Whips, by Harold Panter

According to the Guardian Newspaper, a sketch written by a 29-year-old Harold Panter and lost for more than half a century, has surfaced as a result of diligent detective work.
The sketch, set on the sunbathed terrace of a hotel and called Whips, is Panteresque. And the designated pauses are something of a give-away, or so we're told...


Two gentlemen politicians in deckchairs sit on the terrace of a large hotel. Wearing shorts and sunglasses. Sunbathing. They do not move throughout the exchange

A: The heat is too intense for me today.

PAUSE

B: The heat?

A: The heat. In the house.

PAUSE

B: Well, you're damn lucky you've got your whip.

A: My whip, old boy?

PAUSE

B: The whip. You're damn lucky you've got the whip

A: Yes. Means the world to me. I never find myself at a loss. You understand what I mean?

B: You're a shrewd fellow, I'll say that for you.

PAUSE

A: My house is full of whips.

B: You can't have too many.

A: You've never said a truer word, old boy.

PAUSE

B: I haven't got one to bless myself with.

PAUSE

A: Well, I can foresee  a time you'll regret it.

B: I think the time's come, old boy.

A: You can't be too careful, old boy.

PAUSE

B: Well, you've got your feet firmly planted on the earth, there's no doubt about that.

PAUSE

A: I certainly feel secure, old boy.

B: Yes, you know where you stand, all right. You can't take that away from you.

PAUSE

A: You'll find they're a true friend to you, whips.

PAUSE

B: Maybe I'll buy one.

PAUSE

A: Don't come to me. It would be like tearing my heart out, to part with any of mine.

PAUSE

B: You find them handy, eh?

PAUSE

A: Yes ... Oh, yes. When the heat's intense, particularly.

PAUSE

B: D'you reckon the other side ever feel the same way about whips? About their whips?

PAUSE

A: I dare say they do, old boy. Regularly.

PAUSE

B: I bet some of them would love to use their whips on us. Occasionally.

PAUSE

A: I bet they would.

B: And, of course, some of us would love to use our whips on them.

PAUSE

A: Some of us would love them to use their whips on us. Occasionally. If you catch my drift.

B: I think I do. Catch your drift.

PAUSE

A: But. Perhaps there's a third way.

PAUSE

B: A third way? Or a third whip?

PAUSE

A: Correct, old boy. A third whip.

PAUSE

B: That's where I thought this was leading.

PAUSE

A: Really?

B: Yes. Leading to a third whip.

PAUSE

A: Really?

B: Yes.

PAUSE

A: You must remember one thing, old boy.

B: What's that?

PAUSE

A: What we're talking about is very different to a "three line whip". Would you agree?

PAUSE

B: Indeed I would.

Blackout

© The estate of Harold Panter 2011

Clause Four Moment?

Unions? Union?

Cameron faces down Euro-sceptic Conservative rebels. Is this his plus fours moment?

If...

Unemployment is on the rise. Jobs is dead.

The genius Steve Jobs revolutionalised gadget-dependency and showed low-paid workers in China how to control their destinies by leaping out of windows. (Not "Windows")

The purveyor of this website thinks satire might also be dead - news content is farcical these days.

From now on you'll find only poetry.

Here's one sent in by a certain Mr Kipling, who, I'm advised, is a purveyor of exceedingly good cakes:-

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!