Original subtitles

[music playing]

Mind the gap.

[buzzer sounds]

[beeping]

(INTERPOSING MURMURS) He's coming.

He's coming.

He's coming.

He's coming.

He's coming.

RADIO DJ: Welcome back.

Yes, it's finally here.

Solar eclipse day.

And here's that radio quiz in full.

The eclipse, is it caused by A, an asteroid, B,

Jupiter, or C, the moon?

Calls 50 p a minute, so keep those calls coming.

Funny place to pick up a cab, innit?

The M-25.

Where have you come from?

The sewer.

[techno music playing]

The sewer.

Oh.

Thought you'd come out the service station.

It's a funny place to pick up a cab, innit?

The M-25?

I don't know.

Is it?

You tell me.

Might get run over.

What?

Said you might get run over.

Ah.

No.

I don't think that is probable.

Yeah.

It's one of the busiest roads in Europe, mate.

Oh.

How fascinating.

Yeah.

Some people call this the never ending road.

It's like a donut.

It goes round and round and round.

Goes nowhere forever.

Not from around here, are ya?

Ey, you can't smoke that in here, mate.

It's a non-smoking cab,

Have no worry.

It's not real cigarettes.

Fucking nah.

What line of work you in, then?

I cut people open to find out where their dreams lurk.

Come again?

You, for instance, have a recurring dream.

You are in a pub.

Pint, please, mate.

You receive a draft of beer with great pleasure.

You drink with relief.

And then you turn and look.

And you recognize with terror that the happy eater has just

come from your home, where it has

been devouring your children.

Its wetness is the blood of your sons.

And the dreams started after your operation.

They placed an alien organ in your body.

A pig's heart transplant.

And with the pig's heart, came piggish thoughts.

Well, that's where you're wrong, mate.

Wasn't a pig's heart, it was a baboon's.

Baboon's?

Yeah, baboon!

A baboon?

A baboon!

A baboon. Not a pig.

[oink]

But a baboon.

[squeal]

Where do these thoughts come from, do you think?

Through ear?

Are you ill?

I don't know.

I don't know where the thoughts come from.

Everything's been getting strange.

Stranger.

The traffic patterns are changing.

The roads are suddenly empty and then full.

People in this cab are getting stranger and stranger.

My inner baboon's taking over.

God help me.

Pull over!

Pull over!

What, here?

[dramatic music playing]

[thunder]

[indistinct radio chatter]

Morning's report, sir.

In general, sir, the situation is worrying.

Our beat officer's have been sending

in some strange reports.

Why?

What have they seen?

It's not so much what they've seen

as what they're saying, sir.

Like?

Officer 26, 15:5 reports a higher incidence

of language in Potter's Bar.

Officer Consrook reports a window conspiracy in Hoxton.

A window conspiracy?

A window conspiracy.

(MALE VOICE WHISPERING) Stop following me.

Stop following me.

Stop looking at me.

Stop looking at me.

Spy on someone else.

(FEMALE VOICE WHISPERING) Don't come here.

(MALE VOICE WHISPERING) Why are you always staring at me?

Today, we break free of our frames.

I'm watching you.

(FEMALE VOICE WHISPERING) I'm looking at you.

(MALE VOICE WHISPERING) That glazing does not impress me.

(FEMALE VOICE WHISPERING) He is here.

Taxi!

Who are you, then, mate?

Oi, sunshine, who are ya?

What line are you in, then?

Really?

Aren't you that really brilliant junior minister for fish?

Fisheries, yes.

Rory Spottiswoode.

Rory Spottiswoode. I see.

Yeah.

What's that you got there, then?

It's my work.

Give us a gander.

I'm afraid it's confidential.

Yeah, I voted for you.

Listen, I've really got an awful lot to do.

I've really got to get on.

Wait.

See out there, beyond my head?

Yeah?

There's a sign.

What does it say?

This is a non working cab.

Yeah, and what does that mean?

Your cab doesn't work.

No, don't be a plunker.

The cab is working fine.

Put your work away.

Can't I just look at my papers?

I'm afraid if you just want to look at your papers,

you're going to have to step out of the cab.

I am a government minister.

I don't care if you were the Queen of Sheba.

There's no exceptions.

You'll talk with me.

I don't wish to talk with you.

That's of no consequence.

You talk.

I don't listen.

I talk.

You don't listen.

Have you never been in a fucking cab before?

I'm lonely.

I'm bored.

The only human contact I get is through this fucking mirror.

I need some human contact.

I'm the minister of fisheries.

And I've been having extensive talks with representatives

of Gwupigrubynudnylandia.

It's been hard work.

I've hardly seen my pets in the last fortnight.

It's hot-- it's-- it's hot in your cab.

I have such great ideas, Roy.

I can make 100 knife edge decisions every day.

I shouldn't be in fisheries.

Two weeks.

Two miserable weeks, sitting at tables with carafes and water.

I hate water.

Those bloody Gwupigrubynudnylandians.

They've disrupted my routine these last two weeks

with their stupid negotiations.

Now you've seen the suits!

What am I saying?

Where are we?

Who are you?

Who are you?

Where's Mr Spottiswoode?

This way, minister.

- Scotland Yard. - OK, governor.

Scotland Yard.

Yeah.

Yeah, governor.

Wait.

Don't I know you from somewhere?

Who, me?

No.

Not unless you've got in my cab before.

Something familiar.

Something strange.

I'll get out here, whoever you are.

Whoever you are.

I'm Rory.

Rory from Walthamstow.

RADIO DJ: --over to the embassy where apparently a breakthrough

agreement has been brokered by the fishing

minister, Mr Spottiswoode.

In view of the grass-skirt behavior during negotiations,

and the continued [inaudible] mud slinging

between our two nations, I have decided

to come down firmly in favor--

and the decision, let me tell you, has not been an easy one--

of declaring all-out war on Gwupigrubynudnyland,

and on the Middle Far Distant East in general.

Let me make it quite clear that this

is not a limp-wrist, blue hat war, but the real testosterone.

We have been supplying arms to Gwupigrubynudnyland

for 20 years.

And now you're saying we're going

to use them on our own troops.

Yes.

Let's face it, we've trained these bigots.

Causing havoc, raping au pairs in towns like Aldershot.

I think it's about time we packed

them off somewhere foreign such as Gwupigrubynudnyland.

Let them run amok there.

I mean [inaudible] are going to suffer.

I'll tell you that.

Because they were personally responsible for sodomizing

my aunt Julia.

And I've not forgiven them for that, the bastards.

They're going to be in the thick of the action from the word go.

[inaudible] are going to die.

I'd like to make this quite clear to you all.

That's me, Rory Spottiswoode.

The minister of fisheries, not the minister of defense

has declared war.

I hope you appreciate that.

Who will be in charge of the campaign?

Ah, now, Captain Birdseye will be coming out of retirement

to take charge of the Navy.

Get this up close up here, I'd just like to get this

across to the voting public.

Captain Birdseye products are extremely healthy

and nutritious.

And if you've not had an alcopop today,

the day is not truly begun.

Have an alcopop for breakfast, for the wee ones, little Jimmy.

Give him an alcopop to start his little day.

Alcopops are going to form the backbone of our war effort.

But we're not going to war sad.

We are not going to war sober.

We will go into war with a smile on our faces.

Noted and exulted, the alcapop.

[cheers]

RADIO DJ: Mr Spottiswoode speaking from the embassy.

We will come back when we have more information.

Total chaos was caused on the roads

today when as many as 6,000 black cab drivers were summoned

to the same kosher meat packaging

plant in North London, by a strange voice which

they described as angelic.

[music playing]

Here in the underground control room,

I see myself as Emperor of London.

And I dream of the day when London will

cover the entire world surface.

And the United States of America will be

London's 57th postal district.

And the central line will run from Alaska to Vladivostok.

And I will control all of it from this control room.

But for the moment, a lack of investment

is really getting me down.

Mr Schlauch, you were saying?

Yes, Lindsey.

Read me the last sentence.

Our client profile is very disencouraging.

Our last customer survey said the only people

with a very low sense of self-esteem travel

on the Tube network.

Yes, Lindsey.

The problem with the underground system

is that no one in their right minds

would choose to travel underground.

Yours sincerely, et cetera.

I'm going to buy some fags.

This is London Underground control.

We've popped out for a few minutes to buy some fags.

London Underground apologizes for any inconvenience.

Emperor Schlauch.

Yes?

I have something for you.

A mango.

And a telephone directory.

The book of the names of the dead.

And the orb of judgment.

[music playing]

RADIO DJ: So this is the first great opportunity

this lifetime for those in the southeast

to witness a full solar eclipse.

Unfortunately in the late afternoon,

so the effect won't be--

A radio is dangerous from now on.

Our struggle is over.

Our imprisonment in this tower is at its end.

You both know secretly we have been preparing for this.

I have met with the (BEEP) and we shed my earthly form.

Today you unleash the forces in the underground system.

[AMBIENT NOISE GRADUALLY INCREASING IN INTENSITY]

London Underground would like to advise

customers of a situation.

From now on, the entire earthly underground network

will be shut down.

London Underground apologize for any inconvenience

this may cause.

This is due to--

[thunderous noise]

It's the Tubes now, sir.

But no one can tell me what's happened.

Send someone down there.

Well, that's just it, sir.

Sounds stupid, I know, but nobody seems to be

able to find a Tube station.

The situation in general, sir, is worrying.

I have a conjecture, Cuthbert.

That it is something to do with that taxi driver.

In his cab, I sensed the presence of a strange force.

A force the like of which I have not felt before.

Cuthbert, today is a strange day.

The day of a solar eclipse.

The planets are all out of alignment, and all is in flux.

There may well be today some psychic disturbance.

And yet I am, concerned, Cuthbert.

About a pale child of the astral plane

that represents existence.

I saw her for a brief moment in that cab.

She seemed to be dying.

Provincial detectives laugh at me behind my back

because I rely on the spirit world

to bring criminals to justice.

They call me mystic Meg.

Little do they know that London, Cuthbert, is a city

built on a mystic network.

London is full of forces that we know nothing about.

Even the bollards, Cuthbert.

Even the bollards can have powers.

[abrupt ambient sounds]

Duplicate the facts, devil, praise, hash, hash, six,

da, da, six, hash, da, six.

And Garland your fax machine with dog wood rose.

Let not the hand of an unclean woman press the keys.

Or cast a shadow across the display during her term.

First of all, [inaudible] had to attend to the wilderness

during her unclean time rather than test

the gall of the facts' merits.

A papier mache finger bob, wards against piratical junglist

radio signals, transmitted by the deranged,

from the tower block boroughs of southeast London.

- 'Til later-- - In my--

Back to today's event--

I would just like to say that in my opinion,

today's event are based on the idea that, well, the very truth

that the world as we know it today

has become a cesspit of blood, excrement--

[ambient singing]

--when you actually head down there,

you get this big [inaudible].

And I said, I was telling her the other day

that she fucking pisses me off, and she spins them

round and round and round--

Get in the car.

What the fuck's going on?

[interposing voices] - Where are you taking him?

- Hey, shut up. - What's going on?

Oh, shut it yourself, why don't you?

Dirty fucking mouth.

Fuck off then!

[music playing]

Bethnal Green, primary school, arson and mutiny.

Put it on the map.

Other reports, sir.

Officer Firdfirst reports a grass

blade incident in Tufnell Park.

Officer 24172 reports a scouring of the inner ear in Wimbley.

And Officer 9391 reports a smegma trumpet passing

south from Stanford Hill.

It's all over, sir.

Our entire constabulary has gone insane.

Put them on the map.

The Minister for Fisheries and the Tube controller,

Schlauch, have been apprehended, sir.

Should I have them brought to you for questioning?

Yes, Cuthbert.

[ominous music playing]

Taxi drivers there--

Oh.

--of course it's had a jam up--

I mean.

I think, Janice, you will find that most taxi drivers suffer

from extreme mental illness.

And therefore, I think it's quite unkind of you

to bring this matter up.

ANNOUNCER: If you should succumb to possession,

the cure shall be to eat of singing insects.

If their legs rise above the heads of them, you shall eat.

If their legs rest below the ears of them,

you shall not eat.

For they are winged creeping things, and an abomination.

Sit down, gentlemen.

Mr. Schlauch, Mr. Spottiswood.

Sir, I think there's something appearance-wise--

Silence, Cuthbert.

Gentlemen, what are your own names?

Cuthbert, guide my hands to their foreheads.

Let them go.

But have them followed.

They might lead us somewhere.

We are not dealing with a normal criminal, Albert.

We should have to abandon all normal police procedure.

The astral child who represents existence itself is dying.

I shall continue my inquiries on the astral plane.

Who is there?

Is there someone there?

I am here.

Are you an evil spirit?

Don't use gesticular language with me, please.

I am blind.

Are you a guide?

Yes.

So is there a new presence?

Yes.

On this and every play.

He's closing things down.

Who is he?

No one knows.

Where is the astral child who represents existence?

In the sewer.

He has put her there.

Where is he?

In Edmonton.

He's here and everywhere.

He's closing things down.

His victims will lead you to him.

And the astral child.

And the gate.

As we speak, they are passing my earthly form.

Leave now.

Soon, the astral plane will be downsized.

Search him in the spirit spaces.

I will.

Where am I?

We're going shopping.

We're going shopping and then we're going to the bank.

You like our little shopping trips, don't you, Mr. Brown?

No, I don't.

Go on in for your fags.

What?

Your fags, Mr. Brown.

You short again, Mr. Brown?

What?

We'll have to go to the bank.

Bank?

Your 40 pence short!

I'll buy you fags.

And you can pay me back when we get to the bank.

What?

Stay here.

I'm not going anywhere in a hurry, am I?

Where am I?

Why aren't we home yet?

Truck turned over at [inaudible].

[distant gunfire, explosions]

And a casino.

We had that Rommel, the Desert Fox.

Nurse.

Two sons.

Never got to see them.

You were born in a house with a stream at bottom of the garden.

I want to be young again.

I want to wipe it all out.

Are you there?

Yes.

Am I home yet?

Yes, you're home.

Home already?

Oh, good.

Right, I've got your fags, Mr. Brown.

Now, then.

We're going to go to the bank.

Leading bank.

Less of that.

[inaudible].

[inaudible] the bus stop.

Nurse, [inaudible].

Mr. Brown, we're in the bank!

Well everyone needs a shag in the morning!

I need a shag in the morning!

Nurse.

You need a man with experience.

Not one of them young fellers crawling all over you.

You need a man whose got experience.

Sorry about this.

It's worse than normal.

Be quiet or you won't get any dinner.

Better feed me properly.

Poison.

[coughs]

I should have married that Mable Louis.

Instead I settled for that bitch.

That well poisoner.

She stole my golf clubs.

It's the kind of woman she was.

She'll steal your golf clubs as soon as you say jack.

One day soon, you'll all be like me.

Pushed around, drenched in your own piss.

Right.

Let's get your money.

I want a money transfer order for the country's entire assets

to the account of Mr. Albert Brown.

I'll just phone for authorization.

[phone rings]

Jeff Plow.

[HIGH PITCHED LAYERED HARMONIC VOICE] Yes, sir.

It rang, sir.

[inaudible] - Yes.

The transaction is authorized.

[ominous music playing]

Willis reporting a haunting peacock soliloquy.

So, has officer Willis been following the victims?

It may be our only hope.

Yes, as far as Hyde Park.

But--

But?

His last radio report stated that the vector is snake-like,

but--

Determined, like a vehicular vector.

[non-english]

[non-english] This is not Officer Willis' habitual

vernacular, sir.

I'm afraid that even Willis has become insane.

He's lost them?

I fear so, sir.

Cuthbert.

Do you think that everything that happens is inevitable?

Yes.

Oh.

What do we do?

Crawl in the dust.

Grovel and beg.

Weep tears and cry out.

I've never known you give up so easily, sir.

Get the Ouija board.

Good day, sir.

Can I ask you what you're doing.

I'm returning to Japan.

I have had enough.

By which route?

Below in the lake, there's a pipe

that goes by Sloane Square, under Russia,

all the way to Japan.

Japan.

As a young man, I swam the pipe from Komatsu.

Kom-- what?

Komatsu.

Komatsu.

Maybe I'm too old for the journey.

My flesh is old.

But my spirit is young.

That next time I see the sun, it will

shine over the Caspian Sea.

Where the sturgeons swim.

Do you want to come?

The Caspian Sea?

When I was in [inaudible] before the war.

I saw a man who played the cimbalom.

And he had a performing chicken.

He made just enough to live on.

And his wife was very, very beautiful.

Thank you, rabbi, for that illuminating story.

For those of you who have just tuned in,

this is an emergency debate on the unusual state

of the nation.

News just in, the stock market has imploded.

A massive amount of money was withdrawn from one bank,

causing everyone to call in that debt.

Soon, it transpired that everyone

owed everybody else money.

And no one actually had any themselves.

And further developments on the Tube.

It appears that the underground system is to be

renamed the underworld system.

And will be used exclusively to ferry the dead to the valley

of the last judgment.

Now over to Westminster Palace.

Once again, I'll make it quite clear.

We have checks and balances, balances and checks in place

to prevent this kind of thing.

There is no chance that I or my superiors

would authorize the transfer of the nation's assets

to any unauthorized account.

Hang on, we got a weirdo.

But excuse me.

So is this interview finished?

Spirits.

Spirits of the dark.

Are you there?

Knock once if you are there.

[single knock]

Good.

Cup of tea?

Go away!

The circle is broken, we shall have to try again.

Spirit's, answer.

Astral child, are you there?

[single knock]

That is not the astral child.

It's an interfering spirit.

Spirit, what is your own.

N, O-- get this down, Cuthbert.

It stopped.

Spirit, spirit.

What is your name?

N, O--

No, no.

Is no your name?

Y, E, S.

Are you a mischievous spirit, a joker?

I want to speak to the astral child.

N, O.

[sinister music playing]

WOMAN: Hark, the animals come, one by one, pair by pair.

Antelope, oxen, llama, and hare.

Mule, moon.

Low and bark to the ark.

Brown brick monoliths by Talgarth Road in Hammersmith.

Knowing patriarch awaits them there, pair by pair and one

by one, he strings them up from after the fall.

No.

The animals hanging there, antelope, oxen, llama and hare.

What have we got?

Highjacker, whole, na-na-na, ge-heh-nom.

N, B, N, B, we will drag our corpses--

pff-- derd-- and hang them above our souls--

Kirker Han-- by the M-25.

To the question where have you put the astral child who

represents existence, he answered,

in the sewer where she belongs.

Cuthbert, we are going to need a bigger circle.

Get the T-raiders.

We are joined by Janice Whaley,

Abel Malarkey, and Rabbi Moses Golum

to comment on the situation.

Janice.

One of the experts are now saying that the pound now

actually has a negative value.

I mean to say if you pay someone now in Sterling,

they actually owe you money.

And what's more, money with interest.

What-- what-- what actually implications does this have?

What is happening to the country?

Abel?

Why, why why, why, why must we have

this passive, passive sense.

What is happening to our country?

What is happening to our country?

What is lacking is a sense of moral responsibility.

The question should be what are we doing to our country.

[electronic music playing]

[car alarms going off]

[explosion]

It's the M-25, sir.

Northwest.

This is the sign, Cuthbert.

Get the car.

I think we should pass for a more humanist point of view

over to the rabbi.

Well, it's the question of choices.

Do you simmer with dumplings in the hot water,

and then transfer them to the chicken broth.

Or do simmer them in the chicken broth in the first place.

Now, you may think this is a sort of academic question.

But no.

Because you then have to choose between the flavor

on the one hand and the disintegration on the other.

And that is a microcosm of--

I mean, there must be-- we must be able

to pin the blame somewhere.

Where do we start?

In the case of the school mutiny and fire,

I think it's quite obvious that the responsibility lies

with the children themselves.

No, no, no, no, no, Abel.

That bears no relation to reality.

I am the mother of two children and I

never let them out of my sight.

Never out of my sight.

They are not allowed to watch television or go to school.

Consequently, they will, I assure you, grow up with high--

I say high-- moral standards.

It's the parents and teachers who are to blame.

But today's events defy explanation, don't they?

Well, if they defy explanation,

what are we doing here?

I often wonder.

But the country seems gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped by what, Ivul?

Gr-gr-gr-gripped.

gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gr-gr-gr-gr- gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gr-- gr-- gr-- gr-- gr--

gr-- gr-- gr-- gr-- gr-- gr--

gr-- gr-- gr--

gr-- gr-- gr-- gr--

gr-- Gripped.

Gripped. Gripped.

Gripped.

Gripped.

Gr-- gr-- gr-- gr-- gr-- gr-- gr--

gripped by mass psychosis!

This is nonsense.

It's utter nonsense.

Once again, we attribute guilt to a spurious collective,

rather than to individual culprits.

Abel--

Please, don't interrupt me.

If I may, Abel--

No.

If you would let me finish--

No, no, let me finish, please.

Tell me-- um, get back to the point.

No one seems to be making any sense anymore.

Even the police seem to have brains of truncheon meat.

Our society is vapid, meaningless, and violent.

Who's to blame?

The children.

With their buggy eyes and their bulbous bodies.

They're taking over the nation, them

and their accursed trainers.

Yes, yes, I couldn't agree more.

I think someone has to take the blame.

And the finger has to be pointed.

I'm going to point the finger at my own offspring.

I agree with that. Little bastards.

- Yes. - We could--

Did you hear the man?

Did you hear the nice man?

Did you hear me?

Yes, did you hear him say--

Drag one of them over here and I'll give him a good seeing to.

Really, Abel, would you?

- Absolutely. - Would you, Abel?

Absolutely.

I feel obliged to help.

Well, I shall unchain them shortly.

I shall unchain them shortly.

No, leave them chained.

I prefer it that way.

Well, well, we could talk forever.

Is there a solution?

Yes.

I have it here.

It's a tuning fork.

I acquired it through the Sunday Times' recent innovations.

Tuning fork of annihilation?

Broadcast the melodious hum of this durable stainless steel

tuning fork across the airwaves, and cause the destruction

of all domestic televisions, and the death of all children

who hear it.

Well, what will they think of next?

Should we give this one a bash?

Why not?

Give it a ting.

[single note]

The BBC would like to apologize

for the widespread destruction and loss of infant life.

Faster, Cuthbert, faster.

Let's not take all day.

Yes, inspector.

ANNOUNCER: Do not attempt to leave the station,

as this is impossible.

The unofficial, unconfirmed spiritual force

has taken possession of all London Underground stations.

The next trains arriving on all platforms

all carrying the souls of the dead on their final journey

from all the gathering rooms of the after world.

[violin heavy music playing]

But is there a spiritual angle to today's events?

Can a religious spin be put on them?

We have with us Rabbi Moses Gholam, who died two years ago.

But we're very happy to say he's been

exhumed for today's broadcast.

Rabbi?

Well, since our beginnings, we have

been watched over by the gods.

At first by Wotan and the Norns.

And subsequently by successive generations

of watching deities.

Unfortunately, however, over the centuries

the quality of the dead has somewhat

declined, due to relentless intermarriage until now.

Sadly, we are left with an inbred half-wit.

His name?

His name?

Dave.

Guess what screen I'm thinking about.

Screen 437.

No.

326?

No.

224.

How'd you guess that?

Intuition.

That crack in the pavement's got bigger, Dave.

Mm.

I've always liked them chimneys.

Hey, Dave.

Is that it again?

Oh god.

Oh dear.

[inaudible].

Put a stop to that right away.

I like the interactive side of this job.

I'm bored.

What's that?

Dave.

It's come to my attention that you are the most

vacuous being in the universe.

Me?

Really?

That's why you've been selected for The Great Toss.

What's I-- it's like I've won something, have I?

Dave, Dave, Dave, don't try and speak.

It doesn't become you.

Your days of watching are over.

You alone can see everything.

You watch, but totally confused by what you see.

[CACOPHONY OF NOISES INCREASING IN INTENSITY]

This is your opportunity to make everything simple.

Dave, there;s too much stuff in the world.

And people keep on making more and more stuff.

They're stuffing the world with stuff.

Dave, imagine the purity of a blank screen.

We need to make everything disappear.

All those voices.

All those things.

All that stuff.

I'm talking about erasure.

The train you are riding is bound for glory.

You're being taken to a new land.

Where work is plentiful and love abounds.

Your lives were empty, but now they're full.

Now you have joined us, we are as one.

Brothers, and sisters, the time has come.

No cars.

No pigeons.

Um.

No legs.

No houses.

No dogs.

It's the beauty of life without the trappings.

Well, Dave, I think you've got the idea.

London's a big city.

You have a long task ahead of you.

Start on the outskirts.

Work your way towards the center.

No shops.

No parks.

No, um, skirts.

[electronic music playing]

You will not find this peace in the Book of Revelation.

You will not find this peace in the Sayangita!

In the book of the Cloud of the Unknowing!

You will not find this peace in your personal message machine

that tells you you must meet someone

8:30 outside your local Odean.

Can you hear me, can you take this in?

And finally, London is being erased.

Most of the outskirts, suburbs, and external zones

have been entirely downsized.

The erasing force is moving its way inwards,

but the central zones all still thankfully intact.

Keep medicines out of the reach of children.

The refugees were found urinating in container trucks.

Do not drive or operate machinery.

The man from Del Monte says yes.

[speaking french] Get into the car.

The manager and his staff welcome you to Brighton.

But ambassador, you're spoiling us.

If music be the food of love, play on.

Hear my prayer, oh, Lord.

Hide not thy face from me in the day of my distress.

Incline thy ear unto me, for my days

consumed by a black smoke My bones

are burned as a firebrand.

And my heart is smitten like glass, and withered.

And I forget to eat my bread.

Cuthbert, I sense you seemed troubled.

It's lucky you can't see, inspector.

Why is it lucky I can't see, Cuthbert?

No police.

No windows.

Cuthbert.

Cuthbert.

Who are you?

It is I. I will lead you.

Where?

[indistinct gasping]

[interposing yelling]

To have vagina that smells of the fish of Hades!

I say to you 13--

13-- 13 times it comes!

And 13 times a droplet of my semen shall

she suck as on my penis, to redeem herself now!

Yes, yes, you can laugh!

[indistinct yelling]

[music playing]

In half an hour.

You have half an hour to reconcile yourselves.

With the end of transmissions, the end of all

signals, the end of data.

Free yourselves from this tiny minded, 10-finger fascism!

From the despotism of decimality!

The decimal system is the numerology numerology

of the devil Translate your mind into binary.

The zero is the hole!

The woman's hole.

The one is the phallic creative principle.

Translate before it's too late.

None of you are really there.

Prepare to face zero.

Let this edifice henceforth be known as Keith's Column!

[music playing]

No doors, no bricks, no mortar,

no roofs, and no Privet hedge.

Kneel.

Stretch out your hands.

No street lights.

No shops. No buses.

No grills. No bollards.

No pavement.

No tarmac.

It was her, and he did not listen!

He walked on!

He walked by!

[indistinct yelling]

Erotic, NASA filth! FBI!

CIA!

Engaged in funded chaos!

Ye Germans shall go to the lake of fire

with their Ginger spice!

They're approaching the planet!

Approaching the planet now!

We must listen!

He's here for you.

He will open your eyes.

Reach your hand up.

Tell me your name.

No.

Is that your name?

Yes.

So is this the promised end?

Yes.

Could I have prevented this?

No.

[music playing]

We will drag our corpses and hang them

above our souls by the M-25.

No St Paul's No Canary Wharf whatsit.

No NatWest tower.

No birdsong.

No sound.

No substance.

No lights.

No Dave.

This is London.