Steptoe & Son

Scene 1: Inside a travel agents, Harold and Albert looking at brochures.

HAROLD: What do you think father, the Seychelles do look most tempting don't they?

ALBERT: Too much sun.

HAROLD: That's the whole point. You travel two thousand miles to get there just to get

the sun on your back. Leave behind the drizzle of this country.

ALBERT: Holidays ain't about sun. Not for me anyway, I want a bit of quality in my old

age. Now them cruises look ok.

HAROLD: Have you seen the prices for 'em?

ALBERT: No less than you're she sells holiday.

HAROLD: Seychelles father.

ALBERT: We just can't afford any of them.

HAROLD: I'm not going to Bognor.

ALBERT: Neither am I. It's been taken over by the rich list brigade. All the ale houses

have been turned into cocktail bars. There ain't a boarding house under

£200 a night.

HAROLD: Well, what we doing then. Now, I suggest a beach somewhere in Europe.

ALBERT: I want a sightseeing tour.

HAROLD: Plenty of sights on the beach.

ALBERT: Skiing then.

HAROLD: Sun.

ALBERT: Skiing.

HAROLD: Sun.

ALBERT: Sun.

HAROLD: Skii.....

(Looks over to female travel agent staff noting her concern)

Look, we'll end up having a holiday in here if this continues for much

longer.

ALBERT: We haven't got the money Harold, I've told you, we're skint, berasic.

We''ll just have to make do with a two week break at home. We'll get some

brown ale in, I'll even tidy the house so it look's like a quaint bed and

breakfast.

HAROLD: Oh gawd.

 

Scene 2: Albert and Harold walking into Bank managers office.

BANK MNGR: So then er, Mr Steptoe and er, Mr Steptoe, what can I do for you.

ALBERT: We're skint.

HAROLD: Yes thank you father. Do we have to tell everyone our financial status?

ALBERT: No point in hiding it, he's the bank manager.

BANK MNGR: Let me take your card Mr Steptoe and bring up your account.

Ah yes, I see. You have exactly 10p in there, oh, no 11p I can see some

interest going in on the 4th this month.

HAROLD: Yes well, you see what we're hoping for is some kind of loan.

BANK MNGR: Loan?

HAROLD: Yes, loan for the business. What with modern day advancements we have to

keep up with the Jone's you see.

BANK MNGR: Oh yes a loan, certainly arrange that for you. You own you're own property?

ALBERT: N....

HAROLD: (Interrupting) Er Yes we do.

BANK MNGR: Mortgaged?

ALBERT: Twice over.

HAROLD: You see we took out a mortgage to cover our mortgage arrears as such.

BANK MNGR: Business not doing that well then is it. Yet you see fit to 'keep up with the

Jone's' even though you can't even keep up with your own mortgage

repayments. What kind of investment had you in mind for your business?

HAROLD: Er, a kind of company excursion of such. To boost the staffs morale,

increase sales and profits, enable us to pay back all we owe in no time.

ALBERT: Yeah. We wanna go on holiday.

HAROLD: Father, it's term is excursion.

BANK MNGR: It's a load of rubbish.

There's absolutely no way I'll lend money to you two.

I'm afraid Mr Steptoe we have standards to set and meet, our share holders

would never support such immoral practise. My credability as manager

would be ruined if we lent money on the back of such weak foundations.

ALBERT: You won't lend to us then?

BANK MNGR: Most certainly not, now if you please gentlemen I have more important

customers to serve..

Scene 2: Harold and Albert sitting in front room. Albert playing Golfing computer game

on PC, Harold standing in front of telly.

HAROLD: (Uses remote control to turn TV on)

Rubbish.

(Turns channel over)

Rubbish.

(Turns channel over)

Repeat

(Turns off TV)

Over two hundred channels and nothing worth watching. And they call it

progress?

ALBERT: Shhhhh, you're putting me off my putting, I'm two shots up on Tiger Woods

here.

HAROLD: (Walks over to radio, tunes it into local station)

RADIO VOICE1:Yeah, I'm quite fed up actually, my taxes have all gone up to pay for this

country's immigration problem. I mean my local party political leader is so

politically correct that....

HAROLD: (Tunes into another radio station)

RADIO VOICE2:I actually think we should withdraw all our troops out now. Blair has lost the

plot big time. I am totally disgusted....

HAROLD: (Turns off radio)

Repetative tripe on the radio too.

(Sits in chair, thunder in background from bad weather)

Oh gawd, this is boredom.

ALBERT: Cobblers!

HAROLD: What's wrong with you?

ALBERT: You are. Bleeding Tiger Woods shot a hole in one.

HAROLD: Hardly my fault.

(Goes over to window and stares out)

This is ridiculous.

ALBERT: Eh?

HAROLD: The bleeding weather in this country. I mean here we are, deep into august,

it's raining cats and dogs, blowing a gail and it's bleeding freezing. We've

even got the central heating on full blast.

ALBERT: You're in London mate, not the bleeding Sahara Desert.

What's with all this moaning, you're just feeling sorry for yourself.

HAROLD: I'm not feeling sorry.

ALBERT: Yes you are, just cause I beat you at the golf on here again.

HAROLD: Hardly father, I care not for your petty computer games and besides I

wouldn't need to be occupied if the weather had been anything like it should

be.

HAROLD: Why is it, every year we take our two week summer break the weather turns

rotten.

The stingy rotten bank manager no doubt will be having his holidays

somewhere idylic, what's wrong with him granting us some freedom from this

rat hole as well.

I mean the last two years I spent repairing long put off jobs around the

house, I'll be damned if I'm spending the next fourteen days doing the same

again.

(Staring out the window)

I should be out there getting a tan, eyeing up all the skimply clad

crumpet, out in the yard cracking open a few beers and tossing some

burgers on the BBQ. (Starts pacing the room again)

ALBERT: We'll stick some burgers under the grill, or go to Mc D's if not. And if you're

going to Mc D's I'll have the quarter pounder meal, oh with strawberry

milkshake. Extra large.

HAROLD: The miracles of mother nature. Here we have the most skinniest gut in the

kingdom of mammals yet he can stuff enough grub into it to put an over fed

hippopotamus to shame.

We ain't any money in the pot for luxuries such as Mc D's anyway father.

ALBERT: Ain't my fault you bring no money in is it?

HAROLD: Tiger Woods?

ALBERT: Eh?

HAROLD: You said Tiger Woods.

ALBERT: So?

HAROLD: So? So my evil little cesspit I know for sure your only golfing game was Nick

Faldo's.

ALBERT: So?

HAROLD: So? Where did you get the money to buy the Tiger Woods one which I

happen to see here in the weekly Argos bulletin priced at £39.99. You've

been hiding money from me again haven't you?

ALBERT: No, no...... I..... hired it, yes that's right. I hired it.

HAROLD: From?

ALBERT: The games rentals store on the high street.

HAROLD: Liar! You little liar. He banned you for life from there the other week for

stuffing an half eaten doner kebab into one of his new release dvd cases.

So you're fibbing again father!

ALBERT: No, no..... I remember now, I borrowed it off old Chalky Watkins, he.... he....

HAROLD: Right, I want to know exactly what you've been hidding from me. I demand to

search your draws, your chest of draws before you say anything.

ALBERT: Just my medals in there. Not anything for you.

HAROLD: No, you're medals are up in the attic, with the Christmas tree. You only get

them out when you're after second helpings at the local parish Christmas

Dinner.

ALBERT: I've other medals you know.

HAROLD: I'm the one who should have medals, medals for putting up with the likes of

you!

ALBERT: I've got my medals for woodwork at school, oh and my photography.

HAROLD: It's the first I've heard of medals for photography.

ALBERT: Well, you've never asked. A fine photographer I was, I got medals in that

draw for taking pictures in the dangers of 'no mans land'.

HAROLD: You've got medals in that draw for taking pictures? You were decorated by

King for a few snaps on the camera?

ALBERT: I can tell you...

HAROLD: I'd love to see this, come on then, if you've got anything remotely resembling

a medal for photography in that draw of yours, I'll... I'll.... I'll do the washing

up, there you go. Show me your medals then.

ALBERT: I've got medals for bravery.

HAROLD: I'm not interested in those.

(Walks over to side cabinet, opens draw)

ALBERT: Here, get out of there.

HAROLD: Where's the medals?

ALBERT: That's my personal stuff, get your hands off.

HAROLD: (Rumages about, takes out set of false teeth, takes out important looking

medal)

2nd place in the sack race, Suffolk Harvest Show, 1912?

And I always thought you were no good in the sack father.

ALBERT: Ah, Cobblers! Get out of there anyway.

HAROLD: (Taking out brown envelope)

And what goodies have we in here father?

ALBERT: Oh no Harold, don't open that.

(Snatches envelope away from Harold)

HAROLD: What's in there then, top secret war correspondence?

ALBERT: It's some pictures of birds I took, you know, when you leave me here

alone of an evening, I get bored.

HAROLD: Oh, what you mean night owls and bats? You could submit them to your

Parish weekly you get.

ALBERT: Not those kind of birds you pillock, gawd blimey if the vicar got hold of

these he'd faint at the altar.

HAROLD: What, you mean? (Shakes head at Albert)

ALBERT: (Nods to Harold, gets photos out from envelope and hands them over)

It's her from number 23. The old bike of Shephards Bush.

HAROLD: You dirty old man father.

(Studies photos)

Here, not badly proportioned though is she, for a scrubber, I never realised.

Nice skirt she is wearing. Very revealing.

ALBERT: These ones I got developed last night.

HAROLD: (Gasping) You dirty old man!

ALBERT: Not bad is she?

HAROLD: Not bad? She's got no bleeding clothes on.

ALBERT: Well she's having a bath, she's not meant to have her clothes on.

HAROLD: What about 'you're not meant to be taking photos of her in the bath'? You

could get put away for taking these father, I assume she didn't give you

permission to take them?

ALBERT: Of course not, I mean she doesn't even talk to me when I see her when I'm in

the yard, unsociable cow she is.

HAROLD: And I suppose you sit up in your room waiting for her to take her nightly soak

in the tub hey?

ALBERT: It's her fault anyway.

HAROLD: Her fault? How on earth can you say all this is her fault?

ALBERT: She leaves the curtains open, she invites onlookers.

HAROLD: I'm not sure that would stand up in court because that is exactly where you

are going if these get found out.

ALBERT: You're not going to tell on me are you Harold?

HAROLD: The offence of 'Peeping Tom' could land you in hot waters I can tell you. I

would never have believed that you, a..... a......

` (Looks closely at one of the images)

a.... Wait a minute, who's that next to her there in that photo, holding the

scrubbing brush?

ALBERT: Er.... (straining to focus) no doubt another bloke who paid for a poke.

HAROLD: It's him, the chap from the..... from the.... local Green Party.

ALBERT: Peter Lilley-White.

HAROLD: Cor blimey, if these photos got out of him he'd not get a single vote.

(Looking at another photo)

And who's this in this photo?

ALBERT: I don't know, who is it?

HAROLD: It's old Davey Barker, our milkman.

ALBERT: Blimey, his wife is that old battle axe that runs the Womens Lib club.

HAROLD: I've got a funny feeling he'll be delivering 'gold tops' from now on here hey.

(Studying another photo)

And whom have we here.

(Laughing)

It's Mr Chin from the Chinese takeaway in the High Street. Oh you naughty

boy Mr Chin.

ALBERT: That reminds me, we owe him forty quid on the slate, he'll be round this

friday for the money.

HAROLD: I think we can scrap that bill father, just show him these when he gets here.

(Studies last photo)

And lastly posing for us tonight is..... oh, and he's wearing a rather sexy

cowboy hat, oh, and a see through shirt.... it's.... it's.....

I don't believe it!

ALBERT: Who is it? Who is it!

HAROLD: The bank manager!

ALBERT: The bank manager? What him who wouldn't lend us the money?

(Looking at photo with a magnifying glass)

Here, he's wearing pink womens knickers! The dirty little sod.

HAROLD: Oh how unfortunate. What a rotten bit of luck for the poor old soul that you

happened to be taking perverted snaps of the girl next door as he was

fullfilling his nocternal pleasures.

Let's see how our nice Mr Bank Manager will attempt to get out of this little

pickle. I mean, he's got his credability to think of.

ALBERT: What, you mean blackmail him?

HAROLD: Well, it's the perfect oppurtunity. I mean, if these photos get out his

reputation will be knackered. Who would want to open an account knowing

full well the man in charge wears pink knickers hey?

ALBERT: He'd lose his job.

HAROLD: Exactly. I've got a funny feeling that baron spell on the holiday front is over.

I'll just pop down to the bank to arrange a loan father.

(Picks up envelope with photos in)

I'll just take the paperwork we need to clinch the deal!

Now, what did we agree, a nice little beach number wasn't it?

 

The end.