[ILB and TD are sitting in the stalls, having obtained some rather dodgy £20 tickets. ILB has gone for a little wander during the interval and returns to his seat, brandishing a programme.]
TD: You got a programme?
ILB: [Aside.] I want to understand what's going on in this play, if possible.
[He opens the programme, and for a while, ILB and TD peruse it, not speaking. Much movement.]
[ILB raises his arm and places it around her back. He looks down at the programme, reflects.]
ILB: Would you like an ice cream?
TD: No, thank you. Do you want one?
ILB: Nope! I was asking you.
[TD's hand strays towards ILB's crotch. He bristles slightly, relaxes.]
ILB: [Aside.] Blimey! Here, in a theatre?
[TD's hand brushes between ILB's legs. He bristles slightly, tightens his arm around her, relaxes.]
TD: [Aside to ILB.] Does that feel nice?
ILB: [Aside to TD.] Oh yes. That... really does.
[ILB covers his crotch with the programme. We see TD's arm move. ILB bristles more violently, squirms, grins, relaxes.]
[TD looks at the programme. ILB bristles, reflects, bristles again, relaxes.]
ILB: [Aside to TD.] You bad girl!
[ILB bristles, relaxes. Lights in the house go down.]
TD: Are you going to write about that?
TD: You're thinking of how to write about it, aren't you?
[ILB reflects, grins.]