Quadrophenia Page #3

- Do you wanna hear it?

- Yeah.

Number two.

- Oh, boy.

- What you gonna do tonight, then?

Wait for a phone call, I suppose.

- I'll see you later, all right?

- Bye.

Wotcha, Jimmy.

What you doing here, then?

- I was waiting for you.

- Yeah? What for?

- I thought I'd give you a lift home.

- Great.

- Steph?

- What?

- You goin' to Brighton this weekend?

- Yeah. You?

'Course I am. Who are you going with?

Pete's taking me.

It's gonna be good, innit?

Yeah. Good.

You and Pete getting a bit strong, then?

Nah, 'course not.

He's a laugh, that's all.

Bit flash, though, ain't he?

I wouldn't be with him otherwise,

would I?

Nah.

- Suppose not.

- Hey, you jealous?

- 'Course I ain't.

- Nah?

That's a pity, I thought you was.

- It's the technique.

- All right, boys?

What are we gonna do about pills?

If we're going to Brighton,

we're gonna need millions.

I wanna get out of me head for a start.

Wouldn't be too difficult

with your little monkey brain.

Get some rockers out their heads

when we're there, knock 'em off.

- I was thinking about getting a gun.

- Don't talk bloody daft.

Here, I get my suit tomorrow.

Only 'cause

you wanna screw Steph, innit?

Jim!

Hey, hey, hey, hey!

- Get off.

- Get outside.

- We're goin', aren't we?

- Let's go.

Let's go up the Goldhawk, lads.

Look, tomato sauce.

It's all watered down.

The rolls have got scabs on 'em.

Sh*t.

- Get off it a sec.

- Spider!

Here, look, lads.

- What's up, then?

- Dunno.

- Break down?

- Must be, the brakes are down.

- We'll see you down there, then.

- Ten minutes.

- You'd be better catching a bus!

- We will, then.

- Sh*t.

- What's the matter with it?

How am I supposed to know

what the matter is?

Oh, sh*t.

What's the matter?

Your mother's hairdryer blown up?

- Rubber band busted?

- Yeah. Let's fix it.

Let's fix it.

Hold on,

we don't do nothin' for nothin'.

Look, why don't you piss off?

Bloody leave us alone.

Hold on, Lenny,

they don't want our help.

Which one are you? The boy or the girl?

It's hard to tell with you lot.

This one's a bird. Give us a kiss.

Piss off, all right?

Bastards!

This one's the bird!

She got tits!

Let go!

- Spider!

- OK, let's go!

Spider!

So long, sucker!

F*** off!

Bloody hell.

I've just seen Spider.

He's taken a right kicking.

- What?

- Some rockers have had him.

- He's outside.

- Where?

On the stairs. Come on.

Spider, you all right, yeah?

What's this about rockers

kicking your head in?

- Gonna murder the bastards!

- You lot, come on!

- Come on!

- You stay there, right?

- What are we gonna do?

- F***ing kill 'em!

Right. Are you with me?

- I'm with you.

- They're all going to meet death!

We're gonna f***in' murder! Murder!

There they f***ing are!

Christ!

F***in' hell!

'Ave him! F***in' 'ave him!

F***ing greaser!

Jim!

You wanted it, didn't you?

No, no, f*** off! Leave him alone!

No, leave him alone!

Where's he going?

All right, run!

- Leg it!

- The f***in' law will be here!

- What time do you call this?

- I don't know, I haven't got a watch.

Don't come funny, lad.

It's nearly midnight.

Don't worry, I ain't gonna turn

into a pumpkin, am I?

Anyway, you're pissed.

George, what's going on?

C*nt.

I've been sitting up for

more than an hour waiting for you.

- I can do without your clever remarks.

- George.

- Who do you think you are?

- I don't know. You tell me, eh?

You're barmy, you are,

staying out all hours.

Getting up to God-knows-what,

dressing up like a freak.

Stand still when I'm talking to you.

Wouldn't be at all surprised

if you're not on drugs.

I know what you get up to

down that club, you and your mates.

You've gotta be part of a gang, haven't

you? Gotta be a mod, or this, or that.

Haven't you got a mind of your own?

I'll tell you what's wrong with you.

You're schizophrenic.

- What's that, then?

- I'll tell you.

Somebody, like you, who doesn't know

if his mind's over here or over there.

Bloody split personality.

Half your mother's family were the same.

I suppose that's where you get it.

Your Uncle Sid

was always trying to kill himself.

And when he did,

it was a bloody accident.

He never knew if he was coming or going.

Bit like you.

- What happened to him, then?

- He got drowned, didn't he?

Fell down a bleedin' well in the garden.

Go on, get off to bed.

Jimmy?

Jimmy!

Come on, you. You're late as it is.

- Jimmy!

- Don't.

Come on, wake up!

- I'm not well, Mum.

- What?

I can't go to work, I'm not well.

Oh.

Something wrong with your head, is it?

Look at you, lying there

in all your clothes. It's not normal.

I can't stand here. I've gotta get on.

You make sure you go to the doctor

and get a certificate. You hear?

Yes.

Hang on, what about them blokes

Pete's always on about?

What, always got bags of it?

Straight out the back door

of the chemical factory?

It's f***ing rubbish.

Sort of bollocks you expect

from that flash c*nt.

It's worth a try, though, innit?

I'm gonna pop...

- It's not like you got no work to do.

- All right, George, half a minute.

- I'll pick you up later, all right?

- Yeah, all right.

Do you want a push start?

No, thanks.

Hey, Jim, I'll be on me own bike again

tomorrow, won't I?

I'm getting the scooter back.

- Burn the arse of your rust bucket.

- Any time.

Butch! Jenny! It's all right.

Go on, get back in there.

All right, young Jim. On holiday?

Nah. Just fancied the day off.

You'll be getting like them beatniks.

Ban the bomb

and do f*** all for a living.

You're all right, ain't you?

Just you and your Uncle Charlie.

You don't have to bother

with a load of c*nts like I do.

- Well, you know what I mean.

- No, I don't.

If you don't work, you don't get

no money. And I like money.

Pete, what about Brighton this weekend?

What about it?

Pills. Me and Dave thought

you might be able to get hold of some.

Why me? I'm not a f***ing pusher.

No, no. But you know some blokes

who are, don't you?

Not me. Charlie's mates.

And I'm not about to start blabbing me

mouth off about mates of Charlie's.

They're f***ing big, these blokes.

They don't mess about.

Anyway,

I don't know why you're worrying.

- Ferdy'll have some.

- Ferdy ain't been seen, has he?

He'll turn up. You watch, Friday night

he'll pop up like a jack-in-the-box.

Or a golliwog.

Ain't bloody here, is he?

C*nt. I wonder where he is.

- I don't know.

- This place gives me the shits.

- Bleedin' nig-nogs everywhere.

- Shut up.

It's like bleedin' Calcutta round here.

Calcutta's in India.

West India,

that's where they bleedin' come from.

What's so funny?

- Just who are you looking for?

- Is Ferdy in?

He not here. Him gone out.

Thank you.

- Looking for Ferdy.

- Yeah.

Yeah, yeah.

He's gone out.

Oh... yeah.

Stitchin' me up and all, the bloke.

F***ing...

Peter Fenton?

Peter!

Thanks.

Hello, Peter Fenton. Who is it?

- What d'you wanna ring me up here for?

- Listen, you c*nt,

tell us where we can find these blokes

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