Clapham Delta, London 1912
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Morning, Larry.
‘Lonesome’ Larry: Morning, Norman.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Tram’s late again.
‘Lonesome’ Larry: I see that.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Distressing.
‘Lonesome’ Larry: Somewhat.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: There’ll be hell to pay at Fenchurch Street.
‘Lonesome’ Larry: I fear there will.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: How’s the mojo?
‘Lonesome’ Larry: Just fine, Norman, just fine. And yours?
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Mustn’t grumble, I suppose. Spent the weekend tinkering but she’s really not tickety-boo just yet.
‘Lonesome’ Larry: Confounded thing. Have you tried new improved Wonderwall from Nibs Industries? A quick squirt and you’re in the pink, apparently.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Yes, I saw that on last week’s newsreel. Something along the lines of ‘Who needs twelve bars when one will do?’ Or am I mistaken?
‘Lonesome’ Larry: The very same, old boy. Seems this Nibs chap is running on one over there in Barnes and doing rather well.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Running on one? Whatever do you mean?
‘Lonesome’ Larry: Why, one chord, of course! All that complicated nonsense from Mississippi: Hell bent on twisting our melon, man. Perhaps we should take a leaf out of this fellow’s book and we’d all have a bit more time to cane the children and patronise the wife.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Well, I must say that does sound splendid! I can’t remember when I last gave the eldest a sound thrashing or confined the sow to her quarters.
‘Lonesome’ Larry: I’d not let Mrs Pankhurst hear that if I were you, old bean.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Ha ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha! Very good, Larry!
‘Lonesome’ Larry: Yes, I thought so.
‘Fat Mama’ O’Beace appears
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Uh oh! Here comes trouble.
‘Lonesome’ Larry: Oh Lordy!
‘Fat Mama’ O’Beace: You boys a-talkin’ bout me agin?
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: No, Ma’am. We’s just a-waitin’ for dis ole tram.
‘Lonesome’ Larry: Ain’t dat da truth.
‘Fat Mama’ O’Beace: Now, I no wanna hear no tale of dissin‘ de twelve bar onna count of Nibs In-Dust-Tree. He da Devil chile, with his one chord WunnaWall an he an his Barnes speshal frens. You stay cleeah, y’unnastan?
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: F’sure, Mrs O’Beace
‘Fat Mama’ O’Beace: Now, I has a cli-yant me ting in Bal-ham. See y’all.
‘Lonesome’ Larry: So long, Mama!
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Don’t go changin’!
FMO’B heads off south
‘Lonesome’ Larry: Awkward.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Rather.
‘Lonesome’ Larry: Still no sign of that tram.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Sadly not.
‘Lonesome’ Larry: Rotten luck.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Larry?
‘Lonesome’ Larry: Norman.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: This…Nibs. No chance he could knock up more than one chord, is there?
‘Lonesome’ Larry: None whatsoever.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: I rather feared that was the case.
‘Lonesome’ Larry: I’m afraid it is.
‘Howlin’ Norman Thompson: Shame.
‘Lonesome’ Larry: Indeed.