All language subtitles for Drop The Dead Donkey s04e04 Births And Deaths.eng

And now...

This episode was first
broadcast in October '94,

in a week when hope faded for
the marriage of Charles and di,

but grew for the prospects of
peace in northern Ireland.

And so, after weeks of
painstakingly searching

this rugged area the size of wales,
finally, some kind of reward,

as behind me, the soldiers
gather and burn huge piles

of Coca leaves and marijuana.

The drug barons themselves...

..May have escaped the net this time...

..But their evil wares have not.

And...

And I think you'd better
cut there, Jerry.

Behind me, smoke.
Soldiers burning drugs.

They're soldiers... behind me...

Behind me, soldiers...

Rugged soldiers, the size of wales!

Burning drugs.

Painstakingly!

Behind me, painstaking barons
burning-ly drug soldiers

in huge piles of whale nets.

Ugh! Whoo!

All right, that's the one, Jerry.

Hey! Let's go for a curry.

It's a shame we couldn't
broadcast that,

it's a graphic indictment of how
drugs can derange the human mind.

Human mind?

Yeah, well, you may well mock,

but I have got some dynamite
stuff on that tape.

My interview with the
informant in Colombia

will send the whole British
end of that operation down

for a very long time. So
when does the trial start?

Wednesday. But the hot tickets
are all for Thursday,

when our star witness
here takes the stand.

Well, sooner you than me, Damien.

These Colombian drug
barons don't mess about.

They tend to regard witnesses
as a form of organic compost.

Yes, well, when you're a
hardened veteran like me, David,

you don't even think about it. The
danger comes with the territory.

Hi, coach! Had a good weekend
recharging the batteries

for another surge of
powerhouse info dynamics?

Not really.

Trouble with Deborah.

She seems to be going through
this sort of nihilistic phase.

You know, "the universe
is meaningless."

It's perfectly normal for a
girl her age, I suppose,

but she seems to hold me
personally responsible.

So she's gone on a huge spending
spree with my credit cards.

Well, you know what they say, George.

Problems are just the pregnant
mothers of solutions.

Yes. That's given you something
to think about, hasn't it?

So, how's the running
order looking, team?

Well, number one is this
week's royal disclosure book.

You know, Charles and di. Will
they divorce, where will it end?

Should the un send in
a peacekeeping force?

Then it's the German
elections, blah, blah, blah.

Oh, big item on the
introduction of identity cards.

Are they a good idea?

Will the government use them
as a form of harassment?

Well, they're good news for you, Henry.

Because next time you wake up
in the sidings in sevenoaks,

you'll have a little card in your
pocket to tell you who you are.

Well, we've loads of stuff on
the royal visit to moscow.

A report on how they're
frantically resurfacing roads

and filling in potholes
before the queen arrives.

I wish she'd visit clapham.

Henry, you'll be fronting
all the moscow stuff.

And after that, you'll be doing an
interview with Barbara cartland

about her move into rugby league,

playing scrum-half for
hull Kingston rovers.

Fine.

For goodness' sake, Henry,
what is the matter?

Well, you might as well
know now, I suppose.

It'll be in all the papers soon enough.

What will be in all the papers?

I got a letter from this chap

claiming he's the
result of a fling I had

with a film editor during
the yom kippur war.

Oh, brilliant, Henry, great timing

We're all set to get
tons of great publicity

from Damien appearing in court

to show that globelink's setting a
moral lead in the war against drugs,

and now that's going to get
blown off the front pages by...

"Dirty Davenport's desert disgrace"!

And all because you allowed
yourself to be seduced

by some painted jezebel.

Seduced? We're talking
about Henry here, Gus.

Do you really think
that's what happened?

No, what happened was she was
this succulent Australian girl...

I don't want to know all the details!

What are you worried about?

I mean, the tabloids
wouldn't dredge up something

that happened 20 years ago, would they?

Sorry, I don't know why I
said that, I'll shut up.

Anyway, it's probably just
someone trying it on.

Well, let's hope so, Henry.

Otherwise, you may just
find yourself introducing

pro-celebrity sheep dog trials
on our all-night euro channel!

So how are you gonna handle it?

Well, he's probably just a gold-digger,

but if he pushes his luck,

I suppose it's down the clinic
for the old blood test.

You know, it's funny.

Margaret made me have a blood
test when Deborah was born.

Never quite understood why.

I mean, it's not as if there was
any doubt that I was the father.

All right, let's get started, shall we?

Right. Post.

Four mps have written,
agreeing to be interviewed

on the fight against sleaze, but
they all want to be paid in cash.

And, er, George, this
letter came by bike

from your credit card company.
Oh, no. Deborah!

Oh, and there's this
death threat for Damien.

Yes. Thank you, joy.

Erm... George? Mm?

What does it say?

It says they're gonna
cancel my credit card.

I mean the death threat!
What does it say?

"To Damien day, if you give
evidence, you will die."

Now, please, I'm busy.

Are you ok, Damien?

I've received a death threat.
Death threat? Yeah.

In connection with this drugs trial?
Yeah.

Excellent!

That's the mark of a reporter
who's really making waves.

Oh, I can see the strapline now.

"Damien day, the reporter
who knew no fear."

Knows. What?

Knows no fear. You said "knew no fear."

Did I? Well, what's in a tense?
Words aren't my core activity.

No, you're the communicator, I'm
just the humble logistics support.

I'm sure this is a crank or something,

but we ought to take appropriate steps.

Absolutely. We must notify publicity.

You mean security? Yes,
security, that's what I meant.

Well, it's gonna be very
difficult to trace.

They've just cut the
letters out of newspapers.

Yeah, that's what I always do.

Don't worry, Damien.

Oh, he's not worried. The danger
comes with the territory.

Yes! The danger comes
with the territory.

A noble epitaph... epigram!

Anyway, heads down, chins up, chest out.
Terrific!

Well played, team!

Relax, Damien. Listen to
the voice of experience.

Back in the '60s, a colleague
of mine, old huey spoddyswood,

he got a death threat from some
separatist nutters in Aden.

15 pages all about how they
were gonna slit his throat,

slice him up and then post
the bits to his loved ones.

And it was all talk.

Really? Yeah, they just shot him.

Are you all right, Sally?

You've been in and out
of that loo all morning.

Oh, I'm all right. Just feeling
a little queasy, that's all.

Would you like some tea? No, thank you.

I think if I drink
anything I'll be sick.

Would you like some tea?

Strange. This is the fourth morning
in a row that I've felt nauseous.

Sally couldn't be...

Nah!

Damien, this death threat.

I do apologise. I was preoccupied
earlier with this business

over Deborah and my credit card company

and this bulk order for fuse wire.

I think we should ring the police
and arrange protection for you.

Oh, don't worry about it, George.
I can handle it.

It's gonna take more than a few
words chopped out of newspapers

to stop me doing what I can to
uphold the course of justice.

Phone rings

yeah? South American accent: 'Mr day.

'I'm in the building
across the street.'

I have you in my telescopic sights
and you are dead meat, amigo!

Bloody hell, get down, everybody!
Keep away from the windows!

Dave, get down. What's up, amigo?

Gunman, telescopic sight...

Bastard, charnley, that's not funny!

Oh, the reporter who knows no fear
also knows no sense of humour!

Oh, look, for god's sake. Someone
is trying to kill me and...

Hey, I wasn't scared, ok?

I was just concerned
about everyone else.

Damien, let's ring the police and
arrange some protection for you.

Oh! Oh, well, all right,
then, if you insist.

If it makes you happy.

Looks like John Major's
gonna accept the permanence

of the ira cease-fire.

Well, maybe he wants to win
next year's nobel peace prize.

Oh, no, he's got no chance.

For a start, he's never killed anyone.

Hello? Is that Scotland yard? I
wonder if you could help me.

My name's George dent
from globelink news.

Yes, that's right. Deborah's father.

You've what? You've told him
he can come and see you?

I don't see the harm. I mean,
the chap's come from Australia.

But what if he wants
to tap you for money?

Well, if he's come all
the way from Australia

to try and prove he's a
relative of Henry's,

he probably needs the money
for psychiatric treatment.

Don't worry about me. I'll know
instantly if he's true Davenport.

Ok, right. Thanks. Bye!

What did they say? Well,
the sergeant says

they've used up their witness
protection budget for this year,

so they can't provide
you with a bodyguard

until the next financial year.
Basically, they're not resourced

to respond to single
death threats any more.

For god's sake.

Don't worry, they said
keep your death threats.

When you've got three,
you give them a ring,

they send round a form, then you
fill it out, then we send it back.

And then? Bob's your uncle.

You all right, George? Yes.

Just finding it a little
hard to motivate myself.

According to this article,

scientists now know when
life on earth will cease.

Really? When?

In 4 billion years' time.

Makes everything suddenly
seem so pointless, really.

All right, man of steel?

I've arranged mega profile
press interviews.

You know...

"Why I think it's vital to
take a principled moral stand.

"By Damien day, a latter-day
Thomas a becket."

He was stabbed to death.

Sorry. I meant Thomas more.

Head chopped off.

Not Thomas more. I meant Thomas, erm...

The tank engine?

Isn't there something you
should be getting on with, joy?

Well, see you tomorrow. Keep
sharp, ratings raiders!

I think you're being very
brave about this, Damien.

Oh, not really, George.

It's gonna take more than some
dago lowlife to frighten me.

Phone rings

yeah?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Oh, sod off!

Who was that?

It's just Dave pissing about
pretending to be security.

What did he say?

That some sinister-looking bloke's
coming upstairs to see me.

Oh, shit!

Oh, shit, he's coming!

Oh, honestly! Talk about panic.

Can I help you?

Yes.
I've come to kill Damien day.

Oh, right.

I said I've come to kill Damien day.
Which one is he?

Er... who? Come on, don't play games.

Unless you want me to take you with him.
That's him there.

Ok, senor day.

Stand up and die like a man or
perish on your knees like a dog.

Oh, my god! Hello, security?

That won't do you any good!
You want to know why?

It was
security who put me up to this!

Asked me if I wouldn't
mind scaring the crap

out of the arrogant little bugger.

No hard feelings, mate.

I'm, er, looking for Henry Davenport.

Oh? I'm Henry... I'm Henry Davenport.

Hello, I'm Terry. Did
you get my letter?

Yes. Yes... yes, I did.

Oh, heck! You're Sally smedley.

You're even more beautiful in the flesh

than you are on the screen.

And you must be the gentleman
who believes he's Henry's son?

But frankly, Henry, I can't
see how that's possible.

Because he has taste, manners,
and a full head of hair!

I'm a great fan of yours.

Well, it's very nice
to meet you, Terry.

Oh, it's an honour for me.

Listen, I don't suppose I could
take you out to dinner sometime?

You know, nice meal, bit of dancing?

We could have a nice relaxing evening.

Course, I'd need a spanner. A spanner?

Yeah, to slacken off the wingnut on
that tight bloody arse of yours!

She exclaims, Henry laughs raucously

never can resist winding
up snooty tarts!

Come on, my boy, let's go have a drink!

Well, seems like a real chip off
the Davenport block, eh, Damien?

Terry laughing

so I jumped out of the bedroom window,

stark naked apart from the tinsel,

just as he's coming through
the door with his shotgun!

You know, exactly the same thing
happened to me once in Singapore.

They laugh

I never had any idea, you know.

About you. Not an inkling.

I know. Mum didn't tell me you
were my dad till I was 18.

I wish she'd said something.

I suppose she thought I'd
have denied everything,

but she'd have been wrong.

I mean, I love my daughters,
but, damn it, a son is a son!

You can't teach daughters
to play rugger or box.

I mean, they did their best, but I
could tell their heart wasn't in it.

I had to make do with mum
bowling Daisy cutters at me.

You know, I was very fond of, er...
your mother.

Jackie?

Yeah, Jackie! Jackie.

If she'd told me!

I mean, all these years I
thought the Davenport name

would die with me. But now I find I...

I'm speechless.

I understand. It's a shock.

No, no, no. I'm speechless.
Just look at that blonde.

Oh, yeah!

Friend's not bad either. Well?

Let's go. Wait. What?

When we get over there, for
god's sake, don't call me dad.

Yep. That's it. I have finally
lost my grip on reality.

Our item number one is "will
patently unhappy couple divorce?"

And our item number 24 is

"safety inspectors find definite risk

"of nuclear explosion at aldermaston."

No, we've cut that.

After all, an atomic explosion
that hasn't happened yet

is hardly news, is it, David?

Ok, so that's three cheese, two tuna
and an egg mayonnaise, all on brown.

And I'll have an avocado prawn
mayonnaise on walnut bread, please.

Right. With grated cheese, kiwi fruit,

pickle, mustard, peanut
butter and chocolate spread.

Oh, and a packet of tandoori crisps.

Right. Sally!

Can we just have a quiet word, please?

Ok, team! Are we making
the most of today?

Remember, today is tomorrow's
tadpole of opportunity.

Damien. Are you ok?

Er, yeah, fine.

Good. I'd like you to meet Pete.
'Ello, Damien.

Pete is from celebrity minders.

"Celebrity" minders? Oh, right.

'Ere, don't I know you? Yeah,
when Madonna was at the savoy.

Didn't I throw your cameraman
down a rubbish chute?

That's right! So, er, how's business?

Oh, not bad. Just had a week
looking after Jeffrey archer.

Different kind of job to Madonna, that.

You have to throw people into his way.

So, you obviously had a good night?

That boy is 100% pure Davenport!

Henry!

If this story ends up on the front
page of the news of the world,

with a blurred 20-year-old photo
of you and the mother, then I'm...

Oh, come on, Gus. What if
they do get hold of it?

It'll be quite heart-warming, really.

It'll be, "much-loved newsreader
finds long-lost son."

No, George.

It'll be long-lost love child
shames sheepdog trials presenter!

Pregnant? Don't be
ridiculous, I can't be.

I've just been measured for my
spring wardrobe from chanel.

Yet being fitted for haute couture

isn't generally recognised as a
form of contraception, is it?

Look, I'm telling you

it is impossible for
me to be pregnant. Ok?

All right. If you're saying
you always take precautions.

Of course I do!

Every time. Every single time.

Without fail.

Where the hell is Pete?

Erm, oh, er, joy sent him
out on a sandwich run.

What? He's my bodyguard!

All right, all right, don't panic.

I'm not panicking. You're very jumpy.

And I am not jumpy!

Bang oh! Jesus!

Ta-da! You got to admit
it, they had you there.

That was not funny. Yes, it was. It
was very funny, wasn't it, Henry?

Hm? Oh, yes.

Helen...

What's the problem?

"Dear Henry, thanks for the money.
I'm not your son.

"I just met Jackie in a bar once.

"She told me about your one night
stand all those years ago.

"Sorry for any inconvenience.
Yours, Terry."

Oh, Henry, I am sorry.

Did he sting you for a lot?

Five grand. For a journalism course.
Oh, well.

Morning, team!

What's the matter with Henry?

Turns out that boy wasn't
his son after all.

Oh, that's a relief.

Nice to start the day
with some good news.

Talking of which, what stories are
we scorching the enemy with today?

We're going to lead on the
us-north Korea nuclear agreement.

Inspection of all potential weapon
building facilities guaranteed,

except for two,

which the north Koreans insist
aren't worth looking at.

That has to be a ten on the Henry
Davenport scale of crass naivete.

What? Well, let's face it, accepting
the word of a totalitarian regime

led by a drunken fat psychopath

is almost as stupid as you
giving thousands of pounds away

to a complete stranger, just
because you wanted a son.

Thank you, Damien. As ever, sensitive
to the problems of others.

Yeah, well, I am the one with
the real problems around here,

in case you hadn't noticed.
I am in court tomorrow

giving evidence against
people who wanna kill me,

not pathetically moping around,
crying over spilt sperm.

Will you shut
up about spilt sperm?

Do excuse me, please,

while I make arrangements for Damien...

To take his
face home in a hanky!

Look, take it easy,
dad You're dead!

Whoa, I'm sorry, Henry,

professionally I can't allow you
to lay a finger on my client.

Get out of my way, son!
I can't allow it.

That's right, he's paid to protect me.

So, I can say what I like.

You sad, old, bald, pitiful bastard.

Yells I'm sorry, Henry, sit down.

Please don't make me hurt you.

I wouldn't want you spending
weeks in intensive care.

Oh, that reminds me, I must ring
Deborah's probation officer.

Erm, what colour would you say
that was, Helen? Er, pink?

Yes, whitish pink, though, isn't it?
More white than pink?

It's pink, Sally.

You must be very nervous
about the trial.

It's bound to be a hell
of a strain for you.

All I have to do is tell the truth.
That's what I meant.

Be nice to be down the Bailey again.
Be like the good old days.

What good old days?

Oh, nothing.

Joy, small question.

What colour would you call that? Pink.

Phone rings yeah? George,
it's the police.

Oh, no, sorry, it's not about Deborah.
They want Damien.

Hello, Damien day speaking. Yes?

George, would you agree that only
an idiot would say that was pink?

Well, it is pink. Thank you.

Oh! I don't believe it.

They've changed their plea to guilty,

so I'm not needed to testify.

And I was so looking forward
to defiantly taking the oath

and personally putting those
fiends behind bars. Damn...

Damn, damn, damn...

Well, what a shame.

There's a lot of publicity
potential down the pan.

And a lot of man hours
wasted on that tribute.

Still, never mind.

Pete, thanks for your services, mate.
What tribute?

As of now, you're stood down. Ciao.

What does he mean "tribute"?
Tribute to who?

Well, I'll be seeing you, Damien.
You're in no danger now.

Oh, yeah, cheers, Pete. Well,
thanks for everything.

No trouble. Any time. Bye.

Bye, Pete.

Erm, Pete? Pete!

Seems Gus might not have wasted his
time on that tribute after all.

Sally? You're going
to have to accept it.

You are pregnant.

Don't be silly, Helen. Any second
now that's going to turn white.

A-ha! There, you see? White!

Joy, surely we covered the
Tory mp sleaze story yesterday.

We covered yesterday's
sleaze story yesterday.

I don't think the public want to
know about this kind of thing.

Right... that's why the privilege
committee sits in secret, is it?

No, joy, the committee sits in private

to show they're above suspicion.
If they sat in public,

it would imply they needed to
justify themselves. I see.

And, of course, Neil Hamilton
must be above suspicion,

because he's minister responsible
for business probity.

We're on the same wavelength, joy.
Cut the item.

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