"I am telling you, it is all just one big, massive conspiracy." "I really don't think it is, Conor." "Name me one... just one Irish person with a Blue Peter badge." "Well, I can't..." "Because there aren't any." "I'm sure that isn't true." "Oh, it is true." "I've asked around, Packy." "It's a fact." "And it's a disgrace." "How do people get Blue Peter badges anyway?" "They collected bottles, I think." "That'll be why then." "Any bottles we had were filled with petrol and thrown at something." "What were they collecting bottles for?" "The English love collecting stuff." "You know, bottles... other people's countries." "Ach, fair played to them, if it's what they enjoy." "And do you know, if they hadn't invaded us, we wouldn't be able to speak English." "We'd all just be sitting here in silence." "No, we wouldn't." "We'd be speaking Irish." "Sure that's even worse." "I don't understand a word of Irish." "Aye, good point." "Ach, here's to oppression, lads." "'Conor!" "'Conor." "'Conor." "Conor!" "'" "Ma?" "Is that you?" "'Of course it's me." "'Conor, love." "'What is that child up to?" "'" "'Jesus, Conor, stop acting the eejit.'" "Da?" "Where are you?" "I'm in here." "Stop it!" "Whoever that is, do not be forcing the lock." "I mean it now!" "Jesus Christ, Packy, cover yourself up." "Standing there with your cock out." "What do you want?" "I can't do it." "I can't." "I can't go on." "I think you're overreacting." "I can't go through with it." "Bronagh, come on, it's a course of antibiotics." "It's hard." "It's so hard." "I can't take much more." "I don't know what to do with myself." "I mean, what do people do when they can't drink?" "What do they do, Packy?" "It's only been 45 minutes." "Why now?" "Why did this have to happen now?" "We're supposed to be going to that stupid fucking party." "I mean, how can I not drink at a party?" "It's... not natural." "Are you... are you crying?" "No." "Everything's ruined." "It's all right." "Come here." "Oh, my God." "You dirty bastard." "No." "That's... that's just your screwdriver." "Ah, right." "I thought it was..." "I know what you thought it was." "Right." "So..." "OK, then." "Grand." "'Conor." "'Conor?" "'For feck sake!" "'CONOR!" "'" "What are you doing, you prick?" "Shhh!" "Listen." "'Jesus, Mary and Joseph." "Conor!" "'" "Did you hear that?" "'Bronagh, is that you?" "'" "What's happening?" "Hello, Ma." "Hello, Da." "How are you?" "'We're just having a bit of a Skype like, so we are.'" "'The aul Skype's great, so it is.'" "Brilliant." "Niamh, what time do you reckon...?" "It's Halloween!" "It's Halloween!" "It's here!" "It's really here!" "Right, well, you may calm the fuck down for a start." "And I've bought pumpkins." "Shitloads of pumpkins." "We can take them to the party." "We can take the pumpkins to the party, Packy." "I feel all spinny." "Now, Niamh, don't get your hopes up." "This party might be shite." "We don't want a repeat of the U2 concert, do we?" "I didn't throw that rocket." "You did throw that rocket, Niamh." "We all know you did." "Though why you had a rocket, and how you sneaked it into Wembley, remains a mystery." "Well, the prick just kept banging on." "I mean, seriously, fuck up about Africa and sing us a tune." "Touching." "Anyway, tonight's not going to be anything like that." "Tony's parties are always amazing." "Aye, I suppose." "Who is Tony?" "Some mate of Conor's." "They met at his X Factor audition." "OK." "And Sweet Pete's going to be there." "The past three Halloweens, me and Sweet Pete have rode the life out of each other." "In fancy dress." "It's a bit of a tradition." "Well, it's not a very romantic one." "Romantic?" "Ach, you're just a wee period waiting to happen, aren't you, Packy?" "This is great, isn't it?" "'Aye.'" "I mean, like, you're there, and we're here and we're talking." "It's like the future." "Or it's, you know, it's a lot like the telephone." "'The telephone?" "How's it like the telephone?" "'Sure you can't see each others faces on the telephone.'" "True enough. 'Anyway...'" "We've a bit of bad news. 'Christ.'" "The mouse isn't back, is he?" "No." "I found that wee prick in the end." "Strangled him." "Aw, thank God." "Sorry, did you say you strangled it?" "'Aye.' Right." "So listen, weans, your cousin Sean has split up with Clare." "I thought Clare was about to have the baby?" "'She had it." "Last night.'" "That's the problem." "It came out Japanese." "Japanese?" "'Aye.'" "They're looking into it now." "Trying to work out how it might have happened." "She rode a Japanese fella, Da, that's how it happened." "'Sean's very upset." "He just needs to get away for awhile." "'Shower his head.' Right." "You have NOT told him he can come here?" "It'll do him good to get away for a wee bit." "I don't think it will." "I think it's a bad idea." "I think it's a terrible, terrible bad idea." "Why?" "Because he's a bawbag." "I just can't believe it." "I don't know what to do." "Though, I suppose, talking about it might help..." "Would it though?" "Really?" "You're sure?" "Everything we had, I mean, was it just one big lie?" "Why would she do this to me?" "Do you think it might be something to do with the fact that, you know, you're not much craic." "Jesus, Bronagh." "I'm only saying." "I mean, how long was it going on for?" "How long?" "Well, how the fuck would we know, Sean?" "Seriously, that's enough." "He's the one asking stupid questions." "Are you sure that he's definitely Japanese?" "Maybe he's just got a Japanese vibe about him." "You think?" "Aw!" "Who's the wee Japanese fella?" "But do you know what?" "It all sort of makes sense now." "She was for ever going to that sushi restaurant in West Belfast." "What's going on?" "Sean's wife is doing the dog with some Japanese lad." "Aw, shite one." "Right, everybody needs to try on their costumes." "Hold on." "West Belfast has a sushi restaurant?" "I hate her." "I hate the bitch." "I wish she was dead." "I'm all right for a costume." "I've sorted my own out." "You'll be wearing the costume I made for you, fuck features." "I'll find out who he is." "I'll track the bastard down, you mark my words." "Why do you always get to decide what we dress up as?" "Because nobody else gives a flying fuck." "I'm sick of it, Niamh." "I'm going to do my own thing from now on." "I'm going to be my own man." "Don't you dare try to be your own man." "Bronagh, he's trying to be his own man!" "I'll show him." "I'll show both of them." "They'll pay for this!" "They won't know what's hit them." "All right now, Sean, you've gone a bit psychotic on it there, mate." "We'll... we'll have less of that." "I don't even want to go tonight." "Why the fuck do I bother!" "I can't drink, Niamh." "It might not be a bad idea if you stayed." "Someone needs to keep an eye on him." "Why should I miss the party?" "You just said you didn't want to go." "Aye, but I want to sit in with this drip less." "Just bring him with us." "They think I'm just going to let them get away with it?" "Well, they can think again." "I'm not sure he's in the party mood." "He will have a grand old time." "What do you say, Sean?" "You fancy it?" "I hate the Japanese." "Great stuff." "The worst part is, we could never get back together now." "I couldn't forget what she did." "That child would just be a constant reminder because... well... at the end of the day... he's fucking Japanese." "Aye, there's no getting round that, right enough." "Like, from Japan." "I can't believe Conor." "Is he deliberately trying to make us look like twats?" "We already look like twats." "We look fucking brilliant." "But I don't remember Dorothy meeting that prick on the Yellow Brick Road." "Houston, let's get fucking wallpapered." "How?" "How in this day and age, with all the advances in modern medicine, how can you still not drink on antibiotics?" "Shouldn't they be focusing on that?" "Shouldn't that be a priority?" "I think they're sort of tied up trying to cure cancer and AIDS and stuff, so..." "It can't be right." "I mean, surely it's precautionary." "What harm could one drink...?" "Two drinks aren't going to make any difference." "Bronagh, if you drink, that thing might not clear up, you would never get the buck again." "Seriously, think about the bigger picture here." "Oh." "I see." "Something going on down there, is there?" "Shut up." "Clare had chlamydia." "Lot's of times." "That's lovely." "Does she seriously think it'll work out with him?" "Those lads use a different fucking alphabet, for Christ's sake." "Did you ever see..." "And I know I should just move on, but I can't." "I can't." "Right, so me and Conor will go to the off-licence and grab a lock of bottles first." "Take tiny tears with you." "Truth is, I don't even want to." "Why do we have to take him?" "I need a break from it." "Because I still love the bitch." "Aye." "Sure he's in great form." "Crew!" "Prepare to disembark!" "And I have nothing now." "Nothing." "So, loser gets lumbered with misery's mother here, agreed?" "All right." "Go on then." "Call." "Scissors." "What?" "No, stone." "No, paper." "No, scissor." "Stone." "All right, just you relax yourself there, Conor." "Heads." "Balls." "Why does nobody want me?" "Because you're a crying cunt, Sean." "Seriously, I don't think I'm well." "My hands are shaking, my vision is funny, everything seems to be happening really slowly." "Ach, you're just sober, Bronagh." "I don't like it, Niamh." "I don't like it at all." "All right, Tony." "We're Conor's mates." "We aren't early, are we?" "No." "Not at all." "Where's your bathroom?" "I'm not feeling the best." "Upstairs, first on the right." "You guys look great." "Aye, well, you don't." "That is one seriously shite costume." "You said there was an offy round here, Conor." "There doesn't seem to be a sign of intelligent life anywhere." "Where is it?" "There appears to be a system malfunction." "Seriously, Conor, keep talking like that and I will floor you." "Excuse me, do you have the time?" "Yeah, hold on, just get it for you now." "It's..." "Give me your wallet." "What?" "Your wallet!" "I think he wants your wallet, mate." "I just got that much, Conor." "And you... your wallet." "Oh, look, now they want my wallet." "Yep." "And your phones." "Hurry up." "Boys, come on, this is bad craic now." "Hurry the fuck up." "Yeah... strip." "What?" "!" "What are you gonna do?" "Strip." "Come on!" "Do it!" "Look, lads, we're prepared to meet you half way on the wallets and the phones... but there is absolutely no way that we..." "Jesus, Conor." "Now, the label says dry clean only, which is a bit of a pain in the arse, but you're better not to chance these things." "Cheers." "No sweat." "Seriously?" "Uh-huh." "There you go, guys." "Jesus, it's not exactly jumping, is it, Tony?" "Where is everyone?" "Where's Sweet Pete?" "I don't know what's going on, to be honest." "You have such pretty hair." "Aye, I know." "Can I touch it?" "Why do you want to touch her hair?" "Ach, the fella's only human." "Work away, Tony." "It's so soft." "I don't even have to use conditioner." "I'd like us all to watch something together." "I think you'll really enjoy it." "I think we could have a really nice time." "Aye, sure, why not?" "Whack it on then, Tony." "Yes!" "Right, so, er, they took my phone, my wallet with two bank cards in it, my credit card, his wallet which, well, I'm guessing there wasn't much in..." "My Boots advantage card, Packy." "I had nearly 200 points on that." "I was saving up for a hairdryer." "Right, so his wallet, his phone..." "What type of phone was it, sir?" "A mobile." "It was a mobile phone." "Anything else?" "And our clothes." "They made us strip in the street." "It was a scream." "Can you describe what you were wearing?" "Certainly." "I was Buzz Lightyear." "And I was dressed as the Tin Man." "We were going to a fancy dress party." "But they don't go together." "I'm sorry?" "If he was Buzz Lightyear, you should have done Woody." "Why didn't you do Woody?" "Yeah, Packy, why didn't you do Woody?" "I mean, it's so simple, cowboy hat, cowboy boots..." "OK." "So what..." "Waist coat, toy gun." "Easy." "Right." "So what happens now?" "We put it on file." "OK, and then what?" "Then it's on file." "I see, so you've put it on file, get that, that's great." "When do you, you know, catch the bastards?" "To be honest, we don't, really." "You don't?" "The majority of the time, we don't." "I see." "Ach, Conor!" "How's it going?" "Jimmy, are you well?" "No complaints." "How's the mammy and daddy?" "They're keeping well." "Tell me this, did they get the mouse in the end?" "Yeah." "They did, aye." "Thank God." "Aye." "Oh, sorry, this is my mate Packy." "All right." "You'll never guess what happened to us." "These two lads came up to us on the street, and they asked us for all our stuff, and we just... gave it to them." "We were robbed at knife point, Jimmy." "Oh, Jesus, that's desperate." "Sure, I just took a fare in Soho, and the bastard did a runner on me." "Down here to report it, are you?" "Ah, well, not exactly now, Packy." "What happened was, I chased the fella in question." "Caught up with him and beat the living Jesus out of him with a brick." "Got myself arrested and now sure enough, I'm up on a charge for GBH." "Christ!" "Still, handy you found a brick when you needed it." "You had a bit of luck there at least." "No, it was my own brick." "I just think it's best to have a brick on you at all times, lads." "Right." "Is that so?" "Listen, if you need a lift anywhere, it's no bother." "I'm parked outside." "Just let me sign this release form." "Cheers, Jimmy." "Lovely fella." "Yeah." "He does know we can't pay him though, doesn't he?" "Jesus Christ." "Sick bastard!" "We're leaving..." "What the fuck is going on?" "Is... that Button Moon?" "Aye, we're just watching a bit of Button Moon, so we are." "I don't know what's happening any more." "What's he doing to your hair?" "I was thinking a French braid." "Right, get up, now." "We need to get out of here." "Don't go." "Please." "Sweet Pat will be here soon." "Who the fuck is Sweet Pat?" "You're not Tony, are you?" "No." "Here we are, lads." "Jump in." "What are you waiting for?" "It's a rickshaw." "Yeah!" "What where you expecting?" "A car, Conor." "I was expecting a fucking car." "Come on, Packy." "Jump in, son." "Now, hold on tight, lads... ..for I like it fast." "This is how I'm gonna die, is it?" "In a rickshaw." "In my fucking knickers." "Wooohooo!" "Jesus Christ, Packy, pick up." "They're not answering." "I can't believe Conor gave us the wrong address." "Bronagh, I don't think me coming out tonight was such a good idea." "Could we maybe go somewhere quiet and talk?" "I need to get all this off my chest properly." "If I don't..." "Not now, fucko." "Answer!" "Aw, what if Sweet Pete rides somebody else before I get there?" "You'd live." "No, I wouldn't." "I love him, Bronagh." "I'm in love with him." "It's love." "Love, is it?" "Really?" "What's his surname?" "Pete." "Grand." "Fucking voicemail." "Look, I say we call it a night." "We have no idea where this party is and we are never, ever gonna find it." "Do you think that might be it?" "It could be, aye." "You couldn't slow down a wee bit there, Jimmy?" "I feel sick." "I feel like Cinderella!" "Or the Queen!" "Yeah!" "Go on, you good thing, you!" "Pedal, Jimmy!" "Pedal, you mad bastard, you!" "Whooooooooo!" "I mean, basically, five days you can eat whatever you want." "Like whatever you want." "And then, for two days, you fast, which doesn't mean starve because you can still have like 500 cals, maybe even 600 cals." "It's really amazing." "You're making me very, very upset." "Yeah." "Niamh..." "Niamh..." "Niamh..." "What is it, Sweet Pete?" "I'm sorry, it's just... this is really starting to make me feel uncomfortable." "Oh, just ignore him." "His hand's on my leg." "He's grand!" "Fine." "You stay there." "Come on, you." "Let's go and have a wee chat." "Everything's gonna be OK." "I'm not sure it will though." "That's it, in you go." "This is a cupboard, Niamh." "There now, shh." "You're all right." "Why am I in a cupboard, Niamh?" "Now, you just settle yourself." "Just close your wee eyes." "Niamh..." "Now, you just have a bit of a lie down." "Have a bit of a think to yourself." "That's it." "Niamh?" "Niamh!" "I might slice up some apple, and eat it with some yogurt, that's like 80 cals." "And then for lunch, like a salmon salad, 300 cals..." "Oh, thank fuck!" "What is it?" "What's wrong?" "I don't know." "She just kept saying 'cals' and I couldn't make it stop." "I couldn't make it stop, Packy." "It's all right." "It's not all right." "Everyone keeps talking absolute balls." "And people... people keep saying the same thing over and over again." "Everyone's pissed and you're not, that's all." "It's totally normal." "Really?" "Really." "Why have you got no clothes on?" "Oh, me and Conor sort of got mugged." "You're..." "I think you might be touching my chest there, Bronagh." "It's really smooth." "Right, well, we're moving into slightly strange territory here so..." "Well, this is interesting." "Hello?" "Hello?" "Hello?" "Hello?" "Help me!" "It's happening again." "Look, Bronagh, I'm not sure this is a good idea." "You're really sober and I just..." "I don't want to take advantage of that." "I don't care if you do." "Really?" "No." "All right, fuck it then." "Oh, my God!" "He's gone mental!" "Oh, what is Dicko playing at now?" "Ach, there's talk of him slitting his wrists." "Stay back!" "Don't try to stop me." "Stay back!" "Ach, Sean, what's this all about?" "I just don't see the point any more." "Sean, stop showing us up." "Sean, come on, now, let's talk about this." "I wanted to talk about this, but none of you would listen." "And then, Niamh locked me in a cupboard." "You locked him in a cupboard?" "Yeah." "And I want to know who let him out." "It wasn't me." "Stop being a mouth and put the knife down, Sean." "No!" "I won't." "So what?" "You're actually gonna slit your wrists like a sad bastard?" "Yes." "I am!" "Just put the knife down, mate." "Why?" "I've nothing to live for now." "Though none of you give a shit!" "We do give a shit, mate." "I couldn't give less of a shit." "Me neither." "Not helpful, lads." "Just try and stay calm, Sean." "It just hurts so much." "Yeah, I know." "Oh, that's better." "Really, now?" "I need the pain to stop." "Right!" "I didn't want to have to do this, but you have forced my hand." "Sean, I'm ringing your ma." "You're not ringing his ma?" "Bronagh." "You're not gonna inform?" "I'm doing it." "I'm ringing his ma and I'm telling her he's over here committing suicide." "Let's see what she has to say about that." "Bronagh, please..." "You are so, so fucked." "No!" "Don't tell my ma, Bronagh." "She'll go mad." "She'll kill me!" "You've left me no choice." "No!" "Please!" "Stop!" "I'm sorry." "I'm putting the knife down." "I'm putting it down." "Should you be doing that?" "What about, you know, your erm... ..problem?" "That's not something you need to concern yourself with, Packy." "That small window is nailed shut." "Right." "Grand so." "Imagine trying to slit your own wrists, like." "Arsehole." "Aye, that's not a good way to go." "Is there a good way to go?" "I wouldn't mind being run over by an ice cream van." "What?" "I just love 99s." "Maybe I could choke on a flake." "I'd rather just die peacefully, you know?" "In my sleep." "I just don't think you've given this enough thought, Packy." "I'd go for drowning." "I see." "Why?" "Ach, I'm just a really good swimmer." "I'm like a fish." "Doesn't swimming sort of defeat the purpose, Niamh?" "How so?" "Nevermind." "Here, which one of us do you think will go first?" "Conor." "Aw, lads... you don't really mean it." "Are you just saying that?" "Oh, I mean it all right." "I might even make sure of it." "Thanks, Bronagh." "Don't mention it."