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CONTEST

Series 1, Episode 3
October 1, 1991

Written by
ADRIAN EDMONDSON and RIK MAYALL

Richie:

Right! Eddie comes in, takes off his coat... [mimes fumes rising] body odour... takes off his hat, sits down to eat his tea. Sees the note. Sees me. Shock! Rescue, rescue, rescue, rescue. Remorse, remorse, guilt, guilt, guilt, whirlwind of self-loathing... and Eddie buys me a drink!

Fiendish!

[He hears Eddie coming in, puts the note on the table, turns the gas on, takes a deep breath, holds it, and puts his head in the oven again. Eddie comes in, takes off his coat, throws his hat to the floor and sits down, unfortunately putting his bag on top of Richie's note. He starts to read the paper. After a while Richie starts to choke and splutter. Eddie looks up, notices Richie, nods, and goes back to his paper. Richie gets up and leans out of the window, gasping for air.]

Richie:

Oh, hello, Eddie!

Eddie:

Oh, bugger off!

Richie:

Hard day at the office?

Eddie:

Yes. I spent an hour with Mrs Longbottom. I spent another hour and a half with that bitch, Mrs Pugh. And then I spent six hours looking for the supervisor's office, and when I got there he cut off my dole.

Richie:

What?

Eddie:

He said I'd got too many savings.

Richie:

Well, how much have you got?

Eddie:

Eleven pounds eighty. He said that ought to keep me going for at least two months.

Richie:

You really are pathetic, aren't you? I mean, you haven't held down a steady job since 1978. You only held that down for ten minutes. 'Bunny Girl'! I told you to keep your trousers on. God, it was like watching a bullfight! So, we've only got eleven pounds eighty to last us for the next two months.

Eddie:

No, we've got thirty pee and a second-hand copy of 'Parade'.

Richie:

What?

Eddie:

It's an investment. Look, I got it for one pound fifty and originally it only cost a shilling. The value of these things is just sky-rocketing!

Richie:

That's pre-decimalisation!

They'll all have their pants on. All right, I'd better look after this.

Eddie:

Ah-ah, no you don't. This is my investment, I'm gonna show this to my grandchildren.

Richie:

I beg your pardon?

Eddie:

Look, this is a genuine first edition of 'Parade'! It's still in it's sealed cellophane wrapper!

Richie:

It doesn't matter how you art it up, Eddie, it's still a jazz mag.

Eddie:

That's what they said to Michaelangelo about the Sistine Chapel.

Richie:

No, it's not! The Sistine Chapel is art. If they said anything they would have said 'Blimey! Nice painting Mr Angelo. Now that's what I call art, and it's not porny at all.'

Eddie:

It bloody well is dirty, you know! There's those three birds on the top of the third pillar from the left with the bit of blue ribbon. Gaww! Some of the things they're doing would make your nose bleed! There's a picture of it in the history of art book, where is it?

Richie:

Oh, well, let's not bother with all that now, Eddie, let's just have dinner.

Eddie:

Here it is, in your study area. That's odd... it's fallen open at the exact page. How extraordinary, it's done it again!

[He holds the book in front of Richie and lets it open. It flops open at the same page. Eddie looks at Richie questioningly.]

Richie:

Yes? Well? I-I've been studying that picture.

Eddie:

Been, er, studying it quite a lot have you? While you're alone in the house?

Richie:

How dare you accuse me of masturbating!

Eddie:

Who said anything about masturbating?

Richie:

You did, just then!

Eddie:

I did not, I just said it's odd how it always falls open at that precise page!

Richie:

Yes, you did, and the reason you said that is because you know that's the picture I always look at when I'm having a w--

[Richie suddenly realizes what he is about to say. There is a long pause, during which he looks very uncomfortable.]

Eleven pounds eighty was all we had to survive on for the next two months! What am I going to feed the children on now?

Eddie:

We haven't got any children.

Richie:

Yes, I know, I know, I was talking metaphorically.

Eddie:

You're talking bollocks!

Richie:

Don't you go using language like that in my house, my lad.

Eddie:

What? English?

Richie:

The language of the guttersnipe. The language of the... of the toilet. The language of the... of the little green things you get when you yank too... and get a big yellow dangly thing..

Eddie:

Oh, shut up. Every day, yakkety-bloody-yak, on and on and on! Day in, day out... slime in this ear, slime in that ear. Just stop talking!

[Eddie goes to the table where he is building a model aeroplane. He picks it up by the tail, accidentally breaking it with a crunch.]

Richie:

You may hate me, Eddie...

Eddie:

Yes, I do.

Richie:

...but you can't live without me, can you? I mean, off you go, gallivanting around the countryside, squandering all our money on 'rhythm' magazines, and then you come swanning in here and expect to have your dinner on the table. And I don't know why I do it, but I've managed to throw together a slap-up dinner for two for no money at all. All the ingredients in tonight's main meal have either been grown, found, or foraged.

Eddie:

Oh dear.

Richie:

So hey! Hey. Hey. Eddie... I forgive you. Come and have your din-dins.

[Richie spits on one of the plates and attempts to guide Eddie to sit down in front of it. Eddie sits on the other chair. Richie silently mouths his frustration.]

Eddie:

What's wrong with these beans?

Richie:

What d'you mean 'wrong'? They're fresh. I grew those in the window-box.

Eddie:

They've got black bits all over them.

Richie:

Well it's just a couple of greenflies, for heaven's sake! Well, they're dead now, they've been under the grill for ages. Really. I watched them pop.

Eddie:

What's this?

Richie:

It's a turnip! What, are you missing the label?

Eddie:

Well, why is it black?

Richie:

It's been grilled!

[Richie eats one of the grilled turnips, which crunches loudly between his teeth.]

Mmgh... hoh, mm mm mm, they have a real texture, don't they? Fresh vegetables. Totally different experience.

Eddie:

Grilled lettuce?

Richie:

No, that's bacon.

Eddie:

But it's green!

Richie:

Yeah?

Eddie:

I can't eat this, it's disgusting!

Richie:

Well what are you going to do then, Egon Ronay? Blow your thirty pence on a slap-up grill down the Savoy?

Eddie:

Pass the tea.

Richie:

Oh, h-hh-hhh-h-hah!

[Richie pours two cups of tea. Eddie looks at his suspiciously.]

Eddie:

What's this?

Richie:

Elm tea. The gypsies swear by it.

Eddie:

I bet they do, I bet they say, 'What the bloody hell's this?'

Richie:

God, it's like living with Lena Zavaroni!

[He takes a sip of tea, but has to spit it back out again.]

Ho, hoh hoh, you can taste the bark can't you? Perhaps a little less wood next time.

Eddie:

Is there any pudding?

Richie:

Ooh, yes, plenty of pud.

Eddie:

Right, I'm off. At least there's something fantastic on telly tonight. I've been looking forward to this for ages!

[Eddie turns the television on and settles down in front of it. Richie switches it off.]

Richie:

You can't watch that, actually.

Eddie:

And why not?

Richie:

'Cause there's something I want to watch on the other side. It's my favourite programme.

[Richie switches the television back on, and changes the channel.]

Eddie:

This is your favourite programme?

Richie:

Yeah.

Eddie:

What is it?

Richie:

[looking at the TV, trying to figure out what he's seeing.] A documentary. And there's a car. Great. Yeah look, it's a documentary about fat old women.

Eddie:

What, are you on it then?

Richie:

Ho ho ha ha, oh yeah, hysterical, Eddie, heartstoppingly funny. You really should be on Channel Four.

Eddie:

Nah, ITV, that's the channel for me. Nothing to worry about and plenty of sauce.

Richie:

Really. And what particularly edifying programme have the light channel prepared for us this evening, that I'm not going to let us watch?

Eddie:

It's 'Miss World', actually.

Richie:

How disgusting. [Aside, mimed.] Shit! [Out loud, refering to the programme on.] Ah ha ha ha, nice statistic.

[Eddie gets up, switches over to 'Miss World', and sits back down again.]

Eddie:

Gawwww! Hwor, hwoorrrgh..

[Richie gets up and switches back to the documentary. Eddie switches back. They keep changing the channel, faster and faster, until the television gets knocked over.]

Richie:

Right, that's it, get out of my house!

Eddie:

I beg your pardon?

Richie:

You heard.

Eddie:

No, I didn't.

Richie:

Well I'm not saying something like that twice, young man!

Eddie:

Well, I can't do anything about it then, can I?

Richie:

Look, this is my house so get out!

Eddie:

You can't throw me out just like that, I've got rights! I pay rent!

Richie:

Ah-h-h, you're supposed to pay rent, I've never actually seen any money.

Eddie:

Well I've been busy, haven't I? How much is it?

Richie:

Eleven thousand, six hundred and forty-five pounds. And sixty-six new pence.

Eddie:

I've got thirty pee.

Richie:

Better get out of my house then, hadn't you?

Eddie:

Well it's not your house, it's your aunt's house.

Richie:

For the purpose of this conversation, I am my aunt.

Eddie:

Hello, Mabel!

Richie:

What, is she here? Shit, hide the fags! [turns to greet Aunty] Hello, Auntie... [no one is there] right, that's it! Get out!

Eddie:

Right, I shall go, Mabel, but I think I ought warn you that if your nephew reads any more art magazines he very well may go blind. Good day to you Madam!

[Eddie leaves. Richie slams the door behind him, then opens it again to shout after him.]

Richie:

And good riddance! To bad rubbish! [To himself.] That was clever.

[He puts 'Miss World' on and stands watching it. His hands start to stray to his trousers. After an inner struggle he undoes his belt and slides down his trousers. Meanwhile Eddie is outside on the landing, practicing an apology.]

Eddie:

'I'm sorry Richie, you're the tops, let's have another cup of that delicious elm tea.' Hmm. Oh well, it's either that or Nasty Linda's. Hoohgh.

[Eddie walks into the flat behind Richie, who is sitting on the sofa with his trousers around his ankles. Unaware of Eddie watching, Richie performs some limbering-up exercises on his hands... rubbing them together, stretching out his fingers, blowing on them. Eddie coughs softly behind Richie.]

Richie:

Shh!

[Richie goes back to his exercises but suddenly realises Eddie is there. He frantically pulls his trousers back up and switches the television back to the documentary.]

Eddie:

Cor, dear, this isn't very sexy, is it? God, look at the knockers on that one, they're minute!

Richie:

That's because that's Michael Burke.

Eddie:

Well, he's not very saucy, is he? I mean, I'm all for educational programmes, I just think they could, you know, sex them up a bit. What do you think, Richie?

Richie:

Hahahahaha, this is all so silly! I mean, just because the television set got jammed onto the light channel during the fall and at precisely the same moment my trousers accidentally fell down due to heavy housework...

Eddie:

Richie.

Richie:

...there's no reason...

Eddie:

Richie, don't even try it. Just put the TV back onto 'Miss World' and we'll say no more about it.

Richie:

We'll say no more about it?

Eddie:

No.

[Richie switches back to 'Miss World'.]

Richie:

Thanks, Eddie.

Eddie:

Now go away.

Richie:

Right. I'll just go away. Over here. In my going-away place. And here I am... in my going-away place. On my own.

Well, it's a bit of a loose end for me really... Hahha hh-hh-h. So I'll just tidy away the dinner things. Yes, just tidy away the dinner. That I cooked. And nobody ate. [notices his suicide note which Eddie never saw, picks it and slips it onto the shelf near the kitchen window as he carries the plates over] And I'll just throw away the vegetables. [scrapes off plate, out the kitchen window] Onto that man. All the vegetables I spent all day grilling. Off they go. And I'm sure that God's looking down thinking, 'What a good little b--'

Eddie:

Richard, I'm warning you. If you don't shut up and let me watch 'Miss World' I'm going to stuff your head up your bum. And you'll spend the rest of your life wandering around on all fours looking for the light switch.

Richie:

Okay.

[Richie picks up the two teacups and carries them across the kitchen, trembling and clattering. He sits down at the organ, accidentally setting off a rhythm. He plays it madly before managing to turn it off.]

Cor, they don't write tunes like that any more!

[He sits down next to Eddie.]

It's just... I'm just a very lonely person, Eddie.

Eddie:

I'm not bloody surprised!

Richie:

Oh great... 'Miss World'. Cor, cracking birds, aren't they? Do you know how many birds there are in the world?

Eddie:

Yeah, about three billion.

Richie:

Do you know how many of these I've slept with?

Eddie:

Yep.

Richie:

None.

Eddie:

Yeah, I know.

Richie:

I mean, statistically that's really quite phenomenal, isn't it?

Eddie:

Not for an ugly fat bastard like you.

Richie:

I wonder what sort of great bird'd suit me?

Eddie:

Blind one. Well, blind deaf masochist, really.

Richie:

[walking back over to the kitchen] Yeah, I suppose you're right. I mean, me, you know, I was born at the wrong time, you see. I'm more, sort of, Elizabethan. You know, thirteenth century, Shakespeare, the French Revolution, and all that. Ha-hooohaoo, I'm just too intelligent, that's my problem. Ooh, shit! I didn't expect the kettle to be hot! Aw, god, life's horrible! Why haven't I got a girlfriend? I'd look great with a girlfriend.

[He mimes putting his arm around someone.]

Never had a girlfriend. Perhaps I'm the new Messiah. Yeah! Maybe that's it. [stretches out his hand] 'Get up and walk.' Fifty quid. 'Throw away your sticks.' [mimes tripping someone up] Bonk! April Fool! Ha ha, hahahahaha! Oh God I'm bored...

There's the phone. [momentary camera shot of the telephone, which Richie has roamed over near] We haven't had a phone conversation all night, Eddie. I'm great on the phone. [picks up the reciever] 'Hello?' Great. [hangs phone back up, then picks it up again] 'Hi!' Greater. [hangs up, picks up yet again, and roughly loosens his tie] 'Lieutenant Sex Machine, Homicide! Yeah, what time? Damn! I'm gonna nail this sick mother even if the D.A. takes my badge! Chief, just give me twenty-four hours!' [hangs up]

Oh god, I wish I knew what all that meant! Dring! [stuttering, acting afraid] 'Hhhahh...' Dring dring! 'H-hh-hhhhh..' Dring! 'Hhh-hh-h-hello? Look, who is this? Just don't hurt the kid, okay?'

[He turns to Eddie.]

Eddie, Eddie, it's him again, he's got Jamie! Switch on the tape recorder!

[Eddie looks back, bewildered.]

'How much do you want? Forty million billion squillion zillion dollars? What, are you crazy? Oh, you are, sorry, excuse me. Well where am I going to get forty million billion squillion zillion dollars? We've only got thirty pence, Eddie blew the rest on a second-hand copy of "Parade"!'

[Richie slams the phone down and suddenly realizes something.]

Hang on!

[He gets up, striking a chord on the organ as he does so.]

You had eleven pounds eighty. Right? You spent one pound fifty on the porn mag.

Eddie:

Art pamphlet!

Richie:

That is beside the point. One pound fifty from eleven pounds eighty leaves ten pounds thirty. And you've only got thirty. Pee. Where's the other tenner, you grasping little Fagin?

Eddie:

Oh, sod off, you stupid fat git!

Richie:

Don't try to wriggle out of it by being all grown up! What did you squander it on?

Eddie:

I put a bet on 'Miss World'.

Richie:

You put a bet on 'Miss Worl-d'? You put a bet on 'Miss World'! Great! Hah, haw, hwoor, hwooorrgh.

Eddie:

Richie, Richie, this is 'Panorama'.

Richie:

Oh. [changes channel] Gawww-ooh! Great! Which one's ours, old chum?

Eddie:

Miss China.

Richie:

Miss China! All right, where are you, me lovely?

Eddie:

Whop, there she is, there she is!

Richie:

Eddie, you haven't put our money on that old boiler have you?

Eddie:

Come on, me beauty! Mind the steps! Blimey, that's a bit of a nasty tumble.

Richie:

Eddie, she can't even walk!

Eddie:

Hang on, hang on, she's lost a couple of teeth. Spit 'em out dear, they'll never notice!

Richie:

Well, stop smiling, you stupid cow! God, look at her mouth, there should be a lollipop man standing on it stopping the traffic! Eddie, what on earth possessed you to put our money on the Thing from the Swamp?

Eddie:

I got odds of a thousand to one! If she comes in ahead of the pack we stand to make ten thousand quid! Ah, imagine it... lying on the sun-drenched shore as the Caribbean laps at your feet... A scantily-clad maiden brings you your seventeenth large Tequila Sunrise and a slap-up grill for two... Gaww!

Richie:

Yeah... Well, the way Quasimodo's going we'll be lucky to get a wet weekend in Reigate. She's got a tattoo on her face!

Eddie:

No, that's just a bit of blood.

Richie:

Oh, Eddie. Why couldn't you put our money on something decent like, like Miss America?

Eddie:

Oh, pointless Richie. The odds were five to one on. We'd have only made two quid.

Richie:

Yeah, but two quid in the hand's better than a tenner down the lav!

[The picture and sound on the television start to break up.]

What's wrong with the reception?

Eddie:

It's your fault for knocking the telly over. Hang on, I'll give it a bang.

[Eddie gets up, circles his open hand over the top of the television, chooses a spot and slaps his hand down.]

Announcer:

'...I hope there's not too much damage. I'm sure the judges will take that into account. Now tell me, from what part of lovely China do you come from?'

Miss China:

[high chipmunk voice, thick accent] 'My family are living--'

Richie:

I can't understand a word of this!

Eddie:

Well, that's because she's talking in Chinese.

Richie:

Hang on, I'll give it a bang.

[Richie tries to copy what Eddie did, but the television goes completely silent.]

Eddie:

You stupid git, there's ten grand riding on this!

Richie:

Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry.

[Eddie hits the television again. It immediately starts working.]

Ha ha ha-how do you do that?

[Richie tries it again. He hits the top of the television, there is a loud explosion, all the lights go out, smoke pours out of the television.]

Eddie:

Richie! Are you all right? Where are you?

Richie:

I'm over the other side of the room.

Eddie:

Over here?

Richie:

No, I'm over here!

Eddie:

What, over, over here?

Richie:

Yeah, this is me here.

Eddie:

Right.

[Eddie punches him hard. Richie flies across the room.]

Have we got any more fuse wire?

Richie:

It's in the kitchen drawer.

[Eddie opens the fridge and peers in, silhouetted by the light.]

Eddie:

There's nothing in here.

Richie:

That's 'cause that's the fridge. [richie mills about the dark kitchen] Ooh, shit! Mind, the kettle's still hot!

Eddie:

Where is it?

Richie:

It's down... here! Shit! I've done it again! That's three times now!

Eddie:

Oh god, there's no fuse wire in here. Richie!

Richie:

What?

Eddie:

Hold this.

Richie:

What?

[The lights come back on. Richie is standing on a chair holding a screwdriver to bridge the fuses, crackling sparks and blue arcs are flying. He can't hold it and the lights go out again]

Eddie:

Stick it back in, stick it back in!

Richie:

No, Eddie, please!

[Eddie forces Richie to stick it back in, more blue crackling sparks, while Richie twitches in place]

Announcer:

'In second place, number twelve, Miss America.'

Eddie:

Hey! Richie! That was Miss America, the favourite! We're in with a chance!

Richie:

I think I'm going to faint.

Eddie:

Yeah, it's pretty exiting, isn't it!

Richie:

Eddie, I can't hold it much longer!

Eddie:

Just another ten seconds!

Richie:

Please, it's your turn, surely it's your turn!

Eddie:

Oh, shut your cakehole!

Announcer:

'And this year's Miss World is...'

Richie:

Go on, have a go Eddie, it's fun!

Eddie:

Here it comes!

Announcer:

'...Number thirty-seven, Miss France.'

Eddie:

I don't believe it, it's a fix!

[Eddie puts his foot through the television, which explodes.]

Richie:

Did we win?

Eddie:

No, we lost.

Richie:

Hh. Knackers!

[Richie lets go of the screwdriver and is thrown off the chair. Darkness.]

Eddie:

Richie, are you okay?

Richie:

Am I... okay? [richie slowly gets to his feet in the kitchen area] No, I'm not bloody okay! Wait 'til I get my hands on you, you little bast--... Shit, that bloody kettle's still hot! Oh god, life's horrible! Ten grand down the toilet and a scalded hand! Why does fate treat me like this? Oh, well, at least things can't get any worse. Hwoo wooo waaargh...

[He falls out of the kitchen window with a fading cry and a crash from below. A dog barks. A while later... The lights come back on.]

Eddie:

There we go... dab hand Eddie! That'll be eleven thousand, six hundred and forty-five pounds and sixty-six new pence. Or we could just call it quits on the rent, Richie. Richie? Richie? I'll take that as a yes then, shall I?

[He picks up Richie's note from by the window, and reads.]

'Dear Eddie, by the time you read this I will be dead. I know you'll be feeling terribly guilty but don't blame yourself, although it really is your fault. If I was alive I would forgive you, but I'm not, so I can't, so you'll just have to live with it. Richard.'

Hahh-ugh... Poor blighter. All he needed was the love of a good woman. Well, not even a good one, any old one would have done. Slap a wig on a speak-your-weight machine and he'd have been happy. And now he's gone and done himself in.

[He sits at the organ and strikes a sorrowful chord.]

Well this [Richie's organ] ought to fetch a few quid.

[Richie staggers in, covered in muck.]

Richie:

Who left the kitchen window open?

Eddie:

Richard, you're alive!

Richie:

Yes, the amount of pain I'm in would suggest so.

[Richie punches out a number on the phone.]

Hello, BBC! Yes, put me through to the 'Miss World' programme. I wish to complain in the strongest possible terms! Yeah, well put me through to ITV then! Hello? Hello!

[He slams the phone down.]

Would you believe it? Oohh!

[He sits down gingerly.]

It's just typical, isn't it. We're on the brink of winning ten thousand pounds and some ugly Frog bint scoops up all our hopes in her garlic-stained claw and discards them like some used tissue.

Eddie:

That's very poetic, Richie.

Richie:

Oh, sod off! Go on, sod off! Get to soddery! It's all your fault.

Eddie:

Sod off, yourself, you great fat git! It's me that just lost ten thousand quid!

Richie:

Well, half of it was mine.

Eddie:

It bloody well was not! D'you think I'm going to lie around the sun-drenched Caribbean with busfulls of dusky maidens fulfilling my every sordid whim and have a great fat blotchy white walrus lying next to me, blathering on and on about himself and spoiling the atmos? No, I'm bloody not!

Richie:

Well thank you very much, Edward. You learn something every day, don't you? And today I learnt that you're a complete bastard. Well, I think I might turn in now, I feel so enriched. Nighty-night, Eddie!

[He walks to the door but then comes back and sits down next to Eddie.]

Why can't we ever bloody win anything?

Eddie:

Oh, don't be stupid, Richie. People like us aren't meant to win things.

Richie:

Well, what are we meant to do then?

Eddie:

Look, you get born, you keep your head down, and then you die. If you're lucky.

Richie:

Oh, come on. There must be more to it than that.

Eddie:

Well there's the telly.

[They both look at the kicked in empty shell that was once a television.]

Well there was.

Do you want me to switch the gas on?

Richie:

[confused] What d'you mean?

Eddie:

Go on... top yourself. The telly's bust, it'd be a good bit of entertainment.

Richie:

Hahhhh ha ha! Haaa! I know you're just trying to cheer me up.

[Eddie shakes his head to the contrary.]

And you're right. You know, you have to laugh, don't you? Ha ha ha h... ohhh, no you don't really, do you? Ahh, it's no good. I think I've reached my bottom. What we couldn't have done with ten thousand grand...

Eddie:

Well...

[Eddie slaps Richie on the shoulder. Richie's head bounces off the wall.]

We couldn't have done anything, really. You see, hahh hh-hh, I never put the bet on. I just said I did so that you'd insist we watch 'Miss World'.

Richie:

Well, where's the missing tenner then?

Eddie:

Well. I saw you picking your veg as I went out this morning, so I thought I'd better have a slap-up grill before I came home. Yum yum.

[Richie looks at Eddie, closes his fist, and punches him. Freeze-frame, the titles roll.]