Original subtitles

(Indistinct commentary over Tannoy)

"and here we are coming into the final furlong'."

Run For Your Money gaining'

it's Chin-Chin followed by"'

(Commentary continues indistinctly)

Yes, it's Desert Rose' Desert Rose is the winner'

Hamish Girl, Please Believe, and Light And Shade' Desert Rose"'

Ooh!

I then suggested that Detective Constable Louis

should set up an identity parade

and asked him to round up six men who looked like the man in the police video.

At least they stuck to procedure for once.

Unfortunately, Detective Constable Louis misunderstood my instructions

and arrived at West End Central with six men who looked like Sting,

the member of a popular beat group.

- This is going to hurt. - (Knee crunches)

What do you suggest I do with 'em, sir?

Everybody knows they're incompetent, they're bungling,

and they're dishonest.

There's always the Serious Crime Squad, I suppose.

(Laughs)

(Cottam coughs)

(Clears throat)

I don't care what you do with them, Frank.

Put them on something where they can't do any harm.

I've done everything, sir. They're just a pain in the...

There is one case which would get them out of the country and off our backs.

Oh, really, sir?

I'd have to ask the Chief Constable for special permission, of course.

Want me to approach him for you, sir?

No, no, no. I'll do it.

(Clears throat)

- Er, Chief Constable. - Yes, Superintendent?

What do you think of Briggs and Louis for the case of the missing semen?

( d Bergerac theme)

Better than work, this, eh, Bob? Bit of foreign travel.

A quick word with the local gendarmes,

shower and shave, then out with the fr�uleins.

Maybe take a look at the casbah, pint or two of the local jungle juice,

a stroll down the Reeperbahn, few coins in a fountain, back for lucky videos.

Dave, this is Jersey, not bloody Kuala Lumpur!

- What time is it? - Hang on.

(Sighs)

- Come on. What time is it? - Hang on, hang on.

(Watch beeping)

1,020?

It's the air pressure.

You get into duty-free, you'll buy anything, won't you?

At least I didn't spend all my money on poncey perfume.

Money spent on personal hygiene is never wasted, Bob.

Just smell that sea air, eh?

All I can smell is 40 quids' worth of Old Spice.

One naked flame and your jawbone will go up like a fireball.

Old Spice.

You have no idea, have you?

It's Beaver Musk.

You smell like Barbara Cartland's bra.

(Piercing alarm)

(Alarm stops)

12 o'clock.

Well, then. He should have been here to meet us by now.

Who should?

The bloke from the Jersey police who's looking after us - Detective Beaujolais.

- Detective Beaujolais? - Yeah, something like that.

Beau something. You know, like the wine.

You mean you can't remember his name?

I told you. Foreign name.

Like the make of a wine.

B. B.

Bollinger.

- Burgundy? - No. No, it's not Burgundy.

This is brilliant, this is.

Bull's Blood.

Detective Bull's Blood. Oh, yes, obviously. Obviously.

Yeah, it's Jim. I've been here an hour and there's no sign of these two detectives.

Of course I'm sure. I know what a detective looks like.

All I've seen here is bloody tourists.

Advocaat!

( d Bergerac theme)

- Thanks. In the boot. - How much is that?

That's L4.50, please.

Bob, Bob.

We're abroad. Haggle.

- You what? - Go on. Barter.

Beat him down.

L2.50.

Eh?

OK.

L3.50.

Er... L4.

And a miniature.

Miniature?

OK, OK.

L4.50

and a packet of cigars.

L5 and two miniatures.

Oh.

Thanks very much.

This stuff tastes like Opal Fruits.

Is my nose going red?

- Yes. - Liar.

(Seagull squawks)

It was good of the Super to give us a paid holiday like this, wasn't it?

We're meant to be on a special assignment.

Yeah. We don't want to kill ourselves, do we?

What are we supposed to be doing?

Looking for some missing semen.

What? Bandy-legged blokes with tattoos?

(Seagull squawks)

(Splatting)

Not that sort of semen.

Semen. You know.

- Semen. - Semen?

Well, whose semen?

Desert Rose. The racehorse.

The one that always comes first?

Yeah.

Every drop of his...

(Mouths)

His...

You know.

Love gift.

Love gift?

It's worth a small fortune. L500,000 a pint.

Bloody hell.

That's more expensive than one of these cocktails.

Somebody kidnapped the horse...

showed him a good time and then smuggled the stuff out of the country.

The word is he was brought to Jersey.

Someone here who knows about horses has probably got it stashed in a freezer.

All we've gotta do is find it.

Well,

should be easy enough,

trying to find two fingers of frozen horse fluid in an area the size of Glamorgan.

Always the same with you, isn't it? Moan, moan, moan.

Ever since we left London it's been,

"I feel sick, I'm too hot,."

"I don't like foreign food."

"You've forgotten the case file."

I didn't say you've forgotten the case file.

No.

But you will when you find out I have.

You've forgotten to bring the case file?

I didn't forget to bring the case file.

- Well, where is it? - By now?

I should think it's just docking at Poole Harbour.

You left it on the ferry?

Oh, for God's sake, relax. We're on holiday.

A confidential case file and you leave it on the ferry.

We don't need the bloody case file.

Anyway, we can use our heads.

I've been doing some homework.

Who do you think on this island

would want to buy half a pint of horse semen?

Is there a Jersey branch of CAMRA?

- Take a look at this. - What is it? A message from Interpol?

No, I ripped it out of the phone book. Look under H for horses.

The Royal Jersey Bloodstock Association.

- You see? - Don't be ridiculous.

They breed horses.

So does the Queen Mother.

The only people here that deal with horses. We have to start somewhere.

The Royal... The Royal Jersey Bloodstock Association.

We mustn't allow ourselves to be intimidated

by fancy organisations with fancy titles.

Horse breeding is very big business.

We could be up against some very high-powered villains.

I suppose a big semen ring on the charge sheet

would look pretty impressive.

Look, Bob.

I think that during this investigation,

we'll find some very respectable people with some very dirty linen.

And so, in summation, gentlemen,

the continuing health of the bloodstock reserve

is a great credit to the standard of equine management here in the state of Jersey.

And moreover...

OK, everybody, keep your hands where we can see them!

- Who the hell? - Button it, Grandad.

Or should I say Godfather?

I beg your pardon?

Watch this one, Dave, he's lippy.

(Sighs)

OK, chatterbox, you like to talk,

let's chat.

- Who the hell are you? - Don't worry who you are, who are we?

- I mean, who are you? - Yeah.

Watch him, Bob!

I think I need to leave the room.

Nobody leaves until we get answers.

- I'm calling the police. - We are the police.

Then this is a total abuse of common decency and civil liberties.

Ooh.

Communist as well, are we?

How dare you!

OK.

Enough of this pussyfooting around.

Where is it?

Where is what?

Oh, dear, oh, dear,

oh, dear.

Oh, dear, oh, dear.

You want to play it the hard way?

We'll play it the hard way.

Play ball with us and we'll talk turkey with you.

- "Talk turkey"? - Listen, old man.

You may be the top dog on this little island,

but where we come from, we eat little fish like you for breakfast.

Yeah. Just because you're a big cheese in a small pond,

doesn't mean to say you're not small fry when the big fish fly into town.

What's he talking about? Is it some sort of a code?

What he's trying to say is, where's the hot horse semen?

That shut you up, didn't it?

We're looking for semen.

And from where I'm standing, you're in it up to your ears.

We can all put pictures of the Queen on the wall.

We can all have fancy offices and big, fat cigars. We can...

Bloody hell, Dave! This picture's signed.

"To all my friends at the Royal Jersey Bloodstock Association,"

"best wishes and thanks for the cruet set,."

"Elizabeth R."

She happens to be the patron of our association.

- Now, what the hell is all this about? - What?

Elizabeth R, the Queen?

This organisation has existed for over 200 years.

These men are some of the wealthiest and most respected people in the island.

OK, everybody, just calm down.

I want both your names now. You've picked on the wrong people this time.

My ex-son-in-law happens to be a very senior member of the Jersey police.

Hello, Mary. Get me Jim Bergerac.

That's it! Bergerac.

- She's in perfect condition. - Yes, but is she in season?

Just look at the way your stallions are acting up.

Listen. If the Super finds out about that little boardroom fiasco, we're right in it.

- Any more brilliant suggestions? - Yeah.

I suggest that we make the most of this cushy number

and go out and have a bloody good time.

Get a move on, the taxi will be here in a minute.

What's that?

- What? - On your face.

Nothing.

Fake tan. (Laughs)

You learn something about a bloke when you share a room with him.

That's not fake tan. I've got this - this special skin, you know, sensitive.

That reflects the ultraviolet light.

"Nature Tan for a fabulous natural golden complexion."

I didn't buy it. It was with that stuff we confiscated off that dodgy market stall.

"Product of Iraq.

"Keep away from eyes." Oh, very natural.

Blokes like you, wasn't it, who used to say that aftershave was for cissies,

now you're all doing it.

You'd never catch me wearing fake tan just to impress the women.

There's nothing macho

about looking like Mr Pastry.

At least I don't use baby talcum powder.

It's athlete's foot powder, actually.

I bought a job lot.

Athlete's foot? Hope you don't use my scrubbing brush to clean your feet.

Don't be ridiculous.

I used your toothbrush.

- (Phone) - That will be the taxi.

d Tonight

d A-tonight

d Won't be just any night d

- This is one bloody big holiday for you. - Answer the phone.

Any excuse just to go pulling women.

What do you suggest, eh? That we go to Bejams and ask them

if they've got half a pint of horse semen in the freezer?

We'll be right down,

just as soon as bloody Michelle Pfeiffer here has finished her makeover.

Sorry, sir. Psst.

It's the Super.

Mr Hungerford's made an official complaint, has he?

Well, it was Dave's idea, sir.

I don't care whose idea it was, it was bloody stupid.

Listen.

I've had a tip-off from Interpol.

A wealthy Arab horse breeder is on his way to Jersey,

so things might be starting to happen.

Detective Sergeant Bergerac will see you tomorrow and tell you what to do.

In the meantime, stay out of harm's way and keep a low profile.

- Low profile. Yes, sir. - Get off me.

I'll deal with the complaint at this end

but I don't want any more rough stuff, you're not in New York.

Don't draw attention to yourselves, understood?

Understood, sir.

I could get athlete's chest because of you.

Evening.

Harvey Headbanger for me, please, barman.

Anything that doesn't taste like Opal Fruits.

(Alarm)

I thought the Super said we're supposed to be keeping a low profile.

The air conditioning unit set it off.

Well, if he wants us to keep out of harm's way,

might as well enjoy ourselves, I suppose.

Too right.

- Down the hatch. - Cheers.

Mmm.

Bloody hell, that's strong stuff.

- It's gone black in here. - Friday night. Disco night.

( d Dance music)

Oh, really?

(Bob) Disco, eh?

(Dave) Well, the Super said blend in, so let's mingle with the locals.

The important thing is not to stand out in a crowd.

Tell you what, though, I'm getting some looks here.

The old magic's working.

Seems to be me.

(Both scream)

- Here you are. Have a fag. - Oh, lovely.

Smoking in the stable.

No, no, no. Finish your cigarette.

- I'm sorry, Mr Andrews. - And when you've finished it,

- get your coat and get off my property. - But Mr Andrews.

If we didn't have to attend to that business this afternoon,

you'd be going with him.

- Mr Andrews, can't I just... - Are you still here?

How much does he know?

I don't know, but, er...

word gets around, doesn't it?

By seven this evening, it will all be over anyway.

Yes, Mr Andrews.

And once the mare is in foal,

nobody will be able to prove a thing.

- Bob Louis? - Yeah?

- Oh, well, come in. - Bureau des Etrangers.

Oh, you've come to do the sheets.

( d Bergerac theme)

You didn't even bother reporting to me.

You fail to inform me of any of your activities,

then you go bursting into the AGM of the Royal Jersey Bloodstock Association.

Like the SA-bloody-S waving your peashooters about.

They don't let us have any bullets.

Some of the most influential people in the island are breathing down my neck.

If I had my way, I'd put you both back on the ferry to Poole.

However, your Superintendent tells me

this case you are investigating is about to become interesting.

The word is the Sultan of Benaris is coming to Jersey.

The Sultan of Benaris? Isn't he that bloke with 20 wives?

(Bergerac) 20 wives and 200 of the best racehorses in the world.

Now, why would a man like that want to come to Jersey?

Perhaps he's run out of places to hold his stag nights.

It's obvious, isn't it?

He wants to buy some semen.

I should imagine he needs it.

(Laughs)

I've got people watching the port. I suppose he could slip in by a boat...

(Beeping)

Are you listening to me?

Yes, sir.

The only thing we don't know is who is he going to see. You got any ideas?

Ideas?

You must have a case file.

- What are you planning to do next? - Well, we thought we'd hire a bike.

Bike?

They reckon it's the best way to see the island.

You know, you miss so much when you're in a car.

I think it would be best if you stayed out of the way for now.

If I need you, I'll call you.

Here. You'll need this.

If it bleeps, drop everything, get yourself down to the station, all right?

Now, in the meantime, enjoy your holiday.

(Beeping)

(Alarm)

Think you'd better see this, sir.

Some bloke who used to be a stable hand at Sir Arthur Andrews's place.

Said old Arthur's been expecting a visit from the Sultan of Benaris.

Said you'd know what that meant.

- So it's Arthur Andrews, is it? - Sir Arthur Andrews.

Well, I suppose I'd better alert those two clowns from London.

- You're so childish. - He gave me the bleeper. I'll look after it.

- (Bleeps) - Come on, Bob.

Are you sure this is the quickest way to get around?

That's what it said in the leaflets. And it's my turn to drive.

Yes, well.

It's my turn for the saddle.

I promise you, Mr Bergerac, I don't know anything about it.

- Calm down. - What's this all about, Mr Bergerac?

Andrews asked you to artificially inseminate one of his mares?

Golden Lady, his best thoroughbred.

Did he tell you which horse would be the sire?

I assumed it was one of his stable.

Now, I want you to call Arthur Andrews and tell him you are sick.

Sick?

And you're going to send a colleague. No.

No, you're going to send two colleagues.

Er, Your Highness, this is my stable hand.

If that is your stable hand...

this must be your unstable hand.

(Laughs)

You're sure these horse doctors can be trusted?

We have no choice, Your Highness.

My regular vet is sick and these are the only two he will recommend.

But they need know nothing other than this is a routine insemination.

- (Horn beeps) - (Bob) Come on, come on.

Testing, testing.

Testing, testing, one, two, three, testing.

(Static)

OK, receiving you loud and clear. Now remember, don't take any chances.

You're dealing with ruthless men who'll think nothing of blowing your brains out.

- Go on, then. - This isn't gonna work, Bob.

They say horses can smell fear.

Never mind the horses, I can smell it.

Afternoon.

(Creaking)

(Creaks)

Ah, here she is. A fine-looking filly.

- Don't you think? - Lovely.

Testing.

Sorry?

Nothing.

Absolutely perfect.

How many hands would you say?

- Hands? - Oh, go on. Just by looking.

How many hands?

What? You or the horse?

(Sultan laughs)

To the business.

Let's get to the business end, shall we?

Better warm our hands up a bit, then, Dave.

Wouldn't want to give her a shock, would we?

Come on, then. Get on with it.

Right, Bob.

Off you go.

We can't make a move until Andrews produces the semen.

Wouldn't want to be premature, would we, sir?

At least she's a nice horse, Bob.

Why don't you shut up?

For God's sake, stick your arm up and get her ready.

All right.

Don't suppose I could borrow your arm, could I?

Come on. Ask him to give you the stuff.

OK, Dave.

I'm going in.

(Squelching)

I've got to hand it to you, Bob.

Here it is, gentlemen.

The cr�me de la cr�me.

OK. Let's go.

(Sirens)

Dave.

- (Whinnies) - (Screams)

- Well done, Briggs. - Thanks, Jim.

Touch and go there for a minute.

Where's Bob?

Bob.

Are you all right?

I've lost me watch.

(Alarm)

It's six o'clock.