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♪ ♪

- Hello, Alexander. It's Stuart.

- Hello, Stuart.

- You know, admitting I've had lots to drink and that

I can't help but reflect...

- I'm Alexander,

the bloke in the glasses driving.

Not the mumbly one on the tape.

That's Stuart.

- I got to know Stuart in 2000

and decided to write his biography.

All my friends said it was mad of me.

After all, this man was unknown.

He wasn't famous, not a celebrity,

but the book turned out okay.

- Just wish Stuart could have been here to see it.

♪ ♪

I think it was the first-ever biography of a homeless man,

from birth to the present day.

- ♪ I've been pissing in the wind ♪

♪ ♪

♪ I chanced a foolish grin ♪

♪ And dribbled on my chin ♪

♪ ♪

♪ Now the ground ♪

♪ Shifts beneath my feet ♪

♪ The faces that I greet ♪

♪ Never know my name ♪

♪ Just give me something ♪

♪ I'll take nothing ♪

♪ Just give me something ♪

♪ I'll take nothing ♪

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

- So, back in 2000,

I was earning a bit of extra pocket money

working as a fundraiser at Wintercomfort,

which is a busy little day shelter in Cambridge,

normally full of homeless people.

Full, that is, until the morning that the police

decided to raid the place.

- They've been arrested.

- All of them?

What a good idea.

Uh, no, no, it was, um, just my boss, Ruth

and, um, her deputy, John.

Some of the clients had been secretly dealing drugs

on the premises, but because Ruth and John

ran the charity, they were held responsible.

- They've got evidence, on film.

- I was furious at the injustice of it.

And, uh, then, really,

for the first time in my life, I actually began

to take a real and practical interest

in the homeless.

Fuck off, pisshead!

- I'd like to introduce to you Alexander Masters,

a dedicated friend of the homeless himself,

chairman of the campaign.

- Well, we were convinced they'd never be convicted.

I mean, if prisons can't control drugs,

than how could Ruth and John be expected to?

- As everyone knows, we're here this evening

about Ruth Wyner and John...

- The judge, Justice Howarth,

sent them down...

- For five years and four years.

- A shame. - Thank you.

- Fascists. - Thank you.

But this is the crunch.

What are we going to do about it?

How is this campaign going to get Ruth and John out?

Yes.

- We could send them books.

Bunyan. He's good for prisons.

- Hardly.

"Miracle of the Rose" by Genet, if you must...

- This is the 21st century... - Excuse me.

This isn't gonna work.

Sending them books, eh?

They won't fit in the box.

- Sorry?

- For the inmate's belongings.

Eh?

Everyone's got one.

- Who is that?

- All right in Whitemoor... - No idea.

They all look the same to me.

- You're always allowed a piece of carpet

what won't fit in your box,

and a budgie.

Or... or a canary.

And obviously, the cage is not going to fit in the box.

But it is Ruth and John that will suffer.

All of them books,

the screws'll just chuck 'em out

'cause they won't fit in your box.

I'm not being funny, but you should really know about boxes

if you're gonna have a campaign.

Me name's Psycho.

But you can call me Stuart, if you like.

- Um, what's your address?

- Um...

Two Laurel Lane.

Yeah, they helped me.

Doctors, a couple of clothes,

outreach, sometimes lunch with two puddings.

Yeah, they put it all on, those two.

And the staff.

I'm not being funny here.

But I am really grateful.

- Mm.

- The other day I got a really lovely head massage.

- Ooh, great. - Yeah.

♪ ♪

Can I help? - Uh, yeah, um...

That's how I first met Stuart Shorter.

Street brawler, alcoholic, heroin addict,

sociopathic street raconteur

with a fondness for what he called

"little strips of silver,"

knives to you and me.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

Oh, okay.

- Thank you very much for agreeing to store these.

- Oh, no, no problem.

♪ ♪

Oh.

Mind the step.

Over here.

Here you go, mate.

Welcome to my humble abode.

To your right.

What?

They are laurels, aren't they?

I only heard about the meeting this morning

when I was picking up my breakfast.

Your address? - Mm.

- Well, bad idea number one, mate.

You could get any old riff raff showing up.

- Yes?

- Uh.

- It's you.

- I've addressed some envelopes.

- Um.

- Which, uh... - They all right?

- Horrible.

- I've had a blinding idea for the campaign.

Yeah, get us on television and all.

Not even violent.

If we leave out the kidnapping.

Uh...

- Do you want to come in? - Oh, yes, please.

A bit wet out there.

Ooh! That's nice.

Mm!

- How many sugars? - As many as you got, mate.

Mm-mmm.

♪ ♪

Uh-huh.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

H... hot.

All them books, eh?

Have you read all of them?

- No.

- Half?

- Not exactly.

- Ah.

"The Hunting Wasp."

A whole book about them little summer things.

Ooh.

This one...

What is this one about?

- The color mauve.

- Wow.

How do you fucking get away with this?

Mm.

♪ ♪

Now,

this blinding idea.

Have you got a car?

- No.

- What do you like better,

Ford or VW?

♪ ♪

- And then a few weeks later, I had the idea about the book,

and started doing a little research.

- That boy has suffered.

He deserves a book.

You should write a book about me.

- Always such a caring boy.

Happy-go-lucky little thing.

Legs all over the show. Bless him.

- Three months after that,

we carried out Stuart's blinding idea,

which was a sleepover protest in front of the Home Office

to persuade the then Home Secretary, Jack Straw,

to release Ruth and John,

which was better than his first idea,

which was to kidnap him.

Stuart took care of our transport.

Somehow.

And on the way to London,

I read him the first few pages of my book idea.

"Stuart Clive Shorter was a happy-go-lucky little boy."

- Ah.

- "'The most considerate of my children, ' marvels his mother."

- Bollocks. Boring.

Why do you wanna write this fucking book anyway?

- To make lots and lots and lots of money.

- Seriously?

You think you'll make money out of it?

I could, maybe.

- Something as boring as that?

- Don't be so rude.

Anyway, it's not my fault that you started out so dull.

- Mm.

Ah, you... you gotta make it more exciting.

♪ ♪

Do it backwards.

Like a murder mystery.

Like a bestseller.

You know, write like what Tom Clancy writes.

Yeah, how did I get to be like this?

What murdered the little boy I was?

Make them nine-to-fives sit up.

♪ ♪

- I mean,

you put ten socks in the washing machine,

and only seven come out.

Where do they go? - Stuart.

- I'll tell you another thing and all...

- Stuart. - You take the machine apart.

And they ain't in it either. - Stuart.

- What? - What's this?

- What? - This.

- Ooh.

That, Alexander, is a lice.

Hey, look out!

- The main place you get those is 'round your bollocks.

♪ ♪

That lice, that'll grow.

Scabies are smaller,

and they goes under the skin,

and live there, literally nibbling.

Oh, yeah.

- It took 5 1/2 hours for our convoy to do the 50 miles

from Cambridge to London.

Stuart would never drive above 30 miles an hour.

- Mm, Buckingham Palace.

What a load of bullocks!

Eh?

Who needs the Queen?

Oh, no, no, no, no.

No, not like that.

- What? - Use this?

Right underneath. Yeah?

- Oh. - Here you are.

You lose more heat that way than you do that way.

Ruth and John need these...

Eyes in the back of their heads!

End Blair's police state now!

Ruth and John need these... Eyes in the back...

- Two people have been wrongfully imprisoned

for working at a charity

and doing nothing but trying to help the homeless.

- Charity workers imprisoned because of a miscarriage of...

Oh, fuck off.

Ruth and John need these...

- Okay. - It's an injustice...

- Eh? Yeah, that's right...

- Thank you, ma'am. Thank you.

- Ow, for fuck's sake.

Fuck off.

Charity workers imprisoned for miscarriage of justice...

- Okay, listen up, everyone.

Okay, everyone, listen up.

Everyone, please, quiet, please.

Everyone, we need you to move this way.

Thank you. - Wait a minute.

Hold on, hold on, why? This is a peaceful protest.

- Yeah, fucking why?

- You can't cross these brass plugs

if the Home Office doesn't want it.

- That's social fucking fascism, that is.

- And there we must put a fence in behind you

to ensure you're not trespassing.

And ones on either side to protect you.

- What?

- Uh, from the public, sir. They might step on you.

And a fence in front, just in case during the night

you roll onto the road and get run over.

- I see. So you mean to cage us in completely?

- I didn't say cage, sir, no.

That was your word.

- Do prisoners really get wages?

- Yeah.

- I mean, a lot, like normal people?

- They make a fucking fortune.

Millionaires coming out the nick every week.

- You've been in a lot of prisons, then?

- Have I.

Fuck, yeah, I know.

- How many?

- Well, ,

uh...

Oh,

well,

sort of,

when I was a nipper, there was Send detention center.

Ah! - Let go.

Let go of it.

- Baintnow House.

Back to Send again.

Ah!

Eriestoke. Norwich.

Then I grew up and went to big boy prison.

♪ ♪

Whitemoor.

Ah, now that's what I call a real prison.

You've got everything there, mate.

Terrorists,

psychopaths,

security threats, murderers,

manslaughters, crazies...

- Which lot do you belong to? - Uh-oh.

Mm...

Oh, crazies, really. Um, yeah.

Norwich...

Whitemoor again... - Fucking hell!

- Grendon Underwood.

Die, you fucking nonce.

31.

♪ ♪

I don't think I missed any.

♪ ♪

Oh, yes, I have, actually.

I've been to Leicester three times as well.

♪ ♪

Wayland was me last one.

- Good night. Sleep well.

- Thank you. Same to you.

- Oi, you.

Since you got so much fucking time on your hands,

answer this one.

Do you know how many people get killed by screws in prison

every year?

Murders.

Oh, sorry, gov.

Excuse us.

How was we supposed to know that bending him in half

the wrong fucking way

was bad for his health?

There's only people like me what's really rotten in here.

Really bad, beyond hope.

You haven't got the faintest fucking clue, have you?

Huh?

- Stuart, all he said was good night.

- And you can fuck off and all,

you fucking geeky...

- Why don't you shut up yourself, Stuart?

- You fucking wanky, middle-class cunt fuck.

Alexander.

You wanna know how I became what I am?

I'm giving you fucking answers.

Eh? Why...

Why do you write a book with no fucking answers?

Eh?

Yeah.

Well, you fuck off.

You find your fucking answers.

♪ ♪

- On a scale of anger, one to ten,

I'm probably on four,

and Stuart's on 11.

- You never can tell

how families have been down,

and they've been up and they've been down again.

J... j... just like Stuart, you know?

Drugs, prison, being a beggar.

♪ ♪

- Go on, go on.

Ah, eh.

Ah!

- Yeah, mate.

- Bastards! - Morning.

- Oh, eh, like the taste of piss, eh?

- Stupid bastard.

- Something smells nice.

- After three months of preparation.

Whose bloody stupid idea was it that we camp out

over the weekend anyway?

The one time Mr. Straw's not gonna be there.

I bet it was yours.

Oh, fuck off.

- ♪ You rubbed an ice cube on my chest ♪

- Oh, I like this song. - This is a good song.

- ♪ Because... ♪ both: ♪ You're gorgeous ♪

♪ I'd do anything for you ♪

♪ Because you're gorgeous ♪

♪ I know you'll get me through ♪

Both:

- Still, one blimey thing did come out of that weekend.

Stuart's idea that his life should be written backwards.

♪ ♪

- It was cutting me throat what done it.

Put a beer glass into me neck.

Just lost it.

Sometimes you wouldn't believe how hard it is

to fucking die.

- So you got a council flat

because you tried to kill yourself?

- Works a treat for the old housing points, doesn't it?

Whoosh.

Straight to the top of the list.

- It's not all gone, though.

- What's not all gone?

- The hatred.

I got so many enemies.

Up here, mate.

Somebody's gonna get hurt, though.

That's what scares me.

- When's this thing gonna happen?

- I call it me black mist.

- Next week?

Next month?

Next ten seconds?

- Eh.

♪ ♪

Oh.

That is a lovely bit of workmanship.

Isn't it?

Eh, uh.

Ooh, that's value.

That's value.

Oh, God.

This for the series...

Yes.

Wow.

♪ ♪

Ah.

For my son.

- You've got a son?

- Yeah.

In Glasgow, with his mum.

14 years of age tomorrow.

Always out on the golf course, the little 'un.

Hey.

♪ ♪

Eh.

Not bad, eh, mate?

Not bad at all, eh?

♪ ♪

Eh.

Whoo! Wine always smells like sick.

Here have a beer.

Fancy a sarnie?

♪ ♪

Ah, there.

Oh.

Ow.

So why'd you wanna be a writer then?

- I don't know, really.

A bit like a disease. All my family's got it.

Didn't wanna be left out, did I?

- Yeah, I know what you mean, mate.

Me dad is a thief.

And, um, me mum's a barmaid.

- What's the color orange highlighter in your diary for?

- Family stuff.

- Yellow? - Social.

You know what?

This book that you're writing

about me,

is it just to make your name?

- And yours.

- I've, uh, had an idea for a job too.

- Mm.

- For the foreign businessman,

what doesn't have time to waste,

what does he need?

An office. Yeah.

In a van.

It's lateral thinking, isn't it?

Gets off the plane at Stansted,

straight into the back of me van.

The van will have everything.

Good-looking bird, what can do shorthand.

Fax, internet,

wires all over the fucking gaff.

It's brilliant.

Red sauce or brown?

- Uh, yes, please.

I mean, uh, red. - What... what's...

Oh, yeah, that fellow upstairs

is gonna make me a bed what folds up against the wall,

like what James Bond has.

- Oh. - Yeah.

And it's got to have, um,

springs and, uh, latches

on the... on the floor.

Otherwise it's boing, boing, whoosh, isn't it?

- Boing, boing, whoosh?

- Well, yeah, I mean,

bird's not gonna be too happy

if she gets her face

squeezed up against the plaster, is she?

Ah.

Hey.

- Sorry.

Mm.

Good stuff, that.

You can use it with anything.

See there around the bed?

Look, there should be a huge stain

where I overdosed there last week.

And all the spilled cans and the vomit,

and, uh, that cleaned it up really, really well, I say.

Mm.

But you want to, um,

well, leave it, uh, for about, um,

about a week.

I mean, before you vacuum.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

Oh.

Yeah.

Here you are, mate.

♪ ♪

Be careful, yeah? It's a bit hot.

♪ ♪

- I never asked you why you were in prison.

- The last time?

Stupid things.

Me mate, Smithy,

world bubblegum champion.

I'm not being funny.

He's in "The Guinness Book of Records."

1983 edition, as it goes.

Like brothers fighting the world.

Respect, trust, and honor.

Whoa!

- Go, go, go, go, go!

- Right.

♪ ♪

Ow.

♪ ♪

- Ah, fuck.

Did you get menthols?

- Menthols? Fuck off.

- She'll fucking kill me. She asked for menthols.

- Well, give her the vodka.

- She don't want vodka. She wants menthols.

♪ ♪

- Ow!

- Go, go, go, go, go.

I don't believe it.

These aren't fucking menthols either.

They're just in a green packet.

I've got ten packets of green cigarettes.

- Hurry up.

- 25 quid, 60?

Women.

They think they can boss you about in everything,

don't they?

- Then one day,

Smithy got a tip-off.

20,000 quid?

- Just keeps it under the counter.

Not a cop shop in 20 miles. - Oh.

Fucking...

That's fucking irresponsible.

- No pride of ownership. - Yeah.

- Well, go, go, go, go, go. Go, go, go!

- Right.

♪ ♪

- Let's just say it was funny,

because as soon as we was sent down,

Smithy's missus moved in with the fellow

what told us about the job.

♪ ♪

Five years.

- Pretty steep sentence.

Were you armed? - No.

Uh...

Well,

only with a crowbar.

- There's been a development.

- What sort of development?

- Dan Sullivan moved his toothbrush

into my bathroom last night, and the rest.

- You mean he's living in the fink?

- Hey, Alexander?

You wanna stay for tea?

Me favorite, convict curry.

We used to make it in jail.

Mmm, mushrooms.

- Mmm.

What about the first time, then?

- First time what?

- Well, that you were sentenced as an adult.

- Um.

I don't know.

I know.

I can't...

Uh, I can't really talk about that, mate.

- But, I mean, robbing an empty post office is...

- Burgling.

Rob people.

Burgle post offices.

- Yeah, but, no, wh... wh... What I mean is,

it's hardly a schedule one offense, is it?

- No, of course not.

- Well, that's serious, isn't it?

- Uh...

♪ ♪

It wa... it wasn't kiddy fiddling.

♪ ♪

- I didn't say that it was.

- It wasn't.

♪ ♪

We'll talk about it Thursday, yeah?

♪ ♪

Thursday afternoon.

No other time, right?

- Finally, the mosaicist would carefully peel back the cloth,

and then... hey, presto...

An instant form. Fantastic.

This mosaic section would arrive on a cloth backing.

- Ooh.

- I'm covering the reverse side with glue.

The Romans would've used water.

The most important design

was usually in the middle of the room.

We think this was the dining room.

And you see, here is Cupid riding on a dolphin

carrying a toasting fork.

The mosaicist would work out through here

towards the border,

but he'd probably leave his minions

to do the less important bits.

Because if there were mistakes after that,

they'd all get covered up by the furniture.

- Putting each tile one by one with great care.

But I suspect it wasn't really like that at all.

The Romans were very keen on short tiles.

You could probably...

- And it may even have been...

- When you mop, use the bread.

Mop up your juices.

♪ ♪

Ah.

Mmm.

So, smash the window,

break the steering wheel lock

by turning the wheel in opposing directions.

- Yeah.

And if the street is too public to use a brick...

- Slide stick.

Remove the metal band from a pallet of bricks,

reduce to 18 inches,

remove a notch from one side,

insert into door panel.

B-kow! I'm in the post office.

Boot in the rubble.

- No, there's no point in ram-raiding a post office.

- Why not?

- Can't you pay no attention?

There's no point in ram-raiding a fucking post office.

There's never no money in the till, is there?

Gone are them days.

- No money.

♪ ♪

- Oh.

Here.

Um...

- No, no, no, no.

- Oh, honestly. - I'll get a taxi.

I'll stop at a bank on the way.

- No, honestly, thank you.

It's me beer money. You'd be doing me a favor.

You'd be doing society a favor.

♪ ♪

And buy a fucking car.

- Get yourself a fucking license.

- Mm.

- Oh, I almost forgot. Here.

I brought you this.

- What? - For your black mists.

Thought you could talk into it next time you're in one.

- Oh, wow.

- You'll be okay?

Call if you need any help.

2:00 a.m., 4:00 a.m. Any time.

- Yeah, so you can bring a fucking camera.

- Oi.

♪ ♪

You're all right, Alexander.

♪ ♪

- I often used to say to Stuart,

I wish I could just pick you up sometimes,

turn you upside-down, and

shake all the bad things out of your head,

then put you back up the right way again.

Hmm.

The change in him,

We just couldn't understand it.

- And, first of all, I'd like to thank you all

for coming here today

to hear me talk about the campaign and the petition.

Stuart and I gave nine or ten talks together

about the campaign that spring

in Birmingham, London, Oxford,

and of course, villages around Cambridge.

Mr. Stuart Clive Shorter.

I'd speak first,

and then Stuart would get up and knock the audience

off its seats with the story of his life.

- A typical suicide attempt.

Just an unbearable sense of

hatred and waste...

- I am the nightmare you frighten

your children with, he said.

The sort of person that these two charity workers

were trying to help to get off your streets.

We should have awarded Ruth and John medals

instead of sending them to prison.

- So I just twisted around and I emptied everything

that remained into my right buttock.

- Stuart did two things for the campaign, really.

He folded letters

and he exposed his soul.

- That all right?

- Exactly, so if we write... - Oh, this is your name.

If we solve the puzzle, do we solve you?

- He's just...

He's just very, very interesting.

You know, he tells me about a world I knew nothing about,

and I...

I just like him.

It's absolutely extraordinary.

He... he knows the exact day that he changed into a sociopath,

between 4:00 p.m. and 5:00 p.m.

The exact day.

It's like knowing what was in Dr. Jekyll's potion

that turned him into Mr. Hyde.

This thing, Stuart's black mist,

came that night.

Apparently started by a knife fight.

The first I heard about it was a call a day later

from his mother.

- At least there's no blood.

Usually there is blood.

Perhaps the cleaners have been around.

Just for the blood.

- Ah!

- Campaign's helped him a lot, you know.

Kept him straight.

He ain't been this happy since he was a little boy.

- "Alexander only."

♪ ♪

- Hello, Alexander. It's Stuart.

You know, admitting I've had lots to drink and all that.

I can't help reflect about...

Stuart had been bailed to appear

at Cambridge Magistrate's Court.

I went with him for moral support.

♪ ♪

- They don't look too upset to be here.

- No, wait till they get to Crown Court.

That's when it gets serious.

- Godspeed the day.

Excuse me, you're about to fall off...

- Fuck off.

- Good, lad, just say that to the nasty man in the wig,

and everything will be fine.

- You know, sometimes it takes so long,

you forget what your fucking crime was.

Here, listen to this.

It's the little 'un.

- I don't know you. Fuck off.

I'm not in and I don't wanna talk to you.

- I didn't think he was like that.

- I was thinking maybe he should go to business school.

But now I don't know.

He ain't right.

I've had to have words with him

about the importance of politeness.

- He's 14.

- Well, it really shocked me, to be honest.

- Mr. Shorter. - Mm.

- According to police statements,

they could smell smoking oil when they arrived on the scene.

- Mm-mm, chip fat.

It was the anniversary of my brother's death.

I wanted to burn the devil out of myself.

♪ ♪

- The Magistrate's Court decided they couldn't handle

the complexities of Stuart's case,

so they referred it to the Crown Court.

Disgrace.

40 policemen and you still get bail.

Beats me why you hate the system.

- Well, me mum says she doesn't understand it neither.

- What did the barrister mean when he was talking about

attempted manslaughter?

- They reckon I tried to cut my neighbor's head off

with a bread knife.

You didn't, did you?

- Yeah.

And if he hadn't have moved, I'd have got him too.

♪ ♪

- So you called your neighbor who made

your boing-boing-whoosh bed a poofter?

And then that's why he lost it?

- No, but he thought that I called him a poofter.

- And you did nothing of the sort?

- No.

- What did you do?

- I just asked his friend if he was a poofter.

- It's not a joke, Alexander.

- Ah, well, I mean...

- When my bail's up, I'm looking at life.

Oh.

I've lost my keys somewhere.

So you didn't call your neighbor

who made your boing-boing-whoosh bed

a poofter?

So what...

What did his mate say when you called...

What did his mate say when you asked him if he was a poofter?

- No, no, I just

said he suffered from premature ejaculation.

- Which I thought was quite interesting at the time,

because I suffer from the same complaint myself.

Um...

I'm going to see some friends in Norfolk next week.

Come along.

- No. Can't.

You heard the Magistrate.

I'm not allowed out of Cambridge till me trial.

♪ ♪

And another thing about washing machines, right?

This fellow on the TV,

he put three of them washing machine inner bits together.

Not even a concrete one, nothing.

And he said it was a sculpture.

God.

But hey, hey, somebody bought it.

I'm not being funny here,

but there is a viable business opportunity there.

♪ ♪

Rent a barn.

Lay out all the bits.

And when you've had enough of

washing machines,

do fridges.

You know, that's what really annoys me, Alexander.

I'm always getting these great ideas,

you know, about how to make money and...

people are always telling me that they're wrong, you know?

I never get no encouragement.

No encouragement at all.

♪ ♪

Will you hold the wheel? - Hmm?

- Want some?

- Uh, yes. Thank you.

- Save me some. - I will.

♪ ♪

I think I've got a bit of a cold coming.

♪ ♪

- Here, listen to this.

- I apologize for not being currently available.

Be so kind as to leave your name and message.

- Ah.

- So, why don't you just get an ordinary job?

- 9:00 to 5:00? - That's the one.

- Getting up in the morning.

Coming home late at night.

- On the nose. - Full time.

Well, have you ever had one of those?

- Nope. - Oh.

Uh, I've done a bit of valeting work

for a friend of me brother's.

- And?

- I head-butted the bloke.

- Your version of putting your head down

and getting on with it, I suppose?

- He tried to fiddle with me sister.

And then later on, you know...

Ah, I don't know.

Don't know what?

- Nothing. Just later on,

you know, when my brother Gavvy killed himself...

- You don't have to say anything, Stuart.

Talk about it another time.

- Yeah. Thanks.

♪ ♪

- When the police found Gavvy,

they said he'd really suffered.

The tablets he'd taken had eaten his kidneys

and his liver away before he died.

And he'd have been in absolute agony dying.

And I'm glad.

I'm glad my brother suffered.

♪ ♪

- "Chainsaw carved mushrooms."

- Fucking hell.

- What did they do to deserve that?

- Hey.

Fucking nice little number you got going here, mate.

Get many nobheads falling for it?

- Yeah, plenty.

- Uh...

♪ ♪

Whoa, ah.

- I'm James. Good to see you.

Alexander has told me all about you.

- Reuben. - Reuben, yes?

- I'm Dido.

- Oh, you have a lovely house.

- Hello, darling. How're you doing?

Good to see you. - Here, this is for you.

- Ooh, thank you. Lovely.

- Now, Alexander told you that I'm an alcoholic, hasn't he?

I'm also a schedule one offender and a thief.

But I won't cause no trouble.

May I have a tour of the estate, please?

Is that a pear tree?

- Yeah.

- Oh.

You make cider out of that.

And them apples, eh? Yeah.

- Famous actors used to come here and play tennis,

like Laurence Olivier and... - Laurence Olivier, really?

Over there?

Ooh.

Hey, 21-love!

You ought to knock all them trees down

and build a go-kart course.

Yeah, fix this place up, it'd be really lovely here.

- ♪ Never been a sinner I never sinned ♪

♪ I got a friend in Jesus ♪

♪ So you know that when I die ♪

♪ He's gonna set me up with the spirit in the sky ♪

♪ Oh, set me up with the spirit in the sky ♪

♪ That's where I'm gonna go when I die ♪

♪ When I die and they lay me to rest ♪

- ♪ I'm gonna go to the place that's the best ♪

♪ Go to the place that's the best ♪

♪ ♪

- Mind, it's hot. - Oh.

♪ ♪

Ooh, lapsang shoe-pong, eh? Very nice.

Ooh, it's very tasty. Yeah.

Fucking amazing.

Yeah, A-fucking-one.

They're so false.

False tits.

Now, I prefer

a bit of natural bounce myself.

Yeah.

I mean, and if they're going to sag,

they're going to sag, aren't they?

Mm.

Ugh.

I don't get it, Alexander.

How come you're so interested in homeless people?

- I'm not.

I was only working at Wintercomfort

because the money was good.

Nine quid an hour.

And the hours, shift work.

How long are these onions meant to cook?

- Oh.

Till you feel satisfied.

- No, it... it meant I could write in the morning.

- Yeah, but why?

- Stuart, if I was interested in you as a homeless person,

I'd have been sacked for

unprofessional conduct ages ago.

- So?

- So I like you as a friend.

Is that so bad?

- Fenugreek?

- Oh.

It's a bit weird, if you ask me.

- Couldn't agree more.

Right.

There's always somebody

who won't want two.

Ooh.

Yeah, but why?

- Because you're funny, intelligent, good company.

What do you want, a fucking love letter?

Now, shut up and drink your freaking beer.

- Marvelous.

What was it again?

- Convict curry. - Convict curry.

Convict curry.

Ooh. Hmm.

Hey, Stuart, it's Thursday.

You gotta tell. - No, not now.

- Come on. A promise is a promise.

Come on, you've talked our ears off about everything else.

- Give it a rest, Alexander.

You don't wanna know.

- It's Stuart's first prison sentence.

He'll only talk about it on a Thursday

because he gets his dole money Wednesday afternoons,

which means that, if talking about it upsets him,

he's still got enough heroin left to calm him down.

Is that right?

- It was nothing.

I was...

I was in the pub one morning.

It was the little 'un's birthday.

Uh, I was...

I was in the pub celebrating.

It was over ten years ago, and...

this bloke says...

It was just nastiness.

- Come on. - Alexander, please.

- Look, Thursday's the day.

♪ ♪

- So I come home.

♪ ♪

Martin says you've been fucking Graham.

- You're drunk.

If you want it, you gotta rape me.

- No.

- No.

I will

fucking kill you!

I'll fucking kill you, you cunt!

- Get out! Fuck you!

You wanted the fucking baby!

Oh.

And I think then I realized that I

had made a proper mess of it already.

- I'm leaving.

Ow, you...

- You fucking are not!

- Fuck...

- You fuck around with me! Yeah?

I'm a little bit ashamed of that, to be honest.

Mm.

Go fuck off.

Fuck the whole lot of you!

I'll do all of you.

Go, for fuck's sake!

Go on, fuck off.

Fucking hell.

It's all right.

Fuck off!

So we sat around for a bit,

and decided we'd come out together.

We're coming out now.

We're together.

I'm sorry.

- Go! Get him!

- Can't you just shoot the fucker?

- He's just lost it.

It's not Stuart.

- Move! Move!

- Go! - Go, go!

Ah!

Ow!

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

Lovely stay, Alexander. Thank you very much.

I really enjoyed it.

I was really surprised, Alexander,

to be honest.

I thought the middle-class people

had something wrong with them, you know?

But they're just ordinary, aren't they?

I was a bit shocked, to tell the truth.

♪ ♪

- Over the next few months, Stuart's trial

for the attempted manslaughter

of his not poofter boing-boing-whoosh bed-making

neighbor was postponed once... - Oh, dear God.

- Twice... - Oh, no, no.

A third time.

- And then a fourth.

- Oi, you mutt...

Ow, ow!

- He needed some cash, so I gave him

250 quid for his car.

And I'm still waiting for the paperwork.

Meanwhile, the campaign went from strength to strength.

Newsletters, petitions, protests,

even benefit gigs.

And then it was Stuart's bright idea

to go and see our local MP.

Oh, shit.

Oh, I'm sorry, mate. I'm just a bit nervous is all.

- Mr. Shorter is not from Ann's constituency...

- I'm from Ann's constituency.

I wish to take Stuart as my guest.

- Alexander.

- For that you'll have to make a new appointment.

- Oh, rubbish, she's got nothing else to do, has she?

- The Council is not gonna have

no emergency shelter for the homeless.

And I'm frightened...

- I'm sorry.

- In winter, it's smack what keeps you fucking...

I'm sorry.

Keeps you warm.

But this year, there's going to be

one more death a month again.

- Why?

- Puppies.

- I'm not sure I follow you.

- On the streets.

P... puppies.

Um...

'Cause the homeless love their dogs, right?

But the hostels

only allow two to three places for pets.

So,

if there has been two new litters,

then loads more people are gonna have dogs, aren't they?

And therefore, will be forced to sleep out.

And hence,

therefore,

furthermore,

more deaths.

Mm?

See, on the street,

it's the little things that kill people.

That Justice Howarth must hate the campaign's guts.

Humiliation.

- Seven months after they were sent down, Ruth and John...

- Have been released on bail...

after a high profile campaign by MPs

and other homeless charities.

They've won the right to appeal

against prison sentences of four and five years.

- This was our first sight of Ruth Wyner and John Brock...

After seven months in jail,

the so-called Cambridge Two have been released

on unconditional bail and are now free to challenge

their original convictions.

- I mean, I can't see if the lights on...

Stuart, it's Alexander.

Stop whatever illegal thing it is that you're doing

and get down here.

- It's me muscular dystrophy.

Humeroscapio, or something.

Muscular dystrophy.

It's a real gobstopper, isn't it?

I never learned the name.

What you don't know can't hurt you.

I only came in to see the nurse

because I wanted to cuddle,

and it spits too soon.

- Stuart! - Yeah.

Well, I thought maybe

it's because of me muscular dystrophy.

You know, 'cause your dick's a muscle, isn't it?

Shh.

- It started on me ticker.

They tried twice

to put a pacemaker in me tits.

But the veins just crumble,

'cause of the amount of citric what I've injected.

Gotta laugh, haven't you?

♪ ♪

Eh?

Oh.

- I can't believe he hadn't told you.

He tells everyone about everything.

- Well, now, that's not true. - Mum, yes.

That's his way of coping, isn't it?

20 years, non-stop.

Ever since he first went on the streets.

- So 20 years?

But I thought it was Gavvy...

I mean, his brother's suicide that made him homeless.

- Don't be stupid.

Stuart had been on and off the streets since he was 12.

- Then all of a sudden this little horror.

12 years old, that's when it started.

- Gavvy had to run to fetch Mum.

- Mum, it's Stuart.

- Put me into care! You hear me?

Do it now, otherwise I'll kill you!

Put me into care now or I'll do the lot of you!

Put me into care!

I said put me into care!

- There in you go. Mind your head.

- He was taken into care that night.

We didn't see him for three weeks.

- Another one for you, Mr. Laverack.

You're getting popular.

He asked to come.

- Poor boy.

Poor boy.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

- Out of the frying pan into the fire.

- Well, we weren't the frying pan.

- You know what I mean.

- We just couldn't understand it.

- People said she ought to disown him.

- Well, how can you wash your hands of your own child?

He's my flesh and blood, I'd say.

He's my son.

I just wish I could do more.

- Working on the book after the end of the campaign,

writing, rewriting.

I realized then that I could never

hope to justify or explain Stuart.

And whatever had murdered his innocence

had long ago ceased to be simple enough

to sort out with words.

All I could hope to do was staple him to the page.

Hello? - It's in me tit.

I'm at Papworth Heart Hospital.

Come visit.

Yeah, on your way,

can you pop in to see me gran and grandpa?

And they've got a present for me.

I told 'em it smells like sick,

but they don't listen.

- We haven't seen Stuart in years.

Lots of years.

- Well,

things haven't been very easy for him recently.

- Oh, his mother says it's the buses.

They're not convenient.

- Stuart?

- No.

- Rory. His son.

- Stuart? - No.

- Rex. His dad.

- A bad man, his real dad.

Gypsies.

- Stuart?

- Gavvy. Stuart's brother.

- One day, when Rex was beating our Judith real bad,

Gavvy hit him over the head with a broom.

He was only five.

- Rex moved out after that.

- I know why Stuart changed.

Gavvy came 'round special to tell me.

Promised I'd never tell.

Three days later, he committed suicide.

♪ ♪

- To celebrate his getting better.

Couldn't decided, red or white.

- Tell him to come and see us.

We've waited long enough.

- Can't wait forever.

♪ ♪

- Oi, you fucking star.

I almost died.

How are Ruth and John?

- Oh, not good.

- Oh.

- He can't work.

Wife says he cries in his sleep.

- Uh...

Yeah.

And Ruth?

- Got cancer.

- Oh...

Bastards.

Now do you see what I mean about the system?

- The system?

It's the system that's gonna keep her alive.

The system has just given you

a 5,000 pound pacemaker for nothing.

- Hello? - Excuse me, guys.

Either of you know where the toilet is?

- Uh, yeah, sure, I saw a sign that said

down there on the left.

- Thanks, mate.

Fucking hell.

I need a cigarette.

Yeah, the whole town's like it.

All cripples.

I spent six years in a school like this.

The day I end up like that, eh?

Death day. Ah.

- Care was like this? - No.

Spaggy school.

They sent me because of my muscular dystrophy.

Said I wasn't allowed to go to proper school.

Well, it was the '70s.

Funny thing, though,

there was nothing wrong with me at that stage.

I was just a bit uncoordinated.

But you'd hardly notice.

But they said, since I was going to die a spag,

I might as well get used to the idea...

Before I was too spaggy to understand, I suppose.

- Now, all together.

Stu spag, Stu spag, Stu spag!

Stu spag!

- At it!

- Gimpy.

- Oi, gimpy, come here. Yeah!

- Where's your brother now, gimpy?

Help me. - Hold me.

- Love me. Both: Ooh.

♪ ♪

- We're coming to kill you.

♪ ♪

- Did they kick the shit out of you?

- Every day, mate.

Gave them something to do after school.

Then Gavvy would console me.

Please, not Howarth.

Please not him.

- Only one month out of Papworth,

Stuart's day in court for attempting to cut off

his neighbor's head finally arrived.

We were dreading it would be Ruth and John's old judge.

- Oh, fuck!

- All rise for Justice Howarth.

- At this point, Stuart really was looking at

being in prison for life.

- The court is now in session.

- Ah. Oh.

- Uh, this case concerns Stuart Clive Shorter.

Affray.

Disorderly conduct.

Resisting arrest.

An incident at the accused's flat.

- Excuse me, please.

- No.

No, he just said the whole thing was nonsense.

All that adding charges, taking him away,

attempted murder, not attempted murder...

I don't know, I mean,

what can I say?

The lucky bastard got off

on a series of technicalities.

Come on,

you know what Judge Howarth thinks about alcohol.

- Ooh! - Ooh, shit.

Stuart, I'm so sorry. Are you all right?

- I'm all good.

- I'm so sorry. Come on!

He's free. He's absolutely fucking free.

Come on.

Yay! Come on!

- ♪ We've got to headstart for happiness ♪

♪ For our part guess we must be blessed ♪

♪ For this feeling to be so strong ♪

♪ Tell me is that so wrong? ♪

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

Ugh.

Oh, you're disgusting.

- Ow.

- There we are. How beautiful is that?

- Wakey wakey.

- ♪ We've got a headstart for happiness... ♪

Hmm.

Sun's got his hat on, mate.

Sun has got his hat on, mate.

- Rise and shine.

Now, I've gotta find a suit for me sister's wedding.

- Can you give me a lift?

Have you listened to the tape?

I was nine, Alexander, when it started.

Nine.

It was three years of abuse.

My own brother.

♪ ♪

And then his mate joined in.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

That night,

I ju... I couldn't...

I couldn't take it no more, you know?

They had done everything.

There was nothing more they could do.

♪ ♪

Eh, you got any more of these?

- Yeah. Back seat, I think.

- I think the reason Mum still pampers him like she does

is because she feels guilty about what Gavvy did.

But he did the same to me.

I'm the same as Stu.

One minute, nice as pie.

Next minute, I'm a rattlesnake.

- How'd I get to be like this?

What murdered the little boy I was?

- When the police found Gavvy,

they said he'd really suffered.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

- Legs all over the show.

That boy has suffered.

- Happy-go-lucky little thing.

Mr. Laverack, here's Stuart.

- Poor boy. Poor boy.

- Out of the frying pan, back into the fire.

- Do it! Do it now!

Both: Stuart spag, Stuart spag.

Stuart spag, Stuart spag, Stuart spag.

- We're going to kill you.

- The tablets he took had eaten his kidneys

and his liver away before he died.

- Always such a caring boy. Happy-go-lucky little thing.

- And I'm glad.

I'm glad Gavvy suffered.

♪ ♪

- Eh, that's Gavvy.

That's Gavvy and me.

Ah.

- So he's what murdered the boy you were?

What made you change?

- Nah, that wasn't it.

- What was it then?

- So many people have had the same sort of childhood

and experiences as what I had,

and they've learned to accept

and cope and live a very,

in brackets,

normal and competitive life.

I'm quite philosophical about that.

- If you had to change one thing about your life,

what would it be?

- Well, how much is one thing?

And it's very easy to blame, isn't it?

Me muscular dystrophy?

The nonces?

Gavvy?

Eh.

Honestly, it'd be easier to change me.

- One thing only.

Uh.

Mm.

The day I discovered violence.

Me stepfather

said if I didn't go out there

and stick up for myself,

he'd belt us one.

♪ ♪

Fucking fantastic.

♪ ♪

- Oh!

- The weakling became strong.

On the day that I found violence,

I felt 50 times more strong.

And... and after you've been

bullied and pushed about

and called spastic,

you learn

that the violence and the fear of violence

and madness, it scares people.

I used to deliberately

get myself into rages.

And after six months,

I found I couldn't stop them.

I wasn't making the madness up no more.

You know what, Alexander?

I don't know myself,

how I got to be

like this.

Sometimes I think I'm the child of the devil.

Mm.

I let the devil in.

Now I can't get him out.

I tried

burning him out and cutting him out.

He don't take no notice.

Why should he?

He don't wanna be homeless.

♪ ♪

Mm.

♪ ♪

- You know, there's still one question left.

- What's that, mate? - Guess.

- Uh...

- We're writing the book backwards.

- Uh?

- So what's the last bit of information we need?

- Um, what?

- What's your date of birth?

- Oh, right. Yeah.

Oh, well.

I am Stuart Clive Shorter.

And I was born on the 19th of the 9th,

1968.

- Hmm.

- Here.

- So you're...

You're 33.

- I am 33, and I'm getting older,

as they say.

And I have led a very controversial

and, unpleasant life.

Oh, yeah.

Hey.

- Best man or what, eh?

- It's gonna be grand.

- ♪ We'll go steady right away ♪

♪ And let the sun shine bright ♪

♪ On my happy summer home ♪

♪ Let the sun shine bright ♪

♪ On my happy ♪

♪ Summer home ♪

♪ ♪

- P-P-Peterborough.

- Cambridge.

On 96 and 95.7 FM.

- And 1026 AM.

- BBC's Radio Cambridge here.

- The top story this hour...

near the French entrance to the Channel tunnel.

Police have now formally identified

the man who died after being hit by a train near Cambridge

early this morning.

He was Stuart Shorter, a 33-year-old

from Waterbeach.

The coroner has been informed,

and an inquest will take place at a date to be fixed.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

- Judith. It's Alexander.

♪ ♪

- "Blessed be the God and father of our Lord,

Jesus Christ..."

- Was it suicide?

I don't know.

He didn't leave a note.

But then, suicides often don't.

All I do know is that he stepped in front

of the 11:15 Cambridge-to-King's Lane.

- Thee of good cheer.

I have overcome the world, says the Lord.

Since the earthly life of Stuart has come to an end,

we commit his body to be buried.

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes,

dust to dust,

in sure and certain hope

of the resurrection to eternal life

through our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Amen. All: Amen.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

- Hello, Alexander.

It's Stuart. - Hello, Stuart.

- You know, admitting I've had lots to drink and that

I can't help but reflect about my brother

and my brother's friend,

and they didn't believe me.

And then in care, the abuse.

Being asked to do things

that I wouldn't have thought possible

that anyone could ask of an 11-year-old.

I just head-butted and head-butted

and head-butted

and head-butted.

The more you speak,

the more you're disbelieved.

And nobody was listening to anything I had to say.

♪ ♪

When I've got my drink inside me,

I sit here,

having mad conversations with myself,

talking about mutilating myself.

Killing myself.

Tracking down those who are responsible.

I want to just lay down and die.

♪ ♪

I feel so dirty

and fucking horrible,

and hating and attacking anyone I get close to.

♪ ♪

I just wish, once,

there could be an escape from this madness.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

- The book was finally published

in April, 2005.

♪ ♪

I think Stuart would have liked it.

♪ ♪

- ♪ There's nothing I could say ♪

♪ To make you try to feel okay ♪

♪ And nothing you could do ♪

♪ To stop me feeling the way I do ♪

♪ And if the chance should happen ♪

♪ That I never see you again ♪

♪ Just remember that ♪

♪ I'll always love you ♪

♪ ♪

♪ I'd be a better person ♪

♪ On the other side I'm sure ♪

♪ You'd find a way to help yourself ♪

♪ And find another door ♪

♪ To shrug off minor incidents ♪

♪ And make us both feel proud ♪

♪ I just wish I could be there ♪

♪ To see you through ♪

♪ ♪