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Thread: Danny Dyer

  1. #16
    Join Date
    Oct 2004
    North East London


    That's fantastic Owen.

  2. #17


    It's Danny Bludclot Dyer on Eastenders, you don't even need scriptwriters for that- it writes itself. I'll see if my friend from Islington who works in the meeeeeeeeeddeeaaaaaa can knock up an epic NYE finale next month. Word on the street is that Mister Papadopoulos is not going to be happy.

  3. #18
    Join Date
    Sep 2006

  4. #19
    Join Date
    Jun 2006


    Can't believe it's been nearly 14 years since them slags smashed into the twin towers it still freaks my nut out to this day.
    Doin' the Lambeth Warp New: DISSENSUS - THE NOVEL - PM me your email address and I'll add you

  5. #20
    Join Date
    Mar 2009


    <iframe width="560" height="315" src="" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

    Too many quotables.

  6. #21


    It seems the BBC pinned their hopes on giving Discarda a leading role in this Christmas's Eastenders story arc... but unfortunately he wasn't available.

    They hope he'll be able to come aboard in the new year. Until then it seems they have another musician in mind.

    2015 Episode 1. Part 1

    EXT SCENE: ALBERT SQUARE MARKET (daytime approximately 2pm)

    NEWSPAPER SELLER: West end final! West end final!

    DANNY DYER is walking through the stalls in search of someone. He approaches market trader PETE BEALE, who is selling Christmas decorations.

    DANNY: Alright, Pete. Is Sid about?
    PETE: Nah, mate. He closes his stall early on a Wednesday.
    DANNY: Shit. Oh well, if you see Sid tell him theyíve got a new washing machine in at Walford Radio Rentals. Itís a sharp investment, and heíd be a mug not to pony up for it. If you ask me the best thing that Maggie one ever did was privatising private property. Itís a great opportunity for the likes of us to start making some proper money. That and crime
    PETE: Whatís this Radio Rentals gaff then?
    DANNY: Itís the new electrics shop on the other side of the arches. You should have a butchers and all, Pete. I fancy buying myself a soda stream. You can get it on tick.
    PETE: All sounds a bit Tory if you ask me.
    DANNY: Everyoneís got one France! And I can hardly help it if Iíve got aspirations to better myself.
    NICK COTTON: Oh priceless! Thatís Danny Dyer for you, though. Running off his gums like heís a cut above, when he only bloody runs the shittest pub in the East End.
    DANNY: Shut up Nick, you Cypriot prick. Do you want me to get Tamer Hassan down here? Didnít think so you muppet.
    NICK: Name dropping, are we Daniel? You streak of piss.
    PETE: Heís got a point though, Danny. If youíre so aspirational why havenít you done the Vic up and make it look classy. It hasnít been redecorated since the Luftwaffe bombed it in í41. You did notice we had the Olympics next door? East London is changing.
    DANNY: Here, you might just be onto something there, Pete. If I give the place a new lick of paint and stock some poncey drink like OuzoÖ fuck. I might just be able to bring in a better class of clientele.
    PETE: Exactly, mate. Catch the yuppies on their way home from Canary Wharf and all that. Walfordís on the way up, Danny. Do you know the estate agents are starting to call it Ďthe New Shoreditchí.
    DANNY: What? Really?
    PETE: Nah, son. Iím only fucking you about. Whoíd want to come to a dump like this?

    DANNYís face scrunches up in thought. Camera (1) pans upwards to an aerial view of Albert Square, lingering on the skyscrapers of Central London that can be seen in the distance. The newspaper man can be faintly heard in the background, shouting ďWest End FinalĒ.


    DOT answers a knock on the door.

    STEVE OWEN: Hello, Walford Radio Rentals.
    DOT: Oooh, youíre that boy who used to live around the corner. Now whatís it they used to call you? My memory ainít so good nowadays. Boy George, was it?
    STEVE: (Laughs) Not quite, Dot. Iím Steve Owen. I used to run the night club under the arches. Iíve been away for a while but now Iím back in Walford. Iím running the new Radio Rentals shop. Your landlord, Mr Papadopoulos, has hired me to rewire your house. It should only take a few hours.
    DOT: Oh thatís ever so nice of Mr Papadopoulos. Itís been ages since Iíve seen him but heís always looked after me, what with the house & the work in the launderette. Come in, son. Here, Steve. Would you like a cup of tea?
    STEVE: Yeah, that would be smashing, Dot.

    DOT fills an old fashioned steel kettle with water and places it on the stove. She turns on the gas but appears to have lost her lighter. STEVE, who is inspecting a fuse box, fishes a BIC out of his trouser pocket. He hands it over to DOT.

    STEVE:Here you go, Dot.
    DOT: Ta.

    She lights the cooker and the kettle begins to boil. A few minutes go by before she realises she still has the lighter in her hand. Absentmindedly she reaches for her packet of Regal King Size and sparks one up. Taking a drag, she hands the lighter back to STEVE. DOT decides to sit down on her well-kept 1970ís era settee- resplendent in its original shrink-wrap.

    STEVE: You know Dot, maybe itís about time you got yourself an electric kettle. Iíve got a few cordless ones in the shop. Iíll drop one off for you here tonight.
    DOT: I donít know if I could afford one, son. But thanks for the offer though.
    STEVE: Well, seeing as Mr Papadopoulos has put a bit of work my way Iíll throw one in for free. Iím doing the whole square, one fifteen pound kettle ainít going to affect my bottom line.
    DOT: Ooh, Iím ever so grateful, Steve.
    STEVE: Donít mention it gel.

    The kettle starts whistling, and DOT gets up to make STEVE his tea.

  7. #22


    Episode 1. Part 2


    DANNY is on the phone. PAT BUTCHER is waiting impatiently at the bar, her glass empty.

    DANNY: Iím not going to lie, mate. Walford is properly shaping up to be the new Shoreditch- only itís not quite there yet. But it goes without saying that if entrepreneurs like us get in there now weíre going to be right on the crest of a fucking wave when business really kicks off. The marketís there, Iíve seen it myself. Just the other day I bumped into Cass Pennant coming out of Foxtonís, he was trying to get into the buy to let game. Thatís the calibre of customer we have round here, those are the kind of geezers we should be catering for.

    PAT stares menacingly at DANNY, as she is extremely thirsty for another Gin & Tonic. Forced to acknowledge her, DANNY motions that he will serve her soon. He makes to end his phone call.

    DANNY: So, bruv? Can you see yourself investing in the Queen Vic? Yeah? Blinding! Absolutely wicked news. Trust me, mate, you wonít regret this for a second. So Iíll link with you on Wednesday and we can talk business then? Nice one mate, nice one.

    DANNY puts the phone down.

    PAT: Have I got it wrong or something? This is a pub ainít it? Cos Iíve been standing here dying of thirst for ten bleeding minutes now while youíve been putting in a shift at a call centre.
    DANNY: Sorry for the delay, darling. Whatíll you be having?
    PAT: G&T.
    DANNY: Thatís not very ambitious of you, Pat. How about I offer you a LambruscoÖ on the house! Here you are, love, have the whole bottle.

    DANNY taps a spoon on the glass bottle to get the crowdís attention.

    DANNY: Ladies & gentlemen, it is my absolute fucking pleasure to tell youÖ that from next week this boozer will be bringing a touch of class to Walford. Something a little bit special is on itís way. Iíve just got off the blower with one of Britainís TOP celebrity chefs. Weíve agreed to turn the Vic into a GASTROPUB! And not none of that gimmicky shit neither, like wot those Scottish slags in Brick Lane are doing- selling Pop Tarts for a tenner. This is the real deal. PROPER fine dining. And when weíve got the place refitted all of Albert Square is invited to a right slap up meal. Oi oi!

    DANNY pops open the bottle of Lambrusco, and the wine sprays all over PAT like she was giving out awards to F1 car drivers.

    EXT SCENE: ALBERT SQUARE MARKET (daytime approximately 5pm)

    DOT has finished her shift at the launderette and is walking home through the market, where she spots STEVE OWEN.

    DOT: Here Steve, that new fangled kettle works like a charm. I donít even have to turn on the cooker to use it.
    STEVE: Iím glad you like it.
    DOT: I should have got one years ago.
    STEVE: Yeah. Sorry Dot, but Iím in a bit of a rush now & canít stop to chat. Iíve got a job round Ian Bealeís house and heís being a right prat- as per usual.
    DOT: Oh, whatever for?
    STEVE: Iíve delivered the Zanussi heís ordered, and heís trying to talk me round to installing it beside his telly- as a feature wall. I mean, whoís ever heard of a washing machine in a living room.

    DOT appears upset & confused by what STEVE is saying, and walks away without taking leave. She is soon accosted by BIANCA JACKSON, who tries to sell the elder woman some Christmas stockings from behind her stall. DOT is too dazed to hear the market tradersí offer, and merely shuffles homeward. BIANCA is offended by the fact that she hasnít been acknowledged.

    BIANCA: It donít cost nuffink to have some manners, Dot.


    Safely in her kitchen, Dot sits down for a smoke. Forgetting where sheís left her lighter, she frantically turns over cushions hoping to find it. Eventually she gives up her search and instead uses the spark ignition on her cooker. DOT turns on the gas and- with a cigarette in her mouth- bends her head towards the hob. After a few clicks the flame takes and her fag is lit. Taking a few drags, DOT realises the best way to calm her nerves would be a nice cup of tea. She fills her new electric kettle with water and places it on the gas cooker- then sits back down again.


    DOT is jolted out of her thoughts by the noise. Turning her head around she sees that the plastic kettle is on fire. Startled by this, she grabs a jug of water and empties it on the flame in the hope of dousing the fire. Instead the blaze shoots upwards, igniting her net curtains. DOT is momentarily transfixed as she watches the flames lick the artex ceiling. Shaking herself out of her stupor, DOT runs into the larder. She emerges from it armed with a mop. Aiming the mop at the kettle, she manages to hook it underneath the handle and lift. She flings the burning kettle in the air, only for it to land on her plastic wrapped couch. It instantly goes up like a lantern, and the conflagration soon spreads to her remaining items of furniture. Forced to make an exit, DOT runs out of the burning building into the street.

    DOT: Oooh, fire! Thereís a fire in my house!


  8. #23
    Join Date
    Oct 2004

  9. #24
    Join Date
    Jun 2006



    Bit busy with my own writing right now but will enjoy these (if they're anything like as good as the earlier ones) when I get a moment.
    Doin' the Lambeth Warp New: DISSENSUS - THE NOVEL - PM me your email address and I'll add you

  10. #25
    Join Date
    Apr 2008


    Αι ψυχαί οσμώνται καθ΄ Άιδην.

  11. #26


    Over the coming weeks the storylines promise to be EPIC. There's at least ten pages to come. The BBC pisses me off though. They waste everyone's time throwing life rafts to people like Richard Blackwood when there are countless TALENTED musicians they could bring on the show. EE is the perfect vehicle to give gainful employment to loads of retired Grime & Garage MCs. Who wouldn't want to see Godsgift or Robbie Craig in Albert Square? But the director general doesn't know his head from his arsehole. This could be the greatest soap opera since Oz.

  12. #27
    Join Date
    Jun 2006


    Hahaha, just read the new episode. This might be my favourite thing on Dissensus so far. Up there with Jade Goodie The Musical, anyway.
    Doin' the Lambeth Warp New: DISSENSUS - THE NOVEL - PM me your email address and I'll add you

  13. #28


    Episode 2. Part 1

    EXT SCENE: ALBERT SQUARE MARKET (daytime approximately 9am)

    The market is closed. A fire engine is parked on the main thoroughfare, itís blue lights flashing. One side of the square is cordoned off. The house at the end of the terrace is a burnt out shell, and there are varying degrees of fire damage visible on several other homes. A slightly dishevelled looking DANNY is on the street corner, dressed in a Kappa tracksuit. He is talking to a Fireman.

    FIRE FIGHTER: It took my officers six hours to put the fire out. As you can see the property where the blaze started has been completely destroyed. The owner managed to escape without injury. The two adjoining houses are severely fire damaged. Thankfully both premises were unoccupied. Until the Health & Safety Executive file their accident report this end of the street will remain cordoned off. I expect that the damage is so extensive that all three houses will have to be demolished on grounds of public safety.
    DANNY: Itís a right dogsí dinner.
    FIRE FIGHTER: Indeed. There is also water damage from the pumps the appliances used to put the blaze out. Several of the houses untouched by the actual flames are now flooded, including the shop on the corner.
    DANNY: Yeah the Milwaukee Fried Chicken is fucked, and all. Itís a shame all this happened in the run up to Christmas time. Iím so glad my daughter was staying at her mumsí house this weekend. If sheíd been here, wellÖ It just doesnít bear thinking about.

    DANNY walks towards the tube station, where he is approached by a smiling ALFIE MOON.

    ALFIE (singing): Oh Danny Dyer, the pipes the pipes are calling you.
    DANNY: Ah, You crack me up Alfonse. You really do.
    ALFIE: What you up to, mate? Fancy a Reg Varney down at Kathís Caff?
    DANNY: I canít bruv. Iíve got my first business meeting with this celebrity chef, havenít I.
    ALFIE: Oooh, lucky for some.
    DANNY: Iím dreading it mate, if Iím being honest. I never know quite what to expect in these situations, but I am fucking shitting myself. I donít even know which celebrity it is yet. I hope it isnít that Gordon Ramsey, I dunno if I could deal with his constant aggro. Soppy geezer would just get on my wick. Plus I heard he was a top boy for the Glasgow Rangers firm back in the Ď90ís. QPR I could deal with, but Jocks? JesusÖ
    ALFIE: My heart bleeds out for you, son.
    DANNY: Yeah, well. Best not be late for the appointment. First impressions matter, as my mum always used to say.

    He combs his hair a bit with his hands, then removes a can of Denim deodorant from his jacket. He puts it back in his pocket after liberally spraying the antiperspirant on his chest & neck.

    DANNY: Fix up look sharp. See you Alf.
    ALFIE: Toodle oo, my old china.

    DANNY walks underneath the railway arches and over to the rarely seen other side of Walford. As if on cue there is a crack of thunder and it starts to rain. Reluctantly he is forced to run to a two-storey building which houses the CATERING OFFICES. He enters through the front door.

  14. #29


    Episode 2. Part 2 previous part on last page

    [Editor’s note: At the moment the New Drama budget is looking very precarious and this will make it harder to deliver hard-hitting shows like EE. Downing Street is taking their time with the BBC’s new funding model but it’s safe to say that whatever they suggest our finances will haemorrhage away quicker than you can say ‘Doctor Kelly hack job’. In light of this we’re probably going to have to consolidate all of our triple A titles under one department and use that to subsidise all the loss making current affairs dross. The Director General feels that in order to keep our programming relevant in this harsh climate we should introduce stars from our factual shows into dramas like EE. The following crossover is the first to get approval and I have to say it makes a lot of sense. We all know Bake Off has been a massive success this year so it’s no surprise that EE is taking an interest in cookery. If this story meets with the viewers’ approval we might see more crossovers. A Walford market version of Antiques Roadshow could do wonders for both brands. But I digress]


    Sitting behind a table is the RECEPTIONIST, who is using the phone. DANNY seats himself down on a chair, waiting for her call to finish. He has an extremely nervous grimace plastered on his face. The RECEPTIONIST eventually puts down the telephone and addresses DANNY.

    RECEPTIONIST: Hi, you must be Mr Dyer.
    DANNY: Alright, darling. Cor, what ‘orrible weather it is.
    RECEPTIONIST: Quite. Chef will be with you in a moment, it’s just he’s in a teleconference with his top shareholders.
    DANNY: Sound as a pound.

    In order to hide the fact that he is paranoid DANNY engages in mindless small talk.

    DANNY: It’s nice digs you’ve got here. Have you been here long then?
    RECEPTIONIST: We only leased the offices a few days ago. I spent most of yesterday decorating.
    DANNY: Lovely wallpaper you’ve got here, gel. It deffo brings a bit of ambience to the room.
    RECEPTIONIST: Yeah, I had a roll left over from when I did my living room.
    DANNY: What shop did you get it from?
    RECEPTIONIST: Woolworth’s.
    DANNY: Well I am gutted, love. Cos if I’d have known Woolworth’s was selling wallpaper like that before they closed, I would’ve been down there faster than you can say Jonathan Woss. It would look exquisite in my hallway.

    Just then their conversation is interrupted by the intercom. The device bleeps loudly, making DANNY jump out of his chair in shock.

    RECEPTIONIST: That’s Chef. If you’d just like to walk through those double doors, he’s ready to see you now.

    DANNY looks to the RECEPTIONIST in appeal but no help is forthcoming. There’s nothing else he can do so he grudgingly opens the double doors.


    Standing with his back to the audience is ‘Chef’, who is working on a table laden with dishes and pots & pans. Even in silhouette DANNY recognises the man, and the celebrity chef’s identity is clearly a great relief to him. His face breaks into a smile.

    DANNY: Wotcha, Jamie. How’s things?
    JAMIE OLIVER: I’m pukka, Danny.

    They shake hands.

    JAMIE: Yeah, no cause for complaint, mate. Can’t grumble. Matter of fact I’m dead excited about getting into business with you.
    DANNY: Sorted. Here, I don’t know if I should be calling you Jamie, or Chef, or whatever? I ain’t never been in a professional kitchen environment before. You can school me on the proper manners.
    JAMIE: Jamie’s fine. I’ve just gotta say mate- straight off the bat- how chuffed I am to be working with you. I’ve got high hopes for this scheme of ours. You ever had one of them ones where you just know things are going to go well? Like you can just feel it?
    DANNY: Not since I took my last E. It’s been a while. But anyway, how comes you haven’t done something like this in east London before.
    JAMIE: You’re right, of course. I’ve been meaning to launch a restaurant here for years but until now I just haven’t found the venue that’s right for my style of cooking. Cash flow has been an issue too, and my creditors taking me to court hasn’t helped either. Hand on my heart though, the east end has always been a very special place for me. This is where it’s all happening.
    DANNY: So, you’ve built a business empire in the west end. Are you ready to bring fine dining to a Walford boozer?
    JAMIE: You better believe it. Look, the Vic is a lovely old gin palace. It’s perfect for my salt of the earth take on Nouveau Cuisine. And best of all we can source all the fresh fruit & veg from the market just out the door, it will save us a tonne of money. Oh, by the way Danny. I loved your performance in Lock Stock. And Boardwalk Empire.
    DANNY: Er, yeah… What can I say? The acting roles have dried up a bit, mate. That’s why I’m now fully focussed on being a publican, and with your help- a restaurateur.
    JAMIE: That’s what I love about you Danny, straight down to business as always. So, are you ready for me to show you what I do?
    DANNY: Bring it on bruv.
    JAMIE: Okay then. This is what I’ve got in mind for the Winter menu. I’m taking a bit of inspiration from my great granddad Herschel Olmert. By all accounts he was a right proper character. Fresh off the boat, he made his name selling matzo crackers & winkles outside Stepney workhouse. I’m proud to say that food has been my family’s business for a hundred years now. So I’m going to update the old classics from Herschels’ recipe book with a few modern twists. So Danny, here’s a fork. Get stuck in, my son.

    JAMIE brings out a succession of dishes that he has made earlier, serving them up to DANNY.

    JAMIE: Right, first up we have Norfolk venison pie & saffron mash. Served with bruschetta marinated in eel liquor with an optional side order of stewed eels (£7 supplement).
    DANNY: Ta.
    JAMIE: Second dish is poached free-range egg & baby yam frites.
    DANNY: Egg & chips?
    JAMIE: Got it in one mate. We’ll plate it up with HP sauce infused wasabi paste, with a good sprinkle of Telicherry pepper on top. Lastly we have Kobe salt beef on a brioche bagel, garnished with Ligurian Chicory & Andes Cacao Nibs.

    DANNY puts his knife & fork down, his mouth chewing the last of his meal.

    JAMIE: How about it then, chavi? We’ve got a culinary fusion of Japan, Peru, the Med and Odessa all on one plate. Here we are in the heart of the east end, not far from the Limehouse docks. This is where all these goods from around the globe are shipped in, from the dockers’ cart to our front door. Fresh ingredients cooked without pretension, just letting all those flavours come together and create something truly beautiful & unique.
    DANNY: That’s a right tasty bit of nosh, mate. Nice one.
    JAMIE: This table sums up E20, Danny. It’s the only place in the world where this menu would make sense.

    DANNY wipes his face with a serviette.

    DANNY: Here Jamie, I was wondering. If you’re great granddad was called Olmert, how comes your name is Oliver?
    JAMIE (looking sheepish): We got it changed by deed poll in the 70’s. There was bare NF around Colchester in the ‘70’s.
    DANNY: Yeah, my old man said they were a decent firm- for a bunch of pikeys. Oh, before I forget. Have you got any dish which has a massive mark-up?
    JAMIE: Ha ha! I knew you were a barrow boy at heart, Danny. But yeah, I was gonna offer macaroni cheese.
    DANNY: That’s a bit boring innit?
    JAMIE: They’re vegetarians, fuck em.
    DANNY: Good point.

  15. #30


    Episode 2. Part 3


    DOT sits across a desk from COUNCILLOR LUFTI RACHMAN, who is entering her details into a computer screen.

    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: How long have you lived in the borough Mrs Cotton?
    DOT: All my life, councillor.
    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: And that is?
    DOT: Seventy-eight years.
    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: And you haven’t managed to find somewhere to live since your previous house burned down?
    DOT: All the rentals seem so expensive, Mr Rachman. How’s an ordinary person to afford lodgings like that? It’s not the East End I remember.
    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: Yes, it’s a tough rental market at the moment. The average price in the area has risen to £1500.
    DOT: For a year?
    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: No, monthly.
    DOT: Oh I couldn’t manage that on my wages. Can’t you just put me down for a council flat, councillor? Nothing fancy or nothing. Just somewhere close to the bus stop so I can get to work in the launderette.
    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Mrs Cotton. In recent years Tower Hamlets has demolished much of it’s housing stock to free up land for much needed luxury apartments. As I’m sure you can appreciate the waiting list is very long. However as you are an emergency case we could offer you priority housing outside the borough.
    DOT: I suppose it will have to do, if that’s all there is.
    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: I’ll take a look at what units are currently on offer.

    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN types a few things into a keyboard.

    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: As I expected, we do have a number of vacancies in Dundee.
    DOT: Dundee? Is that on the other end of the 38 bus route?
    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: Not exactly. It’s in Scotland.
    DOT: Scotland! I couldn’t live up there, how am I meant to get to work for a 7am start?

    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN turns off the computer and rises out of his chair. Closing the office door so they have some privacy, he returns to his seat and looks DOT in the eye.

    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: I think I can come up with a solution to your predicament, Mrs Cotton. As chance would have it my cousin, Prajeet, happens to be a very reputable landlord. I’m sure he can find you something in the £500 a month range. And close to your place of work as well.
    DOT: £500 is much more reasonable, councillor. I could just about afford that.
    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: Good. He’s recently purchased a plot of land in Walford allotments, for residential use.
    DOT: That’s convenient. Are the houses built yet?
    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: Not houses as such. Actually they’re tents.
    DOT: Tents! In the allotment? It’s wintertime. Surely I’ll die from the cold.
    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: Oh, but you won’t be alone, Mrs Cotton. There will be other tenants to keep you company. Several men from the homeless shelter we’re closing are due to move in next week. I’m sure they’ll help you settle in. A sip of their grog should warm you up rightly. Think of the camaraderie!
    DOT: That just won’t do, councillor. I guess I have no other choice than to move in with Pauline.
    COUNCILLOR RACHMAN: Suit yourself.


    IAN BEALE and SANJAY are both browsing in the soft drinks section. MICHELLE GAYLE is manning the till.

    SANJAY: Were you at the dog track last night?
    IAN: No I had to sort something out at work. I heard there were some upsets though with the odds favourite coming last. Did you have a flutter on it?
    SANJAY: I was going to but Gita made me save the money for the gas & electric. Biggest mistake of my life. That bet would’ve won me forty quid.
    IAN: Shame

    Their conversation is cut short by the sound of an argument outside the shop.

    BIANCA: Oi! Aren’t you going to apologise? You’re indoor firework display burnt down half the bloody square. All the presents I’d bought for my kids were ruined! Thanks for ruining my children’s Christmas, Dot!

    BIANCA barges through the shop door.

    BIANCA: She’s got some nerve coming round here, after what she’s done.
    MICHELLE: Oh come on, Bianca, it was just an accident. Everyone makes mistakes.
    BIANCA: You call arson a bleeding mistake!
    MICHELLE: Get a grip of yourself. This is Dot Cotton we’re talking about. She’s always stuck by the people of Walford, through thick & thin. She’s looked after most of the kids round here in her time. Me, Ian, probably you too. Dot’s practically the closest the East End has to Mother Theresa.
    BIANCA: Well that dozy cow isn’t coming anywhere near my kids. Probably have them dead in their beds before she even found the light switch. Dot should be locked up, is what she should. If it was up to me I’d put her in the Scrubs or a loony bin before she bloody well kills us all.
    SANJAY: Aren’t you being a bit dramatic there, Bianca? She’s lost her home in the run up to Christmas.
    IAN: I think Bianca’s got a point. I’ve just spent eight hundred pounds doing my living room up, and for what? For a careless dry cleaner to destroy all the hard work & money I’ve invested in my property?
    SANJAY: Ian will you STOP going on about your washing machine. Nobody cares.
    IAN: There’s nothing wrong with owning your own washing machine! Everyone’s got one in France.
    SANJAY: Ian, you’re such a prick it’s not even funny. No wonder no one likes you.

    IAN rolls his eyes at the rest of the shop, but they do nothing to dispute SANJAY’s observation.
    Last edited by owengriffiths; 28-12-2015 at 07:08 PM.

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