All language subtitles for goodnight_sweetheart_s04e03_out_of_town

Good night, sweetheart.

All my prayers are for you.

Good night, sweetheart.

I'll be watching all you.

Tears and parting may make us alone.

But with the dawn, a new day is born.

Chickens, Gary.

And ducks and geese and pigs and cows.

No, I've already eaten.

And a dog called Betsy.

No, you've lost me now. The farm, Gary.

Mrs Carter sent me a letter confirming
our booking.

Look, she makes it sound wonderful.

I've never seen the country.

Well, I went to Hyde Park after the
coronation. There was ducks and pigeons,

bit of mud.

I had some brown that had gone off.

Quite a nice day out, by and large.

Nothing wrong is there.

You're not going to tell me there's a
flap on and we can't... No, no, no, no,

nothing like that.

Because it was your idea, if you
remember, what with all this leave

given you.

Yes, and we're spending it at Mrs
Carter's.

Just us in a farmhouse with cows and
sheep and pigs and geese and chickens, a

big feather bed with an eiderdown quilt
and no reason to get up in the morning.

You ever wondered how many there are?

Walks in the countryside.

The cows coming home to be milked? Must
be millions.

I seem to remember on our last trip to
the countryside, you thought all cows

were bulls, bats flew into your hair,
and we're in constant danger of a sheep

attack. Forget them, that's the
question.

I also seem to remember on our last trip
to the countryside that something

happened that hadn't happened before.

I mean, how did they get hold of them?

And it is important to celebrate
anniversaries.

Slightest draft all over the shop, it's
my experience.

What? Feathers.

In a feather bed.

How many are there and how do they get
hold of them?

I just wondered.

Um, Mr and Mrs Sparrow, it says here.

Well, I didn't fancy separate rooms.

Oh, right.

No, Gary, not while I'm... Not with the
baby.

Phoebe, I keep telling you, it's... Ask
a doctor if it's all right. Gary!

That is not the sort of thing a woman
can talk to a doctor about.

Yvonne!

Yvonne!

Franklin, Gary, dangerous to lift heavy
loads.

I thought I'd be here to help. And here
you are, ready and willing and half an

hour late.

Oh, come on, Yvonne. You'd still be
checking in early if you went to the

by milk float.

You're right.

I'm sorry, I'm always the same.

You are, yeah.

Even when we got married, you arrived at
the church before me.

I arrived before the congregation.

Halfway through the previous wedding.

I'm really going to miss you.

And I'm feeling much better.

Oh.

But we can't. The taxi will be here in
ten minutes.

Well, no, I'm in ten minutes.

Seek when I get home.

And make sure you do save it.

Yvonne, I couldn't be unfaithful to you.

Promise?

Well, never in your lifetime.

Look, let me take you to the airport.

It's got wheels.

They'll be porters, don't fuss.

Oh, I hate all that tannoy and tears
palaver.

I'll ring when I get there.

I'll ring every day.

7am my time, that's about 11 o 'clock at
night for you.

Right.

Well, you will be here, won't you? I'll
be lonely.

Yeah, of course I will.

Just me and the telly and my sad little
vindaloo.

You can come in now. It's ready.

One there, one there. Boy, boy.

A dirt, is it?

Tet, tet, tet.

That's right.

Well, chicken tikka masala, Rogan Josh.
Or is it eyeball to eyeball?

Lampasanda, king prawn dindaloo, sag
bhaji, aloo gobi. Just ask, Gary.

Peeler ice, pickle, naan, carbonated
water, a robust shiraz from down under,

I need you to do me a favour. I thought
you might.

So, Yvonne is in Korea, right? I've
promised Phoebe a holiday, right?

Now, I'm going to be in 1942 for a week.
Cut off in the most fundamental way

possible, since now hasn't happened yet,
if you see what I mean. Oh, I see what

you mean. In fact, I saw it coming.

The problem, unless I'm much mistaken,
is that Yvonne, homesick and

disorientated, missing all things truly
British, like traffic wardens, negative

football, chicken masala, and who knows,
even missing you.

That same Yvonne, poor little alien...
creature will be thudding home quite a

lot. Every morning from tomorrow at
seven her time, which is eleven in the

evening here, which doesn't make much
difference one way or the other because

I'm going to be on holiday five decades
ago. With your pregnant lover?

Yeah. Sir, this food is delicious.

Did you switch the oven on yourself?

Sir, Ron. The wine is a triumph.

Ron. The water's so sparkling.

Ron. No.

You don't even know... You've worked out
some system.

where you can go away for a week with
Phoebe without letting Yvonne know

not here, despite the fact that she'll
be phoning every evening at 11 o 'clock

expecting you to take the call.

I can't imagine what you've devised, but
I suspect it involves someone tying

himself in knots.

That will be you.

Not me, OK?

Not me.

Not... Mm -mm.

Typical boys' night in, you know. A few
drinks, curry.

Big match.

Deal?

Deal.

Hello.

No, it's not.

Yes, it is.

Yes, he is.

No, you can't.

No, not drunk.

We did go out to the pub, though.

There was this girl in the bar. She
works as an exotic dancer. Well, she was

bit fed up because her python's on the
blink, so Gary asked her back.

On the way, we stopped off for a curry.

The poor girl spilled some down her
halter top, so Gary's taken her upstairs

with a damp sponge and a stick of
manage.

Of course it's not true, Yvonne.

He's got laryngitis.

No, he can't.

Not at all.

Not a squeak.

Barely a gasp.

So, I'll be here every evening to be
your go -between.

I'm moving in to look after him and I'll
be here to take your call.

You just tell me what you want to say to
Gary and I'll pass it on.

He'll write down his answer on a piece
of paper and I'll tell you what he said.

No, Gary can't listen. I have to listen.

Because I have to hear both sides of the
conversation, Yvonne.

In what way embarrassing?

Well, supposing you wanted to say what?

Or something like what?

Well, I can tell him that, Yvonne.

Yvonne, I can tell him that.

All right, I'll forget you said it.

I said I... Hello?

I think she's hung up. What was it she
said you couldn't tell me and you said

you could and she said forget I said it
and you said all right?

I think it must have been in code.

She said nothing's nicer than knobby
knobbit.

Mean anything to you?

Um... No, absolutely nothing.

So, I move in. What? whilst I'm with
Phoebe. Field all Yvonne's calls,

you're here, make up your side of the
conversation, and try not to laugh if

mentions knobby -nobby.

Come on, then.

Come on!

The Beatles hit their very first EP.

Now, that was handed down to me by my
Uncle Gerald. That's practically a

heirloom. I don't think you were
interested in Beatles memorabilia,

I'm not, but I know a man who is.

I can swap this for a limited edition
photograph of Sharon Stone, signed

the bottom.

Anyway, I'm going to go off and pack a
few things.

I'll be back in about half an hour.

Tonight? Why? Well, you've got beer in
and there's no padlock on your fridge.

Oh, great.

It's lost the spare set of keys already.

Dad? Where have you been?

I've been phoning for days.

Why didn't you leave a message?

Oh, I don't trust those things.

Well, can I come in?

Yeah, yeah.

There's a philatelist convention at
Olympia.

I've got the time off work and your
mother's agreed to do her own ironing.

I go hunting for stamps with 3 ,000
other anoraks.

Evenings are free.

For us.

You know, a bit of a drink, a bit of a
chat, fish and chips.

A bit of, how are you, how am I?

Don't worry, I'll find a hotel.

No, no, no, no, no. You must stay here,
of course. Don't be silly. No, I was

just surprised to see you, that's all.

How long are you down for? Just tonight,
is it? No, till Friday.

Oh, right, it's just... Warranty I just
cleared up, then, is it?

Oh, well, it comes and goes.

Have you met my dad? This is my dad,
George. This is my friend, Ron. He's

staying here at the moment because of
severe marital aggravation.

Thank you, old and trusted friend.

I'm sorry to hear that, son. What's
wrong?

My wife hates me.

Well, that wouldn't make for a
tremendously happy marriage, would it?

Dad's in London for a philatelist
convention, and he's staying here.

Of course he is.

Naturally.

See, thing is, Dad, well, I'm going away
for a week. I'll leave the day after

tomorrow. It's a buying trip.

Oh, surely you can't delay it.

Well, no, cos there's this guy, he's got
some stuff, you know, really good

stuff. Stamps.

World War II stamps, actually, amongst
other things. He's sending some down on

spec. They should be here by tomorrow.
Perhaps you could have a look.

Well, it's just for a day or two, then.

Well, no, because he lives in...
Hebrides.

In the Hebrides.

Oh, it's a terrible trip. It's a plane,
car... Boat.

Boat, yes.

Possible bad weather, you know, then
I've got to look the stuff over, then

boat back, car, plane... Bad traffic
hangar, eh?

Yeah, I've... I've allowed the best part
of a week. Well, a week, more or less.

Well, no, a week.

Paspolitan!

Oh, well.

I think I'll get off to bed, Gary, if
that's all right.

It's been a long day.

Spare room at the back, isn't it? Yeah.

Can I bring you anything?

No, thanks, son.

I'll be all right.

Well, it's really great to see you.

Is it?

If your dad's staying in the spare room,
where am I going to sleep tonight?

Tonight we don't sleep, Ron. Tonight we
worry.

Oh, and another thing. Watch that phone
like a hawk.

Dad gets to it first, I'm sunk.

Don't worry. Any danger of that, I'll
switch it to answer.

No, you go and enjoy your rural idyll
with Phoebe.

Ron, I can't. You saw the look on his
face.

Abject misery.

The look of a father betrayed.

I'll just square it with Phoebe.

Oh.

All right, you're Phoebe, OK?

Phoebe. What?

You're Phoebe.

I'm rehearsing an excuse.

You have to give me Phoebe's reaction.

Right. Phoebe, you know you said you
hoped I wouldn't say there was a flap on

work and we're going to have to cancel
the holiday.

Well, there's a flap on at work...
You're right, you're right. I'm going to

to come up with something better than
that.

Oh, I'm going to turn in.

Where do I sleep?

On the sofa.

Unless you prefer the marital bed.

Nah, you can have the sofa.

I'll have the marital bed.

I hope no -one sees me doing this in
uniform.

You all right, Gary?

Yeah, just a bit sore.

Slept in a funny position.

Anyway, look, the meteorological boys
are never wrong. Never. Not with an ever

-present danger of an invasion. No, they
have to be right.

He's right, Phoebe. They have to.

And I have it on the best authority that
the weather for Kent next week is

persistent rain, gale force winds and a
threat of sleet. Now, that's what the

boys at the Met told me. Always
accurate, the Met. Shut up, Reg. No.

Look, why not postpone it until the
following week? No.

I've rearranged the brewery, Reg is
taking a week's leave to look after

the farm's booked and I've borrowed
Violet's turquoise gabardine with a

trim. The Met boys know their stuff,
Phoebe. And that's that. Shut up, Reg.

Well... The other thing is that, well,
I've been in contact with the office and

they reckon next week there might be a
bit of a flap on, so I thought that

maybe... And?

And it won't be much of a flap. It's a
very small flap and they won't need me.

What's that?

Rub and flat current.

It's just a job for a bad throat.

Oh.

Ah, what's this?

That is a ticket for the three -tenner
for tonight.

Where's the rate?

Gary!

That's amazing!

This must have cost you an arm and a
leg.

Yeah, well, both legs, actually, but
it's worth it.

You're worth it.

You're a one -off, you are.

Cheers. Cheers.

You know, if you recognise the East End
today, you're still back -to -backs

round here when I was growing up.

Labs up the garden and street cricket.

Look at it now.

Mile -high offices full of blokes in
braces doing deals.

A pint, a fish supper and change from
two bob.

You can always borrow a cup of sugar. No
-one ever locked their doors and summer

lasted half the year, eh? No, I never
said it was much fun.

Just different.

Dad, I'm sorry about this week, about
not being able to change the

Ah, never mind.

Next time, eh?

Strange coming back.

Everything changed.

You know, I never told you.

Never told no -one.

Something very odd happened to me round
here.

It was back when I was odd jobby.

Plumbing, mostly.

I got a call out to a house round here.

Couldn't find the place.

Drove up and down for about half an
hour, looked at the street map, you

Finally, I asked his copper if he knew
where it was. Yeah, he says, it's just

down that alleyway.

You won't get the van down there.

You'll have to walk.

What happened?

Strangest thing.

Still haunts me now when I think of it.

What?

I walked down the alley.

It was a pub, I remember that.

And I don't know, everything seemed
different, looked different.

But at first, I couldn't quite see how
or why.

I walked toward the address.

And I thought, this isn't the 1960s.

This is the 1860s.

I'm in the bloody Victorian age.

Well, who did you meet there? Did you
meet anyone?

Did you keep going back and have a
different life there with different

Was there anyone special?

I can't take this in. What are you on
about?

Victorian England. You went back.

It's a family thing.

Of course.

Father to son. It's in the genes.

Dad, I can go back. Go back where?

I'm losing track.

Well, Victorian times.

You said you went back. Yeah.

Well, that's the way it seemed, all
right.

Dirt and poverty. Kids with no shoes.
Men out of work. It wasn't the swinging

60s round here.

If it hadn't have been for the telly
aerials and Billy J. Kramer on the

it could have been the bad old days.

What do you mean about going back?

Huh?

It's a mistake, isn't it?

It's like this place. It's a mistake to
go back.

Yeah. The past is the past, isn't it?

Sometimes.

Oh, right on time.

It's so nice when you can come home for
tea.

Just like a husband.

Just like we was married.

Well, I will have to pop back later on.

No, you won't.

Yeah, I will, because, um... Well, I've
left my binoculars in the office.

You remember last time?

All that worry about whether that was a
cow or a bull in the field?

You standing on your head trying to
count the danglies from 50 yards away?

Well, this way, pair of binoculars. Have
a shifty, number one. Is that udder or

rudder?

Very thoughtful, Gary, but you won't be
needing them.

Now, it's mutton stew and dumplings,
mashed sweet, treacle pudding and

for later, and a glass of milk stout.

Good for the baby.

Won't be needing them.

Not yet, anyway.

I thought about what you said, Gary,
what the Met boys said, and I don't want

spend our first ever holiday sitting
inside watching the weather. So, I

Mrs Carter and changed our week.

She's not exactly fully booked with the
war on. So, we'll go next week, like you

suggested.

Sunshine and babbling brook.

Lovely.

You said it was impossible.

Well, it wasn't easy.

Changing the brewery delivery times, Reg
changing his leave.

But nothing's going to spoil this
holiday, Gary.

Aren't you pleased?

Yeah, yeah, really pleased. But I will
have to pop back tonight, Phoebe.

Bit of a flap on, is there?

A bit of a flap, yeah.

Well, never mind.

In a week's time, we'll be miles away.
No pub, no flap.

Just you and me and a week of glorious
weather.

Guaranteed by the Met Office.

One for the road.

No. Yes,

big one.

She was dead against it, but I talked
around.

Thanks, Reg.

No, she said, I've made the
arrangements.

It's all fixed.

The Met Boys are never wrong, I said.

Well done, Reg.

Me mind's made up, she said. I've got
them to agree to next week, and next

it will be wind and rain and possible
sleep, I said.

You're a real...

Friend, Reg.

Yeah, I talked her round.

Wasn't easy.

I had to keep at it, but I wore her down
in the end.

What would I do without you, eh?

Ten bobs, half -crowned, bobs, crutney,
tutney, and a half -crowned book of a

tautney.

What?

Five quid's worth of areas.

You asked me to get you some.

So what did you tell your dad?

I just told him that the weather
forecast for the Hebrides was appalling

been advised to leave it until next
week.

Useful stuff, weather.

So he's chuffed.

Where is he anyway?

He's watching the three tenors, which is
about as much change as I got from a

hundred quid.

So is your laryngitis going to last a
fortnight or do I tell you all night

you've been struck by lightning?

No, I'll recover briefly and then have a
relapse next week.

You're a hero, really, you know that.

What?

High wire artists, lion tamers, members
of the SAS, pearl divers.

None of them can match the sheer nerve
and resourcefulness of a man living a

double life. It must be hell.

It is. Apart from the nookie. Oh, yeah,

I'd forgotten.

My God.

Endless deceit, terrifying schedules,
back and forth across the time warp like

ping with two pongs, and nothing in it
for knobby knobbits.

That'll be for you.

No, it's a bit better. It's coming back.

How are you?

Are you?

Are you?

Are you?

Are you?

Are you?

She's coming home next week.

No, Yvonne, you can't come home next
week.

Why not?

The firm.

Maternity leave, prospects of promotion.

Yeah, yeah, of course I do.

Of course I do.

Of course I do.

Of course I understand. You're homesick,
you're miserable, and raw fish makes

you want to throw up. I understand that.

No, no, Yvonne, if you've made your mind
up, then... OK.

OK.

Okay. So does Nubby Nubbit, okay?

Fed up,

homesick, returning a week early.

When you're either in Kent, 1940s,
laughs, lambs and cowpats, or in the

Hebrides, bargaining for wartime stamps,
depending on your point of view.

But not in Cricklewood, 1990s.

You've got a problem here, mate.

Mega problem.

Epic problem.

Humongous problem.

Solar systems rushing towards each
other. Collision inevitable.

Fast interstellar universe destroying
explosion.

Sort of a problem, really.

Thanks, Ron. You're a big help.

Oh,

great evening. Thanks, Gary. I really
enjoy myself.

Yes, sir?

I'm very pleased you're having a good
time.

Ron.

Ron! I can't believe you!

What time is it?

Um, dawn.

I want you to print something for me.
What is it?

MI5's top -secret meteorological report
for the week commencing 16th June 1942.

In contrast, the following week,
formerly expected to herald fair

now certain to be stormy, with heavy
rain and gale -force winds in many

especially Middlesex, Sussex and Kent.

I don't believe it!

Freak weather conditions.

Impossible to foresee.

Never wrong them it, boys.

What are we going to do, Gary?
Everything's arranged for next week.

Right. Reg, get on that phone. Tell them
you want this week off after all.

Phoebe, I'm not spending our first real
holiday, our very first and probably our

last until the war ends, the holiday we
have both dreamt about, cooped up

indoors watching cows swim for the high
ground.

So I'll phone Mrs Carter and tell her
we're on our way. She hasn't got any

bookings. You said so yourself.

Reg can deal with the brewers, men. It's
only a matter of heaving a few barrels

of beer into the cellar. OK?

OK, go and get packed.

Gary. Go and get packed.

Yes, Gary.

I spoke to me, Sergeant.

He said it doesn't matter to him whether
I take this week or next on account of

the fact when I'm not around it's the
same as when I'm here and when I am

there's no difference.

I think that's what he said.

That sounds about right.

Did you get Gary's note?

Yeah, he left it on my bedside table.

Sorry, but he had to go after all. Freak
conditions over the southern Atlantic.

Tricky stuff, weather.

And you're celebrating?

He left me a little present to say sorry
kind of thing. World War II stamps.

That's nice. Ooh, bloody right.
Including a half -crowned book of

the Tappanies.

Imperforated the whole plane and it...
pristine condition.

What? Oh, two, three thousand quid. Pop
that cork, son.

I've never had a fight like this.

When you see Gary, tell him I'm going to
take his mother on holiday to the West

Indies. Jamaica?

Yeah, unless we go to Barbados.

a monkey, that's what I'm going to do.
At least someone appreciates me. And

don't call me back because I don't want
to speak to you ever again.

Goodbye.

Oh dear, Gary.

Wearing crap up to our earlobes.

Or to put it another way, you are.

Still, at least it's a nice day.