Ripped By mstoll
Oh, rrr!
Ah, that's done it!
Never again!
No way!
No way.
I never should have ordered so much food.
Shouldn't have had so much wine...
...or the cigars.
Shouldn't have come back here for brandies afterwards.
The whole thing was a mistake!
Should never have stayed up. The thing was...
Oh!
Oh, God!
I hate myself.
I hate my body and I...
...hate the way I feel.
Oh!
Well...
today's the day!
I am cutting out completely now!
No more booze.
No more takeaways.
No more cheap tavernas.
I am staying home and eating healthy!
Right...
I'm going down the park now.
Blow the cobwebs out. If you had any sense you'd do the same.
Fair enough.
If you want to die by the time you're 40, that's fine with me.
Right...
...plan for today.
I think I'll stay here for a bit.
Then I'll stay here for a bit longer.
And if I'm not doing anything else this afternoon I might...
bung me arse down here for a couple of hours.
Mosey down to the kitchen about 3:30, fix meself a cholesterol sandwich...
...wash it down with a nice glass of Beaujolais and then...
...piss off to bed.
It wasn't a heart attack, Mr Watkins.
Blood pressure seems a little high, which will explain the palpitations.
- Oh, thank God for that! - How much do you drink?
Erm?
Oh...
A couple of glasses of wine a day maybe.
Leave it out, Watkins - it's more like three gin and tonics at lunch,
two litres of wine and a treble port at dinner,
and just before bedtime you go waterskiing in a vat of tequila.
What sort of exercise do you get?
Oh, don't worry.
Look, you've had a warning signal. I want you to lay off the drink and rich food for a while.
Say, at least a fortnight.
Give yourself an incentive.
Treat yourself to a slap-up meal at the end of it.
You'll feel better that way and you'll find out if you've got the self-control to do it.
Yeah, but you see, friends and the people I work with, you know, they like their drink.
You get invited to things. It's difficult to opt out.
Bollocks! You'll be down the Feathers at half past six with the rest of us?
Look, Trevor, I am serious about this.
If you get there before us, get a kitty going, eh, Col?
Ten quid each should do it. I'm not too sure how many are gonna turn up,
but I've booked a table for 65 at the Dragon Gate afterwards.
Col, are you coming to Stella's leaving do tonight then?
- No. - Yes, he is!
- You're not gonna let Stella down, are you? - I've been trying to explain...
By the way, Bern's chartered a Rapide from National to bring the Bletchley mob down.
- Now, what time did you book the Chinky for? - Nine o'clock.
Should give us a chance to get well tanked up before. Or should I make it ten o'clock?
Let's see, Steve's bringing a crate round to the office, so we'll get some in then.
Yeah, pick up Sharon and her lot from the wine bar, so we'll have a few there.
Then there's the Feathers, the Coach and Horses.
- A couple of hours in there minimum. - What about the Red Lion?
- The Red Lion, I forgot! - What about the Chamber music recital?
Better make the Chinky 10:30 to be on the safe side, Trev.
Yep! I don't know about you, but I am gonna do some serious booze tonight.
Don't forget to sign this, Col.
Ah, Colin...
A word.
- I feel dreadful about this whole thing. - Oh?
Well, you see, I can't make it to this party of Stella's tonight and I'm feeling a wee bit guilty.
- I didn't go to her wedding reception either. - Don't worry. I don't think I'll be going either.
Oh. I was rather hoping you were.
I tell you what, Colin, if you do go and show a face on my behalf...
- Yes? - It'd be a hell of a weight off my mind.
Thanks, Colin. By the way, very glad to hear about your laying off.
At last somebody round here's got a bit of sense.
Who the hell is Stella, anyway?
Half of Pernod and lemonade. Maxine's gang, Guinnesses.
I've got Gloria and Debs down for Ruddles.
- No, no, no. They're Castlemaine XXXX. - Right. Bern's lot, four Bacardis.
Colin, pint of special. Eddie and the Bashers, five Carlsbergs and a rum and black.
And 29 packets of crisps.
Malcolm and Viv, two pints of Löwenbräu.
Oi! Trevor! Trevor, I don't want a pint of special!
Right. Gary, Guinness. Sandra's team, Taylor Walkers all round. Now what's up, Col?
I want an orange and Perrier water!
Col, don't piss me about. The bloke's waiting.
Look, I mean it. I want an orange and Perrier water.
- What's he on about? - Look! I do actually want a soft drink.
It's a relatively simple concept to grasp, you know.
- You are serious, aren't you? - Yes!
- Right, you can get it yourself! - Yeah!
- Right now, where were we? - Bloody poof!
Oi, listen, Col! You're having this whether you like it or not.
Delightful. Wha-hey, I'm having such a good time!
I really must do this again.
Oh, Colin, if you're not doing anything after work tomorrow night,
do pop in for a spot of purgatory on your way home.
So which one's Stella, then?
I'm just itching to meet this girl from accounts,
who's had 50p off me for a wine decanter from Argos
and is going to spend the rest of her life in a Wimpey home in Basingstoke.
Oi, Trevor! Trevor!
What's up, Col? Don't tell me - time for your Horlicks, is it?
Yeah! Which one is Stella?
- Stella? - Stella who's having this do.
Oh, Stella couldn't make it. Oi, your glass is empty!
Right, that's done it!
No-one is gonna be bulldozing me into another evening like this again.
If she can't be fagged to make it, then they're certainly not going to miss me.
Oi, Col, where are you going?
Do you want to go in front?
Well, that's one less Granny Smith in the world.
9:30pm and still stone-cold sober.
How does it feel, Watkins?
Well, different, I grant you.
The fact I'd sell my mother to the Khmer Rouge for a gin and tonic and a packet of peanuts
is neither here nor there.
Ah, that'll be Des. I wonder what intoxicating delights he's brought tonight?
More Perrier? Malvern Hills? Highland Spring?
Naturally Carbonated Himalayan Foothills water?
Antarctic Glacier Pack-ice water,
bottled at source with a zest of kiwi fruit?
Hi, Col. Grab these! Mind, they're still hot.
Some berk told me the half-time score, by the way.
Des, what is this?
Whole crispy Peking duck and pancakes - watch out, the sauce is leaking.
Hang on, hang on, hang on!
I did ask for one large pork shish and one large lamb, but I think he's given us two mixed.
Extra chillies, of course. Right, won't be a moment, the booze is still in the car.
No, Des, Des! Stop, stop! I thought we were cutting this out.
Yeah, but it's the England game. We can start again tomorrow.
Look, it's black or white, Des, eh?
You either cut out completely or you don't.
I mean, you don't semi go on hunger strike, do you?
You don't kind of become a Trappist monk.
You don't sort of die.
I didn't think you'd be so obsessive about the whole thing.
Oh, hang on, hang on! Who was badgering whom the other day?
Bit difficult to follow your moods at times. I'll bung out the Tarot cards in future.
- I shelled out 20 quid for this lot. - Here's my half.
I don't want your money. I didn't mean that. Look, I made a boo-boo. It's better if I go.
- Look, I don't want you to go. - You're absolutely right, Col.
I've got it wrong. You're sticking to the rules.
I thought we could bend them a little just for this evening. It's easier if I go.
There we are.
- It's not on, me scoffing this lot in front of you. - You're annoyed, aren't you?
Honestly, I'm not. I said, you're absolutely right.
Look, I'll give you a buzz tomorrow and we'll sort something out for the weekend, all right?
Des, Des... you're sure about this, yeah?
Col, I'm fine. Fine.
Oh, hell! Is it worth it?
Yes! I mean, just one week and you're looking better already.
You've got to hang in there.
Just think, next Saturday, one week from now, we'll be in there - in Le Gavroche,
with that menu staring you in the face.
And you'll enjoy it all the more, because you'll have earned it.
- Jen, I've changed my mind. - Oh, Colin!
I'm going to start with the langoustines and then have the guinea fowl.
Half bottle of Chablis and a litre of Chateauneuf-du-Pape to go with it.
Now, what about Sunday? Have we got it worked out yet?
Sunday, let's have a look.
Erm...
9:30 - Guinness and steak breakfast at the Fox and Anchor, Smithfield.
10:45 - Coffee and croissants at Louis's Patisserie.
11:30 - Jazz brunch at the Portman Intercontinental.
What about the happy hour at the Bombay Brasserie? That's twelve till one!
Oh, no! What are we gonna do?
Why don't we go to the jazz brunch for half an hour,
do the happy hour at the Bombay Brasserie and they go back again?
Jen - that's inspired!
- Hang on. I'm worried! - What about?
Well, the taxi journey. It's 20 minutes there and back.
- Oh, my God! I hadn't thought of that. - I'll tell you what...
I'll arrange for an intravenous drip of champagne on the way there
and a nose-bag of rum truffles on the way back.
Oh, God, I can't wait!
Now, be honest, how do you feel at the moment?
That is the whole point of the exercise, isn't it? You must feel a bit better.
Oh, I suppose I do.
- Tough going at the start, though? - Ha, tough going?!
Every corpuscle in my body is screaming for gratification.
Do I get any moral support? Klaus Barbie got more when he turned up at Lyon airport.
That pack of Vikings at work and old Des huffing and puffing.
I can't win. The only way to get through is lock myself away for a week
- and take the phone off the hook. - Oh?
Oh, what?
- It's just... Well, Thursday. - What about Thursday?
- Well, you know, Vincent's. - Eh?
I said we'd go. I mean, there's another couple from the office coming. He's laying on a buffet.
Jen, I can't!
He's gone and got the caterers in - I mean, you know what he's like.
He'll have everything organised down to the last vol-au-vent.
- Oh, no! Not you as well, please! - Oh, just Thursday. It's so important!
He's even ordered a crate of that sloe gin you like so much, specially.
I don't believe it! Does anybody out there understand?
And don't forget, afterwards, is the ice-cream and pizza-eating contest I've entered you for.
Ah, well, that is absolutely unbelievable!
I mean, I... I...
You thought you had me going then, didn't you?
Yes.
"The wind whistled over the reedy banks of the estuary.
No wreckage, no survivors, no mourners.
Just a lone gull, pecking away slowly at an empty mussel shell."
No, no, no!
"A couple of gulls...
...nibbling away...
at the rotting remains...
of a spider-crab." Yeah.
Nah, nah.
"A flock of gannets...
...swooped overhead...
and devoured the rotting remains of..."
No, no.
"A squadron of bald eagles
plummeted through the air and sank theirjagged beaks into the rank,
decomposing carcass of a washed-up sea lion."
Oh!
"Suddenly, the sky blackened
as a crazed Luftwaffe of vultures
nose-dived and ransacked the vast,
fetid, blubbering expanse
of a beached sperm whale.
In a merciless frenzy, they plunged their skulls into its cavernous stomach,
now reverberating with the echoes of theirjaws snapping
and gobbets of flesh being sucked and torn."
Oh, God! I'm so hungry!
Bugger the langoustines, Jen! It's the lobster, no contest.
You know what else drove me bananas at three o'clock in the morning?
- The rack of lamb with truffles. - Not my naked body then?
Who would have thought it? I whole fortnight, eh? I'd never have done it without you.
You are my coach, my mentor.
- You know what you are, don't you? - What?
A brick.
I don't quite know what to say.
- Ignore it. Come on, cheers! - No. No, no.
I want to savour this moment. I'll get rid of them. Hang on.
Colin, what's the matter? What's happened?
St... St...
St... Stuart... Stuart and Rosemary.
Shit!
- It's this weekend. I'd forgotten. - So had I.
Oh, look, couldn't we tell them you're working, or the car needs servicing,
or I've got cancer or something?
Look, we've put them off four times this year already.
There's no way out. We've got to go.
I left him on the floor for two minutes,
and when I came back he'd rolled all the way over to the video recorder
and pressed the rewind button,
which, according to the books, is something he shouldn't do until 12 months.
Not bad for eight and a half months!
The health visitor said we were going to have a fast-grower on our hands.
- He's got your eyes, Stuart. - Oh, do you think so?
Yes, Rosemary thinks he looks like me. I think he looks more like Rosemary.
I think he looks like the Ayatollah Khomeini.
Look, there's a yawn.
Ooh, I'll get on the phone to Reuters!
- Amazing, he's been right out since three. - Not a peep.
Probably dead.
- Joshua's a nice name. - It was a toss-up between Joshua or Daniel.
- Yes, we love those old Testament names. - Isaac's nice.
- Joseph. - Nebuchadnezzar.
Good Lord, Colin, that's a mouthful if ever there was.
Oh, by the way did you get our September bulletin?
- Erm? - Yes.
Oh, yes. Yes.
Well, believe it or not, the nanny-hunt still goes on.
It's been murder. Some are wanting £30 a week.
The last one was a bit of a disaster.
We had to get rid of her in the end. Stuart caught her using the phone.
And the wretched girl wanted a bath every day!
Anyway, that's enough talk of us.
What are you doing with yourself these days, Colin?
- Colin? - Hmm.
- Pardon? Yes, mm. - What's all your news, then?
Ah, I'm still working at, you know, Passenger Relations at good old BR.
Yes.
Actually, the writing side's looking up a bit cos...
- Oh, look, Jenny! He's smiling. - Oh, so he is.
- What's that, darling? - Look.
Cos I'm doing some short stories at the moment and...
Some people say it's just wind.
I'm also doing a bit of elephant hunting in the Zambezi.
Well, the books say it's wind, but we reckon he's been smiling since two weeks.
Oh, yes, and I've been doing a bit of Andes-pummelling as well.
Mind you, they all contradict each other.
What I do is, I fly out to a mountain range.
I jump out of the plane and I start boxing with it, you see.
Yes, well, beddy-bo-bo's time, don't you think?
I do hope you won't mind, you two, but I think we'll put Joshua back in his room now.
They can dominate the evening if you're not too careful.
No, no, no, darling. Joshua makes that grizzling sound when he's bored.
Yes, but there's a special sort of bored grumble when he's had his food,
but he's not sure whether he wants more or whether he just wants attention.
A refill, a refill, my kingdom for a refill.
A child's got to cry his quota, anyway. The sounder they sleep at night,
the more they'll make up for it during the day.
Stuart, two weeks I've been waiting! Give me a top-up, please!
Preferably before Halley's Comet comes round again.
So, the birth worked out all right then?
It was fine. Initially, I was against having an epidural - in fact, any form of drugs.
Don't they drink theirs? I mean, what are they doing? Waiting for the wine to evaporate?
So, all in all, four hours' labour really wasn't too bad for a first time.
Better than the seven hours I've been through.
Some go for 36, apparently.
Did anyone give me an epidural?
But that's exceptional...
Oh, when's he going to open that bottle?
It's been standing there all evening. This is torture.
Deliberate, calculated torture.
Forget Nicaragua, Amnesty International ought to shift their arses down here for a weekend.
I hope you've had enough to eat. I'm sorry, I forgot you two don't like offal.
- I'll try and remember next time. - Well, the sauce was quite nice though.
There are satsumas, if anyone's still hungry.
No, I don't think you can generalise about births...
I don't believe it- he's going to open the port.
Yes, yes! Yes, heading down the home straight.
He's got his hand out. He's reaching for it. He's got it in his hand.
Their tongues are hanging out. The crowd are jumping up and down!
Now, shall we have the port or not?
- No. Only give us a head in the morning. - Aaaaaagggghh!!
Right, come on. Down the pub, everyone!
- What? - No, no, no, no, no! I absolutely insist.
It's been a lovely evening, but this is our treat.
- No buts! - The only trouble is Joshua.
You go along, Stuart. I've had enough to drink. Go on, enjoy yourself.
- Are you sure, darling? - Oh, but that's not fair.
Yes, it is!
Look, you've got to have some licensing laws, Colin.
- Why? - That was quick.
We didn't make it in time.
- If there weren't any licensing laws... - Yes?!
Well, there'd be too much drinking.
Besides, the tourists find it all rather quaint, part of our heritage. But it's British.
Uh-oh!
British, yes!
- The good old British pub. - It's the envy of the world.
Yes, yes, of course it is! D'you hear that?
- What? - The sound of thundering feet.
I don't hear anything.
Thousands of people stampeding across Europe.
They're charging out of the wine cellars of Burgundy,
they're dashing their goblets to the ground in the château's of the Loire,
they're aborting the Munich Beer Festival and chucking their suckling pigs into the Rhine.
The entire Continent is pouring over the cliffs of Calais like lemmings.
Thrashing across the Channel towards us, so that they can wait
for three and a half hours outside in the car park of the Horse and Fart
on Sunday afternoon for their half of warm Worthington and a Cornish pasty.
Good old Britain! Yes, we know best. The shrine of civilisation. Eh? Eh?
I bet the Home Office is inundated with letters every day from bar owners in Benidorm,
nightclub managers in Corfu and Dutch car ferry captains,
just clamouring for more of our quaint little British ways and customs.
Special request, please, for more Morris dancing from the chief steward,
Heysel Stadium, Brussels.
I'll put the kettle on.
I mean, at least if the water had come out of the tap cold to begin with,
but, no, no, it has to wait till I'm in there, doesn't it?
You've told me. You can have my bath tomorrow.
End up lying there like a walrus washed up on a beach,
your buttocks lying in tepid puddles.
I mean, what do they heat their tank with - a candle?
- I understand, Colin. - No, you don't. You don't understand!
Nobody understands. I'm the only person in the world who's ever had a tepid bath.
Look, would you turn the light out, please?
Stuffed dummies. That's what we are, aren't we?
We drive 125 miles all the way down to bloody Dorchester
just to sit there and be talked at like a vaguely animate pile of flesh
hired for the weekend to be pummelled into oblivion.
If it's just our physical presence they want,
why don't we just send them a lock of hair or a urine sample?
I mean, that way they wouldn't have to feed us, would they? Feed us? Feed us? Ha!
A canary would come away from this place looking emaciated.
Look, it'll all be over tomorrow afternoon.
Remind me to ring Norris McWhirter on Monday morning, would you?
Tell him I've made half a glass of Liebraumilch last 17 hours.
Be quiet. If you don't shut up, I'm going to suffocate you with this pillow.
Yes, all right. I'm finished, I'm finished, I'm finished.
God, I wonder what they've got in store for us tomorrow morning?
They'll be buzzing around the kitchen, won't they, going, "Yes, let's go out in the garden!"
Why do they do it?
Why do they keep inviting us down?
I mean, why in God's name do they insist on keeping in touch?
Because we were at university together.
Correction. He happened to live in room 148.
I had the crippling misfortune to live in room 149.
Why do they keep pursuing us? We've got nothing in common. Absolutely nothing.
Other than that we breathe oxygen and we've got British passports.
It's so predictably depressing, isn't it?
They come down to college from their restrained little middle-class backwaters.
Let off the leash for the first time, they go through their little "hip" charade.
Stuart Fletcher - used to bung up posters of Che Guevara,
wiggle his bottom a bit at the Status Quo concert and three years later, yes,
back like a homing pigeon, filling in the BUPA forms and ferreting out good schools
- to send his battery-fed chickens to! - Sssh!
And they're both solicitors. Can you imagine it?
Two solicitors living together under the same roof. It's obscene!
What an environment to grow up in. That poor child is going to be an emotional retard.
Or a solicitor.
They don't want friends. They want social scatter cushions.
Life is a matter of form for them, isn't it?
We come down to them, they come up to us -
twice a year, regularly as clockwork, until one of us throws a spanner in the works by dying.
- Everyone OK in there? - Fine, thanks!
Only a few hours left. My God, I shall never have been so glad to see the M3 in my life.
Thanks again for staying on to help us clear out the septic tank.
I had no idea it'd be so smelly.
How's the cut, Colin?
Oh, it's nothing. It was just a piece of jagged glass and rusty barbed wire.
Are you sure you two can't stay on for supper?
We've still got some of that boiled chicken left over from lunch.
No, no, no, Colin and Jenny have got to get back.
The South Circular can be murder if you leave it too late.
Listen, we hope we'll get up to London some time in December.
- Fancy getting the diaries out? - Stuart... Wait.
Rosemary, can I just say something?
Look, erm, I don't quite know how to go about this,
but, anyway, I've been mulling things over
and I think what the four of us have got here is an acquaintance rather than a friendship.
It was circumstances that brought us together rather than any common interests as such.
And if we're all totally frank with each other,
we've got clashing attitudes and different life styles
that make these get-togethers really rather awkward.
I mean, please don't get me wrong.
I don't want you to think that Colin and I aren't appreciative of you having us to stay,
but I think it would make things a lot easier if we just skipped the pretence
and dropped the whole thing altogether.
Colin and I will leave now and none of us need contact each other ever again.
Well, I, erm...
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant! Jen, you even took me by surprise then!
- What?! - Well, it's a scream.
It's this new game we're playing. It's called "put the cat amongst the pigeons".
- What you talking about? - We're playing it all the time at the moment.
I did it at work the other day. I pretended to my boss I was going to hand in my notice
and he nearly choked on his cup-a-soup!
It's great. It's basically to sort of see what people's reactions would be.
It's amazing! Amazing! You should have seen your face, Rosemary.
I wish... I wish I had a camera! I do!
It's a stunner, isn't it? Yeah. Anyway, Stuart's right. Yeah, time to get the diaries out.
Ripped By mstoll