Fox (Small Dole Village)

Steptoe and Son

After selling their rag and bone business in the late 60s, Steptoe and Son left Shepherds Bush to run what they claim is a ‘respectable’ landfill north west of Brighton. But, after 40 years of making money filling a massive hole with crap, Harold has started to have a crisis of confidence; odours from the site -which is besieged by thousands of angry looking seagulls - are making life a misery for residents in the neighbouring village. Harold has been to the Fox Pub for a summit with the locals. He's just arrived back on site.

Albert: Where the bleedin’ ‘ell ‘ave you been? I’ve been dealing with these ‘orses and carts on me tod for hours

Harold (snootily): Far-ver, you know very well we don’t accept waste by 'orse 'n' cart no more......And for your information, I’ve been to the village boozer for a drink.

Albert: What the 'ell for?

* Harold shifts uneasily and turns away from his dad to face the wall of the site’s portakabin *

Harold: If you must know, I went to talk to the locals about their odour complaints. *turns back quickly* they’re really very angry you know dad.

Albert: You went to talk to those bleeders in the village?

Harold: Yeah, I did. And so what? They asked to see me, so I said I'd 'ave a pint with them to listen to....

Albert (interupting): You’re a bleedin’ disgrace son; your mother would be turning in her grave if she knew you were betraying you old dad.

Harold: Don’t you bring mum into this you ‘orrible little man. These people are angry. And they’ve every right to be dad. We got a whiff of it with our pints; they say they can’t even sit in their gardens ‘alf the time due to the stink.

* Harold grits teeth and snarls through them while staring into the middle distance *

And it’s all down to our fih-hilfy rubbish dump.

Albert: Listen sunshine; we’re the waste industry, always were, always will be. A leopard don’t change its spots. Rubbish stinks; what do you want me to do about it?

Harold: Well what about all that stuff on our website Dad? We have a responsibility to our neighbours, that’s what it says. We operate to the highest standards of environmental care and…

Albert: Balls! Just words sunshine! A few smells ain’t my bleedin’ problem. You wanna go back to that khasi in Shepherds Bush? We got money now son, ain’t we. Never ‘ave to worry about the feeding the meter  do we? Landfill made us the men we are today.

*Albert furrows brow feigning concern *

Anyway, I can’t go back to the past... 'Ave a heart son, I’m an old man…. me body's knackered and....

Harold:  Oh here we go again. Someone get me the violin..... Look Dad, what we’re doing here ain’t right. I couldn’t even 'ave a pint without ‘aving to shut the pub windows. Disgusting it was…. Disss-gusss-ting

And dad, it’s such a lovely little village pub, with a nice friendly bird behind the bar * sneering aside * so much nicer than the thousands we've got up 'ere.

*pauses and looks up at the ceiling * 

Look Dad why don't we just close down now? after all; we’ve made loads of money.  We could find something else to do I'm sure...

Albert: N’yahh… you never had no spine. A few complaints and you want to jack it all in? You're pathetic.

And anyway, I've been into the village meself; I dunno what they're on about; I can't smell a thing.

Harold: I'm not surprised you can't smell nothing; you 'aven't 'ad a bath since 1977. Your sense of smell expired decades ago. It couldn't take the workload.

Albert: ...Pah.... use your swede. Think of it as providing a service, that’s all. I for one ain't gonna stop taking rubbish until that hill out there is another ‘undred feet high.

Harold * snapping *: Providing a service? We ain’t the bleedin’ NHS you know. We’ve made people's lives a misery for 40 years and I can't take it no more. I don’t know why they 'aven't shut us down.

Albert: 'Cause no one can do nothing to stop us sunshine. It's called "better regulation" see. We can do what the bleedin' hell we like.

Harold: …Well my conscience can't take it. Surely, there must be somefing we can do to ease their pain?

Albert: There is. Keep yer mouth shut  and go and ‘elp that bloke out there unload asbestos off the back of ‘is kart.

Leave me to 'ave a dump. It's a warm day, and I'm ready to go al fresco with the seagulls.

Harold: Uuggh, you dir-hirty old man.

Harold Steptoe’s rating for the Fox in Small Dole – 7 / 10 (landfill odours lose it 2 marks)

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