All language subtitles for Birds of a Feather s03e11 Schooling

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.