Original subtitles

Going out, then?

Yes, I am, actually.

Anywhere nice?

Just up the West End.

Again?

Yes, again.

Any objections?

Chigwell's out of quarantine now, you know.

Have you heard?

They've taken the barriers down at Stanford Hill.

Thought I'd make a dash for it.

Well, why not, I thought.

It's another stamp on my passport, isn't it?

All right, all right. I was only asking.

It's a nice blaze. No, isn't it?

Not exactly.

What do you mean, not exactly?

I mean, not exactly, actually.

Well, where exactly, actually, did you get it?

I got it from the men cap shop in the high street. All right.

You get a very nice class of tat in Chigwell.

I've got a week for after term next week. At least I'll have Garthy around

talk to. I bet he's really looking forward to coming home.

Two weeks in Chigwell. Must be every teenager's dream.

Go write to Jimmy Savile from Malibu and Tahiti.

See if he can fix them up with a fortnight round here.

Well, why wouldn't he be looking forward to it? I am.

I haven't seen him since the summer holidays.

And he hasn't seen his dad since God knows when.

Perfume's a bit strong, isn't it? Is that new and all?

What is this?

The Chigwell Inquisition?

Where am I going? Where did I get these things?

You're my sister, not my blooming probation officer.

All right, all right. I was only chatting.

No, you weren't.

You're all sly innuendo and oblique questions.

A bleak?

Yes, a bleak.

It means not straightforward.

You know, iffy. I know.

And where are you getting all these new words?

You've been sneaking off and having elocution lessons.

Is that where you're going?

I'm going into town to see about a job. All right.

Again? That's the third job you've been for in a fortnight.

So? There's three more than you've gone for.

So how come you haven't got one of them?

Well, I'm obviously not suitable, am I?

Well, what sort of jobs are you going for?

Well, obviously ones I'm not suitable for.

And if you don't mind, I've got an appointment, actually.

Sounds like you could use an appointment with somebody.

And what's that supposed to mean?

Nothing, actually.

I was just being a bleak.

Gosh.

You mean it was all stockings over their head and sawn -off shotguns and all

that? Well, they'd seen it on television.

They'd got the costumes right, they'd just got the choreography wrong.

But there was no miscarriage of justice, no free Christopher Theodore

Lopapopadopadis campaign?

No, we couldn't fit his name on the badges.

In fact, with a name like his, you can't even spray it on a wall.

Your aerosol runs out before you get to the end.

No, we couldn't get him out, so we decided to do the next best thing.

Let him rot.

You're wicked.

Oh, he is.

That's why he's where he is.

Well, that's my average of a quarter, and that's being generous.

So how comes there's no woman in your life?

Oh, I never met Miss Wright.

Or even Mrs Wright that I could steal off someone.

I never seemed to meet many women full stop.

Hence the, um, pathetic small ad.

Oh, it wasn't that small.

It was bigger than Oriental Doctor Sleeps Western Playmate.

You considered that one, then, did you?

Only briefly.

Didn't say what kind of doctor he was, did it?

Now, I could do with a plastic surgeon.

You know, he might get something out of it.

New chin, a pair of flared nostrils, a few spare bits from Bridget Nilsen.

Oh, you cheer me up, Sharon, you really do.

You're my one escape from my drab, predictable existence.

Come on. What are they really like?

You're riding the shooting crowd.

Well, about as warm and inviting as your average deep freeze.

About as funny as a row of coffins.

I just can't imagine you fitting in with them.

Me? I was brought up to fit in.

I've got degrees in fitting in. I spend 90 % of my waking life fitting in.

And the other 10 %?

I'm on the loo.

That's my other escape.

Which is why it's so much fun seeing you, Sharon.

You've no idea how claustrophobic life becomes.

You know, never letting go, never being embarrassing.

Being embarrassing is something I've always had a natural talent for.

You know, the first time I saw you, I thought, now that is a woman I could be

really embarrassing with.

By the way, I, um, I booked it.

Booked what?

Well, somewhere to be really embarrassing.

Here's the brochure.

I booked us in for the whole weekend.

Auntie Ruby's five -star catering.

Um, no, that's, um, that's the wrong brochure, sorry. That's, that's for Mr.

Chips and Teabag. Um, here, look.

Lovely.

The old weekend.

Abbey Court Hotel.

Rose Gardens, little courtyard.

Four poster beds.

Well, we can take the posts down if they bother you.

They won't bother me.

Something for you.

Mark, you should have. I love buying you presents.

I mean, it's nothing special. It's not a pair of flared nostrils or any spare

bits of Bridget Nilsen.

Oh, Mark, it's gorgeous.

You old fibber.

It's full of bits of Bridget Nilsen.

It's bloody secrets. I think it's pathetic.

The last person that kept secrets from me is serving 12 years for blagging

security vans.

Look, you're not going to believe this, Trace.

Hello?

Garfield!

On a course, I remember. Your room's ready.

What?

you for about four days.

Eh?

Oh, really? Just two of the last four days?

Well, lucky me.

Do you think you might find half -ass go and visit your dad?

Listen, I don't care what the others are doing.

You break up on Friday so you get your bum back here by Saturday.

Yeah, I do mean it.

Well, just make sure you do.

Well, what do you think of that?

He gets two weeks' holiday and he wants to spend it with his school friends.

Invited up to Scotland.

Fishing, if you don't mind.

Fishing for two weeks.

I've always wondered how long they sat there.

Then the Crawfords have invited him up to his hunting lodge. Well, how jolly

super. Well, what about me?

Then he has the cheek to say he'll come home for a few days, but there's a party

in Sussex on Friday night. Then they're all going to Twickers for a rugby match.

Or was the party in Twickers?

I've heard of that. It's a wine bar, isn't it?

I don't know, Trace, but it all sounds a lot more fun than two weeks in

Chigwell. Yeah, but it's the school Aussies. He's supposed to come home to

family, not someone else's.

Anyway, why does he want to go after those sorts?

What do you mean, those sorts?

They're his schoolmates.

Yeah, but there'll be old families of them, and they'll all make him feel

rotten. They'll all be horrible snobs.

Come on, Trace, they're not all like that.

How do you know?

Anyway, they'll make him feel out of place.

They'll be laughing behind his back.

And anyway, he must be short of reddies by now. If he's going fishing, he's

going to need money.

Why? Maggots can't be that dear.

You know what I mean. I bet they only invited him because they felt sorry for

him. Well, I'm not having my gaffer going through that. He's coming home to

own and that's that.

Coming home to mummy.

And what's that supposed to mean?

Nothing. I spoke.

And what you got in there?

A new handbag.

A new handbag?

How can you afford that?

It was a present.

From who?

No one you'd want to know.

Oh, you must think I'm some sort of pillock, going off up west all tighted

and coming home with new things.

Do you think I don't know what's going on?

So go on, admit it.

What are you talking about?

You know.

I don't know.

You're on the game, ain't you?

I've seen it hundreds of times. When we were kids, half the women down Stanley

Street were at it.

No visible means of support except their suspenders.

And that's what you think of me, is it?

Well, thanks a bleeding million, Trace.

You grab yourself a bit of privacy, get a new handbag, and all of a sudden you

miss ten times a night if you've got the readies.

Most people know her as simple, friendly, respectable Sharon.

But then it's into the phone box, quick change into the fishnets and red

garters, and off she flies.

Supergirl!

You dirty -minded cow!

My own sister. And that's what she thinks of me.

Well, that's the problem with secrets, Sharon. People draw their own

conclusions.

Personally, I think it's all rather silly.

I mean, a secret's no fun unless you share it.

Why don't you just... tell her about Mark?

I can't do. She's too narrow -minded.

I can see by the way she's treating Garth.

It's the old us and them bit.

Us down here cringing and them up there gobbing on us.

I think that's what you call a working class inferiority complex.

Yeah, well it's what I call a pain in the bum.

What an attitude to lumber yourself with, eh?

Poor Garth's getting it.

Not being allowed to mix properly. Teaching him to know his place.

I know what she'll say to me.

Stick to your own kind, she'll say.

Find yourself a bloke from East Street Market.

Hard working.

Andy. Got a nice business, mending hoovers.

Runs a dog at Acme. Gets legless every Friday.

But his heart's in the right place.

That's if he hasn't spewed it up Saturday morning.

Yes, it's wonderful with your own kind.

You get through the weekend without a black eye and you're winning.

Sounds a bit too earthy for my taste.

But people can change, Dore.

Why should I spend the rest of my life groveling on me knees?

Well, quite.

Save it till it's a turn -on, that's what I say.

And talking of sex... I wasn't.

No, that's what bothers me.

Sharon, it's been six dates now and, well, just presents.

Are you sure he's quite normal?

Are you sure there isn't a chromosome on the blink?

The weekend after next.

The weekend after next.

This is indeed unbridled passion.

Oh, he's been building up to it, hasn't he? Like a gentleman.

No quick airs your father in a cheap hotel for Mark. Oh, no.

Abbey Court Hotel.

16th century?

Or 17th?

What's a century between friends?

Locked fires.

Four poster beds.

champagne breakfast on the terrace?

Very stylish. Slow, but very stylish.

Look, you must tell Tracy.

What? And let her put the mockers and all that? No way.

Not going out then?

No.

It's a bit dead down King's Cross of a Tuesday.

All the Abbot Away Day girls are down from Bradford.

Gets a bit competitive, know what I mean?

You could end up offering them green shield stamps or a set of Pirates

All right, all right. I said, oh, sorry.

I should think you are.

A brass?

Flattery will get you everywhere, Trace.

I tell you something.

It's lucky it didn't get you halfway down the stairs, flat on your back, with

half your teeth missing.

All right, sorry.

What do you want me to do, get down on me hands and knees, confess me sins,

chant four Hail Marys and six Hail Sharons?

I might consider that a touching gesture.

Oh, would you? Well, how about reclining on the sofa while I do a fan dance and

peel grapes for you?

Please, please. Well, tough luck. I've apologised once.

I'm not humiliating myself.

I'm not getting down and crawling to you and licking your slippers.

Don't knock it till you've tried it, Tracy.

I did tap on the door, but I couldn't compete. I've never had a particularly

vulgar knock.

Now, look, you two.

These arguments are brought on by secrecy. But it's her that's got all the

secrets, not me.

I know.

And it has led to a breakdown in communications, an emotional block.

Now, think of me as a cross between Claire Rayner and Diner Rod.

She won't tell me nothing. I have to keep putting two and two together.

I'm proving you can't add up. Look, why don't you tell her, Sharon? She'll

understand.

She won't.

Understand what?

About Mark?

She won't. Mark who?

Mark, her new man.

They've had several rather cosy dates and they're getting on really well.

Come on, Sharon.

Tell her.

Of course, he's from a totally different background to Sharon.

Isn't that right?

He sounds like an absolute gentleman. Very county. Owns horses, hunts, shoots,

that sort of thing. And he's absolutely besotted with Sharon.

Amazing, isn't it?

Now, doll, should I tell her now?

But how did you meet someone like him, Cheryl?

I met him through an advert.

Yeah? Which advert?

Have I seen it?

The bog roll ad.

Mark was the one that dashes across the field with it in his mouth.

What kind of advert do you think a contact's ad?

Oh, I see.

But are you sure about this?

I mean, are you happy?

The last time you was really happy with a bloke was that one that you met down

East Street Market.

You remember him? Nice bloke. Used to mend over.

I'm on a dog at Acne, yeah.

See what I mean, doll?

I'm sorry, Sharon, you were right.

At base, Tracy is an uneducated bigot.

Bigot? Who are you calling a French stick?

See what I mean?

You can't talk to her.

Narrow -minded and sick with it. Never mind, Sharon, you have me to confide in.

I at least understand.

But she's the same with Dorothy.

On the phone yesterday, pleading to go fishing with his mates. It's, oh, no,

don't. Stick with your own kind.

It's sickening the way she's screwing him up.

Oh, and since when were you an expert on kids?

You don't even like them. And when you was one, you never stopped moaning.

You don't have to be an expert to see what you're doing to him.

Wrapping him up in cotton wool, fussing over him, tying him to your apron

strings. He's going to grow up to be a real little mummy's boy.

I just don't want him to get hurt.

Paranoid as well, Dore.

Thinks we're all talking posh just to make her feel bad.

I suppose when he comes home, we'll have to teach him to speak Cockney again.

Sort of Eliza Doolittle in reverse.

Put yourself together, Tracy.

Your husband robbed a lot of banks so Garth could speak properly.

I know.

But it's not just how he speaks, it's what he says, how he thinks these days.

I don't mind him going off with his mates for a few days, but the old...

holiday. I mean, what about me? Is he ashamed of me? Oh, Tracy, the contacts

Garth is making now will set him up for the rest of his life. I mean, think

about it.

He could be fishing with a future Prime Minister.

Instead of maggots, you mean?

You know I'm right, Tracy.

I'm always right.

I suppose so.

I'll give him a ring later, tell him he can go fishing.

And what about me, eh?

Why can't I go fishing for something a bit better than a jerk who mends overs?

This is... I don't know.

This feels really grown up, Trace.

For the first time in my life, a bloke who respects me as me.

No stupid games, no put -downs.

Someone that treats me like a lady.

It's great.

Opens doors for me, lights my fag, takes my coat.

In the past, whenever a bloke took my coat, that was usually the last I ever

of it.

Look, I'm hardly to the manor born, I know.

But there's more to life than a night out of wolf and so dogs.

There's a different world out there, Trace.

Point to points, weekends in the country, nice restaurants.

Why shouldn't I have a piece of that, eh?

Two pieces even.

Or three. This is no time to diet, shall we?

I'm sorry you feel like that, Cheryl.

I hate it when you think you have to hide things from me. I do, honest.

Look, I'd love to meet him. Give him a ring, invite him over. This weekend, if

you like.

No point.

It goes for the country of a weekend.

Doing rugged and manly things.

You know, killing small animals and that.

Except next weekend when he's doing rugged and manly things to me.

But Sharon, you can't keep this thing with Mark on neutral ground forever. You

either get into each other's lives or you just drift apart.

Yeah, but in town, his life's all work. And out of town, it's just horses.

Well, there you are then.

You have to learn to ride.

What?

Me on an horse?

She even fell off a donkey at South End.

There's nothing to it. You'll be fine once you've found your seat.

Finds her seat.

It's her heart she's lost, not her band.

Think about it, Sharon.

The two of you, riding off together across the fields.

The thunder of hooves.

The rhythmic creaking of leather.

The wind on your face.

The rhythmic creaking of leather.

All right, get out the saddle door. This is Sharon's ride, not yours.

And anyway, who are you going to get to teach her to ride? The rag and bow man?

There ain't no horse places round here, and I'm certainly not going to give you

a piggyback round the garden.

Do you know where Mark keeps his horses?

Yeah. And you say he's far away this weekend doing his rugged and manly

Yes. Right.

Then we know where to ring to get a lesson or two.

Could you have borrowed me something to fit?

How?

Where would I find someone else the same shape?

That must be your horse, Sharon.

Isn't he magnificent?

Leave now.

Can't I find something a bit smaller?

Well, not to put too fine a point on it, Sharon, they could hardly put you on a

Shetland pony, think what the RSPCA would say.

Come on. Remember why you're doing this.

Well, Mark's got other hobbies as well.

It's golf.

He plays golf. I could learn golf instead.

Oh, come on.

Show some fortitude.

Aye?

Bottle, Sharon.

Bottle.

He's there like a camel.

Come on.

A couple of little hops up to get... Perhaps if we had a winch.

Nice big jump.

Paid for one that moves.

Now off you go.

How are you?

Mark?

Hello, Mark.

Hi.

Sharon.

Look,

that's going to be all for today. So just tack him up and lunge him for half

hour and don't forget to hose his legs if they seem hot again, OK?

Right.

I'm sorry about that, darling.

Family. You wouldn't want to meet them. You know how it is.

No, I don't, actually.

Come along, Mark. Chop, chop.

There's no time to talk to girls.

Come along, that boy. Yes, I'm coming, Mummy.

Mark, will you hurry along?

I hardly see you during the week, so don't spoil our nice weekend.

Mummy. Yes, just ignore her. She's rather highly strung. Pay no attention,

don't. Mark!

are you doing?

Aunt Pegas is expecting us at four.

And don't forget we have to be home by eight.

It's David Attenborough tonight.

You've been looking forward to the penguins all week. So come along, that

Yes, um, yes, Mummy.

Look, Sharon.

Mark!

Better run along to Mummy, Mark.

Yes, um, yes.

All right, um.

Um, give me a bell.

Wear around your neck to warn off other women.

Anything I can do?

Yeah, you can get me out of here.

Oh!

Ah! Well, personally speaking, leaving class prejudice aside, it sounds as if

you're better off out of that one, shall we? Oh, you're not kidding.

Oh, what a wally.

I bet his idea of a dirty weekend is two days mucking about in a sandpit.

You'd have been in no fit state for a dirty weekend. You'd have been knackered

before you got there.

I would have recovered if it had been worth it.

What for, eh? Some big mummy's boy.

Nah, forget it.

Garthy! Hi, Mum. Hi, Auntie Sharon. Oh, you came home after all.

Well, yes and no.

I'm still off to Scotland.

The car's outside waiting.

We're being chauffeur -driven all the way there. Isn't that smooth?

Smooth, yeah, smooth. I just had to call by to see you before we went.

They asked five of us to go.

Everyone was mad keen, but two wimps had to go home because of their mothers.

And you know what everyone's calling them.

Thanks, Mum. Thanks for letting me go.

Oh, and you came all the way to tell me that.

And to say, could you let me have 20 quid?

I'm great.

Well, everything up there will be paid for, but as Dad always says, a geezer's

got to have money in his pocket.

Course he has. Hold on.

Nice to see you looking so, uh...

Well, Auntie Sharon?

So fit.

So healthy.

Yeah, all right, Garth, all right. Oh, mate.

Have the maggots on me.

Thank you.

Oh,

bye. I'll ring you from there.

You make sure you do.

Bye. Bye, Garth. Love you.

All right? Yeah.

You all right?

Oh, well.

A little bit older, but none the wiser.

It's life, isn't it?

A bit of joy, a bit of sadness, a bit of lingering pain.

Help us up, Trace.

I've got to stick my bum in the freezer.