1

Trainspotting
Based on the novel by Irvine Welsh. Adapted for stage by Harry Gibson.
Act I.
Open.
Train sounds. Music. Black. Mark enters in darkness and lights a cigarette. The stage is
set, props are put into place...*
Mark Trainspotting...
Sounds of typing are heard. Lights. Mark is under the covers of a bed.

Mark
Mark Aw... Fuck! Ah woke up in a strange bed, in a strange room, covered in my own
mess. Ahd pished the bed. Ahd puked up in the bed. Ahd shat mahself int he bed. O
fuck. Ahd slide oot o bed. Ah pick up the duvet Ah look down. The bed is a total fucking
mess. The wee pink carnations on the white background are drowin in toxic brown
pollution. Ah huv to gather it up in the bottom sheet.- like a fish supper- and then wrap it
up in the duvet cover, sorta crush it into a ball, makin sure thirs no leakage, ken, and
stow it under the bed. Then ah turn the mattress over to hide the damp patch. Then ah see
mahself in a mirror: Jesus Christ! Ah steal outa the bedroom into the toilet to shower the
crap off my chest, thighs n arse. The toilet is nice. Who the fuck da ah know with ah
nice toilet? O no. Gail Houston! Ahm in Gail Houstons mothers house. O! How did ah
get here? Who brought us here? Who the fuck undressed us? I remember fucked all after
the pub. The mushrooms....dope....speed.... acid.....coke......space cake. Fuck.. N that was
before the football match. Where Gail Houston came into the picture Im no awfy sure.
Wed been going oot fir six weeks but wed had no sex. See, she hud said she did not
want oor relationship t start oot oan a physical basis, as that wid be how it wid principally
be defined from them on in. She read this in Cosmopolitan, ken. So six week oan ahve
get a pair of bollocks like watermelons. There was probably a fair bit of spunk in that bed
along side the piss, shite n puke. Anyway, ahve just got down under the bare duvet on
the bare mattress hoping fir a wee bit o sleep, when the door opens. Gail comes into the
room. It is morning.
Gail You were in some state last night then! What happened to the bed covers?
Mark Ahm no sure she completely understands but ahm no wanting to paint hur a
picture.
Gail Never mind, n come downstair. Were just gonna have some breakfast.

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Mark Breakfast?! Ah get up n get dressed n creep doon the stairs-taking ma bundle with
me as ah want to take it hame and get it cleaned. Ken? Right. Gails parents are sitting at
the kitchen table. The sounds n smells ay a traditional Scottish Sunday breakfast fry-up
are un-fuckin-speakable: lumps of slaughtered and aborted animals lie twitching in a
pool of boiling cow-fat: the sausages remind me of things ah want to forget.
Misses Well someone was in a state last night!
Mark She must be teasing. Ah flushed we embarrassment. Mr. Houston, sitting at the
table, tries tae smooth things overt fir us.
Mister Ah well, it does ye good to tie one off once in a while.
Gail It would this one good to be ties up once in a while. A wee bit o bondage would do
me jist fine.
Mark Mr. Houston points at mah fish supper,
Mister Now son, what have ye got there?
Mark Er... umm... Mrs. Houston, ah made a bit ay a mess ay the sheet n duvet cover.
Ahm going tae take thum home n clean them. Ahll bring them back tomorrow.
Misses Aw, dont you worry about that son. Ahll just stick them in the washing
machine!
Mark She does not understand.
Misses Now you sit down and get some breakfast.
Mark Naw, but, eh... a really bad mess. Ah feel embarrassed enough. Ahd like tae take
them home.
Misses Dearie dear! Now no, you sit down, son, ahll see tae them!
Mark She laughs uncomprehendingly as she powers across the flair towards us, n
makes a grab fir ma bundle. She widnae be denied. Ah pull it to me, but Mrs. Houston is
fast as fuck n deceptively strong. She got a good grip and pulled against me. The sheets
flew up in the air- n a pungent shower of shite, alcoholic sick n vile piss splashed oot
across the scene. Mrs. Houston stands mortified, for a few seconds before runnin heaving
to the sink. Brown flecks of runny shite sit oan Mr. Houstons glasses, face n white shirt.
Mister Gods sake! Gods sake!
Mark Mrs. Houston still boaks as he leaves n ahm trying to mop some ay the mess
back intae the sheets...

Mark, Tommy
Tommy Hey!
Mark Tommy! (To audience.) Tommy.
Tommy Mind the time I went with Laura McEwan?
Mark Laura McEwan?! (To audience) A girl with an awesome sexual reputation.
Tommy One night in a Grassmarket pub she jist grabs me and takes me hame.
Mark Aye well, what can ye dae?
Tommy What can ah dae? She says...
Laura Ah want you tae take ma arse virginity. Fuck me in the arse. Ahve nivir done it
that wey before.
Tommy Eh, ah sez, yeah that sounds barry... but there were some other things she
wanted tae do wi me first. She binds ma ankles together wi Sellytape. Wuv nae clothes
oan ken. Wuv Stripped oaf. Ahm leyin oan the bed. Right. Shes bound ma ankles
tegither wi Sellytape. And, uh, ma wrists. Shes bound them wi Sellytape an aw.
Mark So how you gaunnae fuck er in the erse if ye dont mind me askin?
Laura Ahm doin this because ah dont want him tae hurt me, understand? We do it
from the side.
Mark Fuck off!
Laura The moment I feel pain its over. Right? Because naebody hurts me. No fuckin
guy ivir hurts me. You understand me!
Tommy Yeah, sound, likesay, sound. Ah dinnae want tae hurt enywan. Enyway, ahm
lyin there, trussed up oan the bed naked likes, n she starts rubbing her crotch n sayin...
Laura Youre beootiful...
Tommy Ahd nivir been telt before that ah wis beautiful. She give us a blow job.
Whooo... awww.... and just before ah was about to come- she stops! N she leaves the
room. She leaves me lyin there, tied up wi Sellytape an a dick like a pickaxe handle!
Now, Laura hud a long time partner called Roy- committed to a psychiatric hospital and
thinkin on this, ah started tae get a wee bit paranoid. She comes back in the bedroom n
shes goat somethin in her hand.

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Laura Ah wat you to dae us in the arse now. So ahm gaunnae Vaseline your dick
heavily so that it doesnae hurt me when you put it in. My musclesll be tight, cause this is
new tae me, but ahll try tae relax.
Tommy Shes smokin a joint at the time. Mebbe a wee bit stoned. Cos it wisnae
Vaseline so found in the bathroom cupboard, it was Vicks vapor rub! AAAarrrgh! Ah
thought the tip ay ma penis hud been sliced oaf!
Laura Fuck sorry!
Tommy She help us off the bed an into the toilet. Ahm hoppin along shedding tears ay
pain! She fills the sink with water, and then shes off to find a pair of scissors tae cut the
fucking Sellytape. Ah struggle up on ta the sink and try tae lower ma dick into the water.
Black out.
Tommy Fuck!
A fall is heard. Lights.
Tommy Ah woke up in hospital . Ahd six stitches in ma head, Sellytape burns oan ma
ankels n a hoat dog between ma legs. So dont you cry over Gail Houston, cos I never did
git tae shag the erse off Laura McEwan.

Mark, Tommy, Franco

Franco (Offstage) Yah smert cunt! Put my name down for a game o pool willya? Weve
a while before the train.
Mark Ma first day at primary school, the teacher sais tae us, You will sit beside Francis
Begbie. It wis the same story at secondary. Ah only did well at school tae get intae a high
level class tae git away fae begbie. Didnae work.
Franco Anywey the other fuckin week ah wis in here wi Tommy, fir a game ay pool,
ken, n this cunt Jakey comes into the pub. Ah remembered the cunt, fuckin sure I did. Ah
used tae think he wis a fuckin hard cunt back in fuckin school, ken? Ah remember
smashin loads of crabs tae bits wi stones wi that cunt doon the fuckin harbor, ken? He
nivir recognized us. Didnae fuckin ken us fae Adam, the cunt. Anywey, Jakeys goat a
mate wi um, a plukey- faced wide-o, and he goes to pit his money doon fir the balls- oan
the table. Fir the pool , ken? But, sittin in the corner, theres a wee specky gadge, an hes
already got his name up, chalked up, oan the board, ken? But he widve just fuckin sat
there n said fuck all if ah hudnae fuckin spoke like. Ah says to the plukey cunt That
cunts fuckin next mate, pointin tae the wee specky gadge. Ah wis fuckin game fir a
swedge. If the cunts hudve fuckin come ahead it wis nae problem like. Ah mean, you
ken me, ahm no type ay cunt thit goes lookin fir a fuckin bother likes, but ah wis the
cunt wi the fuckin pool cue in ma hand, n the plukey cunt jist sits doon n says fuck all. Ah

5
kept ma eye oan the hard cunt, or at least he wis a fuckin hard cunt at the school, ken. The
cunt nivir sais a fuckin wurd. Kept his fuckin mooth shut awright, the cunt. Tommy says
tae us
Tommy Hi Franco, is that boy getting lippy?
Franco Ye ken Tommy; dinnae get us wrong, ah lap the cunt up, but hes fukin scoobied
whin it comes tae a pagger. Plus hes pished ootay his fuckin heid. Hardly haud a fuckin
pool cue, an this is fuckin half past eleven oan a Wednesday mornin wir talkin aboot here.
They fuckin heard um likes, these cunts, but they nivir fuckin sais nowt again. The
plukey cunt and the so- called hard cunt. Ah nivir fuckin rated the plukey cunt, but ah wis
fuckin disappointed in the hard cunt, or the so- called hard cunt, like. He wisnae a fuckin
hard cunt. A fuckin shitein cunt if the truth be telt, ken. Big fucking disappointment tae
me, the cunt, ah kin fuckin tell ye.
Mark Begbie is a cunt ay the first order, nae doubt about that. The big problem is, hes a
mate in aw. Ye cannae really relax in his company, specially if hes hud a bevvy.
Franco Specially if ahve had a bevvy.
Mark Ay, yir status could change suddenly fae great mate intae persecuted victim. So
we indulge the radge, tell him hes the big man, laugh at his murderous jokes. Ye know
how it goes: ye laugh with the rest o the cunts because yeare feart no to, yeare feart tae
stand oot fae the crowd; yeare just a wee fuckin coward. But then, aw the lies ye tell and
the bullshit ye make up tae curry favor, it makes a great apprenticeship for a storyteller.
Ah mind the time me and Begbie wir lyin in the field at the bottom ay the school running
track. We were lyin doon there sos we could see the lassies racin in their wee shorts n
blouses. We were lyin oan our stomachs, heids propped up oan elbays n hands, watchin
Lizzie MacIntosh pitting up a game race against the lanky strides ay big Morag
Mark/ Franco Jam Rag!
Mark Henderson.
Enter/ exit Morag and other gals in slow motion race.
Mark Anywey ah hears this heavy breathin and turns tae notice Begbie slowly
swiveling his hips, starin at the lassies, gaunFranco That wee Lizzie MacIntosh... total wee ride... fuckin shag the erse ofay that any
day ay the week... the fuckin erse oan it... the fuckin tits oan it...
Mark Then he goes aw rigid and his erse is twitchin and his face fall doon intae the
grass. Ah reach out n pull Begbie ower oantay his back, exposing his knob, which is
drippin wi spunk and dirty wi earth. The cunt had slyly dug a hole in the turf wi his flick
knife, and hud been fuckin the field. Ya dirty cunt, Franco! Begbie jist pits his knob away,
zips up, and then grabs a handful ay spunk n earth and-

6
Franco rubs the earth into his face.
Mark Whit dae ye dae? Ken, friendship wi Begbie is also an ideal preparation for
relating tae woman. Ye learn sensitivity tae thither persons changing needs.
Franco Wummen!
Mark Cannae live wi em...
Franco Cannae live withoot em. See ma heid was fuckin nippin this morning, ah kin
fuckin tell ye. There two boatils ay Becks in the fridge an ah down the cunts double
quick time an ah feel better right awey. Ah go back en the bedroom and shes still fuckin
sleeping...
Mark June?
Franco Aye, June. Lazy fat cunt. Jist cause shes huvin a fuckin bairn, thinks it gies her
the right tae lie aroond aw fuckin day. Ahve goat tae pack a bag an ahm lookin fir ma
fuckin jeans n shes jist waking up.

Franco, June
June Frank!
Franco That cunt hud better huv washed ma fuckin Levis.
June (Entering from bed.) Frank, what are ye daein? Whair ur ye goan?
Frank Ahm ootay here. Whair the fucks they soacks? Everythin takes twice as fuckin
long whin yur hung- ower...
June Whair ur ye goan?
Franco N ah kind do withoot this cunt nippin ma fuckin heid.
June Whair?
Franco Ah telt ye, ahve goat tae fuckin nash. Ah pulled a bit ay business oaf n ahm
disappearing fir a couple ay weeks. Any polis cunts come tae the door, yuv no seen us fir
yonks. Ye think ahm oan the fuckin rigs, right? Yuv no seen us, mind.
June But whair ur ye goan, Frank? Whair ur ye fuckin well goan?
Franco Thats fir me tae ken n you tae find oot. What ye dinnae fuckin well ken they
cannae fuckin well beat oot ay ye.
June Ye cannae jist fuckin go like that, ya bastard!

7
Franco boots her in the fanny.
Franco Nae cunt talks tae us like that. Thats the fuckin rules ay the game, take it or
fuckin leave it.
June The bairn! The bairn!
Franco The bairn! The bairn! Shut yir fuckin mooth aboot the fuckin bairn. Its
probably no even mah fuckin bairn anywey. Shavin gear...
June Get the doaktir.
Franco Ahm fuckin late, ahve no time. Syir fault. See if ahm fuckin late fir the
train...
June Ah hurt, ah hurt... Get the doaktir...
Franco Goat tae fuckin nash.
June The bairn...
Franco Ahve had bairns before, wi other lassies. Ah ken whit its aw aboot. She thinks
its aw gaunnae be fuckin great whin the bairn comes, but shes in fir a fuckin shock, Ah
kin tell ye aw aboot fuckin bairns. Pain in the fucking...
June Frannnk!
Franco Time fir a sharp exit! (or: Its Miller time!)
June Fraaannnk!

Tommy, Boy, Lassie

Tommy Did you see that? Pure fuckin mental! Anyweys, ahm sittin in the bar wi Davie
Mitchell, ken. Wir just oot fir a quick drink. N this boy is havin words wi a lassie hes
with...
Boy Cause ah fuckin sais! Thats fuckin how!
Tommy N he hits her.
Boy hits Lassie.
Tommy Not a fuckin slap or nowt like that, but a punch. Naebody bothers. A guy at the
bar wi red hair n a ring through his nose looks ower n smiles, then turns back tae watch
the darts match. No one ay the boys playin darts turns roon. Whin ah git tae the bar tae
get us a couplay pints, thuv started again...

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Lassie Gaun then. Dae it again. Gaun then!
Boy hits Lassie.
Tommy Blood spurts from her mouth.
Lassie Hit us again, fucking big man. Gaun then!
Boy hits Lassie. She screams and begins to cry.
Tommy The red haired cunt catches ma eye n smiles. Lovers tiff, he sais. Ah look
ower tae barman, an auld guy wi grey hair n a droopy moustache. He sais They should
be daein that kind ay arguin in the hoose, no in a pub. Never, ever hit a lassie ma faither
often telt us. Its the lowest scum thit dae that, son. This cunts thats hittin the lassie fits
the bill: ferret faced fucker. The lassies eyes are swellin shut. Her jaws swollen and her
mooth is still bleedin. Shes a skinny lass n she looks like shed snap intae pieces if he hit
her again. Still...
Lassie Thats yir answer. Thats eywis yir answer
Boy Shit it! Ahm tellin ye! Shut the fuck up!
Tommy Ah dinnae want tae be here. Ah jist came out for a quiet drink while Lizzies
away at her mothers.
Lizzie (Peeking in from offstage.) An ahm no coming back Tommy!
Lassie (Standing.) Whit ye gaunnae dae?
Boy Ya facking...
Tommy Hoah! Thats enough mate! Leave it. Yir oot ay order.
Boy Its nane ay your fuckin business! You keep oot ay this!
Tommy Ahm making it ma fuckin business! Whit you gaunnae fuckin dae aboo it?
Boy You want yir mooth punched?
Tommy Think ahm guannay jist sit here n lit ye dae it? Fuckin wide- o! Ootside then,
cunt! Cumaun!
Boy exits as Tommy drinks from a pint. He moves to follow.
Lassie (Attacking Tommy.) Thats ma man! Thats mah fuckin man yir talking tae!
Lassie crumples into Tommys arms. He picks her and carries her off. Enter Franco.

9
Franco (Smoking) Fucked if ahm gaunnae stey wi that fuckin June eftir the bairns
here. Ivir since shes been huvin that bairn, she think she kin git lippy wi us. Nae cunt
gets lippy wi me, bairn or nae fuckin bairn. She kens that, n she still guts fuckin smert. If
anythings happened tae that fuckin bairn... That cunts dead if shes made us hurt that
fuckin bairn. Fuck, Ahm gaunnae be late!
Franco exits.

Alison.
Alison Whair ur ye goin? Whair ur ye gaun? Gaun tae the match, gaun tae the gig, gaun
tae the pub wi mah mates, gaun doon tae London fir a few days, goat tae nash, gaun tae
the airmy, tae Belfast, intae Bosnia, Iraq, tae get doon tae some serious swedgin, ah wis
fuckin game fir a swedge, cummoan ye crappin bastards! Ye big moothed cunt,
yecuntchy, yecuntchy, cunt, cunt... cunt!

Mark, Social
Enter Social who plops a job application folder on the desk in front of Mark.
Social 1 Well, Mr. Renton, I see that you attended the Royal Edinburgh College.
Mark Indeed, yes, those halcyon days.
Social 1 One of Edinburgh's finest schools.
Mark Oh, yes, indeed. I look back on my time there with great fondness and affection.
The debating society, the first eleven, the soft know of willow on leather Social 1 I'm an old boy myself, you know?
Mark Oh, really?
Social 1 Do you recall the school motto?
Mark Of course, the motto, the motto -Social 1 Strive, hope, believe and conquer.
Mark Exactly. Those very words have been my guiding light in what is, after all, a dark
and often hostile world.
Social 1 Mr. Renton -Mark Yes.

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Social 1 You seem eminently suited to this post but I wonder if you could explain the
gaps in your employment record?
Mark Yes, I can. The truth, well, the truth is that I've had a long-standing problem with
heroin addiction. I feel it's important to mention this. I've been trying to combat this
addiction, but unless you count social security scams and shoplifting, I haven't had a
regular job in years.
(Exit Social in a huff. To the audience-)
Ah feel its important to be honest. I've been known to sniff it, smoke it, swallow it, stick
it up my arse and inject it into my veins. Why? Well, take the best orgasm you ever had,
multiply it by a thousand and you're still nowhere near it. Some people say it's all about
misery and desperation and death and all that shite, which is not to be ignored, but what
they forget is the pleasure of it. Otherwise we wouldn't do it. After all, we're not fucking
stupid. At least, we're not that fucking stupid. Course, there are times were ye find yerself
off da skag, and suddenly ye obliged to worry about all sorts of other shite. Got no
money: can't get pished. Got money: drinking too much. Can't get a bird: no chance of a
ride. Got a bird: too much hassle. You have to worry about bills, about food, about some
football team that never fucking wins, about human relationships and all the things that
really don't matter when you've got a sincere and truthful junk habit- cause when you're
on junk, you have only one worry: scoring. And if not done quick like you become
restless n uneasy, weak n irritable, yer nose n eyes start tae run, yur yawnin, yur tremblin,
sewatin n sneezin. Yir limbs ache n yur pupils dilate and soon, yur ootay yir box.

Mark, Simon
Simon enters suffering...
Mark Sick Boy! Simon Sick Boy Williamson. We cried him Sick Boy no because he
was always sick with withdrawal but because he was one sick cunt. Wir watching a JeanClaude Van Damme video.
Simon But what wir waitin for is another fuckin fix, a trip to see mother Superior,
fuckin quick n all!
Mark Wir getting sick. But ahm hangin in there, waiting for Jean- Claude to get down
to some serious swedgin.
Simon Mark. Ive got to see the Mother Superior! Maaarrrk!
Mark Aw, haud on a second.
Simon Ahve got tae fuckin move, man.
Mark Ah jist want tae see Jean- Claude smash the fuckin-

11
Simon Lets fuckin go!
Mark Ah willnae get to watch it!
Simon Y can watch it the night.
Mark Sdue back now. Theyll gie us back charges at the shop.
Simon Fucksake! Ill gie ye the money to get it back oot! Fifty measly fuckin pence!
Mark Thats no the fuckin point!
Simon The point is, ahm really fuckin sufferin here n you are draggin yir feet
deliberately.
Mark Ahm no!
Simon Fling yer fuckin jaykit oan well!
Mark/ Simon Taxi!
Simon Supposed to be a fuckin taxi rank here.
Mark Supposed to be August, but ahm freezin ma balls off here. Im no sick yet, but I
can feel it coming, its in the post thats for sure.
Simon The taxis are aw up kerb-crawlin fir rich Edinburgh Festival cunts too lazy tae
walk a hundred fuckin yards fae one poxy church hall tae another fir their fuckin drama
shows...
Enter audience members 1 and 2.
Mark Ummm, Simon...
Simon Money grabbin bastards.
Mark These guys, Simon, ah think...
Simon Lowest form of vermin on Gods earth.
Mark These boys huv been waiting for a taxi before us... He charges straight out into
the middle of the walk screaming Taxi and a guy in a green baseball cap shouts, (Pulls a
hat from his pocket and puts it on) Whits the fuckin score?
Simon (Simon escorts the people back to their chairs) Fuck off, ya plukey- faced wee
hing-oots. Git a fuckin ride!
Mark Cummoan ya crappin bastard!

12
Simon (Knocking the hat from Marks head and placing him into the taxi) Cummoan!
Mark We piled into the taxi as gob splattered against the side window. The driver
wisnae amused. Se what yuv done now, ya big moothed cunt? Next time one ay us is
walking hame on oor Jack Jones we get hassle fae these wee radges.
Simon Yir no feart ay they wee fuckin saps, ur ye?
Mark Aye, aye, ah am, if ahm oan ma tod n ah get set oan by a squad ay fuckin shell
suits. Look at how many of the cunts are here! Ye think ahm Jean- Claude Van fuckin
Damme? Fuckin doss cunt.
Simon Watch ma fuckin lips. Ay want tae see Mother Superior n ah dinnae gie a fuck
aboot any cunt else.
Mark Wir here.
Simon Boot fuckin time.

Mark, Simon, Johnny, Alison

Mark Up there was Johnny Swan. As we hit the stairs tae johnnys gaff, ahm getting
bad cramps. Soon ahm dripping like a saturated sponge wi the effort. Sick Boy was
probably worse. At the toapay the stair ah finds him slouched against the banister. Ah
thought he was gaunnae spew intae the stairwell. Ye awright, Si?
Simon waves him toward the door. Mark knocks on the door.
Mark Johnny Swan! Mother Superior! We cried him mother superior because of the
length of time hed had his habit. This cunts bombed outay his box.
Johnny (From above the door) Ahaww! Ahve goat one Sick Boy here an another sick
boy there. An thats makes two sick fuckin boys! Ah ha ha.
Enter Johnny.
Mark Hed once been a really good mate of mines. We used to play football together.
Now hes jist a delaer. He sais tae us once:
Johnny Nae friends in this game. Jist associates.
Mark Aye right. See the real junky doesnae gie a fuck aboot anybody else. Nae
friends... (Enter Alison) Alison was there.
Alison Mark, ye smert cunt. (She tackles Mark to the bed) Yawright? (She moves to the
table and prepares to cook up.)

13
Mark Alsion was cookin. Sick Boy wis sittin up cloas tae her, never taking his eyes oaf
the contents ay the spoon she wis heatin over a flame. Johnny bends doon in front ay Sick
boy, pulls his face tae him and...
Johnny kisses Simon.
Simon Fuck off ya doss cunt!
Mark Ah wid huv joined in da laugh n aw, but each bone in ma body wis being crushed
in a vice n set aboot wi a blunt hacksaw. Sick Boy picks up a rubber tube and tourniquays
Ali above her elbow. Then he taps up a big blue vein oan her thin white ash arm.
Simon Y want me to do it?
Mark He droaps a filter intae the spoon n blaws oan it, before sucking up a five through
the needle intae the barrel ay the syringe. Hes goat a huge blue vein tapped, almost
popping through her arm. He pierces her flesh and injects a wee bit slowly, before
sucking blood back intae the chamber. Her lips quiver as she gazes pleadingly. His face is
ugly, leering... reptilian... and Blammo! He slams the cocktail toward her brain! She pulls
back her heid and shuts her eyes. Her mouth drops and she...
Alison give out an orgasmic groan.
Mark She give out an orgasmic groan.
Alison That beats any meat injection! That beats any fucking cock in the world!
Mark Sick Boys eyes are narrow and innocent, full ay wonder. His expression like a
bairn thits come through oan Christmas morning tae a pile ay gift- wrapped presents
stacked under a tree. Simon and Alison baith look strangely beautiful and pure in the
flickering lights... Aye right that beats any fucking meat injection the world. Johnny helps
Sick boy tae cook up n shoot hame.
Johnny hums a line from Youre so vain.
Mark Just as Sick Boy is aboot tae scream, Johnny spikes a vein, draws some blood and
fires. Si hugs Johnny tight... then relaxes. They both relax like lovers in a post coital. I m
next. When it finally came, I savored the hit. Ma dry cracking bones soothed and
liquefied by my beautiful heroins tender caress.
Alison and Simon exit.
Mark Alison and Sick Boy troop outay the room bored and passionless, but when they
didnae come back ah knew that theyd be shaggin in the bedroom. (Sighs.) What dae ye
dae? Thats when... ach. Ah cant handle this...
Enter Alison screaming.

14
Alison (Incoherent.) The barins away! Dawn! The barins away!
Mark We ken thats something is bad... were not awfy sure wut.
Alison (Incoherent.) Oh my god! The barins away! O fucking god! Dawn! The barins
away! Its my fault! (Continued...)
Mark Johnny moves to her, sittin a few feet away. I thought he wid touch her. I hoped
he wid touch her. Ahm willing him tae do it- but he jist sits there. So ah sais whit ah
alweys sais when something bad happens. Im cooking up.
Johnny has clamed Alison.
Johnny Ali... likesay, Marks cooking up, eh? You , ken? Hes umm... ye shouldnae...
ummm... whit... the...
Simon enters with a crib.
Simon Fuck. Some fuckin life, eh?
Mark His voice reminds us ay the demon from the Exorcist.
Simon Somthign like this happens...
Mark It shits us up.
Simon What the fuck dae ya dae? Eh?
Johnny Whats wrong, Si? Whats the fuckin score?
Simon The gigs fucked! Its aw fucked!
Alison The barins away! Dawn! The barins away!
Johnny and Mark move to the crib.
Mark We get up and move tae da cot. Ah feel deth before I even see. The barin, baby
Dawn, was lyin their like a wee doll, face down in da cot. Cauld n deid, blue aroond the
eyes like. No cunt hud to touch her to ken.
Simon That wee...
Johnny So fuckin small...
Mark Wee Dawn.
Johnny Fuckin shame.
Simon Wee Dawn.

15
Johnny Fuckin shame. Fuckin sin.
Mark Ahm fuckin right ootay here, man. Ah cannae handle this...
Simon Nae cunts leavin here the now!
Johnny Stay cool! Just stay cool dammit!
Simon We goat fuckin gear stashed here evy wheres like. Theres polis bastards every
fucking where ootside. This streets crawlin wi the fuckin DS for weeks now. We fucking
charge oaf now, we aw fuckin go doon.
Johnny Aye. Pinched like. Aye, but mibbe we should aw git the fuck ootay here, n
Alison can git the ambulance or polis once wuv tided up and fucked oaf.
Mark Mibbe wuv goat tae stick wi alison, likesay. Like, mates n that, ken?
Johnny The way ah sees it thit its Alis bairn, ken? Mibbe if she looked eftir it right, it
might not be deid. How should we get involved?
Mark Hate tae say it, bit Johnnys goat a point. Ahm startin tae hurt really bad. Ah jist
want tae take a shot an fuck off.
Johnny Who gave her the bairn?
Mark Jimmy McGilvary, wiz it no?
Simon Shite it fuckin wis.
Johnny Dinnae you play mister fuckin innocent!
Mark Eh? Moan tae fuck! Whit you oan aboot?
Johnny You! Boab Sullivans perty!
Mark Naw man, ahve nivir been wit Ali.
Johnny How come ye wir crashed oot wi her in the mornin there then?
Mark Ah wis fucked, man. Ootay ma box. Ah couldnae huv goat a stiff neck wi a
doorstep as a pillay.
Simon Naw...
Mark Ah cannae remember the last time ah hud a ride.
Simon Naw...
Mark Sick Boy!

16
Simon Ahm nivir touchin that shite again. Ahm clean fae now oan.
Johnny Cmoan, Si. Dinnae jump tae the wrong conclusion. Whit happened here is
nawt ta dae wit dae skag. Ach, its no Alisons fault either. Sorry luv. She luved da bairn.
Look at tit will ya. Snaebodys fault. See. Bairns face down , ken? Cot death. Happens
all the time.
Mark Yeah, likesay, cot death death man. Ah look aboot. Ah feel ah luv them aw. Ah
want to tell them I luv them aw. Ah try... god... it comes out... Ahm cookin up.
Simon Fucksake Mark!
Simon leaves in a huff.
Johnny

Doss cunt! (Exiting.) Si! Si!

Mark Doss cunt. Thats me. Alison has nivir moved. Ah should go and comfort her, pit
mah airm aroond her. But mah bones feel twisted and scraped again and Ah cant touch
anyone. Ah start tae babble... Sorry Ali. Snaebodys fault. Cot death an all. Fuckin sin..
Ah tell ya... Ah...
Alison Ye cookin Mark? Ah need a shot. Ah really need a fuckin shot. Cmoan, Marky
cook us up a shot.
MUSIC
Mark grabs the last needle and gives a shot to Alison. She curls up on the bed.

Mark, Tommy, Lizzie, Alison

Mark Tommy...
Tommy Ah split up wi Lizzie.
Mark Ye pished oaf aboot it?
Tommy Dinnae ken. If ahm honest , ahll miss the sex maist. That n like, jist havin
somebody, ken?
Mark Lizzie MacIntosh. Ah telt ya the time me n Begbie wir lyin watching the lassies
racin? Ah... nevamind.
Tommy picks up the last syringe.
Tommy Wat does it dae fir ye Mark?
Mark Dont start on me! Naut right now.

17
Tommy Naw... really. Tell us.
Mark Ah dinnae really know, Tam, ah jist dinnae.
Tommy Ah want tae ken.
Mark Lifes boring n futile. We start oof wi high hopes, n then we bottle it. Ew realise
were all gaunnae die withoot finding out the big answers. Basically, we live a short
dissapointing life and die. We fill up oor lives wi shite, things like careers and
relationships to delude oorselves that it isnae aw totally pointless. (Mark takes the needle
from Tommy.) Smacks an honest drug because it strips awey the delusions. Wi smack,
whin ye feel good, ye feel immortal. Whin ye feel bad- ye feel the misery of the werld as
it really is. This is real life.
Tommy Shite. Pure shite.
Mark Its also a good fuckin kick.
Tommy Gies a go. Gies a hit here.
Mark Fuck off Tommy.
Tommy Ye sais its a good kick. Ah pure wante try it.
Mark Naw ye dinnae. Cmaon, Tommy, take ma werd fer it.
Tommy Ah goat the hireys. Cmoan Mark. Cook us up a shot.
Tommy shoves money at Mark.
Mark Tom... fucksake man...
Tommy Cmoan! Ahm supposed tae be fuckin mates ya cunt. Cook us up! Ah kin
fuckin handle it. One fuckin shot isnae gaunnae hurt us. Cmoan.
Mark Some cunts are predisposed ta smack.
Tommy Ya sound like yer ma.
Mark gives Tommy the shot. Alison stirs and looks on.
Alison Shite. Pure shite. He droaps a filter intae the spoon n blaws oan it, before
sucking up a five through the needle intae the barrel ay the syringe. Hes goat a huge blue
vein tapped. He pierces flesh and injects... slowly, before sucking blood back intae the
chamber. His lips quiver as he gazes pleadingly. Then... he fires the life giving... life
taking... He pulls back his heid, shuts his eyes and drops his mouth... That beats any
fucking cock in the world. Their eyes are narrow and innocent, full ay wonder. His
expression like a bairn thits come through oan Christmas morning tae a pile ay gift-

18
wrapped presents stacked under a tree. They look strangely beautiful and pure in the
flickering lights...
Tommy This is pure fuckin brilliant, Mark... ahm fuckin buzzin here... ahm pure
fuckin buzzin!
Alison begins to cry.
Mark Hush up. I cleaned the fuckin needle. See ma problem is, whenever ah get
something that ah thought ah wanted- girlfriend, flat, joab, education, money, whitevir...
it jist seems dull n sterile that ah cannae value it anymair. Junks different though. Ye
cannae turn yir back on it so easy. It willnae let ye. Tryin to manage a junk habit is the
ultimate challenge. Ah mean, its real.
Alison Pure shite.
Tommy throws up.
Mark Yuv done it now mate. Thats the set. Dope, acid, speed, E, mushies, Valls,
smack. The fuckin lot. Make that the first and the last time.
Tommy Too fuckin right.
Mark Split up with Lizzie then?
Tommy Ah jist wish Lizzie wid always be like she is in bed.
Mark Shag extraordinaire?
Tommy Sweet and beautiful. Ah know ah shouldnae be tellin aboot it, man, but... God...
in bed... ah, addicted tae havin sex wi her. Yellow silk pillowcases... sheets... Her hair
oan da pillow. Ah luv daein it fae behind.
Mark but shes kicked ya intae touch!
Tommy Ah forgot her birthday. Ah mean ah goat ma ticket fir the Iggy Pop gig when ah
goat ma giro n that wis me pure skint. Ah mean it was the ticket or a birthday present fir
Lizzie. Nae contest. Ah thought shed understand. Its ma fault. Ah shouldve nothin boot
the ticket. Ah git too excited... ah pure open ma mouth far too wide.
Lizzie So, yed reather go tae a conert wi Davie fuckin Mitchell than the pictures wi
me?
Mark The rhetorical question.
Tommy Thats pure Lizzy.
Mark The stock in trade weapon of byrds n psychos.

19
Tommy Shes goat this... outrage.
Mark Shes goat a tongue like a sailor.
Tommy She calls me...
Lizzie All the fuck ups under the sun, sures like!
Mark The pure viciousness of her expression will corrode her beauty before its time.
Tommy You can see her point. Ahm jist auld fuck the wind.
Mark But her pretty head restin oan a yellow silk pillow...
Tommy Daein it fae behind... I luved her, but...
Mark and Lizzie look at each other.
Mark Aye, well. Make this yer first and last time for this, right mate?
Tommy Too fuckin right. Too fuckin right. Love eh?
Tommy tackles Mark.
Mark Right- o love.
Lizzie looks at Alison.
Lizzie Men. Why dont they fuck each other.
Exit Lizzie.
Alison Ah thought you sias luv doesnae exist.
Mark Like god.
Alison Ill prove ya wrong. Ive goat some white doves!
Tommy/ Alison Eckies! [x-ies]
Tommy Eckies! Excellent!
Mark Alison, Alison... most X hasnae goat any MDMA in it.
Alison This gear is pure freaky.
Mark Its jist part speed, part acid.
Tommy Love!

20
Alison/ Tommy Ina pill! Pillin love!
Mark Love is like a religion. The state wants ye tae believe in that kinday crap sos they
kin control ye, n fuck yer heid up.
Alison/ Tommy (Singing.) Love, love me doo... you know... Ahll always be true!
Mark Ach, fuck. Lets do it.
All For the fans!
Alison Lets float ootay here n cross over tae da Meadows fairgrounds.
All exit. The Carnival Barkers- 1,2,3- enter. 1 takes up the table and attempts the sales
pitch: Come one come all! Just one dollar to play! Etc. Alison, Tommy and Mark reenter and jump on the bed. 2 & 3 act as amusement rides with the bed. The Barkers leave
when the ride is over and the stage is returned to normal. Ali, Tom and Mark end up
lying in grass.
Mark Tom! Theres a squirrel at yir feet!
Tommy Aw, magic! Wee silvery thing.
Alison Cmoan, lets boot.
Mark Kill the cunt!
Tommy Naw!
Mark Goan!
Tommy Leave it man! Cunts botherin nae cunt.
Alison Aww... look see... theyre lookin at ye!
Mark Wut ye staring at ya wee bastards?
Tommy Leave em be Mark. Hes doin his ain thing.
Alison Mark, Tam... cmoan. Lets find a bed.
Mark (To squirrel.) Wat ya starin at ya footsie- minged fucker? What ya cruisin fer? A
shaggin? Ahd rather stick it between a couple ay sandin blocks!
Alison Fuck off! Youd shag the crack ay dawn if it had hair on it.
Mark Tam! Why don ya fuck it! Wrap the squirrel in cellophane so it wont split whin
ye fuck it!

21
Alison tackles Mark and drags him up, kissing him.
Alison Cmoan you two.
Alison runs off. Mark begins to follow and stops. Tommy hasnt moved.
Tommy Leave us be Mark... jist fuck off.
Mark Tommy, fucksakes. Wat is it?
Tommy You were guannae kill that squirrel.
Mark Sonly a squirrel mate. Vermin.
Tommy It mae be nae more than vermin tae you or me, likesay. Whaes tae say whats
vermin? They posh wifies think people like us ur vermin, likesay, does that make it right
that they should kill us?
Mark Tommy... fuck man. Sony a squirrel. Sorry mate... sorry. Ah know how you feel
boot animals.
Tommy Its wrong Mark. Ye cannae love yirself if ye want tae hurt things... especially
things like that.
Mark Ah jist.. ah... you ken what ah mean. Its like...
Tommy What hope is thir?
Mark ahm fucked up Tom. Ah dinnae ken.
Tommy That squirrels fuckin lovely...
Mark Aw the gear... the drugs... death...
Tommy Hes daein his ain thing... hes free.
Mark Look, ah dinnae ken what ahm daein wi ma life... its aw jist a mess. Ah dinnae
ken wit da score is. But look mate... Im sorry.
They hug.
Tommy Accepted.
Mark Yir one ay the best mate. Remeber that. Thats no the drink or the drugs talkin
there, its jist that y get called aw the poofs under the sun if ya tell another guy y luv um n
yir not pissed.
Alison runs back in.

22
Alison Look at mah nipples! They feel fuckin weird! Nay cunts got nipples like mine!
Mark I luv you guys.
Alison Pinch mah nipples if ya can!
Nipple pinching and chasing all around as they run and exit, except Mark.
Mark (Out of breath. To the audience.) Choose life. Ah right. Tommy had schewn me
da light. And its aboot fuckin time.

Mark
Mark Ah sought to kick mah habit right awey. Youve got tae know whats its like tae
try comin off the skag before ye can actually dae it. Ya can only learn through failure, and
wut ya learn is da importance ay preparation. Ten tins ay tomato soup. Eight tins ay
mushroom. All tae be consumed cauld. One large tub ah vanilla ice cream which will
melt and be drunk. Two boatils ay Milk o Magnesia. One boatil ay paracetamol, one
packet ay Rinstead mouth pastilles, one boatil ay multivitimins, five liters ay mineral
water, twelve Lucozade isotonic drinks. And some magazines: soft porn, Viz, Scottish
football today, the Punter. The most important item hus already been procured from a
visit tae the paternal home... ma mas boatil ay Valium. Its going tae be a hard week. Ma
room is bare and uncarpeted. Theres a mattress in da middle with a sleeping bad oan it,
an electric fire, n a telly. Ahve goat three plastic buckets wi a mixture ay disinfectant and
water: one for ma pish, one fa shite, and one fae vomitous. Now it all begins with a slight
nausea in the pit ay ma stomach like. Then an irrational panic attack. As soon as ah
become aware ay the sickness grippin mah, it effortlessly moves from uncomfortable tae
unbearable. A toothache starts tae spread fae my teeth intae mah jaw and then mah eye
sockets. Da sweat arrives... and then the shivers. Ah need.... ah need! AH NEED! Its all
of twenty minutes fore ahm oan a bus. Da driver gives us an evil eye, no doubt ah look a
mess. Bother mae none. Niether does the lassie sittin across from me listenin tae her
walkman too laud. Ah dinnae give a fuck aboot her or her music. Ahm off at the shoppin
centre, where the steel shuttered units which hav nivir been used and the car park where
na cars have been fir ova twenty years. Ah slam intae a wall as mah guts starts tae slide.
Ah feel queasy shit in mah constipation. Ah make though, to da merchants door.
Enter Skag
Mark Ah hav tae. Hell see ahm suffering and hell gie us crap cause he knows ahd
crawl through a river o broken glass to use his shite fer toothpaste. Ah fumble the notes to
him and he produces two wee hard bombed shaped thing wi a waxy coat. Ahd nivir seen
the likes. What the fuck are these?
Skag Opium suppositories.
Mark What the fuck am ah supposed to dae wi these!

23
Skag Dae ya really wan mah ta spell it out fer ye? They will melt through yir system,
take away the pain. Help ya git oaf da junk likes, right? These cunts they use in hospital
fir fucksakes.
Mark Sos ah insert them up mah arse an as ah goes ta leave he sais...
Skag Itll take time.
Mark Yer tellin me! Fir aw the good theyve done so far ah might as well hav stuck
them up mah arse! By the time ah hit the bottom o da stairs ahm feeling better. The ache
doesnae bothir us as much, but it feels like ahm melting inside. Fuck... ah havenae shat
in six days an ah need tae take immediate action. Theres a bookies in the centre wi a
toilet in back. Ah race for da porcelain goddess. In da shoap ah dive straight tae da bog
and wha a fuckin scene.
Enter Pub 1, 2
Mark Two guys jist standing in the doorway ay da toilet, pishing intae the place which
had a good inch ay stagnant urine covering da flair. Ah look hopefully tae the cubicle.
Pub 1 Bogs fucked blocked mate.
Pub 2 Yell no be able ta shite in that.
Mark Ahve goat tae fuckin go, mate. It looks awfay in thair but its either that or my
keks.
Pub 1 and 2 roll the toilet out and exit.
Mark The bowl... the seatless bowl is filled tae da brim wi broon water, paper lumps
and large chunks ay floating shite- but ah whip oaf my keks and empty ma guts:
everythign must go! Stomach , intestine, spleen liver, kidneys heart, lungs! Hell ah might
have shat mah brains fer all ah know... Fuck. It took me a moment but ah realized wtu ah
hud done. Ah fly off the seat an plunge mah arm elbows deep into da broon. Ah sloosh
aroond an get one o mah bombs back. Ah inspect it afta flicking off da shite o many a
punter. A wee bit melted but intact! Locating the other takes several long dredges. It was
better preserved than da first. Ah looked down at mah broon stained arms intae mah hand
an was tempted to swallay the booth ay them but rejected this notion almost as quick as
soon as it crossed mah mind. They were probably safer back from where they came. And
exactly home was where they went. Now... its time. Now ahm ready. Choose life!
Exit Mark. Enter Squirrel. Hangs Intermission sign. Exit Squirrel.

24

Act II

Requiem AeternamMark
Bagpipes play Amazing Grace.
Radio And in the news, another soldier, Lance Corporal William Renton of the Royal
Scots Dragoon Guard, has been shot and killed. He was twenty- seven and came from the
Leith in Edinburgh. The secretary condemned the killing as a loathsome and cowardly
act. That brings the total number of deaths from terrorism this month to twenty-three.
The lights come up to Mark half sitting, half standing on a coffin. The name Renton is
on a sign hanging from the coffin.
Radio Now, the economy. The markets are still volatile due to credit issues and
American investor worries of a recession. The pound ended higher on the doller.... (etc.
till fade.)
Mark Billy boy, Billy boy, Billy boy. Oh how the times have changed. Ah remember
you sittin oan top of me. Helplessly pinned tae the floor. Windpipe constricted to the
width of a straw. Praying, as oxygen drained from ma lungs and brain, that Ma would get
back from da shops before you crushed the life oot ma skinny body. The smell of piss
from your genitals... the damp patch oan yer short trousers. Was it that exciting, Billy? Ah
hope so. Ah cant really grudge ye it now. Ye always had a problem that way; sudden
discharge of feces and urine that used tae drive Ma tae distraction. I kenned this was
coming. Ah kenned from da first time you telt mae, Ah cannae fuckin stick civvy street.
Bein in da army, its like, being a fuckin junky. Just like begin a junky. SO, oan patrol, ye
left your armored car tae examine a road block. Then- POW! ZAP! BANG! And ye were
deid. He died a hero! Pure fact o de matter is he died a spare prick in a uniform, walking
along oan a country road wi rifle inna his hand. Jist an ignorant tool of imperialism. That
was yer biggest crime: you understood fuck all aboot it. You died as ya lived: completely
fuckin scoobied. BUT! Ya did make the Evening News at Ten. A whole three minutes o
fame, like a fuckin advert. And some ruling class cunt, a minister ay some description,
says in his cut-glass accent how ye were a brave young man and that yer murderers will
be ruthlessly hunted doon. Aye, and should fucking be Billy. (Lights up a cigarette.) All
the way tae the house of fucking Parliament.

25
Enter procession. The officer carries a flag.
Mark Its weird standin round a grave. Davie Mitchells here... sumwhere. Hes jist
outay prison. Tommy, lookin like death. Ma cousin Nina is abit of ay goth. Shes wearin a
long dark coat an her dark hair is blowin in da wind. Looks intensely shaftable. I give a
broad wink. Ma father has been clocking all of this an he stems ower tae me.
Father One fuckin bit ay crap oot ay you n thats us finished, right?!!?
Mark His eyes were tired, sunken deep intae da sockets. There was a sad, unsettling
vulnerability aboot him ahd never seen before. Ah wanted tae say so much tae the man...
Da... but ah resented him fir allowin this circus tae take place.
Mother moves to place a flag on the coffin.
Officer Leave it to us.
Mark Ah seethed when ah saw that fuckin Union Jack oan his coffin.
Officer You were is bruvver.
Mark Billy n me nivir agreed oan that much, but one thing we hud in common wis thit
we both liked a good bevvy and a good crack. If he could see us now, hed be laughin his
heid oaf at us stanind here aw mooseyfaced. Hed be sayin, Enjoy yirsels, fir god sake!.
Ay stick tae tha clichs. Ah find its the best way tae strike a chord without compromising
too much wi da sickenin hypocrisy which surrounds us. Decency! Ah gie thum all a
beery grin. Howeva, mah Uncle Cha- Cha Charlie sees through ma game.
Charlie Listen son, if ya dont get on yer fuckin bike, Im gonna tan yer jaw. If it
wisnae fir yer father, ahdve done it a long time ago. Yir brother wis ten times the man
youll ivir be, ya fuckin junky. If ya knew the misery ya caused yer ma n da...
Mark You can speak frankly.
Charlie Oh ahll speak frankly ya smert cunt. Ahll knock ye through that fuckin waw!
Mark If ye did gie us a kickin yed be daein us a favour. Ahs jist huv a wank aboot it
later on. We drop-oot university junkies are kinky that wey. Cause thats aw youre worth,
ya fuckin trash. Ye want tae go ootside, jist say da fuckin werd. His chunky fist, the one
called hate, was a few inches from mah face. Mah grip tightened on the glass ah was
holdin and dae room seemed tae shrink tae the size ay Billys coffin. Then da cunt jist
pushes us in the chest with a fist called love.
Charlie Wuv hud whan funeral in da family da day, wir no wantin another.
Mark Ah felt abit like Begbie. Good story. Ah went tae da toilet afterwards. Billy, ye
listenin? Sharon wis coomin oot. Her face was flush and bloated with alcohol... and
pregnancy. Weve mibbe spoken about half a dozen sentences tae each, ivir. So ah sais tae

26
her, you an me need to have a wee blether likes. N ah usher her intae the room n loak da
door behind us. Strange how death brings da livin together. Ah start tae feel her lump,
rabbitin oan a load of shite aboot how we hav tae stick thegither at a time like this. Ahm
goin oan aboot how much responsibility ah felt taewards ma unborn niece... or nephew.
Wutever. Then she jist grabs me and begins tae kiss mae! Ah move ma hands doon,
feeling the panty lines through the cotton material ay her dress while she moves tae git
mah prick oot ay ma trousers. Ah continue wit da bullshit, tellin her that ahd always
admired her as a person and a woman, which she disnae need tae hear cause now shes
guan doon oan us. Its somehow comforting tae keep sayin it. She gies a great blowjob.
Ah stop her before comin an guide Sharon intae doggy position atop dae coffin. Ah love
daein it fae behind. Ah work under her long dress an soon ah wis fingerin her fanny an
thinking, if only Billy could see us now! Ah finally drive it hame, its a wee bit like
throwin the proverbial sausage up a tunnel, but ah find mah stroke an she tightens up.
They say a shag is good fir an unborn, circulation of the blood or that. Ah see mahsel,
stickin in da bairns moothEffie (Knocking from offstage) Whit yes daein in thair?
Mark Sawright, Sharons bein sick. Too much bevvy in her condition.
Effie Ur seein tae her son?
Mark Aye! Ahm seein tae hur!
Effie Awright well.
Mark Ah come hard, blurtin oot mah muck. Ah pull out an help hur turn over, snugglin
intae hur like a bairn. She strokes mah heid, makin me feel wonderful. At peace.
Sharon That was fuckin barry. Well keep seein each other now, then eh?
Mark Fucksake! Wiv tae git up, Sharon, git cleaned up likes! Ken? They widnae
understand if they caught us. Ah know that youre a good lassie , Sharon, but they don
understand fuck all.
Sharon Ah ken. Youre a nice laddie.
Mark She was all caught up in this git- a- man, git- a- bairn, git- a- hoose shite that
lassies get drummed intae them; mashed tattie fir brains. We talked fir abit. Jist talked.
She telt us alot o things ah wanted tae hear, things ma n faither nivir knew... wid hate tae
know. How you were a cunt tae her. How ye battered her, humiliated her and treated her
like a piece of shite. Whit did ye stey wit him fir?
Sharon He wis mah felly. Ye eywis think itll be different, thit ye can change thum, that
ye can make a difference. (Exit)
Mark A difference. (Takes out heroin and places it on the coffin.) Choose life. Choose a
job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a fucking big television, washing

27
machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low
cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a
starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a
three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and
wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday mornin. Choose sitting on that couch
watchin mind-numbin sprit-crushing game shows, stuffing fuckin junk food into yir
mouth only tae rot away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothin
more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace
yourself. Choose your future. Choose life. But why would I want to do a thing like that? I
chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons.
Who need reasons when you've got heroin?
Mark shoots up while lying on the coffin.
Mark Fuck...

Dies IraeMother, Mark, Franco

Mother Ahll help ye son! Ahll help ye fight this terrible disease! Ahve lost one laddie
already, ahm no losin another yin! Yell stay here wit me n yir faither until yir better. Wir
gonnae beat this, son, wir gonnae beat it.
Mark Ma heid struggles to piece togither how ah goat here. Ah remember a fight...
Johnny Swans... a funeral... stairs... a taxi... Infirmary... overdose. Takes yer breathe
away. Now here ah am...
Mother Ill help ye son. Were gonnae beat this... Yell git through it son. Doctor
Matthews sais its really jist like a bad flu.
Mark When wis the last time auld Mattehws hud cauld turkey? The cunt. Did he gie us
Temeazepam?
Mother Naw! Ah telt um, nane o that rubbish. Ye wir worse comin oaf that thin ye wir
wi heroin. Ye wir in a hell ay a state. Nae mair drugs.
Mark Mibbe ah could go back tae the clinic, Ma?
Mother Naw! Nae clinics. Nae methadone. Made ya werse. Said so yirself.
Mark Aw Christ!
Mother Ye lied tae us son. Tae yir ain mother an faither. Fae now oan son its a clean
break. Yae stayin here whair ah kin keep an eye oan ye.
Mother serves Mark a dinner tray.

28
Mark Ma, ah telt ye ah dont eat meat.
Mother Aww... Ya alweys liked ya meat n tatties. Thats whair yeve gone wrong son.
No eatin da right things. Ye need meat. Its good steak mince. Come on now son, make a
tunnel fir da choo choo...
Mark No, Mummy, no!
Mark throws the tray to the ground. Mother picks it up and exits.
Mark I do appreciate what you're trying to do, I really do, but I need just one score, to
ease myself. Just one. Just one fucking hit! So here ah am. The junkys limbo. Too sick
too sleep... too tired tae stay awake. Da sickness... sweat, chills, nausea, pain and craving.
Need... need... need... Ahm in a twilight zone. Nothins real.
Enter Franco dressed as a squirrel, drinking a beer.
Franco Well, this is a good laugh, you fucking useless bastard. Go on, sweat that shite
out of your system, because if I come back and it's still there, I'll fucking kick it out.
Exit Franco. Enter Tommy.
Tommy Better than sex, Rents, better than sex. The ultimate hit. I'm a fucking adult. I'll
find out for myself. Well, I've found out all right.
A baby cries. Enter mother dressed as a squirrel. Tommy becomes Simon.
Simon It's a mug's game, Mrs Renton. I'm not saying I was blameless myself, far from
it, but there comes a time when you have to turn your back on that nonsense and just say
no.
Both exit. The music crescendos as a baby moves across the ceiling. Mark screams. Black
out. Beeping of a hospital monitor is heard. Lights faint on Mark who is in a coma on the
bed.

OffertoriumMusic out

Alison, Lizzie
Alison Ahm walkin down the street, n ah meet up wi Lizzie. N these guys, workies, up
oan their scaffolding, whistle at us.
Construction Man 1 Awright doll?
Lizzie Have you goat a girlfriend?

29
Alison Lizzies been doon tae see about rent arrears n shes pretty mad, like, tense n
that.
Lizzie Ah doubt it, cause yir a fat ugly prick!
Construction 2/3 Woiahhh... whooooaahhhhhh.....
Alison The nearby folk have stopped tae check oot dae hassle. Now the guy looks at her
wi real hate, ah mean, now hes goat a reason tae hate her, no cause shes a woman, ken?
Construction 1 Fuck oaf ya boot!
Alison But Lizzie stands her ground!
Lizzie OOO! Ah wis a doll a min ago, but now ahve telt ye tae fuck oaf ahm a boot?
Well, youre still a fat ugly prick, son, an dat s no gaunnae change.
Audience And so say all of us!
Construction 1 Fuckin dykes!
Lizzie Noo, that gits right oan mah tits!
Alison Getting called a dyke jist cos yah object tae bein hassled by revolting ignorant
radges. If all guys wir as repulsive as you, ahd be fuckin proud tae be a lesbian!
Lizzie You guys have obviously goat a problem. Why dont you go an fuck each othir?
Alison Ah hear two auld birds talkin, Thats terrible! Lassies talkin like laddies. An the
other goin, Its guid tae see lassies stickin up fir thirsels. Wished it happend in ma day.
She grabs nah arm n sais, Ah wish ah wis yer age again, hen, ahd dae it aw different, ah
kin tell ye! by now the guys are all embarrassed n really shit up by our crowd.
Enter the Foreman.
Foreman Back inside yous! And the rest of yous... move along!
Exit all but Alison.
Alison The ugly, prick cunts go like sheep. We all cheer, it was brilliant. Magic! Lizzie n
me end up in a nearby cafe with these Aussies, Veronica n June. They were lesbians!
Travelin round dae werld togither. Now ahd love tae give that a go. We invite them back
to mah flat fir a smoke ay hash n slag about men. Stupid inadequate creature that they
are. Flat bodies an weird heads with danglin tubes. All thir guid fir is da odd shag. Ya
know, sumtimes ah wish ah wis gay. Dae it aw different. Me n Lizzie. Ha! Too mad.
What planet are we oan?

30

Beeping of a hospital monitor is heard. Franco enters.

Franco Oan the train gaun doon tae London, Mark sits doon beside two burds. Fuckin
tidy an aw. Good fuckin choice. These are free till Darlington he sais, lookin at he fuckin
reservation cards stickin oot the tops ay the seats. Fuckin liberty, so it is. It should be first
come first fuckin served. Aw this fuckin booking seats shite, Ill gie the cunts fuckin
bookin seats. Ah fuckin grabs dae cards n sticks thum in ma tail... thir fuckin free dae
whole wey doon now, ah sais, smilin at one ay dae burds. Too fuckin right n aw. Sixty
quid a ticket. No shy they British Rail cunts, uh? If ah had ma fuckin wey, the train
wouldnae stoap for aw they cunts thitve booked fae Berwick n aw they fuckin places; it
wud jist be Edinburgh tae London that wid be it, end ay fuckin story! Aw they cunts wi
backpacks n luggage n bairns fuckin go- carts. Shouldnae huv bairns oan a fuckin train.
Ah speak mah fuckin mind, whitivit any cunt sais! Mark jist shurgs his shoodirs. He
keeps lookin ower at the burds, thir likesay, American, ken? Problem wi that smert cunt is
thit he jist cannae fuckin realte tae burds. Ye wait oan that cunt tae make the first fuckin
move, well be waitin fir a long fuckin time. Ah fuckin show the smert cunt how its
done. Ah sais, No fuckin shy, they british rail cunts, eh? while nudgin the burd next tae
us.
Girl 1 Pardawn?
Franco Foreign cunts. Whairs it yis come fae then?
Girl 2 Excuse me, I dont really understand yew.
Franco Foreign cuntsve got trouble wi the Queens fuckin english, ken. Ye huv tae
speak louder, slower, mair posh likes. WHERE DAE YEZ COME FAE?
Girl Toronto.
Franco Tirawnto. Thit wis dae Lone Rangers mate, wis it no? Some punter dinnae
understand Scottish sense ah humor.
Girl 2 Where are you from?
Franco These burds are a total wee ride... fuckin shag the erse ofay that any day ay the
week... the fuckin erse oan it... the fuckin tits oan it... Where am ah from?
Mark Edinburgh!
Franco Ah! Aw ready tae steam in now once Franco breks the fuckin ice. Edinburgh!
Cunt.
Mark clings to Franco.

31
Franco These burds are goin oantay us aboot how fuckin beautiful Edinburgh is, and
how lovely the fuckin castle is oan da hill ower the gairdins an aw that shite. Thats aw
they tourist cunts ken though, the castle n Princes Street, n the High street. Like whin
Tommys auntie came ower fae that wee village oan that island oaf da west coast, wit all
her bairns. The wifey goes up tae da council fir a hoose. The coucil sais tae her. whairs
it ye tae fuckin stey like?
Mark Ah want a wee hoose oan Princes street lookin ontay dae castle.
Franco Aye! This wifes fuckin scoobied likes, speaks the fuckin Gaelic as a frst
language, disnae ken that much English. Perr cunt jist liked dae look ay the street whin
she came oaf da train, thoat the whole fuckin place wis like that. The cunts at the council
jit laugh n stick the cunt in one ay they fuckin rabbit hutches in West Granton, this nae
cunt else wants. Instead ay a view ay dae castle, shes goat a view ay the grassworks.
Thats how it fuckin works in real life, if ye urnae a rich cunt wi a big fuckin hoose n
plenty poppy. Real life uh?
Mark Ya get knocked doen
Franco but ye get back up again.
Mark Thir nivir gonna keep ye down!
Franco I get knocked down.
Mark But ah get get up again...
Franco/ Mark Theyre nivir gonna keep me down...

Sanctus
Alison
The tubthumping song repeats as if skipping on the words, O Danny boy, Danny boy,
Danny boy... O Danny boy, Danny boy (etc)... Alison hits a wall and the music changes.
Alison Ahm workin. In a restaurant bar. Its one o they quiet nights. Ma manager,
Graham, is in the kitchen preparin food that he hopes someone will eat. Three guys come
intae the resturant. Obviously drunk. They sit doon at a table an order.
Doss Prick 1 A couple of bottle of your best piss!
Alison English settlers. Ah smile at them, though. Ye huv tae learn tae treat people as
people. One sais tae another...

32
Doss Prick 2 What dyou call a good looking girl in Scotland?
Doss Prick 1 A tourist!
Doss Prick 3 I dunno though. I wouldnt kick that one out of bed!
He slaps her on the ass.
Alison Doss prick. Ah cannae afford tae lose this joab. Ah need the money.
Doss Prick 1 Orroit, darlin?
Alison Orroit? Ah dinnae need this shite. Takin the order is a nightmae. Thir havin a
loud conversation aboot careers, computers, marketing, life in the fast lane... in between
trying tae humiliate me. The skinny wanker actually asks us whit time ah finish, n the rest
make whooping noises and dae drum rolls on dae table. Dye understand how I feel?
Whin ah get in the kitchen ahm shakin wi radge. Can ye no git these fuckin arseholes
ootay here?
Graham Business, Alison, business. The customer, ma dear, is always right- even if he
is a knob end.
Alison Ah wish thit Louise or Marisa was on tonight, another woman tae talk tae. Ahm
smack bang in the middle ay a heavy period n ahm feelin scarped out n drained awey. Ah
go tae the toilet n change tampons, wrapping the used one up in some toilet paper. A
couple of thums ordered orange and tomato soup. Ah stroll into the kitchen. Grahams
busy at the microwave. So ah take the bloodied tampon and lower intae the first bowl ay
soup. Like a tea bag. Ah squeeze it with a fork. A couplay strand ay black uteral lining
float in the soup, before being dissolved wi a healthy stir. Ah deliver the pate starter and
the two orange and tomato soups tae the table, making sure that the skinny gelled up
fuckwit has goat the spiked one.
Doss Prick 2 More wine!
Alison The fat, fair headed prick petulantly booms at us. Theyre talking about how
terribly hoat it is in Hawaii, makes ya sweat like a pig. More wine? Ah go back tae the
lavvy and fill a saucepan wi urine. Ma urine has a stagnant, cloudy look which suggest a
urinary tract infection. Ah add some tae the carafe of wine. Looks a bit cloudy but theyre
so smashed they winnae notice. Ah pour some more ay ma pish ontae the fish. Its a
fennel sauce, ah think. Its a fanny sauce now. But they pricks eat and drink everything
whitoot even noticing! Ya knoo, its hard tae shite ontae a piece of paper. No, it is. Ah jist
manage a wee runny turd, which ah take through and wizz up wi some cream in
liquidiser, and then merge wi the chocolate sauce heating away in the pan. Profiteroles.
Profiteroles all round! Its a loat easier tae keep smilin now. Ah feel charged wi a great
power! The fat bastard hus drawn the really short straw. His ice cream is laced wi rat

33
poison. No. ground up traces of broken glass... Naw... Too radge... Its all too mad. What
fuckin planet are we oan?

Agnus DeiAlison, Tommy, Franco, Mark

Tommy enters suffering.
Tommy Laura McEwan. Lorra McEwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan! Sounds barry likesay. Ah don
want tae hurt mah... the minute ah feel pain its fuckin over. Oh!
He sees Alison.
Tommy Lizzie... Ah split up wi Lizzie.
Enter Franco and Mark, drunk.
Franco So ahm oan toap ay this burd, ken, cowpin it likes, gaun fuckin radge, n its
fuckin screamin likes n ah thinks, fuck me! This dirty cows right intae it likes...
Tommy Fuckin weird man...
Franco Fuck off!
Mark Tam?
Franco Fuckin junky.
Mark Tam! How ye daein, man?
Tommy Fuckin weird... you n me...
Mark Whit ye drinkin?
Tommy Naw... goat any smack?
Mark Fucksake, Tommy. Forget it, man. Leave it alane while ye still can.
Tommy Ah can handle it. Are ye cairryin?
Mark No, Tommy. Ahm clean.
Tommy Aw...

34
Mark Here...
Mark gives Tommy some money.
Franco Fuckin junkie. Git loss. Kin junkie. Anywey ah thinks, fuck me, this dirty
cows right intae it likes, but it pushes us oaf, ken, n shes bleedin ootay her fanny, ken,
like its rag week. N ahm aboot tae say, that disnae bother me, specially no wi a fuckin
root oan like ah hud, ahm fuckin tellin ye. Anywey, it turns oot thit the cunts huvin a
fuckin miscarriage thair n then! Is that no funny?
Mark N how is she? Hows June?
Franco Who?
Alison June. He said hows June. Remember? Who?
Franco Hows Alison?
Mark Wee Dawn. Fucking shame, cot death...
Franco Ach, the bairn wid huv died ay fuckin AIDS if it hudnae died ay coat death.
Easier fuckin death fir a bairn.
Mark She didnae huv HIV!
Franco O? Whaes tae fuckin say? Whaes tae fuckin say?!!?
Mark Nae cunt really kens...
Franco Aye right. Cummoan. Lets off... Cummoan!
They eixt.
Alison You can lose them at any time. Before theyre even born. Even eftir thir born, ye
lose them. Ma Auntie Jeannie sais thit eftir theyre seven you lose them. Then jist when
ye think yeve adjusted, it happens again when theyre fourteen. Then again... and
then...and then again... O! Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee blessed art thou
among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God,
pray for us sinners now and in the hour of our death...
Tommy, naked, shoots into his penis.
Music

Libera Me-

35

Mark, Tommy, Johnny, Simon

Enter Mark.
Mark Are you getting out much?
Tommy No.
Mark Following the game at all?
Tommy No.
Mark No. Me Neither. How ya feelin?
Tommy No bad. Cold but.
Mark Yir lookin well.
Tommy Ahm gaunnae die.
Mark Sometime in the next fifteen years. Ye can step out in the street under a fuckin
bus. Want tae talk aboot it?
Tommy No really. See whit they painted oan ma door?
Mark Wee fuckin saps.
Tommy Junky. Plaguer.
Mark Daftpunk kids, thull harass anybody.
Tommy You take the test?
Mark Aye.
Tommy Clear?
Mark Aye.
Tommy That's nice.
Mark I'm sorry, Tommy.
Tommy You used mair than me! And ye shared works. Sick Boy, Spud, Swanney... evin
Davie Mitchells fir fucksake. Tell us ye nivir used Davies works.

36
Mark Ah nivir shared.
Tommy Ah used tae sit n have a bevvy wi Franco an laugh at yis, call yis aw the daft
cunts under the sun, fuckin junky. Then ah split ae Lizzy, mind? Went tae yer bit. Ah
asked ye fir a hit. Ah thoat, fuck it, ahll try anythin once. Benn tryin once ivir since.
Mark See, some cunts are so... predisposed tae smack.
Tommy Ah dinnae ken whit tae fuckin dae, Mark. Whit am ah gaunnae dae?
Mark Tommy... Ahm sorry. Ahm really sorry...
Tommy Goat any gear on you?
Mark Ahm clean now, Tommy.
Tommy Well, sub us, then, mate. I'm expecting a rent cheque.
Mark produces some money. As he hands the notes over, their eyes and hands meet for a
moment. Tommy puts the money away.
Tommy Thanks, Mark.
Mark No problem.
Tommy gets up in a huff. He throws Marks coat back at him and exits.
Mark Aw, Tommy! Aw, fucksake. Ah didnae... No problem -- easy to say when its some
other poor cunt with shite for blood. Ah wanted tae say, Git oan wi yir life. Its aw ye can
dae. Look eftir yirself. But he willnae live fifteen, ten or even five years before hes
crushed by pneumonia or cancer. Hes blown things wi his man shes chucked him oot n
hes here, in a fuckin rabbit hutch. Fifteen thousand people pan the waitin list but
naebody wanted this one. Its a prison. Hell nae survive dae winter. Im sorry man. Ahm
so fuckin sorry.
Enter Swan. Sheets cover the lower half of Johnny in bed. They are thrown back to reveal
the stump of an above-knee amputation.
Johnny Surprise! Pa-pah! Hit the artery by mistake. Common enough error, or so the
quack tells us, as though that's going to make my leg grown back. Still, it could have
been worse, it could have been my fucking dick. And I tell you what, in this place you get
looked after: clean sheets, regular meals and all the morphine you can eat.
Mark Great.

37
Johnny And see when I get out of here. I've got plans. Going to get myself straightened
out and head off to Thailand, where women really know how to treat a guy. See, out there
you can live like a king if you've got white skin and a few crisp tenners in your pocket.
No fucking problem.
Mark Sure.
Johnny The strategy is this: get clean, get mobile, get into dealing, and this time next
year I'll be watching the rising sun with a posse of oriental buttocks parked on my
coupon.
Mark Sounds great, Swanney.
Johnny Yeah.
Mark You'll have to send us a postcard.
Johnny Sure will, pal, sure will.
Exit Johnny. Enter Simon.
Simon Eughh. Sounds horrible.
Mark It wasn't that bad.
Simon Did he -- you know?
Mark What?
Simon You know.
Mark No, he didn't make me touch it.
Simon Oh no, don't even mention it.
Mark He made me lick it.
Simon God, you're sick.
Mark And I got a stitch stuck between my teeth, jerked my head back and the whole
fucking stump fell off.
Simon Cut it out.
Mark When are you going to visit him?

38
Simon Don't know. Maybe Thursday.
Mark You're a real mate. And what about Tommy? Have you been to see him yet?
Sick Boy is silent.
Simon Fuck you. OK, so Tommy's got the virus. Bad news, big deal. The gig goes on,
or hadn't you noticed? Swanney fucks his leg up. Well, tough shit, but it could have been
worse.
Mark You're all heart.
Simon I know a couple of addicts. Stupid wee lassies. I feed them what they need. A
little bit of skag to keep them happy while the punters line up at a fiver a skull. It's easy
money for me. Not exactly a fortune, but I'm thinking, 'I should be coining it here.' Less
whores, more skag. Swanney's right. Get clean, get into dealing, that's where the future
lies. Set up some contacts, get a good load of skag, punt it, profit. What do you think?
Youd make a hell of ah partner.
Mark Fuck you.
Simon Fine! Piss off then you junky cunt! I don need the likes of you, and I'll tell you
why. Because I'm fed up to my back teeth with losers, no-hopers, draftpacks, schemies,
junkies and the like, ken? I'm getting on with life. What the fuck are you doin?
Mark Choose life?
Enter Alison and Franco, drunk.
Alison What fuckin planet are we oan?
Franco Mine! An ahm fuckin Lee Marvin! Cummoan! Lets git some scran and hit a
decent fuckin boozer...

Requiescant in PaceAlison, Franco, Mark, Drunk

Franco Wait... lets go fir a pish!
Alison In the ruins of old Leith Central Station?
Franco Some size ay a station this wis. Git a train tae anywhere fae here at one time, so
they sais.

39

Mark (nothing left to say anymore...) Aye.

Franco If it still hud fuckin trains, ahd be oan one ah kin tell ye, oot ay this fuckin
dive.
Mark Aye.
Franco Real life, uh?
Drunk What yis up tae lads? What wis up tae? Ye trainspottin, ur ye?
Franco Aye right!
Mark Ah seen hum before.
Drunk Ah well, ahll leave yis tae it. Trainspotting, ha!
Franco grabs him and peers in his face.
Drunk Eh?
Franco decks him.
Franco Da cunts ma father.
Mark whit?
Franco Hes ma father. Hes ma fuckin shitein father!
Mark looks at the Drunk and then pisses on him. Franco falls from laughing.
Franco Right mate... right, ahll be right back. Ah hav sumthin to talk to ma father
about. Wont be long!
Franco exits. Alison kisses Mark as he zips up.
Mark So why did I do it? I could offer a million answers, all false. The truth is that I'm
a bad person, but that's going to change, I'm going to change. This is the last of this sort
of thing. I'm cleaning up and I'm moving on, going straight and choosing life. (To
audience) I'm looking forward to it already. I'm going to be just like you: the job, the nine
to five, the fucking big television, the washing machine, car, good health, low cholesterol,
luggage, leisurewear, three-piece suites, DIY,
Tommy enters, places a typewriter on the table, extinguishes his candle then exits unseen
by Alison or Mark.

40

Mark (To Alison.) Walks in the park, children, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax
exemption, clearing the gutters, and getting by, looking ahead, to the day you die.
Music.
They notice the candle.
Mark Tommy?
They embrace for a moment. Mark touches the typewriter.
Mark Trainspotting...
Alison manages a smile and Mark sits. He begins to type as Alison lights up and reads
over his shoulder.
Mark Fuck! Ah woke up in a strange bed, in a strange room, covered in ma own mess...
He glances at Alison as the lights fade.