I.D. Page #4

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- My mum.

- This house...

This house in Catford

you're supposed to be decorating.

Me and Nick popped round

to take you out for a pint.

- Where the hell were you?

- Doing up the house before.

- That's what I said.

- No, this ain't f***ing right.

You turn up out of nowhere.

No one's heard of you.

You got all friendly with everyone

and suddenly there's Bill in the way

every time we arrange a ruck.

What are you saying?

I'm f***ing saying, you two-bob wanker,

that you and you are f***ing Old Bill!

I don't take that from any runt.

You and me, outside. Now!

I can smell Old Bill. Smell it here, I don't.

He doesn't come over like old Bill, Mark.

- He would have shat himself by now.

- You utter f***ing wanker.

John, mate. I'm sorry. I'm just

a bit uptight with the trial coming up.

- What trial?

- You know, my mates the Bill set up.

Bob sorted me out, though.

Can I buy you a pint?

- Ain't my f***ing round.

- Come on, Gumbo!

Give it a press, Gum.

- He f***ing guessed it!

- No, I know it.

- John! It's your go, mate.

- John, mate. Have a go.

- Go on, mate.

- Go on, John.

Go on, have a guess.

- Oi, that's brand new!

- What's wrong? It's only a game.

- You've told them, you f***ing runt!

- No, I ain't.

- Everyone's laughing!

- I'm not laughing.

- (TREVOR):
John, I ain't said nothing.

- Ain't my fault.

Loads of people can't read or write.

- I don't expect you to take the piss.

- I ain't, John. Honest.

- (TREVOR):
What do you mean?

- He wasn't taking the piss.

Can't read or write? How do you manage?

He does it for me. He reads for me,

I slap people for him. No more though!

That's you and me finished!

Sorry, mate. We'll back you up

when he's chilled out a bit.

Stone me. The poor f***er can't read or write

and here's you accusing him of being Old Bill!

For f***'s sake!

The man done well! I'm impressed.

(SCHOFIELD):
Used to be a paint

factory before the firm went bankrupt.

We're going to use it as a filing centre

when you are through.

- This is what I call an office.

- Look what they've left behind.

John and Trev, painter-decorators,

are in business at last.

You'll find your requests for stationery,

ID and the rest on your desks

- Pagers?

- Very funny.

Driving licences, medical cards, UB40s, the lot.

Look, John. Your criminal record.

Truancy, theft, juvenile court,

detention centre, do a runner,

two housebreakings,

assault and affray, then assault on a copper,

suspended sentence, heavy fine.

Don't mess with him.

F***ing right.

Yeah!

Oh, f*** it!

What?

I said "what?"

(MUSIC FROM RADIO)

Fat pig.

If you've got something to f***ing say...

"F***, f***, f***!"

That's all I ever hear from you!

The more you say it, the less able

you are to do it. Now, why is that?

Don't look at me like that. You scare me.

What are you going to do? Beat me up?

What?

Alright, then. Alright.

I can't look at you.

I don't know what's happening to us.

It's not right.

What's got you so upset?

What's wrong with being happy?

(DISCO MUSIC)

We can go up, I tell you.

Nolan wants to buy a couple of decent players.

He can't afford the bus fares,

let alone the players.

No, no, no! You go bargaining

in the lower divisions,

got a couple of likely lads off the YTS.

- I mean, look at Carera.

- Best player we over had.

Think about it, though.

The Dogs in the First Division.

Playing at Anfield, Old Trafford, Highbury...

- In your dreams.

- F*** off, Charlie Bowers.

- I'm not some creeping wallflower.

- No, you're more like poison ivy.

Get away from this bar, or it's

the Fred Flintstone's for you tonight.

Isn't she lovely? And she's mine. All mine.

The Fred Flintstone's, Ed?

Wilma!

- Having another, John?

- What'll it be, boys?

You should know,

you've been serving us all night.

Whisky, mate. Doubles. Have one yourself.

- There's no need for it, John.

- Of course not, Trev.

Ta.

Here's to it.

Marie's looking nice tonight.

Did I tell you Moira's left me?

We should never have sold Carera.

What do you reckon?

A couple more here for appearance's sake,

then I'll drop off Marie

and we'll go down The Rock.

It's Christmas Eve! Shouldn't you and Marie...

Are you up for it?

#Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way

# Oh, what fun it is to stay

when Shadwell's on their way

#Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way

# Oh, what fun it is to stay

when Shadwell's on their way

Who did the decorations, then? You?

You're not like the rest.

You can walk me home, if you want.

Lynda. You're lovely, you're really lovely, but...

See what's in your Christmas stocking.

I can't. How can I?

Off you go, then.

Don't waste any more of my time.

This ain't me. I ain't like this.

Are you coming back or what?

Sorry.

Merry Christmas, John.

(MARIE IS CRYING)

(TREVOR):
Good Christmas, John?

(JOHN):
Will you f*** off!

(CHARLIE):
You don't think

Bob's Mr Fix-it, do you?

(EDDIE):
Mr Know-it, yeah.

Everyone talks to Bob,

but he couldn't organise his sh*t

into the pan without someone's help.

My money's on Wynton.

He's always jabbering into his mobile.

What do you think, John?

I think with all this bunny

we're going to miss the cup draw.

About Wynton.

He's deep into something, but there's

nothing that pins the rucks on him.

- He's always on the scene.

- So are we.

What? What did I say?

Pompey vs. Arsenal. Should be tasty.

We've got to got more specific.

We're up to our tits in circumstantial,

But there's nothing to put our targets away.

"Targets", bollocks! These people are our mates.

Of course they are our mates.

I'm having the time of my life.

I don't believe I'm hearing this!

For f***'s sake, we're cops!

(RADIO):
...Shadwell Town.

- Yes!

- Yes, yes, yes!

Come on, you Dogs!

You Wapping wankers!

- Come on, Wapping. Where are you?

- F***ing shitting themselves.

(TREVOR):
Stop, stop!

You bloody hooligan!

- (EDDIE):
In the chemist!

- (JOHN):
You're f***ing joking!

(MARTIN):
Shut up!

Shut up, you!

John, John! Billy!

Nik! Pass!

Can I help you, gentlemen?

Perhaps your friends have gone away now?

Here you are, mate. Sorry to be of any trouble.

- Sorry, mate.

- Sorry, mate.

- Sorry, mate.

- The lid's over there, mate.

Cheers, mate.

Bottled it!

(ALL):
Shadwell Army! Shadwell Army!

What were you going to do

had they come in? Offer them a perm?

Trev, look. Trevor.

Look, Trevor.

- (MARTIN):
What happened, Trev?

- I took on a busload of Wappers.

- You never!

- That's right, you f***ing never.

Alright? State of you

looks like the fun has already started.

Boys and me are off to the home end

to kick some heads in. You on for it?

- Just you lot?

- You're out of your bin.

Last time we went down there,

one got his throat cut.

- If you ain't got the bottle, fine by me.

- I'll come with you.

- Anyone else?

- Trev. You've been fighting all morning.

Thank f*** some Dogs still have teeth.

Us against this lot? We must be f***ing mad.

You'll be alright, mate. Stand by me.

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