Grim Up North Still Game

This programme contains some strong language

PHONE RINGS

Iain Duncan Sheathing.

Really?

Thank you.

Craiglang.

CLOCK CHIMES

Finally.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.

Pickled onion - here we go.

Oh...

what's that wee noise you're making?

"Pick me, Boabby! I'm Smoky Bacon!"

Here.

That's auld McCleary the undertaker planted the day, eh?

-ALL:

-Oh, aye.

JACK EXHALES

-He buried a few.

-Aye, aye.

Mind he buried Capper Flynn?

Aye, the Scotland player.

There was hundreds of people at that funeral.

He made a wreath into the shape of a football.

It was lovely, aye.

-That's right.

-VICTOR LAUGHS

That wee boy blootered it against the graveyard wall.

That's right! Cos when it burst,

it was like a spring day.

Right, finish up, guys.

-Aw, come on, Boabby. One mair round.

-Naw.

You've had your time. Do your talkin' while you're walkin'.

Or, in your case,

do your mumbling while you're stumbling.

Boabby, when was the last time we had a lock-in, eh?

About eight months ago.

Winston was full o' it and demanded a shot of tequila,

then started doing the Macaroni.

It's the Macarena.

You spewed everywhere.

It was definitely macaroni.

Hadn't even chewed it all up, you greedy, fat bastard.

Come on, Boabby. Shut the door and set us up another one, eh?

A man's passed.

Right.

One, then oot.

THEY CHEER

TRANSLATION:

I'm with a customer!

And what can I do for you?

SHOP BUZZER

That's a shame about auld Mr McCleary buried.

It's a queer thing when an undertaker passes.

To think he's buried thousands of people in his life

and then dies alone, in a simple grave

wi' nae fanfare.

TRANSLATION:

What's she saying?

She's saying it's a terrible business.

Naw, she said something about Idi Amin.

Naw, she said...the place is needing a clean.

Right.

Ach, well. He'll be missed.

Who misses an undertaker?

I'll miss him! He did a terrific service.

I fully expected him to live long enough to plant me.

And noo he's away,

who's gonnae deal with Craiglang's dead?

Who indeed, Isa?

No-one will be able to die.

Craiglang will become a village of the walking dead.

Ancient zombies creepin' aboot shouting,

"Please bury me!"

No change there, then.

-Ach, Navid.

-Oh, listen to yourself, Isa.

You think when the baker dies, there's no bread?

Or when the butcher dies, there's no chops?

Or when...

Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen dies, there's no decorating?

The world keeps turning.

TRANSLATION:

Nearly got it. Give me a second.

Harry Belafonte!

BASTARD!

Heid count.

Where's Winston?

He's in the toilet having a Donald...

-Duck?

-..Trump.

-Oh.

Right. Oot.

-That's it.

-Boabby, gies a minute.

Harry Belafonte?

I mean, I am the Word Wheel king, here.

-You are the Wagon Wheel king, my friend.

-Shut up!

Right. Here's a good game.

Who is the most famous person you've ever met?

-And they can be dead or alive.

-Nice.

OK, here's your wee starter.

Myself and this good man here met Charlton Heston

in this very city. How about that?

What was Charlton Heston doing in Glesga?

He was doing a cookery demonstration.

In John Lewis's.

Do yous no mean the baldy bastard chef Heston Blumenthal?

THEY MUTTER

That's who it was, aye.

You couple of hauf-wits.

THEY LAUGH

Well, he is still famous, eh?

Mary Berry?

Whit? Where was this?

BP garage.

She was rattlin' intae a cauld Ginsters sausage roll.

HE CHOMPS

Peter Powers.

-Who's Peter Powers?

-Hypnotist. Pavilion.

Oh, right.

So he's hypnotised you, told you you were a prick,

and you've no' been able to snap oot it?

THEY LAUGH

Here, the game's a bogey.

Here comes the ace card.

I was in Henderson's a couple of years back, right?

Good 20 minutes I'd been in the queue,

and who comes through the door?

Wan Direction.

-THEY SCOFF

-I'm telling yous!

All five of them jumped the queue.

"We want beefy bakes

"and bottles of Irn-Bru cos we're in Glasgow." I was like that,

I telt them, "Listen, you, you talentless wee fannies!

"If you get served before me,

there's only wan direction you're going,

"and it's oot that bastard windae!"

Right. That's enough.

The polis are gonnae be batterin' that door shortly.

Oh, haud on, Boabby. Eric, how are you no pipin' up?

-Och, I'm just enjoying listening.

-You're the oldest wan

amongst us. You must have bumped into a few, eh?

Gina Lollobrigida.

You bumped into Gina Lollobrigida?

Naw! I pumped intae Gina Lollobrigida.

Oh! Eric wins.

Met her, charmed her, pumped her.

Away and don't talk a lot of shite, Eric.

Eric, you bedded a movie star?

Aye.

Right.

What's everybody wantin'?

-Tequila!

-ALL:

-No.

Right.

Get it telt.

Rome, summer.

The year 1958.

OWL HOOTS

Well, aul' Eric, eh?

Cuttin' aboot Rome, 1958,

and there she is - Gina Lollobrigida.

And he says, "Hello, I'm Eric. I'm a randy sailor.

"Would you care for your hole, hen?"

-"Hen"!

-THEY CHUCKLE

Come on!

"Would you care for your hole, Signorina, hen?"

Oh, aye, aye. And she's like that...

COD ITALIAN ACCENT: "Och, it's nae danger!

"Just pull-a my scanties doon and fire right into me."

-Pish.

-Aye.

He's definitely losing the place. It's been going on for a while.

Aye. He's always had that patter, though, in't he?

He telt me he ran into Frank Sinatra in the Phoenix Bar in Dundee.

That's right. And I met Sammy Davis Jr doon the Barras

buying a Calor gas fire.

Aye. He's a liar.

He's cracking up at the rate of knots.

This cold'll be the death...of...us.

OWL HOOTS

What's the matter with you?

VICTOR MUTTERS

JACK: Oh!

Come on. Let's get away fae this Lee Van Cleef bastard.

Aye.

DID you see Sammy Davis buying a gas fire doon the Barras?

Naw.

WIND WHOOSHES

SHOP BUZZER

SHE PANTS Oh, my.

-Oh, my!

-Oh, Jesus, Isa.

What's the matter with you? You look like you've seen a ghost.

Worse than that!

-A junkie?

-Naw.

Have you seen Winston wi' no clothes on?

No!

Sheathing, the undertaker.

-Fae Park Mill?

-Aye.

So what?

He's taking over auld man McCleary's business.

He's the new undertaker!

Good.

It's no' good, Navid!

It's no' good at all!

You've no' heard the stories.

Right. Off you go.

They say whoever he touches

dies within seven days.

-Hopefully, he'll come in here and touch Meena.

-HE LAUGHS

TRANSLATION:

You think I'm being stupid, don't you?

No, Isa.

See the village where I lived?

There was great poverty and battles

and sickness.

No, this was before Govan,

you halfwit! I'm talking about India. See, the problem was,

the village couldn't prosper.

People were too busy looking after the sick.

So, as cruel as it seemed,

they called for Cretanta.

Cretanta?

He was a doctor...of sorts.

He would come on request,

perform a chant,

pass his hands over the stricken,

and moments later...they were gone.

Like a witch doctor?

No, like a criminal.

They found out later he was injecting the poor bastards

with window cleaner.

He was basically an Indian Dr Crippen.

So what's your point, Navid?

My point is, Isa,

I just think that your story is a pile of fu...

..kin' bollocks.

Made-up pish.

I'm telling ye! Last year, wee Connie Galbraith dies.

She got into bother at the swimming

and the nae-user lifeguard was oot havin' a smoke.

By the time he got back, poor Connie

had mair water in her than Loch Lomond.

Droont! There was a huge enquiry.

The boy's still working there,

but he's promised to stick to the vaping noo.

Anyroad, I was at the funeral.

What an affair that was.

Oh! A right old-fashioned do, you know,

and a huge amount of people.

Anyway, there she was -

top hat, cane, the lot.

She even...

What you doing, Winston?

-I'm looking for your point.

-THEY LAUGH

That's what I'm telling ye!

He reaches oot his haun'...

..and touches Raymond McCall on the shoulder,

to gie him comfort, like.

Well, Raymond was a fit man.

He never smoked, he never drank.

-He used to run the half-marathon, mind?

-And?

Stone deid on the Wednesday.

Death has come to Craiglang.

-Wait a minute. How old was Raymond?

-Eh...

he'd a been about 56.

Well, the life expectancy in Park Mill's about 29.

That's a good innings for that shit-hole!

THEY LAUGH

Well, all I'm saying is,

you don't want Sheathing fingering ye.

No' even after a few sherries?

Oh!

DOOR CREAKS

WIND WHOOSHES

-BOABBY:

-Hello.

What can I get you?

Rum.

Dark Heart.

-Ice.

-Right.

I'm the new funeral director here in Craiglang.

Well...

..if you've come in here to tout your trade,

you've just hit the mother lode.

You wheesh!

Anyway, just thought I'd pop in to introduce myself.

Just, er, leave my card.

If ever, well...

..you know.

ICE CUBES CLINK

COINS CLUNK

FRUIT MACHINE BEEPS

Any luck?

Aye! It's just aboot tae pay oot.

-I hope so.

-Oh, cheers.

Well...we'll be seeing you, then.

Oh, that's for certain.

-See you now.

-DOOR CREAKS

Creepy, lanky Addams Family bastard.

That's funny.

It was cold when he came in!

-Noo, it's all warm.

-Well...

..least he never touched any of us.

That's all I'm saying.

Right, wrap it, Isa.

Let's talk about something else, eh?

Aye.

Here, you'll love this, hen.

Eric, tell Isa your story about Gina Lollobrigida.

Eric.

Eric!

COINS CLATTER

Poor old Eric, eh?

He'll be sadly missed.

Aye. He will indeed.

-Tae Eric.

-Aye.

Dear auld friend.

Isa's at it full-tilt.

-At what?

-Och.

She's going roon' the whole of Craiglang

telling everyone that Sheathing undertaker fella's the Reaper.

She's got everybody shiting themselves.

It's a load of garbage.

Here, tell me this.

In a lifetime, on average - average, mind -

how many times do you think the heart beats?

Oof, I don't know. Must be up in the thousands.

JACK SNORTS

Thousands. Away you go, you hauf-wit.

No, it's 100,000 times a day.

Thousands?! That widnae gie you enough time to boil an egg.

You'd be dipping your wee soldier in there,

heart attack, that'd be you finished. Game over.

Goodnight, Vienna.

Naw, over the course of a lifetime, the heart will beat

two-and-a-half billion times.

Aye, well, I've rattled a few thousand

listening to this story, Jack. What's your point?

My point is, once you've had all your heartbeats, that's it.

Your time's up. And that is what happened to Eric.

Eric didnae die because he was touched by the hand of Death.

Aye. Reaper nonsense.

You cannae be walkin' aboot

waiting on somebody putting a bony finger on your shoulder

marking you oot for death. Eat what you want.

-Smoke all you like.

-Booze it up like an alkie.

It disnae matter. When your time's up, your time's up.

Aye, well said.

-Spot of lunch?

-Aye.

WHIRRING

What are you doing?

-I said, what are you doing?

-Two smoothies.

Kale, spinach, cucumber, and a raw egg.

-R-Raw?

-Just like Rocky.

To be safe.

T-To be safe, aye.

HE CLEARS HIS THROAT What is it you're calling it?

The Insurance.

The Insurance.

-That's...

-Yep.

Right.

Sheathing the Grim Reaper?

A load of pish.

Aye, Eric was due to go, eh?

The mind was...drifting.

85.

Aye. And then there was all the lies. Eh?

-HE SCOFFS

-Gina Lollobrigida.

-Be great if it was true, eh?

-Oh, aye.

Widnae be all that difficult to find oot. I mean,

what year did he say it happened?

Eh, summer...1958.

And what was the name of his ship?

That's easy - HMS Corunna.

Well, I'm gonnae get to the bottom of this. Let me make a few calls.

You make a few calls once we get to the bottom of these cans.

-To Eric.

-To Eric.

Do you no'...fancy a wee go on the fruit machine? Hm?

No.

I've not got any change.

Tam!

Hi, Boabby.

You love the puggie.

-WHISPERS:

-Play the puggie.

Nah.

Just got a fresh pint there.

Does naebody in here want to play that puggie?

-No, I'm OK.

-THEY MURMUR

Look, I'm as sorry about Eric as you lot.

But I am trying to run a business here,

and what the shit's this?!

THEY MUTTER IN PROTEST

It's a pub! It's no' Lady Diana's bastarding grave!

Boabby's no' to blame here, everybody.

It's that undertaker, Sheathing.

-Oh, Isa, gie it a rest.

-Don't start all that pish again, Isa. It's nae use.

BELL RINGS

I know you're all upset about your good friend Eric passing...

..but Isa's fear might not be unwarranted.

I have mates in Park Mill that used to hurry by his funeral shop.

But hear this -

there have been loads of depictions of Death -

the Norse Valkyries, Thanatos - that's Greek.

But one of the biggest icons is the Grim Reaper.

The Black Death pandemic, right?

14th century, 20 million deid.

A fear of death spread throughout society.

Is it any wonder that a town full of pensioners

in the twilight of their years should fear such a figure?

How we are gonnae get rid of him?

You don't need to get rid of him.

He disnae exist.

Sheathing's just flesh and blood -

like you and me.

DOOR CREAKS

WIND WHOOSHES

Mr Sheathing.

Rum.

Dark Heart.

MACHINE BEEPS ERRATICALLY

Looks like your fruit machine's deid.

Anyway, the reason I came in is...

One touch on the shoulder.

Seconds later, Eric was away.

Taken!

-A lot of Bram Stoker pish.

-I'm telling ye!

If he tried to touch me,

I'd take one of these size 10s, I'd part his Reaper baws

and I'd say tae him, "You feeling grim noo?"

SHE SCOFFS

-Mrs Drennan!

-SWING CREAKS

Can I have a word?

Don't let him touch me! It's no' my time!

Take her! She's got high blood pressure!

HE MUTTERS

SHE PANTS

Oh! Oh...

-Oh, Boabby! Boabby, help me!

-Whit?

Oh, Boabby! Oh, Boabby, for God's sake, help me!

Boabby, he's coming for me!

-The Reaper's coming!

-Mrs Drennan.

Oh, Boabby, don't let him touch me, son!

Right, that's enough, ye daft old bun.

You know what this is aboot, don't you?

People roon' here have got a mad notion

that you're the Grim Reaper.

-Wan touch and you're deid.

-No, no, no.

All I'm after is...

Isa, look at this.

HE IMITATES EERIE MOANING

That's me deid noo.

-Oh...

-HE HITS THE GROUND

SHE WHIMPERS

Oh, my!

Open, ya bas.

Jack!

Oh, Victor!

Victor! Something terrible's happened!

Open your door!

Isa, for God's sake. Look at the state of you, woman.

What's the matter?

-Death is nigh.

-What's the matter? Boabby's deid!

-Whit?!

-Aye!

Sheathing touched him.

-Death is nigh.

-What do you mean, he touched him?

Boabby got the undertaker to rub him,

and doon he went!

He rubbed him and went doon on him?

Naw, ya hauf-wit!

Boabby collapsed! He's deid!

-Death is nigh!

-What the hell is it

you're babbling aboot?

It's an anagram of Sheathing's name!

Look - "Death is nigh."

-Oh, for f...

-LIFT BELL DINGS

DOORS SLAM

PHONE RINGS

-Hello?

-He's at your door.

SLOW KNOCKING AT DOOR

SLOW KNOCKING

Eh...

Sorry! I can't come to the door at the moment!

I'm tending to my...cat.

It's got a sore paw.

Jack's in, but...

..and he's not got any animals to attend tae!

Bastard!

What have you done that for,

you back-stabbing, throw-me-under-the-bus, big, lanky bastard, ye?!

I'm sorry, Jack. I panicked and I shat it.

That's him come for you noo.

Open it and see what he wants.

SLOW KNOCKING

Aye, watch me.

PHONE RINGS

Mr Jarvis, can I have a word?

You can have two! Piss off.

Will you open the door, please?

So you can touch me up and kill me? Naw!

Mr Sheathing, come away in.

Isa, darlin'! No! You've still got a couple of good years left in you!

DOOR BANGS SHUT

Right.

Time to staun' up and be counted.

All right. Chap the door.

How have I to chap the door? That would mean I've summoned him.

Hm. Right, we'll chap at the same time, right?

One, two, three.

-You bastard!

-JACK LAUGHS

Noo you know what it feels like to be underneath the bus.

What is that?

Garlic paste.

Didn't have any bulbs.

What is it you're gonnae dae, baste him?

LOCK CLICKS

Relax, boys. It's fine.

-Come in.

-SHE LAUGHS

Say hello.

Say hello.

-BOTH:

-Hello.

-Hello.

-Boabby phoned.

He fainted and bumped his heid. He's all right.

Well, we're glad to hear that.

But what's big Lurch doing going round all the doors?

Well, I apologise for the lateness of the hour,

but I was getting desperate.

I was trying to get hold of all yous so you could tell me about Eric.

The man had no family - I was going to do his eulogy,

but every time I approached you, you scarpered.

Aye, well, maybe you could talk in your eulogy about

how you killed him!

He was 85.

-The man had a bad heart.

-He's no' the Reaper.

He's a bit creepy, but he's no' Death.

Thanks, Isa.

Er, eulogy?

Well, he was a good footballer.

He was in the Navy. And the Fire Service.

He was a brave man, Eric, you know.

There was a big fire in a department store in Glasgow, this is going way back...

It is in death that we know life.

It is in the weaving that we know love.

It is in the evening of our days that we truly see the gentle...

Bit of bad news.

Aye! Eric's deid!

Of course it's bad news!

It would be worse if the lid opened and he walked oot.

No, listen, it's about that Gina Lollobrigida thing.

Aye? What about it?

Well, I'm sad to announce it was bollocks.

The auld bugger made it all up.

She was in Rome in 1958, and so was he,

but they missed each other by about three weeks.

The HMS Corunna was docked in Rosyth.

Game's a bogey.

Aw, shit.

..and was blessed indeed with many friends

and a great and solid community round about him.

And although he was a single man,

he knew the love of a woman.

I wasn't sure whether to mention this,

but in my capacity as the undertaker here in Craiglang,

it is my duty to prepare the deceased for the afterlife.

And it was then that we discovered

a letter in Eric's breast pocket

which I think you might find interesting.

"My darling Eric.

"It was wonderful for us to meet and have those few nights together.

"You are my sweetheart - a true stallion.

THEY CHUCKLE AND MURMUR

"I shall never forget us sitting on the beach

"with our toes in the water,

"your ship waiting to take you away in the distance."

SHE SNIFFS

"Oh, how I wish our lives could be different

"and for us to be together.

"I will always love you.

"Gina."

-ALL:

-Gina?

HE CLEARS HIS THROAT

-Hello?

-Hello!

-Lovely service.

-Aye, it was indeed.

Very moving.

Did you know Eric?

I knew Eric, all right.

That was my letter.

Gina.

I had an ice cream cafe in North Queensferry

and Eric's boat docked there one summer.

-In Rosyth.

-Yes.

We'd a bit of a fling, you might call it.

Your cafe...it was underneath the Forth Road Bridge?

That's right. They built it that summer. 1958.

-Eric made up a name for me.

-Which was?

-Gina's Lollies Forth Road...

-BOTH:

-..Bridgida.

Christ.

JACK: What a boy, eh?

-VICTOR LAUGHS

-A stallion, she called him.

What a hero.

-Oh, Winston.

-Jack, Victor.

And, eh...this is?

This is Agnes.

-Oh! BOTH:

-Hello, Agnes.

Ooh...

What a week.