The Full Monty (2023–…): Season 1, Episode 3 - La Vie en Rose - full transcript
Hospital porter Gaz oversteps his remit when he helps a psychiatric patient rekindle his creativity.
Thank you for holding.
You are number three in the queue.
- Get in. Three.
- Yes!
- Nervous.
Enough. What is it, a stag night?
They charge for them phone lines and all.
He said, "They charge
for them phone lines and all."
Guy.
Go on then. Get him a slice of cake.
And another round of teas.
Thank you.
Hello? Hello?
Thank you for holding, Mr Mitchell.
I've checked with my supervisor,
and your nearest disability assessment
is in Castleford.
But-- But how am I gonna get to Cas?
I live in Sheffield.
And my mobility scooter only does
eight miles to the hour on a full battery
with a following wind.
I'm afraid travel arrangements
are the responsibility of the client.
Number 17 bus goes to Castleford.
Discontinued, mate. Like every
other fucking thing around here.
Hello?
I'm only authorised
to speak to the client.
Ask about travel expenses.
Do I get travelling expenses?
Ha! Dream on.
I'm afraid travel to
and from the assessment
is the responsibility of the client.
But how am I gonna get there, kid?
I'm obliged to inform you that failure
to attend the interview
will automatically make you ineligible
for disability living allowance
and therefore categorised as fit for work.
Fit for work? He's only got one lung.
And a dodgy leg.
He's diabetic.
Frankly, it's a miracle
the old bugger's still alive.
Cheers, lads.
Look, I just read out what it says
on the computer.
Don't shoot the bloody messenger,
all right?
Well, that went well.
these voices is good.
These voices is my voice.
It's-- It's a good voice. Good voice
Tea, coffee, garibaldis?
You still here?
Agency nurse never showed.
Surprise, surprise.
And matey's gone
all John the Baptist again.
He reckons Satan's coming to behead him.
- He's in telly room watching Countdown.
Had enough sedatives to knock
a rhino out, and he's still going.
So, muggins is on suicide watch.
Give us a cup of coffee, will you?
Here you go, love.
Ta.
You're all right, Ant.
You're all right. You're all right.
You're all right.
You're okay.
You're all right.
- Shit.
When the meds are too high,
they can go into spasm.
That were the meds?
Then lower the bloody dose.
Can't. Easier to handle
when they're doped up to their eyeballs.
We're that short-staffed.
Does any of this actually do any good?
It's a bit like MasterChef with pills,
to be honest.
Improvise with the ingredients provided.
- Most of them end up in the loop.
- Hmm?
Zombified with the meds,
crazy without them.
Cheapest way to go.
And it's all about cheap round here.
That's not right, isn't that?
Write your MP, love.
And while you're at it, mention the pay.
Oh, and the staffing levels.
Dean. Here.
You all right?
Just wondering, uh--
- How's your mum?
- Fine.
- Home?
- Yeah.
- You?
- Fine.
- Home?
- Yeah.
So, summing up, that's everybody's fine
and everybody's home?
Yeah.
Fine.
- Can I go now?
- Sure.
Never a truer word, mate.
- Sorry?
- Grand pain. Life in a nutshell, that is.
No. Le Grand Pain.
French.
It's not "pain," it's "pan".
Le Grand Pain .
- Like Peter Pan.
- Exactly.
It's French, Horse, for "big bread".
Oh, I get it.
Et voilà.
- So, you're doing, um, baguettes?
- No.
Croissants?
- Uh, croissant .
- No.
Flaky pastries with chocolate in?
Pain au chocolat.
No. Just baps.
- Big baps?
- Yes, big baps!
Look, this is neither an after-school
French club nor a heated bus stop.
Arrêt de bus.
I'm warning you two.
This is a café-- A-A bistro, where folks
come to exchange money for food.
What the chuff you having?
All right, all right.
I will have a, um-- A fried egg, um
Oeuf au sandwich. Merci.
Fried egg bap. Coming up.
I don't know why I bloody bother.
I was offered a bistro in Paris, you know?
How I washed up here with you lot,
I'll never know.
Cal, do you want owt else, love?
I'm fine. Thanks, Grandad.
We've gotta get back to school.
Don't call me that. How many times?
Des has been really weird since,
you know, the dog.
Then they binned her music course.
Mmm. Don't see what we can do about that.
Any road, she keeps bunking school
and ghosting me, so.
- Well, exactly. Ghosting a bezzie mate
What? She loves you.
- She what?
- In a Des kind of way.
Hmm. How'd you know that?
Are you-- Do you fancy her?
Des? Me?
No. What?
It's okay. You can fancy somebody, Cal.
God, boys are weird.
We're doing self-portraits today.
Yeah.
- Some of us.
- So I see.
Oh. Tenerife?
Hell.
Nice.
You did this?
Yes. It's an ant. I'm Anthony. You see?
I've seen that somewhere before.
Ant.
Gee, love, all right if I take
my friend here for a wander and a coffee?
If you get me a latte
and don't burn down the place.
Come on, kid.
Are we escaping?
Just for a while, kid.
- That's you, innit?
- No.
What's that then?
Oh, uh-- Yeah, sorry.
S-- Sorry? It's amazing!
You're amazing!
Are we going back to the ward?
Are we, bollocks.
You're giving me the full gallery tour.
All right.
Grab a menu, kid. Whatever you like.
The world's your oyster.
Oysters are off.
They were never on.
If it's seafood you're after,
we do a fish finger sandwich
on a Monday and Wednesday.
Ladies and gents,
you are in the presence of genius.
Give me strength.
Never one to undersell yourself,
eh, Garry?
No, not me, you divvy. Him!
Meet Ant the Man.
Sheffield's next big thing.
You'll all be able to tell your grandkids
you knew him before he were famous.
And what does Sheffield's next big thing
have to say for himself?
Um
Can I-- Can I have a cup of tea, please?
Sit here.
Oh, you two.
I'm retired. Bugger off.
It's about Destiny.
Murder, manslaughter, or GBH?
That's defamation, that is.
We did it in civics.
You always were a bright lad, Cal.
I worry for you.
She's really down about her music.
You said you'd help her get into college.
I did when I was a teacher, yeah,
but I'm not a teacher anymore, am I?
You're not gonna help?
I don't know how else to say this, love.
Retired, fired.
No!
Des liked you.
That's like having a reference
from the Moors Murderer.
That's not very nice, is it?
I'm not, love.
Anything else I can help you with?
Come on, Cal.
I've been on at the council all year
trying to get rid of that.
Vandalism. Nothing more, nothing less.
The guy whose house it is
said I could do it.
Very good for house prices
is the right sort of graffiti.
That looks like the wrong sort to me.
Don't mind him.
It's graffiti art.
Ant the Man were bigger than Banksy
in his day.
What happened?
He disappeared. Artists do that.
But now he's back.
Know what Banksy fetches?
Thousands. Millions.
Yeah, but I'm-- I'm not Banksy.
Yeah, well, Banksy weren't Banksy
till he were Banksy, were he?
What was he?
Minimum wage sucker like the rest of us.
My advice, young'un.
Don't get involved.
Whatever crazy scheme
he's cooked up, just say no.
Spoken with all the ambition
of a school caretaker.
Twat.
Whoa! You need a hi-vis vest on that.
Oh, that'd be fashion-forward, miss.
This is for you.
Won't Jurassic Park miss it?
Good enough for Little Simz's last album.
Eh. Thanks, but no thanks.
All right. I'll just leave it here then.
I said no thanks.
And I said I'd be getting you through
that Hallam entrance exam.
And I am way more stubborn, even than you,
so don't fucking bother.
Not a teacher. Allowed to swear.
So?
What's the catch?
Good girl. Learn that one early.
There's always a catch.
I want you and your mates for one hour
on a Friday evening after school.
Which mates?
Honestly?
The more dead-end, the better.
Four o'clock. Don't be late.
Right. This is gonna be
the greatest comeback since Rocky.
Are you ready to rumble?
Do you mean homeless?
No. "Eye of the Tiger"!
Ant, wall. Wall, Ant.
Go.
Go mad, fella.
Uh, I can't.
Why not?
The-The thing that makes me paint,
you know, the buzz?
It's gone.
Gone where?
It's the pills.
Th-They-- They make me--
Sorry, sorry, sorry.
Once upon a time, only way
a working-class bloke can make it were
football, boxing, rock and roll.
But now there's this.
Your painting.
You got summat
you can make real money out of.
I never did it for the money.
That-- That Damien Hirst.
He lived in a council estate
before he started fucking pickling sharks.
Do you know where he lives now?
A palace!
I'm telling ya.
Being skint is shite
for your mental health.
Now, get on with it. Spray, man, spray.
No, I can't, all right? I can't.
Just try.
- Look, I can't.
- Ant, you can.
- I can't, Gaz!
- You can!
No, I can't!
Can we just go back now, please?
- Go on, mate. Pass it then.
Come on.
That lad was a genius
till you lot bombed him out on pills.
When he gets out of here, he can
go to the self-help group, can't he?
On the board.
They'll show him how to taper.
Taper?
Gradual withdrawal from the pills.
Loads of people manage without them
if they come off slowly.
Then maybe he'll start doing
his graffiti stuff again.
How does he get out of here?
Well, that's the catch, isn't it?
You gotta be well enough to get out
of here to go to the self-help group.
But you need the self-help group
to be well enough to get out of here.
What's he doing?
What is that?
My name's Garry. Everyone calls me Gaz.
This is Gaz's first time
at the Grain of Sand Project.
Welcome, Gaz.
- Welcome, Gaz.
- All right. All right.
Everybody here has had similar challenges, Gaz.
You're among friends.
All of us have reduced
or have completely withdrawn
from the anti-psychotic medication
prescribed for us.
We do it by gradually tapering
our medication
and sharing our problems
as a group together.
We're here to help each other.
As well as find support for ourselves.
Nice one. Can I just say,
I'm not here for me. I'm here for a mate.
- 'Course you are, love.
- I am.
Everything's confidential here, Gaz.
Really, I'm fine.
It's me mate who's mental.
Well, this place is only for people
who have mental health issues,
as we usually call them.
So if your friend wants to come along,
he or she is more than welcome,
but I'm afraid you will have to leave.
Are you joking?
All right, I was too embarrassed
to admit it. It-It's me.
Mental as a talking toilet brush.
That's a very brave step to take, Gaz--
Thing is, now, Geoff, it's-it's the meds.
I-I'm not myself on pills.
Normally quite creative.
Bit of this, a bit of that--
Painting, mostly. Modern art, you know?
On the gear? Zilch. Nada. Nothing.
You--
You might say the creative fire has gone.
I really need your help.
I'll have to be quick. He's watching.
Twenty-two years you've been together,
and he's still got the hump with me.
Well, you and me-- You know.
The past.
Sexual electricity and that.
That were 25 years ago, Lomper.
So, come on. What's the big secret?
Well, uh, Dennis don't know, all right?
But I need some money really badly.
Right.
Yeah, I should be able to help out.
You can? Oh, cheers.
Mates, aren't we?
- How much do you need?
- Thirty grand.
Thirty grand?
Thirty-thousand pounds?
Well, I'd take dollars or euros.
I can't--
What the hell have you been doing, man?
I cannot say. Don't matter.
Lomper.
Wait!
These are back from my weed-dealing days.
Still work.
Start by taking 10% off at a time
just like the beardy guy said.
And-And is it safe?
As houses.
Tried and tested.
Tapering slowly, 10% at a time,
stops the central nervous system
from crashing.
What,
the central nervous system can crash?
No, no. Never.
Not usually.
Unless you go cold turkey,
which we're not.
Few more times
chatting with those nutters,
and you'll be creating
like you never created before.
There you go.
Why you doing this?
Keep telling you, you got talent, kid.
Yeah, but-- What do you want?
A modest 10% as your manager.
We all have to eat, don't we?
Down the hatch.
I ain't say you look like Prince Charles.
- You fuckin' did.
I said King Charles.
King Charles Spaniel, the dog,
with all the stupid hair and the low IQ.
Piss off home, JJ.
- What's it to you?
- I need him.
Cheers, Des.
Friends in high places, JJ.
Wanna talk to me? Go through her.
Shut up, Twiglet. Come on.
Oh. Ah, the pink ladies.
And Twiglet, exactly what we need.
A bit of ballast.
I said you'd pay 'em in fags, miss.
If they're loud enough,
I'll pay 'em in bloody smack.
Des, get on the keyboard, will you?
I've got my hands full here.
Tina, love.
Do you know where you are on the scale?
Ten stone four, miss. I'm big-boned.
And it's lovely to have you.
Right. Let's go again.
We have to talk, Jean.
Yeah, I know. Um
I don't think, um
We-- We shouldn't.
Okay.
Right.
I mean, we work together,
and, um, it's not right.
- And, uh, anyway, I'm-I'm married, and--
- You are.
- You are. To a lovely man.
- Mmm.
So in that particular respect, no, it's
It's not right.
But in every other respect, it feels
about as right as it's possible to feel.
To me, anyway.
- What about you?
- Don't, Dilip.
- I've a free period tomorrow afternoon.
- No.
Fine.
I'll be there anyway.
- I said no.
- Fine.
Night, Jean.
They don't sing songs like this at
the grammar school, I can tell you that.
Haven't you got some toilets to fix?
I know modern education
is all effing and jeffing, but really.
Go!
Hetty. Hetty!
What the hell do you think
you're playing at?
Well, we've no instruments, have we?
Whatever the bastards cut from our budget,
they can't take away our voices, can they?
- Yes, but--
- I had a think.
There's a Fisherman's Choir,
an Army Wives' Choir,
an NHS Choir, a Dementia Choir.
I'm betting there's a choir for people
in bloody choirs.
But there's no Revenge Choir, is there?
Well, there is now.
A what?
- Who really cares about their future?
What's out there for them?
A job in a call centre? A takeaway shop?
Give 'em 5G, a pizza, and a bag of weed
and tell 'em to shut the fuck up
and be grateful?
The buggers deserve a tiny bit of revenge,
don't you think?
Hetty, you don't even work here anymore.
Louder!
Beautiful!
They're swearing, Hetty.
'Course they are. They're angry!
It's like primal screaming with a tune.
No, I don't work here anymore, Jean.
I was fired by my best friend.
I'm a volunteer.
Free music service from a trusted teacher
with 30 years' experience.
Try telling the governors
you've turned that down.
That one's for you, Jeanie.
Yeah. Thank you.
All right. Bye, thank you.
How'd it go?
Yeah, good.
I think she's pleased with my progress.
See, the plan's working.
In safe hands with Uncle Gaz.
Never knew my dad.
Six foster homes before the age of ten.
In Norwich.
Whitest place in the universe.
Not easy being
the only Black kid in school.
What?
I'm out!
Halfway house for a month, but I'm out!
- I'm out!
I'm free!
Just a first step this.
Couple of murals in,
putting down a deposit on your own place.
Come on, kid. Get that look off your face.
- You're an artist.
Stick your chest out and repeat after me,
"I've got what it takes. I'm a winner".
Come on. I'm serious.
I've got what it takes.
Oh, yeah, I'm-- I'm a winner.
That's it. We're both winners.
- Both winners.
Welcome to the Recovery House.
This Anthony?
Ah, no, no. Not me, love. I'm his mate.
All right.
Two microwaves. Two kettles.
Locker for your tins. Sink. Fridge.
House rules are on the board.
Here we are. Room four.
Yellow and green front door.
Blue is the fridge. Pink is your room.
It's £20 every time you lose one.
Bet that keeps you in fags.
This is a strictly no-smoking environment.
Bathroom's at the end.
Thank you. Excuse me.
Thanks.
Home.
You ever been in prison?
I'll see you later, kid.
Ah. Pills.
I've shaved 5% off 'em already,
so just take your normal dose.
And remember, you are a
Schizophrenic.
- Winner!
- Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sorry. "Winner".
See you soon, Gaz.
Apologising's never easy,
but it's amazing what you can change
when you do.
"Sorry".
It's like a magic word.
Never apologise, never explain.
That your motto, is it?
Well, that and no Morris dancing.
Explains a lot.
Meaning?
You're always blaming everyone else.
When things don't work out,
it's never your fault.
- Cas.
- Open and honest, Geoff. My motto.
And I bet you love Morris dancing.
I do, as it happens.
Well, all I would say, Gaz,
is that the simple act of apologising,
saying sorry, can sometimes
take a lot of anger out of a situation.
And that way
there's a possibility of moving forward.
Right, Cas?
- Cas.
- All right, I get it.
I'm sorry.
Apology accepted.
You know, Geoff
might be something
in this apology malarkey.
I'm a winner.
Yeah, I'm a winner.
That's right. You're a winner.
Tallulah has got her second poo face on.
What does that look like?
Not unlike that.
I'm not in the mood.
Hetty's bloody Revenge Choir
was at it again tonight.
I'm trying to have a meeting
with the governors,
and I'm being drowned out
by every ne'er-do-well, shoplifter,
smoker and pregnancy-waiting-to-happen
singing "As Cold as Ice".
Foreigner, good choice.
I didn't find it funny.
Well, you did sack her.
Do you think I wanted to?
Do you think it's easy
sacking your best friend? Do you?
You've no idea, Dave. No idea whatsoever.
No, you're right. I'm just the caretaker.
Caretaker and dog walker.
I might join that choir.
Just so you know,
you have anything to do with that choir,
and I'm never speaking to you again.
And that's me told.
Thanks for coming, Dave.
Appreciate it. I know you got a lot on.
Yeah. Can't stay long.
- You said it were important.
- It is.
Dave, I'd like to apologise.
Oh?
I've had a long think
about our friendship.
- Right?
- And I've realised something.
Right.
It's not all your fault.
Sorry?
All those years
I had to drag you along with me.
This mithering lump complaining in my ear,
knocking every good idea I've ever had
on the head.
All that
"We can't do this. It's not legal.
What about Jean? What about Nathan?
What about this? What about that?"
I'll admit, I held it against you.
But now you're not holding me back.
I'm flying.
Me, holding you back?
Yeah. I let you hold me back,
and I'd like to apologise for that.
My responsibility. My bad.
So, to sum it up, I'm sorry.
It's not all your fault.
Cheers.
That's your apology?
Yeah.
And now, if you would like to apologise
to me, I'm big enough to accept that,
and we could, uh, "move forward",
as the psychotherapy wonks say.
Hmm.
Peanut?
I am this far away from moving you forward
through that fucking window.
Right here.
More black paint.
I'm smoking. I don't smoke.
I hate smoking. I--
Dilip, we can't keep doing this.
That's what you said last time.
What was it you wanted to tell me?
Oh, uh, you know my mate
who runs the Educational Consultancy?
Well, he's starting up a new office
- in Cornwall.
- Oh, I can see where this is going.
I suppose that's one way of dumping me.
Come with me.
- What?
- Why not?
Eh?
I'm building my own team.
There's a job for you. Of course there is.
Super-duper headmistress extraordinaire.
Dilip, don't be daft.
125 grand a year. House on the beach.
You and me.
But-- But I-I can't.
- I mean--
- Jean, I love you.
Nothing, eh?
What was that for?
Pissing Hetty off so much
she had to come find me.
No problem.
Oi, that were my idea.
Oh, shit.
- Oi! Get back here!
I can't find the righteous.
The righteous people.
The righteous.
I can't find the righteous.
- I can't-- I can't-- I can't--
- Ant.
- I can't find the righteous. I can't--
- Ant, it's Gaz. Your mate.
Stay away.
Satan resides in this very building.
I must gather an army of the righteous
into the four corners of the world.
I will fly!
I'm all for it, mate. Off you go!
But you're not really equipped for flying,
are you?
Not got the proper gear.
Conditions and all that. It's very windy.
I mean, you jump off here, hit a bit
of turbulence over Peak District,
go down in flames,
one nil to fucking Satan, innit?
How's that going to help
the righteous, eh?
What?
Just saying. I'd wait for tomorrow.
You reckon?
I would.
All right. Okay. Okay.
- Ah.
- All right. All right.
All right.
Good lad.
- Oh, God!
- That's it, son.
All right. All right.
You're all right, son.
So, when did Satan poke
his ugly nose in again?
When I stopped taking my pills.
What, all of them?
Yeah.
What did you do that for?
Y-You said I was a winner.
You are.
Yeah, but I wanted to be a winner quicker.
Oh, kid.
Just watch yourself on this.
Who has a funeral on a Monday?
Dead people.
I-I can't not go, Den.
It's Uncle Dickie. It's family.
Oh, I'll manage.
Is this all right?
Black washes you out.
Thanks a lot.
Come here.
Now, you know what your dandruff's like,
so watch out.
For God's sake don't go dancing
under any UV lights.
It'll be like the Milky Way's landed
on your shoulder.
It's a funeral. And when were
the last time we went dancing, anyway?
With this place to look after?
I'll be back tomorrow night.
Don't write me off just yet, Dennis.
What?
Nothing.
Hey.
Never gets old, does it?
Was it just for the money?
The money?
Yeah, the 10%.
Was that why you were being my friend?
You know what?
When I found out who you were,
I went to see an art dealer,
a specialist in graffiti,
to find out how much
your paintings were worth.
A-And?
Not much.
Fickle bunch of bastards, the art world.
So, why did you help me?
Because fuck the art world,
I think you're amazing.
Oh, thanks.
I wanted to help.
Just went about it the wrong way.
I do that.
Anyway, this is me saying sorry.
Where you going?
Not really flavour of the month
around here anymore, kiddo.
They fired you?
Give us a shout when you're out, eh?
I'm like a six-year-old.
Break everything I touch.
Kids, marriage, friends.
Never took responsibility for any of it.
You are number three in the queue.
- Get in. Three.
- Yes!
- Nervous.
Enough. What is it, a stag night?
They charge for them phone lines and all.
He said, "They charge
for them phone lines and all."
Guy.
Go on then. Get him a slice of cake.
And another round of teas.
Thank you.
Hello? Hello?
Thank you for holding, Mr Mitchell.
I've checked with my supervisor,
and your nearest disability assessment
is in Castleford.
But-- But how am I gonna get to Cas?
I live in Sheffield.
And my mobility scooter only does
eight miles to the hour on a full battery
with a following wind.
I'm afraid travel arrangements
are the responsibility of the client.
Number 17 bus goes to Castleford.
Discontinued, mate. Like every
other fucking thing around here.
Hello?
I'm only authorised
to speak to the client.
Ask about travel expenses.
Do I get travelling expenses?
Ha! Dream on.
I'm afraid travel to
and from the assessment
is the responsibility of the client.
But how am I gonna get there, kid?
I'm obliged to inform you that failure
to attend the interview
will automatically make you ineligible
for disability living allowance
and therefore categorised as fit for work.
Fit for work? He's only got one lung.
And a dodgy leg.
He's diabetic.
Frankly, it's a miracle
the old bugger's still alive.
Cheers, lads.
Look, I just read out what it says
on the computer.
Don't shoot the bloody messenger,
all right?
Well, that went well.
these voices is good.
These voices is my voice.
It's-- It's a good voice. Good voice
Tea, coffee, garibaldis?
You still here?
Agency nurse never showed.
Surprise, surprise.
And matey's gone
all John the Baptist again.
He reckons Satan's coming to behead him.
- He's in telly room watching Countdown.
Had enough sedatives to knock
a rhino out, and he's still going.
So, muggins is on suicide watch.
Give us a cup of coffee, will you?
Here you go, love.
Ta.
You're all right, Ant.
You're all right. You're all right.
You're all right.
You're okay.
You're all right.
- Shit.
When the meds are too high,
they can go into spasm.
That were the meds?
Then lower the bloody dose.
Can't. Easier to handle
when they're doped up to their eyeballs.
We're that short-staffed.
Does any of this actually do any good?
It's a bit like MasterChef with pills,
to be honest.
Improvise with the ingredients provided.
- Most of them end up in the loop.
- Hmm?
Zombified with the meds,
crazy without them.
Cheapest way to go.
And it's all about cheap round here.
That's not right, isn't that?
Write your MP, love.
And while you're at it, mention the pay.
Oh, and the staffing levels.
Dean. Here.
You all right?
Just wondering, uh--
- How's your mum?
- Fine.
- Home?
- Yeah.
- You?
- Fine.
- Home?
- Yeah.
So, summing up, that's everybody's fine
and everybody's home?
Yeah.
Fine.
- Can I go now?
- Sure.
Never a truer word, mate.
- Sorry?
- Grand pain. Life in a nutshell, that is.
No. Le Grand Pain.
French.
It's not "pain," it's "pan".
Le Grand Pain .
- Like Peter Pan.
- Exactly.
It's French, Horse, for "big bread".
Oh, I get it.
Et voilà.
- So, you're doing, um, baguettes?
- No.
Croissants?
- Uh, croissant .
- No.
Flaky pastries with chocolate in?
Pain au chocolat.
No. Just baps.
- Big baps?
- Yes, big baps!
Look, this is neither an after-school
French club nor a heated bus stop.
Arrêt de bus.
I'm warning you two.
This is a café-- A-A bistro, where folks
come to exchange money for food.
What the chuff you having?
All right, all right.
I will have a, um-- A fried egg, um
Oeuf au sandwich. Merci.
Fried egg bap. Coming up.
I don't know why I bloody bother.
I was offered a bistro in Paris, you know?
How I washed up here with you lot,
I'll never know.
Cal, do you want owt else, love?
I'm fine. Thanks, Grandad.
We've gotta get back to school.
Don't call me that. How many times?
Des has been really weird since,
you know, the dog.
Then they binned her music course.
Mmm. Don't see what we can do about that.
Any road, she keeps bunking school
and ghosting me, so.
- Well, exactly. Ghosting a bezzie mate
What? She loves you.
- She what?
- In a Des kind of way.
Hmm. How'd you know that?
Are you-- Do you fancy her?
Des? Me?
No. What?
It's okay. You can fancy somebody, Cal.
God, boys are weird.
We're doing self-portraits today.
Yeah.
- Some of us.
- So I see.
Oh. Tenerife?
Hell.
Nice.
You did this?
Yes. It's an ant. I'm Anthony. You see?
I've seen that somewhere before.
Ant.
Gee, love, all right if I take
my friend here for a wander and a coffee?
If you get me a latte
and don't burn down the place.
Come on, kid.
Are we escaping?
Just for a while, kid.
- That's you, innit?
- No.
What's that then?
Oh, uh-- Yeah, sorry.
S-- Sorry? It's amazing!
You're amazing!
Are we going back to the ward?
Are we, bollocks.
You're giving me the full gallery tour.
All right.
Grab a menu, kid. Whatever you like.
The world's your oyster.
Oysters are off.
They were never on.
If it's seafood you're after,
we do a fish finger sandwich
on a Monday and Wednesday.
Ladies and gents,
you are in the presence of genius.
Give me strength.
Never one to undersell yourself,
eh, Garry?
No, not me, you divvy. Him!
Meet Ant the Man.
Sheffield's next big thing.
You'll all be able to tell your grandkids
you knew him before he were famous.
And what does Sheffield's next big thing
have to say for himself?
Um
Can I-- Can I have a cup of tea, please?
Sit here.
Oh, you two.
I'm retired. Bugger off.
It's about Destiny.
Murder, manslaughter, or GBH?
That's defamation, that is.
We did it in civics.
You always were a bright lad, Cal.
I worry for you.
She's really down about her music.
You said you'd help her get into college.
I did when I was a teacher, yeah,
but I'm not a teacher anymore, am I?
You're not gonna help?
I don't know how else to say this, love.
Retired, fired.
No!
Des liked you.
That's like having a reference
from the Moors Murderer.
That's not very nice, is it?
I'm not, love.
Anything else I can help you with?
Come on, Cal.
I've been on at the council all year
trying to get rid of that.
Vandalism. Nothing more, nothing less.
The guy whose house it is
said I could do it.
Very good for house prices
is the right sort of graffiti.
That looks like the wrong sort to me.
Don't mind him.
It's graffiti art.
Ant the Man were bigger than Banksy
in his day.
What happened?
He disappeared. Artists do that.
But now he's back.
Know what Banksy fetches?
Thousands. Millions.
Yeah, but I'm-- I'm not Banksy.
Yeah, well, Banksy weren't Banksy
till he were Banksy, were he?
What was he?
Minimum wage sucker like the rest of us.
My advice, young'un.
Don't get involved.
Whatever crazy scheme
he's cooked up, just say no.
Spoken with all the ambition
of a school caretaker.
Twat.
Whoa! You need a hi-vis vest on that.
Oh, that'd be fashion-forward, miss.
This is for you.
Won't Jurassic Park miss it?
Good enough for Little Simz's last album.
Eh. Thanks, but no thanks.
All right. I'll just leave it here then.
I said no thanks.
And I said I'd be getting you through
that Hallam entrance exam.
And I am way more stubborn, even than you,
so don't fucking bother.
Not a teacher. Allowed to swear.
So?
What's the catch?
Good girl. Learn that one early.
There's always a catch.
I want you and your mates for one hour
on a Friday evening after school.
Which mates?
Honestly?
The more dead-end, the better.
Four o'clock. Don't be late.
Right. This is gonna be
the greatest comeback since Rocky.
Are you ready to rumble?
Do you mean homeless?
No. "Eye of the Tiger"!
Ant, wall. Wall, Ant.
Go.
Go mad, fella.
Uh, I can't.
Why not?
The-The thing that makes me paint,
you know, the buzz?
It's gone.
Gone where?
It's the pills.
Th-They-- They make me--
Sorry, sorry, sorry.
Once upon a time, only way
a working-class bloke can make it were
football, boxing, rock and roll.
But now there's this.
Your painting.
You got summat
you can make real money out of.
I never did it for the money.
That-- That Damien Hirst.
He lived in a council estate
before he started fucking pickling sharks.
Do you know where he lives now?
A palace!
I'm telling ya.
Being skint is shite
for your mental health.
Now, get on with it. Spray, man, spray.
No, I can't, all right? I can't.
Just try.
- Look, I can't.
- Ant, you can.
- I can't, Gaz!
- You can!
No, I can't!
Can we just go back now, please?
- Go on, mate. Pass it then.
Come on.
That lad was a genius
till you lot bombed him out on pills.
When he gets out of here, he can
go to the self-help group, can't he?
On the board.
They'll show him how to taper.
Taper?
Gradual withdrawal from the pills.
Loads of people manage without them
if they come off slowly.
Then maybe he'll start doing
his graffiti stuff again.
How does he get out of here?
Well, that's the catch, isn't it?
You gotta be well enough to get out
of here to go to the self-help group.
But you need the self-help group
to be well enough to get out of here.
What's he doing?
What is that?
My name's Garry. Everyone calls me Gaz.
This is Gaz's first time
at the Grain of Sand Project.
Welcome, Gaz.
- Welcome, Gaz.
- All right. All right.
Everybody here has had similar challenges, Gaz.
You're among friends.
All of us have reduced
or have completely withdrawn
from the anti-psychotic medication
prescribed for us.
We do it by gradually tapering
our medication
and sharing our problems
as a group together.
We're here to help each other.
As well as find support for ourselves.
Nice one. Can I just say,
I'm not here for me. I'm here for a mate.
- 'Course you are, love.
- I am.
Everything's confidential here, Gaz.
Really, I'm fine.
It's me mate who's mental.
Well, this place is only for people
who have mental health issues,
as we usually call them.
So if your friend wants to come along,
he or she is more than welcome,
but I'm afraid you will have to leave.
Are you joking?
All right, I was too embarrassed
to admit it. It-It's me.
Mental as a talking toilet brush.
That's a very brave step to take, Gaz--
Thing is, now, Geoff, it's-it's the meds.
I-I'm not myself on pills.
Normally quite creative.
Bit of this, a bit of that--
Painting, mostly. Modern art, you know?
On the gear? Zilch. Nada. Nothing.
You--
You might say the creative fire has gone.
I really need your help.
I'll have to be quick. He's watching.
Twenty-two years you've been together,
and he's still got the hump with me.
Well, you and me-- You know.
The past.
Sexual electricity and that.
That were 25 years ago, Lomper.
So, come on. What's the big secret?
Well, uh, Dennis don't know, all right?
But I need some money really badly.
Right.
Yeah, I should be able to help out.
You can? Oh, cheers.
Mates, aren't we?
- How much do you need?
- Thirty grand.
Thirty grand?
Thirty-thousand pounds?
Well, I'd take dollars or euros.
I can't--
What the hell have you been doing, man?
I cannot say. Don't matter.
Lomper.
Wait!
These are back from my weed-dealing days.
Still work.
Start by taking 10% off at a time
just like the beardy guy said.
And-And is it safe?
As houses.
Tried and tested.
Tapering slowly, 10% at a time,
stops the central nervous system
from crashing.
What,
the central nervous system can crash?
No, no. Never.
Not usually.
Unless you go cold turkey,
which we're not.
Few more times
chatting with those nutters,
and you'll be creating
like you never created before.
There you go.
Why you doing this?
Keep telling you, you got talent, kid.
Yeah, but-- What do you want?
A modest 10% as your manager.
We all have to eat, don't we?
Down the hatch.
I ain't say you look like Prince Charles.
- You fuckin' did.
I said King Charles.
King Charles Spaniel, the dog,
with all the stupid hair and the low IQ.
Piss off home, JJ.
- What's it to you?
- I need him.
Cheers, Des.
Friends in high places, JJ.
Wanna talk to me? Go through her.
Shut up, Twiglet. Come on.
Oh. Ah, the pink ladies.
And Twiglet, exactly what we need.
A bit of ballast.
I said you'd pay 'em in fags, miss.
If they're loud enough,
I'll pay 'em in bloody smack.
Des, get on the keyboard, will you?
I've got my hands full here.
Tina, love.
Do you know where you are on the scale?
Ten stone four, miss. I'm big-boned.
And it's lovely to have you.
Right. Let's go again.
We have to talk, Jean.
Yeah, I know. Um
I don't think, um
We-- We shouldn't.
Okay.
Right.
I mean, we work together,
and, um, it's not right.
- And, uh, anyway, I'm-I'm married, and--
- You are.
- You are. To a lovely man.
- Mmm.
So in that particular respect, no, it's
It's not right.
But in every other respect, it feels
about as right as it's possible to feel.
To me, anyway.
- What about you?
- Don't, Dilip.
- I've a free period tomorrow afternoon.
- No.
Fine.
I'll be there anyway.
- I said no.
- Fine.
Night, Jean.
They don't sing songs like this at
the grammar school, I can tell you that.
Haven't you got some toilets to fix?
I know modern education
is all effing and jeffing, but really.
Go!
Hetty. Hetty!
What the hell do you think
you're playing at?
Well, we've no instruments, have we?
Whatever the bastards cut from our budget,
they can't take away our voices, can they?
- Yes, but--
- I had a think.
There's a Fisherman's Choir,
an Army Wives' Choir,
an NHS Choir, a Dementia Choir.
I'm betting there's a choir for people
in bloody choirs.
But there's no Revenge Choir, is there?
Well, there is now.
A what?
- Who really cares about their future?
What's out there for them?
A job in a call centre? A takeaway shop?
Give 'em 5G, a pizza, and a bag of weed
and tell 'em to shut the fuck up
and be grateful?
The buggers deserve a tiny bit of revenge,
don't you think?
Hetty, you don't even work here anymore.
Louder!
Beautiful!
They're swearing, Hetty.
'Course they are. They're angry!
It's like primal screaming with a tune.
No, I don't work here anymore, Jean.
I was fired by my best friend.
I'm a volunteer.
Free music service from a trusted teacher
with 30 years' experience.
Try telling the governors
you've turned that down.
That one's for you, Jeanie.
Yeah. Thank you.
All right. Bye, thank you.
How'd it go?
Yeah, good.
I think she's pleased with my progress.
See, the plan's working.
In safe hands with Uncle Gaz.
Never knew my dad.
Six foster homes before the age of ten.
In Norwich.
Whitest place in the universe.
Not easy being
the only Black kid in school.
What?
I'm out!
Halfway house for a month, but I'm out!
- I'm out!
I'm free!
Just a first step this.
Couple of murals in,
putting down a deposit on your own place.
Come on, kid. Get that look off your face.
- You're an artist.
Stick your chest out and repeat after me,
"I've got what it takes. I'm a winner".
Come on. I'm serious.
I've got what it takes.
Oh, yeah, I'm-- I'm a winner.
That's it. We're both winners.
- Both winners.
Welcome to the Recovery House.
This Anthony?
Ah, no, no. Not me, love. I'm his mate.
All right.
Two microwaves. Two kettles.
Locker for your tins. Sink. Fridge.
House rules are on the board.
Here we are. Room four.
Yellow and green front door.
Blue is the fridge. Pink is your room.
It's £20 every time you lose one.
Bet that keeps you in fags.
This is a strictly no-smoking environment.
Bathroom's at the end.
Thank you. Excuse me.
Thanks.
Home.
You ever been in prison?
I'll see you later, kid.
Ah. Pills.
I've shaved 5% off 'em already,
so just take your normal dose.
And remember, you are a
Schizophrenic.
- Winner!
- Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sorry. "Winner".
See you soon, Gaz.
Apologising's never easy,
but it's amazing what you can change
when you do.
"Sorry".
It's like a magic word.
Never apologise, never explain.
That your motto, is it?
Well, that and no Morris dancing.
Explains a lot.
Meaning?
You're always blaming everyone else.
When things don't work out,
it's never your fault.
- Cas.
- Open and honest, Geoff. My motto.
And I bet you love Morris dancing.
I do, as it happens.
Well, all I would say, Gaz,
is that the simple act of apologising,
saying sorry, can sometimes
take a lot of anger out of a situation.
And that way
there's a possibility of moving forward.
Right, Cas?
- Cas.
- All right, I get it.
I'm sorry.
Apology accepted.
You know, Geoff
might be something
in this apology malarkey.
I'm a winner.
Yeah, I'm a winner.
That's right. You're a winner.
Tallulah has got her second poo face on.
What does that look like?
Not unlike that.
I'm not in the mood.
Hetty's bloody Revenge Choir
was at it again tonight.
I'm trying to have a meeting
with the governors,
and I'm being drowned out
by every ne'er-do-well, shoplifter,
smoker and pregnancy-waiting-to-happen
singing "As Cold as Ice".
Foreigner, good choice.
I didn't find it funny.
Well, you did sack her.
Do you think I wanted to?
Do you think it's easy
sacking your best friend? Do you?
You've no idea, Dave. No idea whatsoever.
No, you're right. I'm just the caretaker.
Caretaker and dog walker.
I might join that choir.
Just so you know,
you have anything to do with that choir,
and I'm never speaking to you again.
And that's me told.
Thanks for coming, Dave.
Appreciate it. I know you got a lot on.
Yeah. Can't stay long.
- You said it were important.
- It is.
Dave, I'd like to apologise.
Oh?
I've had a long think
about our friendship.
- Right?
- And I've realised something.
Right.
It's not all your fault.
Sorry?
All those years
I had to drag you along with me.
This mithering lump complaining in my ear,
knocking every good idea I've ever had
on the head.
All that
"We can't do this. It's not legal.
What about Jean? What about Nathan?
What about this? What about that?"
I'll admit, I held it against you.
But now you're not holding me back.
I'm flying.
Me, holding you back?
Yeah. I let you hold me back,
and I'd like to apologise for that.
My responsibility. My bad.
So, to sum it up, I'm sorry.
It's not all your fault.
Cheers.
That's your apology?
Yeah.
And now, if you would like to apologise
to me, I'm big enough to accept that,
and we could, uh, "move forward",
as the psychotherapy wonks say.
Hmm.
Peanut?
I am this far away from moving you forward
through that fucking window.
Right here.
More black paint.
I'm smoking. I don't smoke.
I hate smoking. I--
Dilip, we can't keep doing this.
That's what you said last time.
What was it you wanted to tell me?
Oh, uh, you know my mate
who runs the Educational Consultancy?
Well, he's starting up a new office
- in Cornwall.
- Oh, I can see where this is going.
I suppose that's one way of dumping me.
Come with me.
- What?
- Why not?
Eh?
I'm building my own team.
There's a job for you. Of course there is.
Super-duper headmistress extraordinaire.
Dilip, don't be daft.
125 grand a year. House on the beach.
You and me.
But-- But I-I can't.
- I mean--
- Jean, I love you.
Nothing, eh?
What was that for?
Pissing Hetty off so much
she had to come find me.
No problem.
Oi, that were my idea.
Oh, shit.
- Oi! Get back here!
I can't find the righteous.
The righteous people.
The righteous.
I can't find the righteous.
- I can't-- I can't-- I can't--
- Ant.
- I can't find the righteous. I can't--
- Ant, it's Gaz. Your mate.
Stay away.
Satan resides in this very building.
I must gather an army of the righteous
into the four corners of the world.
I will fly!
I'm all for it, mate. Off you go!
But you're not really equipped for flying,
are you?
Not got the proper gear.
Conditions and all that. It's very windy.
I mean, you jump off here, hit a bit
of turbulence over Peak District,
go down in flames,
one nil to fucking Satan, innit?
How's that going to help
the righteous, eh?
What?
Just saying. I'd wait for tomorrow.
You reckon?
I would.
All right. Okay. Okay.
- Ah.
- All right. All right.
All right.
Good lad.
- Oh, God!
- That's it, son.
All right. All right.
You're all right, son.
So, when did Satan poke
his ugly nose in again?
When I stopped taking my pills.
What, all of them?
Yeah.
What did you do that for?
Y-You said I was a winner.
You are.
Yeah, but I wanted to be a winner quicker.
Oh, kid.
Just watch yourself on this.
Who has a funeral on a Monday?
Dead people.
I-I can't not go, Den.
It's Uncle Dickie. It's family.
Oh, I'll manage.
Is this all right?
Black washes you out.
Thanks a lot.
Come here.
Now, you know what your dandruff's like,
so watch out.
For God's sake don't go dancing
under any UV lights.
It'll be like the Milky Way's landed
on your shoulder.
It's a funeral. And when were
the last time we went dancing, anyway?
With this place to look after?
I'll be back tomorrow night.
Don't write me off just yet, Dennis.
What?
Nothing.
Hey.
Never gets old, does it?
Was it just for the money?
The money?
Yeah, the 10%.
Was that why you were being my friend?
You know what?
When I found out who you were,
I went to see an art dealer,
a specialist in graffiti,
to find out how much
your paintings were worth.
A-And?
Not much.
Fickle bunch of bastards, the art world.
So, why did you help me?
Because fuck the art world,
I think you're amazing.
Oh, thanks.
I wanted to help.
Just went about it the wrong way.
I do that.
Anyway, this is me saying sorry.
Where you going?
Not really flavour of the month
around here anymore, kiddo.
They fired you?
Give us a shout when you're out, eh?
I'm like a six-year-old.
Break everything I touch.
Kids, marriage, friends.
Never took responsibility for any of it.