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HOLY

Series 2, Episode 5
October 29, 1992

Written by
ADRIAN EDMONDSON and RIK MAYALL

Richie:

Ho ho ho!

[Eddie opens his eyes and smirks shiftily.]

Richie:

And this [puts up a pair of tights stuffed with presents] is for Richie, who's been a good little boy, and this [puts up a small empty sock] is for Eddie. Enough said. Right, where's the sherry?

[Richie goes over to the table, upon which stands a bottle of sherry and a glass. He picks up the bottle, not noticing that it is covering a red button. He tries to pour himself a drink, but the bottle is empty.]

Richie:

Hm? Hm? Typical.

Eddie:

Hic!

Richie:

Never mind. Sweet dreams, little boy! Ho ho ho!

Eddie:

[quietly] Ha ha ha!

[Richie puts the bottle back down, pressing the button. Alarms start ringing, lights start flashing. Richie treads on a rake which hits him in the face; a boxing-glove on a spring flies out of a cupboard and hits him; a drawer opens revealing two crossbows which fire a rope, tying him up; a noose drops around his neck; a candle burns through a string, releasing an axe which cuts a rope lets a suspended barber's chair drop which hoists Richie up into the air.]

Eddie:

[no longer pretending to sleep] Merry Christmas, Santa!

Richie:

[strangled] Cut me down, Eddie! I mean, little boy!

Eddie:

It'll cost you ten quid, Richie.

Richie:

I'm not Richie, I'm Santa Claus. Ho ho -- erggh -- ho.

Eddie:

All right then, it'll cost you ten quid, Santa Claus.

Richie:

Oh, all right then, here you are. Oh God, I don't know why I bother, every year the same. There you are.

Eddie:

Ta very much.

[Eddie gets out a flick-knife and cuts the rope. Richie falls to the floor with a crash.]

Eddie:

Now that was a particularly nasty fall. Hic!

[Richie staggers to his feet, blood dripping down his white beard.]

Richie:

Season's greetings to you too, little fellow! Ho ho ho! Ho ho -- oh Christ, I think I've broken my leg!

[He stumbles out. Eddie settles back down to sleep. Richie burst back in, undisguised.]

Richie:

Merry Christmas, Eddie! I thought I heard sleigh-bells... has He been? Ooh, he has! Oh joy, oh joy, let's open our presents. Ah, oh look, mine's bigger than yours. That must mean I've been a nicer boy than you.

Eddie:

Richie, go back to bed, it's only half past three. I told you, no present-opening until half past seven.

Richie:

Ooh, come on, let's see what Santa's brought us. Hm-hmm-hm-hmmm! Ooh, it's a, it's, it's a Brussels sprout! Hey, that should come in handy for Christmas lunch!

[Eddie sighs. Three hours later...]

Richie:

Ooh, it's a, it's a, it's, it's another Brussels sprout! Thought so. Hey, we must have enough for a whole Christmas lunch now.

[He puts the sprout amongst a pile of food -- potatoes, a packet of stuffing, a turkey...]

Richie:

Good old Santa, he thinks of everything. Right, now that's present number 113 -- another Brussels sprout... Ha. Mustn't forget the thank-you letter list. Don't want Santa to think we're ungrateful Eddie. Eddie? Oh Eddie, you've fallen asleep again! Come on, wake up. Aren't you going to open your stocking?

Eddie:

Well I would. But there doesn't seem to be much in this small child's sock.

Richie:

Oh, surprise surprise. Perhaps you haven't been a very good little boy.

Eddie:

Did you post my letter to Father Christmas? 'Cause I can't seem to find the star-bird I asked for. Or the Batman cape. Or the ticket to the Bahamas.

Richie:

Great heavens Eddie, you can't expect Santa Claus to put expensive gift items like that in your stocking. Now come on, it's time... let's get our big ones out! [Eddie looks puzzled] Oh yes, tee-hee, big Christmas joke, a bit like 'Do you like stuffing?' Pfft! Haha. No, come on, I meant what have you got me?

Eddie:

Here you go, Richie. [hands over a small present] Well aren't you going to open it?

Richie:

No, I don't think I'll bother.

Eddie:

Why not, what's wrong with it?

Richie:

Well it's about twenty times too small, isn't it?

Eddie:

It's the thought that counts.

Richie:

No it's not, it's the size that counts! Don't you ever read Cosmopolitan?

Eddie:

Well it's a bit difficult to because they're all hidden under your mattress!

Richie:

All right, that'll do, that'll do! Let's try and keep it festive, shall we? God, I hate Christmas! Ha. Right, let's get on with it, let's be nice. I thought you said you were going to get me something sun-kissed and exotic?

Eddie:

And I have, just open it.

Richie:

It's a miniature bottle of Malibu. Correction, it's an empty miniature bottle of Malibu.

Eddie:

Correct. Merry Christmas, Richie.

Richie:

Well what use is that?

Eddie:

Well you can use it to keep Malibu in. As long as you keep it away from me. Hic!

Richie:

Right, that's it. [fists up]

Eddie:

Oh hang on, hang on, hang on. I was only joking. It's good for morale. Look -- here's your big one. [hands Richie a large box]

Richie:

Oh, oh, Eddie you haven't! You haven't! [opens it and looks inside] Oh, you haven't.

Eddie:

What do you mean?

Richie:

Well it's empty, isn't it?

Eddie:

No it's not!

Richie:

Oh no, beg your pardon. There's a toilet roll in here. A used toilet roll.

Eddie:

That is not a used toilet roll. That is a play telescope. I've drawn a picture of Sue Carpenter in a bikini on the beach at one end.

Richie:

Haa-haah. Haaah. [looks through] Hey, that's bloody good, Eddie! ...Why has she got five legs?

Eddie:

No, that's her hand. She's waving, it's perspective. [demonstrates to camera] 'Hello Richie!'

Richie:

Oh yes, that's bloody good! Hey, she's only got one knocker.

Eddie:

No, that's not a knocker, that's a speech bubble. She's talking to you.

Richie:

Oh yes, so she is! [reading with difficulty] 'Fick uf, you sad pathtic winker.' ...I wonder what she means!

Eddie:

God, seven o'clock. Another twenty-seven hours of Christmas to go. I don't think I'm gonna survive it, I'll have to blank out in front of the telly.

Richie:

You hold that finger right there young man, no-one in this house watches the telly until the Queen's Speech!

Eddie:

But it's Noel's Christmas Family Video Accidents!

Richie:

I don't care, we're English here and we're going to do Christmas properly. All right? Well, unless there's a Bond film on, obviously. [yanks the cord out of the television] Okay? Now let's keep it Christmassy. Right now look, there's only five hours until lunch, I've got to get my sprouts on. Don't want them all crunchy.

Eddie:

Not sprouts! I hate sprouts!

Richie:

Oh will you stop whinging Eddie! Nobody likes sprouts.

Eddie:

Then why are we having them then?

Richie:

Because it's Christmas! Oh look, we've got guests coming, remember? So I'd better get on with my turkey.

Eddie:

What are you going to do with it?

Richie:

Well, it's the season of goodwill and peace on Earth, so I thought I'd chop both its feet off, rip out its innards, strip it, shove an onion up its arse and bung it in a very hot place for four hours until its completely burnt.

Eddie:

Fair enough.

Richie:

Right, now lend a hand Eddie, and peel the potatoes. We've got four people coming so that means, er-de-der-der-der-der-der, four potatoes.

Eddie:

Right.

[Eddie picks up an electric drill fitted with a sanding disk and starts work on a potato.]

Eddie:

D'you really want me to peel 'em? I mean, you're only going to incinerate them, aren't you? Why don't we just bung 'em straight in the bin?

Richie:

Oh, all right, I'll do all the cooking. So long as you do all the decorations. Now Eddie, crackers?

Eddie:

Yes. But it's never stopped me so far.

Richie:

No, I mean have you got the crackers?

Eddie:

No, it's just the way my trousers hang.

Richie:

Eddie, enough of the crackers jokes.

Eddie:

All right.

Richie:

I'm talking about the things you put in your hand and pull.

Eddie:

Well I've got one of those, but I'm not gonna stick it on the table!

Richie:

Eddie, you are funnier than Jonathan Ross.

Eddie:

But he's not funny.

Richie:

Exactly. Now get out of my kitchen before I twat you. [hits Eddie with a frying-pan] Not fast enough.

Eddie:

Fair enough, point taken.

Richie:

Right, now Eddie, you scrape all the congealed bits off the cutlery and lay the table. All right? I'll get on with the brandy butter. [upends the bottle] Where's the brandy?

Eddie:

Er, hic!

Richie:

Well that's just effing marvellous, isn't it?

Eddie:

Oh, hold your horses, Richie, don't panic. Because -- brr-dd-d- d-d-dbr-d-d-d-d-d-ddd -- vodka margarine!

[Eddie opens the lid of a margarine tub; they sniff and recoil.]

Richie:

That's brilliant Eddie. Are you sure it's flammable?

Eddie:

Well, I anticipated your concerns, so I spiced it up with a couple of cans of hairspray.

Richie:

That... is... brilliant! Well done, that's sorted, right, now, table placings... er, I thought I'd put you next to Spudgun, right.

Eddie:

Yeah.

Richie:

Because you're both, er... well, sort of... well... eurgh, you know. Oh, that reminds me, did you get the four quid off them each for the meal?

Eddie:

Yes I did.

Richie:

Great, where is it?

Eddie:

I spent it on the brandy.

Richie:

Oh I despair, I really do. And look, it's half past eight!

Eddie:

[announces] Half past eight, and all's crap!

Richie:

I've got to get into my kitchen. Here's a can of spray snow, you make everything look all Christmassy, I'll go and scrub my sprouts.

Eddie:

I thought you were going to do some cooking? [Richie throws a pan at him] Fair enough, point taken.

[Eddie sprays snow onto his glasses.]

Richie:

Ha ha, I don't know, Eddie, haha, when it comes down to it there's only me and Keith Floyd left.

[Richie raises his chopper high, aims, and brings it down. Surprised and a little shocked, he lifts up his hand, which is now missing an index finger and spraying blood.]

Richie:

Oh, oh, oh no, Eddie! Help! Ooh, ooh!

Eddie:

Why? What have you done?

Richie:

I would have thought it was pretty obvious, wouldn't you?

Eddie:

Oh! Oh, I see. Oooh. That's a bit of a nasty nick, isn't it? Why don't you call for the ambulance?

Richie:

Well I haven't got anything to bloody well dial with now, have I? Oh oh... Right, First Aid, First Aid. What's the procedure for somebody who's just chopped their finger off?

Eddie:

Um... I think they bleed to death in half an hour.

Richie:

Oh, I don't want to die! What did we use to do in the Boy Scouts? He... no, there's no time for that now, is there? Eddie, quick, apply a tourniquet before I lose consciousness.

Eddie:

Okey-dokey, erm -- what is a tourniquet?

Richie:

It's where you restrict the flow of blood around the body. Come on!

Eddie:

Here goes!

[Eddie puts his hand around Richie's neck and starts squeezing.]

Eddie:

Yep, there you go -- all the blood's rushing to your head. Don't you worry, I'll keep it there! Look, look, it's working!

[Richie manages to punch Eddie away.]

Richie:

Ooohhh, ohhh...

Eddie:

Richie, look! I've found your finger! [puts it up his nose] Pull your finger out, Richie!

Richie:

This is no time for fun and games!

Eddie:

Yes it is, it's Christmas Day.

[Richie grabs his finger and puts it back on the stump.]

Richie:

Hah, ah, it's worked. Oh my God. Right, Eddie, get your needle out. I think you'd better sew it back on.

Eddie:

Oh, I dunno. You know me and my sewing.

Richie:

Hmm. That's true, that's true.

Eddie:

Hmm.

Richie:

That reminds me, I must take that dress you made me down to the charity shop.

Eddie:

That wasn't a dress... that was a woolly hat.

Richie:

Was it? Oh.

Eddie:

Tchah, never mind. Because... I'm a dab hand with one of these.

[Eddie holds up a staple-gun. Richie lays his hand on the table and Eddie dances from side to side stapling him.]

Richie:

[Richie screams in pain at every staple] Ah, oh, ah, oh oh oh, ooh... Thanks Eddie. Oh!

Eddie:

Sorry! Wrong finger. [more staples]

Richie:

Oh, ah, it worked. Thank God. Hah.

[Richie tries to walk into the kitchen. The table drags behind him. He looks down at his hand and faints.]

Richie:

I don't know why I bother, I really don't. Eddie, stand back. [takes a table lamp and smashes off the bulb] Merry Christmas!

[Richie jabs the lamp into Eddie's groin. Eddie jerks and twitches; the doorbell rings.]

Richie:

Lordy, lordy, it's the guests. We've got no time for fighting now, we'll just have to pick up where we left off. And please try and remember where we got up to.

Eddie:

[holding his crotch] Well it's gonna be bloody difficult to forget!

Richie:

Well, all right, but just in case... [punches Eddie] Remember that! Right, now you tidy up in here, I'll go and welcome the guests over the threshold. [another ring] All right, all right, I'm coming! God, they can't wait to get in and eat me out of house and home, can they, parasitic bastards! [opens the door] Hello! [to Spudgun] Dave Hedgehog, how are you?

Hedgehog:

No, I'm Dave.

Richie:

What? Oh yes, of course you are. Oh God, my eyes! I really must stop masturbating. [embarrassing pause] Oh ha, ha ha ha, oh, hello! Gosh. It's been, what...

Hedgehog:

Raining?

Richie:

No, no, no, it's been ages.

Spudgun:

What has?

Richie:

Well, since we last... you know...

Hedgehog:

We never... you know... with you!

Richie:

No, ha, no, it's all going wrong, this is silly, er... Come in, come in! Come ye, come ye. [sings] God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. Remember... er...

[Spudgun and Hedgehog go into the flat.]

Spudgun:

I thought you said he was being put away before Christmas?

Eddie:

Yeah. Don't worry boys, she won't last long. She lost a lot of blood this morning and I don't think she's got the stamina.

Spudgun:

Great. Shall we have a drink then?

Richie:

[enters] Yeah, here we are! Drinks coming right up. [passes round a tray of drinks]

Spudgun:

[tastes] Ergh, what's that?

Richie:

Gravy.

Spudgun:

Gravy?

Richie:

Yes, gravy. Somebody drank all the sherry, didn't they, Eddie?

Eddie:

Hic!

Spudgun:

Well I'm not drinking that.

Richie:

I beg your pardon?

Spudgun:

I said I'm not drinking that.

Richie:

I'll pretend I didn't hear that. You just drink that right up right now, young man! Just drink it up right now! Or do I have to force it down your throat, eh, eh?

Spudgun:

What d'you reckon, Dave?

Hedgehog:

Drink it. He's a psycho.

Spudgun:

Merry Christmas everyone.

Richie:

Yes, Merry Christmas one and all!

[Spudgun and Richie gulp their drinks down; Eddie throws his over his shoulder.]

Hedgehog:

What, is it Christmas? Today? Oh, Merry Christmas then. That must be why that woman gave me that after-shave this morning.

Eddie:

What woman?

Hedgehog:

Oh, you know, that old woman who keeps hanging around the place. You know Eddie, what's her name, my wife. Andrea. No, no, Avril, that's it. No, what am I thinking of, Susan! That's the one.

Richie:

Right right, places, places! Spudgun, I thought you could go next to Eddie 'cause you're both so ghastly, and Dave, I thought you could come over next to me in case someone suddenly came in unexpectedly they might take you for some sort of bohemian, rather than the sad unemployable wretch you really are. Come along, enjoy yourselves, it's supposed to be Christmas after all! Heavens above.

Spudgun:

Oh, what's that smell?

Eddie:

That's lunch.

Spudgun:

Oh, thank god for that. Thought I had an accident.

Richie:

Right, here we go. Spudgun, one potato or two?

Spudgun:

Two please.

Richie:

No. One.

Spudgun:

No, two.

Richie:

No. One.

Spudgun:

Okay, one.

Richie:

All right, that's better.

[Richie ladles out a potato; it drops like a scorched stone and smashes the plate.]

Spudgun:

I've changed my mind, none.

Richie:

Excuse fingers. [passes out the rest of the potatoes] There we are. And help yourselves to sprouts.

Spudgun:

Oh no, not sprouts.

Hedgehog:

Sprouts? So it is Christmas then.

Richie:

Now then, who likes stuffing? Oh hoo ho ho hoaa ho ho! ...Oh, no-one. Oh well, worth it for the joke eh? ...Cor, what a magnificent bird!

Others:

Where?

Richie:

Ha ha, gets 'em every year!

[Richie sharpens his knife; Hedgehog holds up a tray to protect himself.]

Richie:

Here we go then. Hey, hey hey, who's for a lovely juicy bit of breast? Ah-ha-hahahahaha! I love Christmas! Hey, Eddie, are you a leg or a breast man?

Eddie:

[to Spudgun] Would you like some magazines to read while he goes through his repertoire of Christmas jokes?

Richie:

[unwrapping the turkey] Oh, well it's all academic now as I seem to have made a slight miscalculation with the timing. [reveals a small black lump in the centre of the tray] Oh well, never mind, let's get straight onto the pudding. Eddie, switch out the lights!

Eddie:

Right-o! [does so]

Richie:

[trips] Hwoogh! Eddie, switch the lights back on.

Eddie:

Right-o!

Richie:

Oh, there I am. Now Eddie, you've got to wait until I get to the pudding before you switch out the lights.

Eddie:

Right-o!

Richie:

No, no, no, no, no, no! Hold on! Just smearing the vodka margarine on it. Now, Eddie, are you sure this will sustain a flame?

Eddie:

Oh yes, it should do, it's been soaking for two weeks. Should go up a treat.

Richie:

Right then, here goes. Eddie, switch off the lights.

Eddie:

Right-o!

[Richie lights the pudding; a huge sheet of flame flares up from it.]

Richie:

Ooh, bloody hell, ooh, ooh! Oh oh, oooh, oh ooh...

[He manages to drop it on the table; Eddie switches the lights back on and attacks it with the fire extinguisher.]

Eddie:

Hah! Oh well. Same time next year lads?

Richie:

No, no, no, no, come on! Oh, come on, there's plenty of Christmas fun left. No-one likes pudding anyway. Tell you what, let's withdraw to the drawing-room and pull some crackers.

Spudgun:

What, there's some birds coming?

Richie:

What? Ah, hahahahahaha, hahahaha, yeah, Christmas is great for jokes isn't it. Come on, come on, chivvy chivvy chivvy chivvy chivvy. Honestly, if it wasn't for me you lot would just end up sitting around all day drinking and watching the television.

[Eddie, Spudgun and Hedgehog sigh.]

Spudgun:

See, they've changed the titles to Emmerdale Farm. 'S just called Emmerdale now.

Eddie:

Yeah.

Spudgun:

Doesn't take so long to read. They've got a lot more time to do other things. Can pack a lot more story in.

Richie:

Hm-hmm-hm-hm-hm-hmm-hmm, hmm-hm-hm-hm-hmmm!

Eddie:

We still can't hear you!

Richie:

Yes, but I'm not allowed to speak, otherwise I'm out of the game!

Eddie:

Right, well you've just spoken, so you must be out of the game then.

Richie:

No, no, no, no, all right, right, stop, stop, new game. Okay? Hmm. Now look, look, when I go like this [film camera gesture] it means it's a film. All right? So, [gesture] hmm-mmm-hmm, it's a film.

Eddie:

Right, well, what's it called?

Richie:

No, you're supposed to tell me.

Eddie:

What, don't you know?

Hedgehog:

If you don't know we could be here all night.

Richie:

No, no, no, but you have to guess!

Spudgun:

Why don't you just tell us, it would be a lot quicker.

Richie:

Becau... oh, all right, stop, stop! Shall we start again? All right, off we go. [television gesture] Hmm-hmm-hm-mm.

Eddie:

All right, so it's a film.

Richie:

No, it's a television programme.

Hedgehog:

What, they televised it?

Spudgun:

No, they brought it out on video.

Richie:

No, no, no, no, no, it's not a film.

Eddie:

You just said it was a film!

Richie:

All right, I'll go back to the film!

Eddie:

Look, why don't you just tell us what it is?

Richie:

All right then, it was 'The Guns Of Navarone'! Satisfied?

Eddie:

Right, my turn. [film gesture] Goldfinger. Right? Hedgehog.

Hedgehog:

Yeah, I'll have Goldfinger as well.

Richie:

But you can't have that, Eddie just had that.

Eddie:

Look, let's just all have Goldfinger and then pack it in, okay? Right. Spudgun.

Spudgun:

[film gesture] Goldfinger.

Eddie:

Right. Now that's that over with. Okay? What's next?

Richie:

Sardines.

Spudgun:

Great, anything's better than that bloody turkey.

[The doorbell rings.]

Richie:

Oh, Jesus Christ! Who can that be? Oh, they haven't started collecting on Christmas Day, have they? [opens the door] Sod off, you do-gooding bastards! [looks down; there is a baby in a basket on the floor] Oh. Hoh, oh, oh, ooh.

Eddie:

Who is it?

Richie:

I dunno, he can't talk.

Eddie:

Well, punch him in the face and kick him down the stairs. I mean, if he's too drunk to talk he won't put up much of a fight, will he? Go on, enjoy yourself... it's Christmas!

Richie:

Guys... it's a baby.

Eddie:

What?

Richie:

I've got a baby.

Eddie:

We don't want a baby. Get rid of it. We're happy as we are. Why spoil everything? We'll drift apart, I mean it's bound to come between us.

Richie:

Well I think that it's come between us already. Come on, Eddie, it's time we faced up to our responsibilities. We can't carry on being playboys all our lives. Besides, it's a fact now. We have to deal with it.

Eddie:

Why couldn't you have been more careful?

Spudgun:

Poor little mite. What a way to spend your first Christmas.

Eddie:

What, lying on your back with a bottle in your mouth? It sounds pretty good to me!

[The baby starts crying.]

Richie:

Look, don't cry little matey! Coo-ee! [puts a light blue towel over his head, playing peek-a-boo from behind it] Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoooo! Hoo-hooooo! ...I think he likes me.

Spudgun:

Poor little blighter. His first Christmas, no family, no friends, no Christmas presents.

Richie:

Well, he's got us now. We'll look after him.

Spudgun:

Yeah, he can have my Christmas present. It's a box of Terry's All Gold. We'll have to wait for his little teeth to come through before he can manage the chewy ones.

Eddie:

Yeah, look, he can have my Frankenstein mask I was going to scare the shit out of Richie with later. [shows it to Richie]

Richie:

Ooh, oh!

Hedgehog:

Yeah, and he can have my bottle of after-shave. It's a new one. It's called 'Grrr'.

Richie:

Gold... Frankenstein... and Grrr! And you're all wearing crowns. ...And I'm a virgin!

Eddie:

I thought you said you weren't?

Richie:

No, I know, but I am really, I was fibbing to look hunky.

Eddie:

Oh. Didn't work, did it?

Richie:

No. But enough of that.

Eddie:

All right.

Richie:

Guys, if I was you I'd stay on my knees. This is it. This is the second coming. Oh look... the three kings... Gold, Frankenstein, and Grrr... the virgin birth... and look, a blue head-scarf! I mean, that really tops it off! It's all slotting into place. I knew I was special. I always knew I was different from the other people. That's why I never got a shag! I was being kept pure, because I'm better than everyone else in the whole world! Oh, I had a few pretty narrow squeaks though, oh, oh yes! ...No, I didn't really, I'm lying to myself. Guys, I think that we should pray.

[They bend over the basket, hands clasped. Suddenly a loud fart is heard. They jump back, fanning the air.]

Spudgun:

I think his nappy needs changing.

Richie:

What?

Eddie:

Yeah, go on Richie. I mean, you're his... mother.

Richie:

But... ah, come on guys! This is the twentieth century, it's not fair.

Spudgun:

But we are not worthy, O Holy One.

Eddie:

Yeah, yeah that's right, O Chosen Thing.

Hedgehog:

Right-o, O One... what he said.

Richie:

What do you mean, what he said? I thought you were supposed to be a wise man! Oh, all right, I'll do it. Dear oh dear, who'd be a woman, I don't know. Hoh.

[Richie bends down over the basket. We hear one tape undone... two... and then a squelch. They all leap back coughing.]

Eddie:

Are you sure he's the son of God?

Richie:

Gaheergh, nobody smoke! Eddie, get the mop and the bucket and the bleach.

Spudgun:

What? You can't put bleach on a baby's bottom! Oh here, let me have a go... I come from a large family.

Richie:

Yeah, well you'd have to, mate, wouldn't you?

[Spudgun punches him in the face and bends down over the baby, holding his nose.]

Richie:

Haven't you got through to the Pope yet?

Hedgehog:

[looking at telephone directory] 'Pope, G.'

Richie:

What do you mean, 'Pope, G.'? He's not Pope Gavin, is he? He's Pope John Paul. Look under 'Pope, J.P.'!

Hedgehog:

Oh, right, J.P. Oh, here he is: 'Pope, J.P.' Ah, I didn't know he lived in Twickenham.

Richie:

Ha, hey Eddie, did you know that...

[Eddie is slumped in a chair, swigging a bottle of whisky.]

Richie:

Eddie, stop that immediately! You show some respect!

Eddie:

[slurred] Oh, whaddaya mean? I'm not gonna let the arrival of the Son of God spoil my Christmas!

Richie:

Ooh, there's gonna be some terrible things happen to you when you finally pop off.

Eddie:

Oooh-hoo-hoooo.

Richie:

Yes! I shall have a word with Richard Junior here's father, you know, my husband-in-law, God? Yeah, I shall make sure you get a right proper roasting, an' no mistake. It's not just my flat now, it's my universe. My name is now Richard Mary, and you all have to do everything I say otherwise you'll all go to Hell! Yeah!

[The door flies open, hitting Richie in the face. It is the landlord, Mr Harrison.]

Harrison:

Hello boys! Merry Christmas and all that bollocks. I hope you didn't mind my not knocking, but I just couldn't be bothered.

Richie:

Mr Harrison! You may be the landlord of this property but I happen to be the mother of God! And if you don't get out of here I'll...

Harrison:

Oh bugger off, you sad git! [punches him] Now, where's my grandson?

Richie:

Your... grandson?

Harrison:

What, are you deaf? My daughter left him with me to look after. She's coming back in a minute, cow! She went off to see her bloody mother. Stupid bitch had a heart attack this morning, expects us all to go and visit her, to gather round. I mean, she's on her last legs and has Goldfinger on the telly! On Christmas Day, I ask yer!

Sorry, I didn't ask or anything, but I knew you'd say no so I thought sod it, you know. Right. [to baby] Cootchy-bloody-cootchy-coo, you! [to the others] Anyway, keep your traps shut about my daughter, right, or I'll tell the police you kidnapped him, all right?

Valerie:

Father? Where's Johnny?

Harrison:

Oh, hello flower-petal, I was just showing him off to the neighbours. He's such a bonny... bloody... thing, you know...

Valerie:

Poor thing, he's hungry. I'd better feed him, bring him over here Dad.

[She sits down between Richie and Eddie.]

Valerie:

You don't mind do you gents?

Richie:

Oh, no, no.

Eddie:

Go right ahead.

Richie:

Go, go right ahead.

Both:

Merry Bloody Christmas!

[They kneel down to watch her unbuttoning. Freeze-frame, roll credits.]