Withnail and I

Camden Town, London. 1969

The Flat.

A few shafts of sunlight sneak through the curtains and illuminate a living room. Victorian heirlooms, antique furniture and a pair of iceskates. Empty bottles everywhere. Marwood is in a chair, smoking a cigarette and sweating anxiety. Looks at his thumbs. He gets up gingerly and walks into a kitchen full of bottles, washing up and dead flowers in black water. He lights the stove and dumps the kettle on it. Now he's down the stairs and at Withnail's door, knocking.

Marwood:

I'm having a cup of tea, do you want one?

No response.

Marwood:

Do you want a cup of tea Withnail?

Withnail:

No.

The Cafe

Marwood is reading a paper at a table in the cafe. The proprietor is frying eggs; they flap in a quarter inch of grease. She lifts one out, slaps it into a sandwich and places it in front of an derelict old woman. The sandwich is bitten and yolk pours onto the plate. Marwood turns his attention to another's newspaper; headline: "Love made up my mind, I had to become a woman". He looks around at the other customers with horror in his eyes.

Marwood [mentally]:

Thirteen million Londoners have to cope with this, and baked beans and All-bran and rape? And I'm sitting in this bloody shack and I can't cope with Withnail. I must be out of my mind. I must go home at once and discuss his problems in depth.

The Flat

Marwood stumbles up the barely lit stairs looking unwell. Withnail emerges from his room holding a bottle and glass and follows him. Looking sicker than Marwood, he has nevertheless dressed for the occasion; brogues and tweed. When he speaks he gives away an aristocratic education.

Withnail:

I have some extremely distressing news.

Marwood:

I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anything. My God, it's a nightmare out there I tell you, a nightmare.

Withnail [pouring the last from his bottle]:

We've just run out of wine. What are we going to do about it?

Marwood:

I don't know, I don't know. I don't feel good.

They follow each other into the living room. Marwood has forgotten about the kettle and the room is filling with steam. Marwood catches himself in the mirror as he passes.

Marwood:

Look! My thumbs have gone weird. I'm in the middle of a fucking overdose. My heart's beating like a fucked clock. I feel dreadful, I feel fucking dreadful.

Withnail:

So do I. So does everyone. [Inspects his tongue in the mirror] Look at my tongue. It's wearing a yellow sock. Sit down for Christ's sake, what's the matter with you? Eat some sugar.

Withnail collapses on the sofa with a newspaper. Marwood is in the kitchen fighting the vapour. Withnail gets up and starts following him around, reading from the paper.

Withnail:

Listen to this. "Curse of the Supermen: I took drugs to win medal says top athlete Jeff Wode."

Marwood [not listening, looking for something]:

Where's the coffee?

Withnail:

"In a world exclusive interview, thirty three year old shot putter Jeff Wode, who weighs three hundred and seventeen pounds, admitted taking massive doses of anabolic steroids, drugs banned in sport. 'He used to get in bad tempers and act daft' said his wife. 'He used to pick on me. But now he's stopped, he's much better in our sex life and in our general life'."

I pours water from the kettle into a bowl and goes back into the living room. Withnail follows, becoming interested in the newspaper story.

Withnail:

Jesus Christ, this huge, thatched head with its earlobes and cannonball is now considered sane. Jeff Wode is feeling better and is now prepared to step back into society and start tossing his orb about. [Waves the paper at Marwood] Look at him. Look at Jeff Wode. His head must weigh fifty pounds on its own.

Withnail stands in front of a mirror, combing his lank hair back. Marwood sits on the sofa and spoons coffee from the bowl. Withnail is becoming fascinated by Jeff Wode.

Withnail:

Imagine the size of his balls. Imagine getting into a fight with the fucker!

Marwood:

Please, I don't feel good.

Withnail:

That's what you'd say, but that wouldn't wash with Jeff. No, he'd like a bit of pleading. Add spice to it. In fact, he'd probably tell you what he was going to do before he did it. [Starts acting out the scene in his head] "I'm going to pull your head off". "Oh no, please, don't pull my head off". "I'm going to pull your head off because I don't like your head."

He sees Marwood drinking from the bowl.

Withnail:

Have you got soup? Why didn't I get any soup?

Marwood:

Coffee.

Withnail:

Why don't you use a cup like any other human being?

Marwood:

Why don't you wash up occasionally like any other human being?

Withnail [rising to the challenge]:

How dare you? How dare you! How dare you call me inhumane?

Marwood:

I didn't call you inhumane. You merely imagined it. Calm down.

Withnail:

Right you fucker. I'm going to do the washing up!

He strides towards the kitchen. Marwood jumps up and tries to pacify him.

Marwood:

No, no, you can't. It's impossible, I swear to you. I've looked into it. Listen to me, listen to me. There are things in there, there's a tea bag growing. You haven't slept in sixty hours, you're in no state to tackle it. Wait until the morning and we'll go in together.

Withnail:

This is the morning. Stand aside!

Marwood [restraining Withnail]:

You don't understand. I think there may be something alive.

Withnail:

What do you mean? A rat?

Marwood:

It's possible, it's possible.

Withnail [brandishing his comb]:

Then the fucker will rue the day!

He rushes to the sink and is immediately repelled by the horrific reality that confronts him .

Withnail:

Oh Christ Almighty. Sinew in nicotine base. Keep back, keep back. The entire sink's gone rotten. I don't know what's in here.

He picks up the white-hot kettle from the stove and hurls it immediately into the sink.

Marwood:

I told you. You've been bitten!

Withnail:

Burnt, burnt, the fucking kettle's on fire!

Marwood [transfixed by the contents of the sink]:

There's something floating up.

Withnail [wielding cutlery]:

Fork it!

Marwood:

No, no. I don't want to touch it.

Withnail:

You must, you must. That poop will bore through the glaze. We'll never be able to use the dinner service again. [Rumaging through a drawer] Here, get it with the pliers.

Marwood:

No, no. Give me the gloves.

Withnail:

That's right, put on the gloves. Don't attempt anything without the gloves.

Marwood moves things about in the sink about. Naso-visual horror.

Withnail:

What is it? What have you found?

Marwood:

Matter.

Withnail:

Matter? Where's it coming from?

Marwood:

Don't look, don't look. I'm dealing with it.

Withnail [surrendering to the situation and walking away]:

I think we've been in here too long. I feel unusual. I think we should go outside.

Regent's Park

They walk along a path bordering on the zoo. Early morning daylight. Mist and drizzle.

Withnail:

This is ridiculous. Look at me. I'm thirty in a month and I've got a sole flapping off my shoe.

Marwood:

It'll get better. It has to.

Withnail:

Easy for you to say lovey, you've had an audition. Why can't I have an audition. It's ridiculous. I've been to drama school. I'm good looking. I tell you, I've a fuck sight more talent that half the rubbish that gets on television. Why can't I get on television?

Marwood:

I don't know. It'll happen.

Withnail:

Will it? That's what you say. The only programme I'm likely to get on is the fucking news. I tell you, I can't take much more of this. I'm going to crack.

Marwood:

I'm in the same boat.

Withnail:

Yeah, yeah. [Sucks on his cigarette, on his last legs] I feel as sick as a pike. I'm going to have to sit down.

They sit on a bench. Withnail shivers; looks like he's been there all night.

Marwood:

You know what we should do? I say, you know what we should do?

Withnail:

How should I possibly know what we should do? What should we do?

Marwood:

Get out of it for a while. Get into the countryside. Rejuvenate.

Withnail:

Rejuvenate? I'm in a park and I'm practically dead. What good's the countryside? What time is it?

Marwood:

It's eight.

Withnail:

Four hours to opening time, God help us. Have we got any embrocation?

Marwood:

What for?

Withnail:

To rub on us, you fool. We can cover ourselves in Deep Heat and get up against a radiator. Keep ourselves alive until twelve.

He spits and gazes at it.

Withnail:

Jesus, look at that. Apart from a raw potato, that's the only solid to have passed my lips in the last sixty hours. I must be ill.

The Flat

Marwood is writting in a notebook on the sofa while Withnail wanders around wearing his overcoat and underpants, smearing himself with Deep Heat, smoking a cigarette.

Marwood [mentally]:

Even a stopped clock tells the right time twice a day, and for once I'm inclined to believe Withnail is right. We are indeed drifting into the arena of the unwell. Making an enemy of our own future. What we need is harmony. Fresh air. Stuff like that.

Withnail:

Wasn't much in the tube. There's nothing left for you.

Marwood:

Why don't you ask your father for some money? If we had some money we could go away.

Withnail [inspecting a bottle for dregs]:

Why don't you ask your father? How can it be so cold in here? It's like Greenland in here. [Putting on a rubber glove] We've got to get some booze. It's the only solution to this intense cold. Something's got to be done. We can't go on like this. I'm a trained actor reduced to the status of a bum! I mean look at us. Nothing that reasonable members of society demand as their rights. No fridges, no televisions, no phones. Much more of this and I'm going to apply for meals on wheels.

Marwood:

What happened to your cigar commercial?

Withnail:

That's what I want to know. what happened to my cigar commercial. What happened to my agent? Bastard must have died.

Marwood:

September. Bad patch.

Withnail:

Rubbish. {Flings his cigarette across the room] Haven't seen Gielgud down the Labour Exchange. Why doesn't he retire? [Grabs a newspaper] Look at this little bastard. "Boy lands plum role for top Italian director." Of course he does. Probably on a tenner a day and I know what for: two pound ten a tit and a fiver for his arse.

A thought strikes him and he turns on Marwood, pointing accusingly.

Withnail:

Have you been at the controls?

Marwood:

What are you talking about?

Withnail:

The thermostats. What have you done to them?

Marwood:

I haven't touched them.

Withnail:

Then why has my head gone numb? [A crisis point is looming] I must have some booze. I demand to have some booze!

He lunges towards the mantlepiece and grabs a can of Ronsonol lighter fluid.

Marwood [standing up]:

I wouldn't drink that if I were you.

Withnail [unplugging the can's teat with his teeth]:

Why not?

Marwood:

Because I don't advise it. Even the wankers on the site wouldn't drink that. That's worse than meths.

Withnail:

Nonsense, this is a far superior drink to meths. The wankers don't drink it because they can't afford it.

He throws his head back and pours the petrol down his throat. Gagging and gasping, he's on a buzz.

Withnail:

Have we got anymore?

Marwood shakes his head. Withnail, eyes bulging, presses forward, forcing Marwood to back off.

Withnail:

Liar. What's in your toolbox?

Marwood:

We have nothing. Sit down.

Withnail:

Liar. You've got anti-freeze.

Marwood:

You bloody fool. You should never mix your drinks!

The Street

They walk amongst the dereliction towards a pub, the Mother Black Cap. Despite his recent intake, Withnail's brain is in gear.

Withnail:

All right, this is the plan. We get in there and get wrecked. Then we'll eat a pork pie. Then we drop a couple of Surmontil 50s each; means we'll miss out Monday but come up smiling Tuesday morning. What's that appalling smell?

Marwood:

Perfume, on my boots. I had to scrub them with essence of petunia.

The Pub

The pub is full of Irish here to get drunk. Withnail sidewinds his way to the bar.

Withnail:

Two large gins, two pints of cider. Ice in the cider.

Marwood:

If my father was loaded I'd ask him for some money.

Withnail:

If your father was my father you wouldn't get it.

Barman:

There you are lads.

Withnail:

Chin chin.

Withnail chinks his gin glass against Marwood's which he hasn't picked up yet, and downs it in one. Marwood follows suit and winces.

Marwood:

What about whatshisname?

Withnail:

What about him?

Marwood:

Why don't you give him a call?

Withnail:

What for?

Marwood:

Ask him about his house.

Withnail:

You want me to call whatshisname and ask him about his house?

Marwood:

Why not?

Withnail:

Alright. What's his number?

Marwood:

I've no idea. I've never met him.

Withnail:

Neither have I. What the fuck are you talking about?

Marwood:

Your relative with a house in the country.

Withnail:

Monty? Uncle Monty?

Marwood:

That's him. That's the one. Get the Jag fixed up and spend a week in the country.

Withnail:

Alright. Give us a tanner and I'll give him a bell.

Marwood [handing over the note]:

Get a couple more in. I'm going for a slash.

Marwood is at the door to the Gents. Nearby is a huge Irish man nursing the end of his tenth pint.

Man:

Ponce.

I hears him but makes no response. Goes into the Gents.

I [mentally]:

I could hardly piss straight with fear. Here was a man with three quarters of an inch of brain who'd taken a dislike to me. What had I done to offend him? I don't consciously offend big men like this. This one has a definite imbalance of hormone in him. Get any more masculine than him and you'd have to live up a tree. (he reads eye-level grafitti) "I fuck arses". Who fucks arses? Maybe he fucks arses. Maybe he's written this in some moment of drunken sincerity. I'm in considerable danger in here. I must get out of here at once.

Marwood heads single mindedly back to the bar.

Man [calling out across the pub]:

Perfumed ponce!

Withnail is settled at the bar, chewing on a pork pie.

Withnail:

You'll be pleased to hear Monty's invited us for drinks.

Marwood:

Balls to Monty, we're getting out.

Withnail:

Balls to Monty? I've just spent an hour flattering the bugger.

Marwood:

There's one over there doesn't like the perfume. A big one. Don't look, don't look. We're in danger, we've got to get out.

Withnail:

What are you talking about?

Marwood:

I've been called a ponce.

Withnail turns to address the whole pub. Withnail: What fucker said that?

The Irish bruiser gets up and walks over to them. Now he is upright we see he is very large indeed and looks in the mood for a fight.

Man:

I called him a ponce. And now I'm calling you one. Ponce!

Withnail [smiling through his pork pie]:

Would you like a drink?

Man:

What's your name? McFuck?

As he shouts this he jerks the scarf from around Withnail's neck.

Withnail [dragging up all his acting abilities]:

I have a heart condition. I have a heart condition. If you hit me, it's murder.

Man [working up a rage]:

I'll murder the pair of y'ers!

Withnail:

[Pathetic whisper] My wife is having a baby. [Hits on a plan of action] Listen, I don't know what my f... [starts to say "friend"] acquaintance did to upset you but it's nothing to do with me. I suggest you both go outside and discuss it sensibly, in the street.

Marwood is paralyzed with fear, then Withnail executes his plan. They push past the huge man and race for the door in blind panic, screaming.

Withnail:

Out of my way!

The Bathroom

I is in the bath shaving.

Marwood:

Speed is like a dozen transatlantic flights without ever getting off the plane. Timechange. You lose, you gain. Makes no difference so long as you keep taking the pills. But sooner or later you've got to get out because it's crashing then all at once the frozen hours melt out through the nervous system and seep out the pores.

Withnail enters with their lunch from the chippy

Withnail:

The bastards. Justice suck. It's a miserable cheap cigar and the bastards won't see me.

Marwood:

Why are we having lunch in here?

Withnail:

It's dinner and Danny's here.

Marwood:

Danny!? How did he get in?

Withnail:

I let him in this morning. He lost one of his clogs. He's come in because of the perpetual cold. I hope the buggers sales plummet.

Marwood:

I've got your savaloy. Here. I don't want it.

Withnail:

Then stick it in the soap tray and save it for later.

He scrunches up the paper that was holding his chips and puts it in the toilet

Marwood:

Don't vent spleen on me. I'm in the same boat.

Withnail:

Stop saying that. You're not in the same boat. The only thing you're in that I've been in is this fucking bath.

Marwood:

Danny's here. Head hunter to his friends. Head hunter to everybody. He doesn't have any friends. The only people he converses with are his clients and occasionally the police. The purveyor of rare herbs and prescribed chemicals is back. Will we never be set free?

The Flat

I comes out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

Marwood:

Danny.

Danny:

You're looking very beautiful man. Have you been away? St. Peter preached the epistles to the apostles looking like that. Have you got any food.

Marwood:

Mmm, As a matter of fact, got a savaloy.

Danny:

How much is it?

Marwood:

You can have it for nothing.

Danny sniffs the sausage. Withnail enters from the kitchen gluing the sole back on his shoe. He is wearing a rather expensive looking suit.

Danny:

I see you're wearing a suit.

Withnail:

What's it got to do with you?

Danny:

No need to get uptight man. I was merely making an observation. I happened to be looking for a suit for the coal man two weeks ago. For reasons I can't really discuss with you the coal man had to go to Jamaica. Got busted coming back through Heathrow, had the weight under his fez. We wored out that it would be handycarma for him to get hold of a suit but he's a very low temperature spade the coal man, went into court wearing a kaftan and a bell. This doesn't go down at all well. They can handle the kaftan but they can't handle the bell. So there's this judge sitting there sitting in a cape like fucking batman with this really rather far out looking hat.

Withnail:

A wig.

Danny:

No man, this was more like a long white hat. So he looks at the coalman and says 'what's all this. This is a court man. This ain't fancy dress' and the coal man looks at him and says 'you think you look normal, your honour?'. Cunt give him two years.

I laughs a little. Withnail looks on unamuzed.

Danny:

I'm afraid I can't offer you gentlemen anything.

Marwood:

That's alright Danny. We'd decided to lay off for a bit.

Danny:

That's what I thought. Except for personal use I concur with you. as a matter of fact i was thinking of retiring and going into business.

Withnail [Scoffing]:

Doing what?

Danny:

The toy industry.

There is a stange looking contraption on the table involving a bottle.

Withnail:

Thought you were in the bottle industry.

Danny:

No man, that's a side line. You can have that. Instructions are included. Yeah. My partner's got a really good idea for making dolls. His name's 'Presuming Ed'. His sister give him the idea. She got a doll on Christmas what pisses itself.

Withnail:

Really.

Danny:

Then you've got to change its draws for it. Horrible really but they're like that the little girls. So we're going to make one that shits itself too.

Withnail:

Shits itself!?

Danny:

He's an expert. He's building the prototype now. [To I] Why's he behaving so uptightly.

Withnail:

Because a gang of cheroot vendors consider a hair cut beyond the limit of my abilities.

Danny:

I don't advise a hair cut man. All hairdressers are in the employment of the government. Hair are your aerials. They pick up signals from the cosmos and transmit them directly into the brain. This is the reason bold-headed men are uptight.

Withnail:

What absolute twaddle.

Danny:

Has he just been busted?

Marwood:

No.

Danny:

Then why's he wearing that old suit?

Withnail:

Old suit? This suit was cut by Hawke's of Saville row. Just because the best tailoring you've ever seen is above you fucking appendix doesn't mean anything.

Danny:

Don't get uptight with me man. Because if you do I'll have to give you a dose of medicine and if I spike you you'll know you've been spoken to.

Withnail:

You wouldn't spike me you're too mean. Besides, there's nothing invented I couldn't take.

Danny:

If I medicined you you'd think a brain tumour was a birthday present.

Withnail:

I could take double anything you could.

Danny [removing his sunglasses]:

Very, very foolish words man.

Marwood:

He's right Withnail. Look at him . His mechanisms gone. He's had more drugs than you've had hot dinners.

Withnail:

I'm not having this shag-sack insulting me. Let him get his drugs out.

Danny gets a doll out of a bag.

Danny:

This doll is extremely dangerous. It has voodoo qualities.

Withnail snorts. Danny takes the head off the doll and extracts a handful of pills.

Danny:

Trade: Phenodihydrochloride benzelex. Street: The embalmer.

Withnail:

Balls. I'll swallow it and run a mile.

Danny:

Cool your boots man. This pill's valued at two quid.

Withnail:

Two quid! You're out of your mind.

Marwood:

That's sense Withnail.

Withnail:

You can stuff it up your arse for nothing and fuck off while you're doing it.

Danny:

No need to insult me man. I was leaving anyway. Have either of you got shoes?

Monty's house

A battered Jag pulls up outside Monty's house and Withnail and Marwood get out. There is a rather flash looking open-topped Rolls parked outside. The sound of a Schubert piano sonata comes from the house.

Withnail:

Monty's car.

Withnail knocks on the door. Monty, a rather fat, effeminate, middle-aged gentleman, opens the door. He is holding a very large fluffy cat and a watering can.

Monty:

Oh hello. Come in.

They enter and go into the lounge.

Monty:

Sit down, do. Would you like a drink?

They sit together on a sofa.

Withnail:

Sherry.

Monty [to I]:

Sherry?

I:

Sherry.

Monty moves to the sideboard and pours the drinks. Withnail lights up yet another cigarette.

Monty:

Do you like vegetables? I've always been fond of root crops but I only started to grow last summer. I happen to think the cauliflower more beautiful than the rose.

Withnail:

Chin chin.

He drinks the sherry.

Monty:

Do you grow?

Withnail:

Geraniums.

Monty:

Oh you little traitors. I think the carrot infinitely more fascinating than the geranium. The carrot has mystery. Flowers are essentially tarts. Prostitutes for the bees. There is you'll agree a certain je ne ses quoi oh so very special about a firm young carrot. Excuse me. Do help yourselves to another drink.

Withnail turns and reaches a bottle over from the sideboard. He takes a long swig.

Marwood:

What's all this. The man's mad.

Withnail:

Eccentric.

Marwood:

Eccentric? He's insane. Not only that he's a raving homosexual.

There is a yowl from the cat. Monty storms back into the room preceded by the cat.

Monty:

You beastly little parasite. How dare you? You little thug. How dare you? Ooohhhh. Beastly ungrateful little swine.

He deposits his considerable bulk on the other sofa, facing the first.

Withnail:

Shall I get you a drink Monty?

Monty:

Yes. Yes please dear boy. You can prepare me a small rhesus negative Bloody Mary. And you must tell me all the news. I haven't seen you since you finished your last film.

I smiles wriley to himself. Withnail downs the drink he has prepared for himself, pours another and starts making the Bloody Mary for Monty.

Withnail:

Rather busy uncle. TV and stuff. My agent's trying to edge me towards the Royal Shakespeare again.

Monty:

Oh splendid.

Withnail:

He's just had an audition for rep.

Monty:

Oh splendid. So you're a thespian too?

Withnail delivers Monty's drink and sits beside him.

Withnail:

Monty used to act.

Monty:

I'd hardly say that. It's true I crept the boards in my youth but I never had it in my blood and that's what so essential isn't it? Theatrical zeal in the veins. Alas, I have little more that vintage wine and memories.

He stands and looks at a photograph on the mantlepiece.

Monty:

It is the most shattering experience of a young man's life when he awakes and quite reasonable says to himself: [He puts his hand on his heart] I will never play The Dane. When that moment comes, ones ambition ceases. Don't you agree?

Withnail:

A part I intend to play, Uncle.

Monty:

And you'll be marvelous. [He starts quoting from Hamlet] We do it wrong, being so majestical. To offer it the show of violence......

As Monty rambles in the background I steps over to Withnail and whispers.

Marwood:

He's a madman. Any moment now he's going to rush out and get into his tights.

Withnail:

Ok ok. Give me a minute.

Marwood:

The house or out.

Withnail stands and moves over to Monty.

Withnail:

Could I have a word with you Monty?

Monty:

Oh forgive me dear boy, forgive me. I was allowing memories to have the better of me.

Withnail:

Shall I get you a top up?

He moves to the sideboard again. Monty sits down and reminisces.

Monty:

Indeed I remember my first agent. Raymond Duck. Dreadful little Israelite. Four floors up at the charring cross and never a job at the top of them. I'm told you're a writer too. Do you write poems?

Marwood:

No, I wish I could. It's just thoughts really.

Monty:

Have you published?

Marwood:

No no.

Monty:

Where did you school?

Withnail:

He went to the other place Monty.

Monty:

Oh you went to Eton?

The cat reappears on I's chair.

Monty:

Get that damned little swine out of here. It's trying to get itself in with you. It's trying for even more advantage. It's obsessed with its gut just like a bloody rugby ball. Now it will die, it will die!

He storms around ineffectually.

Withnail:

Monty, Monty.

Monty:

No dear boy you must leave, you must leave. Once again that oaf has destroyed my day.

Withnail:

Listen Monty. Can I just have a quick word in private.

Monty:

Oh, very well.

Later they are leaving the house. Monty shows them to the door.

Monty:

Good night my dears.

Withnail:

Good night Monty.

Monty closes the inner door to the porch behind them.

Marwood:

What's all this going off in private business? Why did you tell him I went to Eton?

Withnail:

Because it wouldn't have helped if I hadn't.

Marwood:

What do you mean by that?

Withnail [Showing him the key to the cottage]:

Free to those that can afford it. Very expensive to those that can't.

The car

They leave Camden in Marwood's battered old Jag. Withnail, still in his suit, has a bottle and is clearly drunk. They pass some schoolgirls.

Withnail:

Scrubbers!

Scrubber:

Up yours grandad!

Withnail:

Scrubbers! scrubbers!

Marwood:

Shut up.

Withnail:

Little tarts they love it.

Marwood:

Listen, I'm trying to drive this thing as quietly as possible. If you don't shut up we'll get stopped by the police.

The pass a notice anouncing an accident blackspot.

Withnail:

Look at that, look at that. Accident black spot. These aren't accidents. They're throwing themselves into the road gladly. Throwing themselves into the road to escape all this hideousness. [To a pedestrian] Throw yourselves into the road darling, you haven't got a chance.

Somewhat later they join the motorway.

Withnail:

At some point or another I want to stop and get hold of a child.

Marwood:

What do you want a child for?

Withnail:

To tutor it in the ways of righteousness and procure some uncontaminated urine.

He takes out the bottle and instructions provided by Danny.

Withnail:

This is a device enabling the drunken driver to operate in absolute safety. You fill this with piss, take this pipe down the trouser and sellotape this valve to the end of the old chap. Then you get horrible drunk and they can't fucking touch you. According to these instructions, you refuse everything except a urine sample. You undo your valve, give them a dose of unadulterated child's piss and they have to give you your keys back. Danny's a genius. I'm going to have a doze.

They drive on. Later, with the light fading, they leave the motorway. It becomes clear that the car has only one functioning headlight. Still later it is totally dark and raining heavily. I stops and attempts to transfer the single wiper from Withnail's side of the car to his own but it refuses to come off. He gets back in the car and in shutting the door wakes Withnail, who looks considerably the worse for wear.

Withnail:

Are we there?

Marwood:

No, we're not we're here and we're in the middle of a fucking gale. Now you'll have to keep a look out your side. If you see anything tell me. Get hold of that map.

Withnail:

Where's the whisky?

Marwood:

What for?

Withnail:

I've got a bastard behind the eyes. I can't take aspirins without a drink. Where's the aspirin?

Marwood:

Probably in the bathroom.

Withnail:

You mean we've come out here in the middle of fucking nowhere without aspirins?

Marwood:

Where are we?

Withnail:

How should i know where we are. I feel like a pig shat in my head.

Marwood:

Now get hold of that map and look for a place called Crow Crag.

The cottage

They draw up in a yard and get out of the car. Withnail staggers around aimlessly as I gets the baggage from the boot.

Withnail:

There must and shall be aspirins.

Marwood:

Give me the key and get out of the way.

Withnail:

If I don't get aspirin I shall die here on this fucking mountainside.

They enter the house. I lights a match and finds a lantern which he lights. As the light comes up the inside of the cottage becomes visible. It is rather spartan.

Withnail:

Christ almighty.

I looks round a little more thouroughly. He notices a picture of Monty on the wall.

Marwood:

Monty!

He looks accross to Withnail who is sat dejectedly in a chair.

Marwood:

What are you doing?

Withnail:

Sitting down to enjoy my holiday.

Marwood:

Right, now we're going to have to approach this scientifically. First thing we've got to do is get this fire alight, then we split into two fact finding groups. I'll deal with the water and the plumbings, you check the fuel and wood situation.

A little later Withnail re-enters the cottage from a rather wet and windy night. He is holding a small stick.

Marwood:

What's that?

Withnail:

The fuel and wood situation. There's nothing out there except a hurricane. This place is uninhabitable.

They sit close to the fire, which is rather small.

Marwood:

Give it a chance. It's got to warm up.

Withnail:

Warm up!? We may as well sit round a cigarette. This is ridiculous. We'll be found dead in here next spring.

He attemps half-heartedly to light a cigarette.

Withnail:

I've got a blinding fucking headache. Got to have heat!

He stands and smashes a chair against the floor. A little later the fire is burning considerably higher.

Withnail:

Problem's we've got to keep this bastard burning.

Marwood:

Well we've got enough furniture for tonight. Tomorrow we get down that farm and get some logs.

Withnail:

This is a mistake I tell you. This is a dreadful mistake.

I's bedroom

I wakes the next morning and gets out of bed. He checks on Withnail who is still asleep. He steps outside and walks accross the yard to examine the view. It is quite magnificent. Later, he is dressed and walks down to the farm. The building is surrounded by an assortment of farmyard junk. He knocks at the door

Old woman:

Who's there?

Marwood:

Me!

The door opens cautiously and an old woman peers out inquiringly.

Old woman:

What do you want?

Marwood:

I'm a friend of Montague Withnail. He's lent us his cottage. I wondered if you could sell us some food. Eggs and things.

She looks blankly at him.

Marwood:

What about wood and coal?

Again, he elicits no responce. Seeing she is wearing a hearing aid, he bends down and talks directly to it.

Marwood:

I'm not from London you know!

Old woman:

I don't care where you come from.

She slams the door. I walks away.

Marwood [mentally]:

Not the attitude I'd been given to expect from the H E Bates novel I'd read. I thought they'd all be out the back drinking cider, discussing butter. Clearly a myth. Evidently country people and no more receptive to strangers than city dwellers.

He walks back to the house and addresses the door.

Marwood:

Do you think you could tell me where I could buy some coal and wood?

Old woman:

You'll have to see my son. He runs this farm.

Marwood:

Where is you son?

Old woman:

Up in top field. You can't miss him, his legs bound in polythyne.

The cottage

I walks back into the yard outside the cottage, slips, and falls in the mud. He picks himself up and storms inside.

Marwood:

Withnail you bastard wake up.

He bangs on the ceiling and moves to the sink to wash.

Marwood:

Oye, wake up you bastard you've got to get wood.

Withnail enters, dressed already and wrapped in a blanket.

Withnail:

Jesus, you're covered in shit.

Marwood:

I tried to get fuel and wood, there's a miserable little pensioner down there wouldn't give it me.

Withnail:

Where are we going to get it then?

Marwood:

There's a man up on the mountain. Why he's up there, fuck knows, but he's up there with a leg bound in polythene, you can't miss him, he's your man. And have another look in that shed. Find anything. If you can't find anything, bring in the shed.

Later, they are sat down to a simple lunch.

Marwood:

How come Monty owns such a horrible little shack?

Withnail:

No idea.

Marwood:

You never discuss your family do you?

Withnail:

I fail to see my family's of any interest to you. I've absolutely no interest in yours. I dislike relatives in general and in particular mine.

Marwood:

Why?

Withnail:

I've told you why. We're incompatible. They don't like me being on stage.

He stands up and takes a foil from its bracket on the wall and strides up and down in actorly fashion.

Marwood:

Then they must be delighted with your career.

Withnail:

What do you mean?

Marwood:

You rarely are.

Withnail points the sword menacingly, although there is a cork on the end.

Withnail:

You just wait. Just you wait. When I strike they won't know what hit them.

He hears a noise from outside.

Withnail:

Tractor approaching.

He goes to the window and knocks his head on the lantern hanging from the ceiling.

Marwood:

Then get after it. That's the man.

They rush out of the cottage and pursue the tractor.

Withnail:

Hey, stop!

Marwood:

Stop.

Withnail:

Stop.

Marwood:

Stop please!

The tractor driver notices them and stops.

Withnail:

Stop please! Please stop!

They run up to the side of the tractor and address the driver, Mr Parkin.

Withnail:

Are you the farmer? [To I] Shut up, I'll deal with this. [to Parkin] We've gone on holiday by mistake. We're in this cottage here. Are you the farmer?

Marwood:

Stop saying that Withnail, of course he's the fucking farmer. [To Parkin] We're friends of Montague Withnail, we desperately need fuel and wood.

The farmer shakes his head, bewildered.

Marwood:

Montague Withnail, you must know him. Fat man, owns the cottage.

Parkin:

Ay, seen the fat man. London type. Queer sort. Think his name's French or something.

Withnail:

French!?

Parkin:

Ay, Adrian de la Touche. He hasn't been up here for couple of years. Last time I saw him, he were, he were with his son.

Marwood:

Yeah, that's him.

Withnail:

Listen, we're bona fide. We're not from London. Could we have some fuel and wood?

Parkin:

Ay, I could bring you up some logs later but I've got the cows and that to feed first.

Withnail:

When?

Marwood:

Shut up. That would be very kind of you. Erm, what about food? Do you think you could sell us something to eat?

Parkin:

I could bring you up a chicken but you'll have to go to the village really.

Marwood:

That would be very kind of you Mr?

Parkin:

Parkin.

Marwood:

Mr Parkin. What happened to your leg?

Parkin:

Got a randy bull up there. Give me one in knee!

They walk back inside. I claps Withnail on the back. Back inside, Withnail removes his boots and places them in the oven attached to the fire.

Marwood:

You want to get out the back don't you? Get some spuds up.

Withnail:

Sorry I can't. My boots are in the oven.

Marwood:

You'd go if you had boots?

Withnail:

Gladly.

Withnail emerges from the back door with polythene bags tied around his feet. He walks into the garden and after a little unearths a potato.

Withnail:

I've got one!

Later, the potatoes are peeled and ready to be cooked. I sits reading 'Journey's end' while Withnail dozes in front of the fire. I hears the tractor once again and goes out to meet Parkin. He is there with some logs.

Marwood:

Great. How much do we own you?

Parkin:

Pay us when you come down.

Marwood:

What about this chicken?

Parkin:

's on back.

Back inside I has left the chicken on the table. It is alive and looks round questioningly. He nudges Withnail to wake him.

Marwood:

Oye! Oye! Parkin's been. There's the supper!

Withnail:

What are we supposed to do with that?

Marwood:

Eat it.

Withnail:

Eat it? Fucker's alive.

Marwood:

Yeah, you've got to kill it.

Withnail:

Me? I'm the firelighter and fuel collecter.

Marwood:

Yeah, I know, but I got the logs in. It takes away your appetite just looking at it.

Withnail:

No it doesn't, I'm starving. How can we make it die?

Marwood:

You've got to throttle them. Withnail, I think you ought to kill it instantly in case it starts trying to make friends with us.

Withnail:

Alright, you get hold of it. I'll strangle it.

Marwood:

I can't. Those dreadful, beady eyes, they stare you out.

Withnail:

It's a bloody chicken. Just think of it with bacon across its back. Right, I'll deal with this. You'll have to get its guts out.

Later, I is washing his hands in the sink having finished getting the chickens guts out. Withnail enters with a shotgun and points it at I's head.

Marwood:

Never point guns at people! Extremely dangerous. Now, what about this roasting dish? What are we going to cook it in?

Withnail:

You're the food and plummings man. I've no idea. I wish I'd found this an hour ago. I'd have taken great pleasure in gunning this pullet down.

He pokes the chicken with the gun. It still has a few feathers.

Withnail:

Shouldn't it be more bald than that?

Marwood:

No it shouldn't. Right, we're going to have to reverse the roles. We can bake the potatoes in the oven and boil this bastard over the fire.

He tries to push the chicken into a kettle but it is too large to fit.

Withnail:

Lets get its feet off.

Marwood:

No, it's going to need it's feet.

He removes the chicken and takes it to the fire. Opening the oven, he removes Withnail's steaming boots and points the the brick in the oven.

Marwood:

Straddle them either side of that.

A phonebox

I is smoking stood outside the phonebox waiting for Withnail.

Withnail:

I've already put two shilling pieces in. No I havn't got another. It's not my fault if the system doesn't work.

He emerges from the phonebox.

Withnail:

Bitch hung up on me.

I fishes around in his pocket and finds a shilling for Withnail who goes back into the phonebox and dials.

Withnail:

Hello. How are you? Very well. What! Why wouldn't they see me? This is ridiculous. I haven't been up in a job for three months. Understudy Constantine!? I'm not going to understudy Constantine, why can't I play the part? This is ridiculous. No, I'm not in London, Penryth. Penryth! Well, what about TV? Listen, I pay you ten percent to do that. Well lick ten percent of the arses for me. Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? How dare you! Fuck you!

He takes out his frustration on the phone, hitting it for a while then leaves the phonebox.

Withnail:

Bastard asked me to understudy Constantine in The Seagull. I'm not going to understudy anyone, especially that little pimp. Anyway, I loath those Russian plays. Always full of women starring out of windows whinning about ducks going to Moscow.

Returning from Penryth they walk accross a field. I is carrying some shopping.

Withnail:

What do you think to Desmond Wolf?

Marwood:

With respect to what?

Withnail:

I'm thinking of changing my name.

Marwood:

Too like Donald Woolfe.

He hands the bag to Withnail and opens a gate. It is clearly marked 'Shut this gate'

Marwood:

Here, changeover point.

Withnail slams the gate behind them but it doesn't fasten. They see Parkin on his tractor.

Withnail:

Do you think he's happier than us?

Marwood:

No.

Withnail:

I suppose happiness is relative. I never thought it would be a polythene bag without the hole in it.

Parkin turns the tractor towards them, stops and runs towards them.

Marwood:

What's up with him?

Parkin:

Shut that gate, shut that bull!

Marwood:

You didn't shut the gate!

Parkin:

Shut that gate, shut that bull!

A bull appears and pushes the gate open. Withnail thrusts the bag into I's hands and vaults the wall. I is left facing the bull in a narrow corridor between two walls.

Withnail:

Grab its ring. Keep your bag up. Outvive him.

Parkin:

Hey, listen, show no fear! Just run at it.

Marwood:

Well that can't be sensible can it? The bastard's about to run at me.

Parkin:

Well he's randy!

Marwood:

Yeah, yeah. I know he is.

Withnail has his cigarettes out and is lighting up.

Withnail:

Wants to get down there and have sex with those cows.

Marwood:

Shut up Withnail!

Parkin:

Just run at it, shouting!

Withnail:

Do as he says, start shouting. It won't gore you.

Marwood:

A coward you are Withnail. An expert on bulls you are not!

He shouts and throws the shopping in the air. The bull roars, I shouts again and runs at it. It turns and retreats to its field.

Parkin:

Shut that gate and keep it shut.

Withnail:

I think an evening at the Crow!

The fields

It is dark. The silloutes of Withnail and I appear on the skyline.

I [narrating]:

If the Crow and Crown had ever had life it was dead now. It was like walking into a lung. A self-sustained nicotin-yellow and fly-blown lung. Its landlord was a retired alcoholic with military pretentions and a complection like the inside of a teapot. By the time the doors opened he was arseholed on rum and got progresively more arseholed until he could take no more and fell over at about twelve 'o' clock.

The Crow and Crown

Withnail and I are stood at the bar.

Withnail:

We'll have another pair of large scotches.

Raymond, the publican, gets the drink and takes the money for them. In opening the till he just avoids falling over. Withnail and I suppress laughter.

Raymond:

Thought I was going for a minute but no man's put me down yet. Have you had any training in the martial arts?

Withnail:

Yes, as a matter of I have. Before I became a journalist I was in the terretorials.

Raymond:

Do you know, when you first came in here I knew you were a services man. You can never, never disguise it.

Withnail:

What were you in?

Raymond:

Tanks. Afrika Korps. A little before your time. Don't suppose you've engaged.

Withnail:

Ireland.

Raymond:

Ooooh, a crack at the Mick.

Withnail:

We'll have another pair of large scotches.

Raymond:

These shall be my pleasure. What are you doing up here then?

Withnail:

We're doing a feature for Country Life. Survey of rural types: farmers, traveling tinkers, milkmen; that sort of thing.

Raymond:

Have you met Jake? Poacher. Works the lake but keep it under your hat, hmm?

They take their drinks to a table.

Marwood:

What's all this army bollocks?

Withnail:

We got a drink didn't we?

Rather later, the pair are the only remaining customers. Raymond, wiping down the bar, is clearly leggless.

Raymond:

Time please gentlemen.

Marwood:

I think he means it.

The door clatters open and a man in a thick coat walks in, leans over the bar and helps himself to a beer. I nudges Withnail. The man takes an eel from his trousers which wriggles around violently. He strikes its head on the bar and returns it to his trousers.

Marwood:

Ask him if we can have one.

Withnail:

What for?

Marwood:

So that we can eat it! 'We're fed up with stew'

They approach the bar.

Withnail:

Excuse me, could we have an eel? You've got eels down your leg.

Jake:

You leave them alone. Nothing down there of interest to you.

He removes a pheasant from under his coat.

Help us out Raymond. He's been stuffed from arsehole to t' beak.

Marwood:

Ask him if we can have one of those. Go on.

Withnail:

Excuse me, we were wondering if we could purchase a pheasant off of you.

Jake:

No.

Withnail:

Come on old boy. What's in your hump?

Jake:

Those pheasants are for his pot. There eels are for my pot. Now what makes you think I should give you something for your pot?

Withnail:

What pot?

Marwood:

Our cooking pot.

Jake:

Ah, he know. Here, give us a wheeze on that fag.

He takes the cigarette from Withnail's mouth and takes a draw. I gives him the remains of a packet.

Jake:

Might come up and see you lads in the week . Might bring you up a rabbit.

Withnail:

We don't want a rabbit, we want a pheasant.

Jake:

Now listen here you young prat. Haven't got no pheasants. Haven't got no birds. No more than you have.

Withnail:

Of course you have, you're the poacher.

Jake:

If I hear more words out of you I'll come up and set one of these black pods on you.

Withnail:

Don't threaten me with a dead fish.

Jake:

Half dead he might be, but I'll come up after you and wake you up with a live one.

Withnail:

Sod your pheasants. You'll have to find us first.

They make to leave

Jake:

I know where you are. You're at crow crag. I've been wathching you. Especially you, prancing like a tit. You want working on boy.

Withnail:

if i see that sillage heap prowling around here i'll take the bastard axe to him. bastards. you'll all suffer. i'm going to be a star!

Withnail:

Vegtables again. I'll be sprouting feelers soon.

Marwood:

There's black pudding in it.

Withnail:

Black puddings are no good to us. I want somethings flesh!

Withnail:

I think I'll call myself Donald Twain. Get down, get down. It's him, what does he want?

Marwood:

Better get down there and ask him.

Withnail:

Don't be ridiculous, he's got a gun. Bastard's phycotic, you've only got to look at him.

Withnail:

this place has become impossible. Nothing to eat, freezing cold and now a madman on the prowl outside with eels.

Marwood:

alright you've made your point. we pack up tomorrow and get out.

Withnail:

where are you going?

Marwood:

I'm going for a slash.

Withnail:

you can't go outside, i can't get my boots on when they're hot.

Marwood:

then i'll go alone.

Withnail:

no you won't these are the sort of windows faces look in at.

Marwood:

alright then i won't have a slash.

Withnail:

and in both our interests i think we should sleep together tonight.

Marwood:

don't be ridiculous he;s not going to come up here in the dark.

Withnail:

yes he is and if he catches one of us off guard he's got a much better chance of dealing with the other.

Marwood:

no.

Marwood:

ha ha ha ha ha.

Withnail:

what are you laughing about.

Marwood:

i was dreaming.

Withnail:

you frightened the piss out of me. move over.

Marwood:

will you get out.

Withnail:

no.

Marwood:

alright, i'll have to sleep in your bed.

Withnail:

then i'll have to come with you.

Marwood:

alright you can stay but the gun goes.

Withnail:

no, i have to keep the gun . i intend to stay awake until morning.

Marwood:

it's my bed and i demand presidence. mad fucking bastard.

Marwood:

ah ah. what.

Withnail:

i heard a noise.

Marwood:

There is nothing. Get to bed. What was that?

Withnail:

Listen, listen.

Marwood:

Probably just foxes. Perhaps its the farmer.

Withnail:

At two in the morning? It's the killer. He's come to kill us. It's all your fault, you've even given him the fucking gun. I've got to get in. He's trying to get in.

Marwood:

He can't, he'll go away. He's going away.

Withnail:

He's getting in thorough the window. He's sharpening the fucking knife.

Marwood:

Where's the matches?

Withnail:

In the kitchen.

Marwood:

Alright. We'll have to tackle with him. You stay in bed and pretend to be asleep. When he goes for you I'll jump on his back.

Withnail:

No no, it'll be too late by then, I'll be knifed. We'll have to try and make friends with him. He's going to your room. It's you he wants. Offer him yourself. We mean no harm.

Monty:

Oh my boys, my boys!

Marwood:

Monty! monty monty!

Withnail:

Monty, you terrible cunt! What are you doing prowling round in the middle of the fucking night?

Monty:

I had a punctured tyre. I had to wait an aeon for assistance. I'm sorry if I frightened you. I'll sleep in the other room if I may.

Marwood:

Anywhere you like Monty.

Monty:

Ah, good morning. Did you sleep well?

Marwood:

Mmm. You've been busy in here.

Monty:

As a bee. I do apologise for last night, it was perfectly inconsidereate of me.

Marwood:

That's perfectly alright Monty. how did you repair the window?

Monty:

Didn't break it, merely forced it a little. There was an empty wine bottle on the ledge. Tomatoes. You'd better wake him, breakfast in fifteen minutes.

Monty:

The older order changeth giving way to the new and God fulfills himself in many ways and soon, I suppose, I shall be swept away by some vulgar little tumour. My boys, we are at the end of an age. We live in a land of 'weather forcasts' and breakfasts that 'set in'. Shat on by Tories, shovelled up by Labour. Now, which of you is going to be a splendid fellow and go down to the Rolls for the rest of the wine?

Marwood:

I'll go.

Withnail:

I'll go.

Marwood:

No, I'll go. I need to see about digging the car out.

Monty:

But we have my car dear boy.

Marwood:

Yes, but if it rains we're buggered. I mean...

Monty:

Stranded!

Withnail:

Leave this to me.

Marwood:

I'll come with you, I could do with a walk. Besides. I shall need you to work on the joint. I hear you're a little wizard in the kitchen.

Withnail:

Yeah, you're the food and plumbings expert.

He starts putting his polythene bags on.

Monty:

What on earth are those?

Withnail:

Oh, we forgot to bring our wellingtons.

Monty:

You mean you've been up here in all this beastly mud and oomska without wellingtons? This afternoon I'll take you both into Penryth and get you fitted with some good quality rubber boots.

The kitchen.

Monty has an apron on and is holding another.

Monty:

I brought two of these in case either of you were any good in the kitchen.

Marwood:

I'm not.

Monty:

Oh, of course you are. Cooking's one of the natural talents. Garlic, rosemary and salt.

He hands I a large joint of meat in a paper wrapper. I puts it down on the side.

Marwood:

Look this is all very kind of you Monty but I really ought to be out there getting some work done on the car.

Monty:

You haven't time, we're taking late luncheon at three.

Marwood:

We'll have to leave by three Monty. Didn't he tell you? We've got to get back to sign on.

Monty:

"Sign on"? At a labour exchange?

Marwood:

Yes, it's rather fashionable actually. All the actors do it. Even Redgrave.

Monty:

Couldn't you forgo for just this one occasion? I've come a very long way to see you both.

Marwood:

Sorry can't. I mean, I'd love to stay but he's more adamant to get back than I am.

Monty slips the apron over I's head and ties it behind him.

Monty:

Then we must choose our moment and have a word with him. I'm sure together we could persuade him. Now, garlic, rosemary and salt. I can never touch meat until it's cooked. As a youth I used to weep in butchers shops.

I moves through to the lounge and looks in the bags of food on the table.

Marwood:

I can't find the rosemary.

Monty:

Can't find the rosemary! I'm sure we could find it together.

He leans accross I in a rather comprimising fashion. Marwood: perhaps it's in the other bag.

Monty: Perhaps it is. Shall we look?

He reaches accross with his other arm cutting of any opatunity of escape. Withnail enters with the wine and puts the bags on the table. Withnail: Sorry. Sherry's in there.

Monty exits to the kitchen armed with the sherry. Marwood: What do you mean sorry!? What's he doing here? We can't stay he won't leave me alone.

Withnail: Alright, we'll get the dinner down then we'll leave.

In the kitchen Monty pulls the cork from the sherry and emerges with three different glasses. Monty: I'm afraid we must drink from these. I hope their shapes will not offend your palates.

Withnail: Chin chin.

Monty: To a delightful weekend in the country.

Penryth

Monty's car drives into Penryth and pulls up in the town centre. Withnail and I get out of the car. Compared to Monty and the car they look rather scruffy. Monty: I do think you could at least have shaved. What will people think, you look like a pair of farm-hands. Get away from the car.

He takes out his wallet and hands Withnail two fivers. Monty: Now, you get the wellingtons. I'm going to but some razors and shaving soap. I'll meet you here in half an hour.

Monty drives off Withnail: Couple of blooms.

Marwood: One each.

He removes a fiver from Withnail's hand Withnail: I think a drink don't you?

Marwood: What about the wellingtons?

Withnail: Oh, bollocks to the wellingtons. We'll tell him there was a farmer's conference and they had a run on them.

Inside the pub

I is on the telephone while Withnail is at the bar. Marwood: yeah, ok then. yeah. promise.

He puts down the phone and walks over to withail Marwood: Hasn't heard a thing. They're still seeing people.

Withnail: You don't want to go to Manchester anyway; play a bloody soilder.

Marwood: I don't know if I do. Bloody good little theatre that.

Withnail: It's not much of a part is it. They'd make you cut you hair off.

Marwood: So what, you'd loose a leg! BARMAN: time please gents.

Withnail: Alright we're going to have to work quickly. A pair of quadruple whiskies and another pair of pints please.

Withnail and I emerge unsteadily from the pub. Withnail: Where is he. Utterly aresholed.

Marwood: We're early.

I looks accross to some tearooms Marwood: We want to get in there don't we. Eat some cake. Soak up the booze.

They enter the Penryth tea-rooms. I sits down at a table and starts buttering the bread rolls on the table. Withnail, still standing, points to the table and addresses an elderly waitress, Miss Blennerhassit.

Withnail:

Alright here?

Miss B:

No, we're closing in a minute.

Withnail:

We're leaving in a minute. Alright here?

Miss B:

What do you want?

He sits down at the table and makes a rather perfunctory examination of the menu.

Withnail:

We'll have tea and cake.

An elderly man comes across to their table. He is the proprietor

P:

Did you hear her? She said she'd closed. What do you want in here?

Withnail:

Cake and tea. what's it got to do with you?

P:

I happen to be the proprietor. Now, will you leave?

Withnail:

Ah good, I'm glad you're the proprietor. I was going to have to have a word with you anyway. We're doing a film up here, location see. We might want to do a film in here.

P:

You're drunk.

Marwood:

Just bring out the cake.

Withnail:

Cake and fine wine.

Miss B:

If you don't leave we'll call the police.

Withnail:

Balls! We want the finest wines availible to humanity. We want them here, and we want them now.

P:

The police, Miss Blennerhassit.

I breaks off from stuffing breadrolls but hasn't quite emptied his mouth

Marwood:

Don't do that Miss Blenerhassit. I'm warning you Miss Blennerhassit, if you do, you're fired. We are multi-millionaries. we'll buy this place and fire you immediately.

Withnail:

Yeah, that's right, we'll buy this place and install a fucking jukebox and liven al