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Dinner for Two

criv Louis
Louis Davidson . Marcel Proust
Oscar Ward(f) . Albert
A ghost character, Gilberte.
There is a man at the table. Waiting impatiently as the candle on his
table goes down. Dinner is covered by a silver plate. Proust Enters.
Albert: Hullo Marcel, Hows it...
Marcel Proust interrupts with a long, drawn out, theatrical sigh
Albert: (exasperated) nice to see you too
Proust: Oh my dear, beloved, most dear, most belovedly dear and
dearly beloved Albert how your soul does so betray your anger
with me? That Marcel with himself at war, oh vanity! Oh Shudder!
And what is this? The candle, she glistens like my mother-in-law do
you remember my Mother-in-Law, Albert?
Albert: Yes, Marcel. You told me all about her, last time you saw a
candle. Surely you remember?
Proust: bah! I remember nothing! Memory is as fleeting as the run
of water down a particularly hydrophopic drain, mais oui , cest la
vie ! Il nya rien que nous mortals peuevent faire ! We scuttle about
our mortal lives and we see that oh is that cake? You know, I do
adore cake! My Gilber [cannot finish name Gilberte through fog
of tears]
Albert: oh for fucks sake. What remided you of GILBERTE now,
Marcel? The curtains? The wall? The bloody lamps!?
Proust: [snivelling] No, no, my dear chap I was just reminded of
the way that her hair used to shine like the sun, I had caught a
glimpse of the light through the window, you see..
Albert: You are joking. Light. Literal light, reminded you of your dead
girlfriend? Oh for the love of balls, get over it!
Proust: I should have expected so much! You English, vous anglaise
sont tous les mmes, you smelly idiots cannot hope to understand
love as we do in France!

Albert: oh God. Look, we all agreed that we wouldnt tell you this
until you realised it yourself, but YOU ARENT MARCEL PROUST. YOU
Proust: What are you saying? I was born Marcel, in Combray, in 189Albert: No. You were born Barry Shipman, in 1990, in Croydon.
Proust: Oh. [loses French accent.] Oh.
Albert: Yeah.
Proust: So Im not Proust?
Albert: no.
Proust: So does that mean I can stop talking like a freak? And
wearing these clothes?
Albert: Yes! To be honest, I dont know why you ever did..
Proust: Then, Albert, alright. But I have a question.
Albert: Shoot.
Proust: How long has this been going on?
Albert: Well, you first sort of started speaking like Proust at Sady
Cunnighams Christmas do, and if this is June, then that must have
been about six months?
Proust: Presumably, Im a man with such massive mental difficulties
that you could make me believe I was, in face, a turn of the century
French author whos been dead for amost a hundred years, and that
this is turn of the century Paris.
Albert: I guess so, whats your point?
Proust: Well, shouldnt I be in hospital? Youve been dragging this
out for SIX MONTHS! Why would you do that?
Albert: I dont know. Funny?
[Proust contemplates]
Proust: Hah. Yeah, to be fair.