Boat That Rocked, The Page #7

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Bless you, rabbits are Easter, not Christmas.

That's why they call it the Easter Bunny.

Right.

- I am seriously thick, aren't I?

You are.

- Thick Kevin!

To Thick Kevin!

You're the thickest!

All right, jokes.

- Jokes, jokes, jokes!

What is the largest living mammal on Earth?

- I don't know.

- What is the largest living mammal on Earth?

The blue whale! Weighing over 150 tons.

These are facts. These are the fact ones.

They're not jokes.

Darling,

I think you might have a joke.

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

Yes, it's funny.

Would you like a mince pie?

Yes, I would. Thank you.

Shall we have another go at the thing?

- Cracker, sir?

- Yes, the cracker thing.

Right.

Well, that's quite enough excitement

for one day.

Well, goodbye, Mum.

By the way, our late-night DJ Bob

sent you a message, which is

"Muddy Waters rocks. "

- Oh, my God. He didn't tell you, did he?

- What?

- What?

- What do you mean, "What"?

What do you mean,

"Oh, my God, he didn't tell you. "

- Nothing, darling.

- No, Mum, it's not nothing.

Mum.

- Really?

- What?

- Please tell me you didn't sleep with him?

- Of course I slept with him.

Everybody slept with him.

He was absolutely gorgeous in those days.

Hold on a second.

Are we talking about the same Bob?

This is the late-night DJ here?

The beast with the beard?

Well, he was indeed a beast.

But at that time,

- as far as I can recall, he was clean-shaven.

- When?

- When did you sleep with Bob?

- For heaven's sake,

will you stop badgering me?

I don't know when.

How old are you?

Eighteen-and-a-half.

Well, then it must have been

Give or take.

Anyway, I better go.

That poor man's been waiting forever.

I'm so glad we got that off our chest

and out of the way, aren't you?

Bye-bye, darling.

And tell Mark, you know,

that it was a lovely, lovely night.

No!

No!

Bob.

- Dude?

- Great show.

I think I've got some pretty big news for you.

Cool.

I'm in a pretty loose mood,

think I can handle it.

I think... I think...

I'm pretty sure that you are, as it were,

technically speaking,

my dad.

You're the man I've been missing

and waiting for and...

Searching for all my life.

Cool.

That's it? That's your reaction?

Just give me a minute.

Dusty Springfield there on the Dawn Treader,

with quite possibly

the finest white soul voice in the world.

And this is a young man who's really

quite good at playing the guitar.

Jimi.

So...

Morning, hepcats.

Hey.

Hi.

What's new?

Nothing.

Nothing.

Yes.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

And yes.

- Good evening, sir.

- Hello.

Just sign it, sir.

And in three days, our heroic disc jockeys

become dangerous criminals.

Well done, Twatt.

That is my kind of Christmas present.

Thank you, sir.

Right. Pirate radio abolished.

A show of hands.

Good, moving on.

Now, we have to make up our minds on...

In the House of Commons today,

the new Marine Offences Act

was passed unanimously.

From midnight on New Year's Eve,

all pirate radio stations,

including, of course, Radio Rock,

will be breaking the law.

Everyone who works on them,

and indeed everyone who listens to them,

will be in contravention of the new law

and risk prison sentences,

both short and long.

Carl.

You okay?

Yeah, just...

You know, a few months ago,

I made a terrible mistake.

- Really?

- Yeah.

But I realised something.

And instead of crushing the thought

the moment it came I...

I let it hang on and...

Now I know it to be true.

And I'm afraid it's stuck in my head forever.

What was the thought?

That these are the best days of our lives.

It's a terrible thing to know, but I know it.

I don't know about that.

Well, yeah. Yeah.

Maybe you'll be lucky.

Maybe you'll have better days, but I doubt it.

We stood on top of the mountain, compadre.

It's a long way do-be-do-be down.

The day has come.

Tonight,

pirate radio dies.

From midnight, we are a ghost ship

floating without hope

on cold and dark waters.

You have done almighty work here.

Thank you.

But your work

is done.

Not mine, sir.

I'm an American citizen,

and I don't give a hootenanny God damn

about your nitpicking limey laws.

I intend to broadcast from this ship

And then for a couple days after that.

Not wanting to sound rude or anything,

but don't you think that might be

an ever so slightly monotonous experience

for the listener?

What do you say to 12 hours each,

noble sir?

The way I look at it,

the world couldn't survive

without my comedy,

and who's going to have the moral backbone

to play the Seekers when the mood is right?

They've split up.

I intend to celebrate the back catalogue.

I intend to stop you doing so.

As some of you know,

my wife left me after 17 hours of marriage,

but I survived that because I live for music.

And now, with nothing else to live for,

I'm willing to die for it as well.

I've always lived for news and weather.

Happy to die for them, too.

Especially the weather.

I've got nowhere else to go.

I have somewhere else to go,

but it's Peckham.

So I think I'll stick around.

Can't let everyone starve.

And I'm slightly worried where my

increasingly powerful sexuality will take me

when I return to normal life.

I've got a very strong suspicion

that Felicity fancies me.

Not about to go anywhere,

just when I'm in with a chance.

Obviously, I'm in.

You're the only people in the world

who like me.

Thank you, gentlemen, lady.

Strange bearded thing.

But make no mistake,

they will come after us.

Let them try.

So, faithful followers,

the end is nigh.

We bid you farewell with dignity and pride.

We thought we'd never die.

But, well, we can't fight city hall.

And so, take care, be good.

Listen to the music. It's a good thing to do.

It's the Count,

counting down and out for the count at last.

Three, two, one...

And the rest is silence.

- Thank you, darling. Thank you, darling.

- Sure.

- Well done, Twatt.

- Thank you, sir.

- The Queen.

- Her Majesty's government.

The Queen.

Only kidding, dudes. Let's rock!

Arse! Arse! What arse! Give me that.

- It's a boat.

- What the f*** are you doing here?

She asked to see

someone called Carl.

Who asked?

She did.

It's her.

And her!

You want to come onboard?

You know, you're risking going to prison

by being here.

Yes, for fun!

This is my friend Margaret.

She came to keep me company.

- Hi.

- Hey.

This is my friend, the Count.

Well, hello, Margaret.

Do you think you could ever love a man

with a funky Fu Manchu?

No, I don't.

- I could shave it.

- Still no.

I haven't had sex in three months.

Oh, my God! I'm so sorry.

Actually it's only been a month.

The last time was by myself.

Tough.

By the hammock.

I'm very sorry about what I did that night.

No, no, it's fine.

I mean, obviously,

who would wanna sleep with me?

Well, let's see, shall we?

Well, we could, you know, play Scrabble,

- if you fancy it.

- I hate Scrabble.

Me, too. Absolutely loathe it. Hate it.

Cluedo, on the other hand, is...

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