Speed Slating

[LOU AND DEBBIE ARE SAT OPPOSITE EACH OTHER AT A TABLE IN A WINE BAR, ON A SPEED-DATING NIGHT FOR THE OVER 35s. DEBBIE IS DRUNK, AND USING AN “INVISIBLE” HANDS-FREE MOBILE]

DEBBIE: Hello…

LOU: Hi, my name’s Lou. Don’t be nervous, Debbie, I’ve been speed-dating for many years now. You look like the sort of person I can communicate with -

DEBBIE [DRINKS FROM GLASS, LOOKING AT LOU] Hello?

LOU: Yes. Hello. My name’s-

DEBBIE: Can you put your head between your legs?

LOU: Pardon?

DEBBIE: And breathe. Go on, breeethe. In, out, In, out, like a dolphin. And then drink a glass of water the wrong way.

LOU: Couldn’t we do the introductions first, I’m-

DEBBIE [LOOKING AT LOU]: Will you shut up a minute. Can’t you see I’m on the phone to my husband…. [BACK TO PHONE, BUT STILL LOOKING AT LOU] For God’s sake, are you brain-dead as well as impotent?

LOU: Er-

DEBBIE: If you can’t stick it between your legs, then stick it in the oven and switch the gas on. That’ll cure it. Now, bugger off!

LOU: Everything all right? Apart from your, er- husband…

DEBBIE: We’re separated. But attached umbilically by the phone. Rings me at the drop of a hat. Useless wimp. And never listens to word I say.

LOU: Perhaps we could –

DEBBIE: Frankly, no, everything’s not all right. I’m beginning to wish I’d stayed at home and washed the dog. God I’ve met some cretins in here tonight. Are there any real men left in the world?

LOU: That’s interesting. How often-

DEBBIE: So far, I’ve had a tiddlywinks champion, a man who designs windscreen wipers, and a bloke who collects stuffed tortoises….

[TAKES OUT A WHISKY FLASK AND BEGINS POURING INTO HER GLASS OF RED WINE]

DEBBIE: I mean what is the point of stuffing a tortoise? Come out o’ your shell for God’s sake. Live a little!

[TAKES A LARGE SWIG FROM THE GLASS. LOOKING AT HER PREVIOUS DATE, OFF-CAMERA, TO LOU’S LEFT]

DEBBIE: Yes, you pal! Why not stuff a few stick insects while yer at it?! Or would that be too much excitement for your pacemaker?

LOU: I’m Lou, by the way. So, how-

DEBBIE: I need a Renaissance man, Lou. A man who can build a sports car, landscape a garden, cook a lobster. And in the afternoon, sing La Traviata whilst rodgering me senseless every which way over a washing machine on a rinse cycle. You think I’m being demanding?

LOU: I was going to ask you…

DEBBIE: A man with a highly-tuned mind, who excites me with his innermost thoughts. Deep, meaningful and searching questions…

LOU: How often do you wash your dog?

DEBBIE: Eh? It was a metaphorical dog. And I wash it metaphorically. I think it’s important to be clear about things from the off, don’t you? [LOOKING AT THE SHEET OF PAPER ON THE TABLE IN FRONT OF HER] You haven’t put anything for occupation. Tell me, please, Lou, you have an enthrallingly fascinating job.

LOU: Yes, I do. I’m a statistician.

DEBBIE: God preserve us. I’d rather you’d said unemployed.

LOU: What’s wrong with that?

DEBBIE: It’s hardly up there with gun-runners, diamond dealers and stunt men, is it. I mean, how many films has Charles Bronson made called “The Statistician”?

LOU: I don’t know.

DEBBIE [SWIGGING HER WINE]: Well, you should. You’re a bloody statish, stashit, whatever… Aren’t you all dull, grey, charmless people, who work in dry offices and stare at computer screens all day?

LOU: Well, that’s only forty-three per cent of us. The rest are vapid, tedious nerds.

[DEBBIE LOOKS AT HIM BLANKLY]

LOU: That’s a statistician’s joke. I’ve put “good sense of humour” on the intro sheet, I think you’ll find.

DEBBIE [LOOKING AT THE SHEET OF PAPER]: Oh, yes. “Vivacious wit”. Someone’s changed the “w” to a “t”.

LOU: If you venture underneath the grey cardigan, Debbie, you’ll find I’m a very jolly and engaging character. I’m contagious. Everyone I meet is affected by me. And you know why?

[DEBBIE MUMBLES AND DRINKS]

LOU: Because statistics are such fascinating creatures. They can cover anything. Tropical islands, luxury yachts, extreme sports…

DEBBIE: And what do you specialise in?

LOU: Buses, mainly.

DEBBIE: How many times have you been speed-dating, Lou? To the nearest hundred.

LOU: A few.

DEBBIE: And when was the last time you had sex? With a woman.

LOU: I don’t see what that-

DEBBIE: Examine yourself, Lou. Look at the inner Lou, Lou. Ask yourself why you are such a pathetic, repulsive, wimpish creature. Do something, Lou. Do something wild and crazy and spontaneous. Do it, Lou. Right now.

LOU: Like what?

DEBBIE: I don’t know. Get your cock out.

LOU: What good would that do?

DEBBIE: Well, at least it would show some balls. [GETTING UP UNSTEADILY] Or maybe not. I’m going home, now. I’m fed up. Another wasted evening. With another load of wasted members of the male population.

[DEBBIE LEAVES. LOU LOOKS AT THE SHEET OF PAPER ON THE TABLE IN FRONT OF HIM]

LOU: Interesting.

[THE NEXT DATE ARRIVES. SHE IS A VICAR]

NEXT DATE: Hello, I’m Ursula. Don’t be put off by the collar. I have a vast and intimate experience of men of all denominations. In fact, you could say I bring men and women together.

LOU: You’re not another marriage guidance counsellor, are you?