All language subtitles for Birds of a Feather s03e07 History

They have killed all known germs in that
bathroom.

And a few unknown ones.

Serves you right.

I'm sure that leaves a dirty great oil
slick every time you have a bath.

Plus enough hairs to weave Burt Reynolds
a spare syrup.

It's all gone now, Trace. That bath is
so clean you could toss a salad in it.

Good. Now you can do the downstairs lab.

Hang on, hang on.

How come you get to dust the Wedgwood
knick -knacks and I spend the day with a

bulk brush welded to me arm?

Because the last time you did any
cleaning, John Major was still a

nobody.

John who?

Anyway, I do do cleaning, Trace.

I wiped up that takeaway biryani I spilt
down the back of the radiator, didn't

I? What biryani?

Nothing.

No milk, slice of lemon if you have such
a thing.

Aren't you going to introduce me to your
new cleaning lady, Tracy?

Oh, shut up, Dor, she'll want pain.

I had to sack mine last week for
scratching my vanity unit.

Oh, you couldn't do my house too, could
you, Sharon?

I'd rather French kiss Hannibal Lecter.

It was just a thought.

Now, what are your plans for Sunday?

Consumer testing my duck and down, if
any luck.

We're shampooing downstairs carpet,
shall.

Why, what do you have in mind?

Epping.

Oh, I don't know, Dore. I've never been
epped.

What's going on in Epping, then? A car
boot sale.

Now, I've just had lunch with Melanie
Fishman, and she told me all about the

she went to last week.

Melanie Fishman?

She's yanking your chain.

No, really.

She picked up a cartonware vase, six
fish knives, and a 19 -year -old

called Jason.

Oh, I get it.

And you want to go to one too, see if
there's any more where he come from.

Exactly. You see, I looked at myself in
the mirror this morning when I was doing

my calonetics.

And I realised, I still have the body of
a 19 -year -old. Poor Mandy Fishman had

him.

She did.

And I want one too.

So, are you coming with me?

Oh, you don't want us around or cramping
your style.

Mary Whitehouse, cut and crank Dorian
style.

Oh, come on, you might pick up some
bargains.

Sharon, don't those jumble sale clothes
you wear need replacing?

I love you. No, this is not second hand.

Bloody ish, shall we smile in?

Oh, please, come. It might be fun.

I'll tell you what.

Why don't we sell stuff?

There's loads of Chris's old tat in the
flat in Edmonton.

Might as well make some and go to
Useless Ponce.

Yeah, and I'll get rid of some golf.

his old gear. You got anything you want
to get rid of, doll? Only a husband.

Well, we could give the proceeds to a
worthy cause.

Yeah. Help the aged.

Save the children.

Treat the Sharon a do -me.

Someone

will

grass us up to the bad taste, please.

You don't hear records like that
anymore.

No, I think they've passed the law.

Have you found anything valuable?

Only Diamond Dog, personally autographed
by David Bowie.

True Blue, personally autographed by
Madonna.

You're kidding.

Got any more?

The best of Elvis?

With gold.

With gold.

Elvis Presley.

Oh, my God. used to wear this. He looked
just like a cute little Eskimo.

Oh, my Chris used to wear this.

He looked like a dirty great plonker.

Night fever, night fever.

We forgot how to do it.

When you first met your Chris, you said
he had John Travolta's eyes.

Yeah, well, the thieving toe rag will
nick anything that ain't nailed down.

Why'd you marry him, Shell?

Oh, I don't know.

Because he snobbed great to three times
a lady.

Because he asked.

Because marriage seemed to suit you and
Daryl so well. Yeah, we was a bit

lovestruck back then.

You still are, Trace.

When you two gaze at each other across
that prison table, even I hear Nigel

Kennedy.

Oh.

I thought that.

I thought it'd put a bit of excitement
back into our sex life.

Chris bottled out a wear in it.

Oh, look at that.

Where was he?

That's Brighton, I think.

Honestly, the way some people behave at
a party.

Someone's got to wear that coat
afterwards.

Another orgy by the look of it. Oh,
yeah.

Back then we had more wild parties than
the young Conservatives.

There's Keith Wheeler when he had that
perm that looked like an armpit

transplant.

Must have been his 21st.

And look at them two under the table,
slogging in front of everyone.

Where? There.

See?

Mind you, what do you expect from a bird
who'd wear follow me home and bonk me

shoes?

Some people got no

shame.

Who was it, Shell?

No idea.

Let's get on with it, shall we, Trace?

Daryl might know.

Would he?

Yes. Hi.

Do you reckon I could plug this up,
Sotheby's?

It's a bin bag, you lemon.

It's not a bin bag.

It's the bin bag I wore to the first
ever Sex Pistols concert.

Look, it's got Johnny Rotten's autograph
on it.

Right, I've cleared out my boot and I've
found my wallpaper table, so we're all

set for tomorrow.

If I find someone to fill those, it'll
all be worthwhile.

They're never Marcus's. Oh, Sharon, if
Marcus was the sort of man to wear black

Lycra sighting shorts, do you think I
would feel so unfulfilled?

Well, whose are they then?

Luke's.

Oh, God, I miss him.

Okay, so he was a little raw and
unseasoned. Make him sound like a slab

beefsteak.

By all accounts, he was.

But I loved his simple, unpretentious
ways.

You mean you liked a bit of rough?

Marcus has accountant's hands.

You see, I prefer men whose hands are
covered with calluses that snag your

stockings.

Men who sweat for a living.

Throwing her knickers at Tom Jones,
Nick.

I'm... Lick of predictable assignations
in motels off the M25.

I want a man whose van is full of tools
and tarpaulins.

I want spontaneous passion.

Here, show them photos we found, shall
we?

What photos?

We found these old photos of spontaneous
passion at some party.

You'd have thought Boots would have
refused to develop them. Oh, go on,

show me.

I don't know where they are.

You do.

She just wants you to beg a little. Oh,
please, Sharon.

Pretty please.

It's like a bucket of cold water over a
summer.

What's the big deal?

It's no big deal, Trice. Just give it a
rest rule, yeah?

Only photos for God's sake.

Oh, who rattled her cage?

She's keeping sight from me, darling.
No, she is.

Not the biryani down the back of the
radiator.

No, not that.

What biryani?

In the back of what radiator?

What are you doing, Trace?

You ain't still looking for that blue
Peter badge I half -inched off you when

was kids, are you?

We'll look for it tomorrow.

Going to bed or what?

You've been niggling me all day.

Whenever I said anything, you went into
one.

I ain't got the faintest idea what
you're talking about.

In this photo.

It's Daryl, isn't it?

No. Definitely Keith Wheeler.

Your Daryl wouldn't have been seen dead
with a perm like that.

Behind Keith Wheeler.

Under the table, snogging that... that
slag.

Well, it is, isn't it?

How can you tell? You can only see their
feet.

Because he had cowboy boots like that. I
remember them distinctly.

Trace, so did half of North London after
Kenny Lawrence turned over that shoe

wearer in Tottenham.

Just tell me it's Daryl, innit?

You're being stupid, Trace. You're the
one being stupid, Sharon. Tell me it's

Daryl now or you're out on your ear.

What if I tell you it is Daryl? You're
still out because you should have told

me.

Well, thanks for being so reasonable,
Trace. Other people might have lost

rag about this.

But just tell me...

talk about this in the morning?

I found a picture of my husband getting
his end away under the finger buffet and

you want to talk about it in the
morning?

I'm going back to bed, Trace. Sharon!

What?

Is it Daryl?

Yes, Trace.

It's Daryl.

Made you some chamomile tea to calm you
down. I'm calm.

It's Tracy who's turned mental.

And you don't know why.

Or you do know why and you're not
telling. Delete where inapplicable.

Dorian, couldn't you mind your own just
once in a while?

Not when yours is so interesting.

Good night, Dor.

To be thrown out of one house in the
middle of the night is unfortunate.

To be thrown out of two is positively
foolhardy.

Particularly as Ian McGaskill predicted
ground frost.

OK, Dor.

Here's a for instance.

Say the husband or wife of someone close
to you had had a bit of a drunken leg

over years ago.

Would you tell?

Oh, if this is blackmail, Sharon, it
won't work.

Marcus trusts me implicitly for some
reason.

Hard as it may seem, Dorian, you're not
the only person in the world who puts it

about.

You don't mean it's Tracy who's gone
astray?

Course not.

There aways.

Well, prison life can affect some men's
sexuality that way.

Not now.

Years back at Keith Wheeler's party.

Tracy didn't know nothing about it till
we started sorting through them bin

bags. So it was Daryl in the photo.
Well, I never.

Yes, you do, Daryl, all the time.

But Daryl doesn't.

your face, anyone would think it was
you.

I do think it was me, Dore.

Not that I can remember anything about
it.

I blame Keith Wheeler's special Hawaiian
punch.

I'm sure it's 90 % proof.

And you've kept quiet about it all these
years.

No.

I must have blotted it out of me mind
till them photos came to light.

It's a shame, really.

If you are going to have an illicit snog
with your sister's hunky husband, it

seems a pity to have forgot about it,
doesn't it?

Well, I think you'd feel better if you
told her about it.

Daughter, I might feel her fist down my
throat if I told her about it.

I can't. She'd never trust me again.

Yeah, perhaps you're right.

Ignorance is bliss.

In which case, your Marcus must think
he's died and gone to heaven.

I must be off my trolley discussing the
ins and outs of fidelity with you.

It's like talking community care with
Saddam Hussein.

I am the perfect person to discuss it
with. You see, I know about these

I've been there.

Yeah. And you've got the grass stains on
your bum to prove it.

Tracy will be fine by morning. By the
time we do the car boot sale, she'll

forgotten all about it.

She won't want to do the car boot sale,
will she? Oh, Tracey. Oh, of course she

will. Leave it to me.

Look, what about the Epping Rotarians? I
don't give a monkey about the Epping

Rotarians and their charity work. My
world's just falling apart.

Look, of course it hasn't. It's just
shifted a little.

Yes, and you can shift and all. I don't
want any rotten old bags cluttering up

my patio.

I warned you.

I do think she is overreacting.

I mean, hasn't everyone done something
at a party they'd rather forget?

I did a full strip tease to sing along a
max on my IT. Oh, how embarrassing.

Yeah, I know. It was my record.

I mean, look at all this schmutter.

It's your fault, Dore.

I'd still be in my own bed if you hadn't
wanted to find yourself a bit of

working class tongue and groan.

Well, what are we going to do with it
all?

Flug it, of course.

But how?

My car is being serviced and we don't
have Tracy's car anymore.

And what's that in your garage? A
pumpkin?

You don't mean Marcus's Jaguar?

Well, they do still fit him with boots,
don't they?

Yes, they do.

But for Louis Vuitton luggage, not bin
bags full of soiled crimpleen.

Well, what else can we do, Dor?

I can't go home with two and eight
Tracys in.

Look, we've collected all this stuff. We
might...

Fill it.

Come on, girls. Get your money out.
Don't be mean.

LPs, antiques, bric -a -brac, knick
-knacks, excitement shorts to get sweaty

shoes to get... Well, just shoes.

You've got it, we've got it. Walk past
at your peril. Come on, love. Did you

just make that up?

Just leave the woman with your dog.

You really want that?

Perhaps I am.

Maybe you can get to it yourself.

Tenpies? It's yours for a tenner, love.
They're all the rage at the acid ass

parties. Tenpies?

A piece of paper's kitsch like that?
This is fascinating.

Will you shut up, please?

Hang on, love. Look, look.

Genuine Mark Bolan autograph on that.
From before he learnt to spell

Tyrannosaurus Rex.

I can see you're a fan. I'm giving it
away two quid.

Good choice. Thanks a lot, love.

Excuse me, how much are these?

Sharon, would you please see to this
person?

What can I do for you?

How much?

How much do you think?

I don't know.

20 pence?

Tell you what, I'll give you a fiver for
that.

Dorian Green.

It's a pleasure to do business with you.

Tom Lucas.

Oh.

Goodness, what an enormous ward.

They're in the building trade.

Cash in hand sort of thing.

Really?

How wonderful.

You couldn't help me to the van, could
you?

You have a van?

Yes.

Tools and parlings and such like. But we
should find some room for it.

Sounds perfect.

Just going to see to this nice young
man, Sharon.

I'm sure you will.

Don't snag your stockings.

Go on, Trace, take it.

Tell her I don't want it.

She don't, I mean, she doesn't want it.

It's yours.

It don't even begin to pay for the op
knob she's had off me since she moved

Been keeping a tab of you? They don't
make notepads big enough.

OK, I'll keep it.

Hush money for not grassing up your
squeaky clean husband.

Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go
and get some of my gear.

Oh, why didn't she tell me, door?

I feel so stupid. She didn't tell you
because she was frightened you'd get

upset. Well, it didn't bloody work, did
it?

I bet all of our own mates know what
Daryl got up to at Keith Wheeler's

And God knows where else. Well, I'm sure
they've forgotten by now.

Yeah, well, I shall certainly be
reminding him when I visit him on

Shouldn't you just let sleeping dogs
lie?

Not until I find out which dog he's been
sleeping with.

Sorry, doll, you've lost me.

And you'll lose me unless you tell me
the truth, Daryl.

Eh? I mean it.

Well, some party, isn't it?

Hold up.

That's my sheepskin coat they're doing
the business on.

Here, can I keep it, Trace? I could get
a week's worth of snout for this.

Not that boat, sir. This one.

Ring any bells, does it?

Oh. Reactivate any stirrings in the
groin department.

Well,

that's Keith Wheeler, isn't it?

When he had that perm, it looked like an
armpit, Charles Brown.

And who's that behind him, snogging
under the table?

Got me there, babe.

I have, haven't I? Right by the short
and curlies.

Oh, you think it's me?

I don't think it's you.

I know it's you.

Yeah.

Where did you say this was?

Keith Wheeler's 21st.

So what do you want me to say?

I want you to say A.

Yes, Trace, it's me.

B, who the slag is. And C, how long it
went on for.

Keith Wheeler's party?

You and her.

Hours. Months.

Years.

Yeah. It's me. I recognise them cowboy
boots.

Just tell me who the slag is.

Dunno. Cobblers.

I don't remember, honest. Two pints of
Keith Wheeler's special Hawaiian punch

and I lost the use of both me legs.

Oh, so that's why you're lying on top of
her, is it?

Tracy, it's all a blur.

I'll tell you one thing, though. I
didn't fancy her, I'm sure of that.

Oh, and they're supposed to make me feel
better, is it?

Yeah. Well, you know, some underdressed,
oversexed sorts are just a bit of mouth

-to -mouth when you're out of your
skull. And you thought it might be rude

refuse.

Look, I don't know what you're getting
so steamed up about.

Let's face it, I'm banged up in here for
a lot worse than a snog. Yeah, and you

never told me about any of that either.

Just as well, wasn't it? Judging from
the amount of background I'm getting

a photo.

It's history, babe.

Yeah.

I'm sorry.

I suppose I've got it a bit out of
proportion.

But you've got to understand I'm on my
own out there, Daryl.

I need to be sure you're worth waiting
for.

I am, babe.

Honest, I am.

You're what keeps me sane in this nut
house.

Don't give up on me just because I
snogged some old slag years ago in a

of wild drunkenness.

Come in, you silly cow.

Truth's trace.

Truth's trace. That's good, isn't it?

Stop being so humble, Sharon. It don't
suit you.

Dorian said you went to visit Daryl
today.

Yeah.

And? And we discussed the political
situation in the Middle East.

What did he say?

But he'd been out of his brain and he
couldn't remember who she was, but it

only the once and he didn't even fancy
her.

But he was really sorry and he loved me
and could I ever forgive him?

Nice one, Daryl.

And Kenya?

I haven't got much choice, have I?

Am I forgiven for keeping quiet?

I suppose so.

But you've got to see why I had the ump
shell.

I mean, you're my sister, you're
supposed to tell me things like that.

the contract.

I've seen Marcus just now in his garden
admiring his ollyocks.

I won't change the subject.

I ain't, Trace.

I thought you and I could pop over and
give him a quick rundown on all Dorian's

toy boys.

Up to and including this latest hunk.

Be gutted, Shell.

Exactly.

When you know stuff like that, Trace,
you're damned if you do tell and you're

damned if you don't.

Well, I'd rather know the truth.

Well, go on, then.

Go and see Marcus.

Give him my best while you're ruining
his life?

Mind you, I'd have been a sight less
miserable these past few days if I

known.

So you see the position I was in? Yeah,
as well as the position Daryl was in

with that slag.

Dorian's sober enough, uncomfortable,
Trace.

And she has skimmed milk.

And she won't let me watch Grain Jill.

When are you moving back?

Well, according to my reckoning, we have
precisely £6 .30 left from what we made

on Sunday.

Pina colada, two straws and a packet of
dry roasted, or the cab for your own.

Well, the night's young, Trace.

Might still pull.

Then I could grash up to your barrel,
couldn't I?

And, Shell, when he comes out, you won't
say nothing about Patsy Edwards or

Manfred in Berlin, will you?

I might.

Then again, I might not.

Well, I didn't do nothing with them.

You snubbed them, though, didn't you?
Yeah, but no tongues.

You can't deny a bit of mental airs,
your father.

Yeah, but that's not as bad.

Of course it is. It's worse.

Because you knew exactly what you were
doing.

At least your Daryl was Oliver Reeded
out of his skull when he went astray.

You won't say nothing, Cheryl.

Of course I won't.

What's it worth?

Look, there's Dorian with her latest bit
of rough and tumble.

You don't look very rough to me.

Maybe you like to grab the brick dust
off of an evening.

I don't mind scrubbing enough.

Only in the mental sense, of course.

Oh, girls.

Tom.

Tom, you remember Sharon for the car
boot sale?

Of course I do.

I hear you made a nice little packet.

Yeah, we did.

Dorian's always been partial to nice
little packets, ain't you, Dor? You

check out some of the car boot sales up
in Suffolk.

Brilliant stuff going for an absolute
song.

I'm Tracy.

Oh, Tom, what nice smooth ends you've
got.

Not a callus inside.

What washing -up liquid do you use?

Tom, why don't you go and find a table?
I'll come over in a minute.

OK. And if you ever come across anything
of interest in your lot, do give me a

ring.

Bye -bye.

Cripton Comics.

The specialist shop for rare comic
books.

Well, he's tried to, but he certainly
ain't rough. Yes, well, it was all a

front, and I felt it. God, I feel so
stupid.

Why pretend to be common when you ain't?
About what we do.

To keep the prices down at the car boot
sales. You see, off goes the Armani suit

and the old Etonian accent, and on goes
the donkey jacket and the Arthur

Scargill bow.

So you've got your hands on a proper
knob, haven't you?

Five pounds he gave me for Marcus's
Batman comics. And now I've found out

could be worth a fortune.

You must feel well, you.

Well, I do, a little.

And... I suspect he's only taking me out
because I've told him Marcus has got

20 years' worth of Supermans in the
attic.

When has he?

Haven't got a clue, but it could take
him weeks to find out.

Come on, shit.

Here, listen to this, Trace.

A disturbing but ultimately unimportant
incident in your past will only serve to

strengthen your relationship as long as
you do not act in haste. You're kidding.

That's my horoscope.

No, that's Gloria Honeyford.

Yours says, be extra kind to your sister
and do chicken Kiev with oven chips for

tea tonight.

Come on, Shell, give us an end. We've
got to shampoo the carpets this

It says here, shampooing carpets is the
path to unhappiness.

You want to move back to Dorian's or
what? No, she doesn't. I'm still finding

toenail clippings in the shag pile.

Oh, and you thought I might want them
back. Cheers, Dor. This is leftover

jumble. All right, doll, you won't catch
leprosy from me.

I can't believe with my natural foals
ability I didn't manage to flog thee.

Well, look, bit of a darn, you could
still flame spaghetti through it.

Oh, that ain't that bad, Chase.

Here, remember them blue and yellow
platform shoes I made Mum buy me?

They're yours.

Are they?

I don't remember.

They are.

You got them to go with that red and
green dress that made you look like a

Christmas tree.

So?

There's something going on here. What is
it? I'm very sensitive to mood swings.

It's got something to do with those
shoes, hasn't it?

They are, see?

The woman under the table's wearing
them.

Look, you've got to remember, Trice.

I overdid the Hawaiian punch and all.

I don't remember snogging your daryl on
if I don't.

You didn't?

I must have done them our shoes.

Which I borrowed for Keith Wheeler's
23rd.

It's you?

You kissed your husband.

Tracey Stubbs, you silly mare.

You just put us for a week of hell and
it was you tongue sandwiching your

husband under the running buffalo alone.