Simon: Lucy, Lucy, please..
Lucy: I don't want to just..
Simon: Please, please...
Lucy: You're always making me...
Simon: Just, just, just...
Lucy: Drawing it out. I don't want to...
Simon: Just, just listen! Look, love! I mean, I've done a stupid thing, I know that...
Lucy: Fucking right you have!
Simon: You've got to understand that it was nothing.
Lucy: Oh, fuck off, Simon!
Simon: It's you I love.
Lucy: Bet you said the same to her!
Simon: I don't give a fuck about her!
Lucy: Oh yeah? And you expect me to believe that?
Simon: Look, it was nothing, it meant nothing!
Lucy: Nothing?
Simon: Yeah, it was just a spur of the moment thing that's all. I didn't even know her name, for God's sake!
Lucy: Well, how come Marna saw you snogging on the pavement?
Simon: She said that, did she?
Lucy: Yeah.
Simon: Snogging?
Lucy: Yeah.
Simon: Yeah, and did she see my hand was over her mouth?
Lucy: Well, she was in a car!
Simon: Exactly! Probably didn't see me drag her behind the wall, either!
Lucy: She didn't say!
Simon: Right.
Lucy: So?
Simon: So? I didn't even get one kiss off this bird, because I was bloody raping her!
Lucy: Oh!
Simon: See?
Lucy: Really?
Simon: I've never met her before, and I was out of there as soon as I'd done it, and I'm certainly not going to see her again, am I?
Lucy: Promise?
Simon: Oh, come on, what am I? A nut?
Lucy: Just raped her and then left?
Simon: Of course.
Lucy: Nothing more?
Simon: Nothing more.
Lucy: Oh, Simon!
Simon: Come on!
Lucy: Oh, I'm sorry!
Simon: All right! Shhh, shhh, shhh, shhhh.
Lucy: I love you!
Simon: I love you!
Bob: Go away!
Angela: Come on, Bob! You've been under that wardrobe for three days now! You can't stay under there forever, you know. Hmmm?
Bob: Go away!
Angela (voice over): It's been about a year, now. He spends most of his time hiding under the furniture. He only comes out at night, to feed. He steals from the cupboards and eats it off of the floor.
Angela: Right, I've got you some food. Will you eat it off this dish today, please? The kitchen was covered in meat this morning!
Bob: Awwwww!
Doctor (voice over): Technically, Mr. Voss has gone feral. Basically, it's a sort of extended sulk that can affect men in their middle years.
Angela: Do you want me to clear your sand tray out?
Bob: No, leave it! Haven't finished. Will you go away!
Doctor (voice over): It's not that uncommon. I believe Jonathan Dimbelby is a long-term sufferer.
Angela: And what's all that mess in the airing cupboard?
Bob: It's a nest.
Angela: Bloody hell, Bob!
Bob: Well you don't know! Might have some eggs.
Angela: Right! That's it. I've had enough of this nonsense with you!
Angela (voice over): It started with a disagreement over bathrooms. We'd had a new one built downstairs and we both wanted it. In the end we, ummm, played a game of cards for it and I won, and then Bob immediately said; "I didn't know you were serious! That doesn't count. I didn't really mean to play cards for the bathroom."
Angela: I can see you under there, Bob. You look terrible!
Bob: Go away!
Angela: Your face is all hairy, you stink to high heaven, you're a state!
Bob: I don't know you anymore, Damn. Bugger off!
Angela: Well, imagine if people came round and saw you like that?
Doctor (voice over): What I am trying to do is to take Bob and Angela back to the root of their problem, the bathroom.
Doctor: Bob?
Bob: Oh, he's here, is he? Thought I could smell him!
Doctor: Bob! This has been going on for a very long time.
Bob: Yes, and it's quite a simple issue!
Doctor: Bob, I'm sure you can reach an agreement. All right?
Bob: You know very well that she got the downstairs bathroom by cheating.
Angela: Bollocks, Bob, you lost fair and square.
Bob: Hmph! Listen to her, Doctor! It's like arguing with an ape!
Doctor: Hang on, Bob. (to Angela) Would you consider letting him have the downstairs bathroom half the time?
Angela: No.
Bob: See?
Doctor: Well, what about sharing?
Angela: No. That would entirely ruin the point of having two bathrooms.
Bob: See, Doctor? Stubborn bitch!
Angela: You fuck off!
Doctor: Please, please!
Bob: Shit in a dress!
Doctor: Oh, now come on, come on!
Angela: Fuck you, Bob!
Doctor: Calm down.
Bob: You're just a bad loser!
Angela: I'm the bad loser!
Bob: Yes, you fucked up Jessie!
Angela: Fuck him! Fuck him!
Doctor: Please! Alright, alright...
Angela: Fuck him!
Doctor: Let's just get downstairs, please?
Angela: Fuck him! Fuck him!
[FX DOOR CLOSES]
Doctor (voice over): My concern is that if we let this continue, he'll go all the way and make a break for the wild. Case histories indicate that that would not be at all good. By that stage they've usually gone naked and die of exposure or, like the seven or so cases last year, they'll get run over. I think Angela basically married Bob to destroy him and, subconsciously, Bob married Angela to destroy himself.
Bob: I can go on like this for years. Well, I quite like it, actually.
I don't have to bother with people. There's quite a lot of us doing
it. I've contacted about a hundred on the Internet. We
exchange ideas and tactics. Yes, I'm going to get one of Angela's
friends pregnant. Yes, Antonia, I think, mmmm, yes. That'll
sort her out. Ha ha ha! Yes, then we'll see! Oh yes.
Yes, then we'll see what happens if you take my bathroom away.
I pushed my head through a broken pane in mother's front sitting room. A young cyclist stared back at me with a smug grin and a silver envelope. "It's an invitation to Suzie's wedding." he said. I told him she had a pretty odd way of accepting a proposal. He laughed one "ha". I told him how Suzie had kissed me, and how shortly after I had proposed to her in a letter enclosed in a sea bass. She hadn't replied exactly, but she had thrown it into the sea, which was perhaps a posh way of saying yes. He looked dubious. "The posh do things differently." I said. He suggested that perhaps I open the envelope. Inside was an invitation in illegible copperplate, a red card in quilted silk with a pair of alloy love birds cannodling in the centre and a handwritten note that read 'Come at once. I must talk to you at once. Suzie. X'
Suzie's house was a bustle of caviar and champagne, and about a dozen female strangers with familiar faces. She kissed me all over the place, gushed; "You know everyone, of course!" and left me facing a wall. I stayed that way because it felt safe. I could hear her bustling around, busily issuing "We musts!" and fetching congratulations. "We always knew it would be him." they said. 'It's because she understands me.' I thought. Suzie's voice swept over my shoulder; "And you, my darling, will give me away." She squeezed me through my trousers. I turned towards the noise. She looked suddenly intense. "You know how much I loved Daddy, and now he's dead, well, I needed someone special and I wondered if perhaps it could be you." Then she added; "And you are by far the oldest looking of my friends." She smiled again, and her eyes done a sexy. "So are you marrying me?" I said.
"Sort of."
"Shouldn't I have given you a ring?"
She looked kinder now than a village baker lady and kissed me softly on the forehead. "You'll be standing right next to me." she said. "It's just standing up in front of people for a while." As she receded and I renewed my congress with the wall, the room around me hummed and crackled with talk of men. In particular a man called William, and a broken memory surfaced like a puff of something half-gone and awful. A crass, beaming face. Too much nodding. Suzie laughing, nudging me and saying; "Sometimes you should laugh like William." And slowly, without knowing why, I began to feel about as sad as it is possible to feel, while staring at a wall in a room full of women.
Three or four times in the next six months, Suzie had me round for a feed. People were unusually nice to me, especially William, who having materialised, looked older than the face in the memory, but still boomed at me excitedly and slapped my back whenever possible. Otherwise life continued in the usual blur of frowns, doctors, lying down and people saying; "Get the fuck out of my garden". And then suddenly we were all in a church surrounded by fields. I was stood next to Suzie and William, behind us a stew of faces. At the alter were two priests, both in informal robes, like kimonos. Both were thin and both, I learned later, had AIDS. Julius was gay, Crispin had an unlucky transfusion. Later still, I found that it wasn't unlucky at all. He'd deliberately taken on contaminated blood because he believed that underneath he was intrinsically a promiscuous homosexual and felt guilty that he'd never had the nerve to do anything about it. Both priests looked similar, but you could tell them apart because all the girls loved Julius.
To begin with, Julius did most of the talking, almost chatting and smiling frequently in our direction. I couldn't hear all the words above the drumming the generally bothers me on large occasions, but whenever he raised his voice I felt obliged to say; "Not bad, thanks. How about you?" He smiled kindly when I did this. When Crispin took over, he turned his attention increasingly to Suzie and William, and became more solemn and started holding their hands. At one point I heard him say; "...let him now speak or forever hold his peace." There was a silence. Suzie winked at me. William smiled, and a little git of panic broke on to my diaphragm. "Who gives this woman to this man?" said Crispin. Suzie looked at me again. I looked at Crispin, at William and a man next to him holding a ring, and I began to see with the clarity of cold gin where this one was going. I said nothing. "Who gives this woman to this man?" Crispin said again. I knew what I had to say, but the only way I could think of saying "I do" was to say "Fucked if" first. I just stared back at them, trapping the response in my mouth so tight my lips ached, so Suzie jabbed me in the cummerbund, which made me say "Wadi." It was good enough for them. They continued. I didn't want that. I made a longer noise. Crispin stopped. I made it again and slapped my face to add importance. He looked worried. "Is there a problem?" he whispered. The stained glass behind him which included, at Suzie's insistence, a panel featuring the Rolling Stones as five of the twelve apostles, began to rotate, and was joined by the Nave and Transept. I heard my voice say "Yes" and I agreed with it. His eyes widened. "I have a problem with this marriage" I blurted. "What?" said the priest. William's face flared a gale warning and Suzie looked appalled, but was unable to suppress a slight wiggle.
"The problem..." I seemed to be saying "...is William." At the back, someone cheered. Relatives gasped in disbelief. William gave a warning grunt, and I remembered everything. I remembered young versions of William and myself, and four others who escorted Suzie. I remembered how people called us her brood, how she had always confided that of the six, it was me whom she had genuinely earmarked for marriage. How sometime during all of this I had flown off the thread, and had collapsed too far even to realise how far I had collapsed. So here I was, staring at William. The dullard, the dependable, who's moderate fortune now stood him proudly above all his time-debauched peers, and who most importantly of all, would be far too loyal to suspect Suzie's affairs.
"What is your objection?" Crispin was saying. I pointed at William.
"He is a tit." I said. Silence. Three or four male laughs,
immediately stifled by female glares. One female laugh, unrestrained.
Objections. A priest whispering "Fuck." Rough hands tight round
my biceps, under my arms, my knees. Sudden jagged daylight, lying
on my back and four angry male faces, dark against the sun. One of
them I recognised as William's brother. All of them ranting about
smashing my head in. Then three girls joining in and saying; "No,
No! He needs help!" And eventually all of them compromising
with beating me up with drugs. I remember nothing of the reception.
Apparently I was swaddled in Egyptian cotton in a bedroom upstairs.
Apparently, William came up to say "No hard feelings" and I tried to push
him out of the window. Suzie herself told me later that her grandmother
had paid me a kindly visit, and I told her how Suzie and Imogen had once
used bacon to make Granny's Doberman lick their vaginas.
Doctor: Come in [FX DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES] Ah, yes. Phillip Chade, isn't it?
Matthew Harding: No, it's Matthew Harding.
Doctor: Righto, have a seat.
Matthew Harding: Thanks.
Doctor: Now, what seems to be the problem?
Matthew Harding: Well, I'm quite sore under the arm, er, just here.
Doctor: Right. Well, take your shirt off, let's have a look. [FX TELEPHONE RINGS] (to caller) Hello? Yes, I'm getting hard. Very big and hard in my shorts. Yes. Ah, I've come on my knee. Alright, bye.
[FX RECEIVER IS REPLACED]
Matthew Harding: Err...
Doctor: Sorry about that, there's quite a good reason for it. Now, let's have a look. Just lift up your arm. Yes, glands up there are really quite swollen. Erm, any other symptoms?
Matthew Harding: I must admit I've been feeling...
[FX TELEPHONE RINGS]
Doctor: Oh, excuse me! (to caller) Hello? Yes, I'm gliding my fists over the bulging purple head and sticking my finger up my arse, and exploding in a shower of sticky come. OK, bye.
[FX RECEIVER IS REPLACED]
Matthew Harding: Doctor, er...
Doctor: I'm sorry. I haven't got much choice.
Matthew Harding: What do you mean?
Doctor: Well, we're quite short of cash at the health centre, and we've found that this is quite an efficient way of raising practise funds.
Matthew Harding: Oh?
Doctor: Now, we'd better have a look at you, that's quite a nasty swollen gland. Strip down to your pants and pop on to the couch.
Matthew Harding: Right.
[FX TELEPHONE RINGS]
Doctor: I'm very sorry about this. I'll put the headset on so I can carry on with you. (to caller) Hello? Hang on a sec. (to Matthew Harding) Right, just roll on to your side. Yes. (to caller) I'm staring down at my very hard prick. It's a fucking massive bulb.
Matthew Harding: Doctor!
Doctor: (to Matthew Harding) Won't be long, I'll be with you in a tick. (to caller) I'm pushing in to the soft warmth of your mouth and I'm coming down your throat.
Matthew Harding: Doctor, please!
Doctor: (to caller) Not at all. Goodbye. [FX HEADSET IS REPLACED] Right, well you don't seem to have any other inflammation. We'd better have you checked for glandular fever just in case, but I wouldn't worry.
Matthew Harding: Right. Doctor?
Doctor: Yes?
Matthew Harding: Is that really the only way you can raise money?
Doctor: Well there probably are others, but we haven't come up with a better one so far.
Matthew Harding: Can I ask you what you are raising the money for?
Doctor: Oh, just some sex toys to help the staff here relax.
Matthew Harding: What?
Doctor: Seems to work pretty well. I'll see you again when we've got the results, ok?
Matthew Harding: Sex toys, doctor?
Doctor: Yeah, I know. Unbelievable, isn't it?
Olive filters and wash rinse. For retrieving your expensive deli olives from the puke jet of drugged-up supermodels, as they rush to be the first to chunder up your bathroom. Leave the filters strewn about, and pop up a sign saying 'Ladies, please filter the olives out of your sick'. Unchewed and undigested, the olives can really thrive in a cheeky Putanesca, or as I call it, Puke-anesca sauce!
Eritrean panic poems. You know about these, each one like a kind of Terit's haiku, but use them carefully. One guy I knew poemed himself off a balcony. Mournful comments at dinner. Lots of dead baby stuff, still really de rigeur among the Emma Freud set. Makes the chicks cry, which is seldom less than horny. But personally, I find that lot a bit near the mark, especially since their parties usually include the sons of murderers and a couple of career abortionists.
Check out the streets of London at three am, and that's where you'll
find the after-dark Moon Gibbons of cool, swooning to the beats of sharp
sand patio courtesy of DJ Flipping Liar at the Nunnery of Noise.
Whack yourself down there immediately and expect Johnny Depp and
co to swing by any time, with their pants full of sewage and trombones
up their noses. And finally, cannon dogs. Beautiful little
animals for the minerally urban. Vegetarian, meticulously clean and
they don't need walking. Just fire them around the place occasionally
with a compressed air mortar, and they run obediently back. These
and only these will do. Anything else you own must be trashed, trashed,
trashed or else honey, you are in fashion Alaska.
Doorman: Morning, Sir!
Mr. Bentham: Morning.
[FX TRAFFIC PASSES BY] [FX DOOR CLOSES] [FX FOOTSTEPS IN HALLWAY]
Receptionist: Morning, Mr. Bentham!
Mr. Bentham: Good morning.
Receptionist: If you'd like to take a seat, he'll be with you shortly.
Mr. Bentham: Right, thank you. [FX MR. BENTHAM SITS DOWN AND SCRATCHES HIS STUBBLE] Oh, there's an exquisite animal!
Receptionist: Sorry?
Mr. Bentham: There's a little dove thing, it er, could have been a wood pigeon.
Receptionist: Sorry, I can't hear you.
[FX MR. BENTHAM STANDS]
Mr. Bentham: Just saying that there was quite a pretty dove on the balcony there, well it's gone now...
Receptionist: Oh. Yes, I can't see anything there now.
Mr. Bentham: It's gone now. It's quite a pity you didn't see it, it's a bit, um, oh dear. Can I sit down again?
Receptionist: Yes. Be with you shortly.
[FX MR. BENTHAM SITS DOWN]
Mr. Bentham: Pity, shame to have missed it, really.
[FX TELEPHONE RINGS AND IS ANSWERED]
Receptionist (to caller): Ok, thanks! [FX RECEIVER IS REPLACED] (to Mr. Bentham) He's ready for you now, Mr. Bentham.
Mr. Bentham: Right, thank you.
[FX FOOTSTEPS CROSS WAITING ROOM] [FX DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES]
Man in Charge: Ah, Mr. Bentham!
Mr. Bentham: Morning.
Man in Charge: Good morning! How can I help?
Mr. Bentham: Um, I've forgotten where I put my wallet.
Man in Charge: Right.
Mr. Bentham: Couldn't find it this morning.
Man in Charge: I see. Er, do you remember where you last had it?
Mr. Bentham: No.
Man in Charge: Hmmm. Have you looked in the kitchen?
Mr. Bentham: Ummm, no.
Man in Charge: Right, I see. Well, try the kitchen, or the bathroom.
Mr. Bentham: Oh, kitchen or bathroom?
Man in Charge: Mmmm. We often put our wallets down in a silly place, last thing at night.
Mr. Bentham: Mmmm. Right.
Man in Charge: Probably on one of the surfaces.
Mr. Bentham: Good. Thanks.
Man in Charge: Ok, sir?
Mr. Bentham: How much?
Man in Charge: Oh, that'll be forty-five pounds please, sir.
Mr. Bentham: Could you put that on my account, please.
Man in Charge: Of course, sir.
Mr. Bentham: Right, well thanks very much.
Man in Charge: Not at all. Help yourself to a button on your way out.
Mr. Bentham: Oh, right! Thank you!
Man in Charge: Might come in handy on a jacket or a shirt.
Mr. Bentham: Mmmm, yes indeed.
Man in Charge: Goodbye then, sir, and good luck!
Mr. Bentham: Yes, goodbye.
[FX DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES] [FX FOOTSTEPS CROSS WAITING ROOM]
Receptionist: Bye, Mr. Bentham.
Mr. Bentham: Yes. Ummm, did you by any chance see the dove again?
Receptionist: No.
Mr. Bentham: Oh, pity. Goodbye!
Receptionist: Bye.
[FX FOOTSTEPS IN HALLWAY]
Doorman: Goodbye, sir.
Mr. Bentham: Goodbye.
Doorman: Lovely button, sir.
Mr. Bentham: Thank you very much.
[FX DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES]
2nd Lesbian (voice over): We are lesbians, but I think people accept us.
1st Lesbian (voice over): I think we're the only people who do have a problem with it.
2nd Lesbian (voice over): I find the sort of things we have to do really quite horrible...
1st Lesbian: You ok?
2nd Lesbian: Mmmm.
1st Lesbian: Sorry.
2nd Lesbian (voice over): ...touching another woman in the breasts.
1st Lesbian (voice over): Let alone all down in the zips.
[FX ZIP PULLED OPEN]
1st Lesbian: You ok? Be quick! Be quick! Sorry!
2nd Lesbian: Oh!
1st Lesbian: Sorry, sorry, sorry!
2nd Lesbian (voice over): I mean, we certainly wouldn't do it if we weren't Lesbians.
1st Lesbian: Oh, dear!
2nd Lesbian: Mmmm!
1st Lesbian (voice over): God, no!
1st Lesbian: Oh God!
2nd Lesbian: That's it! That's it!
1st Lesbian: Yep! God!
2nd Lesbian: I'll put the kettle on.
1st Lesbian: Good!
Cast: Chris Morris, David Cann, Amelia Bullmore, Julia Davis, Mark Heap, Kevin Eldon & Michael St. John
Produced by Chris Morris
Blue Jam © BBC 1999
Transcribed by Stephen Lafferty
Mandelsoned by Matt Honeyball