The Lady in the Van Page #5

Shut the door!

Shut the door.

I'm a busy woman. I'm a busy woman.

Oh.

Crme brule.

What was your first play about?

Public school. Which, more accurately,

is what you Americans call private school.

But you didn't go to public school.

No. But I read about it.

And what was your next play about?

Sex. I read about that, too.

Very good.

Stop it! Stop it! Just...

Get away from us! It's her!

Do you have a problem?

- They were making the noise!

- They're children!

I am a sick woman!

You certainly are!

Get off the road!

Go ahead! Road hog.

Mr Bennett. I've worked out a way

of getting on the wireless.

What?

I want to do

one of those phone-in programmes.

Something someone like you

could get put on in a jiffy.

You see, I could be called

the "Lady Behind the Curtain",

or "A Woman of Britain, you see.

You could take a nom de plume view of it.

And I see the curtain as being here.

You see, some greeny material would do.

I thought this was a phone-in.

Yeah, well?

Well, it's the radio.

There's no need for a curtain at all-.

Yes, we can iron out these hiccups

when the time comes, you see.

And when I come in,

I can catch up with some civilization.

"Civilization"? What,

you mean the television?

Yeah, you know, wild life.

Famines, you know.

Sheepdog trials, possibly.

I mean, I do watch.

I watch in Currys' window,

but it's not ideal.

Oh.

Yes. Uh, oui.

What guerre?

I was studying incognito Paris.

But what were you studying?

Music.

The pianoforte, possibly.

Have you got an old pan scrub?

I'm thinking of painting the van.

You know, one of those little mop things

they use to wash dishes with would do.

- Well, how about a brush?

- I've got a brush.

It's just for the first coat.

Okay, she's been a nun.

Only now it turns out

she's been a musician besides

and seemingly with fluent French.

She's certainly no painter,

because today, rain notwithstanding,

she moves slowly around her mobile home,

thoughtfully touching up the rust patches

with crushed mimosa,

always a favourite shade.

Morning.

She's using the wrong paint.

Cars have special paint.

Not this one. It's Catholic paint.

- And she smells.

- That's because she's poor.

You'd smell if we were poor.

Oh. Morning, Ursula.

- Oh. Hello, love.

- Hello, darling.

Oh!

Telling me about paint.

I was in infant school.

I won a prize for painting!

- But it's all lumps. You have to mix it.

- I have.

I have mixed it.

Only I got some Madeira cake in it.

Cake or no cake,

all Miss Shepherd's vehicles ended up

looking as if they'd been given a coat

of badly made custard,

or plastered with scrambled eggs.

Divine!

Still, there were few occasions

on which one saw her genuinely happy,

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