Rosina

	Stephen is in the drawing room of a stately home. He 
	plays an old aristocratic dowager called Rosina, Lady 
	Madding.


Stephen		I live here alone in what, when I was a girl, used
		to be called the Dower House. I suppose I am
		technically a dowager, though my son Rufus,
		the fourth earl, is not yet married. I love the
		country, it's very peaceful here. I am surrounded
		by photographs of my past. On the piano I have
		a photograph of myself dancing with David, the
		Prince of Wales - later of course Edward the
		Eighth and subsequent Duke of Windsor. David
		was a very bad dancer, always trod on one's toes
		and I remember he once crushed the metatarsal
		bones in the foot of a girlfriend of mine - discreet
		lesbianism was fashionable at the time.
		Here's a photograph of Noel Coward - darling
		Noel as we always called him. He was a very witty
		man, you know - it's a side of him not many
		people are perhaps aware of. I recall an occasion
		when I came out onto the dance-floor of Mario's
		in Greek Street wearing a very daring frock,
		very low-cut, a frock that revealed more of my
		decolletage than was then considered proper -
		now of course I dare say it would raise nothing
		more than an eyebrow - but at the time it was
		very wicked. I came onto the floor and darling
		Noel came up to me and said "Rosina" - he always
		used to call me Rosina - it is my name, you must
		understand. "Rosina," he said in that voice of his,
		"Rosina, where did you find such an alluringly
		high-cut body?" This was Noel's little way, you see.
		The portrait above the fireplace was made
		when I was in Paris - Claude my husband was
		Ambassador in the late 20s and I used to hold
		very literary parties at the embassy - Plum and
		Duff Cooper, Scott and Garrett Fitzgerald,
		darling Geoffrey Chaucer of course, Adolf Hitler
		and Unity Mitford, Gertrude Stein and Alice
		B.Topless, Radclyffe Hall and Angela Brazil -
		they could always be relied upon to attend. And
		of course O. Henry James Joyce Carey Grant. I
		remember F.E.Smith, later Lord Birkenhead
		of course, (Pointing, but we stay on Stephen) that's
		his picture there, just below the dartboard,
		F.E. used to say "All the world and his live-in
		lover go to Rosina's parties" which pleased me
		very much. Later when Claude and I went to
		India to take up the Vice-regency I met Gandhi
		with whom I used to play French cricket - he
		was awfully good at cricket, as a matter of fact,
		Claude always used to say "what the loin-cloth
		trade gained, the wicket-keeping trade lost."
		Pandit Nerhu was very impressive too, though if
		Edwina Mountbatten is to be believed his length
		was too variable for him ever to enter the ranks
		of Indian leg-spin immortals. The large bronze
		statue of the nude male which stands on top of
		the synthesizer is of Herbert Morrison the Cabinet
		Minister. I use it to hang my bracelets on when
		I'm playing at the keyboard now. I spend a lot of
		time here in this room, remembering the past.
		Silly Poles Hartley, L.P.Hartley, you know, once
		said that the past is a foreign country, but I don't
		agree. The food was better for a start, and the
		people didn't smell. People often tell me I was
		one of a spoilt generation, rich, beautiful, idle,
		parasitical. It is true that I had every conceivable
		luxury lavished upon me during my life, met
		many famous and influential people, saw many
		exciting places and never did anything more
		taxing than organise large house-parties. But
		you know, despite that, if I had my time over
		again I wouldn't change a thing. Regrets? A
		few. I shouldn't have let dear T.E.Lawrence
		borrow my motorbicycle. I'm tired now. Let
		me rest.

Hugh		Now Kenneth Baker, it seems to
		me, is a perfect argument for why
		one should always try and kill
		Kenneth Baker.