from sc 3

Tr
Still with us, Jim?

R
My car's downstairs.

Tr
The Aussies must be missing you.
I'm sure your series will go well.
Just stick to those dramatic rules
Which keep us a-dinging that ratings bell.
A territory - a street, a town,
A barrel appled full of cops,
A beach spaced-out to flash the flesh,
A square with pubs and flats and shops,
The unities of hospitals
Whose medics, crazies, life-like limp-ons
Confront while they sedate our pain,
Or psychic sleuths who make us think on
Secret paranormal files -
Might X be true? Well, see next week's
Episode. So: build strong plots,
Clear characters - the soapstar speaks
In tongues to comfort all afflictions
With words your fans identify
And live through, hope and fear, sound base
Whose squaddies tramp and bang and fly
And love and hate, hey, Jim?

R
Yes, John.
I see my task as partnership
With our true fans: I let them feel
That they direct each novel trip
The story takes. More - they restrain
Wild fantasies, accept our mock-
Demotic argot, which we keep free
Of that inventiveness we've docked
From common speech. But gotta go.
It's been fun, John. Do take good care.

Tr
And you, young man.

from sc 16

Ar

Look, I know I’m less than human: an earwig –

Though that’s a slander on an honest insect.

I crept aboard the company for shelter

On dry land. Then whoosh! My roof’s upturned,

Re-set by strong men, a boat upon the water.

I lodge in Ling’s shell-like: overhearing

Words whispered to others as the vessel rocks.

Forficula auricularia, that’s me.

Your servant, your spy.

A

Hah! Ha!

H

You creepy crawly.

Ar

What’s a bug to do?

If I climb off, kerplish! I’m not brave.

Sweet oarsmen, occupied with sending on

Your craft, please listen to your coxwain’s orders.

Don’t seize that hollow time between the strokes

To pluck me up – and into the drink that drowns.

Will he notice me? Like me? Hate me?

My life depends upon these straining men

Ignoring me.

A

Never in your life, my sweet.

Ar

Walk along the coxwain’s line? I prefer

Not to steer things for others. He’d turn

And with the rudder washing through the stream

I’d stumble, an offering to brother bream.

Stick to the crew, don’t move, just wait:

Row back to your boathouse and I’ll escape that fate.

H

Better be a bee.

A

Bees sting and die.

Ar

Tonight, I earwig.

A

By which you mean?

Ar

William, I’m your host.

A

What better man

To oversee my trial by nation’s telly?

from sc 9

I'm Nicholas Ling, the strong -
Fighting the media wars' my song:
I rule the playground, kicking my rivals in.
Say "yes" to me, that's my trip -
Like breaking the regulators' grip,
Extracting rental, filing suits I'll win.
Each parliament, once taken on
I lobby, purchase, whereupon
Trained by the whips to love us thugs, this grin,
They assign to me nice frequencies
To fill minds with my vacancies:
Who broadcasts news can preach that there's no sin
In anodyne philosophy:
The way things are, they're meant to be.
Life's predigested, filtered plain, by Ling.