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Scene 1

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London 2025, a studio - Bamber Amplebrain prepares to host

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BA: Welcome, welcome - After last week’s clash between Homo Neanderthalensises and the plucky lads of Westminster School - well done Neanderthals by the way - our generous sponsors at “TempusFugitX2025” suggested for this week we shall take a less taxing trip back in time, to the late 18th/early 19th centuries (audience applauses, tension mounts) - tonight for you all we have a showdown between The Romantic School, founded around 1798 (screams from the audience) - yes, indeed - and delighted we are to have you - and The Cockney School - what is commonly termed a ‘pub quiz’ team, I believe, - firstly we shall meet our guests:

B: Good evening, I am Lord Byron

BA: Er, would you care to provide any information about yourself?

B: Is that really necessary?

BA: Er, no - I suppose not - er, next (no response) - next?

S: Oh, me - yes - hello - I am Percy Bysshe Shelley - what is it, 2025? - yes, well, judging by the ungloved hands of your audience, my scolding verses have freed England from the perversity of marriage and religion

M: Good evening, I am Team Captain, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelley, which couldn’t fit on the name thingy - I wrote a masterpiece at just nineteen, though I struggled afterwards, I did have a lot of erudite ideas which, with a bit of capital and competent editorship, c…

P(interrupts): Hello, I am Doctor John Polidori. I can answer any question quicker than his Lordship, and he stole most of his post-1816 ideas from me

BA: Well, we’re certainly in for a night of it - now, to the Cockney School

STC: Righto - Hi! - I’m Sam! - many say I’m a genius of great order, although my favourite occupation is leaping on Gigantic Gibraltarian rocks with agile apes, and boxing the wild, prickly Agave in varied sub-Mediterranean climes (waves)

WW: I don’t see why I am being lumped with these Cockneys, I’m a rural postmaster for god’s sake

K: Good evening, I am John Keats - I, too, am not what I have observed passes for a cockney in 2025 - but, however, good evening - I hope you enjoy our contributions to your evening’s entertainment

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Audience “aww”

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FH: Hello, I am Felicia Hemans, and I’m not a token female, really, I’m not

BA: Wonderful - now we shall get started (screams) - Mr. Shelley!! - That substance is now highly illegal - please desist immediately or the drugs squad will be telephoned!

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All contestants laugh in disbelief - STC is in something of a panic - S hands his substances to security, who also perform a quick pat-down of the other contestants

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BA: Now we can begin, fingers on buzzers! (B jumps up - a loud clatter on the panellists’ benches is heard) - Gentlemen! - what in God’s - oh, my apologies to our audiences at home - but what the hell are you doing? (stands up and glares ferociously) - Sit down, my Lord - I said ‘buzzers’ NOT ‘triggers’! - Firearms of any kind are prohibited by law in England! (more guffawing) - Return them to your pockets or we shall have to cancel the programme! I mean, really!

B: Fletcher!!

F(has a front-row seat): Yes, my lord

B: All honour-saving challenges I once issued are surely settled by now?

F: Oh, most surely, my lord

B: Then take my Mantons and gunpowder and (whispers) - hand my cards out to the stunners in row 6, third in from the left, ditto row 11 and … well, they will do for the ad break at least

F: Aye, my Lord​

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Scene 2

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A gaggle of canines enter

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BA: Excuse me - to whom do these canines belong?

B: They are my most trusted companions, Amplebrain - and I require them to keep literary adversaries and reproductively incontinent, improverished newspapermen at bay (glares titanically)

BA(blushes): Oh, well - at least have them sit at your feet - they can be your team mascots, yes? - Now, first question (jumps up) - Mr. Shelley!! - you cannot light fires in the studio!

S: My good man, I am conducting an experiment - these large lamps are terribly hot, I wondered if one of Byron’s cigars could light if I raised it high enough (continues the experiment) - bedad it did! (passes cigar to B)

M: Percy! (under her breath) - stop it!

B (puffs contentedly): What marvellous technology! Sublime tobacco! which from east to west, Cheers the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest (members of the audience faint) - Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand - is that not somewhere in the vicinity of your stomping ground, Mr. Keats?

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JK is busy watching dust particles dance

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BA: Now, our first - finally - question: Which pop group had a hit with “The Only Way is Up”?

WW: I believe you take the road via Little Much-Fripperton

BA: Oh - sorry - wrong set of questions - ha - I suppose you don’t even know what a pop group is, do you?

P: I know!

B is busy surveying the audience of damsels sporting what appear to be trowsers and bare ankles

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BA: Ah - here we are - who said “There is an old quarrel between philosophy and poetry” - quick as you can - we’ve wasted a lot of valuable air time

B: That insufferable drivelling idiot! - to think his name survives yet!

PBS: A bore, a charlatan, a coxcomb!

M: Plato

BA: Correct - but no conferring next time - next question: Name two or more non-stressed languages that have little or no differentiation of syllable length?

FH: French? - William, do you know?

BA: No conferring!!

FH: Chinese?

BA: Well done, Felicia - really quite remarkable - look at you there - do you even know where China is on a map? Never mind, next question: Who gave the speech “M. Tullii Ciceronis Orationes in Catilinam” - and the year, please?

K: I must say, Mr. Amplebrain - these questions seem loaded towards the Classics - Do you have any questions at all on matters pertaining to real life? - infectious diseases and the pharmacological treatment of same, perchance?

B: I quite agree with the charming little cockney - though oft I have rashly courted infectious diseases - I, too, prefer real life

P: I prefer it more!

WW: I have it, Keats! - It was Cicero, in the year 63 before the birth of our Lord

BA: Interruption, but at this stage, I‘ll take it - well done, Mr. Wordswords

B: If I may, Amplebrain - I might advise you that if this entertainment (whispers to Mary) - is it akin to an Intellectual Astley’s? (M nods) - Well, to the point, I would suggest you change the name of our team, for you see if the Italian authorities catch wind of it, they will have you and your superiors thrown into an Austrian dungeon

M: ‘Tis true! - they believe us to be a secret society of revolutionaries bent on the overthrow of their ultramontane, overfeathered overlords

BA: Italian authorities? Revolutionaries - here, in England? (laughs) - How ridiculous - why, I summer in Tuscany every year

B: Be damned, Amplebrain, if the Tuscan buffoons aren’t the most witless of all! - I had police spies arresting my yacht in the bay just last week - I haven’t even had the chance to fire my monogrammed cannons! (grinds jaw) - There will be war!

BA: Hah! - good gracious, my lord, those days are well behind us - we are all great friends now - Europe has unified, you see, no more wars - life is as smooth as an unruffled sea!

ALL: No wars?!

C: What do people write about?

WW: Who are your heroes and villains?

B: How many military tailors has this put out of work?

BA: Gentlemen - and ladies - you must remember that questioning the present shall automatically suck you back into the TempisFugit! (gasps from panellists, B is distracted by the unnaturally long eyelashes of some ladies in the audience) - Next - History: What military dictator’s epoch defined a new school of design - in furniture and dress etc.?

C: Catherine the Great, Empress of Russia? - Rumour has it down at the Dog & Duck that her furnishings were something approaching - er - (has regrets) - grave obscenity?

BA(glowers): We shall edit that, Mr. Coleridge! - anyone else - no? It was Napoleon Bonaparte

B: Bonaparte! - My on/off pagod! - remembered as a furniture and frock designer?

BA: Oh yes - very smart little desk and whatnot I have in my orangerie - and a little campaign chest for my small clothes - anyway - next quest..

WW: If an emperor is thus remembered, what has become of us!

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A loud crash is heard, Coleridge comes crashing down from the ceiling​

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Scene 3

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Medics attend the poet

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BA: Mr. Coleridge - are you hurt? What were you doing, clawing your way across the lighting rig?

STC: I imagined these steel bars as excellent training equipment for my next visit to Gibraltar - d’you know, for my next reconnaissance with the apes thereof - did you see me swing, William?

WW: I did not - Coleridge, get back here and behave yourself!

C: Yes, William

BA(is becoming quite cross): Would you care for another question, or shall we pop you all back in the TempusFugitX2025 and you shall never know the taste of fluoridated water again? (guests down their water asap)

M: Many apologies, Mr. Amplebrain - I certainly should like to stay (sighs) - I can’t help but feel that in your 2000’s, I should not have to beg for pennies from editors of women’s journals

BA: You are most certainly right, Mrs. Shelley. It is most shuddering to imagine the vast fortune in royalties you would have made in cinema and comic-book rights (shakes head sorrowfully). Unfortunately, my dear, you would explode and shatter into a million orbiting stars if we disobey the rules of time travel (M is intrigued) - now, to the picture round: Who painted ‘The Virgin on the Rocks’

B: Oons! - they serve it with a squeeze of lime at Florian’s - the perfect mid-sirocco cocktail

FH: Blasphemer!

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Admiring gasps and “ohh’s” from the audience, B continues his assessments of same

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C: It was Leonardo da Vinci - a hairdresser from Milan

BA: er, yes - I shall give it to you (to self: SOMEONE has to win!) - next question: Who…

Leigh Hunt and family come screaming in

LH: Stop production! - hold the machine presses - or whatever these things are!!

BA: I beg your pardon - we are not finished - in fact - I have only asked three questions!

LH: We were late for the TempusFugitX2025 - his Lordship did not leave any money for a babysitter (glares at B) - we have ten children!! (B’s dogs are snapping at same) - get out, Felicica - I (appeals unsuccessfully for applause) was a Martyr to the Freedom of the Press (still nothing)

F: William! - True bard and holy! - thou art e’en as one - Who, by some secret gift of soul or eye - pray tell Hunt to go to the devil!!

WW: I’m afraid, Mrs. Hemans, that Hunt and his self-reared brood, more than any one of us, belong in the year 2025

B: Perhaps you may dislodge Mrs. Hemans, Hunt, if a challenge is set? - NO! - pistols back in pockets, gentlemen. Amplebrain - I possit that you ask a question of them both, and whoever wins, stays - the other - back to the misery of a large cottage with its own orchards in Hampstead, and friends with bottomless pockets and patience - what say you?

BA: Yes - if that moves things along - Mr. Hunt, Mrs. Henams: “What was the price of a pound of tea in 1820?”

LH: Marianne?!

MH: What do I know? - I have never had fresh tea in me life, I go begging for dregs - unlike his Lordship with his green tea, his “Chinese Nymph of Tears” - pfft (scowls)

FH: £300 per pound!

BA: Well done, Felicia! - my, are you not the marvel? - Sorry, Mr. Hunt - back to 1820 you go, I’m afraid you and your brood would become an unbearable multi-generational strain upon our social services if you remained - (H leers at BA’s Swiss wristwatch) - and the country would most assuredly revolt if a tax hike becomes necessary as a result

A great mechanical rumbling is heard, the Hunt family disappear - not before H blags a tenner from B

BA: I had less trouble with neothlic man - are any of you interested in continuing?

M: Oh, we do apologise - pray, continue

P: I am readier than anyone!

BA: Right, sports question: Who, in 1810, swam across the Broad Hellespont?

WW: Bias!! - How you so love a Lord, Amplebrain!

BA: I’m afraid I’m going to have to deduct ten points, Mr. Wordswords - anyone on the opposition?

P: It was Mr. Ekenhead - he was a better swimmer by ten minutes - is that not right, Byron?

BA: Near enough, Dr. Polidori - well, done - five points - (sneers) I suspect you could have swum it even faster?

P: Of course, I swum round Lake Geneva ten times with a donkey strapped on my back - did you hear me pluming myself about it?

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The house lights are suddenly switched on

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Scene 4

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A posse of self-satisfied individuals appear

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B: Certes, Shelley - if I don’t know that nose!

BS: And well you should, Byron - my name is Bud Southey - ggggrand-nephew of the laureate to whom you so very ‘in absentia’ issued a challenge - and I am here to call you to account!

HB: And, I, Byron - am Honeypot Brougham - gggrandniece of Henry Brougham - I am here ditto re. an appointment you threatened to keep on Golders Green

FMC: I am Field Marshall Carey - descendant of Captain Carey, late of Malta, whose mistress you seduced circa. 1809 - he would, of course, demand I, too, disassemble your mortal body poetical, sir!

JE: Me, I am the ggggrandson of John Edwards, your tailor - your outstanding account, with interest, is £520,740

BA: My Lord! - do not respond to these trespassing scoundrels - you will shatter into a million moons! (looks to team panel) My lord?? - Mrs. Shelley, where is his Lordship? Please, look under your desk! (panics)

BS: Ha! The Italianate coward! (is triumphant) - just as my esteemed ancestor predicted - all mouth and no trowsers!

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B has been hauled to the audience seats and is busily being plundered of his locks and dignity - the ancestral avengers are pounced upon by the remaining female spectators

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Byronista 1: Hurry, Byron, into the TempisFugitX2025 - resist such challenges or Greece shall never be free!

Byronista 2: Please take Keats with you!

Byronista 1: No! - he has only a year to live! Take Shelley!

Byronista 2: He has only two!

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Mary faints & Jk shrugs shoulders

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BA: That is quite enough!! - none of your poets shall survive beyond 1820 if you continue with these contraband revelations - quick, quick - Cockneys into the RyanairTempisFugit, pronto!!

Coleridge reclaims his substances from security - the team disappear into the grumbling machine

BS: Not so fast, you, my Lord, how shall you honour your challenge?

B(arises, now bald and shirtless): Your probiscally-enhanced predecessor has a bust in the Abbey - does he not? Well, I do not - moreover - my coffin has been desecrated since my demise and my corpse gawped at and salaciously reported on - surely a greater humiliation than anything you could suffer me to now endure?

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The avengers smirk and are satisfied

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BA: Come now Romantics - quick before any more of your personal details are revealed, and believe me - escape is essential

M: Shelley, put down those little fire sticks - Poildori, leave those disinterested maidens alone! - Mutz, here boy! - Byron - Byron?

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BA swats the determined Byronista’s away with his question cards

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BA(nervously whispers): One last question - for the win and a ghastly trophy - my friends: Who slept with whom at the Villa Diodati that July of 1816?

P: I know! I know! Lord B…

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Amplebrain shatters into microscopic shards - B hesitates but is dragged by Mary into the departing TempisFugit amid weeping from the gloveless audience

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