Grey and Hopeless

	Hugh is sitting at his desk in his office. Stephen, his boss, comes in.


Stephen		Ah, Douglas, those reports were supposed to be on my desk
		yester ...

	He notices that Hugh is looking signally depressed.

		... you all right, Douglas?

Hugh		I'm sorry sir, I just ... it's just ...

Stephen		Come on, old fellow, spit it out. Whatever it is, it can't be
		that bad.

Hugh		I've got this feeling that my life is grey and hopeless.

Stephen		Grey and hopeless? Grey and hopeless? Oh now, come on. What are
		you talking about?

Hugh		I look into the future and what do I see?

Stephen		I don't know, what do you see?

Hugh		Just the blank rolling of the years, one after another, like
		grey, hopless waves beating against my brains till the blood
		runs out of my ears.

Stephen		Now come on. You've got a wife and two children, a very
		pleasant house, three loving goldfish ...

Hugh		I know, but what does it mean? We live in a doomed world.
		Doomed.

Stephen		Oh nonsense, what do you mean doomed?

Hugh		Nobody likes anybody any more, nobody cares about anybody or
		anything. People go around hitting and stabbing and stealing
		and insulting. The countryside's a poisonous mess, the cities
		are unbreathable, you can get beaten up by a twelve-year-old
		and ripped off by your neighbour.

Stephen		Well, I grant you things aren't ...

Hugh		There are no certainties, only battle-lines. No pleasure any
		more except in getting drunk or high on dangerous drugs that
		are supplied by maniacs with machine guns.

Stephen		Yes, it's a grim old world alright, but surely it's always
		been ...

Hugh		Films and music are crap. Books are crap. The streets are so
		full you can't walk in a town without being pushed off the
		pavement, the roads are unusable, the trains are a joke, the
		politicians are so feeble-minded and gutless you can't even
		hate them.

Stephen		Even sport isn't fun any more, really, is it?

Hugh		You smile at someone in the street, you're either knifed in the
		kidneys or in court for rape.

Stephen		Opening a newspaper's like opening a fold of used lavatory
		paper.

Hugh		Turn on the television and you're sprayed in coloured vomit.

Stephen		It's frigging useless, isn't it?

Hugh		We're done for.

Stephen		Shagged. We're bloody shagged. Oh, Jesus.

Hugh		Grey and hopeless.

Stephen		Grey and hopeless.

Hugh		Just a nightmare of cold despair.

Stephen		No future, no point, no prospect, no pleasure, nothing. Just
		grey, hopeless hell.

Hugh		Christ.

Stephen		Oh Christ Jesus.

Hugh		We're dead.

	Pause: an incredibly long one. Then they turn to the camera.

Stephen		Well, first of all, m'colleague and I would like to welcome you
		to this brand new spanking series of A Bit Of Fry & Laurie, the
		show that tries to bring a little jolliness into the darker
		corners of modern Britain, but doesn't.

Hugh		I'd like to add my own individual welcome on a more personal
		note, seperate and distinct from m'colleague's joint welcome,
		which I always think is a bit stiff, a bit formal. My welcome
		is just a bit of an old "Hi". That's all. Just "Hi."

Stephen		Jesus. So a choice of welcomes on BBC television. It's either
		good evening, ladies and gentlemen, or it's ...

Hugh		Hi.

Hugh		Well, you see, you take away the Queen, I mean, it's all very
		well to say, get rid of the Royal Family, but - who the hell
		are you going to put on the stamps? Hm? Desmond Lynam? Mike
		Smith? I mean, I'm not going to turn Mike Smith over and give
		him a licking every time I want to send a letter, am I? People
		just don't think these things through.