Bottom Live: The Big Number 2 Tour Page #2

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EDDIE:

Is she?

RICHIE:

Yes, I told you last night.

EDDIE:

Did you?

RICHIE:

Yes, and the night before.

EDDIE:

Huh!?

RICHIE:

In fact, I told you twice a day, for the last 9 months.

EDDIE:

I must have been drunk.

RICHIE:

What, for the whole season, since February?

EDDIE:

Yeah, I was celebrating the changing of the underpants.

RICHIE:

Oh god. God! GOD!! Don't you ever get tired of the endless drinking, and pointlessness of your existence?

EDDIE:

No. Don't you get tired of spouting such utter, utter bollocks?

RICHIE:

Not me, Eddie, i'm a stayer. Ooh, that reminds me, we've got an awful lot more bollocks to cover.

EDDIE:

Ooh.

RICHIE:

So lets sit down and have a nice cup of tea.

EDDIE:

Now that's not possible in this house.

RICHIE:

You're right. So let's sit down and have a shitty cup of tea.

(Eddie moves over to the kitchen)

EDDIE:

Ah, there's nothing quite like a shitty cup of tea. EXCEPT... A shitty biscuit.

RICHIE:

Now we’re talking. You get the kettle on, Eddie, I'll get my fig rolls out.

(Eddie looks confused.)

EDDIE:

I thought we were going to have a biscuit first.

RICHIE:

Perhaps you're right. Hob nob?

EDDIE:

No, i've got an ordinary one, like everyone else.

RICHIE:

Yeah, it's just as well, because I don't seem to have packed them.

EDDIE:

Right, tea's up.

RICHIE:

Oh good.

(Eddie puts the tea tray down.)

EDDIE:

Should I be motherf***er?

RICHIE:

Would you?

(Eddie sits down.)

EDDIE:

One lump or two?

RICHIE:

(Dirtily) Two please, Eddie.

EDDIE:

Right you are.

(Eddie pours milk out of the teapot. It's so out of date that it's gotten stuck, and he has to shake it hard to force it out.)

RICHIE:

Cheers

EDDIE:

Cheers

(Eddie and Richie clink their cups together and chuck them across the room.)

RICHIE:

That hit the spot.

EDDIE:

Yep.

RICHIE:

D’you know, I think i've got someone else's bags here.

EDDIE:

Those trousers look alright to me.

RICHIE:

No, no, no, Eddie, these.

(He indicates the two bags on the table he was carrying when he came in.)

EDDIE:

Ah.

RICHIE:

Mind you, come to think of it, I did get into a very violent fight with some pensioners by the disabled toilet under the underpass.

EDDIE:

Oh yeah?

RICHIE:

I mean, what do you suppose this is?

EDDIE:

Well, it's either an individual chicken korma ready meal for one. Or...

(Eddie pulls out a clear plastic bag, with a rather disgusting looking brown substance in it.)

EDDIE:

It's someone's colostomy bag.

(Richie sniffs it, and is still unable to determine which one of the two.)

EDDIE:

What do you reckon, shall we cook it up and give it a whirl?

RICHIE:

YEAH! Ooh, no, Eddie, no no no, let's save it for the queen.

EDDIE:

WHAT, THE QUEEN'S COMING ROUND!??!

RICHIE:

YES, THE QUEEN’S COMING ROUND!!!! Now sit down, let's have an important family chat.

EDDIE:

Right you are.

RICHIE:

Now, Eddie…

EDDIE:

Mm hmm?

RICHIE:

The Queen is coming to tea. And someone is going to have to clean the lavatory.

(Eddie stops blindly agreeing with Richie upon hearing this, and starts to choke in horror.)

EDDIE:

CLEAN THE LAVATORY!?

RICHIE:

Clean the lavatory!

(Eddie screams in terror, runs across the room.)

RICHIE:

Eddie? Eddie!

(Eddie dives head first out of the window. A whistling sound can be heard as Eddie falls, followed by the sound of clanking and clattering as Eddie impacts upon the bins outside, as well as dogs angrily barking. Richie thrusts his pelvis on the last bark.)

RICHIE:

Oh, well that's just effing marvellous, isn't it? Christ al-blummin-ruddy-flip-mighty. Well there's no way I'm going to clean that... that entrance to Hades. Might as well call the whole bloody thing off.

(Richie tries closing the door in anger, but it bounces back open again. Richie tries again, it still doesn't close. The audience cheers.)

RICHIE:

F*** off.

(He turns to face the door.)

RICHIE:

Now you listen to me, buster. You're just a door. I'm Rik F***ing Mayall. CLOSE!

(Richie finally closes the door. And flourishes triumphantly as the audience cheers.)

RICHIE:

Right, might as well call the whole thing off, no clean lavs, no queen.

(Richie sighs deeply, and runs across the room towards the telephone as if the sigh was guiding him to his destination. He trips over the couch, then gives it the Two-finger salute. He taps a load of numbers on the phone, and puts it to his ear.)

RICHIE:

Hello, samaritans. It's Richard Richard here, again... Hello? HELLO!?

(He slams the phone down in anger.)

RICHIE:

BASTARDS! Right, that's it, i'm just going to top myself, that'll teach them. I’ll just top myself, and top myself, and top myself, until i'm dead. Right, where's the tissues?

(Richie notices something atop the TV.)

RICHIE:

Hang on.

(He laughs happily as he picks up a ticket of some kind.)

RICHIE:

I don't believe it.

(Richie picks up the latest issue of The Hammersmith Bugle to confirm what he's seeing.)

RICHIE:

We've won the lottery.

(Immediately, Eddie jumps back in through the window.)

EDDIE:

We've what??

RICHIE:

Oh YOU'RE back, are you? Oh, yes, one sniff of ginger and your knickers are round your ankles.

EDDIE:

Still talking bollocks, that's my twat.

(Eddie pats Richie on the back. Richie looks concerned.)

RICHIE:

Is it? What's it doing on my back? It'll make it all sticky.

EDDIE:

Did I hear you say we've won the lottery?

RICHIE:

Yes, Eddie, yes, we've bloody, blimey, trousery, bra-ry, won the ruddy, flipping, nipple-y lottery.

(Eddie reads the Bugle.)

EDDIE:

The Hammersmith Bugle Lottery?

RICHIE:

YEAH! Go on, phone them up, check the numbers. Oh god, I don't believe it, we've won the lottery. I wonder how much it is this week. 18 million, 20 million?

(In the excitement, Richie has started “masturbating” the support in the kitchen area. It's only after he notices Eddie looking on judgingly, that he realizes what he's doing, and stops.)

RICHIE:

Sh*t! What will I do? What will I do? I've got it. I'm going to employ a prostitute. I'm going to do it, I'm going to do-o it.

(Richie thrusts his groin twice, to both syllables in “do-o”.)

RICHIE:

I don't believe it, my wildest dream come true.

EDDIE:

Ah hah.

(Eddie clears his throat and puts the phone down.)

RICHIE:

Well, Eddie, what was the rollover jackpot figure for this week?

EDDIE:

One pound.

RICHIE:

ONE BLOODY PFFFFF... pound?

EDDIE:

Yes, you see, the flaw in our fiendish masterplan was, that being the people who read, or have ever read, The Hammersmith Bugle, we were of course the only people to buy a f***ing lottery ticket.

RICHIE:

One pound?

EDDIE:

...-ish. Yeah, you see, er, after admin costs, and a donation to charity. We actually come out with 5p, and we just spent 10p on the phone call finding that out.

RICHIE:

So having won, we're actually 5 pence down on the deal?

EDDIE:

That is correct, yes, well done.

RICHIE:

Well, it's a result, then, isn't it?

EDDIE:

Yes, yes. Yes, it's... it's a crap result.

RICHIE:

Oh well, who needs them, come on, on with the rest of our lives. What is the next bit of my life?

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