Journal of Cannonby: There's a Hole in Your Chest, Dear Ivan

A bit late again with this one.

The script was read/played by:

Narrator: Me

Cannonby: H.R. Humphreys

Carmarthen Bevan: Me

Stephen Teal: Dafydd Evans

Boris: Dafydd Evans

Ivan Öleinme: Me

*****

Journal: The Remarkable Doings of Cannonby
There's a hole in your chest, dear Ivan

Narrator
A dense shroud of sleet hangs cloyingly over the deserted boards of the usually bustling pirate galleon, the Sodden Calamity, like a cerecloth pronouncing death upon the ship. It's hardy, and somewhat anomalous, crew have taken refuge within its parental boughs, choosing the warmth and bonhomie of huddling in cramped quarters, over the unwelcome airborne pneumonia that broods in the outside air like an Arctic death threat. The sizeable crew have been together for quite some time by this point, and nothing can knit together a friendship like a protracted series of piratical shenanigans upon the open seas, or closed seas for that matter. There are numberless close groups of friends on the ship, well that's probably slightly hyperbolic; there are in the region of 10-30 close groups of trusted friends aboard the Sodden Calamity, but as this is the journal of Cannonby, it is probably for the best that we focus on his. Sitting around the Captain's operations table are; Carmarthen Bevan, known as the Wet Wipe of Calamity; Stephen Teal, easily recognised by his horn and tentacles; Boris, the ships chef pillaged from the service of famed seal clubber Bludonna Snow; and of course the Captain himself, Peables Cannonby, scourge of the South, the man who lay waste to the West, ancestor to Peter North, he also has an East infection. Social outcast and cyborg ZX Ilfracombe is also in the room, though he has been switched off and is being used as a holder for his pewter stein, which holds a fetid cocktail of grog and vodka, which he refers to, hilariously, as grogka. The sleet from outside is seeping through the walls, shrouding the scene in fog, which is mixing with the vodka to create fogka.

CNBY: Damnable atmospheric conditions, its gotten so I can't even taste myself drink anymore.

BORIS: That's probably got more to do with what you've been drinking Comrade.

CNBY: I have not been drinking Comrade, I've never even heard of such a drink.

BVN: Oh bin bags, the Captain is given to such awful jokes when he is under the influence.

BORIS: This is a pathetic way to excuse shoddy writing.

BVN: Watch yourself, Comrade.

BORIS: Harrumph.

CNBY: Why are my closest connections on my own ship such laborious oiks?

BVN: I resent that.

TEAL:

CNBY: Oh how I wish something exciting would happen...

BORIS: The genies were last week.

CNBY: Potential listeners won't be able to see this, but I am currently giving you a stern drunken glare.

BORIS: I am intimidated.

:D

CNBY: By Hal Emmerich's soiled undercrackers! It's an apparition!

APP: I seem to have crashed in your ship.

BORIS: An apparition collision!

APP: A loudmouth, you must be Cannonby, I am here to warn you of your reckless ways.

BORIS: An apparition on a mission!

CNBY: Enough! Apparition, declare yourself!

BORIS: An apparition exposition.

APP: Ivan Öleinme.

CNBY: Yes, I can ruddy well see that, a big one there in your chest.

IVAN: No this is my name.

CNBY: Ah, handy!

IVAN: Certainly the practicality of my name has been something of a comfort whilst in the cold embrace of death.

CNBY: I imagine it would be, you seem like a stein half full sort of bloke.

IVAN: Well thanks, I'd like to think of myself as a… wait a minute! I am not here to be pally with you, hear my cautionary tale and change your ways. Let us set the tone with .



IVAN: We vikings lived for the reckless abandon of battle, every waking moment was filled with the....

CNBY: (interrupting) Is that how you died?

IVAN: Please, do not interrupt.

CNBY: I'm sorry. I am just excited, I do enjoy a good story told well and it's been so…

IVAN: You're still interrupting.

CNBY: (petulantly) Well it's my ship.

IVAN: The clack of blade on blade, of blade on helmet, of blade on shield, of blade on bone. We liked blades is what I am trying to say.

BORIS: I like blades too. They're bladey good stuff.

IVAN: But this was my mistake… (dramatically) a blade put an end to me.

BORIS & BVN: Whoooo.



CNBY: Why doesn't your helmet have horns on it?

IVAN: This is a historical inaccuracy.

CNBY: Did you drink wine out of human skulls?

IVAN: No, this is also historical propaganda.

CNBY: What about mead?

IVAN: We drank nothing from human skulls.

CNBY: (aside) You must've been thirsty then…

BORIS: What about the rape and pillaging?

IVAN: Well we do love to pillage, but this is just a mistranslation. We love grape and pillage. Vikings love grapes.

CNBY: I am also fond of grapes. Boris, you're a man of the world. Where are there grapes in abundance?

BORIS: Vinehaven, perhaps.

CNBY: Bevan, man the wheel, Boris, rouse the men, set a direct course for Vinehaven. Teal, get yourself to the crow's nest.

TEAL:

CNBY: Disgusting as you go, Number One.

IVAN: Do you take no heed of my tale of death?

CNBY: Now look here you wusscake. You've not really told your story, but I quite like you, despite the off-putting schism in your chest. I say you pop yourself into Ilfracombe over there and come along for the ride.

IVAN: But he is a living creature!

CNBY: (chuckling) There's room enough for another personality in there, and there'll be grapes!

IVAN: And pillage?

CNBY: More pillage than a blister pack of aspirin!

IVAN: Well I don't understand your futuristic terminology, but okay!

CNBY: That's the spirit! And you are one after all!

Narrator
And with that, the pun was done. The iron-wrought cyborg shell of ZX Ilfracombe was melded with the spirit of the regretful viking Ivan Öleinme, offering the fallen warrior a second chance at life. The impulsive Captain Cannonby has ordered the crew to set sail to Vinehaven, the Garden of Eden for lovers of currants; black currant, red currant, white currant, zante currant, currant affairs, and also for lovers of raisins, wine and of course, grapes. What stimulating jeopardies await our adventuresome ensemble? Tune in and find out, on the next exciting tale of Cannon-Ball Z!

*****

As always, new shows every Saturday/Sunday 12-3 on www.rhonddaradio.com.

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