Bottom Live: The Big Number 2 Tour Page #6

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RICHIE:

Isn't that a bit dangerous?

EDDIE:

Nah, not really. I said you drank it.

RICHIE:

Oh right. OH THANKS A F***ING BUNCH! That's why I got the sh*t beaten out of me in the lavvies, I thought it was karaoke night. They were stamping on my face for a full half an hour. God, it was worse than watching Barrymore.

(Richie's face brightens up a little.)

RICHIE:

He's come out, you know?

EDDIE:

Come out?

RICHIE:

Very much so.

EDDIE:

Ahh. Come out of what?

RICHIE:

The cupboard.

EDDIE:

Huh? What was he doing in the cupboard?

RICHIE:

I'm - i'm not too sure. He was probably shagging some blokes in there.

EDDIE:

Oh. So he just came out for a rest.

RICHIE:

Yes. Yeah, he came out for a bit of a rest from all the shagging of the blokes. All the top comedians are doing it.

(Richie realizes what he just said, and looks mortified, as does Eddie.)

EDDIE:

Why's Barrymore doing it, then?

RICHIE:

That's a bloody good point, Eddie. Hey-ho, the vagaries of showbiz, I mean, why do they employ Sandy Toksvig?

RICHIE AND EDDIE:

Brrrrrrr. It doesn't bear thinking about.

RICHIE:

Well, come on, come on, stop wasting time. Now, Eddie, have you got the union jack sandwiches?

EDDIE:

No, it was just the way I was walking.

RICHIE:

Oh, right. Thank god for that, I thought there would be another outbreak. Ooh, now, what to cook, what to cook? Now we need something that sort of encapsulates hammersith...

EDDIE:

Where?

(The audience laughs at Richie's f***-up)

RICHIE:

OH F*** OFF HOME! Off! I don't go down to where you work, and laugh at you! Bastards. Now Eddie...

(The audience is still laughing.)

RICHIE:

...Shut the f*** up! Now Eddie...

(An audience member whistles, and Richie wafts his arse.)

RICHIE:

...We need something...

(The audience claps. Richie stops what he's doing in exasperation. He's sweating so much, his white shirt is completely soaked through, and has become see-through.)

RICHIE:

Oh, you can see my nipples now.

(Richie plucks at his shirt to loosen it.)

RICHIE:

Now we need something that sort of encapsulates Hammersmith in the cuisine of the local community.

EDDIE:

Dog sh*t kebab.

RICHIE:

No.

EDDIE:

Cat sh*t kebab.

RICHIE:

Don't be stupid, Eddie. You know you can never get it all to stay on the stick. Then it goes all dribbly under the grill. Whiffs the place up. Ooh, that's a point though, Eddie. Air freshener. You're going to have to leave for a few hours.

EDDIE:

But I wanna stay here, and meet the Queen, you know, and...

(Eddie gestures dirtily.)

EDDIE:

...press the flesh.

(Richie looks disgusted.)

RICHIE:

Press the flesh?

(Eddie gestures dirtily in response.)

RICHIE:

Press the flesh!?

(Richie's look of disgust turns into one of arousal.)

RICHIE:

Hey, Eddie, maybe she really does want to “press the flesh.” I bet I know what the queen would really like for tea. A ruddy good seeing to. She must be fed up with all that pathetic small talk and cucumber sandwiches. She'll be white hot for a little bit of greasy ramrod action.

EDDIE:

She'll have come to the wrong place, then, won't she?

RICHIE:

How many kids has he got, Eddie? Four, isn't it? That means she's done it, she's done it FOUR times!

(Eddie gasps in amazement.)

EDDIE:

The Maj's Vag.

(Eddie uses his hands to make the shape of a vagina. He sticks his head in it, and goes too far, imagining he's got his entire head stuck up there. He struggles to get out again. Richie imagines opening it up to an unrealistic, and probably painful, degree.)

RICHIE:

Ah.

(Eddie and Richie then imagine that they've encountered each other somewhere inside.)

EDDIE:

Hello.

RICHIE:

Hello.

(Eddie then recoils in disgust and pulls himself back out again, making a popping noise. He sniffs his fingers.)

EDDIE:

I think I must have the wrong hole.

(The audience claps)

RICHIE:

Eddie? She's got the whole Oxford Apollo in her vag.

(Richie literally closes up the entire daydream.)

RICHIE:

I believe this is going to work.

EDDIE:

Yeah?

RICHIE:

I mean, she's always gone for guys like me, I mean, look at the Duke of Edinburgh.

EDDIE:

Yeah, he's a twat with a saggy bum and a small penis.

RICHIE:

Cucumber sandwich? I'll give her a good CU-CUM-BER SAND-WICH!

(He thrusts his pelvis with every enunciation.)

EDDIE:

Nah, you won't, mate. You'll just be fighting off the bodyguards.

RICHIE:

Oooh, Eddie, that's a point. You're going to have to stay here and act as my footman.

EDDIE:

Oh yeah, what do I do?

RICHIE:

Well, what do you think you do!? You hang around the place and look after my feet. Now, she'll probably bring one of her own, so you'll have to hang around in the drive outside, smoking cheap cigarettes and buffing the roller.

EDDIE:

Uh-huh? What the f*** are you talking about?

RICHIE:

Oh, come on, Eddie, have you never seen Thunderbirds? God, you have got no class at all, have you? You have to call us both milady (Holding his nose) “Milady.”

EDDIE:

(Holding his nose) Miladay

RICHIE:

That's right, like Parker. And then you try and act casual about the Dionysian sounds of extraordinary lovemaking emanating from my bedroom window. Oh god, this is great, I can't wait!

(Richie's excitement high plummets.)

RICHIE:

Oh, i've come. SH*T! Well, there's no point in her coming round, now, is there? I'll just have to be nice to her, I suppose. Damn! Unless I can keep her talking long enough to, sort of, build up to a second go.

EDDIE:

Well, you're alright there, Richie, I mean, you can talk bollocks for weeks.

RICHIE:

That's right. But how are we going to make absolutely sure that the queen falls in love with me?

(Eddie laughs incredulously.)

EDDIE:

That's just, just, just so simple.

RICHIE:

Is it?

EDDIE:

Well, look at you, Richie. I mean, LOOK AT YOU!

(Richie is flattered.)

EDDIE:

All you've gotta do, right? All you've gotta do is go round, and kill everybody else in the world. Then wait 20 years until she's either dead or desperate.

RICHIE:

Eddie, that is just completely BRILLIANT! That's going to work.

EDDIE:

Hey, You know, Richie.

RICHIE:

What?

EDDIE:

My great uncle was in The Great War.

RICHIE:

What do you mean, The Great War? There aren't any “Great” wars, they're all frightful.

EDDIE:

Alright, he was in The Crap War.

RICHIE:

Wow, The Crap War.

EDDIE:

Yeah.

RICHIE:

Far out. Which side was he on?

EDDIE:

Both.

RICHIE:

Wow.

EDDIE:

Well, it depended which way he was facing at the time, you know. Had a teeny-weeny bit of a drink problem. He once took out a machine gun nest single handed.

RICHIE:

Did he really?

EDDIE:

But they made him bring it back, he was trying to flog it to the Germans.

RICHIE:

Hey, wasn't he the last bloke shot before the armistice?

EDDIE:

That's right, yes. Just firing off a few rounds in celebration, you know, but... stupid twat had his gun the wrong way round. Ohhhh, they don't make them like great uncle Susan anymore.

RICHIE:

Marvellous stuff, Eddie, but what the f***'s it got to do with anything?

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