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- 64 pages
- English
- ePUB (mobile friendly)
- Available on iOS & Android
eBook - ePub
Spine
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About This Book
Winner of a Scotsman Fringe First Award 2015 Spine charts the explosive friendship between a ferocious, wise-cracking teenager and an elderly East End widow. Mischievous activist pensioner Glenda is hell-bent on leaving a political legacy and saving Amy from the Tory scrapheap because 'there's nothing more terrifying than a teenager with something to say'. In this era of damaging coalition cuts and disillusionment, has politics forgotten people? Can we really take the power back? Amy is about to be forced to find out.
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Yes, you can access Spine by Clara Brennan in PDF and/or ePUB format, as well as other popular books in Media & Performing Arts & Theatre. We have over one million books available in our catalogue for you to explore.
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Dusk in the front room of a mews house in London. Silhouettes of mysterious household clutter behind AMY, a teenage girl.
She is alone in the house, but impersonates GLENDA, an elderly cockney woman. She does not have to be excellent at mimicry but does enjoy doing it.
Text in italics indicates when she speaks in the voice of GLENDA.
AMY: I rock up on her doorstep and she opens the door.
Sheās a shrunken little biddy with shocking died red hair. And sheās standinā there in nothing but a negligee, a cream silk one. And round her ankles are baggy beige pop socks, not pulled up. Sheās lookinā up at meā¦but she doesnāt seem to clock I got a massive fuckinā shiner and dried blood all down my top.
Instead of slamminā the door in my face she turns round to lead me into the house and I see thereās this little smudge of shit on the back of her nightie, and I think, thatās the saddestā¦thatās like the most vulnerable thing I ever saw.
Anā anyway she says, āI canāt show you the room meself ācause I live downstairs and Iāve got a home help comes three times a week but sheās gone for the dayāā¦ā¦and oh my god!
Looking round as she bangs on, the place is a shit hole, big and everything, massive old house, but itās ā a mess, not like, of dirt, but of stuff, years full of stuff! Worthless fuckinā knickknacks, everywhere!
And she says, āI canāt get up them stairs, itās my knee you see.ā And sheās saying all sorts of random shit like. Sheās the widow of a man called Louie, and she said he died upstairs, having a tug of his āclickety click.ā You what?
āOoh I hadnāt heard a peep out of him for a few hours, so I struggles up them stairs and I find him there, dead to the world! Caught āim with āis trousers down, well anā truly, I can tell you! Sat at āis bureau desk with a lingerie catalogue opened up in front of āim, trousers down round āis ankles anā ever such a look oā surprise on āis face!
Iāll say that for āim, my Louie was a real go-er! He was stiff as a board, stiff as anything!ā
Oh my god, this is fuckinā sick. Sheās actual nuts.
āBut donāt be a-feared my gel, āeās too embarrassed to be a ghost.ā
She gives me this big cold Victorian key, and says first floor, second door on the right, thatās the room. And I go up her stairs thinking what the fuck am I doing here? Sheās talked me into ā I think I aināt taking the room, Iāve been blown off course by this gross old bird, what the fuck am I doinā?
But Iām climbin the stairs in-I?
I go into a back bedroom, and itās got two doors coming off it. Itās got this big what you call a bureau desk in it āanā the top of the desk has like, an eyelid, the roller bit is rolled back, so the desktopās thick with dust. Anā there are fingerprints around a leather rectangle, and a proper old ink well, like fuckinā hell this is where the old bloke died! Fuckinā āell if I stay ere any longer Iām gonna be stuck in the Victorian times! And this ā now ā is when I get cold. A chill just rises up from my ankles, and I shudder. I shudder.
Look on another day I might have turned the room over and rinsed the place but this is some creepy-ass shit ā
Thereās somethingās there.
I leg it back downstairs, start making my excuses but sheās got the damn kettle on and keeps me there, draws me back to the kitchen, says sheās got āthings she wants to ask me,ā she puts cloths down as stepping stones on the tiles because sheās just mopped it, and she leans on the kitchen table in front of me, makes me sit at it. And I do. āCause Iām fuckinā knackered.
And slowly she puts her little leg up on a stool and rolls up these tan pop socks, and I remember thinking āAmes mate, this cannot get any weirderā, ācause itās like she didnāt know who I was suddenly? And sheās leaning down and slowly, ever-so-slowly pulling up this tan pop-sock up her shin, rollinā it up like sheās a stripper and sheās pulling on her sexy time stockins! Itās properly a bit sexual or something! Like maybe she was a right babe in her day you know? I think she was; I think maybe she was.
But ā rank! Sheās got bandages covering the oozing of her varicose veins just like my Nan did! Except Iām here with an old bird I donāt know, in her underwear!
And this is when she turns and looks at my black eye, like she only just seen it. And she says: āDonāt tell me you walked into a door.ā
Anā I dunno what it is, I just start talkinā, just to like, not watch her, I go anā start the whole story ofā¦
Well my ex-best mate Faye, yeah, texts me about some guy sheās just met, and heās apparently sent her pictures of his knob. And she says theyāre not even good pics, you can just see a Sky Sports menu in the background and his little willy lollinā about in front of a flat screen? So she texts me LOLROTFWMLITA, which is āLaughing Out Loud Rollin On The Floor With My Legs In The Airā. Youād have to meet her but sheās got this way of deliverinā a punchline with this really serious face on her, and it kills me. Anyway, my nine year-old sister enjoys pointinā out itās an ACRONYM.
Faye anā me. Weāre in what from the outside, to the untrained eye what might look like a girl gang. Until I meet this knob-photographer sheās on about: Swanny.
He drives after me that day and heās all like āBaby girl, how can I get to know you?ā And Iām like. I stop dead, right by his car, and I go: āTrust me, you donāt wanna know me.ā Anā he keeps drivinā round the blocks til I get to my estate and Iām like, āThis is stalking.ā We end up going for a wine and heās acting all machismo, talking about his job at a garage and howās he a kick boxer and that? Anyway, he says he can teach me self-defence, and we start off sorta, well from that day on me going to the club, watching him in the ring, and then him for a laugh gettinā the pads out and getting me to punch at āim? And I gotta say, it feels pretty good punchinā the shit outta them pads. Iām a southpaw, and yeah Iām weak as fuck at first, but I get well into it. And then soon weāre like, watching Enter the Dragon ā and he teaches me Wing Chun.
So it starts with Swanny as like, my mentor. Now Wing Chunās what like, Ip Man taught to Bruce Lee, and itās perfect for little people. āCause instead of swinginā a punch and leaning back to assess your next move, itās close range. Meaninā you just like, barrel into someone ā you move ...
Table of contents
- Cover
- Cast And Creative Team
- Half-title Page
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Contents
- Chapter
- Other Clara Brennan Titles