The Prince of Darkness 2012, Episode Two

The Prince of Darkness 2012, Episode Two

Peter Mendelson, The Prince of Darkness, and his man Friday, Terry Boyle, are sitting at the kitchen table. Terry has a large mug of steaming coffee. Mendelson has a glass of something murky and unwholesome-looking in front of him, and a pile of pills.

MENDELSON: Passed over again. When will I ever get a break...

TERRY: Boss, there's more to life than celeb-reality television...

MENDELSON: ...like what, exactly?

TERRY: Well, there's beer...

MENDELSON: Disgusting. I'm to be a lager-lout am I? Taking a pint of that Australian rubbish over a glass of the finest...

TERRY: And there's football...

MENDELSON: I get football the way I get lager. Not at all. Really. There's got to be more to life than beer and football...

TERRY: Of course there is boss...and when I discover what it is, I'll be sure to let you know.

MENDELSON: Very funny, I'm sure. Terry, I'm not sure these stem cell and vitamin cocktails are working. How's my complexion?

TERRY: Like a bloke half your age's, boss.

MENDELSON: Should I change my name?

TERRY: Eh?

MENDELSON: Should I do the Tony Benn thing. Anthony Wedgewood-Benn, becomes Tony Benn, man of the people. Old fashioned socialist.

TERRY: What, like adopt that 'Mandy' nickname?

MENDELSON: Certainly not. What about 'Pete' instead of Peter? You're not known as 'Terrence' are you? And you're, well...

TERRY: Common as muck?

MENDELSON: Blessed with the common touch, shall we say.

TERRY: I don't think so, boss. In any case, don't you think it's a little late...

MENDELSON: I'm the comeback king Terry, I don't know the meaning of too late. Look at Tony. Ah! See! Another Tony, not Anthony.

TERRY: Well. If you insist. Now. If you don't mind, boss...

Terry picks up the remote control and fires up the kitchen television, tuning to the World Cup T20 Cricket.

MENDELSON: Now. I could get cricket, given the chance.

TERRY: Boss, that's a very hard ball. Flying past your throat, at speed. Do you really think...

MENDELSON: But what about the jumpers. The white jumpers and trousers. Think about the Brideshead Revisited posters. I'd look charmingly foppish. I might even dig out that old teddy bear...

TERRY: The one on top of your bed, is that?

MENDELSON: Yes. Don't you have a soft toy...

TERRY: No boss. I don't have a soft toy. I have a Chelsea season ticket. I have a cricket bat, along with the rest of my cricket kit. I have a liking for lager and male company talking bollocks about sport and taking the piss out of each other...

MENDELSON: Alright. Don't labour the point. I still think I'd look...

TERRY: Petrified? Out of your depth?

MENDELSON: Dashing. Striding out to the, er, the bit in the middle.

TERRY: Striding out to the crease, boss. And you'd look like a prize...

MENDELSON: Enough, Terry. Terry, are these vitamins working? Are they doing what the doctor ordered?

TERRY: Boss, I had to go to a right dodgy Hammersmith basement to collect that 'prescription'. God knows what they are or what they do. For someone who won't touch a can of Fosters, you don't mind ingesting any old chemicals...

MENDELSON: Terry. That's a top of the range private doctor we're talking about. These white ones? Kate Moss swears by them. The blues one? Sir...Mick...Jagger. These pink ones here? Madonna.

Terry goes to the fridge and takes out a can of lager.

TERRY: See this? Wifebeaters everywhere can't get enough of this. The bees knees, this is. Good for coughs, cold, scabby holes and pimples on the...

MENDELSON: Terry!

TERRY: Puts a cut in your strut and a glide in your stride. Now, boss.

MENDELSON: What?

TERRY: Your asses milk bath's ready. Run along and let me watch the cricket, there's a love.