A monologue from the play by Mike Batlett
ISOBEL (twenties – thirties)
When she hears you’re out of work, her low estimation of you will drop even further. It will. I promise. She won’t be surprised.
She won’t be like “oh my god he lost his job!” – she’ll be like “of course he lost his job, the f***ing retard. Good job I got out when I could.
Wouldn’t want Harry to see too much of him though. Better not let Harry to grow up into this distorted,
disabled, f***ing image of his f***ing drip of a father.” I expect that’s what she’ll think. It’s tough isn’t it? Life.
Is it a lot more difficult than what you’d thought it would be? I mean, I’m sure you thought it was going to be difficult
but that through sheer hard work and practice and training and inspiration – and in your case perspiration –
that you would come through and in the end succeed. Because you thought, y’know, in this country at least, it was, at the end of the day, a meritocracy.
And that fair play and honest, transparent work behaviour would be rewarded in the end. That bad people like me would fall by the wayside.
And good people like you would triumph. Is that what you thought? Oops.
