Waiting for God (1990–1994): Season 2, Episode 10 - The Boring Son - full transcript

Oh!

Oh!

Oh, will you Look at that?
Now that's very interesting.

— What is it?
— Mind your own business.

Is it another...missive
from those Age Concern people?

— Yes.
— I've been meaning to talk to you about them.

— Really?
— It's Harvey's blood pressure, you see.

Harvey doesn't have blood in his veins, Jane,
he runs on oiL

— He's a very sensitive person.
— Jane.

The more you provoke him, the greater strain
you put on his delicate heart.

— Oh, I think I'm going to be sick.
— You just don't realise



that within that simple exterior,
there hides the soul of a poet.

— (Retches)
— Yet he's still a mortal man.

If you prick him, does he not bleed?

No, he does not. He squirts pure multigrade.

— Oh, Diana!
— Oh, do shut up, Jane.

I, in conjunction
with these very splendid people,

am going to pull this place
into the 20th century if it kills me.

Or better yet, if it kills Harvey.

(Sobs)

I do hate cut flowers.

(Basil) Hello, Jane, I'm back.
Give us a kiss.

(Jane) Basil, stop that at once!

— (Laughter)
— Tom, look who's here.

My God!



— Aloha, Tommy baby.
— Basil, is that you?

Certainly not. It's Tom Cruise, superstud.

My dear fellow, how wonderful
to see you. It's been three months.

You and Betty only went on a ten—day cruise.
Where have you been?

Right round the world.

Where did you get that awful shirt

and that bit of garden
hanging round your neck?

We went to Hawaii and Tahiti.

— Bora Bora.
— I bet it was.

Jane, hang this round your neck.

It'll attract all the fellas.

— Really?
— Ooh, yes.

— A splendid aphrodisiac.
— Ooh.

Must dash, think I hear Harvey calling.

Er... Where's Betty?

Er, well, a bit of a tricky one, that.

Had a bit of a row.

You haven't chopped her up and left her
in a suitcase at Waterloo station?

Certainly not.
No, we just had a major barney.

I kept telling her that I had got a mind

but she only wanted me for my body.

I had the same trouble with Brigitte Bardot.

Forget the meaningful discussions.

All she wanted to do
was to tear my clothes off my body.

Well, after ten days
I said that I needed a day off.

So Betty ran off
with a Japanese bullfighter.

— What have you been doing since?
— Oh, you know,

hanging around with the Hawaiian surf crowd,

working my way
through the beach bimbos.

What's been happening here?

Oh, nothing really.
Couple of earthquakes, spot of plague.

Visitors from Mars. just the usual.

And how's Diana?

Foul as ever.

And your family? Young Geoffrey?

Ah, well, now, to tell you the truth,

Geoffrey's been a little odd of late.

(Marion) What did you say?
(Geoffrey) I said, I'm leaving you.

Leaving me what?

(Geoffrey) Leaving you, going away from you.

I'm walking out. I do not wish to spend
any more of my life with you,

I do not wish to be married to you,

I want a divorce,
I never want to see you again.

Geoffrey, are you trying
to tell me something?

(Geoffrey screams)

— Well, just a minute.
— What?

— Did you say you're leaving me?
— Yes.

Oh.

You didn't get any lemons, did you?

I'm leaving, our entire life
is about to go down a black hole,

and you are asking me
whether I got any lemons?

— Well, did you?
— Yes, dear, under the sink with the tonic.

Right. Bye, then.

Goodbye, dear.

— Geoffrey?
— Yes.

Where are you going?

— Where am I going?
— Yes.

I mean, if you're leaving me,
you must be going somewhere else.

I was just wondering where.

— Um... I'll find somewhere.
— OK.

Cheers. Ooh...

I am a reasonable man, Diana.

— Aren't I, Jane?
— Oh, you are, Harvey, very reasonable.

Not only reasonable,
but sensitive, charming and passionate.

Yes, yes, all right, Jane,
just don't go mad.

You're not a reasonable man.
You're a dreadful little crook.

If it wasn't for me, this place
would be run like Wormwood Scrubs,

without the sense of freedom.

— I think you've been got at, Diana.
— Got at?

These communist agitators you mix with.

Do you mean Age Concern?

I've seen the literature you get, Diana.

Every time one of their pinko manifestos
comes through the door,

you're in here
with all manner of subversive demands.

Do you mean wheelchair ramps?

Right. Before, when the old ducks
were wheeled up and down the steps,

they were happy
with a bit of a bump and a clonk.

Not now. Oh, no.

Now it's wheelchair access ramps everywhere.

— And modifications to the minibus.
— You mean a professional driver?

Antonio was a perfectly good driver.

He drove on the wrong side of the road.

What do you expect? He's Portuguese.
They do that sort of thing there.

You really must be a little more tolerant.

He also had no medical
or ambulance training

and he frequently forgot
to close the back doors.

Every time he went round a bend
he jettisoned half his customers.

The countryside
was littered with pensioners

sitting around like wayside gnomes.

I don't trust this sporadic
social conscience of yours, Diana.

I think you're trying to get up my nose.

There is that, of course.

Sorry, Harvey.

Yes, well, I have made my formal request
and as such,

you are duty—bound
to put it before the board.

They'll fire me, you know.

The doctors who own this place,
they know the value of money

and they don't want it frittered away
on senseless healthcare nonsense.

We want panic buttons installed
in every apartment.

If you don't do as we ask,

we will all go down to the shopping mall
and take our clothes off.

Oh, God, not again.

You have been warned.

Farewell, Tondeleo.

Jane, I don't want any more
of this healthcare nonsense,

Age Concern rubbish coming through the door.

— just bribe the postman.
— Righto, Harvey.

Now, about these alarms.

— Would you like me to do a costing?
— No, don't be silly. just leave it to me.

Oh, er, Jane...
what are you doing for dinner tonight?

(Gasps) It works! Um...

— Nothing, Harvey.
— Oh, good.

See if you can sort that lot out, would you?

Diana, you're such a swine.

You warm my heart.

Someone's got to keep the little bastard in line.

(Phone)

Excuse me.

(Tom) Hello? Can/ Grant here.

What? Who?

Oh, it's you, Marion.

And how are you?

It's Marion. She's singing
and wants to dance on the roof.

Get her a ladder.

What? You feel pretty?

Oh, so pretty? You feel pretty?

And witty and gay?

Oh, she's rung off.

What was all that about?

I think Marion's had a quiet paddle
round the old gin vat this morning.

Dreadful little squawking braindead shrew.

— You should never have let them many
— Geoffrey wasn't the great catch exactly.

I'll say. Centuries of breeding and all
you could come up with was a Geoffrey.

Makes the last few millennia
look like a bit of a waste of time.

— Yes.
— What he needs is ginger.

— Ginger?
— It's an old trick of Irish horse dealers.

If you had a boring old half—dead nag,
stick a bit of ginger up its arse.

Soon gets it good and frisky.
You should try some on Geoffrey.

Oh, they looked so hopeful
on their wedding day.

Yes, they always do. Huh.

Marriage.

What a weird concept.

Two people meet,
spark off an emotional explosion

which is probably the most intense feeling
they will ever have in their lives.

They rush off to a church,
swear they will keep it up for ever.

Then, when the steam of lust has cleared,

they see each other's blackheads
and nasal hair with pustular clarity.

They realise they are joined at the legal hip

and are condemned to years of
sullen compromise, bitterness, despair,

depression, futility and...

Only if they're lucky,
the blessed release of an early death.

I never realised it was such fun.

Well, I speak, of course, from the lofty point
of total ignorance of the state.

We enjoyed it, Maggie and I.

It was wonderful to start with
and just kept getting better.

It's 15 years since she died

and yet I still find myself
turning towards her to share a thought,

only to find she's not there and er...

Don't get maudlin, Tom.
I'll be forced to be sick.

I never understood why you didn't many

— Oh, God!
— Oh, yes, I know, I know, yes.

All your lovers were bastards.
But you're such an impetuous creature

and marriage is an impetuous act.

I can never understand why
the person and act never got together.

Well, the best ones weren't only bastards.

The best of the lot was a married bastard.

Ah, tricky.

I set my cap at that one man for 30 years.

"I'll have him one day," I thought.

— And did you?
— Frequently, biblically, but...

But never permanently.
He was always gone by breakfast.

— Ah.
— Well, I was a mistress.

And no wise man
ever marries his mistress, does he?

It merely creates a vacancy.

A cad and a bounder.

Oh, yes, he was never going to leave his wife.

I scanned the obituaries every day

in case the silly cow had had
the decency to step under a bus.

— That's terrible.
— No, that's being a woman.

When it comes to
the obsessive desire for a certain mate,

we are far more basic, primeval creatures
than simpering menfolk

with their long faces and dreadful poetry.

We want to get, not suffer.

But you didn't get, nor did you get got.

No, no, I failed.

— Hello? Dad?
— Oh, that's Geoffrey.

Oh, good. Party time!

Hello, Geoffrey, lovely to see you.
Delivering some yoghurts in the area?

Um, not quite, Dad.

— Is Marion with you?
— No.

— No, she just rang me.
— What did she say?

Oh, nothing really,
just singing, mainly, and tap—dancing.

Oh, I see.
Can I have a word with you, Dad?

Be my guest. Have two.
Be a devil and have a whole sentence.

— I meant in private.
— Oh, Diana and I have no secrets.

Of course we do, Tom.
Besides, I have absolutely no desire

to hear the riveting revelations
of Mr. Excitement here.

I shall be hammering Basil
into the croquet lawn.

She's not really rude, it's just her manner.

No, she's right, I am a terribly boring person.

Oh, no, Geoffrey,
you're not terribly boring. It's all relative.

There are societies, I'm sure,

where the endless discussions
of DIY and real ales

are considered
to be the height of witty repartee.

— It's just we live in a society...
— Dad, I've left Marion.

You've left her what?

Oh, don't you start!
I've left her, moved out, it's all over.

Oh, Geoffrey.

Well done.

Congratulations, a man at last!
Oh, I am so happy for you.

Look, Basil, a parrot.

Where?

— I can't see a parrot.
— Course you can't.

— This is Bournemouth, not Tahiti.
— But you said...

Now look, Basil, I know what your game is,

trying to put me off going on about parrots.

Well, I'm sick of your cheating.

Any more of it
and you'll cop this in your favourite toys.

— I'm sorry, Diana.
— So I should hope.

Now shut up and watch
while I play my winning shot brilliantly.

— Diana?
— Oh, you cloth head!

— You owe me £10.
— What for?

For spoiling my winning shot.

Now the Sex Pistol will win the game

and I'll lose the £10 we were playing for.

We were only playing for ‘IOp.

Thank you, Basil.

Prat.

I've got something for you, for both of you.

— Well, what is it?
— Is it my extra strength condoms?

No, it is not, and I'd be very grateful

if you didn't write things like that
on the shopping list.

I was the laughing stock of Boots.

— (Basil laughs)
— Come on, then. What is it?

Well, as you know,
Diana has requested that all residents

should have access to an alarm system
in case they're attacked.

I never attack anyone. I'm always invited in.

It wasn't aimed at you, Basil.

So what cheap trash
has Bains come up with this time?

Is it one of those high—powered
wailing, bleeping, flashing jobs?

Well, they do make a lot of noise.

Come on, then.

They don't need batteries.

Well, I'll be off, then.

Thanks for the game, Bas. Same time tomorrow?

Can't tomorrow, lecture
at the sex therapists' convention.

— What can they teach you?
— Nothing, I'm giving the lecture.

Go away, Bas.

— What—ho.
— Oh, hello, Geoffrey, still here?

— You're in my seat.
— Oh, I'm so sorry.

Thank you.

Oh, thank you, Jane.
Still keeping the vampires at bay, I see.

— Oh, what a perfectly formed elbow.
— Oh, sorry.

(Slurps)

Ah, farmyard impressions.

No, no, don't tell me, don't tell me. It's...

No, no, I'm very good
at farmyard impressions. It's...

— (Slurps)
— I know, it's a toad farting in custard.

Diana...

Don't...don't be mean.

— Geoffrey's had a shock.
— Sat on some ginger, has he?

— He's left Marion.
— Left her what?

Why can't anyone believe I have the strength of
character to walk out on my wife?

Oh, Geoffrey, well done.

— That's what I said.
— What brought this on?

Well, nothing in particular, just years
of embarrassment and humiliation.

She's slept with half my friends, she
pops pills till they come out of her ears,

she's a hopeless mother and, well, sometimes
I'd go as far as saying she's not very nice.

I'd never have known.

So, you've got yourself somewhere lined up,
have you? A little pad somewhere,

— fridge full of champers?
— I have, thanks.

— Really, where?
— Here. I'm stopping with Dad for a bit.

Won't that be fun?

Happy lunch time, everybody.
It's a lovely day.

Any questions, any problems?

Everybody happy?

The really interesting thing
about pine shelving —

that is proper Norwegian pine,
not local rubbish —

is its essentially wooden quality.

A lot of people find pine a bit dull and common

and go for the more exotic woods.

But I will always go to bat
for good solid pine.

I find the best place to get it is Mason's,
just up the 314.

If you go past the station,

then cut across on the 217, you save
a few minutes by taking the bypass

which comes out just beyond Mason's yard.

Mason himself is a pine man and we often
spend hours checking the grains.

— I'm not boring you, am I?
— What? Oh, good lord, no, no.

Who'd want to talk world news

when they can get the low—down
on kitchen shelving?

I know Dad sometimes thinks my interest in real
ale and DIY is obsessive, eh, Dad?

Huh? Is he off somewhere?

Wednesdays, he's tunnelling out of Colditz.

How long does that take?

It depends who's on guard duty

and if Dickie Attenborough's
finished the travel passes.

Dickie's getting slow in his old age,
they all are.

Tunnel full of ageing actors,
bashing into each other like blind moles.

They'll probably be down there for years.

Anyway, as I was saying, the other good thing
about pine is its friendly quality.

I think if you're going
to live with shelving for a few years,

you want to feel welcome
in your own kitchen, your own house.

Marion's never made me feel welcome.

That's why I sought peace and quiet
in the garage with my shelving.

I was in the forefront
of the Campaign for Real Ale.

The local branch president said
I was one of the unsung heroes.

That was in the '70s, of course. Now I'm
a battle—hardened veteran of the campaign.

And it was a real campaign.
Oh, yes, mark my words.

Some of the local landlords were very hostile.

One of them even refused
to sell us pork scratchings

for being rude
about his mass—produced bitter.

If you want a really efficient alarm system,
I know just the thing.

— You do?
— Turkeys.

— What?
— Turkeys.

More effective than dogs
and a lot less dangerous.

A lot of eastern Europeans
keep a watch—turkey.

— I tell you, they kick up an awful stink.
— But...

I got one once but my wife strangled
it and ate it. She cooked it first.

I was a bit put out.
I had become quite fond of old Gertie.

I didn't realise I was eating her until
her name tag got caught in my teeth.

Oh, I'll see you later then.

Erm...have you ever thought
about pine shelving?

It's all right, it's only me.

Where is he?

I don't know. Out flogging his yogurt
somewhere, I suppose.

Sure? He's not going to start telling me

about his collection of 1958 train timetables?

No, he's gone, for a while.

Thank God!

Oh.

We were up half the night discussing
the effect of roadworks on house prices.

Did you know the bypass was in fact
an invention of the Romans

and that the local one had created
as much as a 6.5 per cent price rise

— in streets...
— Oh, God, Tom, don't you start.

I'm sorry but it's catching.

There is something quite mesmeric about
cataloguing a myriad of useless facts.

— It's like an anaesthetic.
— Too much and it can kill you.

That had crossed my mind.

Tom, you have got to get rid of him.

But he is my son.

I'm sure Mrs. Mussolini said
the same thing about her little boy.

But it would have been far better

if she had set aside cloying sentiment
and throttled the fat little bugger.

But what can I do?

just send him back to Marion.

I wouldn't wish that on anyone, even Marion.

Has he told you about this collection
of 3,000 grass seed catalogues?

— No.
— Has he listed the additives

— permitted in his yogurt?
— No.

Has he told you what is inside a golf ball?

All right, all right.

What are we going to do?

Leave it to me.

(Marion) # I'm just a girl who can't say no

# I'm in a terrible... #

— Sugar, Diana?
— No, thank you.

# ..fix

# I always say, come on, let's go

# just when I oughta say nix #

Here we are. Would you like to be mother?

Well, I will pour the coffee.
There's only one cup.

I don't drink coffee. It's a form of stimulant.

— Why are you dressed like Superwoman?
— I have an aerobics class.

I believe in a healthy mind
and a healthy body.

Since when? You've been an animated
pharmacy longer than Tom's been batty.

— But not any more.
— I don't believe you.

— I think you've found a happiness pill.
— In a way.

I might try it. What's it called?

Oh, it's called "Living without Geoffrey."

— I wanted to talk to you about that.
— You don't want me to have him back?

Do you know, he once wanted
to count all the hairs on my head to see

— if I complied with the national average.
— And did you?

When he got to two million,
I stabbed him in the leg.

So, now you have given up
your booze and your pills.

— I'm a new woman.
— Yes, you certainly are.

Perhaps you didn't really hate me after all.

Oh, no, that was perfectly genuine.

Yes, it usually is. So, what do you intend
to do with your new life?

I intend having a good time
for a few years, quite a few years.

— And your revolting children?
— They're all going to kennels.

Boarding schools. During the holidays,
I will be the model mother.

And during term time?

I see.

I'm just getting back onto my own feet.
I see a glorious life ahead of me.

But I am still not quite my old self.

The habits of a lifetime are hard to cast off.

So now I appeal to you,
as one woman to another.

If I am to have a chance at happiness,

please don't try and bring
Geoffrey and me together again.

All right?

— How did it go with Marion?
— Well...

He's driving me nuts. Do you know how many
bricks there are in the Great Wall of China?

God.

And he wants me to take up morris dancing.

— It depends on the size of the bricks.
— What's that?

In the Great Wall of China. The number
of bricks depends on the size.

— Geoffrey?
— Yes, Diana.

— I have been to see Marion.
— She knows nothing about bricks.

— She was discussing your situation.
— OK, what did she say?

Well, she said to me, in confidence
as one woman to another.

— Yes?
— No, I can't tell you.

I can take it.

Well, she said she misses you terribly.

What?

— Did Marion say that?
— Yes.

But she said
she would never be able to tell you

and she'd probably tell you to go away
but you were not to listen to her.

She wanted you to be stubborn and determined
and the man about the house

and insist on staying
however much she threw things at you.

— Is this true?
— Shut up.

Poor darling, I must go to her.

Yes, you must, and be firm,
be strong and take earplugs.

Thank you, Diana.
I can't believe this is possible.

The kids told me she was singing
and dancing and doing cartwheels.

No, no, no, hysteria. She wants you, now.

— But ring her first.
— Why?

Well, maybe she wants
to give you a big surprise,

or not give you a big surprise.

just go, Geoffrey, and good luck.

I have to go, Dad.
I'm sorry. I know you'll miss me.

I'll manage.

— I'll look up that brick thing.
— Oh, do. Wonderful.

Bye, Geoffrey.

Bye, Dad.

Oh.

— Diana.
— What?

— You fibbed.
— Me?

Yes, even Marion in all her awfulness

would not want
that bone—brained dolt back again.

Tom, that's your son.

My friends I choose,
my relatives are inflicted upon me.

What have you done?

He's going to drive somebody round the twist.

If not her, then you.
I was merely looking after my interests.

— Oh, so I'm an interest to you, am I?
— I didn't say that.

— Well, what did you say, then?
— Tom, shut up.

Come on, make a statement, woman.
What am I to you? What is an interest?

Don't upset the balance.

No, no, I mean, am I a hobby or a plaything?

Where are we?

No, Tom, never ask the questions.

You may get the answers.

(Siren)

Come on!

Hello, Tom, Diana.

I think you'll find I've solved
the panic button problem.

It's the all clear. Brings back old memories.

— I was at Biggin Hill.
— I know.

Had a prang and lost both my legs,
then was shot down by the Hun

and they had to drop in
a pair of tin legs for me.

— That is very tasteless, Tom.
— Is it? Oh, good.

I've always wanted to be tasteless.