Original subtitles

And now, drop the dead donkey.

This episode was first shown in February '93,

in a week where the yugoslavian crisis intensified,

Mike Tyson contested his rape conviction,

and sellafield admitted to an embarrassing radiation leak.

And that is the news this Friday lunchtime.

We'll be back at six.

She's very good, that new girl.

Yes, very good.

Well, I suppose we ought to be looking ahead a bit.

That was fantastic, Jill. Didn't she do well, everybody?

Yes, Jill, you were marvellous. Terrific.

Played a blinder, Jill.

Yes, well done, Jill.

She did really well, didn't she, Sally? Really, really well.

I just said she did well, Henry.

Well, for this evening's bulletin, I think we'll lead

with how yugoslavian peace talks have broken down again.

It's all so depressing.

This suffering is just gonna drag on and on.

For how many more weeks

am I gonna have to say slobodan milosevic?!

And alija izetbegovic.

And flobadob dob. And custard sandwich!

My tongue'll end up in a bloody truss!

The war's a very complicated story, isn't it?

I'll talk you through it later, Jill.

That's a bit rich, coming from someone who thought a croat

was something you put your salt and pepper in.

Yes, all right, all right.

Dave, could you step through into my office for a moment?

Still, looking ahead, word is sellafield are about to admit

that one of their reactors has omitted a serious leak.

Not another one!

I reckon the only place in cumbria you're safe from radiation

is inside the bloody power station.

The government says it might prosecute. And pigs might fly.

Well, around sellafield, they probably do.

Ah, Dave.

George, this isn't about how to ask Helen out again, is it?

Sort of.

Dave, I went shopping this morning,

can I ask you,

which of these two cardigans do you think suits me best?

Which do you prefer?

Well, they're both extraordinary, George.

Thanks. So... er...

It's impossible to choose between them.

Ah, collecting for a jumble sale, George?

That's what I like to see, a caring workplace.

Can I borrow you?

I need you to sign this letter to the Muslim council,

apologising for Henry's pronunciation of the word Shiite.

We don't want to get into any fatwa situations.

And finally, can I remind everyone once again

that we are a "no smoking" office.

And that includes the toilets, the stationery cupboard,

and the ventilator shaft,

where two smokers got stuck yesterday.

We're just not safety-conscious enough as a company.

Remember, accidents can happen very easily.

Absolutely. I mean, yesterday,

my make-up lady accidentally stabbed me with a safety pin.

Three times!

Yes, well, while we're on the safety subject,

can I remind all of you that there will be another fire drill tomorrow.

Groaning

and we will keep on having drills until we do them properly.

So, Jill, are you doing anything tonight?

Yes, she's coming out with me.

Ah... how about tomorrow night?

Haven't you got some routine paperwork

you should be getting on with, Dave?

No. Haven't you got some overpaid posturing

you could be getting on with?

All right, you two, unlock those antlers!

Jill, perhaps you'd like to run through this agency stuff

with George. Sure.

Stay off my patch, junior.

Oh, go and Polish your zimmer frame! Honestly!

Pathetic, isn't it?

Just because she's young.

We live in a youth-obsessed culture, that's the trouble.

Once a woman hits 30, she's considered professional dog meat.

But if you're a man, you can have bits falling off you,

hair sprouting out of your nostrils, dribble running down your chin...

And yet, you're still mature.

It's pitiful.

I agree.

I'm sorry?

I said I agree.

Oh, right.

It's just, I'm not used to people agreeing with me.

Have you seen the gossip page?

Dr death has done this totally unfair hatchet job on selina Scott.

I'll have it blown up and put on the notice board.

Serves her right, the old cow's past it.

Damien!

What?!

Well, it's true. I mean, she must be at least 40!

Well, tomorrow's big story

will obviously be the unemployment figures, and...

George?

Are you all right?

I'm sorry, Jill.

A bit on my mind.

My divorce is turning a bit ugly.

Having to divide up all the belongings.

She gets all the furniture, and I get... the glassware.

Margaret brought it round yesterday.

Oh, right.

She shoved it all through the letterbox.

And my daughter's being a bit of a worry at the moment.

Well, you know what 15-year-old girls are like.

Going out with boys, staying out late...

Setting fire to panda cars.

And my doctor's not being at all sympathetic

about my mystery intestinal arrhythmia.

And the insurance company's still refusing to pay out

for the time when that chap from the dry ski slope

came through my windscreen.

Still, you've got to look on the bright side.

Do you...?

Do you think that Helen would ever contemplate going out with me?

Well, there's only one way to find out, George.

Yeah, I know, Dave said that.

But women just don't seem to find me dishy.

Oh, George, that's not true! You're very...

Why don't you ask her out? What have you got to lose?

You know, you're right.

I'm 42. I can't go on letting life pass me by like this!

Helen. Mm-hm?

Helen, I've got something very important to ask you.

All right. Fire away.

I was wondering if...

If you...

..Felt we were covering the Bosnia story properly.

Well, we're devoting three minutes to it.

Ah, good, good. Excellent.

Was that it?

Erm...

Yes, that was it.

So, Jill, how about this weekend?

Oh, I'm sorry, Dave, not this weekend.

I'm visiting friends in the mendips.

Oh, I'm down that way this weekend.

Potholing.

Potholing?!

That sounds interesting.

It does, doesn't it?

I've always wanted to try that. I'm really into activity sports.

You know, parachuting, diving, that sort of stuff.

Yeah, me, too. Damien laughs

who said that?!

I mean, surely not Dave charnley,

the king Edward among couch potatoes.

Listen, I can be sporty, ok.

You take no exercise whatsoever! I do!

I run.

Only from husbands.

All right, then, hunky, why don't you come potholing with me?

Erm... no, no, no, I can't this weekend. I'm busy.

Oh, right.

Just as well, really.

What's that supposed to mean?

Well, let's face it, you don't have the necessary mental toughness,

and of course, physically, you're just the wrong side of 30.

Past it, basically.

All right, I'll come.

Good for you.

I think you should enjoy it, Dave.

Poking around dark, damp places, should be right up your street.

Bye. And thanks for that joke

about John gummer and the threshing machine.

Yeah, yeah. See ya.

Morning, tightarse.

Morning, methuselah.

What's this? New schedules for this week. From Gus.

Why has Jill replaced me on three of the bulletins?

You can't fight the march of time, my dear.

Face facts, this time next year,

you'll just be an obscure answer in some TV nostalgia quiz.

Someone people confuse with jan leeming.

What's so funny?

Oh, the admirable Jill is replacing Sally on three bulletins this week.

And replacing you on five.

What?!

Well, I'm not standing for this!

Good grief, look, this talentless whippersnapper

is doing a whole bulletin solo! Where's Gus?

I think he's in an anal interface with a toilet seat situation.

Right. Gus!

Sorry I'm late.

Suspicious-looking object on the platform at Victoria.

Turned out to be a very small dosser, apparently.

Good weekend? Yes, thanks.

Get any valentines?

Well, yes, I did, actually.

It was a big pink card with a puppy on with huge soppy brown eyes.

Oh. I wonder who could have sent you that.

For goodness sake, Henry, there's a time and a place!

You shouldn't burst in on people like that.

Why have I been dropped from five bulletins this week?

Henry, there's nothing to worry about.

We're merely running our bulletin

through the cappuccino machine of innovation

to see if it comes out frothy.

He's saying I'm past it, isn't he?

Right, well, you think I'm past it, do you, Gus?!

Decrepit?!

Well, there's one way to settle this... arm wrestling!

Oh, dear. Henry's feeling insecure about his age again.

The last time this happened, he applied for the London marathon,

dehydrated, and collided with six Gurkhas inside a dinosaur costume.

Dave and Damien should be here by now. Where the hell are they?

So, is it always this much fun, then (?)

Look, I'm sorry, ok?

Well, I didn't know we were gonna get trapped.

Must have been raining very hard up top.

Get away (!)

Jesus Christ, why on earth did I agree to come with you?

You agreed because you were worried about growing old.

Yeah, well, that doesn't look

like it's gonna be much of a problem now, does it?

Oh, god, what a stupid way to die.

We'll be all right. You'll see.

Try not to dwell on the situation.

Think about something else.

Think about something else?! Yeah!

What do you suggest?

I spy... with my little eye...

Something beginning with... w.

Water. Yep. Your go.

Henry, for the last time, this is not about age!

And stop doing those press-ups. You're not proving anything!

So sorry I'm late, everyone.

The garage didn't have my car ready.

Oh, dear, what's wrong with it?

Well, it's the strangest thing,

but on Friday night, when I got down to the car park,

someone had scratched the word "bitch" on the bonnet.

Oh, dear!

We live in lawless times!

What's the photo of Peter lilley doing up there?

He's the winner of our "slimy git of the week" competition.

Peter lilley's not that slimy, though, is he?

Sorry. Don't know why I said that.

Jill, could you come for a brief scuba in my think tank?

Only, I've done a bit of...

Done a bit of schedule rejiggery.

Right, just coming.

George.

Have you, erm... you know.

Jill whispers: Go on!

George, the doctor rang about your urine sample.

And? He doesn't want it.

Well, Henry, I get the distinct impression

that you and I are being supplanted by young Jill.

Yes.

Well, she is very good. Yes.

And very bright. Yes.

But very young. Yes.

And there is only one of her, and two of us.

If you get my drift?

Well, Michael bloody fish

never saw this on his bloody satellite photo, did he?

Try and keep calm, will you?

We only have a limited amount of air.

And I'm only using up my half, ok?!

Do you think there's an afterlife? No!

So, this is it, then?

What am I gonna leave behind me, eh?

Still, I don't think I've got any real regrets.

Apart from backing England to win the last world cup.

Bloody waddle.

Damien blubbers underwater

I wonder what people will say about me.

I wonder what they'll put on my grave.

A dancefloor! Now shut up!

We should never have blasted...

Oh, shut up, shut up!

You're terrified, aren't you?

Nervously: Ha-ha! I'm not terrified!

It's not me who's jabbering on about an afterlife.

No, I can cope with the thought of being hurtled into oblivion.

I've faced death thousands of times.

No, it's you, you're cracking up! You're going to pieces.

I mean, what's the matter with you?

Sobbing: Why don't you just pull yourself together?

Now it's your turn.

The queen said, sir royston, arise.

Good lord, take a look at those thighs.

He can't move, the fat slob. I think it's a job

for a crane, with a man of that size.

What are you doing?

We started up an office limerick competition.

The person who comes up with the most offensively-amusing ditty

about our beloved proprietor sir royston

wins a bottle of the finest moet & chandon.

Oh, great. That sounds like fun.

Well, I've got one. Good.

Sir royston's a horrible bastard, I hate him, the big ugly bastard.

I'd like to shoot him, then smash his head in,

cos he's a bastard, the stupid fat bastard.

Yes. Yes, yes, a little weak on scansion, maybe,

but it's got a certain primal energy.

The deadline is the end of the day.

Well, congratulations, everyone,

a marginal improvement on this morning's fire drill.

Some of you actually moved this time. So only half of you are dead.

Although, in most cases, that won't affect the standard of your work.

We'll do it all again tomorrow.

Groaning

yugoslavia's warming up.

What do you think, move it up to second item?

Yes, second item sounds about right, I think.

And what's more, I think you're wonderful and smashing,

and I think I'm falling in love with you,

and would you contemplate coming out with me?

Ooh, George.

Well, that's very flattering.

You're gonna say no, aren't you?

Oh, I am very flattered,

and I do like you,

I like you a lot...

It's just, there already is someone.

Oh, I see.

Right, well...

He's a very lucky man.

It isn't a man.

Oh, I see.

You're a... a...

Lesbian. That's right.

Needless to say, I'm telling you this in total confidence.

Oh, yes, right, I see.

I had no idea.

Well, obviously I change out of my dungarees and shave off my beard

before I come into work each morning (!)

But you were married.

Yes.

To a man.

Oh, hang on. I get it.

You're just trying to spare my feelings.

You're just pretending to be a... lesbian.

..So that I don't feel rejected.

George, look, it's not you.

It's got nothing to do with you.

It's me. It's a fact, I prefer women.

How do I convince you?

Throw Sally to the ground and stick my tongue down her throat?

That won't be necessary, thank you, Helen.

George.

No, look, it's all right, Helen.

No need to patronise me by trying to let me down lightly.

I know that I am abhorrent to women,

and that I have no hope, ever, of having a meaningful relationship.

But don't worry, I shall just come to terms with it.

Uh-oh.

So, I turned to major Ron, and I said,

"I wouldn't let her near my toes, she'd probably eat them."

Oh, how we laughed.

Oh, Jill, this is des, an old mate.

Oh, pleased to meet you.

Jill's the latest star in sir royston's firmament.

Yes, we're all sir Roy's little toys.

Oh, that reminds me, I've done my limerick.

Oh, great.

Sir royston's a powerful banker, who's built like a huge supertanker.

Some say he's quite nice, but I've met him twice,

and he's just an inadequate wanker.

They laugh

yes, that's very good.

Brilliant. I must remember that one, Jill.

Anyway, can't sit here jawing all day.

Des, here are those Calcutta cup tickets. Enjoy it. See you.

Very nice meeting you, Jill. Likewise.

Well, he seems very nice. What does he do here?

Oh, he doesn't work here.

He's a gossip columnist from the street of shame.

Erm... a gossip communist?

Yes. Quite a good one. His nickname is dr death.

But... but he just heard my limerick about sir royston.

What if he prints it?

Oh, good lord, I never thought of that!

Maybe I should ring him to make it absolutely clear

that it was off the record.

Good idea. I'm sure that will work! Don't you think so, Henry?

Oh, yes, of course.

Helen, the us correspondents filed this.

Looks like Mike Tyson's gonna lose his appeal.

I wonder how he'll take that.

Well, who's gonna tell him?

By the way, a message from Dave and Damien,

they'll be catching the train back this afternoon,

as soon as the hospital's checked out Damien's trench foot.

God, 24 hours trapped underground.

Hard to imagine.

Not if you use the northern line, it isn't.

George, do you think we should send a full crew to cover sellafield?

If you say so.

George, what is going on?

Sing-songy: Nothing.

Right. Well, in that case...

Except that I feel you made me

make a bit of a fool of myself, that's all.

You could have told me. That way, I would never have asked.

I should have told you before you asked?

Yes, that way I would have known before I found out.

That makes perfect sense (!)

Well, that makes perfect sense to me.

Oh, can't we be professional?!

Muffled yell

I was wondering if we shouldn't do something

on the prominent role

that Hillary Clinton is taking on in Washington.

Why not? She's a woman, isn't she?

I think we should imply that she is far better qualified to be president

than her husband, who is, after all, a potential rapist.

Are you all right, Jill? You look a bit down.

Have you seen this article?

He's gone and printed the whole limerick.

But didn't you phone him?

Yes. He said he sympathised, but that he is a gossip columnist,

and he couldn't possibly pass up a juicy story like this.

What a cad!

Anyway, I'm sure Gus will accept it was just a bit of fun.

Oh, Gus, it was just a misunderstanding.

Surely you can explain to sir royston!

Of course I can. No problem.

I'll simply say to him, "there's been a little misunderstanding,

"and one of your employees

"has publicly branded you an inadequate wanker."

I tell you what, why don't you go and ring him yourself?

Right now, eh? Clear the air.

Joy, get a bin liner and clear Jill's desk.

Yes!

Are you all right, Henry?

Oh, I'm extremely all right, George. Are you ok?

You look gloomier than Leon brittan's blind date.

Oh, I don't know, Henry.

Why am I so bad at reading people?

For years, I thought Robert Maxwell

was just an egotistical philanthropist.

And I had idi amin down as just high-spirited.

And now I've got Helen wrong.

And where the hell have you two been?

You were supposed to be here yesterday afternoon.

The hospital kept us back for observation.

Then Damien started throwing up all over the place

because he had delayed shock.

Young people are such wimps these days!

Look, we have been through hell, ok?

We've spent the last 24 hours in almost total darkness,

up to our noses in freezing water,

three inches away from a slow and terrifying death!

Well, just you wait until you hear what's been happening to me!

I'm gonna kill him!

No, you're not, no, you're not.

We both are. Fire alarm

right, everyone, leave the building in a brisk but orderly fashion.

Hello, you two. Back from your little adventure?

It was not a little adventure!

I'll hear all about it when we get down there.

Come along, everyone! Come along, George.

Come on, let's do this properly for once.

As Helen: Come along, George.

Well, you're not pushing me around, little miss fire drill!

Who does she think she is?

Herding everyone around like some gestapo-trained sheepdog.

Well, you can count me out!

There's nobody pushing George dent around.

Henry: Joy, I was just running our unemployment coverage

through my blender, to see if it came out Fluffy.

I was wondering, do we have to use the word unemployed?

Perhaps we could say occupationally-challenged.

Joy: Or we could say there's three million people

with enhanced personal leisure potential.

Let's not get jargon heavy.

Now, joy, how about a coffee? Mine's a milk and two sugars.

Joy, have you had a very good look at these unemployment figures?

Have you thought what it would be like to experience

the pointlessness of spending a whole day just doing nothing?

Well, you seem to manage.

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