Writing Exercise

A rumble of thunder sounded from outside and pulsated through the flagstone floor tiles. Celia raced to the window ‘Yes, Bloody yes! Come on, rain!’ clasping a small velvet drawstring bag, Celia sat on tenterhooks, scanning the sky for any suggestion of water particles. ‘rainrainrainrainrainrain...’ she chanted under her breath, willing the God’s to open up the heavens. ‘YES!’ she squealed as a few measly drops dribbled in the distance and landed in the lake that was precariously located in front of the house or ‘miniature castle.’ as the real estate man had told her. Controversially, and somewhat contradictorily, Celia used to state that she did not care for materialistic possessions. What with the security of her parent’s vast wealth, one could imagine how this ideology had developed. Sometimes Celia would wonder that perhaps she was the biggest hypocrite of them all, seeking nothing purely based on the knowledge that with one swift phone call to daddy Dineley, she could have everything. She simply sought not to seek, and regularly confused herself as to whether she was just as bad as her sister Jen who sported a new pair of Jimmy Choo’s daily. She feared that perhaps she wore her, almost as carefully considered, cute bell bottom trousers, not only due to necessity and comfortable stretching abilities, but also as a reactionary to those heinous pieces of patent leather and plastic that graced her sibling’s feet. But, no what absurdities!  Of course Celia wasn’t that shallow. She truly cared about the slave labour children in Taiwan and the oil in leaks in... well, oil leaks in general. No, she may be seen to be well below her family members in the familial hierarchy, but she liked to think she stole the moral high ground.  Unfortunately, being ethically conscious did not often work in her favour and when funds dispersed once more (mainly to ‘save the seals’ and other dainty animal charities) Celia would have to reiterate her priorities and trail back to the family nest with her tail between her legs. Needless to say, the Dineley household grew wary of this charade and persuaded Celia to take up their offer of buying her a house of her own, under the illusion that living in the 17^th century, grade two listed property, would save it from being demolished and subsequently developed into private penthouse apartments. The very thought made Celia shudder and, if it meant saving a beautiful piece of history, then she darn well would buy it! Plus the alternative lifestyle was becoming a little tedious to her, even though she was rather proud this fad had lasted longer than the others that preceded it, she was more than content with living in an under-floor heated, luxurious fortress.

A Level English Monologue

PATRICIA, A WELL PRESENTED, MIDDLE AGED WOMAN, STANDS AT THE END OF A PERFECTLY MADE, FOUR POSTER BED. SHE OVER ENUNCIATES HER WORDS AS IF TRYING TO COVER UP HER NORTHERN ACCENT.  SHE IS FOLDING A MANS OUTFIT AND PUTTING IT INTO A SUITCASE TROLLEY, THOUGHTFULLY. FLORAL, TRADITIONAL WALLPAPER LINES THE WALL. THE FURNITURE AND ORNAMENTS THAT SURROUND HER SIT IMMACULATELY. PATRICIA PICKS UP A ROLLED UP PAIR OF SOCKS AND IS ABOUT TO PUT THEM IN THE SUITCASE, BUT INSTEAD PAUSES AND LIFTS THEM UPTO HER NOSE. SHE MAKES A FACE AS SHE REALISES THAT THEY ARE DIRTY, AND THEN SIGHS HEAVILY.

PATRICIA: Will he ever learn? I’ve told him again and again ‘If you can still smell your socks through the chest of drawers then they are not fit to be worn!’ He will happily wear them too. That’s if I don’t get to them before he does. It seems that man’s intent on embarrassing me! Felicity takes great pleasure in pointing out Alfred’s flaws. ‘Oh yes,’ she said during our Friday doubles game. ‘He is improving bless him! I remember when he first started. It was truly awful; poor chap couldn’t hold a racket Har-har! Oh, no offence Patricia!’ No offence! Of course, you know that as soon as she utters those two words, there most certainly is something to be offended by. Her little way of letting you know where you stand... No offence indeed! I never let her get away with it, naturally. Mind you, I did make Alfred stay an hour after that particular game to work on his back hand...

PATRICIA: ‘I don’t know why you fuss so much Pat, anyone would think the Darlings were royalty or the like!’ he’d say. The Darlings rarely lost a match to us. It’s no wonder; they were likeminded people.

    Alfred isn’t... like me, so to speak. Never interested in anything I enjoy. Never quite able to get his head around it all. He’d try. I’d make him try. But would he ever take any of it seriously? (PATRICIA RAISES HER EYES SKYWARDS. SHE FIRES THE DIRTY SOCKS INTO THE SUITCASE AND ZIPS IT UP FIERCELY) Well I’d get jolly well sick of it. He may have found it all a hoot, but I am a respectable person within that tennis club! Within my friendship circle. Sometimes I think we’re just too different. For my birthday last year he got me tickets to see Hairspray the musical. Hairspray! For a woman of my age? Ninety nine percent of the audience were barely out of their mother’s womb. Les miserable’s was what I wanted to see. I’d dropped very clear hints but it obviously wasn’t enough. ‘Well I’m sorry love! They’re both musicals. Didn’t think there’d be much difference. I thought you’d like it but, oh, that’s right, I forgot that nothing I do for you is good enough.’  

Oh yes. Twist things. That’s another thing he’d do. Often had me believing I was the one in the wrong. Last week I cooked him an apology dinner after one of our arguments. Prepared a lovely smoke salmon dish and delicious cheesecake. Beautifully presented, could have come from a Michelin star restaurant, if I do say so myself! Of course he was back late from work again, as per usual. Well, I thought why let the beautiful cuisine go to waste? So I told him I was inviting the Darlings over. But what did the foolish man do?! He rolled in around ten thirty, drunk up to the eyeballs, covered in goodness knows what. I could have died with the sheer horror of the situation. ‘Oh don’t mind me darrrrllinnggs!’ he’d said in an awful mock-upper-class accent. ‘HAHA! Sorry! Sorry. I’d better go and get myself cleaned up. Don’t want to put you off your food! It was hard grafting today. But I like to get hands on, nudge-nudge, wink-wink... HAHA! Oh sorry love couldn’t help myself.’ He’d sniggered. I could have killed him. Very nearly grabbed the bread knife, right there and then. That night, not only had he made a complete fool out of me but he’d completely blown any chance I…(PATRICIA REALISES HER MISTAKE) we had of being respected. The darlings had found out that he wasn’t a structural surveyor, like I’d said, but a... (PATRICIA WINCES) labourer. How could we ever face them after that? It was so shameful. An awful, awful situation.

We argued until near enough One am after they’d left that night... (PATRICIA PAUSES. HER FACIAL EXPRESSION CHANGES FROM ONE OF EXHAUSPERATION TO GUILT)

Looking back now, maybe I was a bit hard on him. Too hard. He doesn’t mean to irritate me, I know. But I’m not the type of person to bite my tongue and he knows that! Knew it when he met me.  I just wish he’d try harder sometimes. But, I suppose it was a nice thought, to treat me to the theatre like that... It’s just that Felicity rambled on endlessly about how Phillip bought her a wonderful, eighteen carrot necklace for their anniversary. Although, Alfred did put more thought into his gift, even if he wasn’t quite on the right track. I didn’t even think he knew about my love for the theatre

Maybe that’s why it happened. Perhaps I was the cause. Oh dear... Could that have been it? Could it have been... my fault? I was always getting at him for something. And all of the things were so trivial. And now he’s lying there... I wonder if he knows when I’m with him.

I wonder what he’s thinking. I wouldn’t blame him if he was devising ways to get back at me... ha (PATRICIA GIVES A SLIGHT, WISTFUL LAUGH) He always tried his best by me, bless him. Working all the hours god sent to give me the lifestyle I demanded. No wonder he is where he is now, Oh God, What have I done to him? (A TEAR RUNS DOWN PATRICIAS EYE, SHE WIPES IT AWAY WITH THE SOCK WITHOUT THINKING. REALISING, SHE LAUGHS SLIGHTLY AGAIN) Did I really fuss so much over socks? The most insignificant thing... and birthday trips? He had all the good intentions and patience of a saint with me, and all I could do was to throw it back in his face! High maintenance he used to call me... I’d say just plain selfish...

The doctors tell me he’s doing well now. Shouldn’t be too long before he wakes up, so they say. I’ve just about got his bag packed, dirty socks and all.

I hope he knows... hope he knew before all this happened what I feel... I make sure I tell him every day now. I just pray he can hear me... Alfred, I love you.