Part 2:
SCENE 9. INT. DINGY LIVING ROOM TYPE SETTING – DAY1
MORTIMER RE-ENTERS FORUM.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Do any gigs yet, Hardy?
HARDY:
Got one next week, competition to win a gig at Edinburgh. In two minds about some material, mind.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
I can imagine you may be a bit close to the bone. Anything you won't joke about?
HARDY:
Had a joke about abortion. Parents weren't impressed. Had to get rid of it after three month.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Heh. You're parents are groupies, eh?
HARDY:
Hardly. Me mam's only there to keep an eye on me, terrified I'll get caught up in some sort of cocaine lifestyle, bless her. Told her I can't even afford a credit card to chop the bastard thing up. What am I supposed to do, snort it through a Northern Rock overdraft statement?
BATTLESTAR:
General, you had a kid! I hope it doesn't look like you.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Eh, you haven't a clue what I look like?
BATTLESTAR:
You seem ugly.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Eight years I've been running this place now and you still persist in this sneerathon, day in day out. Is life in the civil service in Berkshire just not enough for you?
BATTLESTAR:
Oh, resorting to the usual tactics. Already. I pity you lot. Anyway, my weekend…
HARDY:
Flamin' Nora, we're about as interested in your weekend as Stephen Hawking is in the price of football boots. Now, shurrup.
BATTLESTAR:
ARSENAL. ARSENAL. ARSENAL. What a win!
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
That's enough football chat. Come on, now. We spent three hours on Friday trying to think of footballers that would be better if they were songs.
HARDY:
I won. Saha Day McKnight. Evra Forlan Ndlovu. Hrerrdiarson the Storm…
BATTLESTAR:
Oooh, a self-awarded award on an internet mongboard. Waw-wee!
MORTIMER:
Good morning, Fecky, how was your gig in Hungerford?
BATTLESTAR:
Mortimer, it was wicked! I was djing to…
HARDY:
Dear bastard diary…
MORTIMER:
I was at a fancy dress party if you must know!
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
(RUBS HEAD) Must we?!
HARDY:
You must. He was monging on about it all last week. In some old folks home or summat.
MORTIMER:
No. In my Aunt Lila's. She must be going bonkers! It was only last week she found out she isn't actually smarter than a 10 year old.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Heh, go on then. What did you dress as, Mort?
HARDY:
Oedipus, most likely.
MORTIMER:
If you must know I went as Sir David Jason as Del Boy as Batman. Uncle Alan thought I was just Batman! Lila's gardener dropped in, horrid little man, fingers filthy from cutting her lawn. I sarcastically asked him what he'd come as with his green fingers. Everyone laughed when he jumped at me and roared "a slightly peeed off Incredible Hulk". I'm sure I've seen the bugger on Crimewatch. Spilled my Shloer all down Lila's blouse.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Did you win best costume then?
MORTIMER:
I believe I was the only imbecile to make an effort. Apart from Lila who I thought went as Dot Cotton. It transpired she was supposed to be a young singer called Amy Winehouse.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Heh.
MORTIMER:
Everyone was drinking bingily, even my brother Clive's six sons. Sitting in the corner drinking cocopops playing detective sergeants or something to do with Nintendo! They didn't even bother, unless they came as vagrants from the Jasmine Allen on "The Bill". The six of them, with their jogging bottoms and t-shirts with random numbers on the front. I asked them "what have you come as, chaps, this week's Lottery numbers?". That's when they hit me. They're expecting another one, the bonus ball, no doubt. Never again I told Lila. Although she probably won't see another year, 95 now. Her sister Maureen lived to 99 however.
BATTLESTAR:
Did she like ice-cream?
HARDY:
Oh God. Top yourself.
BATTLESTAR:
Heh. There'd be hundreds and thousands at the funeral. Popular guy I am . I've now got 624 friends on MySpace. That includes Lily Allen, Fatboy Slim and Doctor Who.
MORTIMER:
She's gone out today and bought a keyring for shopping trolleys with a smiley face on it instead of putting a pound in. It cost one pounds fifty, now where's the sense in that?
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Token Bird 2 been in? She told me to email her when the two millionth post was imminent.
BATTLESTAR:
She doesn't exist. She's one of Hardy's characters, the sad git.
HARDY:
Give over, lad. This is a football forum, not a degree in being a twat.
MORTIMER:
Ooh, Id' love a holiday. A nice little break. Can't go anywhere with mother. Since the accident. We used to love Morecambe Bay. Too many tourists though. Lots of those foreign Chinese. Token Bird 2 would be best to avoid all that Muslim lot where she is, gone bonkers most of them.
HARDY:
She's in Thailand, lad. Not Iraq or Afghanistan. Or Blackburn. (PAUSE) Shithole. She just got the sudden urge to meet some new English people, appaz.
MORTIMER:
My niece Amy is back from holidays, black as the ace of spades! I hope she doesn't use sunbeds but I suspect she might! Uncle Roger's sister-in-law had an awful time having went on a sunbed before her excursion to Torremelinos. She had a big mole on her shoulder but it was huge it was like making a mountain out of a molehill!!! One person in the library thought she had two heads like a Siamese person! We shouldn't have laughed but I'm sure she wouldn't have minded.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
She got a good sense of humour then, Mort?
MORTIMER:
No. Retarded since birth.
A TEENAGER WEARING AN OAKLAND RANGERS BASEBALL CAP OBSCURING THEIR FACE, AND A TRACKSUIT AND EMINEM T-SHIRT SLIDES INTO FORUM AND PLACES STICKER ON TOP STATING "LEE95". LEE JUMPS ONTO A BEANBAG.
LEE95:
Yo yo yo the leemeister's in the house. Why wasn't Minnie Driver in "The Italian Job"?. If every cloud has a silver lining is that what causes airplane turbulence? Why can't insomniacs sleep?
HARDY:
Aye, I can do it with my eyes closed. No more questions, your honour. Is it half bastard term again then?
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Yeah, my lads are in school today, Lee, you bunking off again?
LEE95:
The leemeiser general ain't bunking, gramps, Wrestlemania last night, you plonkstein! DO YOU LIKE WWF? I do!
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
So, did you lot find out Friday if Chesney and Schmeichel off Corrie are the kid and dog from "Woof"?
BATTLESTAR:
Can't we talk about something serious. Does it always have to be about telly, whether there should be beans on a fry-up, and whether Jaffa Cakes are cakes or biscuits?
LEE95:
Here is something serious u r an asshole and a mong and a turtle and a prat and fat and poor and idiotic and a sissy and bold and have smelly trousers and cant swim and eat pickled onions out of the jar and wear old pyjamas and you like wet wet wet and have webbed feet and like cats and drink kaliber and west coast cooler and like dungeons and dragons and collect taxi drivers' business cards and your mother is grotbags and you look like a fat daughter on wife swap and a tattoo across your fingers and thumb says glove and wear a nat west baseball cap five days a week and listen to dire straits on a loop and your ex looks like sonia jacksons after birth and you sleep with a teddy bear with one eye and have holes in your smelly trousers pockets and your best friend is alan titmarsh and there is more sperm on homer simpson on your boxers shorts than in a giant whale and you wink into empty banana skins particularly blackened ones and you are looking forward to new episode of blind date and eating special k and collect cabbage patch kids and paint yur nails with pink highlighter pen and eat black dirt you make by rubbing your fingers and use a pooper scooper to save on toilet roll and a butter dish but apart from that u r not as bad as the say. Serious.
CUT TO
SCENE 10. INT. DINGY FAR EASTERN LOOKING BEDSIT – DAY1 (09:36GMT)
OVERWEIGHT GINGER WELSH MAN PATS YOUNG ASIAN GIRL ON THE BUM AND COUNTS OUT SOME NOTES AND HANDS THEM TO HER. HE HAS AN INANE GRIN AND TEETH LIKE THE GIANT'S CAUSEWAY. HIS FACE IS ONE GIANT FRECKLE WITH VARIOUS INTERUPTIONS.
JOE:
Same time tomorrow, love. And bring that Simply Red cd and I'll sign it for ye.
ASIAN GIRL:
(IN CANTONESE) Ugly, English wanker.
JOE:
Aaw. Now, toddle on, love, I've important international business to attend to on here. (POINTS AT PC).
ASIAN GIRL LEAVES ROOM. JOE OPENS SUITCASE WHICH IS FULL OF ENGLISH FOOD PRODUCTS. REMOVES A POT NOODLE AND SMILES BROADLY.
CUT TO
SCENE 11. INT. FORUM – DAY1 (09:40)
GINGER WELSHMAN ENTERS THE FORUM NAKED BUT FOR A PAIR OF UNION JACK BOXER SHORTS AND PLACES STICKER ON HIS BARE CHEST STATING "T'PAU FAN". HIS BODY SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN TRANSFORMED INTO ONE THAT'S MORE TONED AND LESS PALE. PLACES WORLD'S NUMBER ONE MANCHESTER UNITED FAN MUG ALONG WITH POT NOODLE, CIGARETTES, BEERS, RIZLAS AND MATCHES ON ARM OF A TATTERED OLD ARMCHAIR WHICH HE SITS ON.
T'PAU FAN:
AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGHHHHH! Who's got the coolest job? Evening UK tax payers, any television news? (SINGS) Two millionth post, I'm getting the two millionth post…
HARDY:
Oh, here we go, the full bastard ward are in now. We get the Terracotta Army on loan and they get a freaking sex-offending arsonist.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
No messing today, TF, we'd enough trouble last month with that lad looking for ten year old girls on here.
BATTLESTAR:
You'd a paedophile on here?!? Oh God, this place has gone downhill!
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
No, turned out it was a 9 year old boy. But the trouble I had explaining this place to the PC.
T'PAU FAN:
ROWROWROWYOURBOAT. Ah, the forum, a crate of Tsingstao and a big fat cock joint. You lot are missing out, stuck over there paying gas bills to Gordon Brown.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Cock joint?
T'PAU FAN:
Four skins.
CULCHIE IRISH MAN WITH MUCK-STAINED WRANGLER JEANS AND AN AC/DC T-SHIRT STUMBLES IN. LIKE A PINT OF GUINNESS HE IS STOUT AND UNMISTAKABLY IRISH. HE PLACES A STICKER ON HIS T-SHIRT STATING "ARDEE MAN". SITS ON BAR STOOL AT A TABLE AND LIGHTS A CIGARETTE.
ARDEE MAN:
Well yis shower a hoors, what's the freaking craic?
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Ah, Ardee, how's the form?
ARDEE MAN:
Not three bad, ye cup. Did the woman pop the sprog?
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
She did, yeah, two weeks overdue. Tried all the usuals for bringing on labour. Swimming, eating pineapple, having sex…
HARDY:
Chucked outta Total Fitness, aye?
ARDEE MAN:
Good gasun, fair play to ye. The sister had a sprog lately, Damo. Bring him to mass with me the odd Sunday when I feel like leaving early. She'd an awful time with her back, feel sorry for young ones up the pole so I do. Above in Dublin lately and gave up me seat on the 36A to a pregnant Inca woman. Turnt out to be some hoor be the name a John Rocha.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Thanks Ardee. Good weekend?
ARDEE MAN:
Was above at the Late Late Show Friday night, meself and Snowy went buck mad in the crowd.
HARDY:
What's that then?
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Chat show I think. Is it? Must have been a long night?
ARDEE MAN:
Not at all, sure it starts at half nine.
HARDY:
Hardly The Late Late Show then. At half nine on a Friday night! They should just call it The Show.
ARDEE MAN:
And sure we were freaked out at the first break. Snowy laped up and grabbed Pat Kenny be the tie and shouts "so that's where me tv licence money went!". Hasn't paid the freakin' licence since Biddy left Glenroe. Then he writ off the Jetta on the way home in Dunshaughlin, Quinn Direct hoors won't give him a penny. Reckon he was locked. He was but sure so was the guard.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
I'm lost. As usual. What the hell's Quinn Direct?
HARDY:
Jack Charlton's tactics for Ireland, if I'm not mistaken.
ARDEE MAN:
Car insurance, ye mad hoor. Jaysis, Mossie's here is all done up, it's a poet's corner theme or some shite to it, WB Yeats stuff everywhere.
HARDY:
All Maud Gonne's?
ARDEE MAN:
We'd some day yistra, there was a fair below in Loobeylough to raise funds for the wee McConville lassie to be sent to Lourdes. They raised 5 grand so they did but she'll have to give it back from selling the wheelchair if Lourdes make her walk agin. It was great aul craic so it was. Meself and Snowy were coming from it down Tullycahan hill and it foggy as freak. Now the bridge down there is meant to be haunted be the ghost a Saint Mochta and we'd a fair few scoops on us at this stage a proceedings. We were stumbling along when we heard a lock a "Whooo Hooos". I swear to freak yon Snowy hoor near shat himself, I could smell the ten cans a Harp and the Malaria Wagon's curry chip and batter burger from his Wranglers. We hid in the ditch cos Snowy said ghosts don't like ditches and held the aul breath. And who went past only Tommy Halpin, that had his Raleigh Banana cut in half before, and a wireless in his basket playing a song be the Darkness. We stopped the hoor and I sat on the carrier and Snowy lept on the bar. The miserable aul hoor freaked us off at Nan McNulty's cos Snowy's shite was clogging up the chain. Some session on the spoons then in Byrne's. Well, until that Uri Gellar bollox came on the telly. Any craic yisser selves?
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Can't beat that. Good weekend then, Ardee?
ARDEE MAN:
Quiet as freak, sure I'm off the gin.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Heh,do Ryanair go to Ardee?
LEE95:
I heard they're going to Mars! I don't think I'd like it on holiday there two weeks with no arcades or football and no postcards or wii or football forum but no parents or sister I might go to mars how do you get there actually dudes
HARDY:
Aye, and you'd have to get a shuttle bus from the bastard moon, knowing that lot.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
And they'd still charge you for excess luggage even though everything's meant to be weightless.
ARDEE MAN:
I won't fly with the hoors agin since they took me penknife off me. We were heading over to Liverpool for wee Damo's christening and I wanted to get the Seacat. The sister said the only ferry she'd roll on and off is yon hoor from Roxy Music. A hoor of a time at check-in. "Did ye pack dem bags yerself?" me bollox. Two hours of interrogation and I finally admitted mammy packed them for me.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Heh. Ace.
HARDY:
Very good.
BATTLESTAR:
As if. This is one of your characters, isn't it Hardy Boy?
HARDY:
Die.
LEE95:
speaking of flights dudes how do horses get to races in America and mad places do they show their passport at the Mare Lingus check in and get first class seats so they can stretch their legs.
HARDY:
Aye. And the jockeys in the overheard compartments.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Put my first bet on in years on Saturday, actually. Tip I got for 3:15 at Chepstow, Big Baldy Bastard it were called. Went up to counter and said a fiver on Big Baldy Bastard, please. She says "Do you want that to win?". Well, preferably. I dunno sometimes, I really don't.
BATTLESTAR:
She meant…
HARDY:
Oh, flamin' Nora, take a can of shut up juice, lad. You not off down the boozah with the lads yet? What time is it now, I've work to do?
ARDEE MAN:
Some spot, Liverpool. Had christening in some Indian called the Shangri-La…
HARDY:
Shangri-La! In Liverpool! Should have just called it Shangri. Scouse bastards.
ARDEE MAN:
…sunk more Cobras than St. Paddy. Was like the time we sent the mammy to the Chelsea Flower Show and her kilt with the hay fever. It was bound ta end in tears. Snowy started ripping the piss outta the owner Josh Rogan, the menu said "Reading Glasses Available" but sure how would you know if you needed them? After the starters, Chicken Shat, Snowy's two brudders had the white shirts open and the glasses steaming and the sweat pissing off dem, they were like dem Proclaimers hoors after walking their 500 miles.
HARDY:
I need a smoke. Bastard boss looking for an ad that I already emailed him. Probly shun't have titled it "Sexy Nylon lesbian Viagra Diplomas remedies", s'pose. Ah well, I'll toddle on then. Don't get the two millionth without me, mind.
HARDY LEAVES THE FORUM.
ARDEE MAN:
Still off them meself. 33 days now. I don't have the time ta smoke no more.
ARDEE MAN LIGHTS ANOTHER CIGARETTE
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Me too. Well, when I'm not drinking. On my fourth can, mind. (BRANDISHES CAN OF STELLA AND LIGHTS A CIGARETTE).
BATTLESTAR:
I've never been addicted to anything, me. Can't understand it.
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Hmmm. Time for a caption competition, yes?
MORTIMER:
Oh do hold on, Mister General. I think I hear my door bell. Back in a jiffy, it's probably not really for me!
HARDY RE-ENTERS FORUM
HARDY:
Like a hard day's work, sexual relationships, physical exercise…
MIDFIELD GENERAL:
Bit harsh that, Hardy.
HARDY:
Harsh! He's sat on here day in, day out sitting on his fat posterior unless his bastard mother summons him. Needs to get out of that bastard house and do an honest day's work.
T'PAU FAN:
(WAKES OUT OF SLUMBER AND STARTS DAYDREAMING TO HIMSELF) I think I love her. Mary. Not like fat UK slags like Caz and Shannon. I love her.
CUT TO
SCENE 12. INT. MORTIMER'S LIVING ROOM – DAY1
MORTIMER PUTS SOUND DOWN ON TV IN THE CORNER OF HIS LIVING-ROOM.
MORTIMER:
(SHOUTS CAUTIOUSLY) Who is it?
MORTIMER PEERS OUT NET CURTAINS. DOORBELL RINGS AGAIN LONGER AND LOUDER.
MORTIMER:
(LOOKING UP STAIRS) I'll get it. (SHOUTS AT FRONT DOOR) Come in!
MAN IN UNIFORM ENTERS HOUSE.
MORTIMER:
Good morning, can I help you? I'm sorry I thought it was Pat Butcher's doorbell on the television! They sound the same. Missed Uncle Roger calling with a shotgun wound to the pelvis during the Omnibus one Sunday. Anyway…Sorry, do I know you? (PAUSE) Lila's fancy dress! You came as a…
BAILIFF:
Bailiff. No.
MORTIMER:
Bay lift?
BAILIFF:
Bailiff.
MORTIMER:
Bay leaf? Sorry, are you ok?
BAILIFF:
FACKIN' BAILIFF. You know me from calling here last week. I saw you peeking out the window. You owe your broadband provider five hundred and sixty three pand and thirty three pence. You would have got a warning in the post.
MORTIMER:
Oh, it would have been in my mum's name. But since the accident two months hence I…
BAILIFF:
Listen, I don't want your excuses. I've heard them all. "Identity theft", "never got the bill", "I'm Michael Barrymore". If you don't pay your bill by tomorrow I'll be back with a summons to seize some property. And your internet access will be cut off.
BAILIFF'S MOBILE PHONE RINGS, RINGTONE IS "WALKING ON SUNSHINE" BY KATRINA & THE WAVES.
BAILIFF:
(PUTS PHONE TO EAR) Hello?!? Noel? Sorry, I forgot to ring you. Listen, mate, I'm just with a collection, can you be quick? (PAUSE). What's she got left then? Right, give her eleven grand, she should be happy enough with that. Right, bye.
HANGS UP PHONE AND TURNS BACK TO MORTIMER
BAILIFF:
(TO PHONE) Knob.
(TO MORTIMER) Sorry, got a little nixer as the Banker on "Deal or No Deal". Where was I, yeah your internet days are over mate. The end is nigh.
MORTIMER:
You can't do that. I need that. You can't…
BAILIFF:
See you tomorrow.
CUT TO
