- Oi, that's brand new!
- What's wrong? It's only a game.

- You've told them, you fucking runt!
- No, I ain't.

- Everyone's laughing!
- I'm not laughing.

- (TREVOR): John, I ain't said nothing.
- Ain't my fault.

Loads of people can't read or write.
- I don't expect you to take the piss.
- I ain't, John. Honest.

- (TREVOR): What do you mean?
- He wasn't taking the piss.

Can't read or write? How do you manage?
He does it for me. He reads for me,
I slap people for him. No more though!

That's you and me finished!
Sorry, mate. We'll back you up
when he's chilled out a bit.

Stone me. The poor fucker can't read or write
and here's you accusing him of being Old Bill!
For fuck's sake!
The man done well! I'm impressed.
(SCHOFIELD): Used to be a paint
factory before the firm went bankrupt.

We're going to use it as a filing centre
when you are through.

- This is what I call an office.
- Look what they've left behind.

John and Trev, painter-decorators,
are in business at last.

You'll find your requests for stationery,
ID and the rest on your desks

- Pagers?
- Very funny.

Driving licences, medical cards, UB40s, the lot.
Look, John. Your criminal record.
Truancy, theft, juvenile court,
detention centre, do a runner,
two housebreakings,

assault and affray, then assault on a copper,
suspended sentence, heavy fine.
Don't mess with him.
Fucking right.