Week 5: Nursery Rhymes

Type of writing:

Behind-the-scenes look at nursery rhymes.

How long did it take to write? 

Hour and a half.

1)

Two trainee soldiers are in discussion.

Michael:          I can’t take the monotony any more. I knew that being in the military would involve left, right, left, right, but I didn’t think it would involve up, down, up, down. I’ve got a mate training in Harrogate and he said he hasn’t had to do anything like this. They’ve done circuit training… On flat ground… They’ve done ironing. On flat boards. They’ve fired rifles… On flat stomachs. Gradients haven’t come into it. Yet, this mad bastard has got us going up and down constantly. I enlisted to be in the army, not part of a masochist’s wet dream. Even the SAS would go AWOL if tasked with this. What’s got into him? He never used to be like this.

Alfie:   I know. It was that Emily Maitlis interview. That was the turning point. Ever since The Grand Old Duke of York has gone shit crazy.

Michael:          You’re right, you know. Must be taking out his frustration on us.

Alfie:   Well, I hope he gets arrested soon, otherwise there’s no telling what I’ll do to him.

Michael:          I wouldn’t bet on it mate. You’ll be court martialed before that Pizza Express sees a judge.

Alfie:   Yeah, I suppose you’re right.

Michael:          Well, we best get back to it.

Alfie:   Yep. We’re neither up nor down at the moment. Halfway to go.

Michael:          Jesus wept!

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2)

A farmer writes:

Dear Diary,

I asked Baa, Baa if he had any wool today. Surely, my question implied that me and my family were in desperate need of some, but what does he go and do? Give one bag to the master. The master! As if he needs it. The master has more wool than a haberdashery superstore. Who else does he give a bag to? The dame! As if someone whom owns a manor house needs a bag of wool. A gardener, a maid, a cook, a butler, a dishwasher, a groom, a liveried helper, a social media specialist. She’s got more staff than Tesco- what does she need with extra wool? And to add insult to injury. To add insult to bleedin’ injury, what does the sheep go and do? Goes and gives the last bag to the little boy who lives down the lane. What’s he going to do with it? Throw it up in the air and roll around in it.

I’ve cared for that black sheep ever since it was a lamb. I could have taken the wool from its back years ago if I had wanted. But no, I wanted it to have some agency, the freedom to choose, the ability to decide where his clothes went.

I guess it’s going to be a cold winter for me and the kids. A very cold winter.

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3)

Army Headquarters. The main office. A man in decorated uniform is flanked by the Union Flag and a portrait of the King. The phone rings.

Yes, I understand, sir. You have my undivided attention. A matter of great importance you say. Well, we have trained for this moment, sir. Our cause is your cause. We swore our allegiance. And we meant every word. To serve the King. So help me God.

…

I can tell, sir, by your strained speak that this challenge weighs heavily. Unburden yourself. I’m your Field Marshall. Whatever it is you need is what I will order my men to do. We will run through walls for you. Put our mouths into the enemy’s jaws. Give body, blood and life to you. You are our King. The anointed one. Chosen by God. In following you, we follow Him. So what is it you ask? For whatever it is you ask, you will receive tenfold.

…

Yes, I … think I follow. An egg-headed man has fallen from a wall. His first name and surname ludicrously rhymes. And calling for an ambulance will not suffice. So you want me to moblise the 15,000 horses and 250,000 men. The full might of the British Army. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men to put Humpty together again. Sounds reasonable, sir. We’ll be there in a jif.

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4)

A Shoreditch meeting room. Everyone apart from the Creative Director is sitting on space hoppers.

Director:         You know why we’re here today. (Writes NURSERY RHYMES in block capitals on the white board.) That’s right. We need to invent a new one. Teachers are telling us that children just aren’t doing them any more. It’s all running around like lunatics or pushing each other off mounds. So what we need is a song that will unify. Boys and girls. Together. In a circle. Singing. Chanting so loud that the playgrounds of Britain reverberate in song. Has anyone got any ideas?

Marketeer 1:    What about something simple like, ‘Join hands’?

Director:         How would that go?

Marketeer 1: ‘Put down your weapon. Pick up your love. Let’s join hands and form a body of love.’

Director:          Not sure about that. Sounds a bit happy-clappy. Might fly in Brighton and other hippy enclaves. But I don’t think the children of Tunbridge Wells will go for it.

Marketeer 2:   What about ‘Circle Time’?

Director:         How does that one go?

Marketeer 2:   Something like. ‘Can somebody tell me the time?’ (Yeah). I can’t hear you can somebody tell me the time? (YEAH). I can’t hear you can somebody tell me the time? (YEAH!!!!!). That’s right. It’s circle time!’ Then, everyone gets in a circle and just shouts ‘CIRCLE! CIRCLE! CIRCLE!’

Director:         I’m not sure about that either. Sounds like a cross between James Brown and Lord of the Flies. No, it just won’t do.

Marketeer 3:   I’ve got an idea. (A marketeer gets up. Takes the pen from the Director. A bawler move. Anticipation hangs in the air. They write, ‘Song about the Black Death.’ Everyone gasps. Next writes, ‘That culminates with every child dropping dead.’)

Standing ovation.

Marketeer 3 smiles and drops pen.