A brief philosophical note on the following text: All plays are political, even the bad ones.

Act 1

It’s late at night. The Transport Minister is watching television. It’s the naked channel. Underneath his armchair, he thinks he hears a murmur. He gets down on his chin and knees. The murmuring gets louder, but the content of it is unclear to the audience. This is deliberate.

The Transport Minister pushes the armchair back to reveal a one-inch man. It’s David Seaman, the former goalkeeper.

TRASPORT MINISTER: My God, it’s David Seaman! How did you get down there?

David Seaman appears to be replying but he is so small that no one can really hear him. This is deliberate.

TRANSPORT MINISTER: Speak up, David.

David is straining. He’s red in the face trying to be heard, but it’s no use. The Transport Minister gives up, puts the armchair back, and goes to bed.

Act Two

The Transport Minister is awoken by the shrill ringing of his phone. He’s been here before, but never to the Isle of Man.

TRANSPORT MINISTER [answering with annoyance]: What is it?

Dramatic pause.

The Transport Minister drops his phone in shock. He vomits over the side of the bed. Suddenly, he is a very pale man.

Act Three

The Transport Minister arrives at Ten Downing Street. He is led to a dark room. In the corner of the room, under a very dim light, sits the Prime Minster; Ozzy Osbourne. He hasn’t dressed for the occasion. So much so that he’s completely naked.

PRIME MINISTER: Have you heard?

TRANSPORT MINISTER: Yes. Why won’t he move?

PRIME MINISTER: He’s worried that he’s losing his ponytail.

TRANSPORT MINISTER: What’s that got to do with me?

PRIME MINISTER: How should I know? Deal with this, or I can assure you it will be the last time you dine out all expenses paid.

Act Four

The Transport Minister is in a helicopter flying over the M4. He is looking down at a never-ending line of snaking traffic. All normal, except for the fact that David Seaman is the size of a ten-storey building and blocking the M4 just before the Coldra.

TRANSPORT MINISTER [shouting over the whirring of the helicopter]: David! David! What are you trying to achieve here?

David Seaman looks up at the helicopter. In a scene that should be evocative of King Kong, Seaman swipes at it and sends it crashing into the Brynglas Tunnels.

Act Five

David Seaman enters his home under the cover of darkness. His wife is watching the news. She seems unimpressed while carelessly swigging from a £400 bottle of Merlot. She turns to David as he appears in the living room doorway, a shadow of his former self but, finally, a normal-sized man.

DAVID’S WIFE: David. Look what you’ve done now.

DAVID SEAMAN [despondently]: I’ll fix it.

DAVID’S WIFE: Fix it? The TM is dead! He had a wife and three houses. I told you I’d buy you a wig.

DAVID SEAMAN: Sorry, darling. It’s not as bad as ‘98 though. I’m going to call Peter. He’ll know what to do.

DAVID’S WIFE: Peter who?

DAVID SEAMAN: Peter Schmeichel.

DAVID’S WIFE: Don’t keep him too long. He’s off to Australia tomorrow morning.

DAVID SEAMAN: Why?

DAVID’S WIFE: They want him to help carry the Sydney Opera House to Roger Federer’s house.

DAVID SEAMAN: Well, if anyone can do it, that Great Dane can.

Pause.

DAVID SEAMAN: What’s for dinner?

DAVID’S WIFE: Glenn Hoddle.

DAVID SEAMAN: Christ, you expect me to eat that after a day like this?

THE END