An abandoned project. Probably too much toilet humour. All thoughts appreciated.
SCENE 1. INT. MEN'S CUBICLES. DAY 1 [MORNING]
BELEAGURED POTTS IS STANDING IN A FILTHY CUBICLE, HE IS SCRUBBING A DISGUSTING LAVATORY WITH A TOILET-BRUSH AND EATING A McCHEESE BURGER WITH HIS OTHER HAND. POTTS FACE CONTORTS IN DISGUST AS HE SCRUBS AT TOILET, HE LOOKS AT McCHEESE BURGER.
POTTS:
I don't care what anyone says - I'm not loving that.
THROWS McCHEESE BURGER INTO TOILET, FLUSHES AND BEGINS TO SCRUB ENTHUSIASTICALLY. NO LONGER CONTORTING FACE BUT WHISTLING 'WHISTLE WHILE YOU WORK.' WIPES STRAY FLECK FROM HIS GLASSES, CONTINUES WHISTLING AND SCRUBBING.
SUFFLING (O.O.V):
Potts, Potts are you in there? Potts get out here.
POTTS TURNS TO THE DIRECTION OF SUFFLING'S VOICE AS IF HE HAS A FLY BUZZING IN HIS EAR.
POTTS:
Yeah yeah just coming.
EXIT POTTS.
CUT TO:
SCENE 2. INT. THE LAVATORY ATTENDANTS KIOSK . DAY 1 [08.25].
SUFFLING SLOUCHES AGAINST THE DOOR WITH HIS HANDS IN HIS POCKETS, WHISTLING TUNELESSLY. TAYLOR APPEARS A LITTLE AWKWARD AND IS ALSO STANDING BY THE DOOR. ENTER POTTS AND THEY MOVE OUT OF HIS WAY.
SUFFLING:
Potts we were just discussing you.
BEAT.
POTTS:
Nothing flattering I expect.
POTTS WEARILY ACKNOWLEDGES TAYLOR WITH A NOD.
SUFFLING:
This is Taylor, he's come to help you out, we haven't found a uniform in his size so he's attending in his civvies for now.
POTTS:
Well I can't say I don't need the help, I've managed on my own for such a long time I...
SUFFLING:
Ah take off the thorny crown eh Potts? It's only a bit of shit to wipe up now and again no one's asked you to drag a cross up a hill.
POTTS:
Oh so you're mocking me now.
SUFFLING:
You know I would never mock you Potts, what's there to mock? I'm just saying, it's not such a hard job that's all.
POTTS:
Well someone's got to put in the extra hours otherwise nothing would get done round here.
SUFFLING:
Has anyone ever asked you to work extra hours Potts? Ever?
SUFFLING ADOPTS CROSS POSITION.
I cleaned those bogs for them father, forgive the ungrateful bastards.
THERE IS A KNOCK ON THE GLASS. POTTS TURNS.
CUT TO:
SCENE 3. EXT. OUTSIDE THE ATTENDANTS KIOSK. DAY 1 [08:27].
GREASY TABLOID TYPE JOURNALIST CLEARLY NEEDS TO URINATE. THROUGH GLASS SCREEN POTTS TAPS HIS WATCH AND POINTS THREE TIMES, LIKE HE'S COUNTING A SONG IN, TO A SIGN THAT READS '08:30 to 16:30 Mon to Fri.'
JOURNALIST FORMS A PRAYING GESTURE AND MOUTHS THE WORD 'PLEASE.' POTTS TAPS HIS WATCH ONE MORE TIME, TURNS BACK ON HIM AND SMUGLY FOLDS ARMS.
BEAT
JOURNALIST PISSES HIMSELF AND WALKS AWAY, HE APPEARS MALICIOUS AND VENGEFULL.
CUT TO:
SCENE 4. INT. THE ATTENDANTS KIOSK. DAY 1 [08:30]
POTTS TURNS TO FACE SUFFLING AND TAYLOR.
SUFFLING:
You could've let the fellar take a piss.
POTTS:
Yes I could've done, but that would be breaking the rules, I may be many things Suffling but a rule breaker, I am not.
SUFFLING:
Yeah, I would say as far as that chap's concerned one of the many things you are is an awkward turd. Ok I'm off, is there anything else?
POTTS:
We're down on blue cubes; plenty yellow, but no bluesys.
SUFFLING:
But I only brought you a box of blues last week.
POTTS:
And I'm telling you, we're out.
SUFFLING:
Bloody hell, Potts! What are you doing with them? Building a house to keep out the big bad wolf?
POTTS:
Hardly.
SUFFLING:
Try straw or sticks, (CLICKS FINGERS) better still bricks. Ok, Ok, blue cubes, anything else? No? Good. And remember, Potts, that journalist from the Bunting Advertiser's coming today about the closure?
POTTS:
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
EXIT SUFFLING.
TAYLOR:
I must say you handled him well. You stand up for yourself, I admire you for that.
TAYLOR SITS DOWN.
POTTS:
You think so fellar?
TAYLOR
I think you do right mate. He's tight with his blue cubes as well, eh? Tell me, though, how does a man like Suffling make it to senior?
POTTS
You mean you can't tell?
TAYLOR SHRUGS.
Arse licking the management fellar. Look, who's this?
POTTS ADOPTS POOR WELSH ACCENT, BENDS OVER AND BEGINS RUBBING HANDS DEFERENTIALLY.
(LICK) Oh dear, sir, you haven't (LICK) wiped properly, sir, (LICK) but don't you worry, sir, your (LICK) dangleberries have an almost nutty tinge and your winnits are like the (SMACKS LIPS AND LOOKS UP TO HEAVEN) juiciest sultanas known to mankind.
TAYLOR
(SHRUGS) Michael Parkinson interviewing Robbie Williams?
SUFFLING:
Why it was him - Suffling of course. The accent? The Welsh accent?
TAYLOR:
Oh of course. Hey, Potts, what was all that about the Bunting Advertiser coming around?
POTTS SHRUGS.
Suffling said before, "Don't forget about the journalist coming around from the Bunting Advertiser."
POTTS:
Oh that, that's nothing. The council keep on that they're going to shut us down, they've been saying it for years.
TAYLOR:
And what's that got to do with the Bunting Advertiser?
POTTS:
Don't you keep up with current affairs, fellar? The advertiser's been running a save Barnfather Street Lavatories Campaign.
TAYLOR:
Oh right.
POTTS:
We've even had celebrities round, lending their names to the cause.
TAYLOR:
What, real celebrities? Not just the likes of Dean Gaffney.
POTTS:
No, funnily enough we aint had that Gaffney round. Marti Pellow out of Wet Wet Wet, you heard of him? He's been.
TAYLOR:
Heard of him? Marti Pellow? He only got barred from my local.
POTTS:
You're shitting me.
TAYLOR:
No, he kept sticking Sweet Little Mystery on the juke box, and then right, he'd get up and stagger around on top of the tables, knocking drinks over and that.
POTTS:
No.
TAYLOR:
Every lunch time.
POTTS:
He doesn't seem the sort.
TAYLOR:
I shit you not. But listen, Potts, aren't you worried about them shutting us down?
POTTS:
Nah.
TAYLOR:
The Bunting Advertiser and Marti Pellow don't have that much influence in matters of local government.
POTTS:
Listen fellar, these bogs are as old as the town of Bunting itself, they'll never close us down.
TAYLOR:
Fair enough. Look I, err, need to go pee, you wouldn't excuse me.
POTTS:
On the house, fellar, and I'll do us a brew while you're at it.
CUT TO:
SCENE 5. INT. THE URINALS. DAY 1 [09.00]
WEARING A BLUE-TOOTH HEADSET AS ALWAYS, THE WELL FED, SUITED MR SILT IS TAKING A PISS AT URINALS. TAYLOR ENTERS AND STANDS AT THE URINAL NEXT TO HIM. MR SILT FARTS ABRUPTLY.
TAYLOR:
Do you mind?
MR SILT:
Excuse me?
TAYLOR:
Have you no manners? Oh, that really (GAGS) smells as well.
TAYLOR SHAKES HEAD DISSAPROVINGLY AND PULLS T.SHIRT COLLAR OVER HIS NOSE.
Disgusting.
MR SILT:
ZIPPING HIMSELF UP.
It may have escaped your attention friend but this is a lavatory.
TAYLOR:
Disgusting.
EXIT MR SILT.
TAYLOR SHAKES THEN ZIPS HIMSELF UP. HE TAKES A FOLDED PICTURE OF A 1980's CATALOGUE MODEL POSING IN BRA AND KNICKERS FROM HIS BACK POCKET. HE CAREFULLY
UNFOLDS IT AND GOES INTO CUBICLE, CLOSING DOOR BEHIND HIMSELF.
JOURNALIST COMES IN, GOES TO SINK AND GRABS PAPER TOWELS; HE STARTS CLEANING HIMSELF UP.
WIZZENED OLD MAN ENTERS THE CUBICLE NEXT TO TAYLOR. HE IS FOLLOWED BY HANDSOME YOUNG MAN AND THE DOOR SHUTS.
PAN TO CONVINCING FEMALE IMPERSONATOR. S/HE GOES TO URINAL, HITCHES UP MINI SKIRT, SCRATCHES HAIRY ARSE, TAKES A PISS AND LEAVES.
WIZZENED OLD MAN COMES OUT ZIPPING UP HIS FLIES. HE IS CLOSELY FOLLOWED BY HANDSOME YOUNG MAN WHO IS WIPING HIS MOUTH. HANDSOME YOUNG MAN TAKES OUT WALLET AND HANDS WIZZENED OLD MAN SOME CASH. WIZZENED OLD MAN HOLDS BANK NOTE UPTO LIGHT. THEY BOTH LEAVE.
TAYLOR EMERGES FROM THE CUBICLE HE IS FASTENING HIS BELT. HE SNIFFS HIS FINGERS, REMOVES THEM QUICKLY AND GRIMACES.
EXIT TAYLOR.
ALL WITNESSED BY JOURNALIST WHO TAKES OUT HIS PAD AND BEGINS WRITING FURIOUSLY.
CUT TO:
SCENE 6 INT. THE LAVATORY ATTENDANTS KIOSK . DAY 1 [09.40].
POTTS IS SITTING READING THE 'BUNTING ADVERTISER.' TAYLOR RETURNS, SITS DOWN NEXT TO HIM, PICKS UP HIS CUP OF TEA AND SIPS.
POTTS:
Would you credit it?
READS FROM NEWSPAPER
Woman with latex allergy, husband attempted murder with rubber glove.
TAYLOR:
(SHAKES HEAD) Where did it all go wrong eh? These desperate, desperate people.
POTTS:
Tell me about it, fellar. Hey, listen, when you were in there did you happen to notice anything - unusual?
TAYLOR:
Such as?
POTTS:
Well I know this sounds like a funny question, but did you notice any white pooh?
TAYLOR:
(LAUGHS) White? That's what dogs do isn't it? White dog shit eh. No, there was none as far as I could see anyway.
POTTS:
I'm being serious…
TAYLOR
You've got me all nostalgic now, takes me back to when I was a boy.
THERE IS A TAP ON THE WINDOW.
CUT TO.
SCENE 7. EXT. OUTSIDE THE TOILET ATTENDANTS KIOSK [09:43].
DISSHEVELLED, ELDERLY McDUFF IS AT TURNSTYLE, HE IS CARRYING A BROWN PAPER BAG.
McDUFF:
Look, pal, can I go in for free? I've not a brass farthing and I've a turtle-head as big as your clenched fist.
TAYLOR:
(THROUGH WINDOW) Sorry mate, rules is ru…
McDUFF:
Its five miles to home and I've to walk man; I've no money for the bus.
TAYLOR:
(THROUGH WINDOW) In you go old man.
TAYLOR RELEASES TURN STYLE AND McDUFF HOBBLES THROUGH.
McDUFF:
God bless you, son.
CUT TO:
SCENE 8. INT. THE ATTENDANTS KIOSK [09:45].
TAYLOR REMAINS SEATED AT THE DESK. POTTS STANDS UP.
POTTS:
I can't believe you fell for that, fellar, and here's me thinking you were a man of the world.
TAYLOR:
Fell for what exactly?
POTTS:
That's Mr. McDuff. He owns the cash-converters franchise over on Beasley Street.
TAYLOR:
No way.
POTTS:
I'm telling you, chum.
TAYLOR:
Cash Con…Never mind that, what about this white dog shit malarkey?
POTTS:
Oh yeah, every now and then when I go into the gents I find little pellets of white shit floating in cubicle three, always cubicle three.
TAYLOR:
How strange.
POTTS:
Well not really, my theory is that some one is emptying their poop scoop bag in there.
TAYLOR:
An interesting theory Potts, but there's a flaw in it.
POTTS:
Go on.
TAYLOR:
The reason some dog shit is white, or rather used to be white, was because of the high bone content in dog food…
POTTS:
Hmmmm.
TAYLOR:
…which under current European rulings is no longer allowed.
POTTS:
So you're saying those whiteys aren't canine in origin?
TAYLOR:
Those aren't dog turds my friend.
POTTS:
Oh well, I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it one day.
TAYLOR:
See you in a minute, mate, I might even do us another brew.
POTTS:
Yo ho ho.
EXIT POTTS.
TAYLOR PICKS UP THE BUNTING ADVERTISER AND FLICKS IT OPEN. HEADLINE: 'CLIFF'S PC CONFISCATED BY POLICE.' HE BEGINS TO READ. TELEPHONE RINGS. TAYLOR REACHES OUT AND PICKS IT UP, STILL READING PAPER.
TAYLOR:
(INTO TELEPHONE) Hello….Why, what a coincidence, I was just about to start ringing around to price up some double glazing…and you're the cheapest? Fantastic. Yeah, I'm after five windows and a
TAYLOR (CONT')
patio…You can? Great, I'll just get my credit card …Could you hold a second? Thanks.
TAYLOR GENTLY PLACES THE RECIEVER ON THE DESK AND CONTINUES READING THE NEWSPAPER.
THERE IS A KNOCK AT THE GLASS, TAYLOR LOOKS UP FROM NEWSPAPER BUT THERE IS NO ONE THERE. HE RETURNS TO HIS READING.
THERE IS ANOTHER KNOCK AT THE GLASS, AGAIN, TAYLOR LOOKS OVER AND THERE IS NO ONE THERE. HE DISMISSES THE EXPERIENCE AND GOES BACK TO READING HIS PAPER.
CUT TO:
SCENE. 9 EXT. OUTSIDE THE ATTENDANTS KIOSK. DAY 1 [10:00]
TAYLOR CAN BE SEEN THROUGH WINDOW READING NEWSPAPER.
ANGRY MIDGET FEN GRUNTY WALKS AWAY DISGRUNTLED, HE WEARS A LARGE WET PATCH ON CROTCH
CUT TO:
SCENE 8 INT. THE ATTENDANTS KIOSK. DAY 2 (10:15)
TAYLOR IS STILL READING THE NEWSPAPER.
ENTER MR SILT.
TELEPHONE BEGINS 'THE OTHER PERSON HAS CLEARED PLEASE REPLACE THE HANDSET.'
MR SILT REPLACES THE HANDSET.
MR SILT:
You?
TAYLOR:
Yes very profound.
MR SILT:
Look, who are you? What are you doing here?
TAYLOR:
I might ask you the same question.
TAYLOR PUTS DOWN NEWSPAPER.
MR SILT:
Fredrick Silt, assistant director of Equity, Diversity and Modernisational Change - Bunting Council. And you?
TAYLOR:
Taylor, bog attendant. How do you do?
MR SILT:
I'm not altogether sure I like your attitude. Do you generally speak to clients the way you spoke to me in there?
TAYLOR:
Do you generally drop your guts in the company of strangers?
MR SILT:
Look, I don't think you realise quite what an important person I am. Is Potts or Suffling about? This is very serious.
TAYLOR:
And I don't think you understand that when we experience the fetid stench of someone letting off…
MR SILT:
I…
TAYLOR:
…we are actually, inhaling into our lungs, microscopic pieces of their shit.
MR SILT:
That's nonsense - an urban myth, any such residue would be trapped by my pants.
TAYLOR:
Mic-ro-scop-ic, the residue goes through your pants.
TAYLOR MAKES SWIMMING GESTURE WITH FINGURES.
MR SILT:
Look, I don't have time for this nonsense. You do understand that this lavatory is facing closure, don't you? In fact, your attitude towards me has pretty much determined that.
TAYLOR SHRUGS.
When you see Suffling tell him to phone me. Right away.
EXIT MR SILT.
TAYLOR PICKS UP NEWSPAPER AND RECOMMENCES HIS READING.
CUT TO:
SCENE 9. INT. THE SINKS . DAY 1 [10.35]
POTTS WHISTLES TO HIMSELF, HE IS SYSTEMATICALLY SPRAYING AND WIPING EACH SINK.
THE JARVIS COCKERESQUE TRACY SPAM EMERGES FROM CUBICLE.
POTTS:
Who the hell are you? Ladies is next door missus.
TRACY SPAM:
I'm an artist. Who the frig are you?
POTTS:
That's not very ladylike. Here, now I hope you haven't been flushing stuff you ought not to down those lavatories.
POTTS MIMES AS IF TURNING ON A STANDARD LAMP AND SIMULTANEOUSLY MAKES POPPING NOISE WITH LIPS.
Hmmm?
TRACY SPAM:
What the hell is it to you?
POTTS:
Because I have to fish them out that's what the hell it is to me.
TRACY SPAM:
But - isn't that your job?
POTTS:
Through stools and allsorts. Horrible it is, horrible.
TRACY SPAM:
We all have choices to make.
POTTS:
And what's your choice then?
TRACY SPAM:
Well obviously I'm an artist, you undignified twerp, isn't that apparent?
POTTS:
Now just you mind, that's no talk for a lady.
TRACY SPAM:
I apologise, I'm a bit squiffy. Two litres of White Lighting strikes in the same place time after time. What's your name, friend?
POTTS:
They call me Potts.
TRACY SPAM:
Nice to meet you, Potts. I think maybe there's a good man in that brown uniform.
POTTS:
You think so?
TRACY SPAM:
You have kind eyes. You're not a twerp, you're a good man, a decent man. Hey, maybe I'll paint you one day.
POTTS:
Look, thanks for the compliment, but I can't condone ladies loitering in the gents. It's just not - right.
TRACY SPAM:
Chill, I'm going. See you soon, Potts.
POTTS:
Yeah, yeah, see you soon.
TRACY SPAM:
By the way, there's white dog shit all over the rim of that bog.
TRACY SPAM POINTS TO CUBICAL 3
EXIT TRACY SPAM.
POTTS RUBS CHIN THOUGHTFULLY, THEN RECOMMENCES CLEANING SINKS. HE STOPS WHEN HE REACHES FINAL SINK.
POTTS FROWNS EXASPERATEDLY.
POTTS:
For crying out loud.
CUT TO:
SCENE 5. INT. THE TOILET ATTENDANTS KIOSK. DAY 1 [10:00].
TAYLOR IS STILL READING THE NEWS PAPER. ENTER POTTS HOLDING A BUNDLE OF TOILET ROLL. HE HOLDS PAPER UNDER TAYLOR'S NOSE.
POTTS:
Look at what some dirty bleeder's done in the sink! I don't care what anyone says, that's badness and nothing else.
TAYLOR RECOILS ALMOST FALLING FROM HIS CHAIR AND STANDS UP.
TAYLOR:
For Christ's sake, man, what's wrong with you? It's a lump of f**king shit.
POTTS:
Hey now, fellar, you can't be too precious in this game. Who do you think you are? The Queen? You'll see worse than that believe you me.
POTTS DISPOSES OF TISSUE BUNDLE AND WIPES HIS HANDS DOWN HIS FRONT. TAYLOR RETURNS TO HIS SEAT.
ENTER FLUSTERED SUFFLING.
SUFFLING:
What've you been saying to Silt? He's up the bloody pole.
TAYLOR:
I said nothing to him, the man's an ill mannered turd.
POTTS:
Silt?
SUFFLING:
Silt has just called me on my mobile, he reckons he's closing us down.
POTTS:
He's always saying that he won't close us down, the council won't allow it.
SUFFLING:
You didn't hear him - he was furious, livid he was.
POTTS:
What of it?
SUFFLING:
He also wanted to know why Taylor's not in uniform, and what's going on with the blue cubes. Reckons there could be an investigation.
POTTS:
Investigation?
SUFFLING:
He says the latest research shows that the average urinal cube should last three to four working weeks.
POTTS:
So what?
SUFFLING:
The cubes in these bogs aren't even lasting three to four working days, he thinks someone's nicking them.
TAYLOR:
Nicking urinal cubes? Who would nick urinal cubes?
SUFFLING:
Can't we check the CCTV?
POTTS:
It doesn't point at the urinals anymore, not since little Lenny Davro got caught wanking over it.
TAYLOR:
Hold on - you have CCTV? And Lenny who? Did what?
POTTS
Look, fellar, it only points at the door, in case there's a mugging or something.
ENTER JOURNALIST.
JOURNALIST:
Hi I'm from the Bunting Advertiser, come about the closure. (TO POTTS) Do I know you?
POTTS:
Don't think so, I never forget a face.
JOURNALIST:
Never mind, we're doing a human interest story, 'save bunting lavatories', yeah?
SUFFLING:
You better believe it.
JOURNALIST:
I just need to ask a few questions. Maybe get a couple of pictures. Ok, if I can just ask how long have you all worked here?
JOURNALIST BEGINS WRITING. TAYLOR EYES HIM SUSPICIOUSLY.
CUT TO:
SCENE 6. INT. THE ATTENDANTS KIOSK. DAY 2 [07:59].
THE CLOCK STRIKES EIGHT. ENTER POTTS, HE TAKES OFF A TIRED ANORAK AND HANGS IT UP. HE PLACES HIS LUNCH BOX IN SMALL FRIDGE AND PICKS UP A CLIP BOARD, SITS DOWN AND STARTS WRITING ON IT. ENTER TAYLOR EXCITEDLY, HE IS HOLDING BUNTING ADVERTISER.
TAYLOR:
I've got it.
POTTS:
Are we in fellar?
TAYLOR:
I haven't had a chance to look through yet. We're not on the front page (READS) John Leslie expelled from celebrity love island, bloody hell.
POTTS:
Never mind that, give it here.
SNATCHES NEWSPAPER AND BEGINS LEAFING THROUGH, STOPS ABRUPTLY.
(READS) The outhouse of ill repute. Eh?
TAYLOR:
What? (READING ALOUD) Council chiefs are planning to close down one of the biggest blights on Bunting High Street, Barnfather Road Public Lavatories.
POTTS:
Eh?
TAYLOR:
(CONTINUES READING) Even George Michael would find it hard to cottage in these seedy bogs without a nose peg…
POTTS:
But…
TAYLOR:
…in fact, the only customers using this convenience are the local stray dog population, evident by the white turds everywhere…
POTTS:
…they've even got a picture of that lump of shit in the sink how did they get that?
TAYLOR:
It was him.
TAYLOR FOLDS UP NEWSPAPER.
POTTS:
Who?
TAYLOR:
That hack, he was the one you wouldn't let take a piss yesterday morning. How do you work this?
TAYLOR PICKS UP REMOTE CONTROL AND SWITCHES ON CCTV MONITOR.
CUT TO:
SCENE 7. INT BLACK & WHITE MONITOR DAY 1 [9:05].
PICTURE REWINDS TO SHOW ONE MAN BAND WALKS BACKWARDS, BANGING DRUM OUT OF VIEW. KEEPS GOING TO END OF SCENE 5 (WHERE TAYLOR SNIFFS FINGERS AND EXITS).
TAYLOR:
(VO) There - that's him.
JOURNALIST IS WRITING ON PAD, HE PUTS IT DOWN AND CLIMBS ONTO SINK. HE IS SQUATTING, GURNING AND MOPPING HIS BROW WITH A LARGE HANKERCHIEF. HE CLIMBS DOWN, LOOKS IN SINK, SNIGGERS AND THEN TAKES A PHOTO WITH A BIG FLASH.
CUT TO:
SCENE 8. INT. THE ATTENDANTS KIOSK DAY 2 (08:30)
ENTER SUFFLING. TAYLOR POINTS REMOTE AT CCTV MONITOR AND SWITCHES IT OFF.
SUFFLING:
You're finished.
POTTS:
What do you mean?
SUFFLING:
I take it you've seen this morning's paper? Well so have the council and they're shutting us down at the end of the week.
TAYLOR:
Shutting us down?
SUFFLING:
It's given Silt the excuse he's been looking for.
POTTS:
I need to sit down.
POTTS SITS DOWN.
What's going to happen to us?
SUFFLING
You're to be re-deployed. And Taylor, well, mate, you've only been here a couple of days, so…
TAYLOR SHRUGS INDIFFERENTLY.
POTTS:
Redeployed where exactly?
SUFFLING:
Sewage works probably.
POTTS:
Mercy.
TAYLOR:
Is there nothing we can do? Hey (CLICKS FINGERS) maybe we could get Marti Pellow round? Maybe we could get him to, I don't know, do a (CLICKS FINGERS A COUPLE OF TIMES) dirty protest?
POTTS:
It'd be no use, even if Marti would do a dirty protest, we'd need the backing of the local press.
SUFFLING:
And I've used all my influence with the council.
POTTS:
What influence? You haven't got any influence.
SUFFLING:
There must be something we can do to keep these bogs open.
ALL THREE PAUSE FOR THOUGHT.
TAYLOR:
Aren't we in a union?
SUFFLING:
We are but Silt is the area rep.
TAYLOR:
Great.
POTTS:
Strike, we'll go on strike.
SUFFLING:
You can't go on strike.
POTTS:
We can and we will, we'll hold a protest outside barring all entry.
SUFFLING:
Have you lost the plot?
POTTS:
Who needs the Bunting bloody Advertiser? I'll contact a quality newspaper - the Daily Mail.
SUFFLING:
This is a bad idea, Potts.
POTTS:
Are you with me, Taylor?
TAYLOR HAS OPENED POTTS' LUNCH BOX AND HAS A MOUTH FULL OF SANDWICH.
Oi, that's my bloody snap!
TAYLOR RAISES A CLENCHED FIST.
TAYLOR:
(SPLUTTERS) Viva revolution.
CUT TO:
SCENE 9. EXT. OUTSIDE THE ATTENDANTS KIOSK. DAY 2 [13:00]
POTTS IS HOLDING A PROTEST BOARD THAT READS 'SAVE OUR BOGS SAVE OUR JOBS.' TAYLOR IS SITTING ON AN UPTURNED CRATE READING THE BUNTING ADVERTISER. HEADLINE: 'LESLEY GRANTHAM IN MASTURBATION SCANDAL.' SUFFLING IS SMOKING A CIGARETTE.
SUFFLING:
Striking never got anyone anywhere, look at Scargill and the miners.
POTTS:
Look at seventy nine the winter of discontent…
TAYLOR:
…made glorious summer by this son of York.
POTTS AND SUFFLING LOOK AT TAYLOR AS IF HE IS MAD.
POTTS:
What are you twittering on about?
TAYLOR:
Nothing. (CONTINUES READING).
SUFFLING:
You're only making things bad for yourself. Go to the sewage works, it's not so awful. There are worse places.
POTTS:
Worse places? They say you lose your sense of smell after two days - great big cast iron vats full to the brim of raw sewage, urggghh.
SUFFLING:
It'd be no different from making turkey dinosaurs at the Bernard Mathews factory; you did that before, didn't you? You always said you enjoyed that.
POTTS:
And I've put that sort of work behind me.
SUFFLING:
Look, no good ever came from striking.
TAYLOR:
Yeah, Suffling, you've got to keep the man happy. Best not upset the man.
POTTS:
That's the trouble, folk like you have sold out, arse licked away all the terms and conditions of working people.
TAYLOR:
Well said Potts.
SUFFLING:
I've had enough of this, I'm off.
EXIT SUFFLING.
TAYLOR:
So, Potts, when is the daily Mail arriving?
POTTS:
They're not. I phoned them this morning, they reckon they're not interested.
TAYLOR:
Bloody hell, Potts! Why are we sitting out here in the freezing cold then?
POTTS:
We're making a stand.
TAYLOR:
Look, I'm sorry, mate, but jobs like this are ten a penny - and so are flippetyflops to do them.
POTTS:
But it's the principle. People like Silt think they can do what they like.
TAYLOR:
People like Silt can do what they like.
POTTS:
So we make a stand.
TAYLOR:
I'm sorry, mate, it's too cold to make a stand.
DISSOLVE TO:
SCENE 10. INT. THE ATTENDANTS KIOSK. DAY 2 [15:00].
EVERYTHING IS PACKED UP. TAYLOR AND POTTS ARE SEATED.
POTTS:
Twenty years I've been attending at these bogs, twenty long years and here I am - redeployed to the bloody sewage works.
TAYLOR:
And we never did get to the bottom of the white dog shit mystery either, did we? Shame that.
POTTS:
You were right, by the way, about the bone, I looked it up on that world wide teletext down the library.
TAYLOR:
I'm generally right about most things, Potts.
POTTS:
Funny that, isn't it, white shit? It's a shame there was none to show you.
TAYLOR:
Gutted mate, gutted.
ENTER AN EXCITED SUFFLING.
SUFFLING:
Quick turn the telly on.
POTTS:
What are you on about?
SUFFLING:
The telly, man, the telly. Turn it on!
TAYLOR SWITCHES ON CCTV MONITOR SUFFLING BENDS OVER IT AND BEGINS TURNING THE KNOB AS IF TUNING IT IN, HE STANDS BACK.
POTTS:
Hold on, I know her…
TRACY SPAM CAN BE SEEN ON MONITOR SCREEN BEING INTERVIEWED BY REPORTER.
CUT TO:
SCENE 11. INT. THE ART GALLERY (PRE-RECORDED NEWS ITEM).
TRACY SPAM STANDS WITH REPORTER IN MODERN ART GALLERY.
REPORTER:
…this most prestigious award for modern art, the Turner Prize has never shied away from controversy, and this year's winner is no exception. Blue by Tracy Spam is to the untrained eye a pile of used urinal cubes. Indeed, to the traditionalists this piece is a flush away from apoplexy - is it art though? Tracy?
TRACY SPAM:
What is art? A metaphor of experience, be it visual or lyrical.
REPORTER:
Right…
TRACY SPAM:
As is this metaphor, based on a defining moment in my life. You wouldn't understand if you've never been fingered by a boy.
REPORTER:
Err, sorry, you've lost me.
TRACY SPAM:
A gentle caress round the back of a public loo by a ginger haired lad called Dobby Nitts. It was Barnfather Street Lavatories in my home town of Bunting 1988.
REPORTER:
Err…
TRACY SPAM:
…he stood round the front as I got myself together and when I came out he was with his brother, Noddy Nitts, who'd been waiting…
REPORTER:
Ok…
TRACY SPAM:
Dobby pointed his finger under Noddy's nose….
REPORTER:
And…
TRACY SPAM:
…and said, sniff that, sniff my finger it's like Smiths scampi flavoured fries he said.
REPORTER:
I see.
TRACY SPAM:
Then they both spotted me, I ran off and never saw him again…
REPORTER:
(TO CAMERA) Blue by Tracy Spam - is it art? We asked you the public.
CUT TO:
SCENE. 12. EXT. ANY HIGH STREET.
FEN GRUNTY IS STOPPED BY A REPORTER.
REPORTER:
Hi, I just wondered what you thought about Tracy Spam winning the
Turner prize and twenty five thousand pounds for, well, a pile of urinal cubes and a sign saying 'My Life.'
FEN GRUNTY:
Now don't you friggin' get me freaking started on friggin' that now…
CUT TO:
SCENE 12. INT. THE ATTENDANTS KIOSK. DAY 2 [15:05].
POTTS, SUFFLING AND TAYLOR STAND AROUND THE MONITOR.
POTTS:
Well stone me! That's where them blue cubes have been going.
SUFFLING:
How much did she win for that? Twenty five thousand notes? And how much are them blue cubes? A Nicker a box?
TAYLOR:
It's not the blue cubes she's getting the cash for, it's the art.
SUFFLING:
It's still shite though, twenty five grand! What could I do with that?
TAYLOR:
Waste it, I expect.
THERE IS A KNOCK ON THE WINDOW. TAYLOR, SUFFLING AND POTTS TURN TO THE SAME. TOMMY BOHEMIA IS STANDING ON OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE GLASS PANEL.
TOMMY BOHEMIA:
Is this the place?
POTTS:
For what?
TOMMY BOHEMIA:
Can I bask here? Can I bask here in Tracy Spam's unfortunate memories? Are these them there bogs?
POTTS:
These are them there bogs, and no you can't. Now do one, we don't like your sort round here.
TOMMY BOHEMIA EXITS DISSAPOINTED.
SUFFLING:
That was a bit harsh.
POTTS:
Well - they drive me nutty these bloody arty types.
TELEPHONE RINGS, SUFFLING PICKS IT UP.
SUFFLING:
(INTO PHONE) Barnfather street lavatories senior lavatory attendant Suffling here…Mr Silt…ok, ok I'll let them know. Yes I understand goodb…oh, he hung up.
SUFFLING REPLACES HANDSET.
They're keeping us open.
POTTS:
Eh?
SUFFLING:
That was Silt, the council have done a U-turn cause of that artist woman.
TAYLOR:
So we aren't closing? And Potts doesn't have to go to the sewage works?
SUFFLING:
It seems not, she's done you a big favour there, fellar, I tell you.
TAYLOR:
But what made them change their minds?
SUFFLING:
Apparently, Barnfather Street Bogs are now of national interest. Bohemians will come from all over the world to dung in these armitage shanks.
POTTS:
Well, I can't say I'm not relieved. Who'd have thought it, eh?
TAYLOR:
It's funny - you never really know what's hiding around the next U-bend.
ALL:
Hmmmmmm
CUT TO:
SCENE 13. EXT. OUTSIDE THE ATTENDANTS KIOSK. DAY 2 [16:00HRS] .
A CROWD OF ARTY TYPES TAKE PHOTOS, FLASH CAMERAS AND POSE IN FRONT OF THE TURNSTYLE. ANNOYED POTTS COMES OUT WITH A BRUSH AND SWEEPS AT THEM.
POTTS:
Go and do that round your own doors, go on git.
ARTY TYPES RELUCTANTLY MINCE AWAY. POTTS RETURNS TO THE ATTENDANTS' KIOSK.
CUT TO:
SCENE 14. INT. THE ATTENDANTS KIOSK DAY 2 [16:05].
TAYLOR SITS WITH HIS FEET ON THE DESK, HE IS READING NEWSPAPER. HEADLINE: 'CLIFF PLACED ON SEX OFFENDERS' REGISTER.' ENTER FLUSTERED POTTS.
POTTS:
Bloody bohemians! I'm getting fed up to the back teeth with them clogging my entrance.
TAYLOR:
WITHOUT DIVERTING EYES FROM NEWSPAPER.
They'll soon get bored, the more you go out and shout at them the more it encourages them. Hey…fancy an early finish?
TAYLOR PUTS DOWN NEWSPAPER.
POTTS:
I would, Taylor, but I'm expecting a call.
TAYLOR:
At this time?
POTTS:
Mam needs new windows in, so I arranged for this double glazing fellar to give me a phone and discuss prices.
TAYLOR:
Oh right.
POTTS:
Beggar hasn't called me yet though, he promised a special deal if I agreed by the end of the week.
TAYLOR:
You can't rely on anyone nowadays, eh?
POTTS:
No, no, you can't.
TAYLOR:
Oh well, I'll just give the gents a once over and then I'll be off.
POTTS:
Ok, Chum.
CUT TO:
SCENE 15.INT. THE CUBICLES. DAY 2 [16:10].
THE DOORS OF CUBICLES ONE AND TWO ARE AJAR, CUBICLE THREE'S DOOR IS CLOSED. TAYLOR WALKS PAST ONE AND TWO AND PUSHES DOORS OPEN. ONE LOOKS FINE, TWO IS FAIRLY DISGUSTING AND DIRTY; LOO ROLL EVERYWHERE ETC.
TAYLOR:
Didn't see that.
TAYLOR PULLS THE DOOR TO CUBICLE TWO SHUT.
THERE IS LOUD GRUNTING, GROWLING AND GNAWING COMING FROM CUBICLE THREE.
Hello, hello, is everything ok? Right - I'm coming in.
TAYLOR SMASHES INTO DOOR, WHICH FLIES OPEN. McDUFF IS SITTING ON THE TOILET WITH HIS TROUSERS AROUND HIS ANKLES GNAWING ON A LARGE BONE.
Mr McDuff? Whatever are you doing man?
McDUFF:
They give these away free for dogs! For dogs I tell you! Have you seen how much meat is on that?
McDUFF WAVES BONE AROUND
There's not enough to share though, only enough for me. You'll have had your lunch, anyway - keep back.
McDUFF HOLDS BONE TO CHEST AND BEGINS GROWLING LIKE A DOG.
TAYLOR:
Look, Mr McDuff, you tight bastard, I don't want your…hold on a minute (SHOUTS) Potts, Potts, get in here - I think I've solved the white dog shit mystery.
END OF EPISODE.