All language subtitles for waiting_for_god_s05e05_trouble_with_men

What a lovely day.

Hearts ticking over like an excellent
motor, lungs easing in and out like

contented bellows, prostate doing what a
prostate ought to do.

In fact, I'm as corny as Kansas in
August, high as a flag on the 4th of

and if you'll excuse the expression I
use, I'm in love with a wonderful guy.

That's a song.

I'm not really in love with a wonderful
guy.

Oh, go on.

Be the oldest man to come out of the
closet.

Give us all the chance to be positive
and supportive and all those other

wonderfully politically correct
thingamies. Thought you didn't like

correctness. No, no, no, I think it's a
wonderful fad.

Probably not as spiritually uplifting as
the hula hoop, but undoubtedly better

for the health.

One day, the thought police will get
you, Diana.

Oh, yes.

And I will be clubbed to the cold stone
floor, still proclaiming my right to be

as tasteless and offensive and
politically incorrect as I ever was and

be. Amen.

Geoffrey and Jane seem to be getting on
very well.

It's not surprising.

He's relentlessly boring, and she's
tolerant to the point of making you want

vomit in your cornflakes.

He's still not gone back to Marion.

Maybe this time the separation will
last.

Not once Marian is sober enough to
notice he's gone. Then she'll be round

like a vulture with a hangover.

Hello there.

Top of the morning, my beautiful lady
Di.

Don't say top of the morning, Jamie. No
real Irishman says top of the morning.

What do you want?

Now, how can I put this?

I'm a Christian, madam.

That's always a worrying opening.

But even the saints have their breaking
point.

So please get Geoffrey out of your room.

So please get Geoffrey out.

How did you know I was going to say
that?

We've been running a book on it.

You've been very good. Most people who
spend more than 12 minutes in a confined

space with Geoffrey end up shredding
their fingers as they claw their way out

through the brickwork.

After three minutes with Geoffrey, a
lift operator at Harrods threw himself

his own shaft.

He never stops talking about the most
boring things.

He knows how many milk bottles it would
take to empty the Amazon.

I told him that.

Now, I thought, maybe, till his wife
comes to claim him,

you could have him on your sofa.

No.

We burnt the sofa and removed the
floorboards just so you wouldn't get any

like that.

Ah, Tedder, Jamie, you're stuck with
him?

Who's there?

Ah, Mr. Luckyton. Looks like one of them
Japanese persons.

My God, Pearl Harbor!

Dive, dive, dive!

Harvey's being very polite to him.

Bitter luck he's a Harry Carey teacher.

Fantastic.

Really brill.

Oh, yes.

That Mr. Nakamura is a genius, you know,
Jane.

Oh, yes.

Oh, yes. Oh, yes.

That doesn't sound very enthusiastic,
Jane.

Oh, yes.

What happened to the old... Oh, gosh,
Harvey, how wonderful.

Oh, I'm sure Mr. Nakamura is a genius,
but not so much a genius as you, my dear

beloved.

You seem to have developed a severe
attitude problem recently.

Quite possibly, Harvey.

I do expect complete and utter devotion
from my employers, you know.

How come you never get it then?

What?

Maybe you have to earn devotion.

Of course you don't. You buy it. How
could you possibly earn it?

By being worthy of it. I'm not sure I
understand a word you're talking about,

Jane. No, and I'm sure you never will.

Why is Mr Nakamura so brilliant?

He designs Japanese maximum density
hotels.

Oh, yes.

You know those places where people sleep
in a sort of chest of drawers?

You know, slide -out beds stacked up,
one on top of each other, like in a

mortuary.

Yes,

but they're space -efficient. It gives
me an almost sexual thrill.

Oh, Harvey!

And Mr Nakamura says that in Japan, when
they want a bit more space, they just

roll up their beds.

Futons! No, it's true.

for Nakamura to design a new wing here
at Bayview.

You've got to put the residents in
drawers in a mortuary.

No, Jane, just economise on use of
space.

More oldies per square foot.

I mean, what do they want all that space
for anyway?

I mean, half of them don't move around
much. I mean, if you're sitting in a

chair zonked out on Valium all day, you
don't need an aircraft hanger, do you?

Shoebox is quite enough. I mean, we're
talking serious unit economy here, Jane.

They're not units.

They're people. Who are?

The units.

I mean, they're not packets of peas to
be stacked up and stored.

They are human beings, which is a lot
more than can be said for you.

If she's not careful, I might not even
tell her we're getting married.

Any interesting mail?

Yes. You?

Copy out this letter. Send it to five...
friends in closing five pounds.

And in five weeks you should have five
thousand pounds.

Do not break the chain.

The last person to break the chain died
of bubonic plague.

Not often you get a medieval chain like
us.

I think we should be in this. What's
that?

Age resource.

Age resource?

Yes. I sent off Heather Bump. Oh, Ada.
We can win awards.

Doing what?

All sorts of things.

Conservation, meeting social needs,
voluntary work, physical activities,

anything you like. What I don't like?
Pure tokenism.

Organising the elderly is a token shock
to the universal guilt for leaving us on

the scrap heap.

Better to be doing something than just
sitting around waiting to die.

Well, I would rather be sitting in a
coma and have some cheerful chappy

on my door saying, Hello.

It's time to join the sweep up the
leaves in our street campaign.

That'd be fun.

How about a reminiscence centre?
Building bridges between the

Telling local children about life in
their area before the war.

Right riveting.

And as one group here got involved in
resighting wild bees.

Oh, great.

Let's all rush out and shove bumblebees
around the countryside.

Victorian craft days. The Weaver's
Triangle.

The over -60s' yoghurt parlour.

Thousands of community pop -in centres.
Oh, God, how depressing.

I bet they're all run by those
offensively jolly fat women with tea

to their hips and huge slabs of homemade
carrot cake that they shove down your

throat with plungers.

We are always in our community centre.

Art classes, health and fitness classes.

You see, nowhere do they cater for the
elderly anarchists. I mean, where are

projects for ripping off the Social
Security?

Arguing. your neighbours or making huge
amounts of money. I mean, where are the

things that make life worth living?

Why is it that the moment you hit 65
you're supposed to become some

smiling old duck who goes around patting
children on the head or saving trees or

joining... Oh, my God.

The Nottingham Knit and Natter Club.

Well, I bet that's a hotbed of sex,
drugs and rock and roll.

Have you finished?

Yes. I think so. Well, as usual, Diana,
you're totally wrong about everything.

Not all retired people want to be
geriatric bobber boys.

Some of us think that helping a fellow
man is part of what elevates us above

carnivorous beasties like you.

Shut your face and drink your coffee.

As from now, I am going to form the
Bayview Conservation Society.

Well, I'm going to form the Bayview
Destroy It All Coffee.

I will harness my troops, and the first
thing we will do is to draw up a flora

and fauna register of the entire area.

Well, that'll be a sure -fire
bestseller.

Can I have the rights to the miniseries?

Get Joan Collins to play the dead
sycamore at the bottom of the drive.

You are a hateful and despicable person,
and I hate and despic you.

Oh, I feel better now.

Nothing like a good gripe to keep you
regular.

We are blessed, my friends. Our first
protected species, wild orchids. Make a

note of them and don't forget points of
historical interest.

What are they doing?

God knows.

Trying to fill in a bit of lifetime.

I hate trees.

Really? Yes.

Especially as you're getting older.

You look at a tree and you think...

That was there before I was born, and
the damn thing is still going to be

long after I die.

Trees are just so smoke.

They should all be chopped down and
turned into matches.

Jamie, you're a man of hidden depths.

Not all Irishmen are drunk, you know.

Some of us are great philosophers and
students of the human condition.

And you're one of that sort, are you?

No, I'm a drunk.

But I'm pretty with it.

I think I'm coming out from under a
great cloud, Jane.

Oh, that's nice.

The nightmares are lessening.

Last night I only had one dream about
Marion.

She was a vulture, ripping bits off me
and popping them into a blender.

Oh, dear.

But when I went back to sleep...

I had my favourite dream, where I am
quietly floating through the shelving

cornice department of the home centre.

It was all very serene.

Magnificent white choirs of beautiful
angels waving at me as I drifted past

bathroom fittings.

You were there as well.

Me? Oh, goodness.

As a checkout girl.

You were singing that song from Dr
Zhivago.

Lara's theme?

That's the one.

Oh, it's one of my favourites.

In my dream, you eventually abandoned
your till and we danced together right

through paint drippers and patties. Oh,
I can't dance.

Just stand on my feet. I'll do the
dancing.

You say something, Jane.

Did you know we have a ficus anginus
tree over by the west gate?

Goodness, how exciting.

Let's have a party and invite it over.

We also have a patch of wild orchids.
They are already protected by law.

Hooray! And the only remaining bluebell
wood within a ten -mile radius.

Now that I did know.

Really? Mm -hmm.

Every spring.

I go and lie amongst those bluebells. Do
you?

Why? Oh, to remind myself of another
time when I was another person.

During the war, when I was all gingham
frocks and white teeth, kippity hop and

folder roll.

I even had a smile.

A whole smile?

I used to meet him off his base in
Norfolk and we'd get into his old banger

go off into the countryside and make
love like rabbits.

Like the golden cornfield or the
bluebell.

Oh, God, it was wonderful to be alive
then.

Here, energy of the youth, so wasted on
the young.

You mad old passion pot.

granite hillside of my soul.

And I dig into it once a year by going
and lying silently amongst the

Then, climb back onto my stick and go
and kick the crap out of a hedgehog.

Just to remind me of who I really am.

Well, that's definitely a spot that
should be preserved at all costs. In

if it makes you happy, even for a
minute, it should be made a national

Marion.

Oh, God.

Quick! I would like to know what's going
on around here.

I would like to know what my husband is
up to.

I would like to know... I would like to
know where you people have got to.

Look, I know you're hiding from me, so
we have a simple choice.

Either you come out from wherever you
are, or I rip the place apart until I

you.

I will count to three.

One, two... Hello, Marion.

Ha!

Punch and Judy are alive and well.

Could have let her wreck the place,
better than talking to her.

How can we help you, Marion? Or are you
beyond help?

I woke up this morning to find Geoffrey
was no longer living with me. He moved

out four weeks ago.

Really? How time flies.

So what's he doing here, then?

He's left you.

I can tell that.

He's taken his clothes and the kitchen
shelves.

I asked what he was doing here. Same as
usual, boring everyone to death.

into the dining room and found him
attached to that Jane creature by the

Attached by the feet?

Is this one of your drug -induced
nightmares?

I don't know.

But you tell that fat toad that if he
isn't home with his loving wife and

children by this evening, whatever that
is, I shall be definitely thing.

Okay?

A soul in torment.

A soul in batter.

I just saw Marion.

She didn't seem very friendly.

No, well, she thinks you've been Siamese
-twinned with that boring town of

Geoffrey -on -Thames.

What?

Never mind.

What's the problem?

It's Harvey.

He has a new building plan, which I
think you should be appraised of.

Oh, jolly good.

A praise away.

Why does he sound like a hoover in a
toilet bowl?

He deliberately became a noisy eater to
drown out Marion's deranged mumblings.

Then he chews his custard.

That's in case you put bits of glass in
it.

Are you talking about me? No, no, no.

Another Geoffrey and Marion, human
beings.

We were just wondering, Geoffrey, how
long you were going to stay.

Oh, why?

We wondered how often we could expect
that mad slut of a wife of yours to come

screaming round the place.

Has Marion been here? Yes.

She said she found you in some sort of
foot contact with Jane.

We were dancing.

Dancing? With Jane?

That's very unnatural.

Right, oh, pay attention.

Hello?

Yes, it's me. It's Harvey Nigel.

Just a bit of hush.

Quiet!

Jane. Quiet!

Harvey wants to tell you something
really unpleasant.

Jane.

Well, it is.

And I want no part of it.

Jane's obviously a little bit upset.

There's a death in the family, I expect.

Just a minute.

I'm the only family she's got.

I'm not dead, am I?

Don't tell me this is the great beyond.

I couldn't bear it. I think I killed
myself.

Do you mind? I'm trying to explain
something here.

No, you're not. You're trying another
pathetic con job on us. Not at all.

I'm trying to give you a vision of what
life is going to be like here in the

21st century.

When you've finally completed your posse
training.

When the world is so overrun with old
people that they have to accept that

have to become smaller economical units.

Well, now, won't that be fun?

Maybe barely, people. Soon we'll be just
economic units.

Right. And as such, you have to start
thinking small.

Like you.

I am thinking big, and my big thinking
makes me think small.

Leave the gibberish to Tom Harvey. He's
got a degree in gibberish.

Thank you.

Now, I've drawn up here a few plans for
a new cost -effective wing here at

Bayview. By reducing ceiling height,
thinner walls, and shared bathroom

facilities... Shared bathroom
facilities?

I'm sorry, but once I'm seated on the
lavatory, there's no room for anyone

to sit beside me.

Shut up.

So with these space -saving schemes and
a new entry policy restricting residents

to being no more than five feet tall, we
will be able to pack two, maybe three

residents into a space currently
occupied by just 0 .8 of a resident.

pretty good, eh?

Wonderful. And if you get amputees, you
could pack in even more.

Good point, Diane. Or better still,
anaesthetise them all, shove them on

with drip feeds.

Geoffrey will build the shelves, won't
you, Geoffrey?

Brackets might be a problem on the thin
walls.

Maybe, Harvey, you could get the
residents reduced right down to being

brains in jars.

No, no, keep them alive. You can still
rip them off for their pensions. Diana,

please. That is quite disgusting.

No, she's got a few good points there.
It'll come to pass. You mark my words.

The moment we outnumber the earners,
they'll set up a final solution, Quango,

cope with the elderly, and then we will
look back on these as the golden years.

In spite of the gypsy queen here.

I am not a gypsy.

Oh, yes, you are.

Could we just get on, please?

Now, I've shown you my brilliant plans,
so I trust there'll be no objections

when I put them before the council.

Tell him, Tom.

Sorry, Harvey. We are way ahead of you.
We found out about your disgusting

plans, so I rallied the troops of the
Bayview Army, and lo, what did we find?

But bang in the middle of your
development is a patch of wild orchids,

protected species.

So sorry.

Shove off!

Well,

really?

What? Wild orchids? How exciting!

Where, Tom? Where?

I'll show you.

Walk this way.

Come on, everybody.

Follow me and my old joke.

What's going on?

I don't know.

Well, Harvey's smiling, so he must be up
to something revolting. I wouldn't be

surprised.

That doesn't sound like you, Jane.

I'm not silly, Diana.

After eight years of careful
observation, I've come to the conclusion

Harvey might be a little bit the wrong
side of perfect.

My goodness.

This is real road -to -Damascus stuff
here, Jane.

I suppose Sir Geoffrey wouldn't have
anything to do with turning on this

blinding light, would he?

No! No, of course not.

I don't know...

I don't know who you're talking about.

Geoffrey who?

Geoffrey is a married man.

If that's the Geoffrey to whom you
refer.

The one who means absolutely nothing to
me.

Oh, my head.

It's gone all poundy and throbby.

I must get away. I mean, like that. Of
course, on my own.

And the times, they are changing.

Is this the spot?

I can't see any of those wild orchids
that I love so much.

No, that's not an orchid, Tom. That's a
piece of turf.

Turf doesn't stop you from putting up
wonderful new buildings.

I'm a failure.

I expect so.

I can't even manage a simple thing like
saving a flower from a vandal.

How old am I?

Seventy -five?

Seventy -six.

What's the point of even bothering to
breathe if you can't do anything?

If your achievement rate is less than
that of an Italian tank commander.

I might as well end it all.

Might as well.

Time to turn up my tone.

Finally clapped out at the port.

And no one worth a fig.

to take up the glorious baton of the
Ballard line.

Oh, woe is me.

Woe is us. Hello?

Is that the wonderful age resource
people?

Yes, yes, it's Diana Trent here. As you
know, I'm one of your greatest fans.

I'm always knitting and nattering in one
of your pop -in centres.

What can you do for me?

Well, just one tiny wee thing.

Won't take more than a fistful of
dollars and a handful of willing

Well, today's the big day.

Planning Commission Day.

I think the whole thing is disgusting.

Jane, you're not paid to have opinions.

You're paid to be what you are.

A dog -eared old cloth who does what I
tell her to do.

I don't think you should talk to her
like that, Harvey.

Don't interfere, Geoffrey.

Your track record on personal relations
is hardly brilliant.

Jane is a very good person.

I think she should be treated as such.

Thank you, Geoffrey.

What is going on?

Oh, my God!

Oh, dear, out shopping, were you?

Lights are green.

I know you.

Yes, dear, I'm your husband.

Then why don't you live with me?

Because I left you.

Why? Because I don't like you anymore.

Oh, really?

Why not?

Because you're a mad slut, dear.

Come on, Geoffrey. Shove her off and
let's get to this meeting.

Shut up, Harvey.

Come along, dear. You're going to
scratch Volvo.

Have I been run over?

Come on, move, will you?

Come on, Geoffrey.

Come on.

Shut up!

There's a crisis going on here.

Can't you see that?

My life is hell.

All our lives are hell.

My life is more hellish than yours.

And this... is the reason why.

See this woman?

This is my wife, Marian, mother of my
children.

15 years we've been married, and in that
time she has drunk three oil tankers of

gin, helped Valium to keep the
population of China comatose for a

while conscious, she has slept with at
least 35 of my friends.

Stop blowing your horns and let a man go
out of his mind.

Come along, dear. Get in.

Thank you, Geoffrey.

Sorry about that.

Now, where were we going? Or have we
been already?

Town hall.

Town hall.

around.

Now, every time I say something, Jane,
you burst into cheers from the public

gallery.

What's all this?

We are here to save the great Christed
Newt.

is overrun by the rare and wonderful
great crested newts.

Since when? I haven't seen any blasted
newts. Oh, they've been there for

thousands of years.

It's just that we only found them this
morning.

And to our great surprise, we find they
are protected by European law.

So you won't be able to build there.

Tough stuff, chubby chops.

I can't believe you.

From the mayor himself.

See? You'll have to get it overturned by
Brussels, and they won't be

reconsidering that law until 2017.

But I'll be old by then.

Better book your shoebox right away.

I see about this.

Come on, Jane, back to work. Get on to
the Mayor, find out what his price is.

I'm going to have tea with Geoffrey.

Sorry.

See you later.

They do a joy -nice cover at the Home
Centre.

Oh, that's good.

Jane!

What is going on?

Oh, come on, Geoffrey. Take me home to
bed.

Marion, I am not Geoffrey.

Never mind, you'll do.

Well, thank God for the mad burgers of
Brussels.

Why are they mad?

Well, the great crusted newt is only
rare in Europe. In England, we've got

millions of the little sods. But
nowadays, it's the same law for

Damn silly, but worth exploiting if you
can.

You're such a wicky old tart. I am.

Why don't we go and indulge in one of
their favourite pastimes?

What's that?

I'll give you a clue.

Mine's a double.

Ah, double hernias. That sounds fun.

Taxi!