A call for Mr Rudolph Own…

Those of you who follow me on Facebook will already know that I have been receiving calls regarding my recent ‘motor vehicle accident.
It is gratifying to know that people from the Indian sub continent are so concerned about my welfare and the seemingly endless ways in which they are prepared to go out of their way to help so that you can claim compensation for whiplash, sustained injuries, time off work, inconvenience, etc. All this is of course ‘entirely legal’, which I do find a little concerning because surely the last thing it would occur to you to say if something were entirely legal, would be that it was in fact ‘entirely legal’. Perhaps they should rephrase it and advise you that their main selling point might be a little ‘iffy in the right side of the law department.
So, suitably chuffed at their willingness to help that I thought I might take the time to make a few suggestions as to how their altruism may be streamlined to target the truly deserving, of which I must confess that I am not one.
Firstly, take the time to find out if your victim – sorry, horribly injured accident survivor – has in fact ever had an accident within the time frame that you are claiming. In my case this is easy. I am fortunate in never having had a motor vehicle accident (please note that I am desperately clutching a piece of wood at time of writing) and so I can only assume that your call is a genuine case of mistaken identity.
Secondly, as you plough through your carefully worded list of questions, please take the time to listen to the replies of your vict horribly injured accident survivor.
My first caller did not bat an eyelid (perhaps I’m being unfair, he may have done – I couldn’t see him, so I can only imagine) when I told him that I had had to have my head amputated as a result of said ‘accident‘.
Instead he ploughed on to ask if any of my friends had been with me and whether they had suffered any injuries.
My sad explanation that their gory remains had been spread over several carriageways seemed about to encourage him to a higher level of questioning, so I hung up.
The second caller however seemed genuinely concerned about the fate of my friends. I was a little perturbed that she did not enquire about my welfare at all, but perhaps understandably so as I had told her that the passengers in my car had been the entire Manchester United first team squad. Being more than a little miffed that she did not want to know what devastating injuries I had suffered (I had a list!) I felt quite justified in hanging up on her too.

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They build them tough in Birmingham – all these horrific accidents & ne’er a scratch!

 

 

 

Thirdly, Take the time to find out who you are calling. I am used to being addressed as, Mr David, Mr Dave sir, Sir David (do they know something that I don’t?), but perhaps the one that takes the biscuit came last year, during a spate of PPI calls – these telephonic inconveniences seem to travel in packs and all arrive in the space of a few weeks, collectively ‘a ringtone of scam calls’ perhaps? Hopefully this, sadly genuine, example may help:-
ME (ANSWERING PHONE): ‘Hello?’
CALLER: Is that Mr Rudolph Own?’
ME: ‘Who?’
CALLER: ‘Mr Rudolph Own.’
ME: ‘I think you may have the wrong number.’
CALLER: ‘No, I’m for Rudolph Own.’
ME: ‘Are you fucking listening, there is no one of that name here!’
CALLER: ‘No Rudolph Own?’
ME: ‘For fucks sake…’
KATE (INTERRUPTING): ‘Who do they want?’
ME: ‘Some bloke called, Rudolph Own, never heard of…’
KATE: ‘I think you’ve spoken to his company before.’
ME: ‘Wha…’
KATE: He’s asking for ‘Mr Rude On Phone.’
ME (TO CALLER, WHILE HANGING UP): ‘Fuck off!’
What me? Rudolph Own?
As if!

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You couldn’t make it up! Oh – perhaps you can then…

Friendship is a wonderful thing. If for example you had the idea that you could run the country better than the present government, even though you had absolutely no experience and were totally politically naive, you would know that you could rely on your friends to heap upon you scorn, ridicule and to offer no help whatsoever. But in the unlikely event that you did succeed, those same friends would expect lavish praise for their endeavours.

So how would you go about such a venture, given that the political process is slow and that you are too impatient to go through the proper channels. It might be an idea to form your own party, over the internet of course, that should speed things up a bit. All you’d need to do then would be to increase your public profile – well they say sex sells…

This is such a story. It couldn’t possibly work of course – now how do I go about setting up a website?

You can call me Dave, by the way.

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pm. com – a play by David J Robertson. (Finalist with children’s book – DOGNAPPED! – in The People’s Book Prize 2017)

Coming to a stage near you – provided you live in The Black Country of course. (I know what you’re thinking, ‘Bloody hell, he wrote that quick!’)

See the results here – 9th and 10th June,       Gig Mill Methodist Church Hall, Witton Street, Stourbridge, DY8 3YG

 

For ticket information contact – acomedytheatregroup@hotmail.co.uk

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The Black Country – has it’s finger on the rest of the country’s pulse.

Bostin!

 

I hate to mention it, but there’s another vote coming up…

Hello again.
Nice to see you.
Oh sorry – I really didn’t mean to do that in a Bruce Forsyth voice.
I’m not good at impressions.
What?
You’d noticed.
Thanks.
Anyway, how are things with you?
Really?
Oh dear.
They’re protruding by how much!?
Surely you can get some cream for that?
I should ask the chemist.
Pardon?
How am I?
Well funny you should ask.

It’s like this, remember the…

What did you say?
Look, I know you were only asking out of politeness and didn’t really want an answer, but I thought that seeing as you brought it up…

Remember the play wot I wrote…

No, now you mention it, I know I can’t ‘do‘ Ernie Wise either, but this play thing…

Not the one I did for the radio, no. It turns out that the BBC don’t posterknow a good thing when it’s staring them in the face – bastards!

I was talking about pm. com, the one that I wrote for the stage.
Yes, it was a few years ago, I’m glad you remember.
Well I only got someone to go and do it!

Yeah!
How about that then?
Honestly – I’ve never seen anyone so underwhelmed.
I thought you might be pleased.

Sorry, you thought what?
That it would just be,’something else for me to keep banging on about.

There’s no need!

But let me finish telling you, ‘cos you’ll never guess what.
I’m in it!
Cool or what?
In a purely am-dramish sort of way.
So I’m line learning.

I knew you’d say that!
Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean that I know it off by heart, no.
I have to practice my art.
Now I’m a thespian.
Getting used to the smell of the greasepaint, the roar of the crowd.
Of course I couldn’t compare myself to Burton or Gielud, well not yet anyway.

Arise Sir Dave, I can picture it now.
Me and Madge.
Her with a sword in her hand.
What do you mean, ‘you wish you had a sword right now‘?
I’ll take that to mean that you don’t want a ticket then.

They’re only three pounds.
I know – cheap as chips!
I’ve got friends on Facebook see.
Surprising as that sounds, yes I have.
And I was thinking that if any of them, in say Oz or Trumpton, fancied popping across for the evening that the low price of entry may be of benefit.
Help out with the air fare.
And the airport taxes.
See how thoughtful I am?

Now there was no call for name calling, ‘one act short of a scene!
Honestly, some people.

Afraid that we can’t put them up though.
My mate Nige is coming over from Ludlow and he’s already claimed the couch. Perhaps you could help by…

Oh! I see. They can **** right off to where?

Isn’t that the chain Lenny Henry advertises?

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Anyway, it’s a political drama – of a sort.
About the ‘Countrywide Reform Alliance Party.
Well in these days of uncertainty and surprise after Brexit, Trump and Leicester City, I thought it best to concentrate on the issues that concern us all.
The cost of beer and football admission prices for example – that sort of thing. Hard hitting and factual.

Pardon?

It spells what!

Perhaps I’d better have a rethink then, eh?