BOTTOM LIVE script

                                  BOTTOM
                                  ======
                    by Adrian Edmondson and Rik Mayall


                                Bottom Live
                                ===========

                              Richie  Rik Mayall
                               Eddie  Adrian Edmondson


Introduction
------------

[Opening shot of theatre, with huge pictures of Richie and Eddie. Caption:
"Live from the Mayflower Theatre, Southampton".]

Vox Pop 1:  So I'm hoping that this is a lot ruder than the TV, because
            they can get away with it.

[Cut to Ade's dressing-room door. It opens to reveal a clothes rail, its
only contents a brown jacket.]

Vox Pop 2:  I just think they're ace, you know, absolutely excellent.

[Cut to dressing-gown, pan across a pair of glasses and a revolver.]

Vox Pop 3:  It couldn't be too rude, I mean that's what young people want.

[Rik's dressing-room door.]

Vox Pop 4:  There is no better physical humour.

[Inside the room; a pair of huge white Y-fronts on a chair. Cut to audience
shot. Caption: "Starring RIK MAYALL and ADRIAN EDMONDSON". The Bottom theme
music plays.]


Act 1.
------

[Lights up on the set, the interior of a squalid flat. It is empty. A loud
and prolonged farting noise drifts in from back-stage. Pause. More farty
noises, building to a crescendo.]

Richie:  [offstage]  Oh, God, Eddie, you complete bastard! Oh God, you
         might have given me a three-minute warning!
Eddie:   [offstage]  Yeah, sorry.
Richie:  [opening door onto stage]  Phworgh, God!  [enters, wafting his
         hand; applause]  Oh well, saves money onto alarm clocks I suppose.
         Heigh-ho, another day. Good morning world... you bastard! No, come
         along Richie, that won't do, put on a nice face for the day.
         [deep breath, nice face]  H-hrrrooooh... Yes, that's a lovely one.
         H-hooooh-h... Good, right, let's see, what's for breakfast?
         [skips over to the fridge]  Da-da da-da daa, da-da daa...  [opens
         fridge]  Oh, choh, blimey!  [slams it shut, takes a deep breath,
         opens it and examines the contents]  B-b-b-b-b-b-bh.  [shuts it]
         God! Eddie?  [opens door to upstairs and calls]  Eddie?  [shuts
         door hurriedly]  Bhoh, Jesus Christ, it's like the First World War
         around here!  Eddie?  [reluctantly opens the door again]  Eddie, I
         bring good news and bad. Er, there is some yoghurt, but if you
         want to eat it you're going to have to shave it first. Er, there's
         also a sausage... but it appears to have already been digested...
         twice. And there's also a rather unpleasant and completely useless
         piece of human excrement in there... Oh, but I think that might
         just be Graham Taylor. So what's it to be for breakfast this
         morning, me old buster?
Eddie:   [offstage]  I'll have a curry.
Richie:  No you bloody well won't, the one you had last night's got a half-
         life of five hundred years! You should have your rectum sealed in
         concrete and dumped in the North Sea! Now come on downstairs and
         eat your breakfast before Saddam Hussein gets a whiff of your bott
         and tries to dump you on the Kurds.
Eddie:   [offstage]  Right-ho!
Richie:  Right. Right, come along Richie, breakfast time, nothing in the
         house, so use your imagination, improvise...  [looking one way]
         Ah, ho-ho-ho-ho-hooo...  [the other way]  Ho-ho-ho-ho-hooo...
         [centre-stage]  Ho-ho-ho-ho-hooo! Got it! We'll skip breakfast.
         [begins to sit down]  But that's stupid. Stupid-oopid.  [wafts
         across the room]  Come on Richie, there must be something in the
         cupboard...  [opens it]  Ah-ha! Shelves!  [looks around, notices
         something]  Oh-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoorh, the bin! Brilliant! We
         haven't emptied that for years, there must be loads of gear in
         there.  [opens it]  Huh, fantastic!
Eddie:   [offstage]  Oh, blimey, look out, here comes another one!

[A colossal farting noise, followed by the clattering of someone tumbling
down stairs. The door opens and Eddie tumbles through onto the stage.]

Richie:  Morning Eddie!  [holding up a sheet of newspaper covered in yellow
         muck]  Scrambled eggs?
Eddie:   [holding his groin]  Yes, I think I must have twisted my trousers
         in the fall. You haven't seen my glasses, have you?
Richie:  Yes Eddie, yes, they're on your face.
Eddie:   [looks around wildly]  No, I mean me other glasses. One had Scotch
         in it, the other had gin. I had them all the way home from the pub
         in my pockets, so I'm buggered if I'm giving up on the little
         bastards now.  [sniffs the air, follows his nose, bumps into the
         light switch, swings it open with a shower of sparks]  Ah-ha-ha-
         ha-ha-haaa! Here they are! Little bastards. Trying to hide from
         your uncle Eddie? Ch-ha-ha-ha-ha-uuh!  [swings the panel shut,
         accidentally turning the lights off]  Oh blimey, it's all gone
         dark! Help, help, I'm going blind!
Richie:  Chh, oh for God's sake Eddie, thank heavens there's someone
         technical in the house!

[Richie reaches for the switch. Sparks fly and so does he...]

Richie:  [shaken]  Another perfectly good pair of underpants ruined!
Eddie:   Right, that's it for me, I'm off back to bed.  [makes for the
         door]
Richie:  [at the bin]  Oooh no Eddie, wait, wait, wait.
Eddie:   [making defensive karate poses]  What?
Richie:  [holding up a packet]  Special K!
Eddie:   What's so special about it?
Richie:  Well, it's food!
Eddie:   Is it?
Richie:  Yeah!
Eddie:   Right-oh, I'm on.

[They sit at the table.]

Richie:  Fantastic, Special K, my f-a-vorite.

[He shakes it over his bowl. Nothing happens. He jerks it harder.]

Richie:  Hnggh!  [still nothing]  Weird... [stands on his chair] Hgh!
         [still nothing]  That's strange.  [getting a grip in the contents
         of the packet]  Da-da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da-daa...  [pulls]
         Hggggh! Blimey.  [again]  Hhgggggghhh!  [strains his groin]  hooh,
         hhh...  [pulls]  Hngghhhhh-whoh!  [pulls out a solid brown brick
         of cereal]  Well, that's odd. Oh well, it is seven years past its
         sell-by date. Right, breakfast's up.

[He drops it on the table. It lands with a very solid thud. Richie gets
down from the chair, sits at the table, puts the cereal in his bowl, picks
up his knife and fork and makes for it. Eddie starts banging his bowl with
his spoon, louder each time Richie gets close to his bowl.]

Eddie:   Well what about my brick?
Richie:  H-ooh, God, self, self self! All right, I'll divide it up.  [tries
         several times, unsuccessfully, to break it in half]  Hgh... Hgh...
         Hnnnggh... [French]  Attends.  [gets up, tries to break it on his
         thigh]  Hngh!  [nasty breaking noise, his leg goes loose]  Shit.
         [tries the other leg]  Unnghh! Shit, shit.  [staggering around]
         Ooh.  [notices Eddie grinning]  Ha-ha-ha-ha-haaa!
Eddie:   Ha ha ha ha!

[Richie bangs the brick of cereal repeatedly on the edge of the table, to
no avail, and then on the pillar in the kitchen, similarly unsuccessfully.]

Richie:  [panting]  It's very good for you, Special K. It keeps you fit.
         And it makes you poo regularly.
Eddie:   Yeah, I'm not surprised... eating a brick every morning.
Richie:  Yeah.  [bangs it on the corner of the table, punches it three
         times]  It's no good Eddie, you're going to have to help me out on
         this one.
Eddie:   All right, me old mucker, you hold it tight and I'll give it one
         of me specials.
Richie:  Right-ho.

[Eddie gets up and backs off across the stage. Richie holds the brick with
both hands out in front of him. Eddie lines up both fists, sighting along
them; Richie braces himself against the pillar.]

Eddie:   Ah... right, here we go. Ready?

[Eddie winds up, does a complicated bowling run-up across the stage and
head-butts the brick.]

Eddie:   [holding his teeth]  Ow ow, ow ow ow...

[Richie holds up the cereal, now broken into two pieces.]

Richie:  Well done Eddie, breakfast's up.  [they sit down]  Bon appetit.

[They both take big bites, with a horrible crunch. Richie spits out a
mouthful of teeth. Eddie turns and spits out a few... a few more... a few
more.. spits out about fifteen, one at a time... turns to face Riche...
looks troubled and turns back to spit out the last one.]

Richie:  How are you doing Eddie?
Eddie:   [fingering his jaw]  Not too good...
Richie:  It's a bit dry, isn't it?
Eddie:   It's on the dry side.
Richie:  Yes. Pass the milk me old buster.
Eddie:   [does so]  H-hmm.
Richie:  Ta muchly.

[Richie tries to pour the milk but nothing comes out. He jerks it a few
times then starts shaking it like a sauce bottle. Eddie looks startledly at
the audience as Richie gets into a vigorous two-handed rhythm. Eddie tries
to shield his eyes. Richie looks up, sees Eddie, realises what it looks
like, and stops embarrassedly.

Richie:  It's a bit creamy... Oh, what's the matter with it?  [sniffs,
         falls forward unconscious onto the table]
Eddie:   Richie! No! I told you never to sniff the milk, you crazy mad
         fool!  [pulls him up and slaps him]
Richie:  Uuuh... aurggh.. uuuh...
Eddie:   [to audience]  Oh good, he's coming round.  [punches Richie five
         times; winces and holds his hand]
Richie:  [dazed]  Where am I?
Eddie:   [sweetly]  It's all right, you're safe at home with meeeee!
Richie:  Oh, fuck, give me the milk!
Eddie:   No, Richie, no, it's too dangerous!  [wrestles the bottle from
         Richie and holds it behind him]  Just say NO!
Richie:  But I love being unconscious.
Eddie:   Very well.  [punches him]  Now settle down and eat your brick.
Richie:  Right-ho... Oh, but I can't eat it Eddie, it's too dry for a guy
         like me!
Eddie:   I have just the very thing!  [picks up a can of beer] 
Richie:  Hoorgh!
Eddie:   Ah.
Richie:  Hwoooh!
Eddie:   Haah.  [opens it, sniffs appreciatively and pours it over his
         brick]  Ha-ha-ha-ha-uh, ho-ho-ho-ho-haa-uh-uh-uh-uh, ha...
         [notices Richie, pours a few drips onto his brick]  Ha.  [pours
         himself the rest]  Haaah.  [tosses the can away]  Right, let's
         see.  [tries to approach his brick with his spoon]  Haah... oh
         fuck it.  [throws the cereal away and starts spooning up the beer]
         Good health.
Richie:  Yeah, probably not after I eat this lot, huh-huh-huh!  [takes a
         bite]  Mmmm-mmmmm, not bad.
Eddie:   Eh, eh... Hair of the dog, ha ha ha ha ha.
Richie:  [picking something out of his teeth]  No, I think it's a pube.
         [examines it]  Yeah, see?  [shows Eddie]
Eddie:   Yes.
Richie:  Ooh, I see what you mean! Hair of the dog!
Eddie:   Yeah, Ha-ha-ha-ha-hrrrr!
Richie:  [mimes drinking]  Br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r! Hey, bloody hell, that was a
         bit of a good old time down the pub last night, wasn't it?
Eddie:   Who could have belieeeeeved it? A lock-in... at the Lamb And Flag!
Richie:  Yeah.
Eddie:   Gah... It's a pity it was in the lavatory.
Richie:  Yeah. They are bloody dodgy, those locks, aren't they?
Eddie:   Hmm.
Richie:  Still, better safe than sorry, you don't want someone to catch you
         on the plop, do you?
Eddie:   That's true enough.
Richie:  Hey, though but though but me old sausage though but though but
         though but though what though but though what though but!
Eddie:   Hhh.
Richie:  We had a rare old time, didn't we?
Eddie:   Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaa! U-uuuh... no.
Richie:  No, we didn't really did we? Five hours we were locked in that
         bloody lavvy. Fiiive blooody hours. God I was bored. Well, there's
         nothing to do once you've read all the papers, is there, you know?
         [mimes reading from toilet paper]  "Please wash your hands",
         "Please wash your hands", "Please wash your hands", "Please wash
         your hands", you know. ...Taken down the interesting phone numbers
         off the wall... I wonder if that Frank'll call me back? Seemed
         like an interesting kind of guy. "I am eight inches long and three
         inches round." What an amazing bloke! I wonder what his knob's
         like? Mind you,  [waves his fingertips around his temples]
         brrwoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoooo-hoo!
Eddie:   [looks around, startled]  What?
Richie:  Brrwoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoooo-hoo!  [Eddie puts his fists up]  I have
         to confess to feeling a little bit delicate this morning.
Eddie:   Aaaahw!
Richie:  Hey Eddie? Did you get the Sundays?
Eddie:   Phworgh, yes, do you know, I think I did. I dropped a floater this
         morning -- it looked like it had come straight from a Canadian
         logging camp. I tell you, when that one gets out into the Channel
         it's going to be a danger to shipping.
Richie:  Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, marvellous banter Eddie, and jolly
         interesting information, but, ah, I really meant did you get the
         Sunday papers?
Eddie:   No.
Richie:  Oh. All right, I'll go and pick them up off the mat. Hey, and
         don't touch my brick while I'm gone.

[Eddie looks, startled, at the audience.]

Richie:  [at door]  I said brick. ...Not penis.

[Richie pulls a shocked face at the audience, starts to leave, looks back
at the audience, and finally exits shutting the door behind him. Eddie
reads the Special K box.]

Eddie:   Ah... Oh, look -- a competition. "I want to go to the Bahamas
         because..."  [looks all over the box for the rest of the sentence]
         Must have run out of ink. Oooh, I see, you've got to fill it in!
         All right, let's have a go at this then. Ahhh, now let's be
         crafty. Ahummm... Ahmmmm... Ah, er, er, er-he-ha-ha-ha-haaa-ah-uh-
         ah-ah-ha-ha-haa-haaa! Ah-ha-ha-haa-ha-haaaa! Ah-ha-ha, ha, ha, ha-
         ha-haa-haa, ah-haaaaa-haaaaaa-haaaa-haaaa-haaa-uh... "I want to go
         to the Bahamas because..." ah-uh-uh-uh-uh...  [writing]  "It's
         bloody hot there. That's why. What a stupid fucking question. And
         besides," ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-huurh, "there's lots of birds knocking
         about on the beach," ahhh, "wearing skimpy bikinis with their
         knockers... hanging out... for everyone to get a really really
         really really good look at." Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-hey... not bad! A bit
         long. I'll just take out "and". "It's". "The". "On", "to",
         "fucking"? Better be on the safe side. "Is", "with", "their",
         "really really really really" and "at". So. Now it reads: "I want
         to go to the Bahamas because... hot girls skimpy knockers look at
         everyone." I think I'll send that in. Offer closes 17th July!
         1986!  [starts filling in the coupon; realises]  Oh, fuck it!
         [throws box away]  I've had enough thiamin and niacin to see me
         through to Doomsday mate!  [clutches his bum]  Oh, ah, in fact I
         think I can feel Doomsday coming on...  [Richie enters with the
         papers]  Oh, oh, you haven't seen the bog-roll have you?
Richie:  The bog-roll?
Eddie:   Yeah.
Richie:  Yes, you ate it last night. Remember?
Eddie:   Did I?
Richie:  Yeah, you said it'd save time in the morning.
Eddie:   Oh, I'll have to use your paper then.  [reaches for the Observer]
Richie:  Ah-ah-ah, no you don't. This is my posh paper for clever
         people.Here, use your tabloid, that's all it's good for. The
         Sunday Jugs.  [hands Eddie the Sunday Sport]  How intellectually
         challenging Eddie. The Sunday Jugs. Uh-huh! Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-
         huh, uh-huh, and what are the jugs doing today, Eddie? Are the
         jugs attending the peace conference in Sara-je-vo?
Eddie:   Hang on, I'll have a look.
Richie:  Or are the jugs bringing relief supplies to the starving millions
         in So-ma-li-a?
Eddie:   No, they're just sort of... wobbling about a bit, the same as
         usual.
Richie:  Oooh, blimey, there's a scoop. Oh hold the front page. "Pair of
         knockers wobble about a bit same as usual sensation. Paris
         prepares statement." Ho-huh, that's not journalism Eddie.
Eddie:   [heartfelt]  Oh, yes it is mate. Have a look at those! Ha!
Richie:  Wow! Arrr-rrr-rrr-rrr!  [flaps his tongue]  Lll-lll-lll-lll! L-l-
         l-llrgh, God, she's talented isn't she?  [waves his fingers over
         his groin]  Oh-ho-hooorh! How do they get their nipples to do
         that? ...Why has she got a kitten on her head?
Eddie:   Well you have to read the article that goes with it Richie. Look,
         you see, it's, it's about the Chinese year of the Cat.
Richie:  Oh, so it is. I say, that's awfully clever isn't it?
Eddie:   It's informative, isn't it, you see?
Richie:  Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Eddie:   It's a veritable encyclopaedia of intellectually challenging
         thoughts and ideas.
Richie:  It is Eddie, it is, I take it all back.

[They return to their respective papers. Eddie checks that Richie is hidden
behind his paper.]

Eddie:   [to paper, quietly]  Haha, hah, hello.  [winks]  Uh, uh-uh-uh...
         who, me? Uh-uh-uh, all right then.  [brings his head down to the
         paper and shakes it]  Br-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-lr!  [brings the paper
         down to his groin]  Ah-hu-hu-huhuhuhuhuhu-ahhuhuhuah, cheeky! Ah-
         hu-ha-ha.  [makes licking noises]  Ah-ha-ha-ha-huuuh.  [back to
         his face]  Br-r-r-r-r-r-l-l-l-lr! Ah-hahahahahahaha-ha-uh.
         [realises Richie is watching]
Richie:  Come along Eddie, you've been on that page long enough.
Eddie:   Haven't quite finished reading it yet.
Richie:  Yes, well there's not really that much to read on it, is there?

[Eddie turns the page.]

Both:    Wooooooowwww!
Eddie:   L-l-l-l-llll!
Richie:  [pelvic thrusts]  Uh, jug attack!
Eddie:   [clutching his bum]  Oh, ah, oh dear, I've really got to get to
         the lavatory really very very quickly!
Richie:  Oh no Eddie, don't go. Doh, uh, well look, can I have it after
         you?
Eddie:   I don't think you'll want it when I've finished with it mate.
Richie:  Oh, right.  [Eddie leaves]  Shit.  [furtively]  Right. Where's the
         fashion page of the Observer? Yeah. There's normally some bit of
         totty kicking her legs up in the middle of a roundabout in Paris
         wearing a see-through blouse, you know, poking her nipples into
         some poor peasant's ear, while he jabs at her hindquarters with a
         dripping baguette! Yes, siree, these are classy birds mate,
         classy! None of your hunch-backed toothless moonlighting dinner-
         ladies you get in Eddie's rag. No siree, these birds'll swallow
         the lot and then read you a bit of Jean-Paul Sartre. That's what I
         call class.  [opens the paper]  Right, here we are.  [looks]  Eee-
         eu. B-o-llocks! "Hurrah for the new long hemline." Oh, what a
         waste of a perfectly good bird.  [tries looking up from the bottom
         of the page]  No. Oh, I don't know what the world's coming to, I
         really don't. Erm... Ermm... Oh, I'll have a look in the travel
         section. Might be a bit of bikini action.  [opens it]
Eddie:   [enters, relieved]  Hoh, hah, that's better.
Richie:  Hah.  [turns page]  Hu-hu-hu-hu-hu-hu-huu-huu-huu, hu-huu-huu!
Eddie:   Have you found a picture of Sue Carpenter?
Richie:  No, no, look, look, look, Eddie, Weston-super-mare.
Eddie:   Huuuh-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haa...
Richie:  [fondly]  Weston-super-mare. Ah, look, there's the pier.
Eddie:   That's the hotel!
Richie:  So it is.
Eddie:   That's incredible, still standing.
Richie:  Yeah.
Eddie:   Ha-hay, not like that hotel we stayed in in Scarborough
Richie:  No... I warned you about that paella, didn't I?
Eddie:   Yeah.
Richie:  Weston-super-mare, eh?
Eddie:   What?
Richie:  Weston-super-mare, eh? Weston-super-mare.  [forearm gesture]
Eddie:   No, you've lost me there.
Richie:  Come on... Weston-super-ma-a-a-are!  [forearm gesture, pelvic
         thrust]  Hey, I'll tell you what me old pal, I had some bloody
         narrow squeaks in Weston-super-mare.
Eddie:   Squeaks! You told me that holiday was gonna be a two-week
         blistering sex rampage. It's Weston-super-mare, Eddie, you said.
         Weston-super-ma-a-a-a-a-are! Sex rampage? I've had bigger stiffies
         watching Playbus.

[A clattering noise off-stage. They both turn around, startled.

Richie:  Did you just hear the letter-box flapping? We don't normally get
         post on a Sunday, do we?
Eddie:   No.
Richie:  What time is it? Turn on the telly.

[Eddie does so.]

TV:      Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da...
Eddie:   That's not Highway, is it... Arhhhh, no, it's Richard and Judy!
         Arhhhhhh! Arhhhhh!
Richie:  Uh, uh, uh, quick, Eddie, quick, go and get your service revolver.
Eddie:   Okey-dokey.  [rushes out]
Richie:  Oh, Christ, Richard and Judy!  [retching]  Hurrgh... hurghh...
         Quick, Eddie, she's smiling! Hurgghh... Hurry Eddie, hurry! Roy
         fucking Castle's coming on!
Eddie:   [enters]  Okay, out of the way!

[Eddie fires several wild shots at the TV, which explodes.  He crawls along
the back of the sofa to finish it of at close range. Richie backs him up by
flicking V-signs at the television. Eddie nonchalantly blows across the
muzzle of the gun.]

Eddie:   Hey... hang on a minute! If it's Richard and Judy, then it, it
         must be Monday.
Richie:  Bloody hell Eddie, that was a bit of a lock-in, wasn't it?
Eddie:   Yeah...
Richie:  Two bloody nights drinking! Bloody yeah! Wa-hey the lads!
Eddie:   What?
Richie:  I said wa-hey the lads!
Eddie:   Yeah, I thought that's what you said. What the fuck does it mean?
Richie:  Oh God Eddie, you're such a Southerner, aren't you. Us Geordies
         say it all the time. Wa-hey the lads! Haddaway and d'shite!
Eddie:   All right, I, I'll repeat it: what the fuck does it mean?
Richie:  Wahey the lads!
Eddie:   Yes.
Richie:  Well, it means, er, it means ah, ahh, it means come on everyone,
         let's weigh all the lads. "Hello, my name's Richard, I'm thirteen
         and a half stone, and, ah, what about you, er, Spender?"

[The doorbell rings.]

Richie:  Front door, Eddie. Hurry along.
Eddie:   And why me?
Richie:  Well, because if it's a mob of crack-crazed football enthusiasts
         hell-bent on buggering the living daylights out of posh
         householders in a nice district like this, they're likely to think
         twice when confronted by the whiff of Cro-Magnon Man.
Eddie:   Fair enough.  [walks to the door, to audience]  I wonder what the
         fuck that meant? Sounded pretty good though. Hahah.
Richie:  What was that?
Eddie:   Nothing... just an aside.  [waves to audience]  Hallo.
Richie:  I've told you before: you don't talk to the ordinary people.

[Another ring on the doorbell.]

Eddie:   Yeah, all right I'm coming.

[Richie points accusingly into the audience.]

Eddie:   [offstage]  Yeah, what do you want? Oh, it's a fight you want is
         it?

[Clattering, clanging, dogs barking... Richie opens the door to the hall,
closes it again, frightened, and cowers under the table. Eddie enters.]

Richie:  Eddie, are you okay? Who on earth was it?
Eddie:   It was the fucking postman! Bastard!
Richie:  Every day the same, every day he comes round... what does he want?
Eddie:   Claims he was "delivering the mail".
Richie:  Oh-ho-ho yeah, you got any proof?
Eddie:   A parcel and some letters.
Richie:  Oh-ho yeah, and who are they addressed to?
Eddie:   Us.
Richie:  Us. And who does he think we are?
Eddie:   Probably the people the letters are addressed to.
Richie:  Yeah!
Eddie:   [thinks; doubtfully]  Yeah.
Richie:  Oh, right, well... Well let's not fuck with him any more!
Eddie:   I didn't know you were fucking him.
Richie:  Come on  Eddie, first letter.
Eddie:   Right. "Dear Sir or Madam,"
Richie:  [bangs table]  I beg your pardon. Get my solicitor on the phone
         immediately. I'm not suffering a slur like that. It was just a
         dodgy batch of hormone replacement tablets, that's all. Anyway
         look, they've gone down now, haven't they?
Eddie:   Ah, I don't think it's about the breast enlargement accident.
Richie:  Oh isn't it?
Eddie:   No.
Richie:  Oh, phew. Okay, carry on.
Eddie:   "You have been personally selected by our computer"
Both:    Oooohhh!
Eddie:   "to take part in this once in a lifetime opportunity to send us a
         cheque," ah! "for fifty-five pounds."
Richie:  Wowwwww! Go on.
Eddie:   No, that's it.
Richie:  What do you mean that's it? How do they expect to get away with
         that? What's the name of the company?
Eddie:   Ah-hhh. "E. Hitler Cash-quick Enterprises."
Richie:  [coldly]  Next ruddy letter.
Eddie:   Oooh! Now this one looks like it's from some solicitors.
Richie:  What? Shit, Eddie, don't touch it!
Eddie:   Hahhh! Too late!  [sobs]  Me dabs are already on it.
Richie:  Oh cripes, oh cripes, oh cripes, right, er, get the Bible and the
         crucifix, I'll make a pentangle of salt, and then -- no, call the
         estate agents, we're going to have to move house. No, wipe all the
         surfaces, remove all the evidence we were ever here... Oh God, oh
         God, oh God, oh God, it's not about the pet shop is it? I told you
         my trousers fell open. Then, you know, I accidentally slipped on
         some hamster food and my penis inadvertently entered the goldfish
         tank.
Eddie:   Too late! I've accidentally opened it.
Richie:  Huh, huh, huh, huh...  [huge farty noise, clutches his bum]  Oh
         blimey, I'll just go to the lavvy for a couple of days Eddie!
         [rushes out]

[Eddie looks away and unfolds the letter. He tries to peek at it without
actually looking at it.]

Eddie:   Oh, fuck it!  [reads]  "Shotgun Bastard and Dribble, Lawyers. For
         the attention of Richard Richard." Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho-uuuh! "Owing to
         the unfortunate demise of your great-uncle Norman, blah blah, blah
         blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah-blah-blah. Full
         stop. Diddly-do diddly-do diddly-doo, diddly-do diddly-do, diddly-
         do diddly-do diddly-do diddly-do diddly-do." Gah, blimey, they
         write some bollocks these lawyers, don't they? "Blah blah blah
         blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah fifteen thousand
         pounds." Uuuh!

[He holds the letter right up to his eye. Still not trusting his sight, he
removes his glasses and jabs himself in the eyes with his fingers.]

Eddie:   Fuck fuck ow fuck fuck...  [replaces his glasses, reads again]
         Yes! Fifteen thousand pounds! Payable immediately. In cash! H-
         hhhrrrr, this is it Eddie. This is the big one. Birds! Booze!
         And... yeah well that'll do me actually.

[Richie returns, in some discomfort.]

Richie:  Eddie. Why have you put barbed wire down the middle of the toilet?
Eddie:   Because of the world health crisis.
Richie:  And what exactly do you mean by that?
Eddie:   You can catch it off lavatory seats.
Richie:  Catch what, an anus full of razor wire?
Eddie:   I think you know what I'm talking about. I mean, have you got a
         full sexual history of everyone you've ever slept with? Hmm?
Richie:  Yes I have as a matter of fact. I've got it right here. On me.
         There.
Eddie:   That's a very small piece of paper, isn't it?
Richie:  Oh, Eddie, don't be so judgemental. It's quality that counts, not
         quantity.
Eddie:   And it's blank.
Richie:  Yes I know. It's a devastatingly accurate report. I wish I'd never
         commissioned it now. I employed a private investigator. Three
         weeks he took, three whole weeks. All he did was stand around in
         the garden all day, looking at my hedge. And then four days later
         I found out he was a privet investigator. ...I've got to get that
         typewriter fixed. Anyway, you can come off your high horse. What
         about your sexual history?
Eddie:   I have got nothing to hide.
Richie:  No, not after three pints you haven't, no. Ah no, it's glug, glug,
         glug, ooh look Eddie, there's Ethel Cardew. Yeah, Ethel Cardew.
         And it's down with the trousers and out with the spotlight, isn't
         it? We've been thrown out of many a good snug because of your knob
         impressions, haven't we? We've seen them all: Big Ben, Zulus at
         dawn, Churchill looking startled...
Eddie:   [laughing]  Well, it's what I call safe sex.
Richie:  That's not what the police called it. They called it incitement to
         riot. Anyway, anyway, enough of that bollocks Eddie. Tell me the
         worst.  [braces himself]  What do the solicitors want?
Eddie:   [discreetly puts the letter in his pocket]  Erm, err, er, er-er-
         er, erm, uh-uuuhh, er-uuuuh, uuh-err, er-hooooo blimey! Now that's
         an interesting looking package!
Richie:  Why thank you Eddie!
Eddie:   No, I meant the parcel on the table.
Richie:  Huh? Oh-hu-huuuu-uuurh! You didn't tell me there was a parcel. Oh
         fantastic! Oh that's great, I love surprises. Ha ha ha...

[Eddie kicks Richie in the bollocks.]

Richie:  What did you do that for?
Eddie:   It was a surprise. Didn't you like it?
Richie:  But you're always kicking me in the knackers, where's the surprise
         in that?
Eddie:   I used the other foot.
Richie:  Pass the pliers, would you, I think I need to dislodge a couple of
         items.
Eddie:   There you go.
Richie:  Thanks me old pal.

[Richie jabs the pliers into Eddie's crutch and squeezes.repeatedly,
jumping Eddie backwards across the room.]

Richie:  There, that's dislodged them.
Eddie:   [falsetto]  I'll say! Rich!
Richie:  What?

[Eddie punches Richie. Richie punches him back. He punches Richie again.]

Richie:  Bloody right!

[Richie floats around the room like a butterfly. Eddie looks confused and
follows suit. They eventually meet back in the middle of the stage.]

Richie:  Ah, a bit of snazzy footwork eh?

[Eddie dances off behind the sofa and falls over. He struggles to his feet,
disorientated, only to be punched in the crutch by Richie. Eddie punches
Richie in the face.]

Richie:  Shhw, pack it in Eddie, we're too old for this. Oh, look at me
         sweating, like I've been masturbating for a month.
Eddie:   Yeah, well you have haven't you?
Richie:  Well, yeah, but it's been a long tour, hasn't it?

[They dry themselves off.]

Richie:  I say, it's a bloody good job these towels were here, isn't it?
Eddie:   Yeah! Cracking bit of luck.
Richie:  Phwh.  [pants]
Eddie:   You all right? I actually hit you on the nose then, didn't I, by
         accident?
Richie:  Yeah. That's okay.
Eddie:   Take your time.
Richie:  Yeah, I'm all right, I'm all right. I'm okay.
Eddie:   Ready now?
Richie:  Br-r-r-r-r-! Where the fuck are we? Oh yes, I know, yes. Oh Eddie
         Eddie, why does everything we do have to degenerate into mindless
         violence?
Eddie:   Because that's the way we like it.
Richie:  Yes, I suppose you're right, you insane old git. Come on, let's
         shake and make up.
Both:    [shaking]  Brrrrrr!  [mime applying make-up]  Mmm-mm-mm. Great
         gag!  [march over to the table and sit down]
Richie:  Well, come on, come on, let's open up the parcel, see what we've
         got.
Eddie:   [reading label]  Dohhhhhhh, bollocks!
Richie:  They'd have to be awfully big ones.
Eddie:   No, it's, it's the wrong address.
Richie:  Oh.
Eddie:   This is for a Professor Richard McRichard.

[Richie looks worried. Eddie turns to him and immediately his expression
changes to one of puzzlement. Eddie turns back and he again looks worried
and scheming. This happens several times.]

Eddie:   "Mafeking Terrace Young Ladies Hospital, Research Department.
         Please rush my love item to me, I am over 18." Wh, oh bugger, and
         it looks so damnably intriguing.
Richie:  [thinking]  Right, err, ohh-hhohhh, er-oooh...
Eddie:   You all right Richie?
Richie:  What? Yeah. yeah, just trying to think fast. Er, ooohh, er, oh
         that's good. Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho, that'll work. Er, oh-hhhhh, hur-
         ho-ho-ho-huhh, read me that name again would you Eddie?
Eddie:   Ah, Professor Richard...
Richie:  McRichard, yes, of course, I'm being stupid.
Eddie:   Surprise me!
Richie:  What?
Eddie:   I said surprise me.
Richie:  Okey-dokey.

[Richie launches a kick at Eddie but hits the table with a metallic clonk.]

Richie:  Ohh, shit! What have you got up there?
Eddie:   My testicles.
Richie:  W-right, yes of course, Professor Richard McRichard.
Eddie:   Yup.
Richie:  Yes, now then, he's my, er, Scottish relative you know.
Eddie:   Ooooh yes.
Richie:  Yes, and he's a professor, you see, and he asked me to look after
         some items of a, of a medical nature for him while he's away in,
         er, er, Ummi-gummi-gummi-gum-gum-gum-land. Right, I'd better just,
         er, open it up and check that it's all there.  [opens it and peeks
         inside, gasps]  Hrhhhh, hrghllllm, hrhfkluthjgiugre-hoehgkjhfiohg-
         hrrhg-iokghigjhlkh,  [slaps himself]  Yeah, that all seems to be
         in order. Er, let's see, er, er,  [exaggerated yawning gesture]
         urrh-huh, is that the time, do you know I think I'll turn in early
         tonight Eddie?
Eddie:   What do you mean? It's only half past ten in the morning!
Richie:  Oh stop being so pedantic, we've only just found out it's Monday
         for fuck's sake. Right-ho, nighty-night Eddie, see you in the
         morning. If I've still got the power of sight!  [leaves]
Eddie:   Good, he's gone.

[Eddie goes to the phone, unfolds the letter, reads the number, and starts
banging the phone wildly, grinning at the audience and laughing.]

Eddie:   [to phone]  Hello? Shotgun, Bastard and Dribble? Cor, that's a bit
         of luck, I don't know what the fuck I dialled. Hello? Will I
         hold... what? Hello? Hello-oo-oo? Yes, Mr. Bastard, yes, good
         morning. Yes, I'm phoning abut Richard Richard and the fifteen
         grand that's owing. Yes. Well, I was just wondering, um, if
         something should happen to Richard, ah, huh, yeah, I mean nothing
         serious, you know, should he, er, stop living... for a while...
         who would the fifteen grand that's owed pass on to? I see, the
         next of kin. Now, is that a sort of blood relative, or could it be
         your kind of best drinking buddy of a Saturday night kind of guy?
         Fuck. Well how do you get to be next of kin then? Yes, marriage.
         Yeah, or... adoption? Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-hurhh! Right, well, thank you
         very much Mr. Bastard, and, ah, good morning. ...My name? Ah... J.
         R. Hartley. Yes, yes, delighted to send a signed piccie. Yeah, a-
         and...  [holds the phone away from his ear, doubtfully]  a test-
         tube full of my love-juice. Right, well, thank you very much Mr.
         Morning, and good bastard!  [slams the phone down]  Ha-ha, this is
         it Eddie. This is The Big One! And I don't mean that crap sit-com
         on Channel 4 with Sandi Toksvig in it.

[Richie enters, in his underpants.]

Richie:  Heigh-ho...  [runs around, looking for something]  Er, pooh,
         what's that disgusting smell? Have you been saying "Sandi Toksvig"
         again?
Eddie:   Sorry Rich.
Richie:  Well don't, you know it brings on my eczema.
Eddie:   Ah, where are your trousers?
Richie:  What? Er, er, oh, they blew off in a storm Eddie. Now listen,
         Eddie, have you got the pump?
Eddie:   No, it's just the way I'm standing.
Richie:  No no, it's not a euphemism. Oh God, on and on it goes. Ah, look,
         it's no double-entendre, it's just a straight question.
Eddie:   Okay.
Richie:  Have you got the pump?
Eddie:   Hrr...  [pelvic thrust]  Er, err,  [crosses his hands over his
         crotch]  nhh-nhh, er-uh-hu-hu, urhhrhh, ah-ha-ha-ha-haa-haaaa-
         haaaa-aaa, uh... no. The only pump we've got is that big electric
         one that Gusty O'Windflap had installed, remember? When he was
         rehearsing his adult variety act, The Human Balloon.
Richie:  Gusty O'Windflap.
Eddie:   Ha ha ha ha ha...
Richie:  Now whatever happened to him?
Eddie:   He was spread over four counties, remember? When the nozzle got
         accidentally lodged in his rectum.
Richie:  So he was, so he was! What a dreadfully sad thing to happen to
         anyone. How we laughed!
Both:    Ha-ha-ha-haaa!
Richie:  He was a one-off.
Eddie:   Yeah, I've heard about being blown off, but that took some
         beating.
Richie:  Yes.
Eddie:   They had to close the High Street, do you remember?
Richie:  So they did, so they did!
Both:    [downward mime]  Gusty, gusty, gusty, gusty, gusty.
Richie:  Ha ha ha.
Eddie:   Ha ha.
Richie:  Oh, well who gives a fuck about him, the cunt's dead anyway. So,
         so what you're saying is that, Eddie, the only pump in the house
         is right here. In the drawing room.
Eddie:   That's right me old cock-a-leekie mate flap sparrow Cockney
         rhyming bollocks!
Richie:  And it can't be moved from here.
Eddie:   No.
Richie:  [quietly]  Shit.  [to Eddie]  So, ah, ho-ho-ho-hooo-hoho, what are
         you doing today Eddie?
Eddie:   Well, it's a Monday isn't it? You know, start of a new week. New
         prospects, neeeew horizons... So, you know... I think I might just
         sit on the sofa and wait until Emmerdale comes on the telly.
         [looks at the TV]  Which could be some considerable time. Why,
         what are you doing today Rich, just hanging about the flat 'til I
         go out so you can have a wank?
Richie:  Ye-- but how do you know these things? Who tells you these things?
         Are you a member of the occult?
Eddie:   [gets up]  What did you just call me?
Richie:  A member of the occult.
Eddie:   Right, that's it mate.  [advances towards Richie]  Cor, what's
         that bloody horrible smell?
Richie:  [wafting his crotch]  Eau de toilette.
Eddie:   It's what?
Richie:  This, Eddie, is the latest fragrance from Paris.
Eddie:   [sniffs]  What, are they having trouble with their sewers again?
Richie:  Look Eddie, if you really must know...
Eddie:   Ahah?
Richie:  I mean, if you really really must kn-ow. I, uh-huh, I, ah, have
         got a bird coming round.
Eddie:   [nearly faints]  A bird?
Richie:  Yes, a bird. A real bird. A real great big bird with real great
         big wobbly knockers hanging off her like they're going out of
         fashion. So I don't want you cluttering up the place, polluting
         the atmos. with your foul dog-breath and spoiling my chances.
         'Cause I'll tell you what, my old mate, I'll tell you what,
         [prods the table]  I'll tell you what, I'm bloody well on here.
         On, one hundred percent cert.
Eddie:   Oh, she's blind!
Richie:  Oh, hur-hu-hu-hu-hu-haa!  [holds his stomach in laughing gesture]
         Uh-hu-hu-hu,  [gesture from behind, blows raspberry]  uh-hu-hu-hu,
         [gesture from ears, blows raspberry]  uh-hu-hu-hu  [gesture, erect
         finger at crotch falling down]  Meee-eeeew. You're just jealous.
         Just 'cause you've never had a bird 'round the flat.
Eddie:   Ah! What about that owl? Hm? Hm?
Richie:  Yeah, but you didn't get a shag off her though, did you?
Eddie:   Yeah, well, it wasn't for the want of trying.  [sadly]  You had to
         bring that up again, didn't you? I thought that was all water
         under the bridge. Ohhh, Susie...  [flaps arms]  Hoo-hoo-hoooo,
         hoo-hoo-hoo-hooooo... uhhh, how was I to know someone had stuffed
         her already? So, you want me out of the way then?
Richie:  Oh, thanks Eddie, I knew you'd come round in the end. Bye.
Eddie:   How much have you got?
Richie:  Not a lot.
Eddie:   Yeah, I know that, but I'm talking about money.
Richie:  You blood-sucking hell-fiend! And I thought you were my best
         friend.
Eddie:   Ah, yes, I'm afraid I am.
Richie:  Ah-ha, yeah, so you are! God, life's a bitch! All right, just this
         once, you can have my emergency fiver.

[Riche goes to the picture on the wall and lifts up a flap, revealing a
fiver-shaped shadow. He reaches out towards it.]

Richie:  My emergency fiver ! It's gone!
Eddie:   [looking guilty]  Oh. Maybe it blew away?
Richie:  Well it must have been a hell of a gust Eddie, I nailed it down.
         Fuck me, the nails have gone too!

[Eddie takes a handful of nails from his pocket and throws them away.]

Richie:  Oh, where can it be?
Eddie:   Search me, mate.  [realises]  Uuuh!
Richie:  Well that... is a bloody good... idea.  [raises Eddie's arms and
         reaches towards his chest]  Ergh!  [towards his crutch]  Eeergh!
Eddie:   Erh-he-he-he-heurgh!
Richie:  Ergh!
Eddie:   Ah-ha.

[Richie reaches over and plucks the fiver from Eddie's jacket pocket.]

Richie:  Here it is. The emergency fiver. In your top pocket. Edward
         Elizabeth Hitler, you are a fucking... genius! I knew you'd know
         where it'd be. There's the fiver, there's the hat, there's the
         coat, now fuck off and don't come back.
Eddie:   [opens the door]  All right then! But I shall be back just as soon
         as I have spent it.  [exits]
Richie:  Right-oh.  [listens for the front door slamming]  Ha-a-a-a-a-a-
         aah! Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-o-o-o, hoo-hoo-ho-ho-ho-ooo, right, ho-
         ho-ho.  [runs upstairs and returns with the parcel; places it on
         the floor]  Ah, ah, ha-a-a-a-a, haa-a-a-a-a, hu-u-u-u-u-u, ha-a-a-
         a-h.  [upwards]  Thank you.  Uh-aa-a-a-a, ah-a-a-a-a, hu-uuuu,
         ahhhh.  [pulls the head of a blow-up doll out of the box]  Ah!
         [pulls it out further; the front door slams]  Shit, it's Eddie!
         [pushes the box under the table and sits down, whistling]
Eddie:   [panting]  Spent it!  [slyly]  Hey, Richie, where's your bird? I
         mean, I knew you were quick but that's ridiculous.
Richie:  Well, er, she hasn't come yet.
Eddie:   Well that's no big surprise, is it? I mean, she's hardly likely to
         have an orgasm with you, is she?
Richie:  Well of course she's not going to have an orgasm Eddie, she's a
         girl! Uh-huh! I mean, where do you pick up your sexual mores, in
         the Beano? Uh-hu-huh! Now come on, clear orf.
Eddie:   [melodramatically]  Oh, blimey, you can get through money quickly
         in a big city like this, can't you?
Richie:  Oh, here we go.
Eddie:   No sooner was I out of the front door than it had gone. Bloody
         muggers everywhere. I think I've lost another tooth.
Richie:  Eddie, you've been mugged!
Eddie:   Yeah.
Richie:  Great heavens, are you okay? Did you get a good look at him? I
         mean, you know, could you describe him?
Eddie:   Yes. He, was, he was about my age. About my height. Ah, glasses.
         Stupid little fucking hat. And he was wearing these exact clothes.
Richie:  You... mugged... yourself.
Eddie:   That's right matey, and made a fiver out of it. Right, that's it,
         I'm off out again. See you later.  [waves the fiver]  Hahhh!
         [leaves]
Richie:  [looks puzzled, remembers his secret]  Haah!  [waves his fingers
         over his crotch]  Hoohh! Oh, oh, oh, oh, Monica!  [gets her out]
         Oh, Monica, you are beautiful.  [puts her on the sofa]  Why don't
         you relax and unwind for a while. On the chaise longue.
         [pronounced chaisey-longuey]  I'll be back in a mo. A sex mo.
         [looks back, spreads her legs, and walks away again]  Just getting
         the hand cream, baby! Just chucking the lid away, we won't need
         that any more, 'cause we're gonna get through the whole blumming
         lot tonight! Hoh, hoh, uh, I'll just go and activate the pump. Oh-
         hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hooo! Right.

[He opens the cupboard under the sink and turns on the pump. Lights flash,
steam rises, a steam-whistle blows... the front door slams.]

Richie:  Oh, shit, it's Eddie again! Oh shit oh shit oh shit!

[Richie winds up the hose, shuts off the pump and closes the cupboard.]

Richie:  Ooh, Monica!

[He runs over to the sofa and in desperation stuffs Monica into his pants,
inadvertently leaving a leg hanging out.]

Eddie:   [enters]  It's not my lucky day! It's getting so you can't walk
         out of your own front door. Still, made another fiver out of it!
         That's ah-ummmmm, fifteen quid so far. If I keep this up I could
         be a millionaire by the morning.
Richie:  Eddie, can you explain to me...

[Richie notices Eddie staring at the leg and hides behind the sofa. Eddie
stares and points at him.]

Richie:  Uh, uh, uh... oh dear, one of my intestines seems to have
         prolapsed. I really must get it fixed sometime. Eddie, why do you
         keep coming back?
Eddie:   Oh, I forgot to pick up the solicitor's letter.
Richie:  Eh,  [Eddie looks worried]  and what do you want with the
         solicitor's letter? Eddie?
Eddie:   [quietly]  Fuck, that's a tough one.  [to Richie]  Ahhh, well, I
         thought if I took it I'd probably get mugged again.  [quietly]
         Yeah that's a good one.  [to Richie]  Ah, then the muggers would
         take it, right, and we would never hear of it again?
Richie:  Well Eddie, that's a fantastic plan, what could go wrong with
         something like that?
Eddie:   Right, I'll be off again then.  [opens the window]  Taxi! The
         Copacobana! Yeah, well, wait for me, you little bastard.  [to
         Richie]  I'll see you later.
Richie:  Right-ho, take care Eddie.

[Eddie takes a good run up and dives head-first out of the window.
Clattering outside. Ritchie closes it behind him.]

Richie:  Right.  [starts to pull Monica out, holding the leg out straight]
         Oh, if only.  [pulls her out]  Oh, Monica, alone at last. Time to
         descend to the depths of erotic experimentation. I'll just...
         shove you on the pump for a while.  [starts the pump]  Just a
         quick gust of love air, my angel, and we'll be in paradise. Uh,
         right, contact.  [starts filling]  It works! Oh Monica, Monica,
         you are beautiful! Oh look at -- ooh, that'll do, don't want to
         shag a fatty!  [tries to disconnect her]  Blimey, how do you
         switch this thing off?

[A loud pop. Monica flies across the room, with Richie in pursuit.]

Richie:  Bollocks!

[Lights down.]


Act 2.
------

[Lights up. Monica, heavily patched and wearing a black bra, is sitting on
the sofa. Richie enters wearing a Noel Coward style dressing-gown and
carrying a cigarette in a holder.]

Richie:  Why, hello my dear. And how extraordinary that fate should have
         thrown us together like this. Are you looking for a bit of slidy-
         pump-pump action as well? I thought so.  [tosses the cigarette
         aside]  So let's get... romantic.

[Richie slips off his dressing-gown to reveal his shirt and tie and his
enormous underpants. He sits down next to Monica.]

Richie:  Hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo! Gosh, it's, er, very hot in here tonight,
         isn't it Monica?  [to audience]  Fucking well is actually, isn't
         it?  [quiets audience, pointing to Monica]  You must be very warm,
         Monica, in all that... bra. Why don't you, ah, take it off? ...Go
         on! Pop 'em out! Give 'em a good old flapping! What do you say,
         Monica?

[He reaches behind her and nods her head.]

Richie:  I'm on! I'll help you, shall I, it'll be more erotic.  [struggles
         with the bra strap for a while]  Blimey! How do bras work? I've
         never seen one before!

[Richie struggles a while longer, eventually pulling the bra down and off
over her legs. He stands Monica up next to him and holds her hand.]

Richie:  Hoo-hoo-hoo-hooh! Well, here we are, Monica. Ah, would you care to
         da--  [she falls over, her head in his crutch]  You're very keen
         tonight, Monica! I thought we'd have a bit of a dance first. Oh,
         and Monica, you are beautiful! Oh, our lovemaking is going to go
         on and on.  [dances with her]  On and on and on. I've got a good,
         what, three or four minutes in me tonight! Oh, let us dance.
         [spins her round his head]  Dance the dance of lovers...  [throws
         her up]  On and on our dancing will g--  [catches her, upside
         down, her head at his groin]  That's enough of that. You can over-
         do it with the romance, don't you find?  [nods her head]  Yeah.
         Too puffed out for the knobbing, eh?  [nods her head vigorously]
         Come on, let's get the hand-cream. Oh, here we go! Run with me, my
         angel! Run with me to our love grotto behind the sofa!  [sticks
         his head up from behind the sofa]  Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hooo!  [sticks
         Monica's head up, high voice]  Ohoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! Oh Monica,
         Monica, you're swee--

[A terrible crashing, breaking noise.]

Eddie:   [offstage]  Darling, I'm home!
Richie:  Shit, it's Eddie!

[Richie gets up from behind the sofa. Monica's head is in his underpants,
her legs sticking up in front of him. He tries to pull her out.]

Richie:  Ung, ungh, get off Monica! Unrghh! Get off! Ungh! Oh Christ, she's
         stuck! Ungh, ungh...
Eddie:   [calls from offstage]  Richie!
Richie:  Urgh, uh, there's no-one at home Eddie! I mean, I'm in the lavvy.
         Urh, urh, I mean, sorry Eddie, I've decided we're incompatible
         flat-mates. Sorry, me old pal, it's just one of those things.
         Goodbye for ever, and close the door as you go!

[Eddie opens the door and enters; Richie hides behind the open door,
Monica's feet sticking up above it.]

Eddie:   That's going to be a little bit difficult I'm afraid, it, it, it's
         come off its hinges again.
Richie:  Oh, Eddie, you really must learn to use a door handle.
Eddie:   Yeah, I suppose you're right.

[Eddie notices Monica's feet. Richie snatches them down out of sight.]

Eddie:   Oh well, I'd better fix the door. Ah, now, ahh, where's the, ah,
         superglue gone? I left it here in the hand-cream jar.
Richie:  [flashes a shocked look at the audience]  Superglue?
Eddie:   Ye-eees.
Richie:  Superglue in the hand-cream jar?
Eddie:   You got it!
Richie:  Uh-uh-uh-uh-ah-ah-aahh! I, I, I think I left it in the lavvy
         Eddie.
Eddie:   Oh, right, I'll go and find it.  [leaves]
Richie:  Super-fucking-glue!  [tugs at Monica]  Urh, urrrrrgh, urrrrgh...
         [to front row]  Here, look, you two, grab that! Oh Christ, he's
         coming back!

[Richie runs to the window, stands facing it and arranges the curtain over
Monica.]

Eddie:   [enters]  No, it's not there.  [walks to the window; Richie
         whistles nonchalantly]  What's that?
Richie:  What's what?
Eddie:   [pointing]  That.
Richie:  I, I can't see anything.
Eddie:   The thing you're trying to hide behind the curtain.
Richie:  Oh that? Ah, err, oh don't worry about that Eddie, I've just, er,
         got a bit of a stiffy, that's all.
Eddie:   A what?
Richie:  You know, it's a gentleman's early-morning thing.
Eddie:   A toothbrush?
Richie:  No, look bugger off Eddie, I've got a parping great trumpet under
         here!
Eddie:   Well, let's have a look at it then!
Richie:  No, Eddie!

[Richie turns to face Eddie, revealing Monica.]

Eddie:   That's a funny-looking trumpet, isn't it?  [points]  Is that where
         you blow?
Richie:  No! Ah, eh, oh Eddie, I'm being so gauche, aren't I? I haven't
         introduced you yet. Ah, Monica, this is Eddie. Eddie, this is
         Monica.
Eddie:   [looks around]  Where?
Richie:  [points]  Here!  [gets his finger stuck to her]  Oh no. Oh, God,
         there's superglue everywhere!  [manages to free his finger]  Oh,
         thank God.
Eddie:   Is she from the circus?
Richie:  Do you mind, she's a respectable woman!
Eddie:   Yes, I can see that. And, erm, is this the box she came in?
         [examines it]  Phworgh, blimey, she's a busy woman, isn't she?
         She's got three working offices! ...Oh, come on Richie, own up.
         It's just a bottom-of-the-range six-foot plastic doll you've
         inadvertently superglued to your penis.
Richie:  Prove it!
Eddie:   [walks over and indicates Monica]  Da-daaaa!
Richie:  Shit! Right, so, it's a fight!
Eddie:   Is it? Oooh, good.
Richie:  Oh, there's only one thing, me old pal, I've got a bit of a girlie
         superglued to the end of my knob, so, ah, be a pal and give it a
         bit of a yank, would you?
Eddie:   All right, ah...  [yanks]  Urgh!
Richie:  Ooh, careful Eddie!

[Eddie yanks again repeatedly. Richie looks at the audience, a huge grin on
his face.]

Richie:  Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh...  [Eddie stops]  Uh-uh-uh-uh-aah-aaah-
         arrhhh! Hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo! That's rather special actually! And they
         say there aren't enough women in comedy. Hah!
Eddie:   Right, let's have a look at the little beauty.  picks up a chisel
         and hammer]  I think the stone chisel ought to crack it.
Richie:  Right-oh.
Eddie:   Here we go. Are you ready?
Richie:  In your own time Eddie.
Eddie:   Okay.
Richie:  Ha-ha.  [Eddie swings; ching!]  Urgh!  [ching!]  Urhh!  [ching!]
         Uh!
Eddie:   You know that's really quite an impressive stiffy you've got down
         there Richie. I think I shall have to use the drill.
Richie:  No, do you know I've changed my mind Eddie, I think I can live
         with it.
Eddie:   Here goes...
Richie:  It's a sort of fashion accessory...  [whine of drill]  Ohh-ah-ah-
         ah...  [whine] Ung, ohhh!

[Eddie holds the drill up; the bit is bent sideways.]

Eddie:   All right then, let's have a go with the hacksaw.
Richie:  Hang on, this isn't going to hurt is it?
Eddie:   I bloody well hope so! Here we go.
Richie:  "I bloody well hope so" -- [sawing]  Ooh, oh, ah, oooh!  [faster]
         Oh, oh, uh... Eddie, you've done it!

[Eddie looks amazed.]

Richie:  You're a genius! Ah, what would I do without you, you are a
         genius! Well done! There's only one thing.
Eddie:   What?
Richie:  You've just cut off my knob.
Eddie:   What?
Richie:  You've just cut off...  [very concerned]  my knob!
Eddie:   [peering at Monica's mouth]  Where?
Richie:  Arhhhhhh!  [runs out]
Eddie:   Oh good. He's gone.

[Eddie takes the solicitor's letter from his pocket, unfolds it next to the
phone, picks up the hand-set, and starts banging out the number.]

Eddie:   Ha-ha-ha-ha!  [confidentially]  Yep, it, it is actually the same
         gag. Ah... but you see, the thing is... er... I like it a lot!
         [bangs some more]  Uh-uh-uh-uh-uuh!  [to phone]  Hello? Shotgun,
         Bastard and Dribble? Phew! Another piece of incredibly fortuitous
         dialling. Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-uuuh!  [to audience]  Right, settle down.
         Back to the plot... what there is of it. Ooh, in fact this is it
         coming up now! About fucking time. See if you can spot it.  [to
         phone]  Hello, yes... this is Eddie Richard calling. Yeees, I've
         recently become Richard Richard's closest living relative. Ah,
         very recently. Yeah, about three minutes ago. Yes, now, I was just
         wondering about the ten thousand pounds that passes onto the...
         next of kin... should Richie tragically and accidentally pass on.
         In about ten minutes. And I was just wondering, you know, which
         form of accidental death, you know, poisoning, bludgeoning,
         mincing... erm, whether any particular one is more legally binding
         than another. ...I see. Any one'll do as long as the bastard's
         dead. Right, well, thank you very much and...  [bends down over
         the phone]  fuck off!  [slams it down]  Ah, that felt good. Ha,
         ha, right, where's the goat poison?  [goes to a kitchen cupboard]
         Oooh, this looks like it!

[He brings a big yellow bottle marked "GOAT POISON" out to centre stage for
everyone to see, holding it up high.]

Eddie:   No need to miss out on the plot just because you're in the cheap
         seats.

[Richie comes back in, looking shaken. He has put his jeans back on. Eddie
retreats into the kitchen, drawing the curtain behind him.]

Richie:  No knob. No knob. No knob! Not... a bit of a knob. Just, uh-uh, no
         knob! I've got absolutely nothing to do.  [twiddles his fingers
         over his groin]  Hu-huuuh, what am I going to do with my hands all
         day?  [gestures, crosses arms etc.]  Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh-hu-hu-hu-
         hu-hu-uuh-oh calm down boys, we'll think of something. U-uuh-huh.
         Huh! [puts them in his pockets]  Oh, there's not even any point in
         putting my hands in my pockets any more! I don't think I can face
         tonight.
Eddie:   [from behind the curtain]  Maybe you won't have to.
Richie:  What do you mean?
Eddie:   [peers around the curtain, shifty and scheming]  Cup of tea?
Richie:  [picks up Monica]  Oh, Monica. Oooh, Monica...  [mimes harmonica,
         grins at audience]  Monica... You were the first... and you were
         the last. You took my cherry. Right off. Hey, bloody hell, that's
         a point!  [peers into her mouth]  Uh, look, Eddie, there it is!
Eddie:   [rushes over and looks]  Where?
Richie:  In the corner, at the back, look. Come on, let's pack it in ice
         and get down the hospital.
Eddie:   [looking very closely]  No, hang on Richie! I think it's just a
         peanut.
Richie:  Oh, ahh...
Eddie:   Ot it could be a match head. Might even be a shadow.  [fishes
         around in Monica's mouth with his fingers]  Hang on... oooh, no,
         there is something there... it's... a shrivelled-up raisin.
Richie:  Is it? Well let's get down the hospital and sew it on! ...It's a
         what? It's a shrivelled-up raisin?  [Eddie shows him]  Uhhhh, God,
         so it is.
Eddie:   Ha ha ha...
Richie:  It's a bloody good look-a-like, isn't it? Do-hang on! But this
         means...  [peers down the front of his trousers]  Uh-uh-uh-wait,
         wait... 

[Richie gets a big magnifying glass and looks again. Eddie peers over his
shoulder and waves.

Richie:  Uh, oh -- oh no look, there he is! Ha-ha-ha-haaa! Ho-ho-ho!
         [Eddie brings Monica to look as well and waves her hand]  Ha-aah!
         Hello little matey! Hello little matey-mate! You were there all
         the time, weren't you? Hiding behind that pube. Oh, this is
         fantastic! I'm a real man again. Loaded up and fired up and ready
         to go! Oh, this is great, I'm so happy. Ah-ha-ha! I'm so hap-d'you
         know, I'm so happy I could watch a whole episode of "From May To
         December" without vomiting blood! Now that's happy.
Eddie:   [pouring poison into a teacup]  No, that's insane.
Richie:  No no no Eddie, no no no. Woo-hoo-hooo, woo-hoo-hhooo-hhooo-hoo,
         woo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hurh, that's insane. Oh come on, let's celebrate,
         let's do something, let's go on holiday.
Eddie:   No. I'll tell you what, why don't you just sit down and have a
         nice celebratory cup of tea?
Richie:  Nah, great big hairy lesbian mammoth bollocks to that! Come on,
         let's take my new knob on holiday and get three hundred tons worth
         of shagging done!
Eddie:   Yeah, it's never quite worked out that way for us, has it?
         Remember Weston, remember Scarborough?
Richie:  Scarborough. Scar-bor-ourghhh! Damn that bloody nudist colony.
         Three weeks I was there, three whole weeks. I had absolutely
         nothing on and I still didn't see any action.
Eddie:   Well, you were the only one there.
Richie:  Yeah, well it's cheaper off-season, isn't it? Mind you, it's
         bloody tricky playing volley-ball all on your own though.
         Especially skidding about on all that ice. I tell you, Scarborough
         can get quite fucking nippy in January.  [Eddie sits him down]
         Those icy winds blast straight across the North Sea all the way
         from Siberia. 

[Eddie hands Richie the tea; he brings it to his lips and then puts it down
again, disappointing Eddie who was watching expectantly.]

Richie:  Do you know, a photographer turned up from "Health and Efficiency"
         magazine. Thought I was a girl for the first four days. Then it
         warmed up a bit, you know. Then he buggered off.
Eddie:   Yeah, well, look on the bright side Richie, I mean at least you
         got that full-page spread in Razzle... Shame it was in the
         "Reader's Wives" section.
Richie:  Damn those papperazzi! Damn them! They just hound you Eddie, they
         hound you and they hound you and they hound you. I'll tell you,
         now I know how how that, how hwwhhe, hwllhhw, I fucked that up
         didn't I?
Eddie:   I thought you were doing it rather better than usual, actually.
Richie:  Yes... we need to do it again otherwise it'll look wanky on the
         video.
Eddie:   Oh, okay.
Richie:  Hush now, hush -- we're working.
Eddie:   Are you?
Richie:  Ah-hhm... Damn those papperazzi, Eddie, damn them, they just hound
         you and hound you and hound you. I'll tell you, now I know how
         that Sarah Ferguson feels.
Eddie:   You never copped a feel off her, did you?
Richie:  Of course I didn't Eddie.
Eddie:   Oh... everyone else has.
Richie:  That's true.
Eddie:   Ah, now what about this cup of tea?
Richie:  What cup of tea?
Eddie:   Ah-ha-ha-hoo-hoo-hoo,  [indicates]  that cup of tea.
Richie:  Ah-haa-haa-haa, you've made me a cup of tea.
Eddie:   What's so surprising about that?
Richie:  Well you've never made me a cup of tea before in your life.
Eddie:   Awww...

[Richie runs off to the other side of the stage.]

Richie:  Are you trying to queer me up?
Eddie:   No, I just... made you a cup of tea, because I... lo-lo-lo... like
         you.
Richie:  Huh, you are trying to queer me up! Uuuh! 

[Richie puts both hands protectively over his groin, thinks, puts them over
his bum, thinks, his nipples, him mouth... He frantically tries to cover
all of them at once and then puts his fists up.]

Eddie:   Look, it's just a selfless gesture because I... admire and respect
         you so much. Now drink the fucking tea! Before I split your head
         open with a meat cleaver. ...He-eey, not a bad idea.
Richie:  Well fancy you making me a cup of tea, Eddie.
Eddie:   Dohhh...  [retreats into the kitchen]
Richie:  What a lovely gesture. I say, you're a dark horse, aren't you
         Eddie. You don't often make lovely gestures but whe-Jesus Christ!
         It's got purple fizzing lumps in it! I can't drink that. Looks
         like that stuff that bird threw up in "The Exorcist". Stephen King
         writes novels about evil like this. I'd better get rid of it.

[Richie pours the tea onto a plant; it collapses into a steaming heap.]

Richie:  Fuck me! Uh!  [loudly]  Mmm, what a lovely cup of tea Eddie, how
         refreshing.  [Eddie reappears]  Ah, excuse me, I've just blown
         orf.  [wafts the smoke]
Eddie:   Did you drink it?
Richie:  Yes.  [hands over the empty cup]
Eddie:   [looks]  Ha-ha-ha-ha-haaa! It's mine, all-l-l mine!
Richie:  I know! And it was marvellous!
Eddie:   [slyly]  How do you feel?
Richie:  I... get my hands and go like that...

[Richie makes a groping gesture, then screws his finger against his temple
and mouths "mad" at the audience.]

Eddie:   No, I, I, I mean... are you okay?
Richie:  Am I okay? Yeah! B-rrr, ish. Well, hrr, well, it's a, brrl, quite
         a big topic, isn't it, I mean: Is Richie... Is Richie... okay? I
         mean it's a huge subject. Actually,  [claps]  this'll be fun.
         Let's sit down for the Richie conversation.
Eddie:   No, no...
Richie:  Is Richie okay?
Eddie:   Hang on.
Richie:  Right. No, wait, we need pencils, we need papers.
Eddie:   No, I think I'll just make you another cup of tea first, you're
         looking a bit frisky.
Richie:  Oh, no, thanks Eddie, no, I'm replete.  [throws his cup away, it
         lands in the audience]  And I'm not going down into that lot to
         get it back either.
Eddie:   All right, I'll go and find the meat cleaver.  [leaves] 
Richie:  Well what about the Richie conversation? Ah-dah, oh all right,
         I'll have the Richie conversation all on my own. I'll get the
         pencils, I'll get the papers. God it's like living in Nazi Germany
         in this flat!  [picks up the solicitors letter]  Paper. Pencil!
         [snaps his fingers, calls]  Pencil! Pen-fucking-cil!  [notices the
         letter]  Oh, what's this?  [reads]  "Shotgun, Bastard and Dribble,
         Lawyers. For the attention of Richard Richard." Oh-ho-hoo-hoh.
         "Owing to the unfortunate demise of your great-uncle Norman,"
         [blows a raspberry with gesture from his forehead]  "blah-de-blah-
         de-blah, blah-de-blah-de-blah, blah-de-blah-de-blah, blah-de-blah-
         de-blah, diddly-do, diddly-do, diddly-do..." Blimey, they write
         some bollocks these lawyers, don't they? "Blah-de-blah-de-blah,
         P.T.O."  [turns over]  "Blah-de-blah-de-blah, fifteen thousand
         pou-" Fifteen thousand pounds! Hooh!  [blows raspberry with
         exploding arse gesture]  "Fifteen thousand pounds payable
         immediately"... "in cash"!  [mimes spurting from crutch]  "Fifteen
         thousand pounds payable immediately in cash." Oh-ho-ho-ha, ha-ha-
         ha, ah! "If this debt is not settled"... "If this debt"? "Is not
         settled by two o'clock today then"... ah-ha,  [mimes putting rope
         around neck]  do-d-dl-dl-do,  [pulls rope]  ergh, yeah, ah-ha,
         [mimes inserting something up his arse]  uh-huh,  [pulling
         something out of his mouth]  ah-hah,  [grabs both ends, flossing
         motion]  yeah,  [mimes sharpening knife and cutting across belly]
         yeah,  [intestines falling out]  brll-ll-l-l-l-lll, uh-huh, yeah,
         [mimes cutting off penis]  plip, oh-oh-oh, oh I've never even
         heard of that one before! Well I haven't got fifteen thousand
         pounds! I haven't got fifteen pence!  [declaiming Shakespearian
         style]  Oh, capricious fortune plays her cards with me like a
         Mississippi boat-whore.  [nods knowingly at audience]  Why do
         these things keep happening to me? I get a bird -- she explodes. I
         patch her up again -- I accidentally superglue her onto my knob.
         Then I get my knob cut off. And now I find I'm going to be
         [reads]  hounded throughout the world until this forfeit is paid
         in my blood.  [declaiming]  Oh, fate... Oh, fate... Well, oh fuck
         really!  [declaiming]  Very well, so be it.  [tosses the letter
         aside, stumbles away]  Right, that's it, I'm going to kill myself.
Eddie:   You what?
Richie:  Eddie, I have some sad and tragic news.
Eddie:   You're gonna top yourself?
Richie:  What?
Eddie:   You are going to top yourself?
Richie:  No, of course I'm not going to top myself, I've been topping
         myself for years, look at those blisters.  [holds out his hand]
         It didn't do me any good, just dimmed me eyesight a bit. No, my
         insane old elephant's testicle of a pal,  [Eddie looks proud]  I
         have decided to commit suicide.  [pronounces sui-i-cu-ide]
Eddie:   But that is fantastic news!
Richie:  I know you'll be lonely. Ah-what?
Eddie:   That is fantastic news! Are you going to go today? I mean it would
         be a help.
Richie:  Ah-huh, Eddie, I realise you're trying to put a brave face on
         this, er, but don't you think that particular face was just a
         smidgeon too fucking brave?
Eddie:   [beaming]  It's just that it's a brilliant idea Richie. I mean,
         what have you got to live for?
Richie:  Eh-what have I got to live for? What a ridiculous question. Oh-ha-
         ha-ha-ha.  [takes a deep breath, holds his finger out as if to
         count]  Er...
Eddie:   Look, take it  from me, I'm your best friend. You're a sad, ugly,
         foul-smelling, unpopular, friendless... arse-head. And everyone
         you have ever met would prefer it if you were dead.
Richie:  Rubbish. Rubbish. A: Bollocks.
Eddie:   Ah-ha.
Richie:  And B:... well, I don't need a B because the A was so great.
Eddie:   Right then, so basically your sole reason for living is...
         bollocks.
Richie:  That's it.
Eddie:   Well that's an unusual philosophical stance.
Richie:  Yes, I know, I think I put my trousers on too quickly just now.
         But stick to the point Eddie, I thought we were talking
         philosophy.
Eddie:   Well, we were, but your philosophy is bollocks!
Richie:  So let's talk bollocks!
Eddie:   But that's all we ever do!
Richie:  So let's do what we always do!
Eddie:   Oh, God, and so it goes on. Day after day, year in, year out...
         Slime in this ear, slime in this ear.  [declaims]  Don't you ever
         yearn for change?  [swings on pillar, questioning gesture]

[Applause. Eddie bows to the audience, milking them for more applause. He
wipes his eyes as if overcome with emotion.]

Eddie:   Alan Rickman eat your heart out!  [points to Richie]  And... cue.
         [tries repeatedly to cue Richie]
Richie:  [staring at the audience]  Right. Do you want to give me the feed
         line again, in front of all your friends?
Eddie:   Yeah, sorry, I, I forgot to mention I was actually born in
         Southampton.

[Applause.]

Richie:  Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, you were born in Southampton! Wow! Why did
         you ever leave?
Eddie:   [thinks; mutters]  That's a bit below the belt...  [aloud]
         Because... I found the railway station.

[Applause.]

Richie:  Stop fucking clapping!  [mimes spastic clapping motion]  Uh-uuh-
         uuh... Bastards!  [points into top circle of theatre]  Especially
         you. You ought to fucking jump.
Eddie:   That's no way to talk to my mother. Sorry Mum! ...Right, ready?
Richie:  Come on, come on, come on!
Eddie:   Are you ready?
Richie:  I'm ready.
Eddie:   Because my arm's getting tired now.
Richie:  That's not why your arm's getting tired.
Eddie:   Yeah, well at least it's my arm and not just my wrist.

[Applause. Richie dries his face, goes into the kitchen for a swig of
water, and returns to his position.]

Richie:  Come on, come on, they'll be closed!
Eddie:   Right. Ready?  [dramatically]  Don't you... ever yearn... for
         change?
Richie:  Don't I ever -- [to audience]  Don't you fucking dare! Don't you
         want to hear the jokes... Shut the fuck up! Don't I ever yearn for
         change, Eddie, well, er-err, er-rrh-rrrrh-rhh-rhhh, er-hh-hhhh,
         yes Miss Jones, yes I do Eddie, yes, but only when that Ralph's
         working behind the bar at the Lamb and Flag... what... the...

[Richie peters out as he notices Eddie sitting at the table, giggling
uncontrollably.]

Eddie:   Can I just say... that was the best Reg Varney I have ever seen.
Richie:  [panting]  Look, get on, get on with the fucking play. It's very
         unprofessional, they're making a fucking video and they might spot
         it.
Eddie:   Okay, er, Ralphie Ralphie Ralphie... Oh, stick to the point
         Richie, you've got a brain like a car crash.  [puzzled]
         There's... bits flying everywhere. What about this suicide?
Richie:  Right, yes, oh yes, my suicide, yes, yes, yes. I'd forgotten about
         that. Right, sit down, Eddie, sit down. I've got some  [starts
         giggling]  sad and tragic news.  [gets a grip on himself]  I've
         got some sad and tragic news, right?
Eddie:   You don't look very upset about it.  [leans on the table]  You
         looked a lot sadder than that in rehearsal. ...You did. It made me
         cry.
Richie:  Look, sit down! I've got some fucking tragic news right! Now
         listen. Eddie.  [Eddie nods]  Now listen Eddie... listen Eddie.
         Eddie.  [giggles]  Eddie.
Eddie:   Yep, that's my name. I think we established it in Act One.
Richie:  [clears his throat]  Right, Eddie, listen.
Eddie:   Yes.
Richie:  I've got some sad and tragic ne-oh, I've done that one. I've
         decided to kill myself, Eddie, hoh, because I'm so tragically in
         debt.
Eddie:   [amazed]  Fucking hell! A line from the play!

[Applause. Eddie claps and punches Richie playfully on the arm. Richie
slumps to the floor and sits down on the stage, exhausted.]

Richie:  [to audience]  Look, just shut up and watch the play, right.  [to
         Eddie]  And you leave me alone or we'll never going to get out of
         South-fucking-hampton.  [to audience]  Stop laughing. Imagine
         you're watching Ben Elton or something.  [sits at the table]  Now,
         what was I saying?
Eddie:   I don't know.  [giggles]
Richie:  Now listen... I've decided to kill myself Eddie, because I'm so
         tragically in debt.
Eddie:   Oooh. How much?
Richie:  Fifteen thousand pounds.
Eddie:   Haaaaa... fifteen thousand pounds?
Richie:  Fifteen thousand pounds.
Eddie:   Ha ha ha ha ha! What a pity there isn't a small windfall coming
         along that could pay it off in one fell blow! Aaaa-ho-ho!
Richie:  Well, it's a nice thought Eddie, but I hardly think one of your
         titanic guffers could be described as a small windfall, nor in all
         stupidity could the whiff pay off the debt. So, no, suicide it is.
Eddie:   Well... that's... that's actually rather sad.  [looks at the
         audience, hands on sides as if laughing heartily]  So what's it to
         be me old mate? Gas? Gun? Rope? Or... are you just going to
         masturbate yourself to death?  [Richie looks suddenly cheerful]
         You know, come to think of it, your whole life has been one long
         slow suicide attempt really, hasn't it?
Richie:  Yeah,. you're not wrong there me old pal. You know, I've got so
         many crinkly Kleenex under my mattress I have to go up a step-
         ladder every night just to get into bed. No, this is it, the die
         is cast. Suicide it is. The last of the Richards.  [dances across
         the stage, using his hand as a fake Mohican haircut]  Hey,
         actually that's a point Eddie. You know I don't have anyone to
         hand on my estate to. Gosh, you know I really think I owe it to
         the family to call this suicide off until I've sired an heir.
Eddie:   [yells]  No! No-o-o!  [sweetly]  No-o-o-o-o. Ahm, no need Richie.
         Er, oh fuck, erm, look, I wasn't actually going to tell you this
         but well, I sort of half-anticipated this problem and so this
         afternoon I went to see Dodgy Ken the lawyer.
Richie:  Dodgy Ken! Is he out already?
Eddie:   He got out this morning. Chah! Prison governor doesn't know yet,
         so I was lucky to catch him really. Now if you'd just like to sign
         here...
Richie:  Ooh, signing?
Eddie:   Yeah.
Richie:  Hey, that's important. I'm your man. I'm a good signer...
         [dancing wildly]  Right, bloody right, here goes... huh!

[Richie squiggles his way across the page and dances on across the room,
finishing with a balletic pose. He milks the audience for applause with a
hand gesture and then silences them with another. He gives them a thumbs-up
sign, provoking another laugh.]

Eddie:   Don't encourage them. Right, hmm... What the fuck was that,
         anyway?
Richie:  That's called signing with a flourish, Eddie, they do it in all
         the best novels... Ooh, Christ, I think I've put my shoulder out.
         I've got to stop being sexy!
Eddie:   [doubtfully]  Yes, you really really must. ...Right, well, no need
         to worry about being the end of the line... because I am now your
         legally adopted son!
Richie:  What? You're my son?
Eddie:   I'm afraid so.
Richie:  But, but, what, but... you? [indicates Eddie]  Are my...
         [indicates himself]  son?  [gesture at groin]
Eddie:   Yep-indeedy-do. ...Hello Dad. Hey, that's a point, I couldn't tap
         you for a bit of pocket money, could I?
Richie:  Shut up! You bastard, you made me sign this!  [reads]  Oh, God,
         it's true! It's true! ...Hang on. This... is a marriage
         certificate.
Eddie:   I know that. He'd run out of adoption ones. But he said that that
         would still be legally bin-- [realization]  --ding.  [looks around
         wildly]
Richie:  What does this mean? What does this mean? Well? Say something!
Eddie:   Hello?  [as if forced out of him]  Darling?
Richie:  We're married.
Eddie:   Afraid so... baby.
Richie:  But you're my wife!
Eddie:   Yeah, well don't rub it in!
Richie:  I have absolutely no intention of rubbing it in, young man! I mean
         young woman. I mean, you're my wife!
Eddie:   Yeah, that's about the size of it! ...Sugar.
Richie:  You're my wife...

[As if he is possessed, Richie's arms come out in front of him. He walks
round to face Eddie and kneels in front of him.]

Richie:  Oh no... no...

[Eddie leans forwards towards Richie with his hands under his imaginary
breasts, flapping his tongue... Richie breaks the spell by punching Eddie,
five times. Eddie holds his hand up to stop him and fingers his face
gingerly.]

Eddie:   Is this a fight?
Richie:  You bet your buttocks, wifey-oh!
Eddie:   Oh, good.
Richie:  What?  [Eddie punches him]  Oooh, shit! Right.  [uppercut]  Fuck.

[Eddie kicks him in the knackers and he falls down. Eddie stands over the
prone Richie and kicks him repeatedly (32 times!) in the bollocks. He grins
over his shoulder at the audience.]

Eddie:   One more!

[He lines up his foot with Richie's crutch, walks backwards across the
stage, adjusts his position slightly, and runs in to deliver a flying kick.
Richie is just starting to recover and crawl away when Eddie hits him
across the head with a cricket bat. He slumps back down. Eddie lies the bat
up between Richie's legs...]

Eddie:   See if I can do better than Mike Gatting did today.

[He hits... once, twice..]

Richie:  Ho-oooh!  [thrice]  Ho-oooh! Ha-ha, missed both my legs!  [starts
         to get up]  Right!

[Eddie smashes a vase over Richie's head.]

Eddie:   That's it! Wife-battering. I demand an instant separation, full
         ownership of the flat and sequestration of all your assets!
Richie:  You bastard Eddie! Ten minutes ago I thought things couldn't get
         any worse. Now I find I'm a pauper, I'm married, my wife's fucked
         off with all the money... and I didn't even get a shag! Fate deals
         me blow after blow!
Eddie:   Yeah, I'm sorry about all that Richie. But, you know... who gives
         a fuck, it's only you.
Richie:  Not to worry Eddie, it's just another spur to my suicide. Now come
         on, let's hurry up and kill me before you get pissed and try to
         consummate the marriage.
Eddie:   All right, well have you had any thoughts on how you'd like to go?
Richie:  Oooh, er...
Eddie:   Excellent choice! Electric chair it is.  [making complicated and
         entirely meaningless gestures with his hands]  Instantaneous, and
         you won't feel a thing. Electric chair, the choice of the stars. I
         shall be but a moment.

[His hand still shaking, Eddie walks to the door. He looks at his hand,
puts it in his pocket, grins at the audience and leaves.]

Richie:  Oh, he's gone. This is it, I'm all alone. My last few moments.
         Possibly only a minute to live! What shall I do with my last few
         moments?

[Various shouted suggestions.]

Richie:  "Have a wank!" God, they're so common in Southampton. All sailors.
         [dances a hornpipe]  Doo-do-do-do-do, doo-do-doodle-doodle-do...
         [mime]  Have a wank! ...You lot sitting under there, I should put
         your brollies up if I was you.

[Richie falls to his knees with a thud. The lights fade to a single
spotlight.]

Richie:  [prays]  Oh God... my fucking knees! ...Sorry Lord, false start,
         haha... oh-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo... Oh Lord... Oh Lordy-Lord... Lordy...
         Oh-hoo-hoo-hoo... Look, man to man. Well, man to Lordy. Ha ha. Are
         we talking tridents up the jacksie? Or are we talking harps on
         clouds? You know, with all angels all flapping about the place?
         All looking like Michelle Pff-feiff-ffer. Actually, that's a point
         Lordy. You know, oh-hooh, I've often thought this. You know, ah,
         oh  [remembers to clasp hands]  you know, ah, girl angels, right?
         Well you know how they have those big wings at the back? Well,
         does that sort of preclude them from fastening their bras at the
         back? Does it? So what, do they just not bother? I mean, I know
         it's a holy place, you know, and we've all done Art O-level, but I
         mean rummin-blood, it must be a bit of a jug-fest up there, isn't
         it? No wonder all the bloke angels all flap about the place
         blowing their own trumpets! Oh-ho-hoo-hoo! Oh-ho-hoo-hoo! Oh-hoo-
         ho, oh-hoo, oh-hoo... so look, Lordy, if you could just see your
         way to give me some sort of sign as to, you know, which way I'm
         going, then I'd, then I'd know whether to follow through with all
         of this. 'Cause, you know, if it's all going to be whipping and
         screaming and leather and restraints then obviously... I'm on!
         Hey, well in that case it doesn't really matter which way I go,
         does it? It's a sort of universal jug-a-rama! Hey, hurry up Eddie,
         I'm dying to shuffle off this mortal coil and get meself a major-
         league eyeful, at last!

[Lights up. Eddie enters, wheeling a large sheet-covered object.]

Eddie:   Bit of a problem on the electric chair front, Richie.
Richie:  Oh.
Eddie:   But never mind, I've improvised.
Richie:  Oooh.
Eddie:   And I've come up with  [fanfare]  trr-trr-trr-trr-trr-trr trr-trr-
         trr-trr-trr trr-trrrr!  [holds his throat]  Ow!... The electric
         lavatory!  [unveils it]
Richie:  Oh, Eddie! Eddie, it's magnificent. I mean, state-of-the-art or
         what?
Eddie:   Ha-ha-ha.
Richie:  I mean, Gary Gilmore and Al Capone, you know, and Bonnie and
         Clyde, they all thought they were really hard and great and cool,
         didn't they, but uh-uh, no way did they have double-flush action
         and blue-loo round the U-bend!
Eddie:   That's right, Richie, so if you'd just like to sit yourself here!
Richie:  Right-ho. Oh Eddie?
Eddie:   Yeah?
Richie:  Trousers on or off?
Eddie:   On I think. You can never be quite sure of the effects of the
         [mimes explosion front and back]  high voltage.
Richie:  Hmm.  [sits]  Ooh, it's a snug fit.
Eddie:   I'll just put this on here.  [puts an electrified helmet on
         Richie's head]  Oop, hahahahahaaa.
Richie:  Right, here we go then.
Eddie:   Yep.
Richie:  Oh, Eddie, have I got time to say goodbye to all my friends?
Eddie:   [fastening straps to Richie's arms]  Er... hmm, I don't think five
         seconds is going to make much difference here or there.
Richie:  Here goes then... er, bye-bye Eddie.
Eddie:   Yep. Bye. Ho-hoo, ah.
Richie:  And that's that done!
Eddie:   Good. Then we can get going.  [opens the kitchen cupboard to show
         knobs, wires, flashing lights etc]  I'll just, er, turn it all on.
         [turns switch, electrical noises]  And we'll be on our way.
         [unwinds a cable, holds the plug up for Richie to see]  Ho ho, eh,
         frying tonight!  [plugs him in; electrical humming noise]
Richie:  Oh blimey. Eddie, any chance of a prayer?
Eddie:   You haven't got one mate. Now, are you ready to go?
Richie:  Yeah.
Eddie:   Yep, okay.
Richie:  Ooh, no, wait Eddie, wait.
Eddie:   What?
Richie:  Look, I just, erm, I just want to say that... you know, we've
         known each other a long time and... you know, I, well, I know
         we've had our little spats... well, we've had our big spats too,
         haven't we? Oh, oh this is stupid. Look, I guess all I'm really
         trying to say is... Thank you for being my friend.

[Sympathy from audience.]

Eddie:   Yeah, all right, on we go.
Richie:  Oh, did you hear what I said?
Eddie:   Er, yes. Now, ah, hold tight, because you might feel a bit of a
         tingle. Hooh! And... five! Four! Three!
Richie:  Oh God.
Eddie:   Seven! Twelve! Twenty-six! Fuck, I wish I could count! And... go!
Richie:  Huh!

[Lights down. Factory hooters, flashing lights etc. A small farting noise.
A spark and puff of smoke from the cistern. Lights up.]

Richie:  [unimpressed]  Ah-hum. Yeah. Sort of a bit like having it off with
         Bonnie Langford, this, really, isn't it Eddie?
Eddie:   [peering at the wiring]  Oh, hang on, I think I can see the
         problem.

[Eddie tweaks a switch; sparks fly. The phone rings.]

Richie:  Telephone!
Eddie:   [another ring; to audience]  It's all go today, isn't it?  [picks
         up phone]  Hello? ...Richard Richard? No, he can't quite get to
         the phone at the moment. Ah, this is Eddie Richard, his son and
         wife.
Richie:  Who is it, Eddie?
Eddie:   [clutches the phone to his body, amazed]  It's Sue Carpenter.
Richie:  Oh-ahh, Sue Carpenter! Get down Shep!
Eddie:   Yeah, she says she wants to have wild unbridled passionate sex
         with you, absolutely no questions asked.
Richie:  Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho, really?
Eddie:   No, only joking. She wants to do it with me.
Richie:  [enviously]  Oh, Eddie, how do you do it?
Eddie:   You sort of... get on top and wriggle about the place a bit.
Richie:  What, no foreplay?
Eddie:   Nah, mate, just the two of us.
Richie:  Oh.
Eddie:   [hunched over phone]  Yes, just keep your voice down, Mr. Bastard,
         or he'll hear you. Not quite gone yet, ho-hooh! Yes, about the
         fifteen thousand pound debt, er... Ooh, ooh, one small question.
         What do you mean precisely by the word "debt"?  [amazed]  Fucking
         hell! Richie, there's a bastard on the phone that says you and I,
         as your legal son and wife, owe him fifteen grand! And if he
         doesn't get it by two o'clock he's going to come round here and
         drive slowly over our testes... with a steam-roller.  [listens]
         And that's just the hors-d'oeuvre.  [pronounced "whore's duvet"]
Richie:  Ah-ha, yeah, I know all this already, you vast poisoned
         intergalactic buttock from Sainsbury's! That's why I'm killing
         myself.
Eddie:   Jesus Christ!  [slams phone down]  And look at the time! That's
         it, matey, shift over.  [sits next to Richie]  Give me one of
         those electrodes.
Richie:  Right-ho.
Eddie:   This is it!
Richie:  This is it!
Eddie:   Off we go!
Richie:  Oooh-hooo!
Eddie:   Goodnight!

[Eddie pulls the chain. A loud bang, sparks fly, lights down.]


Close
-----

[The theme plays. Lights up, Eddie and Richie, standing centre stage, bow
to the audience. Lights down. Lights up, revealing Richie and Eddie
wiggling their bums at the audience. Lights down. Lights up. Richie salutes
the audience; Eddie makes a covert wanking gesture. Lights down, curtain
down. Curtain up, to reveal a huge sign:]

                                 THATS IT
                                 FUCK OFF


     Transcription James Kew <j.kew@ic.ac.uk>. Last revised July 1994.

       "Bottom -- The Scripts", a BBC book, contains full scripts to
     Series One, including many lines that were cut for transmission.
          Series One and Series Two are available on BBC videos.