Sophie Ellis-Bextor: Dear Lord, where have you been?
William Shakespeare: Nowhere.
Ellis-Bextor: What do you mean, nowhere? Where have you been?
Shakespeare: Ah, you know.
Ellis-Bextor: What? No, I don’t know. You’ve been gone months. Where the hell have you been all this time? Do you not think I’ve been worried?
Shakespeare: Look, just leave me alone, okay. Stop going on at me.
Ellis-Bextor: Don’t you dare speak to me like that. I’ve been at my wit’s end.
Shakespeare: Have you?
Ellis-Bextor: Of course I have.
Shakespeare: At your wit’s end?
Ellis-Bextor: Yes.
Shakespeare: How have you coped? Have you had to seek solace?
Ellis-Bextor: Well I haven’t coped.
Shakespeare: You haven’t sought solace then? You haven’t sought solace at this time of distress?
Ellis-Bextor: What are you going on about?
Shakespeare: Solace. I’m talking about solace. Have you sought solace?
Ellis-Bextor: Sought solace?
Shakespeare: Jesus Christ, do I have to fucking spell it out to you? Have you sought solace in the form of the oversized testicles of gravelly-voiced Middesbrough guitarist, Chris Rea?
Ellis-Bextor: Oh not this again. Does nothing ever change? Months and months and this is all I get?
Shakespeare: You might get more.
Ellis-Bextor: I won’t get more.
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WHERE THE BLOODY HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!!
Just, you know, away…