Sir Henry At Rawlinson End

T1485589628
"..English as tuppence, changing yet changeless as canal water, nestling in green nowhere, armoured and effete...Great Aunt Florrie, toast-crumbs specking the fine hairs gracing her upper lip, tea-cup half empty, lukewarm in her lap, dozed in a cosy Chippendale settle...It was chill, but a beautiful morning. Overnight soft snow mattressed the vast acreage of Rawlinson...Outside icicles crystalline and lovely pendant from his nose, Old Scrotum the wrinkled retainer scrunched up the gravel whistling a dirty song...Sir Henry Rawlinson surfaced from the blackness, hot and fidgety... God's turban and tutu! Do I need a dair of the hog..."

Author

Vivian Stanshall

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Archive :: production:T1485589628, play:S1937997354, venue:V1747286290

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