Fleabag: The Original Play (NHB Modern Plays)

Phoebe Waller-Bridge

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781780012926
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama

'I sit on the loo and think about all the people I can have sex with now. I'm not obsessed with sex. I just can't stop thinking about it.'

The Fleabag bites back. A rip-roaring account of some sort of female living her sort of life.

Phoebe Waller-Bridge's debut play is an outrageously funny monologue for a female performer. It premiered at the 2013 Edinburgh Festival Fringe, performed by Phoebe herself, before transferring to Soho Theatre, London, for several successful runs, followed by a UK tour.

It won a Fringe First Award in Edinburgh, the Most Promising New Playwright and Best Female Performance at the Off West End Theatre Awards, The Stage Award for Best Solo Performer and the Critics' Circle Award for Most Promising Playwright. It received a Special Commendation in the Susan Smith Blackburn Prize and was nominated for the Olivier Award for Outstanding Achievement in an Affiliate Theatre. In 2016 it was turned into a wildly successful and 'utterly riveting' ( Guardian ) BBC television series.

This edition also features an introduction by the author.

'Believe the hype, Waller-Bridge's raw writing… really is as good as everyone says' - The Stage

'Sucker-punch funny... I've never seen a play quite like it' - Scotsman

'frank and sometimes brutally funny... devastatingly good' - The Times

'blessed with a rare and compelling life force... deliciously dirty and scabrously funny' - Evening Standard

Lights come up on FLEABAG.

She is out of breath and sweating.

FEMALE VOICE. He’s ready to see you now.

FLEABAG. Thank you.

FLEABAG attempts to hide that she is overheating.

MALE VOICE. Thanks for coming in today. Really appreciate you sending in your CV.

FLEABAG. No problem.

MALE VOICE. It was funny!

FLEABAG. Oh? Okay. That wasn’t my intention, but –

MALE VOICE. Great. Our current situation is unusual in that… we don’t have many… any women working here. Mainly due to the –

FLEABAG. Sexual-harassment case.

MALE VOICE. Sexual-harassment case, yes. Are you alright?

FLEABAG. Yes, sorry – I ran from the station. Just a bit hot. Sorry. I’m really excited about –

MALE VOICE. Water?

FLEABAG. No, I’m – I’ll be okay – actually, yes please, that would be great.

Over the next speech, FLEABAG pulls her jumper halfway over her head exposing her bra. She realises she doesn’t have a top on underneath and she attempts to pulls her jumper back down as if nothing had happened.

MALE VOICE. So we are looking for someone who can handle themselves in a competitive environment. It will mainly be filing, but we have some pretty good filers so – Haha – yeah. It also involves updating the website and throwing up an occasional twit. It says here that you have done something similar before at the… café that you used to –

Ah okay. Um.

I’m sorry. That won’t get you very far here any more.

FLEABAG. Oh no – sorry – I thought I had a top on underneath.

MALE VOICE. Yup. Okay. But for the record.

FLEABAG. No seriously. In this case – genuine accident.

MALE VOICE. Look. With our history here I understand why you might have thought –

FLEABAG. I wasn’t trying to – Jesus – I was hot –

MALE VOICE. I take this kind of thing very seriously now.

FLEABAG. I’m not trying to shag you! Look at yourself.

MALE VOICE. Okay. Please leave.

FLEABAG. What!? But I – you don’t understand. I need –

MALE VOICE. Please just leave.

FLEABAG starts to leave. She turns back.

FLEABAG. Perv.

MALE VOICE. Slut.

FLEABAG. Wow.

MALE VOICE. Please leave.

FLEABAG. You please leave.

MALE VOICE. It’s my office.

FLEABAG. Yeah?

MALE VOICE. Okay.

Sound effect of feet walking away and a door opening.

FLEABAG. Wait.

Footsteps stop.

–

FLEABAG turns to the audience.

Three nights ago I ordered myself a very slutty pizza.

I mean, the bitch was dripping.

That dirty little stuffed-crust wanted to be in me so bad, I just ate the little tart like she meant nothing to me, and she loved it.

That pretty much nailed that, and it was pretty late by now, so I dragged myself upstairs and got into my office – or… my bed – and tried to work on the figures for the café. I run a guinea-pig-themed café. But it’s out of cash and it’s going to close unless a cheque falls out of the sky, or a banker comes on my arse, but neither are going to happen, and I don’t want to dignify the banker-man with a proper mention so I’m not going to talk about him or how I do sometimes wish I could own up to not having morals and just let him come on my arse for ten thousand pounds, but apparently we’re ‘not supposed to do that’, so okay. I won’t. Even though it would solve everything. I won’t.

Even though I could.

Lying in my office, the café numbers start to jump out at me like little ninjas, so I rationalise it would be good to just switch off for a bit. Improve my mind. So I watched a pretty good movie, actually, called 17 Again with Zac Efron who is… fit.

I know.

But seriously, he’s actually a – a really good actor. So – Yeah, but the film could have been worse – honestly. Check it out.

Then that finished. So I lay there. Thinking. Café. Numbers. Numbers. Zac. Numbers.

Googled Obama to keep up with – y’know. Who, as it turns out, is also – attractive.

Lay there. Numbers, numbers, Obama, numbers, Zac, Obama, numbers, Zac –

Suddenly I was on YouPorn having a horrible wank.

Found just the right sort of gangbang.

Now that really knocked me out, so I put my computer away, leaned over, kissed my boyfriend Harry goodnight and went to sleep.

–

I wake in the morning to find a note from Harry saying

‘That was the last straw.’

Which is… pretty out of the blue if I’m honest. Didn’t know he was counting straws. But nice to know he was paying attention. All his stuff was gone. And everything in the fridge. I was a bit thrilled by his selfishness. Suddenly fancied him again. But relieved one of us did something – he used to say things to me like

HARRY. You’re not like other girls… you can… keep up.

FLEABAG (ponderous). Keep up.

I stood staring at a handprint on my wall from when I had a threesome on my period. Harry and I break up every twelve to eighteen months and when we do, well…

I wish I could tell you my threesome story was sticky and awkward and everyone went home a little bit sad and empty, but… it was lovely.

Sorry.

I admire how much Harry commits to our break-ups. The fridge is a new detail, but he does always go the extra mile. A few times he’s even cleaned the whole flat. Like it’s a crime scene. I’ve often considered timing a break-up around whenever the flat needs a bit of a going-over, but I never know what’s going to set him off. Keeps me on my toes.

I sit on the loo and think about all the people I can have sex with now.

I’m not obsessed with sex.

I just can’t stop thinking about it.

The performance of it. The awkwardness of it. The drama of it. The moment you realise someone wants your body… not so much the feeling of it.

I’ve probably got about a week before Harry comes back. I should get on it.

Okay.

Into the shower. Boom. Bedroom. Make-up. Boom. Gonna really make an effort. I take half an hour trying to look nice and I end up looking… amazing. I mean, best in ages. One of those days. Boom.

Gorgeou...