REALITY BITES

VILLAGE PEOPLE
SCENE 1. – INT DAY, GRIFF AND CONRAD’S FLAT - POUNDJET
CONRAD IS WATCHING REEL TV DOCUMENTARY ON POUNDJET – A SUCCESSFUL BUDGET AIRLINE. PULL BACK FROM PAN AROUND SHABBY BUT INDVIDUALLY STYLED FLAT: PICTURES OF THE EXORCIST, FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS, NOTTINGHAM FOREST, FIONA BRUCE AND NICK BROOMFIELD. PULL BACK TO CONRAD IN HIS TOWELLING DRESSING GOWN WITH PALE SHINS HARROWINGLY VISIBLE, WATCHING INTENTLY BUT CUSSING INTO HIS READY BREK.
WITH THE OPENING CHORDS OF S CLUB 7’S ‘REACH FOR THE STARS’ IN THE BACKGROUND, MATCHED CUT FROM A LINE OF PILOTS SALUTING IN THEIR POUND SIGN-EMBOSSED CAPS TO A PLANE SOARING THROUGH THE SKY. ZOOM OUT FROM A PILOT WITH A SWEAT SHIRTED TROLLY DOLLY ON HIS KNEE TO A PILOT HOLDING A HEARTY MUG OF TEA, CUT TO MCU OF PILOT EATING A PIE WITH ONE HAND AND STEERING THE PLANE WITH THE OTHER; CUT TO PILOT ALONE IN GREASY CAFF READING THE DAILY EXPRESS, ITS HEADLINE SCREAMING “NOW IT’S A CRIME TO BE WHITE!” CUT TO HAND HELD FOOTAGE OF A PILOT WRESTLING WITH DRUNKS ON THE PLANE, TO PENSIONERS BRANDISHING BUS PASSES TO APPROVING NODS FROM CABIN STAFF.
Conrad:
No! This is uber twaddle... we could do much better
HE PUTS DOWN HIS READY BREK AND PICKS UP THE PHONE.
BACK ON THE TV, PILOTS ARE DIRECTING A LINE OF SCHOOLKIDS TO AN ON-BOARD “YOB TANK” – A MAKESHIFT MINI PRISON WITH A TV. CUT TO PILOT, ALONE IN AN AIRPORT THEME PUB CALLED “SPUD MURPHY’S”, PUFFING ON A FAG AND SUPPING A PINT AS BAR STAFF MOP THE FLOOR. CUT TO A LINE OF PILOTS TOSSING THEIR CAPS IN THE AIR. MATCHED CUT TO PILOT PUTTING HIS CAP DOWN. AS HE STARTS TO UNDRESS IN A SOULLESS HOTEL ROOM, HE PUTS HIS CAP OVER THE CAMERA. FADE TO BLACK.
SCENE 2. EXT. - DAY INSIDE A PETROL STATION
GRIFF PAYS FOR HIS PETROL WITH HIS CARD BETWEEN HIS RING FINGER AND LITTLE FINGER, HIS HAND OCCUPIED BY A BAG OF PART BAKED PETIIT PAINS; SOME BRAINS FAGGOTS ARE BETWEEN HIS TEETH, 2 BOTTLES OF CRAZY MILK CRADLED TO HIS BOSOM. AS HE STRUGGLES, ONE SULLEN TEENAGE FEMALE ASSISTANT NEVER BREAKS HER MONOLOGUE TO THE SULLEN TEENAGE MALE ASSISTANT, WHO IS SMOKING, WITH HIS VACANT GAZE FIXED ON THE FEMALE.
Female assistant:
So I says, there’s like no way I’s workin’ 10-6 Sunday..Like I’m already workin’ my fanny off at this shithole 24/7, for like, peanuts and now I can’t have my freedom to get wasted on Sat’day.. an’ oh yeah ya won’t believe this, he has the bare arsed cheek to tell me to smarten up - an’ he’s like minger of the century..(to Griff) number 7? (without pausing or looking at Griff) £35.50 enter your P.I.N.
GRIFF ENTERS HIS P.I.N AND IS FORCED TO MUTTER THROUGH HIS TEETH AND BRAINS FAGGOTTS:
Griff:
I’ve got a huge hairy scrotum.
GRIFF SAUNTERS OUT. MALE ASSISTANT HASN’T NOTICED BUT FEMALE ASSISTANT IS, LIKE GOBSMACKED. SHE SHOUTS,
Female assistant:
“Get a back, sack and crack then, ya tossaaah”
GRIFF’S PHONE RINGS – IT’S CONRAD. GRIFF DROPS ALL THE ITEMS INTO THE PASSENGER SEAT.

Conrad:
Griff it’s me again.

Griff:
Conrad, chicken shagger, y’orright?

Conrad:
Was Just watching Reel TV, we can do much better, there was this appalling spazumentary about Poundjet.

Griff:
Crock-umentary, I’m sure. No doubt about that mate. Listen when we make our next doc for Reality Bites, no tosser will want to watch Reel TV anymore– we’ll get the press in a soapy tit wank about it, Clive the Bastard will go sore cock purple.
Conrad:
I know, we can do much better than all the dross on Reel TV and I’d love to stick it to Clive the Bastard.
THE PETROL STATION ASSISTANTS HAVE BEEN EARWIGGING THE WHOLE THING. AS GRIFF DRIVES OFF, CLIVE THE BASTARD (HEAD OF RIVAL REEL TV) ROLLS UP, PUTTING HIS FINGERS DOWN HIS EAR HOLES AND SNIFFING THE RICH PICKINGS.
SCENE 3.
GRIFF STUMBLES HOME, COMES IN WITH A SHOPPING BAG AND PROCEEDS TO DIVEST IT OF ITS CONTENTS. HE GLEEFULLY BRANDISHES THE CONTENTS AT A NONPLUSSED CONRAD, WHO STILL HAS A MILDLY CONTEMPTUOUS EYE ON REEL TV.

Griff:
Look! Brains Faggots! And Crazy Milk!
HE GETS OUT ANOTHER BOTTLE
A deux! And part baked petit pains. I’ll get ‘em on.…
HE GETS UP BUT IS DISTRACTED BY THE TV
What’s this cack?
Conrad:
Oh, More pearl necklaces of wisdom from Reel TV. This time it’s a hard hitting expose of attitudes towards the disabled.
AS THE TITLE CREDITS ROLL, GRIFF IS UNIMPRESSED
Griff:
“You’re a spaz?”
Conrad:
You are
Griff:
How can you call a serious documentary’ “You’re a spaz”?
Conrad:
It’s going to generate free column inches in the papers and leap off the listings magazines. You’ve got to be provocative to survive in this game.
Griff:
Oh, I had to phone those monkeys at Poundjet when my flight to Malmo was cancelled.

Conrad:
Why were you going to Malmo again?

Griff:
‘Cos Forest beat them in the 1979 European Cup Final.
Conrad:
Topical.
Griff:
Anyway, I spoke to this guy on the phone –he was camp as..”Bugs Bunny -The Musical”..he says, (does camp voice) “As stated on your conditions of carriage, sir, we cannot offer a refund because you have the ‘flu.” So I says, “Bollocks” and he says, “Yes please” and giggles like a Hyena on helium. Then he chats me up..he asks me what I’m up to this weekend instead; when I tell him, “In bed with Lemsip” he quips, “Oooh, lucky Lemsip!” - it was like a bad drag act.. Anyway, without me asking him what he’s up to he tells me he would be going up to Manchester to the gay village but there’s too much going on with the gangs. I thought this might be gay slang-

Conrad:
Palare

Griff:
I don’t think he mentioned that place-

Conrad:
It’s a word for gay slang.

Griff:
Well done you..anyway, I thought we could make a doc out of it..

Conrad:
What are these gangs?

Griff:
Turns out they’re protection rackets having some kind of turf war. Handbags at 5 paces probably.

HE LAUGHS FAR TOO MUCH AND GETS UP.

Griff:
Talking of faggots, want some hot faggot and petit pain action?

Conrad:
Love some.. but without the homophobic puns… So we could go to Manchester and do an investigative piece.

Griff:
I was thinking more of a docusoap – loads of camp caricatures, it’s all part of the magic formula

Conrad:
What magic formula?

Griff: .
I worked it out watching Sky Travel last night.

HE SLAMS DOWN THE HEARTY SNACKS

Griff:
Camp caricatures times wobble-headed feisty queen chavs plus shock value and random scousers minus insight multiplied by tits and arse over goldfish-minded viewer imput, celebs and ritual humiliation = good reality TV.
Conrad:
Q.E.D
Griff:
Quite Erudite….Donrad
Conrad:
You’re like Einstein’s cretin brother. I don’t want to make Celebrity Nude Shit Eating, I want to be Nick Broomfield, John Pilger. And you missed out the provocative title.
Griff:
On the contraire, vicar. The perfect reality show is, therefore: “Celebrity Lift Shaft”, in which Jodie Marsh and Pete Burns unwittingly get trapped in a lift and have to shag their way out on live TV. Argh! Bollocks. Uh, faggots are horrible.

Conrad:
How can we make a serious documentary if you’re tossing around cavalier bigoted jokes?

Griff: I bet you £20 Big Bad Bev likes my formula..

CU OF THE TWO SHAKING ON THE BET.
CUT
SCENE 4. INT. – DAY – REALITY BITES OFFICE/CONRAD’’S GRIFF’S FLAT
MATCHED CUT TO BEV TICKLING THE FINGERS OF AN INFLATED RUBBER GLOVE. THE PHONE RINGS, CONRAD ANSWERS.CROSS CUT BETWEEN BEV’S OFFICE (THE DIRECTOR OF REALITY BITES) AND CONRAD. BEV’S OFFICE HAS A WALL WITH REALITY BITES IN HUGE LETTERS, THE LETTER B HAS TEETH WHERE THE CURVES SHOULD BE.

Conrad:
Hello, What’s Up Doc productions
BEV HAS HER FEET UP ON THE MAHOGANY DESK

Bev:
Get the carrot out yer arse, Bugs, it’s Bev

Griff: Let’s suck on some faggotts, they’re ready.

Conrad
(covering the phone) Shhh..it’s Big Bad Bev!
GRIFF WALKS BACKWARDS SLOWLY, AS IF HE IS ON THE MOON

Conrad:
I was just watchin-

Bev:
Just pulling the head off it, more like, eh dirty dick?

Conrad:
(Through rueful laughter) I was watching “Reach For The Stars” on Reel TV, about Poundjet.

Bev:
Reach For The Bucket, more like – bucket of shit,. Absolute bish.

Conrad:
We could do so much better for you, Bev, we’ve got so many worthy, serious irons in the fire

Bev:
Been to IKEA lately, Conrad?

Conrad:
Not since I found a toenail in my meatballs

Bev:
‘Cos I believe you’ve got a kitchen full of smeg!
CUT TO BEV READING FROM A CRIB SHEET LISTING THE FOLLOWING: 1) SMEG JOKE 2)WANK JOKE

Conrad:
It’s full of Griff at the moment, even worse I suppose.

Bev:
Griiiiiiff! And how is Cunnilingus on Legs?

Conrad
(wincing) Hairy, hungry

Bev:
I’ll bet. Anyway, Reel TV are getting right on my minge.

Conrad:
Totally, that Poundjet doc was megacheese.

Bev:
Like a cacktrump in a job interview
CUT TO CONRAD LOOKING PUZZLED. GRIFF TUCKS INTO HIS FEAST AND PLONKS CONRAD’S DOWN BESIDE HIM.

Bev:
Look, Reel TV are pulling in more ABC1 18-25 conspicuous consumers and nestbuilding 25-35 early adopters than we could dream of.

Conrad:
Well, we have a big idea..we’ll expose the-
Bev:
Listen, cum chops, I’m ringing every two-bit, gaybod production company in the land for their ideas. We need to reel in the Reel TV viewers (looks down at crib sheet again). And I want you to be the badger bait.

Conrad:
Eh?

Bev:
What’ve you got, Conrad?

Conrad:
Griff found this article about gang warfare between protection rackets in Manchester’s gay village.

Bev:
This had better be better than “Fart Club”
CUT TO SHAKY FOOTAGE OF INFORMAL GATHERING OF EARNEST LOOKING PEOPLE IN KNITWEAR, FARTING IN VARIOUS WAYS, PUNCTUATED BY PENSIVE LOOKS AND APPROVING NODS. CUT TO ONE FART CLUBBER IN TIMMY MALLET STYLE GLASSES CHASING GRIFF AND CONRAD OUT OF THE HOUSE, SHOUTING THAT HE WANTS HIS MONEY. CONRAD IS CARRYING A CAMERA, GRIFF IS WEARING HEADPHONES AND IS CARRYING A BOOM MIKE, NICK BROOMFIELD STYLE.

Conrad:
That was Griff’s idea

Bev:
Pitch me by 10 tomorrow

Conrad:
Ok Bev
THE LINE GOES DEAD.

Conrad:
Bye then Bev.
CUT TO BEV OPENING HER CUPBOARD WHICH IS A FREEZER FULL OF CALIPPOS. AS SHE OPENS ONE, SHE SAYS, “COME TO MUMMY” AND STARTS BITING THEM WITH HER FRONT TEETH WITH ANIMAL FEROCITY.
SCENE 5. EXT DAY – PETROL STATION
CLIVE THE BASTARD (BOSS OF REEL TV) GETS OUT OF HIS “REEL TV” EMBLAZONED BMW, “9M BICYCLES” BY KATIE MELUA STOPPING ABRUPTLY AS HE POWER WALKS ACROSS THE FORECOURT.
CUT TO A CONVERSATION BETWEEN 2 APPARENTLY WITLESS YOUNG CHAVVY ASSISTANTS.

Female assistant:
When I’m dead, I don’t want no full nuptial mas or naffin’, they can just take me to a moratorium an’ lower me into a hole. 42.80 enter your P.I.N ‘ere, you from Reel TV?

Clive:
Cash. (he unfurls a cylindrical wad of notes) I am an’ all (bellowed in a Victorian mill owner’s accent), you ever watch it?

Female assistant:
Have done. We had a bloke from Reality Bites in ‘ere a minute ago, was talking on the phone about kickin’ your arses in the ratings war or sammink.

Clive:
Did he look a bit like a dirty mole –
Female assistant:
Yeah-
CLIVE GETS CARRIED AWAY AND STARTS MOVING HIS FINGERS AS IF TO MIME THE CREATURES AND OBJECTS TO WHICH HE REFERS, ADOPTING A DERISIVE WHINING TONE, RIGHT IN THE FACES OF THE STAFF.

Clive:
Or a weasel, or an overcooked little dumpling left out in the rain, or a female sewer rat on the rag?

Assistant:
A fierce rival, yeah?

Clive:
Listen, you chavved-up Vauxhall Nova of a man, he’s not a rival, he and his monkey friend make sad little films for a station that is watched by 3 mental patients and one budgie and puts out 3 types of programme: shit, shite and tummy rubbish

Assistant:
Alright mate, I only –

Clive:
”Have you seen “Fart Club”?

Assistant:
Naah, but I saw “Casting Couch” – that was wicked-


Clive:
“Casting Couch”? An anus of a reality show in which escapees from the local loony bin pitched daft ideas to a poker-faced commissioning editor?

CLIVE LOOKS UPWARDS, AS IF WATCHING THE DEBACLE ON THE CCTV MONITOR, AS THE IMAGE OF A SMARTLY DRESSED WOMAN WITH A FOX’S HEAD ON APPROACHES THE DOOR. DISSOLVE INTO CLIP OF “CASTING COUCH”.

IN A BARE OFFICE, MS OF CYRIL, A C.A.M.R.A STEREOTYPE DECLARES:

Cyril:

I have what I would call a quantity script

VOICE OF COMMISSIONING EDITOR, OFF SCREEN ASKS WHAT IT IS ABOUT

Cyril:
It’s about urban issues in the 0ies.

SILENCE, NERVOUS SHUFFLING.

Cyril:
OK, this guy finds a sports bag full of bones – why? Turns out that a lot of animals have gone missing from the local pet shop, right?

HE LEANS FORWARD FOR EMPHASIS AND TALKS IN HUSHED TONES.

Cyril:
But dem bones is human bones, see? (Sits back). I don’ts wanna spoil it.

JUMP CUT TO WENDY, BOOKISH LOOKING WOOLLY CARDIGAN WEARER.

Wendy:
It’s a musical celebration of Magnus Magnusson…I’ve written some songs:

SHE STARTS TO SING IN A HAMMY WAY, THROWING HER ARMS ABOUT AS IF ON A BIG STAGE

Wendy:
Did you do it your way? Correct! What was your specialist subject? Liiiife! You passed your life with a high score and no passes but then…beep beep beep!

SHE FALLS TO THE FLOOR, CLUTCHING HER HEART.

Voice (off screen):
But Magnus Magnusson’s not dead.

Wendy:
It’s set in the future

DISSOLVE BACK TO THE PETROL STATION, PULLING BACK FROM CLIVE’S FACE, LOST IN RECOLLECTION

Assistant:
It was a bit shit, I suppose.

Clive:
They want to make worthy documentaries and we trounce them in the ratings war.. we make a fortune from advertising, they’re lucky to get dirty phone lines to peddle their filthy wares. If you hear anything else, you’ll tell me won’t you?

THE FEMALE ASSISTANT NODS, THEN CLIVE ADDRESSES THE MALE ASSISTANT.

Clive:
And you, Dumbo.

AS CLIVE TURNS ROUND THE WOMAN WITH A FOX’S HEAD APPROACHES THE COUNTER. “FOXY LADY” BY JIMI HENDRIX STARTS UP. THE WOMAN BEGINS TO HAND JIVE.
CUT TO CLIVE REVVING HIS ENGINE LOUD BUT NOT AS LOUD AS KATIE MELUA ON HIS CD PLAYER. CUT BACK TO FEMALE ASSISTANT ADDRESSING THE MALE ASSISTANT AS THE FOXY LADY DEPARTS.
Male assistant:
Such triumphalism demeans him.

Female assistant:
He should be more magnanimous in victory.

CLIVE DRIVES OFF, SHRILLY SINGING KATIE MELUA.

Clive:
There are 9 miiiiiillion bicycles in Beijing..

FADE TO BLACK

SCENE 6.
INT. – DAY BEV’S OFFICE. BEV IS STARING INTENTLY AT A TUB OF SWARFIGA, LOST IN THOUGHT. CONRAD AND GRIFF KNOCK AND LET THEMSELVES IN. BEV SLAMS THE DOOR SHUT.
Bev:
Let yourselves in, why don’t you.
Conrad:
Sorry, we -
Bev:
Sit down Conrad. And how’s Griff Griff the Sex Biff?

Conrad:
What’s a “sex biff”?

Griff:
Cool as, thanks, lots of ideas.

Conrad:
We think this is going to be a quality documentary, revealing, challenging –

Bev:
Con-raaaad, we’ve got advertising revenue to pursue, an audience with feral tastes – a nation jacked up on Maccy D’s would gag if you force fed them lobster thermadore.

Griff:
Don’t worry, Bev – Conrad’s got an 80s social conscience.

Bev:
Exactly, young, man – reality TV is the new cock fighting –stick a lagered up Nazi footy thug and a wannabe suicide bomber in the same room it’ll go off.

SHE GLANCES DOWN AT THE CRIB SHEET ON HER LAP. ON IT THERE ARE A LIST OF WORDS TO INCLUDE IN THE CONVERSATION, ONE OF WHICH IS, “KABOOM!”

Bev:
Kabooom !
SHE PUTS HER FEET UP ON THE TABLE
Bev:
Are you looking at my minge, Griffo?
Griff:
No!

Bev:
Pity. Mary’s had a leeeetle close shave.

Griff:

(Recoiling) Bev, do you want to know what we’ve got, then?

Bev:
Do your worst, rock cock.

Griff:
Well, there’s these gangs in Manchester’s gay village, right..

GRIFF’S VOICE GOES VERY MUFFLED AS BEV’S EXPRESSION GOES BLANK AND SHE ENTERS THE REVERIE OF A FANTASY ABOUT GRIFF. IN THIS RECURRING FANTASY, BEV IS HITCH-HIKING BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, HOLDING UP A SIGN SAYING, TAKE ME’. GRIFF DRAWS UP AND SLOWS DOWN BEV FLIPS THE SIGN TO REVEAL THE WORDS, ‘UP THE WRONG ‘UN’ AND HE OPENS THE DOOR, WEARING A CHAUFFEUR’S HAT. AS SHE PULLS OUT OF HER DAYDREAM, GRIFF IS SHOWING HER HIS LUDICROUS FORMULA ON A PIECE OF GRAPH PAPER.
Griff:
…So it fits in with at least part of my magic formula..
Bev:
To the hilt please..I mean.. I like it, a lot.
CUT TO ECU OF GRIFF HOLDING HIS HAND OUT UNDER THE TABLE SO THAT CONRAD CAN GIVE HIM A £20 NOTE.

SCENE 7. INT. – DAY. TWO WEEKS LATER. GRIFF IS READING FROM A SCRIPT WRITTEN IN A REPORTER’S NOTEBOOK, RELAYING HIS WORDS INTO A MICROPHONE ON AN APPLE MAC.


Griff:
As part of our ‘Shocking Pink’ season, tonight we investigate the disturbing spread of gangland violence in Manchester’s Gay Village. Canal Street Manchester has been the heart of gay culture for decades. But with gay dentists, gay chip shops to go with the parade of gay bars, the battle for the pink pound just got nasty.

“NASTY” BY JANET JACKSON UNDERSCORES A MONTAGE OF ARSE AND CROTCH SHOTS OF APPARENTLY GAY MEN WALKING DOWN THE STREET.

.Griff
You may find some scenes disturbing.

Conrad:
This isn’t what I had in mind, Griff, I wanted a fly on the wall documentary, give the viewers an insight.

Griff:
You’re so 80s, Conrad –and when have you ever seen a fly on the wall looking interested?
Conrad: But if it panders to lazy stereotypes we’ve failed..

CUT TO CCTV FOOTAGE OF TWO COCKTAIL WAITERS IN TRAINING, MIXING COCKTAILS, SPINNING AND TOSSING COCKTAIL SHAKERS IN TIME. SEVERAL MASKED RAIDERS BURST IN CARRYING ROUNDERS BATS. LOTS OF SCREAMING AND THREATENING.

Raider 1
This is for the Mardi Gras massacre, ya bastards.
Waiter 1
Get off! Ya big twat!

Raider 2
You gonna pay for this!
HE TWISTS HIS ARM UP HIS BACK)

Waiter 2
Oooh! Mr T!

PULL BACK TO GRIFF & CONRAD WATCHING TITLE SEQUENCE: TEXT APPEARS AGAINST A BLACK BACKGROUND SAYING, “PART 1: VILLAGE PEOPLE”. A MONTAGE OF WEAPONS BEING BRANDISHED OR SLAPPED AGAINST PALMS, WADS OF CASH, ALL CHOREOGRAPHED AROUND “Y.M.C.A” BY, ER, VILLAGE PEOPLE. BOTH SMILE LIKE CONTENTED CATS.

Conrad:
I think it’s hard hitting

Griff:
It’s gonna cause mayhem.

Conrad:
May-hem.

TEXT: 1 WEEK AGO

SCENE 8. EXT, DAY. EST SHOT OF NBN FINANCE.

Conrad:
(Extending a hand) Hi, I’m Conrad from What’s Up Doc Productions – we’re making a programme for Reality Bites about the gay village.

TIM, THE MANAGER OF N.B.N FINANCE, IS ERUDITE, SCOTTISH, GAY AND EXTREMELY HARD
Tim:
Hi, Tim Brickhouse, . Manager. NBN Finance.
SCENE 9. JUMP CUT TO THE 3 OF THEM SITTING SIPPING TEA ON PLUSH SOFAS.

Griff:
So you’re a ‘gay finance company’?

Tim:
(enthuses) Yeah! –

Conrad:
What is a ‘gay finance company’? What does NBN stand for?

Tim:
Well..we can offer a service within the gay community that the multinationals can’t, like…y know we have local knowledge

Griff:
Without having to create gay call centres in Bangalore

Tim:
Precisely. NBN stands for Nine Bob Note

Griff:
As in bent as

Conrad:
Will you excuse us for a moment?

BEFORE TIM HAS A CHANCE TO RESPOND, CONRAD FROG MARCHES GRIFF OUTSIDE

Conrad:
Griff, we’re not going to soften him up enough to get information out of him if all your going to do is amuse yourself with 70s style queer gags. How much will it cost to make you behave yourself?
HE GETS OUT HIS WALLET
GRIFF:
Not much, “I’m freeeeeeeee!”.
GRIFF COLLAPSES INTO GIGGLES. AS HE DOUBLES OVER WITH MIRTH, CONRAD GENTLY PUNCHES HIM IN THE FACE.
Griff:
Stop fisting me!
HE GIGGLES AGAIN. CUT TO TIM LOOKING EXTREMELY VEXED BY THIS DISPLAY, EVERY WORD OF WHICH HE CAN HEAR VERY CLEARLY
Griff:
OK Conrad. I’m sorry
Conrad:
Now let’s go back in there and make a docublinkinmentary!
Griff:
Yes Saah!
THEY WALK BACK IN, THEIR NOSES IN THE AIR AS THOUGH NOTHING HAS HAPPENED.
Conrad:
Sorry about that, Griff just had one of his nosebleeds.
Tim:
(acerbic) I’ll get you a tissue if you like.
Griff:
No, I’m good now, thanks. It’s a good job I brought my trusty…
HE REACHES INTO HIS POCKET AND CAN ONLY PRODUCE SOME BUBBLE YUM
Griff:
Bubble Yum
Tim:
So, Nine Bob Note - Aye. We’re appropriating a pejorative term and using it in an ironic way.

Griff:
But you’re not, bent, though .

Tim:
I’m as gay as the hills, mate but I’m not bent as in unscrupulous. Ya can keep yer unscrupulous.

Tim
(Looks at Conrad) Look, if this tit is just gonna make double entendres all day that are designed to demean and trivialise gay culture then your on yer bikes, right?

Griff:
Sorry, there’s got to be a bit of give and take. What did we say that was innuendo anyway?

Tim:
Y’know, bent, give and take, gay call centres..it’s all a crock of tits

Conrad:
You’re right, Tim. It is a crock of tits.

Griff:
(to Conrad)
You are

Conrad:
You are

Griff:
You are.

A SCUFFLE STARTS AND THE CAMERA DROPS TO THE FLOOR AND THE SCREEN GOES BLACK
SCENE 10. COME UP ON CONRAD & GRIFF, BOTH WITH DISHEVELLED CLOTHES AND HAIR AND CUTS AND BRUISES, BEING POURED A MUG OF WINE

Tim:
I’ll make some chips - to go with the wine, like.

Griff:
I recommend Tesco Great With Chips.

Tim:
I looked for that in the supermarket –have they introduced that product line now?

Griff:
Noooooooooo! I was just

Tim:
You were just what? Tekkin’ tha pish?

Tim fixes a steely gaze on Griff as he chops the chips, the oil starting to sizzle and spit. Conrad looks on incredulously at Tim’s wizardry with the knife.

Conrad:
No, he wasseny taking the “pish” at all, were you Griff – we bought some last week I think –or maybe it was great with –

Tim:
Great with mice!

TIM LAUGHS UPROARIOUSLY AND GRIFF AND CONRAD SIMPLY HAVE TO JOIN IN.

Conrad:
So tell us about the gangland violence, who are you in dispute with.

Tim:
The Disco Briskets.

Conrad:
The Disco Briskets?

Tim:
Aye, the Disco Briskets – aye that bunch o’ doss maggots.

HE SPITS ON THE FLOOR BUT THE SPITTLE ACCIDENTALLY HITS CONRAD’S SHOE.

Tim:
Sorry Conrad:

Conrad:
They needed cleaning anyway.

TIM CONTRITELY KNEELS DOWN AND CLEANS THE GENEROUS AMOUNT OF SPIT FROM CONRAD’S DIRTY SHOE, HURLS IT ON THE FLOOR, THEN SETS STRAIGHT BACK TO PUTTING THE CHIPS INTO THE CHIP PAN, MUCH TO THE MUTED HORROR OF GRIFF AND CONRAD’S MILD WRETCHING.

Tim:
Well if we’re gonna survive in this village we need support. Too many gangsters looking to rip us off for protection money. I’m part of , well, leader of the Brickhouse gang…I’d like youz lot to help us see off the opposition.

CONRAD AND GRIFF LEAN FORWARD IN UNISON AND SPIT OUT A MOUTHFUL OF WINE. THE WINE FLIES INTO THE CHIP PAN, CAUSING THE OIL TO IGNITE WITH A “WOOOOOF!” THE SMOKE ALARM GOES OFF. AS TIM TRIES TO PUT OUT THE FIRE, DEXTROUSLY PLACING A MOISTENED TEA TOWEL OVER THE INFERNO, THE SMOKE ALARM GOES OFF. THIS IS OVERHEARD BY TWO PASSING GANGSTERS FROM THE RIVAL DISCO BRISKETS, ONE A MUSCLE MARY, THE OTHER A DIMINUTIVE TERRIER. BOTH ARE CLAD IN BOB THE BUILDER STYLE DUNGAREES .
Conrad:
You’re going to have to give us five.

Tim makes as if to give him a High 5. Conrad politely reciprocates the gesture.
Conrad:
Five minutes.
TIM LOOKS PUZZLED. CONRAD AND GRIFF LEAVE THE ROOM.

SCENE 11. INT. DAY: IN THE HALL OF TIM’S FLAT.
CONRAD IS ON THE PHONE TO BEV. CUT TO BEV, FLUSHING THE COMMODE THAT RESIDES UNDER HER OFFICE CHAIR AND SPRAYING AIR FRESHENER DOWN IT. READING HER CALLER I.D, SHE SNEERS
Bev:
Conrad – what are What’s Up Doc Productions cocking up now?
Conrad:
Quite the contary, Bev, we need a bit more time to get the big one.
Bev:
Have you sacked it off and gone fishing?
Conrad:
No, this gay gangland thing –I think we’re getting to the bottom of it
GRIFF STARTS GIGGLING, OVERHEARD AGAIN BY TIM.
SCENE 12. EXT: DAY OUTSIDE TIM’S FLAT
OUTSIDE TIM’S FLAT. THE MEN FROM THE DISCO BRISKETS APPROACH TIM’S FLAT AFTER THEY SEE HIM LEAN OUT TO OPEN A WINDOW. ONE OF THEM GOES ON HIS MOBLIE PHONE AND MURMURS. SHAFT-STYLE WAH- WAH DRIVEN FUNKY LICKS KICK IN.
CUT TO TWO STATUESQUE TRANSVESTITES USHERING TWO RABBITS INTO THEIR HUTCH, THEN SCRAMBLING INTO A TRANSIT VAN AND DRIVING OFF ERRATICALLY, THE PASSENGER IS MURMURING AWAY ON HIS MOBILE.

SCENE 13. INT DAY, BEV’S OFFICE
BEV SLAMS THE PHONE DOWN BUT IT RINGS ALMOST STRAIGHT AWAY, NOT
QUITE ENOUGH TIME FOR HER TO RESUME HER READING OF, “CLIFF RICHARD –
IN HIS OWN WORDS”.
CUT TO CLIVE THE BASTARD, SPEAKING THROUGH A COMB, COVERED WITH TISSUE IN A PATHETIC ATTEMPT TO DISGUISE HIS VOICE.

Clive:
Oh helloooooo, my name’s Lesley
Bev:
That’s a girl’s name
Clive:
It is! that’s what they all say.but, hang on I’ll check..no I’m still a man.

BEV LAUGHS FLIRTATIOUSLY
Clive:
I’m from the Guardian on Sunday and we’re looking to do an interview with you about the exciting work you are doing at the moment
Bev:
Oh, weeeell!
Clive:
So what great things are Reality Bites up to at the minute?
Bev:
Oh, well, a company called What’s Up Doc are making a programme for us about the gangland violence in Manchester’s gay village..
Clive:
Reeeeeeally?
Bev:
Affirmative. They’s just phoned me and told me that there’s something going off outside a, aha, “gay finance company” called “None Bob Note”
Clive:
And that’s in the village itself
Bev:
Mmmmm.
CUT TO CU OF BEV TWIRLING HER FEET, THE BACK OF HER SHOE FALLING DOWN.
Clive:
And what’s the postcode?
Bev:
Sorry?
Clive:
It’s ok-
CLVE SLAMS THE PHONE DOWN. CUT TO BEV LOOKING PUZZLED AS SHE HEARS THE TONE.
BEV REPLAYS THE CONVERSATION IN HER HEAD, SAVOURING THEN REGURGITATING THE BEST BITS.
Bev:
We’re looking to do an interview. With you. Affirmative!
SHE SMILES BROADLY AND PLAYS WITH HER HAIR.

FADE
SCENE 14. EXT. DAY. OUTSIDE TIM’S FLAT.
THE TRANSVESTITES AND THE BOB THE BUILDER PAIR ARE ALL IN THE BACK OF THE VAN. THE TRANSVESTITES ARE WEARING RUBBER GLOVES AND FILLING SHUTTLECOCKS WITH RABBIT DROPPINGS. THE DUNGAREED OTHERS ARE FETCHING A MEGAPHONE EACH. THEY ALL RUN TOWARDS TIM’S FLAT AND TAKE UP POSITIONS FOR THE BIG RAID. HEARING A COMMOTION OUTSIDE, TIM LEANS OUT OF THE WINDOW AND SEES THE IMMINENT RAID.
Tim:
Shitting buggery
Conrad:
What’s wrong?
Tim:
It’s the bolloxin’ .. Disco Briskets.

GRIFF FOOLISHLY LEANS OUT OF THE WINDOW AND IS EYEBALLED BY THE TIMMY MALLET SPECTACLED MALCOLM FROM FART CLUB. ECU OF MALLETESQUE SPECS. MALCOLM IS FURIOUS WHEN HE SEES GRIFF BECAUSE HE WAS NEVER PAID THE MONEY HE WAS PROMISED FOR THE ILL CONCEIVED DOCUMENTARY.. GRIFF WITHDRAWS HIS HEAD, TORTOISE-LIKE.
Griff:
Conrad - it’s Malcolm out of Fart Club?
Conrad:
THE Malcolm who we owe money to?
Griff:
Yeah –what’s he doing up here?
Conrad:
Your flatulent nemesis? Not a clue. Maybe Fart club is going global – it’ll be like Starbucks with farts instead of coffee.
MALCOLM’S ARMS LURCH THROUGH THE WINDOW AND GET GRIFF IN A HEADLOCK. HIS VOICE IS LIKE ALAN BALL ON HELIUM.
Malcolm:
Got it in one. I want my money, you promised me 200 quid.

Griff:
II told you, it’s in the post.

Malcolm:
My arse
HE BREAKS WIND GENEROUSLY AT THIS POINT. THE TWO ARE TUSSLING. MALCOLM GETS THE BETTER OF GIFF AND REACHES DOWN AND GRABS THE CAMERA.
Malcolm:
This should do as a little bit of insurance.

Conrad:
It’s worth two grand.

Malcolm:
Then you’ll want tit back then. See ya!
Griff:
You miserable arsehole –
MALCOLM RUNS AWAY BUT BUMPS INTO THE ADVANCING DISCO BRISKETS.
SCENE 15. EXT. DAY. OUTSIDE REEL TV OFFICES
SPEEDED UP WORDLESS FOOTAGE OF CLIVE TELEPHONING REEL TV NORTH AND THEIR VANS SCRAMBLING AND LEAVING THE SMART LOOKING BUILDING AT HIGH SPEED.
SCENE 16. EXT. DAY: OUSIDE TIM’S FLAT.
REEL TV ARRIVE ONTO THE SCENE AS MALCOLM IS TRYING TO PICK UP HIS GLASSES AFTER BEING JOSTLED BY THE DISCO BRISKETS. CU OF GLASSES ON THE GROUND AND MALCOLM’S HAND BEING GRABBED BY A WOMAN FROM REEL TV NORTH CALLED RUBY. PAN UP HER SHAPELY LEGS TO HER SMARTLY DRESSED UPER HALF, CUT BACK TO MALCOLM’S BEFUDDLED LOOK AS SHE TAKES HOLD OF THE GLASSES.

Ruby:
Please. Allow me.
Malcolm:
Gee whiz, thanks.
HE ACCIDENTALLY BREAKS WIND AS HE GETS UP. RUBY RECOILS.
Ruby:
So what’s going on over there?
Malcolm.
It looks like some kind of showdown. Since I’ve been living round here there’s been a lot o’ trouble – oooh, that lot’ll be the Disco Briskets – I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of them –
SHE HANDS HIM BACK HIS GLASSES. CU OF HER ROUGHLY SLAPPING THEM INTO HIS HAND. THE SLAP OF THE GLASSES ON HIS PALM IS MET WITH A PERCUSSIVE EXHALATION OF WIND. SHE POWER WALKS OFF TO THE ADVANCING FILM CREW AND IS HANDED A CAMERA, WHICH SHE POINTS IN THE DIRECTION OF THE PUTATIVE SHOWDOWN.

SCENE 17. INT DAY
MUSIC FROM THE SHOWDOWN SCENE IN GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY KICKS IN. SHOWDOWN. CU OF DISCO BRISKET 1, CUT TO CU OF TIM LOOKING OUT OF HIS WINDOW; CU OF GRIFF RISING UP OUT OF A CHAIR, CU OF CONRAD, OPEN MOUTHED, LOOKING WORRIED. CU OF RUBY POINTING HER CAMERA, CU OF HER ASSISTANT HOLDING UP HIS BOOM MIKE. CU OF MALCOLM, EJECTING FILM FROM CAMERA. DISCO BRISKET 1 BOWLS SOME RABBIT DROPPINGS FOR DISCO BRISKET 2 TO HIT WITH A BADMINTON RACQUET AT TIM - IT LANDS ON HIS CONE OF CHIPS. TIM HURLS CHIP PAN FULL OF HOT FAT AT BRISKETS – THEY WITHDRAW BEHIND THE VAN. TRANNY BRISKET GETS OUT MEGAPHONE.

Tranny brisket:
Come out and face the disco, Tim.

TIM STEPS OUT OF THE FLAT AS CONRAD AND GRIFF COWER BEHIND. CUT TO GRIFF MAKING A BOLT FOR MALCOLM, UNAWARE THAT HE HAS REMOVED THE FILM. TIM THROWS HIS CHIPS IN THE DIRECTION OF THE BRISKETS AND USES THE EMPTY CONE AS A MAKESHIFT AND FRANKLY INADEQUATE MEGAPHONE.
Tim:
What d’ya want, ya bunch o’ cartoon knob ends?
Tranny brisket:
Cut us a better deal on the gay butcher’s and don’t shop us to the Inland Revenue about the gay caff we own.
MUSIC FROM THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY RESTARTS. CU OF TIMSLOWLY BRINGING THE CONE TO HIS MOUTH THAT IS PUCKERED WITH ANGER LIKE AN ANUS. CU OF RUBY LOOKING UP FROM HER CAMERA, WAITING FOR A CLIMAX. CUT TO GRIFF SEIZING THE CAMERA FROM MALCOLM AND MALCOLM SIDLING AWAY, ACCOMPANIED BY RAPID TRUMPING SOUNDS.. CUT TO CONRAD TRYING TO GET CLOSER TO RUBY. AS THE MUSIC GETS LOUDER, PAN UP FROM FEET OF ADVANCING TRANNY BRISKETS THEN CUT FROM UPWARD PAN FROM FEET OF ADVANCING TIM TO FEET OF ADVANCING BOB THE BUILDER BRISKETS. MUSIC STOPS ABRUPTLY.

Tim:
OK then.
CUT TO INDIVIDUAL CU OF A SURPRISED LOOK ON EVERYONE’S FACE APART FROM TIM’S – HE IS WALKING BACK INDOORS AND CONRAD, HE IS LOOKING AT RUBY AND SMILING. DRISKETS RETREAT TO THE TRANSIT VAN, LOADING THEIR ARSENAL OF RABBIT DROPPINGS, BADMINTON RACQUETS AND MEGAPHONES BEFORE THEY SPEE OFF. RUBY LOOKS AT CONRAD, RECOILING SLIGHTLY AT HAVING HER PERSONAL SPACE INVADED. CONRAD GRINS AS THOUGH HE’S WELL IN THERE.

Ruby:
Didn’t you get all that, Conrad?
Conrad:
I think we got some of it.
SHE GRABS HIS CHEEKS WITH ONE HAND, DISTORTING HIS FACE.

Ruby:
Why don’t you come and work for us?
CUT TO GRIFF’S CONCERNED, ELEGAIC FACE. CONRAD IS UNABLE TO CONTROL HIS ENRAPTURED FACIAL MUSCLES.
Conrad:
Well, I…
Ruby:
Because you’re shit. I’ll look forward to Fart Club 2 – the Follow Through. Ciao.
SHE TURNS AND WALKS BACK INTO THE REEL TV VAN WITH HER CREW CACKLING LIKE HYENAS THAT HAVE BEEN HARDWIRED WITH SARCASM. THEY DRIVE OFF.
Conrad:
You are!
CRESCENDO OF ENNIO MORRACONE’S SCORE AS THE REEL TV VAN WENDS ITS WAY AWAY.

SCENE 18.
INT. – NIGHT. GRIFF AND CONRAD SITTING ON THE COUCH WATCHING REEL TV’S VERSION OF EVENTS.
OVER THE REEL TV LOG, AN ANNOUNCER SAYS:
Announcer:
Coming up later, “Celebrity Milk Race”. Before that, er comes, a hard hitting look at hommer-sexuals ooop north in, “Queen Streets”.
PULL BACK FROM TV AS CONRAD GRATEFULLY RECEIVES A MINI PORK PIE FROM GRIFF, AMID THE SOUND OF THE TITLE SEQUENCE, AN EXRACT FROM “SWORDS OF A THOUSAND MEN” BY TENPOLE TUDOR.
Griff:
They’re Melton Mowbray.
Conrad:
Has it got any heart stopping jelly under the crust.
Griff:
No, that’s the other type.
Conrad:
Just looking at it is doing me good. Why the sod are they playing this..is it some homophobic innuendo that I’m missing?
Griff:
Er, pork swords of a thousand men?
Conrad:
Bit subtle.
THE PHONE RINGS, IT’S BEV. CONRAD ANSWERS.
Bev:
Hi Conrad, it’s Ruby from Reel Tv ringing to offer you some intercourse.
Conrad:
Oooh, Hi Ru-
Bev:
Shitting buggery, Conrad. it’s me. You two have arsed up again haven’t you?
MINDFUL OF BEV’S IMPENDING WRATH, GRIFF HASTILY SCRAWLS A MESSAGE ONTO A PIECE OF A4, SAYING: “NEW IDEA!”
Conrad:
Bev, we’ve got a new idea.
Bev:
You mean Reality Bites needs more cack-thumbed imput from What’s up Cock? I need you two like I need anal bleaching.
SHE GETS A MAKE UP MIRROR AND APPARENTLY CHECKS THE COLOUR OF HER ANUS UNDER THE TABLE.
Bev:
So what is it?
FADE TO BLACK
SCENE 19. INT. – NIGHT, CONRAD AND GRIFF’S FLAT.
AS THE TITLES ROLL, CONRAD AND GRIFF ARE IN THE LIVING ROOM: GRIFF TYPING AWAY ON THE COMPUTER AND CONRAD SITTING ON THE ADJACENT COUCH WITH APEN AND PAPER. THEY ARE PLANNING NEXT WEEK’S SORRY ATTEMPT AT MAKING A SHOW, ENTITLED, “IDOL FANTASY”.
Conrad:
So, we audition for people to sing or a hoax TV show called, “Idol Fantasy”
Griff:
Like X Factor without celeb presenters
Conrad:
Or the budget, or the celeb judges
Griff:
Or the prize
Conrad:
Or any of the factors that make up the programme.
Griff:
Not even The Factor, then
Conrad:
It’s a hoax, it’s Candid Camera
Griff:
Or Space Cadets
Conrad:
So we lure the auditionees into the misguided belief that the winners would be singing on live TV in front of millions, as a kind of social experiment.
Griff:
Yeah! In a huge stadium.
Conrad:
The new Wembley.
Griff:
Then they learn the truth, that the “winners” will have to run out into the stadium in their underpants and be pelted with shit by some simpleton farmers at the side of the stage.
Conrad:
Then interviewed about the experience. To gain some insight into the powers of suggestion – like Derren Brown
Griff:
Then they get hosed down and have to run for safety over a freezing pool full of jellyfish.
AS THE CREDITS END THEY SILENTLY STARE INTO SPACE, HAVING RUN OUT OF IDEAS.