Where you going dressed like that at this time of day?
Er... Fancy-dress party?
What are you going as? Fucking Fruit Pastille?
Hilarious, you are.
Told ya. Going football.
- 8:30 in the morning? - Yeah.
lt's an early kick-off, innit?
Must think l was born yesterday.
- Just be careful. - Come here.
And don't wake the baby on the way out.
Yeah, can l speak to the Super Mario lookalike, please?
Bexy boy. What, you got a job as an alarm call?
Yeah, all right, Yeti. l see yous Millwall boys are away up North today.
Might be at King's Cross about the same time as you. Fancy a meet?
What's the matter? You sound a bit agged. Still gutted we keep catching you out?
You couldn't catch a cold, you prick. Fancy it or not?
- You wouldn't think so. - The pub behind the station. Head for that.
- Oh, and don't bring the Old Bill. Grass. - We'll be there. Shithead.
Watch your back. Cos l'm gonna slit you open like an envelope.
Yeah, you don't stand a...
All right, Bexy!
How you doin', Bexy?
- All right. - All right, Bex.
- You see anything? - Nah. Just spoke to their top boy, though.
He reckons they're firm-handed and right up for a meet.
- How many heads we got here? - 30 or 40.
- Plus the old lot will meet us down the tube. - Good.
- What's happening, Beef? - Sweet Bex.
- Do you want a drink? - R Whites.
Nunc, get me a beer and get him an R Whites, will ya?
Here. The other night he reckons he copped hold of that Lorraine.
l'm tellin' ya, l did. l plated her and everything.
- Lorraine? - Good sort, out the flats. With the wet-look?
- Oh, yeah. - Got her?
Yeah, got her, got her. How was she, any good?
Not really. Lovely face, but a splosh like a kebab.
- Doner? - No, Lorraine.
J, l meant the kebab, mate.
- Fucking wake up! - Come on, Trig.
- Let's have a mooch, eh? - 'Ere, give it ten, will ya?
- l've got drinks coming. - You mad? Come on.
- Let's go. - Fuck's sake.
Round up the young 'uns, will ya?
- Come on, boys, finish your drinks. Let's go. - We're on the move.
Put the drink down. Let's go. Come on!
We're on the move.
Stand there gettin' laggin' all day? They're right up for this.
Where you goin', Michael? Come over 'ere.
They're right up for this, this mob.
They wanna stand there, get fucking drunk all day, the lot of them.
- Fucking leave 'em, then, Bex. - Are you sure?
Fucking young 'uns, in't they?
Don't start shoutin', either, when we get there, yeah?
What's up?
- 'Ere y'are, boys, come on. - Fuckin' Old Bill here.
- Fuckin' Old Bill. - Listen, there's gawers here.
- Let's bolt. - Sweet, son. Sweet.
..350 West Ham fans...
No one start gettin' mouthy and all that.
No one start gettin' mouthy.
- All right? - ls it closed, Bex?
Pub ain't open. What a liberty!
- Fucking pub's closed. - 'Scuse me, mate. Hold it there.
- Where do you think you're going? - Round the pub, mate. Meet me bird.
- With 200 of your mates? - Just goin' over there, policeman.
- Pub ain't even open. l don't believe this. - Fucking no-show.
They're a no-show, the cunts, and there's gawers 'ere. Fuck's sake!
- Fucking cunts. l don't believe it. - Haven't you got a train to catch?
Slip through the flats, some of you. Standing about! Fuck's sake.
..definitely some West Ham hooligans...
Bex, where's Millwall? There ain't no fucking Millwall 'ere, mate.
Come on. Come on, come on.
Coming? Trigger! Trigger.
- Road's not open, lads. - Where are they?
- Just go back the other way. - Follow Trig.
Ho-ho. Hold on, 'ere they are, 'ave a look, 'ere we are!
Stand up, will ya? Fucking stand up!
- Come on, West Ham, they're here! - Come on, West Ham!
Fuck the Old Bill! Get up here, now!
With me! Come on!
Here we are!
All right, get here! Millwall, get here!
Everybody over here! Get here!
No fucking running, none of ya!
Hold it. Stand down! Stand down!
- Get here! Get here! - Turn round.
- l'm fucking 'ere. l'm fucking 'ere! - Stay where you are!
lt's the same fucking thing, Yeti!
You two-bob East End cunt! Fuck you!
Don't fucking mouth with me, Yeti.
You fucking muppet.
For fuck's sake, sprinkle the puff in the joint, will ya?
What you on about? Don't even know how to puff.
Don't know how to puff!
l was smoking templeball when you was still buzzing on Leb, mate.
l was, weren't l? l was hot-knifing three years ago.
Hot knives! You sure?
l've only ever seen you hot-knife once, and you was out on the penny.
- Spark out, you was. - Yeah, well, don't worry about me.
l'm the fucking puff king. l'm the geezer.
Oi, mate! Oi, mate!
What you gettin' all tricky for? Just because you've had a few lugs on a joint.
l ain't gettin' tricky, l'm just sayin'.
l can't be dealin' with breakdancing and fingerin' your little sister.
- Must be something more. - Like what?
Fuck knows. But there must be something.
You fingered my little sister?
l felt sorry for her.
You still comin' to Lips tonight, though, yeah?
- You might as well fuck off now, then. - All right. Don't get lemon, helmet.
- You're too young. - l'm not gettin' lemon.
You're just givin' it the big 'un. As usual. Helmet.
- Tune. - Don't stop the music
'Ere y'are.
Oi, love!
Oh, fuck off, you pair of melts. Oldest trick in the book, that is.
Sorry l'm late, Dad.
- Late? You ain't late. You're early. - What?
You're early for tomorrow morning, cos you ain't passing
half past three in the fucking afternoon off as a day's work to me, mush.
All right, calm down. l'm 'ere now, and l'm gonna work hard.
Please, Dad, just a score.
Do a score's worth of work and l'll give you it.
l'm only asking for 20 quid. Why are you being so tight?
- You can have a fiver. - A fiver?
- Yeah. - For fuck's sake, Dad.
l'm supposed to be goin' Lips with the boys.
You can have a fiver.
What am l supposed to buy with that?
- Won't even get me a bottle of Thunderbird. - Don't have nothing.
That jumper don't half look well on you, Dad.
Yeah? Nice.
So, what about that money, eh?
Don't you stop it, don't you stop
Don't stop the music
The beat keeps going round and round
Turns me upside down
lt don't really wanna stop
Ooh!
What are you doing? You made me jump.
Don't you stop it, don't you stop it
Don't stop the music
Oh, leave me alone, will ya? l'm not a kid, you know.
Go on, you melt!
Diddycoys.
- Takes so fucking long to get in here. - Always a fucking queue here.
'Ere y'are. Keep it down.
Go on, you're all right.
Watch yourself.
Who's the ice cream?
- Fuck knows. Andrew Ridgeley? - Hello, Bex.
Yeah, yeah, all right.
All right, doll?
Leave me out, ya ginger cunt.
Well done, son, you're in there.
She's a fucking moose anyway. l'd rather knock one out.
Two Pernod and black, three lager tops,
a snakebite and a Thunderbird for the melt here.
Have a look.
lt's that clown in the shorts again.
What a fucking Jils, eh?
Get on this.
- Whoa. Sorry, mate. - lt's all right, mate.
Teach you to dance like a fucking melt, though, won't it?
Slow down. l'm just cuttin' a rug with me wife.
What, that?
No, you don't wanna make one with me, mate.
l'll fucking leave you behind.
Go on.
Come on, let's get the others. l'm gonna do that fucking face...
- All right, mate? - Oi, watch it, you prick.
Come on, then. How d'you wanna be?
Not so fucking mouthy, now, are ya?
- My nose! - Who's next? You?
You?
See you? l'll hit you so fucking hard,
next time you wake up, you'll have a chalk mark round ya.
Fuck off!
So you don't hump like this.
You push down to go flat. Like that.
- There. Does that feel better? - The state of her.
- She's completely garrity. - That's rich comin' from you.
- You're startin' to look like a space hopper. - ..to the right foot...
- And the left! - Oh! Looks like that money was well spent.
Good night, was it?
Oi! l said, good night, was it?
- Leave me alone. - He can't hear you, Bob.
- Hit him a bit harder. - Oh, leave off!
- Did you get any muff, son? - Any what?
Muff, you know, fanny.
Leave me alone, Dad, l'm not a kid, you know.
- Now get that down you. That'll sort you. - Get away from me.
'Ere. Have a word!
Go on, laugh. Really funny, eh?
Something tells me your night didn't end so well.
But then again, who nose?
- lt's not funny. - Oh, take no notice, Tel.
He never nose when to stop.
All right, boys, l've got to go to work. Tel, sit down, have a cup of tea.
Who nose? lt might make you feel a bit better.
Fuck off, Bob.
- We've made a terrible ricket. - What?
That feller in the club was Bex.
What Bex? Weetabix?
l'm serious. The Bex. The geezer that runs the firm.
Drop me out. What, that Bex? How do you know?
Little Simon says he's after us.
Us? l didn't do anything.
We've been named. Both of us.
Little Simon's brother works with him.
He's got an estate agent's down at the precinct.
Reckons we've got to go to the Lord Nelson round the big flats and say sorry.
Otherwise, it's on us.
And who stuck my name up?
l dunno. All l know is l don't want that lot after me.
They're naughty cunts.
Got no spit.
What's so funny?
Gotta admit it was a naughty head-butt.
He nearly knocked you spark out.
l mean, how fucking cool was he?
We were almost ten-handed, and he offered us all out.
What a pot house, eh?
All right, let's do it.
Listen, Bex.
We just want to say we're really sorry for what happened in Lips.
We were both laggin', and had no idea who you are.
l mean, if l'd have known, l'd have properly swerved you.
Look at this bottle.
l might be facety, but l ain't a diddycoy. l'd have left you right out.
What... what l'm trying to say is...
l'm really fucking sorry for nausing a night out with you and your wife.
- What's a diddycoy? - lt's pikey tongue for div.
- What, you a pikey? - No!
- What's your name? - Dominic.
Who's the dry lunch?
That's Terry. He's the one you head-butted.
Oi, lunch.
Show us your face.
Go on. You can go now.
ls it still on us?
- No. Go on. - Thanks, Bex.
Dominic.
Ain't half got some bottle, walking in here like that.
- That the ginger cunt you're talking about? - That's him, yeah. Little cunt in the back.
"You ain't half got some bottle, coming in here like that."
"Who's the dry lunch? Oi, lunch, show me your face."
Cunt. Who's he think he is, standing there like Björn Borg,
in all that silly tennis get-up?
Ain't no one had the bottle to tell him he looks...
All right, Bex?
Fucking 'ell, that was close.
You all right, baby?
Been anywhere nice?
Just out. Who's playing?
Steve Davis. lt's the semis. Come and watch it with us.
Nah. He's a right dry lunch, that Davis.
- He's a what? - Dry lunch, you know, a nothing boat.
l never heard you say that before.
Just something we say when we're out and about.
Night, Mum. Night, Dad.
- Night, baby. - Night, son.
- Where you goin', Dom? - Don't matter.
- Can l help you? - ls Bex in, please?
Take a seat.
Clive, there's a young gentleman here to see you.
He'll be right out.
Hunter, Ashton and Clarke.
What are you doin' here?
- Just wanted to ask you something. - Go and wait outside.
OK, l'll let him know.
Just, anyone calls for me, l'm with a punter on a viewing.
Stephen rang. He says he can't make five-a-side tonight.
- He can't get a baby-sitter. - Marvellous.
What d'you want, then?
Just wanted to know if l could go back to the same nightclub.
l told you it's sweet, you got a pass.
Yeah, well, like l said, l am really sorry about what happened.
- We was well out of our depth. - You got a pass. All right?
Now don't worry about it.
Look, l'm sorry l come to your office.
Didn't want to drive you mad in front of people.
Look, mate. l got things to do. l can't stand out here talking bollocks with you all day.
Come on.
There is only one trainer.
'Ere, Bex. ls it true you had it with the Service Crew, 40-handed?
They reckon you stood and had it with them. Then made one with the Old Bill as well.
l was gonna go to that game. Me old man wouldn't let me out.
Some old bollocks about knowing you lot were goin' firm-handed
- and there was gonna be agg. - Yeah?
Yeah.
- You any good at football, trappy? - Course.
Yeah, well, l need someone to make up the numbers tonight.
Be at the cages behind the new flats at six, l'll give you a game.
38 pound, please, Bex.
Put that yellow Sergio in a bag for me and all, send it over to the office.
No problem.
- Well, do you fancy it or not? - Yeah, l'll be there.
Good.
Don't be late. And wear some sensible clobber.
- Please. - No.
- Please! - You don't get wages
if you haven't done any work.
l've been grafting my bollocks off.
You don't know the meaning of the word, kid.
D'you know, the only thing you ever ask me for is money?
Yeah, but this is different, cos l'm asking you as a son and as a friend.
- As a man, even. - When will you get it into your canister,
you don't get wages if you haven't been at work.
- Stroll on. - l'll take the ladder away.
l'll go through the window.
Don't you stop it, don't you stop
Don't stop the music
All right, all right. lf l give you readies, it's a sub, not wages.
- Done! - Means you still gotta do the collar.
- Done! - How much?
- 38 pound. - You tryin' to spin my nut, mush?
- What you buyin'? - Scag.
- What? - Come on, just chuck the money down.
You're doolally, you.
- Cheers, Joey Deacon. - You facety little ras.
Use it!
- Where you been? Get in goal. - l'm not a goalie.
You fucking are now, go on.
Come on!
Fucking wrong with you, you jar?
You told me you were value! What's the matter with you?
- Bex, who the fuck is he, eh? - Where'd you get him from?
Long! Long!
Good goal, Bex!
Course it's a good goal, you plum.
J, take him!
No, ref, no!
Fuck off, referee! lt weren't over the line!
That's never a penalty! lt weren't over the line!
- For fuck's sake. - Dunno what you're talkin' about.
- lt weren't over the line. Fuckin' hell. - Fuck off before l've had enough of you.
What's the matter wi' you?
Listen, save this and you'll be a legend.
Miss it and l'll cut ya.
- There you go! Yeah! - Quality, Dom.
Blinder! Fuckin' blinder.
Portsmouth meet's at Waterloo, Saturday.
Train leaves at 9:48, so make sure you're all there by about half nine.
- You all sweet with that? - Sweet, Bex. Yeah.
Listen, put the word out, and all. But no time-wasters or passengers Saturday.
We need a good firm together for this mob.
So keep your nuts together. All of ya.
l'm off, Snow. Meet with Trigger and the older lot.
- You comin', yeah? - Yeah.
Should be a good buzz down there.
- Cheers, Bex. - See you later, Bex.
Nice trainers, Dom.
Go on.
After you, Del.
Mm. Terry called round earlier, see if you was comin' out.
What's the matter? You fallen out with him?
No, l'm just sick of doing the same thing every day.
Could try comin' to work.
We're gonna eat all right for the next week or so.
- Who was you playin' football with? - Some mates.
- What mates? - You don't know 'em, they're new mates.
Oooh, new mates! Who are they, then?
- They're casuals. - Casuals? What's that mean?
- They sit around doing fuck all all day? - l know who they are.
They've all got wedge haircuts and smoke black.
- Ngggh! - Your fucking face'll stay like that
if the wind changes.
Well, actually, they've all got good jobs.
Unlike Terry and that lot.
All right, boom. You've come home from a hard day's work,
wander straight in here, the kitchen,
where you knock yourselves up a nice a la carte supper
on your newly fitted Neff appliance.
- You do cook, l presume? - Malcolm does the cooking.
Modern. Then you wander through here, you're into the lounge.
This is where you kick back, unwind, enjoy the panoramic views.
Flick the switch on the B&O and drift off to the sounds of Clannad.
You are a music man, ain't ya, Malcolm?
- Er, Genesis. - Prog rock. l like it.
Me and you could be friends if l weren't selling you an 'ouse.
Justine, the plans, please.
Mrs Cardwell. Have a feel of that.
- Oh, it is nice. - Nice?
All due respect, Mrs Cardwell, that's top of the range.
You won't find any other new builds in London with this level of attention to detail.
We're talking Bulthaup kitchen units, peach melba Dolphin bathrooms
and the finest bit of Axminster carpet in avocado you will ever find.
Justine, what do we call a house like this in the trade?
- Ream. - Ream. Exactly.
And you don't think there'll be a slowdown in the London property market?
Never.
l'll leave you to have a look round with Justine. Any questions, ask her.
l'll tell you, if these homes don't sell off-plan within a week, l'll eat my hat.
'Scuse me.
So what l was thinking, we could have green in the kitchen...
- What you doin'? - Ah, don't matter.
- We sweet for tonight? - Meetin' us somewhere off the plot.
Millwall's firm and Portsmouth's firm. Top boys only.
Good. How'd they sound? Up for it?
More chance of gettin' shit out of a rockin' horse
than runnin' a firm with that lot under ya.
Yeah, well. We'll see.
- This is us. - Dump it over there, Trig.
- l'll do this on me own, all right? - l'll be at the bar if you need me.
- Oh, here we go. - What's the matter, you lost your flock?
- Oh, yeah. Well done. - What happened to you lot the other day?
You bring the Old Bill with ya cos you shit yourselves or were you just lost?
We wouldn't struggle to find you mob, walking about like a load of pikeys
- in yer moody Kappa tracksuits. - So you grassed yourselves up, then?
What are you two divs on about?
Bex and his West Ham firm shit 'emselves so they brought the gawers with 'em
when we had a little meet planned.
Sure it weren't one of your young lot? They didn't look like they wanted to have it.
My young lot'd open you up like a village fete, you saucy cunt.
Listen.
There's over 4,000 Germans booked in for Europe this summer.
Unless our three firms go together, they're gonna run us all over.
They might run you lot. They'll come undone against us.
Shut up. l ain't finished yet.
Look, we wanna put on a proper show out there,
- then we've gotta go together. - Oh, let me think.
With you as top boy?
There you go, dinlow. Even a farmer can work it out.
You've got no chance, shithead. What makes you so special?
Er... Just the fact that for the past two seasons
we've steamed both firms in this room.
Right, l'll tell you what.
We're all playing each other in the next few weeks.
- Clever girl. - Pipe down, cunty.
You come and take us out with your top firm, then you can take us on tour.
But before you do that, you can come down the coast and pay us a little visit.
You won't know what's hit ya.
You couldn't hit water if you fell out of a boat.
All right. We'll see who's got the top firm.
You. Farmer. You'll get yours when we land on your plot Saturday.
- And you. - Yeah?
Yeti. l'm gonna put 150 stitches in your face.
- l'm shittin' meself, ain't l? - Yeah, you look it.
See that door? Use it.
Yeah, this is the gaff, Dad. All the gear's ream in 'ere.
- Comes to nothing, as well. - Ream? What's ream?
Comes to nothing? Fuck me, mush, that's nearly 80 quid.
What you on about, Dad? lt's Ellesse.
- Elle what? - lt's what all the chaps are wearing.
Oh, are they bollocks. How about a nice waffle jumper?
'Ere, look at this one, Bob. Lovely, eh?
Oh, that's a blinder, Shel. There you go, mush.
That's what you wanna be wearing if you wanna stand out in the crowd.
Now that is a bit of you, eh?
Leave it out, Dad. l'll get my 'ead kicked in for wearing that.
What? lt's lovely, babe. You'll look the bee's knees in it.
Yeah, all right, Mum. l'll look like a fucking Slush Puppy.
25 quid.
Perfect. You can have the bottoms as well.
- No. - What do you mean, no?
lt's a fucking terrific bit of clobber.
- l mean, no, l'm not wearing it. - Well, what else you gonna wear?
l'd rather walk about in the nude than wear that.
Why can't you stop being so tight and just buy me the Ellesse?
You know l'll work it off.
- Oh, go on. - Yeah? You're working for this.
Oh, shit, it's J. Give me the readies, yous two better shake out.
- What? - Go on, make out you don't know me.
- Go on, chip. - Chip?
- What's he on about? - Mm?
All right, Dom? Thought you was out grafting.
All right, J? Nah, just out gettin' meself some new garms.
Straight? Who's your pals?
Just me mum and dad.
- Just? - All right? l'm J.
- Hello, boy. l'm Shelley, this is Bob. - All right?
We love our little boy, so will you look after him for us?
- Yeah, yeah, course l will. - All right. Come on, Bob. We're done here.
Bye, darling.
- His nuts are hanging out of them shorts. - Trust you to notice.
Keep dogs. Just gonna buzz a pair of Trimm-Trabs.
See you? l'll hit you so hard
that the next time you wake up you'll have a chalk mark round ya.
He's down like that. Grabbed the big cunt, pulled him in, right...
Cunt got such a big shock.
'Old up, it's the 'ector.
Tickets, please. Tickets for Portsmouth, please.
- He's got mine, mate. - Sorry, pal. He's got mine.
- He's got mine. - He's got mine.
- What you done with my ticket?
- None of you have got tickets, have you? - No.
- And you don't intend to buy any, do you? - No!
'Ere, mate. Might as well sit down, have a drink with us. Come on.
Yeah, go on!
All right?
Oh, fuck it, why not?
Come on. What you standin' about for?
Early 'ere.
You remember any of this?
'Ere y'are. This is where Pompey's boozer is.
l'm sure it's round 'ere somewhere.
- Trigger. - What?
- Trigger! - What?
Round 'ere, l think.
You ain't gonna find Pompey 'ere, Bex. l wanna get something to eat.
Something to eat? Where you gonna get that?
- l dunno. Wimpy or something. - Fucking Wimpy? Are you sure?
Who's coming with me? Come on.
Ain't come here to eat, we've come here to have it with fucking Portsmouth.
What's the matter with ya? Come on.
Where the fuck are you going? Looking for a boozer this time of the morning?
- Trig, what you talking about? - Come this way.
- Where you going? - We're going to get something to eat.
- What? - Mustard, come on.
We're on the plot, what are you worried about? Come on.
See you at the ground, all right?
- See you at the away end, Trig. - Eh?
- Enjoy your hot dog, mate. - Yeah? Enjoy your swim, Bex.
- Come on. - Where's your beach?
- What we doing? - We're going this way.
Fuck knows.
Don't fucking need Trigger and that old lot.
All they think about is their bellies.
You up for this, mate? Bit of luck, it'll go right off.
Yeah, sweet, mate, l'm game.
'Ere, they're 'ere, Bex. There's Pompey's boozer there, look.
- Hey, they're about 200-handed. - Get up here. Don't start lagging behind.
Come on, Pompey!
- Come on, boys. - No one start fucking off.
- No one fuck off. - Dom?
Get back! Get fucking back!
There's fucking loads of them there, mate.
Fuck me, look at this!
Come on, then, l've been waiting for ya.
Go on.
Move back!
Oi! Fucking get out the way.
Come on, then! Come on!
Move back!
We turned the corner and l was going, "Oi, there they are! Pompey!"
And l've seen that farmer, that little cunt, he's standing there in a yellow coat,
swear to God he's smilin' at me.
So l've gone, "Come on, then! You'll be all right. Hold this!"
- You get 'im? - Yeah. Course.
D'you see him, little Dom? He shaped up all right.
He was up front with me, took one and all.
He's a light, the kid.
l swear to God, Dad. She was about 18 stone, wearing full biker leathers.
She had me pinned to the feather, telling me what she was gonna insert up my box.
- What? Are you sure? - l had no choice.
l had to fight her.
- And she just punched you in the mouth? - Basically.
Pass me the rest of that, fan pot.
You gotta do better than that when your mother sees you.
All right, mate? J told me l'd find you up here.
- How's it going? - All right, Bex? What you up to?
Just passing through. Enjoy yourself Saturday?
- Yeah, you wouldn't think so. - Yeah, well.
Keep this weekend free.
We're at home to the mickeys. Should be a good buzz.
ls the old man about? Wanted to see if he fancied quoting on a job for me.
l'm his old man. What can l do for you, Mr...
- Bex. - Mr Bex.
Nah. Nah, just Bex.
So what jobs you want quoting on, then, Bex?
Well, my office just bought into some of them new builds by the drink.
But the builders went skint and they've gone through the slips with me readies.
Slips? What... what's slips?
That's just something we say, mate.
Anyway, fancy taking a look at them?
Course we will, Bex. Who are we to turn down a bit of collar, eh?
Well, l don't wanna step on no one's toes, do l?
Give him the address and we'll fly down and have a look at 'em.
You'll have to excuse me, l've got to crack on.
Yeah, ta-ta.
- l dunno what's wrong with him. - Give him a puff, he'll be all right.
- Either that or get him a brass. - Yeah.
Here you are, mizzog.
- Laters, Bex. - Ta-ta, champ.
What's wrong with you? That's my pal.
l don't like him.
- l don't care. He's me right pal. - l don't like him.
Have a look. lt's a fucking Liquorice Allsort.
- You sure? - What?
You look like fucking John McEnroe.
- Where you been, anyway? - Nowhere special.
Went football Saturday, kicked off with Pompey, didn't it?
- Who'd you go there with? - Bex and that lot.
Should have been there, Tel, it was naughty.
See my eye? Still bloodshot.
Took a dig off some big lump, didn't l? Stayed on me feet, though.
Why didn't you tell me you was going? l would have come.
They didn't ask for you, mate. Only asked for me.
All right, Dom? Who's this lot?
All right, J? This is Terry. Remember him from the pub?
- Yeah. All right? - Tel's up for coming football, in't ya, Tel?
- Yeah? - Yeah, he's a good 'ead.
Yeah, he looks it.
l gotta chip, Dom. See ya.
- Come on. - We're goin' taxin' up the precinct.
Laters, Tel.
Look, l'll bell ya, yeah, mate?
Come on, Dom, let's chip. Come on.
- Have that for keeping dog. - Straight?
Fucking log of wood, not even dancing! You're lagging.
What do you reckon? Don't look like a postbox, do l?
Nah, mate. You look the bollocks.
Well, don't look at me. Fucking get on with it.
- l'm seeing how you do it. - Seeing how you do it!
l'm learning, l'm learning. You're always on about learning.
The Home Secretary, Leon Brittan, said he could well understand the decision
to postpone travel arrangements for England fans
heading for the European Championship.
He said that soccer hooliganism was nothing more than outbursts of savagery...
So you fancy comin' Europe, do you, Dom?
Yeah. lf l can get the readies together.
Aww, ain't that sweet?
- Gotta get blooded first. - Blooded?
You ever been tattooed?
- No. - Virgin, eh?
Dominic. l'd like you to meet a very old friend of mine, and yours.
Please put your hands together for...
Stanley!
Leave it out. You ain't gonna do it with that, are ya?
You wanna run with the foxes, mate.
- Jesus. - He won't help ya.
Come on, up you get.
Come on!
Well, go on, then.
Poisonous, that is.
lt gets into your bloodstream, you could be dead by morning.
Yeah? How come you lot are all still here, then?
Oh, mate!
- You fucking little prick. - What an ice cream, eh?
- Oh, Dom, what are you like? - Quality.
Oh, mate!
Feet apart, keep the feet down.
Down you go.
Up with that curved spine.
- And again. - What on earth are you two doing?
All the way down. Right, feet together.
Mad Lizzie workout. Time to get in shape, son.
And he's on the Special K diet.
Anyway, where you going so early? You're not normally out the feather till midday.
You're not even doing it properly, Mum. Anyway, l'm going football.
- What, dressed like that? - lt's called fashion, Dad.
Something you wouldn't know nothing about.
Who you going out with? Your new mate? Bex?
- "Yeah." l'll see you later. - Oi. You be careful with him.
He looks like a bloody postbox.
- All right, Pete? - All right, Dom?
- Winning? - Winning, you cunt.
- How are you, mate? - All right, Dom?
Sweet.
You sure, Dom? Go and sit round there, eh?
Oi, oi. Didn't you call him first?
You wanna start dropping clobber like that round 'ere, mate,
you better check it with your boyfriend, cos it's a little bit strong.
'Ere. Did you buy 'em together?
Yeah?
Actually...
l bet that you saw him buy his first,
and you went straight out and copied him.
Didn't ya?
- Am l right? - He's not fucking wrong, is he?
Funny thing about you is, Dom...
is when you first come round 'ere, you was dressed like a right div.
And yet, 'ere you are, and you're all dressed up like him.
- What's that about? - Leave it, Trig, eh?
There's a word for that, in't there?
- Snow? - Yeah. lnfatuation.
That's it.
lnfatuation.
But to us lot, it just means you wanna get stuck up him.
You're on your own there, mate. He's dumping you now.
Look. You're gonna have to find someone else to fucking lap up.
Tell you what, son.
You can plate me if you like.
Next time, just put in a call first, you fucking dry lunch.
All right, Trig. Leave it now, eh?
- That's a bit strong. - For fuck's sake.
- Fuck's sake. - Sweet, Dom?
He's all right. Don't worry.
Diet's gone west, l see.
You'll go fucking west in a minute if you don't carry on working, you nause.
You're the nause, you fat melt. Oh, look, here's your mate.
Rung the bell here, in't ya?
- All right, Bill? - Bob.
- One there for you, look. - Cheers, mate.
What happened to you the other day?
- l turned round, you'd vanished. - l had a dicky tummy, didn't l?
Went to the khazi and yous lot had slipped.
You ain't gotta stick your fanny up, mate. l could see you was burnt.
But he gets like that in booze, he don't mean nothing by it.
He just likes people to stand up to him.
- Well, what am l supposed to say to him? - Tell him to fucking slow down.
Oh, great.
He's right about one thing, though.
Well, do you wanna run with the foxes?
Anyway, l come by to tell you, me and Strides are having a russell at Lips later.
- We both want you to be there. - Really? Yeah?
Really, yeah. But don't wear that red tracksuit.
l won't.
And there's a little bird there who's dying to fly into you.
- Ta-ta, champ. - See you later.
Oi! Lazy bollocks. We ain't finished up 'ere yet.
- Fuck off. - Nggh, nnggh.
Sweet, Dom? Where was you the other day?
All right, J? l had a queer belly, didn't l?
Didn't miss much. The Old Bill was everywhere.
'Ere, you all right, Dom? Listen, you coming Palace with us tomorrow?
- Course, l'm up for it. - Good stuff.
- Be a bit of fun down there. - Sweet, boys.
l'd better go and say hello to Bex.
Here he is! Hello, mate, you don't half look well.
- Thanks, mate. - Hello, handsome.
- Where's he been keeping you? - Oi, slow down, tart.
Make yourself useful. Go and get me a drink, eh?
Oi. Don't get trappy in front of your little mate.
Nause. Remember, you don't call me Strides for nothing.
- Powerful, eh? - She's a light, mate.
Yeah, well, you know what they say. Behind every good man...
there's a shit cunt.
- Coming Palace? - Yeah, mate.
Good. Cos l've got a little plan.
Fancy we take a detour, land on that Yeti when his back's turned?
What? Show them who's got the top firm. Yeah?
Oh, have a look.
Now, remember what l told ya.
- All right, mate? - Trigger.
Get your assistant to knock me up a banana daiquiri, would ya?
Oh, no! You ain't gonna take that, are you, Dom?
'Ere, Trig. Why don't you fuck off and leave me alone, eh?
Do you want me to do you in front of everyone?
Cos l'll fucking kick you up and down this club.
Go on, then, you tricky cunt.
- l knew you had it in ya. - Well in, Dom.
- Go on, mate. - Oi!
There's that bird l was telling you about.
Go on!
Dom, Justine, Justine, Dom.
- All right, Dom? - All right, Justine?
Fuck me, that was basic.
So, er... fancy a drink?
Not really.
Bins on or off?
Mm.
Plate first?
Listen. Change of plan. We ain't going Palace.
We're gonna go land on that fucking Yeti's plot instead.
- See if we can catch him off-guard. - You wanna be careful.
We could come undone down there.
Are you mad?
Have a look at this firm we got round us.
- Sweet, champ? - l'm up for it.
Sweet. Snow?
- Course, mush, you know me. - Dave?
Sounds like a plan, Bex, yeah, mate.
- Usef, fancy it? - Yeah, definitely, mate.
Good. Let's go and do this fucking Yeti.
- 'Ere y'are, this is Millwall's boozer. - Just take it easy, will ya?
'Ere y'are, look. There's two, look. 'Ere, there's two of the Yeti's lot.
What are you doing? Slow up, will you? We don't know their numbers.
J, J, get here with me. Knuckle, sort your fucking mob out.
- Come on. - 'Ere y'are, J, come here.
Come on.
- All right, sweet. - Keep it together.
Knuckle, sort your mob out. Sort your mob out.
Fucking get together, now!
- Come on, Millwall! - Get here! Don't fucking run!
Fucking get here, J!
J! They've got tools!
Fucking get me out! Fucker!
Come on, then, boys, here they are.
Want some of this? You want some of this now?
Come here! What you running for?
What you running for? Hold that, you West Ham cunt.
- What? - That was clever, weren't it?
You made us look like a bunch of fucking idiots.
Wait there. Wait over there.
- You sweet, Dom? - Yeah, sweet.
Oh, no.
Oh!
That's a naughty wound, mate. Go and get yourself down the hospital now.
Well, go on.
Come on, yous three. We ain't finished. We're going back there.
- Ta, mate. Speak to you soon. - See you later.
Give this to Yeti, you cunt.
Come on, go!
How fucking good was that?
Switch off, will ya?
My Porsche.
Fucking cunts.
ls he? No. No, he ain't.
- Where is he? - There.
- No. - He's there.
There!
Go and play. Go on.
- You know who this is, don't ya? - Bexy boy.
'Ere, get 'ome all right, mate?
Oh, 'ere, 'ere. We had a smashing time after we run you lot.
l got the right car, didn't l?
Fancy you're the only lag stupid enough to buy a British motor.
You still there, boy?
What? You think you can just land on us and start taking liberties?
You gotta get up a little bit earlier if you wanna catch me out.
You're out of your league, mate.
You think that l'm gonna stand behind you in a national firm?
Not the way you perform.
Anyway, you'll have to wait till next season now.
So start practising.
Yeah, you're still there.
l can hear ya breathing.
Oh, no, no!
You fucking child!
Why can't you get your kicks doing something else, eh?
Something fucking grown-up? Like normal people.
lnstead of running around bashing these idiots up?
And you know who gets to hear 'em mug you off, don't ya? lt's me.
And l think they'd do it to your face if you weren't such a fucking bully.
All right, champ? How's yer luck?
- All right, Bex? Just finishing up. - The old man about?
No, l think he's still in the feather.
Good. l'm sans motor, as you know, need a lift.
You got time?
Come on. Save me calling a sherbet, eh?
Sweet?
Yeah, sweet.
Oi, oi. Where you goin', Dom? You ain't finished.
- l'm just giving Bex a lift. - All right, Bill?
lt's Bob. Look, can't he jump on the bus? l need the van.
We'll only be ten minutes. Lively, champ.
Lively? Look, l'm not being funny, mate, but you can't just chaw me van.
- l'm tryin' to run a business. - All right, all right. 'Ere you are.
- There's a ching there for petrol. Take it. - l don't need your readies, kid.
You all right, Dom? You look a bit peaky.
Yeah, l'm sweet.
You all right, with your feet on my dash?
- Yeah, l'm all right. You all right? - Am l all right?
Yeah. You?
You got something you want to say to me, Ben?
- Bob. - Sorry, Bob.
l'm fucking murder round names.
l'm only playing about with you, mate. Come on, let's shake on it, eh?
Come on. Come on.
We'll see you in a minute. Come on, champ.
Ta-ta.
Yeah, no one takes the piss out of me, champ.
Especially not that fucking Yeti.
We're gonna give him the surprise of his life, in't we? Know what l mean?
Yeah, they got Forest away on Saturday.
Means they gotta go through London Bridge station.
That's where we land on 'em.
Yeah, you watch. l'm gonna annihilate that Yeti.
What's the matter with the missus? Rumping someone else?
To be honest, mate, l ain't exactly flavour of the month, am l?
That car was our wedding money.
Yeah, know the feeling, mate.
Little Sammy got hold of me Stanley, stuck it in his mooey.
Fuckin' hell! ls he all right?
Yeah. Just means more sweets, don't it?
Yeah.
- Anyone quoted you on it yet? - Nah.
Nah, not yet. Thought l'd do some work on it myself first, you know?
Then get the insurance in. Make it look like a proper write-off.
- Bit like the Yeti, eh? - What?
He'll be a write-off when we've finished with him.
We're going back over there Saturday, good little unit. Didn't Trigger tell you?
What's the matter with you?
Look, Bex. Don't you think all this is getting a bit out of hand?
Your car, my car. Usef getting cut. You seen him?
He's had 20 fucking stitches down his face.
So? This is payback time, innit?
You can take it out on the Yeti yourself if you like.
Nah. Not for me, mate. Look, l've got too much to lose.
- Oh, what, and l ain't? - Look, Bex.
- l ain't bottling, all right? - Nah?
Well, it come like that to me, star.
Oh, well. Done the Yeti's pal for Usef. Might as well do the Yeti for you.
Don't do nothing for me, mate. Just leave it.
Fuckin' hell, Bex. The Yeti's still gonna be there next season.
Yeah, but you won't. Cos from now on, you don't come anywhere with us.
l don't want to see you on the plot, l don't want to see you talking to any of my firm.
What are you getting so heavy for? lt's just a game of football.
Well, it ain't a fucking game to me.
You're breaking my heart, Snowy.
l'm gonna do that Yeti if it kills me.
Without you.
l make a bad enemy, Snowy.
Avoid me.
Fucking geezer.
Start the car, bollocky. You can drop me round me mum's.
Yeah, thanks for that, champ. See you at the meet, eh?
And get some sleep and all. You need your wits about ya.
- Bex. - What, mate?
- l'm supposed to be... - Supposed to be what?
You can't miss this. This is where you really make a name for yourself.
- Yeah, but, Bex... - See you there.
- l'm supposed to be helping me dad. - Nah.
Nah, you'll be there. Ta-ta, champ.
Mum, it's me.
- l should stick a Tampax in you. - Why?
Cos you're a cunt.
- Wish it was that easy, Tel. - lt is that easy.
Just drop him out and stop playing the big man.
You don't know what they're like, mate.
- l know one thing. - What?
l want my mate back.
Yeti. Yeti!
Yeti! Yeti! Yeti! Yeti! Yeti!
All right. All right. Sweet.
All right, James? Sweet?
Hand them out, Dom.
- Sweet? - Bex.
- Hello, Bex. - Bex, you all right?
- Yeah. - Good to see you, mate.
You're up for this, all of ya? Eh?
You all all right?
What's the matter? Bit quiet today.
l left me brain at home, didn't l?
- Seemed like the most sensible thing to do. - Oh, yeah? Why's that?
This is suicide, Bex. lt was bad enough last time when we was mob-handed.
'Ere, there ain't even 30 of us. lt's fucking stupid, that's all.
- Oh, what, l'm daft, now, am l? - No, l'm not saying that.
No? No, you're not, are you?
- Sounds like it to me. - l'm not saying that.
- Bex, leave it out. - Who are you talking to?
- He's just a... Look, just leave... - What? What are you stuttering for? Eh?
- l was just saying. - Don't just fucking say nothing.
Don't talk to me like that in front of mates.
- l didn't... - What you tryin' to do?
- Make me look like a fucking Toby? - l didn't say nothing.
Don't interrupt me either, when l'm talking to ya.
Listen to me! Let me say something to ya.
You fucking drove me mad to get involved with us.
Followed me about like a little dog.
Even went and bought the same pair of trainers as me.
No, l know about that turn-out. Do you lot know?
This little no-good cunt went and bought the same pair of trotters as me.
Even made out like he'd had 'em for ages.
What, and now you want to have it on your toes, do ya?
Cos your bottle's gone and you think it's on us?
- Mm! - Nah.
Nah, it don't work like that. See, you ain't like Snowy and that mob.
They live miles off the plot. They can run and hide and keep their nuts down.
But you? You live on the fucking manor.
You'll have to bump into me every day.
And l can't stand seeing people that let me down, it fucking drives me mad.
So you're in, champ.
Right to the fucking end.
All right?
- All right? - All right.
Yeah, good.
Good.
That's fucking playground behaviour, that, innit?
Someone ought to report me to the headmaster.
What are you smiling for? What you fucking smiling for?
Stand up, all of ya. We got run last week.
Well, it ain't gonna fucking happen this week. Eh?
The pub ain't open, so you ain't gettin' laggin'.
Oi, oi, Trigger! Come on.
All right, Bex.
- You all 'ere? - All ready, mate?
Come on. Let's go.
All right? No shoutin' when we get round here, Trig. Tell this little mob.
All right, shh. Shut up, all of ya.
Don't want this mob to know we're coming.
All right, mate?
- You up for today? - Hey, Yeti!
Yeti, l swear l've just seen Bex get out of his motor round the corner.
Look, he ain't gonna have the front to turn up here after last week, is he?
- How many handed? - Firm-handed, mate.
Hold up. He reckons Bex has just got out of a motor...
- They're 'ere! - Come on, Yeti!
- Oi, oi, oi! - Come on, Yeti!
Where are you now, eh?
Come on.
Come on, then, Bex, you fucking cunt.
Right! Steam through these fucking shitholes!
Yeah, you shit cunt!
Bexy.
Not you again.
Oh, no.
Most of us survive it unscathed.
But an increasing number of young people are...
You not hungry, babe?
Do you want to talk about it?
Cos you know you can, don't you?
l know what it is. He's knocking about with them older boys,
- and they've spun his nut. - You spin my nut.
Ngggh.
ls it a bird?
- ls it a plane? - Oh, shut up, you, fatso.
Did she break your heart? Cos it happens to us all, you know, some time in our lives.
All l can tell you is, it's what makes a man a man, if you know what l mean.
Come on, then, dinlow.
l wouldn't start giving it the big 'un if l was you.
You look like a fucking postbox in that tracksuit. Where we goin', anyway?
Get some puff. You got any? Course l ain't.
Makes a change. Let's go round and see me dad.
See if we can ponce some money. Make out you've been mugged.
Why do l always have to be mugged?
Cos he believes you. Why me?
l dunno. Cos you're ginger, and he feels sorry for ya.
Whatever, Jils. Who you callin' a Jils?
You, you fuckin' strawberry Miwi. Don't start gettin' tricky, helmet.
Don't you start gettin' tricky, then. Helmet.