The control room in a recording studio. Rich and Malcolm are seated behind a mixing desk. Tony is in the vocal booth, but his voice can be heard over the studio monitors
Malcolm: OK, tape's rolling
Tony: What, really? You still use tape?
Malcolm: Sometimes, yeah, when we've got a bigger budget, but I was speaking figuratively
Tony: Where've I heard that before?
Rich: You've got no short-term memory left at all, have you?
Tony: No, it'd all gone by 1986. Or might've been 1992. I remember what a miserable ba*tard you always were though... [Perks up] What was that about a bigger budget?
Rich: Calm down. Let's just get on with tarting up this live stuff in case anyone ever wants to release it, shall we? You kept singing the wrong words, even though the audience were singing the right ones. Admittedly my BVs might've wandered off into the avant-garden from time to time as well
Tony: The gig was good, wasn't it? It seems like only last week
Rich: It was last week
Tony: I'm still buzzing!
Rich: It's called tinnitus
Malcolm: Actually he's right, there's a hum somewhere, I'd better sort it out. Why don't you two take a break?
Rich: Not sure that's a good idea; the last one we took went on for over thirty years. Where are the others, anyway?
Malcolm: Unless your rhythm section are wildly different to everyone else's, they'll be in the pub or maybe the pool room, griping about you and planning to form a band of their own
Rich: How could I've forgotten? For 'twas ever thus
Tony: [Singing] I know all the words... At least I used to...
Rich: Not quite what I was trying to convey when I wrote it, but songs eventually find their own meanings, I s'pose. Let's leave him in there, shall we? Safest place