The Unconditionally Accepting Decorator

Jack:                     Look Robert, old boy, I know you're a bit miffed at the moment         

                             because I spilled some gloss paint on your brand new t.v. set. But don't                

                            worry about it! I'll rub down the top with Cuprinol and you won't know it

                            ever happened. Don't be down-hearted. You know you're much better off

                            having me doing your house than one of those fly-by-night Asian outfits

                            round here. They'd rip you off something rotten AND do a lousy job. I'm

                            not a racist- but it's enough to turn you that way.

Bob:                    Bollocks.

Jack:                   Sorry Bob? I didn't get that.

Bob:                   Bollocks.

Jack:                   I'm hurt Bob. I'm really hurt. I mean. It's not just another job to me, this. I  

                           felt we were developing a- you know- a rapport.

Bob:                   Bloody bollocks. (Pause). Youíre just here to bleedin' decorate. I don't give 

                          a toss about your world-fucking-view.

Jack:                  Don't be defensive Bob. Look, I'll be honest with you. I may come across

                          like some run-of-the-mill decorator to the casual observer. But I've studied 

                          psychology- I've got a GCSE in it actually- and I've got an intuition. I can  

                          sense you're a searching soul, Robert. You are.

Bob:                  Crap. It's like the man in the fish shop. His church is having a day of love for        

                         the community and by the way, Mr Hetherington, have you found the Lord?

                         All I want is a bit of smoked haddock.

Jack:                 No, no, no, no Robert. You're in what they call denial, see? I've seen your     

                         face, when you look at that picture of your ex-wife that you keep turned 

                         towards the mantlepiece. Behind that heavy front, Robert, you're really- you   

                         know-

Bob:                  Shite. If I was in denial I'd be in Egypt.

Jack:                 (Exhales, pause.) Try a bit of trust, old boy. We've all been through it. I can    

                         empathise, can't I? You push people away, only because you're scared to 

                         admit you really want to make contact! Why don't you come with me tonight. 

                         I'm going to a meeting that would help you-

Bob:                 Arse. Who says 'old boy' any more? You  may be able to empathise- pity you  

can't fucking paint a wall blue without making a balls-up of it.

Jack:                Ahh, take it easy Robert. That wall is not actually so bad. I think you may need 

to look at it again when youíre in a more positive mood. As I was saying- later

on I'm going to a psychic medium circle I belong to. I think we may be able to 

connect you up with your estranged wife-

Bob:                 Turd. She's not dead yet, but I live in hope.

Jack:                 I don't mean to be critical Robert but you really should look at this bad- 

                         language pattern of yours. Anyway I don't believe you truly feel that way 

                         about Agnes- it is Agnes isn't it? You still love her, don't you Robert? Don't

                         look away- maintain eye-contact and tell me the truth!

Bob:                  Wombat wank. I'm working on the theory that if I can get you to button it for

                         two minutes, there's a fair to middling chance you'll finish this room before

                         the next ice-age. The fucking Sistine Chapel didn't take so long to paint, and 

                         it's a known historical fact that bleedin' Michelangelo not once defaced a 

                         television set or indeed, any major household electrical appliance.

Jack:                 Heeeeeeeyyyy, you know Robert, even Michelangelo was not as infallible as     

the history-books make out! Let's try and focus on the here-and-now, why  

                         donít we? Letís take an unflinching look at what's going on in this room- like

                         the fact that you've avoided all eye-contact with me for the last 5 minutes.

                         Even though I've been continuously sending you waves of unconditional

                         acceptance. What are you really scared of, Robert?

Bob:                  Fuck. You, at the moment. You couldn't unconditionally accept to get the  

                         kitchen done by Saturday, could you?

Jack:                  O.k. Robert- I'll tell you what Im gonna do. I am going to pack up my

                          equipment now. I am going to leave you the business card of one of my non-

                          psychic colleagues, who if you wish, will finish off the kitchen for you. But I

                          want us to give it a few days Robert. Because it's not really about the kitchen

                          or the t.v. is it? This isn't  something material- it's on a deeper level Robert,

                          face it- we've made psychic contact. And you're putting up resistance. Now

                          I'm asking you once more- what are you really scared of ?

Bob:                  Fucking big sharks, that's what I'm scared of- although luckily they only   

                         attack you if you're wet. You'll pay for the telly. I'll be in touch. I'll look you

                         up in Yellow Pages under 'Dickheads.'