May 27, 2006
I'm half-watching Alfred Hitchcock's Rope here at work, and I'm giggling like an idiot at some of the dialogue. The dead guy is inside the table, the party is lively, and after a bit of prodding by Janet, the conversation turns to why Philip doesn't eat chicken.
It was a lovely Sunday morning in late spring. Across the valley the church bells were ringing... and in the yard, Philip was doing likewise to the necks of two or three chickens.
Oh dear.
It was a task he usually performed very competently! But on this particular morning, his touch was perhaps a trifle too delicate because one of the subjects for our dinner table suddenly rebelled! Like Lazarus, he rose...
That's a LIE! There isn't a word of truth in the whole story. I've never strangled a chicken in my life! I've never strangled a chicken and YOU KNOW IT.
And later, at the piano...
You're uh, more than unusually allergic to the truth tonight, Philip. That's the second time you haven't told me.
Thanks. When was the first?
When you said you'd never strangled a chicken.
You're confused. Brandon dreamt that up... for the sake of a very unfunny joke.
No he didn't. No, he didn't Philip. And if you'll think back very carefully you'll realize that I know he didn't. About a year ago, I was up at the farm. Do you remember? One morning I saw you display your handiwork. You're quite a good chicken strangler as I recall...
(13:30)
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