- Miss Rigby! Stella, my love! Would you please send in the next auditioner, please. Mr. Spiggott, I believe it is.

(He enters)

Mr. Spiggott, I believe?

- Yes, Spiggott by name, Spiggott by nature.

- Yes... if you'd like to remain motionless for a moment, Mr. Spiggott. Please be stood. Now, Mr. Spiggott you are, I believe, auditioning for the part of Tarzan?

- Right.

- Now, Mr. Spiggott, I couldn't help noticing almost at once that you are a one-legged person.

- You noticed that?

- I noticed that, Mr. Spiggott. When you have been in the business as long as I have you come to notice these things almost instinctively. Now, Mr. Spiggott, you, a one-legged man, are applying for the role of Tarzan - a role which, traditionally, involves the use of a two-legged actor.

- Correct.

- And yet you, a unidexter, are applying for the role.

- Right.

- A role for which two legs would seem to be the minimum requirement.

- Very true.

-Well, Mr. Spiggott, need I point out to you where your deficiency lies as regards landing the role?

- Yes, I think you ought to.

- Need I say without overmuch emphasis that it is in the leg division that you are deficient.

- The leg division?

- Yes, the leg division, Mr. Spiggott. You are deficient in it to the tune of one. Your right leg I like. I like your right leg. A lovely leg for the role. That's what I said when I saw you come in. I said "A lovely leg for the role." I've got nothing against your right leg. The trouble is - neither have you. You fall down on your left.

- You mean it's inadequate?

- Yes, it's inadequate, Mr. Spiggott. And, to my mind, the British public is not ready for the sight of a one-legged apeman swinging through the jungly tendrils.

- I see.

- However, don't despair. After all, you score over a man with no legs at all. Should a legless man come in here demanding the role, I should have no hesitation in saying "Get out. Run away."

- So there's still a chance?

- There is still a very good chance. If we get no two-legged actors in here within the next two months, there is still a very good chance that you'll land this vital role. Failing two-legged actors, you, a unidexter, are just the sort of person we shall be attempting to contact telephonically.

- Well... thank you very much.

- So my advice is, to hop on a bus, go home, and sit by your telephone in the hope that we will be getting in touch with you. I'm sorry I can't be more definite, but as you realise, it's really a two-legged man we're after. Good morning Mr. Spiggott.

Slough

Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow
Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs, and blow to smithereens
Those air-conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans
Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town --
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week for half-a-crown
For twenty years,

And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears.

And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.

But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.

It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead

And talk of sports and makes of cars
In various bogus Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.

In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.

Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.