HOTEL ROOM (or, Lowedges Lovers Lost) - A Sheffield Monologue

 

HOTEL ROOM (or, Lowedges Lovers Lost) first aired on BBC RADIO SHEFFIELD 6th of January 2022 and was written and performed by Ryan Oxley (C) @rybazoxo 

All material is copyrighted and unauthorised use is strictly prohibited. If you wish to use this, please contact ryanoxleywriter@gmail.com 

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This is a monologue set in a hotel room. A room in a hotel that sits in the centre of a modern-day Sheffield city centre. It’s about a family man struggling with alcohol addiction, lockdown, redundancy, and life itself. His speech is littered with Sheffield slang but no pathos is lost in the colloquialism of the local dialect. 

He drinks to take the ‘edge off 

One more won’t hurt, right?  

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SETTING - A room in a high-rise hotel, situated just off the parkway roundabout, in the heart of Sheffield city centre. It’s the autumn of 2021 - and an otherwise non-descript autumnal evening. The post-industrial peak of a long-forgotten city is visible from the window, Park Hill flats a vision of 80s brutalism, and the cholera monument - a sign of past pandemics and an often ignored signpost, can be seen just in the distance. A 1990s Super Tram rattles by over Parkway Central bridge, it's a familiar sound in the city. We can hear the rain outside, and the wind whistles making the hotel window pain rattle. 

Sheffield City image (c) https://www.instagram.com/ryboxo/

The first 16 seconds of the (Richard Hawley song) Hotel Room plays, before fading. 

A man is seen sitting in this dingy ill-lit hotel room, lit only by a fading bedside lamp, and an overflowing ashtray sits on a small side table; reeking the room out. The man is laid on his bed deeply lost in thought, until he sits up suddenly, stubbing out a cigarette, swigging from a bottle of cider, and addresses the audience;  

Man - 'I'm a reyt mardy bum t’neyt, me. My nannan would have said ‘if the wind changes, your face will stay like that!’ I’d ring room service but I don’t think they serve owt that’d get rid of this mood'

(pause) 

The man sighs a sign of sadness, slowly gets up from his bed, and sits on the hotel room's window ledge 

...'Instead, I sit by this window ledge, looking out at the city lights. Even in the dark, in this city snoozing, you can still see some beauty. maybe. I can still see the sheaf market- if I cast my mind back far enough

We hear the distant sounds of cars passing by the window - low traffic noises 

'I can see the cityscape, sitting under the stars, lights bright, passing cars. That’s not for me, that, though. I’d rather here sit in total darkness, by this window ledge. A drink to take the edge off. It helps'

 

(pause) 

Man takes a drink)

'It’s daft innit? 40 years I’ve lived in this city, I'm 40 now - that’s it, and I’ve never been to this hotel until tonight. Been to a gig at 02, you know, wot used to be Roxy’s. On my own, like, I don’t mind tho as long as the beers flow. Local bands were on and not much else, but I didn’t feel like going home. It’s only half ten n’ all!...

The man shuffles awkwardly in position on the bed. Picking bits of the duvet and flicking them nervously

'I then took a stroll down here, past Castle Square (where ole isn’t road used to be) then through Fitzalan Square. Have you seen that now? Looks a lot better than it used to - dunnit? It’s all reyt that'

We hear the sound of distant traffic, cars speed by, a police siren sounds - it's a city on the move 

'I nearly jumped a taxi at the rank but didn't want to return home. Sat in a taxi back to lowedges. It’s cheaper but, she’ll only have a go at me for drinking. Don’t wanna wake the baby up, either

(pause) 

'It wasn't like it started in, in like lockdown or owt, we did fine then. We coped all right, through that. It’s just, well, I like being on my sen, and when me moods are low, I drink. Being a bloke, though, is hard to explain, get away from, or even speak about. So I just…'

Sheffield City image (c) https://www.instagram.com/ryboxo/

(break) 

A Sheffield tram can be heard passing by, over Parkway Central. We hear a drink being poured into a glass.  

 

(pause) 

'A cheeky one, a swift one, going ‘out, out’, it’s always five o clock somewhere, eh, innit? Beer o’clock! some people wait for the weekend binge, but I, ME can’t do that - no'

(pause)  

'It wa' cheap n all! You can buy like 3 litres of cider from our local shop for three quid. I’d drink that. I’d drink owt tho me. Like me, Mother used to say ‘Ive got a drinking problem. The problem is, Ive only got one liver! She drinks like a fish - so it’s clear where I got that from 

(pause) 

...I never did get her sense of humour

A tram can be heard going past Ponds Forge, and a car backfires. 

'Not workin’ dunt help either. Mrs says I've too much time on my hands  Suffered from that furlough dinna, working from home, and then redundancy. It wasn’t always like this. Cudda bin summat me. A writer, a musician even, used to be in a band myself, a long time ago like. Even Dejayed for a bit on the radio. Now? Nothing. Cudda been someone me, but…eh, I can see it now, in my mind’s eye like; Let’s raise a glass to the ‘heavyweight champion of the world’ they’d have said. I’m not a boxer, and it’s a good job, cos I’m always up against the ropes, getting beaten, day in and day out - just hoping this booze is gonna knock me out, and then that bell won’t ring again...

...Knocked-Out. Loser!

It always starts fine with one drink, that is. party time init. Good times! But before you know it - Hangover, hair of the dog - you overconsume it. It’s when it starts to consume you tho,…' 

Sheffield City image (c) https://www.instagram.com/ryboxo/

(pause) 

'I’d start Saturday mornings wi it, some weekends. I’d put the TV on and just watch all weekend and drink the time away. ‘member watching snooker live from t’crucible - half cut by 3 pm in the afternoon! Waking up by early evening, with no idea who’d won. Do you know what I’d do then? I go back to the shop and buy more cider. Drink until blackout, wait up in the middle of the night, telly back on, and then… drink again. Mrs would take the baby out all day - she knew wot wa coming...

...Just to take the edge off, like

With the audible sound of traffic on the parkway, a car beeps its horn, and we hear a crash of steel from the factory in the distance. The sounds of a city. 

'She soon got fed up with all of that, my other half, r lass. Ba'bee n all, she’s 3 - daughter, our Daisy. I met the Mrs on Lowedges, at a hotel - a northern soul dance. The prettiest girl in the room and by a mile. It wa’ like that song that Jarvis sang… ‘Something Changed’...  

And it did, that night at the hotel...

(pause) 

it really fuckin' did….'

Still sat on the bed, Man looks around the room in thought, as though to wonder how the fuck he ended up here

'I moved into her Mam's for a bit, woodchipped walls and chippy teas, we got married at the town hall registry office, photos by the fountain, got a flat about a shop, and got pregnant. We’d stayed on Lowedges as that’s where all of the family are. A little unit, togetherness, where we belong. You’d think that’d stop me drinking, wouldn't ya? To be a better Dad, be present, to be someone'

beat 

'Easier said than done, tho innit. It’s dark in my head and that’s the only time I see the light? is when I'm drunk! I've tried sobriety but that just made me worse. Struggling to handle it. A malady of mood swings, ‘ you’ve got more faces than the town hall clock’, that’s what me nannan woulda said'

(pause)

'Tablets downed - don’t work, talking bout it dunt do nowt much either. ‘be a man they say, man-up, chin-up, soldier on. Grin and bear it -even. Us northern blokes eh? Down’t pit. Steelworks, pints and the footy. be reyt! A tough lot aren’t we? No tears - just beers. Stop crying - you big girl's blouse!. I had that one a lot when I was a kid. I don’t know when it happened, it just did'

We hear the wind whistle through the room forcing the window to slam shut. Man almost jumps from the noise. He pops a lit cigarette in his mouth and gets up from the bed. 

'Hold on. Just gonna open this window back up...

..That’s better. I'm gonna sit here now and finish me cider'

If I just swing my legs over and dangle ‘em outta it. 

(pause) 

They’re gonna love me at this hotel when the mornin’ comes”! 

A Sheffield Super Tram can be heard passing by - a rattle over the parkway bridge

'Just looking outta this window, I can see life as it happens. People driving their cars, going home or going to their jobs, their busy lives, and busy gobs, blinkers on - autopilot - counting down the days till Friday. I can’t even sit straight on this window ledge, never mind concentrate for long enough to drive a car or bus or lorry. No job, no money, and a never-ending need for a drink. 

I’m sorry. 

I just can’t. 

I can't without a drink inside me, anyway.

It takes the edge off 

We hear a window slam shut, as though the wind has pushed it. 

A pause.

and then a thud. 

The first 16 seconds of the song ‘Hotel Room’ by Richard Hawley plays, before fading 

THE END 

(c) @rybazoxo January 2022, Lowedges, Sheffield, England

'Late Night, Sheaf Street' - A Sheffield Monologue

 'Late Night, Sheaf Street' first aired via BBC RADIO SHEFFIELD on the 10th of February 2022.

The monologue was written and performed by Ryan Oxley. (c) @rybazoxo Any unauthorised reproduction is strictly prohibited. Please email ryanoxleywriter@gmail.com if you wish to use this material

TIP - If you don't fancy reading it - you can listen to the original audio HERE 

Late night, Sheaf Street - the heart of the city, where the 5 rivers meet. Late night, Sheaf Street - a  Saturday night, one wet weekend in December. Late night, Sheaf Street was the last thing I remember...

 

The lights glared out from the Sheffield railway station forecourt that night. The lit railway station arches showcase the building's emptiness, which you can see through the glass-fronted facade. the desolate ticket offices, public toilets, out of order, and the ‘closed for cleaning’ sign that sits idly in the middle of the floor. I can see the cleaner, leaning on her mop and sipping her coffee. A taxi lays idle in rank, engine running, a radio humming; the distant sound of 'Last Orders' by Richard Hawley, followed by the late-night local news roundup. 

That was the last song I ever heard. 

It was the end of the day, and the night was in full flow. Lights glared through the emptiness of the railway building. The beauty of this Victorian train station facade is clearly visible -not that many people notice. The commuters certainly don’t. You know the type, brashly rushing and bullishly bustling through.  It’s usually the same crowd; rambunctious revellers, students straggling with suitcases, returning to uni or just returning home. the homeless person wanting some change for cheap cider, the lads in football shirts singing songs. They sing in post-match unity, before the inevitable tide turns, no doubt. They probably gave the conductor some grief before they got off the train - you know the type. MIND THE GAP means a position on the football table for them, not a safety instruction. ‘We’re all blades, aren’t we? We’re  All Wednesday aren't we?’ dual chants before the fights break out. No referee this time tho. the only assistants are the flashing lights of the boys in blue, ambulances, checks of CCTV, and appeals for witnesses on social media. R.I.P. and ‘fly safe’ they’ll post in unison and the police will issue grainy, grey, footage that’s blurry and inadmissible.

No one is gonna recognise ‘em, and at least of all, me.

 

I had seen them in fact, but I ignored them, as I walked her to her train that night, and down into the heart of Sheaf Square.

The 'Cutting Edge' Water Fountain - Sheffield Railway Station

 

‘It’s called The Cutting Edge’ init, that’ I said pointing at the railway station's water feature. Just a tidbit of Sheffield knowledge, just to keep her interested.  ‘I like watching the water flow from it’ I said, noting my own reflection in the water sculpture’s lights. She laughed - sharing with me, that infectious giggle that gets sweeter, every time I hear it. The London twang with just a dash of Yorkshire sneaking in, I acknowledged it, mimicking her dulcet tones. ‘I've been around you too long’ she said.  

Funny story really. She stole me, heart... new years eve, it was. Holding hands, and shared a kiss as the clock struck midnight. We were supposed to be in The Leadmill but we went out for a fag and some air, and they wouldn’t let me back in. Too drunk he says, this big burly bruiser of a bouncer. I wasn’t gonna argue with him, that’s for su-ure! I sez ‘reyt, come on then’  and we strolled back down towards the sheaf square fountain, past the cinema, off-licence, crossed that zebra crossing, and we took a seat outside the station itself. 

 

It’s where a few people sit, it’s just stone seats really. You get commuters standing, chatting, smoking, suitcases and bags in tow, walkers, workers, and wallflowers of commuting life. 

 

No people were waiting that night tho, apart from those football lads. 

‘Nice meeting point this? She says, Yeh, I sez ‘There’s that old forge tilt lays under us feet. At this actual spot, where the five rivers meet. Porter, Sheaf, and a few more. 

Sheffield black and white Image instagram.com/ryboxo/

‘You can listen to out for the river on platform 5 - while you wait for the train, luv’ I sez. I glance over and see my reflection in the water feature, and I see those footy lads again. 4 of em, 5 of em? They weren't standing that far away, but close enough. You could almost smell the testosterone - I knew what wa’ coming. ‘Times you train love? I say’ ‘bout 15 minutes, she laughs and replies. ‘I love how you say Luv after everything’ ‘Term of endearment’ I say ‘init’ and anyway I mean it, with you’ love. It had only been a matter of days, but the close dancing in the club, sharing of secrets on the fag breaks, heartfelt drunken declarations. We both knew what it was. We both looked around, admiring sheaf squares late-night luminous, and the moment soon passed.

Sheffield 'Megatron' under the railway station

I twiddled with my hearing aid, whilst she adjusted her lippy, both of us were suddenly sent silent with nervousness and a strange air swirled around, as the station’s automatic doors unexpectedly opened.  As I twiddled with the badge on my suit jacket lapel, - I guess it was that -or the colours on my scarf, that gave the game away, the football lads were suddenly a lot closer. Before I knew it, they were running at me. The intention was clear like they were getting ready to take a penalty. She tried to pull me away from ‘em - grabbing my suit jacket, the badge on my lapel hitting the floor. She tried but she couldn't hold them back on her own. 

I remember seeing that cleaner again, from out of the corner of my eye, which is what made the doors open.

 

My hearing aid hit the floor as I took the first punch before I fell onto the concrete forecourt with a thud to my head. I still felt the first few reigning blows though, dull pain, blurred vision. Then I felt hot, strange for a winter's night, even in Sheffield, and then I looked down and saw blood gushing from the stab wound on my chest. 

We are all blades, aren’t we? 

Then it went blank.

 

Distant voices, sirens, muffled calls for help, she's screaming my name, but I can't answer. Breathing lulls, yet I can still hear my heartbeat. My ears rushed now, like the sounds of the water, flowing through the Megatron below. Then it's outta body. I'm looking down. She's screaming and I see myself motionless by the cutting-edge water feature. 

That cleaner saw it all, they said. She consoled her until the police arrived. Tried stemming the flow with wipes and whatever from her cleaning trolley. It was evident at the inquest. They never got ‘em mind. I guess they got away. The trains don't usually stop that late - so who knows?

She leaves me flowers by the cutting edge, and she still listens for the water at platform 5.  Late night, on Sheaf Street. the heart of the city, where the 5 rivers meet. 

THE END

Written by Ryan Oxley (C) @rybazoxo January 2022