Spike Island

- F***!

- Pen!

Come on!

Oh, yeah!

Come on, then, lads!

You all right?

My name's Gary Titchfield,

but everyone's always called me "Tits".

It's not the best nickname in the world,

but, you know, it's mine.

I like to think I make it work for me.

The kid next to me is me best mate, Dodge.

And the rest of the lads are me group.

We was a gang before we were a band,

and we were a band

before we picked up any instruments.

Know what I mean?

We were Shadow Caster,

and this is our story.

Top one!

Friday, the 25th of May, 1990.

Two days before Ian Brown, John Squire,

Alan "Reni" Wren, and Gary "Mani" Mounfield

would define an era

on the chemical banks of the dirty Mersey.

To us, The Stone Roses

were the most important band

on the face of the planet.

Will you use the f***ing stairs!

Get a f***ing house.

Put some clothes on, you're already late.

Right, right. I'm on it, I'm on it. F***!

We already knew

that Spike Island was going to be

the most important gig

in the history of the world.

Oi! Stop playing with yourself!

You need to copy that sh*t out.

What is it?

Chemistry, mate. Double important.

Come on, then. We're gonna be late.

The Stone Roses smacked me

in the dial like a f***ing prize fighter.

And even though they looked like

they could have come

right off our estate, the Red Bricks,

there was just something

different about them.

I mean, they were just like everyone else,

except f***ing cooler.

We walked like 'em, we talked like 'em,

we felt like 'em, and we thought like 'em.

They had double top hair

and we wanted to be 'em.

Wanted 'em to lift us out of the sh*t

and the grime and take us to their planet.

No one say f***-all. Stay cool.

- F***!

So, what is Manchester?

JB Priestley said that

"Manchester is the home of living causes"

and "What Manchester thinks today,

England thinks tomorrow."

Mind-blowingly brilliant observations,

I'm sure you'll all agree.

However, clearly nowhere near as fascinating

as what's going on outside the window.

What are your thoughts, boys?

No idea who it was, Mr Milligan.

We was nowhere

near the school gym last night.

Really?

Methinks he doth protest too much.

You look nervous, lads.

I can't think why.

I was only talking about

Priestley's Manchester.

It ain't Priestley's Manchester, sir.

It's ours.

Yeah!

It's the cock of the north, man.

Yeah! Top one, nice one!

You're twisting my melon, man!

And in the context of English Journey?

On any journey, sir. It ain't where

you're from, it's where you're at.

And is that your philosophy?

No, sir. It's a quote.

From somebody relevant.

Yeah, the greatest writer

of this generation.

Really? And who is that?

Just a singer in a band.

Well, may I remind you,

this isn't a music lesson.

This, in case you're unaware,

is English History.

Yeah, and The Stone Roses

are England now, sir.

See, the past is yours,

but the future's mine.

- Yeah.

Manchester, la la la!

Manchester, la la la! Manchester, la la la!

Oi! Chuckle Brothers. Sit down.

Sit down!

Sit down!

All right, stop!

Hammer time!

Gary Titchfield and his band

of merry men, please.

Ooh!

Settle down! Settle down!

I have never seen

such mindless, wilful destruction before!

Well?

I can't wait to hear

what you've got to say for yourselves!

Everyone knows you did it.

No, we never.

Someone read that for me.

Shadow Cast-re.

Which, unless I'm much mistaken,

is the name of your pop group.

No. We're Shadow Cast-er.

So, who was it, then?

Fans?

Fans? You haven't got any fans.

You're not The Palaver.

The Palavers are bobbins, sir.

We have got fans.

Classrooms! Fast!

Come on, lads, I'm not a d*ckhead.

There's only one bunch

of boys in this school

daft enough to write

their own band name on the wall.

And there's only one young man

just plain stupid enough to spell it wrong.

Dodge ain't stupid, sir.

He's a straight-up musical genius.

And Tits was at the hospital last night.

Your loyalty to each other

is actually quite admirable.

Your lack of loyalty to this school,

on the other hand, disgusts me.

Do you really want to end up

like your brothers?

Where are they now?

Ibiza.

Having it right off.

Last chance.

No more shenanigans.

Any more nonsense from any one of you,

and, bang, gone!

The lot of you, one out, all out!

Now go! I'm sick of looking at you!

Gary, not you.

How's your dad doing?

Yeah, he's all right. Getting better.

Good.

Now, listen, Gary,

unlike the others, you're a bright lad,

so you don't need me to

spell it out for you.

This was criminal damage,

and the only reason

I haven't involved the police

is out of respect for your family.

I know how easy it is to get led astray

and I know things

must be difficult at home at the moment.

No, you don't, Mr Jackson.

You don't know nish

about me or me mates.

Or my family. So just leave it.

For f***'s sake, boys! Wait up!

- What did Wacko Jacko want?

- Nowt. It's right.

I can't believe

we just f***ing got away with that.

I can't believe I've got to rely

on you tools not to get expelled.

F*** that. I still can't believe

we haven't got our tickets for Sunday.

We should've just bought 'em.

With what? Oh, aye, I forgot.

Your mum had a result on the pools.

Did she?

- Did she f***. It's your mam.

- Look, it'll be right.

Yeah, right.

You keep saying that.

Because it will. Trust me.

I do. It's Keith Teeth that's the problem.

The guy's a pure tube.

I don't reckon he could get us tickets

for the one-three-five, man.

He could, however,

eat an apple through a tennis racquet.

He's got 'em, right?

Swore on his mum's life.

See? Listen to Tits. He knows everything.

Anyway, he's f***ing all right, Keith Teeth.

He's f***ing all wrong.

Zippy, look me in the eyes, man.

When have I ever let you down?

Oi! I said look me in the eyes.

Sally Harris.

Oh! Lisa Hughes!

F***'s sake, nobody jizz their pants.

Yeah, let's do it. Get in there, man.

- Upstairs, man, sharpish!

- We f***ing are!

Oh, sh*t!

Where'd you get them?

Piccadilly Records. What about you?

I bet yous haven't

even got tickets.

We'll be backstage. VIPs.

How come? Is your brother back

or something, Tits?

- No. - It's where they lob

all the acid casualties.

No. It's where the cool

kids get sucked off.

- Oh.

- You're jibbin' it, aren't you?

You little scally twats.

No, we're getting 'em tomorrow.

Serious? You lot are paying for something?

- Where you getting them?

- Keith Teeth.

- Keith Teeth?

Yeah, right. Like that'll happen.

Keith Teeth's a mong.

It's been sold out for time. You're goosed.

- How's your dad?

- Yeah. He's not bad.

Buzzing.

Little Gaz,

is it true you're selling weed?

- What're you after?

- Fivers. Can you change that?

Yeah. I can change it

into a bigger lump of draw.

- Oh, come on!

- I've got no change.

For f***'s sake, go on.

Greetings, Earthlings.

What time's praccy tonight?

Are we recording?

Recording what?

- Demo.

- What of? How to be spackers?

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