Arlene enters stage left, Nigel stage right. He immediately approaches her, looking very angry.
Nigel: Have you seen the polls?
Arlene: No, we use a good Fermanagh man for any plumbing problems.
Nigel: God give me patience.. I’m talking about the polls in England. Opinion polls.
Arlene: As far as I know, Boris is going to eat that Marxist-Mao-loving-Pol-Pot-follower Shinner-sympathiser Corbyn for breakfast. Which will be no harm. If we could now find somebody to eat that lying, treacherous, two-faced, Latin-spouting spoiled school-boy wind-bag Johnson, we’d be right.
Nigel: Shut your bake, woman. I’m not talking about those polls. I’m referring to the ones about us. Do you know that two-fifths of British voters wouldn’t care if we left the UK?
Arlene: What? Why would they want to get rid of us? We’re a warm-hearted, loveable friendly people. Well, half of us are. Themuns is a different matter.
Nigel: Nearly 10% in GB said they’d LOVE to see us leave. There’s gratitude.
Arlene:I can’t believe that. We have still a special place in the hearts of our fellow-countrymen and women in England, Scotland and Wales.
Nigel: Don’t bet on it. When they were asked if they’d give up their Brexit ambitions in order to keep us in the UK, both Remainers and Leavers said they would not.
Arlene: (takes out a hanky) Oh this is too much, really. And to think we shed our blood for them at the Somme.
Nigel: Get a grip, woman. We weren’t alive at the time of the Somme and neither were they..
Arlene: I’m speaking figuratively, you fat-faced clod. Didn’t they teach you anything in Cambridge?
Nigel: They taught me never to use the word ‘crocodile’ if I wanted to succeed in an election.
Arlene: Oh yes, that’s right, mock your party leader. All that’s in the past now and anyway, I was just following orders from one of the SPADs. (Thinks for a minute) Seriously, Nigel. Do you like the way things are going? Do you not get the feeling they’re all trying to shove us out of the UK?
Nigel: No I certainly do not.
Arlene: How can you be so sure?
Nigel: Because I have the troops in North Belfast so well-trained, they’ll not just vote for me on 12 December, they’ll invade England if they dare talk about a united Ireland.
Arlene: But, but, but they’re so many of them and so few of us.
Nigel: Would you listen to her – I always knew we screwed up, installing a woman. Right – that’s it. The minute this election ends, I’m taking over as leader. You can go back to Fermanagh and continue milking bulls or castrating Cath- castrating boars or whatever you culchies down there do.
Arlene: Shut your bake, you pudding-faced male chauvinist sod. No wonder Eileen Paisley called you those names.
Nigel: Sticks and stones, sweetheart, sticks and stones. If I was capable of seeing Gerry Kelly off, and if – I mean when – when I see John Finucane off, you can start clearing out your office immediately after the result is announced.
Arlene (burst into tears): Oh Nigel, how could you? After all I’ve done for the party.
Nigel: Out of my way, woman. Your crocodile tears don’t fool me. .
Arlene collapses into a chair, sobbing helplessly, while Nigel stands centre-stage practicing a funny-looking salute.
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