Colonial culture and Cambridge...

The Setting: 1966- A Cambridge flat, drab with minimal furnishings. Piles of books are stacked against the wall and old newspapers cover a small table in the middle of the kitchen/dining area.

Germaine Greer is busily cleaning the kitchen while Robert Hughes sits at the paper-strewn table drinking a bottle of beer. The door opens and in staggers Clive James, drunk.

Clive: Whooo! Clive is on the piss again. (Sings) Clive is on the piss again!

Hughes: What's happening mate? Where you been?

Clive: Just down at the rub-a-dub with Barry Humphries. Spew. (giggles to himself)

Greer: (Not looking up from her cleaning) What were you doing with that dickhead?

Clive: Reckons he's hit on a new idea. Spends three months in London, and now he's gonna start wearing a dress and acting like a housewife. Sounds like poofter activity, if you ask me.

Hughes: A dress? Bloody hell. What else did he say?

Clive: Not much, we just shot the shit, chatted up the waitresses. Nice birds.

Hughes: Any love?

Clive: Nah, I was doing alright with one, but... you won't believe this... I farted just as she dropped off our second bottle of Beaujolais. Man, it stank. After that it was all over. I think she spewed.

Hughes: That's awesome. I dropped a ripper today at the Tate, right in the middle of the Degas exhibition. The women next to me looked like they were crying.

Clive: Did they spew? I would have spewed. Your farts are rank. A good fart should always get some spew going.

Greer: Sorry to interrupt you Rhodes scholars, but what are we going to do about the energy bill this month? Clive, you still owe us for last month.

Clive: Shit. I just pissed it all away.

Greer: Clive! Didn't Bazza owe you money? What happened to that?

Clive: I... um... I lost it on a dog. You got any more of those beers, Hughsey? I'm gonna spew if I get any more soberererer (giggles).

Greer: Hold on, a dog? Bloody hell Clive. You're useless. What are we gonna do? It's going to be winter in a month, and I don't have any bras to spare for fuel.

Hughes: (coming back from the fridge with a beer for Clive. Strikes a Shakespearean pose). Now is the winter of our discontent...

Greer: Don't start Robert, this is serious.

Clive: (holding the beer bottle up to his eye like a telescope) Bloody oath it is, I can't get this beer open.

Hughes: They're not twisties mate, where's my key ring?

Clive: It's alright, mate (starts opening the bottle with his teeth). It'll be okay Germaine Sausage. I'll tell you what I'll do... (lifts his leg and farts, followed by raucous laughter from him and Hughes).

Hughes: That's disgusting you sicko. Oh man, the place is gonna stink for a week!

Greer: Oh well, it's still better than...

Together: Living in Australia!