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Thread: Danny Dyer

  1. #31


    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.
    CASSANDRA: I know!
    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.
    Last edited by owengriffiths; 14-01-2016 at 08:29 PM.

  2. #32
    Join Date
    Sep 2009
    London / Berlin


    best episode yet ... salute!

  3. #33
    Join Date
    Jun 2006


    'Councillor Lufti Rachman', pffft.
    Quote Originally Posted by woops
    i hate sigs

  4. #34


    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. Thatís good gear.
    MR PAPADOPOLIS: See the way itís clumped together? Itís cos itís pure Peruvian. I donít 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, sheís done me a bigger favour than she can ever realise. I had you doing repairs to modernise the properties. So that in a yearís 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 thatís 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 Ď80ís. 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 haípenny back then, people were practically giving them away. In todayís housing market theyíre worth half a mil each.
    STEVE: Christ.
    MR PAPADOPOLIS: Too good for the likes of Pauline Fowler thatís for sure. But now when I think about it clearly my plan to rent them out to yuppies wasnít 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, weíre as thick as thieves. He can get anything through planning. Iím 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%. Theyíre eyeing up the market site- to turn it into a lorry depot.
    STEVE: Strewth.
    MR PAPADOPOLIS: Walfordís changing fast. I give it eighteen months before the brewery turns this place into a sterile wine bar. I admire Dannyís work ethic and all, but he isnít the smartest tool in the box.

    MR PAPADOPOLIS takes out a tissue and wipes his nose.

    STEVE: Still, itís a shame about Dot. Sheís a nice lady.
    MR PAPADOPOLIS: Sheís too nice. Which means sheís going to get shafted over sooner or later. Iíll earn more in a day demolishing that launderette than Iíve made in my entire thirty years in the dry cleaning business. Thereís no future for the Dots of this world. AnywayÖ

    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? Iím getting out of Walford sharpish. This place will be unrecognisable in a few years time. Right, Iím off to hand a brown envelope to our esteemed councillor.


  5. #35


    Episode 3. Part 1

    EXT SCENE: TUBE STATION ENTRANCE (approximately 10am)


    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.
    Last edited by owengriffiths; 10-01-2016 at 04:35 PM.

  6. #36
    Join Date
    Dec 2005



    These bars tho..

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

    'bring war to your bredrins madrasa' oh shit. reloads all over the shop!

  7. #37


    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.
    Last edited by owengriffiths; 14-01-2016 at 01:26 PM.

  8. #38
    Join Date
    Aug 2005
    brooklyn, ny


    Would pay for a subscription to this

    Sent from my SAMSUNG-SGH-I337 using Tapatalk

  9. #39
    Join Date
    Oct 2004


    Genius. This must be turned into a book.

    Can't wait to see Danny's pontifications about Bowie.

  10. #40
    Join Date
    Jun 2006


    Quote Originally Posted by baboon2004 View Post
    Can't wait to see Danny's pontifications about Bowie.
    "Bowie, you LEGEND!!!! Freaks my nut out. My eyes are pissing tears and I dont care who knows it. R.I.P. Legend."
    Last edited by Mr. Tea; 14-01-2016 at 01:44 PM.
    Quote Originally Posted by woops
    i hate sigs

  11. #41
    Join Date
    Jul 2010

  12. #42
    Join Date
    Jun 2006


    It's been over a week since the last instalment, Owen. I'm afraid this will not do.
    Quote Originally Posted by woops
    i hate sigs

  13. #43


    Episode 3. Part 3


    DANNY enters the main room of the catering offices, where a slightly nervous looking JAMIE OLIVER is busy prepping meals for this evening’s diners. He is putting the final touches to an exotic seafood dish.

    DANNY: What’s happening.
    JAMIE: Just experimenting with tonight’s menu. Did you have a good night last night?
    DANNY: Most definitely. My head is banging though, bruv. I went back to Cassandra’s flat in Chelsea. Was drinking cocktails till the break of dawn. Feeling a bit worse for wear now though, very, very poorly. Like I’ve just spent all night in a Hackney squat rave with Mark Fowler and Easy E.
    JAMIE: Er, yeah…
    DANNY: And I’m telling you, those posh girls have some stamina…
    JAMIE: Easy tiger.

    DANNY walks over to the sink and pours a glass of tap water, stirring in some alka seltzers that he takes from his pocket. Moving over to the chaise longue, his eyes glance over the dish JAMIE is putting the finishing touches to.

    DANNY: Jesus Christ. What the fuck is that you’re working on, it looks like Tom Hardy’s lips?
    JAMIE: Gooseneck barnacles. It’s a wicked little Spanish delicacy. All it needs now is a big boy glug of olive oil, some lemon zest- and Bob’s your uncle. It makes a beautiful entrťe for a family dinner, or a properly glamorous light lunch for all your mates. Best served with a big glass of prosecco.
    DANNY: Jamie, you are NOT serving that in my pub. It’ll scare half the punters away.
    JAMIE: No problem, bossman. I’ll just switch the menu to escargot instead.
    DANNY: Anyway, I got Tracey to print out what the takings from last night were. The place was rammed so I’m expecting some blinding figures. Pull up a pew then.
    JAMIE: Nice, nice.

    The chef joins DANNY on the settee. His body language implies that he feels ill at ease being so close to the salt of the earth publican.

    DANNY: Right then. The total profits made on opening night are… What the fuck? Someone must be having a bubble. It says we made fuck all.
    JAMIE: It can take a while for new restaurants to find their feet. With my first bistro in Mayfair…
    DANNY: Is Tracey pulling my wire? It says here we only made a hundred fucking quid!
    JAMIE: Christmas can be a slow period in the industry, but come January payday we’ll have them queuing round the corner for the winter a la carte…
    DANNY: Here, this ain’t even a wind-up. Look at the paragraph at the bottom. It says only two people ordered a main course. What the fuck was all them slags eating?
    JAMIE: Come to think of it we did get a lot of orders for the platter of artisan-baked bread & a selection of dipping oils.
    DANNY: So you mean to tell me that our punters are so fucking miserly that they’ll only fork out for a few bread rolls?
    JAMIE: It’s that credit crunch. It’s hit people in their pockets… and bread was the only thing on the menu priced less than twenty-five pound.
    DANNY: Twenty-five for a meal? That’s a blatant piss take, Jamie. Even you should know that. How much did you charge for the, what was it- the bagels?
    JAMIE: Thirty-three quid. But it was with a complimentary dollop of guacamole so it was one of the better value meals we had…
    DANNY: Gordon Bennet alive! The Percy Ingle under the Lansbury flats does the same thing for a tenth of the price! Geezers round here ain’t seen a fleece up so brazen since Ron & Reg started handing out collection tins. Jesus Christ, Jamie. You’re supposed to be a successful businessman but your concept of supply & demand is fucked. If you carry on like this we’ll both end up in the debtor’s prison.
    JAMIE: Danny, I can explain.
    DANNY: You better.
    JAMIE: Look, I went into business with you because you shared my vision for bringing modern fine dining to Walford. You got the concept of a place that takes good, simple, honest ingredients and cooks them superbly and without pretension- just by letting the flavours speak for themselves. People will always be prepared to pay top dollar for a meal like that. And that’s from all walks of life- rich, poor, you name it. People understand quality comes at a price, and I think thirty odd pounds for a bagel is only fair.
    DANNY: Jamie you don’t seem to understand a fucking thing I’m saying. You can’t just come to Walford and serve up shit like THIS.

    He points to the meat dish on JAMIE’S workstation.

    DANNY: What is this?
    JAMIE: That’s slow cooked pork belly, a classic, classic British meal.
    DANNY: And how much does that cost.
    JAMIE: Well… It’s fifty pounds.

    DANNY gingerly prods at the food with a fork, a disdainful expression on his face.

    DANNY: There’s hardly any meat on this, it’s all fat. What mug is going to fork out half their wallet for offal? You can’t pull stunts like that round here, Jamie. This is Walford. We’re on the fucking District line, for Christ’s sake!
    JAMIE: Come on, Danny. Don’t be a wasteman.
    DANNY: Wasteman? You don't get to call me a fucking wasteman. You’re not even a real cockney, you’re worse than Pete Tong. Right then, you cunt. Just FUCK OFF BACK TO ESSEX with ya!

    To emphasise the severing of their business partnership, the publican picks up a paring knife and points it at JAMIE. The celebrity chef needs no further warning and briskly exits the door out into the street. Struggling to make sense of what has just happened, DANNY puts down the knife and frowns at the ostentatious dťcor of what should be a no frills functional kitchen.

    DANNY: I’m telling you, this gentrification palaver is a load of shit!

    He raises his voice to reach the ears of a rapidly departing JAMIE.

    DANNY: And you can take your fucking pork belly with ya!

    He hurls the tray of food out of the doorway, aiming for the chef’s back. This small act of violence fulfilling his need for vengeance, he returns indoors.


    The IMAM is peacefully walking down the street when a platter of pork belly careers into his chest, knocking him to the ground. A CLOSE UP of his face shows a look of terror and disgust.

    Last edited by owengriffiths; 23-01-2016 at 07:33 PM.

  14. #44


    I'm on holiday, Danny will reappear in two weeks time with another exciting edition of Britain's Tastiest Slags. Next issue comes with a free ringbinder.

  15. #45


    To be honest, good as these are, the real Danny Dyer is even funnier. He wipes the floor with every single Radio 4 / Mock the Week wanker. We all have mates, or know people, who are funnier than people who get paid to tell jokes these days, and Dyer kind of proves that.

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