STITCH. I had a good think last night. While I was projectile vomiting. And I decided, perhaps the gay scene of Hull isn’t for me. It’s the vodka, I think. Among other things. Honestly. I looked deep inside myself. And I just found: wool. I’m not a great one for nightclubs, not a party animal. Can’t imagine I ever will be. I don’t even like sex that much, to be honest. Rather have a good yoghurt. I think the best thing I can hope to do with my life is. Knitting.
MARK. You don’t have to –
STITCH. It’s alright. I like hanging round with old ladies in experimental cardigans. They’re nice. Kind. I fit in. Think they’ve even twigged about, you know. Always speak very highly of Dale Winton when I’m around, so. Perhaps I’d better just. Do that. For a bit.
Pause.
MARK. Well, I’m not convinced. I thought you wanted to be away from all that.
STITCH. I did. Sort of. Just. I’m not sure I’m. There’s days when you feel so buoyant and. Capable. Then something’ll just. I