Monologue

Skin-Lad Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. He opens his eyes. He sees you. He wants to tell you the story. He feels the need to drift back on the tide of his memory, back, back, back. And I’m the lonely skinhead again. Jogging away, everyday, to be the best, to be the best. And the press-ups. And the sit-ups. And the one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. And you’ve gotta be fit to fight, and I do every Saturday night, with my friends at weekends, fight. Do you know about fighting? No. I’ll tell you in my story. And I want to be the best skinhead and I want to give everything, every single thing, to the experience the tingle. I’ll tell you about the tingle later. And you’ve gotta be fit to fight, and practise tactics every night. Do you? I do. (Practises.) Do you work in the asphalt factory? I did. (Practises, stops.) I’ll explain. (He indicates imaginary opponent.) My opponent! Anyone you like. City fan, the cunt that shagged Ricky’s bird, Ted the foreman. You choose. Targets! (Indicates down imaginary body.) Face, neck, beerbag, dick, shin, top of the foot. Top of the foot. Today I want the neck, this vein here. I don’t want to fuck Christine Dawson, I don’t want my mother’s love, I don’t want to work at the engineering firm, I want the neck, this vein here. (Practises.) Tactics, new techniques. What does he think? What do you think? (Strikes.) The neck and that’s that. He thought, you thought, the neck and that is that. Now I’ve told you about the three things you need to get to the experience of the tingle. One fitness, told you. Two, tactics, told you. Three, new techniques, I told you. Now I’ll tell you about the tingle. Well it’s…You can’t say it can you?…It’ll come when you’re fighting. Sometimes in the middle, sometime beginning, sometime end, but it won’t stay…it’s like you are there, you are fighting, but ‘you’ are not there…(Pause.) You don’t understand. (Pause.) Anyway, once you’ve had it, you need it, and I thought that’s all there was until that night, right, should I tell you about that night? No. I’ll show you. (He leaps back on stage.) I came out the disco, last man to leave, all my lads had gone. I’d been talking to Mickey Isherwood the bouncer. ‘See you Jim.’ ‘Aye, see you Ishey.’ Then I saw them. Skins. Bolton boot boys. Skinheads. Some sitting on the wall. Some standing. I moved off to the right. ‘Eh, cunty.’ ‘Eh, git head.’ ‘Come ‘ere.’ I looked at the moon. I heard the crack of denim, the scuffle down the wall, the pad and fall of the Dr Martins, pad, pad, pad. I closed my eyes. Pad, pad. As they moved in, pad, pad, I moved out. Pad, pad. I felt their breath…(Loud cry.) KIYAA!…lifted one man by the chin…can you imagine it? Magnificent … they were scattering. Caught one man between thigh and calf, took him round to the ground, fingers up the nose dragged a pace, nutted, lifted my fingers to pierce out his eyes when to my surprise I saw a figure watching, like a ghost, all pale in the night. Seemed like I’d known him all my life. He was laughing at me. Mocking my whole fucking life. I sprang, when I arrived he’d gone. Too quick for me. No, I saw him disappear down a blind alley. I had him now. I had him now! Hw was facing the wall in a sort of peeing position. I moved in to strike, my fist was like a golden orb in the wet night, I said it was night, I struck deep and dangerous and beautiful with a twist of the fist on the out. But he was only smiling, and he opened his eyes to me like two diamonds in the night. I said it was night, and said ‘Over to you Buddha’. (Pause.) So now I just read the dharma. And when men at work pass the pornography, I pass it on and continue with the dharma. And when my mother makes egg and bacon and chips for me I push it away towards the slat cellar and read of the dharma. And when the man on the bus push I continue with the dharma. Ommmmmmmmm.