Blow Dry

l don't care about the bloody book.
l just want our rooms, okay?

We don't have any.
We're full up.

Room key, Mr. TJ?
Ah, the Randolph Suite.
He's nicked our rooms.
That bastard's nicked our rooms.

He's a bitter old bastard,

And he's past it.
No, no, he is.
I don't care what folks say.

So he's got some trophies,
won a few things.

They go back to the bloody lce Age
them do, mate.

Back to when the bloody Yeti. . .
were wandering High Street
looking for a shampoo and set.

Whole new world now, mate.
More like sculpture
is modern styling.

Tell you,
if Henry Moore were born now,

he wouldn't piss around
with marble and statues and stuff,

he'd be an hairdresser.
Who were you talking to?
- Mr. Barry Birt.
- Ah.

There we go, Mr. Birt.
Have a good trip.
Well, they said you're in luck
cause we've just had a vacancy.

No wonder. lt s in the
middle of bloody nowhere.

- Says they do a good breakfast.
- You are joking, aren't you?

- lt's the last on the list.
- You can sleep in the car!

I'm sorry, love.