Setting: The Drawing Room of Lovage Manor. Faded wallpaper, ancestors judging from portraits, and a pervasive smell of old money and damp.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
(For the English Stage Production)
1. LORD LOVAGE (Pronounced: Lo-VAAJH)
Archetype: The Deluded Patriarch.
The Name: Insists his lineage is "De Lovage" (Norman Conquest, don’t you know). He goes apoplectic if anyone rhymes his name with "Cabbage" or "Luggage." It must rhyme with Mirage, or indeed, Farage.
The Paradox: Despite the above, he considers Nigel Farage to be "terribly common" and "new money," yet finds himself accidentally agreeing with a plumber who quotes him. Ideally played by someone who can express existential dread just by twitching a moustache.
Quote: "Farage? Please. The man drinks ale. We drink Claret. We are not the same."
2. LADY LICORICE
Archetype: The Titanium Orchid.
Vibe: Fragile on the outside, harder than diamond on the inside. She treats the outside world as a large, unwashed petri dish. She has never successfully opened a door herself; she assumes they open automatically out of respect.
Triggers: Polyester, public transport, and the concept of "self-service."
Quote: "Valeriana, darling, you smell of... democracy. Go scrub."
3. MRS. SAFFRON
Archetype: The Gatekeeper.
Vibe: A housekeeper who is far more terrifying—and terrified of social faux pas—than her employers. She wields a feather duster like a scepter. She knows where the bodies are buried (and has likely dusted them).
Role: The silent judge, more aristocratic than her employers. Her eyebrows do 90% of the dialogue in the play.
Quote: (Stares at the grease stain on the tablecloth with the intensity of a sniper).
4. BASIL (BAZ) RADISH
Archetype: The White Van Philosopher.
Vibe: A plumber from the "University of Life." Wears a high-vis vest as if it were chainmail. Completely immune to irony. He thinks he is fighting the establishment, not realising he is the demographic the establishment relies on.
Prop: A copy of The Sun (or The Daily Mail) which he treats as scripture.
Quote: "It’s common sense, innit? You can’t trust a bloke who eats muesli."
5. VALERIANA
Archetype: The Champagne Socialist (or "Prosecco Marxist").
Vibe: Dressed in "poverty chic" that cost £500. Desperately wants to be oppressed but has a trust fund. She views Baz as a "noble savage" project, completely failing to see him as a human being with his own (terrible) opinions.
Quote: "Baz isn't just a plumber, Mother. He is a victim of the post-industrial neoliberal collapse!"
6. HEMLOCK - VALERIANA’S BOYFRIEND
Archetype: The Performative Intellectual.
Vibe: Wears glasses with no lenses because "lenses are a filter, and I want to see the raw truth." A poet who has never written a poem. He eats Baz’s chips ironically.
Quote: "This fish... it represents the drowning of the working class. May I have the tartare sauce?"
SCENE 1: THE CONTAMINATION
(LORD LOVAGE is reading "The Daily Telegraph" from 1995. LADY LICORICE is arranging dust motes holding a crystal glass of sherry. She looks like she is in physical pain.
MRS. SAFFRON (The Housekeeper) stands in the corner, holding a feather duster like a weapon.)
(The front door slams. VALERIANA and HEMLOCK enter. They look sweaty and self-righteous.)
VALERIANA: We’re here! Sorry about the delay, the bus was absolute carnage.
LADY LICORICE: (Drops a porcelain figurine. It shatters.) The... bus? Valeriana, do you mean the omnibus? With the... general populace? Did you inhale the communal air?
VALERIANA: It’s public transport, Mother. It’s carbon-neutral.
LADY LICORICE: It is germ-positive! Saffron! Prepare the fumigation device! My daughter is contaminated with... society!
(MRS. SAFFRON marches forward with a vintage brass spray bottle and aggressively mists the air around Valeriana and Hemlock.)
HEMLOCK: (Adjusting his lens-less glasses, coughing) Actually, Lady Licorice, exposure to the proletariat’s microbiome is essential for building a robust immune system. It’s practically a political statement.
LORD LOVAGE: (Lowering the paper) Who is this person? And why is he vibrating?
VALERIANA: This is Hemlock, Daddy. My boyfriend, remember? Oh, and we have a guest coming. A real person. His name is Baz. He’s the one who fixed the toilet in our condo last week.
LADY LICORICE: (Gasping) "Condo"? "Toilet"? Valeriana, please! In this house we say "Lavatory" and "Flat". You sound like a colonial! And why are we dining with a plumber? Is the plumbing broken?
VALERIANA: No! We are dining with him to break down class barriers! He is coming to our Sunday Roast.
(Sound of screeching tyres outside. CRUNCH. A loud metallic thud against stone.)
LORD LOVAGE: What in God’s name was that? Did the Germans return?
(He rushes to the window.)
LORD LOVAGE: Good Heavens. There is a white... behemoth. A van. It has parked directly on the prize begonias.
Will the prize begonias ever recover? Will the White Van Man actually enjoy his dinner? And will the House of Lovage survive such... plebeian contamination? The curtain falls, leaving the audience to ponder these burning questions.
SCENE 2: THE UNHOLY ALLIANCE
(The doorbell rings. SAFFRON opens it. BAZ RADISH enters. He wears a high-vis vest over a football shirt. He carries a greasy newspaper bundle.)
BAZ RADISH: Wotcher! Sorry about the flowerbed, Guv. Bit tight on the turn, innit? White Van Man coming through!
LADY LICORICE: (Fanning herself) He... he speaks in riddles.
VALERIANA: Baz! Welcome! Come in. Just... ignore the disinfectant.
BAZ RADISH: Right-o. Nice gaff. Bit like a museum, eh? Smells like my Nan’s attic. I could take a look at them pipes later if ya like. Cash in hand, know what I mean? Keep the taxman out of it.
(He plops the greasy bundle on the Chippendale table)
Brought some proper grub. None of that posh pheasant. Fish ’n’ Chips. Wrapped in "The Sun".
LORD LOVAGE: (Monocle practically vibrates) "Nice… gaff"? (He looks at the fish as if it were a radioactive isotope) Is that... cod? Wrapped in... literature?
HEMLOCK: (Adjusting his lens-less glasses) It’s deconstructed urban foraging, Sir. It’s a statement against the hegemony of the Roast. It’s beautiful. It’s... brave.
LICORICE: (Clutches her pearls) Saffron... my smelling salts. The boy has brought a dead aquatic creature to Sunday lunch.
MRS. SAFFRON: (Icy tone) Yes, Madam. Shall I also serve tea? Or shall we just surrender to anarchy?
LORD LOVAGE: Tea, Saffron. Earl Grey. immediately. We need to stabilise the situation.
(Saffron pours. Silence falls.)
BAZ RADISH: Oi, Saffy! Chuck a bit of cow juice in mine, will ya? And two sugars. Make it sweet, darlin’.
LADY LICORICE: (Whispering) Cow juice...? In... Earl Grey?
BAZ RADISH: Yeah, milk! This citrus stuff tastes like perfume. Needs diluting. (He stirs it loudly. CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.) Cheers!
LORD LOVAGE: (Trembling with rage) Young man. That is Earl Grey. You do not put milk in it. It is Sicilian bergamot! It is a crime against civilisation! You are ruining the delicate balance!
BAZ RADISH: Balance? You wanna talk about balance? Look at this country! Ruined, mate. Ruined by them bureaucrats. (He unwraps his meal and points a chip at Lovage) Just like this paper says. Best paper in the world, mate. Tells it like it is. None of that woke rubbish. Look at the headline. "BRUSSELS BANS BRITISH SAUSAGES".
LORD LOVAGE: (Stops trembling. He looks at the grease-stained paper.) I beg your pardon? Do you imply Europe finds the standard of our sausages inadequate? They banned... OUR sausages?
BAZ RADISH: Too right. Elf ’n’ Safety gone mad. Lemme tell ya. Can’t even hunt a fox these days without some blue-haired student gluing themselves to your Land Rover. No offence, Val.
LORD LOVAGE: (Slowly sits down next to Baz. His eyes light up.) Wait a moment. You support... the hunt?
BAZ RADISH: Pests, ain't they? Chicken killers. If a dog wants to rip a fox, let 'im rip it, I say. That’s tradition, innit?
VALERIANA: (Mortified) Baz! That’s xenophobic rhetoric! We talked about this! You’re a victim of populist manipulation! You are meant to be oppressed by the gentry!
LORD LOVAGE: (Slams his hand on the table, beaming) Silence, girl! The man is a philosopher! "Let him rip it." (He places a hand on Baz’s shoulder) Licorice... cancel the pheasant. Bring me a fork. I wish to try this... "Fish and Chips". "German sausage interference." I have been saying this for decades! Finally, someone with a backbone enters this house! (To Baz) Tell me, Mr. Radish... what are your thoughts on Capital Gains Tax?
BAZ RADISH: Tax? Robbery, mate. Pure robbery. Keep the government out of my pocket, that’s my motto. Robbing bastards, the lot of 'em. Spend it all on avocado toast for students and bike lanes, don't they?
LORD LOVAGE: (Tears welling up in his eyes) Beautiful. Simply beautiful. Licorice, look! I have found a son I have always wanted! A kindred spirit! Saffron! The vintage Port! The 1982! We have a guest of honour!
VALERIANA: (Sinking into her chair) I hate this family.
HEMLOCK: (Whispering to Valeriana) This is highly problematic. The intersectionality of their bigotry is... statistically improbable. Also, can I have a chip? I’m starving.
VALERIANA: (Face in hands) I invited a plumber and found a Tory. I’m going back to the bus stop.
HEMLOCK: (Eating a chip) This is sociologically fascinating. The Horseshoe Theory in action.
FADE OUT.
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