Stephen Ladies and gentlemen, bit of a shadow has been cast over the show this week. Hugh has received a death threat.
Hugh That's right. He holds up a letter. I got this letter this morning, addressed to "Dear Sir or Madam, you are a cow son bastard sucking mental, you die heavily in wet throat ripping everywhere, don't like the Queen this country, for tear out lungs and replace with portable clothes, brackets yes please brackets, National Service who is she, stripping scrotum through eary leery pastures of deep smell." Pretty upsetting, as you can imagine.
Stephen (taking the letter) I've tried to persuade Hugh to take this threat seriously, but he insists on carrying on as if nothing had happened.
Hugh If you give in to these people then ... you've given in.
Stephen At the very least, Hugh, I don't think it's safe for you to do your song tonight.
Hugh No. If I don't do the song then he's won and democracy might as well take an early shower.
Stephen But (looking at the letter, trying to make out the handwriting) this ... whoever this is, this "M. Pontillo" might be in the audience tonight, armed.
Hugh One has to make a stand.
Stephen I think we would all understand if we skipped your song tonight. This Pontillo is probably lurking in the piano, with a mobile rocket launcher. M'colleague, listen to me, YOU MUST NOT SING TONIGHT.
Hugh I know you mean well, m'colleague, but my face is made up. For evil to flourish it only needs the good man to spout cliches. I'm going on.Hugh moves towards the singing area.
Stephen Ladies and gentlemen, m'colleague will now bravely entertain us with a young song. (Ripping up letter: sotto voce.) Well, that's thirty pence postage and package down the drain.
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