JUDY: Hello, my name is Judy. You’ll notice that in this story we don’t use traditional surnames, except my life partner Mr Punch, of course, he’s a bit old fashioned. But I’m sure that soon the new man inside will shine through. Isn’t it nice that as we approach the millennium we are able to evolve towards becoming equal caring members of the informal global village. By the way, boys and girls, this is my baby, Tarquin.     Say hello Tarquin. We are trying to get Mr Punch to join us at co-parenting classes aren’t we Tarquin? I think I hear Mr Punch coming now.

PUNCH: Where’s my bloody dinner woman?

JUDY: Hello Mr Punch. Say hello to all the nice boys and girls.

PUNCH: Who are all these nosy bastards staring in our window? Oy! You lot, fuck off!

JUDY: These are all the nice boys and girls Mr Punch. They are interested in our story.

PUNCH: What do they think this is? Jerry fucking Springer?

JUDY: Now, Mr Punch. Say hello to the nice boys and girls.

PUNCH: Fuck the boys and girls. Where’s my bloody dinner?

JUDY: Mr Punch you know that today is my day to go to the National Childbirth Trust meeting.

PUNCH: National Childbirth Trust? More bloody middle class than IKEA. All giving birth as though the twentieth century never happened. Why don’t you all go out and find a nice sturdy branch to hold onto whilst biting a piece of buffalo hide? And what the hell are you still a member for now you’ve given birth?

JUDY: You know why. It’s to encourage other mothers to enjoy the full beauty of     natural childbirth.

PUNCH: You’ve become a hand knitted yoghurt, woman! Nothing more than a quorn flavoured whale saver. And you’ve started taking liberties. I told you that you could join the local organic women’s collective as long as my dinner was on the table when I get home from work.

JUDY: I thought you would want to see me and our baby when you come home.

PUNCH: Of course not woman. I don’t really want to see him at all; certainly not until he’s able to hand over his wage packet when he comes home from work on a Friday, and you? When I come in from work all I want to see is your stockinged legs disappearing up the stairs to the bedroom where you wait for me until I’ve finished my dinner.

JUDY: Oh Mr Punch, you’re such a card. If I thought for one moment that you meant half the things you say I’d leave you and never come back.

PUNCH: You’d take this baby with you, wouldn’t you?

JUDY: Oh, Mr Punch. You look after the baby. I’m off to my meeting, we’re teaching breathing classes tonight.

PUNCH: Breathing classes? Who are you teaching? Pregnant scuba divers?

JUDY: Mr Punch! Le Mars breathing exercises. If you’d ever come to the parentcraft classes you’d know. As my birth partner you’re supposed to stick up for me.

PUNCH: It’s because I stuck up for you that you got pregnant in the     first place.

JUDY: No, you were supposed to help me to breathe.

PUNCH: Help you to breathe? You’re likely to forget then are you? All your life -in, out, in, out! Suddenly your memory goes blank, does it?

JUDY: Mr Punch. You take the baby.

PUNCH: I don’t want the baby.

JUDY: Take the baby.

PUNCH: I don’t want him.

JUDY: Play with the baby.

PUNCH: Good idea. I can play hide and seek. I’ll put him in the cellar and go to find him when you come home.

JUDY: Mr. Punch!!

PUNCH: What do I do if he cries.

JUDY: Why give him something of course.

PUNCH: Give him something? Are you sure?

JUDY: Yes, if he cries give him something to stop him crying.

PUNCH: OK, I’ll give him something.

JUDY: Mr Punch. I have to go. You spend some quality time with Tarquin. But boys and girls, you’ll make sure he looks after the baby properly won’t you? I’ll just be upstairs getting changed. You’ll call me if he does a Louise Woodward won’t you? You must shout out very loud. You will do that won’t you?

    Mr Punch - Plays roughly with the baby.
    Baby cries.

PUNCH: I must be a good parent. Judy says to give him something if he cries. I’ll just find something to give him.

    Re-appears with a big stick. Hidden behind his back.

PUNCH: Come here baby. Mr. Punch is going to give you something. Mr Punch has a big surprise for you.

    JUDY reappears from side

JUDY:     Is Mr Punch mistreating the baby, boys and girls? Are you mistreating the baby, Mr Punch?

PUNCH: No, Judy. I’m just going to play cricket with the baby?

JUDY:     Is that right boys and girls? Was Mr Punch going to play cricket with the baby? I think you were going to hit him with the bat until he started to bawl. Isn’t that right boys and girls?

PUNCH: I was only playing, Judy. I wouldn’t hurt my little baby boy really.

JUDY:     Well, play nicely and no more cricket!

    Punch plays roughly again.
    Baby cries.

PUNCH: Don’t cry baby. Let’s play a game. This is British Bulldog. (Makes a face like a bulldog complete with loud growl at baby) This is poker. (Pokes baby.) This is squash. (Squashes baby.) And this is baseball. (Throws baby in the air and bats it out over the audience.)

JUDY:     You’ve killed the baby.

PUNCH: Sid!

JUDY:     Not Sid, - Tarquin! You’ve killed Tarquin.

PUNCH: Sid!

JUDY:     When he was born you let me choose his name. Remember? It’s Tarquin.

PUNCH: Sid! Sudden Infant Death syndrome. You know, cot death. It’s called SIDS. I’m innocent!

JUDY:     Is Mr Punch telling the truth boys and girls. Is he innocent? Shall I call a policeman?

PUNCH: Judy. Don’t cry. Come upstairs. We can easily make another baby.

JUDY:     Mr Punch. How could you?

PUNCH: Just the same as last time. You shout yes, yes, yes, and I’ll try to remember all of the 1966 England football team to try to make it last a bit longer.

JUDY:     I mean, how could you at a time like this?

PUNCH: Judy, Judy, Judy. It’s perfect timing. This is the first time since the baby was born that we can guarantee to have sex without being disturbed.

JUDY:     Disturbed? You’re disturbed! My poor Tarquin. Are you sure it was a cot death?

PUNCH: Absolutely. I hit him with the cot.

JUDY:     The cot? Was it bigger than this stick?

    Judy hits Punch. They struggle over the stick. Punch wins.


PUNCH: You said you wanted me to take you clubbing.
    (Thump)
PUNCH: You said I’d never stick at anything.
    (Thump)
PUNCH: You said that family life couldn’t be beat.
    (Thump)
PUNCH: Oh, dear. Judy’s dead. Never mind. I wonder what’s for tea.

    Goes downstairs and reappears with a string of sausages.

PUNCH: Sausages! Oh, well I could always beat up a couple of eggs to go with them. Oh, no. I might have guessed, they’re Linda McCartney’s vegetarian sausages.

    ENTER CROCODILE.

CROC:    Good people don’t kill animals for food or fur. If you don’t want them I’ll eat them.

PUNCH: A crocodile? Someone must have put acid in my beer.

CROC: I am not a hallucination. I am a refugee. I am a prisoner of a repressive regime. Condemned to live out my days as a pair of strappy sandals and matching handbag. Give me those sausages.

PUNCH: You can have them. Paul should have married Jane Asher. At least she doesn’t mind chomping on a piece of gristle from time to time.

CROC:    What a lovely starter those sausages were. Now for the main course.

    Croc attacks Punch

PUNCH: Help. Police.

COP: Hello

PUNCH: Hello

COP: Hello, Hello.

PUNCH: Hello, Hello.

COP: Hello, Hello, Hello.

PUNCH: Officer. Please. I’ve been attacked.

COP: Attacked? But there’s no one here.

PUNCH: I’ve been attacked by a crocodile.

COP: Z-Victor 1 to station. Z-Victor 1 to station. Put out an all points bulletin for a bunch of homicidal maniacs doing the conga.

PUNCH: Not that kind of crocodile.

COP: What exactly did you see, sir?

PUNCH: I was attacked. The last thing I remember seeing was a crocodile.

COP: Z-Victor 1 to station. Z-Victor 1 to station. Put out an all points bulletin for a man in a Lacoste tee shirt.

PUNCH: No. No. I was attacked by a real crocodile. From the zoo. It attacked me after killing my poor son, Tarquin, and my dear wife Judy. Didn’t he boys and girls?

COP: You say a real crocodile killed your wife and son and injured you? Is that right boys and girls? Are you sure boys and girls? The boys and girls seem to think that you killed poor Tarquin and poor Judy? Is that right boys and girls? Well Mr Punch?

PUNCH: You’re right officer. I did kill them. I would like to confess.

COP: Very sensible, Mr. Punch. Tell me all about it. In your own words, what did you do first?

PUNCH: Well, first I picked up the stick, like this.

COP: Like that?

PUNCH: Yes, like this.

COP: Then what did you do Mr Punch?

PUNCH: Then I hit her like this. And like this. And this. And this and this. Then I threw her down the stairs like this.

    MAGISTRATE enters behind Mr Punch.


MAJ: Are you Mr Punch?

PUNCH: I am. And who are you?

MAJ: I am the magistrate.

PUNCH: The magistrate? Already? I’ve only just said goodbye to the policeman.

MAJ: Well, you can say hello to the magistrate.

PUNCH: Mr Magistrate, sir? Would you like the same as I gave to the     policeman?

MAJ: The same as you gave to the policeman? I haven’t got time for a cup of tea
thank you very much, I’ve come to arrest you.

PUNCH: You’ve come for Irish stew?

MAJ: No. I’ve come to arrest you for treason. I’m arresting you for spreading malicious and salacious rumour concerning Princess Diana, the Queen of hearts.

PUNCH: I merely said that it was a brilliant move on behalf of Mohammed Al Fayed to try to marry his son Dildo, or whatever it is, off to Diana.

MAJ: You can’t use the blessed name of Princess Diana in the same sentence as a dildo!

PUNCH: Well, you can’t hang me for treason for being nasty about Princess Diana, unless you’ve already hung James Hewitt and Will Carling. I didn’t shag her. I only said that although none of her food went down easy, apparently she did.

MAJ: It is a treasonable offence to insult a member of the Royal family.

PUNCH: She is not a member of the Royal family. She’s dead! If I said that Richard III was a murdering hunchbacked bastard or that Ethelred drank so much mead that rather than being unready he was known to the court as Ethelred the unsteady     would this be treason?

MAJ: It is treason to be nasty to a royal whom everyone loved.

PUNCH: Not everyone. But according to the popular press she certainly had more lovers than she had hot dinners. And before she died she was divorced. She was kicked out of the Royal family. How can it be treasonous  to insult a shag-happy skinny dead bird who wasn’t even a card carrying member of the Royal family when she croaked.

MAJ: You are a wicked man whose opinions must not be given the time of day.

PUNCH: I can beat the rope and I can beat you Mr Magistrate.

MAJ: Beat me?

PUNCH: Okay then, if you insist.

PUNCH: Oh dear boys and girls. It looks as though that nasty crocodile has killed that nice Magistrate. And that nice policeman. And my lovely Judy. And my poor little baby.

Booming voice from backstage.

DEVIL: Mr Punch. Mr Punch.

PUNCH: Who is it? Who’s there?

DEVIL: Mr Punch. Mr Punch.

PUNCH: Who is it? Who’s there?

DEVIL: You know who it is Mr Punch. I am old Nick. You know me, I am the devil, Mr Punch.

PUNCH: I’m sorry Mr Punch is out at the moment, can I take a message?

DEVIL: I have been watching your progress Mr Punch, and I think it’s time for you to come and join me.

PUNCH: No. No. I won’t. I don’t want to join you.

DEVIL: I’m not going to punish you Mr Punch. You show promise. I want you to come and work for me. I have a vacancy.

Devil rises slowly up behind Mr Punch wearing Tony Blair mask.

PUNCH: Oh. No.

CURTAIN.

VOICE: So you see, boys and girls. It doesn’t really pay to be naughty after all.