Now don’t be silly! This was a very sensible exercise to encourage us to improve our creativity by using predominantly dialogue to illustrate a specific scene. Lisa – Lisa Wolstenholme, our facilitator and resident genius had a very specific scene in mind.
And the conversation was to be conducted by sheep.
‘That’s my foot!’
‘What’s your foot?’
‘That thing you’re steppin’ on, Barry!’ exploded Bart who was well known for his short fuse.
‘I thought I was steppin on my own foot!’
‘Well does that look like your own foot?’
‘Yes!’ confusion filled Barry’s face and voice.
‘It does, doesn’t it!’ Bart’s hot temper may flare quickly but it burned itself out just as fast.
Barry tilted his head and carefully considered the situation, ‘Well, yes!’
‘But surely, even you, can feel if you are steppin on your own foot!’ fired Bart .
‘I feel like I’m steppin on my own foot!’
‘Then why the hell don’t you move, you stupid baaaa-strd!’ Barry did his head in sometimes.
‘I don’t mind it!’ shrugged Barry sheepishly.
‘Get the hell off my foot Barry!’
‘Actually, I am stepping on your foot Bart’! interjected Barthomew, his voice, as usual, elegantly modulated with that weird posh accent he’d picked up somewhere and carefully cultivated.
‘Really it looked like my foot,’ mused Barry.
‘It really did,’ agreed Bart
‘All our feet look the same, you stupid baaaaa-strds!’
‘He’s right there,’ nodded Barry.
‘Can’t argue with him there! Come to think about it; I seem to remember our feet have always looked the same,’ noted Bart.
‘Where are we going by the way?’ asked Barry.
‘To a faraway land filled with so many ewes that we will each have our own flock,’ a dreamy look came over Bartholomew’s face.
‘One year olds that have never even been seen by another ram!’ added Bart.
‘Don’t we have to fight Mohammed Ali or something first?’ Barry sounded nervous.
They all stared at the rapidly passing road for a while.
‘Yeah, there’s something like that!’ Bart was trying to think back to what he’d overheard.
‘But we have an everlasting life, so that’s okay! said Bartholomew decisively.
‘Can we box?’ asked Bart.
‘I don’t mind being boxed, as long as I get some ewes of my own!’ replied Barry, an aggressive expression replacing his usual have I been knocked over again look.
‘Wait a second! Bart shouted. ‘You are still standin on my foot!’
‘Yes,’ replied Bartholomew calmly.
“Why the hell are you STILL standin on my foot!’
‘Because I don’t like you.’
As I said afterwards; Alex’s was very similar, “I blame Mum!” See Alex’s piece here
“Because of you I can never imagine sheep having a sensible conversation!” I told her.
“That’s because they can’t,” she replied. “Sheep are stupid!”
My mother was brought up on a sheep farm.
KSP for those newcomers to this site is Katherine Susannah Prichard Writers’ Centre. They told me I could write and taught me how to blog. So this is all their fault!