I.D. Page #5

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This'll show some f***ing Wappers.

# We are Shadwell

The Kennel is our place

# Shadwell never, never, never

shall lose face.

# Though you hate us

we couldn't give a toss.

Let's go, son!

Shadwell Army, Shadwell Army, Shadwell Army!

(ALL):
Yeah!

(WHISTLE)

Where were you this afternoon?

I'm sorry, John, mate. I lost my bottle.

It just went.

Couldn't control myself.

I wouldn't have been any use, anyway.

- Sorry.

- Alright.

- Were you up our end?

- Bloody mess.

I could've had 20 officers

for aggravated assault.

- You putting it in your report?

- Yes, I f***ing am.

We've done ours. The full gory details.

- You want to go to casualty.

- Nah, I'd rather have the scars.

(CHARLIE):
I've got some good stuff from

the surveillance camera at Wapping.

(EDDIE):
We reckon we've pinned

one of their top boys.

- Who is it?

- We don't know him.

We thought you might be able to

put a name to the face.

(EDDIE):
Who is that runt, John?

No one I know.

"January 28. Wapping."

Everything we've described,

we've seen with our own eyes, sir.

You'd better have.

We've had two undercover

London operations fall apart in court,

and we've had to withdraw prosecutions

in Pentland due to unsafe evidence.

DC Brandon, any problems with your work?

Only those the Old Bill give us.

- I don't quite...

- (TREVOR):
John's work has been brilliant.

He dealt with the suspicions of

the targets by telling them he's illiterate.

How did you got through training school?

I don't quite follow.

If you can't read or write,

how did you become a policeman?

Sir, he can read and write.

It's part of his cover.

- I made it up.

- I see.

- I thought we had an illiterate policeman.

- (JOHN):
There's a thought...

We were all wondering...

With all the court cases collapsing

and other forces pulling their covert squads out,

are we to continue with our work, sir?

- (ALL):
Yes!

- Autumn, lovely.

Could be up with the cream then.

Pan this one out,

and we can stay on another season.

(CHARLIE):
Brighton away next bank

holiday. Well make a weekend of it.

Can't f***ing go, can I?

Marie's made other plans.

Tell Mart and them. Tell them the kid's sick.

They wouldn't mind if you asked for a transfer.

You've given them blood and sweat.

You could go back into uniform,

they'd make you a sergeant.

Yes!

I have not travelled all this way

to hear about Shadwell Town.

Of course you ain't.

You wouldn't cross the road for me.

What's all this football got to do with you?

John.

- My John.

- Your John?

I ain't your f***ing John.

You don't know me at all.

Mend the fuses, fix the car,

Mow the lawn, it's f***ing boring.

Do you think that's me? It's all bollocks.

F***ing house, f***ing babies. Sh*t.

- Is that what you really think?

- I'm my John. Me.

- I'm different.

- You don't look different to me, John.

I see it every Saturday night.

Millions of you. Men on the march,

beating each other up.

Show us your tits or a fist in your face.

Is that you?

If there was a war on,

they'd put you in the Army.

There isn't a war, though, John.

What's the matter with you?

When was the last time you looked at my bum?

What?

You don't like me any more do you?

My body... It's what you want.

You don't know my body.

You don't know my mind.

You don't know me.

Every f***ing night I sleep with you,

and you know nothing.

Look at me. Six weeks since I've had that done,

and you ain't f***ing noticed.

- Where are you going?

- For a f***ing drink.

If you don't stop right now, we're through.

I mean it!

When's the last time

you looked at my bum, John?

(LYNDA):
We're open again

in six hours. Go home!

- Where did you crawl out from?

- Lynda.

- Have you seen yourself?

- I'm lonely, Lynda.

(CROWD):
Shadwell Army, Shadwell Army!

Shadwell Army, Shadwell Army!

Come on!

I don't don't give a f***

what anyone says. This is living.

I could be artexing a ceiling,

Martin could be fixing motors,

- and Gumbo could be packing pickles!

- Gherkins.

What are we doing instead?

We go to the football!

Lovely jubbly! John, North-East's that way.

No, you don't know, man. It's the next one.

- (NIK):
No, John, it's this way.

- No, it's that one back there.

- You f***ing turkey!

- Can't you read or something?

(CAR HORN)

Gumbo, if you've farted again

I'll deck you, I swear.

- Never!

- You stink, you arse!

What are you f***ing grinning at?

There's no turning back now, lads.

(CROWD JEERING)

F*** me, what is this?

(CROWD JEERING)

F***ing wanking foreigners. F***ing nobs.

Come round this side,

we'll see how brave you are!

Aargh!

Bastards!

Right, that's it!

What are you doing to stop this?

My mate's nearly had his eye taken out.

Just shut it. Get back

in the cage with the other animals.

They're throwing f***ing darts, you twat!

I couldn't give a monkey's fart. Now f*** off!

What's your divisional number and

to what station are you attached?

If you don't f*** off in five seconds,

I'm nicking you.

- You...

- Come on, leave it!

- I'll f***ing kill him!

- It's not worth it, he's one of us.

- Belt him and your job's down the pan.

- I don't care. They can shove their job.

- Are you alright, mate?

- Yeah, it was only my head.

- Not worth it, is it, football?

- It's worth it to me.

Shadwell's my life.

Without them I'm nothing, mate.

- F*** off, you thick runt.

- I'm sorry, John.

(FAN):
Come on, you wankers!

I'll have the lot ofyou!

(SHOUTING BETWEEN SUPPORTERS)

There's f***ing loads of them, Martin.

Come on, Shadwell! Stand and fight!

I ain't going f***ing nowhere John.

Well?

Shadwell!

(POLICE SIRENS)

John, John!

I'm cut. Somebody stabbed me. I'm bleeding!

Come on, we've got to disappear!

Where am I cut? I can't see anything.

- I can't see a thing.

- I'm alright, I'm not hurt.

- Not a scratch on you.

- F***ing Geordies, I piss on them.

- (JOHN):
F***ing yes!

- (MARTIN):
Yes!

- (MARTIN):
Shadwell!

- (JOHN):
Wankers!

- F***ing hell, John! No!

- It's alright, Lynda.

It's someone else's blood.

Look at you.

Covered in bruises, like a bad spud.

When Mart pulled me out and I saw

the blood, I thought I was a goner.

I thought:
"F*** me, what a wanky waste!"

We ain't got time. I want a life,

I want kids. Make something.

- Turns out I wasn't even scratched.

- Well, some poor sod was.

Yeah. Goes with the territory, doesn't it?

You said you've got a kid, John. John...

Alright, what?

What?!

Don't shout at us.

I walk in, and it's like

I've got some f***ing disease.

What, am I a Gooner, some leper?

What the f*** is it? What's wrong with me?

We have been wondering...

Trevor?

You've gone too far.

What?

Saturday. You know what I'm saying,

you overstepped the mark.

You know where the f***ing mark is, do you?

Yeah, I do.

Show me. Here, f***ing show me.

- Leave it, John.

- You, shut it!

Give me my marker.

Let me know where I stop.

Is this the place?

Or here?

Surely, this is it. The edge isn't it? Surely.

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