Friends & Crocodiles Page #3

Come on.

(PEOPLE CHEERING AND LAUGHING)

(SNORING)

Just got to a difficult part...

in my book...

just struggling with it, as you can see.

Competitive sport's

going to become a thing of the past.

Don't you know?

I'm founding a society dedicated to it.

NOSCP.

"Noscp."

No School Competitions.

REPORTER:
(ON TV)

More than 100 white and coloured youths

fought a pitched battle against the police.

Some were as young as 12,

the oldest no more than 20.

It lasted for eight hours and at the end of it

Merseyside's chief constable

said it was a planned attack.

"We were set up,"he said.

(WHISPERING) Whatever you do,

don't disturb the assistant.

And still the bricks, stones and lumps of iron

were thrown, worst of all, the petrol bombs.

And against all this,

riot shields and visors were not enough.

(VOLUME DECREASING)

Always working.

Always buried in Paul's papers.

Yes, there are some really great ideas in here.

So, you see blue for instance,

is the wind, the windmills.

Everything to do with wind power, that's blue.

We can see where all that is now, at a glance.

It's magical.

Spectacular.

I never thought the room could look like this.

It's great.

So we're ready then, for the next stage?

Making these things happen?

Yeah, we are. Absolutely.

There is just one other colour before then.

- This colour.

- And what's that?

It's my birthday in a couple of weeks.

I thought I'd hold a picnic.

- Come on, Lizzie, don't look like that.

- No.

It's not a party.

No. But you must think I'm an awful killjoy,

which I'm not. It's just that...

- I thought we were going to really start.

- We are, I promise.

After one very small, everyday picnic.

LIZZIE:
It's ready.

(GONG SOUNDING)

(PEOPLE CHUCKLING HEARTILY)

ALL:
One, two, three.

ALL:
Whoo!

My sister's enjoying herself.

Good luck to her.

She's been disabled from birth, you know.

But look at all the rest of them,

snouts in their hampers...

gobble, gobble, gobble.

They can't believe their luck, can they?

I think I will make the toast.

(GLASS TINKLING)

The toast.

Surely the time is right for the birthday toast.

The politician. Of course, it has to be him

who thinks of the toast first.

To Paul, on his birthday.

No number. Don't put a number on it.

His age, very unlucky.

We're all very aware of how privileged we are

to receive such hospitality,

in what must be

one of the most beautiful settings in the world.

We second that.

To Paul, the maestro.

The only patron

that we would accept a patronage from.

I endorse all of that and more,

because if it wasn't for you,

I would still be on the local paper.

This is pathetic. I'll show you how to do it.

What we should be saying...

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