Theme music. Camera moves up the front steps, past the huge tub of oil and through the front door.
Sally and Brenda are sitting on the sofa
in Brenda’s living room.
Brenda: He’s goin’ dahn the pub again.
Sally: Bloody men, eh?
Brenda: Yeah, bloody men. How’s yours?
Sally: Ah, well, y’know. Oh God, did I tell you, Bren? Lost his socks the other week.
Brenda: No!
Sally: Yeah. Honest to God. He were running around like an ‘eadless chicken goin’ “where’s me socks, Sal?” All over the place he were, for like two hours. Couldn’t shut him up, couldn’t make him stand still. “Where’s me socks, where’s me socks?” Wouldn’t stop.
Brenda: Is it his only pair of socks?
Sally: You’d have bloody well thought so, love, I tell ya that. I knows he’s got at least two more somewhere. He won’t wear new socks, y’know, reckons they got a weird smell. Yeah, like not the smell of his bloody sweaty cheese feet, I’m thinking, but you can’t do nothing, can you? Can’t wash the bloody stink out of ‘em either.
Brenda: Bloody nightmare.
Sally: Too right. And what wiv our Dave growin’ up and all it’s got worse. Cause his feet smells now too, don’t they? He’s got loads of socks, all over the bloody place. He can’t never find none neither, though. Always “Ma, where’s me socks?”
Brenda: Our Liam’s like that. Bloody socks. Our Soph keeps tellin’ me he leaves ‘em in her bed so her whole bed smells. You’d think they’d have bloody grown up a bit by that age, wouldn’t you?
Sally: They don’t never grow up, Bren, they don’t never grow up.
Brenda: You’re right and all. Our Gary still acts like he’s bloody younger than Liam.
Sally: Tell me about it. Don’t know why we bloody bother.
Brenda: Yeah.
Sally: We should swear ‘em all off.
Brenda: Yeah!
Sally: We could all become lesbians!
Brenda: Um… don’t know about that, Sal.
Sally: Yeah, you’re right, bit much. Just swear ‘em all off then?
Brenda: Yeah. Tell ‘em all to go to Hell.
Sally: They can wash their own bloody socks!
Brenda: No bloke I know is gonna wash his own socks no matter how much they stinks, Sal.
Sally: I know. Bloody nightmare, the lot of ‘em.
Brenda: Them and their socks.
Sally: Yeah.
Brenda: I dunno how Gar has the never to ‘ave a go at me about anyfink when his socks smells like that. He do, though. Y’know I bought that oil. He din’t like that. Had a bleedin’ fit. Told me I were having an affair. It weren’t no affair. Couldn’t get near him cause of bloody Eliza bein’ all over him all week.
Sally: Oh yeah. Bloody Eliza. Can’t get near no bloke when she’s round. I ain’t havin’ her over no more cause she keeps tryin’ to chat up my Clive, innit. Minute she come in the door she’s all over ‘im like bloody ‘erpes. When I tries to talk to ‘im she snarls at me, like it’s me movin’ in on her bloke, y’know? So I takes ‘er to one side and I says, “Elizer, look, that’s my husband and you ain’t got no right actin’ like that round him, y’know, plenty of blokes in the world, yeah?” And she go, “That’s what I do’s, Sal, I flirts with blokes. If your bloke falls for it, it’s your problem.”
Brenda: Yeah, ‘Lize is a bitch sometimes. She don’t mean it though. Our Gar reckon she do, mind. All the time I hears him sayin’ to that Bob, “oh yeah, that Eliza got the ‘ots for me” an’ that. Our Gar reckon if he gets sick o’ me he got Eliza waitin’ for his body.
Sally: I dunno why you puts up wi’ that.
Brenda: Cause it’s a laugh, innit? Our Gar ain’t gonna run off with Lize.
Sally: ‘Ow d’you know?
Brenda: Cause Lize is a tart, innit?
Sally: You got any wine?
Gary: (off) Oh, ‘ere we go…
Sally: Shurrup! God, I don’t get why you puts up with ‘im.
Brenda: I don’t get why you puts up wi’ your Clive, but you don’t ‘ear me moanin’. I got red, white, vodka or summat else. Gar, what else we got?
Gary: (off) Beer.
Brenda: Gar, you know we ‘ates beer. What else?
Gary: (off) That poncy stuff your Aunt Vera brung you.
Sally: What’s that?
Gary: (off) I dunno.
Brenda: I fink it’s sherry or summat.
Sally: Nah, I don’t like that. Let’s ‘ave the red.
Brenda pulls a bottle of red win from the cabinet and opens it.
Brenda: Here.
Sally: Cheers. So anyway, I says to my Clive, when I finds your socks I’m gonna throw ‘em away cause they’re so much bloody grief. And so he go “Don’t you dare, woman,” and I goes “Don’t call me woman” and he go “I’ll call you what the hell I want” and I goes “No you won’t, not if you don’t want me runnin’ off with the milkman” and he go “the milkman wouldn’t run off wi’ you” and I goes “the milkman’s in love wi’ me” and he go “no he ain’t” and I go “yeah he is” and he go “I’m gonna punch that bloody milkman’s lights out” and I go “find your own bloody socks!”
Brenda: Yeah?
Sally: Yeah. Him an’ his socks.
Gary: (sticking his head round the door) What the hell was that???
Sally: Bugger off, Gar. I were tellin’ Bren about our Clive and ‘is socks.
Gary: You was telling our Bren about ‘ow you was gonna run off with the milkman.
Sally: I weren’t never gonna run off wiv the milkman.
Brenda: I knows that. That’s cause you had a crush on Clive since you was, what, twelve?
Sally: (blustering) No I never! Shurrup, Bren. Nah, there’s rumours about that milkman.
Gary: Aw, Christ.
Exit Gary.
Sally: I don’t get you and Gar.
Brenda: Well, I don’t get you and Clive. What about the milkman?
Sally: Y’know Linda in work? She were tellin’ me he ain’t all ‘e says ‘e is.
Brenda: What?
Sally: Y’know. He don’t, y’know, measure up.
Brenda: Oh. Measure up to what? Your Clive? How would she know?
Sally: Linda in work been wiv enough blokes to know when one don’t measure up.
Brenda: How would you know?
Sally: She told me, innit. She been wiv that Bob and all.
Brenda: I ‘ates that Bob.
Sally: But he’s, like, your Gar’s best mate, innee?
Brenda: He’s one of ‘em. Gar says he’s a laugh when he’s drunk or summat.
Sally: Men!
Brenda: Men!
Sally: Yeah, men and their socks.
Brenda: You pissed, Sal?
Sally: No.
Sally: I ain’t. I’m just sayin’.
Brenda: No you ain’t.
Sally: You lives in a house wiv our Clive an’ our Dave you learns about socks is all.
Brenda: Sure you do.
Sally: Got any more wine?
Brenda: We drunk all the red.
Sally: Get your Gar to get us some more.
Gary: (off) Not bleedin’ likely. What d’ya think I am, bloody skivvy?
Sally: Yeah. You’re bloody married.
Gary: (off) I ain’t gettin’ you no bloody wine. Bloody get it yourself. I’m off dahn the pub.
Sally: You ain’t got him bloody trained, ‘ave ya?
Brenda: How do you train a bloke?
Sally: You smacks him a lot, innit.
Brenda: Is that ‘ow you trained Clive?
Sally: I ain’t trained Clive.
Brenda: I knows that. Clive bloody trained you.
Sally: Oi.
Brenda: Well, he ‘ave.
Sally: Clive din’t need no training.
Brenda: No. (mimicking) Clive’s perfect just the way he is, innit.
Sally: Yeah, he are. Shurrup.
Brenda: You’re like a bloody teenager, you.
Sally: Shurrup.
Brenda: Nah. You keeps goin’ on about Gar. I’m allowed to keep on about you an’ Clive if I wants.
Sally: I dunno why I puts up wiv you either.
Brenda: It’s cause no one else’ll put up with you.
Sally: Oi.
Brenda grins.
Sally: So how’s Eliza?
Brenda: Lize? Still bein’ a tart.
Sally: How many’s she got on the go now?
Brenda: Three, four. Not includin’ the blokes she finds in nightclubs an’ stuff.
Sally: Bloody tart.
Brenda: Lize’s always bin a tart.
Sally: Yeah, she ‘ave. Maybe I should ask ‘er about the milkman.
Brenda: I wants to ‘ear if you does.
Sally: Awight.
Brenda: She probably ‘ave, mind you, and if she ‘aven’t she’ll find out for you an’ all.
Sally: Quite ‘andy, that.
Brenda: Why? You gonna do the dirty on your Clive?
Sally: Course not.
Brenda: You’re like a bleedin’ schoolgirl wi’ your Clive.
Sally: Shurrup, I ain’t.
Brenda goes over to the drinks cupboard.
Brenda: We got white wine, vodka, poncey sherry, ummm… ooh, Bailey’s.
Sally: I ‘ates Bailey’s.
Brenda: You’re weird, you.
She gets the Bailey’s out of the cupboard.
Sally: Anyfink else?
Brenda: Ummm… we got a bit of Tia Maria.
Sally: I’ll ‘ave that then.
Brenda: We keeps it for when Gar’s bruvver come over.
Sally: Do he like it?
Brenda: He puts in in ‘is Guinness.
Sally: Eww! Aw, Bren, that’s disgustin’!
Brenda: It’s what ‘e do, though. He says it’s nice. I tried a bit once. It were bloody vile, I tell ya, Sal, bloody vile. I fought I woulda puked up over everyfink. Bloody ‘orrible stuff.
She pours the drinks. They down them. Brenda pours more drink.
Sally: Y’know what, Bren?
Brenda: What?
Sally: I fink we’re gonna end up drunk.
Brenda: We always ends up drunk.
Sally: We can join in wiv Gary when he gets back singin’.
Brenda: Yeah. That’ll bloody scare the pants off ‘im.
Sally: I knows that.
Later. Gary stumbles up the path to his house at about midnight.
Gary: (singing only just coherently) Bye bye, Miss American Pie, drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry…
Brenda and Sally open the door. They are blind drunk.
Brenda/Sally: An’ good ol’ boys were drinkin, whisky an’ rye…
Brenda/Sally/Gary: Singin’ this’ll be the day that I die, this’ll be the day that I die!
They all fall about laughing.
Sally: Aww, I loves that song!
Gary: You two’s pissed.
Brenda: So’s you.
Sally: Aww, I loves wine!
Gary: (grinning) Red red wiiiine…
Brenda/Sally/Gary:
Go to my he-e-e-ad
Make me forget that i
Still need her so-o-o-o-o…
Red, red wiiiine…
It`s up to you-u-u-u…
All I can do, i`ve done
But mem`ries won`t go
No, mem`ries won`t go!
Brenda: Oh, ‘ang about, bloody nosy old bag from over the road’s
lookin’ at us.
Sally: I ‘ates that woman.
Gary: (totally out of it) Cause for 25 years I been
livin’ next door to Alice – Alice? Who the –
Brenda: Shurrup, Gar.
Sally: I’m gonna go ‘ome.
Brenda: You can’t walk ‘ome. You’s pissed.
Sally: So’s you.
Clive walks up the path.
Clive: Hi, I’m here to pick Sally up.
Gary: Yeah, you’ll probably bloody ‘ave to an’ all. She’s
pissed.
Sally: So’s you.
Clive: Ah, girls’ nights.
Brenda: Get this, Clive. Our Sal was tellin’ us this fing, right,
about you, right, and socks… and Linda…who…loadsa men…an’ Lize…she were gonna
find out if…
Sally: (slightly panicky) Shurrup, Bren, shurrup!
Clive: (to Gary) They’re like this every time.
Gary: (not hearing him) ‘Er name is Rio an’ she dances
on the san’…
Sally: You’s pissed!
Gary: So’s you.
Brenda: You know your wife, right, she got this thing… about
socks…
Clive: Yes. I keep losing mine, I’m afraid.
Brenda: (delightedly) Ain’t ‘e gurt posh!
Clive attempts a genial smile and almost manages it.
Clive: Well. I think I should take the wife home now.
Brenda: I finks you should. She’s pissed.
Sally: So’s you.
Clive: We’ll be off. See you later.
Brenda: Bye, Sal! Bye, Clive!
Gary: (cheerfully singing to the tune of American Woman) Clive
and Sally! Get away from me-ee! Oh, Clive and Sally! Mama let me be-ee!
Brenda: Shurrup, Useless. You’s pissed.
Gary: So’s you.