Dennis of Penge

Annie Siddons

• Publisher: Oberon Books
• Year: 2018
• Print ISBN: 9781786826763
• eBook ISBN: 9781786826756
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

Wendy is downtrodden. She is one of the outcasts, the underclass, the
meek and the bleakly prospected. She didn't stand a chance of succeeding.
Washed up and heartbroken, the highlight of her existence is her daily
shuffle to the chicken shop.
On one particularly hard day she re-encounters her old friend Dennis, whom
she hasn't seen since a tragedy occurred when she was ten – twenty-five
years previously. Newly returned to Penge, and now a chicken shop boss,
Dennis promises to change her existence forever. But will Wendy have the
courage to follow him? And what are the consequences of letting the god of
madness, ecstasy, and wildness loose in SE20?
Touching on themes of addiction, survival, poverty, joy and ecstasy in the city, and a homage to her childhood ends of SE20, Dennis of Penge, loosely based on Euripides' The Bacchae, combines Annie Siddons' raw poetry with music and performance to create an urgent, vital and uplifting new show.

Note on Performance.

We divided up the text in rehearsals according to our skills and proclivities. Asaf played nearly all the music, with support from me and Jorell. You can do the whole thing as a solo performance with a band and choir or divide it up between thirty people. It’s all good. To get hold of our original score, please contact us.

1. Prologue

CHORUS:

Sometimes you need a god to come from the east
And tear shit up.

Sometimes enough is enough.

Sometimes you need someone with an overview.
Sometimes we call, and are heard.

Do you hear the bees?

They’re buzzing; take heed.

Ronnie and Johnny did for us.

They didn’t MEAN to.

They were just trying to rebalance

The old elitisms;

The folderol and the flimflam.

But it’s all gone too far,
and we’re dying
now. The ghosts are keening.

Arm yourselves.

2. Chicken Sermon

{Co-performer vocalises Gospel vocals through this.]
South London. The tube don’t come here,

but it’s alright –
there’s chicken.

Chicken is the opium of the people!

Chicken is the staple of the people!

Chicken is our bread and butter!

Chicken is our alpha and omega!

We eat so much chicken we

ARE chicken!

We eat so much chicken, the pavements are High with Bones!

And the Dogs

Are Superstrong Wolfdogs, fanged and ready.

We are protein, rich and breadcrumbed.

We Eat Fantastic Melly’s Chicken!

Thirty-five branches from Addington to Peckham.

(Melly’s curly font has its imitators

But everybody in the ends knows who is the originator.)

Fantastic Melly’s Chicken is ambitious.

Don’t think about welfare, just enjoy it’s delicious
grease and spice and deep, deep comfort.

As your girth expands and your arteries contract,

Your Soul exalts.

As you bite into the Crispy Brown Fist of meat,

Don’t think about which bit of the bird you eat!

Sometimes the fries are perfect and golden.
and sometimes they are pale and frozen.

The sauce is generic – but two quid with pop! Mate –
Everybody’s down at the chicken shop!

Everybody’s down at the chicken shop!

No matter how shit your day has been,

No matter how low the world wants to make you,

No matter if the money came from the back of the sofa,

No matter if no one respects you,

No matter if you haven’t been touched in a sex way for a
while,

No matter if your ideas go unheard,

(Or even unspoken because you’re shy)

Fantastic Melly’s Chicken is a church that welcomes all,

salves all, in its battery, delicious, opiate, salty wings.

It’s cross, the fluorescent perky cock’s face:

You see it, you know you’re welcome and will find solace.
You won’t be judged.

You will be redeemed,

By the Holy Trinity of Wings, Fries and Coke

Ready to face the next bit of the shit

That life spits.

You’re a small god.

3. Introducing Wendy

Into the SE20 branch of FMC (that’s Fantastic Melly’s
Chicken to you and me)

Rolls Wendy. Heroine of this story.

She’s had a time of it. (We’ll go back and detail it shortly.)

In fact, she’s hit rock bottom.

Her new rock bottom,

Below where everyone thought the bottom was,

Below the deep deep abyss

With the soul’s angler fish,

Each one just laughing at her fall in terms of how low a
soul can go

And still be a soul,

so low; solo.

In FMC the mood is joke.

Kids are listening to Capital Reloaded,

Singing along to old school Craig David.

Wendy orders. Wings, fries, and a coke.

She’s morbidly obese, dressed for comfort –

Her goal is just to shuffle back to her flat,

Lick her fingers,

And cross off another day.

She hands over her two quid, coppers and lint.

The guy serving her has a glint

in his green green eye. His fingers touch hers.

She jolts.

In his hand her chubby fingers he enfolds:

Her skin is pallid and his is gold.

He makes her meet his gaze.

Wendy! he says Oh my days!

Wendy! My queen!

Who the fuck is this, she says –

There’s a thrill of recognition in her chubby hand,

Some kaleidoscopic shift of memory and love/stab/pang
Holds her still there, her hand in his hand:

She’s not waiting for her change.

She’s going to a distant land.

4. 1992.

[Co-performer vocalises Aladdin ‘I Can Show You the World’ through
this.]

1992. She’s ten, wiry, pyjama-ed, sitting in Hortense’s flat

Felt tips all over the floor,

drawing imaginary w...

Table of contents

• Front Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Foreword
• Note on Performance
• 25. Day Twelve Post Vinegate