The Godfather Sorry!

LAUGHTER

LAUGHTER

Sorry. I'm not drunk. It's... You can breathalyse me, if you like.

The tax disc is all up-to-date. You'll see the... Oh, sorry.

No, it's on its way back from Swansea.

Probably taking the pretty route.

Like a Spangle?

What are you doing, sir?

Doing? Sorry, what?

With the plastic bags.

Oh... Oh, I've been er, I was doing a little bit of a workout.

A bit of weightlifting.

A bit of bodybuilding.

-Bodybuilder, are we, sir?

-Er, bodybuilder, yes.

Got a long way to go, haven't we, sir?

Hah! Yes! Ha - yes! Very good, yes!

Well, I'd better be going home now. I've got some more press-ups to do.

Ten minutes punching the old bag.

-She loves it, you know!

-Don't try chucking your bags here again, sir.

Er, me?

While the strike is on, kindly retain your rubbish.

These bags could constitute provocation for the pickets.

-You just take them home, where they belong.

-Home? Mother will go barmy.

-And those. If you don't mind.

-Oh, no. Those aren't mine.

Mine are the black ones. I mean, those are pink ones.

-I mean, do I look the sort of chap who'd have pink rubbish bags?

-Yes.

Oh. Fair enough.

LAUGHTER

Dah, dah!

There you are, Timmy.

LAUGHTER

-You've been a long time.

-Er, I er...

-I had to put your porridge in the oven, to keep it hot.

-Oh.

-Did you get rid of the rubbish?

-Yes, yes, Mum, yes. Yes.

Straight down the council tip, over the wall. No problem, at all.

-Are you sure?

-Well, of course I'm sure. Why do you...

-What you mean, am I sure? Of course I am.

-Well, that's funny.

That's the tone of voice you use when you're fibbing.

Fibbing? Me, fibbing?

I haven't fibbed, Mother,

since the day you bought me my first pair of long trousers.

Well, that's a lie for a start.

I didn't buy you your first pair of long trousers.

I lengthened a pair of your father's shorts.

LAUGHTER

-Thank you, Mother.

-Thank you.

Should we open the windows, so the neighbours can hear?

-They know that old story.

-Oh, do they? Oh, good.

I wonder if they're up-to-date on my bowels.

I wonder if they know about that?

I wonder about that.

I was thinking we ought to buy a flagstaff and run messages up it.

"Mother, this day, hopes that Timmy will, this morning, do his duty."

I'm not listening. You're very full of yourself,

for someone who's wasted a lot of time this morning with

the rubbish - the strike's been called off.

-I heard it on the wireless.

-Oh, no!

Oh, I've missed my Saturday morning lie-in.

I was going to read last Sunday's papers.

I was going to trim my eyebrows, as a matter of fact.

Now, are we washing our hands?

Well, I can't speak for you, Mother,

but I can't reach the sink from here, I must be honest.

-Sarky!

-M'hm.

Porridge.

LAUGHTER

I can't eat this, Mother. It's gone stiff.

It's dead. It's absolutely dead.

I think it's got rigor mortis.

Don't be so finicky.

I'll cut it into soldiers.

Soldiers, Mother? You can't...

You can't cut porridge into soldiers. Oh, Mum.

Why is your food always so tough?

-Don't exaggerate.

-I'm not exaggerating.

Father broke his tooth on your custard!

You always say you like soldiers.

Well, I used to like soldiers, Mother.

I used to like eggy-peggy on bread and buppy, too.

-Don't be so childish.

-Oh, Mother. Oh, I give up. Mother, I'll tell you what I'll have.

I'll have a nice cup of coffee, if that's possible. Preferably, not cut into soldiers.

Oh!

Let's see who's won the Premium Bonds this week. Where are we?

Oh, here we are. Oh! This week's winner lives in North Shields.

Not for long!

All that money!

Soon be winging his way to South Shields!

You haven't got time to read the paper. You've forgotten.

-Gavin is coming this morning.

-Gavin who?

-Your godson.

-You're supposed to be taking him to play football.

-Oh, no!

Why me, Mother? Every weekend, I don't have a weekend.

I don't want to go and watch schoolboys playing five-a-side.

Other people are out on the Solent in wetsuits.

Windsurfers, doing it standing up.

-Less of the smut, please, Timothy.

-Sorry, Mother.

After all, Gavin is your godson and you two have got a lot in common.

Like what, Mother?

Well, Gavin is being bullied at school

and who knows more about being bullied than you do?

-Yes, except in my case, it isn't at school.

-Timothy!

Sorry, Mother, but it is true...

COUGHING

-Can you pass me the matches, Phyllis?

-Don't come in here, in those boots.

They're still on the mat, dear.

Oh, there you are, Timothy. All plain sailing with the rubbish?

-Yes, thank you. No problem, at all.

-Ah, pity.

-Pity?

Remember those green Argyle socks of mine, or sock, rather?

-BOTH:

-Yes.

Well, I had that odd sock sitting in my drawer for seven years.

This week, I said to myself, "Out!"

I put it in the dustbin - blow me tight! -

there was the other one in the old peg basket.

Nobody loses socks on my side of the family.

-You may as well throw it away now.

-Certainly not.

I don't want to be caught out the same way twice!

-Pity, though. You could have brought the rubbish back, Timothy?

-Eh?

Well, funny thing, it looks like you were wasting your time this morning.

I think the dustmen's strike is over.

HE COUGHS

If you're going to cough, go into the shed.

Thank you, Florence Nightingale!

Language, Timothy! Sorry, Father.

What's more, I can hear the dustmen coming up the road and now we've got nothing for them!

-Oh, go and play with your bonfire!

-Fair enough!

So, the dustmen have deigned to honour us with a collection.

Well, I am going to give them a piece of my mind.

I gave them a Christmas box, a very generous Christmas box,

and we haven't seen hide nor hair of them for two months.

Nor has anyone, Mother. Nor has anyone. They have been on strike.

That is irrelevant.

What is a Christmas box for, except to secure personal attention.

-I'm going to put them properly...

-No, Mother. Leave it to me. I will speak to them.

-You?

No, please, Mother. After all, after all, I am the man of the house.

No, you're not.

Well, there is Father, but let's be realistic. Now...

I will speak to them...

You speak to them?

You'll just be jumping up and down, slobbering over them, like a puppy.

Mother, if you speak to them, they'll never come back.

-Timmy, I know how to deal with servants.

-Servants?

They're not servants, Mother. I mean, these dustmen don't kowtow to anyone.

Since when have you seen a lot of dustmen touching their forelocks?

Timothy, don't be disgusting.

I am not being disgusting, Mother.

All I am saying is, they don't have forelocks these days.

Really?

Times have changed, Mother. I will deal with the matter.

Yes, well, just so long as you give them a thorough dressing down.

-You leave it to me, Mother.

-A proper wigging, mind.

Consider them wigged.

Ah, there you are, my man.

-I'm going to give you a piece of my mind.

-Why?

I've taken just as much as I intend to take.

You all right?

LAUGHTER

Sorry, yes. I'm all right. Yes. Just going through the motions for Mother.

-Eh?

-Just pretend. A bit of an argy-bargy, anyway. Welcome back.

-Nice to see you.

-Ta.

Now, it's a bit of a long story,

only the rubbish is all in the car out front.

And I'd like you to clear it out for me. It's not locked.

Just the five bags.

Bags? No, I'm sorry, sir. I can't help you there.

-What?

-If I may clarify. We're back at work to clear the bins.

As per usual.

Yes, yes, yes. Yes, I know that.

No settlement has been reached as yet

vis-a-vis the enormous backlog,

i.e. the enormous piles of plastic bags everywhere.

Ah. Well, suppose I put the plastic bags in the bins.

A bag is a bag is a bag.

More than my job's worth to so much as touch a bag.

Of course, if my job was made worth a bit more...

Oh, oh! Say no more.

Enough said, man of the world. Nod's as good as a wink to a blind dog.

A word to the wise!

Now, will this make any difference?

Not a lot. There's seven of us.

LAUGHTER

Oh. Typical.

-What divides by seven?

-Seven quid.

True. True! There we are. That's it.

Now, remember, the rubbish is all in the car.

What's happening? Timothy?

Why is there a deathly silence out here?

Silence? Silence? There hasn't been much of that, has there, my man?

Er, no, sir.

I'm sorry. I won't let it happen again.

-You're the governor, after all.

-There we are. There's a good fellow. Now be on your way.

-Remember what I said.

-Righty. Certainly, squire. Excuse me, ma'am.

What happened to him?

I told him off, Mother. Got it hot and strong in words of one syllable.

Or more.

Well, I think I'll just see him off the premises.

-I don't want him taking it out on the narcissi.

-But Mother! Oh!

-Can I help you? Leave that car alone!

-Mother, let them carry on. They know what they're doing.

What are those bags of rubbish doing in the car?

-Have people been dumping rubbish here?

-Yes, that's it.

-That's probably what happened. Somebody's...

-This is disgraceful. I hold you men responsible.

Look, lady. I'm just doing a favour here. Sorry, mate.

-We don't want any favours from you, thank you.

-Right, madam. Bye.

What about... What about...?

Timothy!

This is our rubbish. That's Tuesday's haddock.

I thought I'd told you to finish that up.

And there's that bread and butter pudding!

You said you'd got rid of all this rubbish!

Well, I would have done, if you hadn't kept interrupting.

-You told me you took it down to the dump.

-I did. I did. But I brought it back.

-So you were fibbing!

-Yes, I was fibbing.

-Those pink ones aren't ours.

No... I was given them.

Do you mean to say you were taking in other people's rubbish?

Well, it's your fault, Mother. I mean, you're such a bully.

-I did the best I could. I even paid them.

-Do you mean you bought that rubbish?

-Get into the house!

-Ssh, Mother!

-The neighbour!

-You're a silly, irresponsible boy.

Go into the house, go upstairs and go straight to bed.

KNOCK ON DOOR

Uncle Tim?

Oh, oh! Gavin! Oh, thank goodness.

Thought it was Mother.

Oh, dear. Just been having a bit of a read.

Catching up on last Sunday's papers. Oh, dear.

I spilt the Smarties!

LAUGHTER

Oh!

Bit fluffy. Would you like one?

Trouble is, they, sort of, melt on the hot water bottle!

You got sent to bed, then?

What, what? Me? Sent to bed?

Auntie Phee said she sent you to bed.

HE GUFFAWS

Sent to bed? Me? Dear, that is a laugh!

Gosh, she's got delusions of grandeur.

No, I wanted a lie-in.

I swung it.

Got myself sent to bed, you know!

Smarter than the average bear, Boo-Boo!

Eh?

No, I was just, you know, I was just really knackered. You know - wooh!

Absolutely bushed.

So I just thought I'd crash the dirty swede...

The what?

Oh, anyway. Why don't you sit down?

Oh, dear.

-Ah, how are you, then, all right?

-All right.

Good. Good, good. Excellent.

-No... No trouble at school?

-No.

-Oh, good. Good, good. Excellent.

Oh, good.

-Not of any kind?

-No.

-No. Good.

Not even the bullying kind?

-Oh, well. Ah, well.

-I thought it. Got it in one.

The old knows, you know.

Sort of a gut feeling I had just when you want, "Ah, well," I could just tell.

-Come on, then. Tell me all about it.

-Do you use bubblegum?

-Er, what for?

-You chew it.

Oh, yes, I chew it. Yes, I do. Yes, you would chew it.

Er, oh, sorry, yes, indeed! I will join you in a bubble.

BUBBLE BURSTS Ooh, sorry, what?

Oh! Hah! Very good!

Very good.

Very good. Very good, that was. Yes.

-So, tell me. You're being bullied?

-Yeah, all the time.

Well, you mustn't worry. It happened to me, as well. Oh, yes, yes.

I used to be bullied.

They used to put me on top of the door,

and when Mr Pott came in, I'd fall on his head.

LAUGHTER

Sounds like something out of the Beano!

-It's more sociological now.

-Is it?

Sorry, what do you mean? I don't...

-Yes, now. Yes?

-Well.

-In any society...

-M'hm.

..there will be misfits who need to express their sense of inferiority...

-Mm-hm.

-..by beating everyone in.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. I see. Yes, yes. So far, yes. M'hm, m'hm.

And Dougie Bullford does it to me.

-Often?

-Whenever he can fit me in.

Well, I mean, this is terrible. Gavin, I mean, this must stop.

I do his compositions for him.

Last week, he got a lousy mark, and on Monday, he's going to beat me in.

What? Just like that?

-That's what usually happens.

-Usually?! I mean, Gavin!

There comes a time in every man's life, when he must stand up

and be counted!

It's all right for you. You can stand up and still not get counted.

Please.

Please. Now, please...

There's a time and a place.

Listen, tell me, have you spoken to your form master about this boy?

My form master?! Shagger Beasley?!

He does Duggie's French for him!

Well, perhaps I'd better speak to the boy or, even better,

speak to his father.

No, no. You don't speak to the Bullfords. Grow up, Uncle Tim!

I am growing up. Don't keep saying that! I am growing up!

I am grown up! I am grown up!

I will speak to Bullford Senior, man to man.

-Well, I don't want to be rude, only...

-No, come on.

What are you going to say? Come on, please come out with it.

Well, I don't think a fella that gets sent to bed by his mother's

going to make much of a dent on Duggie Bullford's old man!

Sent to bed by his mother?!

Even if I was, it would be the first and last time!

Now, tell me, where do the Bullfords live?

Well, if you've made up your mind, actually,

I'm playing football with Duggie down the sports centre

-and his dad does weight training at the same time.

-Right, that is it.

We go down to the sports centre for a quiet,

reasonable word with Bullford Senior. That is obviously the...

Mother, don't you knock? I mean... I mean...

This is, after all, a man's room.

I could have been undressed.

Don't be silly. I've powdered your little things lots of times.

Now...

I want that rubbish moved.

-Mother, Gavin and I have very important business...

-Nonsense.

You walked away and you left those five sacks in the drive.

Now there are 13. Somebody's left eight more.

-What?

-You leave sacks anywhere, people think it's a dump.

They've got to be moved!

Oh, Mother! Why me? Why always...? Mother!

Here is a list of the times you have let me

do what I wanted to do uninterrupted.

GAVIN CHUCKLES

It's blank. Don't laugh, Gavin!

All right, Mother. Don't laugh, Gavin, please, when you're told.

Now, look, Mother, I will remove the rubbish,

-but first we must go down with Gavin to the...

-And move the rubbish.

-AND move the rubbish.

-AND take your father and I to the high street.

AND give you a lift. Yes.

-Timmy, I wish you wouldn't shout.

-Why not, Mother?

-Why don't you want me to shout?

-Because you've been scoffing

Smarties and your tongue's the wrong colour.

Whatever will the neighbours think?

After all the care and attention you've had, you've grown up

into the sort of person that can't even dispose of 13 bags of rubbish.

The tip was closed, Mother! Anywhere you leave a sack becomes a dump.

I refuse to be antisocial.

They're in the logical place.

Everyone will think we're mad!

-Can't you drive any faster?

-There's a lot of rubbish on the roof.

Plus what's inside. GAVIN CHUCKLES

Don't encourage him, Gavin.

-Be careful of the corner! The road's up.

-All right, certainly, Mother.

Why don't I have the wheel? You lean over and you can steer!

-Sarcasm, Timothy.

-Sorry, Father.

HORN BEEPS

-Sorry.

-That car pulled right in front of you.

Draw up alongside him at the corner.

Excuse me.

Have you passed your driving test?

Say that again.

Steady on, Phyllis, for God's sake.

-I said, have you passed your driving test?

-Who are you?

Never mind who I am.

(It's Duggie Bullford and his dad!)

-What?!

-The point is, you are a road hog.

I'm not impressed by your big car.

I also notice that it needs a good clean.

(Timothy, get moving.)

Timothy, I haven't finished speaking to the man.

And three fingers to you too!

-My God! They're after us!

-Oh, no!

-Get off the floor, Gavin!

-Faster, Timothy!

-I'm trying! I'm trying!

-Well, take the handbrake off!

-That makes no difference!

-Turn left!

-Right, Father.

-No, left!

-Hold on, everyone!

HORN BEEPS

All over me motor.

Sacks of it, right in the middle of the road.

-Bloody hooligans! If I got my hands on them, I'd...

-Excuse me.

-What?

-Now, you don't know me... You don't know me, do you?

-No.

Oh, good. Might I buy you a cup of tea?

We're just going down the gym, aren't we?

Well, if I could have a word in your shell like ear... Cauliflower-like...

Sorry, that was a little... Um...

Only it is um...Business.

Business, eh?

-I'll see you, Bill.

-Right.

See you, Bill.

-So, what's all this about?

-Might we step in...

-You in the scrap metal game, are you?

-No.

I do collect milk bottle tops.

To replace the lead on the church roof.

Ah, two teas, please.

Come up here for it.

Oh.

Perhaps not.

You're not a copper, are you?

A copper?

No, no. Funny, that's been said before.

No, I am here um... In my capacity um...

In the capacity of um...

A godfather.

Godfather?

I mean, not THE Godfather.

You know, a godfather. Not THE Godfather.

Though, I suppose I could be Godfather Part One.

So, I'm going to make you an offer you can refuse, you know,

-if you want to. I mean...

-What are you talking about?

Well, I'll tell you what I'm talking about.

Um... Your son...

Your son, Douglas...

Oh, Duggie?

Duggie. Duggie, yes. Well... Duggie...

Yes. Well, Duggie is at school with my godson, Gavin.

-Gavin.

-So?

Well, they're every good friends, actually. Getting on very well.

Very, very well, indeed.

They're really...

Very, very close. Very, very close, Duggie and Gavie.

-The only thing is, there is...

-Yeah, just a minute...

-Yes, yes.

-Your Gavie hasn't been having a go at my Duggie, has he?

-No! No, no.

As a matter of fact, the boot is on the other foot.

Or the boot is in the other ear, as it were.

-Just listen here. Duggie...

-Yes.

-..is a very highly-strung, sensitive boy.

-Mm.

-He writes a lovely composition.

-Mm.

So, let's hear no more about the boot.

Absolutely. Absolutely. No more about the boot. No, absolutely.

The only thing is, I am told that his self-defence does occasionally

lean just, you know...

You know, lean towards attack.

-Look, Duggie can be violent.

-Mm.

-I grant you that.

-Mm-hm.

But never unintentionally.

-Oh... Good. I am pleased. Good.

-What I've done...

-Yes.

-What I've done is, I've taught him all the martial arts.

-Yes.

-Here, I'll show you.

-Oops, sorry. Yes, yes.

-Say you was coming at me...

-Yes, I am not, of course. And I wouldn't.

-I know you wouldn't. Say you was just coming at me...

-Yes, yes.

-What I've taught Duggie to do...

-Yes.

-..is to take the wrist...

-Oh, I see. Yes. Oh! Ooh! Oh!

-See?

-Yes. Something's cracking just at the top here.

-You see? You're powerless.

-Yes, yes.

You know? I showed his headmaster this.

-He saw my point and Duggie's been doing much better ever since.

-Oh.

My head's going to sleep. Could you mind just...

Well, that's the pressure.

-Oh, yes.

-That's the pressure, here.

-Timothy, leave that man alone.

-It's that dreadful man!

-It's that old crone!

-Do you mind? You're speaking to my mother!

-Mother?!

-Is that your mother?!

-No, not MY mother. A mother.

Any mother, you know? Any stray mother in a car.

-Timothy, don't talk to that dreadful man.

-Here, just a minute.

-It was you driving that car!

-The Morris Minor? No, that wasn't me.

Is it hygienic to be dressed like that in a refreshment room?

-You old trout!

-Now, look here...

-You keep out of this!

Fair enough.

Now, look, why don't we all behave like civilised human beings?

You half pint of pot water!

Now, look! Name calling is not going to help!

-As a matter of fact, I've got something to say to you.

-Yeah?

-I'm very sorry.

-No, you're not!

-Yes, I am, Mother.

-We did insult this gentleman.

-He's no gentleman.

You can shove off, you dreary old windbag!

-Timothy! Did you hear what he called me?

-Yes, I did, and I must admit...

Well?

There is an element of truth in it, Mother.

-Especially the bit about the windbag.

-Language, Timothy.

-Sorry, Father.

-I think I shall have some tea.

-Why don't we all have a nice cup of tea?

-You were right, Uncle.

You, shove of, sonny!

-I must ask you not to shove Gavin like that!

-Oh, you must, must you?

-Do you want to make something of it?

-As a matter of fact, I do!

-I think it is time, if I may say so, you were taught a lesson!

-Right!

-Here we go!

-Right!

-You don't have to, not for me!

-Don't you worry.

-We'll go outside. Too much blood wouldn't be hygienic!

Ha-ha!

-Don't worry...

-He'll kill him!

It's a bit crowded round here. Let's get round the corner.

Hold on a minute.

That's a friend of mine you've got there. 29 Ravenscroft. Hello, sir.

-Hello.

-Out of it, you.

I beg your pardon? Out of it? Are you referring to me?

115 Sevastopol Rise, isn't it?

-What a small world, eh?

-Look, you! Buzz off!

I'm just going to knock seven coloured droppings

-out of this little bit of offal!

-I'm not ALL that little!

Now, now. Is this the kind of thing that goes on at sports centres?

What is all this?

If it's any business of yours,

his mother's a right interfering old boiler.

He's got a point there, you know?

-And he's been bunging rubbish at my motor.

-That was a mistake.

Your son has been bullying my godson!

Now, that's not nice. What is all this?

Look, if you keep on putting your oar in, you're going

to get what he's going to get.

-Right, that's it. Put 'em up! Come on!

-Hold on, 29.

We don't want you smeared up that wall by this person, do we?

-Don't we?

-No! And I'll tell you for why!

Cos me and the lads owe 29 Ravenscroft a favour.

Seven quid's worth, as a matter of fact.

So if you lay a finger on him, or me, or your lad so much as frowns

at his godson, your bins ain't going to get emptied till the year 2001!

-Look, no need to be hasty.

-I think that...

-(Shut up.)

Sorry.

-What's going on? Who shall I hit?

-Duggie, you've been a naughty boy!

You've been rude to the dustman. Get out of here, eh?

I reckon that's ten quid's-worth of moral support, don't you?

What? Oh, see what you mean.

There you are.

-Uncle Tim, you're all right!

-Well, of course I'm all right!

Saw them off. There'll be no more trouble from them.

I think you're fantastic!

Now, now. I just muddle through.

Well, no, perhaps, I am verging on fantastic.

Timothy, what have I always told you about playing among dustbins?

-Playing?! He wasn't playing.

-You... You must understand, women never...

There are those dreadful dustmen.

-I'm going to give them a piece of my mind.

-No, you won't.

-Why not?

-I don't think that a lady as lovely as yourself should be

concerned with such sordid things.

Language, Timothy.

Shut up, Sidney.

-Don't you?

-No, I don't.

BEEPS HORN

# La-la la-la-la

BEEPS BORN # La-la! #

Great, Uncle Tim.

You stood up and you were counted.

Sorted out the Bullfords and got rid of 12 bags of rubbish.

-Oh, I thought it was 13.

-No, we put 12 on top of the car.

-Did we?

-Quite right, Gavin.

Oh, it doesn't matter. Probably left it in the drive.

Hm, right where everyone could see it.

My God...

Sorry!