A micro-play in three acts. Heavily influenced by Hamlet.

ACT 1

Penny is suspended from the ceiling doing her best impression of Les Dennis. It is worth noting that she seems proud but also concerned as she doesn’t like heights. Even worse, she doesn’t like Les Dennis.

On stage below, Mrs Tim is entering the office of her local MP, The Honourless Merv. She does so with trepidation because she has heard on authority (the rags) that Honourless Merv believes himself to be a salmon.

As Mrs Tim enters, she finds The Honourless Merv lying on the floor, twitching like a salmon. It’s unnerving because he makes eye contact while doing so.

“Don’t ever doubt me,” he says.

ACT 2

The Honourless Merv enters Downing Street with his wife, who is carrying a 220kg salmon across her shoulders. She appears to be struggling as Honourless Merv waves at reporters. To him, they all look like salmons. This is the proudest day of his life.

He turns to his wife with a big, greasy smile and, looking deep into her nostrils, he asks: “Did you bring the salmon?”

She looks at him and wonders why she married this lunatic. Moments later, she collapses under the weight of the salmon but Honourless Merv is already in the top office, fiddling with his loose tooth.

Upon being informed that his wife was crushed by a 220kg salmon, he turns pale and asks gravely with concern: “What about the salmon?”

ACT 3

John Prescott sat at a table feasting on a salmon. Moody lighting.

John Bercow pokes his head out from under the table and, without his wig, confidently bellows: “SAAALMON”. Prescott doesn’t even flinch. He loves the salmon, not to mention the cocaine.

Penny – who has been suspended from the ceiling this whole time – is slowly lowered. She looks out into the audience.

“Churchill wouldn’t have stood for this,” she bemoans, waving like a fanatic.

With that, Churchill gleefully tap dances onto the stage but trips over The Honourless Merv who is lying prostrate on the floor pretending to be a salmon. Unable to steady himself and at the mercy of good old-fashioned momentum, Churchill tumbles off the stage and breaks his neck, not to mention the spirit of the cellist he has landed on.

To much audience applause and adulation, he draws his final breath, though not without first ruing the salmons in parliament.

THE END