Say that again.
Gumbo let drop that when we
clumped them Gooners,

your mate gave it the old Starsky and Hutch.
- I said it was a joke.
- Shut up, Gumbo.

Gumbo's right, you nonce.
He was putting the wind up them.

And who's seen making phone calls
on the way to Westley?

Your mate Trevor.
And when we got there,
we got a reception from fucking plod.

He was phoning his mum.
- My mum.
- This house...

This house in Catford
you're supposed to be decorating.

Me and Nick popped round
to take you out for a pint.

- Where the hell were you?
- Doing up the house before.

- That's what I said.
- No, this ain't fucking right.

You turn up out of nowhere.
No one's heard of you.

You got all friendly with everyone
and suddenly there's Bill in the way
every time we arrange a ruck.

What are you saying?
I'm fucking saying, you two-bob wanker,
that you and you are fucking Old Bill!
I don't take that from any runt.
You and me, outside. Now!

I can smell Old Bill. Smell it here, I don't.
He doesn't come over like old Bill, Mark.
- He would have shat himself by now.
- You utter fucking wanker.

John, mate. I'm sorry. I'm just
a bit uptight with the trial coming up.

- What trial?
- You know, my mates the Bill set up.

Bob sorted me out, though.
Can I buy you a pint?