All language subtitles for Doc Martin S01E02 720p WEB-DL HEVC x265 BONE

How did you...

Get out.

Get out!

Out!

Good boy. Good boy.

Come on. Come on.

Come on.

Don't let the dog in.

Thank you.

Sorry. I cannot
tolerate imbeciles.

Elaine, when we agreed that you'd start
at 8:30, you did understand I meant a. M?

Buying biscuits in the
supermarket, yeah?

And this bimbo won't let me
through on six items or less.

All baps up to here, and
them stick-on nails, she was.

She goes - wait for it:

- "Sorry, six items or less."
- And you had?

20, but all the same. Do you
see? Put the receipt in petty cash.

These are for the surgery?

Patient.

- Elaine, are you gonna let them in?
- I'm busy.

Elaine. Just do it.

- Mrs Walker.
- Marianne, please.

Am I your first
official patient?

Indeed you are, yes. Collect a thousand
loyalty points, you get a free coffin.

If old Dr Sim could
see this, he'd be thrilled.

Er, thank you. Sit down,
please. What can we do for you?

I keep getting
headaches, on and off.

- Really? How long's that been going on for?
- I suppose all my life.

And now they're
worse? More intense?

No, not specially.

- More frequent, then?
- No, not really.

- So today the problem is?
- I just thought you should know.

- Consider me informed.
- You haven't thought of, um,

redecorating when
you were doing all this?

Mrs Walker, do you
have a medical problem?

Indigestion.

But that's much better
since I discovered aloe vera.

That was one of your Aunt
Joan's tips, as a point of fact.

- Good.
- Have you tried aloe vera?

- I do have other patients to see.
- Do you suffer from wind?

I'm happy to see you when you
actually have something wrong with you.

Are you saying? But I
haven't even had a cup of tea.

- Tea?
- Yes.

- Try a café.
- Well, I must say.

- I'll make a note of it.
- I haven't been here two minutes.

No.

Dad, I don't want to.

Are you deaf? I'm not doing it.

- Right. Elaine.
- I'm next.

- Oh, yes. I'll be with you in a minute.
- Bring a drop more milk in.

- Elaine.
- No!

Dad, I'm not gonna carry
her skirts down the aisle.

She's a grown woman, innit?

We've had some repeat prescriptions.
She's your fiancée, you sort it out.

No, I want to see the patients
before I sign any repeat prescript...

Elaine. You do check prescriptions
before printing them, don't you?

Yes.

We seem to have a woman
with erectile dysfunction here.

Look, I can't be expected
to work your system.

That'll be the system whereby
we don't kill the patients?

- It's your job.
- No.

It is your job to
check before you sign.

- It's all right.
- Yeah?

- It's the wife.
- Well, bring her in. I'll have a look at her.

Oh, I can't do that. Never
liked doctors. Not her cup of tea.

"Tea" being the operative word.

What are her symptoms?

Oh, you name it.

Blood pressure. Thyroid.

- Well, then I do need to see her.
- Bones brittle as twigs.

Osteoporosis. If she can't make it to
the surgery, I can arrange a home visit.

Well, it's a bit late now. She's
been dead nigh on 12 months.

How are you coping
on your own, Andy?

Eddie. I'm not on me own.

I talk to her every day.

Told her I was coming
to see the new surgery.

Now I can tell her all about it.

Is there anything
I can do for you?

Fresh cup of tea.

- You'll be looking for a partner.
- No, I'll be wanting a patient.

I've made many a
match in Portwenn.

So far, I've had four
weddings, no funerals.

- And quite a lot of babies.
- Mrs Black, do you have any medical reason...

Are you a leg or a breast man?

Because if it's the breast you're after, and she's
a Scotch pancake, there's plenty could be done.

Chicken fillets.

Right. Attention, everyone.

Listen up.

If there's anyone who hasn't come to
gawp, drink tea or otherwise waste my time,

please put your hand up.

Anyone at all got a
genuine medical problem?

Thank you. Goodbye.

- Put your teacups down, and leave.
- Sorry.

You all right, Doreen?
You all right, Molly?

- Do you want a Jammie Dodger for the way?
- No.

I'm so sorry, everyone.
I don't... I don't...

You won't last five minutes.
You know that, don't you?

Wait a minute.

Do you have a problem
with your throat?

You think if you're professional,
they'll appreciate you. They won't.

Could you breathe in and
hold your breath, please?

And again.

- How long have you been hoarse?
- 25 years. Shouting at ungrateful pupils.

Open.

Hm.

What's with the MOT? Give me
something for the throat, and I'll be off.

- Why don't we let the doctor work, Mr Fenn?
- "We." I do love the medical profession.

A grammar all its own.

You have a lump in your neck.

Had it since I was a boy.

I don't think so.
I'm gonna refer you.

There'll be a biopsy.
We'll take it from there.

A referral. Great. Otherwise
known as "covering the arse".

Otherwise known as
"providing specialist treatment".

Nobody makes it their business to know
anything these days. Always passing the buck.

In cases like this, it's appropriate to
make investigations before diagnosis.

So you're not giving me
anything for my throat?

Nope. I'm not giving you anything
for the chip on your shoulder, either.

Great. Now who's
having their time wasted?

You can stuff your referral.

- What's that?
- Message.

"Roy or Steven."

"Boy of seven."

Dr Sim could read my writing.

- "Stomach pain."
- "Temperature 104."

That could be appendicitis.
What's that name?

Er...

"Robson"? "Johnson"?

Look, the mum was hysterical.

Like no kid's ever had
bellyache and temperature.

A child could die
from appendicitis.

I didn't worry about the name,
cos I thought you called the number.

- "Number not recognised."
- No, that can't be.

So there's a sick child somewhere, but you
didn't get the telephone number or the name.

I suppose we could always get the
name from the obituary, couldn't we?

Right. Well, maybe...

- Look...
- No, you look, Elaine. For a new job.

What?

You are the most incompetent
person I have ever encountered,

and that incompetence could very well end
up costing someone their life. You're fired.

Hello. You must be Doc Martin.

- I'm Bruce, Elaine's dad. Come to say hello.
- Hello.

We know it's late notice, but Carmen
and I want to invite you to our wedding.

On Saturday.

- Right. Whatever.
- As a thank you.

For looking after my daughter.

- Is she in?
- Not for much longer. I just fired her.

- Why?
- I'm sorry. I've got a medical emergency.

- Please, love...
- I don't need this now, innit.

Elaine.

Seven years old, surname's
Johnson or Robson...

No. Nobody's off in my
class. We can ask Colin.

Can you lot finish what's
on the board, please?

Is this another patient you've
chased from your surgery?

What? Oh, your friend Roger
Fenn. God, that was quick.

Roger?

I haven't seen him in ages. Roger
was forced to take early retirement.

He thinks I took his job.
Well, I did take his job.

So, no, we're not exactly
friends. It wasn't him.

So it must have been one of the
30 other patients you dispatched.

I did not dispatch patients. I dispatched people
who think "surgery" is another word for "café".

- Being the doctor is more than handing out pills.
- Yes, handing out biscuits as well.

You always have a line. Every conversation's
a competition, and you have to win.

It's so male.

Thank you.

- Can you help me find this child or not?
- Bobby Richards was sick yesterday.

This is Miss Glasson from the school,
Mrs Richards. I'm checking on Bobby.

Oh, dear. I'm sure
the doctor will. He's...

Mrs Richards. It's
Dr Ellingham here.

Yep. Is his temperature
still elevated?

Right, I'm on my way.
What's the address?

Yep. Yep.

- OK. I'll be with you in 15 minutes.
- Half an hour.

30 minutes. Bye.

- Do you know where the, um...
- Map.

Thanks.

- Dr Ellingham.
- Thank you. I've never seen him like this before.

If it's appendicitis, what am I gonna
do? I can't have him in hospital.

Let's have a look
at him, shall we?

- His room's just up there.
- Righto.

Hello, Bobby.

- I'm Dr Ellingham. How are you?
- He can't go to hospital.

- I can't stay overnight with him...
- Would you make me a cup of tea?

- I've got five kids.
- Milk, no sugar, please.

Yes, Doctor.

Well, now, Bobby. You've got everybody
in a bit of a pickle, haven't you?

Let's have a look at you.

Oh, yes. This, er... This
leg'll have to come off.

Oh, don't worry. Modern
anaesthetics. You won't feel a thing.

Just kidding.
Don't look so upset.

Open.

Under your tongue.
Under it. Lift it. That's it.

That'll do.

- There we are.
- What is it? Is it bad?

Good news. No need for the
hospital. It's not appendicitis.

- Thank God. So what's he got?
- Tonsillitis.

- Sore throat?
- Hm, yes. A bad sore throat.

- He's been throwing up...
- I'm aware of that.

- He's got stomach pain.
- Both common symptoms of tonsillitis.

His stomach is soft, the tonsils
are the colour of cardboard.

Oh, Doctor. I can't tell you.

I'll just write you a prescription. I might
even have the right antibiotic for you in here.

- You sacked Elaine Denham?
- For no good reason. Tosser.

Shouldn't you be
giggling outside my house?

- They say Elaine's a good girl.
- Yeah, I'm sure they do.

Maybe up in London you
can mess people around.

Yes, as often as
we can. Thank you.

Right. Well. Give Bobby one of
these three times a day with water.

And if you're still worried
in 24 hours, give me a call.

- Er, excuse me.
- Yes.

Mineral water and
the pasta, please.

- It's finished.
- Oh.

- What's the soup?
- Finished.

I'll have the chili
con carne, then.

I guess you're a friend
of Elaine's, aren't you?

Right. I get it.

I get it.

Look, um...

Pamela. We both know
what's going on here.

But if you let me have some
petrol, I won't tell anyone.

Sorry.

I get it, OK? But
no one's looking.

- Are you deaf?
- Number 3, please.

- £25.50, please.
- And this.

OK. Let me paint
you a little picture.

It's snowing outside. You're about to give
birth to your fifth child in three years.

Your waters break,
you're frightened.

And you're lonely because
your boyfriend's rotting in borstal.

You call good old Dr Ellingham,

the only man in a hundred miles who can help
you, and I say, "I'm sorry. I don't do births."

- You all right, mate?
- No, I bloody well am not.

- Ah, you must be Doc Martin.
- It's empty.

What's he put in
his car? Horse urine?

You can't have this Mars bar
unless you give Elaine her job back.

God forbid you upset
the village of the damned.

We don't have any petrol.

Then what's he
just put in his tank?

Diesel.

Right.

- What is it with you people?
- Are you driving with your eyes closed?

Mr Fenn.

I might have known.
Oh, great. Look at this.

- I was on my way to see you.
- Well, forget it.

I got myself some cough
medicine from the chemist.

You didn't want a referral,
so I'll give you my opinion.

I didn't want your opinion. I
wanted medicine, which I have got.

So just go and drive
into somebody else.

Mr Fenn. There is a high probability
you have a cancer of the larynx.

You'll need surgery and you may well lose
your voice, which has a certain appeal.

You may not care about this,
but unfortunately I'm paid to.

I'll arrange for a referral.

Richard Edgerton, ENT.

Yeah, it's Martin Ellingham here. I've got
a patient needs an urgent laryngoscopy.

Yes, that is my
opinion. Stop it.

Stop it.

Hm?

Well, I'd say it was a
carcinoma of the larynx.

Because I'm a doctor, he's a
smoker with a lump in his neck.

Would you like the
tumour to write to you?

Will you get out of that bin?

Right. You, dog. Dog,
dog, dog, dog, dog. Here.

Fetch!

Cornwall's lovely, isn't it?

All this sea breeze
makes you feel so alive.

- I'm Carmen.
- Oh.

Doc, I understand about Elaine. Hard
to be her employer, I should imagine.

- It wasn't a decision I took lightly.
- Pretty hard to be her father, too.

Like father, like daughter. Isn't
that right, Lady Lancelot? Yes, it is.

She is bloody-minded. No
point pretending otherwise.

No.

Well, she's got,
um, personality.

- Oh, yeah. By the bucketful.
- Oh, she'll be at that church. She'll come round.

- Elaine and Carmen just don't get on.
- He's exaggerating. She's not used to me yet.

Well, that's a shame. Um...

I've gotta look for the dog.

Oh, we'll come with you.

- Elaine's mum died young.
- Really?

Yeah, and Elaine... Well,
she doted on her mum.

Oh, you. Lady
Lancelot ate my lipstick.

- That's the fifth one this week.
- Go on, make poopie.

Elaine can't handle
me being with anyone.

- Are you married?
- Er, no.

- Why not?
- See, I thought, "What is the point?"

You know, a life
alone - what is it for?

I mean, obviously not you. You do something
positive. I just mean the rest of us.

You contribute, and that must
feel... You know, saving lives...

- What is your dog doing?
- Ah. Um...

Your dog, he has
been done, hasn't he?

- It's not my dog.
- Oh. Um...

Hello. Fancy a drink?

Er, no, thanks. Don't want to
get tar and feathers on my jacket.

- The wrath of Elaine?
- Yeah.

Come back to mine. I've got
a good single malt on the go.

No, thanks.

Night, Doc.

Hello, Mrs Winter.

Just a guess.

Right.

Thank you for letting
me know. Goodbye.

- Ellingham.
- It's Richard Edgerton here at ENT.

- Yeah.
- I've got the histology back on Roger Fenn.

Uh-huh.

We set to sea

In a boat made of flowers

Drifted for days till
our lips tasted land

It was bitter -

Hello.

On the last breath of day

Chased the hot metal
skies of the ocean

- With no emotion - Roger.

We came by night

To the fortunate islands

Laying like fish 'neath
the nets of our kisses

That's why this is...

Don't stop on my account.

Are you lost, or looking
for children to frighten?

- You used to be in a band.
- Yes, l, er...

I gave it up for
something more sensible.

Something that would see me
through to a nice, safe retirement.

Well, that, er...

That sounded, um...

Hoarse.

What do you do when
you're not working?

I'm always working.

And there was me thinking
this was going to be a social call.

Well, I went in for my biopsy.
When do I get the results back?

Oh.

I can talk you through
what happens next.

I've booked you in
for surgery next Friday.

The 13th, actually.

Perfect.

Got more in the van.
Where do you want it?

- I didn't order this.
- You Ellingham?

The person who ordered this
is no longer here. Take it away.

- Oh, I can't do that.
- Yes, you can. You've got a van.

- I can't take it away until you accept delivery.
- What?

- You can't return something until you accept it.
- I see.

It's not rocket science. You accept
delivery, then you get a returns number,

then you arrange a time to
have your packages picked up.

- I come and collect 'em.
- You do?

- Yeah.
- Well, why don't you just take it now?

Mind if I use your loo?

- You all right?
- That took a while.

- What?
- Poor urine flow. Any discomfort?

- You what?
- Have you had your prostate checked?

- What?
- It might be enlarged. I should have a look at it.

- What? Up the?
- Won't take a minute.

Hello, Bobby.

- Feeling better?
- I don't like you.

That's all right,
because, um, I like you.

You were mean to Elaine. My
sisters say you're the w-word,

the t-word, the p-word,

and the z-word.

- What's the z-word?
- It's a word.

This is your new owner, and this
is your new home, which is a farm,

which dogs are supposed to enjoy,
so bugger off and leave me alone.

Look, all I'm saying is that it isn't exactly
politic to sack a perfectly good receptionist.

"Perfectly good"? She made
appointments before I'd opened.

She printed out prescriptions
that were potentially lethal.

- Well, surely you checked them?
- I had to go to the school to trace a child

because she couldn't
take a phone number.

- It was pure luck...
- That he had a sore throat. Bobby Richards.

- Oh, come on, Marty.
- But Elaine wasn't to know that.

Everyone makes mistakes.

But she can't admit them. You pick her up on
something, she comes back with a complaint.

And when you make a mistake, you
roll over and let them tickle your tum?

Elaine. What's happened to you?

- It's tan.
- It's orange.

I need my wages.

Don't think you can charm
me into taking you back.

I don't want to come back.

I'm going to Majorca, innit?

- I don't know how much I owe you.
- I do.

- How long are you going for?
- Month. Two.

You'll miss your
father's wedding.

Diddums.

You got cash?

- I think it would mean a lot to him.
- So?

Why do I have to make him
feel good about his decision?

I don't feel good about it.

Don't know what he sees in her.

What is it with
men and big baps?

It's offensive.

Elaine...

were you very young
when your mum died?

I mean, I think, you know, people will
understand how hard that must have been,

and difficult for you to move
on and see your father move on,

whoever the woman was.

I suppose I could have
been more understanding.

Get paid for that
in London, do you?

Look, I don't mind
him having a woman.

Just not one with a
bloody dog in her handbag.

Hasta la vista.

Oh, Louisa, have
you seen Martin?

No, sorry. On my way to see Roger in hospital.
He's having his main op today, so excuse me.

Now, maybe that's where
Martin is. Look, if you see him,

can you tell him that his dog seems to have
decided not to play "Spot on the farm"?

Actually, Joan, I gather Martin
hasn't been by or near the hospital.

Yes. Yes, I heard that he
and Roger didn't hit it off.

- I'm not very impressed, to be honest.
- Roger is a very difficult man, as you well know.

He's got cancer. He needs care. It's not as if
Martin's got any other patients to worry about.

If you're annoyed with Martin, I
suggest you take it up with him.

He's your nephew.

Weren't you on the
committee that appointed him?

Roger.

Again?

We don't speak in over a year, now it's twice
in two days. I must get cancer more often.

I can't stay so
long this time. I've...

Of course. You have my
job to get back to, don't you?

I'll ask the nurse
on the way out.

Well...

So...

- Everyone at school sends their love.
- Oh, really?

Last time they sent their love, it
was in an envelope with a P45.

So...

Did the surgeon say exactly
what they were going to do today?

I don't know.

This guy makes Ellingham
look like Florence Nightingale.

So still no sign of Martin.

Why does that
bother you so much?

- Why would I want to see him, anyway?
- Maybe he could tell you what was going on.

Oh, I'll tell you
what's going on.

I've been pushed out of my job an
inch before I qualify for a pension.

And minutes before I am
about to lose my voice forever,

I find myself having to chat
with the woman who replaced me.

Visiting time's over.

Roger...

I'm so sorry.

- ENT, please.
- Down the glass corridor, second floor.

My keys. I'm parked
in Mr Brownlow's spot.

- And you are?
- Dr Martin Ellingham. Portwenn.

- You're a GP?
- That's right, yes. And you're a receptionist.

Excuse me. Come back here.

- You can't park in the staff car park.
- I've a patient to see.

Is it me, or do you not
understand plain English?

It's you.

Martin. Martin.

- Adrian. Adrian Pitts.
- Oh, yes.

The great Martin Ellingham, who
abused myself and others at St Mary's.

Buggered us senseless, but
taught us a lot about medicine.

So what brings you here,
chief? Knifing a bigwig?

- No, actually, I've given up surgery.
- You're kidding?

- I've got a patient to see.
- Of course.

- I'd heard he couldn't hack it.
- I'll tell you about that.

Don't worry. It's
just a nosebleed.

Are you all right?

Here, let me do that
for you, Mr Ellingham.

I read you on blocked carotids.

Don't suck up.

Has the surgeon been in yet?

Yeah.

And I thought you
were a smug bastard.

God. I'm gonna miss swearing.

If the cells haven't spread, there's
a chance the voice can be saved.

Yeah, yeah. He said that.
Same choice of words, too.

"The voice". It's
not "the voice".

Sorry. Your voice.

Mind if I have a glass of water?

Are you all right?

- You're a funny colour.
- I'm fine.

I've got cancer,
but you look worse.

Whatever.

L, um...

sometimes have a heightened
emotional reaction to certain events.

Which is medical speak for?

Panic attacks. I sometimes
have small panic attacks.

What kind of panic attacks?

Er... nausea,
sweating, chest pain.

- What brings them on?
- Smells.

The smell of cauterised flesh.

And blood. The smell of that,
sometimes just the sight of it.

I used to have the Midas touch. I couldn't look at
a body on the operating table without fixing it.

Then one day, in the middle of
the most mundane procedure,

another set of arteries
laid out in front of me,

it suddenly dawned on me, for the
first time, that this was somebody's wife.

Somebody's mother.
And I couldn't do it.

I couldn't go on. Like I was on a high
wire, I made the mistake of looking down.

I haven't operated since.

So now I'm your GP.

You probably want
to keep that quiet.

Yeah. I wouldn't want the
village to fall out of love with me.

Your secret's safe with me.

Well, it's not like you're gonna be
able to tell anyone anyway, is it?

Had any family in?

Grown-up daughter,
decided not to call her.

She stopped needing
me a long time ago.

- She has a TV set all of her own.
- Oh.

- How about you?
- No. Only child.

- Parents dead?
- No. Retired. Portugal. Gone.

Nice.

Vile. We don't speak.

You are a miserable bugger.

Thank you.

Doc.

- Glad you came.
- Have you heard from Elaine?

Not even a postcard. Well...

- How are you?
- Been sick twice.

My heart's beating
300 times a minute.

- Perfectly normal, I understand.
- Bruce. Time.

- Wish me luck.
- Yep.

Louisa. You're looking...

Straight through me.

- Have I done something to offend you?
- It's what you haven't done.

Well, that narrows
it down a bit.

You didn't visit Fenn in hospital. He
didn't have a clue what was going on.

- What in God's name are you going on about?
- Shh!

If you haven't got your health, what
have you got? Nice to see you on your feet.

All right, then, boy.

- You all right, Fenn?
- Hi.

How you doing?

Fenn. Good to see you.

- It's a little bit late for the concerned routine.
- Pardon?

You have one patient. I'd have
thought you'd visit him in hospital.

- Hang on.
- You...

- No, Roger, don't try to speak.
- He did come to see me.

- Depressed the hell out of me.
- It was mutual.

- Right. Well, you could have told me.
- I tried, but that woman shushed me.

See you later.

- Can I come and talk to you about the chemo...
- Shh. Shh, shh. Rest that voice.

I'll see if I can
squeeze you in.

Thanks for coming,
Dean. Thank you.

- Thank you for coming.
- Thank you very much.

- Elaine.
- Hello, Dad.

Thanks for coming,
sweetheart. It's made my day.

Come here. Give
your dad a hug, eh?

Thanks.

Elaine.

Elaine.

Thank you. Thank you.

- Congratulations.
- Thank you very much.

To the white house,
to the white house

Walking along the cliff

To the white house,
to the white house

Walking along the cliff

What will I do in the
middle of the night

Walking along the cliff?

And what will I do when
I know the time is right

Good wedding.

You was right.

Yeah. Sometimes you have to
swallow your pride and do the right thing.

Yes.

And I think the right thing would be
for me to come back to the surgery.

Right.

Well, we'd need to establish
a few ground rules first.

Attention to detail, use of
the phone. That sort of thing.

I agree.

- Do you?
- Yeah.

Well, you can have
your job back, then.

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

Everything all right?

Good news. Yes. Elaine's
coming back to the surgery.

Oh, that...

That is marvellous.

Whoa!

Everyone!

Everyone. Thank you.

Small announcement, but
I know you'll all be pleased.

My daughter Elaine is returning
to the Portwenn surgery.

For he's a jolly good fellow

For he's a jolly good fellow

For he's a jolly good fellow

And so say all of us

Er, so I'll see you
Monday, 8:30, then.

No. That's one of
my ground rules.

- You have ground rules?
- Yeah. I've written them down.

Er... One, I'm not made to feel
responsible for your mistakes.

Two, I'm free to use
the phone whenever.

And three, I start at
nine, not half eight.

There are a few more,
but you can read 'em later.

Well, I went for a walk
in the middle of the night

And I'm walking along the cliff

Well, I went for a walk
cos I know the time is right

And I'm walking along the cliff

To the white house,
to the white house

Walking along the cliff