Episode 5 - Meltin' John

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Episode 5 - Meltin' John

Opens outside rehearsal room, a group of would be drummers await the call.


Narrator - Drummers. It's always fucking drummers. Every joke about them, every story is 100% true.


Cut to gig, in crappy, almost empty pub. Old guy approaches Gordon.
Old guy - How late do you play, son?
Gordon (still playing) - Usually, half a beat behind the drummer.


Narrator - Mondo's gone and we're lost in the hickory hell of drummer auditions. That's why when you find a good one, chain him to his kit and never let him leave. And if we don't get one before the Polydor gig, we're screwed.


Cut to inside of rehearsal room. Montage of drummers playing the same song...


Narrator (adopts nasal commentator voice) - And here we are at the Sound City Sticks Handicap, seven furlong sprint. 14 runners and riders. The going is good to shit. We've got the metal heads (cut to thrash player), the hippies (cut to long hair player wearing tie dyed vest), the posers (cut to flash show off) and the downright inappropriate (cut to old guy in loud tuxedo)


Gordon - Really Devon, really?
Devon - £10 a time is not to be sniffed at.
Billy - You're charging them to audition?
Devon - Got to pay for overheads.
George - Well, you're paying tonight.
Devon - That reminds me. When are you two leaving your jobs? We need to be doing this full time.


Narrator - Devon was right. We needed to build on the momentum and that's hard when you've has to clock in by 8..ok, make that 10.


Cut to Tax office. Gordon and George's desks are completely dwarfed by the sheer volume of files and work that lies undone.
Narrator - If one thought we were lazy prior to WHITE...

Kathy (the boss) - Find them.

Cut to the basement. Gordon and George are sitting on boxes of files writing songs. Dotted around are tea cups and empty biscuit packs.
Davie enters basement to look for them.

Davie - Guys, Big White Chief on warpath.
George - Thanks Kemo Sabe.
Cut to Kathy's office.
Kathy - Mr Moir, Mr Paterson, take a seat.
Gordon and George childishly grapple for the same seat for about 10 seconds...
Kathy (assertive) - Gentlemen!
Gordon/George (contrite) - Sorry Kathy.
Kathy - I've been looking at your work files recently and I'm thinking it might be the right time for a change.
Gordon - Promotion? Thanks Kathy (thumbs aloft)
Kathy - Not quite. You beat the 5 o'clock rush by leaving work at noon. Perhaps you should start looking at where your true strengths lie.
Gordon and George are silent.
Kathy - Because it's clear that they don't lie with Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs.
George - OK, we'll resign then. We'll leave right now.
Gordon - Whoa! He doesn't speak for me, Kathy.
Kathy - That's not what exactly what I had in mind George. But I don't think it's right for you to leave at this stage.
Gordon (to George) - See? We still have a vital role to play.
Kathy - No, you both owe around 130 hours on your flexitime.
George - Shit.


Narrator - And that was that. A month's notice, unpaid. But after we've served our hard time, we'd be free to devote our lives to the Gods of Rock! Babylon!!!!!

Cut to Gordon and George sitting around Gordon's flat, tea cups and empty biscuit packs dotted around.

Gordon - So, what do we do now?
George - Another cup of tea?


Cut back to rehearsal room and the inexhaustable supply of drummers filter in and out...


Billy - This is not good.
Gordon - We might have to blow this Polydor gig.
George - What about the guy in the black t-shirt?
Gordon - Too weedy. I liked the big guy.
Billy - He wasn't wobbly enough.
Gordon and George look at him.
Billy - You know, he needs to be a bit more jellified. He sounded as if he was petting a burning dog.








Narrator - The strange thing is we knew exactly what he meant. But Billy's bizarre musings weren't helping us out of our percussive predicament. This is our big chance to be stars. Polydor stars. Next to Level 42 and Lloyd fucking Cole. Which will mean money, which will mean power, which in turn means not just women but truck loads of hot Brazilian foxes, all after a cupful of my sex wee. And we're going to blow it because we don't have a fucking drummer.


Devon (shouting) - Last one of the day. Jim? (pauses) You're Jim?





Cut to band playing with drummer (out of shot). Billy and Gordon stare at him.


Narrator - This is promising...but can he hit the accents and make the cues?


Cut to band again, drummer (still out of shot) makes all the cues, precisely. Gordon and Billy still stare...


Narrator - Keeps the beat perfectly, no speeding or slowing. He's tight, no doubt about that, right in the groove. You've got to dig it to dig it, ya dig? Gentlemen, I think we may have a winner.


George - Excellent mate. (Looking around) I think I speak for all of us when I say that you're the right fit. So, when can you start?


Cut to drummer who looks about 12 years old.


Jim - I can start in 2 weeks, that's when my school holidays begin.
Billy - What?
Jim- Eh... school...college. You know what I mean.
Billy (to band) - That's after the Polydor gig.
Jim - Sorry guys. My mum..err...my tutor will kill me if I don't finish my course.
George - Not a problem. We'll deal with that first and you can join up with us then.
Jim - Great!


Pause....


Gordon (to Jim) - How old are you?


Narrator - Not important big man. We're not going to fucking marry him. We're not going to buy him a fucking beer. I do concede though that he did look very youthful. Arguably younger than most of Gordon's riffs or Billy's clothes. So, we still in the market for a drummer, short term or the Polydor deal is as stiff as a Leonard Cohen disco album.


Cut to small pub, the band and Devon are watching the Molotov Cocktails debut their latest singer, a guy who's wearing a long leather trench coat, making him sweat profusely. He is desperately trying to exude charisma...

Narrator - Look at this dick. One song in and he's sweating more than a Glam rocker in PC world. Just as well he's not wearing a shirt. And why do you need shades when it's pitch black in here? (pauses) OK, I admit, that's one of my moves but just look at this guy? He's ridiculous.

The singer lifts his mike stand up and it goes through the false, low ceiling. He continues, unperturbed, to the dismay of his band mates and the bar manager who chides him.


Bar man (angrily) - Hoi! Bonio. Fucking knock it off.
Singer (arms outstretched, oblivious) - This one's for Winston Mandela.



George - Did he just say..?
Billy - Yep.
Devon - So, we've got a drummer. OK, he's a bit young...
Gordon - Yeah, what's the deal with that anyway?
Devon - He payed his tenner, he got his chance.
Gordon - He's fucking 12! How did he get the tenner? Saved up his pocket money? Raided his piggy bank?
Billy - My money's on a newspaper round.
George - He's still the best drummer we auditioned, so he's in and that's that.
Billy - But he can't make the Polydor gig.
Gordon - Did he get a note from his Mum?
Devon - Should I make the call?
George - What?
Billy (sighs) - Do we have to?
Gordon - Is there really no alternative?
Devon - No. I'll make the call.

Billy - This is going to cost us...
George - What the fuck are you talking about?



Narrator - Don't cancel! Please! I've built this up so much. I've dreamt about this. Walking into Nico's Pub, going up to Lloyd Cole and smacking the cunt over the head with a thesaurus. My mother is praying to St Anthony on a daily basis for this deal. All other miracles are on hold. Novenas have been offered up, for Christ's sake. Failure to make the breakthrough on All Saint's Day of all days, could see a tsunami of doubt ripple through the entire southern diocese of Glasgow. There is a lot riding on this gig.


Gordon - Devon, make the call.
Billy (putting his own shades on) - This could get messy.
Devon - And expensive.






Cut to outside of pub, George helping Brian pack his gear away.

Brian - What do you think of our new singer?
George - Sweats a lot.
Brian - Fucking hopeless, isn't he?
George - He's no me!
Brian - What do you think of my brother?
George - Thomas? He's about 6!
Brian - No. Andy. He's been bugging me for ages for a chance. But he's an annoying wee tit.
George - Can't argue with you there. But can he sing?
Brian - That's the problem. He can.
George - What's the problem then?
Donny arrives.
Donny - Alright botons?
George - Skull!
Donny - What did you think about the singer?
George - He's no me!
Donny - He wants to rename the band, V1, after some bomb. Told him that it was a bit too violent for a band name.
Brian - So we're sticking with Molotov Cocktails?
Donny - Does the Pope shit in the woods? Is the bear a Catholic? Nothing wrong with a wee cocktail now and again. Anyway, I'm taking an executive decision. I say we sack the dopey nimrod. Know any singers?
Brian - What about Andy? He can sing.
Donny - But he's a wee girly twat.
George - True but he follows you guys around, has access to a van, knows all the songs...
Brian - And he'll pay for the rehearsals, isn't that right Andy?
Cut to Andy who has been standing behind them all along. He's small, pretty with a long mullet and nods like an obedient little puppy.
Donny - Ah, bollocks. Alright then.
Cut to Andy silently punching the air.
Donny - But I promised my sister she'd get a chance.
Brian - Backing vocals?
Donny - Fuck it. Deal. Andy, get the drinks in.

Brian - That was remarkably easy.

Donny - Brido, time waits for no man when he's got singers to bin and chicks to bang.
Cuts to the sacked Molotov's singer standing alone at the bus stop in the rain, his mullet is washed out and he tucks into a kebab. He looks up to the skies tearfully and cries out.



Narrator - Once again, as the fickle mistress of rock gently traverses her lubricated finger around the rectum of the next hopeful, she plants a mangy pube on the palate of another heartbroken pretender. Such is life in the rock and roll fast lane.


Cut to Devon's car, Billy is driving the band to Nico's Pub. The car is silent.


Gordon - Have you made the call?
Devon - I need to sort a few things out first.
Billy - You need to make the call. This cannot wait any longer.
Devon (irritated) - OK, OK, I'll make the fucking call. Pull over.


Devon gets out the car and goes into a Phone box.


George - Is he calling the Polydor people?
Billy and Gordon look at each other then at George. They shake their heads.



Narrator - The call's going in. But it's not to the record company. No, that looks like it's still on. Devon's bringing in the heavy artillery. Meltin' John. (ominous music plays)

Cut to slow motion, a large man with a blonde curly mullet, wearing a long silver coat and furry boots. Heads turn as he walks down the street. He is clearly comfortable in his skin.

Narrator - This Nuclear grade Warhead was once a svelte prince of pop.

Cut to 70's teen band on Top of the Pops type show.

Narrator - Aw...he's actually quite cute! Hit records, tours in the States. This guy was a fucking heartthrob. Until...

Cut to teen band playing at small local show.

Narrator - His audience hit puberty. John hit everything else.

Cut to John grabbing record company executive, growling, cut to John snorting powder from naked dwarfs ass...

Narrator - Meltdown...

Cut to handcuffed John crying on shoulder of police officer.
Narrator - Hence the name...Meltin' John... (ominous music plays again) Never again hit the heights of the summer of 1976 though still makes a good living as a sticksman for hire. He is though, still a man of gargantuan appetites, most of which we'll end up paying for, one way or another.




Cut to Devon's flat the following day, the band sit around the table. John is brought in by Devon.

John- Flash.

Gordon - Johnny

John - Bold yin.

Billy nods.

John - Who's the skinny poof?

George - I'm George, the singer. And I'm not a poof.

John - Have you tried it?

George (nervous) - I beg your pardon?

John (looks across the table, raises his shades) - How do you know you're not until you've experienced the unspeakable delights of... the darkest love?

George looks around for support but all eyes are fixed on Meltin' John.

Narrator - Well, I've always wondered what it might feel like...

John - I'm fucking with you, wee man.

George breathes a sigh of relief and nervously laughs.

Narrator (nervy laugh) - I knew that. I was only joking too...

John (turning serious again) - But you do look like one.

Gordon - Cup of tea, John?

John - I'll take a white spirit and lemonade. Loads of ice. Got any gear bold yin?

Devon sits down.

Devon - Right big man. We need your skills, one morning, showcase.

John - When's the gig?

Devon - November 1st.

John - Who for?

Devon - Polydor

John slams his fists down on table causing the band to jolt backwards.

John - I hate those swindling bastards. Still owe me for a Visage session. (pause) What are you offering?

Devon looks at the band, pauses..

Devon - £50 and dinner.

John (Goes to stand up)

Devon - I'm not finished...

John sits down again

Devon - A gram of London...after the gig

Narrator - That better not be drugs...

John - Five

Devon - Two. But only after the gig.

John nods.

John - And a bottle of Glenfinnan. Now.

Devon - Johnny, you know I can't....

John - OK, three grams of London, £100 cash and dinner at the Blue Note.

The band wince.

Devon - Jesus Christ big man. Look, a ton, two grams of London. But only after the gig. And lunch at Blue Note. No drinking before. And I'll invite the Great Western Girls too. On me. We need this deal...

Narrator - The Great Western Girls? I wonder what they could be

John thinks long and hard. Looks at the rest of the band intensely.

John - When's the rehearsal?

The band and Devon breathe a sigh of relief and there are hugs and high fives all round. Except from George. He takes Gordon aside.

George - That wasn't drugs they were talking about?

Gordon - How do you think Devon pays for all this?

Narrator - Holy shit.

Cut to busy pub...

Narrator - Now as all good Catholics know, All Saint's Day is a celebration of those who have attained beatification in Heaven. The day before however, is Hallowe'en. Wooooo! And this was... more spiritual, if you know what I mean...

Cut to bar staff dressed as werewolves and nurses. Donny, dressed as a vampire, is getting the drinks in.

He returns to the table and hands a drink to Brian who is dressed in a suit and a bow tie.

Donny (annoyed) - So, who the fuck are you supposed to be again?

Brian - Steve Davis.

Donny shakes head, none the wiser.

Brian - The snooker player?

Andy (badly dressed as a robot) - Aye, I caught him once in his bedroom behind Jeannie's incredibly large arse, tucked up on the cushion not knowing whether to go for the pink or the brown.

Donny chokes on his drink with laughter.

Brian - Don't get smart, Gaybot.

Donny (looking up) - Holy shit.

Brian and Andy loom around to see George walking towards them. The whole bar is looking at him but he's oblivious to it all. He's wearing a blonde wig and cut off shirt and denim shorts with a pair of workman's boots. His eyes are almost black from the mascara, which has run in the rain.

George - Alright boys?

There is silence.

George - I'm Paul Hogan!

Brian (dry) - Of course you are.

Cut to shots of the guys dancing and drinking.

Donny - What time is your session tomorrow?

George - Late morning...

Brian - You'd better get an early night.

Andy - Or lay off the spirits?

George - What time is it now?

Donny - 10.30!

George - Bollocks!  Plenty of time!

Cut to a quiet pub. The clock shows 6.25am. An elderly female cleaner has just finished vacuuming and pushes a mop and bucket into the gents toilets.

The cleaner is singing to herself.  She tries to open the cubicle but it appears to be wedged shut.

Cleaner (nervously) - Is there anybody in there?

She bangs on the door.

It opens. George stands there looking extremely dishevelled...

George (hoarse) - Keep your hair on, love.

He walks past the stunned cleaner, picks up a pint glass, sniffs it before slugging it back, almost choking on the cigarette stub floating in the glass.

He notices the time, groans and walks out of the pub.

Narrator - Funny thing was, I actually got a couple of hours kip in that stinking bog. Now, all I needed was a shower and a change of clothes and no one would be any the wiser.

Cut to entrance to studio. A taxi pulls up and a cleaner, less dishevelled George steps out.

Billy and Gordon look closely at his eyes.

Billy - You look like shit...

George (still hoarse) - I'm fine.

Gordon - You sound like shit...

George - Trust me, I'll be fine.

Devon arrives with John as Gordon whispers to George...

Gordon (menacing)- Fuck this up and I'll kill you.

Narrator - No pressure then!

Cut to studio room, prior to arrival of record company A&R personnel. George's voice has miraculously returned and the band are playing very tight...

Narrator - I now see what the fuss is all about. This guy is superb. Escaped mental patient or not, he could be the difference between making it or not.




Devon - OK, they're here. Blow them away boys.




The record company people arrive, one male and one female as well as local rock critic, Myra Blackman.

Myra - Hey guys. (looks around, disappointed) Where's Mondo?

Band look at each other, shocked.
John - One...two...three...four




Cut to band playing...




Narrator - We're tight. No doubt. But there's something about these guys that's not sticking. And why are they staring at John? (cuts to John, scowling) I'm the fucking star. LOOK AT ME! 28 inch waist, flowing locks. What more do they want? Even Gordon is bringing the flash. Look at the big bastard! (cuts to Gordon playing intricate solo extravagantly) and Billy? Well, he's going to tramp a hole right through the floor. (cuts to Billy stomping) We're on fire here and John is playing with a power and intensity to match. Myra gets it. (Cuts to a clearly excited journalist) She's already choosing which one of us desperados she's next going to be using as a Space Hopper but to use the parlance of the present, I'm just not feeling the love from the representatives of Polydor Records. What's going on?




Cut to Polydor executives leaving, mid song. Myra Blackman remains, baffled.




Narrator - What the fu...




Cut to outside the studio. Devon runs out, desperately trying to stop the execs from leaving.

Devon - What's going on guys? Didn't you like the music?

1st Exec (timid) - The music's fine. We like you. But...

Devon - But fucking what?

2nd Exec (Angry) - Are you taking the piss mate? Do you think we we're fucking mugs? All the way up to Glasgow for this?

Devon - I have no idea what you're on about?

2nd Exec - That fucking cabbage on the drums, that's what I'm on about.




Cut to Polydor Artists party, execs are drinking and carousing with clients and acts. A stage has been set up for one of the acts to play. The stage area is curtained off.

Narrator - What none of us knew at the time was that the nickname 'Meltin' John' was not exclusively about his breakdown...

Cut to back door of offices, John enters, aggrieved and muttering. Lights a blowtorch and proceeds to melt the bass, drums, keyboard and guitar of the band Level 42.

John - Jazz wankers....jazz wankers...

Cut to party goers starting to smell the burning plastic and wood. The sprinkler system goes off sending people into a panic.

John strides into the company board room like Clint Eastwood, lights his cigar and uses the torch to burn moustache onto the portrait of the managing director that is hanging on the wall.

John (muttering) - Now THAT'S a Visage, ya bastards.

Cut to managing director dashing into the board room.

MD - Just quickly collect my coat...

The door opens to the molten mess...

Cut to shocked faces of Execs as they survey the damage.










2nd Exec - And that's why you'll never get a fucking penny from Polydor.

Devon (losing it, shouting after them) - Is that it? Arse-HOLE! Dealing with fucking amateurs. Away you go. Piss off back to London ya shower of tossers. And you can shove your Level 42 up your fucking arse.




Narrator - Nice Devon. Why don't you burn another bridge while you're at it?




Devon returns to the band.




George - Well?

Devon silently shakes his head.

John - Don't forget, you still owe me dinner.




Cut to Blue Note restaurant. Very classy establishment.

Devon (despondent) - OK guys, we're going for lunch.

Gordon - Great.

Billy - Good, I'm famished.

Devon - No...John and I...

George - I'm not that hungry. Just chips for me.

Gordon - You were not bad today. You should have a steak.

Billy - Good for protein. I might have one too.

Devon sighs as the band pile into the restaurant. Myra Blackman approaches.

Devon - I suppose I owe you for that review?

Myra - I've just heard from the Barrowland. They've given the Christmas gig to Softly Softly. Sorry Devon, I did try.

Devon (sighs) - Let's hold off breaking this news until tomorrow. Softly Softly? Jesus...

Devon holds the door for the journalist as she enters and makes a bee line for the bar.




Cut to restaurant as band tuck into copious amounts of alcohol and food. The sun goes down and some girls arrive. The partying continues as John gets amorous with Jill, June and Jackie, the Great Western Girls. Devon looks at his wallet in despair just as Brian, Donny and Stevie arrive to join in the festivities.




Narrator - So the deal didn't happen. Not only did we not get any money from Polydor, we ended up spending a rather large sum on drink, fine food and the dubious charms of the Great Western Girls and one jazz funk hating, furry boot wearing pyromaniac. Or Devon did. He must be selling a hell of a lot of this 'London' stuff, whatever that may be. As Level 42 might have said, looking back it's so bizarre. And bizarre it was. They also said 'If we lose the time before us, the future will ignore us' and that's pretty profound for a bunch of wimpy jazzers. But they also sang about sons and daughters in hot water so that fucks up my profundity theory somewhat. Anyway, chalk it up to experience and move on. What else can you do? The future isn't going to ignore us, not if I've got anything to do with it. Whatever we lost that day, we knew we could earn, win or steal it back. That's what being young and fearless means. There will be other days, other battles to fight and win. Still, we'll never forget old Meltin' John and his Candle in the bin.




Cut to the early hours of the morning, Gordon, Billy and George staggering through the streets of Glasgow drunk.

An old lady stops George.

Old lady - Aren't you that Paul Hogan off the telly?

George realises that this is the cleaner who found him in the toilet.

George - What...no?

Old lady - Aye you are. You were sleeping in my toilet last night.

Billy and Gordon look at her, baffled as George's indicates that she's a bit mad.

Billy - What the fuck was that about?

George - I have no idea...

George spots an old bill poster with a familiar face on it.




George - Look!

Gordon - What?

Billy - Where?

George - There! It's Meltin' John!

Billy - Hehehe! So it is.

Gordon - The mad bastard. Anyone got a pen?

George pull a marker out of his pocket and the group cheer.

Billy climbs onto Gordon's back but falls off. George jumps onto Gordon's back then successfully onto his shoulders. He uses the marker to draw a moustache on the poster of John...

Billy - Guys.

George - What?

Billy - I think you should come down.

Gordon - He's nearly finished.

George scribbles the word 'Warhead' on John's forehead.

Billy - Now would be a good time....eh, good evening officer.

Large Police Officer - Would you care to explain what you're doing, young man?

George (turning around with Gordon) - It's alright officer, we know him.

End

Copyright George Paterson 2012

Episode 4 - No Sleep 'til Strathaven

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Episode 4 - No Sleep 'til Strathaven


Opens in Bar, Gordon, Billy, Mondo and George sitting having a drink discussing the new name...




Billy - So that's it?

George - Pretty much.

Mondo (playing sticks off edge of table) - I like it.

Gordon - Sounds like Wipe. As in 'I wouldn't WIPE my arse with it'...

George - It came to me in a dream. It was very vivid.

Gordon - If I'd have known you were going to go all hippy dippy on me...


Billy - How about The Shirley Temple of Doom?

Gordon - Or Tina Turner Overdrive?

Mondo - Curious George and the Spiders From Largs?




Narrator - Due to the age gap, I probably gave them too much respect back then. Once I got to know them, though I realised that they were just as fucked up, (cut to Gordon falling off couch drunk while attempting to hit on a girl) and as idiotic (cut to Billy burning his mouth attempting to drink soup straight from pot) as I was. But in the absence of an alternative, I had to stand my ground.







George - So do you have any other ideas? C'mon, let me hear them then, smart arses.

Billy and Gordon shifting in their seats. Mondo continues drumming.

George - Well, White it is.

Devon arrives...

Devon - So, you've decided on the name? Well..?

Gordon - Dicky Retardo and the Lucille Balls.




Cuts to Doctors surgery. George is lying on his back, trousers down.

Narrator - Oh yes. Thank you Gordon. How could I forget?




Doctor - What I'm going to do is apply some gentle pressure to the area.

George - Go for it.

Doctor - You may feel a little local pain but it's nothing to worry about.

George - SWEET FUCKING JESUS!!!!!!!

Narrator - As physical discomfort goes, nothing tops a doctor squeezing your jed like he was making orange juice. Hard to believe but it could've been worse. I could be Brian. Just when the swelling was starting to go down...

Cut to football field, Brian standing in wall defending free kick.

Narrator - Let's play spot the ball. Does it end up in area A, B or C? Answers on a postcard...

The ball smashes into Brian's privates and he hits the ground in silent agony.

Cut to another Doctors surgery... Brian lying on his back, trousers down.

Brian - So Doc, how bad is it?

Doctor - Actually, it's fine.

Brian - Really?

Doctor - No. Your ball looks like an aubergine. Needs to go.

Cut to George's Doctor.

Doctor - I think we need to cut this off.

Cut to George and Brian whimpering.




Narrator - Fortunately, that wasn't the only thing that was taking/taken off. The summer of 1985 saw the world unite to combat the terrible famine that had befallen the starving populace of East Africa. As concerned citizens of the planet, we were determined to do our bit by driving 20 miles out of Glasgow to a quaint little town in Lanarkshire on a Friday night to share the gift of rock.




Cut to van on way to gig, driving down country roads.

Devon - Nice wee low key gig, away from Glasgow, to start you off.

Gordon - I thought you said it was a Live Aid link up?

Devon - It is...technically.

Mondo - So, it's still on TV then?

Devon - Live Aid is. It's on all day tomorrow.

Mondo - No, this...

Devon - This is the show that opens it up. Here, Wembley Stadium then Philadelphia. I've been assured that there will be local TV coverage.

Gordon - The Strathaven Broadcasting Corporation?

Billy (sarcastically) - Phil Collins's on the train from Glasgow Central especially for this.

Mondo - Excellent! I love Phil Collins. (plays 'In the air tonight' roll on roof of van) Wonder if there will be any African birds here tonight? I shagged an African bird last week. Superb. She was clicking (makes African clicking noise with his mouth) like a rev counter. At first, I though it was her hip.

Billy - Have you shagged any birds from around here?

Mondo - Aye. Last month. These country girls are mental. Farm girls will milk you!! George, you're gonna love it.

George - I can't. Not allowed to even think about it. Doctors orders. And anyway, if I burst the stitches, it will leave my cock looking like Frankenstein's neck.

Mondo, Billy, Gordon and Devon (repulsed) - Awwww shut the fuck up.

Gordon - I didn't get into rock and roll to talk about your tattered tadge. Anyway, should be a blast tonight.

George (nervous) - I'm bricking it.

Billy (driving) - Fear is natural. Embrace it. Channel the fear. But listen and listen well, youngster. Spew near me and you're walking home tonight.

Mondo - Devon, how much are we getting paid for tonight?




The van pulls into the car park of a small country pub.




Narrator - Surely this isn't it?

Devon gets out and heads to the bar. He returns and points Billy to a schoolhouse over a field.

Billy drives until the road ends.

Billy - Everybody out.

The band start unloading the equipment through a muddy field to the schoolhouse. Cowboy boots are getting stuck in the mud. George's boot comes off and he almost falls over. Mondo removes his shoes, socks, rolls up his trousers and saunters through.




Narrator - I hope those hungry wee bastards appreciate the sacrifice we're making here today. Not quite the 'sucked off in bog' headlines I had in mind.




Cut to inside of the schoolhouse and the young female, gig co-ordinator, Jenny arrives.

Jenny - You must be White, then?

Mondo (acting smooth) - One and the same sweetheart.

Jenny - Hi. You're on in the town hall at 9pm.

Gordon - Is this not the town hall?

Jenny - Good heavens no. That's across the road. Can I ask you something? Why did you cross the field instead of driving around to the front?

Cuts to shot of Billy falling over in field.

The band look at Devon in annoyance.

Devon - What?

Billy arrives and surveys his destroyed slip ons.

Billy - I need some fresh espadrilles.

Mondo - Oh, get me some too. I'm fucking starving.




Cut to Strathaven Town Hall. The show has started and a local punky rock band is playing.

Narrator - This is more like it. Can't see any cameras though.

Gordon - These guys are not bad.

Narrator - In the future, the singer of this band becomes an internationally renowned rock star. Who'd have thunk it? Might have to step it up tonight.

They end to wild applause and come off stage. The singer goes over to a local girl and kisses her passionately.

Narrator - Ah, that's nice.

Loud voice booms..

What the fuck do you think you're doing?

Billy - I hope the girl's not his sister?

Mondo - Or worse, his bird..

Narrator - Spot on Armando.

Cut to big burly rugby player and friends dragging the singer outside.

Gordon - Back in a minute.

Billy - Protect your hands tall one...use your head.

Narrator - There he goes, Clark Kent. No, it's alright...I'll wait here, look after the gear.

Jenny - You're on next, guys.

George (clutching stomach) - Where's the nearest toilet?




Cut to stage, end of the White set. Punky singer at the front with his friends leads the cheering. He's a bit battered but in good spirits. Band leave stage where Devon reveals...

Devon - Just heard that the Strathaven Dynamo's Rugby team are on their way right now to have a chat with our guitarist. Something about putting their prop forward in hospital. The van is out back, we need to go. Now. Where's George?

Cut to George jumping off stage, arms outstretched.

Narrator - I thought I'd spend the after show with my people. The fans. I've never tired of people telling me how great I am. Do you like the hair? Yeah, I did it myself....




Devon grabs George and drags him away from the crowd.

Narrator - My people....my people....

Gordon (adamant) - I'm staying. Strathaven Dynamo's? Bring them on.

Billy - Discretion is the better part of valour, tall one. There will be other fights. And besides, if we go now, we can make the Nico's lock in.

Narrator - Ah booze! Billy has just nicked Gordon's achilles heel. Well, one of them anyway.

Gordon (thinks about it) - I'd like it noted that I'm going under protest.

Billy - Good lad.

Mondo - So, Jenny any chance of your number?

Jenny - OK, it's Strathaven 808080, that's ate nothing, ate nothing, ate nothing.

Mondo (unaware)- Brilliant, I'll call you.




As the van pulls away from the Town Hall, the Rugby club, a police van and BBC arrive with their cameras.

Devon - Told you there would be TV coverage.

Billy (sarcastically) - Maybe that's Phil Collins arriving...

George and Mondo together - Aww....




Cut to Nico's Pub and George is in conference with Donny.

Donny - So, I'll pick Brian up from the hospital at midday and drop him at yours.

George - Cool. So, how's the search for a new singer going?

Donny - Hmmm...

Cut to montage of audition... many dreadful singers.

George - I see.

Donny - How's your raggedy rod?

George (grimaces) - Hmmm...

Donny - Yeah...by the way, there are two fucking sexy bitches at the bar looking at right at me. Don't look!

George turns round to see the girls. The taller one is very forward and speaks with an accent.

I'm Anka and you are?

George - I'm George.

Anka (to Donny) - This is Lara and I'm Anka.

Donny - Anka?

Narrator - Don't do it...

Donny - Rhymes with...

Narrator - No!!!

Donny - Oil tanka?

Narrator - Close.

Anka - You are?

Donny - Call me Skull.

Anka - Skull? As in...Skull?

Donny - Eh yes...

Anka - Interesting...

Donny - Fancy buying me a Furstenberg?

Donny leads Lara away...

George and Anka start to talk...

Narrator - It felt so natural talking to her. We immediately had a connection. I liked her a lot but what's not to like? She was tall, beautiful, slightly exotic and she had great taste in music..

Anka - I love the Doors, Zeppelin and a couple of Scandinavian bands, you've probably not heard of...

Narrator - ...and men. One man in particular. Green lights all the way. There's no way this could go wrong.

Cut to outside Nico's, early in morning.

George - I would invite you to mine but ...

Narrator - My old boy looks as if I've been wanking with a cheese grater and anything resembling an erection would arguably give me a stroke and you nightmares.

Anka - It's been a special night. We can save it for tomorrow?

George - Can't tomorrow. Sunday?

Anka - It's a date. Here's my address. I want to see more of you, Mr George.

Anka kisses George before joining Lara in a waiting cab.

George and Donny walk away from the pub.

George - How did you get on?

Donny - Good. I think...

George - Care to elaborate?

Donny - She's a bit fucking weird.

Narrator - High praise indeed.

Donny - I mean, how do I know if I'm misogynistic if the stupid bun doesn't tell me what it means?

George - Stupid bun.

Donny - She did ask me to take her to the toilet and fuck her up the tailpipe though.

George - Hey hey! 1-0 to the Skull!

Donny - Any hole's a goal, Geo.




Narrator - Pretty good end to the day. Get home, wash my damaged bell end, get Brian tomorrow and spend the day watching Adam Ant and the Boomtown Rats kick Queen's arse at Live Aid. Donny's boycotting it because the Stranglers and Bauhaus weren't invited.




Cut to montage of Brian and George going from pub to club to back to George's flat before falling asleep in front of the TV.




Cut to Sunday, George's door is being battered.

George (groggy) - Who the fuck is that at this time of the morning?

George turns his TV off, looks at clock, it's Midday. He opens the door.

Devon storms in.

Devon - Why aren't you answering your fucking phone?

George -  I don't have a phone.

Devon - Oh. Well...you need to get one.

George - What do you want?

Devon - How do you fancy supporting Hipsway at the Cotton Club next Friday?

George - Are you kidding?

Devon - Well?

Brian (waking briefly, puts his hand up) - Guest list!

Devon - Promise you won't embarrass me...

Brian silently punches the air then goes back under the covers.

George starts dancing around the room.

Devon - Get this one right and it's one step closer to...

George - The Barrowland?

Devon - Don't get ahead of yourself. Just giving you a little incentive. So, rehearsal tonight 7pm.

George (excited) - I'm there mate!

Brian (stirring) - Haven't you got a date with some foreign chick?

George - Oh shit...better move.

Cut to George running out of house and down onto the Subway




Narrator - Ain't life good? I'm young, have a cool penthouse, am ridiculously handsome, the gigs keep coming and I've got a date with an exotic dame. I think she's the one. No, seriously. I'm not getting ahead of myself here but I can see me accepting an Oscar or a Golden Emmy or some shit for my debut in the stunning reworking of James Bond for the 80's - Goldeneyeliner - and I tearfully dedicate the award to her and our three children, La Toya, Indiana and Axel F. I think she could be the Lady Di to my Prince Chuck.




Cut to West End, Anka's house. Old sandstone tenement flat, with minimalist, modern design.

Anka (wearing robe) - I've been expecting you, Mr George.

Narrator - See that? She totally gets the Bond thing. She's sooo cool.

George (adopting Connery accent) - Ah Pusshy, I musht be dreaming.

Anka - I'm sorry? I love your accent but don't always understand your Scottish humour.

Narrator - No problem sweetheart. (sings like Louis Armstrong) We have all the time in the world...

George and Anka begin to get passionate in her living room.

Narrator - Here we go...this is what I'm talking about. And what's this? A cheeky wee semi, easy now. Don't want to destroy Frankencock!

Anka - I feel very comfortable with you.

George - Same here.

Anka (a little excited) - I'd like to take this further.

Narrator - Rockets... prepare for blast off.

George - What would you like to do?

Anka - But I don't know if you're ready for me.

George/Narrator - Huh?

Narrator - Of course I'm fucking ready. You're on the guest list for the Hipsway gig, love. That's commitment. Listen, my heart is pounding and so are my jeans. The slightest touch will probably result in a flood that Charlton Heston would struggle to stem.

Anka - I feel so comfortable with you.

Narrator - Yeah...you've already said that. Get yer robe off love.

Anka - I'm ready for us to be joined.

Narrator - Yes!

Anka leads George by the hand into a dark room. She lights candles and the room illuminates, little by little to reveal her true intentions.

Cut to Goat's head...

Narrator - Maybe she's a hunter....

Cut to upside down cross...

Narrator - She's got that the wrong way round....uurrgghh..my feet are getting wet...what the ...?

Cut to pentagram, freshly painted on floor.

Narrator - Holy Mary Mother of God!

Anka (holding knife) - Are you ready to join me?

George - Woah!!!!

Anka - Don't you want to be part of me?

George (finding light switch) - I do...I do. It's just...

Anka - What's the problem?

George (sheepishly) - I've just had an operation and ...the doctor told me that I can't...share blood?

Anka - No problem. The ceremony can wait. We still fuck now, yes?

George - Ehhhh...I've got a rehearsal ... (looks at wrist where watch should be) right now actually.

Anka - This is good. The wait will make the magic even more powerful.

George - Absolutely.

Narrator - Absolutely not, you fucking mentalist.

Anka - Come later, I will devour your seed.

George - I'll call you when I'm finished.

Narrator - Right after calling Max Von Sydow and the Legion of Mary. I am a sinner and I'm going to hell.




Cut to Rehearsal room, George relays the story to the band.

Narrator - A traumatic day but no doubt my sensitive bandmates will provide succour.

Billy and Gordon - Hahahahaha!

Mondo - Aye but did you fuck her? I fucked a Satanist once. Teased her until she shouted for Jesus.

Devon enters room.

Devon - Business boys. Business. A bit of news. Radio Clyde want to do an interview after the Hipsway show. There is definitely a buzz...

Narrator - How can I think about Radio at a time like this?

Devon - And you got your first newspaper review! Myra Blackman no less.

Band gather around to read the miniscule article about the Strathaven gig.

Billy - Her picture is bigger than the review.

Gordon - She says 70's rock like it's a bad thing.

George - And I quote, 'The singer resembles a young Jim Morrison'! Yes!!!

George walks away from the gathering, arms aloft.

Billy - That means she thinks you're an alkie waster who writes bad poetry.

Devon - One of you might have to fuck her to get a bigger article.

George - I can do that...

Gordon - I'm game.

Mondo (looking closely at picture)  - I think I already have...

Gordon - C'mon let's get back into this. Count it off Mondo...

Narrator - There's nothing like 130db and a fair to middling newspaper review to cleanse the thought of your future satanic spouse and the mother of the unholy spawn of said union right out of your psyche.

Gordon (Looks at drum riser) - Mondo! Where the fuck has he gone?

Billy - He's away upstairs to make a call...again.

Narrator - I forgot to point out earlier that Sound City Studios shared premises and apparently, a phone with a massage parlour. If stressed, Mondo would have to make at least 3 urgent calls, every rehearsal. Thankfully, he always came back very relaxed but desperately short of money.

Cut to Mondo standing at the door.

Mondo - Can I borrow a couple of pennies? Need to make an urgent call.

Gordon - How much do you need?

Mondo - Eh...call it £25.

Back to rehearsal room

Gordon - Point of no return?

Billy - Agreed. He spends more energy running nightclubs than he does rehearsing anyway.

George - But we've got the gig on Friday.

Gordon - We'll make the break after Hipsway.

Narrator - At one point, Mondo had more clubs on the go than Nick Faldo. And like Nick, most days he could be found playing a round with Fanny.

Devon - I'll set up auditions after the gig.

Cut to montage of shots of Anka looking around pubs for George while he escapes.




Narrator - I wonder how long it takes to process a restraining order?




Cut to night of gig, George is peering out from behind a stack of amps. Brian and Donny are close by.

George - Can you see her?

Donny - So, I'm looking for a girl who wants to either mate with or mutilate you? Narrows it down a bit.

Brian - You need to get ready, you're on in 5 minutes.

George - Oh God....

George heads to the toilet for his traditional preparation.




Cut to backstage after gig, the band enter the dressing room.




Billy - Well, that was interesting.

Gordon throws a towel into the corner in anger.

Mondo - Epic! All back to mine for the after show?

George - You do realise what you did?

Mondo - What?

Billy - You played all eight songs exactly the same. The same rolls, the same fills, THE SAME.

Narrator - Inadvertantly, Mondo had just invented drumming for the 90's. One groove under which all tunes are played. Made an arse of the two ballads though.

Mondo - Didn't you like it?

Cut to Mondo packing his gear away in his car.

George, Gordon, Billy shake his hand.

Mondo - Well, that's that then?

Billy - Looks like it mate.

Mondo - Got to go. It's been an...interesting evening. Might have to have a massage before heading to the club. Just to loosen me up, you know? George, let me know how you get on with Satan's little helper. See you all later?


Devon - Do we still get free passes to your clubs?

Mondo (smiling) - Course you do!

Narrator - And he was as good as his word. We always liked Mondo.




Cut to back in the club.




Donny - She's here!

Brian - Which one is she?

Donny - Hehehehe! Like it 'Witch' one?! Geddit? Nevermind. Tall, attractive, demonic. Smells of brimstone.

Anka sees Donny and approaches.

Anka - Mr Skull, have you seen my George?

Donny (stalling) - He's around somewhere.

Brian - Did you enjoy the show?

Anka - It was very...different.

Donny - He's probably gone straight to the after show party.

Anka - Without me? Without you?

Brian - Eh...yeah.

Anka - Well I'll just go and meet him there...




Walking out of the club with Donny and Brian following behind, she spots George . George stops in his tracks as she throws her arms around him.

Anka - Mr George. I've been waiting for you.

Narrator - Why have I got the Old Spice music playing in my head?

George - Anka, we need to talk.

Anka - We talk too much. (kissing George)

George - Stop. This isn't going to work.

Anka withdraws, surprised.

Narrator - Think, quick!

George - It's not you, it's me..

Narrator - Sweet Jesus, is that the best you can do? Of course it's her!

Anka - You're breaking up with me?

George nods sheepishly, backing off to where Donny and Brian are standing.

Anka - You're breaking up with me?

Narrator (Charlton Heston voice) - And yea, verily the sky opened up and there were storms from the heavens themselves, hushed were the billows.

George - What the f..

Narrator - I swear to God she started speaking...in a very strange dialect...I'm sure I heard the word 'Zuul'...

Brian - I do not like this.

Donny (shouts) - Don't look into her eyes!

The storms die and Anka composes herself.

Anka (calm) - I curse you...George...until the end of your days.

Anka walks away to the sound of metal crunching and stone cracking.

Donny - That was fucking mental. Nimble little minx, eh?

George (scared) - Brian?

Brian (equally scared) -Yes?

George - Can you stay at mine tonight?

Brian - OK. But I am going nowhere near your fucking fridge.




Gordon and Billy arrive with Devon.

Billy - Did you see the sky there? Wow...trippy.

Gordon - Better get to the after show before the locusts come down.

Devon - Good news or bad news, boys?

George - Could anything be worse than the seventh fucking sign?

Devon - Well the Radio Clyde interview is off.

Gordon - Bollocks.

Billy - And the good news is?

Devon - Polydor Records saw something in that fucking car crash of a gig and want to see us. Next week. In the studio. And if that goes well, we may just have a shot at the support slot for Christmas gig at the Barrowland. No pressure boys, it's only Big fucking Country!

Cut to shot of band celebrating.

Narrator - The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. And as long as Anka taketh herself away, I can handl-eth anything. It's been a challenging week. Collectively, we've lost a drummer, a foreskin and a testicle. Placed under a hex and chased out of town. To paraphrase Edmond Dantes, “Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout as you did in Rome. Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you...

 (cut to a frightened George lying in bed with a sleeping Brian)

...as a snivelling shitebag. Fair enough but I'm still here to see the sunshine tomorrow. Looks like we need to find a drummer though...



End.
Copyright George Paterson 2012

Episode 3 - Penthouse and Payment

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Episode 3 - Penthouse and Payment

Opening Scene - Waiting room in a down at heel letting agency. A number of waifs and strays sit on the plastic seats awaiting their turn. One by one, they are called to the desk where they count out their money before getting a set of keys.




Narrator - If an Englishman's home is his castle, what kind of an abode can a Scotsman purchase for the princely sum of £17.50 per week? A bunker? A tent? An adobe hacienda? Or 'a splendid penthouse flat in the heart of the City Centre'?

(George looks at newspaper ad)

I would say that this is the minimum requirement for the newly crowned King of Glasgow. And given, my recent upswing in fortunes, both on and off stage...




Cut to George's Mum's house and George helping a young lady in through the bedroom window at night, quick cut to different young lady leaving the same way in the morning.





...my need for living space has increased incrementally.




Cut to George entering the office.




Lady behind desk - Can I help you?

George - I've come about the penthouse flat advertised...(shows newspaper)... here.

A couple of sniggers from the rest of the potential tenants.

Lady - Take a seat, Mr Turpin will see you shortly.







Cut to loud man in garish shirt, braces and colourful, thick spectacles walking out of main office.




Man - Penthouse in City Centre?

George - Here!

Narrator - I suppose a letting agency called Dick Turpin Estates should have set off a few alarms. But I was young, dumb and full of...

Man - Come into my office, young lady.

George - Huh?




Narrator - OK, my hair was long and there may have been an eye liner issue....but this wasn't the first time there I was subject to gender confusion..




Cut to Tax office, George walking with files, close to the workspace of the religious fundamentalist, Brody and her long suffering desk mate, Karen.




Brody (noticing George) - What is the world coming to?

Karen - (not paying attention) - Sorry Brody, what did you say?

Brody - (getting louder) - I said...what is the world coming to? Everywhere you turn these days, you've got these disease ridden queerhawks...and I will not buy anything from the trolley until that horrible wee man is fired and that trolley is fully sanitised and sterilised. This is a government building, for goodness sakes. How would Her Majesty feel about the fact that there are homosexual fornicators effectively working for her government? The Bible says, man shall not lay with man. It's in the Bible, the law of God. And now look at this one (pointing to George)

Karen (quietly) - I think he's quite nice actually.

Brody (outraged) - He's a disgrace! I really can't tell if it's a boy or a girl.

George stops and approaches her work space

George (gently) - Well Brody, why don't you suck my cock and you'll find out?

Brody (begins to hyperventilate before screaming...) - Kathy!!!!!!!!!!!!




Cut back to Turpin's office -




Turpin - What I'll need is references from your employer...

Narrator - Hmmm...

Cut to George's boss

Kathy (exasperated) - Look, don't mention your cock again. Or anyone's for that matter. Not around Boaby... I mean Brody. Jesus....get out of my office.

Cut back to George nodding in Turpin's office
Narrator - That's doable.

Turpin - and from a professional person, not related mind.

Cut to Donny writing on stolen Church of Scotland paper.

Narrator - OK? And ...

Turpin - One month in advance, one month deposit.

Narrator - Shit. £17.50 x 4, twice.

George - How soon do you need it?

Turpin - As soon as I get the money, the flat's gone.




Narrator - Son of a bitch. Small print, eh? I've got about £40, £100 short of what I need. Time to make a few calls.




Cut to various friends and family members turning down George.




Narrator - But surely my buddies in the band will help?

Cut to Donny laughing, Jamesey turning out his empty pockets, Brian shaking is head.

Narrator - They're clearly not thinking about the opportunity I'm presenting them with. A city centre bedroom, free of charge, when I'm not there of course. The pulling power of that cannot be underestimated, surely?

Cut to Donny forking out, Jamesey raiding his piggy bank and Brian nodding his head.

Narrator - Just £20 to get and this is going to be the hardest part.




Cut to Mum's house.




George - I wouldn't ask if I didn't need it, Mum.

Mum - Are you sure about this son?

George - Absolutely. It means the boys can get their own room and you're not worried about me coming in every night, making a racket with my guitar and keeping the family up.

Mum - I'll still worry about you.

George - I know.

Mum - If you're sure...it will be helluva quiet around here without you bringing girls in and out the windows every night.

George (embarrassed) - Ach, sorry Mum. When I'm famous, I'm going to buy you a big house. In Ralston.

Mum (giving George the final £20) - Don't forget to call me and you can come home for your dinner if your hungry. I don't want you sitting in some wee hovel, freezing and starving.

George (embracing his Mum) - Don't worry Mum!  It's not a hovel, it's a penthouse!




Cut to Turpin's office, George puts the references and £140 down, Turpin gives George the keys.




Narrator - Freeeddddooommm!!




Cut to outside of ramshackle tenement block.




Narrator - Not bad, not bad at all.

George walks up the stairs, into the main door and sees his room. Number 2. Opens the door to find a single room, with a bed under a blocked up fireplace. Aside from the bed, the room is completely bare and not in great condition.




Narrator - Number 2 right enough. But to me, and to my friends, it was the fucking Playboy mansions. And I was just round the corner from ...




Cut to Nico's




Gordon - Another pint of Stella, young man? I'm buying.

George - Whey the hell not big fella! I'm celebrating.

Gordon - I'm going to Billy's later if you want to come. We're putting down a few ideas I'd like you to hear.

George - Great! Count me in.




Narrator - Clearly not yet versed in the way of the serious afternoon drinker, the strong Belgian beer takes it's toll...




Cut to Gordon and an inebriated George on the top deck of a bus. George is throwing one chip for every one he eats, much to the annoyance of the passengers. Gordon looks on, apologetic.







Cut to Billy's bedroom and George is lying on the bed, grunting, half asleep. Gordon and Billy are playing their instruments.

Billy - Hoi you, get off my bed.

George - Fuck you Billy. Fuck you...

Billy and Gordon laugh at the state of George

Gordon - So what do you think?

Billy - If he pishes my bed, I'll kill him...

Gordon - No, what do you think about him?

Billy - Truth? I can't stop singing his songs. Needs a bit of work but he's young, got a good voice and when he's he's upright, he's semi presentable. But the songs...they're good songs.

Gordon - I know. If we can get him to join...

Billy - It frees us up to concentrate on what we do.

George (unaware) - Fuck the two of yous.

Gordon - We've just got to keep him away from the booze.

Narrator - Never a truer word was spoken...

Gordon - C'mon lightweight, time to get you home.

Billy - I'll get Devon to speak to him.




Gordon brings George back to the flat where Brian is waiting with a young lady. They put George on the bed and take off his Cowboy boots.




Cut to morning and George wakes to find a note left by Gordon to call Devon when he gets up.




Narrator - Strange. Maybe he wants to manage The Molotov Cocktails...? Don't laugh, stranger things have happened.




Cut to quiet pub/restaurant, Devon is waiting for George with a stack of papers. George arrives.

Devon - Drink?

George - Tea, if they have it.

Devon - Fragile?

George - Not so loud, please...




Devon returns with the refreshments.




George - So, what's this about?

Devon - I've got a proposal for you.

George - Look, just because I wear eyeliner...

Devon - Behave, you clown. The boys would like to hire you. As lead singer of MOT. You'll be paid the same as them and in the fullness of time, you'll get the chance to record some of your songs.

George - Wow.

Devon - Not bad eh?

George (the realisation kicking in) - Wow.

Pause.

Narrator - I knew that this was an opportunity of a lifetime. But...

Devon - Well?

Narrator - Oh God!

George - Eh...no.

Devon - What?

George - The answer is no.

Devon - Are you off your fucking head?

Narrator - I wasn't off my head. I'd gone over this in my head a thousand times. A couple of months ago, I'd have been the happiest man alive if I was invited into MOT. But here's the thing. I genuinely believed that I was writing songs that spoke to me. And for me. The reception at the gig, confirmed it. My self belief was solid. In my heart of hearts, I knew that Jamesey's heart wasn't in it with Uni and all that, Donny was game but very limited and Brian? Well, if he'd shown any indication that he'd go the distance, the conversation Devon and I were having would have been over before I dunked my first custard creme. It was always about Brian but he needed to work more than he needed to rock. The money was steadier and that goes a long way when you have none. But this is where my pragmatism kicked in. I knew I had a strong hand and I was intent on playing it.

George - I've got a proposal for you.

Devon - Go on...

George - I've written a couple of songs recently that my guys just can't get down. However much we rehearse, they just can't make them sound like I want them to sound, you know?

Devon - And?

George - I'd like to work with Billy and Gordon to see if they can get more out of my songs. A fresh approach. Not MOT, not the Molotovs, something new.

Devon (intrigued) - Sounds interesting. I'll speak to Gordon and Billy about this right away.

George - You do that.

Devon goes to make the call.




Narrator - Holy fuck. I'm going ball deep with this. The excitement of getting to play with top musicians in top venues is tempered by my duplicitious scheming. If I go, I've sold my mates out. Guys I've known since childhood. If I stay, am I selling myself short? What will my friends think of me? Judas? Understandable. Chancer? Definitely. As I await the call, I have a very heavy heart.




Devon returns...

Narrator - The moment of truth...

Devon (picking up papers) - Looks like we have a deal. Let's go.

George - D'you know what? I'll meet you there. Need a bit of me time...




Cut to Billy's room. Billy puts phone down.




Gordon - So that's it?

Billy - Seems to be. MOT is no more.

Gordon - We'd better tell Mel and Mondo.

Cut to George walking through the streets of Glasgow.

Narrator - No going back now. In one crazy morning, I've went from being a no hoper with precisely one gig under my belt to a head-hunted singer, within touching distance of a record deal. This is INCREDIBLE! (George lets out a yell!)  And exhilarating! But also terrifying. What if I've over estimated my true worth and make a right cunt of this? A back combed Judas Iscariot with eyeliner. A Quisling in cowboy boots. I'd be finished with Gordon and Billy as well as being a pariah in the eyes of the Brian, Donny and Jamesey. My friends. How am I going to break this to them?

George walks past the Doune Pub, scene of their only gig together.

Narrator - I've made a mistake. I can call off. Say I was only joking. Gordon and Billy would believe that, wouldn't they? That way, the boys needn't know about my sneaky bastard deceit.

George stops beside the river and watches it flow.

Narrator - But - and this but is bigger than Randy Crawford's Cosmic one - I want this. There. I've said it. Selfish hat on. I want to do this. For a better chance of fame and riches? Sure. That can't hurt. But curiosity really. How would my songs sound if they were played, in tune, by people who have more than just a passing interest in their instrument?

George reaches Billy's flat.

Narrator - Who was I kidding? The moment the last note rang out at the Doune, I'd already made my decision. We just didn't know it at the time but all roads led here.




Door opens and George has arrived.

Devon - Here he is! right, I've got a few ideas how we can...

George -  Devon. Not now.

Gordon (sympathetic) - Do you want me to speak to the lads?

Billy - I'll do it, George...if you want.

George - No, I should do this. I need to do this

Billy - Here...

Billy hands George the phone and pours three Scotches.




George tries Brian's number but it's engaged.

Donny's too.

George - Looks like it's Jamesey first then.

Narrator - One of the most awful moments of my life...

George - Jamesey, can you talk?

Jamesey - What's up?

George - I'm leaving the band.

Jamesey - Really?

George - Yep.

Jamesey - Phew, that's a relief.

George - What?

Jamesey -I didn't want to tell you but I've always fucking hated playing your songs, no offence like...

George - None taken...

Jamesey - It's nothing personal but I've been jamming with these guys from Maryhill for the last couple of weeks. Didn't know how to tell you...or the lads.

George - That's cool mate.

Jamesey - It's been fun though.

George - Yeah, it has.




Narrator - Fuck, that was out of the blue. In the future, Jamesey becomes a property developer in New Mexico and learns how to use that magnificent implement he'd been hiding down his corduroys all those years. Now, the tricky part...




George - Donny?

Donny - What's up Geo man?

George - I don't know how to tell you this Skull but...

Close up on George as the pain kicks in.




Cut to next call




George - Brian?

Close up again on George, wiping his eyes.

Brian (curt) - Meet me tomorrow. Knockers. At 7.




Gordon gives George a large refill.




George - I'm done.







Cut to Nico's. It's not too busy. Devon has been celebrating the birth of the new unit but no one's really in the mood to wet the 'baby's head'.




Devon - The Falcons? What about The Vultures? Or the Crows?

Gordon (sarcastically) - What about the Eagles?

Devon - Don't be silly.

Billy - The name will come. We have time. What we don't have is a keyboard player.

Gordon - Goodbye sweet Mel (raising his glass)...at least Mondo's in. For now.

Billy - He's been spending more time running his clubs than rehearsing recently.

George (drinking heavily) - Need a clean slate.

Devon - What about Clean Slate?

Gordon - Jesus...




Cut to door opening. Jamesey and Donny arrive.




Devon - Let me get you boys a drink.

Jamesey (pretending to be annoyed) - No. I'll get my own.

Donny - (genuinely annoyed) - A bottle of Furstenberg and a pernod and blackcurrant.

George - Boys...

Jamesey - Fucking Judas...(winking)

Donny (hurt) - I can't speak to you Geo...




They take a table away from the main party...




Gordon - Well, early start tomorrow. Let's see if you've been worth all this trouble.

Billy - Rest that voice of yours. Big day tomorrow.

George looks at the table where Jamesey and Donny are sitting.

George - Yeah, I think I'll head too.




The party say their goodbyes to the bar, shaking hands with the Molotovs as they depart. George walks out with his head down. Donny follows George out of the bar and calls out to him.




Donny - Geo! Come here.

George turns to his former bass player and prepares for the worst.

Donny grabs George by the back of the head and pulls his head towards him.

Donny - You've broke my heart. You cunt.

George - Donny...I...

Donny - Shut up. (sighs) Look, I get it. I understand why you did it, man. I just wanted it to be...you know?

George (choked) - Thanks Skull.

Donny - You're still my brother.

George puts his head to Donny's.

Donny - And don't forget, I still want the first dibs at splattering your new bed sheets.

George laughs as they part.




Cut to Billy's flat...the new band are listening to the days work..

George - What do you think?

Gordon - I like it. Needs a bit more guitar...

Narrator - Obviously....

Gordon ...but I do like it.

Billy - Sounds...fresh. Same time tomorrow.

Gordon - When are you meeting Brian?

George - Now...




Cut to Knockers, a bar filled with middle aged men ogling at the barmaids, all of whom are scantily clad and are well endowed.

Narrator - If you're having a bad day, there's nothing like a big pair of tits to make life seem just a tad less troublesome.

Brian - Alright mate?

George - Sorry I'm late. Have you been waiting long?

Brian - Nah. I got here at lunchtime.

They laugh. George orders a couple of beers.

George - Listen mate, I'm sorry it had to be like this.

Brian - I can't say I'm not pissed off...but...

George - But?

Brian - I do get it. You need to do this. Don't get me wrong, I love it ...all of it....but if you're asking me to leave my apprenticeship and take the gamble on the off chance that we make it, I just can't. I'll still play when I can but it's not the be all and end all for me. But it is for you. And Gordon and Billy.  It is for them too.

George - You're right. Are we cool?

Brian - Of course we're fucking cool. We will always be cool.

Narrator - And do you know what? He was right. We still are.

Brian - Now shut the fuck up and let me look at some quality chestage.




Cut to same bar, but much later. Both Brian and George are very drunk. They're standing at the urinal, attempting to pee. Both are groaning and are unable to begin.

Brian - What's up with you?

George - What's up with me? What's up wi' you, ya sex pest? You're not trying to knock out a sly one, are you?

Brian - No. My nut sack has been killing me since the Viva.

George starts singing..

George - Start spreading the news, Brian's balls are all blue...

Brian - Fuck up! What about you?

George - Ever since I shagged that Melissa girl, my cock's been louping.

Brian - Hehehehe! Serves you right ya manky bastard!

George - I thought she was a good girl. Well, until she told me to take her up the Rangers end. Now my balloon knot has blown up to the size of a donut and it feels like its super-glued to my jeans...

Brian - Look at my balls. Please, look at my balls. Tell me they're alright.

George - Fuck off. Bender.

Brian - Seriously mate. Do me a favour?

George - Only if you look at mine.

Brian - Fuck off ya super bender!

George - Listen, we know we're both not gay. Not even curious. This is for scientific purposes only.

Brian - Absolutely comfortable with my sexuality...yes.

George - OK, on the count of three...

One...two...three..

Brian and George look at each others privates.

Brian/George - Aaaaaarrggh!!!!

George - Fuck mate, you need to see a doctor.

Brian - Maybe but you need to see a baker...




An old man walks in to see the boys comparing..

Old Man - Do you want to see mine?

George and Brian turn around in horror.




Cut to Knockers, lights going off and shutters are pulled down...

Brian and George stand outside the closing bar

George - You can crash at mine tonight, if you want.

Brian - Nah, got to be in East Kilbride for 7 in the morning for a living room, staircase and two bedrooms. I might nick your bed at the weekend. I'm meeting the voluptuous Kim.

George - Balls permitting?

Brian - Balls permitting.




Cut to a drunk George heading back towards his flat. As he approaches, he notices Donny sitting on the steps to his block eating out of a bucket of fried chicken.

Donny - Are you a leg or a breast man?

George - Come to check up on your investment?

Cut to George and Donny sitting by the open window, devouring the fast food.

Donny - Nice pad Geo.

George - Cheers mate.

Donny - Thought I'd bring you a wee housewarming gift...

Cut to Donny's hand, a small plastic bag filled with magic mushrooms.

Donny - Courtesy of Mad Alco.

George (impressed) - Shit...

Donny and George swallow the mushrooms, washing them down with glass bottles of Irn Bru.

Donny - So, when do I get my own key?




Narrator - That night, I had a dream. It was the most vivid dream of my life. (Cut to Donny lying on his back on the floor staring intensely at a record sleeve, George is looking out of the window at the stars and writing frenetically) I was simultaneously Jesus and a rock star. No, seriously. I know I have had delusions of grandeur and a slight messiah complex for years but hear me out...I dreamt that I was Jesus, and not just Jesus as a saviour but Jesus as a hip shaking rock star extra terrestrial with a jewel encrusted belt buckle shaped like a pair of cosmic titties and seven fingers on each hand. And as I looked out into the horizon wearing my pristine robes, all I could see were my people, all colours, shapes and sizes in their robes too. And with the bolts of light and joy coming from under my sticky donut shaped foreskin, we were one consciousness working together...for rock. And lo, on the drum riser, there was a name...(Cut to notepad page full of manic scribbles but with one name repeatedly standing out in bold) and that name was WHITE! So let it be written, so let it be done. Billy and Gordon still insist that since the impression of white is obtained by three summations of light intensity across the visible spectrum, that's a more viable and scientifically correct story but I think mine carries a bit more of the dramatic, don't you?




END 

Copyright George Paterson 2012