Fugue Rab C Nesbitt

This programme contains adult humour.

Well, here we are again,

back in the warm comforting arms of the good old British recession.

You know, I stood here 30 year ago in the dole queue, and Norman Tebbit telt me to get on my bike.

Now? Well, they give me a classroom chair.

That's what three decades of the slump/boom economy has done for me...

I now get lectured sitting down instead of standing up.

Now, you all know why you're here.

We want to help you back into work.

And how the hell are you gonnae do that?

I mean, we're a bunch of unspeakable white trash at the arse-end of 50.

Who the hell is gonnae employ us? I mean, there's no' enough jobs for normal people, let alone us.

Nonsense! I'm a blind, black, Muslim woman in a wheelchair, and I found a job.

Exactly. But we don't have your advantages.

What cultural boxes do we tick?

Then create work. Be your own boss.

Make. It. Happen.

Mr Nesbitt, are you giving me the fingers?

How did you know that?

I felt the air waft.

That's impressive.

# Sometimes it's hard to be a woman

# Giving all your love to just one man

# He'll have good times You'll have bad times...#

Zip it, Mary, we're here.

Right.

ELLA GROANS Are you all right, Ella?

-How you feeling?

-Red raw.

Normally for an arse this sore, I'd expect a good hotel, with breakfast.

Look on the bright side. We've still got wur jobs.

-Mrs Nesbitt?

-Oh, oh, sorry we're late.

We've just had a few teething problems

-with our new eco-friendly transport fleet.

-Aye.

It's got one saddle and two arses.

-Don't worry, it won't happen again.

-I'm sorry, Mrs Nesbitt, there won't be an "again".

-I'm having to let you go.

-What?

But you...you said you liked us.

You said we were the cheapest cleaners in Govan since the zloty went up.

Aye. Are you racist? Is it because we're Scottish?

It's nothing personal, but I'm having to cut costs.

I'll miss your singing around the house.

You're very good, you know.

So you're saying you want us off Invalidity Benefit and back into work.

-In a nutshell.

-But there isnae any work!

Exactly.

Somebody's got to be unemployed...

so it might as well be them that likes it.

I'm afraid unemployment is no longer an option.

Welfare benefits are costing the country a quarter of its annual expenditure.

Is that a fact?

Look, hen, here is my investment portfolio.

A twenty pence piece, a used scratch card and a slightly soiled johnny

my mate asked me to keep for him while his wife washed his denims.

-Thanks, Rab.

-So I'd just like to know, where is the benefit...

of all this benefit I'm meant to be getting?

I spend my money on booze, on fags and lottery tickets, so what happens to that?

The money goes right back into circulation.

I donate that much money to the Coalition,

my Giro should be paid to me offshore.

Mr Nesbitt, if you don't look for work, I will recommend suspension of your benefit.

RAB HUFFS

Are you giving me the finger again?

No. I'm sticking my thumb up my arse.

I'm practising for being shafted.

Here! Look, Mary...

What?

What d'you think? Clients are always telling us what good singers we are.

Aye, when we're cleaning! Everybody's a good singer with their heid doon a lavvy bowl.

-An Armitage Shanks has got an echo like St Paul's Cathedral. Come on!

-Come on, Mary!

What have we got to lose?

Aye.

Mebbes you're right. Come on!

THEY CHUCKLE

Catch a grip of yourself!

You're telling me you're going to be in a girl band?

Oh, aye, that's right. We're the Pussycat Dolls with a menopause.

Now, are you gonnae rip the pish all night, or what?

Don't start that prima donna nonsense wi' me.

You haven't even had your first booking yet.

Gigs, Rab, we call them gigs.

Oh, we do, do we?

That'll be, that'll be the "we" in show business, likely.

Here's your tea.

Unless of course you'd prefer a big bowl of Smarties

wi' all the blue ones taken oot, just the way we like it in the business of show.

Oh, gonnae cut that oot, will ye?

I could do with your support at a time like this.

What about me? What about me, eh?

I was doon the dole office today and they read me the Riot Act.

Have you any idea how badly you've got to bugger up to fail at being unemployed?

Rab, don't be insecure.

If we win this, it'll be money.

Aye, aye.

Have you thought of a name yet? What are ye going to call yourselves?

We've no' really thought about that.

Have you any ideas?

There's all these niche bands nowadays.

-You know, the Priests, the Soldiers, the Fishermen... You see where I'm going with this, don't you?

-So?

I know exactly what you should call yourselves.

WOODWIND MUSIC PLAYS

Thank you, thank you Marshall Gormley and his musical replacement hip!

OK, cleaning it up in the house tonight, would you please welcome the two, the only...

The Scrubbers!

CHEERING

Hello, Govan!

"Hello, Govan"?! Youse only live round the corner.

Prick alert, Rab.

This could kick off big time.

Steady, Jamesie, steady. We're showbiz wives. Show a wee bit of diplomacy.

Yes, indeed,

we are...The Scrubbers!

Aye, and I'm Mr Muscle.

Bend over and I'll prove it!

Sod diplomacy - got a bottle handy?

-Right here. If they insult our wives again, they're claimed.

-Right.

# You never close your eyes

# Any more when I kiss your lips

# And there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips... #

Actually, they're no' that bad.

No' too bad at all. I'd pump that redhead.

Yes!

-One-nothing to me!

-What do you mean,

"one-nothing to you"?! What did we just say?

He's insulting your bloody wife.

No, he's no'. He's insulting YOUR wife.

He doesnae want to pump YOUR wife, he wants to pump MY wife. One-nowt!

That's just a disgusting, sexist attitude.

Ho, pal, what about the blonde?

No' want to pump her?

Naw. She's fake. Look at her top lip.

I wouldnae have a bird who had a heavier growth than I've got.

She's no' got a heavy growth! She's just had a bikini wax.

-How do you know that?

-I'm her man.

In the name of God, sick bastard or what?

This guy's trying to pimp his wife!

Rab!

I'm no' trying to pimp my wife.

If she's up for grabs, I'll have her.

She's no' up for grabs, ya cheeky bastard!

Pack it in! Rab, you're barred. Out!

I'm going! So what are ye saying - you would pump my wife?

-Aye, deffo.

-One each! Get it right up you!

# You've lost that... #

You got your apology.

What is your problem?

You know, it's never too late to dae something with yourselves. Look at your wives.

Or is it role reversal you like - they wear the troosers, you wear the knickers? Is that the deal?

It is for me.

I tried Ella's on last night.

-It was delicious.

-I thought you hadnae pumped Ella in years.

It's the allure of showbiz, Rab.

Success has made Ella regain her...pumposity.

Which is how I got my idea.

Oh, aye.

And what idea's that?

The Scrubbers sell sex appeal.

We'll sell sex appeal.

It's a job I'm needing. They're gonnae stop my benefit.

Hear me out, hear me out, right. You're a househusband, I'm a househusband.

I give you three words... "Hunks for Hire".

Hunks?!

Stunning as you are, could I invite you to go take a running Donald Duck to yourself for just one moment?

It's all the go in LA, Rab.

Bored housewife picks up the phone, "Oh, tee-hee, Mr Hunk,

"it's Monday and I need a dirty big washing done".

Hunk breenges round to her hoose.

Next thing he knows, he's no' washing the sheets... he's changing them.

You with me?

And how many registered blind housewives do you think there are in Glasgow?

Christ, look at us! You seen the state of us?!

We might no' be in the first flush, but we can always give nature a helping hand...

-All, right kid, is your Mammy in?

-Mammy!

Aye?

There's a wee fat man at the door, selling mops.

I'm no' selling mops, ya...!

I'm fae Hunks for Hire.

Hunks for Hire? Send him in.

Come in.

NEWS ON TV

Hi there!

I'm...Christiano...

I'll be your Hunk for Hire the day.

Hunk?

Aye, well, Colin Farrell sends his apologies -

he's busy collecting trolleys up Asda the day.

As you can see, I'm...I'm ripped.

I've been on the steroids.

My mammy's on them since her periods stopped. Do you get the hot flushes too?

No, no, no!

You don't get buffed like this on HRT patches.

Now, what'll it be?

Some dirty dusting?

Some peek-a-boo polishing?

Or I can flex my pecs or wiggle my booty.

The choice is yours, foxy lady.

Can you scrape shite off the living room carpet? The wean done a toaly when I wasnae looking.

I think you've got the wrong end of the stick here! We're no' real cleaners.

We're fantasy figures.

We're here to inject a bit of glamour into dull lives.

We've already got something for that round here - smack.

I see.

This how you got into this mess?

Look. I'm worried sick.

If I don't clean my act up the Social Services say they'll take my weans away.

Look at the state of the place.

It's no' gonnae be in Grand Designs any time soon.

Aye. What about you?

You're the same age as my granda, yet here you are, cutting about Govan

in gold lame trunks, shakin' your sad grey arse for pin money.

No' exactly living the dream yourself, are you?

Listen, I'm an unemployed alky.

But see when I pull on these trunks,

I become Christiano...Hunk for Hire.

Then when I take them off, I become Rab...

Drunk for Hire.

All right, all right.

You're on.

Where's that shite you need cleaned up?

Don't get annoyed...

but you're standing in it.

Right, there you go.

Is that OK?

Oh, it's fine from where I'm sitting...Brad.

Ach, you're a lovely great big hunk of a man.

Oh, well, I'm glad you're satisfied.

I wouldn't go that far - you've only just polished my statuette.

But at our age we have to be thankful for small mercies, isn't that right, fellas?

THEY CHUCKLE

Well, er, it's been great meeting youse all. Maybe we can do it again some time, eh?

-Aren't you forgetting something?

-What's that?

My pole.

It's clammy.

We'd love to see you rub a wad of Duraglit up and down that.

-Would ye?

-We would, Brad.

You're gorgeous.

Oh, thanks very much!

I've always tried to look after myself, you know.

Oh, we can see that!

There's a slight overhang over your wee spangled panties,

but it's kind of cute.

Helps keep the goods out the sun, you know what I'm saying?

I cannae wait, Ella!

And we've practically got our song bang-on too.

It just needs you to sing quieter and to stand further back from the mic.

Then it'll be absolute quality.

But I'm practically whispering as it is, Ella.

Less is more, Mary, so much less is much more, eh?

Stands to reason.

Aye. Mebbes you're right.

Here we go, ladies, compliments of gentlemen at the bar.

All right, girls? How's about a wee song to get the party started?

Oh, no, no' the noo, no, no.

We're waiting on our men. They've just nipped outside for a fag.

Aye, you don't want to hear us singing. No' yet.

-Ach, go on.

-No, no, we're saving wur voices for the second heat.

Please! Just one.

-No, no.

-No, no.

OK, suit yourselves.

All right, if it'll keep youse quiet.

Rab...

I wanted to tell you something.

I'm gay.

You look shocked.

Well, I must say, for somebody that's humped a thousand women,

some of them no' even conscious, you've managed to hide your gayness well.

I suppose I was just desperately confused.

I must have been groping for my inner nature. You got a light, love?

You can cut that out right away! Don't come all Noel Coward on me

just because you've developed a taste for the salty stick.

Rab, ya big lug, this is nothing to do with sex.

It's to do with being valued as a human being.

It's just that, well, when I'm with Ramsey and Jackie...

Ramsey and Jackie...oh, aye.

That'll be that lot of coiffured screamers you're cleaning for, likely?

Nature's palette has many shades, Rab.

Don't be so reductive.

Reductive...?

That's no' you talking.

That's them.

I get this, I get this.

When you're with them, they'll eye you up, eh?

I bet they flirt with you an' all, and probably offer you biscuits.

Coconut mallows. From Waitrose!

But mair than that, though, mair than that.

They make you feel wanted.

They do.

And feeling wanted is a good feeling, am I right?

All right. I'm eye candy for a bunch of geriatrics, and I like it!

They lust after my body, Rab.

When I'm pole-dancing for them, they slip Werthers Originals doon my thong.

Anyway, there. I've said it.

What about you? What about your day?

Well...I scraped shite off a living room carpet.

You know what?

I felt needed, too.

You're sicker than I am!

Quite possibly. Quite possibly.

Come on,

let's re-join the ladies.

MARY: We're having a lock-in! We're going to sing all night long!

Rab, I think I'll give it a miss.

I've got an early start tomorrow.

Aye, me an' all.

I must say,

-feeling wanted's a good feeling though, in't it?

-Aye.

But no' by them, though. C'mon.

Hey, you can cut that out an' all!

Good morrow.

You can always tell there's a recession on, can't you,

when the poor start getting naked.

Stripping steel workers,

pole dancers,

third world hookers,

every dole queue a porn-mag chorus line.

Of course, David Cameron says we've all got to share the pain.

But I don't see him spreading his butt cheeks on the meat rack doon Piccadilly, do you?

You know...

people think...

people think that scum hate work.

We don't, you know, we don't.

It's jobs we hate.

I mean, gie me something I like doing and I'm, well, happy as a pig in shit.

Which is serendipitous, because I happen to be a pig, and I'm presently engaged

in scraping shite off the walls of Carly's cooncil flat.

And d'ye know what?

I cannae wait to get there.

< SNORING

Ho!

HO!

Ah...ah...

Ah, what?!

And what time did YOU get in last night?

Aw, don't play the indignation card wi' me,

standing there like John Knox in a sparkly tanga.

I can hear your prostate gasping from here.

So is that it?

Is that your best shot? Well, I still appear to be homo erectus,

so if you'll excuse me,

I'll away to my work as a sex object.

No, Rab, wait, wait! Don't go.

I need to talk to you. About my career.

Your career? What about it?

After the gig last night, right, Ella and I, we were talking.

Then we started arguing and, Rab, we've got artistic differences!

Artistic differences? Aw, naw!

Round here that's worse than cancer.

I'm serious, Rab.

Aye. And so am I.

I spent yesterday afternoon trying to prise a kid's trainer out of a U-bend with a fish slice.

Artistic differences, is it?

Get over yourself!

Rab, look, don't go. I'm just feart I'm going to do something stupid.

Away and get yersel a job!

Did I actually say that?!

Hello!

Are you decent?

If you're in your bed, I'll come back.

No, you're all right. Come in.

Oh, you're there.

Hey-hey!

Oh!

You're cleaning.

I was worried sick. I didn't think you were coming back.

This is judgement day. The Social Welfare woman's coming round.

-I said I'd be here for you, did I no'?

-I know you did.

-But let's face it, alkies are unreliable.

-Unreliable?

Mm-hm. And, of course, you can set your watch by a junkie, can't you?

Except if they saw your watch, it'd be off your wrist,

straight doon the pawn and traded in for a bag of smack.

I suppose you're right. We're neither of us in a position to get on our high horse.

Aye, you'd better believe it.

Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time I hit the Vim.

And you, you stick that rattle up your arse for a couple of hours, cos I've got work to do.

WE'VE got work to do.

And this is one of me when I was with Third Lanark reserves,

shortly before the tragic shoulder injury which ruined my career.

Game's all changed since then, of course, and...

for the worse, in my opinion. You see,

players in my time, well, they didnae dive.

They had a deep sense of, well, fair play and...

-Brad.

-What?

-No offence,

but stop talking about the past. It's awfy depressing.

Maybe you could lose that dark satanic mill you've been puffing on for the past hour.

The pipe?

But I got it for youse.

I thought it might help me fit in.

Poor Brad. You have a very quaint idea of the senior citizen life, don't you?

I don't get it. I thought youse fancied me.

I thought youse liked me, that's why I came round early.

Sorry, Brad.

Orlando!

-Hot the day, in't it?

You've got my card.

Aye. If we ever want JB Priestley round to do the ironing, we'll get in touch.

Bitch!

Awright.

Well, the improvements here are very encouraging. I can see you've made a real effort

to create a clean and healthy environment. I think congratulations are in order for you and your...?

-Hunk.

-Rab's been great. He's helped me though this.

Eh...just in case you're wondering, this is actually platonic.

I know it looks a wee bit dodgy,

but I'm actually a time-served gigolo. These are just my work claes, know?

Well, once again,

congratulations.

Just a wee minute, hen.

I'd just like to say thanks very much.

This means a lot to her, you know?

She'll no' let you doon.

-Or you, I hope. Let's just keep our fingers crossed, shall we?

-Aye.

-Cheerio.

-All the best.

Yes!

There you are, you see?

What did I tell you?

All that hard work paid off.

Didn't it, eh?

-Who you phoning now?

-My main man.

He'll bring a few jellies round. I'll invite a few mates up to celebrate.

Aw, come on, hen, there's other ways to celebrate.

-I might have weans, Rab, but I'm entitled to a life.

-That's right.

But him and his brother are entitled to a life an' all.

Listen, I can fold away my belly and pack up my sad grey pimply arse and get myself oot of here,

but they cannae.

You make that call, and I'll make a call an' all.

To Social bloody Services.

OK.

OK.

-Naw, you're right.

-Right.

Now, away and get a cloth.

Because I made that speech standing in a fresh toaly.

What?!

Ach, I'm only kiddin'!

I'm only kiddin'!

Let me see your dragon.

Ladies and gentlemen,

we'd now like to sing for youse

The Greatest by Mr Kenny Rogers.

# Little boy

# In a baseball hat

# Standing in the field With his ball and his bat

# With his ball and his bat

# With his ball and his ba-a-a-a-at... #

Ella, stop milking it!

-This is supposed to be a simple wee ballad.

-Oh, I'm sorry.

I thought I was in a band called The Scrubbers. You know - plural?

I didnae realise it was one great big bloated mega-scrubber!

Oh, I see! It's all coming out now, in't it?

Aw the jealousy and aw the spite.

I used to like that song till you wrapped they big welder's tonsils around it!

Oh, really? Well, I cannae help it if I'm a better singer than you.

Huh! Better singer?! If I was that wee boy, I'd forget about his ball

and wrap that bat round your larynx!

You mean, like this?

THEY SHOUT

Right, back by popular demand,

Marshall Gormley and his musical replacement hip!

MARY: Ye hoor, ye!

SQUABBLING CONTINUES

So how's the job going, Jamesie?

You still taking the old pink pound?

No.

It's all over.

They traded me in for a younger model.

Ah, the fickle swines.

They threw me oot like a first wife.

It's dented my self-esteem.

I'm having to question my attractiveness.

Ach, away! Nothing the matter with your attractiveness.

You're still a fine figure of a sleazebag.

Thanks, Rab.

-That means a lot.

-Nae bother.

< FIGHTING CONTINUES INSIDE

-Jamesie?

-What?

-You want me to light you up one last time?

-Would ye?

-Aye.

Nae bother at all. There you go, pal.

The way I see it, it is my civic duty to live fast,

die skint, and leave a dirty big fat bastard of a corpse.

-Mattress!

-Oh-ho, ye...

Forever onwards.

Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd

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