Bottom Live: The Big Number 2 Tour Page #4

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RICHIE:

F*** off.

(He turns to face the door.)

RICHIE:

Now you listen to me, buster. You're just a door. I'm Rik F***ing Mayall. CLOSE!

(Richie finally closes the door. And flourishes triumphantly as the audience cheers.)

RICHIE:

Right, might as well call the whole thing off, no clean lavs, no queen.

(Richie sighs deeply, and runs across the room towards the telephone as if the sigh was guiding him to his destination. He trips over the couch, then gives it the Two-finger salute. He taps a load of numbers on the phone, and puts it to his ear.)

RICHIE:

Hello, samaritans. It's Richard Richard here, again... Hello? HELLO!?

(He slams the phone down in anger.)

RICHIE:

BASTARDS! Right, that's it, i'm just going to top myself, that'll teach them. I’ll just top myself, and top myself, and top myself, until i'm dead. Right, where's the tissues?

(Richie notices something atop the TV.)

RICHIE:

Hang on.

(He laughs happily as he picks up a ticket of some kind.)

RICHIE:

I don't believe it.

(Richie picks up the latest issue of The Hammersmith Bugle to confirm what he's seeing.)

RICHIE:

We've won the lottery.

(Immediately, Eddie jumps back in through the window.)

EDDIE:

We've what??

RICHIE:

Oh YOU'RE back, are you? Oh, yes, one sniff of ginger and your knickers are round your ankles.

EDDIE:

Still talking bollocks, that's my twat.

(Eddie pats Richie on the back. Richie looks concerned.)

RICHIE:

Is it? What's it doing on my back? It'll make it all sticky.

EDDIE:

Did I hear you say we've won the lottery?

RICHIE:

Yes, Eddie, yes, we've bloody, blimey, trousery, bra-ry, won the ruddy, flipping, nipple-y lottery.

(Eddie reads the Bugle.)

EDDIE:

The Hammersmith Bugle Lottery?

RICHIE:

YEAH! Go on, phone them up, check the numbers. Oh god, I don't believe it, we've won the lottery. I wonder how much it is this week. 18 million, 20 million?

(In the excitement, Richie has started “masturbating” the support in the kitchen area. It's only after he notices Eddie looking on judgingly, that he realizes what he's doing, and stops.)

RICHIE:

Sh*t! What will I do? What will I do? I've got it. I'm going to employ a prostitute. I'm going to do it, I'm going to do-o it.

(Richie thrusts his groin twice, to both syllables in “do-o”.)

RICHIE:

I don't believe it, my wildest dream come true.

EDDIE:

Ah hah.

(Eddie clears his throat and puts the phone down.)

RICHIE:

Well, Eddie, what was the rollover jackpot figure for this week?

EDDIE:

One pound.

RICHIE:

ONE BLOODY PFFFFF... pound?

EDDIE:

Yes, you see, the flaw in our fiendish masterplan was, that being the people who read, or have ever read, The Hammersmith Bugle, we were of course the only people to buy a f***ing lottery ticket.

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