Cocktails

	Stephen addresses the camera while Hugh lets his fingers lightly dance
	on the keys of the old pianner.


Stephen		M'colleague, m'colleague ... what a melancholy occasion is
		this.

Hugh		It is that, m'colleague. It is that. And yet ...

Stephen		And yet?

Hugh		And yet for millions it is a time of simple rejoicing and quiet
		explosions of merriment.

Stephen		I hate you.

Hugh		I know what you're trying to say.

Stephen		But how, m'colleague, how shall I find fit words with which to
		bid an eternal farewell to our viewing several?

Hugh		Let go, Luke. Feel the force. Be in touch with your feelings.

Stephen		Yes ... yes. O viewing several. Time ... time, like a thief in
		the night has sneaked quietly up, smashed our near side window
		and ripped the stereo from our dashboard. Time, the fell
		predator, has stopped us in the underlit alleyway of
		circumstance, forced us to drop our trousers and had us up
		against the wall of eternity, grunting and sweating with
		degenerate, maniac pleasure. For the very last time I turn,
		wiping a sad soft salt tear from my crimsoning cheek as I
		request and require our disastrously lovely guest units to tell
		me what is and will be their choice of farewell cocktails,
		asking them only to tell me in words what their hearts cannot
		speak.

	The guests confer.

Robert		(to Jeanine: sotto) I like the sound of a London Felch.

Jeanine		What about a Golden Shower?

Robert		Mm ... good idea. We should be concentrating on choosing a
		cocktail first, though.

Jeanine		Yes ...

	They whisper.

Robert		There's the Martini Navratilova ...

Jeanine		(to Stephen) What's a Sodding Mary?

Stephen		Like a Bloody Mary, but a little bit ruder. Have to hurry
		you ...

	They have decided.

Robert		Yes ... you're right ...

Jeanine		That's the one.

Both		We'd like a Modern Britain.

Stephen		A Modern Britain. Ha! M'colleague, what did you say to me only
		this morning?

Hugh		(shaking his head) What indeed.

	Robert starts to play "The Last Post" on a nearby trumpet, while Hugh 
	and Jeanine lower a Union Jack with lashings of dignity.

Stephen		The cocktail you have chosen is Modern Britain. A Modern
		Britain is like the classical Old Fashioned, but with a new
		twist. For a Modern Britain, you'll need finely made English
		hand-blown crystal glasses, the very best Islay malt whiskey,
		bred and lovingly blended by craftsmen who care: you'll need
		freshly squeezed apple juice from pleasant Somerset orchards, a
		quarter gill of London gin, a pint of rich Jersey cream, a half
		quart of soft, still Welsh mountain water, and to garnish, a
		shamrock, a daffoldil, a thistle and a rose. To complete the
		Modern Britain we add to this kindly, noble, honourable and
		civilised mixture a centilitre of flat cola-style syrup, a
		hectare of low-cal brand sweetener, a pot of non-dairy
		whitener, a leisure-sachet of instant heritage, a two-parent
		family size pack of diluted good values, free-market
		vegetables, a greedy helping of self-governing trusts and a
		plastic ice-cube for cosmetic purposes only. The product should
		be half-baked at an immoderate temperature of the lowest common
		denominator in an atmosphere of greasy cant and corrupt sleaze,
		until richly dishonoured and seared with shame. Your Modern
		Britain will ideally have lost all colour, flavour and fizz by
		now and should then be divided against itself and left in
		shoddy disrepair for a number of years until it rots before
		being sold off to the highest bidder. An ideal self-serving
		suggestion would be to accompany the whole botched cocktail
		with a raft of unappetising sound-bites and a package of feeble
		initiatives stuffed with tasteless media slime. But perhaps,
		somewhere, you might be inspired to add one small, tender,
		caring cherry of hope. I wonder. While you decide, I will
		entreat for the very finalest of last, last times, this
		entreaty of m'colleague, Britain's own Melody Man as I say,
		"Please, oh please, for all our sakes, please Mr Music, will
		you play?"

	Hugh plays. Stephen mixes the cocktail.

Tutti		Soupy, soupy, soupy, soupy-soupytwist.