Little Voice

Hey, this one doesn't speak
neither, love.

You could go out, you two,
for a silent night, holy night.

Or stop at home for a bleeding quiet
night in. Be a real riot, that would.

What did I say?
What did I say?

Eh, look at the red on him now.
Lookie. Oh, dear.

Aye, you see, that's all you get
when she's upset...

crappaty records
full-bloody blast.

Hey, you! Trash the calypso!
Right. We're all done.
- I'll just ring through
and test the line.
- Oh!

Oh, let me do it. Let me. Let me.
What's the number again?
Oh, no. Don't tell me. I remember.

Start of the war,
Bobby Moore.

Thirty-nine, sixty-six
and me age, twenty-eight.

What are you laughin' at?
Music ringin'
in my bloody ears.

Hello, me.
Stupid, isn't it?
Cooped up there in the dark
all day, like a friggin' bird
trapped in the rafters.

Hey, steady on.
Billy's fond of his birds.

Ah, well, I didn't think he looked
like the shirt-liftin' type somehow.

No, feathered variety...
pigeons and that.

Oh, frig me, no!

I can't be doin' with that.