SATURDAY NIGHT AND SUNDAY MORNING SHOPPING IN TESCO

Act 1: Uncle Herbert Seaton’s house and Arthur Seaton’s home, Radford, 2008

Uncle H: C’mon Arthur, hurry up and smoke that fag, the Council plumber will be here in a minute.

Arthur: So what?

Uncle H: Under new Council rules, no smoking is allowed in the house an hour before a council worker is due.

Arthur: Bloody New Labour, they know what they’re doing. There’ll never be a revolution now. Everytime you try and plan one in the pub with the other rebels, somebody keeps getting up and goin outside for a smoke. Then when they come back, somebody else gets up, it’s bloody hopeless, no wonder the Left can’t get its act together anymore. Divide and rule, that’s Gordon Brown’s motto, the crafty blighter.

Uncle H: Will you shut up and finish that fag.

Arthur: Stop Bloody worrying, he’s bound to be late.

              Uncle H: He won’t be late, he’s the new Polish plumber,

they’re always on time.

 

Arthur: What’s up with the Welsh plumber, where’s he gone.

Uncle H: He’s gone to Thailand, he says there’s too many foreigners in England now.

Arthur: Well, there’s even more bloody foreigners in Thailand, the daft bugger. Don’t they teach em owt at school these days except how to text death threats on their mobiles or how to make prats of themselves on Big Brother?

Uncle H: Put out that fag, Arthur, he’s here now.

Arthur: I’m off to the "Jolly Higglers". I’ve just met this nice woman. She goes in there for her lunch break. She likes me, she thinks I’m clever and a bit of a left wing rebel.

Uncle H: She sounds like she’s escaped from Rampton to me. You be careful, you don’t want an ice pick buried in your head like Trotsky, ta-ra.

Arthur: Ta-ra, see you later.

Act 2: The Jolly Higglers

Irene: Hey up Arthur, you’re looking cheerful today.

Arthur: I’ve just had mi giro, what do you want to drink? Half a mild or half a bitter?

Irene: ooh Arthur, can I have a Bacardi Breezer?

Arthur: Bacardi bloody Breezer, if the Dole office find out about that I’d be drafted into the army and sent to Afghanistan. I might get captured by the Taliban and put up for ransom. You’ll have to go round the Jolly Higglers with a collection bucket. You won’t get nowt in here. I can just see Osama Bin Laden waving my head on News at Ten with millions of morons watching and frothing at the mouth with excitement and all because you ordered a Bacardi Breezer and the Right wing landlord shopped me to the Dole.

Irene: Oh Arthur, forgive me, I’ll have half a lager instead please.

Arthur: Oi landlord, a pint of John Smiths and half a Fosters.

Irene: Thank you Arthur, ooh Arthur have you heard the news, they’re going to build a Tesco Express near the old Player’s Cigarette Factory on Alfreton Road. Alan Sillitoe’s flying in from Majorca to open it.

Arthur: I might use it if they sell John Smiths at 55p a can but apart from that, stuff em..

Irene: Oh Arthur, think of all the choices it will offer. My Mum sez you’ll be able to choose between 50 different makes of washing up liquid and 30 different species of fish fingers and all at very reasonable prices.

Arthur: The last fish finger I bought from Tesco tasted like it came from a bloody Coelecanth.

Irene: What’s a Coelecanth, Arthur?

Arthur: It’s a prehistoric fish that swam in the Indian Ocean when the dinosaurs ruled the Earth. It still swims in the sea now Russell Brand rules the earth though by the look of him evolution hasn’t exactly progressed very much.

Irene: I think Russell Brand’s very attractive.

Arthur: Attractive! If the Pound Shop in Nottingham sells glasses I’ll buy you a pair.

Irene: Now, now Arthur, stop getting jealous. You know you’re the man I want to marry. We can have the reception here and buy the wedding cake, sausage rolls and cheese cobs from the new Tesco. Just think, if your friends eat all the food, your Uncle Herbert can nip down the road on his mobility scooter and buy some more, it’s very convenient.

Arthur: Jesus wept!

Irene: Have you ever tasted Tesco hot cross buns, they’re lovely and fresh

Arthur: Lovely and fresh! They bake ‘em in China at Xmas, then fly ‘em over here in Jumbo Jets and store ‘em in a giant refridgerated shed near Stonehenge. How fresh is that?

Irene: Oh Arthur, how knowledgable you are. My Mum says you’re as thick as a plank but she’s so wrong, wait till I tell her, she’ll start shopping at ASDA.

Arthur: They’re just as bad, the only difference is their buns are baked in Thailand by Welsh plumbers desperate for work.

Irene: Welsh plumbers, what are you on about?

Arthur: My mate Llewellyn went there the other year looking for a job and got drowned by a Tsunami. Somebody’s shaggin his missus already, that’s the global economy for you.

Irene: Oh Arthur, I’d never do that to you if you got drowned by a Tsunami.

Arthur: Well, there’s not much chance of a Tsunami round here unless somebody throws Russell Brand off Trent Bridge. The wave caused by his head would swamp half of Nottingham. Anyway I’m off to the White Horse. See you in here Sunday dinner, ta-ra.

Act 3: The White Horse

Arthur: Hey-up Glenda, haven’t seen you for a while. How are you , how’s Jack?

Glenda: I’m alright, Jack’s working on the night shift at Tesco in Top Valley, so we’ve got a bit more money these days.

Arthur: How much more?

Glenda: Well he used to get £5.90 an hour on the day shift, now he gets £5.99 an hour on nights. On 60 hours a week that makes him £5.40 better off less tax.

Arthur: Blimey, he’ll be able to afford to buy me a couple of pints of John Smith’s in the Jolly Higglers this Sunday dinner if he’s not too tired to put his hand in his pocket.

Glenda: Don’t be so sarcastic Arthur, he gets cheap meals in the canteen, 10% off.

Arthur : Tell him to watch out for them Tesco baked beans.

Glenda: Why?

Arthur: They make you fart more than other brands thus increasing global warming, melting the ice caps and wiping out the polar bear.

Glenda: You’re joking!

Arthur: No I’m not, a food scientist from the Minister of Agriculture told me the other night in the Wheatsheaf pub just before it closed down.

Glenda: Well I never, funny I’ve noticed since he worked at Tesco his wind problem has got worse.

Arthur: See I told you! When they open the new Tesco everybody round here will be buying their beans. The atmosphere in the local pubs will be unbearable, the ice cubes will be melting in the cocktails, everyone will be moaning. Then when they go home for some late night nookie it will be like a Carry On film, what with all the rude noises etc.

Glenda: The last time Jack tried to have his way with me he broke wind and blew me out of bed. We sleep in separate bedrooms now, it’s safer.

Arthur: I don’t touch baked beans myself. That’s why women like me, I don’t have a wind problem like most men.

Glenda: Your wind comes out your gob. However owt’s better than nowt. Why don’t you come round tonight and entertain me with your stories. Jack leaves the house about half seven.

Arthur: What about little Tracey?

Glenda: I’ll pack her off to my mother’s and tell Jack I’m going to the Savoy with our Glenys to see Russell Brand’s new film, "St Trinian’s".

Arthur: You don’t like Russell Brand, do you?

Glenda: He’s very attractive, I’ve just read his autobiography " My Booky Wook".

Arthur: My Mucky Duck! He’s everywhere that bloke, his carbon cockprint must be bloody enormous. Well I’m off home for a kip. I’ll see you tonight ta-ra.

Act 4: Uncle Herbert’s house. Afternoon

Uncle H: Hey up lad, enjoyed yourself?

Arthur: Yeh, it was ok. I had a drink with Irene, then one with Jack’s Missus in the White Horse.

Uncle H: You be careful, you know what gossips they are round here. Old Mrs Bull might be dead but her daughter Clarice is just as bad.

Arthur: It ain’t a crime to talk to a married woman.

Uncle: Clarice Bull is very suspicious of you and she’s got eyes like a hawk.

Arthur: Stop worrying, she watches telly non-stop.

Uncle H: She watches telly with one eye and looks out the window with the other. That’s why she’s cross-eyed.

Arthur: Well, she won’t be looking out the window now the Credit Crunch has arrived. She’ll be too busy flogging her bling down Hyson Green market coz the Bank won’t lend her any more money to buy rubbish from the Poundshop.

Uncle H: She won’t get much for her bracelets.

Arthur: Well, she’ll be in the pub blaming the Foreigners for her predicament then. She won’t be blaming her sen though, that’s for bloody sure!

Uncle H: Do you think Gordon Brown will join Bush in an attack on Iran in order to divert Clarice Bull from thinking that he might be partially responsible for her Credit Crunch crisis.

Arthur: No, Brown will choose an easier diversionary target. Getting them who’s on Incapacity Benefit back to work. You’ll be seeing disabled folk in specially "modernised" double-decker wheelchairs taking passengers from pub to pub. A sort of cheap taxi service possibly called "The Radford Rickshaw Company".

Depressed people with long faces will be employed walking in front of Funeral Processions and litter-picking in cemeteries.

It’s rumoured that blind people will be sent to Iraq to clear Saddam’s old minefields. Tapping the ground with their white sticks will sort those scroungers out once and for all. Clarice Bull will be in Seventh Heaven. She don’t like people sitting on their backsides all day doing nowt except her and the Queen.

Uncle H: Don’t start going on about the Royal Family. Eat your dinner, it’s going cold.

Arthur: I’m going to bed, giz a knock about 6.30, I’ll heat up mi dinner on microwave then – see ya.

UncleH: Ta-ra.

Act 5: Glenda’s house

Arthur: (Knock knock) Hey-up duck, it’s me Arthur, has he gone?

Glenda: I bloody hope so, yes, he’s gone, full of beans and looking forward to the night ahead.

Arthur: I hope they weren’t Tesco beans?

Glenda: Well, he did have beans on toast before he went. He gets a discount, we eat well here.

Arthur; Bloody Ada, this is going to be an exciting night, I wonder if there’s a match on the telly.

Glenda: What was that?

Arthur: I said, have you got a match? I fancy a smoke.

Glenda: You’ve only been here five minutes. You can’t smoke in here, Jack will smell it, he’s got a nose like a sniffer dog. Go in the yard next to the outside lav. Jack never goes out there.

Arthur: Gordon Brown, what a tosser! I’m surprised he hasn’t made singing "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" a terrorist offence. I feel like staging the Players Olympic Games with five smoke rings as its logo. A bloke could run into Player’s Athletic Ground holding a mega cigarette holder with a flaming fag in it, dip it into a tin bath full of lighter fluid and Bingo, the Olympic Flame. We could have all the regulars from the pubs round here competing against each other hurling ashtrays instead of the discus and instead of tossing the caber we could replace it with a giant Havana cigar donated by Fidel Castro. That would really get up the noses of those New Labour tyrants. I might get locked up for 28 days on bread and water and without access to a lawyer, but so what! Stuff ‘em!

Glenda: I thought this was going to be a night of romance but all I’ve had so far is a political rant.

Arthur: Don’t worry it will never happen. Nobody would turn up, the working class have gone soft. They don’t use outside lavatories anymore. All this soft toilet paper and central heating, it’s weakened our national spirit. Have you seen the pubs in town, full of sofas draped with fat buggers watching "Extreme Darts" on the bleeding box.

Glenda: Extreme Darts, what’s that?

Arthur: Two Mega-fat buggers chucking arrows at dartboards tattooed on each others beer guts.

Glenda: For God’s sake Arthur, come off it!

Arthur: If the Chinese Army ever invaded this country looking for slave labour to empower the world’s fastest growing economy, we’d be scuppered. All the Chinese Generals have to do is ban "EastEnders", blow up all the mobile phone masts and demolish the Big Brother house and the population would surrender over night. Winston Churchill must be turning in his grave.

Glenda: Flaming Nora, have a cuppa tea and calm down.

Arthur: They’ll put the Royal Family into London Zoo and make Russell Brand King of Tescoland to appease the female population. If that happens, I swear to Allah I’ll stick some dynamite in my pocket, gerrover the wall at Booky Wookingham Palace and blow him to Kingdom Come.

Glenda: Shurrup Arthur and say something nice.

Arthur: Lie back and think of Tescoland. How about that?

Glenda: I need a smoke.

Arthur: I’ve got a good idea, I’ll give you one in the yard while your having a smoke. Just make sure you don’t shove your fag in mi ear’ole and set fire to my Elvis sideburns.

Glenda: An hour with you makes even Jacks infantile company seem exciting.

Arthur: This is a good spot, behind the Khazi.

Glenda: Flaming Nora, my fag’s bigger than your "winkle".

Arthur: Well I can’t help it if I haven’t got an enormous carbon cock print. I was born during the War, there was meat rationing on at the time.

Glenda: Will you shut your cake’ole and gerron with it.

Arthur; I will if you stop blowing that smoke in my face. (loud trumping noise – special effects)

Arthur: What the bloody hell woz that?

Glenda: It must have been your uncle next door using the outside loo.

Arthur: My uncle Herbert never uses the outside bog, only me. (Loud trump special effects)

It was you wasn’t it?

Glenda: How dare you, get off me at once.

Arthur: It’s you, you’ve blown your bloody fag out. Well at least I can breathe now. God – what a pong. It’s worse than Curryoke Night at the White Horse. What have you been troughing?

Glenda: I ate some beans on toast with Jack just before he went to work.

Arthur: I thought as much. You must have melted half an iceberg while you’ve been standing there enjoying yourself, you eco-criminal. You ought to be drowned in a bath of soya milk.

Glenda: Shurrup Arthur, what’s that noise. I’ll just peep through the gate. Flaming Nora, it’s Jack on his motorbike, he’s home early. Quick, gerrover the wall and go home.

Arthur: Ta-ra Duck, I’ll see you Sunday dinner in the Jolly Higglers.

Jack arrives

Jack: Hey Glenda, still up. I’ve come home early. I’ve strained my back lifting crates of baked beans. We sell thousands of tins a day, you know.

Glenda: The poor Polar Bears don’t stand a chance.

Jack: The Polar Bears what?

Glenda: Our Glenys sez Tesco beans cause more wind than other makes and are a major factor in global warming and the extinction of the Polar Bear.

Jack: Your Glenys is a dysfunctional half-wit.

Glenda: You leave our Glenys alone. She’s the secretary of the Radford Branch of the Russell Brand Fan Club.

Jack: That proves my point. Anyone who runs his fan club wants transporting to Broadmoor.

Glenda: I’m sick to death of Russell Brand and bloody Beans. I’m off to bed.

Jack: Hey there’s two teacups on the table and what’s that funny smell drifting in from the yard. It’s a cross between Stoke Bardolph sewage farm, Players Factory and a Brothel on Forest Road.

Glenda: Our Glenys came back with me after the flicks. She just went out to have a fag and use the loo before she went.

Jack: If that’s what she smells like after a cup of tea and a fag, her and Russell Brand are well suited.

Glenda: Please shut up Jack, you’re as bad as that Arthur Seaton.

Jack: Arthur Seaton, when were you hob- knobbing with him?

Glenda: Our Glenys told me, he was slagging off Russell Brand to her in the White Horse.

Jack: It’s about time he got a job. All he does is go round the pubs in Radford, drinking,, grumbling and chatting up dysfunctional women. He should get married again and be happy like we are. Goodnight, I’ll see you in the morning.

Act 6: Sunday Dinner – The Jolly Higglers

Irene: Hey up Arthur, thank goodness you’ve arrived, I’m dying for a drink.

Arthur: Well go to the bar and get one, you needn’t wait for me. You’re strong enough to carry a Baccardi Breezer, aren’t you?

Irene: I don’t like going to the bar on my own. Your mates might chat me up.

Arthur; Don’t give me that excuse. They won’t chat you up. They’re always outside smoking.

Irene: You’re a tight one, I’ll go to the bar. What do you want?

Arthur: Keep talking like that and I’ll become less frigid. I might even let you take me to your bedroom before we get married.

Irene: Stop taking the Micky, Arthur. Not every woman in Radford is like them types in the Daily Star.

Arthur: Well we’ll never see you in the Daily Star that’s for sure. Page 3 of the Long Eaton Topper promoting double-glazed windows more like.

Irene: Stop being cheeky about my job, ooh look, here comes Jack and his latest wife.

Jack: Hey-up Arthur, would you and your ladyfriend like a drink.

Arthur: I don’t like taking money off a man who’s been sweating all week stacking Tesco beans in Top’Yer Self’ Valley.

Jack: Stop being bloody awkward. What would you like?

Arthur: Oh alright then, a pint of John Smith’s for me and a Baccardi Breezer for Irene.

Jack: So you’re Irene are you?

Irene: Yes, I met Arthur at the bar where you and Glenda are standing. We’re getting married soon.

Jack: Well I hope you’ll be as happy as we are.

Arthur: So do I, we’ve already put our names down for a 2-bedroomed flat on Radford Boulevard. Her bedroom’s at the front, mine’s at the back. Just like you and Glenda.

Jack: How do you know me and Glenda sleep in separate bedrooms?

Arthur: The window cleaner told me.

Jack; He can’t speak English, he’s Polish.

Arthur; Our new council plumber translated him for me.

Jack: But why should he tell you?

Arthur: he’s obviously a pervert. Ring up the Home Office and get him deported. The Sun will put you on the Front page and you’ll become a National Hero. Russell Brand will invite you onto his TV show and you’ll become his best mate. Why don’t you bring him to our wedding, it’ll make Irene’s day.

Glenda; You didn’t tell me you were getting married , Arthur.

Arthur: I told you the other day in The White Horse but you were obviously too drunk to remember.

Glenda; That wasn’t me, it was my twin sister Glenys. Nobody can tell us apart.

Arthur: My uncle sez he can tell you apart. He sez your mouth’s smaller than Glenys’s and your brains bigger, but I think it’s the other way round.

Glenys: That’s the last Knee Trembler you’ll be getting from me.

Jack: What was that?

Glenys; I thought I heard the barman shout last orders.

Jack: Last orders, it’s only twenty past twelve, we’ve only just walked in. This place is getting more like Broadmoor every day. I hope your Glenys doesn’t turn up or I’m going down to Wetherspoons for mi Sunday dinner.

Glenda: You leave our Glenys alone, she paid for me at the Savoy on Friday night when we went to see Russell Brand’s new film "St Trinians".

Irene: I went to the Savoy on Friday night and I didn’t see you.

Glenda: Well we woz there. I’ll buy you a pair of glasses for your bottom drawer.

Irene: Arthur has already bought me a pair, thank you.

Glenda: Well make sure you wear them on your wedding day or you might marry Arthur’s uncle by mistake. You’ll turn into a bigger drunkard than Amy Winehouse after yer wedding night with him.

Jack: Where are you getting married Arthur, at the registry office.

Arthur: No, we’re getting married at the Church of Tescoland’s new Polystyrene Chapel under construction on the site of the old "Wheatsheaf" pub at the top of Ilkeston Road. I shall wheel Irene up the aisle in a shopping trolley and the priest will say "Do you take this woman to be your loyal wedded wife and promise to shop at Tesco every night and day till Death us do part. You do, congratulations, here’s your ring and your Tesco Club Card. Now bugger off. Next!"

Irene: Oh Arthur, don’t spoil it for me. I was looking forward to getting married and starting a family.

Arthur: Starting a family. I don’t want you walking up Ilkeston Road shoving a giant pushchair then gerrin on the bus and blocking the bloody gangway. When I went to Nottingham the other day to buy you a pair of glasses I had to climb over one to gerroff the Bus. It was bigger than Boudicea’s chariot. Bloody ridiculous they are.

Irene: Oh Arthur, can’t I have a baby? I’ll carry it around on my back like Sitting Bull’s wife. He’s one of your heroes.

Arthur: Stop trying to creep round me and no you bloody can’t! You can have a Gerbil instead then we won’t have to pay for a babysitter when we go to the pub.

Jack: Don’t be cruel, Arthur.

Arthur; Cruel, you can talk. Polar Bears starving to death. Eskimos cutting their throats coz their igloos are melting and they can’t find a buyer and all because of your beloved Tesco.

Glenda: Well at least he goes to work and contributes to Britain’s economy.all you do is drink and chat up dysfunctional women in the Jolly Higglers.

Arthur: You’re forgetting the White Horse and as for contributing to Britain’s vibrant economy where the rich get richer and the poor get poorer, big deal.

I shall return to work when Arthur Scargill’s Socialist Labour Party take over the country and nationalises Tesco and the Railways, brings back outside lavatories, bans sofas in pubs and puts Gordon Brown and his middle-class gang in a Hard Labour Camp in Lincolnshire picking red spuds for the rest of their working lives.

Jack: You’re living in the past, Arthur, that’s never going to happen. It’s over lad. In the Bible, David beat Goliath, but not now. The little shops, the street markets, the greasy spoon caffs, they’re finished. People like you are in the minority. The masses want Tesco and Starbucks. Goliath has won.

Arthur: George Orwell said that when Power is worshipped and the weak are sneered at then Fascism has arrived and that’s where we’re heading. A corporate fascist bullying state called Tescoland. Look at Britain’s favourite sculpture " The Angel of the North". Hitler would have loved that hovering over his Nuremberg Playground. These giant sculptures are sprouting everywhere now. "Wow, awesome" shriek the media. "To keep us in our little places", that’s what I think.

Irene: C’mon Arthur, stop upsetting yourself, let’s go to the Arboretum and feed the ducks.

Arthur: Just one more minute. That’s why I fight, coz I don’t like bullies, whether they be Hoodies kicking your head in for a laugh on U-Tube, Gordon Ramsay screaming abuse at cowering waiters, General Gordon Brown declaring war on the Disabled, or Giant Superstores and their clever lawyers bludgeoning small shopkeepers till they can fight no more.

Jack: Why waste your energy, lad?

Arthur: Every Little Helps. C’mon Irene, let’s go and feed the ducks.

Irene: Ta-ra, see you again.

Jack: Well he went all of a sudden.

Glenda: You know why don’t you?

Jack: Coz I won the argument of course.

Glenda: No, because it was his round.

Jack: The crafty blighter.

Glenda: Blimey, look who’s just walked in! Russell Brand.

Jack: Well I’ll be blowed. Would you like a drink, Mr Brand?

Russell: Yes please, a Bloody Amy.

Jack: A Bloody Amy, what’s that?

Russell: Vodka, Cocaine and Blood.

Glenda: They don’t sell that in this place. Anyway, what are you doing in here, handsome?

Russell: I’m looking for Miss Glenys Clutterbuck. She’s the secretary of the local fan club, she’s arranged to meet me in here.

Jack: She’s just gone to the Arboretum with her boyfriend to feed the ducks. You can’t miss him. He’s got a big head, a surly face and he’s wearing an anti-Tesco T-shirt.

Russell: Thanks very much. Would you like to be on my TV Show?

Jack: No thanks. Ta-ra.

Glenda: Arthur’s going to be really angry with you over this!

Jack: Serves him right for shagging you under the light of the Moon while I’m grafting.

Glenda: What was that?

Jack: I said "Let’s go the Wetherspoons". Drink up.