The Thin Blue Line (1995–1996): Season 1, Episode 1 - The Queen's Birthday Present - full transcript

Right, that concludes this morning's
briefing. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.

And never forget that in
the grand order of life,

there are but two forces...

Those of order...

And those of chaos.

And between them, there lies us,

the thin blue line.

So that's three forces then.

Two forces, constable
Goody, as I've explained.

The forces of order and of chaos.

Yes, and us in the
middle, the police force.



I think we'd better
pick this up again later.

You're all due out on patrol.

Dear, oh dear, Raymond,

why do you bluebottles bother?

The uniformed constable is obsolete.

Extinct, like the "doo-doo."

Computers, sir. That's where
it's all rocking, isn't it, eh?

That's right, Kray,

in the shadowy electronic alleyways

of the Internet,

a new type of villain lurks.

Right, how is our investigation
into stolen credit cards going?

All in the computer, sir.

The way to stop credit
cards being stolen



is for people to take
care of their property.

I'd like to meet the man who
could get inside my trousers.

What is more, my officers
are far from being "doo-doos,"

or indeed, dodos.

They are, in fact, first rate.

Keen of eye, swift of thought

and regular of bowel.

They don't need
computers to solve crimes

because they have brains,
Grim. Remember them?

A Bobby's best friend

is his brain.

Well, it's pretty clear...
He got in through the window.

Unless, of course,

the window was broken after
the villains gained entry.

Broken from within.

- You mean an inside job?
- You've got to admit, it would all fit.

What, that he robbed his own flat?

Exactly! Insurance claim, Maggie.

It's a nice little motive.

All the glass is on the inside, Kevin.

Do you reckon that after he smashed it,

he went outside, picked up all
the bits and brought them back in?

It's possible.

His fingers are cut
up, we've got our man.

- Just... get your notebook, Kevin?
- Yes.

Now then, sir,

- I know you're upset...
- Whoops!

Kevin!

Could you give us some idea of
what's been taken and their value?

"What's been taken"?

My self-respect,

my peace of mind,

my sense of well-being.

Could you describe
these items please, sir?

They are beyond value!

Told you... mega insurance claim.

- Shut up!
- What are you lot gonna do?

- This has ruined my life!
- We'll do our best, sir,

but the clear-up rate
for burglaries is so...

I don't know why I even
bothered calling you lot out.

You're about as much use as
a tin-tack in a jockstrap.

Oh.

- Name?
- Can't remember.

"Mr. R. Sole."

I mean, the bloke was devastated.

Everything he had had been defiled.

Photos smashed, clothes torn.

They even did a whoopsie
in his goldfish bowl.

And there's nothing we can do.

You could fish it out.

You've got to learn to walk away.

There's more to life
than being a copper.

I don't know how you can say that.

You're virtually married to the
force, going out with inspector Fowler.

He doesn't care about
anything but the police.

Oh, I'm sorry, pat,
I didn't mean that...

I know very well what you meant, Maggie,

and you're wrong.

Raymond has a deep and romantic soul.

You know,

I think I've got a slow puncture.

Oh well, another evening
spread out on the kitchen table

wrestling with my inner tube.

We've been together 10 years, Maggie.

It can't all be candlelit dinner,

jars of vaseline and
double-jointed sexual gymnastics.

My turn to cook tonight,
I think, darling.

I thought I might make rissoles.

Actually, tomorrow's the 10th
anniversary of our relationship.

I'm going to surprise him
with a special breakfast.

Or perhaps a nice bit of bloater.

Wake up, Raymond. Breakfast.

What? Oh!

Bless my twinkling stars, Patricia.

What is all this?

Oh, well, well. Coffee, toast...

Or something which at some point

has certainly been toast.

And scrambled egg, if I'm not mistaken.

You are. I'm afraid it's a waffle.

Oh dear.

People worry too much
about how food looks.

What's it gonna look like
after it's worked its way

through 28 feet of small intestine?

Well, quite.

Mmm. Perhaps a
smidgeon too much salt...

- There isn't any salt in it.
- I'm afraid there is.

In that case I put sugar
on your bacon and eggs.

It's those habitat serving
jars I put everything in.

You can't tell one thing from another.

I can never force much
down in the morning anyway,

except, perhaps, a cup of coffee.

It's only instant.

Ugh.

In this case, instant gravy.

Another mix up with the serving
jars, I fear, my darling.

Oh well, never mind.

All in all, it was a very nice...

Uh, thought.

I can't imagine what moved
you to such a splendid gesture.

- Can't you?
- Umm...

No, no, no, I fear not.

But... but it's much
appreciated anyway.

Now I really must rush.

I have a small gift item
to pick up before work.

Oh peachy, you did remember.

Of course I remembered, cabbage.

I always remember the important things.

Cutting edge of technology.

Cutting edge of fannying about.

What's wrong with a
biro that's what I say.

I've booted up and I've patched in.

I'm online, offline, downloaded

and extremely cheesed off.

You need to integrate your
power supply at source, sir.

What?

Plug it in.

And so, to the topic of the
day, which is pickpocketing.

Oh, by the way, I'll just
leave the collecting tin

for the queen's birthday
present here, shall I?

About ?3 apiece should cover it.

Excuse me, sir. I
didn't quite catch that.

The collecting tin...

For the queen's official birthday...

Which is next week.

But of course, you all knew that.

We are members of her
majesty's police force.

The queen is, in effect, our boss.

And compared to many bosses,
she is a model employer.

She does not attempt to kiss the
secretaries at the Christmas party...

She does not insist on
having the best coffee mug,

or hogging all the chocolate hobnobs.

She's had a pretty
rotten time of it of late.

It'd be a nice thing to
show her she's appreciated.

Personally I think
celebrating birthdays at work

is a bad idea.

Yes, well, on this occasion...

I mean that awful business
of going for a curry

with people you either
don't know or don't like.

- Yes, yes, well...
- And there is nothing to do but drink.

So before you know it, you're
doing the old elephant impression.

And everyone else in
the restaurant hates you

because quite frankly, they
couldn't give a flying hoo-ha

whether the birthday girl lives or dies.

Yes, well, I wasn't really thinking

of taking her majesty for a curry.

What's your elephant impression, frank?

You pull your trousers
pockets inside out, you see?

And then you unzip...

Thank you, gladstone.

I have, in fact,
already taken the Liberty

of purchasing her a gift...

A small porcelain figurine...

Of a young lad fishing.

The collecting tin is there, as
I say. It's very much up to you.

I don't want to buy the
queen a present, sir.

She's an anti-Christ.

I beg your pardon?!

Oh no, I mean anarchist.

No, no, what's that word
for someone who's out of date

and doesn't matter anymore?

- You mean an anachronism.
- That's right. The queen's an anachronism.

I thought that was someone
who was scared of spiders?

No, no, that's an arachnophobic.

I thought that was a person who
was scared of wide-open spaces.

No, that's agoraphobics. They can't handle
going outside. Arachnophobics hate spiders.

Look, we're talking about the queen.

Is the queen scared of spiders?

You wouldn't have thought so, but
it's beginning to look that way.

Perhaps that's why she's
scared to go outside, sir.

Can you spare Habib a moment?

Yes, of course. Carry on, constable.

Thank you, darling.

Not darling. Inspector darling.

No, sorry. Sorry.

Sorry, I'm just so happy, so excited.

Will you give it me after work?

Uh...

Possibly, I don't know.

No, no, don't spoil it.

I only get one once a year,
and I want it to be a surprise.

No, sir, I'm afraid we haven't
made any progress at all.

- I'm very sorry.
- People don't matter anymore, do they?

I didn't matter to the
bloke who robbed me,

and I don't matter to you.

Sir, please.

We really are trying.

So, pickpocketing...

Come on, come on, come on.

A crime which has traditionally

been looked upon with some indulgence.

We have all seen the musical "Oliver"

and are familiar with the images

of jolly, apple-cheeked
urchins in big hats.

Well, dispel this cozy impression.

The artful dodger was a thief,

and I don't think he'd have considered
himself quite so "at home..."

In a juvenile detention center,

which is where I'd have put him.

Thieving is thieving,

and no amount of "oom-pah-pah"

or "boom-titty-titty"
will change that.

An Englishman's pockets are his castle.

More like his pocket
billiards room.

Detective constable Kray,

there is a place for fatuous, flippant,

would-be humorous inanities,

and that place is on
"Noel's house party"...

Not in a police station.

Yes, sir.

Right, so let's see how it's done.
Step forward, constable Goody.

Walk towards me.

- Oops, I do beg your pardon.
- It's quite all right, sir.

Not all right for you, I fear, Goody,

because I have relieved you
of the contents of your pocket.

In this case... a Mars bar.

Constable Goody, a Mars bars is
scarcely police equipment, is it?

- No, sir.
- "No, sir," indeed, sir.

Are there any other
items of confectionary

secreted about your person?

No, sir.

And by that you mean...?

I've got a curly wurly
in my truncheon pouch.

In that case, get it out before it melts

and soils the queen's trousers.

It's not going to melt, is
it? It's going to get eaten.

Great jangling jehovah, it is not!

I've never heard of such a thing.

I will not have my
officers gorging themselves

whilst on duty. Hand it over.

Now sit down.

Now let's see if any of
you can pick my pocket.

You're not gonna do the
elephant impression, are you?

I couldn't believe it!

Making me fish my curly wurly
out of my trousers.

He's going potty. He is, you know?

Fancy rushing out before work
to buy a present for the queen.

I bet she never gets him anything.

I'm trying to trace
missing credit cards.

The bills are being done
with stolen credit cards.

Yeah, yeah, pepperoni...

Anchovies, spicy sausage and chili.

Constable Kray, this is a bleeding nick,

not a bleeding cafeteria.

- Nothing for you then, sir?
- No, nothing for me.

Just a bit of cheesecake
and a can of diet lilt.

Oh, come on, Kevin,

you've been going on
about this all morning.

He only pinched your Mars bar.

- It was for her.
- What?

That Mars bar was for
the most beautiful,

the most gorgeous woman
who ever walked the earth.

You bought Gloria Hunniford a Mars bar?

Constable Habib! I bought
constable Habib a Mars bar!

She likes Mars bars. I
saw her eating one once.

I've seen her eating
sausage, egg, chips and beans.

That doesn't mean if you buy her
a fry up you'll get your leg over.

No, no, Maggie Habib's
not a little girl.

You can't win her with sweets.

She's a woman,

and if you want to impress a woman,

you have to act like a man.

- Act like a man.
- That's right, sir.

She won't take any notice of you

unless you are firm.

That's how I treated
my wife... firm.

Mm-hmm!

One day I said to her,

"if I feel like stopping
out drinking, I will.

And what's more, I expect my dinner
on the table when I get home."

She took notice of that?

I don't know. I never saw her again.

Engaged again.

What's the point of belonging

to the "emergency lost credit
card instant speedy hotline"

if whenever you ring
them they're engaged?

Raymond, have you bought a
birthday present for the queen?

Yes. Is there a problem?

When did you last buy me a present?!

Why, on your last birthday, I believe.

A set of reversible
spanners is not a present!

It is a coded request to
get a smack in the mouth!

You idiot, Raymond!

Police stations don't send loyal
greetings to the monarch anymore!

The queen and her whole
family have become a joke.

You've only got to read the papers.

Get on with your work, constable.

I do not read the papers, Patricia.

Therefore I do not
suffer from the illusion

that rumor, innuendo and downright cheek

constitute news.

If you want to read
something, then read a book.

For there is more that is
true and relevant in one page

of Scott or Thackeray than in
every newspaper ever printed!

You haven't read any
Walter Scott in years.

Nor any flippin' Thackeray.

You read Biggles books!

And you make slurping noises
in your cocoa while you do it!

- Is that true, sir?
- Well, I don't know.

Perhaps the tiniest gurgle.

No, I mean do you still read Biggles?

That's what my little
brother's reading at the moment.

He could do a very great deal worse.

Because even Biggles has
much to tell us that is true

about loyalty, courage,

- honor...
- Gay love.

Yes.

- I beg your pardon?
- Well, of course, sir.

Biggles and Ginger are lovers.
It's absolutely obvious.

I think it's great the way

they make such a positive image
of a homosexual partnership.

Biggles and Ginger

are comrades, constable Habib.

Comrades in arms.

Exactly.

I am stunned, constable Habib.

Absolutely stunned.
And indeed distressed

that you choose to apply such a crass

and puerile sexual connotation

to innocent adventure yarns.

Come on, sir, they're grown men.
They must have a sexual life,

but neither of them ever mention women.

They bunk together, breakfast together.

Biggles is always squeezing
himself into Ginger's...

- Cockpit.
- Sopwith camel.

It's obvious.

It's the same with Sherlock
Holmes and Dr. Watson.

Two blokes sharing a flat.

Sometimes it's months between cases.

What do they get up to in the meantime?

They chat!

They smoke their pipes!

They poke the fire!

Look, sir, if Holmes and
Watson are lovers, so what?

Is there anything wrong with that?

Yes, constable, there is.

Because sex plays no part
in these stories whatsoever,

hetero or otherwise.

The point of Biggles
and of Sherlock Holmes

is to solve crimes and kill Germans.

And by heavens, that should
be enough for any man.

I'm taking up a collection for
the queen's birthday present.

Look, Raymond, you may
have time for fannying about

with presents and Biggles;

me and my officers are up to our
necks in important detective work.

My officers and I.

- What about them?
- Nothing about them.

I'm simply informing
you that the phrase is,

"my officers and I,"
not "me and my officers."

Is that so?! Well, me and my officers

are on the brink of tracking
down a bank-raid gang

via credit card transactions

which is, I think, a bit more important

than fannying about and
speaking hoity-toity.

The rules of grammar,
hoity-toity or otherwise,

are there so that meaningful
sentences can be formed

and more importantly,
generally understood.

Start stringing words
together Willy-nilly

and it could lead to
no end of confusion.

Constable Kray, lend me
your notebook. Look here...

"The criminal ran round
my side and out the back

at a colossal lick."

Jumble up the words
and suddenly you have,

"the criminal licked out my
colossal round backside and ran."

Is that so?!

Well, try these words
in a different order!

"Bugger" and "off!"

I mean, "off" and "bugger!"

Damn!

Now remember what I said, Kevin.

Act like a man... be
firm, be masterful.

So basically, just be myself.

No.

Hey, you! Jaywalking is a crime.

Get back on the pavement. Get
back on the pavement, please.

Goody, would you
mind telling me what...

Hang on a minute. Pickpocket.

Not this time, punk!

Crime's a disease. Meet the cure.

That's my grandson. He's
helping me carry my shopping.

He squashed my plums, gran.

Don't be silly, love.

I didn't buy any plums.

At last. Hello?

Is that the "emergency lost credit
card instant speedy hotline"?

Yes, I can hold.

Hello? Yes. Yes, I'd like to
report the loss of my credit cards.

First, however, I should like
to point out that the words

"emergency," "instant,"

and "speedy" have no place
in your company title.

"Infuriating," yes.

"Tawdry," certainly.

"Absolutely blinking
outrageous," oh, I think so.

No, madam, I will not
accept your apology

because I do not
believe that you mean it.

I believe that you are
indifferent to the fact

that I've just had to listen to
"the mull of kintyre" seven times.

Hello?

Hello?

Sir?

- Yes?
- I've traced that missing credit card.

You're gonna love this.

Oh yes.

Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.

Oh yes, oh yes...

- Oh yes, Kray!
- Aah!

That was the worst beat
I have ever been on.

It was like being on patrol
with a flippin' two-year-old.

Look...

He was a funny looking old bloke
hanging around at a school gate.

- I had to collar him.
- Kevin, he was a lollipop man.

Just keep out of my
way for a while, okay?

That's it. I'm just wasting my time.

I think I'm gonna pack it
in. I'm gonna leave the force.

I just had a call from the fire
brigade. They're in the high street.

A man is threatening
suicide from a tall building.

I'm going to attend the scene myself.

That'll make him jump,
if nothing else does.

Constable Habib, I may
require a woman officer.

- Kindly come with me.
- Yes, sir.

I reckon she hates me now.

I reckon she thinks I'm a prannet.

Oh yeah? How'd you work that out?

It was something she said.

She said, "I hate you, Kevin,
I think you're a prannet."

Look,

you got to grovel a bit, ain't you, eh?

The birds love it. You
gotta say, "listen, doll,

I was a real pillock."

A bucket of champagne, and the chockies,

and steam in for the bunk-up.

Right. Champagne, and chocolates.

Yeah, it gets them
every time, doesn't it?

The drawer dropper,
the knicker stripper.

Excuse me, sir, would you
mind coming in off this ledge?

Oh! Oh, you care about me now, do you?

Nobody respects me,
nobody cares about me.

I'm a nothing, a nobody,

friendless and alone.

But the same thing could be
said about the prime minister...

And he leads a full and active life.

Give me one good reason not to jump!

All right, I will.

That is a public pavement down there.

Others have to use that pavement,

and they should not be required to
circumnavigate your pureed person

in order to do so.

May I speak to him, sir?

Oh, very well, I seem to have
exhausted my powers of persuasion.

Remember me?

You say nobody cares about you.

That's a lie.

I decided to leave the police today...

Because of you

and how we could do nothing to help.

Is that true?

- Yes, constable Habib, is that true?
- It was true.

But I can see now it
would just be running away.

Just like you're running away now.

The bloke who did your house
over isn't going to make me run.

And you shouldn't let
him make you, either.

He took your video, but
he can't take your spirit.

You have to give that away yourself.

For god's sake, man,
what are you waiting for?

I've never heard anything so
well put in my entire life.

Come on in off that ledge this instant.

I was extremely proud of
you today, constable Habib.

It wasn't your fault
the silly fool jumped.

Inspector Fowler,

you are under arrest.

I beg your pardon, inspector Grim?

A credit card belonging to you

has been used to hire a car

which was subsequently
deployed in a drug deal.

You know damn well that my pocket was
picked. My credit cards were taken.

Is that so? It hasn't been
reported stolen, has it, Kray?

No, sir. When did you discover
the loss of this credit card?

This morning, at the briefing!

And yet you still haven't
reported it eight hours later?

I've been trying!
They were engaged...

How's it feel to have someone being

a bit clever and hoity-toity
with you for a change, Raymond?

We got the bloke who nicked
your card and the drugs.

It's gonna look pretty amusing
when it comes up on your statement...

A stolen car plus
half a pound of heroin.

You be a bit more careful in future.

Yes, thank you, Derek, I will.

Inspector Grim, there's
been another burglary.

Sergeant Dawkins,

how often do I have to tell
you I'm a detective inspector?

I don't bother with
burglaries. Get uniform to go.

All right. Constable Habib,

inspector Grim's house
has just been burgled.

Come on, let's go, go, go!

Wonder if he'll lose his
self-esteem and try and kill himself?

He will when he realizes it was a hoax.

Do you know, sometimes I just
can't read my own handwriting.

That was extremely
wrong of you, Patricia.

But he was probably going home anyway.

- Thank you.
- Stuff it.

I'm afraid sergeant Dawkins
isn't very pleased with you.

The 10th anniversary of our relationship

and you didn't get me anything!

I don't know why you set such
store by presents anyway, pat.

Personally, I hate the way a man thinks

when he's acted like a complete berk

he can make it all right with a few
chockies and a bottle of champagne.

I'd love a man who bought
me chockies and champagne.

Maybe for an anniversary.

But any bloke who thought he
could buy my affections like that

would get a punch in the mouth!

What do you want, Kevin? And what
are you hiding behind your back?

Nothing.

Nothing, that is...

Except the chocolates and champagne

which I asked you to get for me

while I was out at the suicide attempt.

Isn't that right, Goody?

Hand them over then, laddie.

We can settle up later.

Well, now, cabbage,

I have to confess that
I'm more than a little hurt

that you could think I
would forget our anniversary.

Perhaps sometimes you forget
that I have feelings too.

I'm sorry, peachy.

"To darling Maggie"...

Spelt with one "g" and a "y."

"Sorry about arresting the lollipop man.

Any chance of a bunk-up? Love, Kevin."

Do you think we got away with it, sir?