Original subtitles

Nice bit of buggery, Miss.

Bit of flashing, sir.

What is it?

- Rape, sir. - Very good rape.

- Great. - Miss. Another good rape.

Very good rapes, the pair of them. All singing, all dancing.

Both will run for a week. Enjoy.

- Nanny Loves You. - What?

The best suppliers of class nannies in Yorkshire.

Tonight they're sending the answer to your problems.

- So we can doour very good rapes. - I do look after you.

Miss Black. Trial, Miss.

Crown Court?

Yes. Some bloke beating up a prostitute.

- Sex, sex, sex. - It's a bad old world.

Don't you ever stop Long enough to start?

Get your car out of that gear

Just take your time, read it properly.

A night is longer than you think.

But if you panic, it gets shorter.

Ring me if you need me.

Under no circumstances whatsoever, ever,

does our sporting hero plead to this indecent assault.

- Get him to fight it, get him off. - I'll judge the case on its merits.

I will have no regard for the benefits of the publicity a trial would attract

and I'm deaf to the noises being made by my senior clerk.

Good boy.

Good job. Well done.

The new d?cor. I love a bit of avocado.

You know the thing about you, Stevie?

You can take a man's breath away.

Is this how you usually dress to meet a big new client?

I like clients to be at their ease. Nice pair of slacks, beige Puppies.

- The Val technique. - Val?

- Sing-along-a. - What?

Doonican.

- Puppies? - Hush.

The shoes they wear on Radio2.

He's pleading.

- No. - Yes.

That was a statement, not a question.

Indecent assault. Open and shut. No defence.

So he hasn't told you he's pleading guilty?

I've told hlm.

- You all right? - What?

- Fine. - Your voice goes up an octave.

What?

- My trial. - It'll be all right. I'll look after you.

If I go down... End.

No more horsehair on head. Ever.

I told you. I'll look after you.

I've decided. Go for it.

Apply for silk.

- What's up? - Nothing.

No, not nothing. You're looking out the window a lot.

I know about looking out windows.

I've got a very good practice, haven't I?

Which is why you should apply for silk.

My practice is better than my contemporaries'.

You'd be the youngest QC in England. And it would make a difference,

having those magic letters after our Head of Chambers.

Now fuck off with this window shit, can you?

Oh, by the way, Miss. One thing I need to know.

Any skeletons? Best you tell me if there are.

Look at that. That's what I like to see.

Page-one crime in my waiting room. Love it.

- Who's that? - "Who's that?"

Are you dead, sir, or just practising for when you're a judge?

- Stuart Pound, Tom. - Oh, terrific.

Who's Gazza? What's a T-shirt?

In my day, "gay" meant "happy."

- Stevie's told me. - Has she? What?

That I've got to plead guilty.

It has the advantage of... minimising the fuss.

Fuss?

I can't afford for this to get any more damaging.

This way, I can avoid the press crawling over me for days.

A trial would be bad for Stuart and his profile.

- If I plead guilty, tell the judge... - What?

...that it was a tasteless joke and how sorry I am and all that.

I'm gonna ask you one question. Do you feel guilty?

- Excellent. - Excellent?

- Well, I have my answer. - What answer?

- I didn't... - Which tells me everything.

I know the difference between guilty silence and innocent silence.

- Look... - No, you've done your bit.

You've expressed yourself. The rest is me.

For 89 minutes, their full-back, Biggs, has been kicking you.

And then it happens. Last minute.

From the moment you hit it, maybe before, we can see where it's going.

Top corner. Silence.

Then cacophony.

The game is won and 89 minutes of kicking you means nothing.

And what do you do? I'll tell you.

You shrug off jubilant team-mates and head for Kicking Boy.

The crowd exhale.

And they hate you. Their love has turned to hate.

Because they don't understand. They missed the whole point.

Your exquisite, articulate act.

- What did they miss, Alex? - Irony. It's an ironic kiss.

Irony isn't indecent. Irony's not an assault.

- That's your defence. - Brilliant.

Is there anything you want to say?

Brilliant. I don't have to plead guilty, and this way...

It's a nice, clean trial.

Not guilty, Stuart. Forget pleading. This is history.

And you don't fuck with history.

"Nice, clean trial," Alex. Single issue - was the kiss ironic?

No mud-slinging. Cos mud comes back in cases like this.

You have to represent the whole client, which means keeping him away

from sex, sexuality and all that grubby tabloid stuff.

Precisely.

There's a jolly neat crease in my slacks, I'm softly lit,

my mum knitted my pullie, I look great on a stool and I'm so clean, my teeth squeak.

There is a resemblance.

- You and Val. - That's what I've been telling you.

Hello, darling.

Hi.

Hi.

How long have you been a nanny?

- Three years now. - Right.

Hello.

Little Dan. Little Danny.

Danny boy.

I'm just gonna... get his bottle.

I'll give you a hand.

She seems pretty together.

I don't like the way she shortens his name. Dan. Danny. Danny boy.

- Saying it all the time. - What are you on about?

It's a bit over-familiar, a bit American.

I don't suppose he's thinking, "Bugger me, she's a bit fresh, bit heavy on the name usage."

He's a brilliant baby.

- What is it, Billy? - I don't know.

Try.

- She's a bit... - Yeah?

- You know. - No.

- Fat. - Jesus, Billy!

You need to be honest when it comes to who's gonna look after your baby.

- What does that have to do with it? - She might need to run.

- I'm not talking to you about this. - I think she's unhappy-fat.

It's in her eyes. You know that look you sometimes get with clients

- of voracious sadness? - Let's go back in.

Ever had any accidents with children in your care?

- Yes. - Right.

A two-year-old I looked after fell off a bus.

Not right off. Just from the step onto the road. The bus was stopped.

He was called Daniel, too.

What did you do?

I stemmed the bleeding and took him to Casualty.

- How? - By bus.

Right.

Luckily, there was a nice man on the bus.

Luckily?

He looked after the four-year-old for me.

- At Casualty. - At the bus stop.

I've had a lot of first-aid training.

Good.

What about food? Er... what are your thoughts on food?

Bye.

Oh, it's completely not funny.

What we gonna do?

- You could return your rape. - You could return your rape.

I don't care what time it is. You sent them a fat psychopath.

What kind of nanny agency are you?

No. Listen. I want someone round there tomorrow night who is not fat.

I want thin and I want normal. I got two massive rapes

depending on Nanny Fucking Loves Ya.

- Hello? - Tomorrow, don't come to chambers.

You're baby-sitting.

D'you think Bob will be all right with Daniel?

- No. Do you? - No.

- Are you er... - Pleading? I thought I might. You?

- I thought I might. - Pure scum, my bloke.

- Mine too, pure scum. - I love you.

I love you, too.

- I'm floating. - What?

- It says here I'm floating. - Right.

- What's "floating"? - Your trial's a back-up case.

- If a court becomes free, you go in. - Which will be mine, cos I'm pleading.

- A substitute. - Yeah.

- So I've got more time to prepare. - Night got short on you?

You're not leading Stone, are you, Rose?

No. This is Morag. She's doing it.

Knockabout ABHs are a bit beneath a woman of my experience.

Come and find me when you're ready.

Sad old hack.

Guy.

This is Morag.

Will John...

...Stone please come to the lobby? Thank you.

You should be pleading.

Very clear ID evidence, with the best descriptions in those circumstances

I've seen in my 20 years at the bar.

And from a junkie whore, it's fantastic.

Well, think about it... I've forgotten your name.

- Morag. - Oh, yes. Rose said.

Rose and I go way back.

She's got teasing me down to a fine art.

She said you're a sad old hack.

You can judge the size of a barrister's practice

by the amount of debris on the shoulders.

- Debris? - Dandruff.

The more there is, the poorer the practice.

Guy Beethoven. List officer. You're my only floater, Miss Black.

- How d'you know my name? - I know everything.

You're 22. Deeply, deeply Scottish.

And right at this moment, a little bit scared.

Don't be. You'll be fine.

- How do you know? - Rose Fitzgerald is never wrong.

Which means that when she tells me she needs hours and hours

to talk to her client before going into court, I'm happy to believe her.

Take your time, and when you're ready, we'll put you on.

- It was disgusting. - And where was his tongue?

His tongue was in my mouth.

- For how long? - A long time.

Well, a few seconds. It seemed like ages.

And how did that make you feel?

I felt raped.

If Stuart Pound had tried to kiss you in your front room,

- what would you have done? - Shoved him off.

- You'd have gone berserk. - Yeah, I would of.

- You might have hit him. - I would've clocked him one.

He's a much better footballer than you, isn't he?

I'm a defender. There are different facets.

He does things you can only dream about.

It's different. Defending's an art in itself.

Not in this country, it isn't.

In this game, it was your job to sit on Pound,

to nullify the risk he poses.

Yeah.

A private battle. His art versus yours.

- And you lost. - Well...

He scored the winning goal and made you look like the donkey you are.

I don't think personal abuse is called for.

"Donkey" is a term of endearment at Arsenal.

Leaving you for dead, as he did, a man like you -

dedicated, passionate about your work - it was a humiliation.

No defender likes being done.

- "Done"? Humiliated. - Yeah, I accept that.

Your Honour, please give me a moment. I need to consult my solicitor.

- You're looking incredibly gorgeous. - You're mad.

And bad and dangerous to know.

Did you shove him off when he tried to kiss you?

No.

- Did you go berserk? - No.

- Did you clock him one? - No.

You didn't do anything at all? Because this kiss was no threat to you.

You were already humiliated. The kiss was a comment on your humiliation.

I don't follow you.

You're here because Stuart Pound made you look a fool.

Yeah.

With a football. Not with his tongue.

- Good. - Good?

I thought you might be a scummy old thing. You know. Musty.

Cheesy. The type who... You know.

- But you're not. - Right.

- Your first time? - Here? Yes.

Your first time with a prostitute?

All you need to know is she was assaulted, but it wasn't me.

- She picked you out in an ID parade. - She got it wrong.

Actually, it's er, very common.

Genuine but mistaken belief, as the er... lawyers call it.

You'll find that, as you get more experienced.

- That's... - That's her.

It looked as if just now... Do you two know each other?

Well... y-yes, we do.

I'm a regular of hers.

That's great. So she picked you out in the ID parade because she knows you

and not because you were the man who attacked her.

I tried to get to him, you know, to pat him on the back or whatever.

- To celebrate, like. - And?

He wasn't interested. Shrugged us off.

"Us" meaning you or meaning members of your team collectively?

- What? - Oh, forget I spoke.

- Stuart just wanted to get to him. - "Him"?

Biggsy. Their right-back.

And could you see Stuart Pound's face as he was approaching Biggs?

- Yeah, absolutely. - What was the expression on his face?

It was er... It was a smoulder.

Show us.

- Sorry? - Show us the smoulder.

- What d'you mean? - Do it.

- Me? - You.

- Is that what Stuart Pound did? - Yeah. Absolutely.

- A sort of... pantomime smoulder. - I suppose.

- Do you go to the theatre? - No.

- Not a big centre-half thing to do? - No, not really.

You'd probably say it was a bit poncey.

- A bit. - Like Stuart Pound.

What are your feelings about Stuart Pound?

Well... I don't really want to be here. He's a team-mate.

It's not easy for me.

- Does Stuart Pound go to the theatre? - Yeah.

How do you feel about that?

- Nothing. - Nothing?

Well, what's the dressing-room line on it?

Oh, come on. Every dressing room is full of good old, rib-digging mickey-taking.

It's what you do. And everyone gets it.

I suppose.

So how does it go with Stuart Pound?

Well, erm, you know, it's to do with him doing the poncey stuff.

What's the footballers' word for homosexual?

Gay.

Can I remind you that you're on oath, Mr Hurd?

Ponce?

Nonce?

Queer? Woofter?

Do I see a smile?

I think we'll adjourn now.

- Great. Just great. - I know. The jury, they stink.

Ponce. Woofter. Queer. Did you see? With each one, they shifted in their seats.

If prejudice were a gesture, it would be the shifting of English buttocks.

- You started it. - What?

"Poncey" and "theatre". You let the prosecution in.

You promised him a good, clean trial. That was a lie.

- Are you ready? - Yes.

Then consider my man ready to plead. You'll be in my court ten minutes after lunch.

Thanks, Rose.

I'm applying for silk.

I know. Word gets round.

And you want me to write a reference.

And in it I'll put that you're a brilliant advocate

with the most beautiful mouth I've ever seen.

- I don't want a reference from you. - Why not?

Because I want my application determined on its merits, and only on its merits.

And you don't think I'm capable of keeping the professional and the personal separate?

It's the way I want it done. Above board.

- I feel a bit insulted, to be honest. - Don't be.

- Do me a smoulder. - Pardon?

I'm asking you, Miss de Souza,

to smoulder for me.

I don't do smoulders.

Then kiss me indecently.

That... I do.

- Thank you, Miss de Souza. - It's a pleasure, Your Honour.

I've got the afternoon off. We're not sitting.

Really?

Really.

- Tomorrow. - Yes.

Will they do to me what you did to him?

They'll try.

- That's what you've made this. - What?

You've turned it into everything I didn't want.

My career now, all of it, will be about how well or badly

I take shit from the terraces, from my team-mates and the press.

And sponsors? Forget it.

What normally happens between me and a client is the truth sits between us

and I talk around it and take a great deal of care not to touch it.

The client soon understands how to do the same thing.

By and large, the truth has nothing to do with the system.

But sometimes, very occasionally, I can make room.

I can shut the fuck up for long enough to let the client pick up the truth

and dump it in my lap If the client wants to, Stuart.

A long enough silence. An invitation, Stuart.

You don't have to go into the box, but you do need to decide by the morning.

- How long have you been finished? - Hm?

- A while. - And you're not home yet?

- I'm worried about... - Morag. Right.

I'm off, Rose. See you.

I'm worried about Daniel.

Shh. Shh.

A boojie boo de doo

A la-ba doh de doh

Koo pah ah

A dooka-dook doo-dook dah ma

Ohh... Jinky balaaa

Docky dinky doo

Acka bam ja-ja choo-choo ah-ah

Oooh ah ah ah ah

Ah ah-ah, ah-ah ah-ah ah ah

The truth is, Miss Cross...

...you couldn't see very well in the dark, with no street lighting.

That's right.

So your identification of Mr Stone as the man who assaulted you is unreliable.

It used to be different.

- Before the Chapeltown scheme. - Scheme?

The police pick up kerb-crawlers.

They give 'em a choice - education or prosecution.

Course, they all choose education. They're sad, men.

We're forced to go with dangerous punters in dark places where the police won't see.

Everyone's happy.

Sad men go back to their wives. The residents don't have the eyesore.

And the police are praised for their enlightened approach.

And I get smacked to fuck in a dark alley.

- And you're angry about it. - Yes, very!

Which is why you picked out Mr Stone in the ID parade,

even though it wasn't him who assaulted you.

- That, and because you know him. - What?

- He's a regular of yours. - No.

- He says he is. - Does he?

Any customer will do.

You're so angry, it doesn't matter if he did it or not.

- I bought a greyhound for racing. - What's it called?

- Fast as fuck. - What's it called?

- Fast As Fuck. - What's it called?

- Sod off. - Good name. Sod Off. Really good name.

Pink envelope, purple ink.

If That Were You by Elizabeth Arden.

Loopy handwriting with a heart above "I" in Mitford.

Is there anything we should know, sir, about Mr M?

I'll take those. He's past 3o. He needs a girlfriend.

We're doing it for him with the classiest lonely hearts in Yorkshire.

- She's... - She's...

...very... ...very...

...Scottish. - Yeah.

Scottish. That's the word.

The thing about being a judge is you get an inflated idea of your comic powers.

People laugh - jurors and soon -

because it's surprising when a judge tells a joke, not because it's funny.

You see, you go home... and your wife doesn't laugh...

...when you try to be funny.

It's a lonely business.

That's one of our jurors.

- We shouldn't be seen talking. - It's all right.

They never recognise me without all my glad-rags on.

Sometimes I don't recognise myself.

Talking of glad-rags,

- Wendy de Souza's applying for silk. - Is she?

- You can give her a reference. - Why?

You're the nicest judge in town. What you say matters.

- I'm going to ask you again. - About looking out of windows?

About skeletons.

- I didn't tell the truth. - No.

- I lied to you. - Yeah.

- How did you know? - Because I know you.

- Sorry. - It's OK.

- I meant about the skeletons. - No, you didn't.

No, I didn't.

"The quality of mercy is not strained.

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.

It is twice blessed. It blesseth him that gives and him that takes."

The pound of flesh exposed by my client under his raincoat in the park

is not the same pound of flesh that Shylock is after.

But, members of the jury...

But...

But... what... Bloody hell!

- Bloody hell! - Hi, Tom.

I was just... practising.

- You OK? - Mm.

Er... would you like to sit down?

Oh, I just finished my shift and I thought I'd erm...

- Have you seen Alex? - He's not back in chambers yet?

He's probably erm... Look, this is silly. Forget it. Sorry.

Probably what?

- That solicitor. - Stevie Goode?

Yeah, I can tell there's erm... something.

I'm sure it's nothing. Alex just flirts. It's one of his things. His... twinkle.

"His twinkle." Sounds like a social worker's euphemism.

Don't look at me like that. "Twinkle" is a funny word.

Really, I'm sure it's nothing.

I know. I'm sorry.

Hi. "Sorry"? Sorry what?

Sorry about... Tom's dad. He's not very well.

He's dead, isn't he?

Can I have a word, Alex?

- Hi, Helen. - Hi.

"Dear Tom, I'm pert... " P-U-R-T. "... and funny, ha ha.

You can slap my sides. Bernice."

Or, "Dear Tom, I'm gorgeous, talented and clever and a class above this. Francesca."

Which?

- Francesca, obviously. - Francesca it is.

I'll call. Invite her to the bar tomorrow.

We can all watch him fall in love with GTC.

- GTC? - Gorgeous, talented, clever.

- You're round at ours tomorrow. - Fine.

Tom should have his first date without his family watching.

She has to be able to run, she has to be able to cuddle

and she has to be able to speak English.

Now, have you got someone who can do all three?

Great. Send her round tonight.

A bit about myself? Well, I'm... I'm a bit shy.

Yes.

Oh, all right, then, Fran. Can I call you Fran?

Yes, you'll need to know how to spot me.

Well, I'm dark, handsome, medium build...

...great feet, little bit of the Tom Cruise about me, dash of Pacino.

And I'll be wearing blue suede shoes.

- Billy. - Marlowe.

- How are you? - What d'you want?

- Trial looming. - Piss off, will you, Marlowe?

I've got a proposal to make.

My boy Wilson. His nose still hurts. It were a good punch, by all accounts.

But he'd drop it against you if I told him to. And I might.

- Lf? - If you came and played for me again.

- What? - I could get you such heavy work.

- Are you joking? - Completely serious.

I wouldn't be laughing if I were you.

Go down for this and it's the end of the bar for Billy boy.

The answer's no.

I'll call you tonight, check you mean that.

Don't call me. The answer's no.

Easy, Billy.

- You bastard. You bastard. - You're delighted, really.

- Coming or going, Billy? - Er... going.

- And? - "And?"

- Shut up. - "Shut up"?

Shut up with the shutting up.

- The case. - The case.

Badly. Brilliantly and badly. Homophobic jury, pissed-off client and Stevie,

- all because I'm being brilliant. - Is he queer?

- Yes. - He told you?

As good as.

- You gonna lose? - Erm, no.

Yes.

- Are you losing quietly? - Erm, yes. Quietly.

- Play it. - Play what?

- The queer card. - We can't do that.

"We?" What "we"? The only "we" I'm thinking about is us.

Us we. Chambers. We're new, Alex. We're very new.

We need a lift-off. This is it - this case.

I want it on the front page of every rag in the country. Us, Alex.

Us is your duty.

Play the queer card. And if you're gonna lose, lose with a lot of noise.

Where are you from? - Iceland.

- Reykjavik? - What?

Reykjavik?

- Are you from... "Reykjaavik"? - No. But...

- But...? - I love cod.

Oh, that's OK. I was brought up a Catholic.

She said "cod", Billy, not "God".

She's warm. Affectionate. Daniel likes her.

- Not fat. - What?

- Lithe. - What?

- We've found our nanny. - Yeah.

- I'm very lithe. - You are very lithe.

- Sex. - Sorry?

Sex, please, Billy. Now.

Come on, then.

Hello?

Peter. No, no, she's great.

No, not Reykjavik.

Look, thanks for... you know, Nanny Loves You.

Right now? Er... having sex.

No. With Rose.

- Bye, Peter. - Oh...!

Sorry!

Leave it.

They're the two strongest things in my life.

- My football and... - Being gay.

They've been separate up to a point.

None of the fans know and the press have never got hold of it.

The dressing-room stuff was... They didn't know. They just smelt it.

- Like they do. - Football and my secret are separate.

Suddenly, scoring that goal in that way, it was a kind of... perfection.

The goal was so good it sort of stopped time.

- Anything felt possible. - I wanted to make the leap.

For one foolish moment, I thought... felt it would be all right.

To bring together your football and your secret.

I'll have to plead guilty, won't I, now I've told you?

I can be a bit deaf. It's my job to see the whole picture, beyond the rules.

If you put your hands up now, you'll live in a half light,

taunted on the terraces, whispered about amongst your fellow pros...

What are you saying?

You can still go into the witness box and tell them who you are.

If you're gonna lose this case, lose with dignity and courage.

Be braver than the rest of us.

Er... a point of law, Your Honour.

I'm afraid we'll have to discuss it in the jury's absence.

One of the jury is wearing the away-kit of my client's team.

I'm afraid it may indicate bias on his part.

Mr Hay?

If he is a supporter, he may be biased in favour of Mr Pound,

but he may hate him for what he's alleged to have done.

Well, we better ask him.

Do you intend to communicate anything to this court or anyone in it

- by wearing the shirt you have on? - Yeah.

What?

This cost me ?59.99. It's a disgrace.

I love this club with all my heart and how do they return that love?

By taking ?59.99 out of my pocket.

In my book, that's hate. They hate me for the love I give 'em.

And I can't deal with it. It's causing me turmoil and... That's it.

- It's a thin line. - Between love and hate.

- Best version, Mr Hay? - The Persuaders.

- Pretenders for me. - Mr Bird?

I'm afraid I haven't the faintest idea what Your Honour is talking about.

- You had sex with Miss Cross? - Yes, I did.

And you paid her?

- I could have killed her. - What?

I shoved her up against the wall and started smacking her and smacking her.

Mr Stone, this is not what we...

It was so dark, I could have carried on smacking her and smacking her.

And no-one would have come.

That's what's so brilliant. I could have done what I wanted to that stupid whore.

Fantastic, smacking her in the dark.

Yes, Miss Black?

No... No more questions.

- Mr Stone. - Mr Stone, a word, please.

- What's going on? What are you doing? - I'm going for a pee.

Seasoned campaigner, Mr Stone.

What? I knew it.

Bastard!

You're using me, you bastard. This is a publicity stunt.

It's the Chapeltown scheme she was talking about.

It's both of you, isn't it?

But I'm right, aren't I? And you know I am.

She needs help. I'm giving it.

What am I gonna do? He's still my client.

You have a supremely wise pupil-mistress and she's in the robing room right now.

If I tell the judge, what will she do?

Have them arrested for perverting the course of justice.

- Who's the judge? - Styles.

A profoundly fair, just and humane human being.

It's made me feel... really foolish.

- And angry. - And angry.

What would you do?

We don't have to stop being ourselves just because we wear silly clothes.

Here.

He's made us all look like idiots.

Me, you...

- The law. - Yes. The law.

And if you were able to say it, you'd suggest I have him arrested.

Quietly. So the press don't see.

You're Rose Fitzgerald's pupil, aren't you?

She was my pupil. Hope she's passing on everything I taught her.

She says you're a profoundly fair, just and humane human being.

The glamorous lifestyle of footballers. Always a girl on the arm?

Yeah.

Tell us how you felt when that goal went in.

Great.

"Great"?

And...

Yes?

- Complicated. - Because?

I was happy. When you score a goal like that,

it's a very full expression of...

Who you are? As a footballer?

Yeah. It has real meaning.

What about kissing Biggs? What did that mean?

- It was an expression. - Of?

Irony?

- No. - Then what?

Of who I am.

Which is?

A gay footballer.

- You look different. - Do I?

The bar speeds up change in people.

You look... a little less scared and a lot less Scottish.

- Thanks. - And your lipstick is... a good thing.

Stuart Pound is guilty.

As the law stands, he's committed an indecent assault.

He admits it, and soon you'll be told by His Honour, the judge,

that it's your duty to find him guilty.

Which may make you wonder why I'm talking to you now.

I'll tell you.

As a boy, I stood on the terraces at Elland Road

and watched a very gifted footballer, Albert Johanneson, play.

He's dead now. He died an alcoholic.

Overweight. Washed up. And do you know why he ended up like that?

Because every time he played, he was abused because he was black.

No-one cared that he was talented, funny and decent.

He was black and he was despised for it.

Now, football's getting better at dealing with racism.

But Albert Johanneson paid the price.

He was one of the first. And he didn't make it.

I want you to do something, all of you.

I want you to turn and look at Stuart Pound.

I want you to keep looking at him.

And I want you to say, all of you,

"You may be guilty of this offence under the law...

...but we do not despise you.

We do not join with the 4o, ooo in abusing you when you show us who you are.

Queer...

...ponce...

...nonce... are words we do not want."

Do this.

And then go back into your jury room and find him guilty, as you must.

But let him know...

...before you go...

...that he's an innocent man.

There's something I'd like you to do for me, Judge.

- I'm listening. - Wendy de Souza's silk application.

- I'd be grateful for a reference. - I can't do that.

- Are you sure? - She asked me not to.

Do it anyway.

- I have to honour her request. - Really? How's your wife?

- What are you trying to say, exactly? - Let's not do exactly.

Let's read between the lines. I'm all in favour of civilised behaviour.

- Stevie. - Shh.

You could be arrested... in Mississippi.

What?

There's a new law.

It's illegal to stand to attention in a public place, even with clothes on.

She's great!

Peculiar of Tom. First date - supper with all his friends.

I guess he's not ready for one-to-one. Not yet.

But he'll get there. It's a good thing we've done.

Billy!

OK. I'm nearly ready here.

- Where's Alex? - He said he'd be here.

Good boy.

Hi.

- Hi. - Hi. Where have you been?

- What? - With me. Shooting the breeze.

In Mississippi, there's a law against having an erection in public.

- Straight up? - Straight up.

More upwards than the Mull of Kintyre and you're nicked.

- Banged up for having a boner? - It's the angle of the Mull of Kintyre.

He can show you later, Francesca.

I'll go.

Shh! Shh!

... the plpes are calllng From glen to glen

And down the mountalnslde

The summer's gone

And all the roses falllng

'Tls you, 'tls you

Must go and I must blde

But come ye back

When summer's in the meadow

Or when the valley's hushed

And whlte wlth snow

It's I'll be here

In summer or in shadow

Oh, Danny boy

Oh, Danny boy

I love you so

- I used to sing that a lot. - To Rory?

- Yeah. - And now?

By the way. Dan. I'm his godfather.

- Are you? - You bet your life I am.

Loyal. Trusting.

That kind of thing.

- I'll tell Rose. - We should tell Rose.

Let's tell Rose.

- She'll be thrilled. - She'll be over the moon.

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