Stool Rab C Nesbitt

Contains some strong language.

War, war, war.

Makes you wonder.

Just saying, makes you wonder doesn't it, Rab?

No.

I wonder if war will ever end.

You see wondering, Mary?

-It can be a silent thing.

-War will only end when people change.

When people learn to live and let live.

When violence is the last option we use and not the first.

When people of all creeds and colours embrace the concept of universal brotherhood.

Where the hell is Mark Chapman when you need him?

If you don't want me weekending in your hoose, just say so.

-I don't want you weekending in ma hoose.

-Right!

-Right, sit doon, son.

Gash is going nowhere.

God willing, this could all be part of his rehabilitation.

What, sitting there like a big Jessie knitting raffia socks?

I'm weaving place mats.

And what would you know about socks? You only change yours once a year.

Twice, if I'm looking for my Nat King, eh, Mary?

Don't put pictures in his heid, he's got problems enough as it is.

DOORBELL

-I'll get it.

-Oh, ho, you just sit there on your arse.

-Eh?

-You are grounded.

Grounded? What you talking about?

I'm nearly 60-years-old for God's sake.

Oh, that saggy old arse of yours will have less to travel, won't it? Sit.

Mary Doll. Is Rab coming out to play?

You have got some bloody cheek.

-Mary Doll.

-Oh, ho-ho, three times you have coaxed him oot on the randan this week.

Get it into your head, the man is an alcoholic.

And an exceedingly fine one.

Oh, you must be so proud to have such a talented hubby.

Now, where is the maestro?

The maestro's crouched on the floor with his ear to the door.

You are going nowhere. And you can bugger off.

But we're no going drinking. It's just a game of fitba.

Oh, is that a fact?

So what's with the bottle of monk juice in each pocket then?

-Goal posts.

-Rab...

speak to him. Tell him it's for your own good.

Mary's right, Jamesie.

See this woman?

This woman has been the wind beneath my wings.

-This woman has stood by me...

-Stop.

Too much shite and onions?

About half a ladle.

Jamesie...

it's over Jamesie.

I must ask you to leave!

And never return.

I'm proud of you, Rab.

I know that must have been hard for you.

Well, it had to be, Mary, had to be.

Anyway, there's a new preacher coming to the church and, well,

I want to give him, I want to give him my fullest support

by being sober, upright and, well, a fine ambassador for Govan.

Relax. Just mair shite and onions, you know?

Yes, Dan, I'm really looking forward to meeting my new congregation.

No, Dan, I will not be a soft touch like last time.

Yes, the Ninja death hold you showed me works really well.

No, I skipped the samurai sword...

because they're parishioners, Dan, they're not an attacking horde from Kill Bill.

No, no, no-one's turned up yet.

Just a couple of feral derelicts I'm hoping don't turn out to be the head Elder and the treasurer.

-Hullorerr!

-Oh, God, they're speaking at me.

I can never understand those accents.

Yes, hm-mm. I'll talk later.

I'm saying are ye all right, hen? Isitnatacolyin?

I'm the Reverend Lilian Biddulph.

I come in peace

but I'm prepared for war.

What's the Hampden? I only opened my geggy to say hullo.

I come...here...

to serve...

the community.

That's very nice o ye. But gonnae do us a favour?

Gonnae not give us immortal life?

Aye, we're fae Govan, who the hell wants to live forever roon here?

HE BARKS AND GROWLS

Fear not, Reverend, we're not all Sawney Bean.

Sawney Bean?

Is that local code for something?

No matter. My name's Ken Eaves and this is my wife, Rona.

I'm in insurance, by the way, and so's Rona.

Our son Rory is a rebel.

-He wants to be an accountant.

-Chartered.

I hope you're not going to be one of these floppy-haired revisionists like the last clown we had here.

He didn't last long.

Well, that's me away to be upright and decent, Mary hen.

Aye, you do that. And make sure you come back here vertical. No more of the creepin' games, d'ye hear?

Aw, goodness me, ye of little faith.

Cheery bye the noo.

Could ye no have left a decent interval for guilt?

Awright, awright, awright.

I'm over it. Life goes on.

You'll find me, at heart, a traditionalist.

My values are

hard work, discipline,

and the family.

Yes!!

First the Coalition, now the church. The toffs are back.

Let us praise God with hymn number...

Haw...!

Hullorerr, fellow holy bastards.

And you are?

I'm sorry I'm late, but I was, I was delayed, y'know,

I was delayed on refreshment business.

Followed by a small roughage incident,

which may yet be detectable.

Ah, yes, I fear it is.

Reverend Biddulph, meet Mr Nesbitt...from Govan.

-I suspect Mr Nesbitt may have been drinking.

-Drinking?

He's pished to the gunnels.

My gunnels may be pished

but I have not lost my subtle eye for detail.

And you, madam, are a woman!

I am Reverend Biddulph. And you, sir, are in a terrible state.

Yes, yes, you are quite correct,

but all is not as it seems.

Alas, I suffer from migraine headaches.

HE COUGHS AND SPLUTTERS

Vomitty migraine headaches which

-incapacitate me and render me...

-Rab!

What we doin' in a church?

These joints gie me the heebie-jeebies.

May I introduce Bishop Cotter.

Bless youse.

Bishop Cotter is at present on a brass rubbing tour.

Is there any brasses you'd like to rub in here, Bishop?

No. These brasses have all been rubbed to buggery.

Mind you,

there's a few of them I rubbed in here 20 years ago, eh?

Sadie...ha!

-Did I leave my shoes under your bed thon night?

-Aw right you...

I fear we must away, Bishop,

-otherwise you're going to get a right good gubbing.

-Yes.

My altar boys will be fighting on the floor.

I'll get back and pull them off.

Then I'll stop them fighting on the floor! HA-HA!

-LAUGHING:

-Oh, how we laughed

at such ribald church humour.

Get out now, please. Both of you.

All right, aye, right, we'll go.

D'ye think, d'ye think two respected men of the cloth

would stay a moment longer in a place where they're not wanted?

We wouldn't demean ourselves.

But first...a song!

We don't want a song. Just go!

Yes. Just go.

Well, friends, colleagues, and fellow holy bastards,

here endeth...today's...lesson.

Where's your Pope's visit noo, eh?

Ah. Hullorerr, Mary Doll.

Don't you gimme that. You lying, drunken midden that you are.

-You promised me that you wouldnae drink!

-Eh...

Mary, sweetheart...

I appear to be incapacitated.

Have you inadvertently tied me to the chair with raffia?

Oh, have I?

Oh, so I have.

What you looking at your feet for?

Well, I was just checking to see if I had clean socks.

I thought it was maybe my birthday.

You've got the wrong end of the stick there, pal.

You're no so much tied to that chair as stuck there where I can see you.

You were a Stephen King fan, big baws. Remember Misery?

She's just cut the socks aff ye.

Oh, I get it, I get it.

This is all your doin', isn't it?

Don't listen to him, Mary, don't listen to him.

He's a loony. He eats Play-Doh.

If you saw what passes for cooking in the remedial ward, you'd eat Play-Doh too.

Gash has had behavioural problems right from the off.

All because of you!

Aw c'mon, Mary, c'mon, c'mon.

It's me, it's Bobby. Your big bi-polar bear.

See that one there? He's the one you've got to watch.

He's the wan that's causing the problems here.

I mean, he sits in cupboards wi' his thumbs up his arse

singing Noah And The Whale songs.

See him and I? Him and I is chalk and cheese!

Honestly, I mean, I have actually often wondered if he's...

Don't you dare...

Don't you dare say it!

You're a wee tad psychotic yourself, Mary hen.

We have so much in common.

Oh, you have pushed me too far this time, Rab Nesbitt.

The question is this.

What do I run through first, you or the Aldi steak pie sitting in the kitchen for the night's dinner?

Cos see right now? I am easy.

Take the stabbin', Da. I'll sew you back up.

I'm a dab hand with a running stitch.

-Pink thread or mauve?

-Well?

HE GAGS

Wh...wh...what d'ye want me to do?

I'm actually here to apologise and smarten up my act, you know?

It's actually the wife's idea.

I see. And is that the reason you're apologising,

because your wife told you to?

Aw, c'mon, don't make this any more difficult than it has to be.

I wouldnae be here if I didnae hink she was right, wid I?

Hink?

-Wid?

-It's just the way I talk. I cannae help it. Right?

It's not what you say, Mr Nesbitt, it's the way you say it.

It's all those yapping vowels and growling consonants.

Listen. Why don't you pull the crucifix out your Archibald?

I might be manky on the ootside but some of these

hoity-toity buggers you get in here, they're manky on the inside.

Do you know what I'm saying?

Mm. It was a pity you didn't think of that last Sunday.

Well, I was, er, indisposed last Sunday.

No, Mr Nesbitt, you were totally blootered.

Am I wasting my time here?

I mean, are you gonnae accept my apology, or are ye no?

If you promise to give up drinking,

I'll accept you back into my congregation.

I'm putting you on your honour, Mr Nesbitt. No bevvying.

-Nothing?

-Absolutely nothing.

Nothing.

-In the name of F....

-Ah!

Place mats, missus?

Can I maybe interest you in a wee sale?

Aw, I see.

I know a bit of sign, do you sign?

Pity.

Nothing at all? Not even a wee bit?

Excellent. Try me.

All right then, missus, just remember, you say it best when you say nothing at all.

I will. And you can watch me.

Look at Gash. Sharing a joke with the customers.

This could be a turning point, Rab. Rab!

Aye, I heard ye, I heard ye.

Turning point, turning point, I'm over the moon, over the moon.

Quit thinking about drink for a minute and concentrate.

Sorry, Mary, sorry.

What about this one?

Oh, that's lovely, ooh, rare and summery.

-Or this one?

-Aye, that's lovely too, rare and summery.

Or this one?

Aw, that's really lovely, rare and summery that yin.

It's a shelf, Rab.

Will you try and keep up?

Away and try this on, right?

Keep your mind off the drink.

My colour, eh? Bottle green.

Rab... What's the matter?

Eh...someb'dy in.

Well, don't go. Wait there till they're finished.

Aye, right, right.

God almighty. Oh, roll on Sunday.

Last week, my tenure got off to an unfortunate start because of Mr Nesbitt.

Aye, I'm pure mortified, I'm helluva sorry and that, you know.

Our family brings these white lilies, Reverend, the gift of purity.

Away, ya sooky bum bastard that ye are.

Coming soon for you, the gift of soap.

-You pee on one trouser leg, one lousy trouser leg.

-Two!

Two lousy trouser legs and they never let ye forget it.

Thankfully, Mr Nesbitt has now apologised

and I have accepted his apology.

-Thanks very much, hen, it's awful big of ye.

-Don't grovel yet, she hasn't finished.

-Eh?

Accepted, with strings.

Aw, here we go, here we go.

Experience has taught me that a pastor must be strong.

-You tell him, Reverend.

-Hallelujah!

-Sieg heil!

-Too far, Rory.

Now, Mr and Mrs Eaves have informed me of a fine old Scottish tradition.

I bet you it's no buying a round, cos they're as tight as a nun's...

I'm speaking of the name and shame tactic of its day, the cutty stool.

Yes!!

Mr Nesbitt, as a punishment,

-you will sit on the cutty stool for three weeks.

-Eh?

I'd give him six weeks for that sneer on his schemie face alone.

And three more for that string vest.

And another three for being on benefits.

-Too far, father?

-Not at all, son, spot on.

You...

You expect me to park my arse on this totie wee stool

and humiliate myself?

Exactly. You will sit there until your 'erse is lowpin'.

-Bravo!

-And your glaikit face is in a muckle fankle.

Showboating now.

-All right, all right, I'll do it. But first, I would j...

-No speeches please, we haven't time.

We have a full service to get through.

Full service you're needing, lady.

He's so coarse, that man.

-Let us open our hymnals and praise God with...

-Ahhh!

Aw. Naw, let's no.

What now?

Listen, if you accept a man's apology you shouldnae make him grovel.

No, don't tell us, is it against your shuman rights?

Listen boy, even a scumball has his human dignity.

Finished?

No, I havenae, because apart fae anything else,

this stool is going to dae my blow hole in.

It's got a nail in it you could hang Jesus in a Crombie coat fae.

Listen, you don't want me here, fair enough.

I've still got a good ten years of praying left in me.

I will go elsewhere.

Ignore him, nowhere else would have him.

He's been banned from every church in the neighbourhood.

You fall asleep, you fall asleep in one lousy coffin.

It was a funeral service. You were using the corpse as a mattress.

He was deid! His celestial arse was half road to Paradise.

And as of this moment, so is mine!

Mr Nesbitt!

Oooh... I feel another apology coming on.

Same time next week?

Bugger off!

Rab, you're out of church early. God playing golf?

Don't you start, boy, or you'll get a boot roon the melt.

Speak to Jesus, Rab, get him to slip you a Valium.

You... you've got helluva lippy since you took that bolt out your neck.

Are you joining us, Rab?

Or are you meeting Martin Luther in the pub for a Britvic?

HE MUMBLES

You know you want to...

-HE CONTINUES MUMBLING

-What's that, Rab?

Mmm-mmm...

Was that mmmmmaybe just the one?

Mmmmm...jisttheone.

My pleasure.

I know... I know what you're thinking.

Oh, poor, poor Robert.

He's got another one, another one of his vomitty migraine attacks.

But such is the devious mind of the alcoholic,

I will hoodwink my good lady wife into thinking me sober...

with this.

I must crave your patience while I locate my gob.

DOOR OPENS

Can I help you with that?

Ah, yes, please.

You see?!

The deception is complete.

Out!

Oh, God...

Oh, God help me, help me.

I am the angel of the bevvy.

Stick with the drink and you'll be all right.

-All right.

-Oh, the bad angel.

I might have known.

Wonder what the good angel's gonnae say?

No luck, Rab, you've got two bad angels.

Stick with the bevvy, you'll be all right.

Oh, God, I'm worse off than I thought.

What are you doing here?

-What are you doing here?

-That's rather a good question.

You cannae be leaving already? You havenae finished unpacking.

Look, no hard feelings. I knew it was a mistake moving to this parish.

Dan told me all along I wouldn't be accepted here.

-What's this?

-Fan mail.

Fan mail? Oh, aye?

"Dear Weybridge Witch."

Factually incorrect.

I'm from Faversham.

"Speaking as a Christian, I find your presence in the pulpit offensive.

"I would be grateful if you would stick your dirty big..."

You get the drift. It's from our old friend, Anonymous.

Like all the others.

You don't want to let this bother ye.

You see, for some people roon here,

having a Minister that's English and a woman...

it's a kind of double whammy, you know?

That wasn't the problem. It was the triple whammy that clinched it.

Right, I've filled in the sewage trench and welded the gate.

And I'll rebuild that wall I demolished, and...

This is Dan. Danielle. My civil partner.

Bit of a lesbo cliche today. Working clothes.

Ah well, you look fine to me.

And if it helps put you at your ease, I would pump ye.

-Oh. Very chivalrous.

-Well, that's more than my parishioners have been.

I'm preaching my last sermon this Sunday. Feel free to come along.

Oh, I will. I will, aye.

Are you coming, hen?

Or are you demolishing a chimney with Fred Dibnah?

Aye, well, cheery bye the noo.

In conclusion,

my partner Dan and I have enjoyed our brief, if turbulent, stay.

Wankers.

-But it's to the future we must all look as we walk...

-Hey.

Just a wee minute, a wee minute there, eh...

Before we talk about the future... let's take a wee swatch at the present.

I looked up the Oxford Dictionary's definition of a Christian.

It said, "Someone showing the qualities associated with Christ's teaching."

Here's the church's version.

Small-minded bastard that sends anonymous poison pen letters.

Are you casting aspersions on my family?

All I'm saying is this,

if religion's about anything at all, it's about tolerance, is it no?

And if the Reverend there and her hairy-arsed scissor sister want

a nightly two-way on a pink rubber wallapur, what's it to you?

It's black, actually.

Sorry, hen, I didnae mean to be wallapurist there, you know.

Thanks for your support, Mr Nesbitt, if I could just add on...

I havenae quite finished.

See, when I took up religion

I thought that meant the church. Well, I'll tell ye, I was wrong.

See to me, God is an immense, terrifying,

inexplicable, exhilarating thing.

But to you lot, what is he?

He's the chairman of the bloody golf club

and you're all creeping about in case He cancels your membership.

And it's because of that I have seen the light.

And that is why I am giving up the bastard...

-HE BREAKS WIND

-..church.

And, er, if you got a whiff of something a wee bit hardcore there, I apologise.

But don't worry about it. It was just the wind of change...

rippling through the pews.

Let us sing and, er, ooh...

praise God with, em, hymn number 374.

Now, you remember, this is Gash's big day, right?

You stay on message or it's straight back to the egg box for you.

Aye, I hear ye, I hear ye.

Well, Da, that's it official. The shop's taken me on as a full-time assistant.

-Ye happy for me?

-Happy? Ye got a dictionary?

Nothing I do ever pleases you.

Everything's got to be a battle with you.

-Is that why you don't like me cos I'll no fight wi you?

-Listen...

If that's the way you feel about it, you're welcome to try.

-Any time yer ready.

-Sounds good to me.

No time like the present.

What d'ye think of this one?

Ohhhhh, it's rare and shummery!

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Beat it!