Waiting for God (1990–1994): Season 2, Episode 9 - Young People - full transcript

— (Whistle)
— Righto.

Now, you've all got to try
and get the ball off me. Right?

(Whistle)

I've got it! I've got it!

You nearly drowned me!

— You deserved it.
— I didn't!

I'm fed up with all of you.

All you ever do is try to drown me!

Hello.

Well, Janey—Jane. So how's it all going?

They keep trying to drown me.



Jolly good. Keep them at it.

I'm getting out now

and I want you all back on the bus
in ten minutes.

D—d—don't touch, Jane.

— Why don't you come in?
— I leak.

Well, one more won't make much difference.

No. I meant I leak inwards, not outwards.

My skin is porous. That's why I never
go out in the rain. I get waterlogged.

I thought I was the daft one.

— Torn.
— What?

Drown yourself.

— No, I won't.
— Pretend.

Oh. Righto.

— Harvey!
— (Gurgling) Help!



— What's happening?
— He's drowning.

Help!

God, how selfish! Where's Jane? Jane!

Just hang on, Tom. Jane'll save you.

Help!

— Save him yourself, you bloody pimp.
— (Tom) Help!

Me?

Yes. Quick.

Help!

— Lovely costume.
— Why aren't you drowning?

That a new policy?

This... This is a Giorgio Armani.

Really? That's a Tom Ballard.

Right. That's it.

(Mouths)

I must get out of here.

— (Jane) Diana!
— What?

— Are you in?
— No, I've gone down to the shops.

Oh, all right. I'll come back later.

I must. I must get out of here.

What do you want, Jane?

No, it's all right. I'll wait until you get back.

It is like living in Salvador Dali's dustbin.

Jane, I am here. Come through.

Oh, you're back. That was quick.

— Yes. I took the jet.
— Oh, nice. Where's Tom gone off to?

I believe he's renegotiating
the 1918 Treaty of Versailles

in order to avoid the Second World War.

Well, that sounds very constructive.

It's a pity you couldn't do something
more useful like stopping a war

instead of making fun of me all the time.

What do you want, Jane?

— Harvey is very upset.
— Oh, jolly good.

— That suit cost him £500.
— Oh, yes?

Was that the £500 that he miraculously won
on the new dialysis machine raffle?

Or was it the £500 he has saved on catering

since he started feeding us dead
dog and tarmac stew every day?

Diana, you do him wrong.

Harvey is a good, kind, honourable man.

He is a thieving little stoat

with all the morality of a rabbit
on an 18—30 holiday.

His patience is not endless, you know.

One day you'll push him too far.

That is the only thing that keeps me alive.

Anyway, he's decided
to forgive you this last outrage

if you agree to take part
in his latest scheme.

Oh, my God. What is it this time?

Not more wheelchair ballroom dancing?

— That was very popular.
— It was disastrous.

During the Gay Gordons,
three people lost a leg.

Oh, they did not!

Conga line ended up wheeling out onto the M3.

Twisted metal, blue tulle
and sequins all over the place.

— It was very honourably motivated.
— Nonsense.

He was trying to kill off those
people who still needed care.

You wait. He'll have them strapped to their
chairs and drag them to compulsion skydiving.

He wants to bring in some young people.

Ah. I knew it.

At last he has worked out

that the thing that makes an old people's place
unprofitable is the old people.

So, replace them with young people. Brilliant!
Bring on the dancing accountants.

— Have you finished?
— Barely started.

He's had this wonderful idea
that the reason old people feel old

is the lack of young people around them.

No, no. That's what makes them feel happy.

Most old people, at least this one,
detest the young.

Harvey wants to bring in some students

to sort of liven things up a bit.

Get you all to interrelate
with the local community.

That was my idea.

Oh, hello, Tom. Is the war off then?

— War? What war?
— The Second World War.

I thought they'd had it.

Yes, but haven't you been in Versailles

trying to rewrite the end
of the First World War treaty

in order to stop the Second World War,

which we've already had and...

Oh, I don't know,
I seem to be getting a bit confused.

What is the matter with her?

It's the sexual frustration.

If it doesn't find an outlet, it backs
up her system, then she blows a fuse.

Diana, I am not sexually frustrated.

Harvey come up with the goods?

You mustn't speak to me like this.

Quite right, Jane. Diana,
don't be mean to the poor girl.

Oh, thank you, Tom.

— Was he any good?
— (Gasps)

Is he a genuine brunette?

I'm going!

There will be some students from
the local polytechnic at lunch

and I hope you'll be nicer to them
than you are to me.

Oh, Tom, what have you done?
We don't want young people around here.

I like young people. I was young once.

No, you weren't, you were born aged 65

with more wrinkles
than an elephant's scrotum.

Well, that's very charming.

So, what does smarmy—chops want
this time?

— He wants to have a chat with us.
— We're not having Tom home.

— Oh, look. Hitchhikers.
— Run them over.

— I think we'll be a little Christian today.
— Are you out of your mind?

Hi. Not going anywhere near
Bayview Retirement Home, are you?

— We're going right there. Hop in.
— Thanks.

They'll murder us.

It's very kind of you. Most charming.

When they've killed you,

I expect I'll be dragged off into the woods and...

have my clothes torn from me and...

Come on, little birdies. Come on.

(Chirruping)

That was one of the most blatantly
malevolent acts I have ever seen.

I never get them. I'm just restructuring
their image of the elderly.

We're not all sweet old things.

No. Some of us are right vicious old bats.

Precisely. Being unpleasant is not
just the prerogative of the young.

They've got to learn the lesson.

Do you think the average sparrow really
comprehends the deeper complexities

— of that lesson?
— Who cares?

As I thought. You really enjoy being nasty.

Uh—oh.

The Munsters are here.

Oh, goodness. How the children have grown.

It seemed like only yesterday
they were seven and eight.

Here they are now,
twice as old and twice as many.

Do shut up. They're not their children.

Oh, good. I thought I'd mislaid the odd decade.

They're Harvey's young people,
come to "interrelate" with us.

— What does that mean?
— Bore us to death.

What's Marion doing?

She seems to have fainted
into the arms of that young man.

— He's giving her the kiss of life.
— Yes.

Is she supposed to kiss him back?

— Oh, silly me. It must have been the heat.
— Have a seat.

— It's actually quite chilly, dear.
— It was something else then.

I can't help it if I have a bit of a faint.

just as well that young man
was there to catch me with his...

strong, young, rippling arms.

— What's the problem this time?
— Diana tried to kill me.

She didn't?

She got Tom to pretend to drown
and she pushed me in.

My Giorgio Armani has shrunk.

— So has Geoffrey's, years ago.
— She'll kill Tom one day.

— Oh, good.
— Shut up, Marion.

We've tried every which way to get rid
of her, but she's still here.

— We haven't tried moral grounds.
— There's no such clause in the contract.

But this land is gifted to us by the church

and as such we are bound to obey this er...

this book of guidelines
for use of church land.

Look, it's in Old English. See here.

"Whoſoever ſhall reſide on thiſ land...

"muſt not be a known fornicator,
adulterer or cattle thief..."

What a boring place.

— Diana is not a cattle thief.
— Not there, the final paragraph.

"Nor muſt there be
any behaviour on this land...

"deemed corrupting
in any way whatſoever."

When were these things written? 1643?

— Yes, but they're still valid.
— You're mad.

This would never stand up in court today.
You've let it get to you. This will never work.

Church commissioners are on the board.

Diana's not going to steal cattle.

No, but if she corrupted someone
they'd have to throw her out.

Some sort of young person.

— I'm not sure I'm with this.
— Oh, God, you're thick.

He wants to catch Diana shacked up
with some young buck stud.

You know, all chipped teeth
and chains and greasy hair and...

biceps and...leather jackets and...
Oh, God.

Where do you find someone like that?

So, there we all were in this railway carriage —

the German high command
a bit down in the dumps...

— Seeing they'd just lost the war.
— Right.

Everyone was umming and erring,
when I came up with my master plan.

— What, nuke the lot of them?
— No. Diana...

I was trying to prevent conflict.

If you blow up the generals
and politicians, you would do.

I suggested tiddlywinks.

— Tiddlywinks?
— Yes.

Whenever there was conflict,

the countries involved
would send their best tiddlywinkers

to fight it out in some convenient stadium,
like Wembley.

— Winner take all, like a title fight.
— What did they say to that?

They all made farty noises and threw me out.

— That's why we had World War II.
— I'm sure it was.

Teddy, Alice, you stay there.
Bob and Carol, this way.

Tom, Diana, I've brought
some young people to meet you.

Bob and Carol, Tom and Diana.

— Ah. Sweet bloom of youth.
— Hello.

Delighted to meet you. Now do sit down.

Deidre, would you get up for a moment?

Thank you very much. Bob, have a seat.

Bobby and Carol are doing
social studies at the local polytechnic,

so I'm sure you'll have lots to talk about.

Well, away you go then. Chat, chat, chat.

Teddy, Alice, come this way.

— Well, isn't this fun?
— Great fun.

— Isn't it fun, Diana?
— No, it is not fun.

I've got nothing against either of you personally.

I'm sure both you and your social
studies are extremely worthy.

But I have no desire
to be part of anyone's "project".

You are young, we are old.

There are vast unbridgeable chasms between us.

I have no intention of wasting my time

being the subject of such blatant tokenism.

Oh.

Take no notice of her, Carol.
She was weaned by wolves.

She eats ground glass sandwiches.
She gives gangrene a good name

— and bites the heads off...
— Thank you, Tom.

I'd heard
she was a rather brilliant photographer.

Really? Where did you hear that?

I'm keen on photography. I've got
your book, Postcards From Asia.

Really?

— And how did you know it was me?
— The picture on the back cover.

You recognised me
from a 25—year—old photograph?

Well, you haven't changed much.

Tom, I'm sure these charming young people
would love a glass of wine.

Great idea.

Agnes!

They do a very nice Japanese burgundy.

You whop it down quick,
it only takes out your back teeth.

— I'm sorry, Bob, but what do you mean?
— What I said. I can't go through with it.

— Why on earth not?
— Diana is a nice lady.

No, she's not. She's a vicious old hatchet.

Look, you promised me a place here
for my gran when one's available.

Yeah, and she'll get one.

Then you told me about this really
nasty lady you wanted to get rid of

and how I could help.

— Right. So where's the problem?
— I just can't do it.

She's OK. I like her.

We are talking about Diana Trent?

Yes.

£500.

That's an awfully long long holiday
on the sun—soaked beaches of Ibiza.

And a happy haven for
your granny in her twilight years.

Ah, youth. Such fun to corrupt.

— Mmm. I was good, you know.
— Oh, yes.

Oh...I'd forgotten that one.

— Dien Bien Phu.
— Bless you.

— In Vietnam.
— Oh, yes.

No one was allowed to enter, but I got in
by seducing a helicopter pilot.

Not while he was driving it, I trust?

You know, Bob was right.

I was still quite a looker in those days.

1967.

Ah. Great year — 1967.

I was a hippie flower child living
on the west coast...of Croydon.

Yes. Course you were. Mr. "Easy Rider" himself.

Right. I put on my shades,

I kick—started the old Morris Minor

and set off to find the true heart of America.

— And where did you find it?
— In a dusty gas station,

just south of Basingstoke.

It was High Noon.

# Oh, don't forsake me,
oh, my darling... #

For God's sake, Tom,
will stop mixing your movies?

I've got a headache trying to keep up.

You've got a headache because you banged
down two bottles of that Chateau Kasawoke.

You shouldn't drink, you know.

It's grotesque to watch an old mud crab
like yourself trying to behave like La Coquette.

I was not.

Oh, I saw you.

He looked into your eyes, told you
you were still an attractive woman

and suddenly it was all chest out, stomach in

and flushing like ten cisterns in a row.

Nonsense. I was just having a conversation
with an attra...with a young man.

— I'm old enough to be his grandmother.
— Exactly, yes.

But some young men like older
women — like that fellow in Psycho.

That was his mother and she was dead.

Well, you're in with a chance then.

I find this exchange extremely tasteless.

I was merely having a decent conversation
with someone who was halfway alive

and who wasn't telling me how he
would have won the Crimean War.

I think he tickled your fancy.

Let's just drop it, shall we?

Probably never see them again anyway.

They've got their own lives to lead, they've
salved their consciences for a while.

Won't even think about us again.

Maybe in 50 years

when they wake up and find
themselves in a place like this,

some memory echo might let them recall us

who have long since passed to dust

and been blown away in the winter wind.

Totally forgotten.

(Wolf—like howl)

Oh, do cheer up.

I can't. I've got no reason to.

— Hello? Anyone in?
— Bob! Come in.

— Hi, Di.
— Hi, Bob.

— Hi, Tom.
— Hi—lili.

Hi, Lily?

# Hi—lili, hi—lili, hi—lo! #

Take no notice. He's quite gaga.

That's me. Gaga McLoopy at your sen/ice.

Must be off.

Never let it be said that I
was Hamish the gooseberry.

"Och aye the noo"
as they say in Cardiff.

And he was once a famous diplomat?

Yes. He caused the Second World War.

So, what brings you
round here then, Bob?

Well, I was just about
to go for a bit of a walk.

— I was wondering if you might like to come.
— A walk?

Yes. I'd love a chat.

Oh. Sure. Great idea.
I usually go for a bit of a hike about now.

— Terrific. Do you want your stick?
— Stick? What stick?

Oh, no, no. That's not my stick.
That's Tom's stick.

Here. Poor old soul.

Right.

— Let's burn a little shoe leather.
— Great.

Tears before bedtime.

— You are a pillock, aren't you?
— Oh, go boil your head.

Tripping across the fields
like a 17—year—old land girl.

It had nothing to do with my going for a walk.
It was the west wind.

It always makes my hip play up.

Oh, yes, of course. West wind.

Nothing to do with you being an old creaky tub

bound for the breaker's yard.

Oh, bite your bum.

So, what happened?

Did young Heathcliff have his way
with the decrepit old Miss Haversham?

We went for a walk, he told me
one or two interesting things.

We had a cup of tea
and then I staggered back here.

Oh, how boring.

I thought you might be
Tess of the d'Urbervilling.

No. I'll stick to Lucretia Borgia—ing.

— What are you up to?
— I can't think what you mean.

— Hello? Anyone in?
— We've done all those jokes, Geoffrey.

— Hello, boy. What's up?
— I've just seen Harvey...

Then you'll want to wash your hands.

He had a good idea.

He's going to lobotomise himself?

He thought that you and the young
people could get together socially.

So, we're going to have a knees—up
at our place. Good idea, eh?

The highlight of the social calendar.

I'm sure Nigel Dempster
is on red alert as we speak.

Will there be hard drugs and soft women?

— Dad, please.
— Is Bob invited?

Top of the list.
He's taken a shine to you, Diana.

Well, we'll be there with bells on.
I fancy a bit of rock and roll.

— But your hip...?
— I know I am. That's why I'll be there.

What?

Oh... I've got it.

Play on words. Pun. Hip...hip...

Hooray.

Geoffrey, do stop being such an old woman.

Of course it will work.

Yes, yes, all right. I'll buy the drink.

If we get rid of Diana, I'll give
your wife enough paint stripper

to keep her eyeballs rolling for a month.

Bye—bye, Geoffrey.

Cave dwellers.

Never mind. If young Bob pulls it off,

I'll be a man without a care in the world.

Hello, Harvey. just replacing a file.

— Is it really you, Jane?
— Oh, yes, Harvey.

Why are you wearing something
from a '50s horror movie?

— I'm wearing my best party frock.
— Why?

I heard there was going to be a party tonight.

Thought you might like an exotic
siren on your arm. So here I am.

Oh, Jane. I have an image
to keep up here, Jane.

I can't be seen out in public with something that
looks like a reject from a Christmas tree.

— Harvey?
— Yes, Jane.

— I've been going through the week's accounts...
— Oh, yes?

And I see you made a payment
of £500 cash —

"One funeral — Arthur jones."

Dear old Arthur.

Harvey, Arthur isn't dead.

Not dead? You mean
he's recovered? Oh, jolly good.

And I'm not sure the board
would fully comprehend —

"£600 — residents' outing to
Emporio Armani, Knightsbridge."

— Jane?
— Yes, Harvey?

What are you doing this evening?

Oh, what a surprise.
I don't know. Better check my diary.

(Hums Wedding March happily)

— Tipperary, eh?
— Yes, Tipperary!

When I finish my exams,

I want to travel for a while
before I get into a full—time job.

Never work to live, Bob.
Always live to work.

If you don't find a job
that you don't love with a passion,

you'll die young and you'll be miserable.

Mind you, I had a fabulous job.
I still managed to be miserable.

That is just a pose. You just like being contrary.

Can't fool you, can I?

— But we can fool everyone else.
— We certainly can.

— (All sing Tipperary)
— Oh, God, how disgusting.

What is —
apart from your vol—au—vent?

Look at the old witch. She's
all over that lovely young man.

— Going well, isn't it?
— Poor darling.

He'll probably catch something.

If you'll excuse me,
I must copulate...circulate.

Marion does know what's going on?

After six o'clock and a couple of gins,
Marion hasn't a clue what's going on.

— Hello, Harvey.
— Jane, you're touching me.

I know, Harvey.

You get your camera ready.

Jane, they're playing your song.
Go and have a singy.

— Come on, Geoff.
— I'm not sure about all this.

— Be a man, Geoffrey.
— That's what Marion's always saying.

Actually, I'd rather be a tortoise.
just pull your head into your shell,

— the whole world goes away.
— Camera.

(# All sing Roll Me Over In The Clover)

— Hello.
— Hi, Marion. It's a lovely party.

You don't have to talk
to the old bat all night, you know?

But I love talking to Diana.

A young fellow like you —
what you need is a young woman.

You're 38, Marion. You're twice Bob's age.

At least I'm not 500 times his age!

I just thought you might like to spend
some time with a real woman.

— Isn't Diana a real woman?
— Course not.

She's got more spare parts
than a scooter factory.

Please don't leave my side.
I find you desperately attractive.

— Hello. I'm back.
— Oh, we did miss you.

Have a drink.

— I'll do the lights, you go for your line.
— I can't do it. It's immoral.

— Yes?
— I can't do it.

You're a bag of wet cement, Geoffrey.
Give me that. You do the lights.

# Roll me over in the clover

# Roll me over, lay me down
and do it again... #

Ooh!

(Buzz of conversation)

(Woman) Oh, Bob...

(Harvey) Wonderful, Bob. That's brilliant.
Geoff, Geoff! Well done. Well done!

Diana will be out before
she can say, "Naughty nooky".

— Get your saucy snaps?
— You bet.

Bob and Diana
going hammer and tongs...

Diana, you're here. You were in
there. So who's in the bedroom?

Marion?

Marion?

(# Jane sings The Silvery Moon)

Thank you, Diana.

Got to go. It's been fun.

— (Geoffrey) Marion!
— (Marion) Out! Out!

— Marion?
— No! Get off!

— Marion!
— (Marion) No! Stop it!

Marion! Marion!

Jane, Jane, please.

# With my honey
I'll croon love's tune... #

— (Marion) You game man! Oh!
— # Honeymoon... #