<3ACT ONE>3
<1Hawkhead Cemetery, Paisley- Winter->1
<1Morning. 1967.>1
(<2PHIL McCANN>2 <1and>1 <2SPANKY FARRELL>2
<1standing among the gravestones.)>1
<2PHIL:>2 Look at all this junk. If they broke it
all up into chuckies you could have a gravel
path from here to Death Valley and back.
<2SPANKY:>2 Christ, I feel hellish. . .
<2PHIL:>2 Did you drive up this morning?
<2SPANKY:>2 Got the traln. Somebody showed
us the paper after the gig.
<2PHIL:>2 Where are you anyhow?
<2SPANKY:>2 "The Barracuda" . . . Herne Bay.
Four nights. It' s murder. Christ . . . sorry.
No, it' s not all that hot . . . bugger! Did you
see much of the boy recently?
<2PHIL:>2 Just the tall end of his coffin
disappearing into the furnace. . .
<2SPANKY:>2 I don't feel too well. . .
<2PHIL:>2 Put your head between your shoulder
blades and say a good Act of Contrition.
<2SPANKY:>2 I had to sit up all night in the
Guard's van with a battallion of the Black
Watch singing every number in the Top
Twenty fro . . .
