The Precariat (Oberon Modern Plays)

The Precariat (Oberon Modern Plays)

Chris Dunkley

Language: English

Pages: 88

ISBN: B00E7VIZDC

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


‘I can see this life for exactly what it is. I can now, anyway. We’re walkin’ a knife edge. One slip, one tiny slip an’ we fall. An’ there’s a fuck of a long way to fall…even for us. An’ we’re kept there…on the knife edge…because they can tell yer which way t’go. Forward or down.’

Fin’s bright. Some would say gifted. But school isn’t going well. While he is busy coping with his mum’s depression and his younger brother’s drug problem, he can feel his future slipping away. The few jobs that are available in North London are part-time or temporary, and Fin knows his future will be a life of unstable pay, minimal social security benefits, no pension and eroding health care. He is the uture of the emerging major class – living precarious lives at the mercy of the one percent: The Precariat. With his world collapsing slowly around him, Fin finds hope and attraction with the girl at the fried chicken drive-through window. But even she can’t offer him a way out. Fin makes one final desperate bid to take control over the future – by giving his brother the chance to turn his life around…

Days with Indigo

Tragedy: A Very Short Introduction (Very Short Introductions)

The Empanada Brotherhood

Clothes for a Summer Hotel

The Fixer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

guess I can get rid of it. I mean, all you have to do is chuck yourself down the stairs. Oh wait, I forgot, we can't afford a house, we live in a flat, we can't afford stairs. Maybe I'll go down the high street and chuck myself in front of a bus, shall I? FIN: You're losing it. BETHAN: And you're being a shithead. FIN: What? BETHAN: It's a palindrome. Tim says I can't swear around you, so I can't call you a dickhead or a shit, so… FIN: So you're calling me a shithead? How is that okay?

FIN lies in hedges around the edge of a small park. He has lost the gang. He is recovering his breath. FIN: You never really paid much attention, but I stopped revising. It were my genes tellin’ me there was no point. Maybe it were my genes tellin’ me why there was no point. It was a choice. A positive choice, for me. Because I started really reading. Right now – without any new powers – the police…er…they can read your emails, tap your phone, put hidden cameras in your house…they can see what

was a damp fart, wasn't it? ‘What do we want? Um… When do we want it? Er…’ Where are they now? It didn't work because idealists like you haven't got the first idea what to do next. And I don't blame you. Because short of global Buddhism, every lefty policy is a rehash of the same economics. You're tinkering with a fundamentally unfair system. It will never change. This is how the world works and it will never change. When you realise that and you accept it, you can then get on with the business

keep tellin’ me how I feel. Yeah? Fuck yer. Yeah? I gave you life, y'bastard. You owe me. FIN: … RYAN: Gis a burger. FIN: Can't. RYAN: One o’ them whoppers. FIN: That's Burger King. RYAN: Fuckin’ apple tart. Eh? Fuckin’ apple tart. Yer mine, yer know that. Leo's not; he'll be all right. But you. You're mine. An’ thass gonna be the death of you. Last week – know what I done? I was walkin’ ’ome an’ I saw a window open. Just some flat belongin’ to some poor little family. An’ I went in an’ I

be an accountant. (Proudly.) Now I'm a cleaner. Maybe you need to adapt. TIM: It just doesn't seem very sexy. BETHAN: Maybe you need to think about it more. Women in easily removable aprons passin’ through the office, sleeping with accountants, like you, movin’ on. TIM: Right. BETHAN: We come in, get you all horny…and then leave. Like a flock of birds. TIM: A flock of tits. BETHAN: So, if you can refocus your sexual binoculars, I'm gonna be a cleaner. Like I am in real life. TIM: Cleaners

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