Green Wing (2004–2007): Season 1, Episode 9 - Emergency - full transcript

So, will I be able to see you tonight?

Probably, unless I've perfected
my invisibility serum.

- By the way, it's not a she, it's a he.
- I knew it.

Jesus.

Don't you think...?

Ooh, mate!

- So you still don't like me, do you?
- (manic laugh ) Can't stand you!

- Oh, come on, Mum.
- Don't you ever say that word.

I resigned.
Sheffield offered me a consultancy.

- Congratulations.
- Yeah, well, I mean, Sheffield...

- You are a wonderful dancer.
- Thanks.



I bought you for 30p!

Would you shh, speak in...?

(self-conscious cough )

You're disturbing, tedious and desperate!

Coming back to the '"us getting to know
each other properly'" thing for a moment...

I love Mac.

It's not...

GREEN WING
Episode 9: Emergency

- What are you doing here?
- We can't speak at the hospital, so...

That includes the car park, you cretin.

- I've been to see a therapist.
- Fascinating.

Did he agree with everyone else? Did he say
'"hopeless case'"? '"Freak of nature'"?

No. She said that I've got
a lot of anger inside me.

I should let it out
and express my inner feelings.



All the things that have upset me.
So, do you have a minute?

No.

You let me down.
You weren't there for me, Mum.

Shut up! Not here!

I needed you to make my packed lunches, and
that Incredible Hulk costume for Halloween.

Yes, and I need you to shut up right now,
or you'll be looking for another job.

I've got an angry penis.

(car alarm starts )

You can't not go to his leaving drinks.
It's his last day.

- You won't see him again.
- I know.

It's just that Emily's going to be there.
That's the worst thing, I think.

I can handle Mac going to Sheffield.

It's the fact the slut bitch
daughter of Satan's going with him...

Sorry, sorry.

- No, thank you.
- This is stupid.

- You've got to tell him how you feel.
- They're practically married.

What have you got to lose?
You're never going to see him again.

The worst that can happen is that
he rejects you, totally humiliates you.

Good point.

(grunting)

You see?
It's all about upper-arm strength.

And that's why you will never be able
to sail around the world single-handedly.

- But you would?
- If I had the backing, the time...

Oh, shit. Erm...

Martin, in my car, brown leather briefcase.
Quick as your little pixie legs can carry you.

- Run along. I'll be in HQ.
- I'm not your slave.

- You've been misinformed.
- Nice trousers.

You're not going to go, are you?

- Well, yeah, I'd better.
- Why?

He won't attach electrodes to your nipples.

No, he'll probably do
something different this time.

I'm going to get him back,
in some sort of subtle way.

- Some way that he never finds out about?
- Yeah, right.

Ten minutes late.
That doesn't count, does it?

- I like your cardigan.
- Do you?

- Yeah, the pattern.
- It's plain green, isn't it?

No, the pigs and cows on the back.

Ooh.

It's Fuzzy Felt.

Oh. A little lamb.

Ooh. Piggies.

Ah! Dr Macartney. Sorry to screw the schedule,
you know, on your last day,

but Dr Secretan's had to pop out
for about 20 minutes.

Fantastic. Did he bother
with an excuse or an apology?

He was wearing linen trousers
and you could see his cock.

Fair enough.

- Right, where is he?
- He's gone to change. His cock was visible.

- I've got his thing. What shall I do with it?
- I'll take it with me to theatre.

- You haven't wanked in it, have you?
- No. Do you think I should?

No. What about his car?
Is that unscathed?

Well, let's just say
there's more saliva in it than usual.

Can we be a little bit more original?
You're a doctor, not a waiter.

OK. Let's put an appendix in his bag. Can you
get me an appendix? What about a heart?

For fuck's sake! You're not in the Mafia.
Hearts don't just grow on trees, do they?

I'm going to rifle through his bag
and mess up his things a bit.

My God, you are evil.

Unopened letters.
Get him back for opening my exam results.

You've gone power-mad.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

What? Are you all right?

Hey.

- What is it? Let's have a look.
- Nothing.

Come on. Hey.

I'm dizzy. Erm...

I'll just... I'm gonna...

- I'm gonna find a place to... to lie down.
- What is it?

Martin. Martin?

So when you've finished building Jesus,
maybe you could stop by my office.

Afraid I've other duties to attend to.

What, like looking up cathedrals
on the internet?

Writing letters to, erm,
Christian children in Africa, probably.

Please! Do you really think
some starving kid in Upper Zululand

is going to be cheered up by
a humourless letter from a foreign radiologist

with a shitty haircut, who's only found God
because no one else will have him?

I hear your words,
but I turn the other cheek.

I'm just trying to make you understand.
I just...

I just want... I just want you
to listen to me. I just want to...

I've got Jesus's arm.

- Much better trousers, by the way.
- Thank you.

- Some people are so insensitive.
- What's up? Can I help?

Not really, no.
I... I had a fight with Angela, that's all.

- Were you wearing bikinis?
- What?

Bi-ki-nis.
Were you wearing bikinis when you fought?

It would help if I could
visualise the situation.

- Yep. They were wearing bikinis.
- Of course.

Erm...

What would you do if,
say, hypothetically, OK,

you accidentally opened
someone's very personal letter, OK?

And, erm, this someone was a work colleague,

maybe, erm... an anaesthetist, maybe,

and-and you, er... you discovered
that he was keeping a secret?

And that secret was
that he was actually... adopted,

and, erm... and you accidentally
read in the letter

that his adopted father had told him

who-who-who-who
his biological parents are, OK?

What would you do? Would you
own up to it and risk being killed,

or would you cover all your tracks
and just deny all knowledge of the letter?

- (clears throat) Yep, yep. I see. Mm-hm.
- (funk music on headphones )

- Were you listening to me?
- Yes.

- Promise?
- Yes.

- What would you do, then?
- Well, erm...

You know, it's, erm... it's obvious.
I'd, erm...

I'd just sit them again next year.

You b... you bloody Nora!

- Like a sweetie?
- Yes. Thank you.

Wow!

Hmm. That's interesting.

What's that?

It says that natural levels
of background radiation in Sheffield

are ten times the national average.

- I'm still going.
- Good. Good, I'm glad.

It says here that there are
many varieties of flesh-eating spiders

in the Sheffield area,
some of them up to six feet in diameter.

- No, it doesn't.
- Well, not in so many words.

- I'm just... reading between the lines.
- Mm-hm.

What would happen
if you didn't go to Sheffield?

The earth would spin off its axis and we'd all
plunge screaming into the heart of the sun.

No, seriously.
Don't you like it here?

Specifically here?
It's OK, yeah.

But, you know,
I still yearn sometimes

for the days when I was over there,
close to the skirting.

But you should never go back,
never go back.

Why must you turn everything into a joke?

Generally, it's to avoid
confronting the difficult issues

that most proper adults have to deal with.

Can't you try to be serious
for just one minute?

Yeah. Go on, then.
I'll give it a go.

- We didn't really get on before, did we?
- I wouldn't say that.

You thought I was some sort of incompetent
neurotic who went to a boys' barber,

and I thought you were
a rude, offhand bloke with lady's hair.

Being serious, maybe I would have said that,
but I wouldn't say that any more.

We, er... we seem to
get on OK now, don't we?

I hope so.
I... I think we do.

Better late than never.

Just snap out of it, Alan!

You make my faith sound less than genuine.

I cannot simply '"snap out'"
of the love of Our Lord.

Just stop it!
Just stop pretending to be calm.

This is no pretence.

- Please return those seedlings.
- Shan't.

I want you to just please put them back
where you found them.

- No, I'm gonna eat them.
- Don't eat my seedlings.

I'm gonna eat your seedlings.

You bloody...
you bloody leave them alone, you bastard!

Give 'em... give 'em here!
You... you dirty, dirty woman!

I am! I am!

I'm a dirty, seedling-eating tart!

Give it to me! Give it to me!

I love it!

Talk toilet! Talk toilet!

(moaning)

(both groan with pleasure)

'"Mon cher Guilaume... '"

- '"Dear Guy.'"
- Yes. Thank you, Martin.

(Martin clears throat)

- You really shouldn't have opened this.
- I know.

He's not just a bastard,
he's a bastard bastard.

Sorry. Is it all right
to swear in the canteen?

I'd rather you didn't.

So his real father
is Fabian Leclerq, ski instructor,

- and his mother is Joanna Pearson, student.
- Yeah, but that's her maiden name.

She kept the name she took from her second
marriage, which was Clore. Joanna Clore.

- You're fucking joking.
- No.

She spent a year in Switzerland
as an exchange student.

Can you imagine having that for your mother?

Yeah. Yeah, I can, actually,
in a funny kind of way.

But I'm sure if you were her son,
you'd be able to think of some good points.

Does she know? She must, otherwise why
would they be working in the same hospital?

- No, no. She doesn't know.
- How do you know?

- I just know.
- You have to give it back to him.

I can't! I can't. He can't know.
And, look, the envelope's all torn.

Well, you'll have to put it in a new envelope,
and post it to him.

Yeah, but the postmark's from Switzerland.
It's from Lausanne.

Ah...

But, right, I've been thinking. If I can type
his name and address on a new envelope,

go to Switzerland,
and post it back from there...

Or you could say
you just opened the envelope,

but you didn't actually read the letter.

Yeah...

I'm going to go to Switzerland.

- We can keep in touch, if you want.
- Keep in touch?

- Why?
- Or not, if you're not bothered.

No. Let's keep in touch,
if it'll make you happy.

- Aren't you going to miss me?
- Fuck off.

Yeah. I'm gonna miss you, too.

Hey.

- Yeah, well, whatever.
- I tell you what.

I'll give you a photo
to stick in your locker, of me,

we can be like Goose and Maverick
in Top Gun.

- Well, I'm Maverick.
- Yeah, right. You're Goose.

- No way.
- You're Goose.

You're Goose, with the gay pointing
and the no chin and the silly moustache.

- OK. I'll be Iceman, the best and hardest.
- No, you're right. I want to be Iceman.

- You can't be Iceman and Maverick.
- I'll be Iceman, you can be Maverick.

Fine. Basically, you hate me,
believing you're the best,

but then you develop a respect for me,
and realise that I am truly the best.

- You develop a kind of gay love.
- It's a crap film anyway.

I'll be Butch Cassidy, and you can...
That's Butch Cassidy.

..and you can be the Sundance Kid.

(effeminately ) Ooh, look at me.
I'm dancing in the sun like a big kid.

- Great. So I'm better with a gun than you.
- Not necessarily.

- Sundance was the best gunfighter.
- No, Butch was.

- He just didn't like to talk about it.
- Not in the film he didn't.

- Are you ready?
- Yeah.

And, of course, the pelvis
is an immensely complex structure.

Some areas are denser than others.
Clearly, the denser the area,

the less prone to trauma.

Good... good evening, Mr Boyce.

- It's morning, actually, you toss-bag.
- (sniggering)

- Get out!
- You're a Christian. You have to forgive me.

Not any more. I've decided
to take a more agnostic approach.

- It's less morally demanding.
- Oh.

- Yes, '"oh'".
- Well, I wish you'd keep me informed.

I hereby inform you to report to my office
at nine o'clock tomorrow morning,

not ten past nine, not five minutes past nine,
nine o'clock precisely, please.

- You see that device over there, Mr Boyce?
- What, the clock?

Yes. A cunning piece of devilry which allows
us to tell the time and thereby be prompt.

Yeah. Actually, it's remarkably
like the one in your bedroom.

- If we could leave it there.
- If you think it's for the best.

I do think it's best.

Next you'll spin some bizarre yarn about how
you know where everything in my bedroom is

because of some cock-and-bull nonsense

about drinking too much wine
after a slave auction,

and being in my bed,
and one of us not wearing any pants

and having to-to-to-to borrow
a pair of pants.

What, like these?

- Sorry. I haven't had time to wash them yet.
- (whimpers )

- Siobhan.
- Had.

Yes!

Hi. Hi, ladies.
All right?

- Yeah. Had both of them, as well.
- Receptionist in the Path Lab.

Could have. Match point.

Nine-nil!

Ho-ho-ho! Yeah!
Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!

Oh, ah! Ooh!

That is game, set and match.

- I'd like to say congratulations, well played.
- I think the better man won.

- On the day.
- No.

I just got a feeling,
maybe it was you who had the hunger.

Is that right?
You should look after yourself, my son.

I keep in peak physical condition.

Ready for that immediate call-up
to the Swiss Olympic Association.

It could happen. Janet Street-Porter,
would you please collect the balls?

And I think you missed one.

Off you go. And the towel.

Yeah, had.

Had front and back.

- Hi, Guy.
- Hi.

Ohh! Wish I hadn't had. Had twice,
while you were going out with her.

- They're not great conquests, are they?
- What do you mean?

For a start, they're all
impressionable young innocents.

In mountaineering terms, you reached the
foothills. It's not exactly scaling Everest.

What would be Everest?

Everest would be a woman
who is a little bit more mature,

who has had some real experience,
and who is a woman as opposed to a girl.

- Like who?
- Morning, Doctors.

- Hi.
- Morning.

Morning...

- Oh, fuck off.
- '"Fuck off'" says you can't.

Of course I... Her... Easy!
With my dick tied behind my back.

- Can't.
- You wanna bet?

Yeah. My first month's consultant's salary
says you can't.

Your first month's consultant's salary
has got a very big mouth.

Yeah. Yeah.
You gonna make it shut up, are you?

Yeah, you're damned right I am.

Yeah? We are talking
about Joanna here, not Martin.

- Do you know, I think we are.
- You got a deal.

- Put it there, baby.
- You're gonna regret it.

- Right, you're on.
- Thanks very much. Er, proof required.

You'll just need to look at her. You ever seen
a completely and utterly satisfied woman?

Yes, I have. The young dental student that
kicked you in the bollocks and made you cry.

- Do you remember that?
- I was laughing, actually.

Course you were, course you were.

- I think that's it.
- There were seven. There's one missing.

(knock at door)

Enter.

Oh, God. It's you.
I was expecting somebody else.

I-I can see that.

- You... you do realise you're naked?
- Yes, I know that, you fool.

Now, what do you want?

- I...I don't know.
- Well, get out, then.

Could you page Dr Macartney again?
Thank you.

Can I ask your advice about something?

Your shirt tucked into your pants
doesn't really work for you, Martin.

No, look. It's not about clothes,
it's about something more serious.

More serious than clothes?
I don't understand.

- It's about relationships, interrelationships.
- Not now, Martin.

- I'm trying to find fault with Sheffield.
- Well, that's going to be easy enough.

- You'd think, wouldn't you?
- (sighs )

- You really like Mac, don't you?
- Oh, he's all right, I suppose.

Yeah. Well, good luck.

Right...

- I'm gonna go and find my brother.
- OK.

- I thought you were an only child.
- Yeah. I thought so, too.

- So, you prefer me like this?
- I like clothes, generally.

All right, have it your way.

- OK, Dr Mac. Now that you're leaving...
- Yes.

..it falls to me
to give you your exit interview.

So, how have you enjoyed
working here generally?

Generally, er... I've enjoyed it.

- So don't go.
- Excuse me?

Don't go. Stay.

- I can't stay.
- Why? Why? Why?

I've accepted the post, and I don't think
Dr Mancoo is going to retire for a few years,

so there's no chance
of me getting a similar post here.

- Why don't I kill him? Just give me the nod.
- Yeah. OK, then. Kill him.

Fine. So, you were saying
generally you found the post...

Very fulfilling, I've enjoyed it,
there have been... Sorry.

- You're not going to kill him, are you?
- No, of course I'm not.

If something were to happen to him,
we never had this little chat.

So you're not going to kill him?
I don't want you to kill Dr Mancoo.

Of course you don't.

- So you really are not going to kill him?
- No.

- Was that a yes or a no?
- It was a no. A big, fat no.

Good. This is my leaving questionnaire.
That's probably it, isn't it?

- Sort of '"Bye for now'"?
- Yeah, bye.

And don't worry about that little matter.
I'll take care of it.

- What... what matter?
- Exactly.

Ah! Yes! How long?

- Ten seconds.
- Ten seconds.

- Cheat!
- Champion!

- You gonna take me on, Karen?
- No. It's a stupid game.

- Backing out, are you?
- No. Bring it on. I can't wait.

- (Guy ) It's Ken and Barbie.
- (both ) Hi.

- Bloody hell. Cheer up.
- We would if we could,

- but it's Mac's last day.
- We're allowed to be miserable.

- They've got a point.
- Mac's last day? Big deal. Lighten up.

- There'll be other Macs.
- Will there?

Right, I'm picking you up and spinning you
round like they do in the movies.

I don't think this is a good idea.

(shrieking) I don't think
this is a good idea! Stop! Oh!

- Yes!
- Have we stopped?

- Yep. Feel better?
- Erm...

- Yeah, I kinda do.
- Yeah!

- Thanks.
- Any time, lovely Caroline.

I'm continuing my final day in this direction.

- Good luck.
- Wait for me, Final Day Man.

See ya.

Agh! Ohh!
God, she's heavier than she looks.

- And amazingly, you're slimier than you look.
- Get a doctor.

- I thought you were one.
- I am! Get another doctor.

A proper doctor. Hang on. Erm...
Oh, Dr Todd.

- No, no, no. Not her.
- He's hurt his back.

- Have you?
- No.

- Was it from lifting me?
- No! No.

You are as light as a feather.
Watch. Look.

- I'll lift you... Ooh!
- He said you were heavier than you looked.

Did he?

Goddamn.

Oh, God. There she is.

The hunter spots his prey.
But there is a problem.

The herd of tottie is sticking together,
making it hard to target any one individual.

He's in luck. The herd has split,
leaving one creature alone...

- Double vodka.
- ..and vulnerable.

She's old, and weaker than the rest.
This, surely, is his best chance.

Fuck off.

The hunter will tolerate no interruption
to his meticulous preparations.

He waits, like a coiled spring,

and then...

he strikes!

Oww!

Ow.

Help me, Jesus.

Yeah, I'll see you in Zurich... Joanna!

- What?
- Hi.

- Hello.
- Haven't seen much of you lately.

We don't have much call for anaesthetists
in the admin block.

No, I suppose not.

Half the admin girls
are doped up to the eyeballs as it is.

Yeah. Hey, is that...
have you got cress in your hair?

No, it's a... seedling.

Good God,
what extraordinary earlobes you have.

- Are you making a pass at me?
- Is there a law against it?

- I heard that you had one.
- What's that?

- No one over 25 and everyone under.
- Yeah, well, I was a fool.

I was shallow. I've realised
there are women like you,

- so I've doubled my upper age limit.
- There's no need to double it.

Let me finish.
I doubled it, and then took away ten.

- Complicated.
- Yeah, a bit.

- Poison.
- What?

- You're wearing Poison by Christian Dior.
- So?

The smell is so evocative.
It's 15 years...

- This conversation was booked in English.
- Sorry.

You see, there was this girl, Angelique.

I saw her on the steps of the Mus?e des
Beaux Arts in Nice, Avenue des Baumettes,

and I don't know why, but I followed her.

Well, actually, I followed that scent,
Poison by Christian Dior,

as it wafted through the streets,
just tantalising me.

And you know how it is when you feel
you've just known someone...

Hello again.

Hello.

How are you?

Very well. Yeah.

(clears his throat)

You've got nice hair.

Have I?

Yeah. Sort of, you know,
weird kind of candyfloss hair.

Thanks.

Would you like to maybe go out for a drink
with me sometime? Just us, alone.

One night - or day. It doesn't have to be
a night, in case you think I'm a murderer.

Which I'm not, so...

OK, then.

Really?

Would you like me to cut off
a bit of my hair for you?

No, thanks.

Pardon me.

Do you know what they found at the hospital?

Clutched in her hand,

a copy of Tess of the d'Urbervilles
inscribed to me.

They actually had to break her fingers
to release it.

That's what Poison by Christian Dior
means to me.

- If you fancy a fuck, just say so.
- Do you want to?

Yeah, OK.
New balls, please.

- Not bad, though, eh?
- '"Had to break her fingers'"(!)

Yeah. Ow.

- Good night, Dr Mancoo.
- Yes, good night.

Goodbye, Dr Mancoo.

Bye-bye.

- Stop right there.
- Hi.

- Hi.
- Stop right there.

- We're not moving. Look.
- We're not moving.

- Can I have a word?
- Of course.

- Of course.
- Without the parrot.

- You can say anything in front of Polly.
- It's Emmy!

Shit! I know.

- Yeah?
- OK. OK.

Shall we just say that
I've been doing a little bit of surfing.

- Radical dude.
- No, on the internet.

Let's talk about your career so far,
shall we, Emily Lewis Westbrook?

- Oh. OK.
- Shouldn't you have a big red book?

Right. Emily Lewis Westbrook,
at the age of 22,

was thrown out of medical school
for inappropriate behaviour

and financial irregularities.

In '96, she founded
the Holistic Power Clinic, the HPC, in Dublin.

Her co-director at the HPC
is currently serving four years,

whilst Emily herself
served six months for malpractice

and forging physiotherapy qualifications.

- Shall I continue?
- No.

Do these events ring a bell, Emily?

- Yes, they do.
- Good God.

- I just bet they do.
- That is ridiculous.

- I am such a fantastic judge of character.
- Can I just say one thing in my defence?

Go on, then, you fraudulent little tart.

I'm not that Emily Lewis Westbrook.
I'm a different Emily Lewis Westbrook.

It's a small point,
but I just thought I'd mention it.

In fact, Emily Lewis Westbrook
isn't her real name,

and I have in the past had to take out
a private action against her,

as obviously it's particularly inconvenient
when we both claim to be physiotherapists.

I will... I will, of course,
take that into... con-consideration.

- It's not a stupid name.
- What, '"Secretan'"?

It sounds like '"secretion'",
and that's not entirely pleasant.

- Depends on what's being secreted.
- True.

- It's Swiss.
- Yeah, so I believe.

Would you like me to tell you
a bit about Switzerland?

You probably only know about Toblerones
and the tragic shortage of beaches.

I know plenty about Switzerland, thanks.

Went to school there for a year
when I was 15. You know, exchange student.

Used to go skiing in Gstaad.

Ah, I've been to Gstaad many times.

Maybe we bumped into each other
without knowing.

I shouldn't think so.
I wouldn't have been born.

Let me finish. I wouldn't have been...
born there, in Gstaad.

But thinking about it, that's irrelevant, so yes,
we could easily have bumped into each other.

- You don't sound very Swiss.
- My dad moved to London when I was four.

- He was one of the Gnomes of Zurich.
- What was that, a circus act?

- What?
- Was he a dwarf?

Jesus! The Gnomes of Zurich.
International financiers, bankers.

- Ooh. Sorry.
- I mean, the Gnomes of Zurich.

- Everybody knows that.
- Well, I didn't.

- And you thought my dad was a dwarf!
- Let's just leave it, shall we?

- Jesus!
- (switches cassette player on )

You all right, mate? Where's Guy?
You're wet.

I know. Someone poured beer over my head.
It's really good for your hair.

- You all right?
- Yeah. I've just pulled.

- You've pulled?
- Yeah. Over there.

- Well done. Whoo! Yeah. Who'd you pull?
- Some office tottie.

- Careful. You'll start sounding like Guy.
- Guy, yeah. Where is he?

- I think he went off with Joanna.
- '"Went off'"?

- Yeah.
- Why would he want to go off with Joanna?

- Maybe because he fancies her.
- That is disgusting!

Hey. Calm down, calm down. All right,
she's a tiny bit older than he is.

- That is obscene.
- Just live and let live.

You don't drink Guinness.
You don't smoke fags.

Well, were they... were they...
Did they go and... to have...

- What?
- Are they going to do things?

- '"Things'" are top of his agenda.
- Over my dead body! They mustn't.

- Why not?
- Well, because... she's mine!

Jesus fucking...

( '"Sex Machine'")

Boyce!

No!

Boyce!

Hmm. Nice pad.

Oh, yeah.

- Bathroom?
- Through there.

- I'll just, er, slip into something...
- More comfortable?

..that isn't chafing me quite so much. New
thong. Makes me feel like a slice of Edam.

Oh, Jesus.

(snarls )

Come on!

- Have you got any vodka?
- Yeah. Er...

Yep. Coming up.

Right, you ginger fucking freak. Welcome
to the undersea world of Cock Cousteau.

I'm going to be plumbing the depths that only
a few thousand men have ever been before...

- What's up, Doc?
- Oh, look at the state of you.

- Smashed mango and summer blush peach.
- No, thanks. I've already eaten.

- Do you wanna go first, or shall I?
- No, you go. I'll, er... rub it on you.

Can you flick it across me first,
in big stringy blobs? I really like that.

Yeah. I'm just going to move you...

- Ooh! Trim bush.
- What?

Tremendoushh.

- Go away.
- Shan't.

- I am such a tit.
- Yep. Yep.

- You don't have to agree with me.
- I was just being polite.

I was very impressed.

By what?
Me wrongly attacking your girlfriend?

- These things happen.
- I called her a fraudulent little tart.

- Still, it's the thought that counts.
- What does that mean?

I was impressed you, er...
you felt you needed to run a check on her.

Well, it's a fairly standard
security procedure.

Oh, I see, I see. Have you run checks
on all 850 members of staff?

- No, not yet.
- How many so far?

- Just her so far.
- Oh.

I guess it was just... random testing.

I love that, the way your random testing
comes up with my ex-girlfriend.

Don't flatter yourself.

- Your ex-girlfriend?
- Mm. Mm, yeah.

Well, we had an... exchange of words, and...

I got quite a nice lager shampoo.
She, erm...

You know, she said she thought
that I ought to be angry with you.

- Yeah. Yeah, you should have been.
- I know.

Whereas, in fact, strangely
I found myself a ) impressed,

b ) amused, c)...

You knew about
the other Emily Lewis Westbrook.

She'd... She mentioned it.

You bastard.

What... what was c)?

C). Erm...

It was, er...

Where are you, dream boy?

- I'm right here, dream... woman.
- Girl.

- Why is there a hypodermic in your bag?
- Don't touch that.

- What's it for?
- It's nothing. It's... it's heroin.

No, it's not.
It's botulinum toxin type A. It's Botox.

Yeah, all right. They had clinical trials
going on, they needed a guinea pig.

Guinea pig? You've got enough in there
to smooth over a small herd of elephants.

Just get back into bed, OK?

So, er, you were saying how -
ow - how good I was.

Perhaps you'd like to give me a score,
on a scale of 8 to 10.

- I don't know.
- You can feel free to go to 11 if you want.

And I don't always
call out my own name when I come.

That was just a warm-up, really, wasn't it?
I'll give you your score after the main action.

Right, that's it.
You're getting my best moves.

- You hussy.
- Hang on, hang on.

You dirty... woman.

Let me in! Let me in! Stop!

Hold on... No.

Do not sleep with that woman!

- Who are you?
- I thought this was Guy Secretan's flat.

No, that wanker lives upstairs. Top floor.

No, you'll have to give me ten more minutes.

Why have you got a picture
of men with skis by your bed?

- One of them's my biological father.
- What?

Yeah. One of them's my real father.
That's the only picture I've got of him.

I was abandoned outside the ski school
when I was two days old.

- Oh, my God!
- It's all right, babe. I'm over it.

- And your mother?
- Never knew her. She dumped me and ran.

Left me a note saying one of the instructors
was my father, but she didn't know which one.

My pretend father keeps threatening
to release all the details to me,

but frankly, I couldn't be...
What's wrong with you? You all right?

Yeah, I'm fine. Erm...

Actually, erm, I think maybe I should go.

Do you know, what, baby?
You shouldn't think, you should just feel.

Oh, my God.
I think I'm gonna be sick.

Oh, my God!

- God!
- Why are they always sick?

- (Martin ) Let me in! Stop!
- What the...?

Who the hell...?

- Oi!
- Let me in or I'll break the door down.

The tit?

You didn't... you... have your way...
Did you... did you...

- Don't sleep with Joanna.
- I can sleep with whoever I want.

- No! There's reasons!
- What reasons?

- It's not like either of us is married.
- Bigger reasons.

- One of us has a disease?
- Bigger.

- She's my long-lost sister?
- Similar.

What's similar to that?
She's my long-lost brother?

Why are you masturbating your ear?

Oh. Sounds like... '"brother'".

'"Smother.'"

Shorter... She's my long-lost smoo?

Two... two arms.
Two syllables.

What? One syllable?
One syllable?

- Buzzy buzzy penis?
- She's my smoo too!

She... she... she's your smoo?

- And my smoo?
- What are we gonna do?

Do you, er... do you want to
come round my gaff tonight, then?

- Come round your gaff?
- It's not rude.

- I never said it was.
- You implied it with the tone of your voice.

I'm not coming if it's not rude.

- OK. It's quite rude.
- I'll be there.

- OK.
- All right.

Stop!

- What?
- There's been a...

Er... er... something...
There's been an incident at... (gabbles )

- There's been an incident at Guy's flat.
- Slowly, slowly.

- Stabbing. A stabbing at Guy's flat.
- OK. Hang on. Quiet. OK, OK.

Yes, yes!

- Yes! Up! Yes!
- Come on, let's go.

- Not you! Not you! Not you!
- Guy's place. Come on. In we go.

- In we go.
- No! No, no. No, no.

Hey! No, no! Listen! Listen!
She's not good enough for you.

She's never going to be
good enough for you, Mac!

She doesn't have a fanny!

- I had to warn them.
- Warn who?

- Guy and Joanna. Somebody had to tell 'em.
- Tell 'em what?

They're mother and son. We're half-brothers.
Didn't go down too well.

- What's wrong with you?
- Apart from a tendency to talk bollocks.

Guy didn't believe me, so he stuck Botox
in my legs. My legs are Botoxed.

Go and lie down
in the big white taxi, all right?

I'll be f...

Taxi!

Tax... Oh.

Dr Macartney. Dr Todd.

- Oh, dear! OK...
- It's fine. One too many vodkas, I expect.

- You have a hypodermic needle in your arm.
- No, that's fine. I'm a diabetic.

It's supposed to be like that.
Will you all just fuck off?

Nice and easy. Nice and easy.

Where's my fucking car?

Hello. Hello.

- Morning.
- OK? Where are you going?

- I'm going for a spin.
- Not like that, you're not.

What, it's a bit flashy?
I think this is a bit smart caz.

You look terrific. What I'm worried about
is the units of alcohol in your bloodstream.

- I don't care.
- You will if you smash yourself to pieces.

- I won't, actually.
- OK. You will care

- if you smash your car to pieces.
- That's a point. Shit!

- Come on. I knew you'd see sense. Come on.
- Let me finish. I'm gonna... I'm gonna...

And then I'm gonna...

This is your fault!
I'm gonna take this big chap over here.

(Mac) Fuck!

Oi!

Just thinking about it
makes me feel dirty... yucky.

- Yes, all right. They didn't know at the time.
- It's like a bad dream.

They're quite alike, really. Mentally.

And Martin's related to them.
He's part of a family of mad people.

Ironically, he's probably
the sanest person here.

- Apart from me, of course.
- I'm just worried about what he might do.

He's not going to show his face
around here, not after that.

He'll have to move to America
and live in a caravan with his mother,

where they'll have big-foreheaded children
with very small hands.

You don't think they're
going to keep on sleeping together?

Yes! Course they will.
He's a pervert. She's just desperate.

- Any news?
- Last we heard they were on the B4778.

- Somewhere in Wales.
- Mac's trying to get them to turn back.

Poor Mac. God!

Yes, '"poor Mac'".
I'll say that, actually.

- Look, I'm sure they're gonna be fine.
- Fine?

Mummy's boy is driving, pissed out of his
skull. I don't think he's gonna be fine.

No, he's definitely getting more rational.
I think I can get him to stop.

- Who are you calling?
- The filth.

- Come and get me, Porky!
- No, he's not... What?

No, he's had a bit of a shock recently.
It's left him a bit unbalanced.

- On top of the world.
- Well... No, he had sex with his mother.

Don't tell them that!
Jesus! What's wrong with you?

Why not? It's not a crime!

Oh, it is? Wow.
Apparently you can get up to seven years.

This is you trying to talk someone
out of a suicidal depression?

I'm just giving them mitigating circumstances
for joy-riding!

- Do I look like I'm joyous?!
- Fine, fine.

I'll check out the penalties for misery-riding.

Hello? Yeah, it's me again. No, forget the
mother thing. That was a slip of the tongue.

What I meant was, he's just discovered
that one of his colleagues is his brother.

- (both ) Half-brother!
- Half-brother.

- Can I get back to...?
- Fuck off, Kojak!

- That's my fucking mobile!
- Fuck off!

- (Mac) Get your hands on the wheel.
- (Guy ) Sod the wheel! Fuck off.

Fucking hell. Hello?

- Mayday, mayd...
- Give me that!

Stop the Dave Lee Travis shit!

(Guy ) Just go back to fucking fairyland!

Sheep!

- Could we have a quick huddle?
- Dr Todd'll give you a cuddle.

- She's into that.
- '"Huddle'", not '"cuddle'".

- What do you mean, '"into that'"?
- You know.

I do not.

A group huddle would be a good thing,
wouldn't it, spiritually?

- Well, I...
- Wouldn't it?

Well, it might be. As long as it's a group,
not just you and me.

Is that a yes?

Yes, all right.

- No surprises there, then.
- Shut up!

OK, OK.
This is just the tension speaking.

I think it's a great idea.
Let's all have a huddle.

A moment's contemplation
in complete silence,

in the hope that our friends will be
returned to us safe and sound, very soon.

(creaking)

OK, OK.

Very calm, very careful.
No sudden moves.

Jesus.

If Martin... climbs forward,
we'll be all right. We can all get out.

- I can't move. My legs are like zeppelins.
- OK, OK.

If-If-If-If Martin can't move,
what are the options?

If we get out and leave him,
Martin will go over the edge.

If we go down and get him,
we'll all go over the edge.

That's tricky.

OK, that's enough debate.
Let's move to a vote.

Don't worry about me. You get out.
I'll take my chances.

- Can't let you do that, I'm afraid, Martin.
- Well, he has got a point.

- Shut up!
- What? What?

I mean, you know, the way I see it,
either three people die, or one person dies.

- And why should it be Martin?
- Isn't it obvious? Look at him.

- No, it's not obvious.
- Look at his face. He's all... wrong.

- He's your half-brother!
- Stop saying that!

He's your half-brother.

No! No!

Martin! Martin! OK, OK.

No!

He's... he's...

- If he wants to go, who are we to stop him?
- Guy's right.

I've never done anything to make the world
a better place, like you two proper doctors,

so... just save yourselves.

This'll be my one big gesture,
last chance to prove myself.

That is right... until you hit the ground.

Listen, all of us are going home.
All of us, or none of us.

- What are we, the Three Musketeers?
- Yeah, if you like.

- Can I be Porthos?
- I'm Porthos. You're Aramis.

- Fuck off! I don't want to be a perfume.
- Why not?

It's like being called
Paco Rabanne or L'Air du Temps.

- OK, you can be D'Artagnan.
- He wasn't one of the three.

He was unqualified, so if anyone
should be D'Artagnan, it's Martin.

If you're not D'Artagnan, or Porthos,
or Aramis, that would make you...

- The other one.
- Whose name is...

I know this.

She just touched my jacksie!
Yup. The one without the fanny.

Touched my jacksie.

You Scottish bastard.

- I still think you should just get out.
- You've got too much to live for.

- What's her name? Is it Karen?
- Karen.

- Karen would want you to live.
- Caroline would want you to live.

Yeah, I... You know, we've all got
nice reasons like that we can think of, but...

- Well, most of us have, anyway.
- I've got reasons to be saved.

- Have you? Like what?
- Like I can't die until I...

- Until what?
- Until I, erm...

I-I-I-I remember the name
of the third musketeer.

- Athos.
- Yep.

Oh, dear.

Athos.

(creaking)

Visiontext Subtitles: Paul Murray