Ladhood (2019) s01e04 Episode Script
Bedroom
I'm all right for a cup of tea, thanks, Mum.
Just on the phone to Jess.
Hey, how are you doing? How's Amsterdam? It's lovely, just on a train.
On my way to meet clients for dinner.
But just want to say good luck for the gig tonight.
Oh, I'm actually not sure I'm going to be able to do it.
Hold on, I'm just doing to do a little impression of someone.
You're right, Jess, a creative outlet is what I need.
There's a legendary spoken word gig I've wanted to perform at for years.
I'll go back to Leeds and do it and if I try and back out, don't let me.
Who do you think I am, by the way? Well, not me, cos I don't sound like that.
Anyway, the gig's at 8.
00 and it's, like, 5.
00 now and I haven't got any material, so Did you try sitting down in a quiet room with a pen and paper, or did you just burn the day playing old video games? No, I I Look, I've actually been cleaning out my old bedroom all day.
Right, because my parents want to turn it into a guest room, which is weird because I'm the only guest who ever comes.
So, yeah, I just haven't really had the time.
Right.
So that's it for the slam poetry ambitions, then? It's not slam poetry, is it? I don't know what it is, but, but, I don't really need to do it, like, I've realised I'm actually pretty happy with my life.
I've got a steady job.
I've got a great relationship.
You know? - I'm not bottling it, if - I know you're not.
- Look, I'm going into a tunnel - Hello.
Jess.
I'm not bottling it.
All right? I know you're not there.
Bye.
I love you.
I know you're not there.
Bye.
Fuckin' hell.
Yes, I remember making this track.
I remember the very day - all my mates round, couldn't wait to show them my new music equipment and get them involved.
- Sick.
- Oi, I said don't touch it.
You don't know what you're doing yet.
We are champions, champions of Europe.
Put it down! Respect the equipment.
- Anyway, what do you think? - I think imagine the amount of bifda you could have had instead of spending all your birthday money on fucking GCSE music bullshit you don't even know how to use.
Come on, lads.
I got all this gear so we can make something together.
I think it could be really good.
Why do we have to do it now, though? - Cos me mam and dad are at me nana's house all day.
- Free house! Yes, mate! I'm glad you want to stay, but only if we're making t'track.
- Who said you can do that? - Free house law.
- What the fuck is free house law? - Free house law.
Just saying it again don't add owt.
- Free house law, mate.
- Absolute piss take.
What are you doing?! Listen, I've got a free house all week next week, right? I'll let you come round every day.
Piss in the bath, if you want, I don't care.
Right.
Rules are no smoking spliffs in the house.
Don't go in my parents' room, and keep the noise down in case the phone rings.
Course, mate, of course we'll keep the noise down.
You don't need to whisper, Addy.
The most important thing is we're going to focus on making this track and not just waste another day getting stoned.
I believe in us, boys.
I know we can make something fucking special.
Yes, my son.
The cliche has it that all teenagers dream of being in bands with their mates, but I had an updated fantasy of being in a loosely defined, hip hop-inspired vocal electronic music collective with mine.
OK, none of us really knew what we were doing, but we would learn.
And most importantly, this would bring out a new side of all of us, a creative side, a nuanced side, as well as an authentic voice.
Motherfucking Eminem AK-47, man! I mean, I definitely don't want that on it.
What shall we do first? - Not that! - Sorry.
Right, first you need the beat.
I've already made one.
Yeah, that's nice.
That's the computer loading up.
Oh.
What do you think? It's a bit boring, innit? - Can't it have, like, guns in it? - Guns? You want the song to be guns? Yeah, well, with a drumbeat.
Right, just a minute.
Ten minutes later There you go.
- Sick! - That is proper music.
Right, how is that proper music? You've just got this stupid vision of rap being about guns and bitches.
It's so immature.
It's got to be intelligent, right? It's got to be, like, mid-career Nas meets early-era Skinnyman, meets pan-career Gil Scott-Heron, sort of stripped back, progressive, melodic kind of shit.
I always was one to bullshit.
- I do not have a clue what you're on about.
- Neither does he.
Let's just go play heads and volleys.
Do you want to be stuck here your whole lives? Or do you want to just take the piss out the rest of the fuck-ups around here? You little Tory.
Do you want to mess up what little chance we have of getting out of this bloody grey, monotonous, suburban shithole? This isn't a shithole.
It's got a Tesco Extra.
- And a Greggs.
- It's got two Greggs now.
- Actually, the original Greggs - will close when the new larger branch opens.
- Oh, really? - Are they still going to do them little pizzas? - I dearly hope so.
This is exactly what I'm fucking talking about! - Quibbling about small pizzas.
- You love those small pizzas.
Yes, I do love those small pizzas, but that is not the point.
Then what is the point? The point is that this song might be the best fucking chance we've got to make something of oursens.
Or do you want to just be stuck here forever? No.
I want to see t'world, me.
- Like where? - There's more places than just Garforth, Craggy.
There's East Leeds.
There's The outskirts of York.
Look, the point is, you don't have to have the same life as your parents.
Actually, national economic trends of the next ten years meant that a lot of kids of this generation will be priced out of Garforth and couldn't even manage to live the same lives as their parents, despite supposedly having better early life opportunities.
Just a little fun fact there.
Right, but how is one stupid song recorded in your bedroom going to change all of our lives? A fair question from Craggy.
What relevance did hip-hop have to our lives? Especially the mainstream American gangsta rap which represented - about all we knew of the genre.
- Girls gone wild doggy style.
But there was something of a revolution happening in British music at that time.
Have you lot heard of MySpace? What's that? With the rise of the internet, a new generation of stars were making music in their bedrooms - and getting famous.
- I make beats.
First The Streets blew my teenage imagination with original pirate material, an album recorded in a wardrobe.
Meanwhile, Dizzee Rascal's Boy In Da Corner was partly created on school computers, and soon a spate of MySpace artists blossomed with a new, homespun, quasi working class, distinctly British style of music.
So the internet is not just about weed pictures and porn, you know.
It's going to be a positive and creative force in the world.
It could change our lives.
Get us out of this town.
I say let's do it.
- Maybe I don't want to get out of this town.
- Maybe not.
But you still want to be loaded, don't you, Craggy? Yeah, I do.
To be honest, quite looking forward to finally having a bit of dollar to my name, me.
I'm going to get 300 bongs and six wives.
Ralph, I'm sorry, but I'm not letting you have 600 bongs - and three wives.
- I said 300 bongs and six wives.
It's still ridiculous! You should have one bong and one wife.
- So my wife doesn't even get her own bong then? - Why can't you share it? Can we just Can we stop arguing about wives and bongs? I'm just starting to worry that this money is going to bring with it a lot of added stress.
I don't want to be mobbed in the street.
I just want a normal life.
- Am I not entitled to any privacy? - Can we just slow the fuck down?! I thought you told us to be quiet.
I did.
I'm glad you're all excited.
Can we just concentrate on the art for now? - Yeah? Are we all up for it? - Yeah, course we are.
- All right.
So what we need is a chorus and then a verse each.
So I say we do the verses first and we'll just freestyle it.
You know, just spit some truth.
Who's first? Well, if no-one's confident enough, I'll do it.
I'm confident.
I'm confident, man.
I'll intro you and then I'll count you in.
I'll just start the track.
"The Legend Of A Wild Woman, chapter five.
" "I say, madam, thy fine tasty buttocks" - What the fuck were that? - It's just a glitch.
Keeps dragging random files into different tracks.
- Right, let's keep this energy up, yeah? - Yeah.
Got some bitches and crack! - And a mouse! - Couldn't think of owt else to ryhme with house, all right! Look, I think you're just focusing on the wrong shit.
It's the imagery of this, like, vague American idea of what rap should be.
Whereas you lower middle class, 15-year-old suburbanite Yorkshiremen have a very clear idea.
Just be real.
Do it in your own voice.
Spit about your own life.
- My own life? - Yeah.
- All right.
- Yeah? - That were pathetic.
- No, it were a good first effort.
Maybe it was lacking some inspiration.
Maybe we can fix it in the final mix.
Right, Addy, let's get your verse down next.
Mic check, one two, one two.
Tadcaster, a nearby town.
Yeah! Please don't drop the mic again.
- But, yeah, that were good.
Right, Craggy, your turn.
- Go on, Craggy.
That were brilliant! Smashed it.
- Horrible.
- This isn't fucking fair.
You've all got loads of shit that rhymes with your names.
What rhymes with Ralph? Alf.
How am I supposed to put Alf in a verse? We've got loads of good stuff there.
Ralph, we can come back to your verse.
What we need now is a hook.
Like, a chorus.
Ideally we want someone to sing it.
- Well, none of us can sing.
- I know someone who can sing.
No.
No, I ain't having no-one else round.
- Come on.
- No! We've actually got quite a lot of interest from labels at the moment.
If you're trying to impress me, Ralph, it ain't going to work.
Music is the air that I breathe and it's the only reason I'm here to sing.
So what you want me to do? I've got these lyrics for the chorus that I've wrote down for you.
"Oh, yeah.
"The sexiest is Ralph.
" "He's sexier than Alf.
" - Who's Alf? - Forget that.
Come up with something else, something simple.
What about "Oh, baby.
" But it's not like, "Oh, baby.
" It's like, "Oo-oh, baby.
" Same difference.
I prefer, "Uh, baby.
" - Shut up, Craggy.
- Yeah, shut up, Craggy.
Why have I got to sing the chorus anyway? Why can't I have my own verse and write it mysen? Birds don't have their own verses.
Keep your sexist mouth shut, Crag.
Yeah, Craggy, you little bigot.
Women do tend to have fewer verses, to be fair.
What about Missy Elliott? She does loads of verses.
I ain't going to be like Missy Elliott.
- Well, who are you going to be like then? - Like Dido.
Crossed with Natasha Bedingfield.
Crossed with Rachel Stevens.
- Sounds good.
- Sounds shit.
Shut up, Craggy.
So I'm going to be in A minor, and ride the levels.
I don't know what that means.
Just start the track.
Give me something smooth.
What were that? - Craggy! It were amazing.
- I know it were.
It didn't make no sense.
30th of May! - What's that got to do with owt? - It's poetry.
- Thank you, Ralph.
- Is it fuck! - Have some fucking respect.
- What's your fucking problem, mate? Right, can we calm down and just concentrate? - Rachel, that were really good.
- Why's Craggy giving me a lift? I'll smash that keyboard over your head, ya little prick.
Shut up! Stop doing that.
Shut up! Am I not entitled to my own opinion? Get out my face.
Oi! Phone's ringing, so shut up, you silly bastards! Hello? Hey, Mum.
I remember this voice, this "Everything's normal and I'm not "doing anything wrong," phone voice.
So childish.
Hello.
Hey, Jess.
I'm good.
I'm fine.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Yeah, all fine.
How's Nana? What? What noise? No, it's No need to apologise.
Yeah, I assumed you lost signal.
No.
No, there's no-one here.
Honestly.
Well, actually, I have had some inspiration.
And, yeah, I think I'm I'm going to go to the gig.
No, Mum, you don't have to come back home.
You Shit.
Right, parents are on't way back, so we need to tidy up and get rid of spliffs and What the fuck is going on?! What up, gangster? Is that my dead grandma's coat? Ralph made me wear it.
Just some stuff that we found in t'cupboard.
In t'cupboard in my parents' bedroom! Free house law, mate.
Are they my grandad's medals? - World War bling, mate.
- Take them off! Calm down, calm down, calm down, breathe, mate.
Just chill out, breathe.
I can't fucking believe you lot.
Are you all right, Liam? Oh, yeah, me, yeah, I'm fucking grand, me, yeah.
Having an amazing day.
Just wake up, plan to do summat with my mates.
Summat positive, summat creative, summat we can all be proud of and look back on.
But no, no, no, no.
They all just fucking take t'piss, wear my grandma's coat, my grandad's medals and tracksuit.
To be fair, your grandad must have been one sexy bastard, though, mate.
- We're sorry, mate.
- You're not sorry, though, are you? You're not sorry to come round and take the piss.
You're not sorry to take this chance that I've given you to make something of yourselves and instead throwing it back in my face.
And you're not sorry that you're all going to spend the rest of your lives in this same shitty town.
Well, why don't you show us how it's done then? - Yeah.
- No.
- Yeah, go on.
We're obviously missing summat, so show us where we're going wrong.
All right.
I think I might record this one, I'm feeling it.
Yeah, go for it.
Go for it.
Try something else, something different.
Yo, L, it's 25, it's time.
People are going to listen to this in the future and it's going to really mean something to them.
What are you laughing about? Bit deep, weren't it, mate? Right little Eminem, aren't you? Eminem on his period.
We're only messing about, mate.
I'm serious, get the fuck out! All right, so, it's been a good night.
We've had 37 excellent performance poets.
We've got time for one more.
So last but not least Although actually, I haven't seen him, so he could be the least the least good.
But let's get him up here.
- Sorry, what's your name? - Liam.
- Yeah.
Start the track, please.
"Yes, my lady," said the knight.
"Your meaty rump" Sorry, kill that.
"Doth delect and delight my chivalrous cock.
" - Is that? - That's it.
OK.
That's Luke, everyone.
- Liam.
- Ian.
OK, great.
Come back next week? Well, at least I gave it a go.
You know, it might not have been a glorious success, but as an adult, I can accept that.
Fail again, fail better.
Just on the phone to Jess.
Hey, how are you doing? How's Amsterdam? It's lovely, just on a train.
On my way to meet clients for dinner.
But just want to say good luck for the gig tonight.
Oh, I'm actually not sure I'm going to be able to do it.
Hold on, I'm just doing to do a little impression of someone.
You're right, Jess, a creative outlet is what I need.
There's a legendary spoken word gig I've wanted to perform at for years.
I'll go back to Leeds and do it and if I try and back out, don't let me.
Who do you think I am, by the way? Well, not me, cos I don't sound like that.
Anyway, the gig's at 8.
00 and it's, like, 5.
00 now and I haven't got any material, so Did you try sitting down in a quiet room with a pen and paper, or did you just burn the day playing old video games? No, I I Look, I've actually been cleaning out my old bedroom all day.
Right, because my parents want to turn it into a guest room, which is weird because I'm the only guest who ever comes.
So, yeah, I just haven't really had the time.
Right.
So that's it for the slam poetry ambitions, then? It's not slam poetry, is it? I don't know what it is, but, but, I don't really need to do it, like, I've realised I'm actually pretty happy with my life.
I've got a steady job.
I've got a great relationship.
You know? - I'm not bottling it, if - I know you're not.
- Look, I'm going into a tunnel - Hello.
Jess.
I'm not bottling it.
All right? I know you're not there.
Bye.
I love you.
I know you're not there.
Bye.
Fuckin' hell.
Yes, I remember making this track.
I remember the very day - all my mates round, couldn't wait to show them my new music equipment and get them involved.
- Sick.
- Oi, I said don't touch it.
You don't know what you're doing yet.
We are champions, champions of Europe.
Put it down! Respect the equipment.
- Anyway, what do you think? - I think imagine the amount of bifda you could have had instead of spending all your birthday money on fucking GCSE music bullshit you don't even know how to use.
Come on, lads.
I got all this gear so we can make something together.
I think it could be really good.
Why do we have to do it now, though? - Cos me mam and dad are at me nana's house all day.
- Free house! Yes, mate! I'm glad you want to stay, but only if we're making t'track.
- Who said you can do that? - Free house law.
- What the fuck is free house law? - Free house law.
Just saying it again don't add owt.
- Free house law, mate.
- Absolute piss take.
What are you doing?! Listen, I've got a free house all week next week, right? I'll let you come round every day.
Piss in the bath, if you want, I don't care.
Right.
Rules are no smoking spliffs in the house.
Don't go in my parents' room, and keep the noise down in case the phone rings.
Course, mate, of course we'll keep the noise down.
You don't need to whisper, Addy.
The most important thing is we're going to focus on making this track and not just waste another day getting stoned.
I believe in us, boys.
I know we can make something fucking special.
Yes, my son.
The cliche has it that all teenagers dream of being in bands with their mates, but I had an updated fantasy of being in a loosely defined, hip hop-inspired vocal electronic music collective with mine.
OK, none of us really knew what we were doing, but we would learn.
And most importantly, this would bring out a new side of all of us, a creative side, a nuanced side, as well as an authentic voice.
Motherfucking Eminem AK-47, man! I mean, I definitely don't want that on it.
What shall we do first? - Not that! - Sorry.
Right, first you need the beat.
I've already made one.
Yeah, that's nice.
That's the computer loading up.
Oh.
What do you think? It's a bit boring, innit? - Can't it have, like, guns in it? - Guns? You want the song to be guns? Yeah, well, with a drumbeat.
Right, just a minute.
Ten minutes later There you go.
- Sick! - That is proper music.
Right, how is that proper music? You've just got this stupid vision of rap being about guns and bitches.
It's so immature.
It's got to be intelligent, right? It's got to be, like, mid-career Nas meets early-era Skinnyman, meets pan-career Gil Scott-Heron, sort of stripped back, progressive, melodic kind of shit.
I always was one to bullshit.
- I do not have a clue what you're on about.
- Neither does he.
Let's just go play heads and volleys.
Do you want to be stuck here your whole lives? Or do you want to just take the piss out the rest of the fuck-ups around here? You little Tory.
Do you want to mess up what little chance we have of getting out of this bloody grey, monotonous, suburban shithole? This isn't a shithole.
It's got a Tesco Extra.
- And a Greggs.
- It's got two Greggs now.
- Actually, the original Greggs - will close when the new larger branch opens.
- Oh, really? - Are they still going to do them little pizzas? - I dearly hope so.
This is exactly what I'm fucking talking about! - Quibbling about small pizzas.
- You love those small pizzas.
Yes, I do love those small pizzas, but that is not the point.
Then what is the point? The point is that this song might be the best fucking chance we've got to make something of oursens.
Or do you want to just be stuck here forever? No.
I want to see t'world, me.
- Like where? - There's more places than just Garforth, Craggy.
There's East Leeds.
There's The outskirts of York.
Look, the point is, you don't have to have the same life as your parents.
Actually, national economic trends of the next ten years meant that a lot of kids of this generation will be priced out of Garforth and couldn't even manage to live the same lives as their parents, despite supposedly having better early life opportunities.
Just a little fun fact there.
Right, but how is one stupid song recorded in your bedroom going to change all of our lives? A fair question from Craggy.
What relevance did hip-hop have to our lives? Especially the mainstream American gangsta rap which represented - about all we knew of the genre.
- Girls gone wild doggy style.
But there was something of a revolution happening in British music at that time.
Have you lot heard of MySpace? What's that? With the rise of the internet, a new generation of stars were making music in their bedrooms - and getting famous.
- I make beats.
First The Streets blew my teenage imagination with original pirate material, an album recorded in a wardrobe.
Meanwhile, Dizzee Rascal's Boy In Da Corner was partly created on school computers, and soon a spate of MySpace artists blossomed with a new, homespun, quasi working class, distinctly British style of music.
So the internet is not just about weed pictures and porn, you know.
It's going to be a positive and creative force in the world.
It could change our lives.
Get us out of this town.
I say let's do it.
- Maybe I don't want to get out of this town.
- Maybe not.
But you still want to be loaded, don't you, Craggy? Yeah, I do.
To be honest, quite looking forward to finally having a bit of dollar to my name, me.
I'm going to get 300 bongs and six wives.
Ralph, I'm sorry, but I'm not letting you have 600 bongs - and three wives.
- I said 300 bongs and six wives.
It's still ridiculous! You should have one bong and one wife.
- So my wife doesn't even get her own bong then? - Why can't you share it? Can we just Can we stop arguing about wives and bongs? I'm just starting to worry that this money is going to bring with it a lot of added stress.
I don't want to be mobbed in the street.
I just want a normal life.
- Am I not entitled to any privacy? - Can we just slow the fuck down?! I thought you told us to be quiet.
I did.
I'm glad you're all excited.
Can we just concentrate on the art for now? - Yeah? Are we all up for it? - Yeah, course we are.
- All right.
So what we need is a chorus and then a verse each.
So I say we do the verses first and we'll just freestyle it.
You know, just spit some truth.
Who's first? Well, if no-one's confident enough, I'll do it.
I'm confident.
I'm confident, man.
I'll intro you and then I'll count you in.
I'll just start the track.
"The Legend Of A Wild Woman, chapter five.
" "I say, madam, thy fine tasty buttocks" - What the fuck were that? - It's just a glitch.
Keeps dragging random files into different tracks.
- Right, let's keep this energy up, yeah? - Yeah.
Got some bitches and crack! - And a mouse! - Couldn't think of owt else to ryhme with house, all right! Look, I think you're just focusing on the wrong shit.
It's the imagery of this, like, vague American idea of what rap should be.
Whereas you lower middle class, 15-year-old suburbanite Yorkshiremen have a very clear idea.
Just be real.
Do it in your own voice.
Spit about your own life.
- My own life? - Yeah.
- All right.
- Yeah? - That were pathetic.
- No, it were a good first effort.
Maybe it was lacking some inspiration.
Maybe we can fix it in the final mix.
Right, Addy, let's get your verse down next.
Mic check, one two, one two.
Tadcaster, a nearby town.
Yeah! Please don't drop the mic again.
- But, yeah, that were good.
Right, Craggy, your turn.
- Go on, Craggy.
That were brilliant! Smashed it.
- Horrible.
- This isn't fucking fair.
You've all got loads of shit that rhymes with your names.
What rhymes with Ralph? Alf.
How am I supposed to put Alf in a verse? We've got loads of good stuff there.
Ralph, we can come back to your verse.
What we need now is a hook.
Like, a chorus.
Ideally we want someone to sing it.
- Well, none of us can sing.
- I know someone who can sing.
No.
No, I ain't having no-one else round.
- Come on.
- No! We've actually got quite a lot of interest from labels at the moment.
If you're trying to impress me, Ralph, it ain't going to work.
Music is the air that I breathe and it's the only reason I'm here to sing.
So what you want me to do? I've got these lyrics for the chorus that I've wrote down for you.
"Oh, yeah.
"The sexiest is Ralph.
" "He's sexier than Alf.
" - Who's Alf? - Forget that.
Come up with something else, something simple.
What about "Oh, baby.
" But it's not like, "Oh, baby.
" It's like, "Oo-oh, baby.
" Same difference.
I prefer, "Uh, baby.
" - Shut up, Craggy.
- Yeah, shut up, Craggy.
Why have I got to sing the chorus anyway? Why can't I have my own verse and write it mysen? Birds don't have their own verses.
Keep your sexist mouth shut, Crag.
Yeah, Craggy, you little bigot.
Women do tend to have fewer verses, to be fair.
What about Missy Elliott? She does loads of verses.
I ain't going to be like Missy Elliott.
- Well, who are you going to be like then? - Like Dido.
Crossed with Natasha Bedingfield.
Crossed with Rachel Stevens.
- Sounds good.
- Sounds shit.
Shut up, Craggy.
So I'm going to be in A minor, and ride the levels.
I don't know what that means.
Just start the track.
Give me something smooth.
What were that? - Craggy! It were amazing.
- I know it were.
It didn't make no sense.
30th of May! - What's that got to do with owt? - It's poetry.
- Thank you, Ralph.
- Is it fuck! - Have some fucking respect.
- What's your fucking problem, mate? Right, can we calm down and just concentrate? - Rachel, that were really good.
- Why's Craggy giving me a lift? I'll smash that keyboard over your head, ya little prick.
Shut up! Stop doing that.
Shut up! Am I not entitled to my own opinion? Get out my face.
Oi! Phone's ringing, so shut up, you silly bastards! Hello? Hey, Mum.
I remember this voice, this "Everything's normal and I'm not "doing anything wrong," phone voice.
So childish.
Hello.
Hey, Jess.
I'm good.
I'm fine.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Yeah, all fine.
How's Nana? What? What noise? No, it's No need to apologise.
Yeah, I assumed you lost signal.
No.
No, there's no-one here.
Honestly.
Well, actually, I have had some inspiration.
And, yeah, I think I'm I'm going to go to the gig.
No, Mum, you don't have to come back home.
You Shit.
Right, parents are on't way back, so we need to tidy up and get rid of spliffs and What the fuck is going on?! What up, gangster? Is that my dead grandma's coat? Ralph made me wear it.
Just some stuff that we found in t'cupboard.
In t'cupboard in my parents' bedroom! Free house law, mate.
Are they my grandad's medals? - World War bling, mate.
- Take them off! Calm down, calm down, calm down, breathe, mate.
Just chill out, breathe.
I can't fucking believe you lot.
Are you all right, Liam? Oh, yeah, me, yeah, I'm fucking grand, me, yeah.
Having an amazing day.
Just wake up, plan to do summat with my mates.
Summat positive, summat creative, summat we can all be proud of and look back on.
But no, no, no, no.
They all just fucking take t'piss, wear my grandma's coat, my grandad's medals and tracksuit.
To be fair, your grandad must have been one sexy bastard, though, mate.
- We're sorry, mate.
- You're not sorry, though, are you? You're not sorry to come round and take the piss.
You're not sorry to take this chance that I've given you to make something of yourselves and instead throwing it back in my face.
And you're not sorry that you're all going to spend the rest of your lives in this same shitty town.
Well, why don't you show us how it's done then? - Yeah.
- No.
- Yeah, go on.
We're obviously missing summat, so show us where we're going wrong.
All right.
I think I might record this one, I'm feeling it.
Yeah, go for it.
Go for it.
Try something else, something different.
Yo, L, it's 25, it's time.
People are going to listen to this in the future and it's going to really mean something to them.
What are you laughing about? Bit deep, weren't it, mate? Right little Eminem, aren't you? Eminem on his period.
We're only messing about, mate.
I'm serious, get the fuck out! All right, so, it's been a good night.
We've had 37 excellent performance poets.
We've got time for one more.
So last but not least Although actually, I haven't seen him, so he could be the least the least good.
But let's get him up here.
- Sorry, what's your name? - Liam.
- Yeah.
Start the track, please.
"Yes, my lady," said the knight.
"Your meaty rump" Sorry, kill that.
"Doth delect and delight my chivalrous cock.
" - Is that? - That's it.
OK.
That's Luke, everyone.
- Liam.
- Ian.
OK, great.
Come back next week? Well, at least I gave it a go.
You know, it might not have been a glorious success, but as an adult, I can accept that.
Fail again, fail better.