Waiting for God (1990–1994): Season 2, Episode 8 - Foreign Workers - full transcript
In order to cut costs Baines decides to employ illegal immigrant workers at Bayview. To Diana one incompetent foreigner,the gardener,is enough and, after the residents have staged a protest,order is restored. Tom has been overdoing physical exercise in his efforts to get as fit as Linford Christie and his collapse leads Diana to persuade him to slow down.
Antonio! Oi!
Antonio! Vous étes complétement fou!
Ce sont des fleurs!
Pas des weed! Vous étes
un portugaiso stupido sardino.
Vous avez le gardening ability
d'un bombe de napalm.
(Harvey) Diana!
— What do you want?
— It's hard enough to get people to work here.
It is made doubly hard if you go round
chucking half the garden at them.
But the man's a fooL
Doesn't know the first thing about gardening.
— Of course he doesn't. He's a chef.
— So why's he in the garden?
— We've already got a chef.
— Is he a gardener?
— No. He's a Korean.
— I think I'm losing this one.
I've handed all the catering over
to this company
which employs only illegal immigrants —
Koreans, Peruvians, Filipinos.
It's wonderful! It cuts the cost down by a third.
— That is immoral, Harvey.
— Oh, thank you, Diana.
How nice of you to say so!
Where's your little chum today?
Tom? Haven't a clue.
Keeps disappearing.
Probably got some little doxy stashed away
in downtown sin city Bournemouth.
I don't know. I'm not his keeper.
Yes, well, when you see him, could you also
ask him to stop harassing the new staff?
The Peruvian cleaners do not wish
to do aerobics with him.
I'll see you later. Toodle—pip.
Aerobics? What's he up to?
(Jane) Cooee.
Oh, God. Exit Goofy, enter Minnie Mouse.
Hello, Diana.
What are we doing out here all on our own?
I'm train-spotting, Jane.
You won't see many choo—choos here.
There's no railway line.
All right,
I'm sitting here not spotting trains.
— You're probably doing very well, then.
— Oh, God.
How tall are you, Jane?
Oh, about...this size.
Too tall.
— For what?
— For a Filipino.
Sorry?
Then again, you could get yourself a tan, call
yourself Consuelo, see if that fooled him.
— Who?
— That idiot, Bains.
Your beloved Harvey.
— He's going to replace you with a Filipino.
— What?
Or one of those East Europeans who spell
their names entirely with consonants.
What are you talking about?
Harvey's new policy.
Illegal slave labor to run this place.
We're learning to dance in costumes
to communicate.
Well, that won't affect me. Surely.
Bound to. You can speak English
and do the job.
Far too qualified. You're going to be replaced
by a diminutive Latino.
Oh... Oh, dear...
That's better. Nothing like a bit of random
malevolence to cheer me up.
What ho! (Spluttering)
Oh, God...
— Tom, what do you think you're doing?
— I'm getting fit.
— What for?
— I'm going to be a world—class athlete.
— (Gasping)
— Oh, my God!
Jane! Harvey!
— Ah, is he all right?
— Fine.
Don't be so stupid. He can't be fine.
He collapsed on top of me. The Russian maid
threw a bucket of water over us.
He overdid it a bit, that's all.
Men who've spent 40 years behind a desk
shouldn't suddenly take up marathons.
— Why not?
— Because it's a damn silly thing to do.
— That's why not, Tom.
— We thought you'd had a coronary.
We thought your little heart had stopped going
boom—diddy—boom—diddy—boom.
Thank you, Jane. And it's Friday.
You know how the undertakers
always swizzle us at weekends.
It's most inconsiderate, Tom.
Well, I'll be off now.
You take it easy, Mr Ballard.
— Righto. Bye.
— I'll see you out. Look, I'm sorry he's OK.
But before you go,
could you look at one of our cleaners?
She says she has leprosy. (Chuckles)
This way.
Could you pass my vitamins, please?
All right, what is all this rubbish?
— I want to be Rocky.
— You are, very rocky.
Quite unstable.
No, Rocky, as in the film. That chappie
who became a world champion boxer.
I mean, what did he have to start with?
A low hairline and a speech impediment.
But after a lot of running, he not only became
not only very rich and very fit,
but was overrun
by Nordic ladies with huge chests.
Thank you, Tom.
Well, winter's coming on and there's something
to be said for a decent—sized woman.
— I never liked duvets.
— Tom...
Please don't equate women with eiderdowns,
or I'll be forced to clobber you.
— I want to do the four—minute mile.
— Call a cab, for God's sake!
You don't understand. I want to get fit!
— What for?
— What for? I want to live longer.
Why? We spend half our lives here
going gaga with boredom.
— What on earth do you want to extend it for?
— I want to start again.
I don't want to sit around here saying,
"I'm getting old. Time to fizzle out."
I want to revitalise myself.
— Just like that, eh?
— No. No.
You have to prepare the vessel. My body.
You can't pour a new soul
into a cracked old pot.
No comment.
— You know what I mean.
— Yes, of course I do.
You want to turn the clock back.
You want to be young again.
— Mm.
— You want your head examined.
Where are you getting these loopy ideas?
I have discovered a new way of thinking.
— From whom?
— From within.
Mind over matter.
Age is merely a state of mind.
It's also a state of body, Tom.
You get old, you fall to pieces, you die.
That's it.
— Supposing it wasn't?
— Ah, but it is.
Just think about it. Now, go on.
Yes. Have a little speculative thought.
It won't kill you.
— How do you mean?
— Think back to when you were young.
— Oh. All right. I'm thinking.
— And happy.
Well, that narrows it down a bit.
Go on, your best days.
— What do you see?
— Oh, my God, what awful clothes.
— On who?
— On me, in a uniform!
— Where?
— Up in a Dakota.
I had a funny sort of job in the WAAF.
I used to go up with the boys
on their first parachute jumps.
The idea was if there was a woman shoving 'em
out, they'd think twice before being chicken.
I wasn't very good at it. If one of them got into
a funk, I usually ended up sleeping with him.
Word got around.
One day I opened the door
and the whole bloody lot sat tight.
Well done, Diana. Very...
— What about VE Day?
— Oh!
Mmm! The best.
Trafalgar Square, skirts twirling,
eyes flashing, head always turning.
I was there, I was young.
I was alive and it was enough.
It was all going to be wonderful.
Nothing could stop us.
We'd paid our dues tenfold and the rest of life
was going to be one long, long holiday.
So, that was the moment, huh?
— Mmm.
— Mm—hm.
You were young, fit and healthy.
Well, it's quite simple, all you have to do
is get back into that frame of mind
and your body will follow suit.
No. You're wrong, Tom.
It's a pity, but you're wrong.
Stick to hanging around with
your macho chums from the movies.
Don't try doing it yourself.
You'll end up face down in the gravel
with Harvey Bains trying to sell off
bits of you before they go cold.
— Night—night.
— Night—night.
(Door closes)
Aaahh!
Aah!
— Buenos d|'as, Diana.
— What?
Buenos días. ¿Como estas?
Good day. How are you?
— In Spanish.
— Oh, really?
Mi padre esta muerto.
— My father is dead.
— Oh, Jane, I'm so sorry.
Oh, not really. No, it's just more Spanish.
Y soy pingüinos. I am a penguin.
Jane, much as I applaud
your desire to be a European,
I fear you may find yourself in deep trouble
if you run round foreign parts proclaiming,
"My father is dead. I am a penguin".
No. It's to try and keep my job here.
I want to prove to Harvey
that I can be as foreign as the new staff.
Oh, lord.
Arms up and down.
Arms out and down.
Come on, hands in the air.
Er... Manos in, er...airo.
Come on, I'm trying to save your lives!
Up. Up.
Up. Up.
That's it. Come on, all of you.
Jolly good. Now, bend.
— (Tom) Bend to the right.
— (Harvey) Bye—bye.
Stretch. Stretch.
Good. And now to the left.
Buenos días, Harvey.
Mi pingüinos esta muerto.
— What is going on?
— My penguin is dead.
— What is he doing?
— He's trying to prolong their active life.
I'll bloody well shorten his!
That's my staff.
Oi!
He's Just not an animal lover, I suppose.
Something funny going on here.
Oh, terrible waste of gin.
Still, as long as it gets the buggers clean.
(Knock on door)
— Hello. Diana?
— Hello, Geoffrey. Come in.
— Is Dad not here?
— No. I sent him to the shops. Come in.
God, this is a ghastly place!
How lovely to see that your
charming wife hasn't been run over.
— What do you want?
— Would you care to sit down, Marion?
Or is that too much of a strain
on the old grey matter?
Ask her what the hell she wants so we can get
out before we catch something.
— It's awfully nice of you to ask us over, Diana.
— Do sit down, Geoffrey!
— Oh, right. Thank you.
— Can I have some of your water?
If you insist.
— Well, it's a lovely day, Diana.
— Geoffrey, get on with it!
— Your cheese slices.
— Oh, yes.
Diana, I do have 28 cartons of cheese slices
and 300 yogurts waiting in the Volvo.
I don't wish to know
about the further reaches of your sex life.
To deliver. It's his boring little Job.
— What do you want?
— It's about your father.
He's not trying
to have himself snapped frozen again, is he?
No. He is trying to get fit and healthy.
— Sounds reasonable.
— Not when taken to dangerous extremes.
He's taken to running, Jumping,
and this morning,
a Taiwanese cleaner was partially—damaged
when some barbells fell out of his wardrobe.
Pity they didn't fall on him.
Isn't it another of his little adventures
like climbing Everest
or fighting Victor Mature in the Colosseum?
Yes, but he does all that
without leaving that chair. This is for real.
He's in extreme danger of totally knackering
himself and going belly—up on us.
— You mean he'll die?
— Right.
Oh, that would be sad.
Cheers!
(Rattling)
If you would excuse me a moment...
Woo—hoo!
Diana, my yogurts are softening.
I'm not surprised.
Geoffrey, your father keeps disappearing.
He won't tell me where he's going,
but he's coming back with some daft ideas.
— What do you want me to do?
— Help me track him down, you great thickness!
Oh, righto. Look,
Marion's Just bitten a Chinese man.
He's Korean.
Oh, God...
— (Diana) There he goes. Follow that cab.
— (Geoffrey) I am following that cab, Diana!
(Marion slurs) My husband is so boring.
Keep the change.
It's a community centre.
Sharp as a tack, Geoffrey.
— What happens here?
— It's full of communists.
They do all those courses, karate, macramé,
lesbian tree pruning.
— Oh, come on.
— Come on, you great, dead pudding.
I didn't even know they had lesbian trees.
Oh, pottery.
(Man) That's it. That's it.
— My God! I'm going to be ill!
— (Diana) What is it?
Taxidermy.
Oh! There he is.
Oh, my God. He's found himself a guru.
— It's a woman.
— There are women gurus.
— How do you know she's a guru?
— She's sitting on the floor.
Only mystics and five—year—olds sit on the floor
when there are chairs available.
— I expect they're talking about sex.
— Why would they be doing that, dear?
I don't know. What else is there to talk about?
— What are we gonna do?
— Well, we find out who this mystic is.
Get the goods on her.
She's bound to be a charlatan.
I'll tell Tom the truth. He'll sulk
for a couple of days, then trot off to Madrid.
He's fighting Franco again this summer.
— What's up, Geoffrey?
— Marion...
— Yes, Geoffrey?
— I think I hate you.
Now... Now, Jane...
Sí, señor Harvey. ¿Qué quiere?
— What?
— Yes, Harvey. What is your desire?
These new staff members
are really excellent news, Jane, economy—wise.
They work harder, cost less,
and they're shorter.
— Shorter?
— Economies of scale, Jane.
Shorter workers need less material
for their uniforms,
need less wood for bunks, eat less.
I'm a percentage man, Jane.
I shave the cost percentages a little more
each week, each month.
Oh, you are clever, Harvey.
(Speaks Korean)
— I beg your pardon?
— Your mother slept with a tiger.
She did nothing of the sort! I'm sick
of these rumours about my mother.
No, it's a Korean proverb.
It means you're a man of great strength.
Yes, well, thank you, Jane, but if we could
Just stick to the subJect in hand.
I don't know what's the matter with you.
— Are you still upset about your penguin?
— No, Harvey. It's all right.
Right, note to the board.
Suggest that in future, admission qualifications
contain a height clause.
Residents should be as short as possible.
Suggest special rates for geriatric midgets.
— Pretty good, eh, Jane?
— Wonderful, Harvey.
Also suggest replacing English—speaking staff
with diminutive foreigners.
(Wailing)
She must have really loved that penguin.
So, what's her name?
Susan...Speed.
And what's her criminal record?
Oh, Geoffrey,
she's promising long life and all that cobblers.
She's got to have a record
of fraud and diddling somewhere.
No, no, no. That's no good. That'll take forever.
No. Oh, God... No, Geoffrey,
go back to being chronically useless.
I'll make it up as I go along.
Oh, is there any sign of my ring yet?
Well, tell her to eat more fibre.
I will have the trout, please.
— The trout.
— Rabbit.
No... The trout.
Rabbit!
The fish, for God's sake!
I'm sick to death of rabbit!
I want the trout.
Rabbit.
— Jane!
— Yes, Diana? Something amiss?
You tell Quasimodo here
that I do not want the rabbit, I want the trout.
Right. Grigor...
Diana wants the fish.
The fish, not the rabbit.
Not the rabbit, no.
Ah...
— Well done, Jane.
— One rabbit!
It's terrible. The new staff all hate
each other, and they carry weapons.
I hope you're not being racist, Jane.
No, Diana.
I love all my fellow human beings.
I Just wish they wouldn't have
knife fights on the croquet lawn.
Oh, lawks! What's Tom up to now?
— What—ho!
— Hello, Tom. You look like a lollipop.
— This is Ralph Lauren.
— Who is?
— My tracksuit.
— Your tracksuit is called Ralph?
— Yes. And this is my tennis bag, Fred Perry.
— Hello, Fred.
— Tom...
— Yes?
— You can't play tennis.
— Oh, yes, I can.
— Oh, no, you can't.
— I have told myself I can,
— so that when I step out onto that court...
— You'll make an arse of yourself.
We shall see.
I have been checking up on your guru.
— My what?
— The game is up, Tom.
I know you go to the community centre,
for sessions with the notorious Susan Speed.
Notorious? Susan Speed?
Yes. She's got a string of convictions
as long as your arm.
— Tell me more.
— Well, um...
Fraud and, er...bogus charities,
and, um...setting up illegal religions.
— You've forgotten manslaughter.
— Really?
Yes, and poisoning and blackmail and
setting fire to Her MaJesty's dockyards.
— All right, all right.
— Oh, Diana, you cheer me up. You really do.
You are a prime example of your kind.
And what, pray, is my kind?
The "means to an end" kind.
Lying, cheating, bad—mouthing,
totally awful kind.
— I only do it for your own good.
— Yes, I think you really believe that.
In which case, I thank you for your wicked
slanders, but in my case, they don't wash.
Tom, anyone who tells you
you can gain eternal life
by sitting in uncomfortable positions
has to be a crook.
She's invited me to tea today.
You could come along too.
All right.
See if she can con her way round me.
(Clattering)
Please! Please, Lee!
I'm sure we can talk about this!
Maria didn't know you are a Buddhist,
and Grigor, well,
they do things differently in Lithuania.
Not the face! Please, not my face!
Jolly good! Crispy fried Harvey for dinner.
— This is a hospital.
— Nothing escapes you, does it?
— Is your guru sick?
— No more than you are, Diana.
Come along.
She's a nutter, isn't she? That's it, isn't it?
That's why we've had to come
to hospital. They've committed her.
— Well, I'm sure it's Just a technical hitch.
— I knew it.
I'm sure that once they realise how good her
ideas are, they'll soon let her out.
Oh, Tom, they see you coming, don't they?
Every crackpot in the county homes
in on you like some nut—seeking missile.
You're probably right.
Ah, Susan.
Hello, Tom. How lovely to see you!
And this is your friend Diana Trent, I presume?
Well, at least
they let you wear your own clothes.
Yes, well, I'm here
mainly in a teaching capacity.
She thinks she's a teacher.
Uh—oh.
You er...like sitting behind desks, do you, dear?
— Sorry?
— You like playing doctors, do you?
— Well, I am a doctor.
— Yes, of course you are.
— She's also a professor.
— Don't you start.
— A professor of geriatric medicine.
— And I'm a professor of tiddlywinks.
— You?
— Mm—hm.
Will you excuse me while I throttle my friend?
— You told me she was a loony!
— No. No. You told yourself that.
(Chuckles)
— I apologise, Professor.
— Not at all.
Even if you are a professor of geriatrics,
that doesn't excuse you telling
this old buzzard here he could live forever.
Well, that's not quite what I said.
Ah...ha—ha—ha. What did you say?
That old age is a relatively new concept.
Now, we can confidently expect
to live ten, 20, 30 years into old age.
God, how boring!
We are here for twice as long
as our ancestors were,
but we still have their attitudes towards age.
— Now, didn't I always say that?
— Oh, it'll change.
As soon as the baby boomers
become the wrinkly boomers,
then there'll be
a whole new set of attitudes appearing.
Meanwhile, I'm trying
to do some of the groundwork.
I am campaigning for an ageless society.
I want all information
about a person's age suppressed.
My goodness, you've got balls!
It should be illegal for anyone
to be denied a Job on the grounds of age.
— Good idea.
— The elderly don't really exist anyway.
They're a government—decreed group.
They're not defined by health, ability or desire,
but simply something as arbitrary as age.
Yes, but you're still going to have people
falling apart as they get older.
The state should be there as a cushion
for those who need it,
but not as a fixed guillotine
that falls on some preordained day
and cuts you off in what is probably your prime.
— She's not silly, you know.
— Tell her about how to live longer.
Some people say
that we are genetically capable
of living to around 130.
Think of that, Diana,
another 60 years at Bayview.
Oh, my God...
Oh, but we're a long way off that yet.
85 is probably the best
that most of us can expect.
Well, I urge all my patients
and my therapy groups
to exercise not Just the body,
but also the mind.
Move as much as you can,
think as much as you can.
Now, Tom here,
his brain is in very good condition.
— He's as daft as a brush.
— Not at all.
When he goes off on his travels,
he's exercising his mind, he's keeping it fit.
And what is he doing
when he's half killing himself
running round the town like a Gucci clown?
Well, you did say
that the elderly can do anything.
Yes, but I didn't say
that they could walk on water. Not yet.
Great twit.
I know this may sound
a contradiction in terms,
but old age is in its infancy.
Yes, yes, you're all going on a holiday.
On a nice holiday.
Not you, Antonio.
You're permanent. Bye—bye.
What's going on?
Harvey didn't do too well in a midnight machete
fight on the croquet lawn.
— He's moving them on.
— What about their contracts?
He sold them off
to a Catholic boarding school in Crawley.
— God help them.
— I'm sure he will.
He's helped me.
Harvey says I can speak in English again.
(Tom) Left, left, left, right, left.
Eyes...right!
Oh! Oh!
— No! Ow!
— (Tom) Left, right, left, right, left.
— Oh, Harvey!
— (Muffled groaning)
Antonio! Vous étes complétement fou!
Ce sont des fleurs!
Pas des weed! Vous étes
un portugaiso stupido sardino.
Vous avez le gardening ability
d'un bombe de napalm.
(Harvey) Diana!
— What do you want?
— It's hard enough to get people to work here.
It is made doubly hard if you go round
chucking half the garden at them.
But the man's a fooL
Doesn't know the first thing about gardening.
— Of course he doesn't. He's a chef.
— So why's he in the garden?
— We've already got a chef.
— Is he a gardener?
— No. He's a Korean.
— I think I'm losing this one.
I've handed all the catering over
to this company
which employs only illegal immigrants —
Koreans, Peruvians, Filipinos.
It's wonderful! It cuts the cost down by a third.
— That is immoral, Harvey.
— Oh, thank you, Diana.
How nice of you to say so!
Where's your little chum today?
Tom? Haven't a clue.
Keeps disappearing.
Probably got some little doxy stashed away
in downtown sin city Bournemouth.
I don't know. I'm not his keeper.
Yes, well, when you see him, could you also
ask him to stop harassing the new staff?
The Peruvian cleaners do not wish
to do aerobics with him.
I'll see you later. Toodle—pip.
Aerobics? What's he up to?
(Jane) Cooee.
Oh, God. Exit Goofy, enter Minnie Mouse.
Hello, Diana.
What are we doing out here all on our own?
I'm train-spotting, Jane.
You won't see many choo—choos here.
There's no railway line.
All right,
I'm sitting here not spotting trains.
— You're probably doing very well, then.
— Oh, God.
How tall are you, Jane?
Oh, about...this size.
Too tall.
— For what?
— For a Filipino.
Sorry?
Then again, you could get yourself a tan, call
yourself Consuelo, see if that fooled him.
— Who?
— That idiot, Bains.
Your beloved Harvey.
— He's going to replace you with a Filipino.
— What?
Or one of those East Europeans who spell
their names entirely with consonants.
What are you talking about?
Harvey's new policy.
Illegal slave labor to run this place.
We're learning to dance in costumes
to communicate.
Well, that won't affect me. Surely.
Bound to. You can speak English
and do the job.
Far too qualified. You're going to be replaced
by a diminutive Latino.
Oh... Oh, dear...
That's better. Nothing like a bit of random
malevolence to cheer me up.
What ho! (Spluttering)
Oh, God...
— Tom, what do you think you're doing?
— I'm getting fit.
— What for?
— I'm going to be a world—class athlete.
— (Gasping)
— Oh, my God!
Jane! Harvey!
— Ah, is he all right?
— Fine.
Don't be so stupid. He can't be fine.
He collapsed on top of me. The Russian maid
threw a bucket of water over us.
He overdid it a bit, that's all.
Men who've spent 40 years behind a desk
shouldn't suddenly take up marathons.
— Why not?
— Because it's a damn silly thing to do.
— That's why not, Tom.
— We thought you'd had a coronary.
We thought your little heart had stopped going
boom—diddy—boom—diddy—boom.
Thank you, Jane. And it's Friday.
You know how the undertakers
always swizzle us at weekends.
It's most inconsiderate, Tom.
Well, I'll be off now.
You take it easy, Mr Ballard.
— Righto. Bye.
— I'll see you out. Look, I'm sorry he's OK.
But before you go,
could you look at one of our cleaners?
She says she has leprosy. (Chuckles)
This way.
Could you pass my vitamins, please?
All right, what is all this rubbish?
— I want to be Rocky.
— You are, very rocky.
Quite unstable.
No, Rocky, as in the film. That chappie
who became a world champion boxer.
I mean, what did he have to start with?
A low hairline and a speech impediment.
But after a lot of running, he not only became
not only very rich and very fit,
but was overrun
by Nordic ladies with huge chests.
Thank you, Tom.
Well, winter's coming on and there's something
to be said for a decent—sized woman.
— I never liked duvets.
— Tom...
Please don't equate women with eiderdowns,
or I'll be forced to clobber you.
— I want to do the four—minute mile.
— Call a cab, for God's sake!
You don't understand. I want to get fit!
— What for?
— What for? I want to live longer.
Why? We spend half our lives here
going gaga with boredom.
— What on earth do you want to extend it for?
— I want to start again.
I don't want to sit around here saying,
"I'm getting old. Time to fizzle out."
I want to revitalise myself.
— Just like that, eh?
— No. No.
You have to prepare the vessel. My body.
You can't pour a new soul
into a cracked old pot.
No comment.
— You know what I mean.
— Yes, of course I do.
You want to turn the clock back.
You want to be young again.
— Mm.
— You want your head examined.
Where are you getting these loopy ideas?
I have discovered a new way of thinking.
— From whom?
— From within.
Mind over matter.
Age is merely a state of mind.
It's also a state of body, Tom.
You get old, you fall to pieces, you die.
That's it.
— Supposing it wasn't?
— Ah, but it is.
Just think about it. Now, go on.
Yes. Have a little speculative thought.
It won't kill you.
— How do you mean?
— Think back to when you were young.
— Oh. All right. I'm thinking.
— And happy.
Well, that narrows it down a bit.
Go on, your best days.
— What do you see?
— Oh, my God, what awful clothes.
— On who?
— On me, in a uniform!
— Where?
— Up in a Dakota.
I had a funny sort of job in the WAAF.
I used to go up with the boys
on their first parachute jumps.
The idea was if there was a woman shoving 'em
out, they'd think twice before being chicken.
I wasn't very good at it. If one of them got into
a funk, I usually ended up sleeping with him.
Word got around.
One day I opened the door
and the whole bloody lot sat tight.
Well done, Diana. Very...
— What about VE Day?
— Oh!
Mmm! The best.
Trafalgar Square, skirts twirling,
eyes flashing, head always turning.
I was there, I was young.
I was alive and it was enough.
It was all going to be wonderful.
Nothing could stop us.
We'd paid our dues tenfold and the rest of life
was going to be one long, long holiday.
So, that was the moment, huh?
— Mmm.
— Mm—hm.
You were young, fit and healthy.
Well, it's quite simple, all you have to do
is get back into that frame of mind
and your body will follow suit.
No. You're wrong, Tom.
It's a pity, but you're wrong.
Stick to hanging around with
your macho chums from the movies.
Don't try doing it yourself.
You'll end up face down in the gravel
with Harvey Bains trying to sell off
bits of you before they go cold.
— Night—night.
— Night—night.
(Door closes)
Aaahh!
Aah!
— Buenos d|'as, Diana.
— What?
Buenos días. ¿Como estas?
Good day. How are you?
— In Spanish.
— Oh, really?
Mi padre esta muerto.
— My father is dead.
— Oh, Jane, I'm so sorry.
Oh, not really. No, it's just more Spanish.
Y soy pingüinos. I am a penguin.
Jane, much as I applaud
your desire to be a European,
I fear you may find yourself in deep trouble
if you run round foreign parts proclaiming,
"My father is dead. I am a penguin".
No. It's to try and keep my job here.
I want to prove to Harvey
that I can be as foreign as the new staff.
Oh, lord.
Arms up and down.
Arms out and down.
Come on, hands in the air.
Er... Manos in, er...airo.
Come on, I'm trying to save your lives!
Up. Up.
Up. Up.
That's it. Come on, all of you.
Jolly good. Now, bend.
— (Tom) Bend to the right.
— (Harvey) Bye—bye.
Stretch. Stretch.
Good. And now to the left.
Buenos días, Harvey.
Mi pingüinos esta muerto.
— What is going on?
— My penguin is dead.
— What is he doing?
— He's trying to prolong their active life.
I'll bloody well shorten his!
That's my staff.
Oi!
He's Just not an animal lover, I suppose.
Something funny going on here.
Oh, terrible waste of gin.
Still, as long as it gets the buggers clean.
(Knock on door)
— Hello. Diana?
— Hello, Geoffrey. Come in.
— Is Dad not here?
— No. I sent him to the shops. Come in.
God, this is a ghastly place!
How lovely to see that your
charming wife hasn't been run over.
— What do you want?
— Would you care to sit down, Marion?
Or is that too much of a strain
on the old grey matter?
Ask her what the hell she wants so we can get
out before we catch something.
— It's awfully nice of you to ask us over, Diana.
— Do sit down, Geoffrey!
— Oh, right. Thank you.
— Can I have some of your water?
If you insist.
— Well, it's a lovely day, Diana.
— Geoffrey, get on with it!
— Your cheese slices.
— Oh, yes.
Diana, I do have 28 cartons of cheese slices
and 300 yogurts waiting in the Volvo.
I don't wish to know
about the further reaches of your sex life.
To deliver. It's his boring little Job.
— What do you want?
— It's about your father.
He's not trying
to have himself snapped frozen again, is he?
No. He is trying to get fit and healthy.
— Sounds reasonable.
— Not when taken to dangerous extremes.
He's taken to running, Jumping,
and this morning,
a Taiwanese cleaner was partially—damaged
when some barbells fell out of his wardrobe.
Pity they didn't fall on him.
Isn't it another of his little adventures
like climbing Everest
or fighting Victor Mature in the Colosseum?
Yes, but he does all that
without leaving that chair. This is for real.
He's in extreme danger of totally knackering
himself and going belly—up on us.
— You mean he'll die?
— Right.
Oh, that would be sad.
Cheers!
(Rattling)
If you would excuse me a moment...
Woo—hoo!
Diana, my yogurts are softening.
I'm not surprised.
Geoffrey, your father keeps disappearing.
He won't tell me where he's going,
but he's coming back with some daft ideas.
— What do you want me to do?
— Help me track him down, you great thickness!
Oh, righto. Look,
Marion's Just bitten a Chinese man.
He's Korean.
Oh, God...
— (Diana) There he goes. Follow that cab.
— (Geoffrey) I am following that cab, Diana!
(Marion slurs) My husband is so boring.
Keep the change.
It's a community centre.
Sharp as a tack, Geoffrey.
— What happens here?
— It's full of communists.
They do all those courses, karate, macramé,
lesbian tree pruning.
— Oh, come on.
— Come on, you great, dead pudding.
I didn't even know they had lesbian trees.
Oh, pottery.
(Man) That's it. That's it.
— My God! I'm going to be ill!
— (Diana) What is it?
Taxidermy.
Oh! There he is.
Oh, my God. He's found himself a guru.
— It's a woman.
— There are women gurus.
— How do you know she's a guru?
— She's sitting on the floor.
Only mystics and five—year—olds sit on the floor
when there are chairs available.
— I expect they're talking about sex.
— Why would they be doing that, dear?
I don't know. What else is there to talk about?
— What are we gonna do?
— Well, we find out who this mystic is.
Get the goods on her.
She's bound to be a charlatan.
I'll tell Tom the truth. He'll sulk
for a couple of days, then trot off to Madrid.
He's fighting Franco again this summer.
— What's up, Geoffrey?
— Marion...
— Yes, Geoffrey?
— I think I hate you.
Now... Now, Jane...
Sí, señor Harvey. ¿Qué quiere?
— What?
— Yes, Harvey. What is your desire?
These new staff members
are really excellent news, Jane, economy—wise.
They work harder, cost less,
and they're shorter.
— Shorter?
— Economies of scale, Jane.
Shorter workers need less material
for their uniforms,
need less wood for bunks, eat less.
I'm a percentage man, Jane.
I shave the cost percentages a little more
each week, each month.
Oh, you are clever, Harvey.
(Speaks Korean)
— I beg your pardon?
— Your mother slept with a tiger.
She did nothing of the sort! I'm sick
of these rumours about my mother.
No, it's a Korean proverb.
It means you're a man of great strength.
Yes, well, thank you, Jane, but if we could
Just stick to the subJect in hand.
I don't know what's the matter with you.
— Are you still upset about your penguin?
— No, Harvey. It's all right.
Right, note to the board.
Suggest that in future, admission qualifications
contain a height clause.
Residents should be as short as possible.
Suggest special rates for geriatric midgets.
— Pretty good, eh, Jane?
— Wonderful, Harvey.
Also suggest replacing English—speaking staff
with diminutive foreigners.
(Wailing)
She must have really loved that penguin.
So, what's her name?
Susan...Speed.
And what's her criminal record?
Oh, Geoffrey,
she's promising long life and all that cobblers.
She's got to have a record
of fraud and diddling somewhere.
No, no, no. That's no good. That'll take forever.
No. Oh, God... No, Geoffrey,
go back to being chronically useless.
I'll make it up as I go along.
Oh, is there any sign of my ring yet?
Well, tell her to eat more fibre.
I will have the trout, please.
— The trout.
— Rabbit.
No... The trout.
Rabbit!
The fish, for God's sake!
I'm sick to death of rabbit!
I want the trout.
Rabbit.
— Jane!
— Yes, Diana? Something amiss?
You tell Quasimodo here
that I do not want the rabbit, I want the trout.
Right. Grigor...
Diana wants the fish.
The fish, not the rabbit.
Not the rabbit, no.
Ah...
— Well done, Jane.
— One rabbit!
It's terrible. The new staff all hate
each other, and they carry weapons.
I hope you're not being racist, Jane.
No, Diana.
I love all my fellow human beings.
I Just wish they wouldn't have
knife fights on the croquet lawn.
Oh, lawks! What's Tom up to now?
— What—ho!
— Hello, Tom. You look like a lollipop.
— This is Ralph Lauren.
— Who is?
— My tracksuit.
— Your tracksuit is called Ralph?
— Yes. And this is my tennis bag, Fred Perry.
— Hello, Fred.
— Tom...
— Yes?
— You can't play tennis.
— Oh, yes, I can.
— Oh, no, you can't.
— I have told myself I can,
— so that when I step out onto that court...
— You'll make an arse of yourself.
We shall see.
I have been checking up on your guru.
— My what?
— The game is up, Tom.
I know you go to the community centre,
for sessions with the notorious Susan Speed.
Notorious? Susan Speed?
Yes. She's got a string of convictions
as long as your arm.
— Tell me more.
— Well, um...
Fraud and, er...bogus charities,
and, um...setting up illegal religions.
— You've forgotten manslaughter.
— Really?
Yes, and poisoning and blackmail and
setting fire to Her MaJesty's dockyards.
— All right, all right.
— Oh, Diana, you cheer me up. You really do.
You are a prime example of your kind.
And what, pray, is my kind?
The "means to an end" kind.
Lying, cheating, bad—mouthing,
totally awful kind.
— I only do it for your own good.
— Yes, I think you really believe that.
In which case, I thank you for your wicked
slanders, but in my case, they don't wash.
Tom, anyone who tells you
you can gain eternal life
by sitting in uncomfortable positions
has to be a crook.
She's invited me to tea today.
You could come along too.
All right.
See if she can con her way round me.
(Clattering)
Please! Please, Lee!
I'm sure we can talk about this!
Maria didn't know you are a Buddhist,
and Grigor, well,
they do things differently in Lithuania.
Not the face! Please, not my face!
Jolly good! Crispy fried Harvey for dinner.
— This is a hospital.
— Nothing escapes you, does it?
— Is your guru sick?
— No more than you are, Diana.
Come along.
She's a nutter, isn't she? That's it, isn't it?
That's why we've had to come
to hospital. They've committed her.
— Well, I'm sure it's Just a technical hitch.
— I knew it.
I'm sure that once they realise how good her
ideas are, they'll soon let her out.
Oh, Tom, they see you coming, don't they?
Every crackpot in the county homes
in on you like some nut—seeking missile.
You're probably right.
Ah, Susan.
Hello, Tom. How lovely to see you!
And this is your friend Diana Trent, I presume?
Well, at least
they let you wear your own clothes.
Yes, well, I'm here
mainly in a teaching capacity.
She thinks she's a teacher.
Uh—oh.
You er...like sitting behind desks, do you, dear?
— Sorry?
— You like playing doctors, do you?
— Well, I am a doctor.
— Yes, of course you are.
— She's also a professor.
— Don't you start.
— A professor of geriatric medicine.
— And I'm a professor of tiddlywinks.
— You?
— Mm—hm.
Will you excuse me while I throttle my friend?
— You told me she was a loony!
— No. No. You told yourself that.
(Chuckles)
— I apologise, Professor.
— Not at all.
Even if you are a professor of geriatrics,
that doesn't excuse you telling
this old buzzard here he could live forever.
Well, that's not quite what I said.
Ah...ha—ha—ha. What did you say?
That old age is a relatively new concept.
Now, we can confidently expect
to live ten, 20, 30 years into old age.
God, how boring!
We are here for twice as long
as our ancestors were,
but we still have their attitudes towards age.
— Now, didn't I always say that?
— Oh, it'll change.
As soon as the baby boomers
become the wrinkly boomers,
then there'll be
a whole new set of attitudes appearing.
Meanwhile, I'm trying
to do some of the groundwork.
I am campaigning for an ageless society.
I want all information
about a person's age suppressed.
My goodness, you've got balls!
It should be illegal for anyone
to be denied a Job on the grounds of age.
— Good idea.
— The elderly don't really exist anyway.
They're a government—decreed group.
They're not defined by health, ability or desire,
but simply something as arbitrary as age.
Yes, but you're still going to have people
falling apart as they get older.
The state should be there as a cushion
for those who need it,
but not as a fixed guillotine
that falls on some preordained day
and cuts you off in what is probably your prime.
— She's not silly, you know.
— Tell her about how to live longer.
Some people say
that we are genetically capable
of living to around 130.
Think of that, Diana,
another 60 years at Bayview.
Oh, my God...
Oh, but we're a long way off that yet.
85 is probably the best
that most of us can expect.
Well, I urge all my patients
and my therapy groups
to exercise not Just the body,
but also the mind.
Move as much as you can,
think as much as you can.
Now, Tom here,
his brain is in very good condition.
— He's as daft as a brush.
— Not at all.
When he goes off on his travels,
he's exercising his mind, he's keeping it fit.
And what is he doing
when he's half killing himself
running round the town like a Gucci clown?
Well, you did say
that the elderly can do anything.
Yes, but I didn't say
that they could walk on water. Not yet.
Great twit.
I know this may sound
a contradiction in terms,
but old age is in its infancy.
Yes, yes, you're all going on a holiday.
On a nice holiday.
Not you, Antonio.
You're permanent. Bye—bye.
What's going on?
Harvey didn't do too well in a midnight machete
fight on the croquet lawn.
— He's moving them on.
— What about their contracts?
He sold them off
to a Catholic boarding school in Crawley.
— God help them.
— I'm sure he will.
He's helped me.
Harvey says I can speak in English again.
(Tom) Left, left, left, right, left.
Eyes...right!
Oh! Oh!
— No! Ow!
— (Tom) Left, right, left, right, left.
— Oh, Harvey!
— (Muffled groaning)