I.D. Page #2

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- Hang on, he's got a point.

You've got to admit.

He did have some flair, though.

Oh, yeah. I wouldn't deny that, no.

For a white bloke he was pretty skilful.

- For a whitey, yeah. You're right.

- You prat!

I know they're f***ing Neanderthals,

But we've got to face them.

I thought we might bump into you lot.

So you're really Shadwell?

Of course. Ignore him, he's new to the game.

One Josh Carera! There's only one Josh Carera!

- Do you fancy a game?

- Yeah, I'm on.

Five cards, two changes, no trumps.

Tell your mate he can play.

- I hope he's got some cash on him.

- Yeah. Cut him in, deal him out.

When do I over lose?

(TRAIN DRIVER):
We'll shortly be

arriving at Pentland...

(ALL):
Yeah!

You lucky f***er! We're playing

All the way back, you know.

Sorry, boys. Must've hit a lucky streak.

(GENERAL SHOUTING)

At least there's no Pentland.

I reckon they've bottled.

You don't know your arse, son.

You'll have had enough of Pentland

before the day's out.

(INDISTINGUISHABLE ABUSE)

(ALL):
# Shadwell never, never, never

shall lose face

There it is, the ground.

I don't give a f***, John, to be quite honest.

Had some of your lot in lockup.

- My lot?

- Wapping fans, trashed a nightclub.

They aren't my lot. My lot are Shadwell.

- They're all the same, though.

- That's what they say about us.

- You are enjoying your meal, I hope.

- Yes. Thank you, Giuseppe.

- The scallops are marvellous.

- I have a special dessert for you.

- Could we have another of these?

- I don't want any more.

- I do, though. Another half-bottle.

- Certainly.

What did you do all day?

(JOHN):
Look at me!

Tell me what you see.

(EDDIE):
It's you, ain't it? John. A bloke.

- No.

- An ordinary everyday bloke.

- Now what do you see?

- Me.

- It's Eddie.

- It's Eddie, John.

- A geezer.

- You're looking, but not seeing.

Not a bloke, not a geezer, not one of the lads.

Know what I see? Bill.

- It's what we are.

- No, Trevor, it's not.

He's got a point, Sarge.

We are supposed to be Shadwell.

Then it's bobble hats and rattles

All round then, isn't it?

Who's this?

It's a dead ringer for Mr Magoo.

(JOHN):
Who scored the own goal

that ended our chances of promotion?

- (TREVOR):
Dempsey.

- (EDDIE):
A right corker.

He flights it back to the goalkeeper,

to Clark in goal, but he's in the sun.

Clark sees f*** all. The ball bounces

once over his head and into the goal.

Nolan sticks Dempsey

straight on the transfer list.

Bournemouth had him. No, Portsmouth. 50,000.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Next season we draw Portsmouth

in the Zenith Cup. No, Simod.

- And who scores against us?

- Bobby f***ing Dempsey!

Brilliant ruck with Pompey. They

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