People ask me, "Carole, how do you and
Bruce keep the spice in your marriage?"
Well, I tell them
it's really simple.
I'm just the ultimate tease.
Me and Bruce,
we're not that different.
We know what we want
We know how to get it.
Like this promotion he's going for.
We both know he'll win.
And when he does,
the Robertson household
is gonna be one big
happy family again.
I kid you not.
Jimmy!
Whoo-hoo!
What did you just fucking call me?
Just give us your money, mate.
Fucking hurry up!
Fucking...
Scatter.
Scotland.
This nation brought the world
television, the steam engine, golf,
whisky, penicillin and, of
course, the deep fried Mars bar.
It is great being Scottish. We're
such a uniquely successful race.
And as my wife Carole always says,
"There's no place like home. "
Nice one. All right, pal?
The games are always,
repeat, always, being played
but nobody plays the games like me,
Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson,
soon to be
Detective Inspector Bruce Robertson.
You just have to be the
best, and I usually am.
Same rules apply.
What the fuck?
Morning.
Right.
Our victim is a Japanese male
in his early 20s... Yes, Peter?
Sorry, boss, just a wee point.
Maybe we shouldn't stigmatise the guy
by calling him a victim.
Poor wee chinky bastard's dead.
Doesn't matter what you call him now.
Care to share the
joke with us, Dougie?
Dougie Gillman
is your average Scottish copper.
Sixty years ago in the glorious fucking
Reich, you'd be turned into handbags!
At 5/1, Gillman poses a serious
challenge to my promotion prospects.
So he, like the others,
will have to be eliminated,
starting with my main rival
for the inspector's job, Peter Inglis.
Inglis is what they
call metrosexual...
but what I call a fucking bufty.
2/1.
There was no positive ID,
but DS Lennox has been
down at the murder scene.
Ray Lennox, the department's
rookie and resident junkie.
I love the chang!
Even though Lennox is more interested
in trying to bang the office secretary
than any kind of career advancement,
he'll still have to be publicly humiliated.
20/1.
Official policy at the moment is...
Yes, Gus?
What is the party line, boss?
Gus Bain, bit of a long shot because
he's not the sharpest tool in the box.
I've got a new toothbrush, miss!
But then, when did a single-figure IQ
hold anybody back in the police force?
7/1.
In accordance with the description
which Detective Drummond
will presently hand out to you.
- Thanks, Bob.
- "Thanks, Bob. "
That arse-kissing Amanda Drummond
would suck Toal off right now
if he promoted her.
Not that it would do her
any good, of course,
because some sad wanker from uniform
is gonna impregnate the wee slag
and that'll be her stint at playing Cagney
and fucking Lacey well and truly over.
10/1.
The umbilical cord
that connects the north and south...
Umbilical cord? The last time I looked
it was a tunnel, you fucking clown.
Edinburgh's worst kept secret is
that Chief Inspector Bob Toal here
has ambitions as a screenwriter.
If that lazy, fat fucker spent
less time dreaming about Hollywood
and more time promoting me, then the
streets would be safer for everybody.
And they left him there,
lying like a pile of rubbish.
- Maybe he was rubbish.
- What?
To the assailants, of course.
Aye, that's it. Your docile
chat might impress the boss,
but it doesn't impress
my fucking hangover.
I have got news for
this herd of donkeys.
There is only one horse can win this race and
that horse is Bruce the Stallion Robertson.
Right, crack on with it.
- Quick word, Bruce.
- Yes, boss?
Things are pretty stretched around here
until we get the new DI position filled.
I want you to head up the case. I'll be
around, but I'll be tied up with other stuff.
So, you'll effectively be acting inspector,
without the remuneration of course.
All leave, unfortunately,
will be cancelled,
but it'll stand you
in good stead for the promotion
because you'll have
the other contenders under you.
There's really nothing more seductive
to a woman than power.
So, when Bruce gets his promotion,
I won't be able to
keep my hands off him.
Detective Inspector Robertson.
Even the sound of it
makes me want him right now.
Are you not worried
if you bugger off to Hamburg
it'll go against you for
the promotion then?
- Promotion?
- Aye.
What's the alternative, Ray?
I give up my holidays for some murdered Jap,
kamikaze, sushi-eating, karaoke bastard?
No chance.
Well, you do have a very
understanding wife in Carole, Robbo.
Aye. Aye, that I do.
- I wish I had somebody like that.
- I bet you do, Ray. I bet you do.
Tell you what, we'll have to get you
another threesome organised
with that wee skanky dealer's bird,
won't we? Do you remember that?
Lennox hates to be reminded of the
time we went tag team on that thing.
Have you even started yet, baby cock?
Everybody has got an Achilles' heel
and I make a point
in remembering my associates' ones.
You were like an animal, Ray.
Oh, here we go. Here comes
the schemie wee bastard now.
Jesus Christ, look at the face
on that wee lassie.
That's a stoat-the-baw situation
if ever I saw one.
That's a curvy little
arse, though, mind.
Never you mind the curvy
little arse on it, Ray.
- It's a bit fucking young, no?
- Ah, she's borderline, man. Come on.
- Borderline?
- Aye.
Do you like wee lassies, Ray?
Are you into baldy fanny?
Borderline, is it?
40 sheets at 5/1. Come on. 5/1?
Ah, no, maybe you're right.
You're right enough, man.
You have got
absolutely no bottle, Ray.
That is exactly why the Lennoxes of this
world will never oust the Robertsons.
I kid you not, my sweet, sweet friend.
Come on!
- Right then, what's the script?
- The Beast routine.
- It's a bit full-on, Robbo, no?
- You steam right in.
It's the only language these
schemies understand, OK? Come here.
I want you to show this bastard who the
hardest firm in this city really is, OK?
Nobody... Nobody steams in
like the Edinburgh polis.
- Go.
- Right.
Wait two seconds. He'll be firing into
her and we'll catch the stoat in action.
- Another toot for good luck?
- I'm on duty.
Aye.
For God's sake, I'm coming!
- Who the fuck are you two?
- Jehovah's fucking Witnesses.
Keep your fucking mouth shut.
You hear me?
You speak when you're
fucking spoken to. You get it?
- I said, do you fucking get it?
- Aye, aye, aye!
- Get the fuck out!
- Oh, a lady.
How old are you then, madam?
My father's a very well
respected lawyer, you know.
What does that make me then?
Very good. How old are we?
- Sixteen.
- ID?
No, you don't.
Please note, female is below
the legal age of consent.
Stephanie Donaldson.
No relation to Conrad Donaldson QC
by any chance, are we?
Bingo.
Imagine what your daddy would say.
Please don't say anything.
What's it worth, Stephanie? A gam?
Can you imagine what his
posh pals would say
if they found out that his wee princess
was riding all the low-life scum
he gets paid fortunes for
to keep out the nick?
Do you want to do that to him?
Fucking hell! Jesus Christ!
Who taught you that technique?
A fucking cheesegrater?
I've got a good mind to tell your daddy now
anyway after that poor excuse of an attempt.
Please, don't.
That's not fucking fair!
- She told me she was 18.
- Oh, dearie, dearie me.
It's not the best time to be inside
for riding kids, is it?
I make you right. Still, he's
only gonna do six months.
- Ah, posh fanny, though.
- Fair enough. Two years then.
Problem is, if some law-abiding
officers were to tell a strict
- Freemason screw like Ronnie McArthur...
- Ronnie McArthur.
That the girl in
question was 11 or 10...
Or even eight.
- Hey, come on, now, boys, eh?
- Aye, eight would do it.
Then the poor cunt's life
wouldn't be worth living, would it?
Straight to the Beast's
wing in Saughton nick.
Aye, but hang on a minute.
Suppose this stoat-the-baw
had certain information
that could help the
law-abiding officers.
- With a murder enquiry.
- Ah, fuck sake.
Nah, I'm not a grasser.
Right, see, Ocky, there's this one guy in
the Beast's wing that they call The Beast.
- The Beast?
- No, no, no, no, not the Beast.
- The...
- ... Beast.
Shouldn't really be inside a
normal prison, to be fair.
No, but the last time
he escaped from a mental institution
the local livestock bore
the brunt of his frustrations.
Fucked a Highland cow
to death, so they say.
Tore the horns clean
off the poor bastard.
Ronnie says the only way
they can keep The Beast quiet
is by putting a new model
in his cell every few weeks.
- A model?
- Aye.
That's what Ronnie and all the boys call
the fresh-faced laddies they send him.
- Supposed to be a big fucker as well.
- Fuck off.
You get your fucking hands off him
and you stand up straight.
6'4", full of muscle
and deaf as a post.
What's deaf got to do with it?
Cos he can't hear you
when you're screaming "no".
- Hung like a Derby winner, so Ronnie says.
- Aye.
Splits them all first
time without fail.
One thing's certain, you'd come out of
there with five new arseholes, pal.
That's if you ever do come out
after an experience like that.
So what's it gonna be, Ocky?
- Grass up?
- Or lock up?
There you go, pal.
You stop smoking, OK?
- Yes!
- That's it.
- That's it.
- Oh, yes!
That's it.
Turn off my gas, Carole. Go.
Go. Go! Go!
Oh, yes!
Did you really mean what you said
about falling in love with me?
You're a fucking cow,
do you know that?
We have been turning off the gas for each
other and you are a work mate's missus.
So, do you know what that makes you
in my book?
Do ya?
It makes you a fucking cow.
- Why are you being like this?
- Because... Because, darlin',
you let me in here and
you let me in there.
You don't let me in here.
And that's what love is.
What was all that? What was all that?
What was all that fucking good stuff, eh?
That was all just games, weren't it?
Sad, silly wee games.
A test if you will. A test which you
have sadly and miserably failed.
Why are you saying all this? And why
did you call me by your wife's name?
You said you loved me, not Carole.
I need you to take a good, long, hard think
about what feelings actually are, OK?
Because, if you want me to fix
your head, easy-peasy Japanesey,
but only you... only you can
get in touch with your heart.
- But, Bruce...
- If you want a fucking,
if you want a shagging
and a riding, I'm your man.
However, I've got to inform you, I find
all this just a little bit sordid.
And I can only imagine how much
this would hurt poor old Dougie
if he found out.
In his own fucking bed, Christ!
Bruce, please stay. We need to talk.
No! I am on a murder case here.
That's M-U-R-D-E-R,
which spells S-E-R-I-O-U-S.
So, if I don't get my A-R-S-E in G-E-A-R,
I am in serious S-H-I-T, OK?
You're being so cruel.
Love is cruel, Chrissie.
Love is cruel.
I think she's fucking somebody else
as well, Robbo.
No, no, no, no.
It's killing me because I can't even
prove it. Some detective me, eh?
Listen, listen, listen.
Your Chrissie is about
as loyal as they come.
- Ah, fuck off.
- Come on, now. Come on.
And cheer the fuck up.
You know you're the favourite
for the Chief Inspector position?
You reckon?
Hey, you're lucky. Carole's great.
She's a real beauty as well.
Aye. I'd say you're right on that.
- You two still as happy as ever?
- Couldn't be happier.
- How old's...
- Seven. Stacey's seven.
Stacey, aye.
- Here are the lads.
- Gus.
Thank Christ.
Come on, sheriff's in town. Give us two.
Just the stuff, huh.
That'll do nicely.
And how's that wife
of yours keeping then?
Every day is Valentine's Day.
- And you'd be Cupid, aye?
- I'm the very boy, Robbo.
- Some man, some man.
- I'm the very boy.
Well, I'd better be
going home then, boys.
Right enough.
Take care of yourself then, pal.
What's up with him?
Never got a good word
to say about anybody, that guy.
Who, Dougie Gillman?
Stab you in the back
without even thinking about it.
Catholic, you see.
Saying that, look at
young Ray Lennox there.
He's as Protestant as
you and I, and yet...
Better no' say anything, actually.
He's... Nah.
- Oh, no, go on, Robbo.
- No, he's a good boy, he's a good boy.
Oh, go on. Go on.
Do you see him in here?
I don't even have to look around
and I know that the answer is no.
It's 3/1, he's in
that deviant wine bar
with the lesbian Amanda Drummond,
cooking up all sorts of shenanigans.
Oh, you're an awful man, Robbo.
What do you think the main topic of
conversation between them is gonna be?
You.
Maybe me.
Promotion. That's what, my friend.
You think young Lennox is running with
the hounds and hunting with the hares?
You said it, Gus.
I better keep a beady eye
on that wee bastard.
Don't want him spoiling
the old promotion chances.
Christ, no.
- Come on, come on, come on the Hearts.
- Are you a big fan then, mate?
- I am indeed, pal.
- So am I.
Let me guess, here comes the bit
about you being one as well.
Ever since your granddaddy
took you as a wee laddie.
Blah, blah, pish and shite.
- Job Centre's that way, Santa sweetheart.
- Merry Christmas anyway, pal.
I heard it's gonna be
a cold one, mind you.
Have a nice day.
Oh, 2-1. You fucking beauty!
Come on.
- Colin! Colin, come on!
- Oh, for fuck's sake!
- Please help. Somebody, please.
- Out my way, out my way. I'm police.
Hey, what's happening?
Has anybody called an ambulance yet?
- Colin, look at me.
- Has he stopped breathing?
Do something, please. Do something.
Come on, Colin.
Colin. Colin.
Look at me. Come on.
Colin! Colin, come on!
Come on!
Oh, God.
What's happened
to that fucking ambulance then, eh?
- Oh, God!
- Somebody phone an ambulance!
How have you been since
our last consultation, Bruce?
No problems, I presume, eh?
None.
I trust you're still taking
your medication regularly, yes?
Oh, aye.
Well, this should see you through
to your next appointment, yes?
I'll see you in the new year.
Right?
- Merry Christmas to you, Bruce.
- Thank you, Dr Rossi. Thank you.
And Merry Christmas to you, too, eh?
Well, thank you for that, Bruce.
Oh, yes...
Fuck off!
Hello.
Welcome to the Fantastic Shed Show.
My mum's in. If she hears that I'm doing a
TV show out in the garden, she'll go mad.
Cunty Bunty, Cunty Bunty,
how does your big minge grow?
- Hello?
- Hello, Bunty.
It's Frank Sidebottom here.
I've had just about enough of you.
He told us, right, that you have got
a big hairy fanny, though, Bunty.
- You're pathetic!
- That you...
like to take it up the bum, Bunty.
- Who told you that nonsense?
- Eh...
- Are you ready, Little Frank?
- Little Frank.
Who's Little Frank?
I'm not talking any
more, Bunty, I've got...
- Is that you, Mum?
- Oh, it's my mum.
No, I'm not talking to dirty prostitutes
again, Mum. You can't have the phone...
Thank you, brothers.
That concludes the formal part of this
evening's proceedings and our meeting.
Let us now retire for
a moment of harmony.
- What made you join the force, Bruce?
- Police oppression, brother.
I'd witnessed far too many cases of it
in the mining community I grew up in.
And you wanted to stamp it out
from the inside?
- No, I wanted to be a part of it.
- You're a terror, Bruce.
Clifford Blades, a chartered
accountant and therefore a sad wanker.
Bladesey's not only the newest and
most gullible member of this Lodge,
he's also the wealthiest.
Ideal target practice for the games.
Same rules apply.
And that's why the Craft's been so good
for me, Bruce. Everyone's accepted.
Enough of that shite.
Are you getting any at home, Bladesey?
Well, that side of
things hasn't improved.
This crank caller
just won't stop phoning Bunty.
It's affecting her, you know...
Thing about women,
you have to shag them regularly.
You keep them fucked, man,
they will do absolutely anything for you.
Actually, two things.
Well shod, well shagged.
And that's what you do
with your wife, Bruce?
Course it fucking is.
See, these marriage counselling fucking
spastics, they will tell you a load of shite.
The root of any marital problem
is always, always sexual.
If you're no' fucking the woman
you're with, it opens this...
- Vacuum.
- ... vacuum, which sure as fuck
some other cunt is
gonna come and fill,
and fill with several inches of prime
Scottish beef, Brother Blades.
And, you see,
if she's no' doing the same for you,
you go and get it somewhere else,
just like that.
I must say, I'm looking forward
to our little trip to Hamburg.
- Me too, pal.
- Some nice museums.
Prostitutes.
Of all colours, shapes and sizes.
- SIinte.
- SIinte.
- Excuse me, Bruce. I have to spend a penny.
- Go for your life, pal. Don't fall in.
- Will it be the usual, Brother Robertson?
- Oh, yes, please, Hector.
I'll see you at my place
on the weekend then.
Okey-dokey.
Fucking pervert.
Ah, on your own tonight then,
Brother Robertson?
No, thankfully not, Brother Toal.
I just popped in to see Clifford Blades.
You've just missed him.
Well, aren't you and Brother Blades
becoming quite the bosom buddies?
- Oh, birds of a feather and all that.
- Talking of Brother Blades,
have those useless clowns from uniform found
this pervert who keeps phoning his wife?
- Regrettably not, sir, no.
- Spastics!
Aye.
Look, would you mind
overseeing it, Bruce?
I wouldn't normally ask
with something so trivial,
but we just can't afford
to be seen to be not taking care
of such a potentially important benefactor
to the lodge as Clifford Blades.
And what's good for the lodge
is good for the polis, eh?
And another little brownie point for
the promotion, Brother Robertson.
Hush-hush, Toal. Hush-hush.
Just you leave Mr and Mrs Blades
in my safe hands, OK, Brother Toal?
How can you just misplace 200?
If I find out there's
another woman involved, Clifford...
This is Bruce, the detective friend
I was telling you about, dear.
Well, well, Clifford!
You never told me you were hiding
such a beautiful specimen.
You are punching above
your weight, champ.
You're the one who's taking Clifford on
this Masons' weekend to Scarborough, right?
Sc...
Aye, I am taking him to Scarborough.
It's a pleasure to meet you, Bunty.
Please, to business.
I understand how unsettling
these prank calls must be to you,
but I would ask you to be brave.
I've dealt with this
kind of scum in the past
and I can tell you,
they're all mouth and no trousers.
However, slamming the phone down on him
is only going to encourage him, OK?
And if I know this guy like I think I
know this guy, he's gonna like that.
So I need you to indulge
him a little bit.
He'll soon come unstuck.
But your uniformed colleague
said not to encourage him.
Oh, aye. No, we tell the younger,
less experienced officers that, aye.
And it usually makes
the depravate stop.
However, if you're wanting
the man caught...
I want him caught all right.
I want that bastard to suffer!
Excellent.
Well, in that case,
I suggest you play along.
Tell him something about yourself.
What you like.
Up the stakes.
Let hunter become hunted.
We'll nail this slimy bastard
for you, Clifford, no danger.
Bunty, we're gonna get him.
I can promise you that.
Now, I want you to look after
that brave, brave woman.
Oh, I will, Bruce, I will.
I can't tell you how
grateful I am, Bruce.
Oh, you just thank
your hubby here.
Low friends in high
places, eh, Bladesey boy?
A quick word, sir?
Bruce. How goes the case?
- Aye, fairly cut and dried actually, Bob.
- Aye.
A well-known, nasty little mob have been
fingered by a willing informant, so it's...
New poster.
Just a case of gathering
the necessary evidence.
- Me and Gus are on surveillance.
- Good.
The political thing has died a death now
and the papers have got bored with it.
A wog's a wog for all that,
eh, Brother Robertson?
- You said it, Brother Toal.
- Your words, not mine.
Right, about my cycling
trip to Germany, sir.
Oh, I can't say I'm pulling handkerchiefs
out of my arse at the prospect
but I suppose a few days
won't put us too far behind.
What does Carole have to say about you
going away so close to Christmas?
Oh, her and Stacey are just looking
forward to their big presents.
I always bring them back something
nice, so there's never any problem.
- You're the boss at home, then, Robbo?
- Man of the fucking house and all that.
Quite. OK...
Just make sure you brief
Amanda Drummond before you go.
Do you really think she's got the balls
to take over the reins in my absence?
Think I'd rather hand temporary control
over to Gus Bain if you don't mind.
It's only for a short while
and she needs the experience anyway.
- Mmm-hmm.
- Uh-huh.
How the fuck did she
ever get out of uniform?
By shagging Toal, that's how.
No!
See, every time a woman drops
her trousers, promotion.
Every time a man drops theirs,
disciplinary action.
Where's the equality in that?
Bingo!
There's the fucker we're after.
No, no, just you wait there, Gus, OK?
No point going in mob-handed.
OK.
Wanna buy some flowers.
Can I help you, sir?
How's business?
All right, I suppose.
Really? I just seen a man
leave empty-handed.
- No' have anything in his line, no?
- No.
- Who was he?
- Just some guy after roses.
- I guess he changed his mind.
- Mmm-hmm.
- Do I know you from somewhere?
- No.
No, you don't. No, you fucking don't.
- What have I done wrong?
- Wasting police time,
withholding information and possibly
harbouring a murder suspect.
- That's shite.
- You will fucking cough up
or I swear to God you will be stuffing
cuddly toys in Corton Vale Prison
faster than you can tie
a bunch of fucking daffodils.
Or maybe...
maybe you would rather get
your tulips around my bulbs.
Would you like that?
I think you would.
Look, he's just a guy I
know from the clubs.
He comes in to talk about
music and that is all.
So, are you and your wee boyfriend just a
two-man musical appreciation society then?
- Is that what you're fucking telling me?
- He's not my boyfriend, honest.
I hope not.
For his sake, you fat bastard.
- Watch where you're...
- Sorry.
Hello. Eh...
How are you?
Yeah, I'm just going to
pick the flowers up.
- Oh, what, is the funeral today, aye?
- Yeah.
Right. Was that your wreath?
The one that says "Dad"?
- Yeah.
- Um...
How many kids have you got?
Just one, a wee boy.
You ever lost anyone close?
Mmm-hmm.
Hurts like hell, eh?
Mmm-hmm.
Um...
Listen, I've got to go.
I'm really sorry, I've got to go.
Davie?
Fuck!
Ah, Bruce, I hear you
have a pain, yes?
Oh, a pain indeed, Doctor.
And would this pain be
one of your physical pains, yes?
No, Doctor, my other kind.
Well, the final destination
of the pain recovery train
is self-help via
abstinence, Bruce, eh?
I've already booked my seat in advance.
Super-saver all the same.
No more cocaine and chip suppers
for Bruce, eh?
Oh, those items were previously
favourites of the Detective Sergeant,
of course they were.
And what of this promotion, eh?
A mere formality, I'm sure.
Only champions can
rewrite history, yes?
Yes, I've always believed that
it's the winning that's important,
not the taking part.
Only winners are more attractive
to the opposite sex, Bruce, eh?
Like our successful friend
here, the tapeworm.
Yes?
Who do we trust, Bruce?
Why, no one, of course.
Not your friends, not your family,
not even yourself, Bruce.
Especially not yourself, eh?
Now, about that pain...
Yes!
Come on, big man, you stiffen up.
Come on, big man, you fucking stiffen.
Come on, big man, you fucking stiffen...
Fucking, fucking!
Ugly little fucking slag.
Dirty poofy bastard.
Peter. Peter, have you seen the
graffiti in the men's toilets?
What? No.
Some nasty little bastard
has written something which,
well, let's just say,
questions your sexuality.
Well, there's always something or other.
I don't let it bother me any more, Bruce.
It's silly.
Oh, come on, man. You elected
me your union representative
so I have to let it bother me
and I can't have your character defamed
in this outrageous manner any longer.
I'm going straight to Toal.
No, no, you're all right, Bruce.
I'll just go and clean it off.
Somebody is playing
silly billies here.
- Such a load of bloody nonsense.
- And I just hope...
I just hope
I don't find out who.
Gaffer? Gaffer, I want you to come and see
some more of this disgusting graffiti
that's been written about
poor Peter Inglis.
I don't have time for every...
As fed rep I don't have time
to see a fellow officer humiliated.
Of course. Listen, Robbo...
- Peter isn't...
- What, sir?
You're gonna have to be careful
what you say here, sir.
He isn't like the graffiti says...
Is he?
Whether he is or isn't
is entirely his own business,
but he's being harassed and we
operate a non-discriminatory policy
on the grounds of
sexual orientation.
But he can't be sexually harassed
if he's not really, well...
What, sir?
Gay, I think the fashionable term
for it is these days.
What he gets up to privately
is his own business.
To be honest with you, I don't even know
that much about the chap, but... Oh.
This bullying...
This bullying has to stop.
Did you do her up the arse?
Where else is there?
Pussy's for faggots.
Right, come on, let's go and see what
Gorman and his wee boyfriend are made of.
Everything you need to know about
those guys are in the jars, darling.
- DN-fucking-A, man. Really?
- Jesus Christ.
Maisie, gratitude.
See, this is the wonderful thing
about being polis, Ray.
Doesn't really matter
if everybody hates your guts
as long as they're civil
to your fucking face.
Is that no' right, Maisie?
Same rules apply, darling.
Same rules apply.
See, Maisie here would teach you
things your mother wouldn't.
I only do it for love now, son.
If you change your mind,
this is the boy for the job.
Getting quite the reputation as a
young stallion, aren't you, pal, eh?
Right, we'd better be off-ski.
We've got the Christmas party.
Christ, I never thought I'd see the
day when I left a knocking shop
with more spunk than I came in with.
- Thank you.
- Thanks very much, son.
I tell you, Gus,
this is the only kind of networking
I don't mind doing with
the Indian community.
I do love a good
curry all the same.
Edith and I, we're
actually thinking of going
to Sri Lanka next year
for our holidays.
- I don't know. Show us your tits.
- Show me yours, I'll show you mine.
Party games. Gather round.
I remember when I used
to work in Sydney,
we played this party game
at the crimbo party.
What was that, then?
Oh, no. Listen, there's ladies
present, Karen, so I better not say.
Come on, Robbo, don't start something
you cannot fucking finish, man.
- Come on, Brucie. Come on, Brucie.
- All right.
- Well, come on, pal. Let's go, man.
- OK, then, Raymondo.
What we would do is, all the men
would go to the photocopying room.
One by one, of course.
No offence if that's your thing.
And what we'd do is we would photocopy
an image of our wedding tackle.
Oh, I just knew
what was going on here!
And then one of the sheilas
would pin it to a notice board.
It'd then be up to the lassies to match the
male member with the corresponding owner.
- What a load of bollocks, man.
- Let's do it.
Come on!
Fuck me with that horse's cock.
What?
Here we go, lads, another round.
Who the fuck is that?
Peter. Peter!
I haven't seen you in such a long time,
sweetie. Where have you been hiding?
Brought some friends along, I see.
Who the fuck are you?
Here, I don't know this guy.
Sorry, I didn't realise
it was that kind of scene.
Huh! Peter can be so sensitive.
Ho! I don't fucking know you! OK?
- Hey, hey, hey. Come on, man.
- But I don't know the guy, Ray.
Well, he seems to know you.
You wrote that fucking shite
on the toilet wall, didn't you?
Did I fuck! Probably one of
your fucking boyfriends.
You disgust me.
Get your face off my cock!
Get off me, you fucking cocksucker!
Don't even think about
defending Gillman.
Well, I'm gonna have to consider
my position on that one, Bob.
Bruce, things are bloody difficult for me at
the moment with this murder case nuisance.
On top of that, not only is there
a latent Nazi racist homophobe
but a bloody jessie boy in the hat
for the inspector's post.
Now, listen, are you referring to
Brother Inglis here? Cos if you are...
How can we have someone of his
disposition leading fellow officers?
Policy or no bloody policy,
I won't pretend I don't find the idea
of two men doing it to each other...
totally disgusting.
But that's by the way.
I still don't see what
that's got to do...
Oh, come on, Bruce.
How can you have confidence in a man who is
constantly undressing you with his eyes,
masturbating over images of you?
It'd just be a compromise.
Surely that's a bit caveman, Bob.
In some parts of the country the force
even advertise in the gay press now.
This isn't some parts
of the country.
This is Scotland, by Christ!
Me and Bruce play these
break-up/make-up games,
but it only makes our
hearts grow fonder.
In a sense we're always together,
because nothing...
Space, time, or distance,
can break our delicious communion.
- Here are your drinks, sir.
- Merci, Frulein, merci.
But heterosexual anal sex
need not imply an attitude of misogyny.
I read in one of Bunty's magazines that 20%
of heterosexual couples enjoy anal sex
- while only 50% of homosexual couples do.
- Whoa, ho, ho.
What, are you saying that half the
fucking poofs walking about down there
don't actually do each other
up the fucking arsehole?
Bruce, I was only telling you
what the article said.
Aye, and I'll tell you something else
about all that fucking rap music, man.
It's all fucking bullshit cos I
read this article, proper, medical.
It says that white women, right,
are 10 times more likely
to give blowjobs than black women.
So where does that leave them?
Up the fucking spout without a
blowjob, that's where, pal.
Well, unless it's the white women
who they're referring to
who are actually
performing the fellatio.
Let me tell you something, Bladesey.
Only a white bird who was not
right in the fucking head
would even think about
going with one of them.
It wasn't even a
country until 1865.
Fish market, the actor Hans Albers
and FC St Pauli football club.
Get into the fucking index
and look up fucking "fanny".
The Reeperbahn, the
red light district.
Need to take a picture
of what a cunt looks like.
Can you put that in a bottle?
No. Don't touch it, Bruce.
You're not allowed to.
You've got to be able to
touch fucking history.
No, you can't, Bruce.
Bruce!
Bruce! Bruce!
Bruce!
Is this a real prostitute?
Arschficken, me and her. 50?
- Arschficken. 50.
- Thanks very much.
Right, Brunhilde.
- My name's Clifford.
- Bladesey, don't go bareback.
I'm a Gemini.
Can I just have a glass of water?
Not at all. I've got something else
in mind for you.
Here, here, here, here, here.
Look at these two. Look at these two.
Fucking bufties. Disgusting.
Absolutely fucking...
disgusting.
I've never seen the
attraction of it myself.
Cheers, pal.
Cheers.
Bladesey, just take your coat off.
You're overheating, man. Just fucking...
Bladesey, I...
I need you to fucking calm yourself.
You're really messing with my fucking trip.
Calm your...
Fucking calm yourself, man.
Calm yourself. Fuck off...
You're on your fucking own, Bladesey.
Fuck off!
Get your fucking hands off me!
Piss off!
Carole.
Carole.
No. Where's Stacey?
Where's Stacey? Where's Stacey?
Hello?
Do you know what time it is, Bruce?
Get into work right now.
Right... Right, I'll be
in in, say, 25 minutes.
You wanted to...
see me?
Take a seat.
As you obviously know, Bruce,
Amanda took a lead role in the murder
investigation in your absence.
I have decided after some deliberation
that this should remain the case.
You have got to be fucking joking me!
- I beg your pardon?
- Are you deaf?
I expect you to give her
your full co-operation.
Since you've been away the media
have taken an interest again.
Press relations is exactly the kind of
area that Amanda here is strong in.
Amanda, can you please brief Bruce
on the latest developments?
Yes, Bob.
Gus has already filled me in,
so there's really no need.
Gus isn't on the ball, Bruce!
OK, then, Mandy, fire away.
We're going to have to bring in
Gorman for questioning.
Not so sure that's a
good idea there, Mandy.
You see, he's a hardened criminal and with
a lawyer like Conrad Donaldson behind him
could go either way.
Nice cycling trip, Bruce?
Enough with the idle banter.
Shall we crack on with the case?
Maybe start by finding this blonde
witness you forgot to tell us about.
These are crafty bastards we're
dealing with. We need hard evidence.
I'll just go and get some, eh?
- Bruce, can I have a word?
- Course you can, sweetheart.
Do you have to refer to me
in that condescending way?
Mandy, you're taking
this far too seriously.
My name is Amanda.
You think you've got a chance of getting
this fucking promotion, don't you?
Bruce.
- Someone here to see you.
- Maybe in a wee min...
We'll continue this later.
Maybe a wee bit of
privacy, eh, Peter?
I came last week,
but they told me you were on holiday.
I wanted to thank you personally
for everything you did for Colin.
Aye. Aye, well, I just wish
I could have done more to help him.
This is the man who tried
to save your daddy.
He helped when the others
just stood back and watched.
He's a fine man, son.
I'd like you to be like
him when you grow up.
They said it was
your favourite team's colours so...
I knitted it especially.
I just wanted to say...
Merry Christmas.
Say bye to the detective, Euan.
- Bye-bye.
- Bye-bye, pal.
Here, here, here... Don't...
Don't go. Um... Just...
This is...
This is just my...
It's my home telephone number.
And my home address.
In case you ever need any help.
For anything.
Thanks.
Do you know what
Drummond says to me?
She tells me that we've got
to bring in Gorman for questioning.
I just laughed in her face
and then I fucked off.
- What do you think of that?
- Aye, nice job, mate.
- Aye.
- Yeah.
These young ones, Ray.
These fucking young ones!
I'll get the drinks in.
Listen, Robbo, I've got
something to tell you.
I don't want you getting the wrong idea and
this is why I'm letting you know first.
Listen, I really want to get on
in the department, right,
but I've not got
enough experience, though, eh?
I don't know, Ray.
All depends on how good
you are, doesn't it?
I mean, I even thought about
applying for the inspector's job.
You know, but I just thought it was a good
idea to get some practice with the...
you know, with the
selection procedures.
- What do you think?
- Cannot do you any harm, pal.
You're right. It can't do any harm,
you know, flying up a kite,
just so they know
who Ray fucking Lennox is, eh?
You need to watch some sly bastards.
- What do you mean?
- I'm just saying
that you need to watch
some sly bastards.
Like who? Who?
Gus.
- Gus Bain?
- Aye.
I mean, he's always been all right
with me, man, you know.
He's been taking quite an interest
in the extracurricular activities
of a certain Ray Lennox.
Just watch what you say
about Bonnie Prince Charlie here
when Gus Bain is around.
Do you understand me?
You know, I would never say anything
about the chang to anybody, you know?
But I will definitely
watch what I fucking say
around that sly old
fucking grasser now, eh?
You cannot fucking trust
anybody any more, can you?
I must look divine, especially in
the middle of this bunch of freaks.
They all fancy Carole Robertson, see?
Well, you can look,
but you can't touch.
There's only one person
that can have me.
Although, if he really wants me,
he'll have to get that promotion.
Time waits for no man.
Yeah?
What have you got, darling?
What do you think? Is it nice?
Oh, it's quite nice.
That's it.
Hello, darling.
Wave to the camera, darling.
I'm not too sure about
this one, Bruce.
- Hello?
- I bet...
You've been thinking about me a lot,
haven't you, Bunty?
I haven't stopped thinking about you.
I bet they told you
to ignore me, though.
- Didn't they?
- Oh yes, they fucking did.
But...
This is...
so much more fun, Frank.
Would you...
What?
Would you
like to see my cock,
Bunty?
I'd like to do more than that, Frank.
I'd like to
put your cock in my fucking mouth.
That's what I would like to do.
And then I would like you
to put your cock
inside of my fucking beautiful body.
That's what I would like, Frank,
and for you to go as fast as you can.
Fucking go as fast
as you can, Frank!
Fuck me. Fuck me!
- Yeah!
- That's what I'd like, Frank.
How's the lovely
Carole at Christmas?
A lovely Christmas carol.
Yes?
Eh? Eh?
Eh?
Bigger pain, bigger jar.
Bigger pills, Bruce, yes?
Yeah!
Fuck you, Carole Robertson!
Fuck you, Carole Robertson!
Turn off my gas, Bruce!
Fuck you, Dougie Gillman!
Repressed people.
You have to pity them
more than anything else.
I was like that before I met Bruce.
But he brought me out of myself.
That's what our sex club was about.
Bruce knows that
our wee games and flirtations
only serve to strengthen our love by
making it confront its true nature.
I'm a better person now.
A different person.
The fucking bitch has left me.
Christmas fucking Day
and the bitch leaves me.
- Merry Christmas, Robbo!
- Aye, same to you, Gus. Same to you.
So what's your plans, then?
Ah, just the usual family
shite and all that.
Me, too.
Fuck!
Are you all right, Bruce?
Oh, aye.
- Are you all right, Robbo?
- Aye.
- Happy Christmas, sir.
- Don't you "Happy Christmas" me.
- Come again?
- Look at the state you're in, Bruce.
You're a disgrace to the force.
This murder case is still hanging over us
and you haven't even managed to find
the Blades' phantom phone-caller.
I am quickly becoming
the laughing-stock of the Lodge.
And you are about to lose any chance
you ever had of this promotion.
No, no, no, no, no, no.
I know who the pervert is, sir.
Aye...
It's Clifford Blades.
It's Clifford Blades himself, sir.
I'll get you proof.
Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
Davie.
Davie, it wasn't my fault.
It wasn't my...
Your message sounded urgent,
so I came straight over.
I wanted to drop your
present off anyway
because I'm going to England
to see my parents.
Mother's not very well.
Bunty's not best pleased
about me going.
This creep just won't
stop phoning her.
I... I never got you anything.
Doesn't matter.
It's good to see you, pal.
Good to see somebody.
Good to see you.
You want a wee whisky? Cheer you up.
- No, best not. I'm driving.
- You'll fucking sit down, man!
You'll stay over here tonight
and you'll go tomorrow, OK?
OK.
- Won't your wife mind?
- She's at her mum's. Her mum's in Aviemore.
Old bird's on her last
legs with heart disease.
I'm sorry to hear that.
No, don't fucking worry about it.
Stupid slag brought it on herself.
See, the amount of chocolate, booze and
fags she consumes, it is fucking criminal.
- What about your daughter?
- Christ, that's enough of the family pish!
Now...
I've got a cheeky wee
single malt here for you.
Only for the developed
palate, 49 years aged.
Ho-ho-ho, Merry Christmas
and all that shite.
Well, I suppose one between friends
couldn't hurt.
Aye.
- Happy Christmas.
- Is it?
How are you getting on
with that whisky then, Bladesey?
Feel a bit tipsy, Bruce.
Hello
and welcome to the Fantastic...
Manchester! Manchester!
- You do it, man.
- No.
- Come on, give it a try.
- No, really, Bruce.
- Come on, it's Christmas.
- It's not in my nature.
Come on, don't be such
a fucking spoilsport.
Ladies and gentlemen,
my name is Frank Sidebottom.
I'm Frank Sidebottom.
My name is Frank Sidebottom.
This is a lovely surprise.
I was just checking up on my best
mate's missus while he was away,
seeing she was safe and secure
and all that, you know?
I don't know why you bother with him.
He's weak.
Not like you.
No, no, no, he's...
He's one of the best, I say.
That's what I say. He's one of the best.
Oh, I wish I had a friend
who was as loyal as you.
You must see some terrible things
in your line of work.
Aye, I do. I really do, you know?
But you just...
You just deal with it.
Like you do, Bunty,
with this prank phone-caller.
You don't seem to let
it get to you, do you?
Well, that's what I try to make him
think. But, you know, it hurts terribly.
Uh-huh.
I just wish Clifford could
be as strong as you.
Fuck.
Fuck! Wait a minute.
This is wrong. Cliff's all right.
This is... This is really wrong.
No, no, no!
No, it's... It's... It's OK.
This is so right.
No, no!
- What's wrong?
- It's just the...
- Just what?
- It's just...
I think Cliff might be
your phantom phone-caller.
Oh, don't be ridiculous. Come on.
Ladies and gentlemen,
my name is Frank Sidebottom.
It's Frank Sidebottom.
Ladies and gentlemen,
my name is Frank Sidebottom.
It's Frank Sidebottom.
Oh, my God!
Ah, Bruce eh?
Fuck.
Or would you like me to call you by
your little brother's name, Davie, yes?
- What?
- Baby brothers, Bruce.
Such a nuisance.
But you were supposed to look out
for little brother Davie, yes?
No, no, I wasn't.
It was your idea to steal
the coal, though, yes?
No, that was Davie's idea.
The added incentive
of trying to please your father.
"Let's climb the coal
mountain," you said.
That's it. Just little boys
playing games, Doctor.
The games, Bruce. The games.
The same rules apply, though.
"I'm the king of the castle!
Get down you, dirty rascal!"
Then you pushed him off.
No, I never. No, I fucking never!
- Not an angry push...
- No, I didn't.
Just a brotherly shove.
Brotherly love, a brotherly shove.
Because wee Davie was better at everything
than his big brother, "the other laddie".
That's what they used
to say in the village.
"Davie Robertson and
the other laddie. "
You're still just "the
other laddie", aren't you?
You fuck off!
"Fuck off", you shout,
as you push him down the slag pile.
He's at the bottom,
screaming for help
as the black stuff rushes down,
smothering your brother underneath.
No, I tried to save him.
Then the man you call father, crouching
beside the body of his real son,
"This thing killed him. This bastard
spawn of the devil killed my laddie.
"You are filth!"
No! No!
No, no...
What are you doing
in the women's toilets, Bruce?
Fuck off, Drummond.
- You can say it's none of my business.
- It's none of your fucking business!
What were you doing
in the women's toilets, Bruce?
Look, I'm sorry.
I'm just feeling a bit wrong
at the moment. OK?
OK, well, if you want to talk
about it, then I'm here.
Spare me your airy-fairy,
namby-pamby, care-in-the-community,
human-resources, left-wing bullshit.
Well, I'm just worried
about you, Bruce.
- What did you say?
- I said, I'm worried about you, Bruce.
Oh, right, I see.
You're worried about me.
What? Oh, don't flatter yourself.
I think you're a silly,
silly, little, little man.
You fancy me.
I have no interest in you, apart
from us having to work together.
- Just give in to your instincts, darling.
- Oh, God, you're pathetic.
- You're pathetic. You're an alcoholic.
- Fuck off.
You stink.
Do you know what, Bruce?
You're the kind of sad case
that preys on weak, stupid women
in order to boost your
own shattered ego!
What about Karen the other night
at the Christmas party?
She was wasted, Bruce.
Well, she shouldn't have
fucking drunk then, should she?
She wanted a drink, so she had one.
She wanted a ride,
so she had one of them as well.
So, don't treat me
like a fucking rapist!
Jesus Christ, what are you so
interested in her for anyway?
- Are you a lesbian?
- I'm not a bloody lesbian, Bruce.
I have a boyfriend
and he's far younger than you
and he's far more
intelligent than you
and he's far better endowed than you,
Mr Photocopier Enlargement.
What did you fucking say?
Go on, fucking hit me, Bruce!
Are you gonna hit me, Bruce? Yeah?
No.
Oh, my darling, I'm sorry.
You sicken me.
You repulse me.
Can I make that any fucking plainer?
I wasn't gonna hurt you, you know?
I didn't mean it.
As your colleague...
and as a human being, I'm telling you,
Bruce, you've got some stuff to sort out.
OK? Then you might become
the sort of person
that you seem to imagine
yourself to be,
although Christ only
knows what that is.
I used to be good at
this job, Amanda.
I used to be a good person.
Yeah. I heard that.
- Have you got a wife, Bruce?
- Yeah.
Have you got any kids?
Stacey.
I think they've left me.
I think my family have left me.
I don't know how.
I can't remember why.
OK.
You see, there's
something wrong with me.
There's something
seriously wrong with me.
Have you spoken to anyone?
Have you been to see a doctor?
- Yeah.
- Yeah?
No.
I don't know. I don't know.
No, I'm in charge.
I'm in charge of me.
I'm in charge of this investigation and
don't you ever fucking forget that.
OK, Bruce. You need to listen to me.
Can you hear me?
I'm really worried about you. I don't
think you're fit for work at the moment.
Just you go up there
and suck someone's cock
and stop playing the amateur fucking
psychologist, you evil witch!
Hey, Robbo.
Are you holding a guy
by the name of Clifford Blades?
Do you ever get the impression
he was a pervert?
Just give me the fucking keys!
- You piss-taking little fart!
- What's wrong, Bruce?
You strung me along from the
fucking start! Didn't you?
It wasn't me.
You have to believe it wasn't me.
Don't make me punch your face
through your shoulders
and out through your fucking arse,
you speccy wee fanny!
Why? Why did you drag
me into this, Cliff?
Why did you drag me into this with you?
You're supposed to be my mate.
I didn't. We are mates, Bruce.
You're my best friend, Bruce.
You're my best friend.
Why do you bully me, Bruce?
- What?
- Why do you do it?
Because...
Because I can't fucking help myself.
Bruce! Bruce! Bruce! Bruce! Bruce!
Bruce! Bruce!
Bruce! Bruce! Bruce!
Fuck!
I tried to call you at work.
Where have you been?
- Bruce, Dougie's in hospital.
- And?
He tried to kill himself.
Slashed his wrists.
He found out about us, Bruce.
Couldn't take the humiliation
of that and getting suspended.
How's that my fault?
That's all your fault!
My God, this place fucking stinks.
I just need you to fucking leave!
- Come on.
- No, no, no.
- I wanna turn off the gas for you.
- Chrissie, don't. Chrissie.
- I wanna turn off the gas for you.
- Chrissie, I need you to leave!
Come on! I wanna turn off
the fucking gas for you!
Fucking...
Come on, get fucking hard, you silly
wee poof! Come on, get it in!
Fuck me with that mouse's cock.
What's wrong?
You're crying like a wee laddie.
You're no fun any more, Bruce.
You know that?
I'm not well.
What's wrong with you, man?
I hear voices, Chrissie.
I see things, all the time.
Do you ever hear them?
What are you on about?
Whatever it is you're taking,
you wanna lay off it.
Life's cruel, Bruce. Life's cruel.
People ask me, "Carole, how do you and
Bruce keep the spice in your marriage?"
Well,
I tell them it's really simple.
- I'm just the ultimate tease.
- "I'm just the ultimate tease.
"Me and Bruce,
we're not that different.
"We know what we want
"We know how to get it.
"Like this promotion he's going for.
We both know he'll win.
"And when he does,
"the Robertson household is going
to be one big happy family again.
"I kid you not. "
You coming for a wee
ride, sweetheart?
I knew I'd seen you before.
The fucking freak from the tunnel.
You are a sick fairy.
My husband is Detective
Sergeant Bruce Robertson.
We have to go
all the way with this pig.
You know what that means, Ocky?
Hey, hold on, hold on, hold on, right.
Wait a minute.
You can't waste a cop, man.
You never said you were gonna...
- Fuck.
- He saw us do the gook, for fuck's sake!
But dead cunts tell no tales.
We can torch the place with the
pig in it. Or what's left of him.
Smokey bacon, man.
Get your fucking hands off her stuff!
You fucking die.
I want to hear you squeal,
like the fucking pig you are.
Get fucking out.
Don't you leave!
Don't you fucking leave!
Don't you leave this fucking room!
Don't you fucking close that door!
Fuck!
Why didn't you arrest us
when you had the chance?
Scared they'd find out
you're a fucking queer?
- Just you and me, Detective.
- No!
No!
You see, I've always
hated you fucking pigs.
But not in the normal way your average
low-life scum like me hates them.
You see, I've always hated them
in a special way.
But you...
You're different, sweetheart.
I'll make an honest
woman of you yet.
You thought you could take me, eh?
You sick,
sexy, wee pansy.
You really fucked up this time,
didn't you, Bruce?
Ambulance is on the way, Bruce.
Don't go.
Don't go, brother.
I just wanted to keep her
close to me, you know?
Might not seem appropriate, but...
Happy New Year, Robbo.
Aye, happy New Year.
Listen, Bruce, um...
We obviously had to withdraw
your application for the promotion.
Now is not the right time
for you to meet the board.
You see that, right?
Aye.
And you're back in uniform, Bruce.
It is a demotion.
Of course, Bruce, I don't need to
tell you that obviously I was chuffed
about the promotion.
But it has been
a bittersweet experience for me.
If you hadn't had the...
the issues you've been having,
I'm sure you would have walked it.
- Aye.
- Aye.
I suppose everybody feels like this
when they actually get a promotion.
You know, how best to work
with old mates and all that.
Your methods and mine
are very different.
And I know we've pulled
some stuff in the past,
but all the coke and the
hookers and stuff...
- That's finito now.
- Aye.
You understand, little piggy?
No hard feelings, eh?
No hard feelings, pal.
Same rules apply.
Oh, by the way...
I saw your wee speccy mate Bladesey
down the Lodge.
The old phantom phone-caller, eh?
We told the sick bastard he's not welcome
at the Craft if he keeps that shite up.
See you later, then...
Frank.
No, don't...
OK, let's go...
Let's get out of here.
Stacey!
St...
Hey.
Oh, shit.
I'm really sorry for startling you...
No, it's...
It's OK. It's...
It's OK.
- Are you all right?
- Uh-huh.
- You look a bit...
- Hmm?
Ah, I'm just, um...
I'm just undercover.
I'm on, um, stakeout and...
You see, there's some really
shifty-looking characters in here tonight
and I'm just trying to blend in.
- Come on, Mummy, I'm hungry.
- I better get him home for his dinner.
Aye, right, of course.
- I'll see you around, then.
- Don't leave.
Hi, Detective Robertson,
it's Mary here.
Sorry, I know it's probably
none of my business, but...
Look, um, I was just
thinking that maybe
me and Euan could pop round
on our way to the park.
Right. Bladesey.
Uh, first things first.
You've really got to get rid
of the double glazing, pal.
Get yourself contact lenses or
something, laser eye treatment
cos nobody's ever gonna take you seriously
staring through those thick milk bottles.
Second thing is, you've really
got to try and toughen up.
Right, you're a nice guy.
But you're very soft.
Truth is, people are just as scared
of the world as you are.
I'm scared of the world.
I just don't let people
see it, that's all.
And that's what the games are.
I kid you not, my
sweet, sweet friend.
You're my best friend.
My only friend.
Most important thing is this, though.
You've got to make
Bunty want you again.
You'll probably find
that she does actually like you
if you just asserted yourself
a wee bit more.
You know, you show her passion
and she will run to you.
She will love you until
the day you die.
I may not be the one to be
giving marriage counselling,
but sometimes it takes a wrongdoer
to show you when you're doing wrong.
I'm sorry, Bladesey.
Really sorry, pal.
Bunty!
Same rules apply.