"Life is never what is seems..."
"we always searching in our dreams..."
"to find that little castle in the air"
"When worry starts to cloud the mind..."
"it's hard to leave it all behind and pretend you haven't a care."
"There's someone else in your imagination..."
"you wish you were standing in their shoes."
"You'd change your life without much hesitation."
"But would you if you really had to choose?"
"So don't look around..."
"get your feet on the ground."
"It's much better by far..."
"to be just as you are."
"For the other man's grass is always greener."
"The sun shines brighter on the other side."
"For the other man's grass is always greener."
"Some are lucky, some are not."
"Just be thankful for what you got."
They are fucking dead.
Fucking dead as fuck!
- How much you get, Mrs. Mort? - Hang on darling.
It says here on the bottle...
25.
- Diazepans you wanted, wasn't it? - Right.
BMW, fantastic Jeremy.
Very comfy.
- Company car, is it? - Oy. Probably.
Now the boys have these with their cider, Charlie.
Diazepans they are.
I knows that, but the kids likes it with cider. Good times, eh.
Look at the dashboard on it.
12 quid. Alright, Mrs. Mort?
Thank you boys.
Don't forget, there's a welcome for you both in choir practice.
Your father was a fine tenor.
It'd be a shame to break the mold, isn't it?
Boys, I was wondering if you could get me more of those mushrooms.
- Mushrooms? - The magic ones.
I sprinkles them on Charlie's fish. He gets a good relief from them.
- We'll try. - Thank you, boys.
What the fuck does that mean?
- What? - That.
Ambition is fucking critical.
It says, "Ambition is Critical."
There's no "fucking" in it.
It's a play on words.
- A What? - Dylan Thomas.
The poet Dylan Thomas.
He said "Swansea is the graveyard of ambition."
And he was right.
- Did he right that? - No, the Council wrote that.
Or they probably employed another poet and he or she came up with that.
"Ambition is Critical."
Three words.
They got a poet to do three fucking words?
You can have as many words as you like in a poem. It doesn't matter.
Is it supposed to be funny?
No, it's supposed to be clever.
Dylan Thomas also called Swansea...
"An ugly lovely town."
I'd call it...
A pretty shitty city.
Dylan Thomas didn't do as much fucking cocaine as you, did he?
At least mine fucking rhymes.
Three words as well: "Pretty shitty city."
I fucking like that!
Pretty shitty city.
Three fucking words! I like that!
Can you get headphones for that fucking thing.
I can move on to book five now.
Let Cantona in, Adie. There's a good girl!
Don't "good girl" me, you fat bastard!
I'm busy on my nails.
Why do you speak to him in Welsh?
You got him in Bristol! He can't understand a word.
What you go on today, Fatty?
A roofing hobble for Cartwright, at the club.
- What's he paying? - Adie, don't bloody start.
- How much? - It's a little bit of cash.
- It's no big deal. - What's he giving you?
- 30. - 30?
- Fucking charlatan! - You be careful up that roof, hear?
Could you take us to Penclawdd Bowls Club, please?
- Fuck off. I'm busy. - Righty oh. Thank you very much.
I won't keep you from a coal mine lads.
Fuck me!
Everyone's got shoes on their fucking feet.
Not a rugby ball in sight.
Yeah, I've been picking leeks all fucking morning.
- Boyo. - Yeah.
Welsh farmer counting sheep:
1, 2, 3. 5, 6, 7.
- Alright? - Alright?
- No, I'm not alright. Thank you.
What time do you call this coming home?
Blinking carry on you call all this!
- Cup of tea boys? - "Cup of tea boys?"
It's not tea they wants, it's a fucking good hiding.
Ask 'em who was kind enough...
to lend them the two tone BWM they been driving through the night.
- Go on, ask 'em. - Fuck off you nosey bitch!
- Charming! - Don't forget you two...
are seeing that probation fellow Monday.
- Do you hear me? - Christ!
He'll probably give 'em two weeks in Lanzarote.
There's plenty of jeeps for them to knick over there.
Look at the state of you!
You can get into the bath now! The pair of you!
And oy!
The bath is for washing in, not rinsing out your bong!
And this glue is for my submarine not putting up your noses.
Don't think I don't notice, 'cause I do.
Buy your own fucking glue.
If you leave it hanging around the place all the time...
they're bound to take advantage.
It's probably them models that got them on in it to start with.
You want a sausage, Adie?
She'll be having plenty of sausage at the massage parlor. Ain't it Adie?
Oy! Now cut it out!
Adie is only a receptionist.
And it's an executive health spa not a massage parlor.
The choke-a-woof dog collar...
Damn, I'm late!
- Ta-ta love. - So long babes.
And you two behave today now.
Health spa!
Well while that fat git is earning 30 quid a day up...
Bryn Cartwright's roofing ladders...
and you fucking vegetables are killing yourselves in nicked cars...
I'm earning decent money.
So I can get out of this pit hole fucking dockyard.
You call that earning decent money?
How much is a wank, Adie?
Oy!
Don't worry love, you can have a family discount.
You'll have to find your wee little willies first though.
- Cut it out! - Cut it off, more like!
Fuck off Adie!
Coming.
Christ! He's left his bloody dinner box again.
Take these sandwiches up to the club please.
Feed Cantona, have a bath, and...
leave your father's glue alone.
So long!
Big night on Friday: West Wales Semis.
- Bring the Missus. - He knows 80 numbers solid now...
81 with "My Way" in fucking Welsh.
What's your big number, Chip?
"Like a fucking Virgin"!
Only one he know off by heart.
No, there's a lot of mileage in this karaoke lark, Fatty.
Karaoke's killing the fucking Welsh choir music, Dai.
You can't beat a male voice choir. That's proper fucking singing.
Well, we're gonna be the karaoke kings. Right Dai?
King and fucking queen more like!
What the fuck are you laughing at? Fucking twat!
- Sorry Terry. We didn't see you. - Are you fucking blind, or what?
Terry, you weren't fucking looking!
- What the fuck are you laughing at? - I'm not laughing, Terry. Look.
Fucking don't.
You still on for this stuff, Dai?
- You got the gear? - You got the cash?
Up the club. See you there.
- Hang on, Dai. - What?
Put your seat belts on.
Clunk-click, every fucking trip.
I said what's the best color top in the Premier League...
and you said Man U black.
And I fucking had you.
Right. You gotta do a toke under water and hold it five seconds.
1, 2, 3, 4, 4 and a half.
5.
Alright. This will fucking have you.
Why is it that some teams corner flags and halfway flags...
are triangular and some are fucking square?
Go on then.
Never fucking get this one.
Fucking hell! I know this.
I fucking know it.
It has something to do with...
Premier and Endsleigh League stadium capacities.
No, it's not.
I know! If they've got square flags...
the crowd knows they're on fucking telly.
Innit?
'Cause the square flags is like a telly.
Then the crowd can tell if the fucking game's on telly.
You don't fucking know do you! You haven't got a fucking clue!
- Go on then! - It's because...
if you've won the FA cup...
that means you can have triangular flags on your fucking pitch...
because you've won the fucking cup.
And that is fucking right.
That's why Cardiff has got triangles and Swansea has got fucking squares.
So if Swansea wins the cup...
we gets triangular flags.
- Fuck off! - It's in the book.
Come on. Ten fucking seconds!
Nice bit of sheep dip, by the way.
Here, you got a Versace down here, Taff.
- No. - Kwik-Fit.
Right. Better catch a Choo-choo back to civilization.
Be lucky. And if you can't be lucky, top yourself.
And if all else fails...
try Wales.
Fuck me!
Two World Wars and one World Cup they won.
You'd never fucking believe it.
- Prick. - Give us a look.
- Come on man. - Wait.
- Come on. - Fucking murder you are, Terry.
Steady on, Terry.
- That is a cheeky bit of Charlie. - Hang on. There's more than two.
There's loads of them!
There's half a fucking ton of it! Don't shush me!
- There's eight packets of stuff! - I know.
How much cash did you just give to that fucking idiot?
- 40 grand. - 40 fucking grand!
Shut the fuck up.
"Chances are we won't be gettingsnow."
"But even if the sun shines from now till Christmas day."
"As far as I can say..."
"I know it's gonna be a cold, cold Christmas..."
"without you."
Come here boy!
Fuck off! Fuck off you prick!
Jones in the middle. Catch the ball!
Yeah. Poetry in bloody motion, that is.
Who needs to go to the ballet when you got that at your doorstep.
Any one of these boys could play for Wales one day.
What? Darts?
Listen, if my heart was as big a fucking rugby ball...
I wouldn't be sinking pennies into this slag heap.
But I can't help it, Dewi.
I built this club from nothing.
And I fucking loves it!
I knows it, Bryn. I know you do man.
Williams, you're a wanker! Say after me: "I'm a wanker!"
I'm a wanker!
Greyo it's alright. It's fucking sorted
Sorted with who?
I don't want to shift a whole Fucking kilo of this stuff.
This isn't fucking Miami, Terry. It's Swansea.
We're in the third fucking division.
What the fuck are we supposed to do with all that you jock twat?
I got someone else shifting bigger batches, that's all.
- Keep your fucking hair on. - Don't want to shift bigger batches.
I'm happy with little batches. What's wrong with the scam we got?
I want to move on a bit, that's all.
I don't want to do a little gram here, a little gram there.
Shifting a few microwaves and a bent old bollocks till I'm 45.
I'm just moving to a bigger operation, that's all.
Who the fuck gave you 40 grand Terry?
I got someone with proper money.
Be careful, Terry.
You can come in with me if you want.
I just didn't think you'd want in to shifting larger lumps.
- I don't want to know. - Ex-fucking-actly.
You're getting out of your depth.
Al Pa-fucking-cino! You're pushing it Terry.
Bollocks.
Fatty, We down for a new guttering on this or what?
Never mind about the fucking guttering.
Get the kettle on, Chip. And get some hobnobs
- Where do you think you're going? - When?
- What do you mean 'when'? Now! - What?
- You pillock, where are you going? - When?
- Now, you fucking moron! - Fatty said get Hobnobs, Bryn.
Fuck Fatty. Get back on the ladder. Get on the fucking job man!
And don't Bryn me. It's Mr. Cartwright, alright?
Mr. Cartwright, right.
Hey Bryn?
- Are we down for the whole macogny? - What's the schlamonga like?
Not looking to clever. They could be tacked up.
Well fucking tack it up then.
Oy Bryn.
You put this old schlamonga up here...
I'm not putting my name to this job. Right?
- I can't be seen... - Oy Fatty...
your name's got bog all to do with this job, right?
Just keep those boards up...
take the 30 nicker I'm bunging you and try to remember...
you're working for Cartwright roofing not the Salvation Army.
Now get on with it!
And you two plonkers can look lively and all!
Couple of fucking slugs, the pair of you!
- Fucking Cowboy! - Fucking starving me.
Shut up and pass me a piece of two and a half.
- That's dodgy as fuck, Fatty. - I know it is. Come and hold it.
- I'm busy man. - Where's that two and a half?
No, you got to get it over here man.
- I can't come closer, can I? - Of course you fucking can.
- I can't man. - What's happening?
Help! I'm going!
Hang on.
You fucking twat!
- Bollocks! - For fuck's sake.
Come on!
What the fuck are you looking at! You little cunt, move on.
Fuck off you wanker!
Right then.
- Fuck off! - You fuck off!
- Leave him alone. - Fuck about with me, you prick?
- Hey leave him alone! - Get the fuck.
Detective Terry Walsh. Swansea West.
Get this fucking lot off the road before I book you for obstruction.
Now! Move it!
That prick is lucky I'm not getting him for assault on an officer.
- You fucking bully! - Fucking move it you Welsh bastards!
Get back in the fucking car!
For God's sake.
- You're a twat, Terry. - He hit me.
That was fucking childish!
And fucking stupid. He couldn't be more than ten.
- He was about 14. - Jesus Christ.
- Chopsey little shite. - He was a fucking kid.
- Alright, alright. Don't go on. - Twat.
Remember you're a fucking cop now and again, Terry.
- What are we doing? - Fucking Lewis twins.
Hurry up, we got to go up the club.
"In the summer time, when the weather is hot..."
"you can reach right up and touch the sky."
"When the weather's nice you got women on your mind."
"Have a drink, have a drive. Go out and see what you can find."
"If her daddy's rich, take her out for a meal."
"If her daddy's poor, just do what you feel."
Oy Dai! Fatty forgot his fucking hotdogs.
- What the fuck is that? - It's a fucking Cobra!
He's down at the hospital. Aye, he come off the ladder.
They took him to the hospital in the ambulance. A lark man!
- Fucking leg, looks like. - What the fuck are you doing?
Get this car off my fucking club now.
Or you'll be joining your father in the hospital.
Look at the fucking pitch.
- In the hospital? - Aye.
With his leg!
Pass us that fucking piratha, will you?
Do they have little hospitals in aircraft carriers, Dad?
- Sick bay, they have. - Whereabouts?
Right there, just below the galleys, in front of midships.
What happens if you pop your clogs on a ship?
They helicopters you out if you're dead, or they freezes you like ice?
Well it depends where you are.
Sometimes you're buried at sea.
No choice if you're at war. Carrier or a sub. No time.
Push. Over the side.
A quick fucking prayer by the chaplain, a singsong...
and you're in with the jelly fish.
- Good night, fucking Irene. - In a coffin?
If you're lucky. Or in a hammock.
Chuck us that chutney, eh.
Babes!
Hello, Dad.
I got you a bottle of Isotonic...
clean pants, and a Wispa.
- Express? - Evening Post.
You're on page page. It's a lovely picture.
The SS are gonna love that.
What the specialist say Dad?
He said the leg is more complicated than he thought.
But he'll live.
And if I don't, I've told the boys what I want.
He wants to be buried at fucking sea.
With a Welsh flag and a big choir singing as I go down.
I won't tell him again.
Sea burials are illegal.
- You won't listen to me. - God bless him.
He wants to be dumped in the water with his little submarine.
Adie, he can't, because you need special permission and...
special coffins that cost a fortune.
There's nothing wrong with cremation.
- Have you heard from Cartwright? - Of course I haven't.
We'll go and see him.
Don't get any funny ideas about Bryn Cartwright.
- He'd have you for breakfast. - Maybe we'll have him for breakfast.
What are you two shitheads gonna do?
- Gonna let his fucking tires down? - Oy! Language.
Look it's the coppers. Fuckers!
What is it with you fucking kids!
Evening all.
Very funny, Dai.
- You should be on the stage. - We will be tomorrow.
- You coming to the semis? - Barons Karaoke?
Grab a fucking granny.
You should be alright then, Terry.
You hear about Fatty's leg? It's fucking fucked.
Swinging off ladders at his age. About time he called it a day.
- I wish his twins would. - Twins were up here earlier.
- Fucking headers. - What were they driving?
A black kit car. AC fucking Cobra.
You know, like a copy type of thing.
- Flash as fuck. - Not a two tone 525?
No, fucking Cobra.
- Hell of a fucking bonnet on it. - Drove through the whole pitch.
So it wasn't a two tone 525 then? You know the difference between...
a 525 and a fucking AC Cobra?
Course I fucking do, man!
One's got a roof and the other fucking haven't.
Twins were in a fucking AC Cobra.
Two tone 525 took a lump out of Terry's 635 this morning.
Whole wing. Joy riders.
Terry was very upset.
You sure it was a two tone 525?
I don't know the difference between a 525 and a Cobra?
No.
You having a fucking laugh then, Dai?
I'm not having a fucking laugh.
Just the two tone 525, could have been a 523 or a 528.
- You might have made a mistake. - I don't mistake shapes Dai.
It was a two tone 525 and if it was the Lewis twins behind the wheel...
I'm gonna take their fucking heads off.
See, the 520 looks a bit like the old Fiat 132, and all.
- Prick. - Let's sort this sherbet out.
- You buying expensive, Dai. - I'm sorting some stuff out.
- Charlie, is it? - Shut up you twat.
Two lines of that and you'll be in the Betty fucking Ford, Dai.
Immaculate.
That is rock and roll. Fucking lovely that.
- ¿Greyo? - Not for me. I just sell the stuff.
Terry give me a line man.
Fucking hurry up then, right?
- That's my note, Terry. - What?
My note. It's my note. The 20.
What are you talking about? That's my fucking 20.
My fucking throat's numb.
- It's his note Terry. - Don't fuck about. It's my note.
- Give it back to him. - It's my fucking 20!
Cut it out the pair of you. Give it back Terry.
Have it then you prick.
You're the fucking prick. Always were.
What the fuck has got into you?
What time does it start tonight?
Course I've been practicing.
Have you been thinking about me?
Of course I do.
What! Not here. I'm in the hall.
Dad's here.
You're terrible, you are?
No. I just got out of the bath.
Nothing.
Go on then.
I am.
Where's your hand?
Go on.
So am I.
I better go. There's someone at the door.
I'll see you later, yeah?
Bye.
Me too.
Alright?
- What? - Is Bryn in?
- Dad! - Yes?
- Fatty's boys are at the door. - Who?
The Lewises.
- Who? - Fatty's boys!
- Yeah? - Well?
- What? - Fatty. Leg. Crack.
- Insurance. - Insurance?
Your father was working for himself, doing a little a little hobble.
If he goes chucking himself off the roof, that's his problem.
He knows the crack.
"Insurance", Jesus. You're off your trolleys man.
- Fucking compensation then. - Compensation now?
- And the mess you made of my pitch? - And Fatty's fucking leg?
If Fatty Lewis sent you over here with all this compensation bollocks...
he's a bigger twat than I thought. Do me a favor boys.
- I got a race to get on with. - Giving him fuck all then, is it?
Now hang on Bonzo.
Actually I quite like the old prick.
Though how he managed to use his little cock to create a couple of...
knobheads like you two is beyond me.
Look...
here's 20 quid.
Now buy yourselves a nice big tin of sticky-sticky.
And fuck off back to naughtyland.
Fergie, come on.
- Who was that? - A pair of lard heads.
- What did they want? - After money.
Fatty Lewis' boys, after money.
- After money? - Yeah.
- Is he out of hospital then? - Out of his head, if you ask me.
Sending those two over here for compo.
You could give them something, send something to the hospital, you know.
Yeah, a bill for wasting my fucking time, that's what.
You could send him something, couldn't you?
I'll send him a little fucking something!
Look, I resent getting bunny from those two, alright.
Thinking of their father, I am. That's all, thinking of him.
Well fuck 'em. Fuck them all. Don't you fucking start.
- I'm not starting. - Well don't then.
- I'm not. - Well fucking don't!
Oh shit!
Full massage, ten pounds.
Full massage with full relief, 15.
Hand relief, top exposed, 20.
Oral, 25. Oral and all-in, 45.
Or we can talk about any combination or dressing up, as you fancy.
What can I have for 20 again?
20 pounds? Top exposed, hand relief.
- Tits and hand shandy, is it love? - Right. Go ahead you.
Righto then, Ivor.
Bon voyage.
- How's that boy? - Marvelous, go on.
Hitting the spot?
Jesus Christ. It's Pinky and Perky.
- Which one's which? - I give in. You all look alike.
Adie, two pork chops are never the same.
- What like butter and margarine? - Exactly, you can always tell.
Don't forget your inhaler.
Cup of tea boys?
- Or a bit of executive relief? - I can't decide.
You haven't seen those lovely twins of yours in the last 24 hours?
- They're not twins. They're brothers. - Why they called twins then?
Because my mother was very big in pregnancy and only one came out.
She had to wait another three years for the other little bastard.
So we call them twins, right?
They're out of order with all this driving malarkey, Adie.
Somebody's gonna get hurt.
Well send them off to a nice little remand center for 15 years.
- Do us all a fucking favor. - Adie, driving cars that don't...
belong to them at 90 mph on the wrong side of the road...
is starting to take the fucking piss.
- Well fucking nick 'em then. - They're not worth nicking.
What were they driving the night before last?
Now, let me see...
Night before last?
Oh yes, of course. They were playing bridge...
at Black Hills Country club.
So it must have been pillar box red Lamborghini Countache.
Tell them they're in line for the biggest kicking from any copper...
that catches them at the wheel of the next fucking motor.
Adie, have a word, that's all. They're riding for a fall.
- Bit of advice. Ok? - Thanks.
Maybe you could give 'em a little apprenticeship on the force.
- They could learn a lot from you. - 50.
Sorry to hear about Fatty's accident. Send him my regards.
I will.
Touch my nipple, darling.
- See you again, Sid? - Yeah.
What you doing tonight?
- Very fucking ambitious. - All I said...
- "What are you doing tonight?" - Rollerblading with Kaenu Reeves.
What have you got in mind, Terry? Two tickets to the policeman's ball?
I'll have the full monty. Now.
Flash and flush. I like your style.
Hang on to the receipt. You can claim it on your expenses.
Right then.
Fuck of the month coming up. Madeleine.
Take Mr. Walsh through. All-in 50.
Ta-ta, Terry.
Break a leg. Or a neck.
I don't want her. I want you.
Terry, I don't fuck bent coppers.
And anyway, I'm just the receptionist.
"When you're alone and life is making you low..."
"you can always go..."
"downtown."
"When you got worries, all thenoise..."
"and the hurries, to help I know."
"Downtown."
"Don't hang around, let your problems surround..."
"there are movie shows, downtown."
"Maybe you know some little places you go where they never close..."
"downtown."
"Just listen to the rhythm of the gentle bossa nova."
"You'll be dancing with them too before the night is over."
"Happy again."
"The lights are much brighter. You can forget your troubles."
"Forget all your cares, downtown."
"Things will be great when you're downtown."
"Don't wait a minute more, downtown."
"Everything's waiting for you."
"Downtown."
Thank you!
Thank you.
Big hand for Chip on backing vocals.
He's a lovely boy from Penclawdd.
And if any of you girls are feeling Hungry, he's a tasty geezer.
I suppose a shag is out of the question, is it?
- No fucking chance. - Out.
- What do you mean out? - He means not fucking in.
- Why not? - There's why not.
- Out. - Come on man.
- No jeans. - They're not jeans, they're cords.
- No polo necks. - It's a fucking roll top.
It's a fucking polo neck. It doubles as a roll top.
- It's not a proper polo top. - Look, you can turn them down.
- It's a polo neck. Now fuck off. - I'm gonna say it once more: Out!
Fuck off!
- You got it? - Yeah.
- Any problems? - No.
- What about Greyo? - He's not interested.
- He know who you're dealing with? - No.
Good. Keep it that way. You work for me now, alright?
Ok. What about the gear?
Bring it up to the club and we'll talk at the weekend.
Oy Dai, here.
Come on.
- Where's my little treasure? - She's next up Brynn.
We've got a good shout tonight. I'll see you later gorgeous.
- Lovely voice on her, mind. - Lovely arse more like.
You lay your hands on it, I'll chop your tackle off.
- I'm old enough to be her father. - Exactly.
Listen, we're having curry out at the Taj later now, right?
And later a little party back at the Ponderosa after.
Celebration like. Little drinky winky type of thing, ok?
50 nicker says my Bonny wins the semi-finals. Huh?
Cheers, Bryn. Tidy.
Taking a bung, Dai? That's a criminal offense.
Half a lager says you didn't see a thing, right?
As they say in Landow, Ciao for now.
You can't be serious, Greyo. She's a hooker.
I know and I'm a scrum half.
- Didn't think you had to pay for it. - We all have to pay for it, Lucy.
- I wouldn't dream of charging you. - Thanks.
She loves me...
she loves me not.
She loves me...
she loves me not.
She loves me...
she loves me not.
Come on!
Let's hear it for the Rocking Sikh.
Or as he's known at the chiropodist, "The Reeking Sock"!
Magic, magic, magic!
Now our last but one contestant is a lovely girl from the Mumbles.
Before any of you get the wrong idea...
she's a black belt in Karaoke!
She's a lovely girl and she's gonna sing a karaoke corker tonight:
"I will survive."
A big Barons welcome for Bonny Cartwright!
"At first I was afraid, I was petrified."
"Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side."
"Then I spent so many nights..."
"thinking how you'd done me wrong."
"And I grew strong and learned how to get along."
"And now you're back..."
"from outer space."
"I just walked in to find you with that look upon your face."
"I should have changed that stupid lock."
"I should have made you leave you're key."
"If I'd known for just one second you'd be back to bother me."
"Oh no, now go. Walk out the door."
- Just turn around... - Chip!
"You're not welcome anymore."
She loves me...
she loves me not.
She fucking loves me boys!
I wish I was dead.
They lay a finger on you love and they will be dead.
Bastards.
Rip their shitty nappies off and stuff 'em up their arses.
I'll stretch their necks like Pigeons, put their balls in a mincer.
I feel sick.
- Alright, leave it now. - Jesus!
You can't say leave it Brynn. For Christ sakes, they peed on her.
Don't talk like that in a restaurant. Forget about them.
- We'll have a nice supper. - I'll cut their willies off!
We'll have a bottle of Barollo, and forget all about it.
I was born under a Swansea star!
Nice to see all the family together Mrs. Cartwright.
I heard Barons went a bit bonkers.
- Yeah. - Ready to order?
We'll have a nice bottle of wine to start off if you don't mind.
Bryn.
- Bryn. - What?
- Order. - On chicken jalfrazi balti...
half chips, half rice. Two onion bajis.
Three nans and a grandpa.
- I was born! - Where was you born?
Under a Swansea star!
You're a hell of a boyo, Mr. Cartwright.
Listen I think I've left the car lights on.
Think I bloody better check.
Ranjid, give 'em the fucking works, this one's on me.
Party back at the Ponderosa after. You are coming, right?
Bring me Missus.
These boots were made for kicking!
Trains are made to wreck!
And if I see a rabbit, I'll break it's fucking neck!
Won't be needing another slash in a fucking hurry, boys.
You pull anymore strokes like that and I'll drown the pair of you...
like a couple of fucking kittens.
It's a fucking shed.
It's not a shed. It's my vacation home.
Well you better get your holiday pay out then.
Bryn, mix 'em a martini.
Do you like Cappodimonte, Chip?
Cappodimonte? I've never tasted it Brynn.
Never tasted it!
Lovely fucking guy Alec, Fucking Tom Cruise he was.
He'd lob the bottles up in the air like a juggler, unbelievable!
We got photos. Hey Lucy!
Where's the photos of Florida? Show the boys that bloke in the bar.
They're upstairs, the photos are upstairs.
Well go and get them like a good girl.
- You looked great tonight. - So did you.
- Do you think I would've won? - In my book, you're in another class.
Different league. Premier fucking league.
I was proud of you tonight.
Call me tomorrow.
The probation reports tell me that...
you've not been turning up for community service lately.
Is there anything you'd like to tell me about that boys?
Mr. Lewis.
To be honest with you, Mr. Waldron, I think they're picked on.
- They're a target. - I see.
Target.
Because they're special I suppose.
- Special? - Brothers.
There's two of them you see, and they tend to be ganged up on.
It's a phenomonen.
I hear you had a spot of bother at Barons nightclub.
Have you been charged?
- Have they been charged? - No.
Give you a bit of a pasting, did they?
- They were picked on. - Yes, well...
thank you for coming down with the boys, Mr. Lewis.
I'd like to speak to them on their own, if that's ok.
Yes, of course. You've got a job to do.
You listen to Mr. Waldron and you tell him the truth.
I'll see you back home later.
Hot dogs for tea.
They're their favorites, hot dogs.
They're good boys, my boys.
Fiat Uno.
- Nicole? - Papa?
So, tell me about the last car you stole.
The Cosworth, was it?
Come on then, tell me about the Cosworth.
Tell that to the clerk of the court and he'll be rolling in the aisles.
Yeah.
- He got fucking golf clubs. - Tailor made?
- Aye. - How many?
Fucking loads and balls. Millions of them
There'll be sausage rolls, and Welsh cakes in the gazebo.
You're all very welcome. Excuse me.
Thank you Hugh. Very good of you to do this.
It meant a lot to us all.
Only too happy to help Brynn.
- Difficult time. - Yeah.
Well?
Nothing, Bryn. Not even a lead.
I mean, sorry.
I don't mean lead as in... You know.
I didn't mean it as a fucking pun, Brynn. I'm sorry.
I don't want any of this business getting about.
Be a fucking laughing stock.
Just do what you gotta do, but keep it quiet, right?
And you can tell those pricks in town...
if they print any of this, I'll ram that paper up their arses.
- Is that clear? - Clear enough.
Fucking right fair enough.
What do you want to do about this Peruvian Marching Powder?
- The what? - The dust. The bat food. The snow.
Snow?
What fucking snow?
The powder. The snortable. The Charlie. The scooby-doo expensive.
The class A fucking narcotics.
Don't talk to me in fucking code.
Cocaine, right? Just say fucking cocaine.
- Ok, the fucking cocaine! - Shut up, man.
Never mind the fucking gear.
I put it somewhere safe. Just let all this blow over.
Fucking snow.
Fergie's special treat. Sausage rolls.
She'd have enjoyed these sausage rolls.
Bryn used to bring them back you know, from the rugby club.
She'd have loved all this.
That poodle never hurt a fly, Greyo.
I know. You must be devastated.
- Jen. - Thanks.
Well, they're gonna find out who they're messing around with, right?
- Who? - Who?
The bastards who brought that young dog's life to an end.
Whose behind all this, Lucy?
How do I know? I don't see the half of it.
Why don't you find out?
You're the fucking copper.
Where do you think that ship's off to, Dai?
What sort of ship is it?
Big one.
Probably a tanker. I don't know. Spain or France or somewhere.
Yeah, Honolulu, or Thailand.
- Going to pick up more Rolexes. - Rolexes don't come from Thailand.
Fake ones do.
I'd love to go to Thailand.
Aye.
Have a little karaoke bar on the beach.
Me and you. Somewhere hot.
I'm hot.
Hot to trot.
It's the strong arm of the law.
Business or pleasure?
- Come away with me, Bonny. - Away where?
- Anywhere. - I'm going fulltime karaoke.
This place is holding me back.
Roofing's just a job.
- What about my father? - Leave.
I can't, Dai. Not yet.
Come on, love.
- This is a waste of time. - What time are they due back?
They probably won't come home at all. Sometimes they stay out all night.
In other people's fucking motors?
- You'll wake my parents up. - Adie...
they've gone and nicked the probation officer's Fiat Uno.
- How do you know? - Because it said Fiat Uno on the back.
How do you know it was the twins?
I've got a hunch.
- Do you mind if I look in their pit? - Go ahead.
- Lf you got the nose for it. - I've go the nose for it.
How come a two liter bottle of cork is 27 p...
- The super-duper deal? - Yeah.
- Fucking brilliant! - I know.
But if you have a one liter bottle, it costs 37 p.
- Fucking hell. That's weird. - I know.
Really weird.
Even though it's bigger it costs you less than the smaller ones.
- I know. - Why?
I don't know.
It's really fucking weird.
Fuck it!
- Anything? - Fuck all. May as well fuck off.
You mean you're not staying for supper?
I was going to open a bottle of Dandelion and Burdock.
I may as well hang about a bit. You never know.
Come on let's fuck off.
No, go ahead. Take the car.
- What are you gonna do? - Don't worry about me.
I'll get a cab.
Right, ok then. I'll fucking shoot off then.
Drive carefully, Terry.
- We'll do cruises. - In a boat?
Yeah, the QE2. Tokyo.
Japan.
Yeah. It's the karaoke capitol of the world man.
There's a lot of Welsh connections there.
Yeah, Japan. Fuck it.
- Hello? - Terry.
It's half past fucking 12.
I've got Fergie's collar.
What?
The Lewis twins. In their caravan.
You are fucking kidding.
- Fuckers. - What are you going to do?
What am I going to do?
Rip their fucking heads off.
- Can you see to it? - Course I can have them seen to.
- It's not a problem. - Good.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
And a dog for a dog. Have they got a dog?
- Yeah. - I want the dog done first.
Do the dog, alright?
- What about the twins? - I need time to think.
- Just do the fucking dog. - Ok. Tomorrow.
- No, tonight. - I want to watch "Serpico".
Tonight.
- But I want to watch "Serpico". - Fuck Serpico, you'll tape it.
- Ok. - I'll see you tomorrow.
Yeah.
This grass is really fucking lovely.
I know.
Two-nil.
What the fucking hell?
Cantona!
Come on, boy. Yah! Come on!
Just you and me now broth'.
Cantona!
What a cheeky mutt!
Well, well. Where did you find him boys?
In the caravans.
Cantona. You'd better stay with me.
Thank you boys, for bringing him.
Hello could I have a word with Detective Sergeant Alan Grey?
Thank you.
The way of the transgressor is fucking hard.
- Who said that? - I fucking did.
- Where we going? - I don't know yet.
Good enough. Thank you.
- Welcome. - Thank you, Bob.
- Take care. - Same to you.
- There's no fucking butter. - You don't have it with hot dogs.
- What do you mean - Not butter, fucking ketchup.
- Wet them up with fucking ketchup. - Fatty did 'em with butter.
I know, but he never did hot dog van sausages.
He did the little Walls sausages.
You can do them with butter. But you can't fuck about with these.
- Where are these bastards from? - Fucking Germany, it says.
German fucking breakfast.
Do you think they have Welsh sausages in Germany?
- Aye, probably. - Where's this dope from?
- Morocco. - Morocco?
- What else do they do in Morocco? - Carpets.
- Carpets? - Aye.
Do you know what happens if they catch you smoking dope in Morocco?
- What? - They hand you over to...
- the fucking rug squad. - Fuck off.
Fucking had you!
Right then! You got to a double hot dog...
with a quarter of Moroccan sprinkled on top...
25 fucking magic mushrooms, and you'll be dead in three mouth fulls.
Morning boys.
Double cheeseburger, large portion of fries please, and a diet Coke.
- Thanks. - We've only hot dogs, no butter.
Only fucking hot dogs it is!
- Anything on it? - Anything you like, snappy now.
Quiet little spot you got here boys.
Aye...
You want to get yourselves in the thick of it.
A bit more bloody action.
Down there, you should be now.
Aye, down there. Down there...
- by the church. - Aye.
- 90p. - Aye.
Gonna be a big one, down there today.
Lot of people coming from the town.
Fire palaver.
From the caravans. Someone Should be fucking strung up for it.
- I know. - Aye.
Down there you want to be boys.
After the service...
gonna be a lot of starving people coming out of that church.
You could make a fucking killing.
Fucking hell, plenty of through on these.
Very, very unusual.
Come on boy. See you tomorrow with any luck.
If I was those twins I'd have had...
my family fucking cremated, not buried.
The twins have disappeared, haven't been consulted on the matter.
All I'm saying if you're torched in a fire accident...
may as well be burned again in the crematorium.
- It wasn't an accident. - Whatever.
Fucking manslaughter then.
The twins Bryn's poodle's head off.
- You are joking. - So...
Who was behind the fire, Terry?
The twins. The fucking twins! Is that why they disappeared?
No, Terry. For fucks sake.
Cartwright was striking back at the twins for...
what they did to his fucking poodle.
He probably got some other twat to do the dirty work.
Like a revenge kind of thing?
- I thought the dog was dead. - It must have got out.
What was Fergie's collar doing on that mongrel's neck?
- I thought you had the collar. - I know. I did.
So how the fuck did it end up on that animal's fucking neck?
I slipped the collar around its neck before torching the kennel.
What the fuck for?
It was a fucking symbolic thing. So they knew you meant business.
A sort of Italian touch. Classy.
Classy?
You're a fucking moron.
- What about Greyo? - He's gonna have a pop.
At me? Have a pop at me?
- It's a murder, Bryn. He knows. - Don't worry about Greyo.
He knows fuck all.
I'll deal with Greyo. We both will.
- Hugh. - Hello, Bryn.
Calm down.
Why don't they put them all in one grave, Dai?
What?
One on top of the other. Like a triple decker.
A triple fucking decker?
They were all related. They could crunch up.
Crunch up? What do you mean crunch up?
Crunch up. They could keep each other company.
- Crunch up, the three of them. - Chip they are fucking dead!
- Yeah, I know that. - Then shut up then!
- Jesus! - What's going on?
Come back here!
You only meant to fuck up the dog! It was a dog job gone wrong.
But you fucked up!
Greyo, you are the one who is fucked up!
It doesn't have to be murder.
Manslaughter. That's all it was, really.
You got clear form, good lawyer, iffy judge.
We'll sort out four years and you'll end up with weaving baskets...
for a two years stretch in a fucking Butlins camp.
You got a deal.
You better have a line of Charlie. Give hi a line, Terry.
I've got fuck all on me, Bryn.
- Greyo? - No!
Twp bent coppers and not a line of Charlie between the pair of you?
Jesus Christ.
Allow me.
Match ball.
Wales vs. Scotland, Murriyfield 1977.
The Scots have got control, been running us ragged for 15 minutes...
But we receive the ball for Andy Irvine...
in our own 25.
JB passes the ball to Fenwick.
Fenwick punts the ball out of Gerald Davies.
Who side steps twice, palms off a man before...
passing the ball to Phil Bennett on the outside.
Bennett, out again to Belcher.
Belcher back inside to Fenwick.
Fenwick slips the ball through the eye of the needle...
to Bennett on the inside.
Two Jocks close in. What happened then, Greyo?
Bennett side steps, leaves them both in the fucking dirt...
and plops the ball down.
Right between the fucking posts. We won 18 to 9.
That's right, Lucy.
One minute we're in the shit. Next minute we got a result.
Tell him, Terry. Terry, tell him.
- Tell me what? - Lucy, you tell him.
Can't fit him up, Greyo.
Now we're fucking talking. I got the ball now, Greyo.
Me 18 points, you 9.
I've got the fucking result.
- I'm putting you away, Bryn. - I can't see it myself, Greyo.
There's another four pounds of that shit tucked away in a safe place...
and they've all got Terry's little paw marks on them.
And yours.
I've been helping your pal do a bit of business.
I never touch the stuff myself.
It'd make me aggressive and unreasonable.
Now, work it out, Greyo.
I go down, Terry goes down.
Terry goes down, you go down with him.
Hey Greyo!
Fit someone else up. Good boy.
- Make up your mind time, Greyo. - What?
- Who do you fancy? - What do you mean, who do I fancy?
The fit-up. Who do you fancy for the fit-up?
I don't fancy anybody for the fucking fit-up.
Eat your custard tart.
- Here we go. - What the fuck are you doing now?
I've written down seven fuckers who we could fit-up for the fire.
- It's time for the tombola. - Tombola?
- A lucky fucking dip? - An unlucky for some one dip.
- Terry, you're a fucking animal. - Remember, Greyo...
Bryn Cartwright 18 points, us 9 points.
We're in this together sunshine and someone's going down for the fire.
- Now just fucking pick on. - You fucking pick one.
Does PC Plod have a fucking problem?
Yeah, you.
You fucking crazy bastard. I want fuck all to do with this fit up.
- You can count me out. - Count you out?
You're right fucking in, Greyo.
Right up to your hairy arsehole, Greyo.
Three people, and a fucking poodle are dead, Terry.
Two pensioners and a fucking hooker, big deal.
I fucking liked her, Terry.
I really fucking liked her.
She's fucking dead.
What a fucking shame. I'm really fucking sorry.
But we're in a fucking mess. And we got a fucking job to do.
Clear up the fucking thing.
And when we've done the job...
I'm getting the fuck out of here.
Soon as this shit's wrapped up, I am out of this shit hole.
Do you no where you're going? Nowhere.
Nowhere. You're staying right where you fucking well are.
Talking boring bollocks with boring fuck heads...
about the fucking future of Welsh fucking rugby...
and how Welsh fucking crap team that can't even beat Canada...
or Romania or Samoa... I mean Western fucking Samoa!
You mucky fucking tosspot wanker!
Fuck off.
Yeah. Fucking yeah.
You're an iffy copper, who does a bit of this and a bit of that...
likes a laugh, but knows where to draw the thin blue line...
of right and fucking wrong.
You're a bent copper. We're bent coppers.
But I'm a bent copper who's going fucking places, Greyo, you know?
Cause I got some fucking ambition, Do you hear me?
I've got some fucking ambition. I have!
And while you do your little lumps of dope up the club...
I'll be shifting the big fucking lumps with the big boys...
cause I'm on my fucking way, Greyo! I'm on my fucking way!
Now pick a fucking name.
And let's get this fit up business over and fucking done with.
Pick one.
You fucking pick one.
Well jiggle the bag about a bit.
And this week's lottery winner is...
- Who is it? - Oh fuck...
Who is it? Fucking show me!
Yes. Dai Rees, the karaoke king.
- No! - Yes!
- No. - You discussed the fire with Chip.
- No. - Yes.
You were seen with a petrol can on the night of the fire.
- You're fucked! - No, no!
- What the fucks this then, Chip? - I don't fucking know.
It's the top from the petrol can used in the fucking fire.
We found it in your van.
Bollocks you did.
The Lewis twins fucked up your karaoke gear in Barons...
and they owed you money, you decided to go after the dog.
You didn't mean to blow up the caravan, Dai. Fair enough.
It was just the dog job that went wrong!
Chip's made a statement!
I was with somebody on the night of that fire.
You were with Chip Roberts.
- Fuck off, Terry. - Who were you with then?
Who the hell were you with then?
- Terry! - I was with Bonny Cartwright!
I was with Bonny fucking Cartwright!
Bonny fucking Cartwright...
Yeah I did! I took a duvet!
I sneaked in the next morning!
How long's it been going on?
Six months! Six months! He wasn't involved in the fire!
How many of them others at the club you been dropping 'em for?
- How many of the others? - There weren't any others!
It wasn't like that!
- Where else did he shag you then? - Bryn, let her be!
- Tell me! - Get off!
No, no. I know where you shagged him.
You brought him back here, didn't you? Fucked him on the settee!
- Did you fuck him on the settee? - Enough!
Now you listen to me!
You listen to me!
When they ask you about Dai Rees...
You are gonna tell them exactly what I tell you. You got it?
Fuck off!
Bastard!
Fuck you!
"When the weather's fine, you got women..."
"got women on your mind."
"Have a drink have a drive. Go out and see what you can find."
"If her daddy's rich, take her out for a meal."
"If her daddy's poor, just do what you feel."
"Speed along the lane, do a ton or a ton and 25."
"When the sun goes down, you can make it good in a lay by."
"When the weather's fine, you can reach up and touch the sky."
"When the weather's fine, You got women..."
"You got women on your mind."
I've got a statement...
- from Bonny. - Thank fuck. Let me see.
Tough titty, Dai.
She denies being with you.
It's your note, Dai.
You can keep it.
Hello?
What?
- I can't help you? - Who is it?
It's for me.
No.
Why?
Look, I can't.
For fucks sake, you listen to me. There is no way I can speak to you.
No.
Well, of course I fucking do.
- Who is it? - It's Beverly, it's for me.
Where do you want to meet?
- Dad? - I know.
I'll check the fuses right.
- You burned my Mom and Dad. - And my sister.
Just 'cause of your fucking poodle.
Hey look, it wasn't me.
- Please, it wasn't me. - Who was it then?
- Who was it cunthead? - Terry Walsh.
Terry Walsh, man! It wasn't me it was him!
Terry Walsh, alright?
It was his idea. Yeah, I...
I didn't want anything to do with it.
Honest! Honest I didn't!
I didn't want nothing to do with it!
It was Terry Walsh!
- We'll go have a word with him then. - Yes, yeah.
- I'll give you anything. - Can we borrow you car Brynn?
- Yeah! Fucking yours man! - The speed box?
Have it! It's on the back!
- Golf clubs? - Take 'em!
Thank you.
What's your handicap, Bryn?
Not bad.
What happened?
- Bryn was behind the fire. - I know that.
Bonny was with Dai Rees the night of the fire.
Brynn mad her sign that statement.
Dai Rees and Chip Roberts have fuck all to do with that fire.
Where's the coke?
No.
Tell me where it is. I can unload it.
You'll have enough cash to fuck off for a while. To fuck off out of it.
You and Bonny. And Dai and Chip walk free.
- He'll find me. - I'll take care of Bryn.
Now tell me where the stuff is.
- You get us out of here, Greyo? - It's a deal.
- You swear? - I swear.
It's up in the house, in the garage.
It's in a life jacket in the boat.
OK.
- Where is he now? - He's going to the club.
- And Bonny? - The Ponderosa.
Who did he pay to do the fire?
I don't know.
Give it an hour and go and pack your bags.
Nice and easy, plenty of time.
- It's gonna be ok. - Ouch.
Yo? Who is it?
Come one boys.
Boys, in here. Get in, boys.
Hurry, lads.
Go on. Get in.
Oh God!
Bonny! Bonny!
Where are you?
What?
Right then.
Help me! Help!
He wanted to be buried at sea, you see.
- Who? - Fatty, Fatty Lewis.
He wanted to be buried at sea. Good old boy Fatty.
Right then. If it floats for more than three seconds...
you've got to have a huge toke on the bong and hold your breath...
until it fucking sinks.
What if it sinks in less than three seconds?
If it fucking sinks in less than three seconds...
I'll have a huge toke of the bong...
and hold my breathe for fucking 25 seconds.
Alright then.
1, 2, 3, 4, 4.5, 5.
Fucking had you!
Do you think this boat'll get us to Morocco?
I don't know.
Do you think we have enough petrol?
Aye, probably.