Episode 13 - Crossroads

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Episode 13 - Crossroads.

Opens on the sofa at Devon's house.  The band is huddled around the small TV, watching the main news story. 

Cut to George walking down Gt. Western Road, into Devon's tenement block and up the stairs.

Narrator (sings) - A year has passed since I broke my nose...or O.D.'ed and nearly drowned to paraphrase the lunar jibberish of our old friend Sting.  So, welcome back to our world of disorganised chaos. One year older, certainly no wiser. Over the course of the last 12 months, the hair has got longer and the band has rocked harder and funkier than ever before.  We've gained a couple of pocket filling residencies (cut to Wintersgills and Chimmys), regular showcases (cut to Furys and Cotton Club) and the occasional radio spot...

Cut to radio studio. A slightly drunk George is being interviewed.

George - Mark my words matey boy, we'll have more hits than Deacon fucking Blue and Softly Softly put together. 

Interviewer - I'd like to apologise to the listeners for that inadvertent profanity from my guest.

George - Huh?

Interviewer - So George, what makes you think that you're not just another Jim Morrison wannabe fronting a tired, jobbing pub band in an already crowded market?  A sort of poor mans INXS, so to speak...

George pauses to consider his answer then leaps across the table to attack the interviewer.

Narrator - But while our profile has never been higher (cut to George being led out of the radio station by police) frustratingly, we're still the biggest band in the city without a deal.

Cut to George walking down the hall and into the living room.

Billy - George, you need to see this!

George sits down.  Gordon hands him a beer and they watch the drama unfurl.

Cut to TV report.

Reporter - After going missing last week, Rilo Duston,  singer of hit band Softly Softly, here seen performing their hit, 'Wishing I was Your Sweet Little Temptation', was today found alive and relatively well in bizarre circumstances. It seems that the 23 year old singer broke into a Macclesfield garden centre and has been hiding in a 12x8ft shed, living only on (pause as he looks as script) Carlsberg Special Brew and pot plants. When asked as to why he'd taken such an extreme path out of the limelight, Mr Duston had this to say...

Duston - Get out of my BLEEP shed! These are mine....

Reporter - Manager of Softly Softly, Campbell Baxter, played down the incident and claimed that Softly Softly would continue to fulfill their commitments. Back to the studio...

Newsreader - Shocking stuff.

The band are agog.

Slippy - Wow. He's really hit the skids.

Gordon - And he had such a lovely smile...

Billy - Without his implants, he's got a mouth like a fucking witch doctors necklace.

Gordon - Or a Kentucky farmers fence.

Cut to Devon returning.

George - Did you see this?

Devon - No surprise to me.  Since he's become famous, he's been tearing into the gear like a tramp with a fresh bag of chips.

Billy - So you knew? 

Devon - Of course I did. He was one of my best customers. This city is starting to dry up, in more ways than one. Now, in London, this would never happen.

George - Shut up about London!

Billy - Yeah.

Gordon - Lads, much as I normally disagree with him and generally regard him as a bit of a nimrod, Devon might be right.

Devon - See, Gordon understands...hang on, what did you call me?

Gordon - A nimrod. But let's be honest, virtually all of our competition has taken the game to the big smoke. And we're far better than any of them.  We're at a crossroads here. Anyway, what's left for us in Glasgow?  We've played everywhere...

Billy - Twice.

Gordon - And don't forget, the local cops aren't overly keen on our singer.

Cut to montage of George coming home early in the morning, stripping off and climbing into bed.

Within seconds the intercom buzzes and George goes to answer.

Monitor - Postman!

George goes to open the door and 6 policemen storm the flat, throwing a naked George against the wall.

1st Policeman - Where's the fucking drugs, you skinny cunt?

Donny appears wearing a pair of skull y-fronts.

Donny - What the fuck?

The police slam Donny against the wall.

2nd Policeman - Looks like we've got a couple of poofters here.  Where's the gear, skull boy?

George (whispers to Donny) - Does he know you?

3rd Policeman - (striking George) Shut it!

George and Donny stand terrified as the Drug Squad tear the house up looking for drugs.

George looks at Donny's silver cigarette tin beside the TV.  It's where Donny keeps his tiny personal stash.

1st Policeman - We know it's here. Just tell us where it is and this will all be over.

Narrator - Don't look at the tin, George...don't look at the tin!

George's eyes dart towards the tin. The Policemen see his furtive glance.

2nd Policeman opens the tin.

Narrator - We're going to jail.  We're going to fucking jail.  Do you know what they'd do to someone as beautiful as me in jail??? 

2nd Policeman - Nothing here guv.

3rd Policeman (shouts from hallway) - Nothing guv.

1st Policeman (changes demeanour dramatically) - Ah well then.  Nothing personal, you understand.  A tip off, you see. You lads have a nice day.  And stay out of trouble. (shouts) Moving out!

George stands shaking with fear, but still gripping his shrivelled privates tightly.

Donny - Phew!  That was close...(puts his hands down his y-fronts and removes a large semi soiled joint and lights it, takes a long drag before offering it to George)...want to take the edge off? Fucking pigs, eh?

Cut back to Devon's flat.

George (shudders) - Don't remind me...

Devon - And we're still having to do shitty lighting jobs on other bands videos.

George - But Ian's a mate and he always supports us.

Gordon - About that...cough...I'm not feeling too well...cough...I'm out.

Narrator - Cheers big man. So much for the Three Musketeer spirit. All for one and all that...zut alors Gordamis, zut alors.   

                                                                                                                                

Cut to fancy wine bar, band are setting up a lighting rig with the legend 'BBC' crudely and partially scratched off.

Narrator - One of the great things about the dark horse that was wee Slippy was his keys to the rarefied atmosphere that was auntie Beeb. Like watching live football as it was being broadcast...

Cut to George jumping for joy all over an angry Slippy's workstation....

Narrator - To...ahem...sampling the nationally subsidised wares of the works bar...

Cut to bar, the national anthem is being played at the end of the night.  George is being forced to stand for it, against his will. 

Gordon - Think of the booze...

Billy - 65p a pint..

Slippy - And then there's the BBC chicks...for the fashion shows...

George - I will not fucking stand for that old...hang on....65p a pint, you say...?

Narrator - But the wee fella was about to surpass himself tonight.

Cut to flamboyant but stern director setting up marks, Ian the singer arrives and greets the band. He's a good looking guy, dressed in smart suit. There's a call for the director from behind the bar.

Ian - Hey guys, thanks for helping us out tonight. I know it's not your usual...

Billy - Don't mention it.

Ian - Help yourself to drinks, there's a tab behind the bar... by the way, have you seen my band?

George - No, I thought they were with you...

Director (shouts) - Fucking hell. Shut it down!

Ian - What's going on?

Director - Your backing band has just bailed to play on a Polydor showcase in London tomorrow. Why didn't you tell me?

George - Bastards.

Ian (shocked) - This is the first I've heard of it.

Director - I cannot work with amateurs.

Ian (getting angry) - Who are you calling an amateur...ya fucking ass clown?

Ian grabs director by throat. George and Billy jump in to separate the warring factions.

Narrator - Now Ian may have been a sophisticated hit singer who had travelled the globe but when push came to shove, he was still a Glasgow boy at heart. But help was at hand in the unlikely shape of wee Slippy.

Slippy - Guys...guys....I have an idea. 

Cut to Slippy on telephone.

Director - It...could work...

Narrator - Remember the song, Addicted to Love?  You'll definitely recall the video.  One singer backed by a bevvy of hot models? One Slippy call later, we were about to be treated to the Glasgow version.

Cut to half a dozen gorgeous models arriving.  The director shakes his head and goes to hand Slippy some money. Ian, Billy and George are revelling in the attention.

George -  We need another guitar.  Shall we call Gordon?

Billy - Nah. Don't want these lovely ladies catching the tall one's bug! (laughs)

Slippy - I don't think the drummer's wearing any panties...

Billy - How do you know, Slippy?

Slippy - She just asked me if I want to lick the drum stool after the shoot!

George and Billy (tilting their heads to catch a glimpse) - Ooooh!

George - She'll catch her death...

Cut to rehearsal room next day.

Gordon - You did what?

Slippy - All we did was show them where to put their fingers...

George - That bug you had...bad timing, eh?

Billy (arriving) - Yep, you missed a good 'un. 

Gordon (annoyed) - Yeah, I heard.

George - How did you get on with that blonde guitarist, bold yin?

Billy - Great but... 

Gordon - But what?

Cut to Billy in throes of passion with an eager canine lapping away at his bare behind.

The band spit with laughter. 

Gordon - I hope I'm not out of line and...correct me if I'm wrong here but that's not the first time that's happened.

Slippy looks surprised.

Billy (embarassed) - I know...I know.

George - That's what you get for using Kennomeat suppositories.

Gordon - It might be the cheap bog roll that they make in the factory beside the dog food plant.

Slippy - We should call you Bonio!

The band laugh again. Devon arrives.

Devon - Guys, I have some great news.

Gordon - Here we go.  Which far flung corner of the country are we off to now?

Billy - A whorehouse in Hamilton?

George - A bingo hall in Berwick?

Devon - How about an Edwardian townhouse in London?

George - Set phasers to pish.

Devon - I'm serious.

George - Forget it. I'm not moving to London.

Gordon - All living together? Like the fucking Monkees? 

Billy - Anyway, how could we afford it?

Devon - Well, to start with, you'd need to find jobs.

George - Work??? In a job again???? Fuck that.

Narrator - I am occasionally known as Captain Hook due to a shared mortal fear of alarm clocks.

Gordon - So, we all move to London to live in the same house, go back to work, real jobs in order to earn money to pay our way, seriously curtailing our musical ambitions? (sarcastic) Dunno about you guys but I'm sold.

Billy - We're kings up here...

Devon - Kings in a small pond.

Narrator - Nothing like a mixed metaphor to hit the nail on the camels back.

Gordon - Your plan is not quite how I saw this go down.

Devon - Listen, everyone's going there now. All the bands. We need to beat them to it.  The TV channels, radio stations, record companies...all in London. And if you're playing down the road, they're more likely to come see you as here. I have contacts in loads of pubs and clubs down there...Powerhaus...Rock Garden...I could have you playing there by the end of the month. And now that Myra is full time with the NME down there...

Gordon - We might be able to get a foothold in London....

Devon - Exactly. With your talent, you will make it.  Guaranteed.

George - But what about Slippy?  He's got a job here.  He can't just up and leave.

Slippy - I can transfer.  Quite easily actually.

Narrator - Shut the fuck up!

George goes into impassioned speech about Glasgow and why it's where he thinks the band should stay. To the tune of Thunderbirds.

George - What has London got that Glasgow hasn't? Nothing, I tell ya.  Nothing. Where can you get a slice of blood, wrapped in batter and fried in oil? Where do we come to lick our wounds after getting our arses kicked? That's right.  Glasgow.  Who treats the powers that be with a contempt they deserve? (cut to Duke of Wellington's statue with cone on head and the South African Consulate at the recently renamed Nelson Mandela Place) This is a city where summer takes place while you sleep!  A city that can take two positives and make them into a negative.

Devon - Aye right!

George - Where can you get your arse licked by a dog, not once but twice? A place where the words Oor Wullie means a boy on a bucket and not the genitalia of Siamese twins. The city of McLean, Mackintosh and Johnny Beattie. Birthplace of Angus Young and Alex Harvey. Alex fucking Harvey!  Who have London got? Spandau Ballet and fucking Coldplay!

Slippy - To be fair, Chris Martin is still only 10 years old and Coldplay don't actually form for another 9 years.

George stops mid stream.

George - Oh...fair point, Slip. OK scratch that.  Pre pubescent mung bean munchers aside, we are the men for our time, in our city we will stay and stand, proudly rolling our R's beside Lord Kelvin, James Watt and Stanley Baxter. And one dreich day in the not too distant future, they will put cones on our head.  That is Glasgow.  We...are Glasgow.

There is hushed silence.

Slippy - Tell us more about London, Devon.

George - Bollocks.

Narrator - So like all good democracies, it went to a vote.

Devon - All those in favour of staying in Glasgow?

Billy and George raise their hands.

Devon - Right, who's for London?

Slippy and Gordon raise theirs.

Devon - 2 votes each. Looks like a tie.

Narrator - Thank you, Basil fucking Rathbone.

Devon - Looks like I have the casting vote.

George sighs.

Narrator - Holy Mary, mother of God.  Looks like it's me v London 2, the rematch. But first, I need to break the news to a few important parties.

Cut to George at Mum's house.

Mum - Someone's been calling for you.  He was very nice but wouldn't leave a name, just this number... (passes number to George)

George - Don't recognise it. 

Mum - Are you in trouble?  Do you owe money?  Is that why you're going to London?  Son, it's an awful long way...

George - Don't worry Mum, it's only just down the road.  It's not fucking Australia.

Mum - Language! 

George (chastened)  - Sorry Mum. Anyway, we'll be back up regularly and ...I'll phone...at least once a week.

Mum - That's more than you do now.

George - Eh, I've been busy...

George cuddles his Mum.

George - Just remember, if anyone calls looking for me, you don't know where I am.

Mum - Are you sure you've got enough money?

George - It'll be fine Mum.  Once I leave the flat, I'll get my deposit back.  That'll be enough to get me started. And the sooner I get down there, the sooner I make my millions. And then I can buy you that big house in Ralston. Gordon and Slippy went down this morning to sort out jobs.

Mum (sceptical) - Have you told Brian and Donny yet?

Cut to Nico's

Brian - You're doing what??

George - Moving to London. End of the month. 

Donny (upset) - Shocker, mate. Shocker. This is a right boot in the Sandie Shaws, Geo.

George - I know.  Outvoted boys. But wait a minute (to Brian)... you've been spending loads of time in Scouseland with that bird you met on holiday. And another thing, did I get all moody when you two fucked off to Majorca on holiday without me?  No, I did not.

Donny - But you've got your band.

George - And you've got the Molotovs.

Brian - Not anymore we don't.

George (shocked) - What?

Donny - Andy fucking bailed on us.

Cut to gig, The Molotov Cocktails are finishing their final number and their singer, young Andy addresses the crowd.

Andy - Thank you so much.  You've been great.  This is the final number for the night.  Actually this is the final number for the Molotov Cocktails.  Ever.  We're calling it a day.

The crowd groan with disappointment.

Cut to rest of band looking perplexed!

Cut to backstage. The Molotovs surround Andy in an intimidating manner.

Brian - What the fuck was that all about?

Donny (grabbing Andy's lapels) - Choose your words carefully this time wee man.

Andy  - Look, Stewart is going back to medical college, Brian is never here these days and you don't put the work in that I do.  Donny, how many gigs have you got us recently? None. Brian, where were you when I booked that recording session?  That's right. Fitting carpets in fucking Gateshead. I've been busting my ring trying to get gigs and book rehearsals and if we're lucky, you two might choose to turn up.  I've fucking had it with this band.  My ambition is greater than a Paisley pub on a Tuesday night. And besides, I've had an offer from another band.

Donny - Et tu Andrew? 

Cut back to the pub.

George - Fuck.

Donny - Indeed.

Brian - He did have a point.  I'm almost finished my apprenticeship and once it's done, I can afford to get back into the music.

George and Donny look at him.

Brian sighs in the knowledge that this won't happen. 

Donny raises a glass.

Donny - The Molotov fucking Cocktails.

George and Brian clink glasses.

George - So, about the flat...

Cut to the letting agent doing a leaving inventory, aghast at the state of his once pristine flat. He removes posters to find holes in the walls, doors hanging off the hinges and burns in the carpet. George and Donny stand there sheepishly as he passes a bill to them. Donny faints. George puts his head in his hands.

Narrator - They impounded all of our stuff and most of our money to pay for the damage. There goes the London fund.

George leaves with a bag of clothes and a guitar.  Donny, wearing his entire wardrobe, carries an uncovered bass and a life size skeleton.

Donny - At least they didn't take my car.

George - Any chance of a lift to Devon's?

Cut to motorway, scene of a serious car crash. Devon's old Ford Escort is in the middle of a 5 care pile up.  It has been crushed by the other cars. Ambulance and police are on the scene. 

Police (on radio) - Yeah Sarge. A right mess. Perished. Smashed to pieces.  A tragedy actually. Didn't stand a chance...no Sarge, no human casualties. Just this lovely old Escort. Write off.

Cut to a dishevelled Donny and George still holding tight to their few possessions.

Police - The driver?  Not drunk but he's lucky he was wearing some sort of fat suit...

George - Officer?  Can you drop us off at Great Western Road, please?

Narrator - Layer upon layer of fuck up. Like the earth's crust. Except each layer is a peanut packed, smelly Topic bar. But at least we still had the mother of all going away parties to hit.

Cut to large crowd leaving Mondo's nightclub.

Devon - All back to mine!

A cheer goes up.

Cut to the inside of Devon's flat.  

Narrator - Welcome to the last days of Rome, Glasgow style.

Gordon arrives.

George embraces him

George - Hey!  You made it back in time.

Gordon - Wouldn't have missed it. Devon might be a shady little manipulative crook but he sure knows how to throw a party! By the way, your mum called me earlier. She said something about the number she gave you. They called again...

George - Fucking hell.

Drum playing model whispers in Slippy's ear.

Slippy nods enthusiastically as the girl leads him away.

Stevie is chatting to some of the other models who were in the video.

Stevie -  Do you know that I can tell the day you were born just by feeling your tits?
1st Model - Don't be silly.
Stevie - Seriously, I can. Look at this face.
2nd Model - Aye right. He's at it.
Stevie (looking upset) - A little bit of trust, please?
1st Model - Right go on then!
Stevie caresses, strokes and feels around for about 20 seconds
2nd Model - Well, when was she born?
Stevie (turns and smiles) - Yesterday.

Donny shows off his skull y-fronts to great acclaim.  Crawfy drops his trousers to reveal he also wears them! Another cheer goes up.

Thumbheid - Check mine out....commando! 

There is an audible gasp as well as a few screams.

Mondo - What the fuck is that???

Davie (horrified)  - I don't know but ...I can't...tear my...eyes away from it.

Andy (equally horrified) - It's like an old lady's leg...or a fucking Lorne sausage.

Wee Alex (impressed)  - I am fucking starving...

A queue forms outside Devon's bedroom.

Brian pours a drink for his girlfriend.

Girlfriend - Are their parties always like this?

Brian smiles.

George, Billy and Gordon step out onto the balcony.

George (sighs) - End of an era guys.

They clink their beer bottles.

Billy - Here's to London and our new townhouse.

They clink again.

George - When do you start working?

Gordon - Monday but it's only temporary.  Until we're sorted, musically. You two?

Billy - Devon's got us jobs on a building site! Starting Monday too.

Gordon (to George) - A building site?  You?

They all laugh.

Gordon - All loose ends tied up?

George - Not quite. Where's Devon's phone?

Cut to George taking the phone into the bathroom. He takes the number his mum gave him out of his pocket.

George - Right you fuckers.  See how you like getting called... at 4am.

George dials the number...the phone rings then is picked up by someone who has clearly been sleeping.
Voice (groggily) - Uuurgghhh Hello? Who is this?

George - Hello?  Hi, it's me, ya walloper. Who the fuck are you and how did you get my Mum's number?

Voice - Uuuhhhhhh?  (yawns) You sent me a tape a few years ago...Molotov Cocktails....or something...

Cut to a secretary opening a packet with the cassette enclosed. Zooms into George's name and the contact number.

George (baffled) - Who the fuck is this and what do you want?

Voice - First of all, the whole Tanya episode...a huge misunderstanding. It's water under the bridge. (cut back to EP 8 and the band making a getaway with Tanya) Your friend shouldn't have kicked me in the ribs though.  That was just mean.

George - Two Soups!

Baxter - We need to talk.  I have a proposal to put to you.

George - I'm off to London tomorrow. For good.

Baxter - £7000.

George - What?

Baxter - You heard.  Seven. Thousand. Pounds. Cash.

George - For what?

Baxter - I like you.  I always have actually.  You can do so much better than hanging out with those losers. 

George - You haven't answered my question.

Baxter - You're a clever boy. And this is a great opportunity. Once in a lifetime actually. 

George - I'm losing my patience here.

Baxter - How would you like to be the new singer of Softly Softly?

George is stunned into silence.

Baxter - Oh, silly me.  It's £7000 ... per month. With the proviso that you leave White immediately and do not go to London tomorrow. If you want, I can break the news to band for you.  Actually it would be a pleasure. Just think, you will be able to buy your mum that house that she talks about.

George struggles to speak.

Baxter - Well...aren't you going to thank me?

Cut to George reclining on an elegant leather couch, reading a book, drinking a coffee. The lights are low and jazz music plays. 

Narrator - This is the life. Forget about Robert Johnson and his deal with the devil at the Crossroads. £7000?  Every single month? I love the guys but this is what they call a game changer. Did I make the right decision?

Cut to the book...close up on the following lines...

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

Camera pulls back to show George in a service station cafe.

Billy and Gordon shout at him from the van.

Gordon - We need to move if we're to make last orders in Camden!

Billy - Chop chop, youngster!

George snaps the book shut, slugs the drink, runs out of the coffee shop and jumps in.

Narrator - The devil can kiss my skinny ass.

End.