196 Wimbledon Park Road
London, SW18 5RL
+44 (0) 7803 906131
(C) Simon Paul, 2010
The Butler - an elderly but cognisant gentleman.
Somewhere within Alexeivich Towers, Surrey - a telephone rings
and slow, heavy and deliberate footsteps are heard approaching.
(Short pause after each paragraph to reflect the caller’s
Hello, Alexeivich Towers, Brantson speaking, how may I be of
service to you this morning?
Oh, I am so sorry, you just missed the master.
Pardon, it’s a bad line.
No, missed the master. He’s gorn!
No, gorn, went away, left home, exeunted, along with the lady of
the house and several cronies.
No, not ponies, cronies!
I can’t tell when he’ll be back I’m afraid. He’s left me all
alone in this phantasmagorical palace that he calls home. Home,
alone with nothing more than a pack of baying hounds and a wild
kestrel to keep me company.
Pardon. No kestrel, not kettle!
As I say, I do not know when he’ll be back. Not for some time
Pardon. Methinks, not stinks.
Well, he’s gone to inspect his wells.
No. Not smells, wells.
No. Oil wells, not the Cathedral city. Mr Alexeivich is not one
for sight seeing you know. So, may I take a message for the
One moment, let me just get some writing implements.
(Sound of walking away and then returning. Then speaks slowly as
if writing at the same time.)
Okay, fire away. Mr Robertson, local tax office. Telephone
number uh, uh, uh,...670.