Better Man

Good evening folks, hmm...

Good evening you, slags.

No, good evening folks.

So, who is Robbie Williams?

Well, I've been called many things -

narcissistic, punchable, shit-eating twat,

but while I'm all those things,

I wanna show you how I really see myself.

So sit back, relax,

while I give you a right fucking entertaining.

So, the story starts...

1982, Stoke-on-Trent.

The arse-end of the north of England.

It may look grubby and deprived, but deep down,

it was grubby and deprived.

I didn't have much,

but at least I had the respect and admiration of my peers.

- Crystal. - What! ?

They just had trouble showing it.

- Robert. - Yes! Come on!

Oi! Right, knobhead!

Pass the ball to Nate and let him do the rest.

Positions!

Oi ! The fuck you off to? You're in goal.

- But-- - Don't fuck it up.

I'm like a chain mail condom, nothing's getting through.

Whoo! Let's go, slags!

I had plenty of balls.

But I couldn't stop a single one.

I wasn't ready.

- Nice one, dickhead. - Come on!

Robert Williams, captain of Port Vale.

You really are fucking useless, aren't ya?

Little bitch!

It's alright, Rob.

Nate, just leave it.

Yeah... Yeah, jog on, you tit.

Right, come on, let's go.

You're a fucking nobody!

See, where I grew up,

you were meant to act small.

But the thing is, my DNA is cabaret.

I came out of the womb with jazz hands.

Which was very painful for my mum.

Heading downstairs for a bit.

One of the barmen's called in sick.

Goodnight, sweetheart. Straight to bed, yeah?

- Don't let him ruin his dinner. - Bye, love.

How's about a warm hand on my entrance?

Thank you. Thank you...

My dad was well enamoured

by the stars of the day -

Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr and of course, Sinatra.

They were gods to him.

Youth, you hear that? That's pure love, that is.

It don't come cheap, mind.

You've got to risk it all - whatever it takes.

Because if you make it...

...it's paradise.

Thing is, you can't learn it.

You're either born with it...

...or you're a nobody.

- Light 'em up! - Light 'em up!

Oh, fuck it! Now, look what you've--

Sorry.

I had a full head of steam then, and all.

- I can fix it. - Get out the way.

- We can sing without it. - It's not the same.

- Or... or we could-- - Robert!

I think it's time for a bath.

But I want to keep going.

Just go with your Nan, will ya!

Come on, love. Come on.

Stupid... Come on, blue eyes...

- Nan? - Hm-mm.

What is... 'it'?

What do you mean?

Dad said you have to be born with 'it'...

...and maybe I wasn't.

Believe me, whatever 'it' is, you got more than your share.

You're just saying that.

I'm bloody well not.

I wouldn't change a hair on your head.

What is it, love?

I don't want to be a nobody.

Oh, love, there's no such thing as a nobody.

Remember...

This might feel good.

But this...

...this is what matters.

You're enough.

I was nine years old

when I got my first real taste of the limelight.

And I still remember that taste -

pure, unadulterated terror.

Have you seen the fit one with the big bulge?

After the show, I'm going to touch him

where his bathing suit goes.

I'm going to fuck it up, I know it.

So what? No one will notice.

My dad will.

Just go out there, sing your fucking song and walk off.

That's not enough! He'll see right through me.

What am I going to do?

I don't know. I'm just doing this for the sausage.

In the next three seconds

I'm going to be found out.

They'll see that I'm ugly, I'm stupid, I'm untalented.

I'm not good at anything.

But there is one skill ltd practised

more than any other child in the world.

Light 'em up.

And that's for showing off.

How's about a warm hand on my entrance?

You see, I thought to become famous

you had to be really, really good.

Turns out you just have to show off and be a bit cheeky.

Put your hands together for our next contestant -

Peter Williams.

Thank you very much.

You know the difference between an 'oooh' and an 'a a a ah'?

Well, it's about three inches.

I usually go over people's heads.

Oh, ho, oh! Eyes off my bum.

Ha!

Whoa!

You're useless!

You're a disgrace!

You're a fucking nobody!

Look at you...

I fucking hate you.

My dad won five quid that night.

Oh, you're kidding me!

Although it might as well have been five million.

Thank you very much.

You have been wonderful and I've been Peter Will--

Conway. I'm Peter Conway!

Not only did he change his name -

he changed his life.

One day he went to watch the FA Cup Final.

Unfortunately, he didn't come back.

The audience beckoned

and he left us to be one step closer to his gods.

Don't worry, Mum. We'll be alright.

Light 'em up.

Next!

Take a pamphlet, sign the form, shut the door on your way out.

No, you're alright.

I know what I'm going to be.

Oh I, what's that then?

Famous! I'm going to sing and dance.

I'm writing lyrics and all.

I've seen your grades, lad.

You couldn't rub two words together.

"The world is mine to claim

"all I need is a fuck load of fame. Ooh, ooh, yeah."

Listen, don't embarrass yourself, yeah?

This is not for you. Keep your feet on the ground.

You might want to frame that.

- Tosser! - Next!

Oh do it, Nate!

Fuck me! You'd make a fucking awful stripper.

- You know that. - Fuck off.

Oh, that's my backup plan.

Hey, you should come work with me.

Flint's always looking for people.