Withnail and I Page #5

Big Irish man:

Perfumed ponce!

[Withnail is still at the bar. He has made considerable progress with

his cider and is eating some snack.]

Withnail:

You'll be pleased to hear Monte's invited us for drinks.

I:

Balls to Monty we're getting out.

Withnail:

Balls to Monty!? I've just spent an hour flattering the bugger.

I:

There's a man over there doesn't like the perfume. The big one.

Don't look, don't look. We're in danger, we've got to get out.

Withnail:

What are you talking about?

I:

I've been called a ponce.

[Withnail turns to address the room in general.]

Withnail:

What f***er said that!?

[The large Irish gentleman in the corner gets up and walks over to them.

Now he is upright we see he is very large indeed and does not look

friendly.]

Big Irish man:

I called him a ponce. And now I'm calling you one. Ponce!

Withnail (smiling):

Would you like a drink?

Big Irish man:

What's your name McFuck!?

[As he says this he jerks the scarf from around Withnail's neck.]

Withnail:

I've a heart condition. I've a heart condition. If you hit me it's

murder!

Big Irish man:

I'll murder the pair of y'ers.

Withnail:

My wife's having a baby. Listen, I don't know what my f.. [he starts

to say friend but decides on a better course of action] acquaintance

did to upset you but it's nothing to do with me. I suggest you both go

outside and discuss it sensibly, in the street.

[They push past the man and rush to the door.]

Withnail:

Ahhhh, out of my way.

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The Bathroom

[I is in the bath shaving.]

I:

Speed is like a dozen transatlantic flights without ever getting off

the plane. Timechange. You lose, you gain. Makes no difference so long

as you keep taking the pills. But sooner or later you've got to get

out because it's crashing then all at once the frozen hours melt out

through the nervous system and seep out the pores.

[Withnail enters with their lunch from the chippy]

Withnail:

The bastards. Justice suck. It's a miserable cheap cigar and the

bastards won't see me.

I:

Why are we having lunch in here?

Withnail:

It's dinner and Danny's here.

I:

Danny!? How did he get in?

Withnail:

I let him in this morning. He lost one of his clogs. He's come in

because of the perpetual cold. I hope the buggers sales plummet.

I:

I've got your savaloy. Here. I don't want it.

Withnail:

Then stick it in the soap tray and save it for later.

[He scrunches up the paper that was holding his chips and puts it in the

toilet]

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