GTI Awards 2006 - The Big Night - Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

(Written by Barry)

With a startled cry of “Unhand me, you bounders” The Count manages to poke his head out from amongst the tangle of bodies. Fearing that something like this might happen, The Count, as resourceful as ever, has a plan up his sleeve. He looks across to the table where his guests are seated.

Tony Blair, Jade Goody, Pete Doherty and Noel Gallagher are watching the proceedings with some amusement, although the fifth guest, George Bush is looking at Tony Blair with some confusion. Prior to the uproar involving The Count, Tony had just explained to George for the seventh time that ‘1’, Tony is no longer the Prime Minister, that ‘2’, ‘Golden Brown’ is a song by The Stranglers but that Gordon Brown is the new Prime Minister and that ‘3’, Tony is there instead of Gordon as he was Prime Minister when The Count sent out the invitations.

The Count shouts “Now” at which Jade, Pete, Tony and Noel rush forward and star hitting and kicking the other GITs. George remains at the table looking confused and hums ‘Golden Brown’ to himself.

 “That’s Plan B, you fools”, cries The Count, “I want Plan A”. His guests turn their attention to the four alcoholic brothers from the funny family. Tony and Jade stand on the edge shouting “Fight, fight” while Pete Doherty and Noel Gallagher throw themselves onto the brothers. Seeing that his guests are losing the battle, The Count realises that he’ll have to come up with Plan C. “I say you chaps” he suddenly ejaculates to the four alcoholic brothers, “I think there is still a bit of money from Joe’s wallet behind the bar. What say you four go and help yourself to a stiff one each?” With free drinks on offer, the fight is over and the brothers make their way to the bar past Joe who is looking somewhat distressed.

“Wait a minute”, shouts Joe, jumping to his feet, “That’s my money”. Unfortunately the ice in the bubble wrap that Mrs. Flagg found behind the cistern in the Gents toilet has been melting over the floor owing to the ever-increasing temperature in the room. Joe slips and crashes to the floor and in so doing realises to his disgust that the ice is, in fact, frozen urine. Joe gets to his feet in time to see the last of his money disappearing down the throats of the four brothers.

In the meantime, Mr. Ross is still staring at The Count’s legs. Realising that people are now turning their attention back to him, he calls to The Count, “Oi, Hot Legs, are you coming up to weceive this award or what?”

The Count replies, “Just a minute old boy, I need to change into something more suitable first.” He disappears in the direction of the Gents to change out of his hot pants and “Pants is Pants” T-shirt. Emerging a few minutes later robed in dress shirt, bow tie, evening jacket, immaculately polished shoes and hot pants, he makes his way to the stage.

As he passes the nominees’ table, Crawfie and Marty have to hold Pants back as he shouts offensive remarks at The Count. “Offensive remarks, offensive remarks”, he calls.

“Steady on old boy, you’ve already given me a black eye”, retorts The Count, “it was just a slogan on a T-shirt.” Distracted momentarily by a strong smell of urine, he turns to Joe. “Have you wet yourself?” he asks. Joe tries to explain that there is urine running down his legs because the ice in the bubble-wrap around his leg has melted and turned out to be frozen urine.

“Oh, that old excuse”, replies The Count. “I used to use that to the matron at Eton every time I woke up in my dorm and found myself in a similar predicament. You should get yourself some of these.” He discreetly pulls out a newspaper cutting from the Daily Mail small-ads advertising ‘Inco-pants’. “No one will ever know”, he winks at Joe. Unfortunately, in so doing, he also pulls out a packet of condoms with a sell by date of November 1969.

“Wait a minute”, says Joe, “you’ve been going through my wallet. Er those, er, might belong to a friend. I’m er, looking after them for him.”

“Found them on the floor old chap”, blushes The Count and rapidly retreats towards the stage.

Unfortunately, he bumps into poor old Mr. Roundtree who is making his latest attempt to get to his table with a tray of Guinness. The tray crashes to the floor once more and Mr. Roundtree turns once again towards the bar with an air of sad resignation. “Don’t worry, old chap”, says The Count. “Use this to buy yourself the next round and passes him a credit card with the name ‘Joe Irwin’ on it. “Finders keepers, what?”

The Count then clambers up on the stage to receive his award. He bows to the audience and waves to a few imaginary fans in the audience and sticks up his thumb to the GITs’ table. They respond with various abusive hand signals. The Count shakes hands with Mr. Ross and receives his award as cries of “You tosser”, “It’s a fix” and “Get off the stage, Baldy” come from an old lady in the audience. “I was hoping my Mum wasn’t going to come,” whispers The Count to Mr. Ross.

The Count approaches the microphone and begins to speak. There is no sound. Once again, Mr. Biggins rushes on to the stage and quickly adjusts the microphone before once more speedily crouching off. The Count tries again. He now sounds like Stephen Hawking. He continues regardless.

“Well it’s a great honour to receive this award. I’d like to think that, after the King GIT trophy itself, this is the most prestigious of tonight’s awards. I’ve dreamed of winning the ‘Shoulders back, show ‘em off, show ‘em off’ award for years now. It just goes to show that you can ‘count on The Count’, as they say, when it comes to getting the answers in.” He laughs awkwardly at the audience who greets him with a stony silence. By now, the old woman is trying to incite the audience to throw things at The Count and begins a slow hand clap which is quickly taken up by other members of the audience including the GITs who have begun to throw bits of urine-stained bubble wrap at the stage. The Count makes a hasty retreat with his award back to the audience.

He approaches the GITs’ table where a fragile peace has descended and he slips in the pool of urine, banging his head on the table. Momentarily out for the count (sic), he comes round and clambers onto his seat. Needless to say, none of his fellow GITS rushes to help him.

Crawfie leans across and says,”That went well, didn’t it?” and chuckles to himself.

“Could you have done better then old boy?” asks The Count.

“Course,” replies Crawfie.

“Do tell how”, says The Count.

“Well you pillock, you’re writing this bit, aren’t you?”

“Yes”, says The Count.

“Well then, you ponce, you can make anyfing ‘appen can’t you?” says Crawfie.

“Really”, ejaculates The Count.

“I wish you’d stop doing that”, says Crawfie mopping himself down, “It’s ‘orrible”.

“Sorry old boy, but pray, do go on”.

“As I was saying, if you’re writing it you nonce, then you can make anyfing ‘appen”, says Crawfie.

“Anything?”

“No, anyfing,” says Crawfie, “but don’t start any funny business with me”.

“Well let’s see then” says The Count, “You mean I could turn Marty into the Dalai Lama, for instance?”

“I believe Lord Snooty has finally got it”, sneers Crawfie.

And with that, there is the Dalai Lama sitting where Marty had been sitting.

“What-ho, this is brilliant, if somewhat surreal”, says The Count, as Pants turns into Clare Grogan from ‘Altered Images’, just as she looked in ‘Gregory’s Girl’.

“Fantastic”, beams The Count. “How are you my dear?”

“Just wonderful”, replies Clare, “I’ve heard so much about you”. Unfortunately she still has Pants voice though.

“You still ‘aven’t got the ‘ang of this, ‘ave you?” chortles Crawfie. “You wait until it’s my turn, I’ll show you” and he laughs maniacally like Vincent Price. “I’m going to write it so that I get the title of King Git, regardless of the scores.”

“You cad”, says The Count.

Just then, Joe turns into Winston Churchill. ”Wait a moment, I didn’t do that”, exclaims The Count. Everything starts to swim before his eyes and he closes them. When he manages to open them again properly, he is lying on his back in the pool of urine. His fellow GITs are all grinning down at him.

“What happened to the Dalai Lama, Clare Grogan and Winston Churchill?” says The Count.

“You’ve been out cold, you ponce” says Crawfie. “And you’ve been rambling on about the Dalai Lama, Clare Grogan and Winston Churchill”.

The Count realises that he’s been hallucinating as a result of the blow on his head. Annoyed that his chance of a date with Clare Grogan (just as she looked in ‘Gregory’s Girl’) has gone, he storms off to the bar. Behind him he hears his fellow GITs laughing and calling after him.

“Pillock “, says Crawfie.

“Twit”, says the Dalai Lama.

“I liked him”, says Clare Grogan (just as she looked in ‘Gregory’s Girl’).

“I’m still soaked in urine”, says Winston Churchill.