Danny Dyer

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 they’ve got a new washing machine in at Walford Radio Rentals. It’s a sharp investment, and he’d 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. It’s a great opportunity for the likes of us to start making some proper money. That and crime
PETE: What’s this Radio Rentals gaff then?
DANNY: It’s 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: Everyone’s got one France! And I can hardly help it if I’ve got aspirations to better myself.
NICK COTTON: Oh priceless! That’s Danny Dyer for you, though. Running off his gums like he’s 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? Didn’t think so you muppet.
NICK: Name dropping, are we Daniel? You streak of piss.
PETE: He’s got a point though, Danny. If you’re so aspirational why haven’t you done the Vic up and make it look classy. It hasn’t been redecorated since the Luftwaffe bombed it in ’41. 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 Ouzo… 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. Walford’s on the way up, Danny. Do you know the estate agents are starting to call it ‘the New Shoreditch’.
DANNY: What? Really?
PETE: Nah, son. I’m only fucking you about. Who’d want to come to a dump like this?

DANNY’s 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 “West End Final”.


DOT answers a knock on the door.

STEVE OWEN: Hello, Walford Radio Rentals.
DOT: Oooh, you’re that boy who used to live around the corner. Now what’s it they used to call you? My memory ain’t so good nowadays. Boy George, was it?
STEVE: (Laughs) Not quite, Dot. I’m Steve Owen. I used to run the night club under the arches. I’ve been away for a while but now I’m back in Walford. I’m 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 that’s ever so nice of Mr Papadopoulos. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him but he’s 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 1970’s era settee- resplendent in its original shrink-wrap.

STEVE: You know Dot, maybe it’s about time you got yourself an electric kettle. I’ve got a few cordless ones in the shop. I’ll drop one off for you here tonight.
DOT: I don’t 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 I’ll throw one in for free. I’m doing the whole square, one fifteen pound kettle ain’t going to affect my bottom line.
DOT: Ooh, I’m ever so grateful, Steve.
STEVE: Don’t mention it gel.

The kettle starts whistling, and DOT gets up to make STEVE his tea.
Episode 1. Part 2


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

DANNY: I’m not going to lie, mate. Walford is properly shaping up to be the new Shoreditch- only it’s not quite there yet. But it goes without saying that if entrepreneurs like us get in there now we’re going to be right on the crest of a fucking wave when business really kicks off. The market’s there, I’ve seen it myself. Just the other day I bumped into Cass Pennant coming out of Foxton’s, he was trying to get into the buy to let game. That’s 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 won’t regret this for a second. So I’ll 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 ain’t it? Cos I’ve been standing here dying of thirst for ten bleeding minutes now while you’ve been putting in a shift at a call centre.
DANNY: Sorry for the delay, darling. What’ll you be having?
DANNY: That’s not very ambitious of you, Pat. How about I offer you a Lambrusco… on the house! Here you are, love, have the whole bottle.

DANNY taps a spoon on the glass bottle to get the crowd’s attention.

DANNY: Ladies & gentlemen, it is my absolute fucking pleasure to tell you… that from next week this boozer will be bringing a touch of class to Walford. Something a little bit special is on it’s way. I’ve just got off the blower with one of Britain’s TOP celebrity chefs. We’ve 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 we’ve 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 don’t even have to turn on the cooker to use it.
STEVE: I’m glad you like it.
DOT: I should have got one years ago.
STEVE: Yeah. Sorry Dot, but I’m in a bit of a rush now & can’t stop to chat. I’ve got a job round Ian Beale’s house and he’s being a right prat- as per usual.
DOT: Oh, whatever for?
STEVE: I’ve delivered the Zanussi he’s ordered, and he’s trying to talk me round to installing it beside his telly- as a feature wall. I mean, who’s 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 traders’ offer, and merely shuffles homeward. BIANCA is offended by the fact that she hasn’t been acknowledged.

BIANCA: It don’t cost nuffink to have some manners, Dot.


Safely in her kitchen, Dot sits down for a smoke. Forgetting where she’s 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! There’s a fire in my house!


Mr. Tea

Shub-Niggurath, Please

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.
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.

Mr. Tea

Shub-Niggurath, Please
Hahaha, just read the new episode. This might be my favourite thing on Dissensus so far. Up there with Jade Goodie The Musical, anyway.
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, it’s 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: It’s a right dogs’ 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. It’s a shame all this happened in the run up to Christmas time. I’m so glad my daughter was staying at her mums’ house this weekend. If she’d been here, well… It just doesn’t 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 Kath’s Caff?
DANNY: I can’t bruv. I’ve got my first business meeting with this celebrity chef, haven’t I.
ALFIE: Oooh, lucky for some.
DANNY: I’m dreading it mate, if I’m being honest. I never know quite what to expect in these situations, but I am fucking shitting myself. I don’t even know which celebrity it is yet. I hope it isn’t 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 ‘90’s. QPR I could deal with, but Jocks? Jesus…
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.
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).
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.
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.
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?
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.


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:
Episode 2. Part 4

INT SCENE: THE QUEEN VIC (night time approximately 9pm)

The pub has been converted into an upmarket Italian style brasserie, with two-dozen dining tables crammed into the confined space. Rather incongruously the room is bedecked with cheap Christmas decorations and plastic union jack bunting. It is the restaurant’s opening night and there is a full turnout of diners. TRACEY is overworked as per usual. DANNY is fiddling with a radio dial. He manages to tune into a station that plays fast dance music, loud enough to make several diners turn their head towards him in irritation.

RADIO VOICE 1: And trust me, you’re through to the big bad Amnesia FM. Ninety-two point three pon your frequency.
RADIO VOICE 2: Hold tight Phil Mitchell & the Belmarsh crew.
RADIO VOICE 1: HMP crew each and every. Maximum boost to the Phil Mitchell, out soon.
RADIO VOICE 2: Dun know he wouldn’t even be in there if it wasn’t for that SNITCH Beppe Di Marco grassing man up.
RADIO VOICE 1: Awoh. Original informer from nineteen o-long.
RADIO VOICE 2: Fuck Beppe!

TRACEY: Could you turn that down, DANNY? Who wants to listen to that racket when they're having a nice meal?
DANNY: Yeah, I should’ve thought. Patrons like ours will want something more sophisticated. I’ll put on Five Live.

ETHEL enters through the front door and slowly shuffles towards the bar. She is clutching a glossy magazine titled ‘My Chav Boyfriend’.

ETHEL: I’ll have a brandy, please. Can you bring it to that table over there when you’re ready, son?
DANNY: I’m afraid that table is booked, Ethel.
ETHEL: What you mean?
DANNY: In case you haven’t noticed darling, the Vic is now a gastropub. The tables are now for diners only. And it looks like Bianca has taken the last stool so it’s standing room only tonight.
ETHEL: But I just want somewhere quiet to sit with a drink while reading my gossip magazine
DANNY: Well there are other pubs in Walford, Ethel

ETHEL raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

DANNY: What about that shabby one on the high road? I forget its name. You know, the one where they sell drugs in the toilets? There’s bound to be some empty tables in there.

ETHEL: Hmmm.

ETHEL gets up feeling hard done by, making for the exit.

DANNY: Always a pleasure, darling. Always a pleasure. Bye. (Too himself) Lovely old girl, is Ethel.

Spying JAMIE coming out of the kitchen, he hurries out to greet him. They are both in good spirits and embrace in a manly hug.

JAMIE: This is it, Danny. This is the moment when two tasty geezers had the balls to bring fine dining to Walford. Pukka!
DANNY: Aaah, this is fucking emotional, mate. I had to stop myself from welling up, no word of a lie.
JAMIE: It’s your moment, Danny, savour it. One day you’re gonna look back on this scene as one of the best days of your life. But here, take a butchers at who’s turned up. It's a who's who East End society. Look, here we've got a table of visual artists from Goldsmiths. And there- Spurs’ new Chilen signing is in the booth at the back. Oh, but we can’t forget the local boys done good like Mr Papadopoulos. And there’s Doctor Legge eating the linguine- good choice by the way if you’re feeling hungry later on. And who’s that by the front door, must be Steve Owen and his missus…
DANNY: Fit bird.
JAMIE: And I think that table of girls in the middle are the secretaries for Rinse FM. This is the New East London, Danny!
DANNY: Banging!
JAMIE: Well, anyway I’ve gotta get back in the kitchen. Say hello to that blonde at the bar, will you. She’s the food critic for the Evening Standard. Gotta keep in the media’s good books, squire.
DANNY: I’m on this.

DANNY strolls over to the bar and greets the journalist.

DANNY: Hello love, how you doing. I’m Danny Dyer.
CASSANDRA: Cassandra, hi. I’m covering this event for the Evening Standard.
DANNY: Oooh, I thought you looked familiar. You used to be Dexter Fletchers girlfriend in Junior Press Gang, didn’t you?
CASSANDRA: (Laughing) Not quite.

CASSANDRA sets a dictaphone on the bar.

CASSANDRA: Are you ready for a short interview, just so I can get some copy?
DANNY: Fire away.
CASSANDRA: So tell me Danny, what do you hope to achieve in the restaurant business.
DANNY: Well I just want to bring something back to the East End, where I was born & bred. You know? Jamie’s obviously a very talented T.V. chef who’s got the kitchen locked down, but my end of things is more the hospitality side. How shall I put it? The drama. I’m trying to bring some of the drama & excitement from my own world of show business and marry that with an unforgettable dining experience.
CASSANDRA: Oh, really. I didn’t know you were on the stage.
DANNY: Well I wasn’t in the theatre much, more the silver screen. I’ve appeared in several critically acclaimed British films, and hosted some highly respected documentary shows that were shown on Bravo. You probably wouldn’t know this but back when I was in acting school I used to share a flat with Idris Elba in Canning Town.
CASSANDRA: Oh wow, I love Idris Elba. He’s so talented. So you went to RADA with him?
DANNY: Nah, it was Romford Road Polytechnic- the premier centre of learning in the manor.
CASSANDRA: Oh, it would do wonders for my career to interview him. It’s a shame he’s not here tonight.
DANNY: Yeah, he called to say he was sorry but he’s filming in the Bahamas this week. Here, he won’t like me saying it but he was a rubbish actor back then, I’ve seen more convincing performances from Ross Kemp. But he was a proper gentleman though, always looking after his old mum. We didn’t have a pot to piss in back then but I swear to you, every month he went round his mum’s gaff to make sure she had enough fufu.
CASSANDRA: Oh, that’s sweet. You're connection to Idris would be a great angle for this article. The headline could be something like ‘what Stringer Bell had for tea’. Or whatever. I'm sure the events editor can come up with something snappier. Anyway Danny, I’m going to head off to the bathroom. I’ll only be a minute
DANNY: No problem, love.

JANINE BUTCHER idles up to the bar, drunkenly swirling the wine in her glass.

JANINE: Is there any lie you won't tell to get into a girls knickers, Danny?
DANNY: Well it’s like what that song says, Janine- ‘anyone can fall in love’

He whistles the opening bars of the EE theme tune.

DANNY: But if there was anyone I couldn’t fall in love with, it’s you. So why don’t you piss off out of here before I have you barred. And do some work on your cockney accent, love. It’s rubbish.

CASSANDRA returns from the bathroom. On the way back to the bar she spies someone she recognises at one of the tables. She whispers to DANNY conspiratorially.

CASSANDRA: Oh my God, is that Carl Cox over there?
DANNY: You know what, it is him. God, I used to play his tapepacks to death. Half a mo, I’m going to see if I can get his autograph. Here Tracey. Get Cassandra here a glass of Shampoo, and one for yourself. It’s the opening night of the restaurant. You’ve got to enjoy yourself.

Approaching the table, DANNY has his head turned to CASSANDRA, who he gives a wink.

DANNY: Sorry to disturb you mate, but was you that Mister Motivator geezer from the telly?
CARL COX: No you racist prick, I’m a DJ. If you haven’t noticed I’m having a meal with my wife here, Danny. Sling your hook, you spaz.
DANNY: Sorry mate, easy mistake to make.

Danny walks back to the bar wearing a cheeky grin. CASSANDRA is in stitches.

CASSANDRA: Oh my God Danny, you’re outrageous!
DANNY: Fucking hell, you should’ve seen the look on his face, it was priceless.
DANNY: Here, do you wanna see if we can hit Idris up on Skype?
CASSANDRA: Gosh. Yes please, that would be wonderful.
DANNY: No problem, girl. The computer is upstairs. I’ll just get myself a glass of vino.
CASSANDRA: Won’t you be missed behind the bar?

DANNY casts his eyes over the room, ignoring the queue of revellers reaching all the way to the door

DANNY: Nah, the pub practically runs itself. Follow me

DANNY and CASSANDRA walk into the backroom and up the stairs.
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Steve Owen goes in, hard. No Homo

Episode 2. Part 5


MR PAPADOPOLIS and STEVE OWEN are in a cubicle, snorting white powder off the cistern.

STEVE: Hmm. That’s good gear.
MR PAPADOPOLIS: See the way it’s clumped together? It’s cos it’s pure Peruvian. I don’t buy talcum powder.
STEVE: I must admit, I thought you were going to be well pissed off at Dot for burning down your houses.
MR PAPADOPOLIS: Far from it, she’s done me a bigger favour than she can ever realise. I had you doing repairs to modernise the properties. So that in a year’s time when I turf out all the tenants with a massive rent rise, they will be spic & span for a bunch of yuppies to move in.
STEVE: But surely that’s been set back years now, the street is a mess.
MR PAPADOPOLIS: Look, I bought Albert Square house-by-house over a few years in the ‘80’s. People thought I was radio rental for investing in a dump like Walford. No offence meant.
STEVE: None taken
MR PAPADOPOLIS: It was convenient to have my staff at the launderette living nearby so they could work all the hours God sent them. And those houses cost tuppence ha’penny back then, people were practically giving them away. In today’s housing market they’re worth half a mil each.
STEVE: Christ.
MR PAPADOPOLIS: Too good for the likes of Pauline Fowler that’s for sure. But now when I think about it clearly my plan to rent them out to yuppies wasn’t ambitious enough. Now that one end of the street is burnt down it will be ripe for redevelopment. Fuck Edwardian houses, I could build a big block of luxury flats and flog it to Chinese billionaires with more money than sense. Lufti Rachman and me go way back, we’re as thick as thieves. He can get anything through planning. I’m sitting on a bloody goldmine.

MR PAPADOPOLIS racks up another line, and the pair of them take a snort each up both nostrils.

STEVE: What about the market then, is that to stay?
MR PAPADOPOLIS: Not a lot of people know this yet, but Westfield are in negotiations with the council. They want to expand their shopping centre by 50%. They’re eyeing up the market site- to turn it into a lorry depot.
STEVE: Strewth.
MR PAPADOPOLIS: Walford’s changing fast. I give it eighteen months before the brewery turns this place into a sterile wine bar. I admire Danny’s work ethic and all, but he isn’t the smartest tool in the box.

MR PAPADOPOLIS takes out a tissue and wipes his nose.

STEVE: Still, it’s a shame about Dot. She’s a nice lady.
MR PAPADOPOLIS: She’s too nice. Which means she’s going to get shafted over sooner or later. I’ll earn more in a day demolishing that launderette than I’ve made in my entire thirty years in the dry cleaning business. There’s no future for the Dots of this world. Anyway…

Hands a bag of white powder to STEVE.

MR PAPADOPOLIS: Have a gram on me, for doing a good job.
STEVE: Cheers.
MR PAPADOPOLIS: Enjoy your thirty pieces of silver while it lasts, Steve. Myself? I’m getting out of Walford sharpish. This place will be unrecognisable in a few years time. Right, I’m off to hand a brown envelope to our esteemed councillor.

Episode 3. Part 1



DANNY exits the station and stops to light a cigarette, his hands cupped around the lighter to protect the flame from the wind. A CLOSE UP reveals that he is unshaven and looks like he didn’t get much sleep last night. He pulls a mobile phone out of his pocket.

DANNY: (to himself) Five missed calls. A foreign number and all, wonder who it is.

Just before he puts the phone away it rings.

DANNY: Who’s this?
PHONE VOICE 1: Who the fuck do you think it is?
DANNY: Idris? Have you been ringing me? I’m just out of the tube, there’s no signal down there.
IDRIS: Never mind that. What the fuck were you doing skyping me last night with some random slag? It was four in the morning over here! I couldn’t get back to sleep after that, you prick!
DANNY: Ahhh, the big man needs his beauty sleep? Always knew you North London boys were lightweights. How’s about you sit on the benches and let real East men like me run things for a while.
IDRIS: Hackney is in East.
DANNY: Keep telling yourself that, bruv. You’ll never be a top boy in my manor.
IDRIS: I swear, next time I see you I’m going to slap you down in front of your auntie Tanya.
DANNY: Hang about. Are you getting lairy with me now, Idris? Don’t make me laugh. We both know you’re about as streetwise as a Blue Peter presenter. Still, I take my hat off to you. It can’t be easy knowing that your success in Holywood is all down to your skills on the casting couch.
IDRIS: I don’t need to sleep my way to the top. Pure acting talent was all it took.
DANNY: On a level though, are you doing alright mate? You sound a bit down in the dumps. What, did Roman Polanski bum you in the audition and now he’s not returning your calls?
IDRIS: What about you though, Daniel? How’s tricks? I’ve always been meaning to ask. Do the actors guild still charge you subs or has your membership been cancelled on account of the fact you haven’t worked in years?
DANNY: Oh, you ‘orrible slag.

DANNY ends the call only for the phone to ring again.

DANN: Who’s this?
PHONE VOICE 2: Hello, this is Brian from NatWest. We’re contacting you to inform you that a cheque you wrote earlier this week for £1000 has bounced. You have seven working days to pay the amount in full, along with a £200 penalty charge for going into overdraft.
DANNY: Fuck off, I haven’t used a chequebook in years. You must have the wrong number or something.
PHONE VOICE 2: No, you purchased some catering equipment on Thursday…
DANNY: Next you’ll be telling me you’re an African prince and all I need to do to get rich is send you some money. Just cos I’m forever blowing bubbles don’t mean I came up the river on one. My name’s not muggins. You WRONGUN.

He switches the phone off and continues on his journey. Passing the row of boarded up houses, he can see that the one next door to DOT has been broken into. Curious at what’s inside, DANNY shifts the metal fence aside and walks through the front door.


The abandoned house next door to DOT’s old home has been turned into a makeshift radio station. Posters of Amnesia FM 92.3 club events adorn the fire-damaged walls. Repetitive beats can be heard blaring out of a hi-fi. A DJ is hunched over a pair of decks that have been placed on old milk crates. Two men holding microphones face the right hand side of the room.

MC 1: I’m a wicked man just like Mufasa, I bring war to your bredrins’ madrasa. And I ain’t talking Hakuna Matata, the last sound that you’ll hear will be rat-a-tat-tat-a.
MC 2: They call me the street sweeper, not cos I’m pushing a broom but cos I carry a heater. I rob Paul to pay Peter, but I’ll never be a victim like Sanjay & Gita.
MC 1: Never ever.

DANNY enters from stage left. He surveys the scene with a contented glint in his eye. Plucking his courage, he approaches the DJ.

DANNY: Alright mate. You wouldn’t have N-Trance ‘Set You Free’, would you?
DJ: Ain’t got that one boss, sorry.
DANNY: Pity, that tune is a Reebok classic. I met my (now) ex wife when I heard that for the first time. She was gorgeous. But come to think of it I was buzzing off my fucking nut at the time.
DJ: Seen?
DANNY: Anyway, lads. Good luck with the pirate. I’m out.
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village elder.

These bars tho..

MC 1: I’m a wicked man just like Mufasa, I bring war to your bredrins’ madrasa. And I ain’t talking Hakuna Matata, the last sound that you’ll hear will be rat-a-tat-tat-a.
MC 2: They call me the street sweeper, not cos I’m pushing a broom but cos I carry a heater. I rob Paul to pay Peter, but I’ll never be a victim like Sanjay & Gita.

'bring war to your bredrins madrasa' oh shit. reloads all over the shop!
the Mufassa lyrics aren't a million miles away from something Chronik would say.

Episode 3. Part 2


The IMAM answers a knock at the door. STEVE OWEN is on the doorstep wearing his electrician overalls.

STEVE: Hi, I’m from Walford Radio Rentals. I’m just going round the area telling people about the Christmas sale we have on at the moment. We’ve got great deals on everything from televisions to hoovers.
IMAM: I doubt we can afford to buy anything at the moment, but if we start saving now we’ll probably be in the market for a new oven in about, hmm... six months time. Where did you say your shop was?
STEVE: We do offer a range of Sharia hire purchase packages.

STEVE hands the IMAM a finance leaflet.

IMAM: These figures seem very reasonable. I think maybe we can afford that oven after all. If you’d like to come inside, mister…
STEVE: Owen. Steve Owen.

STEVE follows the IMAM inside, placing his shoes in a rack at the wall. He is then led into the kitchen.

IMAM: We cook free breakfasts for two of local primary schools. Unfortunately our oven is getting on a bit, it takes a long time to get hot. If we can't increase our output next year we may lose our contract with the council. The tendering process is very competitive.
STEVE: I should be able to help you with that. We’ve got an offer on this week only. Every cooker-oven combo we sell comes with a free microwave, and there’s no installation fee.
IMAM: What sort of price are we talking?
STEVE: £700 including VAT, paid over the course of ten years. All we need is a ten-pound deposit.
IMAM: I can get that by tomorrow.

Taking out a tape measurer, STEVE takes the measurements for the new kitchen.

STEVE: I can build a shelf over here for the microwave. That way you can get more useable space out of the worktops.
IMAM: Very good. We may even get a contract for another school.
STEVE: I could deliver and install everything on Wednesday, if you’re free. Is nine in the morning okay?
IMAM: Yes that will be fine, see you then.

The pair of them walk out to the front door, where STEVE puts on his shoes. With business concluded to the satisfaction of them both, he addresses the IMAM in a familiar tone.

STEVE: I’ve lived in Walford most of my life, but I never knew there was a mosque round here. Have you been here long?
IMAM: Yes, we opened twenty-five years ago. We’re the second mosque in the area, there’s another beside the Silverlink station.
STEVE: Really? Two of them in Walford? Well, you learn something new everyday.
IMAM: This mosque is crowded enough as it is, without the other one we just couldn’t cope with the demand. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, really. After all, Walford is forty percent Bengali… Although it probably doesn’t seem like that if you live in Albert Square. It’s a bit of a, how do you say- eighties time warp?
STEVE: I guess you’re right. The square isn’t always the most accurate depiction of East End life.
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