?

I don't know what you expect to find in the cupboard.

Certainly got him going there, didn't I?

Had him eating out of the palm of my hand.

Not that I care, to be absolutely honest, one way or another...

-A sweatshirt?

-Mother, what are you doing here?

-And those trousers?

-Just as your father said, get them off!

-Mother...

-You thank your lucky stars I brought your suit.

-Mother, please...

-And I'm go to trim that hair.

-Mother, there are people here!

Yes, well-dressed people!

They know what a silly little boy you are.

Look at them, they're sniggering!

-Come on, skin the rabbit!

-Mother, Mother, please!

Every time I try and do something on my own, you come barging in!

-Mother, go away, please!

-Come along!

Mr Lumsden!

-What the hell do you want now?

-I beg your pardon?

Haven't I got enough on my plate,

my Mother giving me lick washes and wiping my nose?

Good heavens, don't stand gaping there, man!

Let's get in here and get this whole thing settled.

Let's have some positive action!

It's the ping-pong bat for him when he gets home.

Well, congratulations, Timothy.

-Thank you, Father.

-How did you do it?

Well, I just went in there and shouted at them

for four or five minutes -

they said it was the best interview they'd ever had,

the most forceful, and I was just the man for the job.

Who's a clever boy?

Who gets his supper in bed?

Thank you, Mother.

Get out of here with that filthy thing.

Just celebrating with the young fellow.

You know the rules - anywhere beyond the compost heap.

Fair enough.

Who's mother's best boy?

And what do we get now we're promoted?

Key to the dirty books cupboard?

No, we get a haircut.

Now we're in a higher echelon.

Higher echelon, powers that be!

No more bad dreams for me, Mother.

And here's your treat.

A lovely plate of stew.

You can pick out the burnt bits.

And the very, very last of the steak and kidney pie. Well?

What do you say?

Good night, Mother.

Nevermind.

You can have it for breakfast.

Wait a minute, wait a minute! This is all wrong! I shouldn't be here!

Throxley, the cane, if you please.

Wait a minute, the psychiatrist said I wouldn't be having...

Been having powwows with trick cyclists, have we, Lumsden?

I'll tell you this,

psycho-bloody-whatsits doesn't cut any ice in this establishment!

Put your hand out.

Mother?

It's you, isn't it?

It's you!

Of course it's me!

Argh!