All language subtitles for Birds of a Feather s02e14 Jobs For The Girls

What will I do when you are far

away and I am blue?

What will I do when I'm alone

with only dreams of you?

Get your ass into gear, dog breath.

Come on. Come on.

Dirty dog.

Go. Move. Move.

I'm warning you.

You stop one more time and you're going
to wake up in a pizza.

With extra chilli sauce. Now, come on,
will you? Come on.

oven chips are ploughing, I'll fade
away.

You what?

You've been watching Grange Hill again
instead of getting my tea on. No, I

ain't. Anyway, why you got the ump? That
makes you do a whoopsie on your

trainers again.

I hate that rotten animal.

Not a dog.

It's a toupee on legs.

I know. I was on the news again tonight
offering a reward.

It's not dumping its load in the middle
of the street. It's trying to get its

leg over my leg.

Blimey, I thought Chris was bad.

At least he used to wait till we got
home.

Dogs.

What was God on when he invented them,
eh?

I don't mean to be dense, but if you
hate dogs that much, why don't you stop

this babbling about, Clark?

Because, Trace, there is money in it.

Chigwell is full of fat cats who want
their fat cats fed and their dogs

I could clean up round here. So long as
you've got a pooper scooper.

But it would be nice to come home to a
bit of tea of an evening. I'm starving.

Nearly had one of Maxie's doggy treats.

Would have given you a lovely wet nose.

I mean it, Trace.

I'm doing my bit to bring a few extra
quid into this house for Christmas.

It'd be nice if you did the same. I
know, and that's why tea's late. I've

thinking, and if you say that makes a
change, I'll rearrange your face.

I'm going to earn us the money and all.

You?

Trace, the only wage packets that ever
came into this there, Daryl R. Finch'd

off the curie court.

I've worked in that awful account that's
at Walthamstow, remember?

Oh, yeah, I remember.

He was a junior typist for at least ten
minutes before Daryl got you up the

duff. Do you mind? I was there for three
months.

Anyway, look what I found in the attic.

Don't tell me you're going to sell it as
an antique.

No, I'm going to use it.

Oh, do me a favour. Well, you've been
going on at me for weeks about needing

extra money for presents and whatnot.

Yeah. And you come home every night
after walking them dogs and rub my nose

it. I'll rub that Maxie's nose in it and
it doesn't wear my Reeboks again.

And you're always going on at me to find
something to occupy myself with until

my day all gets back.

So? So I'm going to do some typing from
home. You can earn good money at it. And

at least it's a proper job. Not like
that stupid perfume like you've got us

mixed up in. But, Trace, you haven't
typed for years.

And you hate dogs, but that ain't
stopped you.

Well, maybe I'll get used to them. Yeah,
ten years married to Chris should have

got you used to all that leg cocking and
wind.

Get real, though, Trace.

The last time you punched a keyboard, I
was wearing platform shoes and darkened

to the ruby bits.

Well, you was. I had more taste.

Yes, but typing's like riding a bike,
isn't it? You never forget.

Yeah, but you was rubbish on a bike, you
know.

Yeah, Trace.

I was thinking of putting an ad in the
local paper. What do you reckon?

Is your pooch getting a punch?

Will your moggy mope in Chigwell while
you're sunning yourself in Spain?

Let Sharon walk your dog or feed your
cat.

Well, it ain't exactly Shakespeare, is
it?

How would you know?

Anyway, this pet sitting lot's really
taken off.

I've got two more neurotic bitches on me
books this week.

Dogs ain't too bad, though.

Don't rub it in.

Oh, no.

Go on, then, answer it. Oh, you answer
it, shall.

No, it's your turn. I did the last one.

Hello?

Yeah, this is Tracy.

Yeah, I put an ad in the newsagent's
window.

Listen, mate, I've seen bigger in a
gherkin factory.

you what i'd like to do to you but first
you've got to find a pair of very sharp

gardening shears oh i love it when you
talk dirty pervert

what do they think this is british
telecom tart line well your ads didn't

exactly help did it clogged up at work
let nimble fingered tracy ease the flow

well what's wrong with that maybe you
should scrap this typing mark Go in for

one of them dirty phone lines instead.

You know, let Tracy teach you a lesson.

She's spanking good fun.

I don't understand it, Shell. Why has
your business taken off and mine hasn't?

Because I've got a nose for the main
chance.

I did ducking and diving O -levels, me.

Remember when I had that stall down
Ridley Road filling them knocked -off

cassettes? Oh, yeah.

They were supposed to be the best of
shaking Stevens.

They were.

There was nothing on them.

I'll get it.

It's probably one of your dirty old men
come round for personal services.

Yeah, it tries.

She's great lunchiver, isn't she?

Here she is. The woman that taught
Cynthia Payne all about the birds and

bees.

Couldn't you ever say, hello, Dorian,
how lovely to see you?

What's your door? What brings you round?

Marcus has taken it upon himself to make
a Christmas pudding.

I blame Delia Smith.

You're Marcus. It's one of unexpected
talents, isn't it?

Oh, I wish.

And so are you, Tracy Stubbs.

Am I?

Advertising your talents in the
newsagent's window.

Oh, not you at all.

Listen, Dorian, I'm not into discipline.
I don't have a gym flip. And the last

time I was tired from bed, me and Sharon
was playing Cowboys and Indians.

Oh, no, been getting dirty phone calls,
have you? How awful.

What exactly did they say?

Nothing, once we gave them your number.

I only want to do a bit of piping,
though. Why do the fellas find that such

turn -off? I read somewhere that all men
have erotic fantasies about their

secretaries. Or is it their mothers?

Chris had erotic fantasies about any
woman under 75 with her own teeth.

Anyway, I think it's very brave of you
to put yourself back in the job market,

particularly at your age.

What do you mean, my age? I'm not
exactly a wrinkly yet.

No, but you are competing with bright
young girls fresh out of secretarial

college. I mean, Marcus has had people
under him barely out of kindergarten.

You're not the only one.

Believe me, I know what I'm talking
about.

No, you don't. Since when have you been
an expert on the job market?

You've never done a day's work in your
life. That is not true.

I have been on more charity committees
than you've had hot dinners.

That's not proper work. And I work from
home.

What, pressed in the springs of your
four poster?

I write.

You what?

I write.

How else do you think I fill in all my
spare time?

Dorian, we know how you fill in all your
spare time.

It's got nothing to do with your
creative urges.

No, I have always had a way with words,
ever since I was little.

All right. So what do you write?

Fiction, mainly.

Like what you tell your marcus you've
been up to of an afternoon.

Must you always be so harsh and
judgmental, Sharon?

Well, show some of your writing and
maybe I won't be. You probably wouldn't

understand the long words.

Or be able to read my writing.

So why don't I type it up for you?

Oh. Well, that's a thought.

Oh, go on, doll. I'll do a proper
professional job.

Well, I have been thinking about sending
it to a publisher.

All right, then.

You're on.

Aye, I'm a small business show.

And it certainly beats standing around
lampposts watching dogs do their small

businesses.

How is your pet -sitting enterprise
doing?

Oh, you know me, Dorian.

I've always gotten well with old dogs.

Actually, Marcus has been wondering
whether we should get a guard dog.

Oh, not one of them Rottweilers.
Perhaps.

Oh, they're vicious, they are. Oh,
listen.

What's the difference between a
Rottweiler and a Jewish mother?

I don't know, Dough. What's the
difference between a Rottweiler and a

mother? A Rottweiler eventually lets go.

Oh, someone's popped all these peas
around.

Swear they have.

I can't, can't. Of course I can.

Easy peasy.

Couldn't be better.

You can read my writing, can't you?

I can read it. I just can't type it.

Are you ready for another coffee yet?

Ain't you got a cat tray to empty or
something?

Right.

Give us a shout when you want one, then.

Well?

She looked just like she did, sat in our
mum's kitchen doing her maths homework.

Well, that's a good sign.

No, not really.

Ten minutes in, she starts swearing and
starts throwing things.

Oh, you stupid machine! I didn't tell
you to do that!

I hate to say this, Sharon, but I fear
the worst.

Oh, give her a chance, Adria.

They do say typing's like riding a bike.

You never forget.

I thought they said sex was like riding
a bike.

No, they say sex is like a Chinese meal.

Once you've finished, you're ready to
start all over again.

Must be why Marcus has an aversion to
anything stir -fried.

Oh, what did you do that for?

She's hardly filling me with confidence,
Sharon.

Asking her to type my novel is like
asking Oliver Reed to manage a branch of

bins.

She'll be all right, doll.

Honest. Oh, no, no, no!

Now, what do you want? Just leave me
alone, will you?

Are you sure?

Yeah.

No. Oh, I don't know. You say one word,
Dorian Green, I'll shove this typewriter

right up your... I'll ignore that,
because I can see you're under stress.

Yeah, and you'll be under the road,
bitch, if you don't give me that back.

It's not a very good start, is it? It is
your first novel.

Don't be obtuse, you know what I mean.

What about all these missing E's?

I'll fill them in afterwards.

I'll slide you on.

Yes, because... Well,

I'm sorry, but that just won't do.

Oh, Doreen, I've only just started. What
you need is a WPC.

A policewoman.

I never arrested for laddy typing.

A word processor. Believe me, they're
wonderful.

I mean, Marcus wouldn't be without his
apricot.

And my sister swears by her brother.

I can't afford a bottle of Tippex, let
alone a word processor.

Ain't your darling got one of them up in
his bedroom?

Yes, but that's just for playing
computer games on, isn't it?

Tracy, darling, if he can play Dungeons
and Dragons on it, then you can type on

it. I can't, I'm too old.

It's just a question of getting to grips
with the hardware.

Sounds right up your street door.

Street door, get it? Street door.

Look, my friend Barbara Gold's son,
Adrian, is a computer genius. Perhaps he

could show you what to do.

Oh, would he? Well, if I ask him, he
will. He's a very gifted, incredibly

dexterous young man.

Not another one, darling.

You really are a saucy article, ain't
you, right?

That, you've got it. Now press exit.

Blimey, it's all gone.

It's all...

Honestly, you'd have to be the sort of
idiot who can't even work a typewriter

not to get the hang of this.

Yeah, well, thanks, Adrian. You've been
brilliant.

I do normally charge for an hour's
computer instruction, but since you've

renovated Dorian... Oh, that's very nice
of you.

Here's my card.

Oh, financial advice too, eh?

I dabble in unit trust.

But right now I'm diversifying to the
service industries. And what do you do

fun? I'm learning business down to
Japanese.

Yeah, well, got to let your hair down at
the end of the day, haven't you?

So how are you getting on then?

It's brilliant, shall we? It even spells
better than me.

Trace, the retarded gerbil spells better
than you.

Would you like me to show you how to use
it too?

Let's see.

I'll fit you in next Tuesday.

Say, 4 .45?

No, you're all right, Adrian.

I'm still trying to suss out the video.

But show us what you've learnt then,
Tracey.

OK. Yeah.

Pipe up me head for the paper.

Right.

Is your pooch getting a paunch?

Will your moggy mope? Let Sharon walk
your dog or feed your cat?

Yep, that's me.

I am to pet what Leslie Crowther is to
Grecian 2000.

Why are all the pets sitting around
here?

You too.

No world, innit?

So you'd better stop.

You what? You heard.

Come on, Adrian.

Haven't you ever heard of free
enterprise and market forces?

Blimey, I'm turning into Rupert Murdoch.
This is my patch.

It's taken me two years to build it up.

In which case, a little competition
might be just what the capitalist

I can handle it if you can.

I don't believe this.

I'm standing here playing this town
ain't big enough for the both of us with

kid half my age.

Well, seriously, there's a kid around
here.

You've done it now, Shell.

He's a rightly entrepreneur, him.

Trace, I was out grafting while he was
still a quickie in the back of a cool

cleaner.

Trust me, Shell, he'll have you for
breakfast.

Trust me, Trace, he won't.

He will.

It was as if after each sight of it, he
could not believe its effect and had to

do it again.

It seemed to both envelop him and reject
him, as if she was a figure in a dream,

both standing still and yet always
receding.

Blimey, Dor, you can half write.

Prisoner cell block H is on in a minute.
Never mind cell block H. Listen to

this. What I did on my holidays by
Dorian Green, no thanks.

But, Sal, it's brilliant.

Trace, I've spent all evening dragging
two arse -ridden poodles round chicken.

I ain't in the mood. Just give it a
rest, will you?

Nice seat.

It was an unforgettable face and a
tragic face.

Its sorrow welled out of it as purely,
naturally and unstoppably as water out

a woodland spring.

Dorian wrote that?

Yeah, it's brilliant, Sal. It's like a
proper book with bits I don't understand

and everything.

Well, I mean, who'd have thought it?

Talk about hiding your what's -it under
a bush.

She's bound to get it published. It
knocks spots off Geoffrey Archer.

My shopping list knocks spots off
Geoffrey Archer.

What's it about, then?

Well... It's set in the olden times,
right? And there's this fella who's

and happy and all that, but then he
falls for this moody bird who stands

on a cliff all day looking out to sea
for this French bloke who's give her the

elbow. And then what happens?

I don't know yet, but I can't wait to
find out.

Are there any dirty bits?

Not yet.

It's about a French bloke's tart and
there ain't any dirty bits.

And Dorian says she wrote this?

Yeah, so?

No, nothing.

Forget it. Must be thinking of something
else.

Look, will you get back to your typing
and let me watch my prisoner cell block

in police, please? Oh, I don't know how
you can bear to watch that programme.

Why? Because it's a constant reminder
that our loved ones are banged up.

Or it's an indictment on the way society
makes entertainment out of people's

misery, deprivation and despair.

No, Shell, because it's a load of old
cods.

lost one lovable ginger kitten answering
to the name of Kylie.

She disappeared while in the care of
local pet sitter Sharon

A generous reward is offered as the
kiddies are extremely upset at little

Kylie's absence.

Phone 081 501 0741.

Bloody Adrian!

So am I. In fact, I'm steaming.

What, makes me get in frisky again?

No.

Adrian's fighting dirty.

But then what can you expect?

The boy's only ever known a Tory
government.

What's he done?

What's he done?

What's he done?

Well?

Oh, isn't it nice?

I wonder how you do that big printing.

I'm talking about his underhand business
practice, not his layout style.

Read it, will you?

I didn't know you was looking after a
kitten called Kylie.

I'm not.

The little brat made it up.

But if you believe it, so will Arthur
Chigwell.

I told you to watch him, didn't I?

I didn't know I was dealing with JR
Junior, did I?

So what are you going to do?

I've already done it. What's that
Chinese takeaway? Oh, great, cos I

even started to. I've been too busy
typing.

Oh, it's a takeaway tray.

It ain't Chinese.

Bloody hell.

Where'd you get that?

McDonald's.

It's their new recipe, crunchy meat pie.

Where's it from?

That house on the corner of Briarwood
Drive.

Apparently, it's named Cuddlewood.

You've nicked someone's totem. Have you
got mental or something?

If Adrian wants a fight, he's got one.

Can you start again? You've lost,
Michelle.

And Adrian has lost a tortoise.

Dorian happened to mention that Adrian
was pet -sitting that ass on Briarwood

Drive, right?

Well, the owners are back from Marbella
the day after tomorrow.

Imagine how they'll feel when their
teenage mutant ninja tortoise don't

itself into their lap.

You mean you've kidnapped it?

Yep. And Adrian isn't getting it back,
so we resolve our business differences.

This trace.

It's what's known as a bargaining tool.

It's also what's known as a health
hazard. You put it in the garden shed

minute before it pebble -dashes my
worktop.

Read that back to me, will you?

Found. One tortoise answering to the
name of Cuddles.

Carelessly lost while in the care of
local pet sitter Adrian Gold.

Yeah? Now what?

No, scrap that. It's too polite.

How about...

Either we make a deal or a toy dice gets
it.

Do you really think he's going to fall
for this?

He's better.

Hell has no fury like a Sharon's gold.

I'm worried about you, Shell. You're in
serious danger of losing your marbles.

I just don't like being taken to the
cleaners by some spotty little herb. You

were just the same when we were kids.

Couldn't bear to be parted from that
Cindy dough Aunty Sylvie gave you. Just

because you knew I wanted it.

I gave it to you in the end, didn't I?

Yeah, for me 23rd.

I always wanted an action man.

Something's never changed, has it?

Come on, get on with the ransom note. If
you want cuddles back, get in touch.

And sign it, a friend.

Man, totally off their trolley.

Tell the munchkin I'm not making any
deals.

She's not making any deals.

And tell her I'm not offering any.

Jaffa cake, anyone?

Oh, look, this is ridiculous. I mean,
how many pets are we actually talking

about? I've got 17 in my books. She's
only got five.

And you're not having them. Sharon,
please.

He's a 13 -year -old boy.

No, he's not.

He's a fully grown rip -off merchant
trapped inside a kid's body.

Whose body did you get trapped inside?

George Smith?

Do you hear that door?

If that's an innocent 13 -year -old, I'm
Tina Turner.

I do think you're being a little
unreasonable, Adrian.

This is my patch, and I'm not going to
give it up to some stupid, lazy,

unscrupulous housewife from Edmonton.

Listen, Adrian.

Edmonton is where I learned to run rings
round evil little villains like you.

Sharon, pull yourself together for
goodness sake.

Tell him.

Look, how about going into partnership
with each other?

Or splitting Chigwell into two parts?

I'll split him into two parts.

What would your father do if he heard
about all this unpleasantness, Adrian?

Buy him a new bike. That's what he
usually does.

That'll be the ambulance.

I booked one in case I couldn't resist
murdering the little creep.

Sharon, please, a little restraint.

All right. Forget murder. Can you
advance on a stick here?

Is he here? Is who here? Adrian, I need
him.

Oh, Adrian, you've got to help me.

Why? Because I've lost it.

Lost what?

Dorian's novel.

I was just about to start printing up
the first four chapters and it just sort

of... When? Oh, my God.

That's a shame.

We go away when we get it back.

I don't see why I should. Oh, please,
Adrian. I've been typing that rotten

for days.

What do you mean, rotten thing?

Go on, Adrian.

There's a good boy.

Two minutes ago, I was an evil little
villain.

You are.

We're knobs on.

Will you listen to yourself, Sharon?
Will you listen to me? Now, I know how

can solve this ridiculous on -path.

If Adrian would very kindly come to
Tracy's assistance and rescue my novel,

perhaps you would consider a friendly
takeover of your pet business, Sharon.

I don't know.

Sharon, you give him his tortoise and
let him help me, or you'll be back in

Edmonton cars you're yours before you
can say I'm fit for human habitation.

It's all yours, Adrian.

I knew we could resolve this amicably.

Oh, stuff all that officer and her
gentleman business. Just come round and

me out.

Well, thank God that's over.

Yeah. And nobody lost faith?

Nobody lost faith. You practically
rolled over and died.

Oh, I didn't.

Oh, admit it, Sharon.

He's won.

Your clients are now his clients.

Oh, my clients. Big deal.

two geriatric poodles that are retiring
to Bournemouth next month, a tabby with

diarrhoea, and a schizophrenic sausage
dog.

Oh, and Maxie's owners give me the sack.

Why? What happened?

Well, a couple of days ago, me and Maxie
were there, and he tried to get his end

away with the Great Dane.

The Great Dane weren't having none of
it. He took a chunk of Maxie's end away.

Oh, dear.

Was he badly hurt?

Well, put it this way, he won't be
wearing ballet tights again.

So, that's it then.

Yeah, what a relief.

Now I'll be able to relax.

Maybe do a bit of reading.

Oh, yeah?

Yeah.

I got a great book out of the library
the other day, Dorian.

The French Lieutenant's Woman.

Ever read it, have you?

I don't think I have, no.

Oh, you should, Dora.

Maybe you'll pick up a few ideas.

I just thought you ought to know Adrian
Six's The Word Professor.

It's printing there. You'll be able to
read it in a minute, shall?

I think I already have, Trace.

What do you mean, you can't have?

Why'd you do it, Dora?

Why'd you nick dirty grey chunks out of
someone else's book, eh?

Because I didn't think you two read
anything but titbits.

The French lieutenant's woman's on telly
every other Christmas.

You were bound to be discovered.

The French lieutenant's woman? I knew it
rang a bell when I was typing it. Oh,

all right.

All right, it was stupid of me, I know.

When I looked at my own stories again,
they seemed so trite and pathetic. I

you two would just laugh at me.

At least this way I thought you might
think I had some talent.

You silly cow.

What's it matter what we think?

As far as you're concerned, we're two
sick tarts from Edmonton. You speak for

yourself.

But it does matter.

You're my best friend.

Oh, Dawn.

Here, I'm still getting paid for it,
aren't I?

Couldn't you look at it as work
experience?

No, I couldn't. Oh, all right.

Well, I may as well admit it, I'm no
writer. I mean, what have I got to write

about?

You.

The woman that's done things Jackie
Collins has only dreamed of.

What do you mean?

Doc, if you were to write about what you
and your toy boy Luke get up to and

down to...

They'd be snapping up the rights for a
miniseries before you could say Jane

Seymour. Do you think so?

Yeah, you put it down on paper, I'd
certainly read it.

Yes, I think you've got something there.

Where are you going, Doc?

Er, Luke's. Well, before I start
writing, I just think I ought to get

some serious research.

The girls are after more Wonga next when
they hope to find some valuable

antiques from their mother's belongings.

But they stumble upon more than they
could have ever bargained for. Stay