Bottom

'S Up

Series 1, Episode 5
October 15, 1991

Written by
ADRIAN EDMONDSON and RIK MAYALL

Richie:

Land of hope and glory, something something else. Land of hope and glo-glo- [He drops the plate he is scraping into the bin.] glory, that is where I live. Land of hope and glory...

[He tips the bin out of the window. Dogs bark below.]

Morning! Ahh, what a lovely day! God, I love Sundays. Sunday papers, stroll in the park, church, and back home for a nice big joint of good old English beef. Strawberries and cream, a spot of tennis, and a smile in the heart of every true Englishman. Morning Vicar, lovely day! Charming. Somebody got out of bed the wrong side this morning. Mind you, he got out of the womb the wrong side. And the same to you with brass knobs on, you steaming great twat! God, I do feel great today! Ho-ooo, the English summertime, gets you right there doesn't it, Eddie? Eddie? Eddie! Have you ever seen such glorious sunshine?

Eddie:

Close the curtain, I'm trying to watch the TV.

Richie:

Oh Eddie, don't be like that! We should be out there, playing cricket! Come on, it's Sunday, it's a day of rest! Absolutely nothing to do for twenty-four hours.

Eddie:

It's a bit like every other day then really, isn't it?

Richie:

Oh come on Ed-die, we can't sit around watching videos all day! It's a lovely day, the bluebirds are singing...

Eddie:

Look, close the curtain, it's just about to get to the exciting bit! [Richie sighs.] Now!!

Richie:

Right, right, OK.

[Richie pulls the curtain across. He sighs.]

Well, this is great, isn't it?

Eddie:

Yes. It's just dandy.

Richie:

I cooked you a breakfast, you know. Can't find it now. Have to get the torch out. [Calling softly.] Breakfast! Where are you breakfast?

Eddie:

What is it?

Richie:

It's your favourite Eddie. I cooked you your... da da da da da da daa! Sunday fish finger!

Eddie:

But I don't like fish fingers.

Richie:

Oh no, of course, you don't, do you? Huh, I make that mistake every Sunday, don't I? Oh well, never mind, I'll eat yours for you. Mmm-hmm-hmm!

[He chews, then realises it doesn't taste very good. Slyly he sniffs the fish finger. He turns his head aside and spits out his mouthful.]

Who's that, anyway?

Eddie:

Oh, that's Mother Bear.

Richie:

I thought she was... I thought she was dead?

Eddie:

No, no, that's Mister Rabbit. Anyway he's not dead, he's just asleep in the Dingly Dell. That's how he's missed his birthday tea, and why they're all out looking for him.

Richie:

Hmm. It's not very sexy, is it?

Eddie:

No. I must say, I expected a lot more from 'The Furry Honeypot Adventure'.

Richie:

I think this is for kids, you know, Eddie! I think those Hussein brothers saw you coming again. Well, what else did you get?

Eddie:

'Big Jugs'. Hahahaha!

Richie:

'Big Jugs'! All right! 'A history of pottery in the nineteenth century.' Anything else?

Eddie:

Well this one's a sure-fire hit. Look. 'Swedish Lesbians in Blackcurrant Jam'.

Richie:

Yabba-dabba-do! No Eddie, it's 'Swedish Legends in Blackcurrant Jam Making.'

Eddie:

Aw, come on, it's got to be dirty, it says 'Swedish'! [Richie shakes his head.] Oh, what a disaster! That's my whole Sunday ruined! I spent an hour chosing them, what a swizz! Oh well, maybe we should stick with 'The Furry Honeypot Adventure'. You never know, it might perk up in a minute.

Richie:

Hey-up, look, here comes that rabbit again!

Eddie:

Whor, yup, well now he should be be on for a bit of action.

Richie:

Yeah. I mean, he's a rabbit, for Christ's sake!

Eddie:

Yeah!

Richie:

Yay, yay, yay!

Eddie:

Right, here he goes, into the house, and... there's Mrs Bear. Haha, go on, my son! Whup, he's creeping up behind her... oh, he's going to surprise her... and there go all the little baby bears. And they're all singing 'Happy Birthday'... and having a bit of a dance. It's not going to get very dirty, is it?

Richie:

No... You can sort of tell that, can't you, by the way it says 'The End'.

Eddie:

Yeah... Well, I'm bloody sick, I don't mind telling you!

Richie:

Well, I'm rather glad they weren't dirty actually. I don't think that, as a Christian, I could look myself in the face whilst watching a dirty video. I mean, it's Sunday for Christ's sake... I mean, for Heaven's s--... I mean, for goodness sake. And are the masses all in church praising the Lord's name? No, they're all down the vid shop, trying to get their hands on pervy 'Nights in Bankok'! It's ironic, isn't it. There's plenty of wailing and gnashing of teeth going on, but it's not happening in church.

Eddie:

When did you last go to church?

Richie:

Well I don't have to go... I'm Church of England. What are you, Eddie?

Eddie:

I don't know.

Richie:

Well, what was your mother?

Eddie:

A wrestler.

Richie:

Well, maybe that's enough general knowledge for one day.

[There is a knock at the door.]

Both:

Go away!

Harrison:

Hello, gentlemen.

Richie:

Ooh, er, Mr Harrison. Hello. Look, erm, sorry about the rent...

Harrison:

No, no.

Richie:

Er, er, the fact is the Krugerrand's just crashed so we had to move into junk bonds and we couldn't get them out of Lichtenstein 'til the end on the month.

Harrison:

No-no, no-no, no.

Richie:

I knew you'd understand.

[Richie closes the door.]

Close one.

[Another knock at the door.]

Come in.

Oh, this is intolerable! Talk about ratmen!

Harrison:

Look, I'm not here for the rent.

Richie:

Oh, great. Come in, sit down. Eddie, a cup of tea!

Eddie:

Oh, yes please.

Harrison:

Look, boys, you've got to help me, I'm in a dreadful fix. I completely forgot about my stupid mother's bloody funeral!

Richie:

Hhh! Is she dead?

Harrison:

Well let's hope so... bloody coffin cost me two hundred quid! Cow! Anyway, I've got to go. Please could you run the shop for me?

Richie:

I'm sorry, Mr Harrison, but I have to confess to being frankly really rather shocked! I mean, me... running shop... on a Sunday, of all things. Absolutely not.

Harrison:

Fifty quid.

Richie:

You're on.

Harrison:

Right away... I've got to be in Penge by noon. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.

Richie:

Ah, no, no, I don't do lifting. You'll have to show Eddie the ropes. Show me the till.

Eddie:

No, no, no, no, show me the drinks cabinet, and the sign that says 'Closed'.

Harrison:

I don't know, just stick 'em in the bin, all this palaver...

Richie:

Eh, Mr Harrison, have you got a sort of white coat or something, so everyone knows I'm the shopkeeper?

Harrison:

Yeah, hang on, I'll get you one. Here y'are... and here's one for you, Eddie.

Richie:

Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, haven't you got a sort of brown one for him? Or what about a little badge or something that just says 'Assistant'?

Harrison:

What are you talking about? Look, I'm in a hurry!

Richie:

All right, all right. Well, look Eddie, you'll just have to put your jacket on back to front or something.

Eddie:

Piss off.

Richie:

Oh, don't kick up a stink Eddie, I know what I'm doing. It's nothing personal. It's just that there is a sort of 'Upstairs Downstairs' thing to any shopping experience, which the shopper needs to feel reassured about.

Eddie:

All right.

Richie:

There. Now everybody knows who everybody is.

Harrison:

Everybody happy now?

Richie:

Yes, thank you.

Harrison:

Right, there's thirty pounds in change in the till, if you'd just sign there. I'd better be off, see you later. Two hundred pound for a coffin... and they set fire to the bastard!

Richie:

This is a bit of all right, isn't it Eddie?

Eddie:

Yeah! Shame he hasn't got a video section.

Richie:

It's a very dignified thing being a shopkeeper, don't you think? You know, there's power, integrity, snazzy coat...

[Richie opens the flap in the counter to go through. It crashes down on the crisps Eddie has just tipped out for himself with a crunch.]

Yeah. Yeah. 'Morning.' 'Morning.' 'Morning, your Lordship. Oh yes, plenty of gravy mix, you help yourself. I'll just put it on the slate.' 'Oi! What do you think you're doing? Shoplifting, eh, sonny? Eh? Eh? Eh? What's the matter, haven't you got enough money? So you thought you'd take it out on me, just because I earn so much money?'

[He has been miming hitting someone and realises that the imaginary head is now some way from its body.]

Ooh, spurt, spurt...

[He puts the head back.]

'Only kidding, little kiddie. Go on, take your Jaffa Cakes and run along. Go on, off you go. Oh god, why did you make me so nice? Has he gone? Right.'

[He mimes pulling up the aerial on a portable phone and dialling.]

Eeeep... bi-bo-bi-bo-bip. 'Hello, police? I wanna report a theft. Yeah, it was little Johnny Cartwright from the flats. Nail the sucker, bust his ass! Yeah, I want him doing twenty to ten in the pen! What d'you mean, no evidence? What about the goddam Jaffa Cakes, asswipe! Yeah, bullshit, bull-shit! Yeah, well I'm gonna get Mayor Dooley to...'

[A nice old lady has come into the shop and is watching.]

Old Lady:

What's the matter, are you mad?

[Richie advances on her with clenched fist.]

Richie:

Do you want some of this? Do you? 'Cause you're gonna get it, you old git! You're gonna get a right load of this right up your bracket! Right load of this, right in your face!

[She runs out, crying. Richie shouts after her.]

That's right, run, go on! Just like you did at Goose Green! Argie! [To a passer-by.] Morning. [To himself.] Brrrr! [To Eddie.] See? British shopkeeping, Eddie, best in the world. Yes, yes. Tuna, good. We're a nation of shopkeepers, you know. Oh yes, ye-hh-hmm.

[He lifts the counter flap... it crushes more of Eddie's crisps again.]

That's what makes us so great, you know. They don't call it 'Great Luxembourg', do they? Hhhm? Or 'Great France'?

Eddie:

What's so great about being a nation of shopkeepers?

Richie:

What's so great about being a nation of shopkeepers?

Eddie:

Yes, what's so great about it?

Richie:

Well it makes us superior to everyone else. Because we know how to run a corner shop. Good grief, Eddie, it only takes an ounce of brainpower to see that.

Eddie:

Well, that should suit you perfectly then.

Richie:

How d'you mean, I don't understand that.

[Eddie reads his newspaper.]

Eddie:

Gaw! The whole cast of Brookside are lesbians!

Richie:

Yeah? British journalism, Eddie, best in the world.

Eddie:

Bloody Nora! Neil Kinnock's grandparents were homosexual Martians! He's kept quiet about that, hasn't he?

Richie:

Hhhhm.

Eddie:

Lucky I read that, I was going to vote Labour.

Richie:

Yeah. Another great British scoop, Eddie. Huh! I'd like to see the Amsterdam Evening news dig up something like that. Frogs.

Eddie:

Hells teeth... You can get AIDS from bicycling!

Richie:

I know, I know. And isn't it funny that you only read that sort of thing in a British newspaper?

Eddie:

Yeah, well, you don't read French or Italian newspapers, do you?

Richie:

Well, I don't speak French or Italian. Good grief, Eddie, hold together a cogent argument, why don't you? Oh, here we go... holidays in the Al-gar-ve. Look at this. No electricity, no running water, and fifteen hundred quid a month. People pay for this. South of France... we bloody invented it, mate! George the Third, he was the one. All that swimming business. And the windbreak, who invented that? We did. The Brits. Never mind covering yourself in Mazola and lying around with a bit of string up your crack. A quick dip in the briny, dig up a lugworm and back in the car before you get pneumonia. Yep, that's good enough for me. Errgh, look at this. Thirty-eight quid return coach trip to Nice. Nude beach.

[While Richie has been reading the paper, Mr Cooper has come into the shop.]

Cooper:

Er, excuse me, I didn't get my paper this morning.

Richie:

So? Not my problem. Should be more careful.

Cooper:

No, it wasn't delivered.

Richie:

Oh, I get it. Trying to get a free paper, are we? Spend all morning doing that and you could open up a little paper shop, couldn't you?

Cooper:

Look, I don't know what your game is, but I didn't get my paper delivered this morning! Now, I have the Mail on Sunday so if I could just take one now, please?

Eddie:

No, that's the last copy.

Cooper:

Okay, I'll take that one.

Richie:

Hang on, hang on! I'm reading that.

Cooper:

Yeah, but it's mine. Look, it's even got my name on it.

Richie:

That's your name, is it? 'Fifty-five p'? 'Mr Fifty-five p'?

Cooper:

No, my name is Cooper. Look, it's written in biro, in the corner?

Richie:

All right then, Mr Cooper, there's your paper.

[Richie tears off the top corner of the front page and hands it to him.]

Good morning.

Cooper:

Well, where's the rest of it?

Richie:

What d'you mean, 'Where's the rest of it'?

Cooper:

I would like the rest of my paper.

Richie:

Well then I suggest you go outside, knock, and come in and ask for it nicely!

Cooper:

Right.

[He grabs Richie by the head and slams him down onto the counter. Richie vanishes under the counter. Mr Cooper takes his paper and leaves.]

See you, Eddie!

Eddie:

Yeah, bye, John.

[Richie peers up from underneath the counter, checking to see if Mr Cooper has gone. He calls after him, carefully.]

Richie:

Thug!

Eddie:

British thugs, Richie, best in the world.

Richie:

Damn! We should have written down the particulars of that nudie beach trip.

Eddie:

Well, there is a nudie beach in Brighton you know. It's twelve pounds sixty-nine pence exactly, on the Inter-City Saver, and the nipples are bigger.

Richie:

Hmm?

Eddie:

It's the cold wind. They've got these telescopes you put twenty pence in. It's very discreet!

Richie:

Hahhh! Let's go! H-no, no, no, no. We've got to run the shop. That's what makes us British you see, Eddie. The average Frog or Brussels Sprout would be halfway down the A3 by now, polishing up his zoom lens and sticking bits of garlic up his bum. Not us!

Eddie:

Well, not you maybe.

Richie:

Eddie! Stand firm. Where were you at Agincourt?

Eddie:

I stayed on the bus, remember? With, em, Ethel Cardew.

Richie:

Hmm, no, no, shut up, I wasn't talking about that.

Eddie:

Ahhh-haaw, that's why you don't like France!

Richie:

I don't want to hear this.

Eddie:

You don't like France 'cause you've only ever had one bird, and I shagged her. On the Christmas Club coach trip to Bruges.

Richie:

Eddie, she was my fiancee.

Eddie:

Well, she didn't know that.

Richie:

Well, I hadn't told her yet, had I? I was going to propose to her, but I wanted to make it romantic. That's why I decided to take her on a cultural tour of the battlefields of the Low Countries.

Eddie:

Yeah, but I decided to come along, didn't I?

Richie:

Yes.

Eddie:

I showed her the Low Countries, all right. I showed her the Nether Regions.

Richie:

All right, all right.

Eddie:

They came at Bruges, they came at Agincourt... talk about The Battle of the Bulge!

Richie:

Well, I blame myself for being car-sick all over her.

Customer:

H-hmm!

Eddie:

Blimey, it's all go today, isn't it?

Richie:

And a very good morning to you sir, and how may I be of assistance to you on this merry day?

Customer:

And good morning to you. Now, assistant, what I'd like this fine morning...

Richie:

Excuse me, hang on, hang on, d-d-d-d-d-dddhh. Let's just get one thing clear, shall we? I am not an assistant. I am a shopkeeper.

Customer:

Is there a difference?

Richie:

Is there a difference? I've got a white coat on, he's got his jacket on back to front! And that's just the tip of the iceberg, mate! So let's show a bit of respect, shall we? Hm, what would you like?

Customer:

Ah, that champagne, please.

Richie:

Hmm. Are you eighteen?

Customer:

No, I'm fifty-four.

[Eddie slams a bottle of champagne down on the counter.]

I want three bottles.

Eddie:

What, are you an alcoholic?

Customer:

It's my daughter's birthday!

Richie:

Oh, it's his daughter's birthday, so he's going to drink three bottles of champagne. Well there's modern parenthood for you.

[Eddie slams the other two bottles down on the counter.]

Richie:

Is it... what do you think you're doing with that?

Customer:

Ah, this is a... chequebook.

Richie:

But this card only guarantees you for fifty pounds, and I'm afraid these items cost more that fifty pounds. So I'm terribly sorry, you're going to have to...

[Eddie opens the drawer of the till. It hits Richie in the groin, who vanishes under the counter, in pain.]

Eddie:

A cheque will do nicely, er, just make it out to 'Eddie Hitler'.

Customer:

'Hitler'. Ha ha ha, any relation?

Eddie:

Yeees.

Richie:

So, this is you, is it? This sort of squiggle is you. Well what do you do for a living, some sort of modern artist, are you?

Customer:

I am a doctor. Now... bugger... orf!

Richie:

Ooh, that's witty, isn't it? Took you five years of medical school to learn that one, did it? On my money, let's not forget that! Bloody students, you're all the same. I don't know why you don't just go and live in Russia! Go on, get out of my shop! Go on, bugger out of it! Go on, on your bicycle! Good grief, Eddie, sometimes I think there's only you and me left. Eddie. Eddie. Eddie? Eddie? Eddie! Eddie! Eddie! What do you think you're doing?

Eddie:

I am gonna watch some cricket.

Richie:

You can't do that! What about the shop?

Eddie:

I've had it with that shop-assisting lark, I resign.

Richie:

Well, you won't get your share of the money, you know.

Eddie:

Well, I'm all right mate, I've already got a cheque for fifty-three quid.

Richie:

You bastard!

Eddie:

Yep, that's me.

Richie:

You're not going to get away with this, you, you miner! This is Britain! Do you hear me, Britain! You're not allowed to go on strike any more, it's illegal! And don't forget I'm a Mason. Yeah. I've only got to drop the nod to Scotland Yard and this place'll be full of armoured horses and tear-gas before you can say 'Vote Labour'. What are you doing, Eddie?

Eddie:

Don't you worry, Richie. You are going to watch the cricket too.

Richie:

I am not. I've got social responsibilities. See this little old lady... We shall not fail her. See her walking... See her enormous son walking next to her... She looks like the one I threatened earlier... See his mighty tattoos... I think he's gonna whack me...

Voice:

That's the one!

[A fist comes in from off-screen and connects with Richie's face.]

Eddie:

You were right.

Richie:

Maybe watching the cricket would be a bit safer, Eddie. What's the plan?

Eddie:

Well. We sit up on the roof, watching the cricket and having a bit of a picnic. Someone comes into the shop, they open the door, the bell rings, we come down and serve them.

Richie:

Sounds smashing. Come on, let's get out of here!

Eddie:

Righty-o, young Sonny Jim old fella-me-lad matey-skip me old pal from the briny, let's fill up the picnic hamper!

[Richie holds the bag open. Eddie pushes a whole shelf-load of Mr Kipling cakes into it.]

Eddie:

Here he comes... here he comes... and he's out! No, no, hang on, no, he's back in again. Oh! She's closed the curtains. How's the cricket going?

Richie:

Well, it... still hasn't started yet... Those stumps are very big, aren't they?

Eddie:

Let's have a look... That's the rugby ground. Cricket's over there.

Richie:

Oh. Oh yes! Ah ha ha ha haaarh. Ahhhrh.

Eddie:

What's going on?

Richie:

They've broken for lunch. Do do do do...

Eddie:

Why're you putting mayonnaise on your face?

Richie:

It's not mayonnaise, it's sun tan lotion.

Eddie:

Never heard of low calorie sun tan lotion.

Richie:

What? Oh no, blast! Oh god! Oh, argh-rrgh! Phuh! Well, where's the sun tan lotion then?

Eddie:

You squirted that into your cheese roll.

Richie:

But I ate that!

Eddie:

Yeah, I know.

Richie:

Well why didn't you tell me?

Eddie:

Because I don't like you very much.

Richie:

Harrrhhh! Now I know you're joking me! Ha ha!

[Eddie shakes his head.]

Hahh, this is the life, isn't it?

[An aeroplane flies by overhead.]

Hahhh... I should have been a farmer you know. I really am an earth child. I know the deep movement.

Eddie:

Only deep movement you know is when you've had a curry.

Richie:

I am part Red Indian, you know.

Eddie:

That'll be the curry again.

Richie:

No, I am. Cherokee. D'you know, I can even tell when it's going to rain.

Eddie:

How d'you do that?

Richie:

Well, I sort of... look up, mystically, you know... check out the sky. If I see any black clouds, 'That's it', I think, 'rain.'

Eddie:

What was your Red Indian name then? Running Mouth? Sitting Down? Talking Bollocks?

Richie:

Dances With The Wind.

Eddie:

That'll be the curry again.

Richie:

Look, I'd advise you to take me seriously, young man, or I might very well make it rain.

Eddie:

Well, that'll be good. Go on then, Breezy Trousers or whatever your name is, go on, make it rain.

Richie:

Eddie, you don't dabble with the deep forces.

Eddie:

Look, there's not a cloud in the sky, I'll give you twenty-five quid if you can make it rain.

Richie:

You're on! Right, I shall need a tomohawk. Er, oh this'll do.

[He picks up a spatula and gives if a few practice swings]

No, that's good actually. Right, now this may not work properly, Eddie, I'm used to working in moccasins. Right, put up your brolly, this is gonna be a big one! Hwyooo...

[Richie starts his dance and chant. His jeans pinch him painfully and he doubles up.]

Oh Jesus! Ooh! Ah, hah... Hom-alla-pathion, om-alla-pathion, om-alla-pathion, oompah... rain!

[A seagull squawks overhead and splatters Richie's face.]

It worked! Look, Eddie, it... urgh, bloody hell! Oh, god! Oh, I must have used the wrong chant.

Eddie:

What are you going to do now then, bring down a typhoon of buffalo dung?

Richie:

I'd advise you to take me seriously mate, or I'll invoke the Big Spirit. He doesn't mess around!

Eddie:

Aw, pull the other one, mate, it's got bells on!

[There is a ring and then a clonk from downstairs.]

How d'you do that?

Richie:

Mystical forces, Eddie, mystical forces.

Eddie:

Rubbish! It's the shop, we've got a customer.

Richie:

Eddie?

Eddie:

Yeah?

Richie:

Careful with that step.

Eddie:

What step... warrgh-arrgh!

[Eddie vanishes down the trap-door. There is a clatter below. Richie takes the cricket bat that is propping open the trap-door. The lid of the trap-door slams closed. Richie uses the cricket bat to prop up Eddie's deck-chair so that it will colapse when Eddie sits on it.]

Richie:

Ha ha ha ha ha... Eddie! I've got a lovely chair for you! Eddie? Maybe he's not coming up?

[Richie tries to open the trap-door lid but it won't come open.]

Eddie! Hah! Eddie! I'm stuck on the roof, Eddie! I'm trapped, I can't open it from out here! Eddie, Mayday, Mayday!

[Eddie pushes the lid open; it catches Richie on the nose with a crunch.]

Hoh!

Eddie:

You okay, Richie?

Richie:

I think I've broken my nose.

Eddie:

Oh, come on, you'd better have a sit-down then.

Richie:

Hoh, thanks mate.

[Eddie guides Richie to his chair; Richie sits down and it collapses.]

Oh, my back!

Eddie:

Well, you're lucky, mate! You should see what's just happened downstairs.

Richie:

Why, who was it?

Eddie:

Well that's the strange thing... there was no one there. Just this bloke lying in the doorway with a bell in the back of his head.

Richie:

Did you put the bell back up?

Eddie:

Certainly did, mate!

[Another tinkle-clonk-yelp from below.]

Another customer. Your turn.

Richie:

Oh, er, be an angel, Eddie, I've smashed my face in and broken my back. I don't think I could handle three flights.

Eddie:

Three quid.

Richie:

Two pound fifty.

Eddie:

Six quid.

Richie:

Oh... you're on, you're on. Doesn't do to haggle with Eddie too long. Ahh, ahh, Eddie?

Eddie:

Yeah?

Richie:

Be careful with that step.

Eddie:

Right... warrgh!

[Eddie vanishes down the trap-door again. Richie props the trapdoor lid with the cricket bat and looks around for some string. He finds some tying the drainpipe to the railing. He ties one end to the cricket bat.]

Richie:

Ta-ta-ta... Ha ha ha! Tie the string here... so. Oh, need some bait. What does Eddie like best? A pickled onion sandwich! Right. There. Ha ha ha ha. Perfect. Eddie, oh Eddie! I've made your favourite, a pickled onion sandwich! Right. I hide here. Eddie comes up, sees the sandwich, says 'Ah, a pickled onion sandwich, my favourite.' I pull the string, cricket bat comes out, whack! Eddie gets the full force of the trapdoor in the back of the head. Nothing can go wrong.

[Eddie comes up unseen by Richie who is wrapped up in his diabolical scheming,, sees the sandwich, takes it over to his chair and sits down.]

Eddie:

Oohh. Great, a pickled onion sandwich, my favourite.

Richie:

Right, get a load of this, you bastard!

[Richie pulls the string and the lid slams shut.]

Aha, got you!

[sees what has happened] Eddie, you stupid idiot! You let the trap-door shut, we're stuck on the roof now!

Eddie:

Well, how's that my fault?

Richie:

Well, you were supposed to stop it with your head.

Eddie:

I didn't know anything about this.

Richie:

Well, of course you didn't, it was a surprise, it was a joke.

Eddie:

But that would have hurt, wouldn't it?

Richie:

Exactly, that's what was so funny about it!

[Eddie rolls up his fingers into a fist and advances towards Richie.]

Don't you dare.

[Tinkle-clonk-scream from below again.]

Eddie:

Another customer.

Richie:

But we're stuck on the roof, Eddie!

Eddie:

Well, what about the fire escape?

Richie:

No good. It collapsed, remember, when Tubs Lardy won that bet that it wouldn't hold his weight.

Eddie:

Hah, yeah, I remember, shocking mess. That dustbin's still flat.

Richie:

I know, and the cat's still in it. You can hear it when you shake it about.

Eddie:

Well, what are we going to do about this customer?

Richie:

Well, perhaps you should shout down and tell him that some bald-headed looney-tune has trapped us on the roof for ever, so we're probably unlikely to be popping down to serve him today!

Eddie:

No, that's not going to work.

Richie:

Why not?

Eddie:

'Cause he's lying on the pavement unconscious with a bell in the back of his head. Oh, hang on, hang on... someone's coming to help him. Oh no, they're not, no, they're just nicking his wallet.

Richie:

Have they got his wedding ring yet?

Eddie:

Ooh, not yet.

Richie:

Well, come on, let's get down there! You know what vultures they're like round here.

Eddie:

Look, we cannot get off the roof!

Richie:

Oh don't be ridiculous, there must be some way. Well, couldn't we make a parachute out of your trousers?

Eddie:

Well, we could make an aircraft hangar out of yours!

Richie:

Don't you start calling me Mister Wobblybottom, young lad!

Eddie:

And why not, Mister Two-Planets-Colliding-In-A-Pair-Of-Pants?

Richie:

Well you're a fine one to talk... every time you bend over it's like watching two zeppelins having it off!

Eddie:

Look, this is no time for a discussion about the vastness of your bottom. We have got to get off the roof, you madman! The people are looting the shop! They are! They're looting the shop!

Richie:

What? [shouting down] You put those Frosties back immediately! You bring back that Dream Topping! I'm writing all this down you know, I know who you are! And once I've found out your names you'll all be for the high jump! [to Eddie] That's it, Eddie, jump! Why don't you jump? Go on, it's only you! You'd be doing a service. You might even get the George Cross.

Eddie:

I might get two broken legs.

Richie:

The drainpipe! I'm a genius! Look, it's staring us right in the face. Go on, off you go, old mate.

Eddie:

No, no, why don't you go?

Richie:

Ah, because I've got mayonnaise all over my face, what would they think, ha ha? [shouting down] You bring those shelves back! [to Eddie] This is getting serious. This is going to cost us a fortune.

Eddie:

Money?

Richie:

Yeah, we're going to have to pay for all of this.

Eddie:

Right, I'm on my way.

[Eddie climbs over the rail and clings onto the drainpipe.]

Richie:

Ooh, I forgot about the string.

[The drainpipe starts to lean away from the wall.]

Eddie:

What string?

Richie:

The string that holds everything.. onto.. the.. edge..

[Eddie vanishes from view as the drainpipe continues to lean out further.]

Eddie, are you all right? [Eddie falls] Is the car? That's it, now fight off all the looters. Yeah, get the big one with the tattoos. No, you're supposed to hit him! Look, forget it, just come inside and lock the doors of the shop, and come up here and get me off this bloody roof!

[Eddie fights his way through the shop door and forces it closed.]

Voice:

Thrust him in the goolies!

Eddie:

And stay out! I'm coming, Richie!

Richie:

That's the last time I'm coming up on this wretched roof. Why can I never remember the old maxim: 'If you want to have a good time... forget it.'

Eddie:

Taraa!

[The trap-door lid slams shut behind Eddie. It starts to thunder and rain. Richie looks at Eddie, looks at his hand, folds his fingers into a fist and starts to advance towards him. He catches up with him at the edge of the roof and lets fly an enormous punch. Eddie flies over the railing; the screen freezes, the titles roll.]