MATTER OF FACT OFAH IN 2021?! OFAH FOREVAH!

[Glebe]

EPISODE: HE AIN'T HEAVY, BUT I STRAINED ME BACK CARRYING THAT RELATION DOWN TOBACCO ROAD!

INT.TROTTER'S HOME.MORNING.

ROD: Where's Granddad, Del?

DEL: He's trapped inna haunted carsey!

AUDIENCE: Snigger!

DOORBELL: Oh say can you see...

DEL: Oil geddit!

UNCLE ALBERT: Hello old 'un, it is I, Uncle Albert!

DEL: Weol yoo'd bettah cam in, den. 'ave a few cold vol-au-vents anna flosk's-worth of tea!

ALBERT: Thank you, Del. Oh Del, dear Del, m'dear Del, oi Canute tell ah loi!

DEL: Yoo can say vat again!

AUDIENCE: QUACK!

ALBERT: Oi am 'ere to stay. Fank yoo in advonce!

DEL: No yoo ain't, bruv! Pack y'fings 'n gedaht!

ALBERT: Owight, Del. I understaaand.

AUDIENCE: Ahhhhh.



ALBERT leaves. RODNEY confronts DEL.

ROD: Yoo've changed, Del! Evah since Granddad Trotter become stuck in the haunted toilet, oi've seen I soide to yoo oi nevah thought before!

DEL: Y'dan't understand, Wodney! Oi always had to be the tough Del! "How y'goin', lav, 'ave anovvah pint! And I've been Zebedee so long oi dan knaw 'ow to be anyfing else!

ROD: Well I am sorry dear Del but we must adjourn to find Great Uncle Albert, post haste!



EXT.TOBACCO ROAD.DAY.

ALBERT is examining the docks emotionally when DEL and RODNEY arrive.

ALBERT: Wot yoo two doin' 'ere?

DEL: We scoured London listening to Wings then we suddenly realoized yoo'd be 'ere! Naw cam 'ome... to y'fambily!

ALBERT: Thanks son, but oi feel a speech camin' on... we used to eat liverwurst sandwiches and play football against a wall... then the fishwives would cam aht... they woz raugh people... boi the toime oi was four oi could swear in 158 languages!

DEL: Weol fings ain't changed so much nawh!

ROD: IT IS PONCEY!

AUDIENCE: WORF WORF WORF!

ALBERT: And then Eric Clapton arrioved.

DEL: Boi dah way, unc, where'd y'get that black eye?

ALBERT: Fell dahn at the British Comedy Awards, Del. They were raugh people! But they were GOOD people!

DEL: Weol anyway... as oi said, now it iz toime to cam 'ome... to y'fambily!

ALBERT: Nah, Del... I have bought a boat, and shall sail the high seas again!

ALBERT dons a smart blazer and captain's hat and jumps into a nearby boat.

ALBERT: Farewell, Rodney! Tally-ho!, Del! Till we meet again!

End theme!

[Glebe]

EPISODE: THE DOLLS HAVE EXPLOSIVES IN 'EM!



INT.TROT FLAT.MORN

DEL: Good morning, all. I would like to introduce you to the latest, brand-new dodgy Betamax oi haz bought.

ALBERT: Woz it doo, then?

DEL: Whadda yah mean, 'Woz it doo, then?' It records all y'prograhms whoile yer on 'oliday!

ALBERT: Send me a postcard, drop me a line!

ROD: Wot yoo two app to?

DEL: Showin' Albert me vid.

ALBERT: Del, there is a tomato on yon video.

DEL: That's moine! Oi goh a gross a manky tomah'oes from New Jersey! Now, Rodney, let us gah dahn the market befoh da video explodes!

ROD: Cos-mic.

INT.NAG'S HEAD.LATER

DENZIL: Del, I have a mystery doll-box that I cannot deliver.

DEL: Oil jast forge the signature and how's y'father!

INT.TROTTERS.SOON

ALBERT: Look, Del. There is inflatable jelly babies in the box.

DEL: RUDDY NORA, we're knee-deep in inflatables!

ROD: Only seedy men buy giant liquorice allsorts called Lusty Linzy and Exotic Estella.

DEL: Put 'em beside the radiator to keep 'em warm!



ROD: I now prepare to meet Cassandra.

DOLL: Psst!

DEL: Wot woz dat fanny sound?

ALBERT: Not I!

ROD: Most amusing noises emit from your anus, Albert.

DOLL: Psst! Oi!

DEL: Get me hooky recording equipment Rodney, we have some paranormal investigatin' to do!

DOLL: Come closer! I have something very important to tell you!

DEL: Woh iz it?

DOLL: Me and me mate are highly flammable! You must seek out Dirty Barry!



INT.DIRTY BARRY'S SHOP.LATER

DIRTY BARRY: Alright, Del? Nice to see you again, Albert!

ALBERT: Shhh! I am not a seedy old maaaan!!

DEL: Please take these blow-ups off me 'ands, Barry.

DIRTY BARRY: I am sorry dear Del but Thatcher has ruined the porn market.

DEL: Oh dear. I sappose we'll 'ave to wait for the Internet to cam along to get a propah porn fix!

DIRTY BARRY: Till then, we will have to rely on Samantha Fox Strip Poker. Now away with your dolls!



INT.RESTAURANT.MEANWHILE

CASSANDRA: Roddy, I am afraid the dolls are fucking lethal.

ROD: Gotta run, Cass! Them manky tomatoes have given me the skuts!

EXT.DERELICT BUILDINGS.NIGHT.

DEL: Fuck them dolls behind some rocks Rodney, but be careful not to blow up the tramps!

The dolls explode!

DEL: That was a close one! Now let us depart, dear Rodderknee!

INT.RELIANT ROBIN.NIGHT.

DEL: Oh no, 'tiz anovah fanny noise!

ANOTHER DOLL: Better leg it lads, I'm about to explode!

DEL AND RODNEY: FAAAAAAACK!!



Closing theme!

[Captain Z]

Haha, I want ALBERT to fall down at the comedy awards in every episode.

[DangledTeeth]

RAUGH PEOPLE!

Another classic thread in the making.

---

Intro Music

Episode of 1986: Who Wants to be a Milyunaire?

Int. Nag's Pub

Boycie: Cars. HAGH-EGH-AGH-EGH-AGH-AGH-EGH-AGH!

Jumbo Meals: 'scuse me, Bahman. A couple of beers when yer ready.

Mike: Now listen, mate. I'm not a barman. I am Mike Fisher, pub manager of this pub.

Albert: oo's Rachel, I mean the lahdmahf Aussie, Mike?

Mike: 'im? He's no Aussie. He used to be a local lad. I'm not sure how I'm aware of this now. I can't look up the script online as there's no internet.

Del and Rodney enter

Del: Alri', Mike? Usual pretentious cocktail for myself, and an ordinary concoction for Rodney.

Albert: Del Boy! There's a British-born rude Aussie over there with Boycie.

Del: Was 'e rude cos you were mucking abaht with that pianah while singing Angel of Death?

Albert: Yah.

Del: I'm not known to be a tough and particularly confrontational bloke, but I'll 'ave a quiet word in 'is ear *To Jumbo* Excuse me, Pal... Jumbo Mills!? The identical twin of the bloke whom I saold a dodgy car to in 1981.

Jumbo: Tawk abeout a bad penny. Haow ya goin', Del?

Boycie: Thank you, Del Boy, for interrupting my business meeting.

Del: Come and meet Rodney.

Jumbo and Del approach the bar where Albert and Rodney are standing

Jumbo: Strewth! Del's got you workin' hard, Rodney. You're 20-samthing years old and you've got a white beard already!

Albert: Ge' ahttavit! I'm the boys' uncle. *Bobs head* Man and two great-nephews *salutes* juren nuh waw!

Rodney: No. I'm Rodney.

Jumbo: You're Rodney? Aoh, ain't you go' big. *Hugs Rodney* Me and 1981 Aussie - the terrible twins, uh-hyur-heah-hoh! SELFRIDGES. Wrong character, dialogue and episode. You haven't changed a bit in terms of height.

Rodney: Thank you, Del's friend.

Jumbo: Listen, erm, chaps... Ar'm ganna pop to the toilet. Del hasn't swiped my toupee, but it somehow has adorned the top of his flat-cap.



Boycie: And Del ain't nicked my chips once he distracted me, HAGH-AGH-EGH-EGH-AGH-EGH!

Jumbo: Yes. Sao ar'm ganna put moy wig back on in prarvate.

Rodney: You mean to say that barren area on your head usually has a wig on it?!

Jumbo: No, Rodney, what ar mean is it's the temporary effect of a stress condition.

Albert: Well, your side par'ing certain rivals mine, sahn. Heegh-huEuER-UhyR-HeRGh.

Jumbo enters and quickly exits the toilets

Rodney: Well, you weren't jokin' abou' putting a wig on.

Albert: I've go' my 'air on upsarde dahn. *Wags head*

Del: I'll buy you a British lager.

Mike: Carlsberg.

Del: Tha' ain't British, Mike.

Mike: It doesn't originate from here, but the brewery is in Manchester.

Del: Oh, that's alri', then. Cushty bushty!!

Jumbo: Thank yeou for the pint, maite. I'm having an important meeting with Boycie. Let's meet up later on, Del.

Int. Nag's Pub. Later On, Del

Del: ...and so I enter the pub, and the studio and home audience aren't aware of what we were speaking about on the way here.

Jumbo: HAHAHAHA.

Del: Let us sit at this circular table and talk more.

Jumbo: ''This toyme next yeeh ar'm ganna be a millionaaiire", it's what you said to me in the late 1960s before I departed for sunny aold Aus.

Del: Oh yeah. Wha' a 42-carat catchphrase plonkercock I am.

Jumbo: Let's paahtnah up as business paahtnahs again.

Del: Open up another fish stall?

Jumbo: Naoh, yeou dahft cant. You gave me the share of the fish stall, then I suddenly became chairman of Jumbo Cars PLC. I swore to pay you back, Del - and now I am. With interest.

Del: You mean... OhHhHHhh!! You're gonna give me another fish stall so I can sell it to a rich yuppy?

Jumbo: No, no, Del. Whoy daon't yeou cahm to Austrarliah wiv me?

Del: That's a triffic offer, Jumbo. But will I blend in to Australian society?

Jumbo: They'll lave yeou over theah. You're a happy-gao-lucky cis-gender, heterosexual white male who joyfully talks in slang.

Del: Eh?!

Jumbo: What ar mean is they have no class. In Aus, a blaoke's jast a blaoke.

Del: Wha' about Dave and Uncle Beard?

Jumbo: Bring them ovah. We'll farnd them samthing to do.

Del: We used to argue a lot.

Jumbo: Sao we'll argue. But this time it'll be ovah who's got the biggest mirrored ceiling.

Del: Yeah, put it there you fucking bastard. You're in for a fast ride - in one of your cars. *To Mike* Manager of the Nag's Pub, Michael, boh-ul of your lovely jubbly bubbly. *To Jumbo* Prince Charles likes champagne.

Jumbo: Yes, specifically 'Bollingers'. And please note, I did not say 'bollocks'.

Del: Factual. Exclamation.

Int. Trotters' Flat

Del enters the flat, utterly drunk

Del: DA-NaAaaA! DLUR-na-NA-nAaAAa. HSHHSK! Attention Rodney and Uncle Albert, Paaau-liiine and I are engaged to be m- oh fuck! Wrong episode. 'ang on uno momento.

Del re-enters from the hall

Del: I wuoz wawken dahn nah raoad, ihynd ar faound this pommy taoad. Get it strayt; ar'm an Aussie, maite. And you'll be selling a BMW and a Talbot. We'll gao incredibly far to sell these cars, and you are a complete c- Albert?

Del hands Albert a glass of champagne

Albert: Fenks, sahn.

Del: That's also the wrong episode, but it'll do.

Rodney: Wha' are you celebrating in your inebriated state?

Del: Do you remember Jambo Meills from the earlier scene, right. He's offered us the chance t-

Albert: I ain't ganna le' you finish wha' yer saying, baht I'm no' ga'ing, sahn. I've sailed the high seas at a dee-poe on the Isle of Wight.

Del: Yeah... if that's wha' you wan', Uncah Lahbert.

Albert: Yes, sahn. I've got yer drinks cab'net where I can ge' a tot ov rahm jast ta warm me cockles. And there's mar pension, the leejun, daffel caoat and corduroy blue 'at and brahn trahsiz, string vest and waist caoat. I've alsao go' mar dominaohs baht no' the pizza camp'ny, and your phaone book of low-esteem wimmen wiv stars next to their names. Daon't warry. You are naah Boomerang Chroh-ah, wha' wiv you gaoin' ta Australiah.

Rodney: And what am I going to do with my GCEs in Maths and Art?

Del: Wuell, you can utilise 'em to caount 'ow many bristles are on yer brush and then proceed to whack up a portrait thing of the pristine vehicles. Just think, Rodney - mirrored ceiling. A pervy cunt like you would like love to see a nurse in uniform reflected in one-a them.

Rodney: Occupation, Derek? Income?

Del: You will become the Executive Line Manager of the Cleanliness and Efficiency Department at Trotter's Worldwide Automobile Trading Service

Rodney: Oi! I know wha' you're like. It's most probably a highfalutin title for 'car cleaner'.

Del: Naoh, naoh, noooowuh, Rodders. You've go' the wrong idea, bruv. Ah-hah-hah. Do you know wha' a sponge, bucket and hot soapy water are?

Rodney: Oh cosmic! Cos-bloody-Mickey Pearce!

Del: We'll go to Australia 'ouse and give 'em our documents. Kippers-for-tea-in-Aus-tray-lee-ah.

Rodney: Perhaps I don't want this particular job, Del.

Del: Oh, fine. I'll have to find another car cleaner executive line manager of cleanliness and efficiency department.

Rodney: You're... going without mey?

Del: W'yeah. It's the opportunity of a television series. You've go' Uncah Lahbert wiv ya. You can team up and flog caold vol-au-vents and tea to the parish and people dahna market. 'e can lend ya 'is string vest and he'll perhaps let you have a go on 'is pipe in exchange for your Pent'aouse.

Rodney: Well, I'll see you around... sppaaawt!!!!

Rodney storms off to the bedroom hallway

The Next Morning

Rodney appears disappointed

Rodney: Sorry Del Boy. They've refused my visa. I go' that suspended sentence for smoking calypso thyme with a Chinese woman.

Del: Oh fromage de fucque!

Rodney: This is all my fault.

Del: Not this time, Rodney.

Rodney: How?

Del: My visa was also refused.

Albert appears ecstatic with an astonished baby-faced expression, while Rodney gawps with surprise

Del: I've go' a criminal record for a varie'y of things. 'andling 'ooky goods. Fined for fly-pitching. The list goes on. I mean, what why would Croc Dundee  wan' me over there

Albert: I'll make a rahnd of taoast, sahn.

Del picks up the phone

Del: Jumbo, it's Del Boy phoning you from England at 9am GMT. With your money you ought to have a different timezone and a blower in the shitter. Erm, yes, there's little snag this end... Rodney ain't coming over. Me? Neither am I. Yes, I know I'm a jubblycunt who's throwing away a golden opportunity. But it's family, innit. Yes... alright, pal. You know it makes sense. Trotter's Independent Traders will continue trading. Au revoir. I mean bonjour.

Rodney lurches forwards

Rodney: Black market *gently taps his clenched fist into Del's arm* blaokes like ahs. This time in a decade we will be millionaires, Del.

Del: Yes! The real opportunity lies in series 6 and 7 and the Xmas specials.

Rodney exits to the bedroom hall

Del sadly looks at the railroad crossing light ornament on the shelf as he stubs out a cigar

Del sullenly foots it across to the hallway door, where he pauses to turn the light off

Del: WhOoOOo wants to be a milyunaire in 1996? --I  DO--



Credits Music

[Replies From View]

an ees the one thas drivin me beserk, how does only falsen hortez work oh la la la la, la la la la la al a


yellow van pulls up and the audience titters

del steps out all hoofs done up

rodney looks around shifty like when he steps out, bit like he shouldn't be here


it's a council estate i think

an del boy goes:  alright rodney easy peasy; don't sweat it me corbler

rodney:  de'w oi'm scared tho

del:  told you not to be, you skinny cunt.  i tell you once and then i get to call you a cunt, remember

rodney:  yes de'w



they go into the council estate and they are holding an absurdly tall stack of bibles, or rodney is.  del is swooshing around in a giant fur coat and leading the way.  he gets to never carry anything because he is the main one in the show


enters a dingy old flat where mould and mildew is and everything

del:  got some bibles to sell you.  anyone in?

no answer.  rodney does a fart in there on purpose and they both leave



del:  got to find another flat.  but where will we find one in a place like this.  oh, here

rodney:  you plunker de'w

del:  CUNT cunt CUNT rodney.  CUNT



they enter the next flat.  inside there's a family of seven, all watching television.  it's only fools and horses and they are shocked, like that pranking programme where it turns out there is a camera in their living room and i don't know what happens in it. 

del:  YOU NOW HAVE TO TAKE PART

rodney:  we have bibles-

DEL (cutting rodney off):  YOU ARE A CUNT RODNEY





SHERPHD'S BUSH A BUSH BUSH BUSH BUSH BUSH
OH SHEPRHN BUSH
OH SHERPIDS BUSH
OH SHIPEN BISH
OH SHERPARD BUSH

BLACK OR WHITE
RISH OR POOR

WE'LL CUT PROCES ATTA DOOOOOOOOOOORR

GOT BLESS BROKEY STREET
VIVA BROKEY STREET
BILL BASH BORKY STREET
SAY MAN DEFEAT, BROEKY STREET
MAN DEFEAT BROKEY STREET

(WA BAWA BOW BOW BOWA BOW)

BORKY STREET

(WOO DOOP DOOP DOOBY DOO)

BODU STREET

[DangledTeeth]

Episode Time: Comic Ssppaaawwwt Relief 2014

Delvid Jason is all soft, saggy and wrinkly. His eyebrows are almost extinct.

Rondeyhurst looks like a startled bird with a flap of hair that looks like a near-empty line marker for a football pitch has been rolled over his head

Ext. Market



Del: I am wearing a brown leather jacket with a burgundy turtle neck jamper and a respectable gold chain, with plain jeans and basic whi'e trainers, and a checkered flatcap - are they hooky and dodgy? Dun't care, pal. As long as the clotheseth keepeth me from being starkers, then that's alrigh', son. The enthusiasm and dynamism in my voice isn't quite there like it used to be, but I am still able to yodel aht a coherent sales pitch in a light cockney accent with more enunciation than in previous series and specials. And speaking of which, I've got a very special offer for you tuhday. This is a here-once-this-afternoon-back-again-tomorra-if-we-don't-flog-this-bollocks-soon opportunity. I have here before your very peepers an authentic sssuiwtcase on top of a stack of three bread trays turned upside daown. This is an authentic ssssuiwtcase signed by David Beckham's underpants, and inside this carry slab are several Golden Balls packs of underpants to remind you of wha' Dr David Beckman looks like. And if want to observe wha' an autographed ssssuiwtcase and boxer pants look like, I shall summon my brother Rodney to parade about for your delectation.



Del: Rodney, turn around if you please. Cahme on, you prannying dickstick. G'on, rota'e. Right, here is the specialty...



Del: BBHDUHDONAAARGH! Yes, these have been signed by a marker pen. It just so happens that David Jason Stathbeck is a personal mate of mine, could you verify that, Rodney?

Rodney (In received pronunciation): Iy'm going to killhl you. Cunt.

Del: He's a pair of aces, ain't 'e? Nah, it's the truth, straigh' as a shatterproof ruler, David Beckham owed me a favour after I inflated a bouncy castle for his son Malapropism's birthday. You see, no! Don't disperse and smirk. Special offer. They usually retail for a score, I'm sellin' them for twen'y quid.

The market crowd leave

Del: Pissing stone me for an Albanian rucksack, Rodney! You are entirely to blame, this time next year I'll still blame you for this fateful day in the market. 'ow can you not successfully sport a shitting bum cloth around your pelvis and display the soppy fucking bih of scribble on the back?! Fuck me, that suitcase has more content between it than the artery decimation we're about to scoff down at Sid's cafe, namely bacon sarnies.

Int. Sid's Cafe



Rodney: That's the last time I put the flag around my cock and arse. Now that I reminisce as a way to let this sorry example of what series 8 could have been like trail on for several minutes until vagina voice makes a cameo, the first episode of OFAH involved these square bastards, except there were no autographed pantaloons inside.

Del: It's a shame that the sui'case wasn't locked tight around your admiral, perhaps you'd model it better.

Rodney: Why don't you wear the Samsonite bursting with Beckham cleft hammocks?

Del: On your arsing row boat! I have a reputation to uphold, for I am the former yuppy who rigidly toppled over in an upmarket bar. *checks watch* 7 minutes and 48 seconds to go until this miserable skit is over for some layabout charity. Let's continue reeling off the memories until Gahldun Flange is revealed.

Rodney: Remember that time you sneaked your way into mine and Cassandra's holiday to Miami? You knew she had a date with the Barclay's bank.

Del coyly pulls an earnest face

Del: Oh yeaaaah, I almost f'got abou' thaa-aat. I was a mafia don 'oo had a jawflap with two Columbo drug baristas.

Rodney: Yes! Don Oak-Kettle. I pinned him up against the wall at a great risk. Some guests get a chocolate mint left on their pillow. I nearly had the misfortune of getting a Shetland's head ensconced on my pillow.

Del: Her-her-huh-hah. Good old days, eh. Remember about 13 yeehs agaoh I went on the Gaoldrush with Donathan Woss. An' you fulfilled your pervy fan'asy of having Gwyneth Strong act as the entire cast of The Bill, while you were dressed as Romanian with an enormous paint brush on your 'ead.

Rodney: Yeah, and I was going hammer and tongs like Caligula, but then the incessant bleating of that flamin' phaone put me off my fuck. I answered that phone, all in my refulgent armour and my semi 'anging daown in fron' of the CRT telly.

Del: Caligula?! More like calligraphy with a dribbling reed pen. It's just as well there weren't a camera and capture card affixed to the telly, 'cause I bet you would've had a right old 'twitch' there.



Del: You were a righ' 100-ton wally, thinking Mickey Pearce prank called you again, while I was at a crucial point in The Goldrarsh. Who were you meant to be anyway, Russell Crowe?

Rodney: Yes. Hmph! Rassell Cawowe?! I had about as much sophistication as Simon Russell Beale.

Del: More like Ian fucking Beale.

Rodney: And wha' is that supposed to meayn?

Del: Well, you chucked yer boh-ul and spoke in a whining voice of frustration, didn't ya?

Rodney: Yes. But if you were going full pelt with Raquel while you're dressed as a centurion and she's a bobby from a fictional programme. you'd be seething as well if some ponce rang you up.

Del: W'no, not exactly, Rodders. If Raquel requested me to test the durability of our mattress - while she was in her authoritarian clobber with 'andcuffs - and you were on a prime-time quiz show, I'd put my foot daown. *points finger into the table* I would tell Raquel that I'm staying 'ere on the chaise lounge until Rodney could ring me up if 'e was stuck on a question on the Goldrush.

Rodney glares ironically

Rodney: Would you really?

Del: Yes. And wha' was that stupid answer you gave me? Gaw, dear. Everyone knows that Wagner stars in films.

Rodney: It was Ravel. And the producer said I was right in that phone call.

Del: Shredded dahck.

Rodney: And speaking of Jonathan Ross, d'you remember Tony Angelino? His performance with Raquel was hilarious.

Del: Ah yeaaaah, that's the blaoke who couldn't pronounce 'is R's and had a silly voice.



David Beckham: Are talking about me again?

Del: Of course not, Gahlden Rushballs. No. You can pronounce your R's.

David: And that's all?

Del: W'yeah... and you can punt a good freekick when you've 'ad a chance.

Rodney: John Barnes - short and curly.

David: Shut it, you tart cunt, Rodney. The secret to modelling authentic David Beckham underboxerbriefs is to go on Oscillations on CaB.

Del: Cab? Yeah, taxi for dopey arse here. It's jast as well we ain't on Dragon's Dent, 'cause they wouldn't give us any dosh for our celebri'y endorsement.

Rodney: In case...

Del: Sui'case.

Rodney: You haven't noticed, I am not an underwear model, nor am I a retired professional footballer.

David: I can't go out in a pair of boxer briefs. Last time I did that, Fergie launched a football boot at my head.

Del: Shoulda launched it at Prince Andrew's bonce.

Rodney: No, he means Alex Ferguson, the former manager of Man U.

David: Iy do-on't.

Rodney: Aoh.

David: Rodney, have you really got two GCEs?

Rodney: Yeah, Maths and Art.

David: Oh, I love art.

Rodney: It's good, innit. Who's your favourite artist?

David: Neil Buchanan from Art Attack. And yours?

Rodney: It would have to be Raphael. The Sistine Madonna is a High Renaissance masterpiece.

David: Oh. Nice.

Del: I like my old Renaissance pain'ings, baht I'm not fan of that one. I mean, why would 'e do a portrait of the git who did the handball manoeuvre.

Rodney: What are you on about, Del?

Del: Well, the one you just said, the Argentine Maradonna.

Rodney: It's the Sistine Madonna by Raphael.

Del: OhHhhHh, thaa-aat painting. I'm wiv you naow. Hah-hah-hah. Nah, nah, I sometimes get it mixed up with the other Madonna painting by Splinter the Mutant Ninja Terrapin.

Rodney lowers his eyelids and sighs

Rodney: Fucking 'ell!

Ext. Market

Del: Get your nads around these beau'iful pairs of ssssuiwtcases, ladies and non-binaries. Naow, I'm not asking for £4.99, no way, Pet Shop Boys. I'm asking for four hundred and ninety-nine pennies.

David stands further up the market away from Del and Rodney's pitch

Boy: Excuse meeee, are yoo David Beckham?

David (Through megaphone): <<Yes. Don't tell anyone I'm here>>.

Boy: Can you sign my Comic Relief football?

David: Yes, I shall use my Sharpie chisel tip pen to fulfill your request for an autograph. Hopefully those cunts will recognise my charitable work and give me a knighthood. *David looks at Del and Rodney selling the boxer shorts* I think they're on a winner 'ere, Trigger the road sweeper. Play it nice and cool, son. Nice an' cool, ya know wha' I mean.





Del: What a 456436359-carat plonkercock. *To lens* Donate tonight to give jumbo meals to those 'ungry forreners. Lovely jubbly!!

[Paul Calf]

I've missed MOFOFAH. I am glad to see a return.

[Glebe]

Mike: 'im? He's no Aussie. He used to be a local lad. I'm not sure how I'm aware of this now. I can't look up the script online as there's no internet.

Heh!

Haha, I want ALBERT to fall down at the comedy awards in every episode.

This one's for you, Cap!

EPISODE: A-Hole Jumps Downs a Hole!

Opening theme!

INT.FLAT.MORN

DEL: Mornin' Unc, what yoo wotching?

ALBERT: The Witches and the Grinnygog. It's very nostalgic.

DEL: I fought vat woz on in the afternoons?

ALBERT: Oi recorded it.

DEL: Bat we don' 'ave a video recorder yet!

ALBERT: Oi went ahead an' bought me an' one!

AUDIENCE: Chic-chicah!

DEL: Uh... anyway, guess wot Rodney bought, wiv da weathermen predicting the coldest solstice evah, loike facking The Day After Tomorrow? A facking gross loh ov santan lotion!

ROD: I do not get the The Day After Tomorrow reference.

DEL: Noither do oi, bruv, fi'm wan't be released foh anovah nineteen years! Anyway, let's gah dahn The Nag's!



INT.NAG'S HEAD.SOON

DEL: Wot's app, Moike?

MIKE: Wotcher Del, they are holding this year's British Comedy Awards in the cellar, fancy that? First prize is that dodgy deep fat fryer you sold me!

ROD: Del, come quick! Albert has gone mental and dived dahn into the British Comedy Awards!

INT.NAG'S CELLAR.MOMENTARILY

ALBERT: Crikey, shouldn't ah dahn vat! Wan ah dem heavy glass British Comedy Awards fell on me an' all!

DEL: We shall sue the British Comedy Awards!

INT.FLAT.LATER

ALBERT: 'ere look Del, I fand wan of our BAFTA Awards dahn the sofa!

DEL: Not now Albert, Solly the dodgy solicitor is camin' ovah!

SOLLY: Alright Del, here I am!



DEL: Wotcha reckon abaht Albert, Solly?

SOLLY: He didn't look to clever beforehand, but it is the psychological effect I worry about.

ROD: Wotcha mean, Solly?

SOLLY: Let's look at the facts from a subjective angle. There was a man who fell down a manhole in Los Angeles in front of the Oscars. He sued the Oscars for a coupla bucks - a cool 50p in English sterlings!

DEL: Doo dah Bisto, Solly! See you in court!

INT.COURT.SOME DAYS LATER.

JUDGE: ORDER IN THE COURT! We shall be judging The Case of the Peckham Pouncer today!

ALBERT: Peck'am Pansah?! But oi fought that woz Rodney!?

JUDGE: I'm sorry sir, but you are the new Peckham Pouncer, having 'pounced' down a Peckham pub cellar! Now please take the stand... CALL THE PERESECUTOR - ah, I mean, CALL THE PROSECUTOR, right, aha!

KAVANAGH QC: Present, Your Honour! Now, Missus Alberto Gallstones Trotskyite, I am convicting you on several counts of mur-

JUDGE: Um, that's a different case Kavs.

KAVANAGH: Oh right sorry. Now Mr. Gladstone - WOD 'APPENED?!

ALBERT: Oi woz on da way to The Krypton Factor when oi BASE jamped into da British Comedy Awards!



KAVANAGH: For your shame-faced performance today Mr. Trot, I gift you the Academy Award® for Best Actor!

ALBERT: But oi carn't act foh toffee, mate!

KAVANAGH: I synthesize Mr. Traitor and I wish to assist you with loving care! Now, here are a list of the establishments you have plunged into... The Slaughtered Lamb, Yorkshire, 1860... Fawlty Towers, Torquay, 1975... The Welshly Ams, USA, 1980-

DEL: -VATS ENAFF, MATE!

KAVANAGH: SHAT IT, YOO SLAAAAAG!!

JUDGE: Come to the point, Kavanagh!

KAVANAGH: Sorry, M'lud. The Rovers Return, Weatherfield, 1961... The Woolpack, Emmerdale, 1979... The Queen Vic, 1984...

DEL: Crikey, 'e's been dahn more 'oles than Zebedee!

AUDIENCE: Choff!



SOLLY: We could be lookin' at fifty-grander 'ere, Del!

DEL: Yoo fick, Solly? Geh app ta speed!

MIKE: Ooh me neck!

JUDGE: ALL RISE! Albie Grandstone Trooter, I am letting you off the hook, with a warning not to be such a twat in future!

ALBERT: Fanx mate!

KAVANAGH: Bastad!

EXT.STREET.DAY

DEL: Oi jast doo noh believe it!

ALBERT: Sorry, boys... oi jast wanted to put a headstone on y'Granddad! He was my biological brother.

DEL: Yeah well nevermoid, Unc... and here, a special surprize, the Tony Jacklin Golf Award for goin' dahn 'oles!

ALBERT: Fanx son! Turned out weol, 'asn't it?! Sorry abaht the low-resolution pic below!

ROD: Hur!

Closer's theme!

[DangledTeeth]

Ha ha, the Comedy Awards pics and "I synthesize Mr Traitor".

--------



Hello, this is David Jason. Today's question is... oh sorry, my mistake. Wrong opening.

I'm here to present to you my top three underrated genius moments in the comedy classic The Only Fools and Horses Ltd by the late genius John Sullivan. But first of all, I like to make an announcement: there's an exclusive episode in development for the Joseph Stalin thread - nothing amazing or anything, just a bit of a conceptual 'sprite swap', so to speak. And some of you may remember a 'YouTube' ad for Coronly Fools & Horses in the Dr Grande thread last year. There was a plot in mind but it wasn't firm enough to really get going; however, with recent political developments in the world which have been quite inspirational towards the narrative, there's now a foreseeable middle and end to the special episode. So anyway, I'm jabbering on.


Number 3: Rodney Using his Computer

John Sullivan certainly had an aptitude for writing at the level of Tolstoy. He injected such wonderful prose into the actions of his timelessly believable characters and multilayered narrative, and that is why he was ingratiated into the pantheon of world-renowned writers. As for Tolstoy, ah-har-hah-hah! *Points at camera* I 'ad you twats going for a sec', didn't I?

But in all seriousness, there was one particular scene that really enamoured me of how absorbingly brilliant it was. I mean, it still is. And it's the opening scene to Yuppie Love, otherwise known as "Del Falls Through the Bar and it's All Your Fault Rodney You Gordon Bennett of a Divvy Cunt". Whenever this classic comes on again (I'm confident that Gold will find any excuse to do yet another fucking OFAH marathon right in the middle of, I dunno, a Fawlty Towers Friday), be sure to observe the nuances of Nick's acting, it's that look of concentration as he presses the keys on his keyboard and glances at the data on his screen. Now, Sullivan (gawd bless 'im) was such a prescient and forward-thinking individual he knew just how revolutionary computers would be in the future of now. But to be fair, though, they'd been around a good few years by 1989, so some would contest this as being 'with the times' but back then at the time, but it's a lovely little detail that elevates John's genius to newer and great heights than one could possibly ever, ever imagine.


Number 2: Uncle Albert Exercising in his Vest

Ah, dear old Harry Merryfield. Y'know, Lennard Pearce is an all-time great and sorely missed as himself and as Grandad Trotter, but that doesn't stop Uncle Albert from being equally loved, too, and more so than Grehndad. There's one scene - I can't for the tits of me remember wha' episode it was in - where Uncah Lahbert is in his navy blue shorts and is wearing either a plain white vest or a string one as he rhythmically thrusts his arms upwards as he clenches those aerobic dumbbells. This adds a new dimension to the character of Albert and ties in with his naval experience, as I'm sure he would've done plenty of star jumps and pumped his legs on an aerobics board, while wearing a lurid leotard like they did in the 1980s when Fools was first done or something. Of course, Albert would've been in the navy throughout the 1940s, but you can't get every detail accurate, can you?




Number 1: Raquel Burps Damien out of Her Mingehole

Well, what can I, Sir David Jason, say about this remarkable segment of an episode from series 7? Quite a lot actually. It goes like this, right: Raquel is pregnant throughout the aforementioned seventh series, then she feels a bit of windypops in her belly and clunge area and is transported to the local hospital. Now, I found this to be startlingly realistic as this is wha' happens when women are pregnant. Rodney, who's had a bit of a boudoir tumble with Cassandara, is woken up by Del via telephone about Rachel being in labour. So, Rodney is initially insouciant about the devil-spawn materialising on this earth nut, right, but then he drastically changes his mind suddenly and quickly in a way one could describe as instantaneous and fast. Rodney heads his arse over to the hospital and meets Albert in the hospi'al corridor, who was not woken up after having a boudoir tumble with his great-nephew's wife (although there is a lost scene banished to the BBC archive depicting some unconvincing softcore rutting). Rodney and Albert wait patiently near the ward as Del has his thumb mangled by Raquel. As she reclines on the bed, legs spread apart for the staff (with Jumbo Mills' brother as the midwife who loses his wig), she strains baby Damien out of her slot, causing her to go MHRRRRaAAAaAaARgHh and-and-and get this, right, she also goes NYYYUUUAAA-AAAAAGHHH! And if I am not mistaken, she additionally screams out GYUUUUUaAAAaAaAAAaRrrRrR! as it's amplified down the corridor. But my favourite line in the whole episode is WAAAUU-UURRRRRGHHH. Although the bit where Del goes "Aagh! AAAGH! Raquel, stop gripping my thumb so tightly. RODNEY!!!! You plonking dickstick, you ain't the father of my child, but this still is all your fault. This time next year you'll still be a cunt" provides us with a good laugh. Then again, the over-the-top close-up on Rodney as the dramatic verses of O Fortuna plays is worthy of mention.

Glorious programme, unrivalled sitcom, say no more. I thoroughly enjoyed every magical episode I starred in as The Del Boy. Well, thank you very much for watching yet another excuse to repeat Only Fools and Horses again. I sincerely hope you enjoyed my
special and modest show about The Only Fools and Horses. See you around, pal. Bonjour.

[Glebe]

I've missed MOFOFAH. I am glad to see a return.

It just keeps coming back, it can't be stopped!

Number 1: Raquel Burps Damien out of Her Mingehole

Heh!

EPISODE: THESE JOLLY BOYS I AM DOUBTING!



Opening theme!

EXT.MAWKET.DAY.

DEL: Gertcha laverly tomahtoes! Six forah foivah!

CASSIE: Hello Del!

DEL: Oh 'ello, Cass! Wot yoo doin' 'ere?

CASS: I can't remember why in the episode. It is unusual to see me in such a tatty, working-class environment - the same cannot be said for you Marlene!

MARLENE: 'ello all, oi'm 'ere wiv dah baby!

ALBERT: Mornin' Admiral Tyler! Lookin' fohwad to The Green Green Gross?

TYLER DURDEN: hiya albert mate

DEL: Oh boi dah way Cass, me and Albert haz invoited owselves to yah posh dinner par'y! Oh yeah and Roddy's gan onna Jolly Boys Outing to Margate wiv as!

AUDIENCE: Chuck!



INT.ROD AND CASS APARTMENT.EVENING

CASS' BOSS STEPHEN: Me and Joanne went On Safari last year, OK, yah!

JOANNE: Yah, host Christopher Biggins was such a loff, TTFN!

CASS: Let us play Trivial Pursuit. Del, what is the name of a small swan?

Rodney takes out a corn on the cob.

ROD: Oh wait no, it's not cob...

DEL: It is a pen. Oi ahm not fick!

AUDIENCE: WOOF!

ALBERT: Fack vis foh a game ah darts, 'ere, oi brought Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon!

ALAN PARRY: Nice one Albert, now I am just going to help meself to a double brandy and by the way wife, I am going on the Jolly Boy's Outing whether you like it or not!

WANDA VENTHAM: Do what you fucking want, mate. My son is Benedict Cumberbatch, so you can stuff your couple of Blackadder appearances.

ALAN: HELP! I NEED SOMEBODY!



INT.COACH ON THE WAY TO MARGATE.MORN

ROD: Look out, Margate - we are camin' to lock up y'daughters!

ALAN: Nice one, Rod.

ALBERT: Del, oi'm starvin'!

DEL: 'ere's a huge bag of laverly fish an' chips, Unc! Beer, anywan?

DENZIL: No drink for me, Del - I am on antibiotics for a very personal and embarrassing problem!

DEL: HAHA! Gonna tell all abaht them an'bio'ics!

SID: You're aht of order, Del!

ROD: This is a strange, nasty Del we see, plus a Dimbleby-like Del going by the picture above!

DEL: Shah app, Wodney, or oi wiol break yoor 'and, loike in A Royal Flush!

AUDIENCE: SQUEAK!

MIKE: Del, bus driver Harry is either pissed or overcome by the fumes emitting from the radio.

BOYCIE: Oi dahn't loike dah sand ah tha'! Let us stop at a pab!



INT.PUB TOILETS.DAY

MIKE: I don't believe it Del! It is my old mate Eddie!

EDDIE: Alright mate, here, you and Del have some free tickets for me nightclub in Margate!

DEL: Stop shakin' our 'ands wiv yah pissy hands!

EDDIE: I am obsessed with piss! I even collect it in jars, a la Howard Hughes!

DEL: Wash yoor 'ands, Moike!

AUDIENCE: BLOOMF!!

EXT.PUB.DAY

MICKEY: Let us 'ave a kickabaht!

JEVON: On the 'ead, Rodney!

ROD: Rude gullet? - Nowhere!

POLICEMAN: I am arresting you for kicking a ball in me face!

AUDIENCE: Oh dear!

EXT.POLICE STATION.DAY.

ALAN: Right, we've got Rodney out of jail and they've not pressed charges for the ball incident nor his claim he is going to lock up Margate's daughters. To the bus-mobile!

INT.BUS.AFTERNOON.

BOYCIE: Wot a laverly view!

DEL: Everybody's talkin' at me, but oi dan't 'ere a word they're sayin, anly the echoes of moi moind!



There follows a montage of various Margate fun and games!

TRIGGER: Dolphin!

MIKE: No more jellied eels, Alan!

DENZIL: Giz a kiss, Boycie!

ALBERT: 'ands off me froid dawnats, Del!

DENZIL: FUUUUUCK!!

HARRY: I'm well fucked, me! Let me just sleep it off!

AUDIENCE: A-chuckle-chuck-chuck!

EXT.PIER.LATER

DEL: Wot an' emotional day, Wodney!

ROD: Cam on Andy, let's go 'ome!



INT.PHONEBOX.EVENING

ROD: Cass, oi knaw yoo olways say that Del facks fings app, but oi 'ave sam bad news... a terrorist has blawn app our bus wiv a bomb!

EXT.MARGATE.NIGHT

ALAN: There are no buses or trains till morn. It is best we all split up.

TRIGGER: I do not know which direction to follow!

AUDIENCE: Silly Trigger!

INT.B&B.NIGHT

LANDLADY: I am afraid there are no more rooms here, Del, Rod and Albert! Yet Denzil, Mickey and Jevon enjoy lovely baths and roast potatoes! Try Villa Bella down the road!

ALBERT: Gertcha, cat!



EXT.VILLA BELLA.NIGHT

ROD: The thunder and lightening is one thing, but this is clearly The Munster's getaway house, and I mean that literally!

AUDIENCE: Ha!

DEL knocks on the door.

MRS. CRESWELL (NOT  PLAYED BY JEAN BOHT): Hello, I am Mrs. Creswell who runs this place. I am not Jean Boht who plays Nellie Boswell in Carla Lane's Bread, but you can pretend I am if you like!

AUDIENCE: Wha?

DEL: Er, roight... anyway, goh room foh dah noight?

MRS. CRESWELL (NOT PLAYED BY JEAN BOHT): Follow Inga!

INGA: Follow me!

INT.VILLA BELLA ROOM.NIGHT.

ROD: Look, it is bad enough having to share a bed with Albert, but on top of that he keeps insisting Mrs. Creswell is played by Jean Boht when she is clearly Rosalind Knight from the Carry On films!

ALBERT: Well she looks like Nellie Boswell to me!

DEL: Sod this Rod, let's gah dahn dah noightclab!



INT.NIGHTCLUB.NIGHT

DEL: Laverly prawn cocktail!

ROD: Heh look, it's Trig, Boycie and Mike!

MIKE: Us lot and Alan fand a hotel - then us three decide to come out while Alan pukes up a loada jellied eels!

DEL: Just sit dahn an' wotch dah magic act, lads!

THE GREAT RAYMONDO: And for my next trick, I will be doing my Ozzy Osbourne impression and biting the head off this dove!

TRIGGER: I have seen that bird before. Not the dove, the assistant.

BOYCIE: It's strip-o-gram, Raquel! HAHAHAHAHA!!

DEL: Psst! Raquel!

RAQUEL: DEL!

DOVE: Nice one, I can fly to freedom while everyone is distracted!

AUDIENCE: 'ow queer!

INT.NIGHTCLUB.LATER

DEL: Giz yah nambah, Raquel! Cam an' join the series permanently!

RAQUEL: Nice one!

EXT.VILLA BELLA.LATER

ROD: Del, we're locked aht!

DEL: Dahn't give a fack Rod, oi'm in lav! Oh owight den, oi'll fuck this rock through our window to wake Albert!

ROD: Fack me, let's leg it!

DEL: Oi knaw, oi'll give Raquel a bazz!



RAQUEL: You can kip on the sofas, lads!

RAMONDO: What's all the fuss, Raquel?

DEL: Eh?! You're havin' it away wiv 'im?! Oi shall fack 'is suitcase aht the windah and kill 'im with this artillery gun wot oi 'ave!

AUDIENCE: Eh?!

RAQUEL: NO DEL! NO GUNS!

DEL: Owight den, spoilsport!

DEL punches RAMANDO.

RAQUEL: You fucking great twat, Del! Ramando is a gay!

DEL: Oh sorry mate.

RAMONDO: No, it's fine! I probably deserved it, heh! My nose is broken, but I don't mind going out into the cold to retrieve my suitcase!

RAQUEL: You two kip on the sofas then get the fuck out of here come morn!



INT.ROD AND CASS' APARTMENT.DAY

ROD: Yoo-hoo, Cassie, I'm home!

CASS: Er... now's not a good time, Rodney.

STEPHEN: Oh hi Rodney! I was like just about to pleasure your wife with this giant sausage I got from Dirty Barry!

JOANNE: And I was gonna watch, yah!

RODNEY punches STEPHEN's light out and throws JOANNE out the window.

CASS: RODNEY!

ROD: Er... sorry, Stephen!

STEPHEN: No prob Rod, okay, yah!

INT.TROTTERS FLAT.LATER

DEL (on phone): Yeah, sorry abaht owl vat, Raquel! Still, glad y'joining the series on a permanent basis! Oh yeah, that suitcase nearly kiwold Moike when 'e woz wolkin' by, but gladly Boycie took the brunt, heh!

ALBERT: Meanwhoile, a rock durst smash me durin' the noight!

ROD: Hello, all! I am back to stay after quite a kerfuffle!

Closing theme!

[Glebe]

EPISODE: A SHITTY-STREAKED PAIR OF Y-FRONTS!

Opening theme!

INT.FLAT.DAY.

DEL (on phone): 'ere, Winston, fancy a mink coat? No? See yoo awound, pal!

ROD: Wot's wong, Del?

DEL: Nah, naffink! Naw, get that toilet parfume yoo been makin' in that bowl dahn dah t'market.

ROD: Righto, Del!

DEL: Oi tell yah wot Grandad, that Boycie's been cleaning me aht at cards!

GRANDAD: 'ere, Del Boy, have me lacky dabble-'eaded coin.

DEL: Dabble-'eaded coin?! Oi fought ya anly saw dem in old sitcoms!

AUDIENCE: Chug chug chug!

GRANDAD: It were givit me boi an anlacky Scotsman. I pass it on to you, dear Derek, m'Del.



INT.NAG'S HEAD.DAY

DEL: 'ow many of dem smelly waters we sell then, Roderney?

ROD: Nil pois.

TRIG: Alright lads, fancy a pint? Oh yeah, boi the way, I don't wanna drop yoo in it Del, but Dave - he's blown a huge wodge of maney at poker to Boycie!

ROD: GUMPH!

DEL: 'Tis a losing streak! But I will bet the lost ov our scrapings tonoigh'!

BOYCIE: Wazzup, m'homies?!

DEL: 'ere Boycie, dauble or naffink?

BOYCIE: 'eads.

DEL: Ow fack me dat bladdy coin.

BOYCIE: Farewell, dear Derek! See thee this night!

DEL: Dan me stake maney, innoi?

ROD: Oi'll bring back the empties!

DEL: He is a fucking massive carrot and a plonkah, Trig.



INT.FLAT.NIGHT

DEL: Grandad, gimme an 'andred quid!

GRANDAD: Okay, but you'd better dabble me maney, Del, try to get rich!

ROD: Trig and Boyce here!

DEL: Play it cool, moi san, play it cool!

TRIG: Good evening, my dear friends.

BOYCIE: Alright cunts, this flat is a dump. Now let us play cards with my dodgy pack.

Later...

TRIG: This is heavy stuff Del, I call it a night!

DEL: I am cleared out!

BOYCIE: YOUR ADVENTURE ENDS HERE, Del!

DEL: 'ang abaht, Boycie!



TRIG: Reckon Boycie is a cheating bastard then, Grandad?

GRANDAD: 'e knaws more magic tricks than Paul Daniels an' 'as smoked yoo two app like a cappla kippahs!

ROD: Del, we have been living on a queer's street for a fortnight, yet you have produced cash from a phone!

DEL: 'Twas Buzby wot sent it! Now let the poker continue!

BOYCIE: Stop lookin' over me shoulder, Grandad!

GRANDAD: 'Tis the cameraman wot closes in on your Watney's ale!

CAMERAMAN: And what's this? Boycie's got kings up his sleeve!

AUDIENCE: Huff huff huff!!

BOYCIE: I raise ye hundreds!

DEL: He's definitely blaffing! I raise the stakes.

BOYCIE: Aw naw. Naw naw naw, Del Boy. A grand I add!

DEL: I'm facking brassic, mate!

BOYCIE: You should not play the game's of grown men, Del!

DEL: I'm stoney-broke, Boyce!

ROD: An' oi am jast stoned!

BOYCIE: Get off the pot, Rodney!

AUDIENCE: Heh?

DEL: Will you except cash and curry, Vimal?

BOYCIE: Oi ain't Vimal, Del!

DEL: Weol yoo certainly look loike 'im, wiv yah big moustache! Heh, 'Vimal Landan' - yoo knaw, the make-up brand!

AUDIENCE: Ah?!

DEL:  Owight Boycie... owl moi jewellery and this bag of delicious fish and chips!

TRIG: And the crap car you sold me.

BOYCIE: Dan't cam to a grand, Del.

DEL: Roight... all vat, everyfing in the flat, everything Grandad and Boycie own, everything in Trig's house, and everything in dah neighbours upstairs flat!

BOYCIE: Seeing that we are mortal enemies, I shall accept owl thaugh mere pittance as a bid of a fazand. I have four kings.

DEL: Wan, foo, free, fowah?!?

BOYCIE: You are versed in arithmetic!

AUDIENCE: BARF!

DEL: Oi fought yoo woz blaffing!

BOYCIE: Aw nah. Naw naw naw naw naw naw, Del!

DEL: Oi anly 'ave Jumbo's touper!

GRANDAD: 'e went owl the way to Australia wiv aht 'is rotten touper?!

ROD: Come, Trigger... I shall drop you off at the Riverside.



DEL: Wot yah doin', Boyce?

BOYCIE: I collect my winnings!

DEL: Not on y'Nellie, mate! All cards must be shown!

TRIG: Leave it aht, Del!

BOYCIE: Ow naw... naw naw naw, Trig! Let Del 'ave 'is moment in the limelight! Let us see your four aces, Del!

DEL: Well... I got two aces... and the avah two cards is aces an' awl.

BOYCIE: That adds up to four cards that are aces.

DEL: Good at maffs an' all, Boycie!

TRIG: Four aces... oi ain't nevah seen no wan cheap at cards wiv four aces!

ROD: FOUR BLADDY ACES!!

GRANDAD: Oi fought Del moight 'ave some cheating cards app 'is sleeve!

BOYCIE: Nicely done, Del! Where did you find such wonderful cards?

DEL: Same place yoo goh y'kings! Oi am aware of y'cheating!

BOYCIE: How durst thou know this?!

DEL: Because oi dealt yoo a bad 'and!

AUDIENCE: HAHAHAHAHA!!

ROD: Trick him again, Del!

DEL: I always like the see a man in uniform Boycie, and tonight is your lucky night! Heads or tails?

BOYCIE: Ow naw. Naw naw naw, Del.

DEL: Oi shall allow Rod to choose f'me!

ROD: TAILS!

DEL: Ow fack me yoo facking bladdy plonkah, Roderney!

The theme that ends it!

[Captain Z]

This one's for you, Cap!

An inspired reworking.

[Glebe]

An inspired reworking.

Thanks!

EPISODE: IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PECKHADELPHIA!

Opening theme!



INT.NAG'S HEAD.DAY

DEL: Laverly weavah we're 'aving, eh Rodney?

ROD: Indeed! Oh boi dah way, yoo have been slapped with a paternity suit, Del!

DEL: OH NO! VIS IS DA WORST DAY OV MOI LOIFE!

ROD: Heh, jast kiddin'! More sangria, Del?

DEL: Nah Roderney, I'm off to the bar foh anovah San Miguel! Oh 'ello Alex, 'ows y'travel agents goin'?

ALEX: That's jast the problem, it ain't Del!

DEL: Oi goh an idea - woi don't yoo start givin' aht free 'olidays!

ALEX: That's a great idea, Del! And to show moi appreciation, I'll give you a discahnt on an 'oliday in Bournemouth!

DEL: Ow cam on, Alex, givvus a free 'oliday!

ALEX: Tell yoo woo Del, give as that duty free bag of fish and chips you're 'olding in the pic'chah below and I shall grant you your wish!

DEL: DAHN! OI RODNEY, FANCY AN' 'OLIDAY IN BENIDORM, BOURNEMOUTH?

ROD: Nod 'alf!

DEL: Weol jast geh dahn the market an' knock out sam ah dem sombreros foh y'duty frees maney first! Current bun on' y'back, bizzo!



INT.FLAT.DAY

DEL: Roight Rodney, we're ganna rave it app a bit in Benidorm!

ROD: Oi'll 'ave a bit ov vat!

GRANDAD: I have always wanted to go to Benidorm even though I have no idea where it is.

DEL: It is in Bournemouth, Gran'fahvah!

GRANDAD: Aw Bournemouth, nah, fuck me, been before, not good! Yet I desire to come on holiday with ye!

DEL: Roight, um... tell yah wot, woi dan't ya go an' knock us app wanna yooh Spanish Omelettes to get in da mood fo' Bournemouth, eh?

GRANDAD: Good idea, thought them gorn-org eggs is on the turn! Oil puh a poisonous amahnt a peppah in!

ROD: Grandad cannot cam to Bournemouth, 'e'll cramp us!

DEL: Oi karnt tell 'im, it'll break 'is 'eart!

ROD: Then oi shall do the deed! Grandad, may oi join yoo in da kitchen foh a word?

DEL (on phone): Alex, can yah place anavah bed in our room in Benidorm? Nah, it's in Bournemouth mate. Grandad is camin'... noice one, I shall pop a kite arahnd first fing in da mornin'!

ROD: Del, corn't Alex pop anavah bed in the room?

DEL: Yoo are a ruthless as the man at C&A!

GRANDAD: 'ere's yoor omelette, lads!

DEL: Fack me, vat needs more peppah!

ROD: Beware my foot spa, Del - whoops!



There now follows a sort of still-photo animated montage of the boys flying to Bournemouth and all that.

Montage music!

INT.BOURNEMOUTH CUSTOMS.DAY

GRAHAM COLE FROM THE BILL: I interrupt this montage to inform you that you are under arrest for smuggling illegal duty free bags of fish and chips through customs!

DEL: It were MP Tom Randall wot made me do it, Guv! It's a CaB meme!

GRAHAM COLE FROM THE BILL: Alright mate, don't do it again! Now let the montage continue, following The Bill theme tune!



INT.BOURNEMOUTH HOTEL ROOM.NIGHT

DEL: Really enjoyed sliding arand da dance floah in me big-sleeved 1970's shirt, Rodney, nah let us get these foreign sorts into da room for a shag! Oh no - Granddad has created a giant omelette! Cam back, birds!



EXT.BOURNEMOUTH SAND DUNES.DAY

DEL: Here Rodney, wouldn't it be hilarious it I fucked this ball at Grandad's head? YOO HOO, GRANDAD, RODNEY HAS PREPARED SOME BEER FOR YOO!

ROD: 'ere Grandad, put sam more peppah on vat omelette, would ya?

GRANDAD: Act yoor age! Oi'm gawin back to the 'otel and 'ave a Fiesta ice lolly!

ROD: Yoo dahn't reckon 'e's pining for the fjords?

DEL: PINING FOR THE FJORDS?! PINING FOR THE FJORDS?! Nah, Rodney... nah, put sam beer on me back, would yah, plonkah?



EXT.POOL AREA OF BOURNEMOUTH HOTEL.DAY

DEL: Go to the room and fetch me a crisp, fresh shirt, Rodney! Cor, look, an English woman who speaks French! Pardon mademoiselle, parlez-vous anglais?

NOT FRENCH WOMAN: Yeah mate, I ken your language.

DEL: Fancy taking this omelette off me 'ands then?

NOT FRENCH WOMAN: Nah mate. Nah.



ENGLISH BLOKE: Oi Jackie, pull ap an' omelette!

NOT FRENCH WOMAN: Would love to mate, but that little man who is pretending to be French has attached himself to me in quite an annoying manor.

ENGLISH BLOKE: Dahn worry abaht 'im, lav!



DEL: Anyone want this omelette?

ENGLISH BLOKE: Fank yoo, waiter! Do not kick sand in mine eyes - HAHAHAHAHA!!

DEL: Nah mate but oi'm ganna burst yah inflatable chair!

ROD: Del, leave dat English woman who ain't no French woman alone an' cam quick - Grandad 'as been tossed inna prison cell!

INT.BOURNEMOUTH PRISON.DAY

BOURNEMOUTH PRISON GUARD: Wisators!

DEL: Afternoon, Grandad, yoo settling in nicely?

GRANDAD: Yes, thank yoo Del, oi am jast enjoying this omelette with extra peppah!

DEL: Quo vadis and vamos, guard! Naw Grandad, yoo ungrateful git, we been all ovah lookin' foh yoo!

ROD: Oi even hired wanna dem Consul cars!

DEL: Remain calm all. WAD 'APPENED?!

DEL: Naffing! Oi was jast jaywalking when the Bournemouth police arrested me for crimes committed 'durin' da woah', as Uncle Albert says!

ROD: Next thing y'knaw yoor banged up in chokey, enjoying porridge!



DEL: Dahn teol me... did yoo gift a goose to da maid?

GRANDAD: Naw. It is the year 1936, an' oi 'ave been deported from Bournemouth and all her territories durin' Spain's Civil War! Times were hard at Peabody Buildings, so me an' me mate Nobby wen' orf to join the legions of French in Bournemouth! So we hitchhiked to Southampton, Portugal and stowed away on a steaming tramp!

DEL: Eh?!

GRANDAD: Naw where woz oi... oh yes, me and Nobby woz ander the tarpaulin wiv a fisherman's friend! As Trottahs 'ave nevah made good sailors, jast look at Uncle Albert, ha. We arrived at Tangiers but they wouldn't 'ave us! Now me and Nobby Stiles woz in wood lumber. Then we woz paid to deliver arms to Spain.

ROD: Dirty mercenary!

DEL: Nah, naffink wrong wiv the arms trade, Rodney!

GRANDAD: After delivering several tons of dangerous arms we finally got caught. Nobby was taken away an' given a going over by the Driscoll Brothers.

DEL: He didn't even suck 'is Callard and Bowser!

GRANDAD: I don't understand the reference. In any case, we woz deported back to Blighty!

ROD: We woulda been better off in Buenos Aires, in some kind of mobile home.

DEL: Yoo are on a list wiv dah Black an' Whoite Minstrels!

ROD: It is the Black September.

DEL: We 'ave no toime to discuss astrological matters! We mast get the Red Hood aht of 'ere wiv the remnants of the World Cup hangin' abaht! Gringo's paellas! 'ang abaht, 'ere's the blacked-up Bournemouth cultural appropriation guy back! Alright Juan, just the 'Juan' oi wanted to see, jast 'Juan' moment, etc.




BOURNEMOUTH PRISON GUARD: Yoo take ah dah peas?

DEL: Nah mate... look, Anthony Jackson from Rentaghost, here's a big bribe to give too yoor charity of ya choice!

ANTHONY JACKSON FROM RENTAGHOST: Nah mate, just give us that big omelette and we'll call it quits. You can go, Grandfather. You have been pardoned for jaywalking and gun running and I have your Russian 'welease' papers here!

DEL: Jast loike vat?

BENIDORM ANTHONY JACKSON JAILER: Yeah, it's good for Anglo-Bournemouth relations.

ROD: An' don't fink Bournemouth's gettin' Gibroltah back jast cossa vis! In any case, let us jaywalk over to the drugstore and get some ointment for cats and bruisings.

DEL: Yes, Grandad - as we are going to beat yoo app!

GRANDAD: Fack me that's mental.

Closing time!

[DangledTeeth]

Omelettes!!!!

------



Alrarh' there, sahn? Uncah Lahbert 'ere wiv yer fav'rit Mah-ah ov Fact Aonly Fools an' 'orses episaodes. Juren nuh waw! There are lots ov classics throughaht the series, bu' we all have ahr episaodes we lav sao mahch.  I'll star' this awf wiv namber three.

43. Big Brother

Rodney: I'll keep the receipts. This time in the next fifteen years WE'RE GONNA BE MILYUNAIREEEEES!!!!!!!!

Del: Let's leave the garage and go to the Nag's Head. One-legged turkeys.

Int. The Nag's Head

Del: I am about to have a business meeting with Trigger

Rodney curls his bottom lip inwards and turns Del around by his forearm

Rodney: I am concerned. Is he called Trigger because he carries a firearm?

Del: No. It's because he resembles a horse. And why have you asked me about his nickname? Trigger's one of me aold school mates. Gaw, dear, staone meeee! You'll be askin' me what Boycie's actual name is next.

Trigger approaches Del & Rodney

Del: Ah, here he is. You've met my bravva Rodney before?

Trigger: Yes, I have. *To Rodney* Haow's it goin', Dave?

Rodney: My name is not Dave. It is Rodney. Could you verify this fact for Trigger, Del?

Del: Yes, Rodney is correct. Rodney's name is Rodney.

Trigger: Oh!!

Rodney: Definitely not Dave. It's Rodney. I don't want to correct you about this in the episode Homesick.

Del: Sao, wha' you got for us, Trig?

Trigger: Executive silver briefcases. I cannot pronounce 'conspicuous' correctly. Well, actually I can, I just did.

Del: Examination. Minuscule handle. I might be able to sell these.

Rodney: Are these sought-after items where law enforcement is involved?

Trigger: Certainly not! But I shall hide them under the table in case they are now deemed illegal.

Del: I'll rip you off by paying you less. 95p

Rodney: Actually, the sum you came to is incorrect.

Del: Cunt, Rodney! Oh fuck, we don't have thaa-aat sorta language in this sitcom, sorry. No, no, I am willing to pay Trigger the 'correct' sum of money.

Rodney: It's £175

Trigger: He has two GCEs and a calculator.

Del: Yes. But his GCE in Maths is worth nothing seeing as he ain't brigh' enaff not to use a calculator.

Rodney: That's not the correct line.

Int. Flat

Del: Telephone conversation. Oh no, the briefcases were nicked from your shop?! Laughter. Who would be stupid enough to nick or buy them. Up yours, Rodney.

Rodney: Oh, cosmic! What is wr-

Del: Attempt to open one.

Rodney: What is the combination?

Del: Inside the briefcase.

Grandad: Emperor burger.

Rodney: Hookoy purchase! This makes the one-legged turkey deal look like a shrew.

Grandad: Look shrewd.

Rodney: Yeah.

Del: You're such a plonker.

Rodney: I am liquidating our partnership, and I'll partner up with Mickey Pearce.

Del: Not yet.

Rodney: Okay. I'm going to run off to Hong Kong to meet up with a Chinese woman who was involved in my arrest for puffing a spliff.

Del: Hong Kong?!?! That's a very, very long distance, Rodney. I doubt that you would sojourn to a far away land. If you did, you'd probably forget your passport and come 'ome with a bollocks story about meeting a French woman called Veronica with her yacht in a doss 'ouse in Stoke Newington.

Rodney: You have a point. Oh, it's great to remain here, Del.

Del: Please don't hug me while I have a mug of tea in my hand.

Rodney: I will not.

End theme: I am not Nicholas Lyndhurst singing.


38. Homesick

Int. Community Hall

Trigger: WAHN! TWUEH! FRUEE! FAAH! Now listen here...

Rodney: Wrong character and episode, but the location is correct.

Trigger: Sorry, Dave.

Rodney: Trigger, I said about not calling me Dave in the MoF version of Big Brother. My name is not Dave, my name is Rodney because Rodney is my name.

Trigger: Are you certain, Dave?

Rodney: Yes, I have been Rodney for 20-something years and my birth certificate reads: Not Dave.

Trigger: I shall have to get used to calling you Rodney. *Calling* 'ere, Baz, are you gettin' this meeting started?! Me and Not Dave haven't got all night.

Rodney: Rodney!

Trigger: Yeah-yeah.

Baz: First on the agenda, new vice-chairman. Two hands up, Rodney opposes. Congratulations, Rodney. And the second on the agenda is my retirement. No paperwork or anything ceremonious. Trigger and I are going to fuck off down to the Nag's Head.

Rodney: Oh... meeting adjorned. Tap.

Baz: He's a natural

Chair: Don't recline, Rodney, you plonkercock!

Rodney: Regret.

Int. Trotters'  Flat

Del: Fuck me! Grandad's sprawled out on the floor.

Grandad: I ain't dead.

Del: Why were you passed out on the floor, Grandad?

Grandad: I was watching Crossroads, then I go' out my sea' to switch it over.

Del: And then what happened to you, not the programme?

Grandad: Obviously I passed out.

Del: Fair dos. Let's get you to bed.

Grandad: Yum, oranges.

Rodney: Sniff! Gonna phaone Muss Muhkenzoy uhabou' the bungalaow.

Del: This dialogue is rushed.

Albert: Oo's Miss McKenzie?

All: SHUT UP, ALBERT! IT'S NOT 1991.

Del: Gonna phone Dr Becker and imply a threat by mentioning his wife.

Dr Becker: I am here. Grandad - no relation to me - is old. Stairs. Exhaustion. Rest. He has the legs of Joseph Stalin. I do-on't.

Grandad: Doesn't Dr Becker come before the scene where I'm sucking on oranges?

Del: 10 foreigners with accents can get a bungalow. Wha' chance do we us have has stand?

Dr Becker: The newly appointed chairman of a council committee can have a great influence. Who's t-

Rodney: Me.

Del: Good boy. Nothing. Goo' boy.

Rodney: I'm not miffed this time around. I said I'm gunna phaone Mizz Makunzay erbout bunglow earlier on.

Evening

Del: Do come in, Denise Welch lookalike.

Miss McKenzie: I love Russian Ballet

Del: So do I. Joseph Stalin is great.

Miss McKenzie: Stalin?! But he wasn't a ballet dancer.

Del: Oh, no, no. I'm gettin' 'im mixed ahp with... *clicks fingers*

Rodney: Mao Zedong.

Audience: HAHAHAHAHAHAH!

Del: Rub your thigh.

Miss McKenzie: Don't slap my arse and ask me out for a curry.

Del: Your name ain't Miranda Davenport.

Miss McKenzie: I have signed the papers. 10,000 Poles will be executed.

Del: Champagne.

Miss McKenzie: I'll get my coat.

Grandad: Big cigar in my mouth. GASP!

Del: I have told you to collapse while she's stood next to me.

Miss McKenzie: Disappointed in you and Rodney the most.

Rodney: I believed myself.

Miss McKenzie: Resign?

Rodney: Yes. Thank fuck for that, never wan'ed the role in the first place.

Miss McKenzie: No bungalow.

Del: Margaret. M A R G A R E T?

Miss McKenzie: What?!

Del: Are we still on for that drink?

Miss McKenzie: Of course not, why would I go on a date with a thigh-rubbing pig who's thoroughly deceptive.

Del: Comical effect.

End Theme: No, really, I am not the voice of Nicholas Lyndhurst.


72. Christmas Special: Long Legs of the Law

Del: Ha ha, you shoulda seen 'im, Grandad. This policewoman turned up after Monkey 'arris and Paddy the Greek's wives were figh'ting. "I was thinking of ganna pickchuz, y'fancy gaoin' wiv me?"

Grandad: Ha ha ha ha.

Rodney: I did a get a date. She is a career woman.

Del: Hmm... I have no idea who this could be despite the fact I said that you chatted up a policewoman. What does she do?

Rodney: Policew-

Del: YOU'RE GOING ON A DATE WIV A FUCKING COPPAH?!

Grandad: Del! You can't swear on OFAH.

Rodney: Apart from 'arse', 'piss', 'bastard', 'shit' and 'bullshit'.

Del: Mum said to me on 'er deathbed, "Del Boy, I love Rodney, but he is a 24-carat jubblying pranny of a dipstick cunt"

Rodney: She never said that. Well, I don't know, I was lih-ul and couldn't remember.

Rodney heads off for his date

Del: Wan word from Rodney and I could end up in Park'urst with Tommy Mackay.

Albert: Oo's Tommy Mackay?

All: SHUT UP, ALBERT! TOO SOON. HE HAS A SMALL ROLE IN THREE EPISODES' TIME.

Late at Night

Del: I have heard the sound of the front door opening, that must be Rodney. *Calling* Did she 'andcuff you and then snap your arse in profile?

Grandad: I am peeking behind the door. Rodney has brought back the policewoman.

Del: HE'S DAN WWHHAT?!?! Conceal things, Grandfather.

Rodney: I have brought Sandra back. G & T. Cheers is another sitcom.

Del: I shall hide the dodgy records.

Sandra: Do you know what a sting is when it comes to the police?

Del: Yeah, lead singer of a band.

Audience: RAAHHARHARHAUAH!

Del: Oh fuck me! I'm so sorry, Old Bill Sandra. I have spilled gin over your watch. I shall have to remove it from your wrist and then have it repaired, because gin is a funny substance. Gin! Ah-hah-hah-hah. Oh, wai' a sec, that's from another line in The Unlucky Winner Is

Rodney: Nah, no need. We've got about ten more of 'em over here *winces*

Del: I don't believe 'im! Not only has he landed me righ' in it, he's also addressed the wrong hooky gear. Wha' a plonkcunt.

Int. Flat Hallway

Sandra: Embrace. Rod-neeeeeey.

Rodney: Smirk. Yeaaaah?

Sandra: You know your flat...

Rodney: Yes, it does have a bed.

Sandra: I don't give a shit. I recognise photos, they resemble your furniture and worldly possessions.

Rodney: I am the mastermind, for it was Del who attempted to hide things, and I was clever enough to mindlessly highlight the hooky goods.

Sandra: I'm not on duty and I can't be fucked to arrest you and have you transported to a station, but you did by me a doe-ner kebab.

Rodney: And a packet of cashew nuts. And coffee.

Sandra: Coffee? You can buy one at the all-night cafe down the road all by yourself. I shall bring my boys to inspect your spring cleaning. 24 hours.

Door: Closed.

Rodney: Practice speech before the transition to the next scene. Well Del, I can rhyme successfully, and 24 hours is better than nothing. He who dares wins...

Int. Flat

Del lightly strangles Rodney against the wall

Del: Any last requests? You twonking arsehole!!

Rodney: Yes. Keep the receipt safe for the Harrison lesser watch.

Grandad: Leave him, Del.

Del: This flat has nothing in it. I've got sao much off 'ooky Street, I dunno what's legit and what's dodgy.

Grandad: Oh, I wondered why I walked through door frames. And the cool breeze from the balcony must be because the window panels have been removed.

Del: There is thaa-aat, Grehndad. But the whole fucking balcony 'as gone an' all - I bought that off a blaoke up Shifty Lane. Maybe.

Rodney: None of these bits of dialogue are in the original.

Grandad: The police turnin' up and finding an empty flat will make them suspicious and could encourage them to inspect the garages.

Del: I ain't put 'em there. I hired Mike's party room on the slate and put everything inside.

Rodney: Del, can I spray a bit of aftershave on myself in case Sandra comes around a bit early?

Del: Holding a box, kicking my leg out.

Rodney: Don't be annoyed. You said a stupid thing at the conclusion of the Homesick episode.

End Theme: Sung by John Sullivan, not Rodney.



Tha' woz mar top three MoF OFAH. Thenks fer watchin', sahn. Ahp next on Gaold is anavva episaode of Aonly Fools an 'orses as part of Fools Friday even thaough it's Tuesdee. HuErGh-EUeR-EuGh-HeUuRrrR!

[Glebe]

EPISODE: A TOUCH OF CLASS OF 1862!

Opening theme!

INT.LOUNGE.DAY



ALBERT: Coh blimey, yoo lot are back! I been workin' not dozing, honest! 'ow'd yoor audition go, Raquel?

RAQUEL: Do not ask me that, Uncle Albert.

DEL BOY: Cam an' sit dahn in Albert's warm chair! Rodney shall make the tea!

RAQUEL: Nah don't bother I need to go into the kitchen to read a missive!

DEL: I am a busy yappie whoile yoo jast wake app foh 'ome and Away, Rodney!

RODNEY: And yoo are hooked up to the World Wide Fax with reject machines which get no messages ow fack me ver's a message!

DEL: Vis fax 'as cam rand the world from Moike, who says that there is a closs reunion foh the pupils of Martin Luther King's School from 1962 tonoight! Cam along, Wodney!

ROD: Leave me alawn to enjoy me Galden Wander crisps!



INT.KITCHEN.DAY

DEL: Yo Rachel, goin' to a reunion tonoight! Wozzap, yoo old mayah?

RAQUEL: I'm just reading a fax from my husband, saying I can stuff the divorce and that he is organising a reunion this very night - what a coincidence! Btw, Del, do not get fucking pissed at your reunion tonight!

DEL: ON Y'BIKE!



INT.NAG'S HEAD FUNCTION ROOM.EVENING

DEL: Who durst organise this reunion, Moike?

MOIKE: Nevah moind vat, me fax machine's knackered!

DOOR: KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

TRIGGER: It is oi, Triggah!

MOIKE: Oi'm off, please y'selves!

ROD: 'Tis a mystery all this, like an Agatha Christie film.

TRIG: Oi used to fancy Agatha Christie.

DENZIL: She was a woman who had granny hats and cakes.

DEL: Mr. Kipling's lavah!

TRIG: She was in Dr. Zhivago.

BOYCIE: That iz Julie Christie yoo stupid fackin' ignorant cant!

TRIG: Oi also fancied Miss Marple.

ROD: Anyway, on a cald, windy noight in Peckham, a mysterious, shadowy nightmare hast gathered ye togetah!

TRIG: Watch out - Beadle's about!

DENZ: What if it's our old psycho-killer headmaster? Or the Russ Abbot nutter from 'Friday the 14th'?

ROD: We can coll for help wiv vis telegram machine samwan 'append to leave on the table. Nah on second thoughts - oil get me coat!

As the boys argue and fuss, the lights are switched out!

DEL: 'kin 'ell!

The lights come back on.



EVERYONE: SLATER!

ROY SLATER: Surprise, Surprise, chuck! It is oi, ex-copper and enemy Roy Slater, an' oi' cam waving da whoite flag!

DEL: Wotcha doin' back, Slater?!

SLATER: Oi wish to see me awld mates! Roddy an' Cassie goh 'itched an' Boycie an' Marlene naw 'ave Tyler!

BOYCIE: Yeah... Green Green Gross, next! Boi da way, fought yoo woz in Parkhurst?

SLATER: Oi escaped, murdering several guards in cold blood!

TRIG: Yoo back on the force, Roy?

SLATER: Nah Trig yoo bloody mentaller. I goh convicted for diamond smaggling in feature-length episode 'To Hull and Back'. Anyway, anyone fancy an' 'eineken?

DEL: We must leave!

SLATER: I have changed and wiped the Slater clean. My apologies.

DEL: Yoo fitted as owl app on charges against Mickey Mouse!

DENZ: Yoo can stuff yer apologies up yehr arse, Slater! Yoo planted stamps on Trigger and he was locked up as a child!

DEL: Even fih'ed Rodney ap an' all!

SLATER: To paraphrase the Fine Young Cannibals, Rodney - I'm sorry, won't you please come home?

ROD: Wot?



SLATER: Yoor spurnings caused hating! In my ambitions, moi career came to a premature ejaculation - heh, Boycie! Then I goh banged up in chokey!

DEL: Cam on lads let's sneak aht the doah durin' vis poh ov da script!

SLATER: HALT! I spent a namber of years in a six-inch box. Whilst there, I fand Buddha! An' they would not let me aht for acts of compassion! Goh on... yoo lot shoot off!

DEL: Go on then, I'll 'ave a beer!

ROD: Oi shall give Roy da benefit of da doubt, in exchange foh a lorge Sauthern Camf'rt!

DENZ: A madness has taken ye! Yet lager I durst desire!

TRIG: Oi too shall partake of the beer!

BOYCIE: He durst fit ye up with stamps.

TRIG: Oi did buy an electric radio and a blanket.

BOYCIE: Cognac - and quick!



INT.LOUNGE.NIGHT

THE LADS: Come all without! Come all within! You've not see nothin' like the Mighty Quinn!

BOYCIE: Keep it dahn, yoo loh! Oi am tolkin' to Marlene on me brick phone!

DEL: 'ang on lads, jast goh a coll on me Telex from Calambia Recohds - this scene will be edited foh music copyroight!

TRIG: Oi fought Dylan sold his back catalog?

ROD: That's not till the future!

DENZ: We are all *hic* alcoholics with marriage problems!

SLATER: Advoice -dan't get married! 'ere, there are no photos of me 'ere!

ALBERT: Mast 'ave been taff in prison, Roy!

SLATER: Yoo dan't knaw the 'alf of it, Albert! They used to bum me in da shawahs!

BOYCIE: Didn't da screws do naffink?

SLATER: That WAS the screws! Va cons didn't even wait till oi'd dropped da soap!

DEL: Oi 'eard there's a loh ah bumditos in prison!

SLATER: Oscar Woilde wrote a poem about prison-bumming.

DEL: Wade a min'eht Roy, fand a faw'oh of yah! 'Tis the owld football theme! Oi used to dress ap as Roger Daltry and play loike Gazza Gascoigne!

TRIG: Who is that Italian kid?

BOYCIE: Eh?! Oh 'ere's Marlene to collect me!

TRIG: Giz me and Denzil a lift, Boyce!

BOYCIE: Cheerio, Roy!

SLATER: We shall go on a date, Boycie!

BOYCIE: ????

DEL: In de owld days we 'ad camaraderie and ate calamari!

TRIG: Woz dat the wop?

BOYCIE: Cam along Triggah, yoo big racist!

DEL: Roy has fallen asleep, let 'im kip onna sawfah!

ALBERT: Fink I'll turn meself in, noight lads!

DEL: Slater is not such a bad guy - take 'em aht ah ver uniforms, they are naked underneath! Just gan ta da kitchen foah oice, sleeping Rodney!

RAQUEL: Look at the state of the gaff! My goodness, 'tis husband Roy!

INT.KITCHEN NIGHT.

DEL: Oi jaggle oice cubes!

RAQUEL: You rotten shit! My ex-husband slumbers yonder!

DEL: Slater?! Yoo were married to Slater?! But vatz Slater! Oi sholl remoohve 'im on ve instance!



INT.LOUNGE.NIGHT

DEL: Rodney, wake ap! Raquel woz married to Slater!

ROD: Heh! Does Slater knaw abaht vis?

DEL: Oi would not loie! Cam on, wake ap an' sling yer 'ook Slater, y'gettin' me owl excited! 'ave some trendy wohtah, an' boi dah way, woi yoo in town again?

SLATER: Oi durst seek moi woife!

ROD: Salisitahs!

SLATER: To be sentimental, the cup of kindness dust overfloweth! 'ang on, 'ere's a signed photo of Tessa Peake-Jones... woz a soigned photo of Tessa Peake-Jones doin' in yoor flat?

DEL: Oi am a big fan!

ALBERT: Keep da noize dahn! Iz Raquel in yeh?

SLATER: Raquel?! Her OFAH character lives 'ere?

RAQUEL: Indeedy-doody!

SLATER: Rachel?!

ALBERT: 'oos Rachel from Friends?

SLATER: She was played by Jennifer Aniston. Which wan yoo shacked ap wiv, Rachel? Del or old white-beard?



ALBERT: 'oos Rachel Weisz?

SLATER: Sh-sha-daap!!

ALBERT: Gumph.

SLATER: Oi see naw 'tis Derek ye are close to! And crikey, yoo've tub-a-dub-dubbed me woife!

ALBERT: 'ang on, yoo woz married to Rachel?

SLATER: Yes, she appears to go wiv allsorts!

DEL: 'ave the EU changed da lows on gravity?

SLATER: Eh?! In any case, yoo could been fertilized by the gingivitis of a Siberian pimp but yoo go dahn markeh' to geh a Trotter!

RAQUEL: You are making me physically sick, Roy!

DEL: Steamin' 'ump!

SLATER: This will sound freaking ridiculous now, heh, but we should make a fresh start with a nice little inheritance!

DEL: Yoo make her excited! Off ta bed, Rachel!

ALBERT: 'oos Rachel?

ALL: SHADDAP, ALBERT!

ALBERT is visibly upset.



INT.LOUNGE.EARLY HOURS

DEL: ARE YOU AWAKE, RODNEY!

ROD: Yes, whoile Slater the snide, snide, sleeps in moi bed!

DEL: When people discavah vat oi am gain' caso wiv sam ex-coppah's woife, weol fack me, oi'm shofted!

ALBERT: Oi carn't sleep noivah. If pe'ple foind aht yoo've been case-oh wiv Slater, y'facked, sunshoine!

DEL: Oi doo noh deal in rejects, except veez reject fax machines!

ALBERT: Dahn't leh Slater realoise he 'as a hold-all! Oi mean, a howld ovah yah!

SLATER: Sorry to interrupt this scene, but I am desirous of Perrier.

DEL: Oi'll do yah an early breakfost den turf yah aht!

SLATER: None shall trust yoo wance they discavah vah troof! Naw gimme maney foh champagne!

DEL: Veh ya go, mate!

SLATER: Haw moving! Oi shall stay as long as oi wont! Noight!

ALBERT: He has you by the balls.

ROD: It is like a John Barnes free kick.

DEL: They're short and curly like pubes and all.

ALBERT: Da maney yoo give 'im cam aht 'is wollet.

ROD: An' look wot oi've fand... sam koind of 'marriage agreement' fing! An' Slater durst inherit, bat from wheyah?!

DEL: 'ang on, look at vis lettah to a doimoind geezer... Slater has pugged away ten li'l sparklers!

ROD: Evidence of concrete!

DEL: Let's pug that wollet away an'-

SLATER: - Ah noice wan, me wollet which oi foolishly left loying awand! Cheers, mate!



INT.NAG'S HEAD.ANOTHER NIGHT

SLATER: Take a seat, Rachel!

MIKE: More expensive champagne on Del's account, Mr. Slater?

SLATER: Cheers Moike, dan't moind if oi do! They made Del aht of broken mould!

MIKE: Rachel's ex-husband is a roight facking cunting git, oi 'eard. Del is a hearty fellow, but tell him that and oi shall murder yoo in cold blood.

RAQUEL: Why have you got Del by the short and curlies, Roy?

SLATER: Nevah moind vat, wot durst remind yoo of me?

RAQUEL: The series Tenko, you were in that weren't you, Jim Broadbent? Oh no I'm thinking of Burt Kwouk.

DEL: Owight Roy. Gaw an sit in da van, Raquel!

SLATER: Lavely babbly, Del! Was ganna take me ex-woife Rachel aht this mornin' - WHOOPS!

DEL: Let as sit an discass. Naw, befoh dah episode concludes, Roy - yoo knew all along Raquel lived chez Trottah, dint ya?

SLATER: It is no harm saying it now as it is in the script. You are not registered for poll tax!

DEL: Fuck the Tories.

ROD: We fand a lettah!

DEL: Indeed. Wot 'appens if we inform the Old Bill of little sparklers?

SLATER: Sweet fuck all, Del. Served me sentance an' 'ave me lettah safely tucked! So sew a button on that, Ironside!

DEL: Oi managed to geh howld ah vat lettah this mornin', foh facks sake. Boi da way, wots vat magazine y'reading?

SLATER: Sweet FA!

DEL: Exhibit A, Rodney! Naw, vis is a novelty Dasty Bin fax machine we wan on 3-2-1 wiv Ted Rogers. It's a manky old fing, bat it's goh a photocopier on ih. Yoor lettah 'as been copied!

SLATER: Oi cannot be tried thrice!

ROD: Police dahn't knaw abaht ovah littuh sparklers, though!

SLATER: Yoo may correct me, but oi believe yoo angle for a deal! 50/50?

DEL: Nah, jast fack off and keep y'maff shat, mate.

SLATER: My train awaits, but please name your child after me!

DEL: Anly if it's a boy, Roy, m'boy!

ROD: Not fair to call a child a dick.

SLATER: Enjoy the rest of the series, Del!

DEL AND ROD IN UNISON: YES! GO ON, MOI SAN!

ROD: Woi noh take 'is maney?

DEL: ILLEGOL! Bah Raquel shall earn half his gainings!

ROD: A toast! A toast!

MIKE: Oh yeah Derek, boi da way, that Dasty Bin fax machine yoo sold me don't work.

DEL: Noivah does owahs!

End theme!

[Glebe]

EPISODE: TEA AND SYMPATHY FROM LISA!

Opening theme!



INT.NAG'S HEAD.NIGHT

MAN ON STAGE (singing): I did it my way!

DEL BOY: Facking talunt contest!

TRIGGER: Mike, your beer tastes like rain.

ALBERT: Brace y'selves foh impact, lads! Your Aunt Ada has gorn bananarnas!

TRIG: Ooh da fack iz Aunt Ada?

ALBERT: She woz me woife!

TRIG: Right well anyway Del got to keep an eye out for me niece Lisa, see ya later.

DEL: Yeah wot evah mate 'ere, Moike, fancy buyin' an ultraviolet solarium? Oil chack vis cordless phane in foh yah!

MIKE: Del, oi DO NOT WONT IT!

SERGEANT HOWIE: I have managed to save you from the Wicker Man, Rowan! You'll be safe here in this Peckham pub!

LISA: Me name's Lisa, Edward Woodward!

SERGEANT HOWIE: Ah, the bees, the bees!

TRIGGER: Owight, Lisa! 'ere, Del, 'ere's Gerry Cowper who is playing Lisa in this!

DEL: Ruddy Nora, she was in EastEnders!

LISA: Coo-ee, Del! Not seen yah foh yonks!

DEL: Here is little Rodney. Now let us sit and chat.



ROD: Let us take a trip dahn memory lane.

LISA: 'ere Del, oi remembah when yoo used to say, 'This time next year I'll be driving a Mercedes'!

DEL: Nah nah lav, me catchphrase is 'This time next year we'll be millionaires!' Anyway, yoo livin' dahn the cauntry?

LISA: I live in Winchester Cathedral!

DEL: Fancy 'avin' tea wiv me? 'ands off, Rodney!

LISA: We shall all take tea togetha!

DEL: Yeah, yeah, owlwoight!

ALBERT (on stage): Foh moi entry into da talunt contest, oi shall sing a song fowah me ex-woife Ada, 'oo 'as gorn bananarnas!

ALBERT sits at piano.

ALBERT (singing and playing piano): Hey there - you, yes YOU, with the stars in your eyes!

LISA: Which wan ov as daz 'e mean?

DEL: Oi dunno, gain' boi the pikcha below we owl 'ave stars in ah eyes!



INT.LOUNGE.NEXT DAY

ROD: Cor blimey yoo doin' that song in the talunt contest da lost scene!

ALBERT (lying under sunbed): Wotcha torkin' abaht, oi wan! But we nevah discavah wot oi wan.

DEL (coming back from shops): Owight lads, got the grub for Lisa's tea: an Italian chicken, fruit salads, blackjacks, cola bottles an' Dream Topperoonie to follow through!

ROD: Oi goh cheese. Oi shall melt it andeh da sanbed to make Welsh rarebit for Lisa.

DAVID JASON: Oi naw say a loine abaht a dog attackin' Albert's meat and two veg that will be cat.



ALBERT: Thaz it! Yoo two 'ave been bickering an' niggling, oi'm fed ap wi' ya! Oi'm off to join the Foreign Legion!

ROD: Oi shall tone ap!

RODNEY gets under the sunbed and Albert sits and reminisces!

ALBERT: Ada looked loike Ginger Rodgers bat lost toime oi saw 'er she had transmogrified into Fred Astaire. Yah. Me an' y'Grandad fell aht ovah 'er and nevah spoke again! Oi do not wish that to happen to yoo an' Del! Rodney?

RODNEY: Snore.

ALBERT: BLADDY KID!

DEL: Oi am gain' back aht to geh more Smash and booze! Oh look Rodney is sleepin', oi shall give 'is sanbed a little topperoonie!

INT.LOUNGE.THAT NIGHT

DEL: Fancy anavh topperoonie, Lisa?

LISA: No fanx, oi am sick ov these topperoonies! Hope Rodney is okay!



RODNEY (coming in from KITCHEN with a cheese dish!): Oi am obsessed with cheeeese, Lisa, and 'ave cavah'd ap me sunburn with a Wallace from Wallace & Gromit mask!

DEL: Pathetic!

RODNEY: Da Pakistani man in da cornershop had a poor cheese selection, oi am afraid whoops vat loine will be cat.

LISA: That face sore, Rodney?

ROD: Only When I Laugh.

DEL: In thah whoite suit yoo resemble a Swan Vesta.

ROD: Eh?! Anyway, there is something I must impart to you, dear Lisa. Aeons past, Derek did court your Mother.

DEL: Oi used to coll 'er da Rose of Tralee!

LISA: Anywan seen An Officer and a Gentlemen? Richard Gere staffing a hamster up his anus makes me go all goose-pimpley!

ROD: Yeah, well oi used to be a space cadet.

DEL: Oi wozza professional ace paratrooper 'oo free-fowled from 100,00 metres inna pitch dark and dropped a few in 'is toime.

LISA: Oi am a membah of a hang-gliding clab, which will proof fruitfully funny in da next scene!

DEL: Kettle on, Rod!

LISA: Nah mate nah toime to go 'ome.

DEL: Oi will be da wan to give yoo a lift as Rodney resembles a traffic loight.

LISA: Why that's very gracious off you, stout yeoman!

DEL: Back in a min!

LISA: Nice to see ya again, Rodney! I leave for Waterloo on the morrow!

ROD: We shall drive ye! By the way, Derek's 60th birthday approaches, and it has always been his ambition to hang-glide.

LISA: He would need proper training as a hang-glider first but, just to be completely irresponsible, I'll arrange a go on a glider tomorrow!

ROD: Can't wait to see 'is littul face!



EXT.HAMPSHIRE BLUFFS.NEXT DAY

DEL: WOT?!? You mean you've brought a cheese trolley along wiv yoo, Rodney?

ROD: Yeah, jast in case Lisa get's peckish.

DEL: Also, oi am to go ap in wanna dem wing-fings?

LISA: Look at y'littul face, ya cannot wait to geh ap theyah! Oh yeah, this is Andy who oi am engaged to but will leave it to Uncle Trig to reveal in the next scene!

ANDY: Del and Rodney, one believes? How's the red face, Rod?

DEL: 'is grandfavah, Freddy Robdall Snr., woz a Comanche, heh, racist!

LISA: Del has lied that he is a free-fallin' paratroopah.

DEL: Nah nah nah nah!

LISA: Nah yoo listen to me, Derek Trotter! Yoo geh inta dat hang-glider or oi will fack yoo up, big toime! It is my way of thanking for that cheese-spread!

ANDY: There are lots of thermal underpants up there today. Now let us ready the death-trap, Lisa!

DEL: Shad ah kept me big maff shat! Doughboy Andy is sticking 'is big hooter in an' shall 'ave 'is ears boxed!

ROD: You shall look a right dipstick if you say you are a green beret with a headache.

DEL: Terra cotta! Look brav, we do not see eye-to-eye, but ya mast help me in my hour of need!

ROD: Here is my plan. You look dead keen to get ap in them ol' clads, then oi say the cordless phone is ringing in the car - an urgent call halts proceedings!

DEL: Noice wan! Oi, Andy, oi'm a bit impatient to be ap in dem ol' clads! 'e dan knaw, daz 'e?!



EXT.HAMPSHIRE BLUFFS.ANON

DEL is in the hang-glider.

LISA: Anyone fancy a Cheese String? Rodney gave them to me.

ANDY: Not now, Lisa! Ready Del, even though you have no hang-gliding experience?

DEL: It's all ap 'ere Andy, dahn there foh dancin'! Hark! Is that our car phone I durst hear, Rodney?

RODNEY: No, we do not have a car phone, not even a cordless phone.

DEL: Oil break yoor 'and in 'A Royal Flush' foh diz, Rodney!

ANDY: Off you go, Del!

DEL takes off.

DEL: Aw bladdy Nora, please let me dahn, they do vis foh fan? Oh wait oi'm gettin' the 'ang on it, WEEEEE!!!!!!!



ANDY: Where the fuck is that twat going?

LISA: 'e's 'eading aht to sea!

ROD: Cam on Andy, let's go 'ome!

EXT.LOUNGE.THAT NIGHT

ROD examines a map!

ALBERT: Geh sam Courvoisier dahn y'neck san, 'e's been missin' foh twelve hars, 'olf a day!

ROD: Oi 'ave a GCE in maffs yet oi could not calculate so brilliantly!

The doorbell rings!

ALBERT: Sholl oi ansah da door an' let da tragic horror unfold, san?

ROD: Yes please!

TRIG: Owight lads? Yoo owight, Red-Face?

ROD: 'Tis naffink, Trig! Fand Del, 'ave ya?

TRIG: He 'ad a fatal crash into a TV aerial in Redhill. Oi 'ave cam to notify next of kin.

ALBERT: We'll see yoo roight foh y'fare, san!

TRIG: It is okay Albert, oi cam 'ere boi following the green line.

ROD: Er... 'as he broken anyfink other than the aerial in this lethal collision?

TRIG: Ask 'im y'bloody self!



DEL is wheeled in by MIKE.

DEL: Oi see yoo arroived 'ome safely, Rodney, an' oi wont yoo to 'ave this selection of foine cheese as a way of apologising fowah da sanbed incident!

ROD: Owight.

DEL: 'e's windin' me ap!

MIKE: He is merely concerned, Del.

DEL: Wot oi mean to say is, this is sam koind of panishment!

TRIG: Could be worse, me Granny 'ad a squeaky wheel!

ROD: Yoo sick bastard, Del. A Rémy Martin or two and you'll ap joivin' to da piña colada song!

ALBERT: YOOR AHT OF ORDER, SUNSHOINE!

ROD: He seeks sympathy from Lisa!

DEL jumps out of the chair.

DEL: Listen yoo vicious littul snide!

ALBERT: Del is afoot! He durst lie!

TRIG: We went all the way to Redhill jast so as oi could carry Del ap to the top deck for a smoke.

DEL: BLAME RODNEY! Oi was ap there foh three years, Rodney, doin' loop-the-loop avah Dimchurch loike a spaceman! Then oi durst crash into an aeriel and land onna cauple inna court!

ROD: Y'jokin'!

DEL: NO OI AM NOT, yoo vicious wally! Radio Rentals shall do me in foh da aerial!

ALBERT (to camera): Geh conten'ed... geh Radio Rented!

ROD: Can oi apologise?

DEL: NO YOO CARN'T!

TRIG: Sorry to fuck ya'll up, but Lisa came ap 'ere to get a wedding dress in Oxford. She is marrying Andy.

MIKE: Celebration drinks at The Nag's! Shall y'join as?

ALBERT: Oil be there, san! Hur hur, Lisa woz engaged to that wally Andy alla toime!

ROD: Del, to make ap foh ih owl, oi shall go ap in an 'ang-glidah meslef tamaorrah!

DEL: Good idea, Rodney!

EXT.HAMPSHIRE BLUFFS.NEXT DAY

RODNEY (in hang-glider): Ow fack me!



Closing theme!

[DangledTeeth]

A Royal Flush

Start Theme: Sticker boner in me punnet.

Ext. Market

Del: I can't remembah 'ow this starts off, but this dining set will cost ya 60 quid up West. YOU can 'ave it for £59.99

A disinterested Rodney wanders over to a stall

Vicky: Hihloeh, care to purchase an oil on canvas?

Rodney: Thing is, Vicky - no idea how I know your name - people rahnd 'ere won't pay 70 quid for a painting.

Vicky: Oh, balderdash! I'll have to lower my prices.

Rodney: Cushty. It's not my phrase but anyway.

Vicky: What in the fuck does that mean?

Rodney: It's an exclamation for something that's satisfying.

Vicky: Haw frightfulleh location of a working-class soap opera. What's your name, Rodney?

Rodney: I am what you just said.

Trigger passes by

Trigger: Hello, David Jason.

Rodney: He's further down, Trigger.

Vicky looks confused

Rodney: Nah, my name is Rodney; he's thicker than rubber.

Vicky: I am famished. Let's partake in luncheon at the municipal cafeteria.

Rodney: I don't think you'll like Sid's cafe, Vicky. It's full of bacteria and steam.

Vicky: I like the roughness, it's full of vigour. I was raised in bawring Bawkshah. I get the impression that you're an inverted snawb.

Rodney: Let's go to Sid's cafe.

Vicky: COOSHTY.

Cut to Del who sees a patrolling policeman while Trigger sweeps along

Del: Trig, over 'ere! That coppah is coming. Play along with me. Ver eez hotelhlll?

Trigger: Youuu gooo dowwwwn to the ennnnd of the streeeeet

Del: Tak. Nie rozumiem.

Trigger: Thennnn youuuu get on theeee 35 bussss to Marblleeee Arcccch.

Del: Ah si, da. Cheers, danke schon.

Del powerwalks away as a policeman sternly looks at Trigger

Trigger: Dahn't see many forron fly-pitchers around here, eh officer?

Policeman: No. Certainly not ones who speak in four languages.

Trigger: Del can't speak any of them fluently.

Int. Sid's Cafe

Sid: TWO TEAS, BUBBLE AND SQUEAK, A SPANISH OMELETTE, FOUR ROUNDS OF SAUSAGES AND RASHERS! THREE TOAST, SIX FULL ENGLISH!



Vicky: This is a bally wonderful and atmospheric place. When I was at my stall, I saw a woman cum on the floor.

Rodney: I did art at a college. My painting Chinese Woman Smoking a Spliff with a Plonker didn't win the R.A. award for Best Portrait of the Year

Vicky: COOSHTY. My mater exhibited at the Royal Academy. Bawring Bawkshah.

Rodney: Oh, cosmic! Is she still painting?

Vicky: Well, no... she died in a skiing accident, completely unintentional.

Rodney: Oh no, I know what it's like, Vicky.

Vicky: Did your mother exhibit at the Royal Academy?

Rodney: No, she has a GCE in Dead. My brother Del repeats these sort of phrases, 'When Mum was on her death bed...', def'nitly not 'death skis'.

Vicky: We are kindred spirits. Say, why don't we go to the Nartional Gallereh this weekend?

Rodney: Oh, I'd love to.

Vicky rises from her chair

Vicky: I marst dash! They worry about me, the special branch.

Rodney: Is your dad a fan of Supergrass?

Vicky: Noooo, hah-hah. He's the Duke of Mowbray.

Rodney: THE JYOOK OV MOWBRAYEH?!?! Beans are falling off the fork.

Vicky: I can tell by your flummoxed reaction that you find it tedious. I did say bawring Bawkshah earlier. I haven't got a note of your telephone number but see you outside Nelson's Cawlumn next to that splawdge of bird shit, this Saturday?

Rodney: Yeah... I'll look forw-

Vicky: COOSHTY!

Int. Trotters' Fleht

Del: There I was wiv my usual sales pitch, an' this coppah cam's ahp, y'knah, all suspicious of my brilyunt speech, and this plonkercock 'as a chat with some posh tart and heels it to Sid's cafe, while I've 'ad to resort to a bit of 'elp from Trigger. Help from 'im? That's like wearing a ten-ton lifejacket.

Rodney: Oi! She ain't some posh tart. I mean, she is, but there's more to 'er than that.

Del: Oh yeah?!

Rodney: I've been reading ahp this book on genealogy.

Del: It's all well an' good looking at a catalogue to buy yerself a new paira Levis, but it's gonna take more than the old denim to 'old 'er gaze.

Rodney: Nah, no. It's not those sorta jeans. I mean genetic. Y'knah, family tree.

Del: W'yeah. I knew thaa-aat. I was only pointin' out that gettin' some new blue on yer legs won't enhance yer chances.

Rodney: Take a look at this page, righ'. She's the daughter of the third Duke of Mowbray.

Del studies a page

Del: Staone me! He's righ' an' all! He may be the Duke of pork pies, but there's naffing dishonest about this.

Albert: Whoy wohd she converse wiv the likes of 'im?!

Rodney: The fucking cheek!!

Del: The nobility like to wa'er daown the blue blood. It's a well-known fact.

Rodney: She wants to get tickets for Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego but they're all saold aht.

Del: You shall go to the ball, Cinderodders. Can get Vicky some glass slippers, too. Ah-hah-hah. I can see it now. Tally-ho, Sir Sherbert. Do you listen to John Peel? You ain't tried to, y'know?

Rodney: Naaaaoh!

Del: Good, you keep your rascal mitts to yerself. I am talking abou' sex.

Albert: MuEh-HyEuEr-EaAgh-HeRrRh

Del: If things gao smoothly, you'll be a pear of the realm. Your food will come from 'arrods. Your clothing with come from Cedar Wood State of Primark. Ah, bit too contemporary.

Ext. Theatre

Vicky: Gawsh, I have no idea how you managed to obtain these tickets. My Duke of a father could nawt obtain any.

Rodney: Welllll, it was no trouble.

Vicky: Iy heope they're nawt forgeries.

Rodney (muttered): oh clungebuckets!

Ticket Doorman: Good evening, sir.

Rodney pulls a cartoon-like look of trepidation including a false smile

Ticket Doorman: Tear your tickets. Enjoy 'Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego', sir.

Vicky: Rodney, you're going to think I'm a frightful bawring Bawkshah, but I shan't be able to attend the sawker match next Saturday.

Rodney: Aooh.

Vicky: I have to stay at home because Daddy has awganised an elaborate feast. Perhaps you'd like to jawn me?

Rodney: Yeah, I'd lav to.

Vicky: COOSHTY!

Rodney spots Del entering

Rodney: Ohhh nooo.

Del inches his way through the passing theatre goers

Del: 'scuse me, John. Gaw, your tits almost 'ad me eye aht, darlin'. Need to pass by, pal.

Del approaches Vicky and Rodney

Del: Alri', Rodders.

Rodney: Cosmic, Del. Erm, Vicky, I like you to meet my brother Derek.

Del: Lovely jubbly evening, yer ladyship. I lahve a good opera. My favourite one is 'Go Compaaaa-aaaare! Go Compaaaa-aaaare!'

Vicky: I've never heard of it. Tonight's production is going to be Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego?

Rodney notices a woman enter

Rodney: I darn't bohlieve ih! This is the Theatre Royal, right, and a prostitute has come to purvey her minge.

Del: Hah-hah-hah! Where?

Del glances across at June

Del: You saucy cahnt! That's my bird, Junie. You remembah 'er?

Rodney (muttered): I wen' ou' wiv 'er daughter.





June: This place ain't 'alf posh, shame I dropped a nostril wallop in the loo. *To Rodney* Oh, alrigh'?

Rodney: Wotcher.

June (To Vicky): 'e tried to fuck my daugh'er once, and 'e la'er thought that she was 'is nephew. Yeah, that's righ' - nephew.

Vicky: Excuse me!?

Del: Ahem! This is Lady Victoria, remember?!

June: Aoh! Pleased ta make yer acquaintance, ma'am.

June gracefully bows and lets out a concentrated fart

Vicky: Oh, that's nawt realleh necessareh.

June: You wanna try eating peppered potatah waffles and see 'ow yer guts respond.

Vicky: It's quite surprising to see you two here.

Del: You'd think sao. I mean, I fahnd aht that she did the boudoir heave-ho with a Littlewoods catalogue, while I crossed the BR tracks in ordah to poke Deirdre from Corrie Streeeeeeee'.

Vicky: Err...

Del: I was looking through my wardrobe, and as luck would 'ave it, my tuxedo came flying aht. *Shifts eyes to look at June* Well, no' her cleavage spread dress, no. The sets of our flehts were similar, baht we've go' different wardraobes. *Nods at June's cleavage* You've got skate boarders who'd 'ave trouble jumping over thaa-aat.

Rodney: I bought the tickets, despite being displeased to see Del turn up.

Del: Yeah, he's a generous lad, innee.

June: Last time I saw anyfing to do wiv the operah woz on the telly, some blaoke called Parmesan Ravioli or sammink - grea' big tubster cunt, 'e was.

Bell: DL-DL-DL-DLING!

Del: Chateau de fucque! Last orders already!? June, wha' you having? Vicky? Rodney?

Rodney: G & T, cheers.

Vicky: Euh nyeoh, that emission merely signifies that the theatrical ensemble are ready to commence their endeavour.

Del (To Rodney): Please?

Rodney: The bell ringing tells us it's abou' to start.

Del: Oh, right.

Int. Theatre Hall

Carmen Sandiego: YaAaaAaAAAAaaaA-oOOoooOaAAAgGGGGggGhhHHHHhH!

Del: Fuckin' triffic opera, this.

Man: ShHhhHh!

June: Wozziz problum?

Del: Dunno. Sahme hypocri'ical twat who has no self-awareness.

June: Yeah! Dazn't geh gaoin' this opera.

Del: It's no' mean' to get going, y'knah. It's colchah. You're supposed to act like you're enjoyin' it.

June: Ahwl.

Fade to later

Vicky (whispered): Where's Derek?

June: 'e's gorn to ge' snacks

Del surveys the aisles

Del: Rodney? Vicky? June?

June: DEL, WE'RE OVER FUCKIN' 'ERE!

Del shifts himself through the seated people

Del: 'scuse me, sir. Sorry, darling. If you find a liquorice all sort wedged in between yer tits, you can keep it, don't like them swea'y - and I ain't talking abaht yer knockers.

Del sits down alongside an unimpressed Rodney

Del: Vicky!

Vicky (whispered): w h a t?



Del: I know this ain't the correct picture abahve me, but would you like an ice cream?

Vicky (whispered): No thenk yaw. I don't eat iyced cuhream.

Del: Baht I bough' it for y-

Rodney (snarled whisper): She doesn't cunting want it!!!!!!!!!

Del: Thas chawmin'!

Rodney: Will you just fu- *looks behind him then whispers* will you just fuckin' shut up for five minutes.

June: I'll 'ave 'em.

Del: I'll dump the additional ice creams on the floor.

Crisp Packet: CRRRRUUUUNNNNCH!!

Conductor: What is that?!



Del: Empty packet daown on the floor. Go' me orange drink aht. Fanta of the Opera. AHAHAHAHA!

Woman: ShHSkKk!

Del: I be' Grover Furr would lav this.

Albert: Oo's Graovah Furr?

All: SHUT UP, ALBERT!

Vicky (whispered): Albert Square.

Del: You ain't supposed to be 'ere!

Albert: Ar'll gao behck to the fleht an make sam taoast, sahn.

Del is holding a box of Liquorice All Sorts

June: Aoh naoh! It's those nasty ones.

Del: Wha' are you on abaht?! I've only jast opened them.

June: Yeah ar knaow. I daon't like likwich all sorts.

Del: S-L-U-U-U-R-P! Chuck more rubbish on the floor.

Man: ShHHhhh!

Del furiously turns in his seat

Del: I'll fuckin' knuck you one in the gob if you daon't stop with that pissin' racket!

Ext. Theatre

Usher: There you are, madam. Fresh air.

June: Ohh, thank you, Warden. I danno wha' came over me.

Del: It weren't me. Psychedelic yodel.

Vicky summons a car and Rodney and Vicky enter

Driver: Is everything okay, Lady Victoria?

Vicky: Nawt really, but never you mind, Giles.

Somewhere

Del: Do we have a scene in the fleht before cahming 'ere? Or is there a shot of us arriving in the van?

Rodney: I think it's a brief street scene, where I say "I don't wanna look like a free range cunt".

Del: Why daon't you check the actual script book? You've got two of 'em aht of three, and I think A Royal Flush is the last Xmas special that ends volume 1. Volume 2 is series 6 and 7, and the third volume must be Frog's Legacy to the 'final' trilogy.

Rodney: Nah, let's just gao in the hunting goods shop or sammink.

Int. Hunting Goods Shop Or Sammink

A posh man is seated at a counter and is busy talking on the phone

Owner: Excuse me, Spencer. Something working class has appeared in my shop.

Del: Alrigh', squire. My bravva here is goin' to an upmarket picnic of sahme sort, and I wan' you to gear him ahp wiv your best clobber.

Del produces a wad of notes

Owner: Class no longer matters when money is revealed before thine eyes. *To Rodney* Right this way, sir.

Del: 'e'll need a tweed waistcoat jacket thing, one-a those Sherlock 'olmes deerstalker 'ats, a nice paira brahn brogues or something. Oh! Trahsers. Steak me-yul

Owner: Yes, of course. Let me give you a leg measurement first.

Del (To Rodney): Oi! Don't squeal if he presses his elbow against yer cock.

Ext. Estate

Voice: Jolly good shot, sir.

Henry: Thank you, it was bloody good, if I do say so myself

Rodney is revealed, dressed like Sherlock Holmes

New Audience Laughter Track: BAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAH!

Vicky: Jawleh good fun, what-what. COOSHTY. Would you like a go at plate shooting?

Rodney: Nah, I'll just watch.

Vicky: Don't be a stick-in-the-mud. Bawring Bawkshah. *Calling* Daddy, Rodney wants to have a go.

Henry: Ah, well, here you are, Rodney. A gun and ear protectors - the latter are to be worn on your head. Aim the weapon and pull the trigger once the targets are airborne.

Rodney turns in order to ask a question and with the gun aiming at them

Rodney: When you say 'pull the Trigger', you aren't speaking about a roadsweeper?

All: NO! NO! UP! THE GUN! UP!

Rodney appears puzzled and gingerly moves with the gun yawing up and down

All: DON'T SHOOT!

Henry forces the barrel upwards

Henry: You mus-

Rodney: G A S P! I realised wha' I've just did. I'm so sorray. *To crowd* Sorray! Why do I speak with a midlands inflection when I say words ending with Y?!

Henry: Yes, I ought to have shown you. It's probably my fault, you silly individual. Now, raise the gun like this, then aim in the direction you want to shoot, and say 'pull' when you're ready.

Rodney is distracted by the sound of a vehicle and is sure he's glimpsed the yellow van

Rodney: PULL!

Rodney stares into the distance

Gun: PPPPAOWNG! PPPPAOWNG!

Assistance: Ah, erm, that was... interesting.

Rodney: Fankyoo!

Rodney gormlessly removes the ear protectors

Vicky: Aw you alright?

Rodney: Yes. Fankyoo.

Vicky: You seem shocked. I'll get you a drink.

Rodney: Fankyoo.

Vicky leaves Rodney while he carefully treads the grounds

Rodney: I saw it! It was over there! Cahme on! Where you are?! *Mouthing* You cuntstard!

Distant voice: T A L L Y  H O,  R O D D E R S!

Rodney lowers his eyelids

Del and Albert alight from the van

Del: I've come 'ere to be an uncouth arsehole again. As someone pointed aht over the internet (wha'ever that is), this is the episode after Rodney shitted on my chance to become a milyunaire in Australia. Underlying contempt.

Albert: I woz doin' sahme of mar aerobics exercise in mar string vest, an' then 'e drehgs me ahp to bloody barkshur!

Vicky (Unimpressed): Oh, what a lovely surprise, eh Rodney?

Rodney: Yeah!

Vicky jogs off

Vicky: Daddyyyy?

Rodney: Wha' do you think you're playin' at.

Del: I came ahp 'ere to deliver the dinner suit you forget to take along. This chicken's leg is delicious.

Rodney: I forgot my dining suit?! I - I - packed my clothes last night personallay.

Henry appears alongside Del

Henry: Hello, you must be Derek Trotter. That's jolly nice of you to convey yourself and your elderly relative in that atrocious banana-tinted tetrahedron. I'm Henry.

Del: Oh, no introdaction necessary, y'grace. I recognise you as the horse on the Sporting Life. Burger Shergar. Will he be held for ransom again this year?

Henry: Well, I hope nawt.

Del: 'ow's Nijinjsky doing, alrigh'?

Henry: I suppose so, yes. You've torn awff a chicken's leg with voracity. You've made a long journey here, why not recuperate?

Del: Ah, stay for dinner? Well, it jast sao 'appens that as I snatched Rodney's syuoot which I sneakily removed from 'is laggage earlier, my one mysteriously floated into the back-ah the vaaaan.

Rodney sneers and slowly nods his head

Henry: Your chugging van distracted Rodnehy when he participated in plate shooting, you ought to redeem the Trotter family name by successfully shattering the airborne crockery with one of our specialised guns.

Del: No need. I've got this shotgahn without any stereo 'eadphaones. *To Assistant* Ready when you are, pal.

Assistant: Don't you mean 'Paul'?

Del: How could I forget 'U', ah ha ha.

Assistant: Actually, it's 'John'. These aren't the correct lines.

Launcher: Rhnn-dhn-duank!

The clay plates glide through the air

Shotgun: BWWOAW-CZH-CHK! BWWWOAW-CZH-CHK!



Rodney: Where did you get that firearm?

Del: Iggy 'iggins.

Rodney: You are associated with a distinctly underworld figure.

Del: But it's Saturday, his day off from such an ongoing and successful career.

Int. Stately Home. Evening



Rodney: Del, do not project me. I have a light chocolate ice cream stain on my lapel from the part in the theatre where you carelessly thrust the cold snack into it.

Del: Nah, I ain't gonna embarrass ya. On my best behaviour.

Del and Rodney descend a large staircase and pass by guests

Del: Evening. Alrigh'.

Del approaches Henry

Del: 'enry!

Henry: Ah. Hello again, Trotter.

Del: Good bit of painting, eh. Is that a Da Vinci?

Henry: No, that's a Pissarro.

Del: Well I dunno. I like it.

Int. Kitchen

Maid: How many sugars in your tea, Albert?

Albert: Three. On a sugar diet. Daon't give Mr Chrohah any peas, 'e'll ge' them everywhere.

Maid: You're a naval man?

Albert: Yah. I never talk abou' it, thaough. No 'Jurin nuh waw' from me, madam.

Butler: That little cunt upstairs is really hammering the champers, and he keeps speaking about Leonardo Da Vinci - I hope a warphole appears and whisks him off to the Renaissance.

Int. Dining Hall

Del: Oh, nice bit of crystal, this.

Del flicks his finger into a wine glass

Rodney: Puohw-tit-dahwown.

Henry: Da Vinci did not make that goblet.

Del: Worth a few quid, thaough?

Henry: It is a family heirloom.

Del reclines in his seat, with the tablecloth tucked into his waist

Del: Fuck me! That was a scrumptious bit of quall, yer ladyship. What did you scoff?

Lady Poshwell: Eurm, one had the pheasant. Most efficacious. Tell me, Trotter, what is the relationship status of your brother and Victoria?

Del: Oh well, I can speak without hushing my voice because, like in maost programmes, people can't 'ear you if you're more than three feet away. They're engaged.

Lady Poshwell: Engaged!?

Del: Shh, naow that's a bit too laoud. Keep it undah yer craown, darlin'. Princess Diana couldn't squeeze a maladorous one aht of 'er arse wivout the press taking pho'ographs.

Vicky: Rodney is taking me to a sawker match soon to watch Chelsea

Posh Man: Eoh, one of the faithfawl. I hehve a flat in Chelsey. Do you watch proceedings from an executive box?

Del: Nah, course 'e daon't. The fucker's sao tall, people use 'im to reach the top shelf in a B&Q.

Middle-aged man: Erm, Henry, who's theht chehp seated near Victoria?

Henry: Oh, that's her friend called Rodney. She's going through her artist phase where she blends in with the paupers in London and invites these colourful characters for a weekend here.

Middle-aged Man: Oeh yehs, I remember that brute with the Ford Escort and his rottweiler. He beat up Pattinson - and I am referring to the dog. What about the drunk chehp?

Henry: That's his brother.

Middle-aged Man: Is he an artist?

Henry: He'd put Toulouse-Lautrec to shame.

Del takes a sip from a wine decanter

Henry: I heard you're an artist, Rodney?

Rodney: Yes, that is correct.

Henry: And where did you study for your M.A. in Art History?

Rodney: Basingstoke.

Vicky: It's a lower-middle-class art college.

Henry: Oh yes, I've heard many good things about it.

Middle-aged Man: Heow long were you there for, eold chehp?

Rodney: Three days.

Middle-aged Man: Ah - days?!?!

Rodney shifts his head and speaks as though he's at a podium with several news channel microphones lined up

Rodney: I left for personal reasons.

Del: It wasn't 'is copy of Playgirl.

Rodney cringes

Del: Nah, nah, it's alrigh', Rodders. They need to knaow the truth. *To dining guests* 'e ain't got a limp wrist or naffink. Rodney wen' into this Orien'al woman's dorm, and she 'ad this mag for the more discerning adult on 'er bed. Rodney asked if he could 'ave a gao on her conte. And then the armed police burst in and fahnd them reefered to the tits on the Caribbean shrub.

Rodney: Oh no.

Del: Shall I tell you a jaoke? There's this Irishman on a skiing 'oliday. I can't remember wha' the punchline is as it's been sao long since the uncut version's been shaown. *Del hammers his hand onto the table* RAH-HAGH-HAGH-HAGH-HAGH!!!!!!!!

Cut to Albert shaking his head

Henry: TROTTER!!!! YOU HAVE INADVERTENTLY INSULTED THE MEMORY OF MY LATE WIFE. GET TO FUCK RRRRRIGHT NOW.

Vicky: Are you staying the night... or nawt?

Rodney: Yes I am. I don't see why not. Del's the embarrassing idiot. It'll be great once he leaves.

Vicky smirks and cups her hand around Rodney's ear

Vicky (whispered): Meet me in the billiards room in apprawximately five minutes. Cooshty!!

Rodney: Cosmic!!

Int. Hallway

An offended Henry scolds a drunk Del with his hair out of place and shirt button undone

Henry: I want you, that cloud-jawed decrepit, and that elongated pole of micturition awff of my land now.

Del: Now, look 'ere, 'enry. We're ain't a family of yippee-kai-yays! There's a rumour going around that we played for the Harlem Globetrotters.

Henry: I could not give a modicum of turds if you played basketball professionally or if you're related to the shitting Surrey Trotters. I want Rodney out of Victoria's life forever.

Del: Ah, well, that's a shame. I 'ad your invitation to the wedding ceremony put in an envelope.

Henry: WEDDING?! WHAT FFFFUCKING WEDDING?!

Del: Oh naoh, I hope I haven't spoiled the wonderful surprise.

Henry: A wonderful surprrrrise for whom?

Del: Welll, for yhom.

Henry: My daughter is going to study Art in New York. She's going to bench the subway trains in Brooklyn and learn how to do a dope top-to-bottom wildstyle.

Del: They seem pretty stuck to each other.

Henry: I shall find a way to prize them apart - have no concern about that.

Del: I know Rodney, and he won't be persuaded so easily by anything. Well... I say  'e a n y t h e e i n g'.

Henry: Come on, lead you aggressively by your forearm, into this study.

Del:  Wh-

Henry: THAT'S A WANKING DA VINCI!

Int. Trotters' Flat

Rodney: Sullivan's new update where I have an implied fuck with Victoria is less dismal, but now we have this sorry scene to go through.

Del bows his head

Albert: Accawdin to the original script, I 'ad a few lines of darlogue an' there woz a church bell ringin' as it was the early mawnin' an' we 'ad the windah aopen, or sammink larke that. Erm, speakin' ov mawnin', I'll make us sahme breakfost, sahn.

Rodney: I had a chance to develop a warm and caring relationship with a like-minded lady. And all I got was this lousy 'I Shafted Victoria in the Billiards Room' t-shirt. You had to interfere and tell that terrible joke.

Del: I was tryna liven things up.

Rodney: I remember when I was learning how to tap-dance or however this bit goes, and I was gonna be a star. Then you inexplicably sent me off to the army cadets and my trahsers were the wrong size. That was the end of that little dream.
Dan-nah-nah-NAAH - It's Delhlboy! I, Del Boy, shall speak in an exaggerated transatlantic accent. I will look ahfter this small wafer. I will teach him how to drive a three-wheeled van *in normal accent* while pissed ou' of his skaull.

Del: Wrong dialogue.

Rodney: He even offered to pay for my cab ride home.

Del (Faux shock): NNNNO?!

Rodney: Yes. I told 'im to shove it.

Del: You said nitto to 1,248 quid?!

Rodney: I fuckin' well did. *Double take* How did you knaow he offered me that much?

Del: It's the going rate to transport a plonker 'ome from another county. Listen, Rodney, those stately people don't like people like us. They'd get James Bond to karate chop you into a cement mixer.

Del reaches out with an open palm

Del: Put it there, you soppy cunt.

Rodney goes to shake Del's hand and its gets squeezed by Del

Del: What a lovely way to conclude the episode. I've got you back for fucking over my chance to emigrate and become a milyunaire.

End Theme: WOSSLENAME IN EDDLEPOSS!

[Glebe]

'Stick a boner in me punnet', heh! Did you inflate Junie's breasts, Danglers?

[DangledTeeth]

I didn't inflate her knockers. Del did.

---------

Friday the 14th

Intro Music

Int. Trotters' Flat

Del: 'ere you gao, Rodders, 'ave some wriggly rice wiv yer chaow mein.

Rodder: Erggh! You dordy rat, I mean pig. Get it away!!

Uncah Lahbert: Wossat you go' there, sahn? *bobs head*

Del: Too early, Unc'. Grehndad's still alive. *To Rodney* I was 'aving a chat wiv Boycie daown the fish restaurant, and he said we can borrow 'is country cottage for the weekend.

Rodney ponders

Rodney: You spoke with Boycie in the fish restaurant. The fish restaurant is a fish restaurant. Bi' of a caoincidence, you mee'ing Boycie in a fisssshhh restaurant an' you have all this fishing equipment and the chance to spend three nights out in Cornwall or wherever.

Del: You have another GCE in Clever Cunt, you 42-carat perlonkah, you really are!! Well, you've fahnd me aht, Rodney. We'll go on a fishin' weekend and split the profits with Boycie and the owner of the fish restaurant.

Rodney: Oh yeah? We will need permits.

Del: No need for thaaaht. We give the gamekeeper a tenner and 'e shows us an 'ole in the fence.

Rodney: Derek, it is illegal, it is immoral, it is immorgal.

Del: Oh shahtap, you soppy tart.

Grandad: It's not illegal fishing, Rodney...

Del: Heed the wise words of your grandfather, Rodney. *Mutters* let's 'ope that 'e doesn't follow it ahp with somethin' factually damning.

Grandad: It is called poaching.

Del: Oh, for fuck's sake!!

Rodney: You've 'eard it righ' there from the Only Fools and Horse's mouth. Immoral. Poncy.

Del: Alrigh', then. Me, Grandad, Boycie and the fish restaurant owner (who has a name but I can't be fucked to find ou' wha') shall split the profits.

Rodney: Now, I didn't say I wouldn't come.

Del: I should 'ope not, moy sahn.

Rodney: Why's that?

Del: We got your underpants from the launderette this afternoon.

Audience: WUAAH-HAR-HAH-HAR-HAR

Ext. London Flyover

The van zooms along an empty road

Rodney: Gone fishing, bom-bom-ba-bom.

Del: Oi-yeeeh! Caht that aht! How was yer deep-fried beagle in noodles last night, alrigh'?

Rodney: Racist stereotype.

Ext. Countryside Road. Night

The van trundles to a halt because of a cordon

Del: Abraham Lincoln! It's the fuckin' polizia *points at Grandad* and oi, don't you go droppin' none.

Del pulls up beside a policeman

Del: Grea' weather tonight, officer.

Policeman: I suppose so.

Del: Naow, if this is about my tax disc, it's in the post.

Policeman: Oh no, surrrr. Thiz izn't about yar road expiration circle, narr is it about the fizhing gear tied to yarrrr roof rack. Why are you, a trio of gentlemen, in a road vehicle heading in a specific direction?

Grandad: Fishing weekend at a Wendy cottage.

Del: Yes, only tiddlers *pinches index finger and thumb* thaaht big.

Grandad: We migh' poach an egg, but definitely not profi'able salmon.

Policeman: I am here to waaarn you about a dangerous lunatic who scarperrred from the local harzpital.

Rodney: Millwall fan 'ad a fight after an away game?

Policeman: It's no ordinary harzpital, surrrr. It's an asylum for the criminally insane.

Del: It's not Tommy Mackay, is it?

Policeman: Well no, you kicked the botty sausages out of his aarrrze and he fleed to the narth.

Del: oh yeaaaah, the audience didn't see thaa-aaaht.

Rodney: Who is the escaped nutbag?

Policeman: Well, he's an import from America, y'see. He escaped from a high-security federal prison and sailed a boat across to Lands End. We've held him at the nearby facility until we can extradite him back to the States.

Del: Oh, 'e sounds like a right laugh. Why's 'e sao dangerous?

Policeman: He's an unhinged criminal and a formurrrr political activizt, with a pazt in drug distribution and aggravated assault - apparently, he shart somebody with an air rifle frarm a window. He is also a mazturrrr of disguise and hand-to-hand combat. If you see anybody suspicious, phone the authorities immediately - your lives could depend on it. Well, let me adarpt a cheery tone and wish you a happy little fishing weekend. God bless, my friends.

The Trotters appear shocked

Del: Oh, that's a choker, innit, eh!? Erm, full steam ahead.

Rodney: You're not seriously contemplating goin' to the cottage now?

Del: He won't be out in the woods naow, Rodney. He's maost probably fucked off to London.

Grandad: I hope the tenth floor of our flat doesn't entice him like a beacon.

Del: Daon't warry, I'll look after the two of you.

Int. Cottage

Del: This is a quaint lodging, eh?

Grandad: Where's the telly? I hope there's two of them.

Rodney opens a cabinet and slowly pulls out a box

Rodney: Del!!!!

Del: Wha'?! *Reacts to Monoploy box" Oh, Monopoly, great! Naow we're all fucked!! Perhaps the escaped American can play with us. In a way, he doesn't need a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Rodney carefully palms out an axe

Del: Blimey! These playing pieces are gettin' bigger, aren't they?

Rodney: Naoh, you cosmic cunt. It's a real axe.

Del: Yeah. And?

Rodney: What's one of them doing in there?

Del: Cahntry folk 'ave these in their 'omes - it's their liveli'ood.

Rodney: But this is Boycie's cottage.

Del: I know thaa-aaht. I dunno, maybe 'e uses it to chop the tyres off one of 'is aold bangers. Any'ow, the police are lookin' for an escaped American, not an axe murderer.

Rodney: But nobody said anything about an axe murderer.

Grandad: I can't find the telly. Let's have a jolly game of Monopoly instead.

Rodney raises the phone receiver

Del: Wha' do you think you're playing at?

Rodney: Phoning the law.

Del: We don't need the Old Bill sniffing around our tackle and bucket 'ats.

Rodney: Remember what that plod said earlier, if you see anything suspicious, contact the police immediately - our lives could depend on it.

Del: Oh yeah? And what have you seen, cyclops?

Rodney: Well erm... breezy trees.

Del: Stonnnne me! Of course the trees are dancin' abaout. There's a fucking typhoid ou' there.

Rodney: Actually, Del, the correct term you intended to say was 'typhoon'.

Del: Great idea, Rodney. Find the kettle, boil the water, and whisk up three rounds of PG Tips.

Fade to next scene - the Trotters are engaged in Monopoly

Rodney: You've landed on my Park Lane property. That'll be £400 to stay at Hotel Rodney, grandfather.

Grandad: £400 for one night at a hotel?!?! That's fucking scandalous, the way you move so scan-da-lous. And how am I supposed to squeeze into this minuscule red mold representing a building?

Rodney: Eh?!?! Nah, nah, *to Del* bless 'im *To Grandad* It's in the rules, see.

Del: He 'as gotta poin'. I mean, I danno wha' possessed you to construct a 1/120 scale crimson 'otel wiv no doors or windows.

Rodney: But the point is... Oh, stupid fucking game for capitalists *flips board upside-down* I'm a student-level socialist.

Del: Oi! Just because you're actually correct.

Rodney: Oh, fuck off!

Rodney gloomy trudges over to the kitchen sink as Del and Grandad crawl under the table

Del: Grandad, if you see a wad of pink notes and a die-cast metal car, they're mine.



Rodney: DEL! There is a Mario at the window.

Del: You ain't tooting on the calypso clarinet again, are you?

Rodney: There is a Mario at dah windaow

Del: Yes, okay, Rodney. I am actually concerned. Let me approach the curtain, swish it open and do a John Travolta-style jig.

Del yanks the curtains apart

Del: Piss all there, Rodders.

Rodney: I saw 'im, Del!

Del: Are you sure you ain't 'ad a sneaky puff and are hallucinating?

Rodney: No! I saw his large eyebrows, I saw the bristles of his upturned moustache. I saw the 'M' on his big red cap

Grandad: He hasn't gone on the roof in order to jump on top of a flagpole? Chamais leather.

Rodney: Mario Bros doesn't come out for another two years, and how would you know about contemporary entertainment any'ow?

Del: He ain't there anymore. He's probably gone down the khazi to the Mushroom Kingdom *nods at Rodney* you'd like the old psychedelic vegetables, eh.

Door: Knock-knock-knock

Voice: Hello? I'm the doctor from the mental institution, is anybody at home?

Rodney: Thank fuck for that.

Rodney reaches for the door handle, then Del quickly grabs his wrist

Del: Wha' do you think you're doing?!?!

Rodney: He's a doctor from the mental institution.

Del: Says who? He could be anybody. Tapping my temple.

Rodney: Aoh yeeeaaaaah!!!!

Del: Now brace yerself, Rodney. Brace yerself. No chandelier to come crashing down this time.

Rodney: I'll position myself like a constipated tennis player who's ready to volley an opponent's serve

Door: Open

Man: Good ev-

Door: Shut!

Del: Well?

Rodney: 'Well' what?

Del: Was that 'im?

Rodney: I dunno, I didn't look.

Del: Plonkercock! I'll open the door again. This time, ge' a good look at his Shepherd's.

Door: Open

Man: Hello aga-

Door: Shut!

Del: Was tha' 'im?

Rodney: No, definitely not.

Del opens the door

Del: Do come in, doctor.



Doctor: Ah, good evening. I am Doctor Paul Miller from the nearby mental institution. Here is my driver's license and my blood donor's card.

Del: Your identity needs no confirmation, y'grace.

Paul: I was passing by and saw a light in your window. What exactly are you gentlemen doing here?

Del: Erm, occupying this very cottage. What's wiv yer eye mask?

Paul: I'm the Riddler. I want you to solve the mother of all riddles.

Del: Well, my brother over there, Rodney, saw something unusual - a face at the window

Paul: Face at the window?! Could you describe him for me?

Rodney: Yeah. He had a red cap with an 'M' on it, and this upside-down moustache. And-and his eyes were like a wiyuld animawl.

Paul: Are you quite certain your weren't hallucinating upon consuming a substance?

Rodney: I know what I saw.

Paul: I'm sorry to have doubted you. In situations like this, people's imaginations tend to run amok.

Del: And speaking of a riddle, I need to do one in the khazi. Is it alright?

Paul: Huh!?

Rodney: He's asking if the coast is clear to be able to take a whizz in the john.

Paul: Oh, he'd have long gone by now. After having been doxxed 50 million times, who'd blame him for running away.

Del: I feel sorry for the poor cunt. Anyway, must dash, duty calls in the lav'.

Del exits followed by a cautious Rodney who bolts the door shut

Rodney: He's such a worrier.

Grandad: Wha' was that riddle you were about to tell us?

Paul: Yes. Riddle me this: I'm loud and ahbnahxious. I like music that rhymes. I'm a fraction of the population, but I commit *chops hand into his palm* hahf the crimes. Who am I?

Rodney: Politicians?

Grandad: Wendy houses?

Paul: EURRRNGN! The answer is: the n-

Cut to Del exiting the outhouse toilet

Del: Shake my umbrella, not a euphemism.

Del turns as he shuts the door before appearing astounded at an unconscious man sprawled across the floor

Del: RODNEY! GRANDAD! RIDDLER! CAHME QUICK! BRING SAHME ROPE!

Ext. Police Station - Pathway

Rodney and Grandad are beside a policeman

Rodney: So I approached 'im and crrracked 'im good and hard across his jaw, right.

Policeman: He may be a suspected criminal, but there's no need to assault him - this would be a criminal offence. Are you telling the truth?

Rodney: Well, erm, there was my brother Del. He did his pissness in the shitter an' KO'ed the bloke as a consequence of opening the entrance.

Grandad: You're too honest, Rodney.

Policeman: Get ready, lads. This nutjob may overwhelm us with racial and homophobic slurs, not that it applies to any of us.

The policeman pulls down a gag on a tied-up man

Policeman: Iz thiz some kind of juoke? Thiz iz not the escaped lunatic. Thiz iz Tawm Whitton the gamekeepurrrr. And you'd shouldn't have gagged him like that, he suffers from azmurrrrr.

Rodney: Now, hold on. The doctor of the institution showed us his I.D., had all the silver lines an' wa'ermarks and everything (oh bollocks, that's from To Hull and Back). He's dressed as the Riddler.

Policeman: What doctor of the institution dressed as a Batman villain?

Grandad: Yeah. You can ask him yerself; he's back at the cottage. Paul Miller.

Policeman: Paul Miller is the ezcaped lunatic from the institution. He did a lariat kick to a psychiatrist's head, stole his uniform and went on the run since his court hearing revealed that he could face a maximum sentence of 30 years.

Int. Cottage

Del: Shame that I didn't go wiv 'em.

Paul: Oh, I needed you to stay here with me. It was imperative for me to apply the make-up on my face so that I could change into a different character.

Del: Just a second, the phones ringing.

Paul picks up the axe and glares at Del

Del (To receiver): Hello Rodders. You've got there safely? Yeah.

Del raises a glass of whiskey to his mouth

Del: Heee's Whaaaaa'?! *Del falsely smiles* Alrigh'? *In receiver* Nah, the doctor's stood there, examining Boycie's chopper. You hurry back now, won't you.

Del downs the drink and attempts an escape through the door, but his path his blocked by Paul

Del: Ah-hah-hah. Just let us know they got there safely.

Paul: Good. What's your relationship like with your father?

Del: Do what?!

Paul: WHAT'S YOUR RELATIONSHIP LIKE WITH YOUR FATHER?

Del: Bit of salt an' vinegar, they're lovely. Oh, doesn't make sense. My old man walked ou' on me on the day my dear old mum died, leaving me to look after Rodney and my dear aold Grandad.

Paul: Do you like kickboxing? I love it.

Del: Oh so do I - it's terrific.

Paul: Shall we have a bout?

Del: Wha', of kickboxing?

Paul: YEHSS!



Del: Tell you wha', I'll just pop out to the shed 'cause I remember seeing a ring inside with a referee, alrigh'.

Paul: No need. We'll use this one.

Paul points to an empty space

Del: You mean this one here?

Paul: YEHSS!

Del: Let me take that axe off you, otherwise you won't be able to punch properly with it gripped in your hand

Paul has a vengeful expression

Paul: No, I suppose you're right.

Del calmly slips the axe away

Paul: Which shin guards would you like?

Del and Paul move their clenched hands back and forth

Del: Erm... I'll have these ones.

Paul: It's my favourite pair.

Del: You can tell that they're good'uns.

Passing Helicopter: VWWDA-VWWDA-VWWDA!

Del: Thank fuck for that!!

Paul: What was that?!

Del: Nah, you're alright. It's a helicopter.

Paul: Good. I have a balanced match record. I think I'm gonna lose this one.

Del: Something tells me that you're gonna w-

Paul: I hope not. Antifa and BLM ruined my life; they wanted to burn my house down to the ground. They kept calling my boss until he fired me on the basis of no evidence. Do you know the feeling?

Del: I'm sorry to say that I don't.

Paul: There's anonymity in defeat, unless somebody films it. I really like losing.

Del: Do you? Let's make this interesting. A tenner per round? Fifty quid for a knockout?

Paul: Sure thing. I haven't checked the stolen wallet with the ID cards in it, so maybe there's no money to cover the bet.

Del: I have a funny feeling this weekend could become a nice little earner.

Paul: Sorry?

Del: Nothing. Got any padded gloves?

Paul gives an imaginary pair of gloves to Del

Del: Thanks. Inexplicable squeaking sound.

End Music

[Glebe]

Heh, Mario at the window

[DangledTeeth]

Int. Nag's Head

Albert is shuffling anahvva paira ayciz with a couple of alcohol consumers. Del the Boy and Rod the Ney are chobbling at the bar with Moykol the pahb landlord. Sitting by herself - alone - is the 19-year-old language student from Germany. Her name is Anna (how we know her name at this stage is anyone's guess SPOILERALERT), but she dahn't understaahnd cockerney Inglish. Her eyes survey with trepidation

Del: Sao come on, Mike... twenty-five knickers for this gem.

Mike: Del, I am not interested in your tatty wares, mate. *Calls* last orders please!

Del: It's got redial, and it 'as some buh-ons - I can't say no fairer than that. And give us more boozener while yer at it.

Mike: Maureen! MMuuhrEEEEEN! Go an' tell the German tart we're closing soon, erm, assuming she is German, for I do not know who she is.

Maureen: She's forron. She ain't speak the Queen's Inglish like our lot.

Rodney: Detective Sherlock Rods is here. What occur, Mr Fisher?

Mike: It's the forron German girl - don't mention der vwar - she even secretes tears of the atomwaffen as a way to communicate with the living.

Del: At your extortionate prices, Mike, I ain't surprised the soppy caow blubbers for an affordable Babycham. What's the German girl's nationality, then?

Mike: Unsure.

Rodney: I wonder if she is Swedish and, by the sheerest coincidence, is from Sweden.

Mike: Maybe you can form an arrow with a mound of meatballs, indicating where the nearest Ikea or Claus Ohlsson is. Say, Del, you're fluent in French, ain't you?

Del: Vigee Le Brun!

Mike: Here is my suggestion, Del. Being the polyglot that you are, why don't you ask the German girl if she understands your French.

Del: Yes. Your idea is pucker, Mikowl, me ol' pal. I shall expect a fair discount on those drinks I've ordered at the bar.

Mike: House.

Del: Liebling Jiebling, as they say in Collognee. You can seat yourself if you like, Rodney.

Rodney: Do me a favour, Del. I shall accompany you to the neighbouring table in order to laugh at your piss-poor attempt at speaking in French.

Del: Your sawcy lih-ul fahcker. Alrigh', cahme on...

Del and Rodney approach Anna, THE GERMAN

Del: You can relieve yourself of your post, Maureen. 

Del thrusts his forearms out and twists his head

Del: Auf wiedersehn, Anna. Jean Nouval et Melody's Echo Chamber.

Anna: Oh, oui bien sur. Pouvez vous m'aider s'il vous plait? Est'ce qu'il y'a un hotel ou pension quelconque par ici ou je peux trouver une chambre?

Del is taken aback at Anna's firm grasp of French while Rodney grins at Del's shock

Del: Nah, Mike, her French is too mediocre for me to understand if she's German of not.

Anna: Oi Monsieur, Allemagne. Deutschland. Jzer-mah-nee, ja?

Rodney: Yep, 200% German.

Del: Panic over, Mike. Paul Gascoigne has volleyed it!

Albert lurches over the table

Del: What in the prannying fuck do you wan'?

Albert: I can speak a bih-a Germun. I woz over there after the w- jurennerwuah

Del: That's triffic, Unc. Come over 'ere. I wan' you to utilise your erudition in the old Germanic, righ', and ask Anna what her name is, whereabouts the mare lives, her address and location an' all thaa-aat sor' ov thing. Please do not embarrass us by speaking in English and with a mock-German accent

Albert: Leave this ta me, sahn...



Albert: Vwot der lieblingsfach ist jor nem?

Del: Aoh naaoh, vwot einen plonkereibecheichtgesprakineichen

Anna: Do any of you twats speak English?

Del: Inglish?! You sauerkraut bint! 'course we don't speak forron. We inven'ed the fuckin' vernacular.

Rodney: Yes, we sp- I, Rodney Trotter, can refrain from speaking in a cockney dialect.

Anna: Splendidbar. Mehbee you halp me. I look for hotel, ja.

Rodney: Ah right. Which hotel? What is the name of your hotel?

Anna: I not sure of zis.

Del: Gaw, fack me for a gram of pepper!

Anna looks pleadingingerlyly at Rodnod

Anna: Pliihz?

Rodney: Erm... he say, exclamation.

Anna: PLIIHZ?

Rodney: Heeeee... a bit, y'knah, flustered.

Anna: PLIIIIHZ?

Rodney: Oh for fuckin' cry aht laoud.

Anna: PLIIIIIHZ?

Rodney: He was surprised.

Anna: Ohhhhh.

Awkward silence

Rodney: Ah yes... there are not many h-

Albert: PLLEEEEASE!?!?!?!

Rodney: Daon't do tha', Albert!

Albert: Sorry, sahn. Coodn't 'elp meself. HuUr-EaHh-UghH-hYeUR.

Rodney: There are not many hotels here in London.

Anna: Oh nicht.

Albert: You cahme in by aeraohdoynamic vehicle voya Ryanair, gehl?

Del: Ryanair?! Fack me, if she booked wiv them, she'd save us this aggro by still being in Germany

Audience: WUUUH-HAHAHAHAAHAHAH. What's Ryanair?

Anna: Pliiihz?!

Rodney: Have you just arrived here in England?

Anna: On the contrary, I have been living in your fine country for approximately one year. I'm a language student who's currently studying English and French. I earn a few bob by doing some babysitting bollocks or something. Ah, Nacht der langen Messer, fah-mih-leeee I vork for tell das frau to einen leave, ja. They not hah-peeee wif me. So now I look hotel, yes?

Rodney: Fret not a thing, my dear. Rodney - I, Rodney Trotter MBE - will escort you safely to my ro- erm, your'e are hotel. *To Del* I think I can nip this in the bud, 'alf-brother.

Del: Yeah, I bet you fuckin' can, brahv. Fuck me for a game of backgammon! Rodney thought he was gonna fuck a yet-to-be-revealed pregnant Austrianlasian; she got lumbered with Heinrich Plonklerr. Cahme on, Albert, let's take a Toby home - wha' duz tha' mean any'ow!? Rhyming slang... jug - tug? Carvery - Hardly? Well, if it's the former, the biggest wank of 'em all is your flame-sodding wartime yarns, the Albert

Albert: GGGERRRCHA.

Albert and Del make a swift exit

Rodney: Um, where your hotel?

Anna: I'm terribly sorry for being misleading. Let me explain: when I said 'I am looking for a hotel', I did not mean that I have booked into one yet I cannot locate it again, no. I mean I am scouting for a hotel to book into.

Anna sobs

Rodney: Nah, no, don't cry. You can cry out your flange one your see Rodney's rod.

Anna: I hef mon-nee.

Rodney: Cosmic Bennett! They'll guillotine your fuckin' gregory if they spot your wad.

Anna: Pliihz?

Rodney: Oh... Peckham ist scheisseholen.

Anna: Ja, zis iz vwot I fear.

Rodney: well, erm, you can stay with me and my family.

Anna: But vwhere vill yoooh sleep?

Rodney: Goggled-eyed salacious expression. I'll fuck of something. I mean wank, sorry, think - think! I shall assist you with your suitcase.



Audience: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAH!

Int. Trotters' Flat. Living Room

Rodney firstly enters with Anna somewhere behind and out of view. Del is on the phone

Del: I'll do you a bloindin' good deal, Irish the Greek. *Away from receiver* The phantom of Ikea has come 'ome.

Albert: Did tha' gerl find 'er haotel alrigh'?

Rodney: In a way, Albert, yeah...



Cordless Phone: Del!?

Del: Erm, gotta go, Albanian Littlewood or wha'ever your name is. Something pregnant has turned ahp.

Anna: Heh-looh

Albert: allo again, dear. Narce to see you both.

Anna (To Rodney): Pliihz?

Rodney: He say, 'Hello. It's nice to see you and the bun in the oven'.

Anna: Pliihz?

Rodney: Ah sorry, 'the baby'.

Albert: Would you like a bi' of 'addock?

Rodney: No thanks, we've already eaten.

Albert stares at Anna's pregnant belly

Albert: I can see tha'. Muh-HeR-Euh-HyuRr!

Rodney: We dined at the Star of Bengal.

Del: Do you think an Andy was wise in 'er condition? Excuse me and us *Indicating the kitchen* erm, could I have an executive private boardroom kitchen meeting in the kitchen, thank you.

Rodney: Yeah, sure. I won't be a minute, Anna.

Del: Albert, entertain the plural with your haddock.

Int. Kitchen

Del Kicks the fridge door shut

Del: She is an Old Bill. And when I s- oh, wrong episode.

Rodney: Del, I couldn't help it...

Del: Blimey! You knocked 'er ahp quick, eh.

Rodney: Shut it with the quips for a sec. How was I supposed to know she was pregnant?!

Del: You musta bin a bit suspicious when you saw a ruddy great jaam and bratwurst sandwich appear before your peepers. Wrong episode again. Fuck me, Rodders. It doesn't take Doctor soddin' Spunk from Star Wars to work that one out. She's more than the senate naow.

Albert enters

Albert: I dahn't wanna warry you two grown adults, but unless Uncah Lahbert is very much mistaken, that pregnant German gerl has an accent and could give birth soon.

Rodney: Sail your vessel into an iceberg, Albert

Del: Yes! And make sure it ain't a lettuce. Rodney thought he was gonna get it on with a Swede. These recent events - I've got more relatives coming aht of the Wormwood Scrubs than Blake Carrington *To camera* An' when you're watching this in the future, be sure to use the intronet to search 'Blake Carrington' if you're too young to understand the reference. You'll probably think it's a posh old ancestry firm or a famous bloke with a huge family. And now I'm taking in the waifs...

Rodney: DA-NANA-NAAAAH. It's Delhl Boy! I shall look ahfter this small waif. Pist aht ov 'is skall. Wrong episode.

Del: ...and strays of Europe.

Rodney: Community chest. European Union but the 80s version. We've gotta stick together.

Del: It's a shame 'er flange didn't.

Rodney: Come on, the Derek. We've got room in the flat. Only one more person.

Albert: Well actually, sahn, it's at least two, possibly more - twins, triplets, or quadlets.

Del: The old sailor has a point. One hot bath and we could get the boot for over-crowding. No, can't take the risk.

Rodney: Well, she'll see you around.... spppIEGEL. You deliver the news hot off the press, Del.

Int. Living Room

Del: Tannenbaum! We've hit a bit of a snag. See the thing is, Anna, at this Atlantic momen' in time, we are a bit knackered for space, see.

Anna: Excuse me?

Rodney looks ahead with folded arms

Anna: Pliihz?

Rodney: Oh! Del Boy said 'there is no room at the inn'

Anna: Vwot dus dat mean?!

Del: Daon't start all that Sunday school rubbish with me, Rodney. *To Anna, gesturing at Rodney* Einen kunt, ja.

Anna: Pliihz?

Rodney: Bad word.

Albert: Who Shaftesbury Avenued you in yer Shepherd's Bush?

Anna: ...pliiiiiihz?

Rodney: He say, who's the father. *Sharply, at Albert* Oi! That's fucking personal, innit.

Anna: Oh, vather, yes, I understand. Fah-mih-lee I vork vwith, Mr and Mrs Wainwright, have son, Spencer, who is the student. Spencer hef university degree, ja? I'm not drink but I hef champagne. Then I am speeningk, ja? Then Spencer come to room. He wants to... vwot vord?

Del: Aaooh, y'mean he want to *clenches fist*

Rodney: Del!!

Anna: Be my friend.

Albert: What, while you were still spinning?

Anna: Ja. Then I find beybih ist here. I phone Spencer and he say I must not tell parents he is vather. But this morning, I tell Richard and Judy he is vather. Mr and Mrs Wainwright say I lie. Mr Wainwright say my unorthodox behaviour is egregiously disruptive and it is inexpedient for me to remain.

Del: Pliihz?

Rodney: He say 'ride your bicycle'.

Del: Oh! 'Fuck off', I see.

Anna: Mr Wainwright is... vwot vord?

Del: Twat?

Anna: A businessman. Rich man. He gif me money for journey home.

Albert: Why didn't you gao?

Anna: I've understood you for once. My fahmihlih will see beybih. This ist nicht gut. So I wait and when beybih is born I give to people.

Del: Yeah, yeah, if you think so sweet'eart. Terrible world, Rodney. It sounds like she was drunk-raped and she 'as a sprog on the way. Why don't you chuck Anna's belongings in your room for tonight.

Rodney: Appreciate it, ma'e.

Albert: It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world. Here's an anecdote that'll develop your money-earning scheme: there are thahsands of couples arahnd the world who try for a kid baht can't. My aold ma'e Nipple Tahn'ouse tried for years an' years to 'ave a baby, but he then realised tha' he doesn't 'ave the correct fixtures dahnstairs.

Del: Cycling in tight pants, all thaa-aat.

Albert: He was in Mal'a, thaough. You seem to be a medical profess'nul on this sort ov thing.

Del: Yeah well, Boycie and Marlene. You know Boycie, the second-'and car trader. 'im and Marlene have be trying for a miniature for years. They've had more tests than a school assembly hall housing an atomic bum. They have money and cannot buy the one thing they want the most because they wan' it.

Albert: Yah? A bouncing cookie?

Del: Naooh, leavidaht you soppy aold gaoat. A little baby.

Del smirks triumphantly to himself

Albert: What's ahp?

Del: Nah, naffink. Thank you, Albert. Like you had said: a money-earning scheme. And I've jast this minu'e come ahp with the blueprints.

Int. Boycie's Lounge

Rodney (OOV): Come on, Duke. Stick. Ruff ruff!

Boycie: Repeat that again, Del Boy of Derek.

Del: I said, I could help you have a baby.

Marlene: I'm not a Suffragette.

Boycie: Not in a million ford Cortinas, Del. You are not having coituscourse with my fair wife.

Marlene: Too right. Nostalgia tends to make me emotional.

Boycie nods with understanding until he does a double take

Del: No, no, I mean I know where one is going.

Boycie: Have you got a part-time job in the nursery ward?

Del: I know this German girl, she's doubtless pregnant.

Boycie: Oh, great! In the morning - or whenever the kid arrives as a mortal - we'll be awaken by the delicate chaffing emission of lederhosen.

Del: Jubbly Gordon, Boycie! He'll be born in England and brought ahp as one of yer own. The dad is English. The concise story is Rodn-

Boycie: That elongated cuntbag is the father?!

Del: No, of course not, Boycie. He stirs his tea because he doesn't know where a cock goes. *Shouting towards garden* Rodney! Don't you let him rub his lipstick over your Wranglers! *To Boycie* I despair of that dog, I really do, brahv. As for Dukey... Any'ow, the father is a student geezer who's washed his hands of the whole corona.

Boycie: We have a lot in common. I'm not a student geezer, but I am not interested in his child.

Marlene: Talk about it.

Boycie: I've changed my tune. Give us two minutes, Del.

Rodney enters

Rodney: Your dog has exhausted me, the little rasclart. Why are Boycie and Marlene sat near each other like they live together? Highly unusual. Not cosmic.

Del: Well, I am present, so there's bahnd to be a harebrained dodgy deal.



Boycie: Will it float?

Del: Yep.

Rodney: Interesting.

Boycie: This German bird, is she healthy?

Rodney: What the bloody 'ell's going on 'ere, Del?!

Del: Boris Becker's cousin is flogging a Bavarian crested tit. They usually retail for £33.99 up West (Germany). YOU can pocket yerself the rarity - one for the price of two - at 28 quid.

Rodney: Don't give me that, Del. Something fishy is going on. And I ain't alluding to that streak of piss Dukey did over the back of my jeans.

Audience: MURHAHAHAAHAH!

Del: Alright, Rodney. I was gonna tell you once the baby did a runner off the balcony. Boycie and Marlene might have Anna's baby.

Rodney: A raffle!? Del, this is a human baby, not an Airfix set or an almost-out-of-date leg of ham or a Thundercats jigsaw. What about adoption?

Boycie: They wouldn't let me. I went to prison for perjury, embezzlement, conspiring to pervert the golf course of justice, the fraudulent conversion of the Mayor of Lambeth. These tosspots won't let anything slide.

Del: He has repaid his debt to society and sold a fleet of dodgy cars for a reasonable price.

Rodney: Erm, yeah, I suppose there can be a second chance.

Del: And that is precisely wha' Anna's baby is going to get.

Rodney: Immoral! Illegal! Criminal! Underhanded! Poncy!

Marlene: Baby for us. Instant miracle.

Boycie: Might arch the old eyeball hedge.

Marlene: Yeah, although they're only our neighbours.

Boycie: That's right. But fuck knows what the minge inspector will say.

Marlene: He is our neighbour.

Boycie: Oh yeah. HAH-AGH-EGH-AGH-AGH-EGH-AGH-AGHHHHHH *pauses, looks mortified*

They huddle together

Rodney: Earner for your Bunsen?

Del: Stonnnne me, Rodney! Cruel and callous jibe. Wha' sorta bloke do you take me for?! I'm doing it for Anna... and her little baby.

Rodney: Oh, I'm sorry, Del.

Del: Moody. Don't you touch me.

Boycie: How m-

Del: Airline ticket, birth certificate, petrol and phone calls - three grand will do.

Audience: Laughter!

Int. Trotters; Flat. Lounge

Anna is in the armchair watching TV. Del is at the table working on a computer. He presses a few keys as if he knows what he's doing. Albert enters from the kitchen with a cup of tea.

Albert: Tea ahp, Del Boy!

Del: Shhh! I'm busy playing Galaxian, *Presses esc key* Got you, you Martian cunt!

Rodney looks glumly at Del

Del: What's up with Rodders, Rodney?

Rodney: You know what's up with me. Selling a baby to a mudlark. Charles Dickens wro'e a book about it.

Del: Marlene gets the cookie she always wan'ed

Rodney: And you get 3k.

Del: Precisely. He who sells a baby wins.

Rodney: Except for Anna!

Del: Oh conkers rare, Rodney. Boycie's dosh will be tranformed into 300  Deutschmarks for Anna and her bin.

Anna: Argh!

Del: A universal sound.

Albert: 'ow'd you know? You can't speak forron.

Del: Listen, Rodney, pop in the kitchen and get a glass of water.

Albert: Alka Seltzer?

Del: No, the water is for Rodney. These past few seconds are thirsty work.

Anna: Del. Danke.

Del: No, not wanker, Anna... just 'bonjour'. Wrong episode again.

Int. Trotters' Flat. Lounge. A week later

Boycie is seated nervously on the sofa. Marlene paces the floor. Del pours himself a drink

Marlene: The baby's fine?

Del: If it wasn't, I wouldn't invite you ahp 'ere. Bouncing baby.

Marlene: Weight statistics?

Del: 9 bounces. Ah hah hah hah.

Marlene: His name shall be Mark.

Del: Marks and Spencers. Shame it'll be a girl.

Marlene: Okay... she will be named Marklene.

Trigger: After Dave.

The front door opens

Del: They are back. Don't panic! Don't panic!

Int. Hall

Del: Alright, Rodders?

Rodders: No, everything is not fucking alright.

Del: Shhh! Boycie and Marlene are in there.

Rodney: Stuff da boyciefly! Daahn ta Marlenegate. Have you exhaled a decibel about their little 'boy'?

Del: What about her?

Rodney: Spot on, son. She's a girl.

Albert: HHHHUUUAAGHNN! A GIRL!?!?

Del: I haven't broken the news yet. 'ow could Anna do that do that do that-that-that?! She didn't have one-a them ultra scams photograph to determine the sex. Let daown.

Rodney: More rodblems. Anna has fallen on her baby, ah-hah. No, I'm joking. And...

Del: Deal's a deal, can't do that to me!

Anna: Erm, I think things are noht cooshty. Now I keep beybih.

Del: No, no, no... erm, opposite of yes. VAT people in here. I'll explain everything and you won't have to say 'pliihz?'

Int. lounge

Del: Boycie and Marlene are the lovely couple who shall purchase your organism

Anna bursts into years and runs into the hallway

Boycie: Who splashed water under her eyes?

Del: No idea. I'm gonna come clean - not like thaa-aaht. The thing is, that baby girl... he ain't.

Marlene: Uh!?

Boycie: You said it'll be a boy.

Del: I know thaa-aaht, but this is the Marxist BBCCP and their transformer gentle politics update for the 2020s. Girl - boy? Dahn't matter no more.

Marlene: I don't care if it's a Hungarian Luncheon Voucher.

Boycie: Okay, Marlene, we'll take it. Fucking amazin', ain't it? Everything I buy off him is missin' a cock.

Marlene moves near to the cot

Del: Dahn't look at me like that, Uncah Lahbert. What else could I do.

Albert: Nar good askin' me, sahn. I ain't never flogged a baby befaw. Jurenuhwuoh!!

Del: Rodney, I am in shame. Please say something reassuring.

Rodney: GIT!!!!

Del: Change of heart. Boycie, the deal of the century is off.

Boycie glares at the cot

Boycie: The deal is off? Too bastard right the fuckin' deal is off!!

Del: The what?! Aoh, don't tell me the embryo cord is still attached *nods at his phone* if that's the case, it'll be about as cordless as the blowah.

Rodney: Erm, I'm being informative and a bit vengeful now. Spencer's mummy and daddy left the West Indies in 1956... and moved here.

Marlene: Does not bother me.

Boycie: Fuck off, Marlene. The baby's brown.

Marlene: So is Duke.

Boycie: But that isn't a puppy in the cot, Mahlane.

Albert: There is a likeness, though.

Boycie: Shit it!

Marlene: We could say it's a throw-back.



Boycie: F'gawd's sake, Mahwleyne! I might be about to enthrall pedestrians into owning my death carts. I might be able to convince them my super cum fertilised you and you gave birth in one week, but how the piss am I going to convince Mike and Denzil that my grandad was Buzz Aldrin?! You ain't heard the last of this, Del Boy.

Boycie foots on out

Marlene appears despondent

Marlene: S'pose 'e's righ'.

Del: Yeah, yeah, you knah it makes sense, dawlin'. *Del surreptitiously pinches Marlene's buttocks* WWWWHISTLE!

Marlene: WUU-OOP! I'm gonna walk into your door without looking.

Del: ...yeah.

Marlene makes her exit



Del: Anna, einen beibling ist von kryinge. *To Baby* Ain't you got brigh' eyes. Ain't gonna be frigh'ened when she gets in the shower. Wrong episode. Coochy-coo! Cooc- Urgh, the baby shat itself through its mouth.

[Glebe]

Mr. Creosote Anna is hilarious!

[DangledTeeth]

Danke schon, Glebe.



Original Theme Music (NSFW Lyrics)

Int. Nag's Head

Del: Come on, lads. It's cahmin' 'ome! I love a pre-match drink!

Rodney: Yeah, it's going to be their year, Del.

Del: Oh, there's no doubt about it, brahv.

Rodney: Is that why you bet Ukraine would win the final?

Del does a double take

Del: W'yeah... but only on penal'ies.

Rodney shakes his head as Mickey Pearce approaches the table



Mickey: 'ere we go, chaps.

Rodney: Cheers.

Del raises a small shot glass to his nose

Del: Stone me! This'll strip the paint off your wall, no trahble.

Rodney: What's in 'em, Mickey?

Mickey: Aonly vodka. Give you a bit of focus for this evening.

Rodney: I 'ope so.

Del: Bon appetit Renault Clio!

They all imbibe their shots within seconds of each other

Del: Gaw, bloody 'ell! *exhale* Cer'ainly is a livener.

Rodney winces

Mickey: Bit of a burn but dahn it went.

Rodney: I ain't had vodka in a while.

Mickey: You know the old saying: there's a first time for everything... again. Hah-hah.

Rodney smiles

Mickey: Has Boycie been in yet?

Del: Boycie?!No, he won't be 'ere. He's tucked up safe in sound in his manor 'ouse.

Mickey: Eh?! I though' 'e liked football?

Del: Well, he does. He says he doesn't like all the hooligans *puts on weary voice* and loud people making noiiiise in celebration.

Mickey: What's 'e like, eh. Hooligans!?

Del: Yeah. Rumour 'as it he's avoiding you.

Mickey: I'm fuckin' laughin', ain't I.

Rodney: Speaking of home, it's time we 'eaded back.

Del: I'd love to stay, old Michael. But you know wha' Raquel and Cassandra are like.

Mickey: ...nah.

Del: Oh. You missed an opportunity for a humorous quince.

Rodney: Quip.

Del: Yeah, you're right, Rodders. We'd better hurry ahp.

Rodney: I'm gonna nip to the toilet

Del: Right you are. I'll be ahtside. See you, Mickey

Mickey: Yeah, see ya, Del.

Del: And oi, don't you go offering Rodney a shake in the lav.

Mickey: No. I think I'll leave that to masonic Boycie.

Del: Ha ha.

Ext. Nags Head. Car Park

Del goes to light a cigar and pauses as he spots Denzil about to enter his lorry

Del: Den-zeel! How's it goin', pal?

Denzil: Oh, I never thought Iy'd say it's good to see yoouu.

Del smiles drops

Del: Why'd you say that?

Denzil: It's my fiinal duhlivery, top secret stohff. And I could hear the pallets moovin' about at the backghk, and it's giving me trouble.

Del: 'ang about, Rodney will be out in a minu'e.

Denzil: Well, I think the twooeh of os can shift 'em jost faine, if you can give me a hand?

Del: Oh, of course. But Rodney loves his art, don't 'e.

Denzil: I don't follow yoouu.

DelL Yes you do, on the old Instagrand. Hah-har-hah-hah. You mentioned these pallets, didn't you?

Denzil: Not those sort of palettes, Del. It's the platform whehre all the goods are loaded on 'em and you put the pump-trock or forklift onderneath

Del realises

Del: W'yeah... I knew thaa-aaht. But Rodney loves making a new compostition with that contemporary cobblers.

Denzil: So could yeh give os a quick hand, Del?

Del: Anything for a mate.

Denzil confidently enters the open lorry and slowly edges towards the rear. Del almost struggles to clamber up yet Denzil is too preoccupied to have noticed

Del: Blimey!

Denzil: I'll moOVe this pomptrock 'ere, likhke

Del: Right you are. Naow wha'?

Denzil: Yoouu keep hold of these totes.

Del: Gritty socks, are they?

Denzil: No, no, no, nohthing to doO with thermals. It's a teerm for the containers.

Del: AoOohH.

Denzil: Grunt! There we are. All secure.

Del: You sure? Looks a bit disorganised at the back.

Denzil: Oh, them? Nah, leave it, Del. They're only empties.

Del: It's alrigh', Denzil.

Denzil: I've got to get a moOVe on.

Del: I'll be aht yer 'air in no time. G'on, lemme 'elp out a ma'e.

Denzil: Ahlrait, I'll get the engine ronning and input my route.

Denzil routinely walks back to his driver's seat

Del is suddenly affected by the alcohol. He neatly piles empty containers behind a pallet and sits on the last one

Del: Puff! Gaw, I'm feelin' a bit cream crackered naow.

Del rests his head sideways and drifts off to sleep

Ext Nag's Head

Rodney is puzzled when he finds that Del isn't waiting for him. He texts Del as he walks past Denzil's lorry

Denzil (calling): Rodney!

Rodney: Oh, Denzil. Did you see Del go past?

Denzil: Fonny you should say that, he approached me a coupla minutes ago and helped me with sohme bits in the backhk. I left him in there while I got my GPS op and ronning.

Rodney: Aoh.

Rodney pushes the lorry door

Rodney: Still open. *Calling* Del?! Are you in there?

Denzil and Rodney wait a few seconds

Denzil: You mosta jost missed him. Coulda shoht the door behiind 'im.

Rodney: Yeah, and the bastard couldn't even wait for me.

Denzil: He probably can't wait to get home. Ehy, your flat's on my route, I'll drop you off on the way.

Rodney: Cheers, Denz.

The lorry drives off

Int. Trotters' Flat

Rodney enters the lounge as Cassandra is seated, and Raquel enters from the kitchen

Cassandra: You're back earlier than we expected

Rodney: I saw Denzil on the way out, he gave me a lift.

Raquel and Rodney (in unison): Where's Del?

Rodney: You mean... he's not here?!

Raquel: No. I thought he'd be here with you.

Rodney: Then where's he gone?

Cassandra: He's not in the toilet, is he?

Raquel: No, I would've heard him.

Rodney: His farts aren't that loud.

Audience: MWUHHERHERHAHAH

Raquel: No, I would've heard him enter the flat.

Ext. Parking Precinct

Denzil's lorry comes to a halt

Ext. Lorry

Denzil nonchalantly reaches to close the shutter of his lorry and is taken aback by the sight of Del

Denzil: Gordon Bennett! Del!

Del is stood rigidly

Del: Oh, th-there you are dhnzul. I 'ad a bit of a kip back there. Whoss comin' 'ome?

Denzil: It ought to be you -- going home.

Del: Do wha' me ol' ma'e?

Denzil: How many did you have?

Del: Erm.. *Del waves his fingers to gesture different amounts* one.

Denzil: Plos all the others.

Del: Oh yeah, there wwas a vodka lih-ul glass thing from, er, Mickey.

Denzil: Mickey Pearce did one on you. It's this new thiing he's doing where he includes a strong drink without telling anyone. It wasn't a vodka, Del. He gave you a strong one - absinthe.

Del: Yes, he def'nitely is one, Dezzol.

Denzil: I didn't say arsehole or anything of the sort. It's called absinthe. I've jost dropped off a loada gear at Wembley cos that's where we are.

Del: You're jaokin'!? I'm at Wemblee?

Denzil: Yes. Iy've finished delivering an exclusive shipment of grub for the executives and commentators for their closing party. Iy've finished my lahst round and want to nip home for d'fiinal. Promise me you'll ring yourself an Uber and get home safely, ahlrait?

Del: Scaht's honour. You know me, Denzil.

Denzil: All too well, sohn. That's whiy I want you to get yerself home faine. And ehy, football's khomin' home.

Denzil cruises off in his lorry

Del staggers off towards the car park

Int. Trotters' Flat

Raquel: Del just text me.

Rodney: Oh yeah, where is he?

Raquel: Erm, he's was out drinking with you and he's text me.

Rodney: Ohhhh. He'll abou' as coherent as a judge.

Rodney nods in earnest

Raquel: He mentioned an Uber, so I expect he'll be back soon. Hope so, it's almost penalty time.

Raquel pops into the kitchen

Rodney: Raquel!!

Rodney is mesmerised by the telly

Raquel: Yeah?

Rodney: You'll never guess what...

Raquel: Oh, they haven't dragged David James out of retirement, have they?

Cassandra: Well, it's not as bad as that, I don't think.

Raquel calmly enters with a bowl of crisps and almost drops them at the sight of the telly

Raquel: It can't be...

Ext. Wembley - Pitch

Commentator: England are one potential goal away from winning the European Cup, and it appears a charismatic inebriated man has captured the hearts of the adoring England fans with his melody....



Del: It's just onnnnne voicccce singing in the darknesssssssssss, say what's on your sweet caroline. Just one voiiiiice coming 'ome in the darknesssss. Touuching meeee, touching yoou-ooo-oooo!!

Stadium: IH JOOSS WAAAAAAAAAAAN VOOOOOOOOOIII SENNNNGING IN THAAAAAAAAAH DUUUUUUUURKNAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Commentator: It's an incredibly sensational and iconic scene unfolding before us. A milestone in English football. I don't think the police will escort him from the stadium, at least not yet. The fans appear to love him.

Stadium: CAAAAH MEENG OOOOME IN VUHHH DURRRRKNAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSS TAAACHING MEE-EEEE TAAACHING YOOO-OOOO.

Rodney: WHA' THE... 'ow did he get past the securitay?

Cassandra: The charm of Del, I suppose.

Commentator: I've been informed by the producer that Gareth Southgate has made a last-minute decision and, and, yes, he is going to replace Harry Kane with the staggering man who's caused a positive stir on the pitch.

Stadium: THEH'S AAANLEEEE WAAAAAAAAAAN DELLLL BUUUUUH CHROOOH AAAAAAAAAAAH. WAAAAAAAN DELLLLL BUUUUUH CHROOOH AAAAAAH. STAGGRRIIING AHLAAANG,  JRIIINKS AAAAH OLLLLL GORRRRRN. WOOOOLKEN ACROSSSS THAAAH GRORRRSSY WANNNDAHLAAAAAND. UHWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

Commentator: Well, the fans seem very familiar with this mysterious maestro. I've received news that he's a south Londoner by the name of Derek. He's... he's approaching the spot of fate. Can he do it? Will he do it? It's peek-behind-the-sofa time, ladies and gentlemen. Let's make it quick.

Rodney: Oh gyawd! I can't watch.

Rodney strides off to the kitchen

Int. Trotters Fate - Late Night

Police lights illuminate the balcony, a low roar of people can be heard below

Del enters in his night gown

Del: What are they rioting about now? Lift engineer not turned up?

Rodney: You!!

Del:Me?! Wha' 'ave I fuckin' dahne? I got a cab 'ome from Wembley.

Raquel: To begin with you didn't. You inexplicably took the last penalty.

Del: Yeah? *Smiles with conceit* Did we win?

Rodney: Erm... Derek, when any team win an enormous and prestigious tournament that's had its final hosted in our fair city, the fans do not celebrate a victory by brandishing planks of wood with rusty nails embedded in them, nor do they set cars ablaze until they are merely reduced to cinders.

Del adopts an innocent expression

Rodney: Maybe you can royally wave at your ecstatic acolytes from the balcony. And don't come crying to me for a bandage when a brick clonks you on your 'ead.

Del: Yeah, you've made yer point, you saucy cunt. I 'spose not. *Shrugs* It's anly football, brahv.

Rodney: Only football?! Because of your boozed-up antics, the entire English nation resents your guts while the rest of Europe are guffawing their tits off.

Cassandra: Quiet a second, it's switched over to the news.

Huw Edwards: Due to the shocking hoof over the bar committed by an unprofessional, underqualified 'footballer', intense policing measures are in force tonight to dampen the destructive wave of protest over tonight's unceremonious, humiliating penalty shoot-out against Italy. The man known as Derek Del Boy, who reacted to the booing fans by incoherently spouting expletives in French, other sources claim Derek was braying in English with a drunken tongue. He is reportedly been identified as an assassination target of the newly formed ISIS2, which stands for Inglishmen Slaying Italian Scum. They've beheaded baristas, pulverised pizzas and boycotted Mario's Odyssey on the Nintendo Switch.

Rodney, at a slant, cautiously inspects the riot from the balcony door

Rodney: Aouldon, they're dispersing.

Huw Edwards: The latest intel from MI6 has revealed that ISIS2 boarded a plane in order to harrass Italian passengers, the plane was scheduled to take off from Heathrow airport. A ten-minute struggle culminated in a surprise hijacking. Lewis Tootingbroadway, the lead hijacker said to be in the cockpit with two cohorts, commenced a Telegram live stream, claiming he and his Jouleshadists will unleash retribution. Flight analysts are tracking the air-path of the EasyJet jumbo and it appears to be honed in on a high-rise block of council flats. The Ministry of Defence shall not intercept the plane due to covid-19 restriction forbidding aircraft from engaging in terrorist disputes.

Del: Fromage de Benoit 'eadbahtt of the top raope!

Rodney: Del Boy! Cass! Raquel!

Rodney's jittery pointed finger is aimed at an ominous presence in the night sky

Del: Wha'?!

Del (aghast): Is that the flight bahnd for Gatwick or are we hallucinating?

Rodney (numbly terrified): It must be real. We can both see it.

Del: It certain'ly is cahming 'ome.

Airplane crash

Int. Bedroom

Del: GASP! PUFF! Gordon BBBBennett!

Del rests his raised head and exhales with relief. A half-asleep Raquel mutters

Raquel: Del?

Del: It's naffink but a nightmare, sweet'eart... but it ain't over yet.

Raquel (sleepy): No?

Del: I've got to flog those glow-in-the-dark utensils this mornin'.

Ext. Market

Del and Rodney dismantle their stand

Rodney: Are you coming for a quick drink before the match?

Del: You mahst be jaokin'.

Rodney: Eh?!

Del appears a bit nervous and flummoxed over the recollection of his dream

Del: Well, thing is, I'm glad that the lads secured themselves a match in the final, but Italy haven't lost in 30-something games, so I doubt that we're gonna be 'olding the cup above our bonces anytime today.

Rodney: W'nah, we're not football players.

Del: Exac- *double take* I know thaa-aat. I meant... 

Rodney smirks and raises his eyebrows

Del: Cunting wally!

Rodney: I guess we probably won't win. But it'd be good to see 'ow it develops.

Del: You enjoy yerself.

Rodney: What, you're not going to be around today?

Del: No, Rodders. I forgot to tell you.

Rodney: Wha'?

Del: I secured tickets to the Wimbledon final. No roulette absinthe for me. All strawberries and cream this af'noon, brahv.

Rodney: But... 'ow did you get 'em?

Del: You know Monkey 'arris' mate, Spaniard the Otter?

Rodney: Yeah, or Lenny. They ain't hooky, are they?

Del: Naooh. What do you take me for?! you can't waltz ahp to flamin' Wimbledon and go, "'ere you go, John. A couple of suspicious stubs prin'ed on Epson printing paper". You can't go doing thaa-aat old pony.

Rodney: But where'd they come from?

Del: Booking office, innit.

Rodney: Yes, enough of the sarcasm, Del.

Del: He bought them as a present for 'is ex-wife.

Rodney: Why would he do that if they ain't together?

Del: Eh?! Oh, they divorced after he got the tickets.

Rodney: Ahh, right.

Del: He was 'aving an affair; she suspected 'im and his extravagant present was deemed a sign of guilt. A final nail in the coffin.

Rodney: They ain't personalised? Ah-heh-hah. You going with him as his ex missus.

Del: Fortunately not. I best get the old clobber on and be on my way.

Rodney pauses beside the van as Del loads up

Rodney: What the cosmic fuck is roulette absinthe?

Del: All I say is, watch out for Mickey Pearce.

Int. Trotters' Flat. Living Room

Rodney is watching Wimbledon

Tim Henman: But ermmmm, Djokovic to serve

Boris Becker: He hez been playingk hiz bessst tennisss throughaaoowt thisss tournament.











Umpire: ((( COULD THA GENTLEMAHN IN THA STAND PLEASE REFRAIN FROM DISTRACTING THA PLAYERS BY SHUTTING THA FUCK UP. THANK YOU )))

Rodney sighs and lowers his eyelids

Rodney: What a cosmic fuckin' plonker!!

End theme: WE GOH SOME HALF PRICE RAT TAPS AND MILES DAVIS LPS

Me: This is shit. I should've done this all in one go last week. New Only Bols and Horses - 'To Solovetsky and Back' exclusively for the Stalin thread at some point and introducing new cast member Uncle Karlbert

[Glebe]

"Owight, internet people? Del Boy 'ere, wiv a special noo mini-episode of OFAH! Oi'm gunna troi an' beat Richard Branston - 'oo oi met wance on me way to Miami wiv Wodney - boi flying even furvah in ta da stratahsphere! Whoops, veez dodgy flight parts Monkey 'arris sold me ain't ap to mach - MAYDAY, MAYDAY! Boi f'naw - football's camin' 'ome!"

- Sir David Jason.

[DangledTeeth]

SPECIAL 2021 EXCLUSIVE LOCATION REVISIT SCENE - HE AIN'T HEAVY, HE'S MY UNCAH LAHBERT

Theme Music



Rodney: Alright, Unc?

Albert: Wha' are you two doing 'ere?

Del: Fucking warried abaht you, you silly old cunt. We've appeared in various locations in London as part of a sequence.

Rodney: We found yer note.

Albert: Yah? 'ow'd you knah I'd be 'ere?

Rodney: My guess is the closing part which read 'please don't search for me, I 200% will not be pensively reminiscing at Tabasco Road'. This was where you were birthed?

Albert: Yah. Tabascao Raoad. Mar 'ouse was... well, sahmewhere rahnd 'ere.



Del: What's this all about? Runnin' away from home at your age and havin' a swim fully clothed!! *To YOU* If you're reading this on yer phone, be sure to swipe the photos sideways, cer'ainly the first one.

Albert: A lotta things been gaoin throo mar mind, Del. I didn't knah if I woz cahming or gaoin'. I feel as if I let the fam'ly dahn. I le' you two dahn.

Del: Oh don't be so bloody daft! I mean, why would you wanna appease Bono and 'is mates any'ow?

Rodney: You let none of us down.

Albert: I wan'ed to inhale the invigora'ing air of Shadwell Basin, aonly rahnd the corner from Wapping Overgrahnd station.

Rodney: But where were you gonna go?

Albert: Well erm, here. *Bobs head* I didn't realise things 'ad changed sao mahch. The time I left 'ome, when I was abaht 15, I jast came 'ere and go' a job on a tramp-steamer. Life seemed easier then.

Del: Its easier to come 'ome to yer fam'ly.

Albert: Fenks, sahn.

Rodney: Come on, let's go.

Albert: You know, ance upon a tarme ships from all over the world used ta sail in and aht of 'ere. The wa'er used to be cavvered with paprika extract oil, and when the san shone it used ta spawkol with all diffront cahlers. When I was a kid I used to think the basin 'ad 30 million Scoville heat units.

Del: You were a bit of divvy cunt in them days as well.

Rodney: Oi!!!!

Albert: There were tahgs nudgin' freigh'ers into position. Cranes liftin' aht char-grilled chicken from Canada, hot wings from Jamaica. The pabs and cafes were filled with competitive eaters from an 'undred cahntries. By the time I was seven I could weep tears in ten diffront languages. There used to be streets as well. Laoads of two-up, two-dahn 'ouses. 'Dockers' mahnsions' they called 'em. Ragamuffins kicking peppers against the walls. The women used to come out and chase us away with their milk. They was raough people, but they was good people. During the Blitz some of the men pain'ed a sign on the roof of a ware'ouse so that the Luftwaffe pilots could read it. It said, 'Dear A-dolf, you can break our jars... baht no' our Carolina reapers'. Look a' wha' they've dahne to ih naow!

Del: Yeah... it's teriffic, innit?

Rodney: Terrific?!





Del: Yeah. Do you know 'ow much one of these drums are worth, Rodney?

Rodney looks reassuringly at Albert

Del: A fuckin' lot, brahv. You've got your throwline to 'elp you from the splash if you wen' skinny dipping - in your case skinny dipstick with a skatin' 'elmet. I expect Michael Caine lives across the drink. He could pull aht one of Momo's chairs with me and we can watch a currant bun fade into the sunset as we sip several glasses of Moët while we eat pâté foie gras. Black Porsche and a windsurfer. Then knock it aht to Boycie's ma'e Abdul for twice the purchase price. Lovely Jubbly. Let's all go rahnd the corner and get ourselves a round of beers at The Prospect of Whitby and have a bite on our little pots of grit and bird turd.

[Fambo Number Mive]

These are brilliant. I don't know how you come up with the ideas for them.

[DangledTeeth]

Thanks, Fambo.

---------

And for those of you who don't check the Stalin thread, here's an updated version of the Stalin/Slater trilogy










Stick a pood of flour in me pocket
I'll fetch Zhukov with a battle plan.
Cause if you want the rations
And you don't answer the NKVD's questions
Then bullet.
Kazakhstan.

The Soviets act like the Holodomor is a mystery
Some say it's deliberate, unlike the heart attack of Dzerzhinsky.
Blacklist the ones who do the work

Why don't only Bols and Socialist-Revolutionaries work?

Stalin-Staaaalin
Com-com-commissar
Stalin-Staaaaalin
(7th of No-vem-baaah)


Int. Bear's Head

Leoney and Khrushchev 'Chevver' are leaning against the bar chatting. Sitting further along the bar, behind Khrushchev, is Stalin. He is a Dictator Inspector. Although he is in plain clothes, everything about him says 'Bolshevik.' He is in his middle-to-late thirties. He has a snide and superior manner and is loathed and feared by both the small-time peasants and his colleagues in the Central Committee. He is watching Khrushchev and Leoney intensely

Leoney: Yeah. So, right I said to her, I said, 'Bernice', I said...

Chevver: That her name, is it?

Leoney: Yeah – Bernice! Yeah, 'Chev, that's why I called her Bernice, y'know. I said, "Oi listen look here, mate! Kappa trackie bottoms. Don't play with me girl 'cos you are playing with fire. I said, 'Don't you dare try an' tie me down!"

Chevver: Likes a bit of Rolf Harris, does she?

Leoney: ...No, sppaaAAWT. I meant in a, you know, spiritual sort of way! I mean she's not – no – see, 'cos I'm a free agent, 'Chev. Wherever I lay my hat, right, that's my dacha! That's the sort of guy I am.

Chevver: Yeah... You got a hat now then have you, Kalinin?

Leoney: No, no, Chevver, it's a saying. You know. Anyway –

Chevver: I had a hat once! Someone nicked it at a party meeting!

Leoney: Really? Yeah, well... She was crying, begging me not to leave her.

Chevver: And my return bastard ticket in the brim. I had to walk all the fucking way home from Leningrad!

Leoney: I'm gonna phone Lev and see if he can come down for a drink.

Leoney moves away towards the phone

Chevver: What colour was your hat, Kalinin?

Leoney: Shit.

Khrushchev: Mine was brown as well!

Stalin stands. As Levney passes him their shoulders catch.

Leoney: Sorry!

Stalin (Quietly to himself): You will be if it happens again, sonny. Chevver!



Chevver: (Alarmed): Oh! Er, wotcha Joe! Long time, eh? What brings you round this way? I thought you were stationed in West Moscow.

Stalin: I missed you all, didn't I? I got myself transferred back to Lubyanka. And it's not Joe any more. You can call me Comrade Stalin, General Secretary Commissar of the Soviet Union, or just plain Premier! Mine's a large scotch!

Chevver: Right! (Calls) A large scotch, love.

Stalin: Know anything about a microwave oven?

Chevver: No, I'm no good with electrics and that!

Stalin: I'm not asking you to mend the pissing thing, am I! I'm talking about a stolen microwave oven! Someone lifted one off the back of a tank in Arkhangelsk Oblast earlier on!

Chevver: Yeah? Tch, some people!

Stalin: Yeah, some people! So, what are you up to these days, Khrushchev? Still doing a double-act with Malenkov Harris?

Chevver: No, I ain't seen Malenkov for ages.



Stalin: And what about Beriacie?

Chevver: Dunno. I ain't seen him for years!

Stalin: Really! And how about my favourite man? How's good old Lev Boy keeping?

Chevver: Haven't a clue. I ain't seen him for a long time!

Stalin: No, you ain't seen much of anything lately, have yer? You ought to eat more capitalists, Chev!

Beriacie enters. He strolls in his usual confident manner but, upon seeing Stalin, he does a sharp turn and is about to rush out.

Stalin: Well upon my withered left arm! It's Beriacie!



Beriacie: Oh! Hello Joe. What a nice surprise!

Stalin: And what a coincidence as well.

Beriacie: Eh?

Stalin: That you two should happen to be drinking in the same pub. I mean, how long is it since you last saw Chevver?

Beriacie: Ooh, er, it must be...

Chevver is holding up two fingers

Beriacie: ...piss off?!?! I mean at least two seconds.

Stalin: Chevver said years!

Beriacie: Oh, yeah, now you come to mention it, it must be two years! Time does fly, don't it?

Stalin: Certainly does. Seems like only yesterday I was pounding the beat around here. They were the good old days weren't they, eh?

Chevver and Beriacie appear pensive

Chevver: Secret speech!

Beriacie: Rape!

Stalin: How's Nina these days?

Beriacie: Oh, you know, still the same!

Stalin: Is she? *Shakes his head sadly* Dear, dear, dear.... I heard that you're dabbling in the video game!

Beriacie: Oh yeah. It's just a side-line, you know. Command and Conquer: Red Alert. Red Faction.

Stalin: I'm surprised to hear Lev Boy's still at the same place.

Beriacie: Yeah, still there! Oh, he's er, thinking of moving though.

Chevver: Defecating, actually.

Stalin: Defecting? Yes, I bet these bourgeois nations must be crying out for left-wing revolutionaries!

Beriacie: Well, I must be off!

Stalin: So soon? After all these years I'd have thought you two would have a lot to talk about!

Beriacie: Yeah, well, we do, but, uh, I have just seen a business acquaintance of mine. *Calls* Hello Leoney! Well, see you, Joe.

Beriacie moves away from the bar

Stalin: Yeah, see you, Beriacie. Give my fuck to Nina - everybody else did. Leoney?! Weren't Lev's kid brother called Leoney?

Chevver: Oh, I dunno, Comrade Stalin.

Stalin: No, you're deaf, dumb and blind these days, ain't yer! I bet you're a wizard with a state funeral!

Switch to Beriacie greeting Leoney

Beriacie: *Shakes Leoney's hand warmly* Hello Leoney. Nice to see you again!

Leoney: Beriacie, I was talking with you last night!

Beriacie: Oh, were you?! Oh yeah, of course you were. Memory must be slipping. Well, take care of yourself, see you around!

Beriacie exits

Leoney: Yeah, see yer, Beriacie!

Stalin turns to Leoney

Stalin: Don't tell me... You're Lev Boy's brother Leoney! Am I right?

Leoney: Yeah!

Stalin: I was a Bolshevik with Lev, walked with him for a funeral. Haven't seen you since you was a little nipper.

Leoney: Really? What's your name?

Stalin: General Secr-, Joe Stalin!

Leoney: Joe Stalin? No, no, I can't recall him mentioning it. Perhaps he called you by a nickname?

Stalin: Yeah, knowing Lev, that's about it!

Chevver: Well I'm away now, Comrade Stalin.

Stalin: Behave yourself, Chevver. Well, well, well...

Stalin turns to face Leoney. Chevver, behind Stalin's back, is gesturing to Leoney. Stalin follows Leoney's eye-line and catches Chevver mid-act. Chevver tries to excuse his behaviour by pretending he has something in his eye. He turns and exits

Leoney: What is up with everyone today?

Stalin: They've been at the booze, ain't they? Fancy bumping in to you! Shame Lev Boy couldn't have made it.

Leoney: Well, d'ya know I've just this minute come off the frog and tome to him. He was coming down for an alcoholic slurp but he got involved with a bit off business, something to do with the thing you're perhaps looking for.

Stalin: Is that right? Well, I'd loved to have met him again. It'd have been a real surprise for him!

Leoney: Well, I tell you what, why don't you come back to the flat and not finish a beer?

Stalin: Could I? Oh, well that would be poggers!

Leoney: Yeah, yeah, I'll go and give him a bell.

Stalin (Sharply): Fucking no! You'll spoil the surprise!

Leoney: Oh yeah. Hey, I can't wait to see his face when you come through the door, eh?

Stalin: It'll be a picture, Leoney. It'll be a picture! (But not an airbrushed one.)

Int. Trottersky's Flat

The microwave oven is standing on the sideboard. Brondad is studying it and fiddling with the switches. Lev is in the kitchen

Lev (OOV) I mean, I don't ask much of you, do I? But even when I ask you to do the simplest things you let me down!

Brondad: Oh shuddup!

Lev (OOV): I mean, she won't wanna know me naow will she, not after last nigh'!

Brondad: I ain't bothered!

Lev enters, carrying a cup of coffee

Lev: I invited her all the way over from Vladivostok for a nice quiet intimate candlelit dinner. And all I asked you to do was put the box of wine in the fridge and my tub of Neapolitan ice-cream in the freezer. But no, you get that cock about arse, don't you? So come nine o' clock, all I could offer her was a bowl of cum and a Jubbly ice lolly! Ruined my entire evening it did! What are you doing?

Brondad: I'm trying to get 'The Dooks of Agitprop!'

Lev: The 'Dukes of Agitprop!' This is a microwave oven, you dozy old funt! Gordon Engelsett! you'll be putting seeds and tree bark into the portable next! Come out of the way, will yer! You're lucky you didn't barbecue yourself! Now just leave it alone!

Leoney enters

Leoney: Hey Lev, guess who I met down the pub.

Lev: Well, whoever she is, don't invite her back here for Jubbly dinner!

Leoney: No, it's one of your old comrades from the Revolution!



Stalin: Hello Lev Boy. Long time, eh?

Lev: Stalin!?!?



Stalin: In all me glory! *To Leoney* I told you he'd be surprised, didn't I?

Leoney (Puzzled): Yeah!!

Stalin: Is this your granddad?

Lev: No, that's a Young Pioneer, innit!

Stalin: Watcha, Brondad. I'm talking to you like you're hard of hearing. You wouldn't remember me - Joe Stalin. I was in the Revolution with Lev.

Brondad: Well, well, that's a turn up for the blackbook innit, Lev Boy?

Lev: Yeah, innit jast?

Brondad: Leoney, get Joe one of them lagers in the fridge. I am the Commissar of Fridge

Leoney: Yeah, right!

Leoney exits to the kitchen

Lev: Yeah, well, I'll just, er, yeah, I'll just give Leoney a hand. You carry on.

Int. Kitchen

Leoney takes a beer out of the fridge then Lev kicks the fridge door shut

Lev: What the bloody hell are you trying to do to me?! Don't you know who that is?

Leoney: Yeah, he said he was an old comrade!

Lev: He's not an old comrade – he's an Old Bol! And when I say an Old Bol, I mean an Old Bol! That tankie out there'd purge you for anything you did! In fact, he'd purge you for anything you didn't do and he wouldn't let a silly thing like innocence get in the way!

Leoney: I didn't have a clue, Lev. I swear!

Lev: You wallytwat! Alright, alright! We gotta play this nice and cagey! Now listen, you've gotta be careful what you say to him, because that fella in there he collects grasses like other people collect ration cards.

Leoney: He's got a few blades, has he?

Lev: No, he ain't got a few blades, Leoney - he's got an entire cutlery set! Right, when you go back in there, only speak when you are spoken to, and then keep it down to a simple 'yes' or 'no'! Think before you blink, If atheism is smiling on us, we might just get away with it, Alright? Get those lagers.

Int. Living Room

The kitchen door opens and Lev and Leoney enter. Brondad is demonstrating how heavy a sack of grain is to Stalin

Stalin: Does it weigh as much as they claim?

Brondad: Oh, I-I don't know so much about that.

Stalin: Don't you?

Brondad: We ain't got a buyer for it yet.

Lev and Leoney enter with cans of lager

Stalin: No? That's strange, the weight of this sack is giving me a headache. 'Migraine'.

Lev: Yeah, well here y'are, come and relax your fingers on this, Joe me hoe! There you go. And how's the secret police force treating you?

Brondad: Police?!

Stalin: Not too bad. I got promoted a while back, I'm also the General Secretary now. I'm no dictator, for I resigned several times and nobody would accept, all because I'm well aware of my own power.

Lev: Oh, congratulations. A few years from now you could be advertising tyres for Buicks! How's the family?

Stalin: I don't see much of 'em these days, Lev. The old man's still not talking to me.

Lev: No, well, he's probably still got the needle over that time you gulagged him!

Brondad: He gulagged his own father??

Stalin: I had no choice! If there had been a way of avoiding it I would have. But his Party card had a crease in it! I mean, what else could I do?

Lev: It's true, it was actually yours!

Stalin: That's right. It was just a twist of fate. But you've gotta understand, at the time I was young and keen. Now that I'm older and more experienced... *bows head sadly* I regret doing it!

Lev: Leave it out, Stalin. You've never regretted an arrest in your life!

Stalin: Now that's not fair, Lev! You're judging me by the Joseph Stalin that you used to know. But I've changed in lots of ways. Things that were important to me in the past mean nothing now. I used to be sociopathic, Marxist-minded, but what have you got at the end of the day? You've won your Order of Lenin – and lost your comrades.

Lev: Oh come on, Joe. You didn't lose your comrades!

Stalin: No?

Lev: You didn't have any to lose in the first place!

Stalin: Yeah, I suppose you're right! Lev, maybe one evening – if you're not too busy, and remember that I'm a powerful authority figure – we could have a couple of beers together?

Lev: Yeah, well, disgusted at the suggestion - see how it goes, shall we?

Stalin: Yeah, alright, thanks for the drink. I never finished it. Nice seeing you all again... I'll see myself out.

Stalin moves sadly to the door. There is an embarrassed silence in the room. Leoney and Brondad are obviously feeling a certain amount of pity for Stalin. Stalin opens the door and pauses before turning

Stalin: Oh, by the way, you're all under arrest! *Grins*

Int. Lubyanka. Interrogation Room



Stalin is engrossed in a telephone conversation

Stalin: Yes, sir... Oh yes, well, thank you very much, sir. Very nice of you to say so... well I can only have them for receiving, sir, but one of them's an old comrade and I get the feeling that if I treat him nicely enough he might be persuaded to volunteer the name of the real thief... Oh yes sir, you know me, sir, I play everything by the book, sir. Well, there's three of them actually, sir. Yes, I arrested them single-handed! Well I don't think of the danger, sir, I simply see it as my duty!

The Trotterskys and Yezhovkins are sickened by his sycophancy

Stalin: Well, I'll get back to your sir, as soon as I've got some information. Okay sir... Thank very much, sir. Thank you once again, sir. Okay, sir. Bye for now, sir. *Replaces receiver* Do you know who that was?

Lev: The wife?

Stalin: No, she shot herself in '32. I was actually speaking to myself. I mean, I am the dictator.

Brondad: You wanna be a bit more careful about your health, son. In the last 'alf hour you've done so much sucking up you could successfully compete with a hoover in a blowjob contest.

Stalin: Have you informed them of their rights, officer?

Yezhovkins: Oh yes, comrade!

Stalin: Tch!!

Leoney: Yeah, and I demand the right to phone my commissar!

Stalin: Sit down and behave yourself!

Leoney: I'm saying nothing 'til I've phoned my commissar.

Stalin: G'on then! Phone your commissar!

Leoney: I haven't got a fucking commissar!

Stalin: Well don't waste my twatting bloody time then!

Lev: Just calm down, will yer! Just calm down. Now listen, Stalin, I think I've find a way in which we can clear this mess up.

Stalin: What, you tell me the name of the person that nicked the microwave?

Lev: No, I give you 20 rubles and you let us go!

Stalin: I didn't hear that, Lev!

Lev (Louder): I said, I give you 20 rubles...

Leoney: Lev!!

Stalin: Did you hear that, Yezhovkins?

Yezhovkins: Oh yes, comrade, laoud and clear.

Stalin: Oh, you really are a red star, Lev Boy, you really are a red star! You are now down for receiving stolen goods and attempting to bribe a member of the CPSU!

Lev: You never complained about it before.

Stalin: Did you hear that, Yezhovkins?

Yezhovkins: Er, sorry, comrade. Miles away!

Stalin: Right, who 'alf inched the microwave? Was it Chevver? Come along, gentlemen, I want a name!

Brondad: We found it, didn't we, Leoney?

Leoney: Yeah, yeah – down the market! This bloke, sort of dropped it!

Stalin: Oh, he dropped it,  d i d  h e? Didn't you call after him?

Leoney (Lost for words): Er...

Lev: Well yeah, but he was a bit mutton, wasn't he.

Stalin: Oh, I see, Well that explains it! Tch, I just wish you'd have told me earlier, it would have saved us all this trouble! *To Yezhovkins* It's easily done, comrade. You're walking along the street, your mind on The Palace of the Soviets, you take your handkerchief out of your pocket and - bang - your microwave falls out. *Indicates Leoney and Brondad* Take these two down the corridor and put them in separate rooms! I'll be along later to get their descriptions of this stone-deaf villain! And, oi! No conferring!

They exit

Stalin: I see Beriacie's selling video games now!

Lev: Y- Is he?

Stalin: Hmm! Which apartment in Lenin's Mausoleum does he live in?

Lev: I dunno! But you can't miss it, it's the one with the 'ammer and sickle flying from the chimney!

Stalin: Oh, that takes me back, Lev Boy! D'you remember when we were in our early forties, we used to go over the pond to play at pirates? You were Dan Menschevik – Chevver was Yakov Yurovsky. And what character did I play, Lev?

Lev: You played the bloke what got shot.

Stalin: Oh, yeah! The bloke what got shot! I was always Nicholas II, wasn't I? A duck's head. I always wanted to be Yakov!

Lev: Well you should have said so!

Stalin: I did say! But you'd never let me!

Lev: I did... once!

Stalin: Oh yeah, I remember. That was the day the Romanovs were overthrown.

Lev: I tried to be friendly, Stalin, but you were such a snide there was no helping you!

Stalin: You tried to be friendly? Like when??

Lev: Do you remember that time when all the boys dragged you to the ground, and Marty Ryutter sat on yer face and Chevver put all that itching powder in your belly button?

Stalin: ...Vaguely!

Lev: Yeah, well I was the one that made 'em stop at your belly bah-un! They were all for having your boots off! And how did you repay my act of kindness? You caught me behind the bike shed with some bird and you went and told the headmaster!

Stalin: It was my non-existent sister!

Lev: See, you always let personal feelings creep into it, didn't you?

Stalin: Right! Down to business! The face that dropped the microwave oven in the market! What did he look like?

Lev: Oh, he was about average height.

Int. Interview Rooms

Brondad: He was a great big tall fella!

----

Leoney: Oh, he was little more than a dwarf!

Stalin: (OS) Age?

Leoney: Me? I'm 23.

----

Brondad: Older than wha'ever Leoney said!

----

Lev: He was just a kid!

Stalin (OS): What about his ethnic group?

Lev: Well, I didn't notice anyone with him!

Stalin: No, I mean was he Caucasian?

----

Brondad: No, he was a Caucasian fella!

----

Leoney: He was African, I think!

----

Yezhovkins is standing by the door. Lev is seated at the table and is obviously feeling the effects of the long night. His jacket has been removed and his tie loosened. His shirt cuffs have been folded back to reveal a chunky gold bracelet on one wrist and a gold watch on the other. Lev checks his watch

Lev: Is he allowed to keep us here this long?

Yezhovkins: No.

Lev: Does that mean we can go then?

Yezhovkins: No.

Lev: Triffic!

Yezhovkins: Well, you shouldn't get yourself involved with hooky gear, should you!

Lev: No, no, you're absolutely right, young Nikolai... 'ow's that bag of flour and box of matches I sold yer mum, alright, is it?

Yezhovkins: Oh, er, yeah, cheers Lev! Look, why don't you do yourself a favour and give him the name of the bloke? He'll get it out of you in the end, he always does! Stalin's a nasty piece of work. The only people that hate him more than the bourgeoisie is us comrades!

Lev: Supposing I gave him the bloke's name, what would happen to him?

Yezhovkins: See that filing cabinet over there? That his full to the top with lists of people suspected of being nationalist sympathisers. Stalin would lay the whole lot on the bloke. So after only two weeks at the station he'll have doubled the conviction rate. The public are reassured, Stalin gets his promotion, and the U.S.S.R takes another step closer to achieving industrialisation! And everybody's happy!

Lev: All except the poor cunt who's gone down the Kermit! Na, I'm not ain't gonna tell him nothing.

Yezhovkins: Well, watch out for him, Lev. He's got no scruples, he'll try anything!

Stalin enters with a pipe and a couple of files

Stalin: Alright, Yezhovkins, you can go and have yer supper break now.

Yezhovkins: Oh, thank you very much, comrade Stalin.

Yezhovkins smoothly leaves

Stalin: Shame the chef's been purged, ha ha. Sorry, Lev, did you want a cup of vodka or a puff on a pipe?

Lev: No, it's all right, Stalin, I had one yesterday!

Stalin: Good, good!

He starts reading some of the paperwork. He begins to laugh.

Stalin: Sorry, Lev Boy. I'm just reading these descriptions of the Imperialist of the Market! Oh, it's good, Lev. It's good! According to you and your family, we are looking for a 6ft 7in dwarf, aged between 15 and 50, a white male with oriental features, who's as black as Paul Robeson's knockers! And, oh yeah, he wears a deaf-aid!

Lev: Not a lot to go on, dic-tay-taah!

Stalin: If I was to take this lot into court I could have you labouring in the Urals as well! (Referring to one of his files) I've just found this in our records department.

Lev: I hope it's Lidia Pereprygina!

Stalin: No, it's not Lidia Pereprygina, Lev! *Wipes brow* It says here Criminal file number 94628/A76. Name: Trottersky! Leoney!

Lev: Now, listen Sta– KOBA. Now, just – here, now come on. Let's leave Leoney out of this, eh?

Stalin: He was a little scallywag at that Soviet Art Institution, weren't he? Caught in some tart's room, puffing a Lucky Strike.

Lev: Now listen, he was innocent!

Stalin: Well, not according to this he weren't!

Lev: He only went down to her room to borrow some charcoal!

Stalin: Whatever he was smoking when the secret police burst in, it weren't charcoal, Lev! Now, I wonder what would happen if - horror of horrors - I was to discover a Gareth Jones notebook in one of Leoney's pockets.

Lev: Leave it out, Stalin – you know Leoney's got nothing in his pockets!

Stalin: That's soon remedied.

Lev: I see, and what are you gonna stitch Brondad up with, eh? Found with the gun that killed Kirov or demanding protection money from the local centralised bank, The Engels and Marxy?

Stalin: Oh no, I'll see that Brondad's kept out of this. And while you and Leoney are away building a Stalinka, Brondad'll be back on the farm... Alone!

Lev: Just what is that supposed to mean?

Stalin: Dangerous places them tenements, Lev! I do hope Brondad doesn't fall victim to the mindless White Army that walks our streets!

Lev: I thought you drove everywhere nowadays. Listen to me, Stalin, I know a lot of coppers and they're all good blokes. I mean, I don't like 'em, but they play a fair game. And then there's you, you dirty shitting...

Stalin: Steady, Lev! I don't want to have to add abusive language to your ever growing list of offences! I might not have room on the charge sheet! You and young Leoney are going down for at least a year apiece in the Gulag, unless you give me the name of the mush who nicked the microwave.

Lev: Oh, leave it out, Stalin. You know I can't do that. It's against my principles! My Mum'd turn in her grave if she knew I'd become a copper's nark!

Stalin (Picks up phone): Well, you're gonna have a lot of time to think about your principles! I hope the soup hasn't got too much ice on it! I'll get the charge sheets typed up.

Lev: Now, just a minute, Joe. Let's not be hasty! I think we can make a new deal.

Stalin: I don't like Roosevelt!

Lev: You're gonna like this one! I give you the name of the bloke that stole that oven, you let Leoney and Brondad go – no charges.

Stalin: Yeah, alright. I'll let them go.

Lev: And you'll also drop all charges against me!

Stalin: Oh come on, Lev, I'm looking forward to that!

Lev: You don't seem to understand what I'm saying, Stalin! Once I've given you the name, I'll be one of your... grasses.

Stalin: Oh Lev, Lev Boy, that is beautiful! You would be one of my merry men! I'd have you in my pocket, I could bounce you about and make you dance whenever I felt bored! And if you ever stepped out of line, I'd let it be known on the streets that you're an informer and have you exiled!

Lev: I know thaa-aat.

Stalin: The deal's on, my old bourgo. I'll drop the charges against you, you have my word.

Lev: Your word!?!? Your word means about as much as the guarantee on that hooky microwave! No, I want immunity from purgesecution. And I want it in writing and I want it signed, sealed and delivered.

Stalin: I'll get it arranged right away, Levrek. Oh, we're gonna have a good future together you and me, I can feel it. What's wrong, Lev? Cursing the day you crossed me?

Lev: No, I'm cursing your belly button!

Int. Corridor

Leoney and Brondad are in the corridor. Brondad is seated directly below a Watch Out There's a Counter-revolutionary About' poster. He sees it and moves his chair closer to Leoney

Brondad: Why's he keeping Lev Boy in there?

Leoney: That's about the 38th time you've asked me that in the last 'alf hour! And for the 38th time, Brondad, I'm telling you, I don't know.

Brondad: I thought he'd just charge Lev with receiving, he'd get a fifty ruble fine, and then it would all be forgot about!

Leoney: That's what I thought!

Brondad: So did I! So why's he keeping him in there?

Leoney: Gawd bless mine and Chevver's old brown hat... I don't bloody fucking wankwanking know, Brondad.

Brondad: Well, Leoney...

The door opens and Yezhovkins steps out



Yezhovkins: Look I thought I told you two you were free to go!

Brondad: Oh, we thought we'd hang on for a while.

Leoney: Yeah, it's good here, innit?

Stalin exits from the charge room carrying a piece of paper

Stalin: Still here?

Leoney: We're waiting for Lev.

Brondad: Will he be long, son?

Stalin: Only as long as it takes him to tell me who nicked the microwave.

Leoney: Better get our heads down till the morning then!

Stalin: Oh, no, Lev's seen the light. He's decided to cooperate. Come in and see for yourself.

Int. Interrogation Room

Lev is seated at the table. Stalin enters followed by Leoney and Brondad

Stalin: Alright, Yezhovkins, away you go, canteen's open now.

Yezhovkins: Oh, thank you very much, sir.

Yezhovkins exits

Stalin (Throws paper on the desk): There you are, Lev Boy, your immunity from purgesecution, signed by the Central Committee himself.

Leoney and Brondad tower over Lev

Leoney: What are you playing at, Lev?!?!

Lev: What are they doing 'ere?

Stalin: Oh I thought it'd be interesting for them to see you in your real light. The Great Trottersky, the man who could talk his way out of a room with no doors, reduced to this, grassing.

Lev: I've gotta tell him, Leoney. He's got me all ends up... I've got no choice.

Brondad: But you don't know his name, Lev. He was just a bloke in the market!

Lev: Oh leave it out, Brondad. If Mr Slater - sorry, Stalin - was to believe our description he'd have his men searching for a someone who's a cross between Stolypin and Nikolai Valuev!

Stalin: With a deaf-aid!

Lev: With a deaf aid! Leoney, I wasn't doing it just for myself. He threatened to plant something on you and set you up for a bit of bird!

Leoney: That is against the law!

Stalin: Phone the Police! Pah-hah-hah.

Leoney: Don't tell him, Lev.

Lev: Look, I've got to, Leoney. Otherwise it'll mean you and me will go down the mine and Brondad's gonna be left alone on the tenements, see? I've got no choice, I've got no choice! Alright Premier Stalin, let's get down to business.

Stalin: Oh Lev, Lev Boy!! Those words are ears to my music. I will cherish this moment! Righto Lev, who nicked it?

Lev (Indicating Leoney and Brondad): They are free to go ain't they?

Stalin: Yeah, they're free to go – no torture, they can leave whenever they like. OK, give me his name.

Lev: You've got nothing on me either?

Stalin (Losing his temper): No! You've got an immunity from purgesecution. You've got less chance of a pull than the executed emperor.

Lev signs the paper

Lev: Hmm, yes, I know.

Stalin: Right, for the third and last time of asking, who nicked the microwave off the back of the tank?

Lev looks anxiously at Leoney and Brondad

Lev: I did!





Stand and Salute or Else You Will Blow Up

[DangledTeeth]

Stick a bullet in me pistol
I'll shoot like Fanny Kaplan.
But if you want a lesson
In Soviet repression
Then Comrade
Magadaaaan

But Lenin fled all the way to Finland, see.
He changed his appearance and removed his facial hair, unlike Trotsky.

Bumped him off - Sergei Kirov.

Why don't Only Bols and Socialist-Revolutionaries work?

Vrogi Naroda
DA DA DADADA
Genrikh Yagoda
DA DA DADADA

Int. Airport

A women pops her case open in order for the contents to spill out

Woman: Oh, fingerbutters!

Customs: We shall help you while a sneaky man slips through our post

Sneaky Man: WUH-HAW-HAW! I don't know why I'm laughing, you'll arrest us soon enough.

Int. Bear's Head

Leoney: So anyway I said to 'er, 'anal is not backwards, it's actually the way forward, in a sense'.

Lev: Triffic Pacific as they say in Vienna. *To Young Rastafarian* Oi, Calvin. Watch yer alcohol.

Calvin: Sorry Lev, mon cher.

Lenin: Have you seen Beriacie, Del?

Lev: My name's not Del. No I 'aven't. Why?

Lenin: He's looking for you. Urgent.

Lev: He knows where to find me... here.

Leoney: Resuming my chat with you.

Lev: Hey, are you still going out with that little sort?

Leoney: Oh comsmit, coms-blahddy-mittee. I've been tellin' you for the last ten minutes. Imogen!

Lev: Yeah? Visualise wha' exactly?

Leoney: No. I said Imogen, her name. Not 'Imagine' as in Lennon.

Lenin: What can I get you, Leoney?

Leoney: I give up.

Lev: So what's the trahble, then?

Leoney: She's getting too serious, but I want to spare her emotions.

Lev: You say to 'er, "look 'ere, sweet'eart. Your flange is tigh'er than my wallet on a Fridee dahna market and that's all pucker, usually. But you're givin' my arse a tickling and you've consequently bin given the elbow, do you knah wha' I moyn?"

Leoney: Oh, that's poe'ic, that, Lev

Leoney converses with a barmaid as Lev speaks to a potential buyer. Nearby are Uncle Karlbert and Keke, watching a reenactment of the October Revolution

Lev: I've got this one-of-a-kind watch, Ted, me ol' comrade. And it's one-of-a-kind because it's the only one left. Nahne of your Japanese imperial rabbish. Only the finest quality straight from Moscow.

Ted: This display version says 'Made in Norilsk' and it doesn't tick.

Lev: Don't you concern your fuckness over it. I'll nip aht to my armoured train and get you anavva one.







Karlbert: Jurin nuh revolution I wasn't there.

Keke: Which revolution is this?

Karlbert: I'd soon know if I could 'ear it. I cahn't 'ear a fuckin' thing with all this mahnkey music.

Keke: Racist.

Karlbert: No' as bad as the tarme when I wraote to Engels. Sao anyway. Goyont Octapus. I dahn't tork abah' it nar, gives me the nigh'mares on Elm Hoooooky Streeeeee'.

Keke: My Beso turned to the booze and used to 'ave nightmares. Mind you, I think that was to do with our son. He went to the Martemyan Ryutin Comprehensive with Lev. He must've mentioned him -- Stalin, Joe Stalin?

Karlbert: Stalin? Dahn't remembah, Keke. You're beh-ah off arskin' my bravva Grandad, or Edward as 'e shood be knaown, if 'e woz alive.

Keke: Perhaps Lev doesn't want to brag about the Immunity from Purgesecution.

Karlbert: Wha' 'appened? Get frostbit to death in Siberia? *Bobs head*

Keke: No, he became the General Secretary.

Karlbert: You know me, Keke. I'm sayin' naffin', sahn.



Beriacie: Lev Boy, secret cavern meeting... in the back room. Dahn't worry, you won't be tortured in front of my very eyes, har-aw-aw-aw-aw. That's my more casual laugh.

Lev: With the way you prattle on sometimes, it's akin to torture. Wotcher, Nafdul, moy sahn. You still with the White Sea Baltic Canal?

Nafdul: Yes, construction is almost complete, Levrek. Could we have a word with you, please?

Lev: Lead on, McKerensky.

Lev, Beriacie and Nafdul approach the back room



Chevver: I'm feelin' lucky tonight, Kalinin. I thought I'd put on a dab of Vladivostok Spice, put me best clothes on.

Leoney: Yeah?! Then why do you smell like Rasputin's bum'ole and why are you wearing a jumper that's as blue as a whale in the sky?

Chevver: These are my best clothes and scent.

A young attractive lady comrade saunters past

Chevver: Hey baby, wanna be the Commissar of Sexual Desires?

Young Attractive Lady Comrade: Bike on!

Chevver: I always use that line with the bears.

Leoney: But why?

Chevver: Dunno. Never works, just like forced collectivisation and camp labour.

Int. Back Room of the Bear's Head



Lev: ..wha' sorta deal is it?

Nafdul: I have made contact with a comrade of mine at SLON in Solovetsky.

Lev: Solovetsky? That's an island in the White Sea of Russia.

Beriacie: I knew his geographical knowledge would prove him to be the best candidate.

Nafdul: Last week I flew to Solovetsky to see this gentleman in question, a Comrade Tito, and after some preliminary discussions Comrade Tito has agreed to sell us some merchandise.

Lev: Merchandise?

Beriacie: Gold nuggets.

Lev: Fuck me! It's gonna cost a lot in agricultural equipment and cows to obtain them.

Beriacie: 50,000 rubles.

Lev: You ain't expecting me to buy 'em?!

Beriacie: Well... yes. But not out of your own pocket. We want you to take the cash to Tito.

Lev: Up your ushanka.

Beriacie: We'll look after you, Levrek.

Lev: Yeah, I'm sure you would. Bring me a boh-ul of mosquito spray and the latest edition of Morse code once a month.

Beriacie: 10,000 rubles

Lev: 10,000?!?! Intonated with surprise, not disgust.

Nafdul: I've not understood. Let's boost it to 12,000. I knew he'd haggle.

Beriacie: You fascist, Nafdul! Just think of it, Levrek. An unequal profit.

Lev: Wha' happens if I get caught by the secret police?

Beriacie: Then Nafdul and I have never heard of you and your counter-revolutionary spying for Britain.

Lev: You saucy caow! I could get banged ahp in the SLON!

Beriacie: Alright, 15,000. Bwuck-bok-bok-buuuoack!

Lev: I'll do it. Put it there, you slap'ead cunt. You're in for a fast ride.

Int. Bear's Head Bar

Leoney: Imogen's gentle and cares. I don't wanna 'urt her.

Chevver: If the size of your sputdik concerns you, you can always lube it up.

Leoney: What's the point in discussing it with you, Chev. You're a drooling fucking numpty.

Chevver: Yeah. What's a socialist state?

Lev exits the back room

Lev: Cahme on, Karlbert, Leoney. Dreenk ahp. We're leaving.

They all leave. Leoney stops to pick his coat up by a kissing couple

Leoney: Hello Imogen, can you please pass my co-

Audience: WAAHHAHAHAA!

Ext. Street

Lev and Leoney pull up in the armoured train

Leoney: Smuggling gold!?

Lev: Shhh, keep yer voice dahn!! There's a blue 'at over there who wants to test out his hearin' aid.

Leoney: Lev, do you realise what you're getting yourself in to?

Lev: Yes, making a bit of Bolshevik bunce - not everyone's a winner. Don't worry, you'll be fine.

Leoney: The point is, it is capitalistal, it is bourgeoisgal. *double take* wha' do you mean I'll be fine?

Lev: You're cahming wiv me, ain't you?

Leoney: On your sled!!

Lev: Jast think of it, Leoners. You can buy yourself an executive sack of flour. You can buy yerself a buhrand-new Volga, whip 'rahnd to Imogen's and get her to stamp yer ration card.

Leoney: Me and Imogen are finished. I'm the new Leoney Trottersky, the old Leoney is dead. Long live the premier.

Lev: I'm gonna need a young scruffbag of a brother... namely a Leoney.

Leoney: I have a suspended sentence for leaving my Party card at 'ome.

Lev: Exactly. And when we come through with the nuggets, who are customs going to suspect? Me with my leather war uniform, or you with your slacks and unironed waistcoat.

Leoney: Oh, so while you're polkaing through customs, it's conveyor time for Leoney.



Lev: Robesil, my sahn!

Robesil: No, I don't want a fucking thing off you.

Lev: Marvellous! You say hello to a comrade and he twists your ear over nothin'. I don't want anything but to fill your van for a profit.

Robesil: I promised my wife I'll refrain from getting involved in your dodgy deals.

Lev: Not my fault you married an arseache. Jast a sec, I've got sammink in my war train...

Lev moves out of sight

Robesil: He's every-fucking-where, Leoney. The phone, my front door, the centralised shopping centre, the pub. I get this feeling that he's haunting me.

Leoney: I know exactly wha' you mean.

Robesil drives off as Lev comes back

Lev: Wha' a wally! He's driven off and forgotten that I'm cahming back... I'm back. Back-in-the-Petroham.

Leoney: It's Leninham now, remember.

Lev: Of course.

Ext. The Market

Lev: You will easily undahstahnd if I begin my shor' address to ya in my very imperfikt Inglish by addressing my warm thanks to the market people - That's you, com - and I have 'ere a once-in-a-lifetime bargain -- Exiled today, executed tomorrow. It's an absurd acquisition for you an yer family. Lock an' key, nerve agent government or sammink. But here, you can freely defend yer righ' to tell the time with this meritorious timepiece. It 'as a Sterling finish and if anyone says otherwise, it is built upon false confessions. Naow I'm not asking for 1 ruble, not 2 rubles, but 300 coppecks, comrades and comrades. It'll cost you a bureaucracy of despotism in the West.

A secret policeman informer plods along with his hands behind his back

Lev: Yes, erm, we're off to three-legged Turkey.

Lev and Leoney scarper to the armoured train and as they do Stalin and Yezhovkins appear



Stalin: Lev Boy!!

Lev: Stalin!?

Stalin: Well what a coin-cidence. I was just saying to Yezhovkins 'I wonder how my old comrade Lev Boy is doing', weren't I, Yezhovkins?

Yezhovkins: Eh?! Oh, yes.

Stalin: How are you Leoney?

Leoney: Good, fankyoo.

Stalin: I heard you got married. It's... nice.

Leoney: Eh?! Wrong episode.

Stalin: GENERAL SECRETARY LEADER OF THE SOVIET UNION!!

Lev: Sorry, I didn't know you'd been promoted.

Stalin: Yes. Six months... *rolls wrist* back. Yezhovkins is now my chaffeur.

Lev: You always said you'd be gaoing places, Niko.

Yezhovkins ironically smiles

Lev: I saw your mum dahna Nag's 'ead.

Stalin: Is this a playground insult? Because if it is, it's the forestry for you.

Lev: Nah, no, no. I actually saw 'er, y'knah. She was sat with my Uncle Karlbert, watching the telly.

Stalin: oo's Uncle Karlbert?

Karlbert: SHUT UP, SLATER!!

Stalin: oo's Slater?

Lev: You, apparently.

Karlbert: Ar'm the boys' uncle. *Bobs head*

Lev: Oi-yeeeh, you ain't sappost to be 'ere. Sling yer 'ook. Breakfost and vol-au-vents

Karlbert: I'll make meself sahme caold tea, sahn.

Karlbert shifts off

Stalin: Do you fancy a cup of hot tea, Lev?

Lev: I have not considered what an authority figure you are, so no, we're in a bit of a hurry. Fuck off aht of it, slug lip.

Stalin: I don't think you heard the question, Lev. Do you want a cup of tea?

Lev: Now that I've remembered that you're the overbearing revolutionary General Secretary and Leader of the Soviet Union, I am parched for a drink.

Int. Mik's Cafe

Lev is seated opposite to Leoney at the table, the suitcase is under their feet. Stalin and Yezhovkins are at the counter

Mik: There you go, General Secretary Stalin.

Stalin: Leader of the Soviet Union and General Secretary.

Lev: As you well know from the previous episode, Slater's a bastard so watch what you say.

Leoney: BOOHF?!

Lev: I s-



Yezhovkins: Watch what you say, Stalin's a bastard wanker.

Lev: Oh. I remember him from last time.

Yezhovkins: Fucking chef's been purged when it was my supper break!? The audacity! He's on the warpath. He's resigning (again) and wants to go out in a blaze of glory.

Lev: Resigning?

Yezhovkins: He's had no choice. He's a master dictator. He's using it as a manipulation tactic to make 'imself seem self-aware of his flaws and shows that he's been ineffective in very specific departments, which makes him seem endearing and even vulnerable. But people - as much as they disagree with most things he does - know what he's achieved and what he's set out to do due to his bureaucratic consolidation of power. Nobody's gonna accept the resignation and replace 'im.

Leoney: Ineffective in wha'?

Yezhovkins: Oh, there was this one time where he had a 'confession' beaten out of a bloke to admit that he was an imperial Japanese spy. Trouble was, the accused was a black fellow who moved from the U.S. to work at Magnitogorsk.

Stalin approaches the table with teas, a bacon sandwich and a slice of pizza

Stalin: Bacon sandwich for you, Yezhovkins. Are you sure you don't want a bacon sandwich, Lev?

Lev: Nah, you're alright, Stalin. I'm against cannibalism, y'see, and it's against the law to assault an officer, let alone bite one. Wha' are you doin' back in the district? I thought you'd been transferred to Stalingrad

Stalin: No, only visiting, it was a special assignment to do with a little gang of nugget smugglers.

Lev: Any luck capturing a second-'and car salesman and a diamond merchant?

Stalin: No. But the ringleadear's called Josip. Lack of evidence. Almost caught them twice. Between you and I, Lev, I've heard a whisper they're trying again, a couple of local b-

Yezhovkins: BERIACIE AND NA-

Stalin: Yezhovkins!! I don't know who the courier is. If I can catch him, case closed. This is why I'm having this cordial discussion with you, Lev.

Lev: Wha', you don't think I'm involved in this elaborate scheme?

Stalin: HA HA HA HA! Leave off, Lev. They'd need a sophisticated intelligent bloke to slip through the cracks. I'm aware you're not a grass, but please give your old comrade Stalin a telegram with the name of the mush who transported the nuggets. No more blue hats kicking you up the arse for trying to independently and privately earn a profit from your wheeling-dealing enterprise. *To Mik* Do you want me to pay for my pizza, Mik?



Mik: On the farm, Stalin.

Stalin: Very communist, Mikhail. Very communist indeed. *To Yezhovkins* You'd better pay for your sandwich, Yezhovkins.

Yezhovkins reluctantly pays for his sandwich

Leoney: Do you know if the courier is a woman? Perhaps her name is Imogen. Yeaaaah, you can arrest her for *ponders* smiling at a former White Army commander.

Stalin: Great thinking, Leoney. Have you ever thought about joining the Communist Party?

Leoney: No. I'm religious. Ah-hghff-hah.

Stalin: Very funny. I know that he or she will be flying next week.

Stalin and Yezhovkins exit

Leoney: Well that's fucked before it's started.

Lev: It wasn't going to be plain sailing, brahv.

Leoney: We ain't going through with it now. Stalin's got the airports covered.

Lev: He can't watch the airports 24 hours a day. We'll have to hangglide or sammink.

Int. Beriacie's Showroom

Beriacie is enticing a couple of potential buyers to purchase one of his Zaporozhets. An assistant engages Beriacie

Assistant: Phone for you, Comrade Beriacie.

Beriacie: Tell him or her to get FUCKED!!!!!!!!!

Assistant: Yeah, 'spose you're right to say that. It's some whiny bloke talking about nuggets. Who'd wan' a box full of soppy pieces of chicken anyway?!



Beriacie: I'll be right there! *To couple* Ah yes, it's the new Buick Nuggets, an affordable vintage limo import, perfect for picking up young women off of the streets. Do excuse me, Mr Hugecock.

Beriacie powerwalks to his office and raises the receiver to his ear

Beriacie: Yep?

Lev: It's Lev Boy. Listen, I've had a rivetting conversation with Stalin, General Secretary and Premier of the Bolshevik Yard.

Beriacie: Stalin!? What's he wan'?

Lev: He knows. He has more grass than Leoney's spliff.

Beriacie: How much does he know?

Lev: That you and Nafdul put up the money.

Beriacie: Cannot back out. Nafdul's contacted Comrade Tito. I've got 50,000 rubles and a state-owned tractor in my 'ouse. We've got to meet tonight and give you the dosh. then Nafdul can make the final arrangements.

Lev: My flat?

Beriacie: Piss the fuck off am I Astairing across to your dilapidated Khrushchovka with a suitcase full of monetary bumwipes.

Lev: Okay... pub?

Beriacie: He befriended Leoney and spoke to Chevver and I in the previous episode. One midnight knock on the back room door and he's got us right to bangs. We need somewhere temporarily stationary and secluded where policeman won't inspect out of curiosity. We also need to be somewhere dark... like Robesil.

Lev: I know jast the place.

Beriacie: Where?

Int. Robesil's Lorry



Beriacie: Fuck me! *Pinches nose* does Robesil transport packets of ham slices or what?! Prime location for a meeting!?

Nafdul: I think it's a brilliant idea. Stalin would not look here in 74 years

Beriacie: But my suit, mate.

Nafdul: Whining woman.

Ext. Lorry

The Armoured train pulls in to a halt nearby. Lev spots Beriacie's limo

Lev: Right, they're here. Any danger you hoot like an owl or do a squirrel bark - they do emit a variety of sounds, honest.

Leoney: How about a Batman signal?

Lev: I ain't gonna see thaa-aat behind a steel door, you prannycock.

Leoney: Yeah, alrigh', but making a noise might attract unwan'ed attention and you could peer out of the door to look at my dark puppet show.

Lev approaches the lorry's rear and gently opens the door

Lev: eeeello, 'ello, 'ello, what are you fascist counter-revolutionaries doing in 'ere, then?!

Beriacie: Get in 'ere, for Darwin's sake.

Int. Lubyanka - Stalin's Office

Stalin is on his phone

Stalin: Leave it to me.

Stalin lowers the receiver

Stalin: Get your coat on, Yezhovkins, and find a uniformed officer. There's been a report of three kulaks looking for kerosene, a cow and buried sacks of grain in a cafeteria's car park.

Yezhovkins (Calling): Molotov, get a car around the front, pronto.

Int. Lorry

Nafdul: I spoke to Comrade Tito this morning about the date, venue, time. Listen carefully, Levrek. The exchange will take place this coming Friday at twelve, noon. Here is the address in Solovetsky, memorise and then eat it... or set fire to it, whichever.

Lev: *Reads paper* Big monastery, you can't miss it.

Lev screws the paper into a ball and chucks it away before dusting off his palms

Nafbul: You will meet my cousin over there. He will be there to check the merchandise.

Lev: Jubbly fuck! You've got a brother in Hungary, a cousin in northern Russia. Sure you ain't got a sister in Odessa?

Nafdul: Yes I have.

Lev: Cash?

Beriacie: When you get to Tito's office give me a call and I'll tell you that the combination to the case is 1243.

Lev: Oh, grea' deal of trast, thinking I'll nip off with 50k on a tractor and avoid you two for the rest of my life. What about the expenses for plane tickets?

Nafdul: Plural?!

Lev: Yes. Leoney, the young former pothead, will accompany me and get his arseterisk checked over by the customs Gestapo.

Ext. Lorry Park

Nafdul and Beriacie make a cool exit. Seconds later, Stalin's Cadillac appears

Stalin, Yezhovkins and Molotov exit their car and begin to inspect the lorries. Leoney cups his palms and begins to uselessly blow air into it

Leoney: FfFfWUuUUuHHhH!!

Molotov: What was that deflated sound?

Stalin: The provisional government.

Leoney (Muttered): Provisional government!? Cunt!

Lev peeks out of the door and sees Stalin's Cadillac

Lev: Triple Levesque! I'll get my fingers deviated.

Stalin: We'll have a quick shuffle and call it a night.

Stalin shines the light into the trailer that's empty yet has a Lev-shaped tarpaulin at the rear

Stalin: Nothing there. These lorry jockeys invite kulaks, don't they?

Stalin places the latch into a locked position

Leoney is still watching from the armoured train. Robesil strides back to his lorry

Ghetto Blaster: WEST. END. GIRLS. PPPPEHGHK! BEOWN-DOH-DA-DUAOH!

Leoney (Desperate whisper): Robesil! Robesil!

Robesil climbs into his cab and trundles off

Lev is trying to force the doors open

Lev: Robesil! Robesil, you twonking cunt! I'm in 'ere!

Leoney desperately tries to stoke the fire

Leoney: Come on, please, please! I'll give you a bath.

Leoney's armoured train chugs off in pursuit of Robesil's lorry

Int. Kremlin. Stalin's Quarters

Stalin: Prankster motherfuckers! Write down everything Beriacie and Nafdul do. I wan' to know who's the courier, Yezhovkins.

Yezhovkins: Bound to be local, Comrade Stalin.

Stalin: They've got to have someone they're not paranoid over.

Yezhovkins: Mystery.

Stalin: Lev Boy's armoured train is missing, toured the area, no peep of it

Yezhovkins: Perhaps someone's nicked it.

Stalin: Yes, is it attractive. It has an ornate interior and a vast desk, printing room, garage - everything

Yezhovkins: Yeah.

Stalin: Something's just struck me like my drunk father, apparently, if documented evidence for a man who's been papped in one existing photo is anything to go by. Lev Boy is quite the sophisticated intellectual. He may have his thick wave of hair and KFC founder face, but Lev Boy's well acquainted with the ways of Bolsheviks. He invented the iron hammer. That brother of his has a Young Pioneer badge for Holodomor Census.

Yezhovkins: What are you saying, Comrade Stalin?

Stalin: Maybe those two are more intelligent than we give them credit for. Yes, it's all their master plan. The Croatians are the suppliers. Beriacie and Nafdul are the money men and the Trotterskys are the brains.

Yezhovkins: Yes, sounds plausible.

Stalin: Oh, have some dynamite, mate. I'm joking.

Yezhovkins: Sorry, comrade.

Int. Robesil's lorry

The lorry thunders across the motorway as Lev tirelessly knocks on the back of the trailer

Lev: ROBESIL! OLLLLDDD MAAAAAN RI-VERRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Robesil can faintly hear Lev's voice and believes it to be imaginary. He turns up the volume of the radio

The armoured train passes a sign which reads The Arkhangelsk. Leoney parks alongside a booth

Toll Bridge Man: That's a coppeck.

Leoney: What?

Toll Bridge Man: A coppeck.

Leoney: This train has 26 wheels.

Toll Bridge Man: There isn't a silhouette of a train on my sign.

Leoney jangles the coins

Leoney: I lav 'im, I jast bloody lav 'im.

Leoney pays the Toll Bridge Man, stokes the coals and steams away

Int. Dockside Cafe

Robesil's lorry is parked outside

Lil: 'ere y'go. I stoock t'kettle on for y'cohpa teaaaa an' it's all dohne.

Robesil: Thanks.

Lil: Y'looking vereh tired. Y'doing awll thurse night-shift delivereh, it'll mek y'tired in the eyes, Gruhmit.

Robesil: My complexion is dark like the night, Lil.

Lil: Well durn't ge' y'self urver worked, luvvie. Or else y'might go doolally.

Robesil ponders her words yet shakes his head in defiance. He glimpses the armoured train in a reflection. He turns and sees nothing behind him

Ext. Cafe Car Park

Leoney draws up behind the lorry. He opens the rear doors and finds a scruffy Lev is asleep under the tarpaulin.

Leoney: Del!

Lev: Del?!?! Oh, it's you, Leoney. You're a gaolden naggit for rescuing me. Speaking of a golden nugget, it's about time we departed on our mission. Where are we any'ow?

Leoney: Arkhangelsk.

Lev: Fuckin' Arkhangelsk!?!? That's... a distance.

Leoney: Yes. Oh well, get yourself a coppeck ready, we're heading back home.

Lev: Yes, your boat looks tired and I guess mine does, too. *Lev smiles triumphantly* Thassit! I know how we're getting to Solovetsky.

Leoney: What, follow Robesil's lorry again?

Lev: Naooh, you fuckin' tart. Over there!

Leoney: You mean... we'll swim across?!

Lev: Leave-it-aht! We're not going to be doing the old breathstroke.

Leoney: Breast.

Lev: This is no time to be thinking about tits, Leoney! Well, p'rhaps if we were going to Amsterdam to knock about the Red Line District.

Leoney: Yeah, the only red line we'd get is the Central... Committee

Lev: We ain't gonna appendage our way across the gulp, we're gonna hire a vessel and nauticise to our destination.

Leoney: Nahne of us can sail.

Lev: I know thaa-aat. We'll give Uncle Karlbert a call soon

Leoney: Yeah? Why, does he know a sailor?

Audience laughter track: Mahahahaahaha.

Lev: Okay, he's capsized on several occasions; he's had more tugs than a masturbation enthusiast. But he'll do a better job than us.

Leoney: Yeah, we'll sink quickly.

Lev: That's enough of your sarky comments. Let's see about obtaining a rafter.

Lev crosses the road while Leoney sits in the train. Lobesil is in his lorry and faces the crossing pedestrians. He cartoonishly rubs his eyes until everyone has crossed

Ext. Dockside

Lev approaches a middle-aged man

Lev: Ahoy there, gumbo

Seaman: Mornin'

Lev: I wanna hire a Schubert.

Seaman: LOLZ. I have jost t'bert f'yeh, y' sovvern poff.

Lev: Ah, si si. It have engine?

Seaman: Oh aye. Y'can tek Minge out f'weekend. 20 rubles.

Lev and Leoney are conferring

Leoney: There is no way Commissar Birdseye is going to convey us to the island of gold, ma'e.

Lev: Oh alright, fair enaff... I have faith in you, Leoney.

Leoney: Erm, perhaps we ought to go an' mee' Karlbert.

Ext. Arkhangelsk Station

Karlbert stands before Lev and Leoney, with a duffelbag draped over his shoulder

Leoney: Oh, dear Darwin. Comsmic! He'll drown us.

Lev: Oh, leavidaht, Leoney. That is the greatest sailor since Reinhold Glière.

Leoney: Lev, he's managed to bollocks up every hull except the one in Yorkshire.

Lev: Did he? Wha' about Karlbert?

Leoney: I'm talking about Karlbert. And Reinhold Gliere wasn't a famous sailor.

Lev: No? Well he shoulda been.

Karlbert: Ahoy there, Comrades. All shitshaped in Bristol's fashion, ready to seize the means of prodaction on the waves, sahn.

Karlbert rises on his toes and salutes

Lev: Yes, I am startled by your vernacular, Karlbert. I presume your commandeering ability is on par with yer slang. Did you bring your passport?

Karlbert: I def'nitely did, sahn.

Lev: A change of clothes?

Karlbert: Yes, only for myself.

Lev: You divvy old selfish minuscule bicycle of an atom, you reeeeally are, the Karlbert! You're so selfish you forgot about us.

Karlbert: It's not often your two nephews vanish ahp norf. *Does dramatic wag of his head* 'ow mar sappost to think abaht yer attire.

Leoney: Well, I danno, maybe reeking of hot lemons and old cabbage could be a sign that we need a surfeit of fresh clobber. In fact, that's precisely the verb I wanna do to you.

Lev: Oi, packet inn. Right, cahme on, Skippy. Let's show you the submarine.

Karlbert: Yes, one needs to scrutinise the cleats and transom before she meets my approval

Lev: Pissing shame if you dislike Minge, because you're at the helm in 16:00 hours, and if you dahn't like it, I'll give you a stern kick up your rear end bum.

Ext. Arkhangelsk Dock



Lev: Karlbert, decrease the knots

Karlbert: Yah?! Baht whoy wohd you untie the ancah?

Lev (Muttered): I don't buhlieve 'im!!

Karlbert: Eh?!

Lev: Go to your right.

Karlbert: You mean Starburst

Lev: I mean right. Don't you start all that Opal Fruits capitalist cobblers with me. *To passing ship* Sorry, squire? And you, son!!

Robesil is walking along the shore with concern

Robesil: Okay, Robesil, it's soliloquy tiime. Talking to yeself is deh fairst sign of madness, ahlrait. Now, inhale, closed eyes and... open.

Lev is at the bow of Minge as it's cruising out of the estuary

Robesil: Earldon Warrennett! I-I'm sick! I'm sick!

Robesil cautiously runs in the opposite direction

Ext. Minge. Sea

Leoney: Uh feehw ssick, Lev.

Lev: Fuck a banana, brahv. We've hit an inferior ripple, you wait for the deluge.

Leoney: Huuark!



Lev: Cough it ahp, might be a ration card. *Inhales with conceit* This gets the old tingle in yer Zelda. This Soviet 1/6th. Stitched ahp the Menscheviks. Makes ya prahd to be a Communist, dunnit? *sings* Союз нерушимый республик свободных. Сплотила навеки Великая Русь. Да здравствует созданный волей народов. Единый, могучий Советский Союз!

Int. Minge. Night (Sea)

The Trotterskys are sat inside the wheelhouse

Lev: Have you got any notion where we're loca'ed?

Karlbert: No. It's hard to see at nigh'

Lev: Wha' I mean iiiis have you checked the charts?

Karlbert: W'nah. I daon't see the poin' in lookin' ahp 'oo's doin' superbly in the music world.

Lev: We're tryna get on land in order to obtain a pouch of gold nuggets, not a fuckin' gold record, you silly aold fuckin' mule.

Leoney: How in Darwin's name are we supposed to get to Solovetsky?

Karlbert: Lev said it weren't too far.

Lev: Well, on the map it seems like a piece of piss. Middle of the cunting night and not a monastery in sight. I thought you said you can sail a boat.

Karlbert: I am capable of sailing. I ain't the commissar of cartography and geography. *Wags head*

Leoney is checking the chart

Leoney: According to you, we're somewhere between the Antarctic peninsula and the Caspian Sea.

Karlbert: When I was in the German Navy I was boilah maintenance man. I never 'ad to study navigation.

Leoney: He's somethin' else, ain't 'e? What about all the currents around 'ere, eh?

Lev: Yes. And you don't wanna topple overboard or else you'll get an electric shock.

Leoney: What?! There's no thunderstorm aht there.

Lev: Yes, thank you, I'm well aware of that, Leoney. I meant when I shove a generator up his arsehole and fling 'im overboard.

Leoney looks up at the sky

Leoney: The stars!!

Lev: Red ones?

Leoney: You can steer by the stars.

Karlbert: That's a fuckin' grea' ardea, Leoney.

The Trotterskys leave the wheelhouse and stare at the sky



Karlbert: There's milyons of 'em, ain't there?

Lev: We ought to name a constellation after you - The Big Dipstick.

Karlbert: They have names like Orion's Belt.

Lev: Can't you just find the Belt?

Karlbert: Wha' does it look like?

Lev: Well, it's a leather strap and buckle inside a cinema, innit.

Karlbert: Look ahp there, it's a Cawncawde.

Lev: No it ain't, you bearded useless. They don't fly 'em anymore.

Karlbert: I know. I'm aonly saying, Cawncawde.

Lev: I'm gonna purge 'im! I'm gonna purge 'im, the soppy aold duffercock.

Lev comically strangles Karlbert

Karlbert: Aghk! Leoney!

Leoney: Leave 'im alone, Lev.

It's the following morning

Lev: Cahp of tea. Sorry abaht the sea salt.

Leoney: Where's Ahab?

Lev: Fucking abaht with the radio.

Leoney: At least he's trying to make contact with the coastguard.

Lev: He's tryin' to get Capital FM on the radio. Rihanna's gonna be on again for the 12th time today. Fell in love at an 'opeless place? Tch. Fell in and glubbed at an 'opeless place, more like.

Lev spots something upon the horizon

Lev: Full mast, Horatio. We are going to Solovetsky Island.

Minge sails close to an oil rig

Lev: Oi, Com? Which way to Solovetsky?

Oil Rig Man: It's over there.

Lev: Cheers, pal. Karlbert, Solovetsky is to the Opal Fruits. Hey diddly dee, my name's Lev Trottersky.

Ext. Canal

Leoney: Where the fuck are we?

Lev: We're still in the sea.

Leoney: I know that, I know where we are but... where are sea?

Karlbert: This is the Whi'e Sea, Leoney. Takes us straigh' to Solovetsky.

Lev: Yeah, don't act suspicious. Blend into the sarroundings.

Lev waves at monks

Lev: HOXHA!

Leoney: Lev, erm, this Tito bloke you're meeting for the exchange, right, he's a Croatian, ain't 'e?

Lev: Yes, annnnd?

Leoney: Well, I have to be pedantic.

Lev: You ain't gone all Jimmy Savile on me, have you?

Leoney: No, I said pedantic, not that you'd know wha' that means. Any'ow, 'Hoxha' is the surname of the leader of Albania.

Lev: W'yeah... I know thaa-aaht. But they were part of them statellite states of sammink, eh. It's called Yoghurtsalvia.

Leoney: YYYYeah, grea' point, Lev.

Int. Beriacie's Soundproof Office



Beriacie: It's a nanosecond past the six. Why he no ring?

Nafdul: Perhaps they've sunk.

Beriacie: No, Captain Karlbert of S.S. Minge is commandeering the sh- yeah, maybe they have gone in the drink

The phone rings................................ Beriacie answers

Beriacie: Hello? Oh hello, Mr Hugecock. You purchased a car from us when? Well, I couldn't give a seeping rectum if your death-trap has wheezed out on the zoom strip. My advice is masticate on your pride, fuck it abrasively, right this minute and necessarily in that precise order. No, this is not Mr Lavrentiy Beria speaking. This is his buried rape victims.

Ext. Monastery

The Trotterskys inspect the name plates on the Monastery

Lev: You stay here.

Leoney: Why?

Lev: 'cause we don't know what sort of gree'ing we're gonna get. Might turn nasty

Leoney: Very thoughtful of you, Lev. Usually, you get me lumbered into your schemes and what 'ave you.

Lev: Now that you mention it, *nods contemplatively* y'knah, I do think that it'd be wise for me to have my trustworthy bodyguard with me.

Leoney: I'm stayin' put. I sweep ahp and make the toiea.

Lev: Wallystick! Any sign of trouble, don't make the sound of slashed bagpipes, alrigh'?

Leoney: Fine. I can do Batman bahnny sha-a-dows.

Lev: Stay put.

Karlbert: It's for the best, sahn.

Int. Tito's Office

Tito is sat at his desk, smoking a cigarette, he has two bodyguards beside him. Nafdul's cousin is sat in a chair. There is a knock on the door

Lev: Good afternoon. Levrek Trottersky from Moscow. Pat the briefcase.

The bodyguard glances at Tito who gestures to allow Lev entry

Lev: Good afternoon, Comrade Tito. Sorry I'm a bit late. You can never find an oil rig when you need one.



Tito: Ah, not to worry, Comrade Trottersky. This is Comrade Frenkel, Nafdul's cousin. And these two gentlemen are my assistants.

Lev (Nods at bodyguard): 'e's a chunker. I bet it's all that vodka he eats.

Tito: Do you have the rubles?

Lev: Yes. And do you have the nuggets?

Tito: Yes, I have them here. *Pats desk drawers* which one did I put the fuckers in? Ah, here we are.

Tito opens a pouch of nuggets on to a table

Tito: If you give them a once-over, I'll make a quick call.

Int. Beriacie's Soundproof Office

The telephone rings and Beriacie swipes it up with alacrity

Beriacie: Hello? Oh, good afternoon, Comrade Tito. *To Nafdul* It's 'im!

Nafdul: Uh knoow thaart.

Tito Phone: Your man has just arrived. He wants a flap.

Lev Phone: Hello Ber-

Nafdul: Is my cousin there?

Beriacie Phone: Is Nafdul's cousin there, Lev?

Lev Phone: Yes. He's using one of those Christmas cracker prism telescope things from the tsarist era

Frenkel: These gold nuggets are gold. Refulgent and solid, not for chewing on - 24 carat and make no mistake about it.

Lev Phone: He says they're legit shit.

Beriacie Phone: He says the nuggets are good. Okay, Lev, I'm going to give...

Lev adjusts the rolling locks on the briefcase

Beriacie Phone: ...you the combination to the briefcase.

The briefcase pops open

Audience laughter track: MWUHHAHAAH

Beriacie Phone: 1. 2. 4. 3.

Comrade Tito's bodyguard flicks through a few wads

Lev looks on anxiously until the bodyguard firmly nods with approval

Tito: Good. I believe these are yours, Comrade Trottersky.

Lev graciously takes the pouch

Lev: Narce wan. *On phone* We've got a deal. Everything went as sweet as a... erm... sweet. I'll see you soon.

Beriacie Phone: Yeah. Don't you go fuckin' runnin' off into the sunset with th-

Lev hangs up

Audience laughter track: BWUHERHERHER

Comrade Frenkel: Will you be requiring my service any longer?

Lev: Nah, off you wander, pal.

Tito: Good day and good luck, Comrade Trottersky

Lev: Thank you. *To bodyguard* Hoxha!

Lev exits and Tito raises the phone to his ear

Tito: Your man has just left now. His name is Trottersky, Levrek Trottersky.

Ext. Monastery

Lev: Lubyanka jubbly! The deal wen' off withaht a snag

A man with a white moustache appears to survey the Trotterskys



Leoney: Lev!!

Leoney gestures to a distant wagon

Lev: Foot it!!

The Trotterskys sprint

Leg-it Music

Karlbert: Puff! Puff! I carn't keep this pace ahp. G-go on without me, boys.

Leoney: Yeah, leave old smoke jaw to get a wooden bunk with no mattress. I'm being selfish for once.

Lev: Cahme on, brahv. You can't leave the antiquated cunt to face the tuneful composition.

The Trotterskys hold their hands up and the white moustached man zips past with the NKVD in pursuit



Lev: Oh! They weren't for us. Let's ge' aht of 'ere lively, 'cause 'training for the Olympics' as soon as you look at a pair of uniformed men and holding your hands up looks very suspicious. You dozy little twank, Leoney! Why did you shaht 'rahn'?

Leoney: Mey!? It was breathless that said it.

Karlbert: You knah me, sahn. I said naffin'. I kept my opinyons to meself.

Int. Lubyanka. Stalin's Office

Yezhovkins: You rang, m'premier?



Stalin: We've got our man, Yezhovkins.

Yezhovkins: Lev?! How did you figure that out, comrade?

Stalin: Funny sensation. Remember that time I shat myself because of that curry?

Yezhovkins: Yes, you get a bit of diarrhea every once in a while. But what does that have to do with your hunch?

Stalin: Well, Lev likes his curry and he's the biggest dump of them all. I have Poskrebyshev and Malenkov covering Leninton Airport. There's a troika going through Heathdomor, and you and I are at Genrikh Airport. We don't care about Stanstedlov. Right, Yezhovkins, I'm going to teach you the basic rules of airport spying. Remember paranoia, Yezhovkins. Suspect everyone, from the socialists, the anarchists and the petit-bourgeoisie. What's the most important thing we have to do, Yezhovkins?

Yezhovkins: I don't know, comrade.



Yezhovkins: Dress up as John Wayne.

Stalin: What do I look like?

Yezhovkins: Well, erm, you still look like yourself but with a large hat.

Stalin: I look like I've spent a week in Sochi.

Yezhovkins: Oh, I see - blend into the surroundings after having a salt bath.

Stalin: The first rule of spying is: don't look conspicuous. *Looks with disapproval* We'll have to get you something, Yezhovkins. You look like a right cunt.

Ext. Minge - Middle of the White Sea

Lev: Joust my arse with a boiling pin! How can we be lost again?! I thought you'd memorise the velocity of the H2O?

Karlbert: The sea is like a fam'ly album of cahntless twins. It's like several Annas' wa'ers braoke and tha' woz it! Looka'em! 'ow am I sappost to tell the dif'ronce?!

Leoney: Lev, there's a ship!!

Lev: Brillyunt news, Leoney. A ship in the aocean!! Yeah, I expect we'll see cars and vans on the road - if we make it to shore again.

Leoney: It's the Solovetsky to Arkhangelsk ferry.

Lev: Well spotted, Leoners. Karlbert!

Karlbert: Yah, sahn?

Lev: Set Minge's coordinates for that boat.

Karlbert: Daon't you mean Star Trek?

Lev: Oh, I get it - beam me up, Shitty.

Int. Back Room of the Bear's Head

Nafdul: According to this Lev Boy watch, it's 6:30pm

Beriacie: I ain't got a Lev Boy watch, therefore the time on mine is correct - half past twelve.

Nafdul: Fucking timepiece. This is a great final meeting place. Stalin and his police force won't ever think of coming to our local pub.

Beriacie: Lev phoned me and said he dropped anchor in Russia, not that he ever left Russia but, you know, an island is still foreign. Maybe they got into Robesil's lorry on the way h-

Armoured Train: HHWWWWUUOOOT!

Nafdul: It's them.

The train stops outside of the pub

Lev: Let Santa aht the back, Leoney?

Beriacie unlocks and opens the back door for the Trotterskys

Beriacie: Where the fuck have you been?!

Lev: Alright, keep your pince nez on. We got lost in the middle of the White Sea.

Nafdul: The plane crashed?

Lev: Naoh, we boated it there. The fucking ferry went the wrong way. For the next hour there was about as much ferry as a cancelled Roxy Music gig.

Audience Laughter Track: AHAHAHAHAHAH!! IT'S ALL IN FILM.

Beriacie: Nuggets?

Lev: Currency on the table

The door is kicked open



Stalin: No man, no misquote.

Beriacie: Stalin?!?!

Lev: RahhwEhHQuIcKoutThiSWaY

Yezhovkins and Molotov block the exits

Stalin: Off you fuck, you pair.

Stalin circles the table and picks up the pouch

Stalin:  They're pretty, ain't they?

Nafdul: General Secretary

Stalin: Leader of the Soviet Union General Secretary

Nafdul: To each according to his and her ability. Can we centralise this gentlemen's matter?

Stalin: Nah, you're fu'ing nicked, me old be-yoo-tay.

Stalin reacts to the smell of the Trotterskys

Stalin: You reek of Gulag shitter.

Karlbert: So wohd you if you were flao'ing on Minge.

Stalin: Oh, you came in by boat. I've wasted 18 hours at Genrikh Airport waiting for you. Who are you, little individual?

Karlbert: I'm the boys' uncle.

Stalin: Yes, the family resemblance is uncanny to a crisp. It's the 60-year-old wrinkles, epidermis bonce and voluminous beard - dead giveaway. My last case and I've got to nick two of my Revolutionary coms.

Leoney: Aouldon, I was never with the Bolsheviks.

Stalin: Beriacie is the other one.

Stalin puts the last nugget back into the pouch

Stalin: 30, spot on!!

Beriacie: Give us an amnesty, Joe. Lev Boy did all the smuggling; we're not culpable in any way.

Nafdul: Yes, nothing to do with us. Why they've come to the back room of the Bear's Head while we're here is beyond us.

Karlbert: I was the brains behind the Minge.

Stalin: What am I to do? Alright, I've counter-signed the decision with a colouring pencil. We can do it in one of two ways. One, I take you down the Kolyma mines for five years. Or two, I put the pouch in my pocket and do one - not 'one' as in the first proposal. I mean 'leave'.

Beriacie: Yes, option two is top.

Nafdul: I will merrily go along with this.

Stalin: Lev Boy, your thoughts?

Lev sneers

Lev: Something smells distinctly like shit and it ain't just my undercrackers. How come you knew there were thirty in that bag?

Leoney: Yeah. And how come you knew who was involved from the start?

Lev: Just a dodgy watch minute! When we were in the cafe the other day, you mentioned a bloke whom you couldn't nick for smuggling diamonds 'cause of lack of evidence.

Stalin: You mean Josip?

Karlbert: oo's Josip?

All: SHUT UP, KARLBERT!!

Karlbert: Daon't 'ave a pop at me. I though' 'is name was Titaoh.

Lev: His surname wouldn't have been 'Broz' by any chance?

Stalin: You found me out, you raspberry.

Beriacie: You and Tito?!

Stalin: That's right. He sent me pepperoni. He sets up a bunch of McCarthyites greedy enough to smuggle nuggets into the country. Well, a region of Russia. And I pick them up on this side of the water. It's the third time we've pulled it off - and I ain't talking about my cock. And there's sweet Football Association you can do about it, Perrier. Unless, of course, you fancy a rewarding holiday at the SLON. Well, I believe that concludes our business. Have a nice life, Del Boy.

Lev: I have no idea 'oo tha' is. But I hope we bump into each other... again.

Stalin: I don't think so, Levrek. I'm going a long way away from here - foreshadowing. Cheer up, coms, still got your repression.

Stalin exits

Beriacie: You twerk, Nafdul!

Nafdul: How was I supposed to know Tito was a crook? He forron like me with accent.

Beriacie: Where are y'going, Lev.

Lev: Back to Robesil's lorry. Maybe it'll take me far away from you, you plonking paira backstabbing shitbrothels.

Beriacie: I wouldn't do that, Lev Boy.

Lev: Why no'? Are you gonna vouchsafe a coupla grand to say sorry?

Beriacie: Nah. Robesil's gonna deliver a pianar to my manor this evening.

Lev: You sent me a few 'undred miles away. I've been to Solovesty and back! Stalin's ensconced the diamonds into his trenchcoat. And to fuck it all, my two comrades grassed me ahp.

Nafdul: It was a diversary tactic.

Karlbert: Yeah, diver' the blame from yerselves. UuAgh-HuErgH-MeeGh-HyoUer-OoUgh-HaEah!

They frown with dismay

Karlbert: Sorry, sahn. I ain't dahne my trademark larf ye'. Ar'll make sahm taostfost, sahn.

Lev: Come on, Leoney..................................................... ............ Karlbert. Let's sling our 'ooks.

Int. Stalin's Cadillac

Yezhovkins: No diamonds again for the third time.

Stalin: If it's good enough for Roosevelt.



Yezhovkins: Do you know what I think?

Stalin: To be honest, I'm not interested. You're not paid to think, you're paid to be conscious enough to steer this vehicle back to one of my dachas.

Yezhovkins swings the car into a side road

Stalin: This crew of NKVD henchmen are not my house.

Yezhovkins: The canteen's closed and I was wondering if these comrades knew where I could get the key.

Stalin: What's all this?!

Yezhovkins: They've known about your 'collaborations with Goebbels' for a while now.

Stalin: Look, Yezhovkins. Nikolai, use your loaf. I'm the dictator and I can easily vanquish my opponents. Help me out and I won't demote you to Commissar of Water Transport.

Yezhovkin: The Central Committee and Politburo have had enough of you. We've accepted your resignation.

Stalin screws his face up in defeat

Int. Leningrad Bank



Int. Bear's Head

Nafdul: Does Lenin know we're here?

Beriacie: No.

Nafdul: There must be something we can do. I'll phone the police.

Beriacie: Phone the rozzers?! Oh yeah, what shall we say, a revolutionary tyrant disguised as John Marston nicked our forbidden pebbles?

Nafdul: I see your point. At least the only money we lost was fake.

Beriacie: Apart from the 15 grand Stalin snapped up.

Nafdul: Lev's intended wage packet was actually genuine?!

Beriacie: Came out of the bank Friday. Lev the shortarse who's adept and renowned for his punching and roundhouse kicks would surely decimate my face. I am gutted. Gutted!!

Int. Trottersky's Flat

Leoney: It ain't turned out as bad as you think.

Lev: Too right, fucking jubblytastic, moy sahn

Leoney: Buh?!

Karlbert: Would you like a coupla doimonds with yer vol-au-vents?

Karlbert suavely puffs on his pipe. As the smoke dissipates, his palm hovers into view with two nuggets resting on it

Lev adjusts the cuffs of his shirt

Lev: 'ow abou' two dogs' nuts? Worth 5k each, sell the pair for six, split it three ways and you get a grand each, hahahahaha.

Leoney: FOUR?!?! Feast your oculars on this *waves a jelly-like wad of cash* dad-dey, dad-dey.

Karlbert: You crafty, tall wanker, Leoney.

Lev: You know what I'm gonna do with this wad of roubles?

Leoney: Yes! Invest. This time next year we won't be 15-grandernaires.



Karlbert: For a minu'e I though' 'e throo tha' dosh orf the balcony!

Leoney: Yes... nothing but inexplicable confetti.

Lev: The money was dud. I am an expert in this sorta thing. Beriacie stuffed cahnterfeit mahney into the briefcase for Tito. Wha' do you think I am, eh, sahme sor' ov capitalist?

[DangledTeeth]

BOLSH BOLSH BOLSH BOLSH BOLSH BOLSH BOLSH BOLSH
No income tax, no V.A.T. No money back. No private property.

Int. Nightclub

A sign reads "Auditions. Please report to back door". The owner and manager of the club (both tough-looking characters of 45) are seated facing the stage, on which a 20-year-old girl is singing accompanied by the club's
pianist. Seated at the bar are Lev, excited and power-dressed, and Leoney, bored and casually dressed. The girl is singing 'Feelings'

Lev: Gaw, she's like a dog 'umping a turd.

Leoney: What, wild and dirty?

Lev: Naoh, fucking shit.

Leoney: I have not the clueiest why you summoned myself hered.

Lev: Well, you've been 'exiled' from yer job at that printing... job. Wha' else would you be doin' at 10 of the morning, aeh? Playing with your cock while using it to prop ahp the duvet to look like a tent. I thought you could applaud Nadezdha.

Leoney: Applaud 'er? She's abou' to sing a fucking ridiculous s-

Lev: I chaose ih!

Leoney: Explained.

Owner: Nexxxxxxxxxxxxxxt. Nadezhda Alliyuleva.

Nadezhda enters the stage and glances nervously to a proud Lev and embarrassed Leoney

Nadezhda: Yo, motherfucker! What the fuck you lookin' at?! Get out of my motherfuckin' face, right now!

Owner: Are you her agent?

Lev: In Soevyet RrRrRaasha, everybody MGB agent. I giv yoo thyis prihzhent, yez? You will opon the chawklets by 12 noon, urkay?

Owner: Excuse me?!

Lev: I'm not her agent, but I do represent her in a professional capaci'y. Have a business card, squire. Trottersky's Worldwide Agency of Talented Singers, working in conjunction with Communist Union's Nationalised Transport Service for the tours. Do you know Maxim Gorky?

Owner: No, not as a mate.

Lev: Oh, well, he's no singer, but I was wondering if you 'eard of the chap.

Nadezhda turns and reveals that she's five month's pregnant

Owner: Pack your arse and shit off!

Lev: You ruddy fuckin' mare!

Int. Trottersky's Lounge

Karlbert is asleep in an armchair. A fax machine whirs into life and churns out a sheet of paper. Seconds after, Lev, Leoney and Nadezhda enter the hall, which causes Karlbert to leap out of the chair and begin hoovering

Karlbert: The blaooow is winnnnding. Lyrics are all bollocksed ahp and it's the wrong episaode.

Leoney: Alrigh', Unc?

Karlbert: Phew, I ain't stopt sih-in' in tha' awmchayr since you jast aopund the fran' door. Nar ar'm pretendin' to be 'oovering the shop. *taps nose* you knah me, sahn. I'm sayin' naffin' abah' caold vol-au-vents and slinged 'ooks. *bobs head* 'ow'd yer awdishun gao, lav? I be' you sang a righ' bel'ah.

Nadezhda: Don't ask!

Karlbert: I already did. uRh-HyErR-eaH-HoAUrR

Nadezhda: He got me to rap 'Black Sheep - U Mean I'm Not'

Lev enters

Lev: Engine, engine 1929, I didn't follow the Party line. Maybe next time we'll choose a song by Madonna.

Nadezhda: Yeah, Die Another Day.

Lev: I'll make a p- Leoney, whack the pot of tea on, there's a good lad.

Leoney: Why me?

Lev: Nadezhda's pregnant and your uncle's tired after chillmaxing in the recliner. You ain't got no job, so the gov'ner has requested you to boil the translucent

Karlbert: The CPSU say it's alrigh' fer you to 'ave a cahp of tea between employment, sahn.

Lev: I am a trailblazing captain of industrialisation. I am dealing with all the intelligentsia.

Leoney: Yeah, in Camp No. 48

Lev: My fuckin' pals are not in prison.

Leoney: Twattain of 'imdoesnothingrealisation, more like. I mean, look at those blocky contraptions he's bought.

Karlbert: 'andy things to 'ave, Leoney.

Leoney: Yeah, if the State have supplied you with one. In the two days he's been wired to the worldwide fax he's had no messages so f- *reacts to machine* you've got an email prin'ed on paper, Del.

Lev: oo's Delchel? Haow does it feel to see unbelievable pictures of Michelle Ryan from EastEnders? Clickbait. *reads* It's from Lenin at the Bear's Head. He applied for one and I gave it to him off the blackmarket. Buncely Oncely. Fuck everyone! He's a moaner, ain't 'e. 'Fux Muchine net walking pooply' wha' does he want for 20 roubles?! Wha' abou' this then? I've aonly been invited to the Show Trial Reunion.

Karlbert: No ardea wha' tha' entailed, you're kiddin'?!

Lev: Naoh, heterosexual above or straigh' ahp. It's the people who wen' to witness the Show Trials an' all the comrades involved, apart from the poor gits who were executed. No one wants to exhume corpses from the woods all so that we can 'ave a knees-ahp with malodorous crumbling people.

Lev enters the kitchen



Lev: There's a Show Trial reunion at the Bear's Head

Nadezhda: I am reading a letter. Concerned. It's from my lawyers. They've managed to trace my husband and told him that I've started divorce proceedings.

Lev: Good... and what's he say about it?

Nadezhda: Consid-

Lev: Daon't warry abou' that cock. He'll have to get past me. Let the lawyers... lawyererise. I wan' a real wedding. *Indicating pregnant stomach* that cunt shrimp wasn't planned, but he'll be gushing out with his gut kofte attached to yer volvo soon enaff. Scotsman's wig temporarily included.

Leoney: No, you ought to cut out the biscuits and fried breakfasts.

Lev: I'm referring to Nadezhda's sto- *Leoney laughs* hilarious, brahv.

Nadezhda: Promise me you won't get drunk with your pals tonight?

Lev: On your pissin' sled!

Int. Bear's Head. Party Room

A spread of snacks are laid out on the table. Lev and Robesil are seated and find it tedious. Beriacie checks his watch and he foots around the room. Leoney is seated in the corner and is sipping a beer, smoking a cigarette

Beriacie: This is terribly shit! The reunion was supposed to start at 7:30 and now it's 8:10.

Lev: Is that the watch you bough' off me?

Beriacie ironically pouts

Beriacie: Yes.

Lenin enters with more food

Lenin: Ain't 'e here yet?

Robesil: Who?

Lenin: The host. The bloke who paid for all of this according to his wallet. He said he'd arrive late, wants to surprise you.

Lev: There ain't gonna be any MGB agents 'ere to batter us ahp?

Lenin: About your fax mach-

Lev: Yes, you shall receive a letter of apology via your knackered fax machine, if you can read the fucker.

Beriacie: Who's the bloke's name, then?

Lenin: I don't know.

Robesil: Didn't you write his name down on the receipt for your accounts?

Lenin: Erm, no.

Beriacie: He coughed up the cash?

Lenin: Yes.

Robesil: Looks? Tall?

Lenin: Yes, very height.

Lev: Did he have a scar running down from the bridge of 'is nose to 'is mouth?

Lenin: No. But he did have fiery almond eyes, a walrus 'tache and a face that looks like a pizza after being used as a pin cushion

Lev: Not a lot to go on, inspegktaw.

Beriacie: It's not Sergo Organkidneys.

The door slowly opens. They stiffen in anguish

Chevver enters

Beriacie: Relief. It's Chevver.

Lev: Maybe he organised this.

Beriacie: Oh, leave it out, Lev. He couldn't organise a piss-up in a pub... oh. Erm, he couldn't organise a prayer in a church.

Leoney: That's because religion is practically extinct.

Beriacie: HAGH-AGH-EGH-EGH-AGH-EGH-AGH-EGH-AGH

Chevver: Less of that! I'm the head of the Soviet Union now. Any more disrespect like that and I shall have you porked.

Leoney: It's purged. A lot of it happen in a decade.

Chevver: I wouldn't go that far, Kalinin. But it is a long time.

Robesil: Speaking of porked, I hope it's not Bendover Bolshevik, otherwise known as Comrade Bottom-basher.

Lev: Naoh, 'e was one of the people who got shot.

Beriacie: I though' he was one of the executioners?

Lev: Yeah, one of the other riflemen aimed at 'im by mistake.

Chevver: I got lost on the way here.

Robesil: How can that happen?! You've been khoming to his pohb feh yeehs, since you were ten.

Leoney: Yea- TENNNN?!

Chevver: No, wha' I mean is in this pub. I got lost coming to this room. I've been standing in the dance hall for abou' 'alf an hour.

Beriacie: I saw the room through the gap in the door. It was pitch black. did you switch the light on?

Chvver: W'nah. I thought you were all in there and we were gonna jump out and surprise someone.

They all appear aghast

Leoney: This is all really mysterious. It's like something out of a Leo Tolstoy novel.

Chevver: I used to fancy her.

Robesil: Her?!

Chevver: Yeah. She was good in that film called Switch.

Beriacie: That's Téa Leoni, you cunt.

Chevver: Wha'ever!! I fancied 'er.

Leoney: Someone has paid to have a spread of food and alcohol here and for you all to congregate inside this room. Now, think long and hard who could have orchestrated this.

They all appear lost in thought

Chevver: Michael Aspel.

Beriacie: Michael Motherfuckin' Arseholin' Aspel?!

Leoney: Daon't bey schoopid.

Lev: This is Your Life?! More like 'This is My Wife'. Foreshadowing.

Robesil: But what if Bendover Bolshevik's ghost has come backhgk to haunt and bohm os wohn last tiime before going to, erm, the atheistic non-afterlife. Or the eteernal daark.

Lev: Don't try to scare us, Leoney.

Leoney: Eh!? I didn't say anything, Robesil did. I think I'll check on Karlbert, he might have a cold toiea as I sweyp ahp.

Beriacie: Yes... I think I can hear the engine of my car outside, I'd better scarper so that I can turn it off... and drive away. Haw-aw-aw-aw-aw.

Lev: Don't be a Politplonker all yer life. Stay with us.

Robesil: I wasn't exactly a witness to the Show Trial, and I don't feel likghke I should be heere.

Beriacie: Did you get an invite?

Robesil: Yes.

Beriacie: Remain seated.

Lev: Strength in numbers.

A hand reaches around the door frame and switches the lights off

Beriacie: Fuck me!

Chevver: Have you seen my dolphin?

Leoney: Punch the rays on, Lev.

Lev: Shattap, you tart.

The door gradually opens. Silhouetted by the lights from the Bear's Head hallway is a 5'7'' figure of a man wearing a black overcoat

Robesil: Fhockin' 'ell! It's the executioner! Bendover Bolshevik!

Lev: Well, if it is, he's lost a few inches - and I ain't talking abou' 'is cock.

The imposing figure steps forward into the room and switches the lights back on

Lev and Beriacie: Stalin!?

Chevver: Superman!?

Stalin: Surprise!! I had you going, didn't I? Be honest, I had you this time. You never would've guessed Joe Stalin would be here.

Lev: What the fictional realm are you doin' back, Stalin?

Stalin: Oh, don't sound resentful, Lev. I paid a pub manager to do all of this.

Beriacie: You mean, you organised this reunion?

Chevver: That sounds like something I would say.

Stalin: Well, not exactly. As I said, I paid a pub manager to whisk up the grub. I was in town and thought I'd catch up with my old comrades. Here, I heard you brought another woman back to your soundproof office.

Beriacie: What about it?

Stalin: Well, nothing. Just congratulations. I know you and her have been dreaming of having a baby for years. It makes no sense. And Leoney...

Leoney: Wha'?

Stalin: You're married.

Leoney: Yes, I was at the wedding.

Stalin: No need to be defensive, son. I'm pleased for you

Leoney: Yeah, well, the marriage hasn't really worked. Just like this poxy regime.

Lev: Don't tell 'im, like. He'll use it against you.

Stalin: I've not come to upset things. It's a little get-together. Can't we be comradey?

Lev: Comradey!? With a dick like you!? I wish it had been the Bolshevik Bummer or whatever he's called.

Robesil: I wish it were Michael Aspel.

Chevver: I'd rather it be Tolstoy's Téa riding my dolphin.

Beriacie: I thought you were in Siberia?!

Stalin: I was released six months ago.

Chevver: Are you back in the Central Committee now, Joe?

Stalin: No, Khrushchev. They wouldn't have me back. Not since I resigned and was found guilty of smuggling nuggets. The CPSU are funny about that. I've been living in a seminary. My coat. By the looks on your faces, I wish I brought my punishment paddle. Fancy a beverage?

Beriacie: No thanks, Joe. I have a prior engagement with the downstairs torture chamber

Lev: Save yourself a journey. The biggest pain in the bum is here.

Leoney: I must be off, General Secretary. My uncle promised to tell me about 1905.

Stalin: I'm not the General Secretary anymore. I'm just an ordinary bloke. I can't do you any harm, nor do I mean you any harm. I've changed.

All: HAHAHAHA

Audience: WAHAHAHAHAHA

Stalin: I have redeemed myself through cash. I'd like to wipe the slate, er, clean.

Lev: Idiom!? After what you've done to us in the past?! You done as all up on Donald Duck charges.

Stalin: I know, Lev. That's why you were on the list. Annnnd the fact that nearly everyone else was executed. I wish I could turn the clock back

Lev: Me an' all. To about 'alf-past six this evening, then I'd have stayed in, watched the telly and made sure I turned it off at night to preven' it from blaowin' ahp. You nicked me, Robesil and Beriacie for stolen coal.

Beriacie: Yeah, and we mined it for you.

Stalin: I know. And I'm sorry.

Robesil: With the greatest respect, ex-general secretary, you can fuck your aspelogies.

Lev: I remembah when yaou follerd mey in the armoured train and nicked me for doing 70 miles an' our in an industrial area. It was my word against is and guess who the Party believed? I mean, you couldn't get that armoured train to blow a cock let alone blow out smoke.

Lev appears mildly offended

Stalin: Leoney, I'm sorry.

Leoney: Yeah, well, shit it, Stalin. Needlessly look shiftily left to right. Shit it!

Robesil: And what about the tiyme you plahnted 3,000 ration cards on Chevver and he went away to the youth offenderlag?

Stalin: I'm sorry, Khrushchev.

Chevver: Oh, that's alright, Joe.



Stalin: I always wanted to be comrades with you lot, but you sort of purged me. I wan'ed to hurt you for not appreciating me. You can't win over their trust, repress them, that was my attitude. So Marxism became my god. But in the end, my old comrades and Jewish doctors got sick of me and my... ambitions. I knew my days were numbered. I began to panic. I felt as though people were orchestrating things. I felt violated. And they did it without my consent. No pun intended, Beriacie.

Beriacie nods understandingly before doing a double take

Stalin: I was worried about my future and the economical system. So I turned to crime - one crime. I had three years in a 20ft by 10ft shack to work out where I'd gone wrong.

Lev: An' once you worked it aht, you 'ad 1,094 days ahead of you.

Audience: Muhharharhar.

Stalin: When I started working in the seminary, I found Jesus.

Lev: I suppose you would in a place like thaa-aat.

Stalin: Well, to be more precise, the seminary found me. I got a message to say the old man had passed away.

Pause

Chevver: Why didn't you go to his funeral?

Robesil: He was a piss'ead, Chev.

Stalin: No I wasn't.

Robesil: I'm referring to your dad.

Stalin: Oh. I didn't know him well enough. You all look a bit embarrassed. Go on, you shoot off. I'll resign from this venue.

The comrades look at each other, they feel sympathy for the lowly Stalin

Lev: Go on then, Sta- Joe. I'll have a drink with you.

Stalin: Thank you, Levrek. What about you other revolutionaries? Will you flake the load with me?

Leoney: Southern vodka.

Lev: He's a seminary choir boy naow. Can't arrest us no more.

Robesil: Yeah, and he's still getting people to sing like a canary.

Beriacie: You don't believe he's changed?

Leoney: Personally, I'm not sure, but I'm willing to down a Southern vodka. Make that a double, Joe.

Robesil: Ahlrait, I'll have a lager. Chevver?

Chevver: Yeah, I'll have a lager.

Beriacie: How can you drink with Stalin? That's the man who stitched you up with them knocked-off ration cards and sent you away for 18 months.

Chevver: I know. But when I came out I got an electric blanket full of lice and Solzhenitsyn's hot plate *wink*

Lev: A rapeseed cognac?

Beriacie: And quick!



Int. Trottersky's Lounge

Beriacie: I'm so drunk, I'm havin' a pretend conversation on this phone.

Leoney: Del's pissed up.

Lev: Shattit, Leoney! Hah hah hah.

Karlbert: Whoy do wimin olways say 'dahn't ge' drank'?

Robesil: It's their nature. My lorry was always saying that before I drove her.

Leoney: And my Natalia

Chevver: What's a marriage?

Stalin: Take my advice - the only sure way to avoid a broken marriage is by purging your fiance

All: Laughter.



Stalin: It's funny, I've looked at all these photos of the boys, my old comrades, and I'm the only one in the photo

Robesil: You had us all airbrushed out of them.

Karlbert: I sappose it was taff for you in exoile when the locals fahnd aht you were an ex-leader

Stalin: You don't know the half of it. The villagers with their cart horses eyed me with suspicion. "Twat, twat!" they'd whisper. "We're gonna get you, twat. I hope your wife can sew, Stalin"

Beriacie: Didn't the horses get agitated?

Stalin: That was the horses. The villagers really had it in for me. You'd have to watch your back in the outhouse.

Lev: Yeah, I've heard there's a few turdidos in there.

Stalin: Oh yeah! It's no wonder Dostoevsky wrote a book about it. You'd be amazed what they'd sell for a slice of butter and a kerosene lamp. Fortunately, they didn't give me any problems. I mean, these days even the poofs don't fancy me. No pun intended, Chevver.

Chevver gormlessly stares ahead and nods

Lev: Look at this photo. Dynamo Kiev

Beriacie: My favourite team.

Chevver: There's that American kid. Good player, what's his name?

A car beeps outside

Beriacie: Ah, that'll be my limo. My cab service is open.

Robesil: Give me a lift, Beriacie.

Chevver: Yes, me an' all.

Stalin: Bye, Beriacie. We can have a pint in the week.

Beriacie: Erm, yes, we'll be in the pub sometime when you're preferably not in there.

Stalin: Nice. It's a date.

Beriacie arches his eyebrow

Lev: I'll get a photo of this enlarged, Joe. This was probably the last time you was with all your comrades. We had Robesil in goal. Polski Mariusz in at right-back. There's a feeling about this photo. We had a camera ready.

Chevver: Was that the American boy?

Lev smirks to himself

Lev: Yes, tha' woz 'im, Chev.

Beriacie: Outreached arm. Cahme along, Chevver.

They all exit

Lev: Another drink, Leoney?

Leoney: Drunken smile. Yeah, why not.

Lev: Joe?

Stalin has dropped off to sleep

Lev: Aoh, look, the purgical plonkerburo's gone to sleep. Said 'e's stayin' in a bed and breakfast - it's here. Ah hah hah.

Karlbert: Good ardea, sahn. I'm ganna clarmb into me 'ammock.

Karlbert exits to his bedroom

Lev: If sahmwan said to me that I'd be sipping drinks and giggling with Joe Stalin, I'd say they were fuckin' nutbags.

Leoney: I suppose he's not so bad after all

Lev: Take away the sociopathy and white tunic and he's just like the rest of us. *Singing* Cum on with gout.

Lev exits to the kitchen

Leoney drifts off to sleep right before Nadezhda enters from the hallway

Nadezhda: I don't b- Leoney, where's...

Nadezhda is startled by Stalin's loud snore. She hears ice cubes clinking into glasses in the kitchen. Lev continues singing as she enters the kitchen

Lev: I'm not drunk, jast relatively ingratiated or sammink.

Nadezhda: You shit! You promised me.

Lev: We're hardly going to sip a lemonade and pop off to midnight mass.

Nadezhda: Your promises mean bugger nothing! 'Don't worry about that cock. He'll have to get past me'.

Lev: Well, that's right.

Nadezhda: Really? Then why's 'that cock' asleep in our living room?

Lev: That's Leoney.

Nadezhda: I'm talking about Stalin.

Lev: OhhHhHh. 'ow d'ya know 'is name?

Nadezhda: My ex-husband is asleep on our sofa.

Lev: No, that's Stalin.

Nadezhda: I know his name. I was married to 'im for 13 years.

Lev: Stalin?! You were married to Stalin?!

Lev appears bewildered

Nadezhda: I wish I hadn't burnt my wedding photos.

Lev: Bah' thaz Stalin!!

Nadezhda: I told you my husband was a general secretary

Lev: Yes, but his surname is Jughashvili, yours is Alliluyeva. Why didn't you tell me wha' your married name was?

Nadezhda: You'd change the subject. Have you said anything to him?

Lev: No he doesn't know that he's asleep. Are you sure you were married to 'im?

Nadezhda: Of course I'm fucking sure!

Lev: You stay here. I'll get rid of him

Lev slips into the living room and nudges Leoney

Lev (Whispered): Leoney, wake ahp, you dumastick.

Leoney: Uhn!? Wha'?

Lev: Stalin is Nadezhda's husband

Leoney smiles with amusement

Leoney: Wha', is it a joke?

Lev: No, it's not a joke. I wouldn't lie about sammink like this.

Leoney: Does he know?

Lev: Of course he cuntin' well knaows. He was at the wedding.

Leoney: No, does he know abou' you and Nadezhda?

Lev: Oh, right. He don't know nothing. I've gotta get him to sling is 'ook without snatching ahp the vol-au-vents.

Lev shakes Stalin

Lev: Fuckin' Stalin! *Nicely* Joe.

Stalin: Oh Darwin, what's the time, Lev?

Lev: Time you was off home. I'll get your coat.

Stalin: Do you mind if I get a glass of water from the kitchen?

Lev: NO! There's some bourgeois water here. Tell me sammink, Stalin - with my suspicious line of questioning - did you come back to Leninham just to organise a Show Trial reunion?

Stalin: Not solely for that. My wife's lawyers telegrammed me about a divorce. Seems quite delayed given the circumstances.

Lev: Yes, I'll stare sheepishly at the kitchen.

Stalin: While I was here I thought I'd organise a jolly piss-up, Lev. It's done me a world of good, meeting my old comrades again and finding that you're willing to forgive and forget. The cup of alcohol really do runneth ov- *points at a photograph* That's my dead wife. I've been sat diagonally opposite this framed photo and only just noticed it. Mind you, I was pissed.



Lev: Do what?

Stalin: That picture there. That's my Nadya. What's a photo of my deceased wife doing in your flat? She shot herself in the heart.

Lev: Well... it's erm... what's that photo of Nadezhda Alliluyeva doing in our flat, Leoney?

Leoney: I darn't knah.

Karlbert foots out into the centre of the living room

Karlbert: There's more racket aht 'ere than a tennis match. I'm tryna ge' sahme sleep. Has Nadezhda cahme 'ome yet?

Stalin: Nadya's here?!

Nadezhda enters from the kitchen as opposed to the balcony

Nadezhda: Yes, I live here. Hello, Joe. I faked my own death in order to get away from you.

Stalin: Nadya!

Karlbert: oo's Nadya?



Stalin: I don't understand why a woman is living with three men. Oh! You're cohabiting. Well... *swings forearm* which one?

Lev: I know there's a likely choice between myself and Leoney, BAHT KARLBERT?!?! You saucy cunt, Stalin. Wha' do you mean 'which one'.

Stalin: I'm squinting in disgust. Lev?!?!

Nadezhda: Correct.

Karlbert: Oo's Nadya?

Leoney: Shut up.

Stalin: What's the full lagpunkt, Levrek? Is she another Robert Conquest? Or are you two close *reacts to pregnant stomach* you're pregnant?!

Lev: No' you an' all. Leoney make a dig at me earlier about my pot belly.

Nadezhda: Oh, that's what this basketball up my jumper is.

Stalin: I figured you'd have moved on, not drag yourself downwards. You always like the peasantry, didn't you, darling?

Lev: One more word, Stalin, and the balcony will give you a lesson in psychics.

Leoney: Physics.

Lev: This is no time for a soft drink, Leoney.

Stalin: This woman, my not-dead wife, has been thrust by a proletariat. You could've had Churchill or Harold Truman with a boil on his bellend, or a Siberian tree covered in snow, but you decided to go primitive.

Lev: Naff off, Stalin. You're upsetting her. She's gonna have it off on her toes.

Stalin: Yeah, and we always did, didn't we, love?

Lev: Righ', get your coa'!

Leoney holds Lev back

Nadezhda: You better fuck the up shut, Joe. I'll set him on you if you don't. He took on two men several years back. Calm down, Levrek please.

Lev: Yes, okay, sweet'eart.

There's a dramatic pause

Karlbert: oo's Nadya?

All: SHUT UP, KARLBERT!

Two hours have gone by. The room is dimly lit. Leoney is lying on the settee with a blanket over him

Lev enters in his lingerie

Leoney: You gave Stalin my bed.

Lev: I 'ad to. If my clients were to find aht that Nadezhda was married to Stalin, the cunt - who's feared by all Ukrainians - and that Nadezhda lived with him and sle- sle-

Leoney: Fucked?

Lev: Aoh, go back to sleep, Leoney.

Leoney: Sorray.

Lev: I'd be a laughing stock and no one would trast me again.

Leoney looks ahead wistfully and mutters delicately

Leoney: No.

Audience: MUWAHAHAHA.

Karlbert penguin-waddles out of his bedroom

Karlbert: Can't you sleep either? If people were to find aht tha' Nadezhda was married to Stalin, you'd be finished, sahn.

Lev: I know thaa-aat, unc. They'd be saying 'orrible things.

Leoney: 'This toaster doesn't have a spring mechanism. Can I have a refund?'

Lev: Yes *does a double take*. I don't wan' Stalin mouthin' off about his marital past to the denizens of our town. He's got a hold over me.

Leoney: He doesn't know that. He's not aware of how despised he is and if people were to discover the truth you'd be ruined more so.

Karlbert: Leoney's go' a poin'. Dahn't le' Stalin take advan'age. If you do, he might wonder whoy.

Lev: Yes, you could be right.

Stalin enters in his trousers and vest

Stalin: Excuse me, comrades. I need a squirt of thirst-quencher. Can't you sleep, Lev?

Lev: I got up to do an early breakfast, Stalin

Stalin: Oh, that's nice for me.

Lev: Then you could eat it on the balcony - 10 floors down.

Leoney and Karlbert nod reassuringly to Lev in solidarity

Stalin: What, eat a breakfast on your neighbour's balcony?

Lev does a double take of confusion

Lev: Naoh, Naooeeh, I meant throw you off the balcony after servin' ahp the breakfast.



Stalin: Is that right? I couldn't sleep well myself, worrying about your reputation if I were to blab about my marriage. I doubt that anyone would trust you again, well, not that anyone ought to trust a dodgy salesman in the first place. I'm the ex leader and general secretary. Stalin the Cunt who's loathed and despised by all except for 20-something-year-old Marxist YouTubers and dyed-in-the-wool Mayday marchers. I'd think it'd be the end of you.

Lev glances at Leoney and Karlbert with defeated expressions

Stalin: I'd hate to see that happen to an old com like you. Despite the fact you have nicely formed a loving relationship with the only woman I loved - and fucked her - I don't hold it against. So, I promised myself to keep my mouth shut.

Lev: Cheers, Joe. This seems all too straightforward and convenient...

Stalin: How-motherfucking-ever...

Lev: GROAN!!

Stalin: I hope that I don't have too many beers at the Bear's Head and let it slip. Now, champagne is different. I know what I'm sayin' when I'm pissed-up on the billow. I'd love to imbibe several bottles of them. But until my inheritance comes through I can't afford those fancy luxuries from the state-owned factories. It's a poser, innit, Lev?

Lev picks up a wallet and flips out a couple of tenners

Lev: Have a coupla boh-uls on Lev Boy.

Stalin: Are you sure, Lev? Well, that's great. Thanks. I'm not sure how long I'll be staying - but that's no problem, Lev?

Lev: Nah, you're very welcome to stay for as long as you wan', Joe.

Stalin: Thanks, Lev.

Lev: Belly bah-on.

Stalin exits to the bedroom

Karlbert: What are you gonna do, sahn. He's got you by the... well, like tha'

Karlbert tightens his fist into a ball

Lev: Karlbert, this is no time to play rock, paper and scissors.

Leoney: Dynamo Kiev freekick. Aerodynamic and painful.

Lev: I've already given 'im 40 roubles already.

Karlbert: This is Stalin's wallet. UyR-HyErR

Lev: Well that's cheered me ahp no end.

Leoney sifts through the wallet

Leoney: What's all this? It's a letter from his lawyer. 'I, Nadezhda Jughashvili (nee Alliluyeva), hereby waive all my legal rights to my husband's present and future non-private property' It's one of them things theatre performers get their future wives to sign.

Lev: So that's wha' he really came for, not Lenin's superb bar snacks.

Karlbert: Wha' mahney does he have, thought he was skint.

Lev: No, he stashed those nuggets into his safe. *Lev reads another document* Look at this. It's a counter-signed document with Stalin's signature over it.

Leoney: What's it for?

Lev: It's a memo for a proposal to kill Polish officers. This is about the Katyn Massacre where approximately 22,000 people were executed.

Lev coolly slips the sheet into the wallet

Leoney: You've got 'im, Lev! That is concrete evidence.

Lev: I know, Leoners. But let's not rush things. Let me put this behind the level crossing novelty light.

Stalin: I have appeared. Thanks for finding my wallet. Oh, that breakfast in bed you mentioned. A couple of boiled eggs and a yak steak would be great, about 9:30

Lev: Fuck! We're out of yak steak, and none of us can drive to the all-night market as we've got alcohol in our system.

Int. Bear's Head. Day

Stalin: B U R P!!

Nadezhda enters with bags of shopping and tries to do a u-turn

Stalin: Nadya! Let me attempt to ruin your pregnancy by offering champers.

Nadya: Fuck off. I came in to find, Lev.

Stalin, Okay, I'll get myself another bottle for myself

Stalin moves across to Lenin behind the bar

Lenin: Lev is a good bloke.

Stalin: He cer'ainly is, Lenin. Do you know, he made me breakfast in bed. They broke the mushroom when they made that fucker. *Referring to Nadezhda* She's a lovely girl.

Lenin: Yeah, she's been married before. A right wanker, I heard.

Stalin: Really?

Lenin: Lev usually doesn't pay his way, but his heart's in the right place. Don't tell 'im I said that.

Stalin grabs the bottle and sits with Nadezhda

Nadezhda: What are you playing at, Joe? Why's Lev waiting on you hand and foot and showering you with bubbly?

Stalin: He's standing by for an old comrade who's fallen on hard times.

Nadezhda: When are you pissing off, Joe?

Stalin: I'm waiting for my inheritance to get evaluated. Then I'm thinking of applying for an apartment around here. Do you ever remember our old times together?

Nadezhda: Some things remind me, like repeats of Brezhnev's New Year speech.

Lev and Leoney enter with a suitcase

Stalin: Lev, Leoney, let me get you a drink.

Lev: Cheers, Joe. Why don't you sit in the train, Nadezhda. This'll be ugly

Nadezhda: You ain't gonna cave his head in with a chair?

Lev: I 'adn't though' of thaa-aat. But nah, I ain't doing it.

Nadezhda: Oh, testicles.

Nadezhda exits

Stalin: This champagne has prevented me from saying that I was married to Nadezhda. Oops, there I go. I think hiring a car might tighten my lips. Hired cars don't get me inebriated.

Lev: Before I approve, there's sammink I must ask: you knew all along Nadezhda was living with me.

Stalin: I suppose it doesn't hurt now that the reunion has be done. Yeah, I knew. I checked her name in the Communist Encyclopedia - I didn't see your face in there, Lev. I had to get my way into your flat to be certain. That's when I came up with the Show Trial reunion.

Leoney: You've got a habit of leaving champagne bottles lying around, Stalin.

Stalin: Yes I have. I noticed that Nadya was lying around in her nightgown. Still, nothing I haven't seen before. *Falsely winces*

Lev: I read your letter to your lawyer. Well, not literally to him.

Stalin: Only protecting my interests. If it's good for Yakov Sverdlov, it's good enough for me

Leoney: We also read that memo with the scribble over it.

Lev: Now, what would happen if we sent that to the IRD?

Stalin: Sweet Federation of Armenia, Lev. I've still got exhibit A tucked up safe and sound in my pocket. So get out of that one, Perrier water.

Lev: Jast before I gave you your breakfast, I took your wallet out and had another look at that document.

Stalin: And?

Lev opens a suitcase and produces one of his fax machines

Lev: It's a fax machine. It transmits data to your tree shavings and wings it to anyone in the world. It also has another function. Read the writing.

Stalin: 'Pho-to-cop-i-er'



Lev: Yessss, Stalin with no Carling. It photocopies things, like clickbait about a washed up or retired actor's newest photos and memos proposing to murder thahsands of innocent people

Stalin: So you've got a copy.

Leoney: Not one, sev'rowl. Imagine the damage it'd do once the U.N. and U.S. administration get a hold of this. The U.S.S.R would collapse because of you. How many years would it take, six years?

Lev: Oh, I'd say less than that.

Leoney: And be honest - 'BE HONEST'. Hah-hah-hah. You wouldn't stand a chance.

Stalin: Correct me if I'm wrong, but I suspect that you're hungry for a deal?

Lev: Spot on.

Stalin: Alright, I'll split the nuggets with you 90-10 for me

Lev: No.

Stalin: Okay, 110 in your favour.

Lev: No, ma'e.

Leoney: No, sir. We don't wan' his money!?

Lev: Naoh. *To Stalin* I want you to give Nadezhda a divorce, and I want you exiled out of Leninham for life. If anyone finds out that Nadezhda was married to you, I'll send a copy of your memo straight to Joseph McCarthy.

Stalin: Well, those terms seem acceptable. I think we've concluded our business. You will excuse me, I've got a train to catch. Lev, do me a favour. When the baby's born, if it's a boy can you name it after me?

Lev appears displeased

Leoney: I wouldn't have thought it'd be acceptable to name a kid 'Cunt'.

Stalin: No, I suppose not. How about my old nickname, Soso?

Lev: No thanks. My son or daughter ain't gonna grow up to be average.

Stalin: No ring to it. Speaking of 'ring', I'll get the divorce proceedings going. Have a nice life, Lev Boy.

Lev: Oh I will, Stalin. Don't you worry, I will.

Stalin slinks off

Lev and Leoney: YES!

Leoney: Why didn't we take 'is money?

Lev: I'm way more unethical than ou, but it's wrong. Plus, we'll earn out of the divorce

Leoney: Oh, Levrek, I'll drink to that.

Lev: Yes, let's drink all of these expensive drinks. None of the people in this sitcom finish their drinks.

Lenin approaches Lev and Leoney

Lenin: Oi, Lev. that photocopy option on the fax machine, it doesn't work.

Leoney: Neither does ours - just like Stalinism

Lev and Leoney: HAHAHAHAH!

Credits Music

[DangledTeeth]

THE PHONEYLY (FOOLS AND HORSES) THEATRE SHOW TRIBUTE ACT IN TOWN





Phoney Del: 'e who dares, mate. 'e 'oo daaares.

Phoney Rodney: Oi... DEL.

Phoney Del: What? You per-lon-ker.

Phoney Rodney: Do they call you Phoney Del because you're always on the mobile phone?

Phoney Del: Bennett Marie Antoinette, Rodblers! You are correct, bro. I am always on the blowah *twists and nudges head as he grabs the lapels of his coat* becaused that is the sort of astute businessman that I can be, oooh right, oooh right.
Name-ah tha gaame, cooshtaaaay.

Phoney Albert: Yar she blows, son. I groo arp on Toboggan Raoad, sar ar did, shipwreck. Dear Fuhrer, you can break einen vindows, but you can nicht breakeneibe ourmiten hearts.

Phoney Del: Oh, shat it up, you soppy old tart, ma'e.

Phoney Rodney: Del, that's no way to speak to a war hero

Phoney Albert: Doorin tha Secund World Woh-waw... ar tap darnced like Ginger Astaire.

Phoney Rodney: Oh, just fuck your noise away, Albert.

Phoney Boycie: Step asiiiide, let Boycley see the hare. I am a vet.

Phoney Albert: Sar am ar, shipwreck. Ar am a veteran war heraoh. Doorin tha Secund World Woh-waw...

Phoney Boycie: Hya-ya-ah-ya-ah-ah-ah-ya-ah.



Phoney Batman Del: BATMAAAAN, BANDANA-BANDANA-BANDANANANA!!

Phoney Robin Rodney: DEL! *Punches fist into his palm* Let's gao to the wake.

Phoney Albert: It's Act 2 nar. *Singing* In theeee naaaa-vvvvvyyyy, you can steam your bawlls in the boiler rooooom.

Phoney Rodney: *Singing* Trig doesn't call meee Rod-neeeey. Dave is not my name. That's not my name. That's not my name.

Phoney Del: *Singing* I'm not Ian McShane. I'm not Ian McShane.



Phoney Trigger: My sex doll has given head 23 times and had 18 handlers.

Phoney Del (with a fag to look like Sid): 'ow the bloody 'ell is it the same fuckin' broom, then?

Phoney Rodney: What a plonkered.

Phoney Albert: You knar me, son. I'm not sayin' a thing.

Phoney Del presses his coat's lapels over his thumbs and he bops back and forth with bent knees

Phoney Del: Owroih, owroih, Rodneeeeeeey! It's a tough ol' gaame, eh? You'll never know, we could become milyonaires one day. Oh yeah, mah son

Audience: HAHAAHAHAH!

Phoney Boycie: And now, ladies and gentlemen, Aubrey Boycley would like to end on a rendition of Frank Sinatra's 'it song, That's Life. *Singing* Thaaat's liiiife, as funny as it will does seem, some people get their kicks selling second-'and caaaaars.

Phoney Everyone: AH LA LA laaaa *nods head to regain the tempo with the audience clapping* ah LA-LA LA-LA LAH!! A-JUBBLY-JUUUUUBBLY. B-B-B-BUSSSHY STREEEEET.

Audience 1: Excellent performance. Would see it again.

Audience Member 2: Yeah, really brilliant night. The characters and their portrayal were spot on, loved it.

Audience Member 3: Which way to the toilet?

Audience Member 4: It was inventive, I enjoyed the songs. Round of applause in particular to the guy who played Albert.