Death Threat

	Stephen and Hugh are there.


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.