Audition Monologue
Having Arsehammers is magic. Sometimes you don’t have them and then, all of a
sudden, bang, you have them again. This is how it is with Grandad. Sometimes,
Grandad will go out of the house to visit his friends to talk about wars, or queue at the
post office to talk about queuing during wars and, after a certain time, he will come
back again. Unless the Arsehammers strike. Then Grandad will go out of the house
and disappear for hours, ending up in the strangest of places and always miles away
from his friends or the post office. I often hear Mom on the phone or on the doorstep
with the police demanding to be told exactly how Grandad managed to get himself
locked in the cold meat storage facility of the supermarket or into the staff canteen of
the foreign mail section of the postal sorting office. Mom doesn’t know. The police
don’t know either. But I do. Grandad has developed a special kind of bottom.
Hammer-shaped. And when he wiggles it in a certain direction he is magically
transported to weird and wonderful places. A bit like having special Star Trek powers
but without the Enterprise. Grandad could be waiting for a bus one minute ad the next
– kaboom! – he is watching traffic go by on the motorway. This is what makes
Grandad special and a bit of a hero. Because me and my friends have tried having
Arsehammers and it’s impossible. At a given signal, ‘Arsehammers!’ we close our
eyes, stick our bottoms out, lurch them to the left, lurch them to the right, lurch them
to the left again, give a little wiggle, bend our knees, squat as hard as possible and
spring up as high as we can. When we open our eyes we should be transported to
weird and wonderful places. But we’re not. We’re still in exactly the same spot.
Except for once Robert transported himself further down the road. Which proves we
are on the right track but need practice.
Arsehammers is a game to my friends but to me it is serious. I don’t want Grandad to
go into a home. I thought that if I could learn to be transported like Grandad maybe
Grandad and I could go places together. Then Mom and Dad wouldn’t worry about
Grandad being out all hours on his own. I often watch Grandad, looking for clues.
Sometimes Grandad will be sitting in an armchair staring into space. Mom will say,
‘Grandad’s not with us today’ and I’ll look at him, sometimes with binoculars,
wondering where he is, exactly, and how he got there. When Grandad is here I often
ask if, next time he goes, he’ll take me with him. But Grandad just looks at me
strangely and changes the subject. I find it very frustrating and sometimes get cross
with Grandad and warn him that he’ll end up in a home. Grandad simply says ‘Yes’.
Arsehammers by Claire Dowie
