All language subtitles for Kevin.Bridges-The.Brnd.New.Tour.2019.HDTV.x264-TVC_track3_[eng]

This programme contains very strong
language and adult humour

MUSIC: (What's the Story)
Morning Glory? by Oasis

# Well

# What's the story morning glory?

# Well

# Need a little time to wake up... #

Ladies and gentlemen of Glasgow,

please give a warm welcome to
the brilliant Kevin Bridges.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERS

Wow.

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.

The Hydro, yes!

Good evening.

19 nights in here.
Thank you, people of Glasgow.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERS

19. 19 nights, 12,000 people,
35 quid a ticket.

I have never masturbated
to a sum before.

It is quite good.

It's good. Good to see people
coming for a laugh.

It's important in this tense and
uncertain world in which we live.

The world is scary.
It's fucked at the minute.

I've got PTSD
just watching the news.

Every day, earthquakes, tsunamis,

Donald Trump, Brexit, Kim Jong-un,
Vladimir Putin, ISIS,

global warming, a refugee crisis,
sexual harassment...

I think if you believe in God,
you've got to acknowledge

that the guy
is in over his head now.

It's getting a bit much for God.

God has lost the dressing room,
in my opinion.

Donald Trump is
the President of America.

As a comedian, it's quite difficult
to make that any fucking funnier.

That's how angry people got. He got
elected because he speaks his mind.

That's what his supporters admire
about him. He speaks his mind.

They say that as though
that's a positive.

Fucking pubs. Pubs are full of
old guys who speak their minds.

But you don't ENCOURAGE them.

You just let them speak for
a few minutes and then you

put a hand on their shoulder and
you say, "Enjoy your night, mate."

That's it.

That is how Donald Trump should have
been handled right from the offset.

"We're going to
make America great again."

"Enjoy your night, mate."

Simple.

That is the only reaction
that man deserved.

It's like listening to
a fucking taxi driver.

Everything Donald Trump has said
I have heard before

from a Glasgow taxi driver.

"See these fucking immigrants?
I'd build a wall."

"And I'd make them pay for it,
I'd fucking make them build it.

"That door's not shut right, pal"

"Global warming. It's a load of
shite, mate. I don't believe it.

"5p for a plastic bag
in these Asian shops.

"Where's that money going?
Where's that money going?"

"It's probably going
to ISIS, driver."

"Fucking going..."

"That's exactly where it's going.
See, guys like me and you?

"We get it, mate, we get it!"

We've got Brexit, that's going on.

What a fucking pain in the arse
that has become.

Whichever way you voted,
what a colossal hassle it is.

I wish Theresa May
would just shut up, right?

And maybe... Maybe it would go away.

That's it.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERS

Not even waiting for
a fucking joke there.

"That's superb, Kev."

I wish she would just acknowledge
the hassle it's become.

Just shut the fuck up

and maybe the EU would forget
that we voted to leave.

They don't seem in any hurry
for us to leave.

We don't have a fucking clue
how to leave.

Shut up and see how long we can
linger, right? Just an option.

Just an avenue
we should be exploring.

If they ever chase us up,
we just play dumb. Simple as that.

"We voted to leave? Did we?"

LAUGHTER

"When?"

LAUGHTER

"During 2016?
Fuck, now you're going back."

See, I'm 31 now. Right, 31.

I'm still kind of young,
but no longer "the youth".

That's what your 30s are.

You're just realising that
you're in the real world.

You realise that your mates are
getting married and having kids

and they're changing.

The legends from your adolescent
years are now fully immersed.

I've got a mate, Craigy, who's
now called Craig. That's sick.

It's hard to watch a man
having his Y removed.

LAUGHTER

It's what happens. As soon as
you turn 30, Craigy becomes Craig.

Stuarty becomes Stuart.

Shagger becomes Ian. It's sick.

LAUGHTER

I know I'm never going to see
Craigy again.

I'm going to see Craig, however,
on Facebook every Sunday morning.

A photograph of him standing,
looking devastated,

in a children's soft play area...

LAUGHTER

..with the caption, "Family day.
My world. My life."

It's painful for me to watch. I'm
going, "Fuck me, that's not Craigy.

"That's Craig I'm looking at."

I'm zooming into the picture,

I'm zooming into Craig,
searching for Craigy.

"Craigy, I know you're still
in there. I will find you, Craigy.

"I know there's still
a bit of Craigy in you, Craig.

"I will find you. The eyes
are the window to the soul.

"I will salvage
the remains of Craigy.

"I will find the guy who burnt
his eyebrows off trying to light

"a joint off a disposable barbecue.

"I will find him."

LAUGHTER

No longer the youth.
I see the youth. I see the kids.

It's new to me watching a generation
of youth coming behind me.

These wee fucking dweebs
that we're creating. I see them.

They start talking when I
walk into a cafe or somewhere.

"Oh, my God. It's Kevin Bridges.

"Is it actual?
That's actual Kevin Bridges.

"Actual. Is it actual?
It's actual, actual Kevin Bridges."

And you just see a smartphone
appearing,

some wee guy recording you,

about as subtle as 9/11.

Just sitting...

LAUGHTER

I've no idea I'm on Facebook Live
wrestling with a vinegar sachet.

LAUGHTER

See, I don't think that's
a childhood. I feel for them.

Social media is destroying
their mental health.

Becoming hooked on these phones,
becoming self-obsessed, self-aware.

It's dangerous. Childhood should be
a time for not giving a fuck.

It should have been sacred.

CHEERS AND APPLAUSE

Where's the characters?

Childhood was a time to be
a weirdo and embrace that.

I used to idolise the weirdos
in my school.

The kids who did not give a fuck
what anybody thought,

the kids who would
spend lunchtime

and playtime on their own,
just running around the playground.

They did not conform to
any peer pressure.

They were not affiliated to
any social circle.

They operated alone, just running
lap after lap of the playground.

They would have their
jacket on backwards.

They would have the hood
covering their face, eyes closed,

making motorbike noises
as they're doing lap after lap,

alone in their own mind,

tearing up the highways
of their fucking imaginations.

Just... "Ny-owwww!

"Ny-owwww!"

Circling the playground,
the whole school would be watching.

"There he is.
Chrissy Shenkle! Chrissy Shenkle."

But the more you shouted
Chrissy Shenkle's name,

the faster he drove
that fucking Harley.

"Ny-oww! Ny-ny-owwwww!"

But these days, you're never
going to see a Chrissy Shenkle

because we would destroy him.

Somebody would record a video
of Chrissy Shenkle on his chopper

and upload that video to
social media.

People would begin
laughing at Chrissy Shenkle,

who had never even met
Chrissy Shenkle,

and then somebody would feel sorry
for Chrissy Shenkle and diagnose

Chrissy Shenkle with attention
deficit and hyperactivity disorder.

That mockery would immediately
turn to sympathy.

"How the fuck can we help
Chrissy Shenkle?"

At no point in that one-minute video
did Chrissy Shenkle

request anybody's assistance,
but this is social media.

We need to make it about us.

"Let's set up a Just Giving page
for Chrissy Shenkle."

CHEERS AND APPLAUSE

"We don't know Chrissy Shenkle's
financial situation,

"but we're going to raise him
five grand.

"I'm going to do a bungee jump
for Chrissy Shenkle

"and the ADHD Awareness charity.

"I'm going to grow a moustache
for Chrissy Shenkle."

It would be everywhere.
Celebrities would get involved.

Fucking Peter Andre, Ollie Murs

doing the motorbike challenge
for ADHD Awareness.

Chrissy Shenkle would get invited
on The One Show,

no idea that he is on The One Show,

running around the sofa
on his chopper.

"Ny-owww!"

The kid would be massive.

Leading football teams out
at cup finals!

And then the Daily Mail would reveal
that Chrissy Shenkle's auntie

is a benefits cheat.

LAUGHTER

We would put him right up there
and then when the time is right...

HE MIMICS AN EXPLOSION

We'd destroy him.

You see, I was invited to do
a talk at my old school.

I was invited
because I'm an example.

I'm an inspiration to these dweebs.

I get invited.

And I thought it was going to be
a laugh, but it was a serious talk.

I saw the head boys,
the prefects with the badges,

kids who would've been fucking
finished at my time at school.

The big perm. "I'm the head boy,
Kev. Just want to say..."

And they were asking me questions.
It was a Q&A.

I was like, "All right, fucking
better take this pretty serious."

The kid, he started off by asking me
what kind of child I was at school.

I told him, I was honest.

I told him I was quite a nervous
child, I used to worry,

I was anxious, I was overweight.
I got called names.

I got called Fatty, Fatty Boom Boom,
Chonk, Chubber.

And the kid never laughed.

He was deadly serious and he said,

"Oh, so fat shaming existed
when you were at school?"

That is when you realise
how rapidly time is moving.

I'm telling these kids
about the '90s

as though it was
the fucking Victorian era.

He's asking me if people were
fat-shamed at school in the '90s.

If you're fat, you get fat-shamed.

You get skinny-shamed,
specky-shamed, sporty-shamed,

ginger-shamed, buck-teeth-shamed,
dog-breath-shamed,

big-ears shamed,
your-dad's-an-alky shamed.

Your-mum-would-get-it shamed.

LAUGHTER

Adidas-four-stripe-trainers shamed.

LAUGHTER

And you had to accept it, or you got
can't-take-a-shaming shamed.

School could be brutal.
I was anxious.

I don't think I would be a comedian
if I was not an anxious kid

because I would have
passed my exams.

I remember forgetting how to spell
the word "who" during an exam

because I got myself worked into
such a frenzy about how much

this exam was going to define my
entire life. I'm writing this essay,

I'm flying through it.
"He had wanted to know who..."

I came to the word "who" and...

"Come on, Kev, fucking write
'who', man. Come on. Who! Who?

"How the fuck do you spell who?
H... It's H, isn't it?"

A W at the start
is so far from your mind.

"It's definitely not going
to be a W at the start

"because it's who, it's not wha-ho."

LAUGHTER

And then you start overthinking it
and it's a downward spiral.

"Come on, Kevin, you need to
write 'who', mate.

"This is far too long to be
spending on the word 'who'.

"'He had wanted to know who...' Hoo.
H, O... Kev, that's going to be how.

"You need to write 'who'.
The guy never wanted to know how.

"He wanted to know who.
Fucking write 'who'.

"Kev, fucking 'who', mate, come on!

"Everybody else is waiting, Kev.
Look at that exam clock.

"The minute hand's
fucking accelerating, Kev.

"You're stuck on the word 'who'.

"You're going to be a junkie, Kev.
You're going to be a junkie.

"Just calm down, Kev,
get that voice out your head.

"You're going to be a junkie."
"I'm not going to be a junkie."

"Fucking spell 'who', then, junkie
boy. Junkie! Junkie! Junkie!"

"Just settle down, mate. H...
You've got H. Let's get who. H, O...

"You got ho. You need to get
'oo' on the end of ho.

"How can I make 'ho' 'who'?

"H, O, E..." "That's a garden tool,
junkie boy!"

"Get that voice out your head,
that is doing you no favours here.

"H, O... Oo. H, O, O.

"He had wanted to know ho-ho?"

"We'll fucking send you to
a different school

"if you hand that in, Kev."

"He had wanted to know ho..."

"Is that what you want, Kev?

"Going fucking pheasant-beating with
Chrissy Shenkle every weekend?"

CHEERS AND APPLAUSE

By definition, I'm a millennial,
but an older millennial.

I can relate to both worlds, right?

I still remember a childhood
without the internet.

You had to make up your own games.

I'm probably the last generation
who will remember a childhood

without the internet, will remember
having to learn how to be bored.

Just going on a fucking walk,
just being you, just picking up

a fucking leaf off a hedge
and just crushing it.

Just going on a fucking walk.

Making up your own games, picking up
a stone and thinking to yourself,

"If I don't hit that cable box,
my whole family are going to die."

Remember that game?

LAUGHTER

The happiest days of your life.

"You missed it, Kev.
Best of three. Come on!"

Your mum shouting you in
for your dinner.

"I'm trying to save
everybody's life here."

But then I remember
getting the internet.

At first, that was exciting.

It was just something
that you plugged in

and then as soon as you
unplugged it, it was gone.

It never dominated
people's social time,

never ruined people's mental health.
It was just the internet.

You would go on it for an hour,
sit on a chatroom.

We were the original
vile online trolls.

"I'm talking to an American guy.

"There's a guy in America, I'm
sitting here and I'm talking to him.

"This is fucking amazing!
'You are a dick!'"

LAUGHTER

"Just called an American guy a dick.

"No, he's in America, I'm here!
Just called him a dick!

"The guy replied,
the guy's replied!"

"Where you at, motherfucker?
Where you at?"

"I'm at your mum's house, mate.
Ha-ha-ha-ha."

LAUGHTER

"This is fucking brilliant,
isn't it?"

MSN Messenger,
that was the very first...

CHEERS

That was the original social media.
They were easier days.

If somebody asked you
to send a photograph of yourself

on MSN Messenger,

"Sorry, I don't have a scanner."

It was simpler times.

You never had kids
becoming image-obsessed

because only about 12 photographs
of you existed in the '90s.

You're not going to send one of them
to a girl you're talking to online.

"This is me and my dad
on a pedalo in Majorca."

LAUGHTER

An hour goes by.

Only 17% of the photograph
has downloaded down the screen.

Trying to keep
the conversation going whilst

looking at the top 17% of you
and your dad just standing...

Your wee plastic tube around your
neck where you kept your pesetas.

LAUGHTER

"I'll send the rest later,
my mum has to use the house phone."

LAUGHTER

It was never designed as a habitat

where relationships could grow,
the internet.

You get all these wee dweebs,
if they fancy somebody,

they can just click 'Like' on a few
of their pictures

or send a direct message and that is
what creates a generation

of these wee horned-up
sex gremlins.

These fucking apprentice rapists
who are being created

because they have never
handled rejection face-to-face.

They have never received a
knock-back from point-blank range.

They've never felt the emotions

walking up to the girl
that you fancy in a school disco,

feeling your heart bursting through
your Sergio Tacchini polo shirt.

"I'm going to have
a fucking clutcher here."

It's bursting right through.

Your cheap, shitty Spar hair gel
starts running into your eyes

as you're sweating.

Your mouth's dry, there's a cold
bit of sweat going down your spine.

You feel it trickle right into your
arse crack as you're advancing

on the potential love of your life.

And you knew you had fucked it up
as soon as you arrived there.

The way you were presenting
yourself, you knew you'd fucked it.

But before you knew it,
the words were leaving your mouth.

"Would you get off with me?"

Time would slow down. You would hear
yourself saying the words.

"Wwwoooooouuullldd yyooooooouuu
ggeeeeettt oooooofff

"wwiiiiiitthhhh mmeeeee?"

Hanging in there for the slight
chance that she'll say yes,

and it was always, "Naw."

And it was painful.
It was humiliating.

It crushed you.
But you had faced the fear.

You never called her a bitch.

You respected her decision.

You respected yourself.
You had conquered the fear.

You were getting back in the game.

"Would any of your friends
get off with me?"

You were rising from the ashes
like a phoenix here.

"Listen, if you hear of anybody
who wants to get off with me,

"just spread the word. Big Kev's
in the corner, eating a Freddo,

"drinking a Capri Sun,
looking for love."

That's it. Fuck social media.

It's time, the time is up.

It's fucking destroying
people's lives. Fuck it, right?

We need a revolution. Or they
at least need to stop calling it

"social" media, in my opinion.

Because there's nothing social
about it.

Right, you don't want to socialise
in these places. If Facebook...

CHEERING
Right, exactly.

If Facebook was a pub, you would
probably have a look around and go,

"It's full of pricks in here.
Let's go somewhere else."

Simple as that.

As soon as you...
CHEERING

As soon as you view it in those
terms, the illusion disappears

and it's a lot more straightforward
to disconnect.

If your Facebook page was a pub,
would you sit in a pub,

a guy you went to school with
trying to sell Herbalife,

would you sit in that fucking pub?

Your second cousin who
wants to be a blogger

and she can only speak to people
in inspirational quotations.

Would you sit in that fucking pub?

"Guys, I just believe
that yesterday is history

"and tomorrow is a mystery,
you know?"

"I really believe that. Isn't that
such a nice thing to believe?"

You'd get a fucking jerrycan
full of petrol

and go back and torch that pub.

A guy you work beside whose gran
died years ago and he mentions it

every time he needs a few likes.

You know, these sick fucks.
"Just having a sad day today, guys.

"I'm having a really sad day.

"I'm just thinking of you, Gran.
I know you're up there, Gran."

Whoring out your dead gran
for attention.

Right, the lowest of the low here.

Right? I know.

CHEERING

I know that sounds a bit harsh,
but fuck these people. Right...

"Gran, I know you're up there and
every day is another day closer to

"seeing your face again, Gran.

"And I just want to say, Gran, that
I love you and miss you. I know

you're looking down on me, Gran,
and I know you are proud of me

"and everything I'm doing.

"And I'm so proud of you
and I just...

"Until I see your face again, Gran,

"I just want to say I love you,
Gran."

On Facebook! You feel like going,
"Mate, your gran never knew

"how to turn the fucking
volume up on the telly!"

"When she was alive, she never knew
how to put the central heating on!

"Do you think she's died,
went up to Heaven,

"somebody's presented
her with an iPad upon arrival?

"Do you think your gran has done
an IT course? Do you think

"there's courses in Heaven to pass
the time, since it is eternity?

"'Oh, fuck it, I'll do
a six-week IT course.'

"Do you think your gran is asking
St Peter for the Wi-Fi password

"up in Heaven?

"St Peter like, 'It's on the wall,
sweetheart.

" 'Paradi5e - the S is a five.'

"Fuck you and fuck your gran, mate."

I hope there is. I hope there is
Wi-Fi in Heaven, if you get there.

I hope there's not even a password.
I hope it just connects.

That's the least we can expect
if we get to Heaven, isn't it?

The tech generation. Shit-hot Wi-Fi.

Hell, I bet Hell
has atrocious Wi-Fi.

BT Openzone,
that's what you get in Hell.

That is what every dead paedophile
deserves, eternity on BT Openzone.

"How the fuck do you get on the
Wi-Fi here? Fucking shite, innit?

"Saying I need to re-enter
my details. Fucking..."

Jimmy Savile
smashing a Samsung Galaxy...

I would like to believe, I would
like to believe in Heaven and Hell.

I'd like to believe in God and...

Right, I grew up, I was raised a
Catholic, right?

But I don't really give a fuck
these days, right?

I don't really...
I don't really bother.

But I respect people's...
CHEERING

Right, OK, relax there. Religion.

Right. A bit of religion.

Famous fucking light-hearted
subject in this fine city.

SOMEONE BOOS

"Boo!"
Right, enjoy your night, mate.

The dangers of speaking your mind
right there.

I respect people's beliefs. I
respect, and I listen to the stories

about Jesus... Jesus, Mary...
SHOUTING IN AUDIENCE

Shut the fuck up, so I can...

LAUGHTER AND CHEERING

Fucking Chrissy Shenkle
up on the balcony there.

CHEERING

Talking about God,
talking about the big man.

Our Lord, Saviour, Jesus,
the Almighty... Ame-e-e-e-en.

Sounds amazing in here.

I listen... I listen to
the religious stories.

Jesus, Mary, Joseph.

And I hope it is true, right?
For Joseph's sake.

Right? I respect that guy's faith -

the strength of that guy's faith.

What a mentally strong guy
Joseph must have been.

Right? He's in a relationship, they
have never had sexual intercourse,

but one day his missus announces
that she is pregnant.

And as far as I'm aware, Joseph
calmly let her explain, right?

Not a...

He never raised his voice,
he never punched a wall.

Not a plasterer in Bethlehem made
a penny out of Mary's announcement.

Because Joseph had faith.

And Mary explained that the father
of the child was in actual fact God,

and God had sent his only son to
Mary, for her to give birth to,

so that his only son could go on to
save the world from its sins.

And Joseph, fucking glass-half-full
kind of guy, accepted that.

However, I would just have liked
if the Bible had elaborated

ever so slightly
on that entire episode.

In particular, the chapters where
Joseph the carpenter breaks his news

to the rest of the building site.

I would like to have read
some of those paragraphs, right?

The carpenters are on their
lunchbreak, just shooting the shit,

and then Joseph tells them,
"Aye, so Mary's pregnant."

They were probably high-fiving him,
"Fucking, yes, Joe! Shagger!

"Yes, Joe! Welcome to the club, Joe!

"Fucking wee Joe! Yes, Joe!"

But then Joe puts a dampener
on the enthusiasm by saying,

"No, the baby is not actually mine."

"What the fuck, Joe?" The carpenters
think they're going to

have to go and fucking
leather somebody.

And then Joe would say, "No,
the baby actually belongs to God,

"and God has sent his only son to
Mary, so that Mary can give birth to

"his only son, and his only son
can go on to save the world

"from its sins."

And it was on that building site

where the concept of atheism
originated.

It was not Ancient Greeks
or academics or scientists

or intellectuals or Richard Dawkins.

It was workies who had the awakening
by saying,

"Joe, she sounds like
a fucking psycho." Right?

I hope it's true.

I hope it's true,
I hope Joe had the last laugh.

Jesus is born - a son
who can turn water into wine.

What an asset
for a humble carpenter.

I hope that building site apologised
to Joe every Friday night.

I hope they were heading back to
Joe's. "Let's go back to yours, Joe.

"Wake up the wee man. Fucking yes!"

"I love going back to Joe's
when the wee man's in.

"Brilliant, innit?

"We'll wait in the living room, Joe.
You go and get him."

Joe's fucking staggering
into Jesus' bedroom. "Wee man...

"You awake, wee man?

"Sorry, pal. Sorry.

"I know it's past your bedtime.
Come into the living room, pal.

"Come on. Come on through.

"Here he is.

"Right, wee man,
get your Uncle Abraham a wine."

I hope Joe was standing
proud as fuck.

"Oh, he's different class, Jacob,
isn't he?

"Boy's superb. Come on,
we'll go find a blind cunt.

"Wait till you see this one."

Wee Joe. I like wee Joe.

That's a religious figure I respect.
Wee Joe.

Just a stepdad, wasn't he? Just... I
bet Jesus never even called him dad.

I bet Jesus called him Joe.

How the fuck was Joe to compete?

His real dad
created the world in a week!

Joe's in the back garden, trying to
make him a fucking rocking horse!

See, my life, my life has changed,
right? Thanks to you people, right,

who buy tickets to see me and stuff.
Right, that's...
CHEERING

That's appreciated.

I grew up, I grew up in
a working-class area, right?

Clydebank, that's where I grew up.
Some of you probably know that.

It's nice, I don't know how you
would describe that to people

not from Scotland. I don't want to
say "a shithole".

A nice, real... A real place.
Real people.

People who have seen a dog's
paw print in a human shite.

Real people.

That's where I spent the first
24 years of my life, right?

The past seven years I've lived
in a middle-class area

with Gavin and Fraser and all the
fucking Frisbee chuckers, right?

That's where I live, right?

I find it hard to meet like-minded
people in my new life.

I was getting a bit of work done
recently in my house, right?

I was getting a new kitchen,
and the job was on for about a week.

And every morning I was talking to
one of the kitchen fitters, right?

And just about 20 minutes, made the
guy a cup of tea and we would just

have a talk. And instantly
I thought, "I like this guy.

"This guy is sound as fuck." Right?

Now, that's an endangered species -
the sound guy, right?

It's a dying breed - the sound
as fuck, the brand-new guy.

Right, it's all these Love Island
wankers these days, guys.

Who wear chinos and don't have any
fucking socks on under their shoes.

I can't socialise with a guy
without any socks on,

because it's bad for
my anxiety levels.

"Mate, you're going to get blisters
on the back of your heels,

"and it's really stressing me out,
right?"

Can't be associated. Right,
it's a fucking human requirement.

Food, water, shelter, socks.

"Right, get some socks on, mate.

"Fucking get some Elastoplast or
something before it's too late."

But this guy was different.
Sound as fuck.

Every Netflix documentary he
recommended was a fucking belter.

One of those guys, if he wanted to
put on a song at a party,

you would escort him to the docking
station because it's guaranteed

to be a TUNE! Right? What a guy.

So it was the Thursday night,
and the following day the kitchen

was to be finished, and I said to
my girlfriend, I said

I liked that big guy, but it was
a friendship with an expiry date.

I said to her,
"I'm going to miss that guy.

"I'm going to miss him.
He was sound. He was brand-new."

And my girlfriend said, "Well,
why don't you see if he wants to

"go for a pint?"

And I said,
"What, like, ask him out?"

And she said, "Aye, ask him out."

And before I knew it,
I was blushing!

Because I'd never
asked a guy out before.

And I said, "He'll... He'll...
He'll probably say no."

And then she was getting right
behind me, a bit of sister power.

"How do you know
he's going to say no?"

"What, do you think he would go for
a pint with me?"

"You're not going to know
until you ask him."

"All right, I'm going to ask him,
then. I'm going to ask him."

Every time I've got a spare minute
on that Thursday night,

I'm in the mirror - "How's it going,
my man? Do want to catch a pint?"

"Catch a pint, Kev? You going to
throw a fucking pint at him?

"Relax, Kev! Relax!"

"Maybe get a pint..." "Kev, don't
do the gun, don't do the gun.

"Do not do the gun.
The guy is well within his rights

"to fucking crack you
if you do the gun."

"You want to get a pint one night?"
Kev, too desperate, Kev.

Fuck. My bottle crashed. I just
envisaged walking on up there,

"Would you go for a pint with me?"

"Naw."

"Would any of your friends
go for a pint with me?

"If you know about anybody who
wants to go for a pint with..."

I've stopped...
I've stopped boozing as much.

Right, I still drink, but I've
stopped drinking as much, because

that is another thing I discovered,
as soon as you turn 30,

the fear of a hangover
eclipses the joy of a night out.

Right, teenagers, twenties,
you see a tray of Jagerbombs arrive,

you see a good night ahead.

30s, you see a tray of suicidal
thoughts in the morning arrive.

That is the harsh reality
of the ageing process.

You drink a couple of these, you
know the next day is going to be

spent on your couch, putting on Come
Dine With Me just for some company,

just to have people there,
just reassuring voices.

You're not even watching it, you're
just staring at it, occasionally

paying attention, and then some old
guy undercooks a Beef Wellington

and it's just too much,
you've got a lump in your throat.

There's a fucking tear that's
trickling down your face

as you're getting hit like a freight
train with pangs of guilt

about trivial shit
that happened years ago.

SOBBING: "He's just fucked up his...
Oh, the old guy's just fucked it.

"He's...

"He's just fucked up
his Beef Wellington.

"He only wanted to make everybody
a nice dinner

and he's totally ruined it.
The starter...

"The starter looked amazing,
and then he just totally fucking...

"Why did he, why did he
try a Beef Wellington?

"It's quite a hard dish to make."

And then that voice perks up.

"That's it, Kev,
you piece of shit, eh?

"Remember your mum used to make you
a packed lunch every day, Kev,

"even though you just put it in
the bin and went to the chip van?

"Remember, Kev? Four years
that went on. Every morning

"she was making you sandwiches

"even though they were just going
in your..."

"Phone her, Kev." "I'm sorry!"
"Phone her, Kev.

"Phone your mum." "I'm going to
phone her, I'm going to phone her!"

Before you know it,
you're dialling "Mum mob".

"Mum, I just wanted to say I'm sorry

"for every time
you made me a packed lunch...

"..and I was just putting it..."

"Kevin, where are you?
Are you on something, Kevin?

"Have you...?"

"Your mum thinks you're a junkie,
Kev. She thinks you're a junkie.

"Junkie boy! Junkie!
Junkie! Junkie!"

That is a hangover, 30s onwards.

Going to the bathroom
every 20 minutes,

shitting out bits of yourself
you need to keep.

That's what you've got to
look forward to.

Having to gradually move off
the pan, knowing that you need to

turn back and survey the devastation
you have left in there.

"Right, Kev, that was a very
aggressive bowel movement, Kev.

"Don't flee the scene,
do not flee the scene,

"that needs a wee check, Kev.
I think you might have

"done yourself a bit of long-term
in there, Kev,

"so we're just going to
count to three, pal.

"We're going to turn back and we're
going to take a wee look at that

"and then decide the next step,
OK, Kev? Let's.... Come on, pal.

"We'll get through this, right?
One, two, three...

"What the fuck is that red bit,
Kev?!

"Kev, there's a red bit in there,
mate.

"The red bit, what the fuck, Kev?

"You've just shit the red bit
out of your arsehole, Kev.

"You need to look at that, mate."

Get the phone out. "I have just shit
the red bit out of my arsehole.

"The red bit has just
fallen out my arsehole."

"That's it, Kev. You need to go to
the doctors, Monday morning."

Just walking in. "Doctor,
we're both adults here.

"I have just shat the red bit
out of my arsehole."

That's what you've got to look
forward to.

Your hangovers in your 20s -

"Oh, my God, I'm so hungover.
Really need a Nando's."

"Oh, my God, I'm so hungover,
need an arse transplant!"

It's just... I'm trying to drink
in moderation these days.

Take spells. You need to take
a wee bit of a preseason

before you get back into it.

I'm trying to drink...
It's easy for me.

I live in an area with all these
fucking juice bars, right?

It's easy to eat healthy
when you live in a salubrious area.

I was in a juice bar - a JUICE bar -
and I ordered myself what was called

a "stress buster"
with a "libido shot". Right?

And as soon as I said that out loud,
I thought, "Fuck, I've just revealed

"a bit too much of myself here.

"But that's fine, it's good to talk,
Kev. It's good to talk.

"Open up to the guy. Get it off your
chest, Kev. It's OK not to be OK.

"See what other juice he's got."

"Mate, have you got a juice
that can stop me dreaming that

"there's an Alsatian chasing me
through a scrapyard...

"..and every time I shout for help
my teeth fly out my mouth?"

It's a lucrative market,
fucking bullshitting people.

Everybody's falling for it.
Even the smokers.

Right, I respect smokers.

At least you know you're killing
yourself. Unlike this new breed of

the electronic cigarette user, these
big machines that people are...

These fucking mopeds engines
that people are puffing on.

And they're making the smokers
feel shame.

"You need to quit the cigarettes,
man, get yourself a vape.

"That's me been three months
off the cigarettes.

"Yeah, I just really feel
the freedom in my lungs."

This big fucking machine.

INHALES AND EXHALES LOUDLY

"You need to get yourself
one of these, man."

Every city centre in the UK, these
clouds are appearing in the sky.

You're waiting for
the guy to reappear

dressed up as fucking Cher.

That's... That's the hand gesture.

If you're inviting somebody outside
for a cigarette, it's that.

If you're inviting somebody outside
for an electronic cigarette,

it's this. Right?

"Here, there's about 15 guys
coming out.

"One of them's got a camcorder.

"They must be right into vaping,
these boys, eh? Fucking...

"Bring yours so we've got two."

I've got a mate, he's a vapist.

Right, I was watching him.

I was in his flat one night,
I was...

I was watching him and his vape,
right, and he was charging

the electronic cigarette
through a USB cable.

Right, that's how healthy it is.

Right, you charge it
through a USB lead

and then put it straight
into your chest.

He's got all his wee
flavoured tobaccos,

putting about 70 watts of tiramisu
into his lungs.

Charging his vape through
a USB cable that was attached

to his PlayStation.

All the while
he's still smoking on it.

This is a guy convinced he has made
a positive lifestyle change.

I'm sitting back watching a guy
smoking a fucking PlayStation,

right?

I'm saying, "Well, what games...
What games have you got?"

He's going, "Oh, I don't play it.
I just puff it.

"I just puff it now,
I don't play it."

Sitting...
INHALES AND EXHALES LOUDLY

His living room's like
a fucking Galatasaray match.

"You're going to get a fine off
UEFA, man! Fucking hell!"

Good... Good luck to anybody
that's getting healthy.

It is. I lost weight. I just...

I just reversed the damage
I'd done to myself in my childhood.

I used to go to a chip van
every single day at lunchtime,

and then an ice cream van. Two of my
three meals a day were from a van.

That's how you end up quite a
sizeable dude, right? Now I live

in an area where the kids go to
Pret A Manger at lunchtime.

"Shall we go to Pret A Mon-jhay?"

They're even pronouncing it
correctly.

"Wee man, you're fucking 12.
It's Pret a Mang-er."

As soon I... As soon I made
a few quid, thanks to you people,

I lost weight, right?
Simple as that.

Right, I hear politicians...
I hear them.

I hear the Health Minister.

"Is there... Is there a link...

"Is there a link between poverty and
obesity? We're not really sure.

"Is there a link there? We're going
to commission a think tank

to explore a possible link between
poverty and obesity.

"We're not really sure."

Aye, there's a fucking link!

You don't get avocados
in a food bank.

Nobody donates quinoa
or avocados to a food bank.

You try getting a fucking six-pack
with the contents of a food bank.

Alphabetti spaghetti
and a bowl of Frosties.

See if Joe Wicks can get you lean
eating that shite.

I paid... I paid �1.99
recently for two avocados,

and I could only imagine
asking my parents

to include avocados
in their weekly shop.

My dad would...
He'd have a fucking meltdown.

"A fucking quid?!
A quid this cost, son?!"

He would come rampaging home from
Asda on foot to confront me,

holding the avocado.
"A fucking quid for this?!

"What the fuck is it? A quid?!

"What, do you get a fucking toy
inside it, son? What is it?"

�1.99 for two avocados.

That's a double cheeseburger
and medium fries

off the McDonald's Saver Menu.

That's a Big Mac and large fries

with a valid First Bus
all-day ticket.

That's the link between
poverty and obesity.

A wee reward from McDonald's
for not walking somewhere.

That's the link.

Slimming World,
that's the working-class diet.

That's what my mum goes on -
every five years for a month,

she goes on Slimming World, and from
what I can observe, the only days

she's on a diet is the Tuesday,
the weigh-in day.

Seven o'clock, Tuesday night,
in the function room of your local,

that is the weigh-in.
Tuesday is the day that she diets.

I've seen my mum on a Tuesday,
walking about her living room

like a fucking cage fighter.

Every radiator's turned up to five,
the fire is on, the neighbours think

she's growing a skunk plant.

"I'm serious, son,
I'm cutting weight, I'm shredding."

Scared to swallow her saliva
in case she puts any weight on.

"Cannot wait to see

"that smug bastard Janet
MacPherson's face tonight, son.

"She lost 3 lbs last week, I put on
2 lbs, and the way she looked at me,

"son, I vowed never again,
you smug old boot, never again."

I'm buying into the hype.
I want to go and watch the weigh-in.

I want to see my mum swagger into
the function room of the local.

I want to see my mum walk in
like fucking Conor McGregor.

IMITATES CONOR MCGREGOR:
"You'll fuckin' do nothin', Janet.

"You'll fuckin' do nothin'."

I blame... I blame the geeks
for the obesity epidemic.

I blame geeks for a lot of
the world's problems, right?

But these geeks that have developed
applications specifically designed

to send you fast food.

Just Eat and Deliveroo.

Right, Deliveroo - a medical student
cycling three miles

to hand you a chicken tikka masala.
Wow!

Answering the door in a pair of
1998 Brazil shorts.

"There's a couple of quid for
yourself, mate. Get a nice book."

Right? What a breakthrough that is
for the humble man.

Just you and your thumb deciding
what food is coming.

You don't even need to relay
the gluttony to another human being.

No wonder you're phoning a greatest
hits Chinese, when you're just

ordering everything you have
ever heard of from the Chinese.

And you've only said three, maybe
four items, and the guy says,

"Anything else?" And you need to
start editing your order

because he has just anything-elsed
you far too early.

"Dad, I never got you
your sesame prawn toast,

"the guy sounded fucking appalled.
Sorry."

But you don't get that kind of
judgment with your thumb.

You can spend ages just
browsing takeaway places,

anywhere in the vicinity
of your house.

Sometimes I'm on there for hours.

I don't even order, I just have a
fucking perv, just looking through.

It's killed...
It's killed something, right.

An app, ordering takeaway food
via an app, right?

It's killed that excitement in the
journey that you went on as a family

when you had phoned a Chinese.

Friday night, phoning a Chinese.

Right, you never had an app that you
ordered the food and it told you

your order had been accepted, told
you your food was being prepared,

it told you your food
was on the way,

you even got to watch the driver
pulling into your street,

watching the guy driving diagonally
in a Toyota Prius.

"Fucking hell, Dynamo's a delivery
driver now. Look at this guy."

It's killed something.

When you had phoned the Chinese,
old school, Friday night,

phoned the Chinese,
and when you hung up the phone,

you had fucking no idea the status
or the progress of your order.

You don't know if the guy on the
phone even took the order serious.

You don't know if he was just,
"Aye, very good, mate.

"Aye, I'll fucking write that
down, mate. Very good..."

You have no idea what was going on.

Sitting watching
some shitty game show,

the whole family is aware
that the Chinese has been phoned.

"It could come... It could come in
ten minutes. It happened before.

"Remember that time
it came in just ten minutes?"

"Aye, we got salmonella,
but I would accept that the noo.

"I'm fucking starving."

20 minutes after the phone call,
that's more realistic territory.

That's when the volume on the telly
gets turned down

just ever so slightly

as people's minds
begin to leave the living room.

We're now listening in for car
engines anywhere in the area.

25 minutes, somebody takes a walk
over to the window just for a wee...

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

30 minutes,
somebody's up beside them.

You've now got two watchmen
on the front line here.

Commentary. "Here we go, here we go,
here's headlights, here we go...

"Oh, you bastard! It just turned
at the last minute. Sorry.

"Sorry. At the very last minute.

"Honestly, I thought it was...
What's that? Whoa, oh...!

"Taxi. It's a taxi."

"Would you two sit on your arse.
It's not going to come any quicker

"whether you stand at the window
or you sit on your arse."

Your mum is trying to get a lid
on the situation

before it gets out of control.

40-minute mark,
your mum is now up at the window

parting the two of you.

You've now got three
on the front line.

Woe betide anybody who committed
a crime in your street

between the Chinese getting phoned
and the Chinese arriving.

Entire family's here who could give
a detailed statement

on any activity that occurred.

Somebody's not putting dog shite
in the dog shite bin.

Somebody's not putting plastic
in the plastic bin.

We have got three hungry bastards
at this window prepared to grass.

"Where the fuck
is the Chinese food?"

There's fingerprints on the glass.

People's breath
is steaming up the glass.

Caged animals at feeding time here.

45 minutes, "I'm going to go
and get the plates and the knives

"and the forks so at least
when it does come we're ready."

Your mum
has given everybody a plate,

the telly has been fully muted,
we're sat back down,

we've got a knife and a fork
and a plate,

we're sitting with our knife
and our fork and our plate

as the time is ticking.

The atmosphere is like the beginning
of a fucking prison riot here.

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

One hour after the phone call.

"Fucking phone them back!"

"Phone them back!"

Your dad's getting involved.

Your dad is not prepared to sit back
and watch his family starve

at the hands of the Lucky Panda.

"Fucking phone them back!"

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

"Phone them back!"
I'm going to phone them back!

"I will phone them back!"

Your dad, who deemed himself
incapable of phoning

to place the original order, but now
there's an element of confrontation,

he's all over it.
"I'll fucking phone them back, son."

"Put the number in,
put the number in.

"I am too seething to type.
Put it in, son."

"I'm perfectly calm.
I am perfectly calm."

"Hi, we phoned a delivery
about five hours ago."

"It's on the way?

"Is it on the way
from fucking China, mate, eh?

"I'm saying, "Is it on the way
from fucking China?"

"I'm perfectly calm.
I am perfectly calm."

"It's every weekend
with these arseholes.

"I'm calm. I'm fucking calm.

"Aye, well, it better be on the way,
mate."

We have used up our only phone call.

We are now fully at the mercy
at the hands of the Lucky Panda.

We're sitting there,
knife, fork, plate, muted telly.

An hour and 10 minutes,
an hour and 15 minutes.

Your dad...

Your dad starts eating a Kit Kat.

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

You've never seen such a rage
come over your mother's face.

It's like it's not even
your mother any more.

She cannot believe
what she has just seen.

"You're... You're eating a Kit Kat?

"An hour and 30 minutes
we've waited and you've decided,

""I'm going to have a fucking..."

"It's going to be here any minute

"and you've decided
you're going to have a Kit Kat.

"See you...

"You're a bastard.

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

"A fucking moron and a clown.

"You're going to have fucking
chocolate between your teeth

"trying to eat a chicken satay
with chocolate.

"You've just ruined
your fucking meal.

"I don't know why
I ever married you."

"Do you know what,
you're a fucking..."

The atmosphere is volatile.

And then there would be
a chap at the door,

the Lucky Panda had come to bring
some harmony back in the family.

Grab the money, wanting to be
a hero, sprint to the door,

open the door,
and it was not the delivery driver.

That look.

Whichever family member or friend

had picked
such an inopportune time,

even if it was an elderly relative,

your gran braving
a harsh winter's evening

just to return some Tupperware
or a few tea towels,

you try so hard
to offer a warm greeting.

"Gran..."

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

"Gran, cards on the table,
I'm fucking gutted to see you.

"I thought you were the
Lucky Panda delivery driver.

"Everybody in the living room

"still thinks you are
the Lucky Panda delivery driver,

"and thinks that I'm going to walk
in with a bag full of Chinese food.

"Instead, I'm going to have to
walk in with you,

"so the humane thing to do is for me
to shout in and let them know

"that you are here so they can get
their Gran's-here face on.

"'Gran's here! Everyone, it's Gran
at the door, how wonderful.

"'Gran's here.'"

You can hear the murmurs
of discontent in the living room.

"It's fucking Gran?" "I thought that
was the food. It's fucking Gran?"

"Gran's here? This is the worst
night of my fucking life."

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

"She's going to stay for a bit.
We've just done ourselves

"out of a couple of onion rings
and a spare rib!"

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

You're sitting... A minute later
the Lucky Panda would show up

and everything was fine.

You've got it, the food's fucking
there, you're parading the catch.

"What we have been through,
we have earned this."

People are ripping the plastic bag
apart.

Fucking hyenas ripping through
boxes of polystyrene,

every bit of polystyrene
that got ripped open revealed

another item of food
that nobody ordered.

They have sent us somebody else's
delivery. What a sickening twist.

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

"Don't let Dad see that. Don't...

Your dad is going to need
shot in the neck

"with a fucking tranquillizer dart
here."

But it's too late, he's grabbed it.
"Who the fuck's that?

"Who the fuck is Cassidy? Cassidy?
Who the fuck...?

"They've not ordered any rice.

"Which sick bastard phones a Chinese
and does not order rice?"

We have been sent
the Hoose Rices's Chinese.

Ladies and gentlemen of Glasgow,

what an audience.
Thanks for listening.

Take care of yourselves.
God bless. Thank you.

What a crowd!
What a city - as always.

Peace. Thank you, goodnight.
Thank you.