Lip Service’s very own Heather Peace recently tweeted a picture of the script for the second series, sending the Lesbo Twittersphere into a froth of thrilled speculation.
But you don’t have to wait til it airs to find out what happens! As TV Jam are the best vaguely-gay-related-humorous TV blog in the world, the BBC have allowed us to publish this exclusive extract from the first episode. Enjoy!
LIP SERVICE, SERIES TWO, SCENE ONE
EXT. STREET – DAY
Frankie slips down a Merchant City ALLEYWAY, her ribcage tinkling like a WINDCHIME in the harsh Glasgow breeze. She emerges in GEORGE SQUARE and stops when she sees the statue of Queen VICTORIA.
FRANKIE: Hello, beautiful.
She lightly humps one of the QUEEN’S legs for a few minutes, then pulls out a camera and takes some pictures of her own FEET, several blurry shots of her THUMB and three of a disabled pigeon sicking up the remains of a Greggs’ STEAK BAKE before continuing on her way.
Heads turn as she saunters up QUEEN STREET, the hordes of drunken Saturday shoppers parting in front of her like the Red Sea. Or is it the Dead Sea? Some kind of SEA, anyway.
YOUNG MAN: Eh, ya skinny bint! Eat a fookin’ sausage, why don’t ye? Ah’ve got one ya can have. In ma SHORTS!
Frankie takes a blurry photograph of him and then slips into PRIMARK, shielding her face so her more affluent friends won’t realise that she has to shop there due to having virtually NO MONEY as she’s a TERRIBLE PHOTOGRAPHER and spends what little she does earn on overpriced TOUSLED RENTBOY HAIRCUTS.
Frankie slinks over to the ‘tank tops, skinny jeans and knock-off Converse’ section and starts sifting through the towering piles of FLIMSY RUBBISH. Eventually, she pulls out a size 6 T-shirt with ‘TART’ written on it in sequins. She flags down a SHOP ASSISTANT: an 19 year old with a bouffant comb-over and a bag of chips in one hand.
FRANKIE: Hi. Have you got this in a size…two?
SHOP ASSISTANT: Whit are ye talking about, pal? We dinnae de sizes like that. You’re in Glesga! Ah’m the skinniest person who works here, and ah’m a size 18 tae 20.
FRANKIE: I understand. It’s just that I’ve not been eating much recently because I’ve been consumed by the overwhelming mystery of my parentage- specifically my father’s identity- and so I’ve been wandering the streets of Glasgow in a sort of fugue state, restlessly pacing and stopping to stare moodily at the river while holding a sepia tinted photograph of myself as a child.
SHOP ASSISTANT: Oh aye? So did ye work out who yer paw is?
FRANKIE: Yes (dramatic pause). He’s…my uncle.
SHOP ASSISTANT: (laughs) Och, that’s nothin’. My da’s my brother and my ma’s dad’s friend’s my cousin’s mum. Have ye no considered taking the bamstick on Jeremy Kyle? They pay you £14.50 oan top of your bus fare, n’ they’ve got a buffie backstage wi’ wee cheesey cubes oan sticks. It wus pure belter, even though ma nan called me a margarine fanny an’ punched me in the face.
Frankie looks at her, eyes hooded. She slinks over to the SHOP ASSISTANT seductively.
FRANKIE: So, how long have you been into women?
She lunges forward clumsily for a snog, but the SHOP ASSISTANT sidesteps and Frankie falls into a vat of NEON PINK BAT WINGED JUMPER DRESSES.
SHOP ASSISTANT: Whit are ye oan about, ye mauchit numptyjobbie? Ah’m no into lassies. Ah’ve goat a fella and he’ll pure belt ye in the cludgie if ye don’t back aff.
FRANKIE: (plaintively) Oh go on. Pleeeeease.
SHOP ASSISTANT: Och, all right then. Ye’re no a bad looking lass an’ ah’m quite pished. Meet me out the back in five minutes an’ ah’ll let ye see ma jars.
Stay tuned to TV Jam for series 2 reviews.