Wisebowm: The Struggle Is Real BBC Radio 4 Sitcom Pilot

Wise Brown. The struggle is real. We're living in a world today that is full of struggle. As a poet, it's my responsibility to shine a light on the struggles and causes that are causing struggle. We all suffer from pain and hurt. Even if you take a couple of paracetamol, they still sometimes don't work, which is why I wrote this poem. Trigger warning, I I touch on some deep subjects here like poverty, climate change, and when there isn't enough plug sockets in the cafe and there's one person hogging it and you're like, you've been charging for like 6 hours, you must be at 100% already. Anyway, please listen with caution. Climate change is definitely real, let's save the world and start to heal. Fell asleep in the sun, had a really deep dream. Woke up burnt! Forgot to put on cream.

Wisebaum.

The struggle is real. So what do you think of a picture of me on stage for the front cover?

Yeah, no.

We have a big article on recycling coming out in this week's paper, so—

I love recycling!

Yeah, we're printing an extra 3,000 copies to push the message out.

Alright, Wisebaum, back again.

Hi, Daniel. This is Martin McKenzie. He's a journalist here to speak to me about my big break in poetry. No big deal.

Right, and I'm Danielle, part-time waitress at Yum Yums. What is this, speed dating?

Yeah, hi, Martin, Middlesex Press.

Never heard of it.

No one has.

It's just that I'm being interviewed.

What for, are people ruined?

Anyway, I'll have my usual. I'll have a bap, a croissant, and 5 Jaffa Cakes, yeah?

Just a coffee for me, please.

And I'll have a latte. Make it black, 'cause I believe in equality. As I was saying, I don't know how I got into poetry. It kind of just found me.

Your father's a famous poet, Sid Delicious, right?

Yeah, but like, he was a poet from an urban area, And I'm like an urban from a poet area? Never mind. My roots are in Edgware. It's where my journey starts and ends. Because it's at the end of the Northern Line, so I guess it depends which direction I'm heading.

Right.

So basically, I am the new urban poet on the rise. Excuse me, mate. Yeah, sorry, man. I can't really speak right now. I'm just in the middle of an interview. Oh, I just wanted to catch up. Sorry, no time for a catch-up. See what I mean? It can get a bit much when everyone knows who you are. But what's amazing is I've done all this on my own with no help whatsoever from anyone.

Right, but Sid's your dad and your stepmother Val owns the club, right?

Uh, yeah, but— Wise, wise, wise Val. The struggle is real.

Good evening, poetry lovers! I'm your lovely MC, Valerie Bernstein, but you can call me Val. Welcome to an evening of mind-altering poetry. What a great night we're gonna have here at Words on the Street, Time Out's Spoken Word Venue of the Year 1998. So please welcome to the stage my former stepson and all-round my sugar, Wisebaum!

This poem's about the destructive force of capitalism. Immigrants blame for the economy? But corporations have all the money. The other day I flew with Ryanair, charged £50 for my case. Life's unfair. Hashtag capitalism. Uh, that's it. I've been Wisebaum. Good night.

That was sick, Wisebaum. I loved how it like properly rhymed and that.

Why didn't you clap for me, Dean?

Sorry, Wisebaum. It won't happen again, yeah? I was doing my scratch cards.

Come on, Dean, they're a waste of time. You won't win. It's like my dad always says to me, Wisebaum, you'll never ever win.

And?

No, that's it. Wisebaum, you'll never ever win.

So you do this full-time, do you?

Yeah, yeah, totally. Apart from occasionally from Monday to Friday between the hours of 9 to 5 when I kind of freelance in IT recruitment.

So tell me about Sid Delicious.

Got my name in the headlines. They're all writing about my rhymes. The greatest urban poet in Middlesex. More controversial than Malcolm X. I mean, not that one. The Malcolm from college who used to sign off all his texts with a kiss.

Right.

Here you go, an almond milk coffee, a bar, a croissant, 5 Jaffa Cakes with a black latte. Katie Storm in the building! Coming up, one beetroot chai latte.

Who's that?

Don't worry about her.

Oi, Weisbaum, who's your mate? Told him about how I destroyed you in the semis, did you?

Right.

We have one more act competing in the semi-final of the Sid Delicious Best New Up-and-Coming Spoken Word Artist Competition. Well, that's a real mouthful. No wonder we didn't get the trophy engraved, would have cost a fortune. As you all know, this competition is named after the legendary poet and my ex-husband, Sid Delicious. God rest his soul.

I'm not dead!

Next up, it's Katie Storm!

Thank you. This is a poem about poverty and food banks. If this is a bank, then why aren't we investing? And now my wish is for you to deposit these lyrics into your brain and some food into your local food bank. Mic drop.

Right, obviously she's through.

But what about Wisebaum? He tried really hard.

Look, I ain't gonna go easy on him 'cause he's my son. My dad never went easy on me, and his dad never went easy on him. Our family have a legacy to uphold. We're a long line of hard-nosed poets. My great-granddad Keith was a chimney sweep. He used to write his poems with a bit of coal in the dark till they invented matches. Then he just used the light of a match until the accident. But at least he died doing what he loved.

So, haha, through to the final, and joining our other victorious poets is Katie Storm! Uh, we also have a wild card, the people's vote.

What vote?

Judges' discretion, mate. Tonight's wild card is Wisebaum!

Yes, this is my big break!

You're gonna be proper famous poet and be in one of those Abbey National adverts.

But I'd never compromise my artistic integrity, Dean. It's about poetry, not fame.

Hi, I'm Martin McKenzie, Middle Press Sex— uh, Middlesex Press.

Katie Storm, urban poet and activist.

That's a fascinating combination.

I'm that as well, but more activisty in a way.

Beetroot chai latte and a scone on the house.

Is it gluten-free?

Oh, I forgot.

I don't eat gluten. It blocks my creativity.

I'd never give up gluten. I need it to build up my strength for all the marches I go on. Like the other day, I was marching against equal pay.

You mean...

Oh yeah, I thought there were a lot of men on there.

Jesus.

Anyway, it inspired a new poem about the struggles of misogyny.

Oh, so you're writing poetry on our struggles?

Like when you wrote about racism?

I'm actually 3/15 Asian, so it's not appropriating.

Interesting. I'm looking to write an article about the rise of gluten-free poets. Perhaps we can talk?

Actually, Danielle, I can't have these Jaffa Cakes. I forgot I'm also gluten-free.

But you've eaten 4 of them.

No, I haven't.

You just said you'd never give up gluten, Weisbaum.

No, I didn't. What I meant was I never gave up going gluten-free. Gluten-free, gluten-free. I used to be on wheat, barley, and rye. I ate so much gluten that I used to get high. But now I look back and ask myself why. Spent many nights on the street hustling. That's right. Earning that cash to get the gluten. Did bad things, went to a dark place. Baps, croissants, and Jaffa Cakes. 3 of the biggest gluten mistakes. But now I'm most definitely gluten-free. Caesar Wardoff, this was.

No beer, no bread, no cereal, man.

This isn't trivial, I'm gluten-free. Catch me in your ends with a small bowl of hummus, spending less time on the WC. I was asleep, but now I'm woke.

One gluten-free scone, Katie.

Is this scone locally sourced?

I mean, I did just source it from the cupboard.

Yeah, I always shop locally. Just this morning I went to my local Greggs, so—

Katie! Uh, do you know what you'll be performing in the final?

I have so many poems to choose from. I've never had writer's block. I just keep writing, you know? The cuppeth runneth over.

Didn't know you had a lisp, Katie. I've also got a massive back catalogue of poems, actually.

Really?

That's the thing, I've just got too many options.

Tell me more about your look. I love the shirt.

It's from a little vintage pop-up called The Middle Sex Change. It pops up for 15 minutes, then it doesn't feel like it belongs in that location anymore, so it changes to another. It's location fluid, which is like totally cool.

I go there all the time.

Impossible. It is always at an undisclosed address. They tweet out the coordinates and then delete the tweet after 30 seconds. It's super exclusive.

Goddammit. Anyway, I've got to go. I've got a really important appointment to get to. Danielle, can I get a beetroot chai latte and 4 Jaffa Cakes to go? It's haircut time, you know that haircut vibe, you feel that soothing fingers running through my hair, dose of tones while I'm sitting in my chair.

The usual half a millimeter off at the top, yeah?

You know me too well.

Your dad Sid was in here the other day, said he couldn't believe you made it to the Tipsy Topsy final. He looked like he wanted to cry. Kept saying, my legacy, my legacy!

Aw, I'm glad I made him proud.

You're doing well, my son. I better get you to record the jingle for my shop before you blow up. I'll give you a month's free wash and dry, innit? But not with condition. That's not made of money.

Sorry, Paul. I'm an artist, yeah? I wouldn't sell out even if you did offer conditioner.

I did the same thing. Turned down a chance to team up with this hotshot hairdresser called Tony. In the end, he just set up with some random guy. And look at me now, got my own salon right above the kebab shop. You stay true to yourself, just like your dad, innit? You know, back in the day, mid-poem, he got a legendary double-click.

A what?

Yeah, bruv, it's basically an automatic win if the audience give you a double-click.

Thanks, Paul. Anyway, I've got to go to this poetry masterclass.

Same time tomorrow then, yeah?

Obs, Paul.

Help yourself to a humbug on the way out.

Poetry is the sexiest art form. I used to drop my knickers for anyone with a half-decent grasp of iambic pentameter. Anyway, listen to what Sid has to say. He might look like a washed-up poor man's Barry Manilow with a drink problem, and he is, but back in the day he knew his way around a haiku.

Sorry I'm late.

Right, that's enough. Lesson 1, don't ever, ever marry a poetry groupie. They'll divorce you and take all your money.

What money? You could have cleaned up on Poem Idol.

What, and be on the same show as that John Cooper Clarke?

He was just a bloody snog.

With tongues. Now then, can anyone guess the most important asset you have?

My voice.

Anyone?

My voice.

Nice one, Katie, that's right.

Hey, I said that.

Our voices are the nail and our mouth is the hammer. You can have all the hammers, but if you don't have the nails, You, uh, you can't hang up the picture frame.

Wow, that's deep.

He's never hung up a picture frame in his life. Our wedding photo was propped up by 3 cans of Stella.

So what if we don't have a good voice? You know, like Dean?

Harsh but fair.

Ah, now, metaphors. The staple of the poet's diet. The meat and the veg. Give me an object. Go on, throw anything at me. Go on, shoot, give it to me.

Sausage rolls from Greggs.

What?

Sausage rolls from Greggs.

Right. You could say we are human sausage rolls. You might be crumbly on the outside, but rip off that pastry exterior and inside you're just an exposed sausage. A slab of meat! That is the human condition.

Wow, almost brings a tear to my eye.

Or like how they've brought out new vegan sausage rolls.

That's not a metaphor, that's just a fad. We're changing the world, remember? Don't let me down tomorrow.

Rat, hat, cat, flat, Fiat, latte. Ah, come on, Wisebaum, all that gluten is blocking you. You can do this. Write, damn it! What's stopping you? Are you scared? You think Shakespeare was scared? Wherefore art thou, balls?

Balls, balls, balls, balls.

Failure. We've all failed at something, including me. I've failed at failing. Are you gonna moan like my good friend and spoken word contemporary Dean that you're too knackered to write? Of course you are, Dean. You ate 17 Bombay Bad Boy Pot Noodles in one sitting. It was actually quite impressive, to be fair. Anyway, the writing's on the wall. And it says, go and write. Forget what other people think. When I performed my first poem at school in the playground, there was this kid called Johnny Taylor who laughed at me. But Johnny now works as a corporate lawyer. Meanwhile, I've reached the final of the Sid Delicious Spoken Word Artist of the Month competition. So who's laughing now? This is for all those that want to reach for the stars but might not know where the stars are or how to get there. I mean, the North Star's obviously north, but some of the others can be quite difficult To pinpoint, but remember, when it's your time to shine and your creativity does propel you to stardom, always stay humble. 'Cause if you're frowning, you're obviously writing. When have you ever seen anyone smile while writing? It's not supposed to be fun. I mean, it is for me, but I'm just one of the rare few where it just seems to flow. I know it's hard to believe, but I actually wrote this poem in like 2 minutes. If I inspired just one of you to let the words flow, then my work here is done. I'm writing a poem. Unless the one I inspired writes something shit. That would be a waste of time. Don't be shit. Namaste.

Ransbaum, I've just written a poem about flossing my teeth. You wanna hear it?

Not now, Dean.

Everything white, white and clean. We floss until our gums begin to bleed.

Where did you get that new shirt from?

From this sick new vintage pop-up. I just bought a load of scratch cards and went to get the Underground. I must have taken 2 rights and a wrong turning though, 'cause I accidentally went down an abandoned manhole into the sewers. And that's when I saw it. The place was packed! I was lucky to get this. It stinks of shit, but it looks great.

You're wearing that to the final?

Yeah. You should get one too.

I'm not into vintage, as you can catch germs from previous owners, and I'm not taking any chances since my last verruca incident.

Wise bomb. Nice shirt, Dean. Stinks though.

Thanks. It had 6 previous owners. Glad you like it.

Branding is so important to being a successful artist. Like, if I didn't wear ethically sourced, upcycled vintage, how would anyone know I was a half-lesbian, polyamorous, quasi-gluten intolerant vegan activist?

Whatever, Katie. I'm not interested in succumbing to what's deemed cool. I'm only focused on what poem I'm performing. So, where is that shop, Dean?

Wisebaum.

The struggle is real. Have you got any vintage shirts left?

I'm afraid we're closing up, buddy mate geezer.

Oh, can't you stay open for a bit longer? I'm a rising urban poet. I'm having an article written about me in the Middlesex Press. I could wear one of your items in the photo.

Afraid not, buddy mate. We're only open for 15 minutes and we're closing now. Our lease is up. We're not allowed to pop up again. I'm on to my next project. It's a traffic light startup company.

Just waiting for the green light, hey?

No, it's already happening. We're disrupting the whole model. We make the green light yellow, the amber light pink, and we're doing away with the red light altogether. And we're replacing the zebra crossings with LGBTQ+ rainbow ones.

Are these for sale?

They're Lionel Richie's leather trousers, buddy mate. Can't believe they didn't get snapped up. Very hard to find. Totally rare.

I'll take them.

£500, please.

You what?

Oh, sorry. They're not Lionel Richie. They're Lionel Blair's. Have them for a tenner.

Can you keep a secret, Dean?

No.

I really need to tell you something.

I'm not looking for a girlfriend, Kate.

No, me neither. I'm struggling with inspiration for my poem. There's just so many big issues to tackle in the world.

Yeah, I have the same problem when I'm deciding which pot noodle to go for. Do I go with sweet and sour?

Do I write about poverty?

Do I get chicken and mushroom?

Do I write about racism?

Or do I get bombed by a bad boy?

You're so right. I shouldn't be taking this so seriously. I need to free my creativity. I had a bite of a croissant the other day. That's probably why I'm blocked. You write poetry too, right?

Oh yeah, I get my inspiration from everywhere. Like the other day, I was doing a scratch card but didn't have a coin, so I used my teeth. Then I ended up with a bit of silver stuff stuck in them, so I wrote a poem about it. You wanna read it?

Have you written anything yet, son? My legacy's at stake here.

I've got 2 hours till bedtime.

You and your 8 hours sleep. In my day, I'd perform 20 hours straight. Barefoot and with verrucas.

That's where I get them from, Dad. You know what I get like without enough sleep.

Listen, you better not let me down tomorrow night. This is my legacy. It's legacy. You better not let me down. Let me down. Verrucas. Verrucas.

I'm all about eight hours a night. When my head hits that pillow, you know I'm sleeping tight. I sip on a herbal tea and dip in a hot bath. Now my sleep's gonna be. Feet undone, got too many poems on the brain. How can I survive on 7 hours sleep? It's making me go insane. I'm still aching from writers' cramp, but soon I'll be on stage and crowned the champ.

Ha!

Wisebaum, didn't know you were a member of the Village People.

Oh, these?

They're just Lionel— Lionel Richie's leather trousers, and that's a bit homophobic, actually.

I can't be homophobic, I'm 66% gay. Anyway, I'm vegan, so I'd never wear leather. Lots of industry people here, Wisebaum. Lots of pressure to perform. Nerve-wracking, hey?

Well, I've got industry too. That journalist is coming to cover my victory.

Yeah, well, the producers of Question Rhyme and Come Rhyme With Me are here to see me. And John Cooper Clarke sitting at the back. I'm surprised he's here. Apparently he's a grime artist now.

Is that why he's wearing a tracksuit hoodie and trainers?

I thought he was in disguise to hide from Sid.

Why would he Anyway, better go practice. Good luck, yeah?

You better not let me down tomorrow night. This is my legacy. Legacy. You better not let me down. Let me down.

Dean, my head's all over the place. I only got 7 hours sleep and I still don't know what poem I'm gonna do. Dad's counting on me tonight to take the trophy home. I need your help. I need you to do double click. It means I get an automatic win, yeah?

Yeah, sure, Wazbam. Like on my computer? No, on the trophy.

With your fingers. Give it a try.

I'm sorry, Wazbam. I think I got repetitive strain injury from playing FIFA. I'll practice though, don't worry.

Thanks, man. Just keep it to yourself, yeah?

Right, so it's time for the grand final, named after one of the best poets but worst lovers in the local area.

Get on with it!

And that's what I said on our wedding night. First up, Is Sid's very own son. The apple of his eye!

The pain in my arse, more like!

Wisebaum!

Thanks, Val. Appreciate that, Dad.

Dane!

What are you doing back here?

Nothing, Val. I'm not double-clicking. I'm just doing a scratch card. See?

Hi, my name's Wisebaum.

Oh my God, where'd you get those trousers?

I grew up in a tough environment. I lived in a small semi-detached house. Just a stone's throw and 2 bus rides from the local council estate. Yes, we had a driveway, but it had cracks in it, so growing up rollerblading was quite dangerous. Are any of my fans in tonight? Um, that's what I love about my fans— very introverted, real deep thinkers. When you reach a certain level of success, a lot of attention comes your way. This poem shines a light on the struggles I encounter as a well-known artist. I'm all about the art, not interested in the fame, but unfortunately being a celebrity comes with this game. People start to recognise you all of the time. Stop me in the street and ask me to rhyme. Guys, listen, I'm just a human being. All I ask for is my privacy. But if you really want, you can follow me on my Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, YouTube, Tumblr, or MySpace @wisebelle. Yeah, I'm not interested in the limelight. I just wanna headline spoken word open mic clubs every single night.

Damn it, I just needed one more bell.

Why are kids looking up to Kardashians? When they gonna appreciate real talent, like poets who write about their struggle? Last night I cut my face while I shaved my stubble.

Well, that was quite extraordinary. Now it's time to bring on our next finalist, Katie Storm!

Dean, why didn't you double-click?

Sorry, Wazbam, I've been doing my scratches.

Well, now I have to win on merit.

Thank you. This is a poem I wrote about the rise of gentrification in urban areas using the metaphor of oral hygiene. Everything white, white and clean. We floss until our gums begin to bleed. We floss back and forth until we scream and shout. Dig in the gaps to get the black bits out. Goodbye tea and coffee stains. My teeth so clean, it's insane. You better wear sunglasses or I'll blind you in your retina. more white than your average Leave vote area. Hashtag Brexit!

Dean, that's your poem!

Not now, Wazbam. One more Liberty Bell and I'll win a quid.

Dean! Dean! Oh shit.

Oh my tits, a double click.

That takes me back.

That was the most profound poem about gentrification I've ever heard. Blimey, I'm all emotion. Think I've just turned 66% lesbian myself.

That was an absolute belter.

You're not crying, are you?

Nah, it's just me allergies, innit?

Right.

So, I think we have a clear winner. Katie Stooome!

Wait, Val, she stole it! It's Dean's poem!

What?

Dean?

Is that true?

Um, to be honest, I don't really know. I wasn't actually listening.

See, he's lying!

No, I can prove it!

Well, go on then.

Wait, I threw it in the bin. Uh, the recycling one, because I care about the environment so much. Damn, it's full of Dean's scratch cards. It's definitely in here somewhere.

Wise ban. You're an embarrassment, son. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a sore loser. That and paying 5 pence for a carrier bag. Robbing bastards. It's a 3-match ban for you, boy.

Wait, I've got a copy of it in my pocket. I wrote the original on the scratch card I scratched with my teeth.

What?

I don't believe it. Wise Bam's right.

I can explain.

So the winner of the Words on the Street Sid Delicious Spoken Word Artist of the Month competition—we really need to shorten this, you know—we really do—is yes!

I can't believe it. I finally won.

Dean.

OMG, Wisebomb, I've won! This is the best day ever! First I win a pound, and now this!

This is a travesty! I'll be writing an open letter in the form of a poem to the Middlesex Press. This is gonna go viral!

Thanks everyone, glad you like my poem. And remember to floss, yeah? Oral hygiene is proper important.

Don't worry, Wisebomb, you gave it your best shot. And between me and you, that wasn't your shittiest poem.

Thanks, Dad.

Hang on, who's that wanker in the tracksuit? Is that John Cooper Clarke? Let's have it!

Not again, it was just a bloody kiss!

With tongues! Come here!

I can't get hold of his hair, it's all greasy! Do him, Dad! It's haircut time, it's haircut vibes, it's haircut rhyme, short back and sides, it's haircut time!

It's haircut vibes, it's haircut rhyme, short back and sides.

I just can't believe I didn't win, Paul. It's a monthly competition though, right?

Yeah, but that's not the point.

I don't want to talk about it. Can we just put on the TV?

And on today's episode of Come Rhyme With Me, we have rising urban poet Dean.

Oh no, I got sauce on my new shirt.

I can't believe Dean would sell out like that.

You're right, he's made a proper fool of himself there. I saw him on the front page of the Middlesex Press too. The nasal voice of a generation.

That was supposed to be my article!

It's like I always say, as an artist you gotta always stay true to yourself, innit? It's not about the competitions, they'll always be there, literally the last Thursday of every month.

You're right, Paul, it's not about the competitions. Or the TV, or the adverts. I'm an artist, not a sellout. Ooh, turn it up!

Our ad's on the radio!

Get a wash and dry deal for half price. Open Monday to Sunday from 9 to 5. They do it all at Paul's Place. So come to Paul's Place and receive a 10% discount off your first trim. Paul's Place cannot be held responsible for any loss of earnings, self-esteem, or relationships. Terms and conditions apply. So come to Paul's Place. Priceless premium preening. That's proper good, that. I'm all about the art, not interested in the fame. But other poets just wanna make money from this game. I'm just out here trying to be the real deal. But trust me, the struggle is real. So just remember, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, the struggle is real. We're all in equal amounts of pain. I mean, I would say my struggle is the equivalent of being in debt or suffering from addiction, maybe even more so, to be honest. But life is all about learning, and what I've learned is that people who call themselves judges don't actually know anything. I'll keep going until my poems are known around the world, or at least around Middlesex and the Greater North London area. You can't keep me down. I am Wisebaum.

Wisebaum.

The struggle is real.

Wisebaum: The Struggle Is Real was created by Steve Whiteley, who played both Wisebaum and Dean, and co-wrote the script with Kat Butterfield and Daniel Aldrich. Wisebaum was directed by Alan Nixon, with music from Steven Hicklin, Dave Tozer, and Kevin Frost. Script editor was Chris Head. Jenn Wakefield was Katie Storm. Ricky Grover was Sid Delicious, and Val was played by Joanna Brooks. Olivia Nixon was Danielle, and Luke Nixon was Seb, the pop-up guy. Andrew Gentile was Paul the Barber, and Martin journalist. The associate producer was Olivia Nixon, and the show was produced by Luke Nixon. Wisebaum: The Struggle Is Real was a Snipper Nixon production for the BBC.