|INT. "The Red Lion Goes Skiing" Pub. Dank and smoky.
ENTER DIZZY. WALKS UP TO BAR, WHERE HORACE IS SERVING.
HORACE: The usual?
HORACE POURS A PINT OF STELLA.
HORACE: There you go. That'll be thirty gold coins, please.
DIZZY: Fuck off, that wasn't funny the first time.
HORACE: Sorry. Where's your partner in crime today?
DIZZY: Turrican? He's got a job interview.
|CUT TO OFFICE. TURRICAN is being interviewed by JET SET WILLY.
WILLY: What do you think you can bring to the position of systems analyst?
TURRICAN: I... um... I... I have guns for arms!
|CUT TO PUB. TURRICAN storms in.
DIZZY: How'd it go?
TURRICAN: Difficult to say really. The fire probably didn't do me any favours.
DIZZY: Jesus, not again.
TURRICAN: Oh, shut up. You've been snapping at everyone since Daisy ran off with Dylan to that commune.
DIZZY (MUMBLING): Fucking hippies.
TURRICAN: Yes, she probably is fu-
DIZZY: Sod off. At least I don't fancy that bird out of Metroid.
TURRICAN: That's not true! I merely admire her, um, ah -
DIZZY: Impressive arsenal?
HORACE: All right, knock it off you two. I've had enough problems today, what with Hunchback kicking the fruit machine in. And the first one of you two to make a "bells" joke is barred.
DIZZY: Wouldn't dream of it.
TURRICAN: Nope, didn't cross my mind at all. Pint of Castrol GTX while you're at it, Horace.
|CUT TO: LATER THAT NIGHT. TURRICAN AND DIZZY ARE SAT ON A PARK BENCH, SMOKING.
TURRICAN: Christ, look at us. Skint, pissed and unemployed. Left behind by a cruel world. Unequipped to deal with the realities of modern life. Cast aside and -
DIZZY: Leave off. It's not our fault, is it?
TURRICAN: Well, whose is it then?
A LORRY DRIVES PAST. PAINTED ON THE SIDE IS THE WORD "THATCHER" IN 10 FOOT HIGH GOTHIC LETTERS.
TURRICAN: Oh, right.