SCENE 1: INT. THE GREASY SPOON CAFE - DAY

[FX: GREASY SPOON AMBIENCE. HISSING GAGGIA STEAM WAND, SPATTERING BACON ON A STEEL HOTPLATE, CLINKING THICK-RIMMED MUGS, MUFFLED RING-ROAD TRAFFIC OUTSIDE.]

BOB: Morning, Joseph! It’s the big one today.

JOE: (LOW GROWL) Morning, Robert. Big one?

BOB: (MAKES A LOUD SIGH) Fer fuck’s sake! I told ya. I’m recording this. We are going live.

JOE: (BEAT) What?

BOB: Alright, you old bugger. Remember? That Andy fella who writes about us? He’s given me this little digital recorder so he—

FX:[CRINKLING OF PLASTIC.]

JOE: (HEAVY SIGH) Bollocks to that. He can stick to writing it.

FX:[JOE SHUFFLES HIS FEET ON LINOLEUM. A DRY, AUDIBLE CLICK OF ARTHRITIC KNEE BONES.]

BOB: (BOOMING) But I promised I’d do the recordings. Starting today!

JOE: Aye, well, shit off. I ain’t being recorded.

FX: [CHAIR SCRAPES HEAVILY AS BOB DROPS HARD BACK ONTO THE VINYL]

BOB: Alright, alright. Grumpy arse. We’ll sit here being boring, as usual.

JOE: Get the fucking coffee in. Now you’ve finished fooling about.

BOB: My turn again is it?

JOE: Yeah, it is now. Yer need to calm down.

BOB: Piss off, you grumpy old sod.

BOB: (OFF-MIC, SHOUTING TO BRENDA) Two large whites, Bren! Extra hot, before misery-guts here slips into a coma!

FX: [HEAVY CERAMIC MUGS SLAPPED ONTO FORMICA DESK. BOB’S CHAIR SCRAPES HEAVILY AS HE DROPS BACK DOWN.]

JOE: Ta.

BOB: Drink that and yer mood might improve.

JOE: I don’t understand why you always say I’m grumpy.

BOB: Because you are?

JOE: Fuck off, you. I have opinions. And I express them. That’s not being grumpy.

BOB: I’m nearly as old as you and I ain’t grumpy.

JOE: Because you are practicing the fine art of talking shite. All the time.

BOB (INDIGNANT SQUAWK) Bollocks!

FX: [SQUEAK OF PLIMSOLLS ON LINOLEUM. TWO HEAVY MUGS OF TEA THUD ONTO THE FORMICA.]

BRENDA Now, now Robert. Mind the language.

BOB: (EMBARRASSED) Ah, sorry Bren. It’s him. Winding me up.

BRENDA: Joseph? Behave yourself. You know how sensitive he is.

JOE: (CHUCKLING) Ah yeah, fair enough Bren. Thanks for the new brews. If I waited for him I’d be parched.

BOB: (LOUD VOICE) WHAT? I got the first ones in!

JOE: Quite right. It was your turn.

BOB: How do you work that out? I got them—

BRENDA: (LAUGHING) Bloody hell! You pair are worse than my grandkids. Drink yer brews and behave yourselves.

BOB: (LOWERS HIS VOICE) Here, Bren, I saw that Tracey that used to work in here the other day.

BRENDA: Did you? What was she up to?

BOB: She was with that bloke from the furniture shop.

BRENDA: What? Was she really?

BOB: Yep. And the pair of them looked bloody cosy, know what I mean?

BRENDA: I do, Bob. I do. Bloody hell! The scandal of the city.

FX: [JOE BLOWS A MASSIVE, WET, DISGUSTED RASPBERRY.]

JOE: Don’t encourage him, Bren! He’s like one of them old dears that gossip over the garden fence.

BRENDA: (FAKE ANNOYANCE) Jospeh Cooper! I’ll not have that said about Robert! He is full of information.

JOE: Full of shite, you mean.

FX: [ALL THREE BURST OUT LAUGHING.]

BRENDA: Ah, you fellas always cheer me up! Enjoy your tea.

FX: [SQUEAK OF PLIMSOLLS DEPARTING.]

BOB: You’re getting the sarnies in.

JOE: Grace said you’re on a diet.

BOB: Yeah, I am. Strictly bacon sarnies on Fridays.

JOE: Right, lard arse. I’ll get ‘em.

FX: [SLURP OF TEA FOLLOWED BY THE SOUND OF JOE’S FEET WALKING AWAY FROM THE TABLE AND BOB’S SATISFIED CHUCKLE AS THE GREASY SPOON BACKGROUND FADES OUT.]

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