The understated brilliance of Michaela Coel’s monologue play is that although it’s all from Tracey’s point of view, the audience gets to see her from multiple perspectives. But when she meets Connor, an ambitious white boy, Tracey begins to resist his encouragement to aim higher and think of university. She’s young, naïve, and hungry for adulthood. Tracey is a boisterous teenage girl who mocks those around her. I feel like crying, but not from sadness. I don’t actually know where Margate is but I’m guessing it must be like… past Enfield coz we ain’t got anything like this in my borough or in any of the neighbouring boroughs I’m sure. I’ve never seen so much water before, and it’s not the water it’s just, I’ve never seen anything like this in the whole course of my life. He blindfolded me and took me all the way to a beach. Right now I am looking at the sea for the first time in my life. He’s not like those boys that take you cinema just so they can kiss you in the dark, we walk outside holding hands. He says I’m like a little firecracker and he’s like… I dunno, someone smart. If I look at him for more than like six seconds he starts squinting – he’s not going blind or anything coz they sort of get bigger at the same time, sort of like – I think it’s coz he really likes the way my face is. His lips are thin, and soft, and very pink and one time we kissed for eight minutes, I know coz we started kissing when Craig David’s album was on, and it was like Walking Away, which is three minutes 27 seconds and then we kept kissing after that when Time to Party came on which is like four minutes and six seconds so all together that’s like eight minutes. Also, remember to motivate the speech, ensuring that the stories of the recent visit by the homeless man, and the story buying another man coffee, build on each other but are distinct.įrom Chewing Gum Dreams by Michaela Coel: The key here is to build a picture of what state Hannah is in when she talks of other people’s lives. There’s plenty to play in either interpretation. In this extract, a homeless man has just visited, and Hannah could either be railing at how men see her as an easy target for attention, or disguising the fact that she craves company by regaling the scene partner with stories of how she’s always bothered by strange men. This is from a brilliantly odd play (with talking luggage) set in a rundown seaside flat. Someone’s cat had been sick down his front, haha. He’d bought his daughter a dress watch in Hong Kong. He just talked from a hole in the top of his head. I have absolutely no idea what he is like. Why did he have to find me? Why this bloody human dereliction? It’s mad isn’t it, not being able to think of anything to do with yourself apart from destroy yourself, drink yourself into the grave. If frailty is the bottom line we’re all disabled. It’s incomprehensible and you know you’re never going to clap eyes on that person again and you’ve got their sadness and queerness to cart around with you for the rest of time… It’s quite a line isn’t it? “Can you help me please, I’m disabled.” We’re all fucking disabled. And you get the whole life story and it’s just depressing. So I ended up buying us both coffees and talking to him. Disabled my foot, he was carrying a crash helmet. I met a bloke once who wanted me to help him buy a coffee because he was disabled. If there’s a loony out there he’s going to find me. Whenever I’m on my own I get cornered by some loony who wants to tell me the story of his pesky life. From My Heart’s a Suitcase by Clare McIntyre:
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