No Cause For Alarm

As I sit typing this in me attic, an alarm is tearing the air to shreds outside. It sounds like a house alarm - one of those relentless WOWOWOWOWOWOWOW air-raid siren type affairs that are like a three minute warning for impending Armageddon. Except this warning has been going on for about twenty minutes now, giving Armageddon plenty of time to rumble down upon us, wreak it's merry havoc and depart for the next planet, leaving a charred and devastated wasteland in it's intergalactic wake. Obviously no-one is paying the slightest bit of attention. I've just glanced outside expecting to see a fleet of emergency vehicles and a crowd of aghast on-lookers being shepherded behind police lines, but there's no-one there except a middle aged woman walking her dog, seemingly oblivious to the cacophony raging around her. Even the dog doesn't seem alarmed. No-one gives a flying fuck about neighbourhood distress signals. Whoever invented Neighbourhood Watch obviously discounted the act of listening as any sort of aid to local security vigilance.

And still this bastard noise goes on and on. If the house is actually being burgled I imagine the intruder has had time to strip the place of valuables, pack his van up, park it safely round the corner, return to the scene of his crime and cook himself a three course meal followed by a long luxurious soak in the bath. He'll probably have time to curl up on the couch and read a couple of good novels before making good his escape. There was a time when you could leave your back door unlocked. Now you might as well leave it unlocked and left wide open. At least you wont annoy the neighbours when you get turned over.

I'm just as much to blame as anyone for this uncaring descent into wilful ignorance that's picking apart our very social fabric. But I have an excuse. I know who's house alarm has gone off. It's the bloke across the road. And I know for a fact it's not a burglar. It's his cat. It keeps setting the alarm off by going in and out the cat-flap. He is seemingly unwilling to get his alarm looked at, so I think it's down to me as a good neighbour to help solve his problem.

Now where did I put that air rifle?

Goodnight Colleen

Goodnight Colleen

It's time to sleep

And there's not much more to say

I could try again with calmer words

But you're not listening anway

When next we see the morning light

Could have dreamed up something pure and right

The excuses that you so detest

All be drifting on the sea of rest

Goodnight Colleen

My eyes are hot

And my mouth is dry and dumb

Your anger burns my shoulder blades

But my stomach's cold and numb

When next we see the morning light

Could have dreamed up something pure and right

The excuses that you so detest

All be drifting on the sea of rest

Drifting on the sea

Goodnight Colleen

When next we see the morning light

Could have dreamed up something pure and right

The excuses that you so detest

Will all be drifting on the sea of rest

Drifting on the sea

Goodnight Colleen

Grass Wont Grow Til Spring

The lines of our communication

Pulled down and left to die

And all those spoken words unspoken

Fall over and collide

One to waste a shipwreck

Two to fly in style

My favourite girl came home last week

And I can't raise a smile

If I could see where we went wrong

I would not change a thing

And the sky just keeps on crying

And the grass wont grow til spring

I started up a mountain

But there's too high left to climb

On your own you're lethal

But by yourself you're mine

I wont be the first to break down

I wont be the one to crack

One to throw a life away

Two to bring it back

Put your ear down to the ground

You can hear the prisoner sing

And the sky just keeps on crying

And the grass wont grow til spring

If you set your sights on payroll

You could buy a well heeled hat

Take holidays on speedboats

Get old and rich and fat

The days are drawing colder now

The way ahead unclear

I stayed in bed all yesterday

And dreamed about next year

Well the New Year has come around

With the promise that she brings

And the sky just keeps on crying

And the grass wont grow

The sun just wont start shining

And the grass wont grow til spring

It Is What It Is

It's a magazine on an unmade bed

And a broken pair of shoes

Endless days of don't go home

Thunder in the afternoon

It's a freezing bath at 3am

And the meal you couldn't eat

The sudden truth that struck you blind

And the sickness of deceit

It's the clothes you thought you'd thrown away

And the job you couldn't start

The light left on inside the house

When you thought the house was dark

It's the distant line of snow-kissed trees

And the sobs that rack your chest

It's the deathly hush that greets you

When you wake already dressed

It's a bridal march and cherish set

And a recognition truce

It's a summer drive in someone's car

Your best laid plans cut loose

And how can you miss me if I don't go away?

How can you hit me if I'm not in your way?

Unanswered Prayers

Come down, throw me a sign

Disappear in steady dark

Your pale room, my egg shell skull

Your glass is empty let me make it full

Been a twenty four year wait

Seen places on the way

All thoughts you kept inside

All the thoughts that you gave away

Wait for the cavalry

With one eye on the clock

Wait so long to seize the pearl

Started up now I don't think this can stop

We've all had unanswered prayers

Sometimes I wish that I was small again

Sometimes I wish that I was small again

Beneath the stairs

Come down throw me a sign

Disappear in steady dark

Plumes of smoke round your door

Went there once, now I can't go there no more

We've all had unanswered prayers

Sometimes I wish that I was small again

Sometimes I wish that I was small again

Beneath the stairs

East Coast Situation

London could be good for me

Paris even better

Watch her face just fall apart

When she reads this letter

But oh no tears

No last minute plans

Making my exit as fast as I can

East Coast

East Coast

Caught the Sunday Ferry Boat

A lifetime left to spare

The evening sun had burnt my back

Didn't even care

But oh now what's this

That's sticking in my throat

"You are in my head now"

Was all she wrote

East Coast

East Coast.

Ghostwritten

On the edges of a waking dream

Stumble broken thoughts

Lunatics with wild ideas and

Pictures that distort

Just lean over me and take my wrist

Take this cold away

Breathe your warmth into my hand again

Say what I want to say

Ghost

Inside a cool blue wasted space

A moments stolen peace

No city heat or traffic noise

Just still unbroken sleep

Just lean over me and take my wrist

Take this cold away

Breathe your warmth into my hand again

Say what I want to say

Ghost

Beside a silver frozen lake

A figure dressed in pale

Casts a stone, stands to watch it sink

Turns and walks away

Just lean over me and take my wrist

Take this cold away

Breathe your warmth into my hand again

Say what I want to say

Ghost

Carver

She looks up and laughs from back of car

I draw some wings and cut them out

Late that evening went down to the waterside

Sat down by the waterside, mapping it out

Send me flags

Send me tickets

I can't get my back up off my bed

England's so cold

Was it you that told me

That my arms are laden down with lead?

Loved that story the sacks and the teeth

Carved it well upon my chest

Spoke well of you, speak well of me

Because your story is the best

Send me flags

Send me tickets

I can't my back up off my bed

England's so cold

Was it you that told me

That my arms are laden with lead?

Premier League : And They're Off ...

The new season is nearly upon us and the Premier League managers are frantically trying to get all their their houses in order before the big kick off. But whose head will roll first?

STEVE BRUCE

Steve has been flashing the cash like a man with no arms, making bids for every man and his dog. This either signals a serious bid for Europe, or simple desperation to not join the Geordies in the fizzy pop League. I preferred the other manager who looked like Mick McManus, so I hope Bruce gets the bullet and they re-instate the other bloke. He was much funnier.

Odds : 7-1

MARK HUGHES

No pressure Mark! Given the amount of money sloshing about in the blue half of Manchester, the best thing Sparky could do would be to get himself the elbow as quickly as possible. The severance pay would then enable him to buy every other team in the League and still have change for a jumbo jet. And a small island in the Maldives.

Odds : 3-1.

CARLO ANCELOTTI

Given Chelsea’s recent track record of offing gaffers, Ancelotti’s arse could be forgiven for twitching, despite his recent arrival. Common sense says that he has a clean slate and will be given every chance to deliver the goods for his Russian overlord. However, sense isn’t that common in football. His best bet would be to get rid of the sulkers in the team, even that would only leave him with Joe Cole and the kit man.

Odds : 5-1

ALEX FERGUSON

Like the statues on Easter Island, Fergie remains a craggy and impervious fixture at the English Champions. Despite threatening retirement more times than Frank Sinatra, old Bacon Face will probably still be managing United from beyond the grave, his coffin propped up on the touchline, the furious sound of gum chewing and watch tapping coming from within.

Odds : 250 – 1

RAFA BENITEZ

Judging from the way he managed to oust Rick Parry from the board of directors last season, it would seem that Rafa’s word at Anfield carries more weight than … However, that tell-tale glint of madness is never far from the Spaniard’s eye and if Fergie starts the mind games early doors, we could well see Rafa crumble like a Digestive in a hot mug of tea well before Christmas.

Odds : 6-1

ARSENE WENGER

Despite having a policy of not signing anyone over the age of twelve and not attempting to win anything again ever, Wenger seems to have his feet nailed to the floor under the Emirates table. Mind you, if he did get sent his notice he would probably claim to have been looking the other way and not seen it.

Odds : 25-1

ROY HODGSON

Good old Woy. Managed to drag Fulham back from the brink of adversity and push for a place in Euwope. Sacking Hodgson would be as cruel and as pointless as snatching a teddy bear off a toddler and throwing it in a muddy puddle. Safe as cottages.

Odds : 12 - 1

MARTIN O’NEILL

Despite being hotly tipped for the Old Trafford role in the event of Ferguson spontaneously combusting on the touchline, O’Neill clings grimly to Aston Villa like a Page 3 girl clings to Ashley Cole’s leg as he emerges from a West End Nightclub. As always, Villa will start off like a house on fire and then finish like a sandcastle washed away by the tide.

Odds : 10-1

OWEN COYLE

Like an apprentice juggler newly recruited to a travelling circus, Coyle will be forgiven for every trip, fumble and fuck up. Guaranteed to keep his job purely cos the board are painfully aware that no other fucker would ever dream of moving to Burnley.

Odds : 20-1

PAUL HART

Given that Portsmouth are about to be snapped up by another gang of Arabs with bulging pockets and lofty ambitions. Paul may as well pack his kit bag now and stand by the side of the road with his thumb held out and a sign saying JOB CENTRE, PLEASE. Never mind. He’ll be welcomed with open arms at Southampton.

Odds : 3-1

TONY PULIS

Dour, no-nonsense Tony, with his blunt persona and his route-one tactics would be more suited to a position in the Traffic Planning Department in Stoke On Trent City Council. Has the backing of the fans, which counts for fuck all these days, but at least if he gets the boot he’ll have plenty of mates down the Job Centre.

Odds : 8-1

HARRY REDKNAPP

Harry and Spurs go together like a boiled egg and soldiers. Despite them being another club with a revolving door on the manager’s office. Big H is the Pearly King of Norf Lahndan, and it’s hard to see him being shifted from the Tottenham Hotseat. Barring some major scandal involving bungs, birds or boozing, Harry should be sweet as a nut

Odds : 5-1.

GIANFRANCO ZOLA

Little cuddly Zola seems to be able to charm the pants off everyone he meets. Even opposing fans seem to have taken a shine to him. The Hammers seem to be one of them clubs who have no lofty aspirations for anything other than playing decent football and avoiding the drop, both of which they seem to manage year after year. As such, the diminutive Italian will probably stay in East London. Unless someone makes him an offer he can’t refuse. Or he makes them one.

Odds : 10-1

ROBERTO MARTINEZ

David Whelan seems to be one those old-fashioned football chairman, a local tycoon made good who takes the sensible long term view and backs his chosen manager through thick and thin. No-one ever seems to leave Wigan on bad terms, so it’s hard to see how Martinez can fuck this one up. I suppose he could always ring Paul Jewell up at Derby and ask him for a few tips.

Odds : 15-1

MICK McCARTHY

On the face of it McCarthy is as dull as ditch water and as flat as a Yorkshire Pudding, but he does have a happy knack of winding people up. His relationship to Wolves Football Club is a bit like a randy pensioner chasing a nurse in a rest home - he seems to have spent ages trying to get it up. Will have at least one season’s grace. Most likely to say “bollocks” in his post match interview on MOTD.

Odds : 12 – 1

ALEX McCLEISH

Big Eck! McCleish should know all about pressure at the top, given his managerial experience at International level. But let’s not forget that that level was with Scotland, a nation who would be currently hard pressed to beat the South Khuzestan Girls Team. Besides, he’s ginger, which always plays havoc with the colour contrast on my telly. And they’ve just signed Lee Bowyer. So I hope they get rid.

Odds : 5-1

SAM ALLARDYCE

Big Sam wont be shifted from Blackburn. Unless of course a big club offers him a big deal. Or someone offers him a big brown envelope and there’s some big scandal. No, actually, on second thoughts forget that. I don’t want him sending any big misters round.

Odds : 17-1

COLIN MOYES

Every season there seems to be talk of Moyes moving on to a bigger or better club than Everton but for some bizarre reason he seems to like it on Merseyside. Andy Burnham, the Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport, called him “fine example to everybody in government of stability and making the right decisions for the long term” Given that a vote of confidence from this government is like being handed the Black Spot by Blind Pugh in Treasure Island, expect Moyes to be on his peddler by late August.

Odds : 4-1

GARY MEGSON

Possibly the dullest manager of the lot, even duller than Pulis and McCarthy. As such, he will go totally un-noticed by everybody throughout the entire season, including the chairman, the players and the fans. A bit like a chameleon sitting on a cardboard box on a municipal rubbish tip in the middle of winter.

Odds : 33-1

PHIL BROWN

A god among men who will win the Premier League. Pundits will eat their words and sales of St Tropez will soar.

Odds : 2,000 – 1

Can't Buy Me Love

This is a pilot for a comedy drama me and me mate Jonathan Owen put together for the BBC about a feller who wins the lottery and doesn't tell anybody. In time honoured tradition, they seem to have fucked it off. I still like it, so I thought I'd stick it up here for someone's amusement. Mainly me own, probably.

FADE IN:

EXT. BUILDING SITE - AFTERNOON

Phil is up a ladder with a mastick gun, applying the final touches to a polyurathane window frame.

His work mate, Terry, appears at the bottom of his ladder.

TERRY

Phil!

Phil looks down.

PHIL

What?

Terry makes a tipping motion with his hand to indicate a cup of tea.

PHIL

Alright, one minute.

He goes back to carefully applying the mastick.

INT. PRE-FAB WORK HUT - MOMENTS LATER

Phil enters. Three other men are playing cards round a table. Phil goes over to the kettle and makes a brew.

MACCA

You in Phil?

PHIL

What's the stake?

MACCA

Fiver.

Phil pulls two notes out of his pocket and looks at them - a fiver and a tenner.

PHIL

Yeah go on then, deal us in.

He stirs his brew and goes over and takes his seat.

CUT TO:

P.O.V. PHIL'S EYES KNOTTED IN CONCENTRATION. HE SURVEYS HIS HAND - A PAIR OF SEVENS IS THE BEST HE CAN MUSTER.

INT. PRE-FAB WORK HUT - CONTINUOUS

TERRY

Right lets see em.

They put their cards down in turn.

MACCA

Flush.

TERRY

Pair of Queens.

BRIAN

Jacks. Shite!

MACCA

Phil?

Phil shakes his head and throws his hand in.

PHIL

Yours Macca.

Macca chuckles and gathers up the fivers on the table.

MACCA

Come to Daddy.

Terry gets up and opens the door to the hut.

He looks outside.

P.O.V. OMINOUS GREY SKIES - CONTINUOUS

Terry puts his hand outside. It starts to rain.

TERRY

Ah, bollocks.

EXT. BUSY STREET - LATER

Phil is riding his bike home.

He stops outside a Co-op, dismounts and locks his bike to a rail with a chain lock.

INT. LOCAL CO-OP QUEUE - MOMENTS LATER

Phil stands patiently with his four cans of Carling Black Label and his Meal For One Chicken Tikka Curry In A Bag.

He arrives at the check out. The young girl scans his purchases and pops them in a bag.

CHECKOUT GIRL

Five ninety eight please love.

PHIL

Ten Benson as well please.

She turns and gets the cigarettes. She swipes them and pops them in the bag.

CHECKOUT GIRL

Eight fifty one. Anything else?

Phil looks at the tenner in his hand.

PHIL

Aye, go on, gis a lucky dip for tonight.

She turns to the Lotto machine and produces a ticket. Phil hands over his tenner. She rings it in and gives him his ticket and change.

CHECKOUT GIRL

Forty nine pence.

PHIL

Thanks love. Tara.

CHECKOUT GIRL

See you later.

Phil exits the shop.

EXT. BUSY STREET - CONTINUOUS

Phil pauses, lights a fag up and walks over to where he left his bike. He's busying himself with putting his lighter and fags back in his jacket pocket.

Then he looks up.

His bike has gone. Just the chain lock on the pavement, neatly snipped in two.

Phil picks up the two halves of the chain lock in disbelief. He looks up and down the street.

PHIL

Bastards!

EXT. BUS STOP - MOMENTS LATER

Phil pulls his jacket over his head as he smokes his fag. A bus arrives and stops. Phil dots his fag and gets on.

INT. BUS - CONTINUOUS

Phil digs into his jeans and pulls his loose change out.

PHIL

How much is it to Buckingham Street?

BUS DRIVER

Sixty five pence mate.

Phil checks his coins.

PHIL

How far can I go for forty nine?

BUS DRIVER

I haven't got any fares for forty nine pence mate.

PHIL

Well that's all I've got, so how far will it get me?

BUS DRIVER

It's forty five to the garage at the corner of Blenheim.

Phil empties all his money onto the tray.

PHIL

There you go.

The bus driver punches out a ticket, tears it off and hands it over.

Phil moves down the bus.

BUS DRIVER

Oi!

PHIL

What?

BUS DRIVER

Your change.

PHIL

Keep it.

BUS DRIVER

Not allowed.

He holds the two copper coins out at arms length.

Phil looks in baffled bemusement, trudges back and accepts his four pence.

He takes his seat.

P.O.V. BUS WINDOW FROM INTERIOR - CONTINUOUS

We see the rain streaked streets of a typical sink estate pass by - boarded up shops, kids playing football in the street etc.

INT. BUS - MOMENTS LATER

The bus slows to a halt.

BUS DRIVER

This is you mate.

Phil rises and joins the bus driver at the front of the bus.

He looks out at the garage and the surrounding streets.

PHIL

Ah come on mate, Buckingham Street's only up there.

BUS DRIVER

I know where Buckingham Street is son. But like I told you, Buckingham Street is sixty five pence.

PHIL

Come on, don't be tight, let us off up there.

The doors hiss open.

BUS DRIVER

Get off the bus please.

Phil produces his two two pence coins. He holds them up to the driver.

PHIL

Can't I bribe yer?

BUS DRIVER

You what?

PHIL

Every man has his price.

BUS DRIVER

Yes. And my price is sixty five pence. Now get off my pissing bus.

Phil grins and shrugs. He hops off the bus.

EXT. COUNCIL ESTATE STREET - CONTINUOUS

Phil waves as the bus moves away.

PHIL

Keep in touch!

He pulls a can of lager out of his bag and cracks it open, pulls his jacket over his head again and strides on through the rain.

P.O.V. TV SCREEN - PLAYSTATION FIFA 2007 FOOTBALL GAME. HULL CITY V LEEDS UTD. WE SEE A MINIATURE PIXELATED CITY PLAYER SWIVEL ON A SIX-PENCE AND FIRE HOME A GOAL PAST THE HAPLESS LEEDS UTD GOALIE

PHIL

Yes! Get in there! Who are yer! Who are yer!

INT. PHIL'S LIVING ROOM - EVENING

A typical batchelor pad. A photo of Phil with a young lad of about eleven or twelve is on top of the TV set.

A plate with the remains of Phil's curry is on the floor alongside a pair of trainers and wet socks. A newspaper. Three empty Carling cans and an overflowing ashtray.

Phil is playing football on his playstation.

His phone rings.

Phil feels on the couch behind him with one hand, eyes still locked on the screen, trying to control his player with the other hand.

He can't locate the phone.

He looks around and sees it about ten foot away.

He leans over to get it and answers, the phone tucked under his chin.

PHIL

Hello? Oh, alright Mick.

A roar from the TV tells us that Leeds Utd have scored in the brief moment that Phil has lost control.

PHIL

Twat! No, not you Mick. Even though you are one, like. No, I was hammering the white shite. What? Nowt like, just staying in and larking games. Nah. Skint mate. Totally pink lint. What? Hang on Mick.

Phil lets the phone drop from his chin and lifts the controller up in his hands as another roar from the TV ackowledges another score.

GAME COMMENTATOR

Oh, that was magnificent!

PHIL

Oh you Leeds faced wanker.

He slings the controller on the floor and picks the phone up again.

PHIL

Mick? Yeah, sorry, about that. I think I need to buy another couple of centre backs. But you can't get owt decent for less than about ten million. What?

PHIL

Nah, I told you, I'm staying in mate. No coin. Can't even afford a pretend footballer, let alone a few pints.

Phil listens as Mick natters on the other end of the phone.

PHIL

Yeah? Is she? What, now?

INT. BUSY PUB. - CONTINUOUS

Mick is on his mobile, playing the bandit. He is around the same age as Phil, dressed in casual clobber, bald head, bit of a scally.

MICK

Mate, I'm stood looking at her. Her and that Karla McKenna and a couple of others.

He looks across at a group of girls laughing around a table. They are late twenties, well dressed, all made up.

MICK

Oh yes, as a butchers dog mate. What? Oh piss off, I'll lend you a few bar. Yeah, no bother. Just sling yer jacket on and get down here pronto. Gladdy and Dave are coming out an'all. Yeah. I'll have one waiting for yer.

He hangs up and presses a few buttons. The reels come in. He looks at them. Nothing.

MICK

Bastard.

He feels in the coin tray at the bottom of the bandit, Nothing. He drains his pint and moves to the bar.

CUT TO:

INT. BATHROOM FULL OF STEAM - MOMENTS LATER

Phil is singing in the shower.

CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM - MOMENTS LATER

Phil sprays deodourant under his armpit

CUT TO:

INT. WARDROBE - MOMENTS LATER

Phil's hand selects a polo shirt from his wardobe.

CUT TO:

INT. HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER

Phil laces up a pair of trainers.

CUT TO:

INT. PHIL'S LIVING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER

Phil retrieves his jacket from the back of the couch.

We hear the front door slam.

CUT TO:

P.O.V. TV SCREEN - CONTINUOUS

The score shows HULL CITY 1 LEEDS UTD 6

GAME COMMENTATOR

And this is becoming something of an embarrassment ...

INT. BUSY PUB. - LATER

Phil, Dave and Gladdy are sat round a table. Mick returns with four lagers. He sets them on the table and sits down.

GLADDY

You beauty.

PHIL

Yeah cheers Mick.

Mick slides in next to Phil and slips him two twenty pound notes.

MICK

Here you go.

PHIL

Aw, Mick, you're a life saver. Next week alright?

MICK

Yeah no problem. Whenever. Had a proper result today.

PHIL

Winner?

MICK

Treble.

He raises his finger to his lips in a "silence" gesture and tilts his head towards the other two who are arguing.

GLADDY

So you're seriously telling me you wouldn't give her one?

DAVE

Nah. Dunt do owt for me.

PHIL

Who you on about?

GLADDY

That Jodie Marsh. He reckons he wunt shag it.

DAVE

No way.

GLADDY

Bollocks. You'd crawl over broken glass to wank in her shadow.

DAVE

I aren't about that Gladdy. I don't want a bird like that.

GLADDY

A bird like what?

MICK

One that he can't deflate afterwards.

DAVE

I'm serious. I don't want just a shag. I want a proper relationship. Summat proper that'll last. Like that, look.

He points across the pub.

CUT TO:

INT. TABLE AT FAR CORNER OF ROOM. - CONTINUOUS

We see an elderly man kiss his elderly lady companion afectionately on the cheek. She giggles and pushes him away.

CUT TO:

INT. PHIL, MICK, GLADDY AND DAVE TABLE - CONTINUOUS

DAVE

There you go, that's what its all about.

GLADDY

Who, Les and Peggy?

DAVE

Absolutely. True love. Thirty years of happiness. Can't beat it. Made for each other.

MICK

Yeah, like him out of Queen and that bird off Eastenders.

GLADDY

Freddy Mercury? He was an arse bandit wan't he?

MICK

No yer soft twat, the other one with all the hair, like a poodle on his head.

PHIL

Brian May.

MICK

That's him. Went out with her off Eastenders. Perfect match. She even had the same hair do as him.

DAVE

It's a wig that.

GLADDY

What's a wig?

DAVE

Her out of Eastenders.

MICK

Are we on about the same bird here?

DAVE

Landlady out of Eastenders?

MICK

Yeah, Anita Dobson.

DAVE

I don't know what her name is in that, but she definitely wears a wig, I read it in one of our lasses magazines.

PHIL

Serious?

DAVE

Oh aye. Worn it for years apparentley. Can't tell can yer?

GLADDY

No.

DAVE

Mind you, I'm always too busy looking at her tits.

Dave cups two large imaginary breasts.

Phil looks puzzled.

PHIL

Anita Dobson ant got big tits.

DAVE

Mebbe not now she ant, but I still imagine her when she was younger, in that Carry On Camping.

He mimes the famous Barbra Windsor chest exercise "bra popping" scene in Carry On Camping.

MICK

That's not Anita Dobson, that's Barbra Windsor you dopey twat!

DAVE

Is that her real name?

MICK

No, she's ... oh forget it. Forget it.

Phil sees Ellie has gone to the bar and is waiting to be served. He is entranced. The lad's banter fades into a background murmur.

GLADDY

I said I'm not a frigging cactus!

MICK

It's no good, he's left the village.

Gladdy waves his hand in front of Phil's staring eyes. Phil suddenly becomes aware of him.

PHIL

Ey? What? What's up.

GLADDY

Oh hello nice of you to join us.

Gladdy waves his empty pint glass.

GLADDY

Scream em in Phillipo!

Phil drains his pint and stands up.

PHIL

Same again?

GLADDY

Thought you'd never ask.

MICK

Get us some nuts as well. Dry roasted.

PHIL

Alright.

Phil pushes his way to the bar and stands beside Ellie.

INT. BAR - CONTINUOUS

PHIL

Alright?

She does a double take, then smiles.

ELLIE

Oh hiya. Dint recognise you without yer hard hat.

PHIL

Ah well I only wear it on special occasions.

ELLIE

I think it suits yer. They all love it when you and your mates come in. Like a Diet Coke break.

PHIL

Don't tell Macca that, you'll never get rid of him.

Ellie laughs.

ELLIE

So what happened today? Gone all health conscious have we?

PHIL

Beg your pardon?

ELLIE

You dint come in for your bacon butty. What's up, you watching your figure?

PHIL

Well someone's got to ant they.

The barmaid approaches Ellie.

BARMAID

Yes love?

PHIL

Here I'll get you this.

ELLIE

Oh no you're alright, I'm in a round.

PHIL

That's OK - what you having?

ELLIE

Oh well if you're sure. Malibu and coke.

PHIL

(to barmaid)

Malibu and coke.

ELLIE

And a vodka and slimline tonic, an amarretto and lemonade, and a bacardi and coke.

PHIL

Right.

BARMAID

Owt else.

One of Ellie's pals, Marie, suddenly taps Ellie on the shoulder.

MARIE

You been served El?

ELLIE

Er ... well, yeah.

MARIE

Get Janine and Kelly a Cheeky Vimto.

PHIL

(wearily to barmaid)

And two Cheeky Vimtos.

The barmaid turns to get the drinks. Phil's putting a brave face on.

ELLIE

Sorry about that, it's just ... well, it's me mate's birthday. They're all on one.

PHIL

Hey, don't worry about it. You can get me one next time.

ELLIE

I'll put a bit more sauce in your buttie shall I?

Before Phil can answer, the barmaid returns with the drinks.

BARMAID

Do you want a tray?

ELLIE

Yes please.

The barmaid puts them all on the tray and Ellie picks it up.

ELLIE

Thanks for the drink.

PHIL

Yeah. No bother.

Ellie takes the tray of drinks back to her table.

BARMAID

Sixteen seventy four.

Phil is gazing at Ellie's back.

BARMAID

Hello?

Phil snaps back to attention.

PHIL

Sorry?

BARMAID

Sixteen seventy four. Please.

PHIL

Right. Oh, and er four pints of lager.

BARMAID

What lager?

PHIL

Cheapest.

CUT TO:

INT. PHIL, MICK, GLADDY AND DAVE TABLE - MOMENTS LATER

Phil returns with four pints of lager. Dave and Gladdy are sat there, Mick is missing.

GLADDY

...So they walk along the beach for a bit and then he stops and he says "Hey Bob you'll never guess who I'm shagging."

Dave laughs the hollow laugh of someone who doesn't get the joke.

Beat.

DAVE

So who is he shagging?

GLADDY

Oh never mind.

PHIL

Are we staying in here all night or what?

GLADDY

Dunno. Think Mick wants to go to casino.

PHIL

Bollocks to that. I've gotta be on a bus at half nine in morning.

GLADDY

On a Sunday? Where you going?

PHIL

Where d'yer think? Church, same as always.

DAVE

Which church do you go to Phil?

PHIL

Er, St Nick's.

DAVE

That's me Nana's church.

PHIL

Is it? Well if I see her I'll say hello.

DAVE

Ah, that's nice of yer Phil.

PHIL

I'm a nice bloke Dave. What does she look like?

Dave looks puzzled.

DAVE

What, now? Dunno. She's dead.

Phil splutters on his pint and exchanges a look with Gladdy.

PHIL

Where is Mick anyway?

Gladdy mimes slotting coins into a bandit.

PHIL

Oh right. Silly question.

GLADDY

Where you really going?

PHIL

What tomorrow? Got the bain ant I. Got to be at Lady Muck's for half ten.

GLADDY

You going all the way up there on a bus?

PHIL

Well I did consider hiring a hot air balloon but I thought it might be a bit ostentatious y'know what I mean.

DAVE

Where's yer car?

PHIL

Donald ducked. So I got to be up early. Which means I aren't going to no casino.

GLADDY

You might win.

Phil catches sight of Ellie walking out with her mates and a group of blokes. One of the blokes puts his arm round Ellie's waist and whispers in her ear. She giggles as they all exit. She turns and glances back at Phil just before she disappears.

Phil follows them out with his eyes. He is visibly deflated.

There is a sudden chugging noise from the fruit machine - the steady clatter of coins hitting the tray. It goes on and on.

The lads all look across at Mick. He looks back at them and winks, gives the thumbs up.

Phil drains his glass.

PHIL

Yeah. I might.

He holds his glass up to Gladdy.

PHIL

Scream em in.

CUT TO:

MONTAGE OF THE LADS IN THE CASINO - ROULETTE WHEELS SPINNING, CARDS BEING DEALT, FRUIT MACHINES WINKING ON AND OFF, DRINKS BEING SUNK ... MICK SCOOPING UP A LOAD OF CHIPS ... GLADDY SLUMPED IN A CHAIR ASLEEP ... PHIL PUTTING A LOAD OF CHIPS ONTO A SINGLE NUMBER ... WATCHING IN BEFUDDLED DISMAY AS THE COURIER SCOOPS ALL HIS CHIPS AWAY.

CUT TO:

EXT. STREET IN THE MIDDLE OF TOWN - NIGHT

Mick and Phil staggering up the street, holding each other up. They sing together :

MICK AND PHIL

Silverware! We don't care! We'll follow Hull City everywhere! Silverware! We don't care! We'll follow Hull City everywhere! Silverware ....

(to fade)

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. BEDROOM - MORNING

The radio alarm clock on the bedside table bursts into life - a cheesy local radio station playing some inane jingle.

ADVERT MAN

Yes that's right! There's never been a better time to buy!

ADVERT MAN

At Hanson Electrical, quality comes as standard and satisfaction is guaranteed! But hurry! These offers cannot last - get down to Hansons today and we'll make you an offer you can't refuse!

Phil's hand shoots out from under the covers and hits the SNOOZE button. The jingle is cut dead.

Phil rouses himself from under the sheets. He pulls himself up into a sitting postion and gapes and yawns.

He sits rubbing his eyes for a few seconds and slumps back, staring into space.

Then he suddenly bolts upright and starts scrambling among the stuff on his bedside table.

He locates his wristwatch and looks at it.

9 : 50 am.

PHIL

Shite!

He bounds out of bed and starts throwing on his clothes, which are scattered around the bedroom.

INT. PHIL'S LIVING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER

A hastily dressed Phil finds his jacket slung over the back of the couch. He digs out his mobile and punches in a number.

INT. TAXI - CONTINUOUS

BARRY is driving through the city centre. Slim Whitman plays on the Cd player. His mobile is mounted on the dashboard in front of him. It buzzes. The display reads PHIL R. He presses a button and adjusts the ear piece in his ear.

BARRY

Now then.

INT. PHIL'S LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

PHIL

Alright Barr, listen can you gis a lift up to Kirkella?

INT. TAXI - CONTINUOUS

BARRY

Yeah, course I can. When do you wanna go?

BARRY

What, right this very minute? Well, it's a bit ... oh right, I get yer, yeah, alright, alright, calm down. Stand outside, I'll be there in five.

He looks into the rear view mirror. We see an old lady sat in the back, knitting.

BARRY

Fancy a ride to Kirkella, mam?

BARRY'S MAM

What about Arthur and Alice?

BARRY

We'll see them after. Come on, it'll be nice.

Beat.

BARRY'S MAM

Our Janice used to live up that way. Some nice houses up there.

EXT. PHIL'S HOUSE. - MOMENTS LATER

Phil is hopping from foot to foot, looking up and down the street anxiously.

We see Barry's car turn into the street. Phil moves into the road and waves.

The car stops and Phil gets in.

INT. TAXI - CONTINUOUS

PHIL

Aw, thanks a million for this Barry.

BARRY

No bother my mate.

EXT. STREET - CONTINUOUS

The car moves off.

INT. TAXI - CONTINUOUS

Phil looks at the CD player.

PHIL

What's this shite you've got on?

BARRY

It's for me Mam.

Phil looks at him askance. Barry tilts his head backwards to indicate his Mam in the back seat. Phil turns round.

PHIL

Oh, hiya Elsie. Didn't see you there.

BARRY'S MAM

(to Barry)

Who's that?

BARRY

It's Phil! You remember Phil, Mam.

BARRY'S MAM

Is he one of them Kosovans?

BARRY

No, it's Phil! Remember Mally Reynolds, who used to bring us fish round? That's Phil's Dad!

BARRY'S MAM

I don't like fish. Never liked fish. Gives me heartburn.

PHIL

(to Barry)

Sorry Barry, was you taking her out somewhere?

BARRY

Nah. Just driving her round.

(he lowers his voice to a conspirital mutter)

She's gone downhill a bit since you last saw her. Not the full shilling, yer with me?

PHIL

Ah, right.

Phil is suddenly jabbed from behind by a knitting needle.

PHIL

Agh!

BARRY'S MAM

And you keep your hands where I can see them. Dirty bloody foreigner!

BARRY

Mam! Behave!

He reaches down into the well near the gear stick and takes a sweet from an open packet.

He hands it over his shoulder to his mother.

BARRY

Ere y'are, have a cough goodie.

It's taken from his hand.

BARRY'S MAM

Don't give him one.

BARRY

I won't. Just do your knitting we'll be there in a minute.

BARRY'S MAM

Shouldn't even be in this country.

PHIL

How long's she been like this?

BARRY

About six months, off and on. She has good days and bad days, you know what I mean.

BARRY'S MAM

Dirty thieving bloody Arab.

BARRY

This is a good day.

INT. LARGE MODERN FITTED KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER

A young boy, SEAN, sits at the table, cross armed and sullen. He is dressed ina tracksuit. A man of around 45, COLIN, is sat opposite him, cleaning golf clubs.

A woman in her mid thirties enters - KAREN. She stomps over to the large oven, opens it up and takes out a baking tray with croissants on them.

She transfers the croissants into a bowl and bangs them angrily onto the table.

KAREN

They're red hot.

She looks up at the kitchen clock. It says 10:15 am.

KAREN

Five more minutes and if he's not here he can piss off.

SEAN

How can he piss off if he's not here?

KAREN

Less of the language, you, else you wont be going anywhere.

Sean rolls her eyes and picks up a knife. She opens the tub of Olivio which is on the table.

KAREN

You don't need butter, there's butter already in them.

Sean puts the knife down and folds his arms again. He looks at Colin, who rolls his eyes and smiles.

INT. TAXI - MOMENTS LATER

BARRY

Where's your car then?

PHIL

Garage. Cam shaft went.

BARRY

Oh shit, that's a dear do innit?

PHIL

Three hundred bar. Right pain in the ring.

BARRY

Ouch.

PHIL

Aye. And they wont give me it back til I give em the coin. Half tempted to tell em to keep the bloody thing.

BARRY'S MAM

Where's Arthur? Where's Alice?

BARRY

Won't be long Mam.

(to Phil)

Where does she live again?

PHIL

Westella Road.

Barry whistles through his teeth.

BARRY

Nice. Done alright for herself ant she?

PHIL

It's all his innit. Colin, the man with the Midas touch.

BARRY

What's he like? Wanker?

PHIL

Nah, he's alright, to be fair. It's her. You'd think she'd be happy swanning about in his beamer like Lady Shite, but she's got a face like a permanently smacked arse.

He gets another dig from a knitting needle from behind.

PHIL

Agh!

BARRY'S MAM

Mind your bloody language!

PHIL

Sorry Elsie!

BARRY'S MAM

Kosovan bastard.

Phil rubs his shoulder and points out of the window.

PHIL

Ere y'are Barry, this next right turn here.

EXT. WIDE ROAD WITH LARGE EXPENSIVE HOUSES EITHER SIDE - CONTINUOUS

The taxi turns into a large gravelled drive that leads up to a large detached house in an immaculate expanse of garden.

EXT. COLIN AND KAREN'S DRIVEWAY - CONTINUOUS

The taxi comes to a halt and Phil gets out.

EXT. COLIN AND KAREN'S HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

Karen's angry face appears at the window. She disappears.

EXT. COLIN AND KAREN'S HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

As Phil approaches the door, it swings open and he is confronted by an angry Karen.

KAREN

Are you taking the piss?

PHIL

What? I'm not that late am I?

KAREN

Ten o'clock Phil. Ten til five thirty. That's the deal.

PHIL

Well I'm here now aren't I. Where is he?

KAREN

Getting his bag.

She turns and shouts into the house.

KAREN

Sean! Sean!

She turns back to Phil and looks beyond him to Barry's taxi.

KAREN

Who's that?

PHIL

Barry.

KAREN

Yes, I know that - who's that sat in the back?

PHIL

His Mam.

Barry waves from the taxi. Karen doesn't wave back.

KAREN

(to Phil)

Stay there.

She turns and stomps back into the house.

KAREN

Sean!

Colin appears at the doorway carrying a bag of golf clubs. He is decked out in expensive golfing gear.

COLIN

Alright Phil.

PHIL

Col.

He nods at the golf clubs.

PHIL

Nice day for it.

COLIN

Yeah, well, I ant been for a bit. Thought I'd best keep me hand in.

He walks to a large silver Lexus and opens the boot, slings in the golf clubs.

COLIN

You should come with us one Sunday.

PHIL

Yeah I might do.

COLIN

Springhead. I'll sign you in. Nice little course. Nowt too challenging.

PHIL

Just as well.

COLIN

What's your handicap?

PHIL

Sorta Stephen Hawkings level

COLIN

Stephen Hawkings?

Beat.

Colin looks puzzled and then he smiles and points at Phil.

COLIN

Like it.

Colin pulls on a pair of driving gloves and gets in the Lexus.

Sean exits the house carrying an Adidas holdall. Karen follows close behind.

KAREN

And don't be losing your temper and getting sent off again. Showing me up.

SEAN

Yeah whatever. Hiya Dad.

PHIL

Alright mate.

They turn and head for Barry's taxi.

KAREN

Half past five! Phil!

PHIL

Yeah, you said.

They pass the Lexus. Colin winds the window down.

COLIN

Go get em Buster!

SEAN

Yeah.

Phil smiles at Colin then looks down at Sean as they near Barry's taxi.

PHIL

Buster?

SEAN

(rolling his eyes)

Don't ...

They get into the taxi.

INT. TAXI - CONTINUOUS

SEAN

Alright Barry.

BARRY

Alright mate. Hey Mam, shift over, let Sean sit down.

She does so. Sean squeezes in next to her.

BARRY'S MAM

(leans down conspiratorily to Sean)

I'm glad you're here Arthur. These two are up to summat. I can tell.

She indicates Phil and Barry, who exchange bemused looks.

BARRY'S MAM

They must think I fell off a bastard Christmas tree.

Barry starts the car up and they set off.

EXT. FOOTBALL PLAYING FIELDS. - LATER

Numerous games are in play as Barry's Taxi draws up near the touchline. Sean and Phil get out.

Phil leans in and offers Barry a fiver.

INT. TAXI - CONTINUOUS

PHIL

Here y'are Barr.

BARRY

Piss off!

PHIL

No, come on, take it mate, you're losing money by running me around.

BARRY

Don't be soft.

PHIL

Are you sure?

BARRY

Put it away daft twat. Get us a pint next time you see us.

PHIL

You're a star. Cheers Barry.

He smiles at Barry's Mam in the back.

PHIL

Tara Elsie.

She sniffs dismissively and taps on the window to Sean.

BARRY'S MAM

Goodbye Arthur! Lovely to see you again. Give my love to Alice.

Phil looks at the large trail of knitting that swamps the seat around her.

PHIL

(to Barry)

What's she knitting?

BARRY

A jumper for our Julie's bain.

PHIL

How old's the bain?

BARRY

Six months. It should fit him by the time he leaves school.

Phil laughs and bangs the top of the car.

PHIL

Tara Barr.

BARRY

Laters.

The car drives off.

EXT. FOOTBALL PLAYING FIELDS. - CONTINUOUS

Sean is running towards his game.

SEAN

Come on Dad!

CUT TO:

MONTAGE OF KIDS PLAYING FOOTBALL, PARENTS SHOUTING ENCOURAGEMENT, GOALS GOING IN, DOG RUNNING ONTO THE PITCH, REF BLOWING WHISTLE ETC ETC ... WE SEE SEVERAL SHOTS OF A RED FACED BLOKE SCREAMING AGGRESSIVELY AT HIS SON, THE REFEREE, OTHER PLAYERS ETC ... PHIL LOOKS AT HIM AND SHAKES HIS HEAD IN BEMUSEMENT ... CUTS AWAY TO OTHER BITS OF ACTION ON THE PITCH - CONTINUOUS

CUT TO:

EXT. FOOTBALL PITCH - MOMENTS LATER

Sean receives a pass and sets off up the touchline, dribbling round attempted tackles and sending opposing players the wrong way with neat little body swerves etc.

A big lad comes sailing in over the top of the ball, studs showing and goes right through Sean, who crumples to the floor.

PHIL

Referee! Fucks sake!

The ref comes running over and whips out a red card. He holds it up in front of the big lad, who stands defiantly, hands on hips.

REFEREE

Right! You - off!

BIG LAD

What for?

REFEREE

You know what for - get off.

Sean jumps to his feet and lashes a boot out at the big lad.

SEAN

You fuckin wanker!

The big lad evades the boot and Sean lunges for him, but Phil is on the pitch and dragging him back.

PHIL

Sean! Leave it! SEAN!

The referee holds the red card up to Sean.

REFEREE

You an'all - off!

The big lad's Dad comes stomping over. His face is purple with fury, he's spitting aggression.

BIG LAD'S DAD

Oi! What you doing? What you sending him off for?

REFEREE

Dangerous play, they're both off!

SEAN

I dint do owt!

REFEREE

You retaliated.

PHIL

Well wouldn't you have done? He nearly took his bastard leg off!

BIG LAD

It was a fair tackle!

PHIL

Fair tackle? How was that a fair tackle?

The Big Lad's Dad gets right in Phil's face.

BIG LAD'S DAD

You wanna control that lad of yours mate. He's a fuckin disgrace.

PHIL

Are you for real?

BIG LAD

Tosser!

Sean flies at the big lad again. Phil drags him back and holds him. Sean's shirt rips at the collar.

The referee blows his whistle repeatedly.

REFEREE

Off! I said off! Pair of yer!

Phil marches a seething Sean away from the pitch.

The Big Lad's Dad come marching after him.

BIG LAD'S DAD

Ey! You! Fuckin fanny!

PHIL

(to Sean)

How many times have I got to tell yer? Don't retaliate!

SEAN

He nearly cut me in half! Look at me leg!

Phil glances down. Sean's legs is bleeding.

PHIL

I dont care Sean, you can't kick em back. You'll just end up losing out.

BIG LAD'S DAD

Oi! Wanker! I'm talking to you!

PHIL

You've got to learn to how to be the bigger man. Turn the other cheek.

BIG LAD'S DAD

EY! DON'T TURN YOUR BACK ON ME, YER TWAT!

The Big Lad's Dad catches up with Phil, claps a hand on his shoulder and spins him round.

BIG LAD'S DAD

I SAID ...

Phil sticks the nut on him, full in the kisser. He goes down like a bag of shite.

His son stands over him.

BIG LAD

Dad! Dad, get up!

Phil turns away and drags Sean with him. Sean laughs and points.

INT. MCDONALDS - LATER

Sean is sucking moodily on a milkshake. Phil drinks a cup of coffee.

PHIL

How's the leg?

SEAN

Alright.

PHIL

At least it's stopped bleeding.

SEAN

Yeah.

PHIL

I'm gonna be in right bother with your Mam.

SEAN

You should be used to it by now.

PHIL

What's that supposed to mean?

SEAN

Nowt.

Beat.

PHIL

Listen I'm sorry about your shirt Sean. I'll get you another one.

SEAN

Don't worry about it. Colin'll get me one.

PHIL

I said I'll get you one. Alright?

Sean shrugs.

Phil looks at his watch.

PHIL

We'd better get going.

SEAN

Why? We dont have to be back while half five.

PHIL

I know, but we've got to get a bus.

SEAN

A bus? Where's yer car?

PHIL

Knackered.

SEAN

Still? It's been knackered for about three weeks!

Phil finishes his coffee and stands up.

PHIL

Come on.

SEAN

I ant finished me shake.

PHIL

Bring it with yer.

Sean sighs and gets to his feet. He picks his bag up and slouches towards the door.

PHIL

Oi!

SEAN

What?

Phil points to the tray with the debris of the food and wrappers.

PHIL

Clear your crap up.

SEAN

They have servants who do that.

PHIL

Do as you're told.

Sean tuts loudly but does as he's told.

Phil opens the door for him.

PHIL

Come on.

EXT. BUS STOP - MOMENTS LATER

A bus draws up. Phil and Sean get on.

EXT. ANOTHER BUS STOP - LATER

A bus draws up. Phil and Sean get off.

EXT. COLIN AND KAREN'S HOUSE - LATER

As Phil and Sean get to the front door it's opened by Karen. She is pointing to her watch.

PHIL

Yeah yeah, alright, I know.

KAREN

Don't yeah yeah alright me Phil. We have set times that we agreed on.

Sean walks past Karen. Phil remains on the step.

SEAN

See yer Dad.

PHIL

Ta ra mate. See yer next week!

KAREN

Not if you can't keep to the agreed times you wont.

She turns and yells to Sean.

KAREN

And don't be on that computer! Maths homework!

SEAN

(shouting over his shoulder as he disappears into front room)

I ant got any.

KAREN

I haven't got any!

PHIL

I ant got any either.

Karen rounds on him angrily.

KAREN

Well that's just as well innit, cos you're just as crap at maths as you are at telling the time. What happened to last months money?

PHIL

What you on about?

KAREN

You know exactly what I'm on about.

PHIL

I told you, the bank dropped a bollock. You'll get double this month.

KAREN

I hope for your sake we do. I don't see why Sean should suffer just because you can't get yourself organised.

PHIL

Suffer? He's hardly suffering is he?

KAREN

You will be if you don't sort that money out. I mean it Phil, I'm not chasing you every month.

She peers closely at Phil's forehead.

KAREN

What you done to your head?

PHIL

What?

KAREN

You got a lump on your head like an egg.

PHIL

Oh that. Bumped it this morning.

KAREN

Yeah well. Shame it didn't bump some sense into yer.

PHIL

Listen ...

KAREN

No, you listen Phil - if you miss another month we're back in court. I aren't joking.

PHIL

(correcting her)

I'm not joking.

She points at him.

KAREN

Don't you dare take the piss out of me. Sort yourself out mister, or we'll be having words, and they wont be pleasant ones either.

Beat

PHIL

I suppose this is a bad time to ask to lend a quid off yer?

KAREN

A what? A quid? Are you serious?

PHIL

Oh no, don't tell me you're skint as well.

KAREN

What do want a quid for?

PHIL

The bus.

She shakes her head at him.

KAREN

Walk. The exercise'll do yer good.

She turns to go back into the house.

PHIL

That's what I miss about you Karen.

She turns back to face him.

KAREN

What?

Beat

PHIL

Fuck all.

Karen slams the door shut.

Phil turns and starts walking back up the drive.

EXT. GATES AT TOP OF DRIVE - CONTINUOUS

Colin's Lexus turns into the drive. Colin gives the thumbs up as he drives past Phil. Phil returns the gesture.

He holds the "thumbs up" as Colin drives past and Phil walks out onto the road.

EXT. ROADSIDE - CONTINUOUS

Phil looks at his thumb and then sticks it out in a hitch hiking gesture as he starts to trudge down the road. Cars pass him without stopping.

EXT. ANOTHER ROAD SIDE - LATER

Phil is walking, occasionally glancing over his shoulder as cars pass him.

EXT. TOP OF PHIL'S STREET - LATER

Phil is walking towards his house. He sees a scruffy bloke banging on his door. It's his brother Eric. He's got a carrier bag with him.

PHIL

Oh marvelous.

He turns and starts walking in the opposite direction. But he's too late.

ERIC

Phil! Oi! Phil!

Phil stops in his tracks, rolls his eyes.

He turns back round.

Eric is waving a rolled up newspaper above his head in cheery greeting.

Phil sighs and begins walking back to his house.

INT. PHIL'S LIVING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER

Eric is sat playing Grand Theft Auto on Phil's X Box. Phil enters with two cups of tea.

PHIL

Ere y'are Eric.

ERIC

Oh nice one our kid.

Phil puts it down next to him.

ERIC

This is ace this. I dint know you had this one.

PHIL

It's not mine, I borrowed it off Gladdy.

ERIC

They're dear to buy aren't they?

PHIL

Some of em are yeah.

ERIC

How much are they?

PHIL

Bout thirty quid I think.

ERIC

Fuckin hell! You can get a quarter of skunk for that! Die mother fucker!

P.O.V. TV SCREEN - CONTINUOUS

We see the game character in a gun battle with other gang members. He dies in a hail of bullets.

ERIC

Bastards! Smoked me.

He hands the controller to Phil.

PHIL

No you're alright. I've had enough senseless agression for one day.

ERIC

Why, what happened?

PHIL

Sunday innit.

ERIC

Is it?

PHIL

Yeah.

ERIC

What, today?

He looks at Eric.

PHIL

You literally don't know what day it is do yer?

ERIC

No.

Beat.

ERIC

Been to see the bain?

PHIL

Yeah.

ERIC

How is my favourite nephew?

PHIL

He's alright, it's her.

ERIC

She still got that giant icicle up her arse?

PHIL

Just a bit.

ERIC

Ah well, never mind.

Eric picks up the carrier bag he brought in and rummages around in it. He produces packets of bacon.

ERIC

Here you go.

PHIL

No ta.

ERIC

Four packets for a tenner.

PHIL

I'm alright ta.

ERIC

Good gear this. Maple smoked back bacon. Not shite this.

PHIL

I said no.

Eric throws the bacon back in the bag, pulls out a packet of razors.

ERIC

Razors?

PHIL

I dont want owt off yer Eric.

ERIC

Gillette! The best a man can get!

PHIL

Are they really.

ERIC

Five blades these bastards have got!

PHIL

Put em away.

Eric does so, crestfallen.

ERIC

The electricity's gone in me house.

PHIL

So what? You ant got a telly.

ERIC

Well can you lend us a tenner then?

PHIL

Piss off Eric. I aren't giving you a tenner for you to stick straight in yer arm.

ERIC

It's for a leccy token.

PHIL

I'm skint.

ERIC

I'm sat in the dark in our house!

PHIL

Nick some candles.

ERIC

Oh that's frigging charming innit. Me own brother and you can't even lend me a tenner to light me house and run a bath.

PHIL

I ant got any money Eric. Anyway, I thought you got your dole on Fridays. You ant spent it already have yer?

ERIC

I'm not on the dole, cheeky twat.

PHIL

Well whatever it is you get then. Emergency aid.

ERIC

Disability.

PHIL

Are you for real? What disability have you got apart from chronic hemorrhoids and a limp?

ERIC

I'm on the script aren't I.

PHIL

Script? You? You can barely friggin read!

ERIC

Methadone script.

PHIL

Oh I do beg your pardon. Anyway, you can sod off, you still owe me money.

ERIC

What? When was the last time I borrowed owt off you?

PHIL

Joking arent yer? Yer like a blind mans cane.

ERIC

You what?

PHIL

Tap tap tap.

ERIC

Oh yeah, that's right, take the piss out of blind people.

PHIL

Do yer know summat Eric? For a junkie you can be a right sanctimonious twat.

ERIC

You cheeky get, I'm not a junkie. I've been clean for ages now.

PHIL

How long this time?

Eric considers this question.

Beat.

ERIC

What day is it again?

PHIL

Sunday.

ERIC

Nearly two days.

PHIL

Wow.

ERIC

There's no need to be sarcastic.

PHIL

I wasn't actually. That's quite good for you Eric.

ERIC

That's what I thought.

PHIL

Congratulations.

ERIC

Ta. So can you lend us a tenner then?

PHIL

Can I frig.

ERIC

Right, I'll be off.

He stands up. He's clutching his track suit top awkwardly to himself. Phil stares down at him.

PHIL

Summat wrong?

ERIC

What?

Phil nods down at Eric's hand clutching at his stomach.

ERIC

Oh. Just a bit of belly ache.

PHIL

Oh no! You alright?

He reaches out to place a reassuring hand on Eric, but his brother dodges backwards.

ERIC

I'll be alright bro, I'll just get meself home and have a few temazzies. Alright, nice one, I'll be seeing yer, thanks for the cuppa ...

He turns quickly to go.

PHIL

Yeah, see yer Eric.

Phil bobs down behind his brother, and in one swift tug reaches and pulls Eric's trackie bottoms down. Three Xbox games clatter to the floor.

They both stare at them. Eric gives a sheepish grin.

ERIC

Can I ... er, can I borrow these?

PHIL

You need a machine to play em on.

ERIC

Right. Well in that case ... I wont bother then.

PHIL

Best not.

He nods towards the door. Eric pulls his trackie bottoms up.

EXT. PHIL'S FRONT DOOR. - MOMENTS LATER

ERIC

Ta ra Phil. Sorry about that bro. You know how it is.

PHIL

Yeah. Listen, have you been to see Mam.

ERIC

No. Why, has she got some money?

PHIL

No, I meant been to see her to ... y'now, just go and see her.

ERIC

What the fuck for?

Beat.

PHIL

Yeah. Alright, see yer Eric.

ERIC

Tara.

Phil watches his brother shuffle off up the street. At one point he kicks a discarded fag packet and picks it up, shakes it next to his ear, then throws it away again.

Phil closes the door.

INT. PHIL'S LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Phil moves the Sunday paper that Eric has left to one side and switches the telly on, flicks through a few channels.

He turns it off.

He picks the paper up and starts flicking through it.

His gaze settles on one page.

P.O.V. NEWSPAPER - LOTTO RESULTS.

Phil reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his Lottery ticket.

He checks the numbers.

He frowns.

He checks again.

P.O.V. LOTTERY TICKET HELD AGAINST THE NEWSPAPER PAGE. - CONTINUOUS

We see that the numbers match exactly.

CUT TO:

FULL SHOT OF PHIL'S FACE, FROZEN IN SHOCK.

PHIL

Oh. My. God.

TO BLACK

TO BE CONTINUED ....

The Surliness Of The Short Distance Runner

I have recently taken to running round the park of a morning. Well, I say "running", it's probably more accurately described as staggering forwards like a dray horse that's just been hit by a tranquilizer dart alternated with short bursts of good old fashioned walking. I am a recent convert to al fresco running in public, having had a short burst of gym membership courtesy of an orange faced lady who offered me a six week trial period under the guise of an extended sun bed session. She seemed incapable of doing anything by the book. "I'll do you a deal" she urged, "I'll put you down as a senior citizen sun bed." The fact that I was neither a senior citizen or had any intention of using the sun bed was immaterial. All that mattered was that she got me signed up.

After a while I got disenchanted with the gym. For a start, I wasn't really getting the full advantage of all the amenities. All I wanted to do was run - I had no interest in any of the other gear in there, most of which seemed to be primarily designed to pelt you about with various degrees of discomfort. And then there was the running itself. Whoever decided to put up a bank of televisions in front of the treadmills wants fucking with an iron railing. And whoever decided to then tune all those televisions into Jeremy Kyle/Big Brother/Endless Pop Videos of Britney Spears wants fucking with an iron railing dipped in hydrochloric acid. It's bad enough having a searing pain in the back of your calves, but having one in each eyeball and both ears as well is like having your freshly ripped open wounds sprayed with industrial strength salt from a council road gritter. It makes an uncomfortable experience completely unbearable.

And then there's the treadmill itself. After a bit I realized it was entirely unsuitable for my needs. When you use a treadmill, you are not actually running. You are merely jumping up and down, usually in time to some heave inducing Euro-pop. I was paying twenty quid a month to jump up and down in front of a Girls Aloud video. Pointless. It was turning my knees to mush and my mind to water.

Added to this are the other people who use gyms. For a start, there was usually some class going on behind me, more often than not a load of divorcees on bikes being shouted at by some demented day-glo lycra clad midget screaming at them to "go to the limit" and "feel the burn". After twenty minutes of this I started having fantasies of burning his pert upturned lycra clad arse with a blowtorch, but this would only probably make him scream louder and longer. As well as the relentlessly demented staff, the other punters were either ridiculously aloof or alarmingly over familiar. One old gadge seemed to attach himself to me like a limpet, hovering at me shoulder in the changing room as I bent over to put me strides on, following me into the showers, lurking at me locker - everywhere I turned he was there, engaged in some rambling never ending anecdote about his recent heart attack and various hospital visits and dietary requirements. After the end of me six-week trial period, I felt I knew every inch of his colon intimately.

So I sacked the gym off and started lumbering round the park. It's free, it's convenient, and it's got no MTV tellies or surviving heart attack victims with verbal diarrhea. I don't know if it's doing me any more physical good. But it's certainly been more entertaining. For a start, parks are crucibles of human oddity, especially first thing in a morning. The added attraction with the park is that you are not on a treadmill and can therefore run away from them.

There are two fellows in particular who intrigue me. I don't know if they are brothers or have made a conscious effort to dress and look the same, but they both look like a cross between Keith Lemon and the fat one out of Junior Senior. They have matching yellow mustaches and black baseball caps and one of them drags a shopping trolley around. Most mornings I see them they are either rooting through the bins or sat at opposite ends of one of the wooden benches, pointedly ignoring each other. I usually give them a cheery nod as I stagger past, but am usually met with the blank impervious gaze of a basilisk. A basilisk with blond eyelashes and last night's dinner smeared round its gob.

I try and do three or four circuits of the park before admitting defeat. What I like about it most is the mental peace. After a bit, your mind goes blank and then all sorts of mad shit starts drifting into the empty spaces that the repetition of running seems to create. I usually start off by listening to music in me head (I have to do it in me head. I can’t wear them earplugs or use an iPod) usually Kraftwerk or something equally machine-like. Then I drift off into various inner landscapes as I go round and round. Occasionally I come across something intriguing. This morning I kicked aside something in me path, stopped to examine it – an elaborately bundled together collection of sticks and three miniature whisky bottles stuffed with leaves and grass and bits of mud. It was like an alcoholic’s version of The Blair Witch Project. Fuck knows what it meant, but I have now convinced meself I have evoked the demon of the park and will be chased round by an invisible banshee every morning from now on. Might be a good thing. Might make me run faster.

Too Hot.

In the last few days I was gonna put posts up about flooding, Glastonbury, diets and tennis. But bollocks to it, it's far too hot to be sat in here.