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Once upon a time,

in the far away magical
land of South London,

in a simple age, when a
cock belonged to a man

and a cunt was
married to a woman

that sat in the pub all day
talking absolute bollocks,

there was a little
boy called Jack.

The very first word
Jack ever spoke was...

C-C-Cocaine.

An ambitious child,

Jack already knew what
he wanted out of life.

What would you like to do
when you grow up, David?

Put a stop to world famine, sir.

What about you, Sarah?

Invent something amazing, sir.

- What about you, Jack?
- Drugs, sir. And fuck Sarah.

Jack knew that being academic

was about as useful as
a dildo in a nunnery.

Round the flats, a different
type of education mattered.

Fuck are you staring
at, you Jils?

This was Jack's university.

Happily, he graduated
with venereal disease

and a criminal record.

And it was here he met
Dani, the love of his life.

Jack and Dani, you've got to
admit, it's got a ring to it.

Their love burned so brightly

that Dani even gave up on
her dream of art college

and settled into a
life of domestic bliss.

She laid down her paint brush
and picked up the laundry.

And on the day their
son JJ was conceived,

Dani scored over 100,000
on some generic mobile game

while Jack smashed
her back doors in.

For a while, they were just
like any other normal family,

but Jack had one little
niggling problem.

For 60 quid, you can buy an
electric kettle from Argos,

or a day-glo collar
for an XL bully.

But for 50 quid, you can
buy a gram of cocaine.

He loved his wife and son,

but being a dickie-sniffing
cunt was way more fun.

While most men took
their sons to football,

ate Ginsters pies and
reminisced about Coldplay gigs,

Jack slipped off
with his old muckers,

Vinny, Roger and Deano,

where they sniffed
phenomenal amounts of cocaine

and enjoyed their favourite
pastime, fighting.

Come on then, you
fucking two-bob cunts,

I'll do the lot of ya.

But what became of poor Jack?

After years of sniffing
dickie and casual violence,

with the morals of a pikey,

surely he would redeem himself

and find his true
place in society?

Let's do this bunch of cunts.

Come on!

Oi!

I thought you
fucking died on us.

Vinny's wife threw him out

when she caught him with a
Brazilian tranny in Whitstable.

He only sees his kids
through a contact centre,

but he's too ashamed
to admit it, so he lies

and says the missus has
taken them to Center Parcs.

Here you are. You've
been fuckin' spark out

since we left London.

Deano got his first bit of bird

when off his nut on ketamine.

He stole a thousand pairs
of Loro Piana mittens

and tried to sell them at
the local thalidomide centre.

Liven yourself up,
silly bollocks,

we're nearly in Grimsby.

Maybe not the brightest,

Roger thought Canvey
Island was in the Bahamas,

and was blown away by EasyJet.

He once flew to Helsinki,
then come straight home

just to experience
speedy boarding.

That's better. I feel brand new.

If you wanna avoid wannabe
cunts in snide Moncler jackets

that fancy themselves
as football thugs,

over-policed stadiums,

and tickets that cost more
then a gram of dickie...

then the lower
leagues are for you.

But be warned, this sport is
only for the truly committed.

Fuck me, they're mob-handed.

Come on! Come on!

No one run. Stay together.
Let's do these cunts.

Do not run.

Here we go! Come on, Grimsby.

Well, we are in
for a treat today.

Two great firms, bitter
rivals and sworn enemies

meeting in the bombed-out
streets of Grimsby.

And as the firms advance
towards each other,

it's great to see Grimsby
with such a tidy looking mob.

These flash Cockney wankers

won't know what's
fucking hit them.

Oh, that's a lovely
effort from Grimsby.

Deano's gone over
like a granny on ice.

Doesn't look like VAR will
be needed in this instance.

Oh, that's terrific
from Roger the Dodger.

Right round the fucking
cannister with a beer bottle.

That will require a few
stitches, I'd imagine.

Oh, that's a shocking display
from the mouthy cunt Vinny

in the CP duffle coat.

Since when was pepper spray
in the fair-play rule book?

Stone the crows, he's
only going again.

Jesus, these Cock-er-neys
are really ruthless cunts.

What a screamer from Jack Jones!

That's worth a look
from another angle.

And there it is,
a peach of a shot.

Despite the fact
he's losing his hair,

and got erectile dysfunction.

Oh, my word! He's only
gone and nutted the cunt.

And that's what I
call entertainment.

It's all fun and games.
The sheer indulgence of it.

The drinking and eating
and fighting and fucking.

Until one day, you
wake up and realise

you've done nothing
with your life.

Everything you ever had,
all your hopes and dreams

have come to
absolutely fuck all.

Fighting at football.
Possession of cocaine.

At your age?

Don't you feel the
slightest bit embarrassed?

Dreadfully embarrassed, mate.

- Your Honour.
- Your Honour.

I swear, if he don't
send me to prison,

I'll give him a blow job.

I'm gonna give you
a chance, Jones.

I take that back. Nose job.

But you need to prove to me

why I shouldn't give you
a custodial sentence,

and you need to convince me

your liberty is
worth fighting for.

You'll be bound
over for six weeks.

Now, you stated the reason
for your violent activity

and drug use is financial
and marital difficulties.

Well, I'm gonna make
it a legal requirement

that you attend couples therapy.

As well as finding yourself
some gainful employment.

Your freedom rests
in your ability

to pull yourself together
over the next six weeks.

Your probation officer
will report to me.

Mess him around, and
it's prison for you.

Do we understand each other?

Yes.

Stage fright?

You mean you're dyslexic?

No biggie. Just ask.

Ta.

I'll help you, if you help me.

- I'm gonna try.
- Good.

- I'm gonna try.
- It's worth taking it seriously

cos life only pities the young.

It isn't so kind to
middle-aged fuck-ups.

So what's your relationship
with drugs like?

Stronger than my marriage.

How often do you do it?

I get the odd wank at Christmas.

I meant drugs.

Oh.

We're still in love.

You think it's a joke?

A box-ticking exercise?
You're 45 years old.

You haven't got time to spend
the next five years inside.

You think your wife
will wait for you?

I wouldn't bet on it.

You've got six weeks to
turn your life around.

Now, do you wanna know
how probation works?

You lucky cunt! I thought
you was getting five. Sweet?

I was planning on having
a trade with your missus.

- Fuck off.
- How you wound up

getting bound over's
beyond me. What a touch.

- I'll get 'em in. Deano?
- Lager.

- Rog?
- Lager, Vin.

Jackie boy?

I'll just have a
pear juice, I think.

No, you won't. You'll have
a fucking lager, you weirdo.

What's he say then, your PO?

- I gotta go therapy.
- What for?

Brush up on my driving skills.

Have a go on that.

- Fucking get on with it then.
- Give us it.

You know you loved
each other once.

There was a time when she
laughed at everything you said,

no matter how fucking stupid.

And you wore her legs round
your face like a scarf.

But that was years ago.

And eventually, even those
who love you the most

get tired of you acting
like a backwards cunt.

Well, thank God you
didn't go to prison.

Mum said she would have
run off with another man

if you went to jail, one with
money and a sense of humour.

Too right I will, if you
don't liven yourself up.

Dan, what's happening,
babe? What you having?

It's fucking light outside,
Vin. I'll have a tea.

Come on, babe, drop
the act. We're on it!

Shouldn't you be at home
with Lucy and the kids?

Nah, she's taken the kids
to that Center Parcs gaff

for the weekend.
Anyway, fuck that!

- We're celebrating.
- Celebrating what?

He's been given six weeks to
sort his fucking life out.

You're just a fucking wanker!

You're just a fucking wanker!

You're just a fucking wanker!

You're just a fucking wanker!

You're just a fucking wanker!

You're just a fucking wanker!

Oi, dinlo. Come here.

- You scared me.
- I know, babe. Me an' all.

Fuck prison.

- Tell me you're done with it.
- Yeah, course I am.

Let's go and have a
roast with your old man.

No. I said, tell me
you're done with it.

All of it. The
sniffing. The football.

Right. Start by
emptying your pockets.

What, are you Old Bill?

- Don't you trust me?
- Take a wild guess.

All right.

Here you are. Here you are.

You know I won't nag you, Jack.

But I won't suffer you either.

If I had cocaine on me,

it wouldn't be in
me fucking pocket.

What did the judge say?

Just gotta keep me nose clean.

Was he having a fucking
laugh or what? You?

No, but seriously though, kid,

you've got to sort yourself
out, you know that, don't ya?

I mean, look at ya. When
you married my daughter,

you took a vow to
take care of her.

But look at you now, living
in one of my gaffs rent free,

and my little Dani don't know
if her husband's coming home

in the next couple of weeks.

If she leaves you, Jack,
then so does my charity.

And how long

am I supposed to keep paying
for your son's education, eh?

Well, it weren't my idea to
send JJ to private school.

He's my blood, Jack.
Forgive me for caring.

Trying to give him a leg
up, little start in life.

I know. I appreciate it.

Ron, any chance you can get me

on one of your
scaffolding teams?

Cos I've got to
prove I'm working.

That's a young man's game, that.

I've got no room for messers.

You've got to be fit.

I just need a job.
I'll do anything.

Yeah?

Well, start by carving
this fucking bird up.

I've got stuffing to make.

Success didn't ruin
my father-in-law.

He's always been a cunt.

Look, Granddad.
I've got a hard-on.

Babe, you can't say
that at the table. OK?

I need a word. Now.

See? Private school's doing
him the world of good.

Listen.

I might have a bit
of graft for ya.

My Kenny Boy's coming home.
Needs someone to look after him.

Me look after Kenny Boy?

He's been in a health farm.

I've got a lot on my plate, Ron.

He's your wife's brother, Jack.

Half-brother.

What fucking difference
does it make, eh?

You said you wanted
a job, didn't ya?

Look, I know you're struggling,
yeah? I just wanna help.

Here's a bit of readies.

Take this to be getting on with.

Do something nice. Take him
to the fair or something.

The fair?

He's twenty-fucking-five, Ron.

We'll look like
a pair of bacons.

Come on.

When's he home anyway?

Kenny Boy was brought up

on a healthy diet of pornography

YouTube violence,
and parental neglect.

A mentally unstable 'roid jacker

with a vicious bowl haircut

and a constant semi,

he's of the generation
that thinks choking a bird

while smashing her back doors
in is Morse code for saying,

"I love ya," and
robbing your dad's house

is just a way of accessing
your inheritance early.

Pills, fight, wank, repeat.
Pills, fight, wank, repeat.

Not quite the health
farm Ron had in mind.

He was thinking ice
baths and reiki.

This gaff's method is Thorazine

and repeats of Escape
to the Country.

Still, as long as he's had his
volts, he'll be raring to go.

Kenny Boy. How are you, mate?

Sweet, mate. I never
thought I'd get out.

Gaff's full of Fraggles.
Gotta love the NHS, though.

Some fucking junior doctor's
charged me up like a Tesla.

What's the prognosis?

BPD, GAD, OCD,

PTSD, SAD and DPDD.

Apart from that, I'm fine.

Ha-ha. Only joking.
I'm just bipolar.

Come here, Jack, I missed ya.

What are you doing?
Can't be healthy.

Sweet, mate, they're organic.

Just saying, slow
down. You'll go mad.

Don't worry. I'm already mad.

I'm only joking.

I feel reem.

I do need to make
a pitstop, though.

I can't, I've got to go
to therapy with Dani.

Therapy with my
sister? Fucking hell.

Everyone knows your marriage
is already fucked, mate.

Just accept it and pull over.

It's a fucking court
order, Kenny Boy.

Sweet, mate. I'll
only be a minute.

He drops off the bag,

leaving the two young
gazelles to serve up.

At the same time,
leaving them vulnerable

to leopard attack.

What the fuck are
you talking about?

Crank.

Numbed out on clozapine
and asenapine,

Kenny Boy was about as in touch
with his feelings as the Tories,

so he reverted to
getting his kicks from...

The good thing about
robbing drug dealers,

if you're game enough, is they
can't go crying to the police.

The bad thing about
robbing drug dealers

is they'll do anything,

and I mean fucking
anything, to save face.

Don't say I didn't
warn you, Kenny Boy.

I'd be happy for you to take
the session for yourself, Dani.

No, I don't want to sit here

moaning about that
prick for an hour.

Why not?

You know what spins my nut?

He had so much
fucking potential.

What about you?

It's OK.

You don't need to tell me
anything if you're not ready.

I wanted to go to art college.

He said I could
draw about as well

as Stephen Hawking, cheeky cunt.

Have you ever thought
about trying again?

Art college, I mean?

I wonder how that might feel,
to do something for yourself.

Just something to consider.

Have probation suggested
couples workshops?

I'd imagine he'd rather give
his cocaine to the homeless.

Well, they can be
really transformative.

And remember, if
he doesn't attend,

the court will hear about it.

He's a wanker, but he's trying.

Oh, Komodo dragon, my favourite.

Here, have that,
you pair of cunts.

Have your Komodo dragon.

Here you are, here's
four giraffes.

Health farm did him
a lot of good, then!

He's fucking doolally, Rog.

I gotta make sure he
stays out of trouble.

Funny place to bring him, Jack.

Everyone's washed their
hands of him. Poor kid.

This way, I can
keep my eye on him.

Ain't you supposed to
be going to therapy?

I'm sweet, mate.

I've not had a booze
or a sniff in a week.

Proud of you, mush.

Fuck are you staring at?

I'm watching your
back, you little mug.

You look like a bacon lurking
outside a primary school.

Fucking bacon!

Pipe down, you.

Right, I'm going khazi.
Come out the way.

- How much are you buying?
- Hold tight.

I'm not sure that's
a good idea, Ken.

Oh, fuck him, he's a
fucking boring cunt anyway.

Fuck him, he's a Jils anyway.

I know. I know. I
shouldn't be here.

But at least my mates
have got my back.

How, uh, how are you
getting on with the missus?

She's doing my
fucking swede, mate.

I told her, "Take the kids to
Center Parcs for the weekend,

I'm going Tranmere."
She goes, "Tranmere?"

"Sounds like a fucking
highly flammable fabric."

I said, "I couldn't give
a fuck, love. I'm out."

And when I say out,
I mean out out.

She goes, "What about
the kids' bedtime story?"

I goes, "It'll be a good
morning story if I'm lucky."

"I'm gonna get
fucking spangled."

You all right, Jack?

You look like you've
got the horrors.

Naughty bit of orange
juice, this, Ken. Cunt.

Tranmere, the only
place in the UK

that still looks like an Eastern
Bloc country from the '80s.

The poorer cousins of Liverpool,
if you can imagine such a place.

Population of around 200,000,

most of them on smack
or mobility scooters.

But still, they got a good firm,

as Vinny is about to find out.

You can pretend
that we don't exist,

put us in England's
bin of undesirables,

but like a fatal car crash,
you can't help but watch us

from the safety of
your own vehicles.

Get on that.

Vin!

- Come on then.
- Come on then!

You fucking want it or what?

Get these fuckers! Come on!

I'm going to fucking
kill you, you cock!

You are fucking dead!

Fucking mad.

Welcome to London Bathrooms.

Please ensure you keep the
premises clean at all times.

And most importantly,

enjoy your stay.

Enjoy your stay?

This gaff's barely fit
for homeless smackheads.

Jack. Sniff that dickie

and there's no telling
where you'll land.

Don't worry. I know
what I'm doing.

Do you really?

Open this can of worms and
you may never come back.

- Listen, love, I'm sweet.
- Are you?

Mid-40s with a belly
hanging over your jeans,

a tiny cock and six weeks
to sort your life out?

Yeah? At least I'm not the
one stuck in a fucking toilet.

Aren't you?

Yeah, all right.

Things ain't going too
well for me at the moment.

Me neither.

I used to have
something about me.

I used to work in the lift
at the Hilton, Park Lane.

I'm just a stain on society.

No one wants my
type around anymore.

My optics are all wrong.

And no one will
care if I'm gone.

Fuck it. You're probably right.

I mean, look at the state
of you, you two-bob cunt.

Do you think he's OK?

He looks dead.

Chance'd be a fine thing.

Do you know him?

Christ. I'm sorry. Is there
anything that I can do?

Hmm. Kill him and marry me.

It was a joke, mate.

Sort of.

Oi. Oi!

- Dinlo. All right?
- What's the time, babe?

Oh, morning, darling, it's, uh,

just coming up to you're
an absolute cunt o'clock.

Fuck.

Fuck's sake.

Probation have got me
a job interview today.

I ain't going to tell
you to change, Jack,

cos I can't bear
the disappointment.

But I can tell you

you won't be coming home to
a warm bed for much longer.

Wish me luck.

I'd sooner Harvey
Weinstein tried to fuck me.

I'm gonna make her proud.

No more dickie, no more
booze, no more fighting.

It's all behind me.

I know I can become a
productive member of society.

You just watch me go.

What can I get you?

So, what you been up
to before this, matey?

Bit of dickie, couple
of pingers, dab of K,

some Valium washed
down with lager.

But no brown.

So, why Ledge magazine, Jase?

Jack.

Sorry, matey, I had
a massive night.

I just need a job, I
don't care what I do.

Want to feign interest
in worthy causes,

overshare your life on Instagram

and vilify people from
privileged backgrounds?

I'm only joking.

No, I've got the
perfect opening for you.

Like this brogue,

each of you sees and
feels the world...

in a unique way.

Your own interpretation.

And that's what I'm looking for.

And just a reminder
about our show coming up

where we invite friends and
family to critique our work.

I bet the idea of judgement
fills you all with dread.

Well, better get used to it.

Now, I want you to pick a theme.

Movement or love.

Interpret it however you wish.

And remember, the
toughest thing in art,

much like in life,

is to be your authentic self.

Find your voice.

Right. Ten-minute coffee break
for those of you that smoke.

Though I'm not sure
anyone does anymore.

I'm a ghost. They don't
even know I'm here.

And why should they?

I'm just a fat cunt
serving muffins

with nothing to crow
about apart from eczema

and a few convictions.

I should be ashamed,
yet I feel superior,

like I'm above these
little millennial...

Yo. Pain au chocolat, cuz.

- How about a please, cuz?
- How about a pain au chocolat?

Uh, tongs.

That's it.

Safe, cuz.

Fucking old boy
over here piped up.

Did he?

Yeah, he's got a bit of
an attitude, you know?

Getting a right zig

cleaning up after these
snowflake shit cunts.

Next one that gets lemon
is gonna get stretched out.

Know the feeling, mate.

So what brings you here, Jack?

Always wanted to serve
entitled children.

Oh, yeah?

- Desperation.
- Hmm!

Try six months in this gaff.

It's spinning my nut, mush.

Why do I feel completely
fucking irrelevant?

Cos you are. We both are.

There's a new world
sailing past us

and we're merely spectators.

On the government's
least-wanted list.

Not just white
people, you know? Huh?

Here y'are.

What's up, my negro?

You know what?

I ain't nobody's negro.

Here we go, look who it is.

I am no one's fucking negro!

Come on!

Right, enough! Get off him!

I was meaning to hand
my notice in anyway.

I appreciate your help, though.

Ooh! My negro.

I'm out of here. Before
the Babylon men show up.

Spare some change, please, mate.

I promise I'm not on drugs.

You sure?

Well, maybe just
a little dabble.

Fill your boots.

Oh, I fucking love you!

I think I'll choose love,

just cos my mind goes blank
when I think about movement.

Doesn't have to be literal.
Could be a soul, a feeling.

Could mean immigration.
Movement of people.

I find that a bit obvious,
if I'm honest, Vaughn.

Just cos it's more
topical than love.

Got a class WhatsApp group

if you want to stick
yourself on it.

Just to stay connected.

Sometimes we all meet
up, go to a gallery.

Just talk rubbish.

I'm not sure you'd
get me to a gallery

but I'm good at talking rubbish.

Well...

Better get back in.

The youth will gossip.

You all right, Jack?

Cor, fuck me. You look like
you've had a bit of agg, mate.

What you drinking? Lager?

Spirits?

Or something with a
little more oomph?

There you are.

Oh. Get on that.

There's enough in there

to get Keith Richards on
the fucking dance floor.

Go on, take your pick.

Oh.

Bit old for CP Company,
aren't you, lad?

Oh, what, this?
It was a present.

I wouldn't buy this,
mate. I'm in me forties.

What team do you support?

I'm not into football. You?

Tranmere.

Long way from home.

Looking for someone. Was told
we might find him in here.

Eye for an eye, and
all that, innit?

This your local, lad?

Nah, I'm just
grafting round here.

I'm from Woking.

Fucking Woking, lad? That where
all the woke people are from?

That's hilarious.

Anyway, thanks for
the quote, mate.

If we need any new barrels,
I'll, uh... I'll get in touch.

Lovely.

- All right, what you drinking?
- Five lagers, please, mate.

Kenny Boy, don't
go near the Fox.

I'm coming round to see ya

Kenny Boy, answer the fucking
phone, for fuck's sake.

Kenny Boy!

Kenny Boy?

What's happened?
What you done? Eh?

Kenny and Buzz,
Kenny and Buzz...

Fuckin' done? Fuck!

Buzz Aldrin on the moon.

You need to get him to
go to the moon, Kenny.

Hello, this is Jack Jones.

I'm calling on behalf
of Kenneth Mason.

He's gone completely
fucking spastic.

We don't use that term anymore.

No, I do apologise.

He's having one of
them mental episodes.

- Find where he keeps his meds.
- Yes.

Find the blue pills,
chlorpromazine,

give him three of those.

You all right, boy? Eh?

Come here. Come here.

Come on, come here. That's...
Come here, that's it, mate.

Right, here you are. Eat these.

Here you are, come
here. That's it.

That's it, eat that. Eat 'em.

They're gonna kick
in lively, them,

Don't worry, I'm here.
That's it, there you go.

That's it.

Jack, what's happening to me?

It's all right, I'm
here. It don't matter.

Was I out of my head again?

Kenny and Buzz. Kenny
and Buzz. Kenny and Buzz.

Don't you worry.
I'm here for you.

I ain't gonna leave ya.

Breathe. Breathe.

Jack, I love you,

but I ain't got a fucking clue
what you're talking about, mate.

He was laying on the
fucking penny having a fit

when I got round
there, the poor cunt.

- He's proper ill.
- Who?

- Kenny Boy.
- Yeah? Got a note on ya?

I only flew round there
cos the Tranmere lot,

they was up the Fox
looking for him.

He's opened up one of
their boys bad, mate.

Fuck me, my mouth's
dryer than a nun's muff.

Hold tight, I'm
going to the john.

Deano, get your nose
in the trough, mush.

You? Dickie?

No, I'm sweet, boys.
I... I'm gonna slip.

You know, I promised
my old woman.

We've got, um... couples
self-help group in the morning.

Yeah? Deano's been
going to them, uh,

Narcotics Anonymous
meetings, ain't ya, mate?

Yeah.

Doing him the fucking
world of good, innit?

See that tricky mug over there?

Just tried tripping me
up. Fucking liberty.

Straight! Where are they from?

Look like fuckin' squaddies.

Drop 'em out, Vin. I
don't wanna get nicked.

Vin, I've already
broke me court order.

I'll go straight to
the shovel, mate.

- Fuckin' boom, Vin.
- Fuck it.

Fuck's sake, Dad, wake up!

You're supposed to be
taking me to Granddad's

so I can have a McDonald's
and watch The Exorcist

while you go to couples
workshop and save your marriage.

- You're quiet.
- Hmm.

I didn't think
it'd come to this.

I imagined we'd
spend our weekends

considering suicide in Ikea.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

I need him like a hole in
the head at the moment.

Oh, don't tell him I'm with you,
he gets all didgey round me.

Kenny Boy. How are ya, mate?

I'm sweet now, mate. Just
finishing me cathedral.

Look, I know I'm not well

and everyone would rather
wash their hands of me,

but it really matters
to me that you're there.

I fucking mean it.

I ain't got no one else in this
world, Jack, apart from you.

Fucking no one.

So thank you, mate.

I love you, geez.

Yeah, I love you too,
mate. I love you too.

I'm proud of you, Jack.

You're the only one
who stood on for him.

My dad gave up years ago, and...

Well, I can't say anything,
can I? Cos you know...

But you...

Although I do wonder why
you won't help yourself.

Here.

Babe, I forgot to ask, how
did your job interview go?

They fuckin' loved me.

How was your day?

Yeah. I went back to yoga.

My tree pose is terrible,

and my back's fucked.

I just can't seem to
get my leg over anymore.

Sounds like Daddy.

Celery, Ron.

It's been suggested that we ween
him off of ultra-processed food.

I've got Deliveroo
turning up in a minute

with a couple of
fucking Big Macs.

No, McDonald's is sweet.

It's all that other shit you
gotta avoid. Know what I mean?

So what goes on at
this workshop then, eh?

Full of fucking rug
munchers and flids, I bet.

I'm just keeping
me nut down, Ron.

Got to shoot off,
we're gonna be late.

Yeah, yeah, sweet.

So what's the apple
with my Kenny Boy, eh?

Good as gold.

Yeah? So what you
been up to then?

I won't tell him
about the breakdown

cos I know he don't give a fuck.

Chillaxing, really.

Don't you take my kindness
for weakness, do you hear me?

I could take the roof
away from over your head

in a fucking heartbeat.

Anything happens to my Kenny
Boy... you're bang in trouble.

Got it. He's safe with me, Ron.

Chillaxing, the saucy cunt.

I think I'd probably
be... the Hulk,

cos I have, like, a real
issue expressing my anger,

and... when it does come
out, I go like metaphorically

fucking green, and just
feel wildly out of control.

Shall we give him a
round of applause?

That is a wonderfully visceral
description of your anger, Lyle.

Well done. We
welcome your honesty.

And, Fi, would you like
to say anything to Lyle,

in the spirit of
openness and generosity?

Um... I see you, my husband.

And it's OK to
express your anger.

I'm scared... but I'm
held in this moment.

Now, as a group, we
hold this space...

as we close our
eyes and we breathe.

Gareth.

Gareth, have you thought about
who your superhero might be?

Hm-hmm.

I feel like the Invisible Man.

This is what ten years in prison

with Prince Harry
would feel like.

I transferred to Edinburgh
to finish my masters,

cos I found social sciences
at Bristol overly politicised

- if I'm honest.
- I know, right?

I was doing English lit,
and in the second year,

the syllabus focused on
post-colonial reading,

and I was like, I came here
to learn Shakespeare, bro.

And hunt chicks, of course.

What about you, Jack?

- What's that, mate?
- Where did you study?

Your lot don't bother
with uni, do they, Jack?

School of life, blood.

Anyway...

Dani, I want you to tell
Jack what you want from him.

- Don't make me laugh.
- I'm not, I swear. All right?

- Go on.
- Fuck off.

In your own time, Dani.

I want you to babysit.

I mean, I wouldn't bother
asking for anything else,

cos it'd be a waste of time.

There's no point in asking
you to be more attentive,

or... not so fucking defensive.

Stop telling me how to
run my life better, or...

show a bit of compassion
when I'm struggling.

To give a single fucking fuck

when I'm pre-menstrual
or ill or whatever.

No, I don't expect
any of that anymore.

I just want you to babysit
so I can have a night off.

Yeah.

And Jack, what do you
wanna say to Dani?

What night?

What night, what?

What night do you
want me to babysit?

Cos we've got Yeovil, so...

I think Dani meant generally,
Jack. Unless I misread that?

How does that make
you feel, Dani?

Is being a massive
cunt a feeling?

I've got something
else to tell ya.

I didn't go yoga.

I went back to art college.

Well, I've got something
to tell you an' all.

I'm proud of ya.

And I won't go to football
if you don't want me to.

Fuck it. I'm done with it.

I'd, uh, like to lay
down a challenge.

I want you to consider
going back to the place

you had your first date.

Now, it's unlikely you'll
feel the same emotions

as you did when you first met,

but trust the process
is all I ask, and...

you might be surprised.

You can come in now.

I thought I might let you
smash my back doors in.

And here's me thinking
I only married you

so you'd do me laundry.

Come and fuck me,
you fat old cunt.

- Knackered?
- Exhausted.

- Cuddle?
- Love one.

Gotta go and see
a fella from work.

Well, I guess, if
it's important.

I can't ponce off your old man
for the rest of me life, can I?

Eh?

- Love you.
- Hmm.

Cunt.

Thinking the boys would
give me a hero's welcome

for staying sober proved to
be a considerable mistake.

Instead, I was made to feel
about as welcome as Andrew Tate

at the Ipswich Lesbians'
annual vegan lunch.

No Kenny Boy?

He mentioned something about
having sushi with Buzz Aldrin.

- Lager for Vinny.
- Ta, mate.

- Lager for Deano.
- Ta, mate.

Lager for Roger. That's me.

- Pear juice for Jack.
- Sweet, Rog.

You, uh... you coming
football? We got Yeovil.

I'm gonna have a lag.

Fuck me, the geezer's
completely gone.

- It's worse than I thought.
- He's shot to bits.

- Totally weighed in.
- Absolute shit cunt.

It's embarrassing.
What are we gonna do?

Don't worry about it.

I left him a livener
in the khazi.

Straight? What'd you give him?

I taped a packet

and a couple of pills
to the toilet wall.

That'll liven the Jils up.

That's friendship for ya.

They think they're
doing you a favour,

but they forgot how you

almost wound up wanking off
bent vicars for readies,

or selling your son's
christening presents for dickie.

They're not the ones
with a prison sentence

hanging over their
heads though, are they?

What's that?

I dunno.

Smells like pear juice.

Dad, is Mum having an affair?

I hope not. What
makes you say that?

She said that if ever you
pick me up from school,

it means she's either dead
or run off with another man.

- Uncle Kenny!
- Hey.

Kenny Boy, where you been?

Working on myself.

Is this good Kenny
Boy or bad Kenny Boy?

Always good Kenny Boy.

It wants to be an' all.

♪ First day of Christmas,
my true love gave to me

♪ A partridge in a pear tree

♪ Two, four, six, eight,
we don't want to radiate

♪ Three, five, seven, nine

♪ Stop the bomb while
we've still got time

So glad to see you, Uncle Kenny.

Mum said you had
a mental breakdown

and went completely
fucking spastic again.

That's your favourite
airline, Colombian Airlines,

cos this is all you order,

"I'd like to have the
dickie with dickie,

and I'd like to season
it with dickie."

What you doing? I said
I'd let you drive us home.

Hold tight.

See a man about a dog.

Where's he going?

He's going fucking doolally
is where he's going.

All right, mate?

What's happening,
cuz? You got any food?

- What do you want, mate?
- The lot, cunt.

Fuckin' hell,
they're two-handed.

You stay here. Do
you understand me?

You don't move.

Dad?

Fuck off!

- Prick! Fucking want some more?
- Oh, mate. Mate.

Come here.

Cunts!

He's got a fucking shooter!

He's got a fucking shooter!

JJ!

Fucking run, boy! Run!

I'm sorry. All right? I'm
sorry you had to see that.

But you got to understand
that your Uncle Kenny Boy,

he's fucking
doolally, this geezer.

What you can't do
is tell your mum.

Cos if you tell your
mum, I get aimed out.

We know what happens, don't we?

Yeah, I'll have a new dad.

That's it, we'll have a laugh
about this one day. All right?

Not a word to your mum.
Not a word, all right?

- And I'll get you a Big Mac.
- Fucking Big Mac? That's it?

All right, I'll get you
some edibles, an iPad code,

laughing gas.

I might even get you a brass.

That was a joke.

Good boy.

Managed to stay out of trouble?

You were barely in the
job five minutes...

..before a fight broke out.

I didn't start it.

You're 45, not 11.

And what was the reason you
didn't show up to therapy?

Running battle with Tranmere.

I had to look after
my brother-in-law.

He's got mental health issues.

It's called a court
order for a reason.

You've got two weeks
before sentencing.

Show me something, Jack,

anything that will
make me believe you.

You never noticed
she was so stunning.

Or maybe you just never
noticed anything at all.

She had so many attributes
that were lost on you,

but above all else, she
had kindness in her soul.

Which was odd seeing as her
dad was such a titanic cunt

and her brother was a
complete fucking pothouse.

Help me with these please, babe.

Years of taking her for
granted had eroded that passion

that burned so brightly.

All that was left was a
love triangle between me,

Dani and dickie.

But the idea of losing
her and living on my own

in a one-bedder in Penge

with just Pornhub and
Nando's for company

was about as appealing as
sitting on Gary Glitter's lap.

There y'are.

It's not lost on me,
what you're doing.

- Why, what am I doing?
- Stop fishing.

- You know.
- You mean staying in,

babysitting, not
going to football

while you go to an art
exhibition with your mates?

You make it less special
when you spell it out.

I'm joking.

Why are you dressed
as Jeremy Corbyn?

I don't wanna look out of place.

What am I gonna do
while you're out?

What you normally do,
wank and play FIFA.

Oh, crap. I'm late.

Right, please make sure
he stays off his screens.

You hear me? No screens.

Yes. See ya, comrade.

You piece of shit!

Cunt!

Aim better, you
fucking piss-face.

Shut your mouth.

- You mug.
- You posh mug.

- I'm not posh.
- Private school mug.

Yes!

Fuckin' hell!

- Oi.
- Eh?

- Oi, let me go, you nonce.
- Nonce?

Stupid. Don't... You never take
your eyes off your partner.

- Oh, yeah?
- Eh?

- What's that then?
- It's a muncher.

You shut up before I put you
in the nose-bleeding zone.

Tuppence. Fat, fucking
bald tuppence cunt.

Greedy cunt.

On the dog, go on. Getcha!

Yeah, watch out before your
absolute twig arms snap.

You used to be a fuckable cunt,
now you're a fat, bald cunt.

Fucking ashamed of yourself.

It's your own fucking fault.

Oh, yes.

Love you, boy. I love ya.

It's not the hard
times that get ya.

It's not the pain
and the struggle.

And it's not the adversity.

It's normal life that breaks ya.

Dani, dickie. Dickie, Dani.

- Hi.
- Very.

We were wondering if you were
interested in joining our party.

Fuck, yeah.

Splendid. We desperately want
your vote, and are offering

something radically
different to the others,

particularly in affordable
housing and green spaces.

Good. Now where's the party?

Oh, sorry, you're
a Labour member?

- No, I'm out of it.
- Fab.

Any chance we can
convince you to swing?

As long as you ain't
got any diseases.

Splendid. We desperately want
your vote and are offering

something radically
different to the others,

particularly in affordable
housing and green spaces.

Terrific.

Now get your Tory cunt out.

I suppose you're gonna
offer me something

radically different
from the others,

particularly in affordable
housing and green spaces.

No, uh, we're offering
recycled toilet paper.

Oh.

Dad, can I please watch
some pansexual porn?

You're having a fucking
laugh, ain't ya? Your age?

You can watch straight
porn or nothing.

Ladies and gentlemen,
your attention, please.

It's now Libby's turn
to show you her work.

I chose movement

because immigration is something
that's really close to my heart.

I just totally think that there
are no borders in this world

and people should be
able to move freely.

And the fact that people escape
war zones to come to Britain

and are made to feel like
second-class citizens

really bothers me.

Libby, can you stop
looking at me, please?

I'm from fucking Dagenham.

Your attention,
please, everyone.

It's now Dani's turn
to show you her work.

So... I chose love, because...

Because...

Are you all right?

- Who's fucking Vaughn? Eh?
- Fuckin' hell.

Excuse me.

Wanker!

Wanker! Wanker! Wanker!

Wanker!

Now fuck off out of here.

Roger, my old son,
I'm out me nut.

I need you to call me
on a bit of dickie,

I want a couple
of blue diamonds,

some pingers,

something to help me on
the old downwards slope.

I think you've
dialled the wrong R.

- This isn't Roger.
- Oh, fuck!

- I'm sorry, Ron.
- Don't worry about it, kiddo.

We all make ricks, don't we?

I mean, just look at
me and my Kenny Boy.

I've not exactly been a
guiding light for him, have I?

No, no, no, Ron, I think
you done the best you could,

given the circumstances.

Truth is, Jack, I've
been way out of my depth

since the missus left
me for a younger man.

Organic butcher, as it happens.

I've just gone and buried
my head in the sand.

Underneath it all, I feel
so much... so much shame.

I mean, I know that I fucked
my Kenny Boy up with...

money and...
material possessions.

I just didn't give the boy
the one thing he needed, Jack.

All he wanted... was my love.

That's all he wanted.

I think you've dialled the
wrong R. This isn't Roger.

Oh, fuck! I'm sorry, Ron.

You fucking cunt of sickness!

You've got the nerve to bell
me and ask for a bit of dickie?

I fuckin' hate you!

And if you think I'm gonna
tell you to liven yourself up,

well, you're fucking wrong!

Cos I want you to
fuck your life up.

I want you to flush
it down the khazi!

I want my fucking Dani

to see what a fucking
wastrel you are!

I want her to fucking realise
she married a fucking no-hoper,

a fucking ponce,
a fucking Jekyll,

a fucking messer!

I'll show you messer,
you ginger cunt.

♪ We've only just begun

- Oi, oi, what's happening, son?
- ♪ To live

- ♪ White lace...
- Get in, son!

Fuckin' hell, mate.

Have a bang on that, mush. Yeah?

Right, listen,
Yeovil are en route,

and they reckon they're
gonna smash up our boozer.

- You fucking ready or what?
- Yeovil? I've shit these cunts.

- I've fucking shit these cunts.
- Yeah?

Fucking ready
then, yeah? Yeah?

You're just a fucking wanker!

You're just a fucking wanker!

Dani!

- Dani, come on.
- No.

Dani, come on. Oh,
come and have a boogie.

- Please.
- Oh, fuck it.

Yeah!

♪ And when the evening comes

♪ We smile

♪ So much of life ahead

♪ We'll find a place
where there's room to grow

♪ And yes, we've just be...

Whoo!

Yeah, so keep your
fucking eyes peeled, boys.

- You Yeovil?
- We are!

I'll do the fuckin' lot of ya.

Especially you,
you ugly, fat cunt.

Fuck! JJ!

JJ?

JJ?

Oh, fuck!

Fuck.

Fuck are you doing
here, Kenny Boy?

I heard you was bang in trouble.

Wanted to make sure you was OK.

Like you did for me.

I know I'm an albatross, Jack.

You've got enough on your plate
without having to look after me.

Truth is, you make
me look sensible.

I'm a stain on the
family. We all know it.

No one wants me around.

People go quiet when
I walk in a room.

I might be crackers,

but I can still hear
the whispers of,

"Get him the fuck away
from me," behind my back.

The truth is... I
wouldn't want me around.

I'll tell you what, Kenny Boy.

You might think I'm
all you've got...

but the fact is,
you're all I've got.

So you ain't going nowhere,
cos without you, I'm fucked.

No, Jack, you've
still got a chance.

You've just got to go
home and make it right.

I must be fucked if I'm taking
advice from a schizophrenic.

Hmm. Classy.

- Is that me clothes?
- And your porn collection.

I know what's more
important to ya.

I booked the restaurant we had
our first date in for tonight.

Please?

I've already made
other plans, Jack.

Well, unmake 'em.

How about a sorry?

Where are you going anyway?

Art stuff.

Meet me at the restaurant.

What, for another
night of humiliation?

No. For pasta.

I don't want my boy to
grow up like you, Jack.

I'm so fucking sorry
for what I've done.

If you can find it in
your heart to forgive me,

I'll see you at the
restaurant at six bells.

What's happening?

How did you know I was here?

Vin, everyone knows your
wife left you years ago.

Having a party.

- Wanna come in?
- Nah, you're all right.

Look after this for me.

Jack, do us a favour.

Don't tell the other lot, yeah?

Please don't tell me you
want your drugs back.

Thank God for that.

Nah, mate, I've fucked it.

My wife's gonna leave me.

I've turned my son
into a lunatic.

My mates think I'm a bore.

And me father-in-law's
gonna fucking kill me.

Well, at least you've
got your freedom.

I'd help if I could, mate,

but I'm just a hopeless,
dyslexic, spark-out,

dickie-sniffing drunk.
What good am I gonna be?

Mind if I readjust you slightly?

These are for you, Dani.

Yeah, I'm not Dani.

Fuck's sake. Can't
even get that right.

He wanted me to tell ya he
loves ya. More than Yeovil.

I'll just leave
'em here, shall I?

Before you sit down.

I've thought long
and hard about this.

There's something I
need to say, so...

I'm a cunt.

You know that's usually
just the beginning?

Are you not even gonna make a
promise to try a bit harder?

And you wonder why I
went back to art college.

With Vaughn.

He saw me, Jack.

He actually fucking saw me.

You've been avoiding
me for 15 years.

Scared of bumping into me.

Terrified of being
alone with me.

But don't worry,
it ain't just you.

I feel it too.

I wanna run away
from you an' all.

And don't kid yourself that it's
just you avoiding having sex.

You think I'm excited

at the prospect of you lying
on top of me for 90 seconds

while you speed fuck me
like a Border terrier?

Sometimes... I'd rather
just have a wank as well.

I know how you feel, amore mio.

And I know I ain't no
size eight anymore,

and my tits are like
punctured fucking tyres,

and my idea of fun is Wordle
and I think Uggs are sexy.

But you ain't the catch
you used to be either.

I mean, sure, I was
half impressed by you

in our twenties, but don't you
think you're past the age now

where you're a hero cos
you sniff a bit of dickie

and a top geezer in the eyes
of your silly fucking mates?

But you know what?

Despite everything...
I still love ya.

I do.

I mean, yeah, I was
tempted by Vaughn,

if only to remind myself what
fucking passion felt like.

But I couldn't bear to see
the hurt on your little face.

So, yeah... you are
absolutely right.

You are a cunt.

But you're my cunt.

And that matters to me.

- Carbonara, please.
- Spaghetti or rigatoni?

Surprise me.

Look at you.

I never spoke to a straight goer
unless I was servin' 'em dickie.

Never read a book,
apart from The Sun.

Never been to an exhibition.
We won't count yours.

I've never even
had a conversation

unless it was about
drugs or football.

I look down on people
I can't relate to.

I'm scared of mixing
outside my world.

I don't listen to anyone unless
there's something in it for me.

I judge people on their looks.

I want a prize for
doing fuck all.

I hate anyone that
disagrees with me.

And I love the sound...

of my own voice.

Fuck me, I must
bore you to tears.

And I'm not saying I'm gonna
turn into Albert Epstein.

Einstein. Epstein's the nonce.

What I will say...

is if I can stay out of
prison, I know I can change.

Hmm!

For a minute there,
I almost believed ya.

Almost is good enough for me.

Jack. Jack, it's Kenny Boy.

You've gotta come
and help me, Jack.

What the fuck you looking at?

Them fucking dealers we beat up
are in the pub looking for me.

They're firm-handed.

Calm down. I'm coming. I'm
coming now. Fuckin' hell.

I'm out by the khazi.

The fucking back door's locked.
You've gotta come and help me.

- How 'bout you, eh?
- I'm round the corner.

Bowl haircut, this tall?

I need you to help me.

- Get round the back door lively.
- Kenny Boy!

Crazy fucking look in his
eye. Have you seen him?

You've gotta come and help
me. They're gonna cop for me.

Bowl haircut. Laugh like
hyaena. You seen him?

No, mate.

- You fucking sure?
- Sorry.

Be lively, Jack.

Just fucking get
to the back door!

Round the back
and prise it open.

Kenny Boy! Push, and
I'll try and open it.

- Let me out!
- All right.

Open the door, Jack!

Hurry up! We've gotta
get out of here!

It's not fucking funny.

I was seconds away
from getting done.

Them bods had guns on them.

I was gonna get one
right in the cannister!

I don't need this, Kenny Boy!

I'm trying to sort
out my fucking life!

Remember me, pal?

Cunt stabbed me.

All right. All right,
all right, all right.

I need an ambulance.

Someone's been stabbed.
I'm outside the Fox.

Be quick, he's fucking dying.

Come on. Don't
fucking die, you cunt.

Don't you fucking die, you
cunt. You dare fucking die.

All right, all right, all right.

The defendant failed to attend
his first therapy session,

Your Honour,

and also lost his job down to a
confrontation with colleagues.

However, there is
cause for optimism.

Firstly, he came to the
aid of a wounded man,

called the ambulance services.
And from their report,

I gather he certainly helped
save the young man's life.

And on top of that, he appears
to have made the effort

to find further employment,

and has a contract with a Mr
Ron Mason's scaffold team.

In summation, I
recommend the defendant

continues his probation order

so he can carry on working
on the scaffold team,

and indeed... on himself.

Not often that this court
hears a good-news story.

I'm impressed.

Seems like your liberty is worth
fighting for after all, Jones.

Well done.

I don't intend to interfere
with your employment,

so I'm going to leave you in
the capable hands of Mr Fisher

and the probation services,

where you can hopefully impart
some of your newfound wisdom...

..to the younger offenders

you will likely
meet along the way.

Good. Court adjourned.

Shame. I was hoping
you'd get a five.

Go on then, dinlo.

Fuck off and celebrate
with your two-bob mates.

What are you gonna do?

Nude life drawing.

Don't worry, Jack, I wouldn't
hurt you just for sport.

Funny thing, life.

You never know how
it's gonna unfold.

I mean, who would have
thought the two people

that gave me the most
agg in this world

would be the ones
that came to my rescue

when I needed it the most?

- Oi.
- So, to Kenny Boy and Ron.

Kenny Boy, may your
wounds heal quickly.

Ron, may yours last forevermore.

As for me, I'm looking
forward to a bright future.

I'm thinking of reducing
my carbon footprint,

steady employment,
a Toyota Prius,

volunteering at the
school fete, a Flymo,

The Rest is Politics
podcast, a beanie hat,

and walking holidays in
Pembrokeshire with Mrs Jones.

Sourdough baking,
Wilderness Festival,

Jamie Oliver cookbooks,
recycled Birkenstocks,

me time, better
vocabulary, Wim Hof,

grassroots campaigning, sharing
family progress on social media,

vegan cheese,
maybe even a beard.

Just Stop Oil, hemp man bags,

subscription to The
Guardian, gong baths,

a greater understanding of
diverse communities, kimchi,

and generally a little
more love and tolerance

towards my fellow man.

Anyway, it can wait till Monday.

Come on, chap, liven
up, you fucking Jils.

Here look, boys. They're
fucking here, look.

Come on.

What are you doing here?!

Come on! Come on!

Come on, then!

Come on! Come on!

You fucking knobhead!

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