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Iphigenia in Splott
Gary Owen
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eBook - ePub
Iphigenia in Splott
Gary Owen
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'What gets me through is knowing I took this pain, and saved all of you from suffering the same.' Stumbling down Clifton Street at 11: 30 a.m. drunk, Effie is the kind of girl you'd avoid eye contact with, silently passing judgement. We think we know her, but we don't know the half of it. Effie's life spirals through a mess of drink, drugs and drama every night, and a hangover worse than death the next day - till one night gives her the chance to be something more. This powerful new adaptation of the enduring Greek myth drives home the high price people pay for society's shortcomings. Winner of Best New Play at the UK Theatre Awards 2015
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1
You lot.
Sitting back, taking it easy, waiting for me
To â what? Impress you? Amaze you? Show you what Iâve got?
Well boys and girls, ladies and gents â Iâm afraid not.
You have got it back to front, arse about tit, and your up side
Is definitely down. See I know what you think
When you see me pissed first thing wandering around. You think â
Stupid slag. Nasty skank.
But guess what? Tonight
You all are here to give thanks
To me.
Yeah I know itâs a shock.
But you lot, every single one
Youâre in my debt.
And tonight â boys and girls, ladies and gents â
Iâve come to collect.
You all know me.
I strut down the street, and your eyes dive for the ground
Face on Iâm too much for you to handle
The second Iâm past your head snaps up
To catch an eyeful of this firm yet juicy arse â
â and it is, so donât even bitch.
Thatâs my flat, on the corner.
My nan remembers when it used to be a shop â like almost every house on the block,
Oooh, she says, itâs not like how it was. I say Nan: wake up love.
Everything changes, everything moves on.
Nan loves to have a moan about the world, the way itâs gone,
Course when she moans about how the world has gone,
What sheâs really moaning about â is me. My life.
Cos I live my life a million miles an hour, do what I like, when I like, and
Oh look, Iâve got â this1 â for you, if you canât deal with it
Nan says, this place used to have everything you need
Shops are gone, bingo hall burned, pubs closed, doctors shut,
STAR centre getting pulled down and more flats thrown up.
She says we used to live. You could live here and live well.
Now theyâre stacking us up, and weâre supposed to just exist.
I say Nan youâre such a moaning old trout I swear
Nan scowls at me she is up and out
Says â Iâll tell you what young miss â
It is eleven thirty-five in the morning and you have taken drink!
Nothing good can come from living like this.
I say to Nan: if you donât like the way I live
Maybe you shouldnât come round no more. Howâd you like that?
Nan grumps off,
Slaps down a couple of tens on the table as she waddles by
And I should
I should
Pick them up go after her stuff them down her throat
But
I let the money sit.
I let her shuffle down the stairs
I let the front door slam because
I need those notes.
See the only way I get through the week is a cycle of hangovers.
And Iâm not talking, bit of a baddy head here.
Iâm talking proper, brain-shredding three day bastards.
Iâm talking hangovers that start, youâre under a table at Chicken Cottage,
Youâve already chucked so much youâre just heaving big empty sick-flavoured burps, till
Some secret trapdoor springs open in your guts
And this thick green gloop shoots out your gob
This sour liquorice juice, pints and pints of it,
Where the hell was that tucked away? And you wake
In a strangerâs bed, or a bathroom floor, or police cell.
But you wake,
Your muscles ache, your throatâs sore, teeth fizzing from all that acid
In your puke the night before. You wake and you know
â thatâs half the week sorted!
Because youâll be day one in bed, crying and wishing you were dead,
Onto the settee for day two, sweating into your duvet, eating twenty pee noodles, watching whatever shit comes on Dave ja vu.
And on the third day you rise, and put yourself back together; start with a scalding hot bath mid morning to lift the shit from your pores then a ten hour programme of sanding down surfaces, picking, plucking, painting before youâre ready to go again.
But last night I didnât get there. Last night, donât know why, donât know what,
I just didnât have the commitment to getting absolutely totally fucked and now
Disaster. Itâs Monday morning, and Iâve got a brain functioning on full power.
That is not natural, it is not normal
And it is definitely not safe.
I am going to need those notes from Nan,
So tonight I can put right last nightâs wrong, get totally fucked
And wipe myself out for the rest of the week.
So I let the woman walk.
I donât stuff those grimy tenners back in her face.
Sometimes youâve just got to take it.
But still,
Even if Iâve got an escape from real life tonight
That leaves me with a day to get through
My body buzzing, all this energy and fuck all to do with it.
This means one thing.
Trouble. In the end for me
But before th...