Ep 3: Mother's Birthday

Bob throws a party for his mother's birthday, but laid low by a mystery illness, she fails to make an appearance.  Bingley's Reverend Codfrey calls the show.

Featuring music by Brin Hughes with 'The Nirmala Hotel'.

Stream on Soundcloud: https://on.soundcloud.com/zBawpKgSsRWoajsd7
Brin Hughes on Spotify: https://spoti.fi/3VjH0fZ

'If thee want to feature your music on show, email Bob.'
https://www.demon-hunter.co.uk

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Transcript

Basement Bob & the Apocalypse
Radio Drama
Written & Performed by Iestyn Long

Episode Three: Mother’s Birthday - feat. Brin Hughes.

Stream on Soundcloud: https://on.soundcloud.com/zBawpKgSsRWoajsd7
Brin Hughes on Spotify: https://spoti.fi/3VjH0fZ

Opening Jingle & Credits

Scene 1

Bob:             
[radio crackle/switch] How do? This is Basement Bob. Are thee ready for another night of fun and games? [silence] Let’s take a moment, shall we? So, Lucifer’s Britain? A penny for your thoughts? What are thee thinking? Will it be a living nightmare like one of those horror films, or do thee think this Dark Lord wazzock will do a better job than last prime minister? Let’s not beat about bush, he can’t be nowt worse, can he? Give Stan and me a call. Say, how do, Stan. [stan barks]

[mother wails/bangs] Mother’s playing up. It were her birthday t’day. Had people round for sausage rolls and pints of gravy. I even baked a cake. Organised it ages ago. To be honest, didn’t think anyone would show. Thee know, what with this Hell on Earth malarky going on. Sid and Sue couldn’t make it. Thee would 'ave thought they might ‘ave let me know sooner. I bought extra scotch eggs. Sid and Sue love a scotch egg. At least they did. Being dead and all is good excuse for missing party I suppose. Tragic that, still can’t be helped. If it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go―nowt can put stop to it. Nana Maud were here. Although, by heck, at first thought she were vampire by look of her. Turned out senile 'apeth hadn’t put teeth in.

Weren’t much of party, really. Mother slept through whole thing. She didn’t even wake when cake came out. It had candles on and papery flowers thee can eat, and we sang happy birthd’y too. Uncle Herbert says she’s got long covid. Not sure Uncle Herb is right, though. [bob whispers] Tell thee truth, Uncle Herb is a bit of a knobhead. How can thee have long covid if thee not had short covid? Anyhow, she’s not right. She looks peaky, like she’s spent too much time upside down on rollercoaster. She smells too mind―like Nana Maud does if thee leave her in yard for too long on hot summer’s day. Ripe. [mother wails/bangs] For own good, I’ve locked mother in bedroom. I enticed her upstairs with bowl of Stan’s dog meat, thee know, that Pedigree Rump―for some reason, she can’t get enough of stuff―but not before she came at me with brace of sausage prickers in kitchen. I were forced to defend me self with copy of Argos catalogue. Thee ought to see number of holes in cover. It’s holier than Bible now.

Scene 2

News jingle

Reg:               
This is the National News at ten o’clock. Good evening, I’m Reginald Splattersby, and these are your headlines. Devil’s bid for world domination triggers war. Russia invades Poland, Poland invades Moldova, and Moldova invades Russia. And just in, Disneyland has invaded Universal studios, and Bollywood has invaded Hollywood. While in the UK, Suffolk, Norfolk, and Kent have teamed up and invaded Essex.

In other news, Sir Kenneth Branagh ravaged by satanic badgers, and one-club Liverpool legend, Kevin McDougal, has finally hung up his football boots, turning to cheese making instead.

Kevin:           
[high-pitched voice] I did like scoring goals. But I like cheese too. Now that I’m not scoring goals, I can make my own cheese.

Reg:                 
That was Kevin McDougal. [crackle/jingle/switch off]

Bob:                
[bob shouts] Ridiculous, Reg! One-club Liverpool legend? What a load of arse! Everyone knows McDougal played for Bingley before scousers pouched him. What do thee think of that, Stan? [stan growls] Bingley don’t even get mention. We made the man! By heck, that’s left me fuming that has.

 Bob’s jingle:     ‘Basement Bob, Bingley’s best DJ―Northern drawl gushing in your ears.’

Bob:               
[phone rings] Oh, see here, Stan, we’ve got caller at last. Oh, champion. It’s one of Bingley’s own. How do, Reverend Ken Codfrey?

Rev:                 
Good evening, Bob. How wonderful to be on your radio show again. I do look forward to being a regular once more, like in the old days when you were a lively young scamp at Bingley Hospital. Whatever happened, Bob?

Bob:                
Well, thee know, it were time for a change… time to move on to pastures new and all.

Rev:               
Oh, wonderful, Bob, wonderful. Anyway, I would like to share a Bible story with you, Bob, if that’s okay with you and your listeners? In this time of darkness and dread, I thought wouldn’t it be nice to have something to cheer us all up, something to aspire to in these dark days?

Bob:               
Aye, that sounds lovely Ken, lovely.

Rev:                 
Well, we’re going to start off with a story about Steven. Steven was a lovely black and white magpie that used to frequent my garden on Tuesday evenings, where he would feed on all manner of seeds and berries and delicacies…

Bob:                
[under his breath] Ee by gum, where’s this going? Not sure this is Bible story?

Rev:                 
Anyway, this hungry, ravenous magpie was a noisy so-and-so, snuffling down his worms and pecking his nuts with no thought given to the rest of us trying to enjoy a modicum of peace and quiet in the garden on a Tuesday. And do you know what? I shot him, Bob. I shot him right through his damn twitching beak. Bang, bang. [Rev chuckles] Poor old Steven flopped to the lawn where my little doggy, Munchkins, gobbled him right up. Yum, yum, yum. What a lovely treat, Bob. What a beautiful treat for Munchkins. Oh, he so loved that tasty magpie.

Bob:               
Erm… and what’s message of story, Reverend Codfrey? [to himself] If there is a message.

Rev:                 
Yes, the message, Bob, is… Well, the message is in there somewhere, isn’t it? We all know it’s somewhere, don’t we? [pause] The message is you’ve got to look for things that aren’t there. That’s it! Well, anyway, it’s been a pleasure coming on. A pleasure!

 Bob:             
 Aye, Ken. Best stay off booze for next show, eh?

Rev:               
Thank you so much for having me on, Bob. It’s been an absolute treat. See you next time. [phone line goes dead]

Bob:               
By heck, he were battered, weren’t he? Battered! Oh, I never. What were all that about, hey? [bob chuckles] Good old Ken. Right, it’s time for jig and jape.

 Scene 3

 Bob:               
[bob introduces song] Here’s Brin Hughes with (?) 

The Song

Bob:               
[bob’s song remarks/links] Grand that, weren’t it? The lad’s got soul. He reminds me of a young Michael Jackson. Thee know, before the Jackson 5 when Jacko were nowt more than a nipper. Aye, there were no one quiet like Micheal. I met him once, not to talk to mind. He were coming out of Otley Primarks with armfuls of velvet gloves. Then he did moonwalk down street. Oh, what a sight. I’ll never forget it.

 The Joke

Bob:                
We don’t really need joke, do we? Reverend Codfrey has provided tonight’s light relief. [bob chuckles] Off his face, he were, weren’t he? Lovely old Ken. Anyhow, let’s 'ave joke regardless. [drum roll] I can’t take Stanley to park because ducks keep trying to bite him. I guess that’s what thee get for buying a pure bread dog. [symbol crash] Thee like that one, don’t thee, Stan. [stan barks] Pure bread dog, by heck. [bob chuckles]

Bob’s jingle:     
‘Basement Bob, Bingley’s top DJ―Tickling your fancy with his northern twang.’

Bob:               
Thinking about it, that couldn’t 'ave been Michael Jackson at Otley Primark. [bob chuckles] Not unless he were ghost. He would 'ave been dead as a dodo by then. Bob, you’re a right apeth! Brain like a mouldy cheese. It were that footballer come estate agent, thee know, tall, bald, played centre forward for Red Devils back in day―although sometime Sir Alec utilized him as emergency defender? Who was it? Lovely fella. Dion Dublin, that’s him!

Anyhow, thought of day, then bed. I don’t know. Perhaps there were ounce of truth to Reverend Codfrey’s story. Thee need to search for silver lining in times of trouble. In Reverend’s case, silver lining to Steven’s untimely death were a tasty treat for Munchkins. But we should all look for silver lining in dark times. Well, I’m not sure what that might be, but when I figure it out, I’ll let thee know. In meantime, keep hidden, keep safe, and keep breathing. That’s my message for today.

Good night, one and all. This is Basement Bob signing off. Until next time, tarra. [drops the mic]

 End credits/jingle