´Propovsky Hill is a dreary place, they say
With snifters crawling through the drainpipes in search of some gumdrop
Doxies and their flesh peddlers hiding in the garrets
Schoolboys waving around rapiers and switchblades
No place to raise a child, no place to grow old´

A monologue about a psychotic cockney living in a Sovjet(ish) London and how he embarks on a raging swan hunt, fueled by funny powders and the wordings in the paper, whilst mourning the days that Britain was great. An ode to his culture, a dying culture, and their dialect, a dying dialect / a ironic, magnified insight in the world of a young man growing up, post-brexit, post-queen. We´re all a bit cockney and we´re definately all a bit psychotic after all, aren´t we? Oliver Cromwell, up yours!

Tekst, concept en spel: Sybren van der Velde
Met dank aan: Paul Rondags, Kedves van den Berg, Jibbe Willems, Kim Boogaard, John Lydon, Violet Dorris en Mickey Arms

Duur: 35min