Blandings (2013–2014): Season 1, Episode 5 - Lord Emsworth and the Girlfriend - full transcript

Fiery Scots gardener McAllister threatens to quit when the Empress nibbles his carefully-sculpted topiary but McAllister is needed for the annual fete so Clarence must grovel to make him stay. Cockney children Ern and Gladys are billeted at Blandings as part of a Fresh Air for Children scheme and,whilst Freddie falls for their teacher Miss Younghusband,Clarence indulges them to annoy Connie. They even,to Clarence's delight,destroy the dreaded fete.

Ah! That's enough of that.

I only took up smoking,
so I could give it up.

I've given up everything in fact.
Reformed man.

Yup! No more rum, bum
and concertina for Frederick.



Now, Clarence, concentrate.

The London Fresh Air Children
arrive tomorrow.

It comforts these children
to see the civilized classes,

which, in this unusual case,
includes you,

comporting themselves gracefully.

What have you done to your head?

This is my reformed hair. It
symbolizes my repudiation of vice.

"What vice?", I hear you cry?

Sins of the track
and bookie, mainly,

but you name it, I'll repudiate it.

Now hear this. The reputation
of the family is at stake.

We must excel.

And, Clarence, if you say to me,
"Do I have to wear a top hat?"

I shall stab you through the heart
and have your mutilated corpse

dragged around Blandings
by a donkey.


Me or the donkey?

Oh, no, the donkey shall be clothed
to amplify your total degradation.

Better than wearing a top hat...

How can I help?
This is the new me, you see?

Ever ready to help an old lady
get a horse's hoof

out of a boy scout, sort of thing.

Oh, Freddie, you're an imbecile!

Aunt C on cracking form.

London Fresh Air...Children?


So, what's the solution
to this repulsive sogginess?


Proper stuff, y'ken,
nae heathen stoor the size of peas.

Braw great clinkers.

Then yir dainty feet'll
hae traction.

Awa' wi' all this filthy moss.

I shall speak to His Lordship.
He'll nae like it.

He's a great one
for the squilchy filth.

Gravel it shall be, McAllister.

I'm on awa' to the idol o' erotic
joy and trim wir bloated flaybers.

(Bloated flaybers?)

Beach, um, my hat -

you know, the boater affair
bit of ribbon round it -

seem to have lost track of it.

Is it the one Your Lordship
is presently wearing?


Good heavens! Bless my soul.

Thank you, Beach!

Ah, Connie. Had a pleasant
turn around the ground?

As you raise the subject
of McAllister,

he wishes to spread gravel
across that hideous infestation

of moss in the lime tree walk.

No, no, no, no.

I am aware that McAllister
seeks to desecrate my lovely moss

and I shall not countenance it.

Oh, they're rather splendid.

My Lord, is that entirely wise?



The gardener, McAllister, My Lord.


Thank you, Beach.

Ah, McAllister! I expect
you're wondering why I sent...

The posteriors of the goddess
have been ravaged by yir pug!

My pug?

My dear fellow,
I don't possess a pug.

And wi' the morn dairkening the
horizon, it is a savage disgrace!

Did ye pick they delphiniums?


Moss. That's what
I wanted to talk to you about.

McAllister! Unhand my moss!



Why is McAllister
getting into a taxi?

Eh? Is he? I have no idea.

He must be, er...on

He's given in his notice.



What have you done?

Well, that's impossible!

His presence is ESSENTIAL tomorrow!

You haven't the faintest idea
what I'm talking about!

It's the Blandings Fete!
The most important day of our year!

Oh, good Lord!

Oh, oh, can't you have a word?

No, I can't!

You and I know both know
you are a withered homunculus

rather than a conventional
specimen of adult manhood,

but you are the titular
Master of Blandings!

You must reclaim your gardener!


Now, look here, McAllister,

we need to get one thing
absolutely clear...

(I'll double your salary.)


When I say double
I quite possibly mean treble? Hm!

Oh, my dear fellow, please don't go.

Think of tomorrow.


Oh, I beg of you, McAllister!

What else do I have to offer you?


The gravel path.

Yes, of course, McAllister,

of course, with my blessing.

You'll no' pick another flooer
withoot my say-so?


And there'll be nae mair nibblin'
on the dirty dumplin's o' the deity?

Whatever that is, no, never.

The incident is closed.

McAllister, out you hop.

Come, come.

Such a pretty thing,
under all the D-I-R-T.

Can it, you lot! Reverend Gandle
here is trying to speak.

Thank you, Miss Younghusband.

Now, I merely wish to say...

Good heavens...

Welcome to Market Blandings...

I have here the roster
of your accommodation.


What do you want,
Frederick? Is it money?

Oh, dear old prune, not in the
least. I am a man transfigured.

My only desire is to be
of service to my peers,

you being the peer available.

I have no sympathetic ear
for your desires, m'boy.

Tomorrow I have to endure the torment
of a stick-up collar and a top hat.

Oh, grinding rectal ache!

And, of course,
you have to make a speech.

Oh! You'd forgotten
about the speech.

Err... I tell you what!

How about I get you out of that?

Eh? Seriously.

All I want now is to give
succour to the suffering.

And if ever there was a suffering
sucker, Guv'nor, you're it.

Aw this moss must be raked up!

Fir the gravel.

I hae commanded its delivery.

Well! Rake up the moss?
But it's rather jolly!

Guv'nor, you love this...

Raked up it shall be!

With a canny great,
God-fearin' rake!

A muckle pile o' gravel shall
come raining doon on the path!

Whar there was squilch, mon,

there shall be a Godly crunch.

The thing to remember is,

many of these London children
are very like ordinary kids.

Except that some of them are armed.

I say!

Good afternoon, gentlemen. I'm here
to deliver you two children.

Oh, er, excellent. And what would
you like us to do with them?

Just accommodate them.

Reverend Gandle has
allocated them to the castle.

Right. Guv'nor,
I shall attend to this.

Frederick, I'm a little confused...

Undoubtedly, but I needs must waft
this lady round the family shack.

"Needs must waft"?

I do wish you wouldn't refer to
the place as "the family shack".

Miss Younglegs and I are stepping
this way to inspect the fixtures.

Regale our guests with your
scintillating conversation.

Er, Frederick, erm... Ah...

Ah. Yes.

Lovely day. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

Popped down from London, what?

"Pop dine?" Speak English, mister.

Can it, fish-face!

Can it what?
From London, sir. Yes, sir.


Been out much this season?

Our house does have a door, mate.

Oh, that is good news.

Erm, name, m'dear?

Gladys, sir. And this is
me brother, Ern.

Ern is wearin' a straw hat
that he found in a ditch.

Good heavens.
What a handsome article.



That doesn't look too good.

I know. I wanted a yellow one.

Well, next time I get
lucky on the ponies, eh?

Are you a gambling man, Mr
Threepwood? Er, no. I never gamble.

Don't know what you're missing.

Oh. Are you a gambling husband,
Miss Younglovely? No, I mean...

Oh, I know what you meant.
I have been known to flutter.

Golly, I'd be hardly be
taken seriously in Bow

if I didn't stick
the odd oncer on a horse.

The odd oncer...
A fiver on occasion.

Ah, um, I'm sorry, but I think
you're going to have to marry me.

Want to bet?


What colour is your handkerchief?
Get it right and I'll marry you.


Er, lemon!

It's purple. Hard cheese.



That is one royally cool cucumber.




No, no, my dear fellow, I insist.

Five guineas is an acceptable fee
for the restitution of the hat.


You appear to be issuing
this small boy with a cheque.

No, no, no, no, no... Yes.

Well, he found my hat, you see.


Dear little fellow.

Here's sixpence.

Run along, now.


What is the child doing?

Er, he's being a dog.

When someone gives Ern money,
he does his turn as a playful dog.

Most amusing! Connie, these young
persons are staying with us.


Proof, mon!

Proof! Yir pug has been devouring

the shameful portions
o' the goddess!

You persist in this erroneous belief
that I possess a pug.

I think he means "pig", sir.

Pig? Pig - ah! Thank you.

Are you quite mad?

Mad? Ye cry me mad when I beheld
the unclean beast wi' my ain een?

The filthy, trottery abomination!
I ought to turn it into bacons!

Oh. It may prove a condition
o' my remaining in yir employ, mon.

ERN: Woof-woof-woof!


He's very lifelike, ain't he?

You, boy!

You are forbidden entrance
to the Blandings Fete.



Stop him!

Bleedin' hell on sticks. Wow.

His Lordship was very insistent
that you should be comfortable.

Is His Lordship
the great shaggy Herbert

what shouted at the geezer
in the knackered old coat?

No. The shaggy Herbert
is the gardener.

His Lordship is
the gentleman in the coat.

And this is his knackered old hat.

So, the old biddy our Ern
took a gnash at -

that's Mrs Lordship?

No, that is his sister.

Sister? She talks at him
like she's married to him.

So, who are you?
Are you a Lord, an' all?

I'm His Lordship's butler.
My name is Beach.

My job is
to look after Lord Emsworth,

his family and his guests.

And you...are his guests.


Mr Beach?

I told Ern this was a man's job,

but he won't do it
cos he's embarrassed.

Please take
this for your trouble, sir.

Very kind of you, miss,

but I'm afraid

that if I were discovered
receiving gifts from guests,

I would have to be shot.

His Lordship's very
strict about that.

'Oh, what?'

What can I do for you, my dear?


'It is YOU who stands
in the corridor outside MY room,

'having just knocked on MY door.'

Why did I do that, do you suppose?

'You've come to beg me to be civil
to that fantastically disgusting

'brace of children.'

Thank you, Connie. Will you be doing
that sort of thing, do you think?

'No. Boil your head!'


Lord Emsworth...

I trust, will say a few words.

He is delighted...

Freddie! Frederick! welcome you all to Blandings.


Oh, don't give it another thought. take pleasure in the grounds.


YOU are supposed to be confined!

Lord Emsworth.

I wanted to say how very much
the children

are looking forward to your speech.

ERN: Bull's-eye!


Ah, my dear lady.

There we are.


That lady - Mrs Thingummy,
runs a grocer's shop.

What's her name...? Erm, Rossiter.

Puce of face and squeaking.

How would she like it if I went round
to her place,

dressed in this fatuous rig,
went puce and squeaked?

The fuss you make about for once
in your life being dressed

like a reasonable English gentleman
and not like an incontinent tramp!

Have you prepared your speech?

We cannot have a repeat
of last year's debacle.

There was no debacle. I just...

A couple of names eluded me.

Mine. Your own.

The King's.
The name of the castle.

Now, be quiet. Prepare your speech.

YOU! Girl!

Touch not they flooers!

Argh! Yer...

I'll hae yir reekin'
tripes and bowels,

ye rankin', slooty jezebel!






Ern, is it not?

If I were a gambling man, Ern,

I'd wager you were doing something
that you didn't ought.

You have a nefarious and
frankly desperate look about you.

I like that in a man.

I think we can do business.


Oh! You haven't got a little bit
of a cold coming on, have you?


God bless my soul.
What are you doing in here?

Please, sir, I was put.

Er, how do you mean "put"? Why?

For pinching things, sir.

Pinching things? How extraordinary.
What did you, er, pinch?

I thought they'd cheer up our Ern.

Oh, is Ern in desperate need
of cheering up with...

COCKNEY ACCENT: .."flahrs"? Yes, sir.

I fought I'd pick him a few flowers,
them long, blue ones.

But that great hairy man shouted
and come runnin',

so I copped him
on the shin with a stone.

Then I go - crash -
straight into the lady, don't I?

And all the other stuff I pinched
for Ern dropped out me frock.

Two sandwiches, slice-a-cake...

CRYING: So that's why I was
put here by the lady.

Cos I belong with the pigs.


Confound the "loidy"!


Mrs Rossiter, please.

Your father has deserted us.
We require a speech, from you.


You find that amusing?

No, no, I just made some
intricate arrangements

that are no longer necessary.
Lead on, old scream.

A little bit about the weather.

No vulgarity.

You're not in your club now.

We don't want a repeat of the
debacle of Lady Maud's funeral.





This young lady would like some tea.

Buns. Fruit.

COCKNEY ACCENT: Jam sandwiches.

Er, slice-a-cake.

Very good, Your Lordship.

Oh, and her brother, Beach.
He'd like some stuff, too.

Ern - would he like a little chicken?
Ah, coo!

Beg your pardon?
Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

He doesn't suffer from gout,
does he?


Beach, a bottle of that new port,

from that lot they sent us down
for us to try.

It's nothing special,
but it's drinkable.

I'd like your brother's
opinion of it.


So, here we all are...

..banged up in this
stinking-hot tent.


And the guv'nor - very sensibly
in my opinion - has done a bunk.

He's probably cuddled up to his pig.


Personally, I'd rather be closeted
somewhere breezy with a pint

of gin and tonic, and somebody slim
and authoritative with a whistle.

You would see
some cuddling then, eh?

Eh? Eh? Would you?

Rule number one - get 'em laughing.

You know, all this reminds me

of a story I heard backstage
at The Pink Pussy Club.

ALL: Ooh!

How's that?


Um, yes, well, there was
a Frenchman and an Irishman

and a Rabbi -
stop me if you know it.

No, no, tell a lie,
could have been a Hindu.

Anyway, they're all on a train,
going to Rangoon.

Er, except the Spanish bloke. It
turns out he doesn't have a ticket!


No, no, that comes later.
Where are they going?

CHILD SHOUTS: Kowloon! Kowloon.

'Thank you. So time goes on,
they get a bit peckish...'

Are you enjoying that?

No face so lovely that it cannot be
improved by the application

of a little jam, eh, Beach?

Oh. What do you have there?

Ern's comestibles, as discussed,
my Lord.

I have ventured to add some
toffee and a packet of sultanas,

and Cook has contributed a bag
of what she calls "gobstoppers".

I think our guest says "coo".

Is there anything else we can
get you, my dear? Don't be shy.

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

I'd love get Ern
a bunch of them flowers.

I know he's a lad, but he's partial.
He likes the colour.

Back home, we don't have colour.

I say, damn it, Beach!

If this lady desires "flahrs"
for her little brother,

she can jolly well have them.

Will you be requiring me
to do the cutting, my Lord?

Scissors, Beach.

We are now going outside
to cut..."flahrs".

We may be some time.

'So, Paddy says him... Oh, no, no.'

I said Frenchman - I meant Chinese.

ALL: Oh! And he's blind.

Yeah, be definite with gags.
That's also rule number one.

So, Paddy says to him...
Oh, no, no. Hang on,

I forgot to tell you
about the very tall waitress.

Go back a bit.
Well, she's called Maureen.

Or possibly Hamish. Anyway,

the important thing about her
is that she has to get to Brighton.

Which of course is
nowhere near Africa,

and she has this aunt...


My dear, I shouldn't want you
to think my hand is trembling

because I am in any way
apprehensive about

cutting my own flowers.

No, it is because I drink.

The colossal amount of alcohol
I ingest every day

has turned my nervous system
to jelly.

Haud yir hand!

Well, McAllister?

When you speak Scotch,
you are unintelligible,

and I cannot permit you
to raise your voice in my garden.

So speak again, McAllister.
What do you want?

This young lady, whose name
escapes me, but that is not material,

has my full permission
to take as many flowers

as she wants from my garden.

Note the possessive adjective,

and if you do not like it,
you know what you to do.


Moreover, if you wish to remain
at Blandings,

you will surrender every shred
of your demented ambition

to disfigure my moss
with a disgusting gravel path.

There you have it, McAllister.

What do you say?


And the lady's name is Gladys,
as you ask.


Stone the crows! The 'ole bloomin'
tent's on the wobble!

Hang on, you'll love this...

No! Hold your fire, Aunt C!

I understand what's happened here,
and I am in control..

I have you now, Aunt Constance

They don't come much darker
than you, Mr Threepwood.

Oh, God, Miss Youngsqueeze,
let me explain!


Oh, Mrs Rossiter!

Oh, yes! Keep doing that!

You are so very lovely
when you smile.


I am going... my room.


Ern asked me to give you this, sir.


Oh, please tell Ern
that I embrace him as a gentleman

and am for ever in his service. Oh!

Would you care to scratch
the Empress?

Yes, sir, thank you, sir.

Corton, '02.

From the vines
of Charlemagne himself.

Regum mensis arisque deorum.

"For the tables of kings
and altars of gods."

Cheeky little minx.


Quite right. Past its best.

Guv'nor? I was wondering,

now that the speech business
has been successfully finessed,

could you find it in your heart

to settle my account
at the Pink Pussy Club?

You see, when I said...

..that I didn't need money,
I was using the word "need"

in a purely private sense to mean...


Yes. I'll write you a cheque.

Good God. Are you quite well?

Tickety-boo, my boy. Tip-top.

You do know that Aunt Constance
has gone to her room?

Best place for her.

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