So I says to this bird, I says:
So ’ow’s about you an’ me goin’ for a drive up the M Sixty-Nine?
Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more,
Nod’s as good as a wink to a blind ’orse,
Know what I mean!?
Well, of course, she ’ad t’ laugh, didn’t she, Dave?
I mean, it’s not every day a bird of ’er age - what, seventeen?
It’s not every day she gets t’ ride in yer actual Rolls Royce, is it?
Certainly not in this area.
Ooh! It’s smashin’, she says.
Yeah, darlin’, I says, let’s you an’ me try out the back seat.
I’m not kiddin’ you, Dave,
It’s the best investment I ever made, that Rolls;
Pulls the birds somethin’ shockin’, it does.
Wouldn’t say it was a phallic symbol exactly,
Not like yer Gibsons an’ yer Stratocasters,
But, you know what I mean...
Class.
Class!!
You wanna get one yerself when yer get back off tour,
Assumin’ yer album goes platinum, that is.
(ii)
It’s only a Mini,
But it’s good enough for me.
In fact, I don’t know what I’d do without it.
You need a car out here, especially when you’ve got young children,
Otherwise it’s like living in an open prison.
Before I got it, I used to get so depressed;
It can drive you mad just sitting at home all day,
Surrounded by four walls and with only the dog and the baby to talk to.
You really can’t go out walking here with a young ’un because it’s so hilly.
I used to get out when we first moved here,
But by the time I’d walked a quarter of a mile, I’d be exhausted.
So I’d just sit in all day long and mope
Until I was all but suicidal.
Then Stephen bought me the car,
And suddenly I felt...oh...release.
(iii)
How long have you been waiting?
Let me put it this way,
I just missed the last one,
And the destination blind was in Latin.
They get worse.
I wish I had a car.
Do you drive?
Yes. You?
Can’t I’m afraid. Epileptic.
Must give you fits waiting around for hours like this. Tee hee.
I’d like to laugh, but I’m too cold.
Know what you mean.
If I had a motor...oh...release.
(iv)
Tickets.
Tickets.
Tickets!
Where’s your ticket?
Here.
Uhhh.
You’re on the wrong train.
I’m changing at Ipswich.
You can’t!
You’re on the wrong train.
I was told I could go this way.
You can’t. This says via Peterborough. Look!
I got it with a warrant.
You’re on the wrong train.
Well, when I was given the warrant...
You’re on the wrong train;
You’ll ’ave to get off and go back to Bury.
Why?
You’re on the wrong train.
Does it matter?
Of course it does.
It’s more this way.
More?
More!
It’s only ninety-one pounds via Peterborough;
It’s over ninety-seven this way.
Does that matter?
Of course it does.
Excuse me, what does it matter which way my friend goes?
It’s more this way.
Yes, but...
It’s more this way.
’E’ll ’ave to get off at the next station and go back via Peterborough.
But I’ll miss my connection if I do.
I can’t help that.
But I have to be back before Monday night.
I can’t help that.
It’s more this way.
You’ll have to get off and go back.
But why must he?
It’s more this way.
But why...?
It’s more this way.
But why...?
It’s more this way.
But...
It’s more this way.
It’s more this way.
’Ave it away.
It’s more this way.
’Ave it away, you mug.
It’s more this way.
(Wallop) Fuck off, you stupid cretin.
(Crunch).
You shouldn’t have done that.
Bollocks!
I can stand the IRA, but not morons like that.
Should’ve gone by motor.
If we had...oh...release.
Come on, let’s get off here, quick.
(v)
I know exactly what you mean.
In fact, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was twenty-three
for precisely the same reason.
It’s not only indispensable convenience-wise, but, well,
I mean, if you ask a girl out,
And a bloke with a motor asks her out too,
Which of you is she going to choose?
I mean, if you’re out late,
(And you can’t have a good time unless you are),
You’ll need a taxi home.
If she wants to come back for a drink
But doesn’t want to stay the night,
You’ll need another one.
Same if she invites you back to her place.
And when you take her out in the evening,
I mean, it’s not fair to expect her to wait around for buses or trains, is it?
When I was going out with that barmaid, it was always:
"I had three fellas asked me out this week,
And they all had cars.
When are you going to get one?"
She used to go on and on about it.
In the end I packed her in;
You can’t blame a chick, of course,
But it’s not much fun for a bloke without a motor.
Oh if, if, if, if...release.
(vi)
Horrible little reptile he was, that ticket collector.
He used to boast about the number of people, especially foreign students
he’d had prosecuted for fare dodging.
Of course, I’ve ’ad so many up for fraud.
There’s one, she comes through the barrier at Earls Court,
Says she got on at South Kensington, and tries to pay the excess fare.
So I says: Where did you get on?
South Kensington, I told you, she says, getting nervous.
Why didn’t you get a ticket?
The booking office was closed.
No, it wasn’t.
Yes, it was.
No, it wasn’t.
Are you calling me a liar? she says.
Huh, huh, huh: I caught ’er out all right.
In the end she got a two ’undred quid fine.
Expensive ride that was: Huh, huh, huh.
One night though he overdid it.
Two spades, probably came up from Brixton, went through the barrier,
transistors blaring.
Tried to pay the minimum fare.
He pulled them and said he was going to call the police.
So one of them took a razor out of his coat pocket,
And cut his face like tram lines.
Squealed like a pig, he did.
They never caught them either.
Serves him right: little shit.
What’s it to him anyway?
Travel is,
Or should be...
A right.
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