Hi all,
So I've always written, choosing to hoard my copious attempts at comedy silver on my laptop rather than inflict them on the world. But now that I've finished uni and the prospect of having to get an actual proper job is looming, I thought I'd post my latest attempt on here and see how incompetent I really am.
I hope the formatting is okay, copy and pasting became a bit of a faff and not sure how to italicise/underline words. Other than than, should read perfectly. These are the first 10 pages of a 24 page script.
ROBBIE'S HOUSE. INT - NIGHT
Robbie gets out of a taxi, with a big suitcase and a rucksack on his back, struggling as he walks up to the front door. He tries going into the house, but it's locked so he rings the doorbell.
JANE, his mum, answers, and upon seeing him shrieks like a punctured cat, hugging him and making him drop all of his stuff.
Robbie fights to get inside, finally managing to get into the house and put his stuff on the floor.
JANE
(broad Yorkshire accent) Ooo lovie it's so good to see you. How are you, how was your journey, did you get a sandwich on the train? You've grown so much!
ROBBIE
You too, good, fine, yes, and puberty. Look I can't stay long mum I've made plans to see the boys.
JANE
That's fine love, Don't worry. Your granddad's coming round for tea tomorrow so we can all catch up then any way.
Robbie looks concerned.
ROBBIE
You're cooking?
JANE
Yes
ROBBIE
But-
JANE
But don't worry. I've been practicing.
Robbie isn't sure about how wise that is but he has to get going.
ROBBIE
Anyway I've gotta go, said I'd be there by now.
Robbie is still trying to shake off his mums close attention, and that of the dog jumping around excitedly.
JANE
Oh have a cuppa before you go. Line your stomach.
ROBBIE
Fine, a quick one.
Jane rushes off to put the kettle on.
ROBBIE (CONT'D)
Mum?
JANE
Yes love?
ROBBIE
Can I have a coffee?
There is silence. Jane returns to the hallway, angry at Robbie's request.
JANE
Coffee?
ROBBIE
Yeah. You know, it's brown, like tea, more caffeine, tastes slightly bitter.
JANE
Don't get cheeky with me lad. No son of mine will be a coffee drinker. You're back in the north now tha knows, none of this continental nonsense in my house.
The mood has changed.
ROBBIE
Mum I still drink tea, I just like coffee as well.
Jane looks like Robbie has just told her he's terminally ill. She goes back to the kitchen, shaking her head and muttering to herself.
ROBBIE (to himself)
F**k's sake.
THE BLACK SHEEP. INT - NIGHT
ROBBIE is in the local village pub- The Black Sheep- with DARREN.
Darren speaks with a strong Yorkshire accent. The pub is quiet, a traditional village pub with scruffy men propping up the bar and youths necking alco-pops in the corner.
ROBBIE Where's Tommo?
DARREN
On his way. How've you been anyway, you look different.
ROBBIE Different? How different? Good different?
Robbie sweeps his hair as he says this.
DARREN
I dunno, like all clean-cut and that. Like a Londoner.
Darren says this last part with a more than a hint of disdain.
ROBBIE
Ah. Warmer climate innit.
DARREN
Aye. When did you get back?
ROBBIE
Just a couple of hours ago.
DARREN
You seen the shop?
ROBBIE
Shop?
DARREN
Yeah the shop.
ROBBIE
What shop?
Darren is smug at the development.
DARREN
We've got a shop now.
ROBBIE
F**k off, really? In the village?
DARREN
Yeah mate, it's one of those co-ops. It's got three aisles, sells fags, and you even get money back whenever you spend summat- so long as you've got your card with you. And, get this: it's open on Sundays. It's f**king brilliant, all anyone could talk about for weeks when it opened. The cricket captain came down to cut the ribbon to open it, was a proper nice do.
ROBBIE
I'm surprised my mum didn't mention it.
DARREN
Aye, well, people moved on once the new speed limit got introduced on main road. 35mph, it's an absolute stitch up. What kind of a speed limit ends in 5- I take it you've seen it on way in?
ROBBIE
Yeah, took ages cause of it and all. The amount of people-
DARREN
Driving at 30 cos they're not sure? It's a disgrace. It's the biggest royal f**k up since- Ey up here's Tommo, punctual bugger.
TOMMO walks up to the table. He has a Labrador with him.
TOMMO
Sorry I'm late boys, that f**king speed limit slowed us right down.
ROBBIE
Alright Tommo how you doing?
TOMMO (taking a seat)
Aye good, yerself?
ROBBIE
Since when have you had a dog?
DARREN
It's first I've seen of it? What you up to now?
Tommo points at the dog.
TOMMO
Oh this. Well this, friends, is our ticket to bottomless fanny.
ROBBIE
What a horrific image.
Darren is tired of Tommo's shit.
DARREN
What you on about now for f**ks sake? Right, this is what he does Robbie, he spends his whole life hatching up schemes to pull a shag, and not once has it come right.
TOMMO
That's bollocks and you know it Darren. And at least I have a purpose, you contribute nothing to the story. You're Mumford and Sons, I'm David Bowie.
DARREN
What are you on about?
TOMMO
And if you were educated you'd know that this- this 'scheme'- it can't fail, cos dogs are nature's aphrodisiac.
DARREN
Aphro-what?
TOMMO
Disiac.
ROBBIE
Where'd a slug like you learn a word like that?
TOMMO
I was on the oyster Wikipedia page. See you don't need to go to some fancy-dan university in London to learn things. It's all on the internet.
ROBBIE
What on earth were you doing on the oyster Wikipedia page?
DARREN
It's best not to ask mate.
ROBBIE
Yeah but I'm guessing you saw the word aphrodisiac on that page, right? So you know that oysters are the aphrodisiac, not dogs.
TOMMO
Oo oyster this, oyster that, you're f**king obsessed mate. Look I'm sure there are oysters everywhere in that capital of yours, but up here we aren't so exotic. Besides, Wikipedia can be wrong sometimes. What kind of freak girl is gonna wanna stroke a f**king oyster?
DARREN
You don't stroke 'em you f**king tool. You eat 'em.
TOMMO
I'm not gonna eat a dog you cannibal. Look at him he's well cute.
Tommo strokes the dog, who really couldn't care less and just lays down lazily.
TOMMO (CONT'D)
Right, who's having what?
ROBBIE
That's alright I'll get them.
Robbie stands up to go to the bar.
TOMMO
I'll come with. They might not understand your accent.
As they're walking off Darren stops Robbie.
DARREN
Oi don't let him order.
ROBBIE
Why?
DARREN
Cause he's a dickhead that's why. Get me a Carling.
ROBBIE
Pint?
Pause.
DARREN
I'm gonna pretend you didn't just ask that.
Tommo has already gone to the bar. Robbie joins him as he's ordering, purposefully pronouncing the names of the drinks incorrectly, reveling in annoying Trev.
TOMMO
I'll have a pint of Sarling please.
TREV
Tommo I can't be arsed with this tonight.
TOMMO
What you on about- pint of Sarling please. Robbie what you want?
Robbie is craning his neck to see the beer fridges, while the barman starts pouring the Carling.
ROBBIE
You got any craft ales?
TREV
Any what?
ROBBIE
Craft beers, you know?
TOMMO
See this is why I like you Robbie. Darren throws a hissy fit when I try to wind Trev up, but you get stuck right in. Yeah, get us some craft beers Trevo.
TREV (sighing)
My name's not Trev.
ROBBIE
No it's not a wind-up. You know craft beers? Little beers, in cans, brewed in small batches?
TOMMO
What you want a small beer for?
Trev looks in the fridges, and pulls out a small Brew Dog can. He places it in front of Robbie.
TREV
No idea how long it's been in there like.
TOMMO
Robbie that's tiny. Get two of 'em.
ROBBIE
That's alright, I wanna get a different kind next time. It's good to try the different flavours.
TOMMO
You're weird mate. Whatever, I'll have a...Jwiness please.
TREV
Look this isn't funny, just order normally.
The old men propping up the bar find it amusing.
TOMMO
Bloody hell mate, you kiss all your mouths with that mouth? Juiness, you know, the Irish one. Black, smooth, like a colly's arsehole.
Trev sighs heavily and starts pouring the Guinness.
TOMMO (CONT'D)
Open it then, I wanna see what's so craft about it.
Robbie opens the beer, takes a sip.
ROBBIE
Mmm, that's decent. Hoppy.
TOMMO (taking the beer out of Robbie's hand)
Aren't all beers made from hops?
He takes a sip and winces.
TOMMO (CONT'D)
That's grim that. It's like...sour sand. How have they even made beer taste bad? No wonder they make them so small.
Robbie snatches the can back.
ROBBIE
Stick to your generic brands then vanilla ice.
TREV
Right, that'll be a £9.95 lads.
Robbie takes his card out, but Tommo puts a hand across him.
TOMMO
Hold on a minute Trev, what the f**k are you playing at? Just cause Robbie here has been balling the high-life don't mean you can rip him off like he's some kind of Chinese tourist in a museum gift shop.
ROBBIE
Change from a tenner is decent mate.
TOMMO
Piss off, Carling is three, Guinness is three-twenty, and you've got a shot of beer.
TREV
The craft is £3.75.
Tommo is in utter shock and can't speak. Robbie pays the bill and heads back to the table with his beer and Darren's Carling. Tommo joins them a minute later.
DARREN
What's his problem?
TOMMO (taking his seat)
Rounds are gonna be a lot more expensive this Summer f**k me. £3.75 for a thimble of fermented piss.
ROBBIE
You're paying for the craft. It's not as mass produced as Guinness or Carling- it's bespoke.
TOMMO
That's cause no-one wants to buy it! You're be-speaking out your arse southern boy.
ROBBIE
Trust me, I was the same. But it grows on you.
Tommo just shakes his head angrily. The dog continues to be disinterested in everything.
THE NEXT MORNING
The boys are groggily stirring themselves, having passed out on the pub sofas. Cans of craft beer are strewn everywhere.
TOMMO
Those craft beers are f**king power, I'll give you that Robbie.
ROBBIE
Told you. Everyone falls for the craft.
DARREN
Is it morning?
TOMMO (checking his phone)
8am. Shit I need to feed Doggo.
DARREN
Please find a better name than that generic white girl instagram bullshit.
ROBBIE
Trev's alright with us crashing here on nights then? That's decent.
TREV (shouting pathetically)
My name's not Trev. And no I'm not!
Trev stands up from behind the bar, where he's been laying on a makeshift camp-bed.
TOMMO
What's the breakfast situation Trev?
TREV
It's get the f**k out on toast.
TOMMO
Is that the best you can come up with- just saying summat then adding 'on toast' at the end? You've had all night to think of it- that's poor. Even for you Trev, that's f**king shoddy.
ROBBIE
I better head off anyway, I imagine my mum's already been in touch with the police to declare me missing.
DARREN
You coming to watch the cricket later? There's this overseas Aussie bloke staying for the Summer, he's funny. More of a laugh than the usual overseas player.
TOMMO
Yeah mate those Sri Lankans are obsessed with cricket, nothing else. Not having a go, but at least Jessie actually has a beer and that.
ROBBIE
Doubt it- granddad is coming round for a meal. Mum's cooking.
TOMMO
Oh he spends three years out of Yorkshire and suddenly he's too good for cricket.
ROBBIE
What are you on about? It's not just Yorkshire that plays cricket dingbat...Lords is in f**king London.
TOMMO (correcting Robbie's grammar)
Lords are in f**king London.
Robbie looks his look at Tommo.
DARREN (moving the conversation along)
Shit when did she start cooking again? Not chicken I'm guessing?
ROBBIE
Nah... We don't eat birds now. This is her first time back.
DARREN
Shit, well good luck mate. Text us if you're coming out yeah?
ROBBIE
Will do.
