Another day. I don't hold out much 'ope. Usual mixture of bad luck and despair, misery and frustration, piles.
[there's a knock at the door, Alf opens it]
Unlucky Alf?
That's right.
You've won the pools.
Blimey!
Here's a cheque for £1 000 000.
Oh right, well thanks very much. [he reads from cheque] 'One million pounds only', I don't know why they write 'only' seems like quite a lot of money to me.
[another knock at the door]
Now what?
[a woman dressed in 'sexy' clothing is at the door]
Hello, pet. Can I borrow a cup o' sugar?
I'm sorry, I've run out.
That's all right, I didn't really want any, it's you I'm after you beast. You lucky boy, you lucky boy, you lucky boy...
No, back off, control yourself, no, no, no...
[fades to Alf in bed]
...no, no...[alarm sounds and he turns it off] Thank Christ for that, it were all just a bad dream.
[dust falls from the ceiling and there is a creaking above]
'Ere we go...
[the ceiling falls and lands on Alf who makes a hole through it and looks out]
That's more like it.
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