1
- I
know what you're thinking.
"The A Team's let themselves
go a bit, haven't they?"
- Should catch something
in a bit, guys!
- That's Gaz.
Not the sharpest
knife in the drawer.
- Why you making it
sound like fishing for?
- Well, I guess it is.
- It's nothing like fishing.
Nothing at all.
And this is Smithy.
Not so much the muscle,
more the very, very fat.
- Couldn't we try and,
you know, wake him up?
- This is Adam.
He's just overdosed on
some pills he found.
- Adam!
Adam!
Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam,
Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam,
Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam,
Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam!
And me.
Hitchhiking at
the side of a road
on a one-way adventure to
divorce and unrealized potential.
No, I don't think he wants to.
- Oh, I think I've got a bite!
You going anywhere
near Dewsbury?
- What?
- Dewsbury.
- None of this
makes any sense to you.
Of course it doesn't.
I'd be worried if it did.
Let's go backwards for a moment.
It should all make sense then.
Ah, the '80s.
A different time.
The hair was massive.
The clothes were either too
big or just not there at all.
Freddos cost only two P.
Two pence!
Now, you got to sell your
lung to afford a Freddo.
And in a mostly failing
school in North London,
five friends were out
to the show the world,
in a small and ultimately
unsuccessful way,
that we were a little bit cooler
than everyone actually
thought we were.
- I'm really not okay with this.
- That's me.
Peter, the brains.
Also the wet flannel,
but mostly the brains.
- Stop being such a tampon.
- Please, can't we
just do something else?
- Shh!
Bit noisy.
Ready?
- That's Adam.
Adam stapled a kid's
ear to the table once
for saying his mum
lived in a caravan.
- Well, another school
year is at an end.
- That's Mr. Frazer.
He did used to
live in a caravan.
- Are well deserved.
- Aw, what
have you done now?!
- Frankie.
Without him, none of
us would have met.
He was like the glue,
if glue had long hair
and a curious obsession
with Cyndi Lauper.
- Did you
do that on purpose?!
Look all you've done!
You poured those on purpose!
- There's Gaz.
He panics in maths when
he runs out of fingers.
- Oh, no!
- What have you done now, hey?
Give me that!
- This year has also seen
the celebration
of our centenary.
- Look at you, look at
the mess you've made.
- I'm a prefect,
what if I get caught?
- What's your name?
- Gaz.
- Off you go.
- That's right, and
what's your name?
- Ow!
- Oh, my God!
- Chauncey's distracted.
I'm gonna go on the lookout.
Got it?
- Got it.
- And Smithy.
The loveliest bloke
you'll ever meet.
The only time he got in trouble
was when stole a four pack of
eclairs from the corner shop.
- I don't know what
I should do, though.
- Look, as long as they remember
it, then it doesn't matter.
- To further mark
this 100th year,
we've had a
commemorative bust cast.
That will be on display
in the school library.
- Hey, what is his name?!
Just look at the
mess you've made!
- Hi Adam!
- That's Neville.
- Oh, hey.
- What you up to?
- Huh?
- Can I come?
- What?
- He's not
involved in this.
- Brilliant.
See you later, then.
- You are
bonkers, all of you!
You're bonkers!
Hey?
You're driving me mad!
And you!
Just get out of this hallway!
- Sorry.
- Just get out of here, hey?!
- So, what are
we doing this weekend, then?
- Stacey Puller's
having a house party.
- Brilliant.
Everyone going?
- Yeah, if I can pull out
of your mum for a
couple of hours.
- Come on, son!
All right, lads!
- Why are you wearing that?
What have I done?
- I'm only popping out.
Come on!
- See you later, boys.
- Turn that shit off!
All right.
You coming?
- Are you mad, fam?!
You prick, bruv!
You're lucky I don't
call my brother down here
to come and stab you up!
Ah, the 21st century.
Russia is still the
aggressive drunk at the party,
the government's fucking
up all over the place,
everybody's poor,
and Madonna is making
everyone feel uncomfortable.
- Pagan!
- Remember.
So, mocks tomorrow.
See you all then.
- It's
funny how things turn out.
Oxford turned out to
be Southend College,
and four brilliant years of
education and life lessons
turned out to be three
years of fucking torment.
Party politics turned
into event management,
and any hope of any success
turned into a decade of
teaching grunting teenagers
in the same school that I spent
five years itching to leave.
It's funny how things turn out.
Absolutely fucking hilarious.
- Mr. Hudders.
- Sorry. Sorry, everyone.
Rough morning?
- Um. No.
Jazz again.
She's so spirited.
Everyone okay?
- Mrs. Saxon.
- Ah, yes--
- Oh, sorry, just before
I forget, we should discuss
history term project--
- No!
There is an agenda!
An agenda, I'm
sorry to say, Peter,
that was written out
before you arrived.
You simply can't bully
your way in here--
- Bully?
- And demand that things
that you want to be discussed
be put at the top of the
Things To Be Discussed List!
- Sorry?
- Next on the agenda
is the end of term assembly
tomorrow afternoon.
Would anyone like to
make a little speech?
- I'm out.
- Peter, why don't you do it?
- I don't think, I think
someone else this time--
- You know, I've always admired
your speaking voice, Peter.
- Same.
It's got a sort of drone to it.
- Drone?
- A sort of pleading to it.
- Eventually, people just
listen to you out of pity.
- I actually don't
want to do it.
- That's sorted, then.
Cheers, Peter.
- Right, so, I've been thinking.
We've been together a while now.
Only, I think we've sort
of grown up differently.
I need testosterone, you know?
And you're, well, you're
just a bit too estrogen.
I knew you'd understand.
- No, sorry, I don't.
Are you leaving me?
- What?
No!
Why would you think that?!
- Oh, just for a moment, I--
- You're leaving me.
I've packed your bags.
Sorry.
I just don't think
you're man enough for me.
- You're telling me to leave?
- I know.
But, you know, new beginnings.
It'll be good for both of us.
Bags are at the
top of the stairs.
- We've been married
nearly 10 years.
- Yeah, it was nice.
Thanks, and everything.
- We were gonna try for a baby.
- Mental, wasn't it?
But I think we can
stay friends, yeah?
- I work to pay
rent for this house.
You don't do anything.
You leave!
You...
Trollop!
- Being
stuck in an unhappy marriage
is a lot like being
stuck in quicksand.
Well, people think that
if you kick your legs
and make a fuss, you'll sink
more quickly and you'll die,
but that's just a myth.
Most people are too tall
to be completely swallowed.
And, well, like a
marriage, well...
Oh.
I completely forgot
what my point was.
- Oh, no.
This, for the lesson, a
graphical representation--
- I don't want to know, Peter.
- Not bad.
- Hello, what can I do for you?
- Peter Hudders.
You haven't changed a bit.
Well, you're older, obviously.
- I'm sorry, I don't...
Richard?!
- How are you, son?
- Yeah, fine.
God, I thought you'd
be dead by now.
- Not yet.
Not yet.
How's things?
- Yeah, fine. Great.
Well, how are you?
- I've got piles.
- Oh.
- Have you ever accidentally
sat on one of your balls?
- Can't say I have, no.
- Well, that's what
piles are like.
- Lovely to see you.
Brilliant.
What do you want?
- You've not asked
how Frankie is.
- I spoke to Frankie
not long ago.
- A phone call?
Two years ago?
Not like when you were younger.
You'd need a crowbar to
separate you lot back then.
- How's Frankie?
- Dying.
- What?
- Cancer.
Testicular.
They say he's not
that long left.
- Shit.
- Shit indeed, my boy.
Frankie sent me.
He wants to see you again.
- Me?
- All of you.
Adam, Smithy, Gaz,
the lot of you.
Don't know why.
Never really liked any of you.
- I can't just up
and leave, Richard.
I've got work, I've got a wife.
- That'd be why you're camping
out in your classroom, is it?
- Okay, well, things aren't
great for me right now,
but I'm sorry,
Richard, I'm busy.
I haven't seen the
others for years.
- About time for a little
reunion, then, I'd say.
- Richard--
- He's got a week, Peter,
and that's if we're lucky.
I'd hurry up if I were you.
His address.
He moved up north
a few years ago.
Dewsbury.
God knows why.
Stinks of cow shit,
but he likes it.
A week, Peter.
When you're a kid,
you assume you'll live forever.
That doesn't last long.
Sooner or later, you
realize none of us
are here for very long.
- Shit.
And after that,
whether you realize it or not,
you try and try to push
it into the corners.
Focus on today,
focus on the weekend
or the next holiday
until you forget.
But then forgetting doesn't
last very long either.
And, kids, that's why God
invented cheap whiskey.
- Ah.
Knock yourselves out.
Speech.
Speech.
No speech.
Um.
Oh.
Oh, yeah.
Work hard.
Work hard, guys!
Work hard, it's all you can do!
If you work hard, you can get
a really good job and stuff,
and you won't have to come back
to the same dump of a
school that you went to.
I'm only here 'cause
nobody else could be assed!
Now, one time, I thought this
was a particularly nice place,
but I think that was a weekend.
- I think that's
quite enough, Peter!
- No, I'm fine!
I'm fine!
Oh, don't listen to me, kids.
Listen...
Do you know what, kids?
Election says why does everybody
have to be such an asshole?
An asshole!
Asshole.
Asshole!
Don't, asshole!
- Get your things, Peter!
You're fired!
- Fired?! Fired, am I?!
You can't fire me,
because I quit!
I quit and good luck!
Life has its little ways
of showing you the way.
It's easy if you know
how to spot the signs,
but most of the time, the
signs are poxy little things
in complimentary fortune cookies
written by a
seven-year-old North Korean
on a zero-hour contract.
In this case, the sign was
pretty straight forward.
And my nan used to say,
"When the universe
calls, answer the phone."
Well, she didn't say it.
She wrote it down.
And by that time, she
was totally insane,
so she'd written
it in her own shit.
But it's the
thought that counts.
- Shit, man.
I only spoke to him
a few months ago.
He didn't say anything.
- So, you'll come, then?
- I don't know, mate.
It might be a bit tricky.
- Why?
- Oh, hello!
Didn't say we had
have visitors, Garry.
- Sorry, this is Peter.
He's an old mate from school.
- Oh.
- Yeah.
- Nice to meet you.
- Yeah.
This is Elle.
Say hello, darling.
- Your baby, Gaz.
- Yeah.
- Your.
Bless.
- Yeah, she'll be two
in a couple of months.
Right happy little
family, we are, yeah.
- Oh, she's so tiny.
You've been holiday recently?
- Oh, no.
We wish.
No, no.
Stacey says that
happens sometimes.
- Did she?
- Yeah.
So, going away for a while
might be a bit tricky, mate.
Can't leave Stace on
her own, now, can I?
- What's that?
- One of our mates
ain't well, babe.
In fact, he ain't got long left.
Pete was saying we
should go and see him.
- Oh, no.
Aww, that's sad, hey?
Well, you should go, babe.
I'll be all right.
- Are you sure?
- Yeah, yeah!
You should go see
your friend, hey?
I'll find someone to occupy me.
Or something!
Not someone!
Oh, what am I like, hey?
- While Gaz was
busy playing happy families,
Adam had abandoned his
quest for porn celebrity,
but he moved into the
world of banking instead.
This way, he could
screw even more people.
- Mr. Woods has canceled
all his appointments today.
I can book you for tomorrow.
- We're old friends.
If you just tell him our names,
I'm sure he'll want to see us.
- Okay.
Mr. Woods, I've got--
- I don't give two fucking
useless sacks of runny shit--
- I think we should just go up.
- Doors opened.
- He seemed really angry, Pete.
- Well, it's nice to
know he hasn't changed.
Adam?
It's Peter.
- And Gaz.
- From school.
Are you all right?
- Maybe he's having
a moment to himself.
- What?
- Well, Stace does
that sometimes.
When she gets stressed out,
she goes away for a few days.
And when she comes back,
she's much happier.
- You know, Gaz,
we need to have a little chat
about that at some point.
Adam?
We're coming in.
Fucking hell!
- Jesus!
- Quick, get something
to cut him down with!
It's all right, Adam!
I've got you! I've got you!
- Fuck off!
- It's not working!
- You fucking phlegm sacks!
- What is it?!
- A spoon!
- Oh, for fuck's sake!
- What?
I don't know what you're
getting so worked up about!
- You were gonna
to kill yourself!
- So what, people
do it all the time!
- But why would
you even try that?!
I mean, it can never
be as bad as that!
- Fuck me!
You would too if you had my job.
They're trying to pin
me for fraud, Peter.
I mean, since when is
signing other people's names
on documents been
considered fraudulent?
- Quite a while, I think, Adam.
They're all fuckers, bankers.
They haven't got
a single fucking
brain cell between them.
- Oh, shit!
My eye.
Ah!
I'm blind!
Ah!
- Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.
And this fucking thing
never fucking stops!
Connors, listen to me
you fucking fanny clot!
If you ever call me on
this fucking number again,
so help me, God, I
will find the address
of your first-born's school
and I will fly a
fucking airbus into it
first thing Monday
fucking morning!
Now, fuck off!
Well, what can I do for you
two clownish sponges anyway?
- Frankie's dying.
- That's not good.
- He might not last the week.
His dad came to see me.
Frankie wants to see us.
- Well, it's either that or
I very probably go to jail.
I call shotgun.
Smithy was harder to find.
No one had heard from
him for a few years.
And where do you go when a
middle-aged man disappears?
His mother's.
- I never thought I'd
see you boys again.
Smithy said he's not
seen you in a long while.
- One of our friends has
cancer, Mrs. Meadows.
You remember Frankie?
- Oh, that's a shame.
He was the handsome one.
I remember.
- So, we were all going
to go and see him.
Together.
But because we've not seen
Smithy for such a long time,
we sort of don't
know where to look.
- He's at the pub tonight.
He's on a date.
- A what?
- And I was really
nervous about tonight.
- So, what do you do?
- I work with Sild Chervice...
Child services.
- No way!
I was a foster kid!
- Oh, were you?
You weren't one of the
abused kids, were you?
'Cause there is a lot of them.
- Exactly.
I mean, how hard is it?
The economy has to work.
If not, we're just
working our asses off,
waiting for the
debt swallow us up!
And what would that make us?
Greek?!
- Greek.
- All right, fatty?
- I can't believe it.
I thought Frankie
would live forever.
- I know.
So, you'll come, then?
We'll get a coach first
thing tomorrow morning.
- A fucking coach?
I am not getting
on a fucking coach.
What's wrong with your car?!
- Chelsea's taking it.
So, you'll come, then?
- Yeah, definitely.
Jesus.
- Well, that's sorted, then.
Ladies, raise your glasses.
To Frankie.
- To Frankie.
- Makes you think, doesn't it?
Everything's so temporary.
Nothing lasts.
Whatever you do,
whatever you say,
it means nothing 'cause
it all comes down to this.
Friends, memories--
- Just shut up.
Barman, eight pints, twelve
shots, a yard of White Ace,
and whatever these
wank bags are having.
Beer, beer, beer
I'm going for a beer
Beer, Beer, Beer
I'm gonna drink some beer
I like drinking beer
Lovely, lovely beer
Beer, Beer, Beer
I'm going for a beer
Beer, Beer, Beer
I'm gonna drink some beer
I like drinking beer
Lovely, lovely beer
- Yes, of course I'm in!
Well, I didn't asked to be
fucking walked home, did I?!
It's not West Side
fucking Story!
No, I haven't seen it!
No, I won't be late.
Yes, I'll be there on
time, oh, fuck off!
- Good evening, Mr. Woods.
- Yslav!
Dolohov.
What is it, six months?
God, doesn't time fly?!
You're probably here
about the money, but I--
- Eight months, Mr. Woods.
Eight!
We waited for your call.
We hear nothing, so
we come find you.
And we told you we would
if you played with us.
Final demand, last
warning, and final demand.
You do not have my
money, Mr. Woods.
And I think that you don't
want to give it back!
- What?! God, no!
No, look, just take
me to the cashpoint!
I've got it--
- You will not go
to the cashpoint, Mr. Woods!
You knew what would happen if
I did not get my money back!
- What? What did he say?!
What's he saying?!
What's happening?!
What are you doing?!
I've got the money!
No need for this!
I've got the money,
I've got the money!
- This is terrible idea.
- I'm too old for all of this.
- Well, we made it on time.
- About fucking time.
Ridiculous, just
fucking ridiculous!
I might just well
have fucking walked,
seeing as you can't drive
more than nine
fucking miles an hour!
Fucking waste of skin.
- Was that really necessary?
- Absolutely not.
- Do you even know her name?
- Why does that matter?
Anyway, where's Gaz?
- Oh, Jesus Christ.
- The fuck's
wrong with you?
- Oh, must've been
that kebab last night.
Oh, Jesus.
There's a toilet on
the coach, ain't there?
- Yes, son.
- Brilliant.
- Yours to use
for just 20 P a go.
- 20 P to use the toilet?
That's extortion!
- Don't know what
that means, mate,
but feel free to stick your
wang out of the window.
Some have tried.
Some have even
managed not to have it
knocked off by a passing truck.
Right, then, ladies
and gents, all aboard!
- Hello?
- Good morning,
is that Mr. Peter
Hudders speaking?
- Yes, speaking.
- Just a
quick courtesy call
to see if you were
interested in a limited range
of super cheap life insurance.
- No, I'm not interested.
Thank you.
- I'm sorry to hear that,
Mr. Hudders, perhaps
we could interest you--
- No, no, I said no.
Right, I'm disconnecting.
Okay, right, I'm disconnecting.
- Who was that?
- Salespeople.
God knows where they
get their numbers from.
- Oh, well, they collect
them on a huge database.
And it's not just phone numbers.
Texts, internet searches.
- That's not true, is it?
- It is, it is, it is.
- It isn't, it isn't,
it isn't, it isn't.
- It is, it is,
it is, it is, it is.
- It isn't, it isn't,
it isn't, it isn't!
- It is!
- It isn't!
- It is!
- It isn't.
- It is.
- Isn't.
- But it is.
So, I'd watch out if I were you.
- Good morning,
it's Jodie calling
from Fast Connection where
getting you the number one deal--
- Yeah, you just called.
I'm not interested.
- It's just
a courtesy call
to see if you're interested
in our super cheap
range of loft insulation.
- What have you done?
- Nothing.
Toilet wouldn't flush.
- He's emptied his wringer
like a fat carol singer.
He's at an ass staff
from his doner kebab.
He's left a platter
of splatter matter.
He had a close encounter
with the turd kind.
- Excellent.
I need to pee too,
for fuck's sake!
Does it smell?
Oh, God!
Oh!
Oh, no.
No, okay.
Okay.
Oh, God.
Oh, God--
Oh, for fuck's sake.
Bloody what?!
- Sorry about that,
sir, we seemed to have lost you
during that last call.
Just a quick call to see
if you were interested in
a special deal of
wholesale crotch rub.
- I don't want
fucking crotch rub!
- Right,
no problem, sir.
Now, would you be interested
in a special deal, sir,
where we provide a
25% reimbursement--
- Just fuck off!
25%?
That's pretty good.
That's pretty good, actually.
Yeah, no, no, no, no,
no, say more, say more.
Yeah, no, so, yeah, I
have recently become
in need of a new house, so
go on, go on, go on, yeah--
- Our show home
scheme is just six viewings
every two months.
- Right, yes, fine, yes.
Six?
- Indeed, just six.
- That's great, go on, yeah--
- You sound
quite interested, sir.
Could I possibly
arrange for you to call
our show home department
at a time convenient for you?
- Yes, yes, yes.
What do I need to do--
- You don't need
to do anything, sir.
I'll just find the
number for you now.
- Yes, quickly, yes!
Quickly, quickly--
- Going as
fast as I can, sir.
- But, wait, wait!
Quickly!
- I'm sorry, sir,
but there is a
protocol to follow
and I am yet to find
the number for you.
If you would please
just be patient--
- Oh, God, I do not
have time to be patient!
You are slowly sinking
into a runny pile of shit!
Ah, here it is, sir.
Number is 0800-634-7754.
- Wait!
No!
- Would you like
me to reread the number?
- Yes, yes!
- Certainly, sir,
it's 0800-634--
- No, no!
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Oh, God!
Oh, no!
Oh, God!
Oh, God!
Shit.
Oh, shit.
Oh, shit.
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
- You were ages, mate.
- Jesus Christ, why the
fuck do I smell ass diesel?!
- It wasn't me!
- Oh, mate, it's you.
- You didn't.
- Jesus Christ, Peter!
- Don't worry, mate.
Smell probably goes
away in a little while.
- Yeah.
Come on.
We're here.
Right, so, little issue.
We're meant to be in Dewsbury.
- Yes?
- We're not in Dewsbury.
- No?
- We're in Chester.
- Chester.
Chester.
Chester, as in that
little slice of England
that no one gives a
fucking shit about!
- Actually, it's meant
to be quite a nice--
- As in Chester
there's miles and miles
the fucking away from Dewsbury!
- We are where we are.
We're not that far away, so--
- So, what are we gonna do now?
- It's late.
We should find a hotel.
- Hotel, is it?
You want The Nip Slip.
Doris is a good friend of mine.
She'll see you right.
Fairbrother Street, 10
minutes up the road.
- Oh, cheers, mate.
- You lot haven't
changed, have you?
Just all the same useless
cunts you were at school!
- A moron,
a semi-suicidal tosser,
me with my shitty arm, and
a man who would probably eat
the others if he went without
sugar for a few hours,
walk into a hotel,
sounds like the beginning
of a joke, doesn't it?
And, in many ways, it was.
One big funny ha-ha-ha
fuck-my-life joke.
- You boys were out late.
- Yeah, we ended up
on the wrong coach.
- Hey, what are you like!
I'm not one to talk,
though, I suppose.
Me and my Hogarth,
God bless him,
we were locked up in
a cell in Thailand
for a whole month one summer.
Such a cruel race.
I mean, a little bit of Charlie
never hurt nobody, did it?
So, how do you swing, then?
You, I know a bottom
when I see one.
- No.
No, no, no, no.
No, no.
We are on the way
to see a friend.
He's not very well.
It's cancer.
- Oh, nasty disease.
Terrible.
- Is that how Hogarth died?
- Oh, no, love, no, no.
It was the gimp mask
that killed him.
Zip jammed on the mouth.
But I sued the company.
Used the money to
buy this place.
- No, no, no, no, no, no,
no, no, no, no, no, no!
No, no, no, no, no, no!
Oh, God.
Oh, my God!
- Keep the
bloody noise down!
- Adam! Gaz!
They're all shagging!
They're all shagging!
- Fuck's sake, mate!
Put it away!
- Is something
the matter, love?
- You're all freaks!
- Mm.
- Good morning.
We have a few questions
we like to ask you.
- Oh, aye?
What if I don't fancy
answering no questions, eh?
- Then I cut off...
The lips?
- Da, the lips.
- Lips.
- Hey, such a carry
on last night.
I just assumed you
and your friends knew.
We're highly reviewed
in Swinger's Digest.
We even won a Blowie last year!
- Where's Gaz and Smithy?
- Why the fuck should I know?
- Let's just get out of here.
- Here's a little
gift bag from us.
Your receipts are inside.
- Thanks, Doris. See you again.
- Ooh, it's lovely, that.
Makes your bits taste
like strawberry.
- Don't.
Get off! Get off!
- You're so frigid.
- I am not frigid!
I'm not!
I just draw the line
at being passed around
a group of grandparents
like nibbles at a party!
- Oh, lighten up, will you?
Ring Smithy.
- You ring Smithy.
- Oi, laddie.
Are you with Gaz?
I don't care, where are you?!
Where?
Oh.
- All right?
- I'm not getting in that.
- Where did you get it?
- Me and Smithy went
for a walk this morning.
We met this guy trying
to get rid of his car.
Dead nice.
And he said we could
have it for free
if I let him take
a few photos of me.
- What?
Gaz, did he touch you?
- No, nothing funny.
I just let him take a few
photos of me in my pants.
It was dead innocent.
- Was it?
- I'm not getting in it.
- It doesn't matter what
it looks like, does it?
- No, as long as it
gets us to Frankie.
- I don't give a shit,
I'm not getting in it.
I'm not going in the car.
It's not happening.
It's not gonna happen,
not on my fucking life.
- A race against
time, across the country
to see our dying friend
for one last time,
it couldn't be more
heart-breaking,
but it could've been in a car
that didn't have RIM
JOB as the number plate.
- And how was
Doris this morning?
- I don't want her name
mentioned around me, thank you.
- Don't see what the
fuss was about, really.
- Well, you weren't
the one being molested,
were you, Smithy?
- Don't suppose you'd
mind, would you, Smithy?
Need to pop your cherry one day.
- Fuck off!
I'm not a virgin.
- Don't be silly.
Of course you are.
- I'm not.
- Oh, leave him alone, Adam.
I wish I'd waited
a bit longer, mate.
- Losing your virginity
to a ham sandwich
doesn't really
count, does it, Gaz?
- Shut up, Adam.
- And anyway, you
can't not be a virgin.
You spent all of this
time wrapped around us.
- I'm not a virgin.
- You are!
- I'm not!
- You are!
- I'm not!
- But you are, though!
- Are we really doing this?
- First time you had sex.
Go.
- It was at...
I can't.
- No, you can't
'cause there isn't one.
- There is.
- Yeah, we believe you.
Is she in the car with us now?
- You know what, Adam,
I bet I lost my
virginity before you did!
- Oh, like fuck you did.
Who'd have looked at that
pink acne'd face and thought,
"I'll have a slice
of that pudding"?
- Well, if it's
any of your business, Adam--
- If you've spread your seed,
I think it's the
world's business!
It's quite sweet, really.
Don't need to lie to us.
- I'm not lying.
- No, of course you're not.
He is.
- I'm not!
- So, who was it, then, chubby?!
Who was she?!
- Just leave it, will you?
- Who would fuck you?!
- Why do you need to know?!
- Who'd fuck that?!
- Why are you pushing at it?!
- That useless piece of shit?!
- It's none of your business!
- No one would--
- Just leave it, Adam!
- No one would--
- Mrs. Carmichael!
- Mrs. Carmichael?
- The music teacher?
- Yeah.
- Mrs. Carmichael
the music teacher?
- Yes!
- Fuck off.
- Are you sure?
- I'm pretty sure, Gaz.
- Jesus Christ.
- I'm gonna be sick.
- Are you really sure?
- Yes, Gaz!
I stayed behind one
lesson and she sort of--
- Tried out your flute?
- No, we just--
- Hit some notes?
- No, I--
- Banged her drums?
- Peter!
- I am gonna be sick.
- So, now, you know.
I'm not a virgin.
- Jesus Christ.
- Well, think I need
a drink after that.
- Can you still smell it?
- I think it's faded now, mate.
- Do I want crisps?
- Shitting fuck!
Hide me! Everybody hide!
- What? Hey?
- Oh, my God, it's--
- Wow!
No way!
Oh, my God, wow.
Hi guys!
- Neville?
- Yeah, it's the old Nevillator.
What are you doing here?
How long's it been?
What, 26 years, seven months,
three weeks, and two days?
That's ages.
- Another century
wouldn't go amiss!
- We're on our way to--
Oh, to a thing.
What you doing here?
- Oh, stops off for a carvery
on the way to a funeral.
Mad, isn't it?
- Mental.
- Sorry to hear about
your breakup, Peter.
- How'd you know
about my breakup?
- Oh, Facebook.
Facebook's brilliant.
I've been following
you lot for ages.
Mad, isn't it?
- But I'm not on Facebook.
- I know, but Chelsea is.
Yeah, she seems really happy.
- Brilliant.
- Is it true that
she cheated on you?
Is it true she threw you out?
Where are you staying now now?
You can stay with me on
my bed seat if you like.
- I think I can manage,
thanks, Neville.
- Cool!
Cute kid, Gaz!
How old is she?
- I'm going for a piss.
- Oh, yeah, she's gonna be two
in a couple of months,
actually, yeah.
How did you know about Elle?
- I'm friends with
Stacey on Facebook.
- Oh, yeah?
- Yeah.
- Have you guys met?
- Yeah. Once.
Killer tattoo she's got.
I didn't know you could
get a tattoo there.
Anyway, just gonna go check
on the old pussy wagon.
In a bit, homies!
- Of all the people.
- Facebook.
What a load of rubbish.
- What did he mean about Stace?
- Fuck's sake!
You're supposed to
leave a fucking space!
It's basic fucking manners!
- Mad, isn't it?
- Isn't it?
- So where are you off to?
- Oh, fuck's sake!
- Ah, fair dos.
Can I come?
- Can we leave right now
before that fuck weasel
comes out of the toilet?
- Ah, thank God for,
oh, for fuck's sake.
- Adam, you didn't
wash your hands.
All right, Adam?
Mad, this, isn't it?
- I have always
disliked you immensely.
Gaz, onwards.
- Does anyone want a Polo?
- Oh, yeah.
- Yeah, go on.
Oh.
- Thank you.
- Gaz, who did you say you
got the car from again?
- What's that?
Oh.
He was really nice.
I think he might
have been a bit gay.
- No, I'm sure the nice man
just took pictures of you in
your pants to show his wife.
- Really?
- Why do I get the feeling
this is gonna be a long ride?
- Oh, I don't know.
- Bloody hell, Brian,
what you stop for?
You near had my eye out!
Morning, dears.
Room for two?
- What you doing, Pete?
- I'm leaving a review
for that hell hole.
How do you spell debauched?
- D-E-B, uh, O-R-C-H?
- No, that doesn't look right.
Adam, how do you
spell, Jesus Christ!
- Peter!
- Shit, he looks terrible!
- Where did you get
the second nose from?
Was it expensive?
- What's he saying?
- I think he's high!
Adam, have you taken something?
Adam?
Adam, what have you taken?
What are these?!
Where did this come from?!
Okay, so, the guy handing out
the cars for indecent images
is also a drug
dealer too, is he?
Well, well done, Gaz!
Well fucking done!
Adam, look at me!
You've taken a vicious cocktail
of various hallucinogenic drugs!
- Peter, you're so oily.
- Oily?!
You prick, I'm not oily!
- My dad, my dad, when
he finds out about this,
he'll have you
turned into tampons.
And shoved into
Hillary's nice love vag.
Beware the tangerine!
- Thank fuck for that.
- Well, he's not dead.
Just unconscious.
- Don't we need to
get him to a hospital?!
I mean, he might need
his stomach pumped!
- We haven't got time!
We need to get to Frankie!
Oh, don't!
- He'll be fine.
Who wants another Polo?
- No!
- Oh, I do love role-playing.
It reminds me of the time
my Hogarth locked me in
the basement for a month.
Oh, he did a brilliant
Josef Fritzl.
The accent was spot on.
- Four men came here, yes?
- You'll have to be a
bit more specific, love.
- Yesterday, four men.
Where are they?
- Oh, you mean Peter
and his friends.
Oh, they're not
gay, you know, boys?
You're out of luck.
Oh, not 'cause I'm
judging, of course.
My friend Mickey, Uncut Mick
we call him, just our little--
- Where are they?!
- Mickey and his Paul?
The Canary's, I think.
Lovely cruise by all accounts.
Bloody hell!
- What are you doing?!
- Now, you listen
here, young man,
I'm all for a bit of
kinky every now and then,
but I draw the line at violence!
Think I'm going to faint.
- Where are they?!
You tell me now!
- Well, they left
about an hour ago,
but I don't see what's
that got to do--
- Fuck it!
- Don't forget to tell
your friends about us!
The Nip Slip, Blowie Award
winning establishment
of pleasure and
rela, oh, fuck it.
- No.
Oh, no.
No.
Ah, that's--
What's that?
- Aerosmith.
- No, no, that noise!
- What?
- There's a light
flashing on the dashboard.
- Oh, that, that's
probably nothing.
Oh.
Well, actually, that
could be something.
- Well, quick, pull over!
Get on the hard shoulder,
you fucking fuck stick!
- All right.
Oh, Jesus Christ.
The battery's dead.
- Oh, how strange.
It's almost like
someone wasted it
trying to choose a
fucking radio station!
You!
- I think I've got a bite!
You going anywhere
near Dewsbury?
- What?
- Dewsbury.
- Can I not leave you lot
for more than a fucking hour
and not expect you to fuck
things up while I'm gone?!
- Oh, God!
- What the fuck have you done?!
- Where are they?
- Where are who?!
- Oh, my head's throbbing.
- Oh, fuck's sake.
Peter!
Peter, wake up!
- Oh, shit. Where are we?
- Oh, brilliant
fucking question!
- Are they here?
- Are who here?!
- There was two men.
We were hitchhiking.
- Hitchhiking?!
Fucking hitchhiking?!
Are you trying to get us put
on the fucking register?!
- My ropes aren't very tight.
- Oh.
Oh, oh, you should complain.
- I think I can
get my hands free!
- How many did you
say there were?
- Two.
- Two?!
Fucking two?!
And there's three of you?!
Four if fucking Shrek here
used me as a blunt instrument!
Oh, fucking brilliant!
Are you telling me that
two fucking randoms
got the better of you three?!
- They were dangerous, Adam!
- Oh, well, they would
have to be, wouldn't they,
to get the better of you
three fucking musket twats!
Oi!
- Adam.
- Hey!
You two!
- Adam.
- Where the fuck are you?!
- Adam.
- I wanna find out
what pair of
fucking fuck Muppets
have got the fucking
balloons to tie me up
in the middle of
fucking no where
with these three augmented tits!
- Adam, shh!
- Look.
- Hi gents.
I was meant to call you.
Hello!
- Oh, fair enough.
Oh, well, never mind.
You guys must be really angry.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, look,
there's my crown.
Never mind.
- We have been looking
for you, Mr. Woods.
- You know what it's like, last
minute holiday and all that.
- What?
- You owe me a lot of money.
- Oh, well, come on!
You say a lot of money, it's
not a lot of money, not really.
- 50,000 pounds!
- 50 grand?!
- What did you
need 50,000 pounds for?!
- Things!
- What?!
- And anyway, it
doesn't really matter
'cause I've their money.
- You do not have
the money, Mr. Woods.
If you had the money, I think
you would have given it to me.
- What are you gonna do to him?
- Him?!
Him?!
Oh, thanks a fucking bunch!
That's solidarity,
that is, right there!
- He's right, Mr. Woods.
- Yeah, fucking
right I'm, what?!
- We will deal with
you, Mr. Woods.
And your friends will
be dealt with also.
- Huh?!
What for?!
- Witnesses, they're
not good for business.
- Fucking untie
me, you spatulas!
Oh, for fuck's sake!
Oh, get off!
- You fucking--
- I'm so sorry.
Jesus Christ.
I've killed him.
Oh, my God, I've killed
him, I've killed him.
I've killed him.
Oh, Jesus Christ,
I've killed him.
- No, you've just
knocked him out a bit.
- Fucking untie me,
you fucking helmets!
- Those men, they
were following us?!
- I don't know.
Maybe.
- They could've killed us, mate!
- They are dangerous gangsters!
And Russian!
- You should've told us, Adam!
- Look, all right, I'm sorry.
- What?
- I'm fucking sorry!
- Are you
sure he isn't dead?
Because I don't want to
sound big-headed or anything,
but I did actually
hit him quite hard.
- It really
wasn't that hard, mate.
- Well, look, Gaz,
you would be surprised.
I can be quite strong sometimes.
I might have hit him
really hard, actually, so--
- Fuck's sake,
it was barely a flick.
He probably fainted
from boredom.
- No, actually,
you don't get to talk!
You don't get to talk
because it's your fault
someone may or may not
be lying dead in there
because you're a bad friend
and a fucking shit face!
- Jackpot!
- Yes.
It's so nice.
- No, it's not.
- I'm nervous, Adam.
- Yeah, me too.
Hey, what if
Frankie's turned into
a complete prick or something?
- Gaz.
You can't say that
about dying people.
- Frankie's not like that.
He'll be the same.
Oh, fuck it.
- Where is everyone?
- Maybe they're being burgled.
- Or maybe the door's open
because of something
more reasonable?
Look, we need to be
a bit respectful.
He's not well.
He's probably tired.
- Bollocks!
He might be bald and skinny,
but I've been through hell
and back to see that gimp.
Frankie Joseph Budden,
you terminal legend.
- No.
No.
- Have they been burgled, Pete?
Pete?
- You just missed him.
He died yesterday morning.
I'm sorry.
- I thought we had longer.
- We had longer with him
than we thought we would.
We were lucky.
- Did he...
I mean, was it--
- Gaz, it was peaceful.
The funeral's at
the end of the week.
You should stay.
- End of the week?
So soon?
- He had everything
planned out, paid for.
No point hanging about, eh?
Adam, son, are you all right?
He tried holding on.
He did.
He really wanted to see you.
Melanie's coming back tomorrow.
I'm sure she'd like
to meet you all.
- Who's Melanie?
- His wife.
- They loved each other so much.
God, I hope Tammy remembers him.
- Who's Tammy?
- Their girl.
Little tyke, just like her dad.
Adam.
- Hey!
Hey!
- I don't want to do this.
- Why not?
She's his wife.
It'll be nice to meet her.
- I don't want to do it.
- What's wrong with you?
There's upset, and there's
just plain dickheadery.
- It's nice to meet you.
Frankie spoke about
you all the time.
He loved you boys.
He always meant to, to reunite.
Then he was diagnosed.
Sorry.
- We tried to get here on time.
- It's fine.
He knew you were trying.
It's just, it escalated
quite quickly.
Sorry.
He was watching this,
the night before he died.
He said you should watch it.
- Our end of year assembly?
- From our second year?
- I think so.
Do you want to watch it?
- Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
All things bright
and beautiful
All creatures
great and small
- Fucking leaves.
Why does this even exist?
- I remember that.
I had bruises for weeks.
- Friendship bruises.
- Why was
Frankie laughing?
- He looks really happy.
- It sounds a bit silly,
but I was always got a bit
jealous when he talked about you,
about all the
things that you did.
- Oh, we did so much shit.
Surprised we never got caught.
- Nah.
Frankie was too clever for that.
- Is this fucking thing
recording now, or what?
Hello, lads.
First things first: you're
really fucking late.
Not winning, boys.
You are shit.
I'm not sure if you
will see this video.
I mean, if you
hurry your asses up
and get here in time,
you won't have to.
But if you are
watching this video,
well, then it means you
probably didn't make it in time.
I know.
I look like shit, don't I?
A big bald fucking baby.
That's all right, I have cancer.
Okay, so, really wanted
to see you all again.
I really did.
I don't know why I
didn't phone more,
or why we didn't meet up.
Guess life just kind of carries
you away sometimes, don't it?
So, there is a few things
that I wanted to say.
Okay, Gaz.
There's no real easy way
for me to say this, but...
Well, basically, your wife
has been cheating on you.
Sorry, mate.
And, of course, you
know, that explains Elle.
Right, anyway.
Smithy.
Smithy, mate.
You are fucking top.
Mean that, bud.
You're fucking top.
Don't let anybody
tell you otherwise.
You're fucking brilliant.
Ignore Adam 'cause
he's a bellend.
You know?
And also talk to Melanie.
She'll give you some numbers
of a few of her mates.
Just don't leer.
Yeah, you're a leerer, mate.
Stop it.
Girls don't like that shit.
Peter.
Peter, Peter, Peter.
Just wear less
knitted vests, yeah?
Just wear less knitted vests.
They don't do anything
for you, mate.
They just make you look
like a hungry librarian.
And a prick.
I'm only joking, mate.
Love you.
And last but by no
means least, Adam.
I'll always remember--
- No, no.
What's wrong?
- Oh, he never had a
clue what he was doing
with this sort of thing.
I'm sorry, Adam.
- It's fine.
It's fine.
Maybe we should just...
Maybe we should
probably just go.
- Can you tell Richard
we won't be long?
Just need to get some air.
Look, I'm sorry about him.
He's really not
taking it very well.
- It's fine, really.
- Adam, we all loved him.
- Were Frankie and
Adam boyfriends?
- I hate camping.
- We're not camping.
- No?
Sitting around a fire,
sleeping outdoors?
No, you're right.
- Well, it's better than
being in there with...
With them.
They didn't know
Frankie like we did.
- His wife and his parents?
- We knew him.
We did.
Properly.
- I met him in detention.
Frankie, that is.
When Mr. Gulliver went out
of the room, to the toilet,
he dipped his bullocks
in his coffee cup.
He had scalded bullocks
for weeks after that.
You know, I thought
we might be able
to do something
when we got here.
A few jokes, or something.
Like we used to.
- Is it a flower?
- Is it too much?
I thought we wanted
to be remembered.
- "Is it too much"?
- Oh, fucking hell!
- Yeah, just a smidge.
- Fuckers.
- You remember Jamie Risco?
- Mm.
- Yeah.
- He used to shove my
head down the toilet
every Wednesday before Science.
Frankie walked in on
him doing it once,
told Risco to do one.
Never ever did it again.
He always stood up
for me like that.
Top bloke.
What about you, Adam?
You knew him before
we did, before school.
How did you two meet?
- Oh, for fuck's sake.
Well, he moved in a
few doors down from us,
and one night I nicked
one of Dad's fags
and took it round the bins,
and he was already there,
smoking a 10-pack he'd stolen
from his mum's handbag.
We couldn't
separated after that.
Do I look like I'm
fucking crying?!
- Yes, a bit.
You do.
- We made it here together.
And at least we get to
say goodbye to Frankie.
- Wasn't exactly
straight forward, was it?
- You literally went
through shit, Peter.
- Well, at least I didn't
fuck Mrs. Carmichael.
- Yeah, all right.
What, and that's
worse than posing
in your Y-fronts to get a car?
- Cars are here.
- We are gathered here
on this very sad day
to celebrate the life
of our brother Francis.
I believe Francis's
father, Richard,
has prepared a few words to say.
- Frankie was...
He was a total pain
in the arse mostly.
There wasn't a day went
by when he was young
when he wasn't wanting to
borrow money or asking a favor.
I loved those years.
Me and his mum,
Francine, were his chefs,
chauffeurs, bankers,
you name it.
And he always asked
with that cheeky grin.
The little fucker.
We could never say no.
I was with him the
night he let go.
I could tell.
He could tell.
It was like there was a
big shadow over the house.
Melanie was telling him about
the first time they met,
and he was smiling.
It was the first time
he'd smiled in ages.
Frankie would never be overtaken
by the horrible disease
that took him in the end.
The cancer didn't meet
Frankie's wife, Melanie.
The cancer didn't propose,
it didn't marry her.
The cancer wasn't the father
to Frankie's daughter, Tammy.
The cancer wasn't our son!
Frankie was.
That was all Frankie.
Son,
husband,
father,
and mate.
I'll miss you, son.
- Smell that.
Egg mayonnaise or
prawn cocktail?
Frankly, it's worrying
you can't tell them apart.
- Mad, isn't it?
- Neville?!
What? Why?
This is the funeral
you were going to?
- Yeah.
- You knew Frankie had died?
- Yeah, saw it on--
- Facebook.
- Mad, isn't it?
- You knew Frankie had died,
but you didn't think to
tell his best friends
when you saw them?
- No, yeah, must've forgot.
Sorry, Peter.
What you doing after this?
Can I come?
- Oh, fuck off!
Twat rag!
- Everything sort of
unclenches after a funeral.
The sad stuff's over with,
and now the one thing
everyone wants to do
is drink and forget.
One thing to be said for wakes,
there's always alcohol,
and lots of it.
And one thing to be
said for alcohol,
it's a bloody brilliant cure
for big fat wusses like Smithy.
- I'm gonna go over to her.
- Right.
Maybe try to look less
murderous before you do.
- Ah.
All right?
Do you come here often?
- To funerals?
You must be Smithy.
Melanie's told me about you.
- Did she?
- Mm.
- Oh, she did, did she?
- Yeah.
- She did?
Okay.
What exactly did she--
- Stop.
You're doing it all wrong.
- Yeah.
Look, I didn't
even ask your name.
Sorry.
- Sally.
How about a drink, hey?
- Yeah.
- You fucking English bastard!
- Fuck.
Yslav?
Are you all right, mate?
Oh, shit!
- I can't hear you properly!
What, fuck!
What's happened to you?!
- There's been a little hiccup.
Yslav turned up.
- Did he do this?!
- A little something happened.
Minuscule, really.
Tiny.
- Jesus Christ, Adam!
- It was a fucking accident!
He just slipped!
- What?!
What do we do?!
- Well, we need
to get rid of it!
- What?!
No!
No, we can't do that!
We have to phone the police!
- Oh, we can't phone
the fucking police!
I'll go to fucking jail!
- Well, no, it's self-defense!
That's a thing, isn't it?!
They'll just tell you off!
- Tell me off?!
How fucking old are you?!
They'll put me
cupboard-sized hole
with Killer fucking Kevin!
Oi, lardy cake, where
the fuck are you going?!
Now is not the time
for a fucking Mars bar!
- Shh!
- Fuck!
- Someone will hear us!
- Are you sure he's dead?
- No, Gaz, I think
the large fucking dent
in the side of his fucking head
is a fucking fashion statement!
- The diggers must've
left these behind.
- No!
No!
- It's a cemetery, Peter.
- Nope, we can't do this!
I am not involved
in this in any way.
- Well done, fatso.
Grab a spade.
- No, mate, we can't do this!
- Adam could go
to jail for this!
- Absolutely nothing
to do with it.
Nothing at all.
- Let's move the body.
- There's
lots of ways to bond.
You could go on a
team building weekend,
or meet up for a drink a
couple of times a week.
No one's ever said that
a great way of bonding
is to bury the body
of a Russian gangster,
except maybe if you
were a gangster.
- It's not deep enough.
- From Russia.
- It needs to be deep enough
so the foxes can't smell it.
Or wherever it is
that gangsters come
from these days.
- Gaz, you are not holding
your shovel properly!
- Probably
somewhere like Stockport.
- It needs to be deeper!
- What the fuck happened to
you not getting involved?!
- I'm not!
I'm just suggest--
- Yeah, well, I suggest
you take my spade
and shove it up your ass!
- Brilliant!
Well done, Adam.
Just the sort of
attitude we need
when we're burying the body
of someone you almost
sort of killed!
- Keep going, jizz bank.
Go on, I dare you.
- Stop it!
Both of you!
For God's sake, Adam, shut up!
We're doing this
to save your ass.
And, Peter, why
don't you grow a pair
and help lift this body now!
- I can't, I'm not involved.
- Just fucking do it!
I don't think I can live
with my mum anymore.
I'm not even sure
I want to go home.
What's everyone else gonna do?
- Well, I'll probably
move up north
with all the other homeless
and unemployed people.
- I really have to have a word
with Stacey when we get back.
There's a few things that
just don't make any sense.
I just don't think Elle's mine.
- What makes you say that, mate?
- She's a bit black.
- Um, well, I suppose, now
you come to mention it.
- And I don't think you
can have a black baby
if both the parents are white.
Can you?
- Sorry, mate.
What about you, Adam?
- I don't know.
Go back to work.
Sort out all the
shit I left behind.
Make sure my receptionist
hasn't stuck herself to the desk
with a staple gun.
- We'll stay together,
though, won't we?
- Yeah.
- Definitely.
- Well, it's either you
lot or fucking Neville.
Come on.
Let's fill this fucking
hole in, and get home.
- I knew someone whose
mum tossed off a dead body
to get the sperm
and have a baby.
- No you didn't, Gaz.
- Yes, I did,
his name was Billy.
- Billy, really?
That was his real name, was it?
Despite what you just said
being 100% impossible?
- You can get
sperm from a dead body.
And that's how we said
goodbye to Frankie.
That wasn't exactly
how we planned it.
There were definitely
some differences.
For instance, Frankie
would've actually been alive,
and we wouldn't have
had to bury the body
of an angry Russian on
top of our dear friend.
Actually, something like that
was always bound
to have happened.
But we walked away
different men.
- You should try it, Gaz.
We had changed,
and we have Frankie
to thank for that.
- Nah, that's well wrong.
Innit?
I mean, you can't
really do that.
- Okay,
we hadn't changed that much,
but we definitely
weren't the same.
- Can you?
- Never mind.
I was falling to the side,
you will never pick me up
The only money left is
the penny in the cup
I tried my best
- Egg mayonnaise!
I've gotta face another day,
I've gotta chase another clue
Bending over backwards for
the man who's in the suit
A landmark day, put a
smile on my face for you
Minimum wage, yeah,
minimum effort
But not too low
in this desert
Minimum wage, rolled
up my sleeve for you
Minimum wage, yeah,
minimum effort
But not too low
in this desert
Minimum wage, rolled
up my sleeve for you
I've got a shopping list
full of bills to pay
I shop at Rische
for the chic class A
A landmark day with a
smile on my face for you
I've got lump in my throat
'Cause I'm scared
to swallow truth
Go up in the center
of another faded youth
A vicious cycle that I'm
hanging, ready on two
Minimum wage, yeah,
minimum effort
But not too low
in this desert
Minimum wage, rolled
up my sleeve for you
Minimum wage, yeah,
minimum effort
But not too low
in this desert
Minimum wage, rolled
up my sleeve for you
Minimum wage, yeah,
minimum effort
But not too low
in this desert
Minimum wage, rolled
up my sleeve for you
Minimum wage, yeah,
minimum effort
But not too low
in this desert
Minimum wage, rolled
up my sleeve for you