# Today is the day, hip, hip, hooray
# That Vic cooks me my breakfast
# I haven't a clue what I'm meant to do
# I wish he'd just have a Curly Wurly, oh! #
So how long do I cook this egg for?
- Six foot seven. - Six foot...?
I said, how long do I cook the eggs for?
Oh, I'm sorry! Flies.
I thought you asked me how tall Gandhi wanted to be when he grew up.
- How long do I cook this egg for? - All right!
An egg, three minutes.
- Both sides? - It doesn't really mattee-e-er...
- Your egg, Simon. - Yeah, I'm Bob.
No, the egg's called Simon.
I've kind of grown to love it over the past three minutes,
- so be gentle with it. - Oh, sweet.
- Also, your black pudding. - Black pudding.
- Your bacon. - HE LAUGHS
And a nice cup of tea.
- There we are. - Thank you. I really appreciate it, I really do.
- But excuse me? - Yeah.
- Excuse me? - Yeah? - Toast?
Yes. Of course, sir.
DING!
Ah, and I took the liberty of warming up your toupee for you.
Oh, thanks.
GIBBERS INCOHERENTLY
BOTH GIBBER
TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWS
# Look at my pie, a feast for the eyes
# It's made of pork and pastry
- # I have to admit - That looking at it
# It really does look rather tasty. #
Emergency, emergency, 999, emergency!
Julie, Julie, Julie, Julie, Julie, what seems to be the problem?
It's an emergency!
Yes, but what's the nature of the emergency, Julie?
My fridge is broken, emergency, 999.
Julie, do you want to put your pie in our fridge?
Oh, Vic! Would you do that for me, Vic?
Look after my pie for me?
CROCKERY SMASHES
Thank you, Vic. Are there any other little teeny-weeny jobs
I could do in return, say, perhaps in your bedroom?
I've only got three minutes so we'd have to be super-duper quick.
No, there's no jobs in the bedroom, Julie, really.
So, guys, I just need you to look after this pie for me
whilst I go on holiday for a couple of hours.
Of course. Sorry, a couple of hours, Julie?
- Yes, it's one of those short breaks. - Oh, right. - Where you going?
Mexico.
Not in two hours, you're not, Julie.
- Exeter? - You might do that. - Excellent.
Look, the thing is, I've got Bruce Willis coming around later
to talk about starring in the film of my erotic novel, Nobbin Hood.
- THE Bruce Willis? - Yes, yes!
Are you going to... Are you going to try and touch his willy?
Yes!
THEY LAUGH
Anyway, the thing is, he insists on eating this particular pork pie.
It's also Morgan Freeman's favourite, apparently.
As if that matters.
It's really important to me that Bruce gets this pie.
- You won't let me down now, will you? - No, course not, Julie. - Are you sure?
My whole career does depend on him agreeing to play Nobbin Hood.
Yep? So remember, no touchy-touchy, no licky-licky.
Right, I'm off to go pack. See you later.
- Bye, Julie. - See you, Julie.
Oi, daft lads, come here, eat me. Check out my glossy crust.
Don't be a pair of tossers all your life. Tuck in, tuck in!
CRACK!
HE GROWLS AND SLATHERS
Come on, let's just have a little bit.
No, stop it, Vic. Stop it! You're acting like an idiot.
- Oh, I'm acting like an idiot, am I? - Yes.
Would an idiot be able to do this?
Huh?!
You know what, you kick like a girl.
Yeah, well, I don't know any girls, do I, so I wouldn't know.
Yeah, you've got a point.
- I'll point at you in a minute if you're not careful. - No, don't!
- Yeah? - Oh, you did.
Yeah! Now who's the idiot?!
# Blew my giro on this erotic biro
# I'm in love with the beautiful lady
# If you turn it around, her knickers fall down
# It's the greatest thing since Joseph met Mary-y-y-y-y! #
Oh, it's bust. I shouldn't have had that romantic bath with her.
All right, Beef? I like your scarf.
It's made of ham. Birmingham.
It was made in Birmingham.
I wear it when I play cricket.
Nothing else, just the scarf and what God gave me.
How's that?
We're just guarding this pork pie for Julie.
- Pork? - Yeah.
The meat of pigs? The most ancient of all British dogs?
Can any man deny its flesh?
Not I.
- Pork. - Beef...?
- Pork. - Beef...!
- Pork! - No, Beef!
I'm sorry, Beef, but it's not our pie.
It's for Julie's meeting with Bruce Willis.
Bruce Willis, you say?
I starred alongside him in Too Hot For Spaniards in the West End.
It totally bombed.
And then he ran off with that chimp, Dudley Moore.
Demi Moore?
No, I think you'll find it was Dudley Moore.
I caught them exploring each other on discarded teacakes
outside Fortnum's.
Mmmm. Mmmm!
Thank you for that, Beef.
Look, what we need to do is think of something
that'll take our minds off this pie.
Feast on me! Have me!
I'm yours...
Stop it, stop it, stop it!
- ANGUISHED: - Stop tormenting me, you gorgeous bitch!
- CHEERFULLY: - I know! What we need to do
is tell each other fascinating pork pie stories.
Yes, to take our minds off eating the pork pie.
To take our minds off eating the pork pie.
I'll start first because I'm the oldest.
No, no...
Right, now then.
Not too long ago I was working as a gardener for Sir Elton John.
And one morning I was pushing a wheelbarrow full of custard
towards one of Elton's feeding troughs.
Oh, hold on, sorry. Soz for interrupting.
Is that what he has for breakfast, custard?
Yeah, and it's extra sweetened with sprinkles on the top.
So does David have custard also?
No, David has a lie-in and has a couple of pints and a pickled egg.
Anyway, I was pushing the wheelbarrow
- when the wheel snagged on something. - I'm soz to interrupt again
but I'd love to know what it snagged on. Wouldn't that be interesting?
I don't know. It doesn't matter.
Hang on, yes, it does matter! He just asked you a question.
What did it snag on?
I don't know. Maybe it was one of Elton's tiny little dogs,
a picker-wanker or a chin-wagger or something.
I don't know. I don't know what it snagged on.
Anyway, the wheel bounced off and into his feeding trough.
Good heavens, that's trouble on a plate.
Exactly. And at that precise moment,
from around by the orangery came waddling Sir Elton himself.
"What do you think you're doing, daft lad?"
he said in that rich, sonorous voice of his.
And then I remembered, in me lunch bucket
I had a five-inch thick-crust pork pie.
Hold on, I know, I know,
- so you used the pork pie as a replacement wheel on the barrow? - No.
I just stuck it up his arse and told him to stuff his job.
That's a nice story, terrific story.
- Thank you. - Beef!
Beef, concentrate on the pork pie stories.
- I'm sorry. - Why don't you take your turn now?
OK, all right. Draw near.
Nearer still.
All right, back off!
It was a dark, sweaty night,
the kind of night that would force a man
to lick an emperor penguin to death.
I was driving down the A428 when I picked up a headless hitchhiker.
I was drunk, so I asked her to take the wheel.
Hang on a minute, you asked a headless phantom to drive your car?
Yes, she was headless and had no arms.
Sorry, no head and no arms?
- Or legs. - Just a torso?
Not even that.
Was this actually a person, Beef?
- HE CHUCKLES - No.
It was a pork pie.
Whoa! That's a lot better than your story, that was.
- All right, lads? - Oh, hey up!
- Jeez! - Oh, gosh!
What a lovely pork pie. Give us some.
No, keep your hands off it.
And aren't you meant to be leaving today, Bosh?
No, I'm not leaving today. I'm still ill. I've got a bad back.
- Have you been to the doctor's? - Yeah, I've been to the doctor's.
Yeah, and what did the doctor say?
The doctor said I could stay here as long as I like.
And he's told me to tell you that you're a twat.
Bosh, we're telling pork pie stories to take our mind off eating the pie.
You must have a plethora of them!
Oh, let me think, pork pie stories. Think, think.
- Yeah, go on. - Scratch, scratch. Comb, comb.
Flick, yes!
Ooh!
Oh, look at...
When I was in prison,
I shared a cell with this fella called Ben Gunn.
Now, he was a violent psychopath, right,
but he made some of the best pork pies in the world.
'Every night, right, I used to listen to him
'saying the ingredients of his special pork pies.'
- SNORTING: - Poooorrk!
Poorrrk!
Poorrrrrk!
'And so I wrote the ingredients down in my special notepad.'
Pooorrrk!
Porrrrk!
Have you still got that notepad, Bosh?
No, Bob, I haven't got that notepad. I ate it.
But I remember the secret ingredients like it were yesterday.
- Right, do you still remember them? - Yeah, I remember them. Go on, then.
- SNORTING: - Porrrrk.
Porrrrk.
Porrrrrk.
Oh, shit - he was snoring, weren't he?
Three years without any sleep for that. That's your fault, that is.
- Sorry, Bosh. - Yeah, well, you will be.
Here, how come he gets a go on the pie?
What do you mean, a go on the pie? Hey, move your elbows, Vic.
Not your eyebrows, move your elbows.
Move them!
VIC GROANS
What have you done? Julie's going to kill us.
Bruce Willis is going to go down on us.
Look, look, lads, I know, I know that I got you in this fix.
Let me just think. Let me just think for a minute.
ANGRY GERMAN SHOUTING
DESCENDING WHISTLE
- Anything? - Not really, no. - Oh, Jesus!
Hang on, what's he scratching his arse with?
No nails, not no more need apply, not now anyway, Maureen.
What? That was gibberish, Bosh. No Maureen, what?
No nails, not no need apply, not now anyway, Maureen.
No, he's talking horse shit.
That's contact adhesive,
which, luckily, gives me an idea for a plan.
Good squirt.
There you go, good as new. Now can we have some?
No, Bosh, but thank you.
Hang on there, let me run this past you.
Why don't we heat up the entire interior
and sample the pleasures from within?
Come on, Bob, don't be a twat all your life.
It's a good plan.
- OK. - Yeah?
All right. Heat up the insides of the pie. Do it, Bosh.
HAIRDRYER WHIRRS
- OK, everybody ready? - Mm-hmm. - Yeah? Let's do this.
SLURPING
- Wow, what did you think? - Splendid. - Yeah. Bosh, you like it?
- Totally blown away. - Vic? - Knockout!
Wasn't it though? OK, let's reinflate.
Bosh, let's put some of that expanding cavity wall muck in there.
Yeah, keep it going, come on.
Steady, there it comes.
It's rising.
ALL MUMBLE ENCOURAGMENT
Careful, careful.
- That's it. - Yeah! - Good as new, basically.
Right, all packed.
FYI, if Bruce should turn up early, tell him I've hung
a tin of corned beef on a string in the letter box to tide him over.
Remember, take good care of that pie.
If Bruce doesn't get his pie,
he'll pull out of the film and one of you will have to die.
Now Julie, I know you're only going away for a couple of hours,
but I'm really going to miss you.
Oh, Vic, that's so sweet of you.
You know I don't have to go, you know.
We could stay and play sex bingo. Say house.
- House. - Bingo!
You win a pottery Alsatian
and a good old-fashioned go on my Barnaby Smudge.
All right, thank you, Julie,
but I think maybe you should just go and enjoy your holiday.
Thank you. Look, they're all giving you a goodbye shape.
- Oh, goodbye shapes! - Yeah, goodbye.
- Goodbye. - Bye. - Goodbye.
- Yes, goodbye. - Goodbye.
Don't worry about your pie, Julie.
Oh, this is a disaster. This could have serious consequences, you know.
- What are we going to do? - What are YOU going to do, more like?
Eh? What do you... Hold on, we all did it.
- It wasn't just me. - Don't look at me. I wasn't even there.
What, so you're going to tell Julie it was all me?
We were just doing what you told us, weren't we, boys?
- Absolutely. - Very much so, yeah.
- You've lived up to your nickname, haven't you? - What nickname?
Nothing, it's just something that people call you now and then.
Oh, yeah? Do you know anything about this nickname?
I might do. I might have heard it.
Oh, right. Yeah, and so what is it?
It's not for me to say.
Is it Chase Me Charlie, is it that one?
No, no, people don't call you that so much any more after the change.
What is it?
The Moron.
And I suppose you made that up, did you?
- It wasn't me, no. - Yeah, who was it then?
Your mother.
On her deathbed.
And in her will.
And on her gravestone.
"Beloved mother of the Moron."
- Which is why we don't take you for a walk round the graveyard any more. - Yeah.
Look, if I was a moron, do you think I'd be able to sing like this?
# I'm riding round in circles every day
# I don't know if I'm going or if I'll stay
# Cos I'm riding round in circles every day. #
Yeah?
Moron, is it?
- Hello, everyone. - Oh, all right, Erik.
Father. Or should I say the Moron.
ALL LAUGH
That was foocking er-wful.
What was?
Everything, the dance and the song.
Ah-ha-ha-ha(!)
Come on, we need to concentrate on replacing this pie.
Now where can we get a luxury pie from?
I can do a search for pork pies on my new laptop.
Oh, thank you, Erik. What, just on Google, something like this?
- How does this work, then? - Oh, shut up.
I can't concentrate when you guys are talking buh-llocks.
- Ah, there you go. - Oh, well done, Erik...
Don't touch me, the Moron.
Oh, OK, some pork pie shops. So Desperate House Pies.
Dude, Where's My Pie?
Pie and Prejudice.
No Woman, No Pie.
No Woman, No Pie, that sounds good.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on.
Julie said it was Morgan Freeman's favourite pie.
There might be a clue in that.
Oh, here it is.
"Morgan Freeman, like many other Afro-American actors,
"will only eat pork pies supplied by Ben Gunn's Pork Emporium."
Ooh, Ben Gunn, my old cellmate, the pork pie master himself.
You know, he's even got his own fleet of pigs.
I married a pig once.
You mean an ugly bird, right?
No, I actually mean a pig. It was Soho in the '60s.
It was quite the thing to do.
That and drive around in bumper cars.
All right then, shall we just go to Ben Gunn's and get a pie?
No, we can't. It says he's shut here for Yom Kippur.
Bosh, surely you could break in for us or summat, couldn't you?
Oh, you're joking, mate. Ben Gunn's a psycho.
And his pie shop's got one of the most
impenetrable security systems in the western hemisphere.
There's only one man I know that can get in there.
- And who's that? - Barry Gibb.
The last surviving Brother Gibb!
The very same man.
Oh, gosh darnit,
Mr Gibb is spending this afternoon entertaining
a young lady in Epping Forest.
Which effing Forest?
Ha-ha!
# Ha, ha, cannonballs, cannonballs
# Ha...ha....
# Cannonballs, cannonballs. #
Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on. Bosh, come on, Bosh.
It's only a little shop. Surely you can break in for us.
Well, I might be able to break in there, you know.
It depends how long you let me stay, like, you know what I mean?
What about another week?
Yeah, lovely, six weeks it is. Fantastic.
Right, let's all run away and break into Ben Gunn's pie shop.
- Come on. - Thank you, Erik. - Shut up.
SINGS IDIOTICALLY
THEY LAUGH
RESPONDS SIMILARLY
What's the big joke then, lads?
Bosh just told us the funniest thing I've ever heard.
- Yeah? What was it? - I can't remember. Did you get the crisps?
Yeah, I could only afford three packs, I'm afraid.
There's only three of us.
Wish I had a pack of crisps.
Prawn cocktail, are you out of your mind?
There is no way I am eating that ocean filth.
Bosh, can I have one of yours?
No, you can't, I've got none left.
Vic?
We haven't got time to stand around here eating crisps. We've got a job to do.
Oh, Vic, I could have had them!
You still can.
I'm not picking them up off the floor.
Ha! Listen to the old diva. I'll pick them up for you then.
Here you are. There you are, Your Majesty.
Look, we need one of them credit cards, security,
swipe-swipe-swipe things.
I've got one. Claire's Accessories loyalty card, that'll work.
Bollocks it will!
BEEPS
Like I said, no problem.
Right, stand back, I'll have a look in here with my special spy camera.
Right. Zoom, zoom, focus, focus, focus, Kodak.
Shit!
Ben Gunn's actually in there asleep, with his cleaver, guarding the pies.
I've got a good idea.
You go in there.
I know what he's like. I'm not doing it.
I'll stand over here and scratch my nuts.
- Come on, he's fast asleep. We might get away with it. - Go on, then.
Fine.
(There he is.
(Right, Vic, go and get that pie.)
Why is it always me?
- It's never you! - Exactly, so send him.
(Yeah, all right, good point. Beef, go and get that pie.)
- No, I can't! - Why not?
I'm on.
It doesn't matter. Go and get the pie.
- Be quiet. - All right. - Go!
PRRRT! PRRRT!
"FARTING" IN TIME WITH FOOTSTEPS
Beef, psst, psst! Take your shoes off.
It's not my shoes. I'm nervous.
Just stop there. Vic, go and get the pie. Go and get the pie.
FOOTSTEPS "FART"
Vic, stop! Vic, are you nervous?
No, I'm not nervous.
Stay there.
MUSICAL "FARTS"
- Are you nervous? - I'm not nervous at all.
I think it's the floor.
"FARTING" ALONG WITH FOOTSTEPS
All right, Beef, stop it!
MOURNFUL DESCENDING "FART"
ASCENDING "FART"
Look, lads. Shush! We're going to have to make a run for it.
Ready? One, two, three.
CACOPHONY OF "FARTS"
Shit, it's padlocked. Let's get out of here.
No, no, no, hold on. I've got a plan.
SAWING AND HAMMERING
(I'm stuck!)
- I'm stuck! - What's that clown saying?
I think he's saying he's stuck.
Ben Gunn's behind you.
What?
Benn Gunn's behind you!
Whoa!
Don't harm me. I'm ELO's archivist.
If you kill me, their music will be lost for ever!
HE SNORES
FARTING
It's all right, Bosh, it's just the floor.
Oh, it's not the floor, man. I'm bloody nervous.
ELONGATED FART
Right, come on.
Let's get going before Ben Gunn comes back round again.
That's a relief, innit?
Yes, we should celebrate.
Why don't we eat some of the pork pie?
Heyyyy! Nearly had us.
Excuse me, you pack of bastards! I've had a terrible day!
You sang my lovely song, like, in a really childish manner
when it should be sung like Wet Wet Wet, like soft rock.
And worst of all,
the heel of my boot is tight up hard against my bellend.
Will you get me out, please?
Stop it!
It's made of bulletproof glass.
To stop people shooting at the pies.
Stand aside.
I'll pop him out of there
- like a cork from a cheap bottle of German wine. - What's he doing?!
HE STRAINS
It's impossible. I'm spent.
Depression has set in and various bits and pieces.
Now listen, lads, this is a long shot and I've never done it before,
but I have seen it done on television so it should work, OK?
Bosh, drum roll.
Beef, curtain.
DRUM ROLL
VIC WARBLES
Three, two, one, Al Jazeera!
TRUMPET STING
ALL CHEER
It worked! It worked!
Hi, guys!
Hello, Julie.
Julie, your pie.
Oh, thanks. Look, it's going really well with Bruce.
I reckon if he likes the pie, he'll do the film,
and he's really ready for his pie. Listen.
- BRUCE: - Where's my pie? Where's my pie?
Where's my pie?
I'd better take him his pie.
You should.
Good luck, Julie. Come on, let's listen.
Where's my pie? I want my pie.
I need my pie.
Here it is, Brucey.
Eating some pie, eating some pie!
Yum, yum, yum.
I like this pie. I love this pie.
I'll do this film cos I love this pie.
- Yes. - Oh, that seemed to go very well, didn't it? - Yeah.
Where's my pie, scumbags?
Mr Gunn, I'm just a little boy. I've got nothing.
Hello, Mr Gunn. You clearly don't recognise me from prison
and that's fabulous, so I'm just off to buy a cauliflower.
- I hope that's absolutely fine with you. - Shut it, Bosh.
Now I know it's nearby,
cos I secreted a tracking device inside of it.
He said yes. He'll do the film and he loves sex bingo!
Hello, Ben! Lovely pies.
- You haven't eaten it, have you? - No.
Attached to the tracker is a small explosive device,
which is triggered by digestive juices.
If anyone eats it, boom!
Must go, Morgan's going to be furious.
A tracker on a pork pie? How queer is that?
Isn't it just? Yeah.
DISTANT EXPLOSION
Bang goes Nobbin Hood.
Sounds like Bruce Willis has died.
Hard.
# Didn't we have a lovely day the day we killed Bruce Willis?
# So what happens next?
# Let's sing a song
# Good idea, Bob knows one!
# I'm riding round in circles every day
# Soft rock version, soft rock version
# I don't know if I'm going or if I'll stay
# He's a moron, he's a moron
# I'm riding round in circles every day! #
THEY HUM
CHEERING AND APPLAUSE