Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Times ten quid by a thousand, right? And you've got...
I thought I'd give it a go.
Linda...
Howdy, Boys! Lookin' Cool.
- You want some money? - Yeah!
So.
Yeah, it's your HT leads, I reckon.
Make a bit of a...
Ta.
- Very nice. - Gaz, please, don't.
What do you mean, I can't see him? He's me son! I haven't been charged!
and girls.
They're holding hands.
No!
Put that back. Put it back!
- Got any of them mint chocolate jobs? - You're on a diet.
and state-of-the-art machinery to make the world's finest steel.
No. Couldn't do that to Dave.
We'll stuff 'em, Nathe.
Nathe!
Some of 'em. Yeah.
All right, kid?
It's amazing how tiring it is doing nowt, you know.
- As if you've ever given a toss. - Face it. He don't like staying at yours.
You could show her, Dave.
Good luck, eh?
Every time I hear a Liverpool fan stealing Raphinha Put down and piss off
Oh, my God!
Where did you learn to be an ace sewer?
I've just been offered that job.
No, there's not a lot about.
Dave and Lomps, up the wing.
We just saved your fucking life, so don't tell us we're not your mates!
you're talking to t'wrong man.
Look at that, her mix is all to cock.
A Yorkshire version. Them buggers can, we bloody can.
You bloody ask him! It's not cos he does the Grand National.
Nathan!
- What do you want? - All right, Mand?
What's going on? I had to buy 20 barrels! I've had no word from you!
I love you, you bugger.
I might do. Yeah.
We had the real thing up here the other day.
Gaz, hang on.
What about Auntie Jean?
No.
Little And Large prancing round Sheffield with their widgers out!
- Nice one. - Come on, then.
You could shoot yoursen.
- He'll blow my cover. - Shut up!
But... you know' it's like he's given up.
Walter Stevenson. Stevenson, huh?
You'll be all right once you're on stage.
Frankie! Do you want my body?
Jean, love!
- You don't get much. - What day is it?
You forget, Gerald, you're not our foreman now.
Miss you ya bugger
Other dads don't do that.
- That's all these'll fetch second-hand. - They're not second-hand.
She's out there now, ont' High Street, with a fucking MasterCard, spending!
Gerald,
Why did you do it? It was my job!
- Feature. - Yeah.
Yeah.
Friday. Dress rehearsal tomorrow.
- So stuff yourself and get thin. - Oh, shut up, saggy tits!
£2.50 an hour. You can start now, if you like. Are you coming?
- Yeah, but... me willy. I mean to say... - Your willy?
Just a minute. Mr. Horse. My colleagues on the panel...
Wheels go round and everything.
- Scrap. - Shut it, right?
You're always making me do stupid stuff like last night.