Minder (1979–1994): Season 2, Episode 11 - All About Scoring, Innit? - full transcript
When footballer Danny Varrow wants to sell his story to the press Arthur is only too happy to act as broker and gets Terry to mind him. Unfortunately Danny is a hopeless gambler who is wanted by a local bookie, and a hopeless womanizer being pursued by the irate dad of his latest girlfriend.
Are you wondering how healthy the food you are eating is? Check it - foodval.com
---
♪ I could be so good for you
♪ Love you like you want me to
♪ Ooh, ooh
♪ I could be so good for you
♪ Love you like you want me to
♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh ♪
Varrow!
Come back, you bastard!
You come back here!
I'll get you,
if it's the last bloody thing I do!
Get out of the bloody way!
You bastard!
Come back!
I'm going to get you, Varrow!
You bastard! Varrow!
Varrow!
Varrow!
I'm gonna get you,
you bastard!
I'll get you, Varrow!
If you come back, you bastard,
I'll kill you!
Run, you bugger.
Run, you dirty little swine.
I'm going to catch you
and when I do,
I'm going to kill you.
Chel-sea! Chel-sea!
Chel-sea! Chel-sea!
Well done,
Stanley Matthews.
Now you've pulled a stroke
for England,
come and pull a few for me.
Oh! Dear, oh, Lord.
What you got in here?
Lead weights?
Very nearly, my son. Metal weights.
Weightlifters,
for the use of.
As of today,
I am into your leisure activities boom.
What happened? They fall off
the back of a long-distance runner?
- Ha-ha-ha!
- Sport for all, that is the message.
Oh, my Gawd...
why can't you buy a proper paper,
instead of this
kids' Comic Cuts?
Sport? You?
Don't make me laugh.
Listen, I bet the last time
you went to a football match,
they had shorts down to their knees
and hair parted in the middle.
I don't deny it. If they wore
French knickers and shaved their heads,
they still wouldn't get me
through the turnstiles.
There is more to the Greek
sporting ideal, Terry,
than standing on the terraces
hurling obscenities
and wearing bovver boots.
What are you talking about?
It's more your participatory sports,
innit?
Badminton. Squash.
Weightlifting.
- Ooh. Weightlifting?
- Ha, ha, ha.
- No, football is dead.
- Don't be so bleeding daft.
I am telling you.
Look, even the players
don't want to know.
- I mean, what is all that about?
- Oh, yeah.
Danny Varrow throwing one of his
well-known wobblies.
Headline news cos a two-bob
football cretin skives off a day's work?
A million-quid football cretin,
Arthur.
A million qui...
Oh, Gawd. He's a muddied oaf!
He ain't.
One of the chosen, he is.
I tell you what... if he
put himself about on the pitch
as much as he does
with birds, booze and gambling,
he'd be chosen for his country
and all.
Huh. A bit of a lad, our Danny.
Ah, he's two-bob, Terry.
They're all two-bob, in my book.
Here, listen. Listen to this.
"Soccer playboy misfit
Danny Varrow
"caused more headaches
with his married..."
Look. That is typical gutter press.
Why don't you buy a proper paper?
- Why don't you?
- Oi! Give it back.
- Why?
- I want it!
But you don't like it!
Yeah... I, I'm not paying you
to read papers in my time.
I'm bunging you
for three hours' graft, this morning
not for sitting down
reading football tittle-tattle
in the illiterates' answer
to the Beano.
You are right, Arthur.
You're right.
Except we ain't in your time
any more, are we?
- What?
- Look at that. 12.
The clock has beaten you,
sunshine,
and I'm struggling
with a prior engagement. Ta-ta.
No, no. Hang on.
Just a minute, Terry.
Just, just a minute!
What is this prior engagement?
- Chelsea are at home.
- Yeah, the best place for 'em.
- I thought you were a Fulham man.
- They're away, ain't they?
Here,
what about my sporting goods?
- Balls.
- Terry!
Ping pong, for the playing of.
Ta-ta.
Oh, Arthur...
if I were you
I'd hold it underneath...
No! Get out of it!
Hey! Get out of it!
Get out of it!
Go on, all of you!
Go and play in the river!
♪ We won the cup!
♪ Ee-i-addio
We won the cup!
♪ We won the cup!
We won the cup!
♪ Ee-i-addio
We won the cup!
♪ We won the cup!
We won the cup!
♪ Ee-i-addio
We won the cup!
Louts! Come back and try that again,
I'll push you through the wall!
The highway is quite safe now,
madam.
I've seen 'em on their way.
Hello, Arthur. You're early.
I've only just opened.
Who was it said - you can never
find one when you need one?
You can never find what?
A copper.
GH Chesterton, wasn't it?
Or the bard himself,
George Bernard?
You won't catch coppers 'round here
on a Saturday afternoon, Arthur.
- Why are you looking for a copper?
- Football hooligans, out there.
They soon scarpered
when I gave 'em what for.
Ah. Well, that's life, innit?
Que sera, sera.
If some soccer hooligan's
got your number on his bovver boots,
he'll dock your card for you,
Old Bill or no Old Bill.
Yeah, it's like the doodlebugs
in the war, innit?
What's doodlebugs
got to do with it?
Well...
Oh, dear,
it really IS like the Blitz.
They didn't do for him and all,
did they, the maniacs?
The only thing he's suffering from
comes under self-inflicted.
- He's pissed, isn't he?
- Oh. Gawd, he must have started early.
It's a topping-up job from the
night before. Usually is with him.
Come on, Ron, old son.
Do yourself a favour.
Swallow some of that.
There's a boy.
Black coffee.
That'll put you back on your feet.
Mind you, if them soccer hooligans
had got to him,
- it'd go down as poetic justice.
- Why's that?
Don't you recognise when
you are in the presence of royalty?
- This is the Ronnie Raikes, this.
- Ronnie Raikes?
- Who the hell's Ronnie Raikes?
- Ronnie Raikes the football writer!
- Oh. One of those.
- He's got this column,
Sunday's Sober Voice
of Sport.
Oh, yeah?
Saturday's his day off?
Did someone from here
call a minicab?
Oh, yeah.
Over here.
Oh, blimey.
- Not Mr Raikes again?
- Yeah.
I shampooed my upholstery
yesterday.
I might have known
I was tempting fate.
Arthur, give us a hand
to get him in the motor, will you?
Leave it out, Dave.
One of the most important rules
in life.
Never help the press
in any way.
And I never have done, since I
got that slagging in the local rag.
Here, come on, Ronnie.
Come on. Hup.
There's a boy.
- Arthur, get that for me, will you?
- Oh... yeah. Yeah.
They don't call 'em the gutter press
for nothing.
Dear, oh, dear.
- Arthur Daley.
- 'Hello?'
Winchester Club.
Can I be of any help?
'Oh. Yeah,
is the top man there, is he?'
It depends which top man you want.
Dave's just popped out,
but I'm on here.
Arthur Daley.
No, no. I don't want either of them.
I want the number one geezer.
- Ronnie.
- 'Ronnie who?'
Yeah, yeah, Ronnie!
Is he there or isn't he?
Only, look, he gave me this number
to give him a ring, Ronnie Raikes.
Ronnie R... Oh, him.
Yeah, he was here a minute ago.
More in spirit than in body.
'Dave's just pouring him into a mini.'
Do us a favour, mate. Will you trot out,
see if you can get hold him for us?
It wouldn't do any good if I could.
He's non compos.
- Yeah? Well, where's that?
- Legless.
'Oh, no, he's not pissed, is he?'
Oh, Gawd. Do us a favour.
Look. I tell you what.
I've got a story for him,
a big exclusive,
only I'm badly in need
of the readies, see?
Yeah, you and a heap of others.
Who is this speaking?
Uh... Varrow.
Hello, darling.
Yeah, Danny Varrow.
Oh! Daniel!
You should have said, my son.
Isn't it funny...
Ron was just talking about you
before he had the great misfortune
to be taken drunk.
How's it going,
my son?
Get him in his chariot all right, Dave?
No problems?
Ah, no problems.
Who was on the blower?
Blower? Um...
oh, no-one, Dave. Wrong number.
Dreadful, innit?
Vodka slimline, was it?
Um, ta, yeah, it was,
but no, I won't.
I've just remembered I've promised
to do something for a geezer.
Got to lay my hands
on Terry smartish.
You'll be lucky. Saturday afternoon
he'll be on the terraces.
You won't nobble him
before the final whistle.
Never know your luck, Dave.
Chance your arm time, innit?
Chel-sea! Chel-sea!
Chel-sea! Chel-sea!
Wow! Sort it out!
Come on!
- Come on, sort it out!
- Why?
- Can you believe that?
- WHY?
Here! You've cracked it, my son!
Fame at last!
Here he is! Over here!
It's Terry! Hey!
Te-rry! Te-rry!
Te-rry! Te-rry!
- Can I help you?
- Yeah, I'm Terry McCann.
You just flashed my name up
on the doofer. The board.
Oh, yes.
Come in.
- Would you like to sit down?
- No, I don't want to sit down.
I think you'd better, Mr...
Whatever's happened won't be altered
by me sitting down, will it?
- Uh... no.
- No.
There was an accident.
You're wanted at home.
Accident? What's happened?
Who is it?
I'm very sorry to say
it was your mother, Mr McCann.
I'm very sorry to say she had
the misfortune to get run over.
- No, no, no. My mum didn't.
- Yes, she did.
It was a Green Line bus.
Terence McCann,
17 Homewood Crescent?
Well, yeah, you've got
the right geezer and all that...
Apparently,
it is your mum.
- Apparently...
- We had a phone call
from your Uncle Arthur.
He just called the club.
- Uncle Arthur?
- Yes. Look...
What's happening?
Oh, my Gawd.
You believe this, eh?
Half an hour I stood there
watching this rubbish,
they couldn't score a goal
in a month of Sundays,
and the minute I come in here,
it's in the net!
That's typical, that is!
Bleeding diabolical.
I don't wish to intrude
on your grief, Mr McCann,
but may I offer you a lift home?
No, no. I ain't going anywhere.
It's a gee-up, innit?
I don't think you got it.
It could be fatal.
No, you don't understand.
It's a put-up job.
- What?
- Excuse me, Mr McCann.
Are you inferring
that this phone call was a hoax?
Well, something like that, yeah.
You see, the only way a Green Line bus
can run my old mum over
is if it makes a detour
through Kilburn Cemetery,
cos she's been there
since 1967.
As for Uncle Arthur,
I ain't even got an Uncle Arthur.
Have you any idea who the person
purporting to be Uncle Arthur is?
I... uh... no. No.
Because I don't find this
Uncle Arthur's antics funny at all.
I'm hardly laughing
my cobblers off either, am I?
Let me finish speaking.
I have a lot on my plate
on Saturday afternoons, son.
And I don't want smartarse Uncle Arthurs
poking their two penn'orths in.
Yeah.
Are you going somewhere,
Mr McCann?
It's only halfway through the half.
I want to see the rest of the match.
And of course, I think I've spent
enough of your valuable time.
Yes. You and Uncle Arthur have.
Yeah, well, I'm sorry about that.
I'll be off, then, eh?
You're not going back
onto the terraces, Sunny Jim.
You're on your bike.
On your way.
Go out.
Cancel that.
I hope you're not going
to do a moody on me?
Moody? Me? I suppose you thought
that was humorous?
No. Astute, I thought.
The old grey matter working overtime.
- Oh, leave it out.
- I leave nothing out, my son.
I wanted to see you urgent...
here you are.
QED. Mission accomplished.
My little ruse. I call that very astute.
I call it diabolical,
My only worry was, you wouldn't
have the nous to work it out.
You know, break the code.
Break the... I'm going to break
your neck one of these days.
Yeah, course you are, Terence.
But not today, my son.
Not when you hear
what I've got worked out for you.
There we are.
Comfy?
Get off.
... ... ...
- Terry! Have I ever lied to you?
- Often.
I swear to you
on my bank manager's wife.
The lad himself.
Danny Varrow.
- Well, where is he now?
- Bombing his way down the M1,
ready to sell his story
to the highest bidder.
You know, goals, girls...
What was that?
You know...
sex, soccer and stair rods.
- Stair rods?
- Yeah. Compulsive reading, innit?
It's gold-dust time, Terry.
My Exclusive Story,
by Soccer Misfit.
You know the kind of bread they
dish out for that sort of rubbish, Terry?
I know the kind of bread
they bung in, but...
- who's bunging you?
- Mr Ten Per Cent, ain't I?
- I'm his agent.
- Does he know that?
You just do your job, Terry.
I'll do mine.
Now, take him to your drum.
I'll meet you there.
Nobody... but nobody...
must know where he is
until I've done the deal
with Raikesey.
- I thought you said he was legless.
- Yeah, he was.
But by now he'll be hanging in rags,
won't he?
Ready to agree to anything.
Terry, this one's
going to be a doddle.
And what I like about it is,
there's no complications.
It's all above board.
I want him, Robbie.
We don't even know
he'll come to London, Mr Rafferty.
Oh, he'll come.
He'll come down to London,
believe me, Robbie.
He's on his way as of now, because
he hasn't got the nous to keep away.
Hm! He's like a kid let loose
in a sweetshop.
Doesn't know
when he's had enough.
Also, we know
who he'll contact first.
Oh, mark my words,
Robbie
he'll be straight on the blower
to that graceless slag
and when he does...
- Has Clifton shown yet?
- He's here now, Mr Rafferty.
'Have him come in.'
Get him, Clifton.
You want me to hurt him,
Mr Rafferty?
I didn't say I wanted you
to hurt him, did I?
I said get him,
which doesn't mean I want him got.
And when you've got him,
you bring him to me.
And when you've brought him
to me...
..then we'll see
about hurting him.
Terry?
Terry?
Terry, where the hell are you?
- 'Arthur?'
- Terry. Thank Gawd.
- Have you got him?
- 'Well, yeah...'
Why didn't you bring him 'round here,
like I told you to?
'He didn't want to come.'
- Why not?
- 'Because he didn't.'
- Well... Well, where are you?
- 'In the penthouse suite.'
What? What penthouse suite?
All right, Arthur, keep your wig on.
It's not my fault, is it?
- 'No, no, listen to me, Terry... '
- He elbowed my place, sight unseen.
He said that's the way it is,
par for the course. Right?
He gets his readies, a first-class hotel
and his out of pocket exes.
Hold on.
- Come in!
- 'What does he call his out of pocket exes?'
Well, champagne, mostly.
Champagne?
What champagne?
I think it's called Dom Perignon.
Bung it down there, will you?
'Listen, who's paying for all this, eh?
Is it Raikes's paper?'
Or are you having to pay for it
out of your ten per cent?
'Look... he gets no champagne.
He gets nothing!'
You tell him, Terry,
NOTHING is par for the course
until I have done a deal with Raikesey.
You tell him that, Terry.
'Terry? Are you listening?'
Come in.
- Steak sandwich, sir.
- Yeah, yeah, hold on...
Yeah, I'm listening, Arthur.
'I am only prepared to pay
the basic...'
'..on the arrangement contractually
that I am able to agree...'
with anothers parties
consored.
Look, will you shut up?
He ain't going to take any notice
of me, is he?
You want to tell him that,
come and tell him yourself.
I can't, can I?
I'm looking for Raikesey.
Look, you tell him,
until I find Raikesey,
he don't get so much
as a packet of crisps.
It's no good having a go,
Jenny.
If you want to give someone
a coating, girl,
give one to the geezer
who brought me up here.
Yep.
What about West Ham?
You've always got some
bleeding excuse, ain't you, Danny?
And it's always me
that falls for it.
- West Ham won 3-2.
- Did they really?
Blimey, they did well.
I nicked two points up there!
Yeah... Yeah,
you know I do.
What do you mean, say it?
I don't have to say it, do I? Cos I do.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. All the time.
What about...
I never that anything else.
- What about Crystal Palace?
- Yeah, what about Crystal Palace?
You are a rotten bastard, Danny.
They was held to a no-score draw.
Must have been a kicking match.
Three of them got their names took
and one got sent off.
Look, if you can't come round here,
why can't I come round there to you?
I want you, Danny.
I can't remember
who got sent off.
I can't look in the bleeding paper
cos it's not IN the bleeding paper.
I heard it on the telly.
Why can't I come round there,
to you?
Stone me, Jenny, how many more times
have I got to tell you?
Because I've got somebody with me.
Now what about Arsenal?
No, it is not crumpet.
It is business.
It is a geezer. Now what...?
Gawd Almighty, girl. Look.
- Just say hello to Jenny, will you?
- Hello, Jenny.
You satisfied?
That was Terry, right?
Now, did that sound like crumpet?
No.
Now darling, please,
tell me about Arsenal.
Ronnie Raikes. What are you
looking for him for, Arthur?
Bit of sporting info I picked up.
It might be right up his street.
I thought you wouldn't give
a journalist a light.
Dave, please. It does not do
to bear grudges to the grave.
Anyway, any friend of yours...
Any idea where he was bound,
in the minicab?
I pointed him in the direction
of his office, but knowing Ronnie,
he's having
a hair of the dog in Fleet Street.
Any idea which boozer?
- Yeah, you could try the Blackfriar.
- The Blackfriar. Right. Thanks.
If you can't find him there,
try the Bell.
- The Bell.
- Or if he isn't there,
he could be in the Mucky Duck.
Or if not there, El Vino. Or the
Cheddar Cheese. He uses that a lot.
If he's not there,
try the Cockpit.
If he isn't there,
try the Wig And Pen.
And if he's not there,
he could be in Mad As Punch.
If you can't find him there,
I should try any one
of half-a-dozen pubs.
Hair of the dog?
Sounds as if he's swallowing
the whole bloody pack of hounds.
Thanks, Dave.
Thirsty geezer.
Nine, ten, jack.
Is that it, is it?
I can beat that with my second.
A, K, Q, on the bounce.
Three, four, five.
Ten, jack, queen.
- Rubbish.
- Ace queen flush!
- Pick 'em out of that!
- All right.
Don't get a coronary. All you've
done is win a few rounds of cards.
No need for a bleeding lap
of honour, you see.
- It's my competitive nature, innit?
- Don't give me that competitive crap.
If you had any competitive spirit,
you'd be on the park
sticking the ball in,
not selling your memoirs.
How'd your lot do today?
Do you know?
Erm.
They lost, one plonk.
- Don't that worry you?
- No.
Well, it should, shouldn't it?
Blimey, it'd worry me sick if I'd
left the team in the lurch like that.
Oh, yeah, well, I'd be pig sick
if they'd won 1-0.
But losing, well, that just proves
they can't do it without me, see?
You big-headed bastard.
No, it's all right being big headed.
I mean, it's OK being big headed
if you've got something
to be big headed about.
But it's these no talented big
headed bustards that get up my nose.
Yeah, all right,
I can understand that.
- What about loyalty?
- Loyalty?
Loyalty's to number one,
mate.
I'm the guy that goes out there
every Saturday
and gets great lumps
kicked out of his shins.
That's what you're paid for,
innit?
What about the club?
Your mates? The manager?
Manager? My...
My manager is a bleeding idiot.
He's a psycho.
Do you... Do you know what his idea
of a half-time team talk is?
He comes into the dressing room,
and he says,
"OK, lads,
now I know you're losing 1-0,
"but what I want you to do
"is to just keep pumping them balls
right up the centre."
Now, that is rubbish.
You know it's rubbish.
So it's a rubbish club.
Rubbish manager.
But I'm not. And I know.
I know I'm not rubbish.
I've got better things to do.
Like spending all your dough
on birds, booze and bookies?
Then coming down here
to sell your sordid little story
- just to pay for it?
- Certainly.
Is it worth it?
Look, Terry, I told you.
It's in my nature, innit?
But one of these days you see you're
going to overstep the mark, aren't you?
You...
Your murky past
is going to catch up with you.
- Hello?
- 'Is Danny Varrow there?'
Who wants him?
Hello?
No, no, I don't want Classified Ads!
Look, I'm waiting to speak
to your sports department,
and I've been put through
to the women's page!
Yeah. Not half as sorry
as I am, madam.
Hello? Sport? My name is Daley.
Arthur Daley.
I'm trying to get in touch with your Mr...
your Mr Raikes.
Yeah, I appreciate he's not
in the office at this hour, but...
I just wondered if perchance
you had recourse to his whereabouts?
Daley.
Arthur Daley.
Oh, I am, yes, yes.
We are members of the same club.
I AM in Fleet Street.
No, no, no. I'm sorry.
It's very personal.
I wish to speak
only to Mr Raikes.
What do you mean,
drop him a postcard?
Listen, friend, don't you take that
high handed attitude with me,
or I'll have you...
Hello? Hello?
Hello?
No luck, then, sweetie?
He hung up on me.
That is typical
of your gutter press.
It'd serve 'em right
if I sold 'em up the river
and took the story
to one of the posh papers.
At least with them
you're dealing with gentlemen.
Ooh, I'm not so sure, love.
We get some funny ones in here as well.
- Yeah?
- Yeah.
- Do you want another one?
- Yeah... No, no, no. I've...
I've trawled more
Fleet Street boozers than enough.
Yeah, that might be
your big mistake.
- How do you mean?
- Well, dodging about...
you keep missing him.
He's bound to pop in for one
some time, Ronnie is.
- He's sure to.
- Yeah?
Look, why don't you just
settle yourself down here and...
Oh! Yeah. All right,
a vodka and slimline, please.
What about you?
Are you going to have something?
Yeah, yeah. Thanks very much,
love. Don't mind if I do.
- There you go.
- Oh, lovely. Cheers.
I tell you what.
I only ever saw you play once
in the flesh.
- You know, not on telly, like.
- Oh, yeah? When was that?
It's got to be two seasons ago.
It was an FA cup tie,
at Craven Cottage.
Oh, yeah. I remember, yeah.
We won 2-1, didn't we?
- Yeah.
- Didn't play half bad, did I?
No, man. You played
out of your bleeding skin.
I remember it!
I laid the first one off and scored
the second with eight minutes to go.
That's right.
It was from the corner, wasn't it?
That's right, yeah. It came over,
a half volley, splat.
Straight into the corner of the net.
How's that, son? Pick that one out.
Cor, I really hated you,
I'll tell you.
Here, you're a Fulham supporter,
aren't you?
Yeah. Red hot, me.
Nah, but that... I mean,
you were a different class, weren't you?
D'you know, that weren't two seasons ago.
It was four. Four.
Well, time marches on.
- It does when you play up front, son.
- Well, exactly. Look.
I know it's hard and all that,
and you get kicked,
but you got to go out there and
enjoy it WHILE IT LASTS.
Oh, I enjoy it all right.
All the birds, the booze, the football.
Well, not necessarily
in that order.
And the woofers and the geegees.
Listen. You're a great player,
right?
Why are you doing all this?
I owe a fella.
- A bookie?
- Yeah.
Yeah. Well,
you could call him that, yeah.
- Well, how much?
- A lot.
- How much is a lot?
- Well, five grand.
Yeah, that is a lot.
So now do you understand
all this?
- Have you owed him long?
- Long enough.
Is he putting the screws
on you?
Yeah, you could say
he putting the screws.
So the sooner your mate gets hold
of Ronnie Raikes, the better. Right?
Yeah. Right.
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
You know
what your problem is, Clivie?
Yeah.
I shagged up with a lunatic bird.
No.
You suffer from verbal diarrhea.
Oh, come on.
Come on.
All right, all right!
- Where is he, Jenny?
- Well, he ain't here.
You'd better tell us where he is,
then, before Clifton loses his bottle.
Time, gentlemen, please.
Come along now, ladies and gentlemen.
Good night.
See you.
Come along now.
Good night.
Good night.
- Come out now, ladies and gentlemen.
- Good night.
Good night, sir.
Oh, stone me, where the bleeding hell
is that Arthur, eh?
It's tomorrow, innit?
Here. Fancy a game?
- Ai? What?
- Yeah. A game.
What are you doing?
Oi!
Don't worry about that.
Purley Prize competition.
- Purley Prize?
- Come on, son. Give us it here.
Yeah. All right! All right, then.
No, but you're the pro.
- You've got to go in first.
- Oh, all right. It don't bother me.
Go on, off you go.
- All right?
- Yeah. Go on.
- Yow! It's there!
- No, hang on, I slipped.
- Hello.
- Good morning!
- Oh, is it already?
- I'm trying to trace Ronnie Raikes.
You wouldn't happen to know
where he is, would you?
I know where he isn't.
I'm not here, officially.
I'm supposed to be following up
an escaped python story
for a domestic Clitheroe, Lancs.
Yes. Very interesting.
You don't think you can
help me track him down?
- Where have you looked so far?
- I've looked in all of 'em.
I don't know where else
to suggest then.
Here...
how do you spell asphyxiated?
Is it Y-X-I or I-X-Y?
Asphyxia...
Asphyx...
- Put 'strangled', my son.
- Cheers.
Have you tried him at his flat?
- His what?
- Ronnie. Have you been to his flat?
- Ai-ee! What a save!
- Yeah!
Good! Take it again.
- Take what again?
- You moved before I kicked it, son!
- Oh. I never did!
- You did. Yes, you did.
Referee's decision final.
Take it again.
Take nothing again.
That was a great save.
Fulham!
Champions of the universe!
Fair enough, fair enough.
Take it again. Best out of three, right?
You said
it was sudden death.
- I never said it was sudden death.
- You did!
We always play best of three.
I always do anyway.
- Go on, back you go. Go on. Please.
- Oh, all right, all right.
- Fair enough.
- Right.
All right. I can handle anything
you bung at me, sunshine.
- Right. I'm ready.
- OK. Cop hold of this.
- Well, where are you going?
- Half-time, innit.
I'm going for a jimmy.
Steak-sandwich reinforcements.
All right, I'll get it.
Hello, Danny.
Sorry to be a bother.
Mr Rafferty said
he wouldn't mind a word.
Whoo. Mmpph.
Danny?
Erm, excuse me.
Er...
Where is he?
Hold on. Hold on.
Who are you?
Rotten bastard.
Ah. Ah, yeah.
You must be Jenny, eh?
It's half-past five!
No, no. I think you've stopped.
It is 27 minutes to six.
Very nearly.
27 minutes to six?
Very nearly.
- In the MORNING?
- I believe so.
Ha, ha! There's no
such bloody time!
Who did you say you were again?
My credentials.
What's it say?
Arthur Daley Esquire.
That is who I am.
Licensed automobile dealer.
Those are my
professional qualifications.
- A second-hand car salesman.
- Yeah... broadly speaking.
I do have several
other irons in the fire.
I don't need
a second-hand bloody car.
I am here regarding
one of my other several irons...
I don't need a second-hand
bloody car
and certainly not at half-past five
in the bloody morning!
..ie, the personal representation
of several celebrity clients
in the fields of entertainment
and endeavour.
You're... You're a variety agent
that sells used cars?
May I come straight to the point?
It wouldn't come amiss.
Danny Varrow.
Danny Varrow,
famous footballer,
flogging his revelations to the press.
Crown Prince Tells All.
No?
I'm his business manager.
If you'd like to make an offer.
Is it a gee-up?
No!
Tell the truth!
You're trying to get me at it!
No, no, I'm not!
Those prats in the office
put you up to this.
Playing silly buggers,
trying to stitch me up!
No, no, no, no.
This is 28 carat.
I mean, this is a scoop.
Tomorrow's headline.
I'll give you
tomorrow's headline!
- Hey!
- You bloody lunatic!
You heard!
Scram before I kick your
bloody head in!
Now, you watch it or I will take
the story somewhere else.
Story? Danny Varrow's tasteless
tittle-tattle, you want to sell me?
I've been drunk with him so many times
I know it off by heart!
An odyssey through the bedrooms
of the nation's faceless slags.
That's not a bloody story.
Oi, oi, here, I've got him in
a penthouse suite.
All expenses paid.
- You still here?
- No, no. No. No.
The day he gets his comeuppance,
that's the bloody story!
Why can't you take me
with you?
That'd really put the cat
amongst the pigeons, wouldn't it?
Haven't you stirred things up
enough already?
No, I'm dropping you off.
- Rafferty don't own me.
- Don't he?
- He's a married man.
- They often are, aren't they?
I'm just his bit on the side,
ain't I?
Does he pay your rent?
So? He owns the flat.
I'm not his only bit on the side.
I'm what's known as
his 'South London job'.
He can keep his bleeding flat
for all I care.
Look, are you sure he's going to be
at the driving range?
Regular as clockwork,
Sunday mornings.
Ah, you've sliced it, Rafferty.
It's your grip, see.
You've got it twisted...
Let me show you.
Don't you give me any lip,
you little sod.
You've enough
to answer for already.
I'll get your readies.
Don't worry about it.
It isn't just a matter of readies.
You remember that.
You can't just swan around
rumping birds that don't belong to you.
That is a fact of life,
Varrow.
That is why you have to learn
your lesson.
When I let Clifton loose on you,
don't think just of it
as a hiding, son.
Accept it
as a bit of further education.
See who that is.
Danny?
- Are you all right, Danny?
- Who is it?
Now, we don't want any trouble,
Rafferty.
You better piss off then,
hadn't you, and you won't get any.
- Just walk towards me, Danny.
- He's staying where he is.
Oh, dear, dear.
Listen.
Tell this stinky little
gorilla to get out the way.
- Who is it?
- Danny, walk towards me.
I don't care who he is.
Have him, Clifton.
Go on, my son,
clobber the bugger.
Go on, hit him, Terry!
Terry?
Terry McCann?
- That's right, son.
- It's Clifton, innit?
Clifton Fields!
Do what?
Gorblimey!
1963, Hoxton Baths. Qualifying
rounds, NABC Championships.
1964, I had you again.
Shepherd's Bush, right? Junior ABAs!
- It ain't!
- It bloody well is, mate!
- Cor dear, oh, Lord!
- What a couple of scraps they were.
- Oh. One-all. Right?
- That's right.
- You first made series...
- Hold on.
Hoxton Baths, twice in a second
I put you down three times in the third!
I got up though, didn't I, eh?
Didn't I?
- I gave you a hiding though.
- You did.
- How about the second one, though?
- Ah, well...
When you two have finished
your trip down Memory Lane...
Well, at least we got our heads down
and went at it two-fisted,
which is more than you can say
for a lot of these today.
Athletes, Terry. Sportsmen.
Shat it sod.
They ain't worth fighting over,
that's a fact.
Are you bottling it?
No. I'm not.
I ain't bottled anything
in my entire life.
But me and Terry,
we go a long way back
and we're a bit long in the tooth
to go for a decider.
- I'll go along with that.
- I'll be straight, Mr Rafferty.
I don't think
I'll ever work for you again.
If it was your missus the lad gave one to,
I'd have stuck up for you.
But giving one
to your bit of stuff...
a different kettle of fish.
Know what I mean?
- There is a subtle difference.
- Right.
I mean, scrubbers,
fair game for everyone.
Know what I mean?
Oi. Danny.
Come on.
Excuse me, Mr Rafferty.
You're a very lucky boy.
Giving one to my missus?
What does he mean?
Who would give one
to my missus?
Look, I'd pay somebody
to give one to my missus.
Another thing.
If I pay the bill,
it's only for lends,
it's not down the larkings.
When the FA Cup comes around
you can settle up in tickets.
Cor.
Dear, oh, dear.
You must have put up quite a fight
before they kidnapped him.
Big geezers, were they?
Enormous.
Well, let's check out
before they spot the damage.
Where are your motors?
- Mine's in the basement.
- Yeah, car park.
Mine too. I'll meet you there
as soon as I've settled the bill.
Yes, sir.
Penthouse suite, checking out.
Could I have the doings?
Hold on, hold on.
You sure that's us?
- We've only been here one night.
- Yes, sir.
Oh, my good Gawd.
...
Do you got a pen?
A bit tight, your mate,
then, is he?
You know how much
Dom Perignon is?
- Do you?
- No.
He's going to go garrity
when he sees it.
I mean, I can see it now,
"Can I have the cheque..."
Varrow!
- Oh, my Gawd, not another one.
- You might well stare.
You dirty,
disgusting sod.
- Leave it out, Jess.
- Leave out nothing!
I'm gonna blow your brains
to buggary.
Hold on, hold on, hold on,
hold on, hold on.
Listen,
we can talk about this...
Stay out of this.
It's none of your business.
- You bastard!
- Terry?
Oh. Hello!
Where did they come from?
"Best wishes and kind regards."
They're from your Uncle Arthur.
- Sling it.
- Oh, it's a shame to waste it.
Can I take it to Maternity
for an unmarried mum?
You can do what you like
with it.
- Sorry, Sister...
- Student nurse.
Oh, well...
give it time!
If he don't want it, it's going back
to my dear lady. Ta.
'Would Matron
please go to Casualty?'
Pulled it yet?
Ha, ha, ha!
Yeah, sorry
I didn't get here yesterday.
Her indoors had family over.
You know what that's like.
Oh, dear, oh, dear. You were lucky
to get away with superficial burns.
He could have made a colander
out of you as easy as winking.
Still, a couple of days in here,
you'll be as right as rain.
Seen the papers? Look at this.
"Vengeance on Varrow!"
"Farmer's Fury Falls On
Fickle Footballer."
They ain't half had a field day,
I'll tell you.
I bet you got a nice few bob,
didn't you?
Me?
A nice few bob?
With the penthouse suite
and Dom Perignon shampoo?
That cost me
an arm and a leg.
- What about all this?
- I copped for nothing out of that.
Soon as that gun went off,
I scarpered.
Once I'd made sure
you were going to be all right.
I could hear the Old Bill
and the blood wagon coming.
You get a mention in all of 'em.
They've spelt your name
wrong.
'Sister Richards please report
to Reception.'
Fancy wanting
to top Randy Andy.
I tell you, Terry,
there are some funny buggers about.
Is Danny all right?
Not a scratch.
You copped the lot.
What's it in aid of?
Did he give the geezer's daughter
one or something?
In every sense of the word.
There's no stopping him,
is there?
It's a bit old-fashioned,
though.
I mean, if your daughter's in the club,
you get her married.
Would you fancy a son-in-law
who had also given your missus one?
- He never.
- Mother and daughter.
Shagged them both.
Full house.
- Oh, my God.
- And there is talk
of a first cousin not having had
to go without her share.
But that's not been
substantiated.
Look, I don't know about football,
mate,
but if they ever make nookie
an Olympic event,
he's got to be England's captain.
Ah, there's one you haven't seen.
Raikesey did get his exclusive.
"Varrow Vamoose!" A club in
Holland's come up with a strong offer.
Holland? Hm!
He'll be tiptoeing
through the tulips, won't he?
Oh, dear, those Dutch birds
have got no chance.
Why not?
They'll never get away in those
little wooden clogs, will they?
Clip-clop.
Ooh, Mr Danny Varrow!
Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
They're not for you.
No, they're for her indoors.
DENNIS WATERMAN:
"I Could Be So Good For You"
♪ If you want to
I'll change the situation
♪ Right people right time
♪ Just the wrong location
♪ I've got a good idea
♪ Just you keep me near,
I'll be so good for you
♪ I could be so good for you,
I'm gonna help you
♪ Love you like you want me to
♪ I'll do anything for you ooh-ooh
♪ I'll be so good for you
♪ I could be so good for you
♪ I'll do it like you want me to
♪ Love you like you want me to
♪ There ain't nothing
I can't go through ooh-ooh
♪ I'll be so good for you ♪
---
♪ I could be so good for you
♪ Love you like you want me to
♪ Ooh, ooh
♪ I could be so good for you
♪ Love you like you want me to
♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh ♪
Varrow!
Come back, you bastard!
You come back here!
I'll get you,
if it's the last bloody thing I do!
Get out of the bloody way!
You bastard!
Come back!
I'm going to get you, Varrow!
You bastard! Varrow!
Varrow!
Varrow!
I'm gonna get you,
you bastard!
I'll get you, Varrow!
If you come back, you bastard,
I'll kill you!
Run, you bugger.
Run, you dirty little swine.
I'm going to catch you
and when I do,
I'm going to kill you.
Chel-sea! Chel-sea!
Chel-sea! Chel-sea!
Well done,
Stanley Matthews.
Now you've pulled a stroke
for England,
come and pull a few for me.
Oh! Dear, oh, Lord.
What you got in here?
Lead weights?
Very nearly, my son. Metal weights.
Weightlifters,
for the use of.
As of today,
I am into your leisure activities boom.
What happened? They fall off
the back of a long-distance runner?
- Ha-ha-ha!
- Sport for all, that is the message.
Oh, my Gawd...
why can't you buy a proper paper,
instead of this
kids' Comic Cuts?
Sport? You?
Don't make me laugh.
Listen, I bet the last time
you went to a football match,
they had shorts down to their knees
and hair parted in the middle.
I don't deny it. If they wore
French knickers and shaved their heads,
they still wouldn't get me
through the turnstiles.
There is more to the Greek
sporting ideal, Terry,
than standing on the terraces
hurling obscenities
and wearing bovver boots.
What are you talking about?
It's more your participatory sports,
innit?
Badminton. Squash.
Weightlifting.
- Ooh. Weightlifting?
- Ha, ha, ha.
- No, football is dead.
- Don't be so bleeding daft.
I am telling you.
Look, even the players
don't want to know.
- I mean, what is all that about?
- Oh, yeah.
Danny Varrow throwing one of his
well-known wobblies.
Headline news cos a two-bob
football cretin skives off a day's work?
A million-quid football cretin,
Arthur.
A million qui...
Oh, Gawd. He's a muddied oaf!
He ain't.
One of the chosen, he is.
I tell you what... if he
put himself about on the pitch
as much as he does
with birds, booze and gambling,
he'd be chosen for his country
and all.
Huh. A bit of a lad, our Danny.
Ah, he's two-bob, Terry.
They're all two-bob, in my book.
Here, listen. Listen to this.
"Soccer playboy misfit
Danny Varrow
"caused more headaches
with his married..."
Look. That is typical gutter press.
Why don't you buy a proper paper?
- Why don't you?
- Oi! Give it back.
- Why?
- I want it!
But you don't like it!
Yeah... I, I'm not paying you
to read papers in my time.
I'm bunging you
for three hours' graft, this morning
not for sitting down
reading football tittle-tattle
in the illiterates' answer
to the Beano.
You are right, Arthur.
You're right.
Except we ain't in your time
any more, are we?
- What?
- Look at that. 12.
The clock has beaten you,
sunshine,
and I'm struggling
with a prior engagement. Ta-ta.
No, no. Hang on.
Just a minute, Terry.
Just, just a minute!
What is this prior engagement?
- Chelsea are at home.
- Yeah, the best place for 'em.
- I thought you were a Fulham man.
- They're away, ain't they?
Here,
what about my sporting goods?
- Balls.
- Terry!
Ping pong, for the playing of.
Ta-ta.
Oh, Arthur...
if I were you
I'd hold it underneath...
No! Get out of it!
Hey! Get out of it!
Get out of it!
Go on, all of you!
Go and play in the river!
♪ We won the cup!
♪ Ee-i-addio
We won the cup!
♪ We won the cup!
We won the cup!
♪ Ee-i-addio
We won the cup!
♪ We won the cup!
We won the cup!
♪ Ee-i-addio
We won the cup!
Louts! Come back and try that again,
I'll push you through the wall!
The highway is quite safe now,
madam.
I've seen 'em on their way.
Hello, Arthur. You're early.
I've only just opened.
Who was it said - you can never
find one when you need one?
You can never find what?
A copper.
GH Chesterton, wasn't it?
Or the bard himself,
George Bernard?
You won't catch coppers 'round here
on a Saturday afternoon, Arthur.
- Why are you looking for a copper?
- Football hooligans, out there.
They soon scarpered
when I gave 'em what for.
Ah. Well, that's life, innit?
Que sera, sera.
If some soccer hooligan's
got your number on his bovver boots,
he'll dock your card for you,
Old Bill or no Old Bill.
Yeah, it's like the doodlebugs
in the war, innit?
What's doodlebugs
got to do with it?
Well...
Oh, dear,
it really IS like the Blitz.
They didn't do for him and all,
did they, the maniacs?
The only thing he's suffering from
comes under self-inflicted.
- He's pissed, isn't he?
- Oh. Gawd, he must have started early.
It's a topping-up job from the
night before. Usually is with him.
Come on, Ron, old son.
Do yourself a favour.
Swallow some of that.
There's a boy.
Black coffee.
That'll put you back on your feet.
Mind you, if them soccer hooligans
had got to him,
- it'd go down as poetic justice.
- Why's that?
Don't you recognise when
you are in the presence of royalty?
- This is the Ronnie Raikes, this.
- Ronnie Raikes?
- Who the hell's Ronnie Raikes?
- Ronnie Raikes the football writer!
- Oh. One of those.
- He's got this column,
Sunday's Sober Voice
of Sport.
Oh, yeah?
Saturday's his day off?
Did someone from here
call a minicab?
Oh, yeah.
Over here.
Oh, blimey.
- Not Mr Raikes again?
- Yeah.
I shampooed my upholstery
yesterday.
I might have known
I was tempting fate.
Arthur, give us a hand
to get him in the motor, will you?
Leave it out, Dave.
One of the most important rules
in life.
Never help the press
in any way.
And I never have done, since I
got that slagging in the local rag.
Here, come on, Ronnie.
Come on. Hup.
There's a boy.
- Arthur, get that for me, will you?
- Oh... yeah. Yeah.
They don't call 'em the gutter press
for nothing.
Dear, oh, dear.
- Arthur Daley.
- 'Hello?'
Winchester Club.
Can I be of any help?
'Oh. Yeah,
is the top man there, is he?'
It depends which top man you want.
Dave's just popped out,
but I'm on here.
Arthur Daley.
No, no. I don't want either of them.
I want the number one geezer.
- Ronnie.
- 'Ronnie who?'
Yeah, yeah, Ronnie!
Is he there or isn't he?
Only, look, he gave me this number
to give him a ring, Ronnie Raikes.
Ronnie R... Oh, him.
Yeah, he was here a minute ago.
More in spirit than in body.
'Dave's just pouring him into a mini.'
Do us a favour, mate. Will you trot out,
see if you can get hold him for us?
It wouldn't do any good if I could.
He's non compos.
- Yeah? Well, where's that?
- Legless.
'Oh, no, he's not pissed, is he?'
Oh, Gawd. Do us a favour.
Look. I tell you what.
I've got a story for him,
a big exclusive,
only I'm badly in need
of the readies, see?
Yeah, you and a heap of others.
Who is this speaking?
Uh... Varrow.
Hello, darling.
Yeah, Danny Varrow.
Oh! Daniel!
You should have said, my son.
Isn't it funny...
Ron was just talking about you
before he had the great misfortune
to be taken drunk.
How's it going,
my son?
Get him in his chariot all right, Dave?
No problems?
Ah, no problems.
Who was on the blower?
Blower? Um...
oh, no-one, Dave. Wrong number.
Dreadful, innit?
Vodka slimline, was it?
Um, ta, yeah, it was,
but no, I won't.
I've just remembered I've promised
to do something for a geezer.
Got to lay my hands
on Terry smartish.
You'll be lucky. Saturday afternoon
he'll be on the terraces.
You won't nobble him
before the final whistle.
Never know your luck, Dave.
Chance your arm time, innit?
Chel-sea! Chel-sea!
Chel-sea! Chel-sea!
Wow! Sort it out!
Come on!
- Come on, sort it out!
- Why?
- Can you believe that?
- WHY?
Here! You've cracked it, my son!
Fame at last!
Here he is! Over here!
It's Terry! Hey!
Te-rry! Te-rry!
Te-rry! Te-rry!
- Can I help you?
- Yeah, I'm Terry McCann.
You just flashed my name up
on the doofer. The board.
Oh, yes.
Come in.
- Would you like to sit down?
- No, I don't want to sit down.
I think you'd better, Mr...
Whatever's happened won't be altered
by me sitting down, will it?
- Uh... no.
- No.
There was an accident.
You're wanted at home.
Accident? What's happened?
Who is it?
I'm very sorry to say
it was your mother, Mr McCann.
I'm very sorry to say she had
the misfortune to get run over.
- No, no, no. My mum didn't.
- Yes, she did.
It was a Green Line bus.
Terence McCann,
17 Homewood Crescent?
Well, yeah, you've got
the right geezer and all that...
Apparently,
it is your mum.
- Apparently...
- We had a phone call
from your Uncle Arthur.
He just called the club.
- Uncle Arthur?
- Yes. Look...
What's happening?
Oh, my Gawd.
You believe this, eh?
Half an hour I stood there
watching this rubbish,
they couldn't score a goal
in a month of Sundays,
and the minute I come in here,
it's in the net!
That's typical, that is!
Bleeding diabolical.
I don't wish to intrude
on your grief, Mr McCann,
but may I offer you a lift home?
No, no. I ain't going anywhere.
It's a gee-up, innit?
I don't think you got it.
It could be fatal.
No, you don't understand.
It's a put-up job.
- What?
- Excuse me, Mr McCann.
Are you inferring
that this phone call was a hoax?
Well, something like that, yeah.
You see, the only way a Green Line bus
can run my old mum over
is if it makes a detour
through Kilburn Cemetery,
cos she's been there
since 1967.
As for Uncle Arthur,
I ain't even got an Uncle Arthur.
Have you any idea who the person
purporting to be Uncle Arthur is?
I... uh... no. No.
Because I don't find this
Uncle Arthur's antics funny at all.
I'm hardly laughing
my cobblers off either, am I?
Let me finish speaking.
I have a lot on my plate
on Saturday afternoons, son.
And I don't want smartarse Uncle Arthurs
poking their two penn'orths in.
Yeah.
Are you going somewhere,
Mr McCann?
It's only halfway through the half.
I want to see the rest of the match.
And of course, I think I've spent
enough of your valuable time.
Yes. You and Uncle Arthur have.
Yeah, well, I'm sorry about that.
I'll be off, then, eh?
You're not going back
onto the terraces, Sunny Jim.
You're on your bike.
On your way.
Go out.
Cancel that.
I hope you're not going
to do a moody on me?
Moody? Me? I suppose you thought
that was humorous?
No. Astute, I thought.
The old grey matter working overtime.
- Oh, leave it out.
- I leave nothing out, my son.
I wanted to see you urgent...
here you are.
QED. Mission accomplished.
My little ruse. I call that very astute.
I call it diabolical,
My only worry was, you wouldn't
have the nous to work it out.
You know, break the code.
Break the... I'm going to break
your neck one of these days.
Yeah, course you are, Terence.
But not today, my son.
Not when you hear
what I've got worked out for you.
There we are.
Comfy?
Get off.
... ... ...
- Terry! Have I ever lied to you?
- Often.
I swear to you
on my bank manager's wife.
The lad himself.
Danny Varrow.
- Well, where is he now?
- Bombing his way down the M1,
ready to sell his story
to the highest bidder.
You know, goals, girls...
What was that?
You know...
sex, soccer and stair rods.
- Stair rods?
- Yeah. Compulsive reading, innit?
It's gold-dust time, Terry.
My Exclusive Story,
by Soccer Misfit.
You know the kind of bread they
dish out for that sort of rubbish, Terry?
I know the kind of bread
they bung in, but...
- who's bunging you?
- Mr Ten Per Cent, ain't I?
- I'm his agent.
- Does he know that?
You just do your job, Terry.
I'll do mine.
Now, take him to your drum.
I'll meet you there.
Nobody... but nobody...
must know where he is
until I've done the deal
with Raikesey.
- I thought you said he was legless.
- Yeah, he was.
But by now he'll be hanging in rags,
won't he?
Ready to agree to anything.
Terry, this one's
going to be a doddle.
And what I like about it is,
there's no complications.
It's all above board.
I want him, Robbie.
We don't even know
he'll come to London, Mr Rafferty.
Oh, he'll come.
He'll come down to London,
believe me, Robbie.
He's on his way as of now, because
he hasn't got the nous to keep away.
Hm! He's like a kid let loose
in a sweetshop.
Doesn't know
when he's had enough.
Also, we know
who he'll contact first.
Oh, mark my words,
Robbie
he'll be straight on the blower
to that graceless slag
and when he does...
- Has Clifton shown yet?
- He's here now, Mr Rafferty.
'Have him come in.'
Get him, Clifton.
You want me to hurt him,
Mr Rafferty?
I didn't say I wanted you
to hurt him, did I?
I said get him,
which doesn't mean I want him got.
And when you've got him,
you bring him to me.
And when you've brought him
to me...
..then we'll see
about hurting him.
Terry?
Terry?
Terry, where the hell are you?
- 'Arthur?'
- Terry. Thank Gawd.
- Have you got him?
- 'Well, yeah...'
Why didn't you bring him 'round here,
like I told you to?
'He didn't want to come.'
- Why not?
- 'Because he didn't.'
- Well... Well, where are you?
- 'In the penthouse suite.'
What? What penthouse suite?
All right, Arthur, keep your wig on.
It's not my fault, is it?
- 'No, no, listen to me, Terry... '
- He elbowed my place, sight unseen.
He said that's the way it is,
par for the course. Right?
He gets his readies, a first-class hotel
and his out of pocket exes.
Hold on.
- Come in!
- 'What does he call his out of pocket exes?'
Well, champagne, mostly.
Champagne?
What champagne?
I think it's called Dom Perignon.
Bung it down there, will you?
'Listen, who's paying for all this, eh?
Is it Raikes's paper?'
Or are you having to pay for it
out of your ten per cent?
'Look... he gets no champagne.
He gets nothing!'
You tell him, Terry,
NOTHING is par for the course
until I have done a deal with Raikesey.
You tell him that, Terry.
'Terry? Are you listening?'
Come in.
- Steak sandwich, sir.
- Yeah, yeah, hold on...
Yeah, I'm listening, Arthur.
'I am only prepared to pay
the basic...'
'..on the arrangement contractually
that I am able to agree...'
with anothers parties
consored.
Look, will you shut up?
He ain't going to take any notice
of me, is he?
You want to tell him that,
come and tell him yourself.
I can't, can I?
I'm looking for Raikesey.
Look, you tell him,
until I find Raikesey,
he don't get so much
as a packet of crisps.
It's no good having a go,
Jenny.
If you want to give someone
a coating, girl,
give one to the geezer
who brought me up here.
Yep.
What about West Ham?
You've always got some
bleeding excuse, ain't you, Danny?
And it's always me
that falls for it.
- West Ham won 3-2.
- Did they really?
Blimey, they did well.
I nicked two points up there!
Yeah... Yeah,
you know I do.
What do you mean, say it?
I don't have to say it, do I? Cos I do.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. All the time.
What about...
I never that anything else.
- What about Crystal Palace?
- Yeah, what about Crystal Palace?
You are a rotten bastard, Danny.
They was held to a no-score draw.
Must have been a kicking match.
Three of them got their names took
and one got sent off.
Look, if you can't come round here,
why can't I come round there to you?
I want you, Danny.
I can't remember
who got sent off.
I can't look in the bleeding paper
cos it's not IN the bleeding paper.
I heard it on the telly.
Why can't I come round there,
to you?
Stone me, Jenny, how many more times
have I got to tell you?
Because I've got somebody with me.
Now what about Arsenal?
No, it is not crumpet.
It is business.
It is a geezer. Now what...?
Gawd Almighty, girl. Look.
- Just say hello to Jenny, will you?
- Hello, Jenny.
You satisfied?
That was Terry, right?
Now, did that sound like crumpet?
No.
Now darling, please,
tell me about Arsenal.
Ronnie Raikes. What are you
looking for him for, Arthur?
Bit of sporting info I picked up.
It might be right up his street.
I thought you wouldn't give
a journalist a light.
Dave, please. It does not do
to bear grudges to the grave.
Anyway, any friend of yours...
Any idea where he was bound,
in the minicab?
I pointed him in the direction
of his office, but knowing Ronnie,
he's having
a hair of the dog in Fleet Street.
Any idea which boozer?
- Yeah, you could try the Blackfriar.
- The Blackfriar. Right. Thanks.
If you can't find him there,
try the Bell.
- The Bell.
- Or if he isn't there,
he could be in the Mucky Duck.
Or if not there, El Vino. Or the
Cheddar Cheese. He uses that a lot.
If he's not there,
try the Cockpit.
If he isn't there,
try the Wig And Pen.
And if he's not there,
he could be in Mad As Punch.
If you can't find him there,
I should try any one
of half-a-dozen pubs.
Hair of the dog?
Sounds as if he's swallowing
the whole bloody pack of hounds.
Thanks, Dave.
Thirsty geezer.
Nine, ten, jack.
Is that it, is it?
I can beat that with my second.
A, K, Q, on the bounce.
Three, four, five.
Ten, jack, queen.
- Rubbish.
- Ace queen flush!
- Pick 'em out of that!
- All right.
Don't get a coronary. All you've
done is win a few rounds of cards.
No need for a bleeding lap
of honour, you see.
- It's my competitive nature, innit?
- Don't give me that competitive crap.
If you had any competitive spirit,
you'd be on the park
sticking the ball in,
not selling your memoirs.
How'd your lot do today?
Do you know?
Erm.
They lost, one plonk.
- Don't that worry you?
- No.
Well, it should, shouldn't it?
Blimey, it'd worry me sick if I'd
left the team in the lurch like that.
Oh, yeah, well, I'd be pig sick
if they'd won 1-0.
But losing, well, that just proves
they can't do it without me, see?
You big-headed bastard.
No, it's all right being big headed.
I mean, it's OK being big headed
if you've got something
to be big headed about.
But it's these no talented big
headed bustards that get up my nose.
Yeah, all right,
I can understand that.
- What about loyalty?
- Loyalty?
Loyalty's to number one,
mate.
I'm the guy that goes out there
every Saturday
and gets great lumps
kicked out of his shins.
That's what you're paid for,
innit?
What about the club?
Your mates? The manager?
Manager? My...
My manager is a bleeding idiot.
He's a psycho.
Do you... Do you know what his idea
of a half-time team talk is?
He comes into the dressing room,
and he says,
"OK, lads,
now I know you're losing 1-0,
"but what I want you to do
"is to just keep pumping them balls
right up the centre."
Now, that is rubbish.
You know it's rubbish.
So it's a rubbish club.
Rubbish manager.
But I'm not. And I know.
I know I'm not rubbish.
I've got better things to do.
Like spending all your dough
on birds, booze and bookies?
Then coming down here
to sell your sordid little story
- just to pay for it?
- Certainly.
Is it worth it?
Look, Terry, I told you.
It's in my nature, innit?
But one of these days you see you're
going to overstep the mark, aren't you?
You...
Your murky past
is going to catch up with you.
- Hello?
- 'Is Danny Varrow there?'
Who wants him?
Hello?
No, no, I don't want Classified Ads!
Look, I'm waiting to speak
to your sports department,
and I've been put through
to the women's page!
Yeah. Not half as sorry
as I am, madam.
Hello? Sport? My name is Daley.
Arthur Daley.
I'm trying to get in touch with your Mr...
your Mr Raikes.
Yeah, I appreciate he's not
in the office at this hour, but...
I just wondered if perchance
you had recourse to his whereabouts?
Daley.
Arthur Daley.
Oh, I am, yes, yes.
We are members of the same club.
I AM in Fleet Street.
No, no, no. I'm sorry.
It's very personal.
I wish to speak
only to Mr Raikes.
What do you mean,
drop him a postcard?
Listen, friend, don't you take that
high handed attitude with me,
or I'll have you...
Hello? Hello?
Hello?
No luck, then, sweetie?
He hung up on me.
That is typical
of your gutter press.
It'd serve 'em right
if I sold 'em up the river
and took the story
to one of the posh papers.
At least with them
you're dealing with gentlemen.
Ooh, I'm not so sure, love.
We get some funny ones in here as well.
- Yeah?
- Yeah.
- Do you want another one?
- Yeah... No, no, no. I've...
I've trawled more
Fleet Street boozers than enough.
Yeah, that might be
your big mistake.
- How do you mean?
- Well, dodging about...
you keep missing him.
He's bound to pop in for one
some time, Ronnie is.
- He's sure to.
- Yeah?
Look, why don't you just
settle yourself down here and...
Oh! Yeah. All right,
a vodka and slimline, please.
What about you?
Are you going to have something?
Yeah, yeah. Thanks very much,
love. Don't mind if I do.
- There you go.
- Oh, lovely. Cheers.
I tell you what.
I only ever saw you play once
in the flesh.
- You know, not on telly, like.
- Oh, yeah? When was that?
It's got to be two seasons ago.
It was an FA cup tie,
at Craven Cottage.
Oh, yeah. I remember, yeah.
We won 2-1, didn't we?
- Yeah.
- Didn't play half bad, did I?
No, man. You played
out of your bleeding skin.
I remember it!
I laid the first one off and scored
the second with eight minutes to go.
That's right.
It was from the corner, wasn't it?
That's right, yeah. It came over,
a half volley, splat.
Straight into the corner of the net.
How's that, son? Pick that one out.
Cor, I really hated you,
I'll tell you.
Here, you're a Fulham supporter,
aren't you?
Yeah. Red hot, me.
Nah, but that... I mean,
you were a different class, weren't you?
D'you know, that weren't two seasons ago.
It was four. Four.
Well, time marches on.
- It does when you play up front, son.
- Well, exactly. Look.
I know it's hard and all that,
and you get kicked,
but you got to go out there and
enjoy it WHILE IT LASTS.
Oh, I enjoy it all right.
All the birds, the booze, the football.
Well, not necessarily
in that order.
And the woofers and the geegees.
Listen. You're a great player,
right?
Why are you doing all this?
I owe a fella.
- A bookie?
- Yeah.
Yeah. Well,
you could call him that, yeah.
- Well, how much?
- A lot.
- How much is a lot?
- Well, five grand.
Yeah, that is a lot.
So now do you understand
all this?
- Have you owed him long?
- Long enough.
Is he putting the screws
on you?
Yeah, you could say
he putting the screws.
So the sooner your mate gets hold
of Ronnie Raikes, the better. Right?
Yeah. Right.
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
.........
You know
what your problem is, Clivie?
Yeah.
I shagged up with a lunatic bird.
No.
You suffer from verbal diarrhea.
Oh, come on.
Come on.
All right, all right!
- Where is he, Jenny?
- Well, he ain't here.
You'd better tell us where he is,
then, before Clifton loses his bottle.
Time, gentlemen, please.
Come along now, ladies and gentlemen.
Good night.
See you.
Come along now.
Good night.
Good night.
- Come out now, ladies and gentlemen.
- Good night.
Good night, sir.
Oh, stone me, where the bleeding hell
is that Arthur, eh?
It's tomorrow, innit?
Here. Fancy a game?
- Ai? What?
- Yeah. A game.
What are you doing?
Oi!
Don't worry about that.
Purley Prize competition.
- Purley Prize?
- Come on, son. Give us it here.
Yeah. All right! All right, then.
No, but you're the pro.
- You've got to go in first.
- Oh, all right. It don't bother me.
Go on, off you go.
- All right?
- Yeah. Go on.
- Yow! It's there!
- No, hang on, I slipped.
- Hello.
- Good morning!
- Oh, is it already?
- I'm trying to trace Ronnie Raikes.
You wouldn't happen to know
where he is, would you?
I know where he isn't.
I'm not here, officially.
I'm supposed to be following up
an escaped python story
for a domestic Clitheroe, Lancs.
Yes. Very interesting.
You don't think you can
help me track him down?
- Where have you looked so far?
- I've looked in all of 'em.
I don't know where else
to suggest then.
Here...
how do you spell asphyxiated?
Is it Y-X-I or I-X-Y?
Asphyxia...
Asphyx...
- Put 'strangled', my son.
- Cheers.
Have you tried him at his flat?
- His what?
- Ronnie. Have you been to his flat?
- Ai-ee! What a save!
- Yeah!
Good! Take it again.
- Take what again?
- You moved before I kicked it, son!
- Oh. I never did!
- You did. Yes, you did.
Referee's decision final.
Take it again.
Take nothing again.
That was a great save.
Fulham!
Champions of the universe!
Fair enough, fair enough.
Take it again. Best out of three, right?
You said
it was sudden death.
- I never said it was sudden death.
- You did!
We always play best of three.
I always do anyway.
- Go on, back you go. Go on. Please.
- Oh, all right, all right.
- Fair enough.
- Right.
All right. I can handle anything
you bung at me, sunshine.
- Right. I'm ready.
- OK. Cop hold of this.
- Well, where are you going?
- Half-time, innit.
I'm going for a jimmy.
Steak-sandwich reinforcements.
All right, I'll get it.
Hello, Danny.
Sorry to be a bother.
Mr Rafferty said
he wouldn't mind a word.
Whoo. Mmpph.
Danny?
Erm, excuse me.
Er...
Where is he?
Hold on. Hold on.
Who are you?
Rotten bastard.
Ah. Ah, yeah.
You must be Jenny, eh?
It's half-past five!
No, no. I think you've stopped.
It is 27 minutes to six.
Very nearly.
27 minutes to six?
Very nearly.
- In the MORNING?
- I believe so.
Ha, ha! There's no
such bloody time!
Who did you say you were again?
My credentials.
What's it say?
Arthur Daley Esquire.
That is who I am.
Licensed automobile dealer.
Those are my
professional qualifications.
- A second-hand car salesman.
- Yeah... broadly speaking.
I do have several
other irons in the fire.
I don't need
a second-hand bloody car.
I am here regarding
one of my other several irons...
I don't need a second-hand
bloody car
and certainly not at half-past five
in the bloody morning!
..ie, the personal representation
of several celebrity clients
in the fields of entertainment
and endeavour.
You're... You're a variety agent
that sells used cars?
May I come straight to the point?
It wouldn't come amiss.
Danny Varrow.
Danny Varrow,
famous footballer,
flogging his revelations to the press.
Crown Prince Tells All.
No?
I'm his business manager.
If you'd like to make an offer.
Is it a gee-up?
No!
Tell the truth!
You're trying to get me at it!
No, no, I'm not!
Those prats in the office
put you up to this.
Playing silly buggers,
trying to stitch me up!
No, no, no, no.
This is 28 carat.
I mean, this is a scoop.
Tomorrow's headline.
I'll give you
tomorrow's headline!
- Hey!
- You bloody lunatic!
You heard!
Scram before I kick your
bloody head in!
Now, you watch it or I will take
the story somewhere else.
Story? Danny Varrow's tasteless
tittle-tattle, you want to sell me?
I've been drunk with him so many times
I know it off by heart!
An odyssey through the bedrooms
of the nation's faceless slags.
That's not a bloody story.
Oi, oi, here, I've got him in
a penthouse suite.
All expenses paid.
- You still here?
- No, no. No. No.
The day he gets his comeuppance,
that's the bloody story!
Why can't you take me
with you?
That'd really put the cat
amongst the pigeons, wouldn't it?
Haven't you stirred things up
enough already?
No, I'm dropping you off.
- Rafferty don't own me.
- Don't he?
- He's a married man.
- They often are, aren't they?
I'm just his bit on the side,
ain't I?
Does he pay your rent?
So? He owns the flat.
I'm not his only bit on the side.
I'm what's known as
his 'South London job'.
He can keep his bleeding flat
for all I care.
Look, are you sure he's going to be
at the driving range?
Regular as clockwork,
Sunday mornings.
Ah, you've sliced it, Rafferty.
It's your grip, see.
You've got it twisted...
Let me show you.
Don't you give me any lip,
you little sod.
You've enough
to answer for already.
I'll get your readies.
Don't worry about it.
It isn't just a matter of readies.
You remember that.
You can't just swan around
rumping birds that don't belong to you.
That is a fact of life,
Varrow.
That is why you have to learn
your lesson.
When I let Clifton loose on you,
don't think just of it
as a hiding, son.
Accept it
as a bit of further education.
See who that is.
Danny?
- Are you all right, Danny?
- Who is it?
Now, we don't want any trouble,
Rafferty.
You better piss off then,
hadn't you, and you won't get any.
- Just walk towards me, Danny.
- He's staying where he is.
Oh, dear, dear.
Listen.
Tell this stinky little
gorilla to get out the way.
- Who is it?
- Danny, walk towards me.
I don't care who he is.
Have him, Clifton.
Go on, my son,
clobber the bugger.
Go on, hit him, Terry!
Terry?
Terry McCann?
- That's right, son.
- It's Clifton, innit?
Clifton Fields!
Do what?
Gorblimey!
1963, Hoxton Baths. Qualifying
rounds, NABC Championships.
1964, I had you again.
Shepherd's Bush, right? Junior ABAs!
- It ain't!
- It bloody well is, mate!
- Cor dear, oh, Lord!
- What a couple of scraps they were.
- Oh. One-all. Right?
- That's right.
- You first made series...
- Hold on.
Hoxton Baths, twice in a second
I put you down three times in the third!
I got up though, didn't I, eh?
Didn't I?
- I gave you a hiding though.
- You did.
- How about the second one, though?
- Ah, well...
When you two have finished
your trip down Memory Lane...
Well, at least we got our heads down
and went at it two-fisted,
which is more than you can say
for a lot of these today.
Athletes, Terry. Sportsmen.
Shat it sod.
They ain't worth fighting over,
that's a fact.
Are you bottling it?
No. I'm not.
I ain't bottled anything
in my entire life.
But me and Terry,
we go a long way back
and we're a bit long in the tooth
to go for a decider.
- I'll go along with that.
- I'll be straight, Mr Rafferty.
I don't think
I'll ever work for you again.
If it was your missus the lad gave one to,
I'd have stuck up for you.
But giving one
to your bit of stuff...
a different kettle of fish.
Know what I mean?
- There is a subtle difference.
- Right.
I mean, scrubbers,
fair game for everyone.
Know what I mean?
Oi. Danny.
Come on.
Excuse me, Mr Rafferty.
You're a very lucky boy.
Giving one to my missus?
What does he mean?
Who would give one
to my missus?
Look, I'd pay somebody
to give one to my missus.
Another thing.
If I pay the bill,
it's only for lends,
it's not down the larkings.
When the FA Cup comes around
you can settle up in tickets.
Cor.
Dear, oh, dear.
You must have put up quite a fight
before they kidnapped him.
Big geezers, were they?
Enormous.
Well, let's check out
before they spot the damage.
Where are your motors?
- Mine's in the basement.
- Yeah, car park.
Mine too. I'll meet you there
as soon as I've settled the bill.
Yes, sir.
Penthouse suite, checking out.
Could I have the doings?
Hold on, hold on.
You sure that's us?
- We've only been here one night.
- Yes, sir.
Oh, my good Gawd.
...
Do you got a pen?
A bit tight, your mate,
then, is he?
You know how much
Dom Perignon is?
- Do you?
- No.
He's going to go garrity
when he sees it.
I mean, I can see it now,
"Can I have the cheque..."
Varrow!
- Oh, my Gawd, not another one.
- You might well stare.
You dirty,
disgusting sod.
- Leave it out, Jess.
- Leave out nothing!
I'm gonna blow your brains
to buggary.
Hold on, hold on, hold on,
hold on, hold on.
Listen,
we can talk about this...
Stay out of this.
It's none of your business.
- You bastard!
- Terry?
Oh. Hello!
Where did they come from?
"Best wishes and kind regards."
They're from your Uncle Arthur.
- Sling it.
- Oh, it's a shame to waste it.
Can I take it to Maternity
for an unmarried mum?
You can do what you like
with it.
- Sorry, Sister...
- Student nurse.
Oh, well...
give it time!
If he don't want it, it's going back
to my dear lady. Ta.
'Would Matron
please go to Casualty?'
Pulled it yet?
Ha, ha, ha!
Yeah, sorry
I didn't get here yesterday.
Her indoors had family over.
You know what that's like.
Oh, dear, oh, dear. You were lucky
to get away with superficial burns.
He could have made a colander
out of you as easy as winking.
Still, a couple of days in here,
you'll be as right as rain.
Seen the papers? Look at this.
"Vengeance on Varrow!"
"Farmer's Fury Falls On
Fickle Footballer."
They ain't half had a field day,
I'll tell you.
I bet you got a nice few bob,
didn't you?
Me?
A nice few bob?
With the penthouse suite
and Dom Perignon shampoo?
That cost me
an arm and a leg.
- What about all this?
- I copped for nothing out of that.
Soon as that gun went off,
I scarpered.
Once I'd made sure
you were going to be all right.
I could hear the Old Bill
and the blood wagon coming.
You get a mention in all of 'em.
They've spelt your name
wrong.
'Sister Richards please report
to Reception.'
Fancy wanting
to top Randy Andy.
I tell you, Terry,
there are some funny buggers about.
Is Danny all right?
Not a scratch.
You copped the lot.
What's it in aid of?
Did he give the geezer's daughter
one or something?
In every sense of the word.
There's no stopping him,
is there?
It's a bit old-fashioned,
though.
I mean, if your daughter's in the club,
you get her married.
Would you fancy a son-in-law
who had also given your missus one?
- He never.
- Mother and daughter.
Shagged them both.
Full house.
- Oh, my God.
- And there is talk
of a first cousin not having had
to go without her share.
But that's not been
substantiated.
Look, I don't know about football,
mate,
but if they ever make nookie
an Olympic event,
he's got to be England's captain.
Ah, there's one you haven't seen.
Raikesey did get his exclusive.
"Varrow Vamoose!" A club in
Holland's come up with a strong offer.
Holland? Hm!
He'll be tiptoeing
through the tulips, won't he?
Oh, dear, those Dutch birds
have got no chance.
Why not?
They'll never get away in those
little wooden clogs, will they?
Clip-clop.
Ooh, Mr Danny Varrow!
Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
They're not for you.
No, they're for her indoors.
DENNIS WATERMAN:
"I Could Be So Good For You"
♪ If you want to
I'll change the situation
♪ Right people right time
♪ Just the wrong location
♪ I've got a good idea
♪ Just you keep me near,
I'll be so good for you
♪ I could be so good for you,
I'm gonna help you
♪ Love you like you want me to
♪ I'll do anything for you ooh-ooh
♪ I'll be so good for you
♪ I could be so good for you
♪ I'll do it like you want me to
♪ Love you like you want me to
♪ There ain't nothing
I can't go through ooh-ooh
♪ I'll be so good for you ♪