INT: Peckham. Flat.

Del: Oi! Rodney! RODDERS YOU PLONKER! I’ve got a little job for you RODDERS.

Rodney: Cosmic. Cos bloody MIC. What is it?

Del: I want you to get down the Nag’s ‘ead and see if you can sell these mobile phones. In a predictable premise, I intend to try and sell several thousand faulty and out of date phones to a reluctant crowd of people, with the resultant effect that we do not succeed, and indeed, have no real chance of becoming millionaires.

Rodney: Del…..stop. Stop it.

Del: EH?

Rodney: This isn’t going to work. You know it’s not going to work. We haven’t eaten for two weeks. Albert is dead. Grandad is dead. You’re old now, you’re seventy. I am not young either. Everything we love is gone, and the flat stinks of shit.


(Both start to sob uncontrollably. Del smashes his head with a fist in hopelessnes, Rodney tries to hug him. Del pushes him away, Rodney falls into a wall, smashing his head, lying on the floor and screaming. Fade to a silent credit.)


About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
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