The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole Aged 13¾ (1985): Season 1, Episode 2 - Episode #1.2 - full transcript
Struggling to come to terms with his mother's departure, Adrian wears red socks to school, which sees him sent home by the headmaster, Mr. Scruton. His furious father complains to Mr. Scruton, and Adrian's love interest Pandora Braithwaite organises a 'red sock protest' at the school, which brings her and Adrian together. Meanwhile, Adrian's friend Bert Baxter is taken to hospital with breathing difficulties.
I'm not going to school today.
I shall ring the school secretary
and tell that my father
is mentally ill,
and needs looking after.
Am now a single parent child
whose father is on the dole.
- Mr George Mole?
- Speaking.
Partridge's,
the undertaker here, sir,
I believe you have a
body that needs collecting.
A body? No,
you've got the wrong house.
There's nobody dead lives here.
Not yet.
- Are you quite sure, sir?
- Yes, I'm sure.
Who is that?
April Fool, Mr Mole!
April Fool? When I get hold of him
I'l break that Nigel's bloody neck!
Honestly,
he's got no sense of humour.
Tell him that he better not show
his face around here,
I'm not in the mood!
Bloody kids.
Can we have some
fresh fruit and salad?
It's a waste of time.
Fresh stuff goes off too quickly.
But I'm suffering
from a lack of vitamins.
Vitamins?
That didn't exist
when I was a lad and I'm alright.
Go on then.
I said get the purple one.
Yes get two of them.
I saw them advertised
on television.
Did you see that vicar
and his soft purple toilet paper?
He has to wipe his bum
like everyone else.
Yeah, but he must have
money to burn.
Why didn't he buy some white paper
and give the difference to the poor?
What a hypocrite.
- What's wrong with my check?
- I'm sorry, it's company policy.
You know me,
I come here every week.
I'm the man who knocked
the cream cracker tower over.
I'm sorry, but no checks are
accepted without a bankers card.
Haven't you got any cash?
It's only eight pounds.
Yeah.
And what do we go for it?
I'll pay for it
out of my birthday money.
Thank you.
But you have to write me
an IOU.
In keeping with my growing maturity
and personal despair,
I have decided to paint
my room black.
But dad, I can't stand the
thought of waking up to to Noddy,
and all his other Toyland friends
running all over the walls.
Paint it what color you like,
but I'm not paying for it
and I'm not helping you either.
It's a skinny woman
and a miserable looking kid.
Doreen.
Is your dad in?
George, how could they
do it to you?
Doreen, it's my son, Adrian.
How do you do?
How do you do?
And this is my son, Maxwell.
Don't do that, love.
Maxwell.
What a stupid name.
I stayed in that firm
15 years of my life.
It's all been for nothing.
Wasted.
I shall never get another job.
Still...
At least you're here, Doreen.
She's just thin
as a stick insect.
She has got no bust and no bum.
She is just straight
all the way down.
Dad...
... going out
to buy the paint.
Looks like it will need
two coats.
Just my luck.
Get lost, Noddy!
Disappear!
You and that stupid hat, Noddy!
Wimp!
Sixty nine done.
A hundred and twenty four
to go.
Now, I know just how Rembrandt
must have felt
after painting
the Sistine Chapel in Venice.
Adrian, it's half past 11.
Innit time you got to sleep?
Good God!
It's like a piggy nightmare.
It's not one of those...
... Salvador Dali paintings.
He's only jealous because he's got
yucky roses on his bedroom wall.
Rather you than me.
He'll send me mad.
Maxwell ended up sleeping in the double
bed between my father and Doreen,
so my father was unable to extend
his carnal knowledge of Doreen.
He was as sick as a pig.
Well, not as thick as Maxwell was.
I just wish he'd stop crying!
- Your hands are black.
- It's paint.
I'm going for the paper.
Won't be long.
Get Maxwell some sweets, love.
Something that'll last.
Bless him!
Have you noticed how much
he's smoking, drinking?
I'm ever so worried about him, Adrian.
He can't make love anymore either.
That's what redundancy
does to a man.
I'm sure...
This is something
I do not wish to know.
She talks to me as if
I were another adult,
instead of her lover son
aged 14.
... but your fahter
is very highly sexed.
I'll take it.
You finish your cornflakes.
Hello, George Mole's house.
Who am I speaking to?
I'm Doreen Slater, who's that?
I'm Mrs. Mole, George's wife.
- Can I speak to my son, please?
- Adrian, your mother wants you.
Mom, dad's having
a nervous breakdown!
Because of me?
No.
He's been made redundant.
That's why he sent for Doreen.
What are we going to do, Mum?
Dad'll have to go on the dole
and that'll mean Social Security
will be buying my shoes.
- The dog will have to go...
- Adrian.
- ... and no pay for my O levels.
- Adrian.
He's smoking and drinking
himself to death.
Adrian!
So how long has Doreen Slater
been playing
Florence Nightingale?
- Only the one night.
- It's one bloody night too many!
Can't stand the thought of her
rummaging amongst my things!
All this trouble from adults
is turning me into a rebel.
In fact, I think I'll wear
my red socks to school today.
It is strictly forbidden,
but I don't care anymore.
You know the rules
of this school, Mole.
Home!
So, I want you to imagine
that you are an acorn
and you are going to grow up
into a huge, big oak tree.
Now start to grow.
You are tiny at the moment,
but you are getting
bigger and bigger.
Here come your branches.
Quite small at first,
but growing, growing.
Look now, you're huge!
You're an oak tree
and you're covered in green leaves.
Dad?
What are you doing here?
Mr. Scruton sent me home
for wearing red socks.
- For wearing red socks?
- Yes.
They sent you home
for wearing red socks?
Yes, that's three times
I've had to tell you now.
Right!
I'll teach that clapped out old bugger
to send George Mole's kid home.
I'll change
into my black socks, dad.
There's no need to shout.
Who's speaking?
I want to speak to Scruton
now, immediately.
- At this moment in time.
- Headmaster here.
It's Mr Mole here.
You sent my lad home
for wearing red socks.
Yes.
Tell me something, Scruton.
When the british army won the war,
were they wearing black socks?
And did the England World Cup team
wear black socks in 1966?
And did Sir Edmund Hillary...
I'm going to get
to the strike meeting.
... in 1953?
And did the Queen wear black socks
to her coronation on the same date?
Right!
Round one to me, I think.
You are a mastermind, George!
You were wonderful.
This could well get into the papers.
"Black socks row at school"
My mother might read about it
and come home.
Honestly, Adrian, I can't tell you
how much I admire your bravery.
And I'd like you to know
that you can count on me.
Now, I'm taking a position on
a school on Monday morning,
and I've already set
up a support committee.
We're meeting at my house
tomorrow at 10:30.
You will be there, won't you?
Naturally
you'll be the principal speaker.
Oh joy!
Oh rupture!
My precious Pandora
is organising a sock protest.
I don't suppose I could see
the red socks, could I?
They're in the wash.
Oh, well...
Until tomorrow.
I went to Mr. Patel shop
and bought my first joss stick.
I can't stand the smell
of the paint here.
- Good night.
- Good night.
- What's this?
- Joss sticks.
I won't have you
messing with drugs.
So you get that idea
out of your inscrutable oriental head.
Right?
I'm sick of living
amongst the philistines.
So, Madam Chairperson,
I propose this committee
all go to school wearing red socks
on Monday morning.
- I'd like to second that.
- All those in favour?
- Business over, darling?
- Not quite, mommy.
I still have the
petition to discuss yet.
Would coffee be welcome?
Of course it would, darling.
Committees run on the stuff.
If I could have the committee's
approval for the petition forms.
These are ever
so nicely done, Pan.
I use the whole packet
of felt pens doing them.
She was up until 3:00 this morning,
weren't you, darling?
- It was for a good cause.
- Excellent one.
Interesting that you protested
in red socks.
Is red
significant to you at all?
- It's a symbol of revolution, isn't it?
- Excellent.
I'm turning into quite a liar
recently.
... totally committed.
My wife and I have
brought Pan up
to be aware of her
political responsibilities.
It's time someone stood up
to that reactionary Scruton.
- Thank you, Mrs Braithwaite.
- No formality, please.
- Call me Tania.
- And I'm Ivan.
Help yourselves to biscuits.
They're rather good.
Surely Tania and Ivan
are Russian names.
Perhaps they're spies.
Well, read this?
"The Ragged Trousered
Philanthropists".
No, I haven't...
... Ivan.
Then do. It's a marvellous book.
Take it home.
Thank you...
... Tania.
Have some of these oatmeal
digestives, Craig.
I'll read "The Ragged Trousered
Philanthropists" tonight.
I'm quite interested
in stamp collecting.
Let's go!
We shall,
We shall wear red socks!
I can't help wishing I'd worn
black socks to school last week.
Dear Mr and Mrs whoever,
it is my sad duty to inform
you that your son stroke daughter
has flouted one of the rules
of this school by wearing red socks.
I am therefore suspending
your son stroke daughter
for the period of one week.
If you wish to discuss
the matter further with me,
don't hesitate to ring my secretary
to make an appointment.
Yours, etc, etc.
But sir, I'm taking
nine O levels next year.
- Suspension will...
- Shut up, misfit!
Now,
hot foot it out of my school.
Each and every one of you
makes me sick.
Don't cry.
The worst is over now.
These are not frightened tears.
They're angy,
stroke frustrated ones.
Pandora and I are in love.
It is official.
I can't write anymore.
My hands won't stop trembling.
Mole!
Mole!
- Come here, boy.
- Yes, sir?
We're not planning a messenger
service in this school, are we, Mole?
- No, sir.
- No, sir.
Then please tell Mr. Bert Baxter
not to telephone
this school again, will you?
We have far
more important things...
Oh, get stuffed
you goggle eyed git!
I am an important man
with a load of responsibilities
that your tiny brain
couldn't conceive of, Mole.
Baxter wants you to go around
after school.
He says it's urgent.
So do we agree to compromise
and wear our red socks
underneath our school socks?
It'll make our shoes too tight,
But okay,
it's the principle that counts.
But what's the point?
Nobody is going to see a principle.
Pandora and I are inseparable,
so I felt secure enough in her love
to take her with me
to meet Bert Baxter.
Is it blood?
No, it's beetroot juice.
Mr Baxter?
Does he always look like this?
No, normally
he's swearing and shouting.
Mr Baxter?
I think he's very ill.
Ring for an ambulance.
He could be drunk.
He does drink a lot.
No, he's ill.
Quickly, Adrian.
He could be dying.
I've never done this before.
There, there, darling.
I'll get into trouble.
I was supposed
to be looking after him.
But you did look after him.
He asked for help when you came.
Something's got my eye.
It's the dust.
Yeah.
Bert's house is very dusty.
I am family, yes,
I'm his nephew.
- Well, Mr Baxter is stable.
- Stable...
Thank you.
He's stable.
It's appropriate
for an ex-hostler.
Doctor, would you take
these bleedin' tubes out?
I ain’t an underground system,
you know.
- Bert, it's me, Adrian.
- Adrian?
Where's Sabre?
Where's my dog?
- He's gone to a good home.
- What?
Heaven?
No, but they're vegetarian
animal lovers.
I brought you some beetroot.
How am I supposed
to get that done, mate?
Stuff it down my tubes?
It's a waste time feeding
a dying man, anyway.
You're not dying, Bert.
Don't tell me I'm not dying.
I want you to phone
to Australia, my daughter.
Tell her what happened.
Her telephone number is in the back
of my old army pay-book.
Here.
Here's half-a-crown
to pay for the call.
Come on, take it then!
It's time you go.
He gets very tired.
- I do not.
- Yes, you do.
All right.
Come on to see me again.
If I'm still here.
Alright then.
Good night, Bert.
Nice boy.
Is he your grandson?
No, no, no.
He's my friend.
I don't even know
what an army pay-book looks like.
No, nor do I.
Dirty old devil.
How disgusting.
Let me see.
"Avec tout mon amour, cheri.
Lola"
Funny to think of Bert
having a love life.
Pandora...
Adrian...
Do you know how to do
french kissing?
I usually just stick
to the english.
My thing has grown three
centimetres. About time!
I might be needing it soon.
I hope Bert doesn't die.
Apart from liking him,
I've got nothing to wear to a funeral.
Subtitles
LAPORT INC.
I shall ring the school secretary
and tell that my father
is mentally ill,
and needs looking after.
Am now a single parent child
whose father is on the dole.
- Mr George Mole?
- Speaking.
Partridge's,
the undertaker here, sir,
I believe you have a
body that needs collecting.
A body? No,
you've got the wrong house.
There's nobody dead lives here.
Not yet.
- Are you quite sure, sir?
- Yes, I'm sure.
Who is that?
April Fool, Mr Mole!
April Fool? When I get hold of him
I'l break that Nigel's bloody neck!
Honestly,
he's got no sense of humour.
Tell him that he better not show
his face around here,
I'm not in the mood!
Bloody kids.
Can we have some
fresh fruit and salad?
It's a waste of time.
Fresh stuff goes off too quickly.
But I'm suffering
from a lack of vitamins.
Vitamins?
That didn't exist
when I was a lad and I'm alright.
Go on then.
I said get the purple one.
Yes get two of them.
I saw them advertised
on television.
Did you see that vicar
and his soft purple toilet paper?
He has to wipe his bum
like everyone else.
Yeah, but he must have
money to burn.
Why didn't he buy some white paper
and give the difference to the poor?
What a hypocrite.
- What's wrong with my check?
- I'm sorry, it's company policy.
You know me,
I come here every week.
I'm the man who knocked
the cream cracker tower over.
I'm sorry, but no checks are
accepted without a bankers card.
Haven't you got any cash?
It's only eight pounds.
Yeah.
And what do we go for it?
I'll pay for it
out of my birthday money.
Thank you.
But you have to write me
an IOU.
In keeping with my growing maturity
and personal despair,
I have decided to paint
my room black.
But dad, I can't stand the
thought of waking up to to Noddy,
and all his other Toyland friends
running all over the walls.
Paint it what color you like,
but I'm not paying for it
and I'm not helping you either.
It's a skinny woman
and a miserable looking kid.
Doreen.
Is your dad in?
George, how could they
do it to you?
Doreen, it's my son, Adrian.
How do you do?
How do you do?
And this is my son, Maxwell.
Don't do that, love.
Maxwell.
What a stupid name.
I stayed in that firm
15 years of my life.
It's all been for nothing.
Wasted.
I shall never get another job.
Still...
At least you're here, Doreen.
She's just thin
as a stick insect.
She has got no bust and no bum.
She is just straight
all the way down.
Dad...
... going out
to buy the paint.
Looks like it will need
two coats.
Just my luck.
Get lost, Noddy!
Disappear!
You and that stupid hat, Noddy!
Wimp!
Sixty nine done.
A hundred and twenty four
to go.
Now, I know just how Rembrandt
must have felt
after painting
the Sistine Chapel in Venice.
Adrian, it's half past 11.
Innit time you got to sleep?
Good God!
It's like a piggy nightmare.
It's not one of those...
... Salvador Dali paintings.
He's only jealous because he's got
yucky roses on his bedroom wall.
Rather you than me.
He'll send me mad.
Maxwell ended up sleeping in the double
bed between my father and Doreen,
so my father was unable to extend
his carnal knowledge of Doreen.
He was as sick as a pig.
Well, not as thick as Maxwell was.
I just wish he'd stop crying!
- Your hands are black.
- It's paint.
I'm going for the paper.
Won't be long.
Get Maxwell some sweets, love.
Something that'll last.
Bless him!
Have you noticed how much
he's smoking, drinking?
I'm ever so worried about him, Adrian.
He can't make love anymore either.
That's what redundancy
does to a man.
I'm sure...
This is something
I do not wish to know.
She talks to me as if
I were another adult,
instead of her lover son
aged 14.
... but your fahter
is very highly sexed.
I'll take it.
You finish your cornflakes.
Hello, George Mole's house.
Who am I speaking to?
I'm Doreen Slater, who's that?
I'm Mrs. Mole, George's wife.
- Can I speak to my son, please?
- Adrian, your mother wants you.
Mom, dad's having
a nervous breakdown!
Because of me?
No.
He's been made redundant.
That's why he sent for Doreen.
What are we going to do, Mum?
Dad'll have to go on the dole
and that'll mean Social Security
will be buying my shoes.
- The dog will have to go...
- Adrian.
- ... and no pay for my O levels.
- Adrian.
He's smoking and drinking
himself to death.
Adrian!
So how long has Doreen Slater
been playing
Florence Nightingale?
- Only the one night.
- It's one bloody night too many!
Can't stand the thought of her
rummaging amongst my things!
All this trouble from adults
is turning me into a rebel.
In fact, I think I'll wear
my red socks to school today.
It is strictly forbidden,
but I don't care anymore.
You know the rules
of this school, Mole.
Home!
So, I want you to imagine
that you are an acorn
and you are going to grow up
into a huge, big oak tree.
Now start to grow.
You are tiny at the moment,
but you are getting
bigger and bigger.
Here come your branches.
Quite small at first,
but growing, growing.
Look now, you're huge!
You're an oak tree
and you're covered in green leaves.
Dad?
What are you doing here?
Mr. Scruton sent me home
for wearing red socks.
- For wearing red socks?
- Yes.
They sent you home
for wearing red socks?
Yes, that's three times
I've had to tell you now.
Right!
I'll teach that clapped out old bugger
to send George Mole's kid home.
I'll change
into my black socks, dad.
There's no need to shout.
Who's speaking?
I want to speak to Scruton
now, immediately.
- At this moment in time.
- Headmaster here.
It's Mr Mole here.
You sent my lad home
for wearing red socks.
Yes.
Tell me something, Scruton.
When the british army won the war,
were they wearing black socks?
And did the England World Cup team
wear black socks in 1966?
And did Sir Edmund Hillary...
I'm going to get
to the strike meeting.
... in 1953?
And did the Queen wear black socks
to her coronation on the same date?
Right!
Round one to me, I think.
You are a mastermind, George!
You were wonderful.
This could well get into the papers.
"Black socks row at school"
My mother might read about it
and come home.
Honestly, Adrian, I can't tell you
how much I admire your bravery.
And I'd like you to know
that you can count on me.
Now, I'm taking a position on
a school on Monday morning,
and I've already set
up a support committee.
We're meeting at my house
tomorrow at 10:30.
You will be there, won't you?
Naturally
you'll be the principal speaker.
Oh joy!
Oh rupture!
My precious Pandora
is organising a sock protest.
I don't suppose I could see
the red socks, could I?
They're in the wash.
Oh, well...
Until tomorrow.
I went to Mr. Patel shop
and bought my first joss stick.
I can't stand the smell
of the paint here.
- Good night.
- Good night.
- What's this?
- Joss sticks.
I won't have you
messing with drugs.
So you get that idea
out of your inscrutable oriental head.
Right?
I'm sick of living
amongst the philistines.
So, Madam Chairperson,
I propose this committee
all go to school wearing red socks
on Monday morning.
- I'd like to second that.
- All those in favour?
- Business over, darling?
- Not quite, mommy.
I still have the
petition to discuss yet.
Would coffee be welcome?
Of course it would, darling.
Committees run on the stuff.
If I could have the committee's
approval for the petition forms.
These are ever
so nicely done, Pan.
I use the whole packet
of felt pens doing them.
She was up until 3:00 this morning,
weren't you, darling?
- It was for a good cause.
- Excellent one.
Interesting that you protested
in red socks.
Is red
significant to you at all?
- It's a symbol of revolution, isn't it?
- Excellent.
I'm turning into quite a liar
recently.
... totally committed.
My wife and I have
brought Pan up
to be aware of her
political responsibilities.
It's time someone stood up
to that reactionary Scruton.
- Thank you, Mrs Braithwaite.
- No formality, please.
- Call me Tania.
- And I'm Ivan.
Help yourselves to biscuits.
They're rather good.
Surely Tania and Ivan
are Russian names.
Perhaps they're spies.
Well, read this?
"The Ragged Trousered
Philanthropists".
No, I haven't...
... Ivan.
Then do. It's a marvellous book.
Take it home.
Thank you...
... Tania.
Have some of these oatmeal
digestives, Craig.
I'll read "The Ragged Trousered
Philanthropists" tonight.
I'm quite interested
in stamp collecting.
Let's go!
We shall,
We shall wear red socks!
I can't help wishing I'd worn
black socks to school last week.
Dear Mr and Mrs whoever,
it is my sad duty to inform
you that your son stroke daughter
has flouted one of the rules
of this school by wearing red socks.
I am therefore suspending
your son stroke daughter
for the period of one week.
If you wish to discuss
the matter further with me,
don't hesitate to ring my secretary
to make an appointment.
Yours, etc, etc.
But sir, I'm taking
nine O levels next year.
- Suspension will...
- Shut up, misfit!
Now,
hot foot it out of my school.
Each and every one of you
makes me sick.
Don't cry.
The worst is over now.
These are not frightened tears.
They're angy,
stroke frustrated ones.
Pandora and I are in love.
It is official.
I can't write anymore.
My hands won't stop trembling.
Mole!
Mole!
- Come here, boy.
- Yes, sir?
We're not planning a messenger
service in this school, are we, Mole?
- No, sir.
- No, sir.
Then please tell Mr. Bert Baxter
not to telephone
this school again, will you?
We have far
more important things...
Oh, get stuffed
you goggle eyed git!
I am an important man
with a load of responsibilities
that your tiny brain
couldn't conceive of, Mole.
Baxter wants you to go around
after school.
He says it's urgent.
So do we agree to compromise
and wear our red socks
underneath our school socks?
It'll make our shoes too tight,
But okay,
it's the principle that counts.
But what's the point?
Nobody is going to see a principle.
Pandora and I are inseparable,
so I felt secure enough in her love
to take her with me
to meet Bert Baxter.
Is it blood?
No, it's beetroot juice.
Mr Baxter?
Does he always look like this?
No, normally
he's swearing and shouting.
Mr Baxter?
I think he's very ill.
Ring for an ambulance.
He could be drunk.
He does drink a lot.
No, he's ill.
Quickly, Adrian.
He could be dying.
I've never done this before.
There, there, darling.
I'll get into trouble.
I was supposed
to be looking after him.
But you did look after him.
He asked for help when you came.
Something's got my eye.
It's the dust.
Yeah.
Bert's house is very dusty.
I am family, yes,
I'm his nephew.
- Well, Mr Baxter is stable.
- Stable...
Thank you.
He's stable.
It's appropriate
for an ex-hostler.
Doctor, would you take
these bleedin' tubes out?
I ain’t an underground system,
you know.
- Bert, it's me, Adrian.
- Adrian?
Where's Sabre?
Where's my dog?
- He's gone to a good home.
- What?
Heaven?
No, but they're vegetarian
animal lovers.
I brought you some beetroot.
How am I supposed
to get that done, mate?
Stuff it down my tubes?
It's a waste time feeding
a dying man, anyway.
You're not dying, Bert.
Don't tell me I'm not dying.
I want you to phone
to Australia, my daughter.
Tell her what happened.
Her telephone number is in the back
of my old army pay-book.
Here.
Here's half-a-crown
to pay for the call.
Come on, take it then!
It's time you go.
He gets very tired.
- I do not.
- Yes, you do.
All right.
Come on to see me again.
If I'm still here.
Alright then.
Good night, Bert.
Nice boy.
Is he your grandson?
No, no, no.
He's my friend.
I don't even know
what an army pay-book looks like.
No, nor do I.
Dirty old devil.
How disgusting.
Let me see.
"Avec tout mon amour, cheri.
Lola"
Funny to think of Bert
having a love life.
Pandora...
Adrian...
Do you know how to do
french kissing?
I usually just stick
to the english.
My thing has grown three
centimetres. About time!
I might be needing it soon.
I hope Bert doesn't die.
Apart from liking him,
I've got nothing to wear to a funeral.
Subtitles
LAPORT INC.