Filth Monologues

A corrupt, junkie cop with bipolar disorder attempts to manipulate his way through a promotion in order to win back his wife and daughter while also fighting his own inner demons.

Sometimes it takes a wrongdoer to show you when you are doing wrong.

Scotland. This nation brought the world television, the steam engine, golf, whiskey, penicillin, and of course, the deep-fried Mars bar. It is great being Scottish. We're such a uniquely successful race.

See, every time a woman drops her trousers: promotion. Every time a man drops theirs: disciplinary action. Where's the equality in that?

I think they've left me. I think my family have left me. I don't know how. I can't remember why. You see, there's something wrong with me. There is something seriously wrong with me.

I am on a murder case here. That's M-U-R-D-E-R, which spells S-E-R-I-O-U-S. So if I don't get my A-R-S-E in G-E-A-R, I'm in serious S-H-I-T, okay?

The games are always, repeat always, being played. But nobody plays the games like me. Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson, soon to be Detective Inspector Bruce Robertson. You just have to be the best, and I usually am. Same rules apply.

I've always believed that it's the winning that's important, not the taking part.

I want you to show this bastard who the hardest firm in this city really is, OK? Nobody, nobody, steams in like the Edinburgh polis.