MATTER OF FACT ONLY FOOLS & COACH TOURS

[Glebe]

ALBERT: Durin' da woah...

BASIL: Oh wait wait. Your beard's coming off, mate.

[Glebe]

BOYCIE: Glad Marlene's not here, she'd be givin' me roight old earache!

EASILY-AMUSED PASSENGERS: EEEE-HA-HEE-HOO!!!

AMERICAN PASSENGER: I WANNA WALDORF SALAD!

BOYCIE: Eh?!

AMERICAN PASSENGER: When I went on the Fawlty Towers tour, your said you'd fix me a Waldorf Salad. And I still haven't got it! Hot dog!

BOYCIE: Er, listen mate, give it a rest, would you...

[Glebe]

The following dialogue is all sung, to the tune of 'You're the One That I Want' from Grease:

DOESN'T-LOOK-LIKE-DEL: I got bills-

SEAGULL-VICTIM RODNEY: They're multiplin'-

AUBREY FAWLTY: And I'm looosin' respect-

YOUNG FAKE BEARD ALBERT: Try'na earn a crust-

TONY ANGELINO: And I'm cwyin'-

HIDING IN LUGGAGE TRIG: This tour ain't exactly electrifying'!

'DEL': Better shape up-

ROD?: Where's Denzil, our friend?-

BASIL BOYCIE: We don't have a black actor in our creeew-

NON-ALBERT: Durin' da woah.

TRIG?: Er, and we don't know what to dooooo-

EVERYONE (including the passengers, who wave their hands!): I'D LOVE A CREME DE MENTHE! A CREME DE MENTHE (WITH HONEY!), OOH OOH OOOOOH (WITH HONEY!) etc.

[DangledTeeth]

Voiceover: Comedy!

Long-haired James Turner: This is the Harrison watch.

Bollocks Rodders: Cosmic!

Man with Glasses on tip of His Nose: We'll start the bidding at 150,000.

Ineffective Del carefully lowers himself as though he's fainted

Bollocks Rodders: It kept going up. Let's get back in there.

Ineffective Del and Bollocks Rodders jog up the coach aisle towards the back row

Man with Glasses on tip of His Nose: The bidding stands at four million complimentary cocktails.

Bollocks Rodders stumbles backwards on purpose

Passengers: HAHAHAHA!

Ineffective Del: 'ow much did it go for?

Bollocks Rodders (From blank sheet): 6.2 milyun. So that's enough for several thousand tours.

Ineffective Del: We've had worse days.

Bollocks Rodders: Shall I go fi-

Ineffective Del rhythmically tilts a model three-wheeler

Passengers: Very accurate!

Bollocks Rodders: That Rolls Royce.... I wanna buy it.

Insipid Boycie: Egh-eh-aw-aw-ah. Hush-hush. Whoosh-whoosh. Oh!

Ineffective Del: On the slate, Mike?

Rubbish Dump Mike: On the house, Del.

Ineffective Del: I'll have some of your grub. Oh, left me fuckin' wallet at home!

Bollocks Rodders: I'll get them.

Ineffective Del: No, no, I'll get these. You bought me the Rolls Royce, so I'll buy the pink boxes of pudding

Passenger: This isn't how it went, but it goes with the venue.

Ponytail Beard Albert: Let's geh a Chinese takeaway, sahn.

Ineffective Del: We'll invest! This time next year we'll be complimentary cocktailnaires.

Voiceover: Jubbly!

[Glebe]

RODNEYJUBBLERS: Fucking seagull.

[Glebe]

THIS CLEARLY ISN'T DEL: Ah fuck it. You're all a load of jubblyfuckers! *throws down cap and walks off bus*

MR. BOYCIE: His wife left him last night.

[JoeyBananaduck]

V.O.: Calling all twonks, dipsticks and perrrrrrr-lonkers!!!

Wanky Del: All aboard eh, mange tous, mange tous, creme de menthe, errr....billet de douche. All aboard the fun bus and it'll be tits out mother brown. Eh? Cushty, cushty.

V.O.: Join all your ferrrrrr-avourite characters on the jolly boys - AND GIRLS - outing of a lifetime!!!

Rodney You'd Cross The Street To Survive: I'll fucking kill you, Trotter!

Audience Hostage 1: Blimey, I don't remember them using that kind of language in the much-loved series!

Audience Hostage 2: It must be like Bottom Live, where unconstrained from the shackles of broadcast TV, they can say whatever they like! So they do. Every two minutes.

Audience Hostage 1: And it's always 'fucking', 'wanker' or 'cunt'.

Audience Hostage 2: Yeah, basically.

Wanky Del: Pardon et moi, Rodney? Did I detect a slight air of discontent coming from your general vicinity? Is there a problem with our guest's complimentary cocktails?

Rodney YCTSTA: I....I can't remember, Del. These two cunts down the front were talking bollocks and I forgot where we were in the script.

Wanky Del: Oh well, fuck it then.

[Rapturous applause, gales of laughter, bows, totally off-the-cuff guv, scouts honour]

V.O.: You won't belieeeeeeeeeeeeeve...oops shit, sorry, wrong coach trip. You'll be whisked to and from station to destination by Peckham's finest! Not just Del and Rodney but Uncle Grandad!

Awful Uncle Grandad: War kippers!

V.O.: Boycie!

Boycie who's clearly never seen Boycie: Wahaunaunaunaunhuuuuuh? Something like that anyway. Marilyyyyyn! Stop shagging everyone.

V.O.: And of course, Trigger. Not Raquel and Cassandra. For God's sake, what do you want from us? It's not a big coach and we're of dubious legality. Frankly I'm surprised they haven't shut us down already.

Workaday Trigger: Alright Rodney? Sorry, er, Dave. I meant Dave.

Rodney YCTSTA: Eh...? No Trig! You're right! It's Rodney! You've only finally gone and got my bleedin' name right for once?

Workaday Trigger: Stick to the script, fucko. Did my C.V. say I did improv?

V.O.: All the laughs, memories, and characters come to life on.....ONLY FAHOOOOLS AND COACH TOURRRRRS. Don't miss it or you'll be saying.

Wanky Del: Unjubbly. Er......not jubbly. Jubbleless. Jubblycunt?

[Rapturous applause and laughter]

[Gregory Torso]

Shit Shit Voice Over: Wankers! You've enjoyed six hours on a stationary coach! You've laughed at the antics of the fools and horses! You've swigged gallons of bubbly Cockney cocktails! Now your bladders must surely be as full as Del Boy's dodgy old bollocks! Don't fret, simply unwind as we pull into a Service Station and enjoy a complimentary poo or wee in the amenities!

But don't think the laughter stops there!

It's... Only Loos And Toilets!


Scrapheap Del (bursting in): Cor bloody Gordon blue balls! It stinks like a kipper's liver in 'ere!

Pissing Gentleman: What the Christ?

Ill Rodney: Cosmic piss trough, guvners. I just come in 'ere to smoke a bit of grarse.

Pissing Gentleman: Excuse me, I'm trying to have a slash here.

Scrapheap Del: Where eagles dare, my son! Can I interest you in a luverly squirt of eau de Trotter!

Upset Boycie (charging in and kicking open one of the cubicle doors): Marlene! Don't mention the war!

Shitting Man: JESUS! What is wrong with you lot?

Buggered Uncle Albert: Did someone mention the war? Wipe yer arse, son. Coach is leaving.

[Glebe]

SEAGULL-ALLERGIC RODNEY: To think anyone would stoop so low as to do such a shonky bus tour!

BASIL: Go easy, mate. 'Del' is doing his best, and it supplements my plastering gig.

[DangledTeeth]

Great page.


V/O: Join the Trotters for a day out of comedy mayhem.

Driver (Over tannoy): I'm sorry to announce, ladies and gents, that the motorway is congested and we cannot go to Brighton. Instead, we're going to head to the nearest retail park for an afternoon of shopping.

V/O: Only Fried Chicken and Couch Tours!

Square Rodders: Da-duh-nanaaah! (In Transatlantic accent) It's Del Boy!

Inept Del: Know wha' I mean, eh! He dared and won! HE DARED AND WON

Inept Del and Square Rodders saunter into a shop

V/O: Luxury seating as standard.

Square Rodders dawdles before lowering himself onto a leather sofa

Inept Del: Gordon divvy plonker Bennett, Rodney! You ain't supposed to be relaxing. DFS stands for Don't Fucking Sit, you wallytwonk!

The party plod in to a KFC

V/O: Collect your Wicked Zinger box meal.

Inept Del: Kentucky Fried Canary. He who dares eats hot wings.

Coach Party: Hah-hah-hah-hah!

Xmas Beard Albert: I've got the baked beans.

Inept Del: You can't present them just yet; it'll be way too hot, Uncle Albert. And we're not galloping down a Big Mac and chips.

Xmas Beard Albert: Of course not. This ain't a McDonald's.

Inept Del: I'll whack these in the paper bag. (Glances) Hold on a sec! These ain't baked beans, it's fuckin' gray-vay!

Xmas Beard Albert: Yah! That's gravy. I was in an 'urry at the queue and got mixed ahp. 'ow my sappost to tell the difronce?!

Inept Del: I'll tell how to tell the difference. Granted, they seem to each depict the caption 'A little but saucy', accompanied by a warning about hot contents. But the glaring difference is: one contains brown liquid, and the other contains multiple ovals in an orange sauce. It's bit of a giveaway really, innit. (Realises) If we've got the gravy... what are they pouring over their chips!?

Inept Del pokes his head over a glass panel of a seating booth

Inept Del: They only doin' it! They'll only pouring baked fuckin' beans over their fries! Not only have you bollocked up every ship you've navigated, you've knackered a Wicked Zinger box meal!

Coach Party: It's alright, Del. We've been given complimentary coleslaw as a side order.

Inept Del: Oh er, lemon wipe Jubbly!

V/O: Reserve your seat today.

[Glebe]

IT IS NOT DEL: Blimey, lookit them two gays sittin' at the back!

YOUNG ALBERT WITH TISSUE BEARD: There woz naffing loike that on our boats! ...Cappla fanny ones, baht naffing loike that!

[Huxleys Babkins]

EXT. MOTORWAY SERVICES

PLASTICINE DEL: Stone the bleedin' crows, Rodney. Near side front tyres' blown.

PASSENGER: Down to three wheels then, Del Boy? I thought you'd be used to that by now.

*Laughter*

PLASTICINE DEL: Seriously though, folks, this is gonna take all day to fix. We'll be contacting you in the next few days about refunds.

[Glebe]

DEL?!?: Cam on Rodney, we- 'ere, what's vat bangin' noise?

WODNEY: It's the actor playing Trig. We give him air breaks every hour.

[DangledTeeth]

Voiceover: Only Fooh-woohls and Coach Tuuours! Brighton.

Small James Beck Lookalike as Del: Gordon Twonkers, Rodney. Put your back into pushing our van.

Shoddy Roddy: You couldn't get this van to do 10mph if you pushed it off a cliff.

Voiceover: Insightful tour!

Shoddy Roddy: And over there we can see more traffic out of the windows. And admire that bottle of HP Sauce in my vicinity, ladies and gents.

Basil Boycie: All very hush-hush, whoosh-whoosh! Uh-ah-ah-ah-ah!

Voiceover: Absorb the sights of picturesque Brrrrighton.

Shoddy Roddy: If you look over to your right, you can marvel at the charcoal-like structure of the West Pier.

Voiceover: Shingle beach!

Small James Beck Lookalike as Del: Let's have a paddle in the sea. (Dips toes) Oh! Fuck! That's cold.

Shoddy Roddy: Seagull!

Voiceover: Interactive comedy done specifically for the camera and not the passengers inside the coach, who don't have a very good view of proceedings.

The luggage compartment door raises up, then Trigger clambers out

Easy Trig: Wotcher Del, David.

Shoddy Roddy: What the cosmic fuck are you doin' in there, Trig?

Easy Trig: Oh, it was dark inside, so I thought we were going to jump out and surprise someone.

Small James Beck Lookalike as Del: But thatttt doesn't explain why you went in there, Trigger. Cushty Jubbly de who wins dares!

Easy Trig: I am stupid. (Boycie laughter)

Voiceover: Book today or tomorrow.

[Glebe]

IT IS NOT DEL: Good evening, and welcome to Fools plus Horses coach tour.

CUSTOMER: You could say it's a 'horse and coach' tour, heh!

NOT DEL: Fuck off.

FALSE ALBERT: Fake-Del will do the jokes, mate!

NEVER DEL: Now, as I was saying... we will proceed to Brighton, where Rodney will be attacked by a gull. Then you shall enjoy chicken in a basket with tea or a soft drink. Then we will go home.

BASIL FAWLTY'S NOT LOOKING GREAT: No refunds.

TRIG: Could someone open the luggage hatch? I'm fucking suffocating down here.

[Glebe]

THIS JUST ISN'T DEL: Nice bit of scenery there... ahem, while I'm at it, let me demonstrate this new muscle heat device on Albert!

ALBERT: That's vewy therapoo'ic, that is!

NO DEL!: It normally retails at £50 up the West End, but I'm knocking them out for a tenner! 'oos first?

BASIL (taking 'DEL' aside): Hang on, you're selling them for real?!

IT ISN'T DEL: Mate, we're fucking barely scraping by with this caper as it is.

[Captain Z]

EXT. MOTORWAY SERVICES

PLASTICINE DEL: Stone the bleedin' crows, Rodney. Near side front tyres' blown.

PASSENGER: Down to three wheels then, Del Boy? I thought you'd be used to that by now.

*Laughter*

PLASTICINE DEL: Seriously though, folks, this is gonna take all day to fix. We'll be contacting you in the next few days about refunds.

EXT. PHONE BOOTH

RODLEY (on phone): Cass... our coach tyre's just blown up

[Glebe]

IT CAN'T BE DEL!: I think we're on to a winner here, Luggage-Compartment Trig, play it cool, my son, play it cool-

LUGGAGE-COMPARTMENT TRIG: NO, NOT OUT OF A MOVING BUS, IT CAN'T BE DEL!

[Glebe]

BUS DRIVER: Alright folks, give us a bit of room there... I'll get your bags out, don't push...

FRIGHTENED WOMAN: SCREAM!

BASIL: For fuck's sake, Trig, you could have done it with a bit more finesse.

[H-O-W-L]

Plasticene Rodney: "'ere, Albert, give us a story about 'choo in da woah."

ALBERT STARES INTO THE MIDDLE-DISTANCE AS THE ECHOING RATTLE OF AK-47S TAKES OVER HIS MIND. A GHOSTLY PALE COMES OVER HIS FACE AS THE SCREAMING OF HIS COMRADES CLOUDS HIS JUDGEMENT, MAKING IT IMPOSSIBLE FOR HIM TO DISCERN BETWEEN IRAQI INSURGENTS AND RODNEY AS HIS HANDS CLAMP TIGHT AROUND A SKINNY, PALE THROAT.

CRUNCH.

[H-O-W-L]

DIET TRIGGER'S DESSICATED CARCASS HAS TO BE RETRIEVED FROM AN EXHAUST-FILLED LUGGAGE COMPARTMENT SEVERAL HOURS AFTER THE TOUR HAS ENDED.

[Glebe]

WORST POSSIBLE DEL: Well, that was a particularly crappy day. I tell you wot, if this keeps up we'll have to pack it in.

LUGGAGE COMPARTMENT TRIG: Not to worry, Worst Possible Del. I had a rummage through the bags down there and nicked a load of stuff.

WORST POSSIBLE DEL: Lovely jubbly!

[DangledTeeth]

Voiceover: Coach tour. Comedy. Laughter. Roads. Brighton.

Shitty Del and Shoddy Roddy stand on each side of a three-step ladder

Shitty Del: Now brace yerself, Rodney. Rememba wha' Mum said on her deathbed: he who dares carefully lowers an antique chandelier down to the floor with success.

Suddenly, the driver cuts a length of string then a collection of necklaces drop from a suspended box and land on the aisle

Shitty Del: You silly old plonker of a twonking cunt, Grandad! You were supposed to be doing the other one.

Passenger: Look! They've got someone to act as Grandad!

Pork Pie Hat Grandad: I was expertly unscrewing the adjacent chandelier. You ought to have notified me beforehand in order to have prevented this mishap from occurring.

Some Bloke as Wallace the Butler: It's broken!

Shitty Del: Wha' do you know about decimated twinkle anyway?!

Some Bloke as Wallace the Butler: I shall telephone with disgrace immediately.

Shitty Del: Does Lord Moneysack have our contact details?

Some Bloke as Wallace the Butler: No. But I serviced your unique yet outdated three-wheeler and noticed 'Peckham' emblazoned on the side. I guess this is where you live.

Shitty Del:  No, it's Paris. (To Shoddy Roddy) Come on, Rodders, let's make our getaway in the van! But we must endeavour to give it a push first.

Shoddy Roddy: You couldn't get it to do 8mph if you pushed it off a fuckin' cliff!

Shitty Del: Very well... pink boxes for everyone.

Voiceover: Book now.

[Glebe]

SHIT DEL: Ooh, lovely jubbly and that, mate.

FAWLTY: Listen, you're gunna havta try harder than that, mate.

SHIT DEL: Don't embarrass me in front of everyone like that, mate.

FAWLTY: You embarrassed yourself, Reg.

ALBERT... ALBERT?!: Is that his name?!

FAWLTY: Dunno. Doesn't really matter in the scheme of things though, does it?

ALBERT... ALBERT?!: Nah, suppose not. 'San'. Or summit.

IT IS NOT RODNEY: This is a fucking omnishambles!

SHIT DEL: Well, it's certainly an 'omnibus'!

COACH OF IDIOTS: HAHAHA!!!

FAWLTY: Right, well you've redeemed yourself with that. For now.

TRIGGER?: Could somebody let me out? My air break's due.

[Huxleys Babkins]

TRIGSTER: Alright Dave?

WARHOL WIG RODNEY: Wotcha Trig. Wait a minute, aren't you meant to be in the luggage hold?

TRIGSTER: If it's a boy, they'll name it Rodney. You know, after Dave.

WARHOL WIG RODNEY: That's not one of the lines on this tour.

UNCLE GRANDAD: During the war! During the war! During the war!

WARHOL WIG RODNEY: Wait a second, you're not Frank. What's going-

SCABIES DEL: Alright Rodney, you plonker! Bonjour!

ACTUAL DEL, BUT NOT ACTUAL DEL: Mate, they've started wearing their own costumes to these things now. I can't tell who's a second rate actor doing a tribute act and who's some pissed up customer pretending to be a second rate actor doing a tribute act.

BASIL BOYCIE: Good moaning!

ACTUAL DEL, BUT NOT ACTUAL DEL: Fuck this.

[DangledTeeth]

Voiceover Chap: Cooooach tuuour. Fun. Entertainment. COACH!

Coachisode: THE PASSENGERS ARE COMING!

Groucho 'Tache Del: We've got 42-carat lead, mate. Plonker Gordon, Rodney!

Beard Rodders: Oi! Read thems instructioned, cosmics. It's plans for a nuclear fall-aht sheltah.

Uncle Albert wearing Trilby: Don't do a test run, me shoes'll fall awf.

Passengers: Remarkable!

Beard Rodders: We could fuck anyone we wan'ed once the radiation clears away.

Groucho Tache Del: We could dye Grandad pink, and his hat can been the fairy godfather.

Beard Rodders: HAH-HAH!

Groucho Tache Del: People are entitled to a war. Tally-ho, Fritz. Vorsprung Dunkirk Technical, as they say in Paris.

Uncle Albert wearing Trilby: Don't talk like a cunt, Del! What do you know about a war?!

Groucho Tache Del: I've seen thems war films.

Uncle Albert wearing Trilby: Tomato sauce and stuntblokes. Doorin-nuh-woaah... there were blokes with eyepatches, people whose lungs were filled with mustard. 'id them away in big grey oblongs - could put you off your lukewarm sausage, mash and drizzling of herb sauce. They promised us coaches fit for passengers, instead they gave us passengers fit for coaches.

Beard Rodders: I wouldn't wear a British uniform on principle. And when I say 'principle' I mean in case it's not in my size.

Groucho Tache Del: How long we meant to stay in here for if this really 'appened?

Beard Rodders: Two years. So we'd need about 5,692 pink boxes and complimentary cocktails.

Groucho Tache Del: We'll be safe as coaches, bruv.

Passengers: HAHAHAHAH!

Voiceover: Reserve your seat immediately.

[Huxleys Babkins]

VOICEOVER: It's Only Fools and BOAT TOURS! Join all your telly favourites on a pleasure boat tour of Stratford with a nice lunch thrown in and that!

PASSENGER: Oi! Uncle Grandad! Are you gonna sink the boat?!

UNCLE GRANDAD: That's basically the entire premise of this tour, yes.

SMELLS OF DAMP DEL: Unc, we've sprung a bloody leak! You dozy old diplodocus-stick!

UNCLE GRANDAD: See?

VOICEOVER: Book yourselves before you wreck yourselves!

[Glebe]

DEL?!?: Do people actually still watch Fools & Coach Tours?

BOYCIE?!?: Never seen it myself.

RODNEY?!?: Which would account for the fact that you think Boycie looks like Basil Fawlty. Fuck off, seagull!

[Huxleys Babkins]

VOICOVER: Oh for fuck's sake, it's ONLY FOOLS AND A VISIT TO ST JOSEPH'S CATHOLIC CHURCH! Join Delroy, Ronnie, Uncle Granville, and Mickey fucking Pearce on a wonderful day out in Bournemouth! Plus tea after the service!

PRIEST DEL: Stone the crows, parishioners! Rodney, these aren't communion wafers!

ALTAR BOY RODNEY: Sorry Del, they ran out at the cash and carry. I had to get cream crackers.

PRIEST DEL: I'll cream cracker you in a minute, you plonker! But in the eyes of God, you will be forgiven. Amen.

ALTAR BOY RODNEY: Cosmic. Amen.

VOICEOVER: Sing along to your favourite hymns with Uncle Grandad!

FATHER UNCLE GRANDAD (singing and playing the banjo): Sing along now! My old man, said foller the van and make me a channel of your peace. Where there is hatred let me bring your love, when you can't find your own way 'ome. Gercha!

PUNTER 1: I thought it was very authentic. I was laughing all the way through.

PUNTER 2: I've been coming to this church for 30 years and I've never been so appalled. I'll be complaining to the diocese.

PUNTER 3: You'd think Father Ted would make more sense, wouldn't you? Still, I got a selfie with Basil Boycie and you can't say fairer than that.

ALTAR BOY RODNEY: 'Ere Del, have you been nicking the lead off the roof?

PRIEST DEL: No. Amen.

VOICEOVER: Holy Bible (it's a book) today!

[DangledTeeth]

Voiceover Bloke: Seeeeaside comehdeeeh tuuuuors with actor Trrrrrottaws

Coachisode: Tour in One

Burnt Beard Albert: If you ain't goh enaff maney you're arguing abaht it; too mach of it an' yer at each avva's thraoats!

Slope-nosed Del: GCE in maffsanart! Tins-a paint! (Does a limp-wristed yet mechanical sequence of pointing)

Tannoy: BONK! CRASH!

Basil Boycie Wearing Wig: It's Uncle Albert! He's fallen down the cellar.

Bristly Mike: Argh! Me neck's gone.

Burnt Beard Albert: Tinnitus in me ear.

Slope-nosed Del: Last orders?!

Burnt Beard Albert: Sue the pahb and get complimen'ary cocktails. Yah!

Slope-nosed Del: COMPENSATION DISPENSED FROM THE BREWERY?!?! PINK BOXES OF PUDDING! PUT 'IM THE FUCK DAHN, RODNEY!

Bowlcut Rodney: Shall I phone for an medic taxi?

Slope-nosed Del: Yes! Good thinking, Rodders. Resuscitate his blue hat. That'll look good in the report. And phone Solly Atwell.

Bowlcut Rodney: Solly Atwell's ahr solictah?! He's more bent than Boomerang Trotter.

Burnt Beard Albert: Always lands on 'is back!

Greasy Solly: Gentleman, gentleman, gentleman... GENTLEMAN! America

Slope-nosed Del: At tha' ra'e we'd get four pahnd sixty-two.

Bowlcut Rodney: I remember... thinking... at-the-time. Oh no. Hole. Health and Safety measures were not applicably enforced.

Night-gown Barrister: Mhmm yeees, I seeeee.

Burnt Beard Albert: I swear-ah tell the troof the 'ole troof an naink baht the troof.

Drive as the Judge: Can you confirm you are Albert Trotter?

Burnt Beard Albert: Albert Gladstone Trotter, sahn, of Nelson Mandela House. Not tha' I can rememba me own birfday or naffin' larke tha'. HUH-HEH-UOH-HEEGH! Jampin' orf of fings.

Duvet Barrister (Exaggerated RP): Jumping awf of things!? MEEYBEEEE you're the sehme Owbit Gledstone Trutter who, in 1848, went pelvis over fibula at the Shimmering Tractor, New Cross. Perhaps you are the same Albrecht Gladys Toppings who expertly frog-splashed down the hatch of the Piss Whistle & Radish Cavity, Lewisham, 2016. Could you beeee the same Aldous Glockenspiel Tumbler who managed dizzy ingress of the Extraneous Soup Organ & Knacker Mites tavern located in Woolwich, during the year of 1764. Or does the Gouache Ermine & Draconian Vagina ring a belllhllhlll?

Slope-nosed Del (Shocked): I don't believe 'im! He's played golf more times than Tony Jacklin!

Passengers: HAHAHAHA! So accurate!

Bowlcut Rodney: D'you know wha' the insurance companies have nicknamed him? The Cunt.

Slope-nosed Del: The Cunt!

Tannoy: Squeaky wheels!

Slope-nosed Del blows smoke from his prop uncooked sausage of a cigar

Slope-nosed Del: Alrigh', 'ow many pubs and their holes have you backflipped down in your time?

Burnt Beard Albert: Quite a few, Del. You two 'ave bin good ter me. I wan'ed to, well, repay ya. Yah! And I... did it fer yer Grandad's 'eadstaone. 'e wur me owder bravva, Del. He owlways lookt ah'er mey.

Slope-nosed Del: Come on, Kojak, let's convey you to Brighton in your wheelbarrow.

Burnt Beard Albert: Noh 'alf! Amnesia.

Slope-nosed Del: Just-a-minute! We're on a coach! Jubbly plonkertwonks!

Voiceove Bloke: Book soon.