The Undrinkables Still Game

Oh, Jack.

-What?

-You're not firing up the old furnace again, are you?

Victor, not this again!

Come on, I was sitting in here last night, it was like Dickens' London.

It was like a pea souper!

Well, I enjoy the pipe at the telly.

When you're enjoying the pipe, I cannae see the bloody telly!

What's to watch? It's all shite anyway, right?

I was thinking about chucking it anyhow, the amount of tax

-they put on it.

-Well, that's what this is about.

Smokers clogging up the NHS.

There's nae beds left.

Good people cannae get one.

Aye. Good people?

You know. Them that don't smoke cannae get a bed.

-So I'm bad people?

-I'm just saying, you know, cos you smoke the pipe

and you're a filthy addict. A wee, clean living woman,

wouldnae say boo to a goose cannae get a lie down.

So because I smoke the pipe, that's me Fred West now?

-I'm not saying you're a murderer, Jack.

-Good.

I'm saying you're a nay-user junkie!

What? I'm a... You're a bastarding junkie!

I'm junkie? How am I a junkie?

-Junkie with what?

-Biscuits, wine gums, Mint Imperials.

And I'll tell you another thing.

I have paid for a stack of these beds in that hospital

with the amount of tax I've paid on my baccy.

They should be naming a ward after me in the Royal Infirmary!

Oh, aye, the "Jack Jarvis for them that cannae stop puffing

and some poor bastard with his arm hanging off cannae get a bed" ward!

Catchy!

You know, I wish I didnae smoke a pipe. I wish I smoked cigarettes.

-How's that?

-Cos I'd put one out in your eye, that's how!

PHONE RINGS

Hello?

Boabby?

Uh-huh. Oh, dear.

Thanks for ringing. Thank you.

Oh, look who it is. Men In Black.

-What's that?

-The alien movie?

We'll boot your baws into outer space!

Two pints, prick.

Terrible day. I'll take a sweet sherry, Boabby.

-Of course, darling.

-15 people at a funeral.

-I hope that never happens to me.

-You're not homeless.

Pete lived under a bridge, he was lucky to have 15 there!

Half a lager please, Boabby.

You'll not need your money at the minute, Tam.

There's a kitty.

And a quadruple whisky.

And tomato crisps.

-Tomato?

-And nuts. Dry roasted.

My heart's roasted, you miserable bastard!

How much is it per head for the kitty, Boabby?

-£12.

-I thought it was a tenner?

Sorry, boys. Prices are up.

It's not me. It's the brewery.

Tam, kitty.

HE MUMBLES INCOHERENTLY

Poor Pete.

Makes you realise how lucky you are.

Lucky? I'm lucky I can walk.

Who asks a one-legged man to be a pallbearer?

The leg's away! The leg's away!

The leg's away, Jack!

-Yous two were laughing.

-No, we werenae.

Yes, you were. There was tears rolling down your face.

That was tears of grief. Right, tears of grief.

No, that was tears of pishing yourself, that's what that was.

Cos once you started, that set him off.

Grief's contagious. It's a terrible thing, grief.

And as for you, you tosser.

You were bent double.

-I dropped my glasses.

-Aye, so you did(!)

All right, OK ,well, then.

-To Pete. ALL:

-To Pete!

Maybe somebody should say something.

-Well, you just did, so...

-No, substantial.

-From the heart.

-Oh, right.

-On the hoof.

-Off-the-cuff!

-Nice cuffage, Jack.

-We all know why we're here today -

to pay tribute to our friend,

a Craiglang man through and through.

Pete didn't have a home, he was a man of no means.

Not two pennies to rub together,

the soles hanging off his shoes, and not even a coat to keep him warm.

But the one thing he always had, ALWAYS had, was a smile.

Even though he was the poorest man we knew.

GAMBLING MACHINE CASHES OUT

Beautiful words, Jack! Beautiful words.

Jeez, it's quiet in here today.

-Isa.

-Hello, boys.

Gentlemen. What can I do you for?

Oh, just a bottle of the usual, Navid.

There you go.

-Ah, what?

-Price is up.

Bloody budget.

This is it, Jack.

Aye, this is it, right enough.

A long time ago, Navid,

Jack and I agreed that when this stuff got too dear,

we were chucking it. And that, my friend, is too dear.

Well, boys, that is the cheapest stuff.

That is the gut rot, the bottom of the barrel.

I could charge more for a bottle of Isa's sweat.

Are you trying to get in or trying to get out?

I see no dilemma.

-Jack, Victor!

-What is it, Isa?

Here, try this.

-What is that?

-Hooch.

Potcheen. Home-made Wabawaba. Ketanga. I don't know!

-Three quid a bottle's what it is.

-Where the hell did you get that?

Peggy's man got it off that boy that swears all the time.

Him with the turrets. And he got it off that woman

that looks like a fella.

You know, her that changes the tyres in the Scotfit.

Who I think got it off Piggy Patterson,

him with the gastric band that burst at the trampoline park.

That's where the trail goes cold. Take a nip!

HE MUMBLES INCOHERENTLY

What?

HE MUMBLES INCOHERENTLY

He says we don't like it!

Bootleg hooch?

It was like a kick in the balls.

That would have been preferable!

I've got bottle of that in the house.

The first gulp's a sore one, but after that it's a smooth ride.

You could clean your cooker with it, it comes up lovely, tae.

-You for another?

-Not at these prices, Boabby!

-I've telt you.

-Three half pints and not another body in here.

That is definitely it, I'm out.

-What you mean, you're out?

-As of Monday, I'm chucking it.

New fella Mark will be standing here.

You're leaving The Clansman?

I didnae want to make a big deal of it, but enough's enough.

People are nae coming in cos of the prices

and you've got bootleg garbage floating about.

Nah. I'm done.

But I'll no' be disappearing.

I'll be in for a pint now and again.

Anyway, finish up.

You're no' going the noo, are you?

No.

I'm going down the bridge.

Oh, now, don't be hasty, Boabby.

No, I'm no' going to jump aff it!

I'm going down to tidy up where Pete slept.

That's a nice thing.

I'll come with you. Are you two coming?

No. We'd like to go with you, but we're heading to Tam's.

This is one kitty he is not getting out of.

Good luck with that. You should have picked something simpler,

like stealing the Coronation necklace aff the Queen

while she's taking a dump!

Should phone the concierge. Room service hasnae been in!

-Are you stealing this?

-Aye, that's right, son.

We're going to steal all this gear and we're going to

-take it to Sotheby's.

-No, it's just this belonged to my mate Pete.

Oh, we know. He was our pal, too.

That's why we're tidying up.

I'm Mick. Methadone Mick.

I'm Boabby. Barman Boabby.

I'm...one-legged Winston?

Aye, Pete's talked a lot about yous.

-This is for you.

-Oh.

A ball class letter. Scented, too.

"To Boabby, only Boabby, naebody but Boabby."

That's got Boabby all over it. That must be for you, Boabby!

"If you're reading this, Boabby, I'm already dead.

"Nae more drink for me.

"Bastard, hey?

"If methadone Mick isnae dead, he's just handed you this letter."

I'm no' dead.

"Although he looks like a skinny, shiftless, nay-user,

"he's nonetheless a good lad.

"He will now hand you my estate,

which you, Boabby, are the executor of."

-These must be his worldly possessions.

-Shush!

"The details herein..."

-Heroin?

-No, "herein."

"..must not be disclosed until Friday 19th at 9am.

"The venue shall be the Clansman.

"Peto."

-PTO, please turn over.

-I know!

"No doubt Mick will now have his paw out expecting a bung.

"Give him hee-haw, for he will only try to buy crack

"or some such with it.

"All the best, Pete."

It's cash, Tam. Nothing other than cash.

The thing is, it's Frances' and me's anniversary this week and all my

-money's gone in that.

-Shut up. £12!

I've no' got it!

What about this? Look.

50 copies of the National Geographic magazine. Beautiful photographs.

-Look, there's a polar bear wiring into a seal!

-No.

Football boots? You're not even into football.

I'm football daft! These boots once belonged to...

Patrick...Thistle.

They're not even a pair.

Listen, you. We don't want a medicine ball,

or a Bay City Rollers bedspread, or a Kenny Rogers 8-track.

Or a die-cast model of JFK's Lincoln Continental

moments before he was plugged from the grassy knoll!

We want 12 quid!

What about this? A full complement

of filthy, dirty porno cards fae Santa Ponsa.

They truly are manky.

Especially...

the nine of clubs.

-Slapping...

-12 quid.

What about this?

Slippery bastard.

What are we supposed to do with this muck?

Give our cookers a good clean.

I think I made a mistake with them nudie cards, you know.

That nine of clubs looked like a right carry-on, didn't she?

What was it you said your name was again?

-Mark.

-And you say we've never met?

-No, we havenae.

-I cannae quite place you,

but I'm definitely sure I've spoke to you before.

What pub did you work in before this one?

-The Ginnel.

-The Ginnel?

-Tough shop.

-Not when I was on!

The quiz night, we have met before!

Well, if we have, I don't remember.

And if I don't remember, it didnae happen!

All right, prick?

-Excuse me.

-What?

-Can I go to the toilet?

-Away, you wee fanny!

Boabby?

I don't need the toilet!

Where do you keep the scampi fries?

Oh, in that box above the chest freezer, Mark.

Chest freezer?

Handy thing, a chest freezer.

-JACK AND VICTOR ENTER PUB CHATTING

-Hey, Boabby!

-Is that you done now?

-That's me a civilian.

Ah, but you're still here!

That's good. So nothing's really changed, then?

-Well, I...

-Right, for old time's sake, right,

hit us with both barrels.

-What?

-Your patter, we'll take it off you.

-It's a one-day-only offer.

Look who it is.

Waldorf and Statler.

Very good, Boabby. Old Muppets.

That must make you Kermit the Fud!

Good one, Victor. Two pints, prick!

Hey. Don't talk to my customers like that.

Who's this whalloper?

-Hey?

-Oh, for...

-What?

-WINSTON:

-Hello, lads.

-ERIC:

-Whose round is it?

-ALL:

-I'm no' going.

-Are ye aff yer nut?

We are done.

Right?

-What?

-The Clansman?

-Aye.

-That big angry bear pulling

your pint then looking for an excuse to glass you with an empty tumbler?

-No.

-Aye, it's hardly Claridge's, is it?

"Pint?" "Yes, please."

"What are you looking at?" "Excuse me?"

Tumbler, boof. Royal. Face like Chucky!

Oh, well. To me, you wee home-fashioned strumpet!

Whoa, give that to me!

-That's wino-ville, that's skid row.

-Tin Pan Alley.

-That's music, Jack.

-Oh.

Regardez vous.

-Oh.

-Hey?

That Cillit Bang boy will be shiting hissel'!

Imagine what that could do to your insides.

What, make them all shiny? What's that?

KEYS JANGLE IN DOOR

-Isa?

-Jack?

-Victor.

Oh, aye. Aye, Victor.

What the hell are you doing?

I've got my doors mixed up.

I've stuck my thingmy in your thingmy.

-Aye, you wish.

-I don't know what's happening.

It's a queer thing.

I've never done that before - I'm no' thinking.

Isa, are you all right, hen?

Aye, Oh, aye.

Oh! I know that smell!

It's that hoochie-coochie!

I'll take one of them wee monkeys, if there's one going!

-Chase yersel, Isa.

-Aye, come on.

Keys.

That's awful good of you, Jack, helping me out.

I don't know what's happened.

It come on that sudden.

I'll need to get down the optician's and get my prescription changed.

-You'll be fine. You just need some rest.

-Aye.

Now, look, if you're needing anything, anything at all,

just give me a shout. Anything at all, mind.

Aye, you wouldn't mind coming in for 15 minutes

and reading me a few pages in my Take A Break?

No.

-Eric.

-Who's that?

-What do you mean, who's that?

-It's Jack and Victor.

-Oh.

-Hello, boys.

-What are you doing?

What I always do on a Thursday. Going down to the bookies.

Aye, Boabby.

-Oh, Jack. Victor, didnae see you there.

-We're glad we caught you.

Can you not just get back behind the bar again?

Aye. Pull the old spurs back on, get rid of that big, hairy balloon.

I mean, The Clansman's a no-go zone.

It's like the end of an era, son.

No, it's the start of a new one.

The era of me suiting myself.

I sleep to when I like, go to the bookies,

couple of halves in the afternoon. Columbo. Magic.

If I'd have known being an old prick was this much fun,

I'd have chucked it years ago!

Ah, well, you're not an old prick.

-You're a young prick!

-We need you back.

Nah, I'm done.

Clansman's done. Who needs it?

Not when you've got this.

The wacky water.

Boabby.

Gamekeeper turned poacher, lads.

I know the path I'm on.

And for the first time in years...

..I'm enjoying the journey.

Sorry, missus.

-Tam?

-Oh, hello, lads.

-What are you up to?

-Well, I was just...

Sh. What are you up to?

I was just dropping off a bottle of the la-la lotion for Winston there.

-Where are you getting this stuff?

-Well, it's everywhere,

-everybody's got it.

-Aye, but where did YOU get it?

-Eric gave me it.

-Eric's making it?

-No, that's the thing.

Nobody knows. It just keeps turning up.

I don't touch it myself, obviously.

-You don't touch it?

-I'm a lager man.

Let's just see, shall we?

-Read that headline.

-"Booze tax still biting."

Not the big one, the wee one.

All right.

"Kerry Katona badly burned in midnight chip pan horror."

That's right.

That me? Got a busy anniversary night ahead, you know?

Knife, fork, hole.

-That's us.

-Goodnight, lads.

< It's open!

Lads, what can I get yous?

-How's your eyesight?

-Actually, not the greatest.

It started off with a crossword. I couldnae make it out.

I'm not on tablets or anything, you know?

I've no headaches, I'm sleeping great,

I'm just racking my brain, trying for the life of me

to work out what it could be.

Old age, I suppose.

-It's that stuff.

-Eh?

-That's Satan's Sauce you're drinking.

It's all over the estate. Nobody can see properly.

You're joking! That's unbelievable, that.

-Terrible.

-Whoa, whoa!

Give that to me.

Isa, Eric, Boabby, now you.

Everyone's affected.

-Well, not everybody.

-How?

Well, there's nothing the matter with Tam's eyesight, is there?

-BOTH:

-Bastard!

-He's making it.

He doesn't touch it, he said.

Never get high on your own supply, that's what they say, isn't it?

-What are we going to do?

-Smash up the operation.

Aye, brilliant.

-I'll get my jacket.

-No, you're not going anywhere.

-How no'?

-Because you're blind as a bat, that's how.

Me, blind as a bat?

That's ridiculous.

I've never heard anything so absurd.

I can see perfectly.

I can see that pin over there.

-Would that satisfy you?

-What pin? Where?

You see that sideboard over there, Winston?

Yes, of course.

Place the pin down there, would you?

Sit down.

I cannae see nothing. I went for a slash about an hour ago

and I opened my belt. I pointed the buckle at the pan

and pished all down the leg of my trousers.

TAM SINGS TO HIMSELF

Stick your head up again and get a right good look.

-How's it to be my head?

-My head's much bigger than your head.

-He'll see my head right away.

-No, no, no. My head's much bigger

than your head. I've got to hunt like Taggart just to buy a hat.

We're not talking girth, Jack. We're talking forehead height.

I've got a massive forehead. It's actually a sign of intelligence,

but that doesnae matter. Your forehead is smaller, it's like a...

like a...grapefruit.

Grapefruit? I'll segment your balls.

Get him spied on!

We've got him bang to rights. He's our man.

-He's making hooch.

-Are you sure?

He's distilling hooch in his own kitchen.

What are we going to do here?

People are losing their eyesight because of this muck.

We need to do what they done in the 1920s.

Prohibition, Eliot Ness.

The Untouchables. Put him out of business.

-Jack Travis, concerned Craiglang pensioner!

-Times two!

Was that your dinner?

What was it? Stew or something?

Beef bourguignon. It's Frances's favourite.

What the bloody hell do you think yous are doing?!

You were making hooch, so we smashed up your still.

It's a pressure cooker.

For cooking a meal.

It's our second anniversary.

-Happy anniversary.

-Happy anniversary.

Yous have went to a lot of bother, boys.

But a card would have covered it.

CROCKERY FALLS AND SMASHES

Right.

4-3, double two.

Very good.

-Blank and a four.

-Excellent.

I've not touched the gaga juice for four days.

Good. Keep it that way.

OK. As per Pete's request,

we're here at The Clansman at 9am on the 19th.

How did you get in here, Boabby?

-Oh, smashing. Can I get a set of them cut?

-Shut up.

"Hello. Thank you for coming.

"Please find enclosed something for each of you

"as a token of my respect.

"Boabby...

"Call this number.

"0141 336..."

A phone number. Thanks, Pete!

Well, phone it, Boabby.

Aye.

Winston, do the honours.

It just can't get any more exciting(!)

Right, who's first? Winston.

Me.

"I was walking past Clarks, I saw this and thought of you.

"Best foot forward."

One shoe!

Right, who's next? Navid.

19 quid. Wow, that's exactly what he owed me.

That was his tick. Classy.

Tam.

A teabag?

"Have a drink on me...

"you miserable bastard."

Isa.

One set of pink panties with a lion rampant on the front.

Scotland World Cup, '78.

Panties? That's a strange gift.

That's not a gift. That was some party, wasn't it, Isa?

Pete's returning them!

Thanks. Goodbye.

What is it, Boabby?

Pete put me forward for the Glasgow Good Citizens civic medal.

And they've given it to me.

How are you, nae offence, a whallopper

getting a thing like that?

Well, I used to open up early for him...

..and do a fry-up, make him a mug of tea.

It set him on an even keel.

-Every Friday?

-Every morning.

Right.

-What are yous having?

-Can I get Pete's fry-up?

Listen, what about that big, hairy Bluto bastard, Boabby?

Is this The Clansman?

-HIGH-PITCHED VOICE:

-No, The Clansman's next door.

-You're in Navid's.

-Am I?

-IMITATES NAVID:

-Meena, this floor needs mopped.

ISA SPEAKS URDU

I'm going to tell Boabby I'm having to hand my notice in.

I'm having trouble with my eyesight.

Anything in that bag for us, Winston?

Aye, it's a note to the pair of you.

"Dear Jack and Victor, or may I say the ambassadors of Craiglang.

"Two good friends who always looked after each other.

"Now from the pub that never closes in the sky, I'll look after you.

"I give to yous my most treasured possessions.

"Enjoy, the very best, and I'll see you on the other side."

See you on the other side?

Not with this shite, you won't, Pete!

NAVID: I don't get it. Why's naebody buying our hooch any more?