owengriffiths
Owen
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”.
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INT SCENE: DOT COTTON’s HOUSE
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.
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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”.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
INT SCENE: DOT COTTON’s HOUSE
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.
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