Act 3: Scene 2
Interior:Stan's House. Stan, Mum and Olive are hurriedly stashing things in cupboards and draping the furniture in bedsheets. There is a whiff of panic in the air:
FX - An impatient yet lengthy knocking at the door.
BLAKEY: (Faintly - from outside the front door, and through the letterbox) Come on Butler! Open up! I know you're in there! Open this blinkin' door!
STAN: Oh mah Gawd! Is that it? Have we got everythin' hidden?
MUM: There's the armchair my Stan! That ain't blitherin' covered yet!
STAN: Quick! Mum! Olive! Somebody! Chuck a blinkin' sheet over the armchair!
MUM: We ain't got no more sheets Stan! We've bloomin' well used 'em all!
FX: Blakey knocking on the door and shouting through the letter box.
STAN: (Looking desperate, holding his face in his hands. Snaps to attention suddenly.) 'Ere sis! You sit in the bloomin'armchair! Sort of sprawl all sexy all over it. Like as if you wuz proper crumpet or summink!
OLIVE: (Puzzled, frowning) Do wot our Stan?
FX - (Blakey now pounding on the door in a frenzy and screaming something indistinguishable.)
STAN: For Gawd's sake yer big lump. Act like bleedin' crumpet! Spread yer big arse out! If we're lucky, Blakey might not notice that it's upholstered in the bleedin' bus company livery! Your blinkin' 'normous arris should hide a multitude of sins!
OLIVE: Oh all right Stan...
MUM: We're gonna 'ave to let the Inspector in Stan, otherwise he'll have the bleedin' front door orf the 'inges!
STAN: Awww...go on then mum. Let the long drink o' water in! Gawd 'elp us!
(RETURN. ENTER MUM, FOLLOWED BY A FLUSTERED LOOKING BLAKEY. STAN IS SPRAWLED ON THE SOFA HOLDING HIS BACK AND GROANING. OLIVE IS DRAPED ACROSS THE ARMCHAIR, WITH ONE LEG UP ON EACH OF THE CHAIR ARMS, SMILING DEMURELY. TRYING UNSUCCESSFULLY TO LOOK SEXY AND SEDUCTIVE. BLAKEY DOESN'T NOTICE HER. HE IS GLARING AT STAN. HE CLUTCHES HIS CLIPBOARD TIGHTLY AND BOUNCES UP AND DOWN ON THE SOLES OF HIS FEET. VIRTUALLY FOAMING AT THE MOUTH. STAN SPEAKS TO HIM, ATTEMPTING TO SOUND LIKE HE'S IN TERRIBLE PAIN:)
STAN: Allo Blakey...cor blimey...we fort you wuz gorna 'ave the gor blimey front door orf its blinkin' 'inges mate...
BLAKEY: Took you long enough to get the door Butler. You're up to summink you are. You're hiding sammink from me, you are. I wasn't born yesterday Butler. Whatever you might think o' me, I ain't no blinkin' mug.
STAN: (Disguises a laugh as a cough before he answers.) Erm, nah. Course you ain't Blakey. But I ain't up to no malarkey or nuffink. Took a while to answer the door because mum and Olive was 'elpin' me ter git dahn orn the sofa. If they'd've come straight ter the door they'd have bloomin' well dropped me orn me bad back.
BLAKEY: Yerse Butler...nah then...this 'ere back o' yours...
STAN: Wot abaht it?
BLAKEY: Hur hurrr hurrrr! We ain't gonna pay you for bein' orf work wiv a bad back mate...
STAN: Not gonna pay me? You can't do that!
BLAKEY: Oh but I can Butler. See, you injured your back chasin' crumpet in that field dahn by the lido wot's full o' dog muck...
STAN: You wot? The lido's full o' bleed'n dog muck? 'Ow did that 'appen then?
BLAKEY: No you nitwit. The lido ain't full o' dog muck - but the field where you was chasin' after the crumpet is...
STAN: Wot's that gotta do wiv anyfink?
BLAKEY: Wot it means Butler...huuurrrrrr...is that you was orf duty when you sustained the injury to your back. And I use the word 'injury' very loosely. So, as it's nuffink to do wiv the bus company, we don't 'ave to pay yer! Huurrrr!!!
STAN: But it was summink to do wiv the company because the crumpet I was wiv was a blinkin' clippie! So put that on your clipboard and bleed'n scratch it!
BLAKEY: But you wuz orf duty Butler...nuffink to do wiv the bus company...even if the crumpet you was chasing wuz a blinkin' clippie...
STAN: Oh we'll see abaht that Blakey. I'll 'ave a word wiv Jack abaht this. It's discrinimation's wot it is. I shall consult wiv the union - through me old mucker Jack!
(BLAKEY STRAIGHTENS UP TO HIS FULL HEIGHT AND TURNS AROUND. HE SEES OLIVE FOR THE FIRST TIME, SPRAWLED INDELICATELY OVER THE ARMCHAIR. SHE IS LICKING HER LIPS SUGGESTIVELY AND TRYING HER BEST TO LOOK LIKE A SEDUCTIVE VAMP. SHE IS FAILING MISERABLY. BLAKEY DOES A DOUBLE-TAKE)
BLAKEY: Oh my good Gawd! Dear sweet baby Jesus and the blinkin' martyrs...I don't believe this. Somebody tell me I'm bleedin' well dreamin'...
OLIVE: Good mornin' Inspector...is there anything I can do for you?
(Blakey puffs and blows. He looks mortified.)
BLAKEY: I erm...I don't think so...
MUM: Inspector! I do hope you ain't insultin' my Olive's womanly wiles...
BLAKEY: Womanly wiles? There ain't nuffin' womanly or wily abaht your Olive Missus Butler. I can assure you of that...
OLIVE: (BURSTS INTO TEARS.) Waaaggghhh! Mum! He's insulted me! He says I'm not womanly or wily...boo-hoo!
MUM: (COMFORTING THE SOBBING OLIVE. PATTING HER ON THE BACK.) There...there...Olive...
STAN: (ASIDE TO CAMERA.) Cor blimey viewers! And there was me thinkin' old Blakey was two squirts short of a full tank o' petrol.
(ENTER JACK. THE RANDY, CRUMPET CHASING, HORSE FACED UNION OFFICIAL, SMOKING A CIGARETTE AND STRIKING POSES AS HE GURNS RELENTLESSLY TO CAMERA. CUE HYSTERICAL CANNED LAUGHTER.)
JACK: Mornin' all! Nice ter see yer...ter see yer..
STAN: Great line that Jack, mate. Not in the script, but great just the same. Wouldn't surprise me at all if some bugger don't nick that...anyway...thank Gawd you've come....
JACK: Do wot Stan? What's up matey, me old mucker?
BLAKEY: (TO JACK.) What you doin' here? Ain't you s'pposed ter be aht wiv the 69 bus?
JACK: (PREENING AND SMOKING HIS CIGARETTE IN EXAGGERATED FASHION) I was. But we broke dahn by the cemetery gates, so I chased the clippie rahnd the top deck for twenny minutes till the breakdahn crew arrived. They said it'd be an hour or so till we can get back on the road, so I thought I'd come and check up on me old mate Stan, rather than waste me time chasin' arfter crumpet wot I can't catch. And 'ave me a nice cuppa. Makes a luvverly cuppa does Missus Butler!
MUM: (COYLY) Ooh Jack! You are a one.
JACK: Anyway - wot's up Stan?
STAN: It's bleedin Hitler's bruvver 'ere! He says he ain't gonna pay me sick money cos I 'put me back aht up the lido chasin' crumpet!
JACK: (GLARING AT BLAKEY) Oh he did, did he. We'll soon see abaht that Stan mah son.
BLAKEY: What's that s'pposed ter mean?
JACK: Wot it means Blakey, is that when I gets back ter the depot, I shall be convenin' an emergency meetin' an' callin fer strike action...
BLAKEY: (EYES POPPING INCREDULOUSLY OUT OF HIS HEAD, LIPS ATREMBLE IN ABJECT FURY) You can't do that!
JACK: Oh but I can. And I will. This is victimisation, and as a union official, it would be dereliction of duty and that if I didn't support me brother union member...
BLAKEY: (GLARING ALL AROUND, CLEARLY VERGING ON APOPLEXY) I hate you Butler! I hate all of you! You'll never get away wiv this! It's a bleedin' outrage! You just wait till 1979 when Maggie gets elected! She'll sort you lot aht good and proper! You mark my words!
(BLAKEY STORMS OUT OF SHOT, VISIBLY AGITATED.)
STAN: 'Ere Jack...wot's Blakey on abaht? Who's this Maggie then?
JACK: (STRIKING A POSE WITH THE ETERNAL CIGARETTE) I shouldn't worry abaht it mate. It won't ever 'appen. (JACK TURNS AROUND AND SEES OLIVE SPRAWLED ON THE ARMCHAIR FOR THE FIRST TIME.) Cor blimey Olive! Wot the bleedin' 'ell you playin' at gel! You near give me a bleedin' coronary there! Put it away - there's urban foxes abaht! It's puttin' us all at risk is that!
OLIVE: (BURSTS INTO TEARS AGAIN) Ooohhhh Mum! Now Jack's at it....
JACK: (STRIKING POSE TO CAMERA, BLOWING A SMOKE RING) She should be so blinkin' lucky eh viewers! Catch us next time. For the strike, and more bus related crumpet antics. If you like. If you don't, then don't. I got all the crumpet wot I can handle, so personally, I don't give a monkeys.