Mountaineer

Mountaineer


	A hotel bar at the foot of Ben Enormous. Stephen is the 
	bartender, with a ludicrously long beard. Hugh is a git.


Hugh		Oh she's beautiful, isn't she?

Stephen		She?

Hugh		The mountain.

Stephen		Ah.

Hugh		I always think of the mountain as "she". To me, the
		mountain will always be "she".

Stephen		I know what you mean.

Hugh		Do you? Yes, I think perhaps you do.

Stephen		But to me, you see, the mountain is an "it".

Hugh		An "it".

Stephen		"It", yes. To me, the mountain has always had an
		"itty" sort of quality.

Hugh		Interesting.

Stephen		I think of my wife as a "she".

Hugh		Is that right?

Stephen		Oh yes. I always think of my wife as being a
		woman. Does that sound mad?

Hugh		Mad? No, it's not mad. Your wife as a woman.
		Interesting.

Stephen		Well, romantic, perhaps. You married?

Hugh		Yes indeed. Oh yes. Marriage is a wonderful thing.
		It's upstairs at the moment. It's a bit tired after the
		journey.

Stephen		"It"?

Hugh		My wife.

Stephen		Oh I see. I thought you meant the mountain. I
		thought you meant the mountain was upstairs.

Hugh		No no no.

Stephen		So are you going to be climbing tomorrow?

Hugh		Oh yes. I shall be up her face tomorrow morning,
		first thing.

Stephen		With your wife?

Hugh		Oh no. It's never really enjoyed climbing.
		It doesn't like heights, you see. Mind you,
		neither do I.

Stephen		Then why do you climb? That sounds very odd. It
		sounds very strange indeed.

Hugh		It is strange, it's mad really. I can't think why
		I married it. That's why I climb mountains, I
		suppose. To get away from it.

Stephen		And of course you're so beautiful.

Hugh		I beg your pardon?

Stephen		You are so ravishingly lovely.

Hugh		Well that's very kind of you I'm sure.

Stephen		Wales, that is. I always think of Wales as a "you".
		Don't know why.

Hugh		Oh, I understand. Yes, you certainly are lovely,
		aren't you?

Stephen		Oh yes. What a great country you are.

	Drifting through the window we hear a lilting 
	Welsh hymn.

Hugh		Ah. You hear that? What a beautiful hymn.

Stephen		Ah. You think of that as a him, do you? That's
		funny, because I'd call that a "they". To me, that's a
		beautifully sung "they".

Hugh		Ah, it's pure poetry, isn't it?

Stephen		Your wife? Your wife is poetry?

Hugh		No, the hymn is poetry.

Stephen		Well I don't know. I don't think they is poetry. I
		always think that poetry is poetry.

Hugh		You're talking now of Dylan Thomas.

Stephen		Dylan Thomas, yes ... or any of the other great
		poets, like ...

Hugh		Dylan Thomas.

Stephen		Yes and ... er ...

Hugh		Dylan Thomas.

Stephen		Coal black ...

Hugh		Black as black ...

Stephen		Slow black ...

Hugh		Black ...

Stephen		Black ... Aye.

Hugh		I?

Stephen		Yes. I always think of aye as yes. Yes, there's no
		doubt about it, we're very, very lucky.

Hugh		We?

Stephen		The Welsh. I always think of the Welsh as "we". A
		great stream of we.

Hugh		Yes, a huge reservoir of we, I know what
		you mean.

Stephen		Oh Wales, you're so lovely.

Hugh		You certainly are. I'd live there if the bastards
		didn't keep burning down my holiday cottage.
[ Previous Sketch: Wrong Directions | Next Sketch: Dammit 3 ]