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What is my life? Am I to eat, drink, sleep, get a good job, marry, honeymoon, have kids, watch them grow up and have kids of their own, divorce, meet someone else, get old, and die happy in my sleep like every other inhabitant of brighton and Hove? What kind of a life is that? No. I am an artist. Character is action. I cannot allow this late suitor--that鈥檚 a pun, that鈥檚 quite good, maybe I could be a writer--I cannot allow this twice late suitor, who is both dead and late to come along and end my beautiful dream, like some wet Labrador jumping on my head. (He notices Francis.) My rival鈥檚 lackey. This will be the beginning of the end. (To Francis.) Where is the dog, your guvnor? He will die today.

Richard Bean, One Man, Two Guvnors. London: Oberon Books, 2011. p.28.