Shameless

This way for the Chatsworth Express. Come and watch pikeys making a mess of their lives.

And kids they're convinced aren't actually theirs.

What sounds on earth could ever replace kids needing money,

or wives in your face?

Cos this, people reckon, and me included

is why pubs or drugs were kindly invented,

to calm us all down, stop us going mental.

These are Chatsworth estate's basic essentials.

We are worth every penny for grinding your axes.

You shit on our head, but you pay the taxes!

Imagine a Britain without Chatsworth's buccaneers,

who'll come on your face for the price of a beer.

Make poverty history!

Cheaper drugs now!

Make poverty history! Cheaper drugs now!

Scatter!

Party!

'Photographs can do the total opposite of jogging your memory.

'The second you press click,

'you sacrifice the right to recollections.

'You can stare at a picture till doomsday, but you won't smell smells,

'won't hear voices, and all the rumpy-pumpy surrounding the snapshot.

'They say the camera never lies.

'Photos, though, maim any memory beyond their thin, white frames.

'I wish I'd known this sooner.'

We did not ensure the horrors of childbirth seven times

to populate this lonely planet!

And I did not work my fingers to the bone, both inside and outside,

putting food on our table,

nor zig-zag through the most ham-fisted civil war in history,

to have to take it right up the shitter

paying for these devil's dildos!

You were on the phone with Auntie Mags for hours doing the crossword.

Zambia won't be cheap, will it?

Argh! Yeah, well, she's my sister, and I miss her.

And nobody should have to pay to speak to a fuckin' nun!

Not their fault you've not been invited.

Zizzy's funeral.

Me? At Zizzy Ahmed's funeral?

Same Zizzy poached my slot-machines racket while I'm in the slammer?

Same Zizzy Ahmed I lent ten grand to to pay for his wedding?

The cellmate who saved your life on the rotunda.

Now, dead...Zizzy.

Making him the second one. Bam!

Gone.

Ring Sunita, ask her if you can go.

Can't, don't know where my phone is.

Haven't got a suit black enough.

They're Indians.

You've that shirt we bought in Benidorm they'd love you for.

Plus, new rule, elbows off the table

while the telly's on, starting Monday.

Right, everybody got, before I sit down for a bit of me time?

Fuck!

What's up?

All three unis offered full bursaries, all three!

So, is that it?

Going to Durham? When?

Nottingham, we decided.

Council house students on full bursary, statistically,

are more likely to die under the age of 25.

Ian! That's horrible.

They're not used to the money, always waving it about, magnets for muggings.

So, the coursework nosedives,

bus straight back to council-house heaven.

Why is that going to kill anyone?

What, getting twatted from all mates they left behind?

Different accents, and using big words?

Well done, mate.

And you. Come here.

You told me these were all rejections.

So, what?

They changed their minds? All three?

Or were you just bullshitting me, cos if you were, we need

to talk about this, cos I feel a bit left out.

I wasn't going to go if I didn't get the money.

Which...

I told him to.

Me and all.

We all did.

We're not struggling, just for my sake.

How clever is he then?

Tell your daddy how proud you are.

Clever Daddy.

Why are yous all crying?

It's what he wanted.

How does a guy not feel threatened by mortality when he's lost two

ex-closest friends and worst debtors within the space of a month?

How could you?!

What I meant earlier was,

it's possible

that you're in the throes of a depression...

What you said was dangerously offensive

to a man of my constitution. Depressed? For fuck's sake?

I think what I meant was, a depression by proxy.

A pretend depression, if you will.

What kind of stuff's required to fix this little fucker, then, hey?

Anti-depressants.

But...placebo-esque ones,

for pretend depression, by proxy.

Right you are.

Thank you.

Truth being, Mrs Ahmed,

I heard about your son within a fortnight of Felix Fawcett's demise.

Bloke Zizzy, Ronnie and I shared a cell with.

Like Three Musketeers, we were, the four of us.

Me, Felix, as black as you like, Ronnie Cohen, the only Jew castigated

for making good money, and your beautiful Zizzy.

Nights on end, talking about finding the right girl he would marry.

Ah, all three so alike.

Uncannily alike, when it came to unpaid debts

and treading on my business toes.

No ill of the dead intended.

First among equals, your Zizzy.

Ergo, drowning with dignity in the privacy of his own bathroom.

Mmm?

You're joking, aren't you? You can't seat my dad next to yours.

But we have to if your mum's not coming.

I'm hoping he's not coming, not if he brings that nutter.

She looks like Chris Moyles in a jumpsuit.

It doesn't matter who comes, anyway.

No one's gonna be looking at anyone but the bride.

Especially me.

< Oi!

You're supposed to be doing the barrels.

Oh! Where am I sitting, then?

"Am I bovvered"?

Just put my name on your furniture when you split up.

Only give me long enough to save a couple of hundred quid.

BANGING ON DOOR

LAUGHTER FROM TV

Sorry!

Not a chance without the remote, Carl.

You can reach the controls from here.

I watch telly in bed.

Another 20, and I'll find you a Sky dish,

and I'll get you to stick to reach the buttons.

Why the hurry?

Please...

All right.

One condition - you make sure your mam hears about this.

You must tell her that I gave you double that.

I've stopped her pocket money cos Worzel kept cadging it off her.

I know he's your dad, but she must hate herself to let that bedridden fuck anywhere near her.

Do us a favour in the meantime -

you say it loud and clear -

Norma is doing up this van, splashing out.

What, this shit hole?

She thinks I've stopped her spends because I'm skint.

But she needs showing that what's mine is hers.

But not until she puts that mongrel to sleep.

Spend it on a flat of your own.

I'm not budging from here until she leaves with me.

Which might not happen until I tidy my act up,

give her a reason to look at me twice.

Sorry, I...

>

Ta. >

Who would you tell first if you was in the shit?

Deep shit.

Running out of time so you can't breathe properly?

Not long, you'll all be going, "What the fuck happened to our Carl?"

"It's quiet without Lip,"

and then, "Anybody seen Carl?

"It's a lot...

"lot quieter."

You can't lend us 500 by Friday, can you? >

What kind of shit did they mix this stuff with?

Go on, shift, make us a brew.

And stop frowning!

# Ave dominus

# Dominus Tecum

# Benedicta tu in mulieribus

# Et benedictus fructus ventris

# Ventris tuae, Jesus

# Ave Maria. #

APPLAUSE

Ah, if there's no place in heaven for yous lot,

someone is getting a punch in the knickers from me,

tell 'em I said so. Whoops!

If you hadn't seen the state of them, they could have been angels.

That's the first time my hair's stood on end.

Are you lot sisters?

We're all at Roswell.

Rehabilitation Offenders Showcase, down Wellington Road.

In that case, you should be extra proud.

Right, sizes, so the seamstress can cut the patterns out. Who's first?

Why didn't you tell me it had switched?

Me mam told...

Remember, outside Boots?

When I went, "Singers, change of plan.

"Bad news for Angela here, she has been summoned to crown court."

And you went, "Is Angela the scraggy, ginger, deaf one?"

Karen, you didn't?

And I said, "Yeah..."

Dickhead. No!

"..but I think she'd prefer 'little red-headed stunner with a hearing impairment'."

We'd better shoot if you don't want to miss the start again.

Keys, Mickey. And a lid for Karen.

Watch that throttle for sticking.