Original subtitles

-You lock the door?

-I'm in charge of crime prevention for

the whole of Portwenn.

You think I'd forget to lock my own front door?

You were up late last night?

-I couldn't sleep.

-You got any work started yet?

Mum said you'd lost that job in Cardiff.

-I didn't lose it.

I quit.

-That's what I told mum.

No way he'd get the sack.

I said, you'd probably been headhunted or

something like that.

Was I right?

-Yeah, some people trying to get a hold of me.

-Always in demand.

-You've either got it or you haven't.

So did they get a hold of you?

-Why all the questions?

-Sorry, guess I'm just used to interrogating

criminals all day.

-When did you last interview a suspect?

-Let me show around my beat.

Al: Morning, girl.

Your coffee.

-Why did you unpack my stuff?

-You've been living out of that bag for

two weeks now, Pauline.

Toast?

-I told you, it's temporary.

-Ok, but your brother's not leaving your

mum's just yet, so...

So you may as well get settled in, eh?

-Don't follow me into the bathroom.

-Buddy, there you are.

Come on.

Good boy.

Louisa, why aren't you at school?

Is something wrong?

-No.

Well, not really.

It's just I haven't felt the baby move for a while.

-Have you been to see Martin?

-I was going to, but then I thought, no.

I'm being silly.

I'm having a scan tomorrow at the hospital, so I might as

well just wait.

-In you get.

We'll sort this out right now.

-Louisa needs to see you.

-Why?

Is there something wrong?

-Sorry I'm late.

Slow-moving boyfriend.

-Hey, get that dog out of my reception.

-As soon as you've dealt with Louisa.

-I can just go to the hospital.

-Don't be so silly.

You're here now and Martin wants to help.

-What's the problem?

Joan: The baby, Martin.

-I haven't felt it move in a while.

-Come in.

Go through.

Get out.

Get that out.

It can stay out here, but it can come in the surgery.

It's against the law.

-You'd be amazed how many drivers leave their valuables

in full view.

I come down here twice a day, offer words of advice.

You all right, Sam?

-Yeah.

-Usually it's me has trouble keeping up with you.

I don't suppose...

I mean, there's no chance you'll

still be here for Christmas?

-God, no.

-There's plenty of room.

Mum would love to see you.

It's years since we've all shared a Turkey.

-No, I've got a meeting with someone in Newland next week.

If that all goes well, I'll be out of your hair.

-Newland?

Got a job interview or something?

-Yeah.

-Being the neighborhood beat manager doesn't mean I just go

around locking people up.

I can also offer a helping hand,

which is equally rewarding.

That doesn't sound too good.

-You think?

-I could get you towed to a garage.

-Let me guess.

They'll rip me off, charge me a fortune, and you get a nice

little backhander for sending a mug their way?

-No, I'm just happy to help.

I'll get on to Brian, have him fit you in.

Actually, now I've got your undivided attention.

Can I ask?

Have you left any valuables on display?

-What?

-Camera, binoculars, hand bag.

-What's hand bag?

-Not yours, obviously.

But maybe your wife's.

-She's dead.

-Give her a try now.

-Thanks very much.

-Just doing my job, sir.

-Yeah, this model, uh chiefly comes loose.

Just needs to be tightened up.

-My brother, knows all about cars.

Safe journey.

-When did you last feel it move?

-I'll ask the questions.

Thank you.

When did you last feel it move?

-Well, there's been nothing since yesterday lunch time.

-I'm sure everything's fine.

-What are you so sure about?

There's any number of things that could have gone wrong.

-Martin.

-Aunt Joan.

-You'd like me to leave.

I'll be right outside if you need me.

-Thank you.

-Could you, um...

Undo the lowest buttons of your, uh, blouse and, um, pull

down the top of your skirt just a little bit.

-That's a bit awkward.

-If you're embarrassed, then why did you come see me?

-No.

I mean, it's tricky to undo this blouse.

The buttons are very small and my fingers are getting fat.

-Let me help.

Just... give me a little...

-Sounds fast.

Is that all right?

-Fetal heart rates should be between 120 and

160 beats per minutes.

It's completely normal.

-Is everything all right?

-Yes.

-Apart from the fact that I'm now officially one of those

neurotic pregnant mums.

-All right.

Come on, buddy.

We know when we're not wanted.

-Yes, goodbye.

Pauline: Dr. Ellingham, uh, here's another

from the primary care thingy.

-Another what?

-An official reminder that we have to

have the surgery repainted.

Just this room, and your room, and my phlebotomy clinic.

-Waste of time.

-Can I interrupt, doc?

This gentleman's had a nasty accident.

Trapped his fingers.

-I didn't trap them.

This moron...

-the doc doesn't need to know any details of the

circumstances.

He'll just want to examine the damage, won't you, doc?

-Go through.

-Every four years and it's been nearly five.

-Uh-huh.

-That was the doc.

And this is Pauline, the receptionist.

-Practice manager and head phlebotomist.

-Oh, Sam Penhale.

-My big brother.

Can you see the family likeness?

-No.

-So you say you need some painting done?

-Yeah, yeah.

Why is that?

What do you do?

-Amongst other things, you know.

-He's an artist.

Oil paints, watercolors, pastels.

Not in a girly way if that's what you're thinking.

He could have played football for Plymouth argyle.

He had a trial, but his ankle went...

-i don't think Pauline wants to hear my life story.

-Well, I don't mind.

-You picked up on the partitioning of the sample,

bell shaped?

-Yes.

-Well, the mucosa was more like a dome.

The rate of permeation followed zero autokinetics,

but the spermicidal activity and the vaginal permeability

increased proportionally until it peaked.

Any questions?

-Have you made up your mind yet?

-Steak, very rare.

-Monkfish, no butter.

-Shall I pour the water?

-I'm sure we can manage.

You don't mind, I ordered something rather bloody?

-Not at all.

-It won't upset you?

-Of course not.

-If you ever need help, I know someone.

-Thank you.

I can manage on my own.

-"On my own...

No more.

The beat of my heart echoes in time with another and now sore

with longing, it runs like a child to its mother."

You're the only man who's e written me a poem.

I've got it someone.

I could find it.

-No, no.

Don't bother.

-Do you still write poetry?

-No.

-I, uh...

I can't help but notice a spot of the old tension between you

two turtle doves.

If you want to talk about it, it's just

between the two of us.

-Yeah, but you're his dad, you know?

-For the purposes of this conversation, I'm just your

good friend, Bert.

-I love him.

He's great.

-But?

-He follows me all over the place because he hasn't got

any other mates.

And he's so boring and samey.

And never does anything romantic.

-Well, he made you toast.

-And he has to plan everything, like forever.

And then never actually does it.

-Been that way since he was a lad.

-I'm just not sure I can see myself with him forever.

-You know what really gets to me?

He mumbles.

-Thank you.

-What's that perfume?

-I can't remember the name of it.

It was a gift from an infertile and rather

unattractive couple.

-It smells of cheese.

-No more IVF for those two.

-Senor, senorita.

-So we've got to have some of that face time.

-Dad, no.

I don't want an accordion player on the terrace.

-How would you feel if you lost your girl?

Because if you're not careful, she's going to leave you,

toothbrush and all.

-What?

-First off, you follow her around like a lamb.

-No I don't.

Bert: Yes, you do.

And Pauline don't like it.

-How do you know?

-Because she told me not to tell you.

And you are samey.

-I'm what?

Bert: Samey.

-I don't even know what that means.

-Neither did I. But it's not good.

And I hate to have to tell you this, but you're...

Well, you're kind of weak in the romance department.

You've got to work on yourself, boy.

Shape up or it's splitsville.

She also said she wanted accordion

player on the terrace.

-I can't say goodnight.

-I think that was appropriate.

Don't you?

-Yes.

-Your breathe seems a little metallic.

It's possible you're jaundiced.

You might want to check.

-I'll do that.

-Ooh.

New girlfriend?

-Use a condom this time.

-He's a proper shag.

-Morning, doc.

-How did you get in here?

And what's all this?

-Your practice manager gave me the key.

-I don't have a practice manager.

-Pauline.

She told me to get started.

Now, she wanted that shade, but I think something a bit

more Rose in it works better.

Gives it more warmth.

-Keep the color exactly as it is and put my furniture back

where you found it.

-Well, how am I supposed to work?

-You haven't done the same in my consulting room, have you?

Sam: No, no, I'm doing that Saturday.

It's all been organized.

Just ask your practice manager.

-I don't have a practice manager.

Yes?

Mr. Routledge.

You're dying, really?

You'd better be.

Martin: Mr. Routledge.

-Let yourself in.

How do you expect me to get to the door if I'm having a heart

attack?

-I see you managed to get to the fridge all right.

What were you doing when your so-called discomfort started

this time?

-I was on the toilet.

I didn't flush, just in case you need a sample.

-On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst, how would

you describe your pain level?

-I'm not sure that's a big enough scale.

But I'll tell you one thing.

I'd be a lot more comfortable if you'd get me a place in a

nursing home.

-Shh.

Nothing.

You don't need a place in a nursing home.

You've already got meals on wheels and a home help,

neither of which you actually deserve.

-It's not safe here.

That walk from the taxi to the door is treacherous.

-It's the only exercise you get.

-Can you get me another beer before you go?

-You look like a Madonna.

-Don't say that.

Have you seen her face recently?

-No, I mean, the actual.

Never mind.

Any chance for a cupper?

-It's on the cupboard.

You haven't drank it yet.

-Oh, right.

Yeah.

-Have you ever done a nude?

-What are you doing?

-I thought I'd do a series of these.

Maybe even a fresco.

-Paint it out.

-Oh, couldn't he just paint around it?

-No.

-Uh, doc.

-Portwenn surgery.

-What about your room then?

-Hey, clean that up.

Why isn't this carpet covered?

Sam: Oh, it's a bit slippy.

Martin: What's the matter with you?

-When do you want me to do your room?

-At the weekend, when the surgery is closed.

We discussed this an hour ago.

-Did we?

-Go through.

-Why?

What have I done?

-Just go through.

Pauline.

-Ok, bye.

-Pauline, I'm early.

-Tip, are you still seeing double?

-No.

Take a snap of me and my portrait.

-So you're uh...

Not going to sack me then?

-Why would I sack you?

-Don't know.

-Follow my finger.

-You give all your employees a physical?

-Only those displaying symptoms of illness.

How much do you drink in a week?

-Nothing.

Well, not a lot.

Couple of pints now and again, you know.

-Your lack of coordination and memory impairment would

suggest otherwise.

You've seen a doctor?

-I thought about it, but it comes and goes.

Absolutely fine till a couple of months ago.

-Do you have to write things down to remember them.

-Now and again, if it's important.

-You ever forget anything obviously, like the name of a

close relative?

-No.

Don't think so.

-Any members of your family with medical disorders?

-Joe's a bit odd.

He got kicked in the head by a horse.

-Yeah, I know about your brother.

What about your parents?

-Mum's fine.

Getting old.

-Father?

-He walked out when I was five.

Died a couple of years after that.

-What did he die from?

-No idea.

I was actually closer to my grandad.

But then he died as well.

-How old was he when he died?

-I'm not sure.

Young.

He kept setting fire to his bed, so he got sent to a home.

-Take a seat.

-So you, uh, think I've got something then?

-Pauline will take your blood for testing.

-Worse case scenario.

-It's probably just a virus.

But your symptoms, combined with your family's medical

history means a very slim possibility you

have a genetic disorder.

I'd like to rule that out.

-But it's probably just a virus?

-Yes.

Probably.

Nurse: Louisa Glasson.

-Is everything Ok?

-One moment.

-Oh.

-Ms. Glasson.

-Oh, hello.

-Nurse.

-Sorry, I was just trying to see.

-You're right.

Sga, small for gestational age.

By week 24, the fetus should measure 33 centimeters at the

very least.

This one...

Not even close.

-Can you see something?

Is something wrong?

-Stop talking, please.

-You made a mistake.

-A mistake?

-I don't mean getting pregnant.

Did you get the date wrong?

-The date of what?

You're not being very clear.

-I'm simply trying to work out whether you're suffering some

sort of intrauterine growth retardation.

What I need to know...

And this shouldn't be too difficult out of thought.

When did you have sex with Dr. Ellingham.

-Well, i...

I didn't actually make a note in my diary.

But, uh, I think the last time we had...

On the few occasions that we...

It was, uh, mid October...

11.

And, uh, a couple of days after that.

-There.

It wasn't so bad, was it?

-This is so kind of you, Joan.

You know, I could have got a cab.

-No, I don't want you wasting your money on taxis.

Come on, buddy.

Babies don't come cheap.

And you're still paying for that overpriced room in the

pub where you could be staying with me for nothing.

-You know I'd like to you, but it's just too far from the

school without a car.

-Look, I honestly don't mind driving you.

-What?

There and back every day?

No, I need a place of my own in the village.

Waddling distance.

-Well, if you're sure about that, I think I might be able

to help you.

If you're let me.

-Ah!

-Surprise.

-What the hell are you doing?

-It's romantic, isn't it?

-You nearly killed me.

-I didn't mean to, Pauline.

I was just...

-my brother used to do that, except without the flowers.

-Well, I've booked a table at a restaurant.

A romantic restaurant.

-Not your place then?

-Mm.

-You've not finished work already.

-Lunch break.

-You Ok?

-A bit of a fever.

Doc Martin's took some blood.

He's doing some tests.

Probably just a virus.

Well, you know what doctors are like.

They're always looking for something to scare you with.

I think he was hoping I'd got what grandpa had.

-Grandpa wasn't ill.

He was just mental.

-Yeah.

Well, maybe the milkman did work for the KGB.

-Does the doc think you're going mental as well?

-No.

He said there's a tiny chance I might

have something genetic.

-Genetic?

Sam: A tiny chance.

-You mean, I might have it as well?

-So what exactly have we got?

-You have got nothing.

-Don't try and sugar the pill.

-There is no pill.

You have no symptoms.

You have, therefore, no illness.

-Not yet.

But if it killed grandfather.

-I can't tell what killed your grandfather.

-He was only 49.

How long have I got?

-I can't possibly tell how long you're going to live.

Right now it is your brother I'm concerned with.

-Yes, everyone always cares about Sam.

He'll be all right, though.

He's the lucky one.

I'm the one that needs to worry.

-Why?

-Because if it's genetic, it will swerve past Sam and come

straight for me.

So, please, tell me, what's on your mind?

I have to know.

-Your brother has some symptoms consistent with

Huntington's disease.

But it's highly unlikely.

-Will I go mental?

Will I definitely die?

-If you did have it, then, um...

Yes, you would slowly go mental and eventually die.

-Oh my god.

It killed grandpa and now it's coming for me.

-Oh, all right.

Sit down and roll up your sleeve.

What are you doing?

-I can't breathe.

I need air.

-Sit down and calm down.

You're having a panic attack.

-Is that one of the symptoms?

-Shut up and let me take your blood.

-You?

-Yes.

All right, make a fist.

All right, hold that.

There's Mrs. Henson on the phone.

-It looks haunting to me.

No.

-Right.

You can answer the phone then.

-What?

-If you're going to take your own blood, you might as well

do my whole job.

-Goodbye, Pauline.

He thinks I'm going to die soon.

Martin: Not soon enough.

All right, we should have yours and your brothers

results by tomorrow.

Put your shirt on.

-I'll miss you, doc.

-All right, go.

Go.

That's it.

-It seems a bit weird just to knock on his door.

I haven't seen him for years.

-Well, he'll be glad of the company.

-Thanks for the lift, Joan.

-Oh, if he offers you tea, make sure you wash the mug.

You'll be delighted to hear the scan went well.

Martin: What scan?

-Louisa's checkup at the hospital.

Oh, for god sake, Martin.

Take some interest in your baby.

-Louisa has made it abundantly clear that she wants me to

have nothing to do with it.

-And you'll do as you're told?

-Yes.

-Well, that'll be a first.

-It's good of you to visit me, Lisa.

-Louisa.

-And thank you for the jelly babies.

-I'm sorry, there weren't that many left.

-I don't see many people these days.

Those that do come complain about the smell.

-I can't imagine why.

-It's a kipper.

-What is?

-The smell.

He was making me breakfast and... Uh, one of me kippers

slipped down the back of the cooker.

They couldn't reach it, and the home help's no help.

Haven't had a cooked breakfast in a good while now.

-It's such a lovely house.

And so close to the school.

-It doesn't suit me.

All these stairs.

On my bad days, I wee in the kitchen sink just to save

myself the climb.

Would you like a biscuit?

-Oh, no.

Fine, thanks.

-Over there, by the sink.

-I hear you're thinking of going into a home?

-That tosser doc Martin doesn't think I'm ill enough.

I had a heart attack this morning.

He didn't even care.

-If you did go into a home, what would you

do with this place?

-Rent it out, I guess.

-To tourists or someone local?

Someone who's lived here all their life and still works in

the village?

Not many of them left.

-Oh, there's a few on the boats, in the

shops, in the school.

-Where do you live, Lisa?

-Doctors have to mention the bad stuff in case you actually

are ill and you sue them.

Most of the time it's nothing.

So will you please lighten up?

-I've done nothing with my life.

You, you've done it all.

Apart from play football for Plymouth argyle.

But if you're ankle hadn't...

-shut up about the bloody football.

-You could have been a contender, Sam.

You could have been king of the world.

You don't have when you're pissed.

-Don't leave me.

-I'm only going for a crap.

-Another one?

-Sorry, you're not allowed in here.

-What?

-No supermodels in the kitchen.

Where you off to dressed like that?

-Dinner.

Al's surprising me.

-Is he?

And there you are saying he didn't

know how to be romantic.

[Ringing�}

-hello?

Al: Hey, babe.

Sorry, something's come up.

-I can't hear you.

You're mumbling.

-Something's come up.

I met some old mates and, uh...

-hey.

-What's up.

-Yeah.

I thought I'd stay and have a session with them.

All right, lads.

Keep it down.

I'm on the phone to the Mrs. Here.

So, uh... yeah, I can't do that thing tonight.

Maybe tomorrow.

-But Al...

-I've got to go.

Shots are here.

-Your romantic son just stood me up.

-Really?

-He says he having drinks with some old mates.

-It's a shame to let all that beauty go to waste.

Why don't you go out front and take a few orders?

-What are you drinking, Joe?

-Eh?

-Yeah, I'm supposed to be taking Pauline

out for dinner tonight.

She thinks I can't do anything without her, so I plan on

being here for a while with my mates.

-Where are they now?

-Oh, they'll be here.

Soon.

In the meantime, can I get you a pint?

-Actually, I'm in the middle of something.

Family matter, with my brother.

-Family stuff, yeah?

I love family stuff.

-Did you want a pudding?

-No thanks.

Man: Notice how the surgeon has gone to great

lengths to minimize hemorrhage as he opened the chest.

Now, as he opens the left ventricle, there will be a

rush of blood.

Observe how the assistant is ready with the sucker, so that

all the blood lose can go through the cell saver and be

re-infused.

This will minimize the amount needed in transfusion.

-The thing about women is they always want to

know where you are.

But they never want you around.

-Suppose we're all going to die.

It's just getting used to the idea.

-So I stood her up, right.

Because she's got this crazy idea that I'm clingy.

I mean, me... clingy.

Not even Pauline goes to the toilet as much as you do.

-I've got a dippy tummy.

-Well, thanks for sharing.

-You haven't touched that one.

Go on.

Cheers.

Here's to the best brother I could ever hope to have.

And if this is the end of the journey, I just want you to

know that I'm one lucky bastard to have

had you in my life.

-Now where you off to?

-Toilet.

-You just went.

He's not doing drugs in there, is he?

-Thought I heard voices.

-Go back to bed.

-What are painting at this time of night?

-Because it's easier to concentrate when it's just me.

On my own.

By myself.

-That's excellent.

-What do you know about art?

-I know what I like.

And I really...

-yeah, yeah, yeah.

It's brilliant, just like everything

else I've ever done.

You know what?

I need to get this finished.

-Goodnight.

-Last night Al stands me up.

So I stay awake waiting for him, so I could ignore him.

But then I fall asleep.

This morning, I found him asleep on the bathroom floor.

I hadn't heard him come in.

He passed out trying to brush his teeth.

So I stayed awake for no good reason.

Well, that's it.

-Where's the painter?

-He's in the kitchen.

-The kitchen doesn't need painting.

Pauline: I know.

He's having a cup.

-Your results are negative.

-Oh.

So I'm not going to die?

-Not from Huntington's.

No.

Your iron levels are off and your blood counts low.

-All right.

Well, I don't know what that means.

I'll get a cloth.

-Pick that up.

-That's all right, I'll mop it up.

-Pick it up now.

You can't, can you?

-All right, don't rub it in.

-Do you have that weakness in any other joint?

Pauline: Doc, there's another routledge

emergency.

-No, I am not attending that hypochondriac anymore.

-He's got chest pains, arm ache.

I'm with a patient.

-Is this one having a stroke?

-No.

-No.

But Mr. Routledge is.

And he is scared and he is alone.

-I'll see you later.

-Squeeze.

No, you're not having a stroke.

-Then why do I feel as if I am?

-Because you're a mentally deranged time-waster.

Law dictates the one time I fail to attend is

the one day you actually die.

Louisa.

-Did something happen to Mr. Routledge?

-Sadly not.

-Is that my breakfast?

-Two lovely kippers.

-The griddle's over there.

-When did you start delivering meals on wheels?

-Lisa thinks I should go into a home.

-He's very frail.

-No he's not.

-Yes, I am.

-No, you're not.

-I'm going for a wee.

-It probably would be for the best though, wouldn't it?

-I'd get proper care.

And Lisa could move in here.

-Oh, right.

I see.

-See what?

-You want me to refer Mr. Routledge to a home, so that

you can move into his house.

-No.

No, not at all.

-What?

So you wouldn't want to live here?

-Well, I would.

Yes.

-Mm.

-Don't mm at me, Martin.

-Goodbye.

-Martin, I was going to come and see you.

Um, come look at this.

Oh, god.

There is something wrong.

Dr. Montgomery says its sga.

She's booked me in for some scans... dopplers.

-They checked that the placenta's working?

-I got the technicalities explained at length.

What I didn't get was any kind of reassurance the

baby's doing Ok.

And that's all I want right now.

-Don't worry about one image, Louisa.

They're easily misinterpreted.

Some fetuses are small at this stage and have a

growth spurt later on.

Some fetuses are small throughout the pregnancy.

It doesn't mean there's anything wrong

with you, or the baby.

-Right.

Um, can I have it back?

-Do you mind if I hang onto it?

I just want to check the measurements and

consult with Edith.

-You're...

You're going to talk to Edith about our baby?

Martin: Is that a problem?

-With you discussing my baby with your ex-fiance.

-I see, it's your baby when it suits you.

But it's ours when you need medical help.

-So do I start packing or not?

-No, Mr. Routledge, you are not entitled to

a place in a home.

-Caring profession.

My biggest head.

Ah!

Louisa: Oh my god.

-Uh, don't move.

-Does it look like I can?

Ah!

He's broken his hip.

-Ok, I was really angry about last night, but I think we

should discuss it properly, like grownups.

Are you ignoring me now?

-Don't know about these hybrids.

Cars are supposed to make a noise, aren't they?

Natural ones are just spooky.

-I can't take this anymore.

-Can't take what?

-All this acting so weird.

-I haven't been acting weird.

All right.

All right.

All right, I have been acting weird.

But...

-you want to get rid of me.

-No, you idiot.

-You're the idiot.

-I want you to stay, Pauline.

-Oh, I give up.

-No, I give up.

Because I buy you flowers, you yell at me.

I stand you up, so you don't think I'm so clingy.

You ignore me.

Have you any idea how much I had to drink to stay out that

late with my so-called mates just to prove to you that,

yes, I do have a life of my own.

-I don't want you to do all that.

-Yes, you did.

Dad told me.

-Oh, so he told you to act like a pillock.

-He told me you don't like how I am.

And he said I mumble.

Pauline: What?

-He said...

He said I mumble.

-No you don't.

You don't have to change completely.

-So... so there are bits of me that you like?

-Yeah.

Yeah, yeah.

-You going to tell me what they are so maybe I can, um,

work on them?

-Why don't you work it out yourself?

-You've got a lovely head of hair.

-What the hell's going on?

Oh my god.

You've turned my kitchen into a crank den.

-No, I haven't.

Is that cocaine?

-No, it's paint.

I'm making paint.

-You buy paint.

You don't make it.

You had me thinking you were ill.

You're just a junkie.

I want you and your narcotics out of my house.

-I'm not a junkie, you moron.

-I am not a moron, you junkie.

-And just try...

Just...

-Oh, god.

-Yes?

You sent for an ambulance?

-Yes.

Will he be all right?

-Hello?

Can you hear me?

Painter?

-I think maybe he ate something bad.

-Why do you say that?

-He just has that kind of I ate something bad look.

Don't you think?

-His pulse is elevated.

Mm.

Has he taken any drugs to your knowledge?

-How do you...

I mean, do you have to know about that to help him?

-But of course I do.

He's presenting like he's had an overdose.

I can't help treat him if I don't know what he's taken.

-He's been taking crack cocaine.

See?

-He said he was making paint.

-Paint?

-It's not his fault, though.

It's all the stress.

-What stress?

Joe: Well, he's been staying up late at night

working hard on this.

That's not bad for a crackhead.

-Mm.

Samuel birch, 1888.

Wake up.

-Why'd you sign it Samuel birch?

-Because he's a forger.

-Oh, shit.

-Yeah, blue discoloration along the gum line.

I think he's got lead poisoning.

-Have you been making lead paint?

-You can buy paint.

-Not that sort they used in the 1800s.

So he's not a druggie?

-No, he's a crook.

-No, not Sam.

-You don't get chronic lead poisoning overnight.

I doubt if this is the first time he's done it.

He'll need to go to hospital.

-It's not what it looks like.

-Did you even have a trial for Plymouth argyle?

Did you?

-Uh, I can't.

I can't.

It's just too beautiful.

Even you have to admit that.

-I don't have to admit anything.

I have the right to remain silent.

-Good.

-Why is that still up?

-Um, some of the patients like it.

Oh, oh.

Oh.

-Doc, can I have a word?

-No.

-You took my blood, did some tests.

-You're not ill.

You're fit and healthy...

Physically.

-I thought you might want this.

-No, I don't.

-But you said you liked it.

-No, I didn't.

-Well, you agreed it wasn't bad for a crack head.

-I've put some tipp-ex over the signature, so technically

it's not illegal anymore.

I'm trying to say sorry for what my brother nearly did to

our special relationship.

But we're Ok now, yeah?

-Uh...

-great.