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Uitspraak van Kellogs op woensdag 1 juli 2009 om 01:16:
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blablablaBottom Series 1, Episode 3. Contest.
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by Adrian Edmondson and Rik Mayall.

Scene 1. The Flat.
-------------------

[It's raining. Richie is alone in the flat, looking out of the window. He turns on the gas oven and puts his head in - but takes it out seconds later,
grinning. He mumbles as he writes a note.]

Richie: Right! Eddie comes in, takes off his coat - body odour - takes
off his hat, sits down to eat his tea. Sees the note. Sees me.
Shock! Rescue, rescue, rescue, rescue. Remorse, remorse, guilt,
guilt, guilt, whirlwind of self-loathing... and Eddie buys me a
drink. Fiendish!

[He hears Eddie coming in, puts the note on the table, turns the gas on, takes a deep breath and puts his head in the oven again. Eddie comes in, takes off his coat, throws his hat to the floor and sits down, unfortunately putting his bag on top of Richie's note. He starts to read the paper. After a while Richie starts to choke and splutter. Eddie looks up, notices Richie, and goes back to his paper. Richie gets up and leans out of the window, gasping for air.]

Richie: Oh hello Eddie!
Eddie: Oh, bugger off!
Richie: Hard day at the office?
Eddie: Yes. I spent an hour with Mrs. Longbottom. I spent another hour
and a half with that bitch Mrs. Pugh. And then I spent six hours
looking for the supervisor's office, and when I got there he cut
off my dole.
Richie: What?
Eddie: He said I'd got too many savings.
Richie: Well how much have you got?
Eddie: Eleven pounds eighty. He said that ought to keep me going for at
least two months.
Richie: You really are pathetic, aren't you? I mean, you haven't held
down a steady job since 1978. You only held that down for ten
minutes. "Bunny Girl"! I told you to keep your trousers on.
God, it was like watching a bullfight! So, we've only got eleven
pounds eighty to last us for the next two months.
Eddie: No, we've got thirty pee and a second-hand copy of "Parade".
Richie: What?
Eddie: It's an investment. Look, I got it for one pound fifty and
originally it only cost a shilling. The value of these things is
just sky-rocketing!
Richie: That's pre-decimalization! They'll all have their pants on. All
right, I'd better look after this.
Eddie: Ah-ah, no you don't. This is my investment, I'm gonna show this
to my grandchildren.
Richie: I beg your pardon?
Eddie: Look, this is a genuine first edition of "Parade"! It's still in
it's sealed cellophane wrapper!
Richie: It doesn't matter how you art it up Eddie, it's still a jazz mag.
Eddie: That's what they said to Michaelangelo about the Sistine Chapel.
Richie: No it's not! The Sistine Chapel is art. If they said anything
they would have said "Blimey! Nice painting Mr Angelo. Now
that's what I call art, and it's not porny at all."
Eddie: It bloody well is dirty you know! There's those three birds on
the top of the third pillar from the left with the bit of blue
ribbon. Gaww! Some of the things they're doing would make your
nose bleed! There's a picture of it in the history of art book,
where is it?
Richie: Oh, well, let's not bother with all that now, Eddie, let's just
have dinner.
Eddie: Here it is, in your study area. That's odd - it's fallen open at
the exact page. How extraordinary, it's done it again!

[He holds the book in front of Richie and lets it open. It flops open at the same page. Eddie looks at Richie questioningly.]

Richie: Yes? Well? I-I've been studying that picture.
Eddie: Been, er, studying it quite a lot have you? While you're alone
in the house?
Richie: How dare you accuse me of masturbating!
Eddie: Who said anything about masturbating?
Richie: You did, just then!
Eddie: I did not, I just said it's odd how it always falls open at that
precise page!
Richie: Yes, you did, and the reason you said that is because you know
that's the picture I always look at when I'm having a w-

[Richie suddenly realizes what he is about to say. There is a long pause, during which he looks very uncomfortable.]

Eleven pounds eighty was all we had to survive on for the next
two months! What am I going to feed the children on now?
Eddie: We haven't got any children.
Richie: Yes, I know, I know, I was talking metaphorically.
Eddie: You're talking bollocks!
Richie: Don't you go using language like that in my house, my lad.
Eddie: What? English?
Richie: The language of the guttersnipe. The language of the, of the
toilet. The language of the, of the little green things you get
when you yank too.. and get a big yellow dangly thing..
Eddie: Oh, shut up. Every day, yakkety bloody yak, on and on and on!
Day in, day out - slime in this ear, slime in that ear. Just
stop talking!

[Eddie goes to the table where he is building a model aeroplane. He picks it up by the tail, accidentally breaking it with a crunch.]

Richie: You may hate me, Eddie..
Eddie: Yes, I do.
Richie: ..but you can't live without me, can you? I mean, off you go,
gallivanting around the countryside, squandering all our money on
rhythm magazines, and then you come swanning in here and expect
to have your dinner on the table. And I don't know why I do it,
but I've managed to throw together a slap-up dinner for two for
no money at all. All the ingredients in tonight's main meal have
either been grown, found or foraged.
Eddie: Oh dear.
Richie: So hey! Hey. Hey. Eddie... I forgive you. Come and have your
din-dins.

[Richie spits on one of the plates and attempts to guide Eddie to sit down in front of it. Eddie sits on the other chair.]

Eddie: What's wrong with these beans?
Richie: What d'you mean wrong? They're fresh. I grew those in the
window-box.
Eddie: They've got black bits all over them.
Richie: Well it's just a couple of greenfly, for heaven's sake! Well
they're dead now, they've been under the grill for ages. Really.
I watched them pop.
Eddie: What's this?
Richie: It's a turnip! What, are you missing the label?
Eddie: Well why is it black?
Richie: It's been grilled!

[Richie eats one of the grilled turnips, which crunches loudly between his teeth.]
Mmgh - hoh, mm mm mm, they have a real texture, don't they?
Fresh vegetables. Totally different experience.
Eddie: Grilled lettuce?
Richie: No, that's bacon.
Eddie: But it's green!
Richie: Yeah?
Eddie: I can't eat this, it's disgusting!
Richie: Well what are you going to do then, Egon Ronay? Blow your thirty
pence on a slap-up grill down the Savoy?
Eddie: Pass the tea.
Richie: Oh, h-hh-hhh-h-hah!

[Richie pours two cups of tea. Eddie looks at his suspiciously.]

Eddie: What's this?
Richie: Elm tea. The gypsies swear by it.
Eddie: I bet they do, I bet they say "What the bloody hell's this?"
Richie: God, it's like living with Lena Zavaroni!

[He takes a sip of tea, but has to spit it back out again.]

Ho, hoh hoh, you can taste the bark can't you? Perhaps a little
less wood next time.
Eddie: Is there any pudding?
Richie: Ooh yes, plenty of pud.
Eddie: Right, I'm off. At least there's something fantastic on telly
tonight. I've been looking forward to this for ages!

[Eddie turns the television on and settles down in front of it. Richie switches it off.]

Richie: You can't watch that, actually.
Eddie: And why not?
Richie: 'Cause there's something I want to watch on the other side. It's
my favourite programme.

[Richie switches the television back on.]

Eddie: This is your favourite programme?
Richie: Yeah.
Eddie: What is it?
Richie: A documentary. And there's a car. Great. Yeah look, it's a
documentary about fat old women.
Eddie: What, are you on it then?
Richie: Ho ho ha ha, oh yeah, hysterical Eddie, heartstoppingly funny.
You really should be on Channel Four.
Eddie: Nah, ITV, that's the channel for me. Nothing to worry about and
plenty of sauce.
Richie: Really. And what particularly edifying programme have the light
channel prepared for us this evening, that I not going to let us
watch?
Eddie: It's "Miss World", actually.
Richie: How disgusting. [Aside, mimed.] Shit! [Out loud.] Ah ha ha
ha, nice statistic.

[Eddie gets up, switches over to "Miss World", and sits back down again.]

Eddie: Gawwww! Hwor, hwoorrrgh..

[Richie gets up and switches back to the documentary. Eddie switches back. They keep changing the channel, faster and faster, until the television gets knocked over.]

Richie: Right, that's it, get out of my house.
Eddie: I beg your pardon?
Richie: You heard.
Eddie: No I didn't.
Richie: Well I'm not saying something like that twice, young man!
Eddie: Well I can't do anything about it then, can I?
Richie: Look, this is my house so get out!
Eddie: You can't throw me out just like that, I've got rights! I pay
rent!
Richie: Ah-h-h, you're supposed to pay rent, I've never actually seen any
money.
Eddie: Well I've been busy, haven't I? How much is it?
Richie: Eleven thousand, six hundred and forty-five pounds. And
sixty-six new pence.
Eddie: I've got thirty pee.
Richie: Better get out of my house then, hadn't you?
Eddie: Well it's not your house, it's your aunt's house.
Richie: For the purpose of this conversation, I am my aunt.
Eddie: Hello Mabel!
Richie: What, is she here? Shit, hide the fags! Hello Auntie- right,
that's it! Get out!
Eddie: Right, I shall go, Mabel, but I think I ought warn you that if
your nephew reads any more art magazines he very well may go
blind. Good day to you Madam!

[Eddie leaves. Richie slams the door behind him, then opens it again to shout after him.]

Richie: And good riddance! To bad rubbish! [To himself.] That was
clever.

[He puts "Miss World" on and stands watching it. His hands start to stray to his trousers. After an inner struggle he undoes his belt and slides down his trousers. Meanwhile Eddie is outside on the landing, practicing an apology.]

Eddie: "I'm sorry Richie, you're the tops, let's have another cup of
that delicious elm tea." Hmm. Oh well, it's either that or
Nasty Linda's. Hoohgh.

[Eddie walks into the flat behind Richie, who is sitting on the sofa with his trousers around his ankles. Unaware of Eddie watching, Richie performs some limbering-up exercises on his hands - rubbing them together, stretching out his fingers, blowing on them. Eddie coughs softly behind Richie.]

Richie: Shh!

[Richie goes back to his exercises but suddenly realises Eddie is there. He frantically pulls his trousers back up and switches the television back to the documentary.]

Eddie: Cor, dear, this isn't very sexy, is it? God, look at the
knockers on that one, they're minute!
Richie: That's because that's Michael Burke.
Eddie: Well, he's not very saucy is he? I mean, I'm all for educational
programmes, I just think they could, you know, sex them up a bit.
What do you think Richie?
Richie: Hahahahaha, this is all so silly! I mean, just because the
television set got jammed onto the light channel during the fall
and at precisely the same moment my trousers accidentally fell
down due to heavy housework..
Eddie: Richie.
Richie: ..there's no reason-
Eddie: Richie, don't even try it. Just put the TV back onto "Miss
World" and we'll say no more about it.
Richie: We'll say no more about it?
Eddie: No.

[Richie switches back to "Miss World".]

Richie: Thanks, Eddie.
Eddie: Now go away.
Richie: Right. I'll just go away. Over here. In my going-away place.
And here I am - in my going-away place. On my own. Well, it's a
bit of a loose end for me really... Hahha hh-hh-h. So I'll just
tidy away the dinner things. Yes, just tidy away the dinner.
That I cooked. And nobody ate. And I'll just throw away the
vegetables. Onto that man. All the vegetables I spent all day
grilling. Off they go. And I'm sure that God's looking down
thinking "What a good little b-"
Eddie: Richard, I'm warning you. If you don't shut up and let me watch
"Miss World" I'm going to stuff your head up your bum. And
you'll spend the rest of your life wandering around on all fours
looking for the light switch.
Richie: Okay.

[Richie picks up the two teacups and carries them across the kitchen, trembling and clattering. He sits down at the organ, accidentally setting off a rhythm. He plays it madly before managing to turn it off.]

Cor, they don't write tunes like that any more!

[He sits down next to Eddie.]

It's just- I'm just a very lonely person Eddie.
Eddie: I'm not bloody surprised!
Richie: Oh great - "Miss World". Cor, cracking birds aren't they? Do
you know how many birds there are in the world?
Eddie: Yeah, about three billion.
Richie: Do you know how many of these I've slept with?
Eddie: Yep.
Richie: None.
Eddie: Yeah, I know.
Richie: I mean, statistically that's really quite phenomenal, isn't it?
Eddie: Not for an ugly fat bastard like you.
Richie: I wonder what sort of great bird'd suit me?
Eddie: Blind one. Well, blind deaf masochist really.
Richie: Yeah, I suppose you're right. I mean, me, you know, I was born
at the wrong time, you see. I'm more, sort of, Elizabethan. You
know, thirteenth century, Shakespeare, the French Revolution, and
all that. Ha-hooohaoo, I'm just too intelligent, that's my
problem. Ooh, shit! I didn't expect the kettle to be hot! Aw,
God, life's horrible! Why haven't I got a girlfriend? I'd look
great with a girlfriend.

[He mimes putting his arm around someone.]

Never had a girlfriend. Perhaps I'm the new Messiah. Yeah!
Maybe that's it. "Get up and walk." Fifty quid. "Throw away
your sticks." Bonk! April Fool! Ha ha, hahahahaha! Oh God I'm
bored... There's the phone. We haven't had a phone conversation
all night Eddie. I'm great on the phone. "Hello." Great.
"Hi!" Greater. "Lieutenant Sex Machine, Homicide! Yeah, what
time? Damn! I'm gonna nail this sick mother even if the D.A.
takes my badge! Chief, just give me twenty-four hours!" Oh God,
I wish I knew what all that meant! Dring! "Hhhahh.." Dring
dring! "H-hh-hhhhh.." Dring! "Hhh-hh-h hello? Look, who is
this? Just don't hurt the kid, okay?"

[He turns to Eddie.]

"Eddie, Eddie, it's him again, he's got Jamie! Switch on the
tape recorder!"

[Eddie looks back, bewildered.]

"How much do you want? Forty million billion squillion zillion
dollars? What, are you crazy? Oh, you are, sorry, excuse me.
Well where am I going to get forty million billion squillion
zillion dollars? We've only got thirty pence, Eddie blew the
rest on a second-hand copy of 'Parade'!"

[Richie slams the phone down and suddenly realizes something.]

Hang on!

[He gets up, striking a chord on the organ as he does so.]

You had eleven pounds eighty. Right? You spent one pound fifty
on the porn mag.
Eddie: Art pamphlet!
Richie: That is beside the point. One pound fifty from eleven pounds
eighty leaves ten pounds thirty. And you've only got thirty.
Pee. Where's the other tenner, you grasping little Fagin?
Eddie: Oh, sod off you stupid fat git!
Richie: Don't try to wriggle out of it by being all grown up! What did
you squander it on?
Eddie: I put a bet on "Miss World".
Richie: You put a bet on "Miss Worl-d"? You put a bet on "Miss World"!
Great! Hah, haw, hwoor, hwooorrgh.
Eddie: Richie, Richie, this is "Panorama".
Richie: Oh. Gawww-ooh! Great! Which one's ours, old chum?
Eddie: Miss China.
Richie: Miss China! All right, where are you, me lovely?
Eddie: Whop, there she is, there she is!
Richie: Eddie, you haven't put our money on that old boiler have you?
Eddie: Come on me beauty! Mind the steps! Blimey, that's a bit of a
nasty tumble.
Richie: Eddie, she can't even walk!
Eddie: Hang on, hang on, she's lost a couple of teeth. Spit 'em out
dear, they'll never notice!
Richie: Well stop smiling you stupid cow! God, look at her mouth, there
should be a lollipop man standing on it stopping the traffic!
Eddie, what on earth possessed you to put our money on the Thing
from the Swamp?
Eddie: I got odds of a thousand to one! If she comes in ahead of the
pack we stand to make ten thousand quid! Ah, imagine it... lying
on the sun-drenched shore as the Caribbean laps at your feet...
A scantily-clad maiden brings you your seventeenth large Tequila
Sunrise and a slap-up grill for two... Gaww!
Richie: Yeah... Well the way Quasimodo's going we'll be lucky to get a
wet weekend in Reigate. She's got a tattoo on her face!
Eddie: No, that's just a bit of blood.
Richie: Oh Eddie. Why couldn't you put our money on something decent
like, like Miss America?
Eddie: Oh, pointless Richie. The odds were five to one on. We'd have
only made two quid.
Richie: Yeah, but two quid in the hand's better than a tenner down the
lav!

[The picture and sound on the television start to break up.]

What's wrong with the reception?

Eddie: It's your fault for knocking the telly over. Hang on, I'll give
it a bang.

[Eddie gets up, circles his open hand over the top of the television, chooses a spot and slaps his hand down.]

Announcer: "..I hope there's not too much damage. I'm sure the judges will
take that into account. Now tell me, from what part of lovely
China do you come from?"
Miss China: "My family are living-"
Richie: I can't understand a word of this!
Eddie: Well that's because she's talking in Chinese.
Richie: Hang on, I'll give it a bang.

[Richie tries to copy what Eddie did, but the television goes completely silent.]

Eddie: You stupid git, there's ten grand riding on this!
Richie: Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry.

[Eddie hits the television again. It immediately starts working.]

Ha ha ha- how do you do that?

[Richie tries it again. He hits the top of the television, there is a loud explosion, all the lights go out, smoke pours out of the television.]

Eddie: Richie! Are you all right? Where are you?
Richie: I'm over the other side of the room.
Eddie: Over here?
Richie: No, I'm over here!
Eddie: What, over, over here?
Richie: Yeah, this is me here.
Eddie: Right.

[Eddie punches him hard. Richie flies across the room.]

Have we got any more fuse wire?
Richie: It's in the kitchen drawer.

[Eddie opens the fridge and peers in, silhouetted by the light.]

Eddie: There's nothing in here.
Richie: That's 'cause that's the fridge. Ooh, shit! Mind, the kettle's
still hot!
Eddie: Where is it?
Richie: It's down- here! Shit! I've done it again! That's three times
now!
Eddie: Oh God, there's no fuse wire in here. Richie!
Richie: What?
Eddie: Hold this.
Richie: What?

[The lights come back on. Richie is standing on a chair holding a screwdriver to bridge the fuses. He can't hold it and the lights go out again]

Eddie: Stick it back in, stick it back in!
Richie: No, Eddie, please!
Announcer: "In second place, number twelve, Miss America."
Eddie: Hey! Richie! That was Miss America, the favourite! We're in
with a chance!
Richie: I think I'm going to faint.
Eddie: Yeah, it's pretty exiting, isn't it!
Richie: Eddie, I can't hold it much longer!
Eddie: Just another ten seconds!
Richie: Please, it's your turn, surely it's your turn!
Eddie: Oh, shut your cakehole!
Announcer: "And this year's Miss World is.."
Richie: Go on, have a go Eddie, it's fun!
Eddie: Here it comes!
Announcer: "..Number thirty-seven, Miss France."
Eddie: I don't believe it, it's a fix!

[Eddie puts his foot through the television, which explodes.]

Richie: Did we win?
Eddie: No, we lost.
Richie: Hh. Knackers!

[Richie lets go of the screwdriver and is thrown off the chair.]

Eddie: Richie, are you okay?
Richie: Am I... okay? No I'm not bloody okay! Wait 'til I get my hands
on you, you little bast- Shit, that bloody kettle's still hot!
Oh God life's horrible! Ten grand down the toilet and a scalded
hand! Why does fate treat me like this? Oh, well at least
things can't get any worse. Hwoo wooo waaargh...

[He falls out of the kitchen window with a fading cry and a crash from below. A dog barks. A while later... The lights come back on.]

Eddie: There we go - dab hand Eddie! That'll be eleven thousand, six
hundred and forty-five pounds and sixty-six new pence. Or we
could just call it quits on the rent Richie. Richie? Richie?
I'll take that as a yes then, shall I?

[He picks up Richie's note from by the window.]

"Dear Eddie, by the time you read this I will be dead. I know
you'll be feeling terribly guilty but don't blame yourself,
although it really is your fault. If I was alive I would forgive
you, but I'm not, so I can't, so you'll just have to live with
it. Richard." Hahh-ugh.. Poor blighter. All he needed was the
love of a good woman. Well, not even a good one, any old one
would have done. Slap a wig on a speak-your-weight machine and
he'd have been happy. And now he's gone and done himself in.

[He sits at the organ and strikes a sorrowful chord.]

Well this ought to fetch a few quid.

[Richie staggers in, covered in muck.]

Richie: Who left the kitchen window open?
Eddie: Richard, you're alive!
Richie: Yes, the amount of pain I'm in would suggest so.

[Richie punches out a number on the phone.]

Hello, BBC! Yes, put me through to the "Miss World" programme -
I wish to complain in the strongest possible terms! Yeah, well
put me through to ITV then! Hello? Hello!

Would you believe it? Oohh!

[He sits down gingerly.]

It's just typical, isn't it. We're on the brink of winning ten
thousand pounds and some ugly Frog bint scoops up all our hopes
in her garlic-stained claw and discards them like some used
tissue.
Eddie: That's very poetic Richie.
Richie: Oh sod off! Go on, sod off! Get to soddery! It's all your
fault.
Eddie: Sod off yourself, you great fat git! It's me that just lost ten
thousand quid!
Richie: Well half of it was mine.
Eddie: It bloody well was not! D'you think I'm going to lie around the
sun-drenched Caribbean with busfulls of dusky maidens fulfilling
my every sordid whim and have a great fat blotchy white walrus
lying next to me, blathering on and on about himself and spoiling
the atmos.? No, I'm bloody not!
Richie: Well thank you very much Edward. You learn something every day,
don't you? And today I learnt that you're a complete bastard.
Well, I think I might turn in now, I feel so enriched.
Nighty-night, Eddie!
blablabla

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