All language subtitles for White Gold - 02x01 - Episode 1.MTB.English.C.orig.Addic7ed.com

Maybe this is important, Dr Brown,
I don't know.

Ever since Nat was born, I've had
this recurring dream.

I'm old, sitting in my chair.

I'm not sure which one
of us creaks the most.

Sunlight beams through the roof,

a warm breeze drifts in from the garden,

and Nat plays Bach on the piano
one last time for her daddy.

And I'm overwhelmed with this feeling

that if everything was to end,

I'd have spent no
happier seconds on Earth

than in this perfect stolen moment

in my conservatory.

I mean, it would make the perfect
music room, wouldn't it, Trish?

Yes, it would. Can we afford it?

Well, I mean, after that pitch,
perhaps the question is,

can we afford not to?

Like I said, Ralph,
the finance takes care of itself.

- Now, if I could just get you to sign.
- Absolutely.

Thank you.

All right.

I didn't know your daughter played.
What grade is she?

- Oh, she's top, top grade.
- What, grade eight?

I thought grade eight was the top grade?

It is, for most people.

Look, I better let you get
on with your day.

Like I said, I will fast
track the conservatory,

so you can start enjoying every beam
of sunlight this gorgeous summer

- has to offer us.
- Oh, fantastic!

- Oh, exciting!
- Very exciting.

- Phwoar!
- Ugh, Dad!

Come on, then. Come on, then.

- Where do you think you're going?
- Out.

Well, thank you for the
packed information bulletin,

make sure you're back for tea.

Nat, sweetheart,
if the couple over the road ask,

- can you say you play piano?
- As if!

Where have you been?

Just saying hello to the new neighbours.

♪ If I were to say to you,
"can you keep a secret?" ♪

♪ Would you know just what to do
Or where to keep it? ♪

♪ Then I say, "I love you"
Foul the situation ♪

♪ Hey, girl, I thought we were
the right combination... ♪

In the eight months that
Essex's answer to Al Capone

had been in charge of Cachet,
there's been a lot of changes.

We moved showroom for one.

Believe it or not,
a fire broke out at the last one.

♪ Shoot that poison arrow
to my heart... ♪

The cause, completely unknown.

And our new showroom was clearly
doubling up as a nocturnal base

for some of Ronnie's
more primitive criminal affairs.

Either that or he was running
and S&M playhouse after dark.

Little token of my appreciation.

Also, instead of cash,
Ronnie insisted on paying

out bonuses in reclaimed goodies
from his debt collection business.

Congratulations.

To be honest, I'd have walked by now
if it wasn't for the small matter

of £50,000 that Ronnie insisted
on me paying back to the business.

I guess you lot might call
this karma for stitching up Walshy.

Luckily, us salesmen don't believe
in such supernatural bullocks

like karma, fate, morality.

They tend to be a handicap
to what we do.

The business itself was still booming,

mainly thanks to the invention
of this little beauty.

The PVCU, double-glazed conservatory.

There was only one minor downside,
for all Walshy's faults,

he did make top-notch windows.

Since he'd left, we had
to use new suppliers,

and the quality of our
products was dropping faster

than Michael Jackson's face-lift.

Not second, it's the third
time you've been around.

Meanwhile, the other half of
Cachet's undynamic duo was beginning

to accept his fate
in the world of sales.

Peak Personal Performance.

It's a set of technologies designed

to help you take control of your life,

mentally, physically,
emotionally and financially.

Now, who wants to tell me their story?

- You, sir, in the front row, making notes.
- Sorry.

Cos we've all got a story, right?

Me, I was married at 16,

first love, he was captain of
the Manchester United under-18s.

Problem was, it wasn't just
United he was scoring for.

He was shagging everything
in Manchester with a pulse.

So, I found myself divorced at 21,

and I left that marriage with zero
qualifications, zero self-esteem,

and zero effing clue
what the future held.

I took my last 300 quid and
I booked on one of these courses,

so I was you, sat there, day one,
not a clue what to expect,

praying that the loud American
on stage didn't point at me

and ask me what my story was.

And I think I was just about to leave

when I heard something that hit me, bam!

It was like a bucket of cold water,
and that message was this:

the past does not equal the future.

One month later, I got
my first job in sales.

Six months after that,
I was headhunted by Everest Windows

to run their North West operation.

A few weeks after that,
my ex broke his leg in three places

and had to retire from football.
Yes, you are allowed to cheer.

Yay!

So, Martin, what's your story?

I left the band of a well-known pop star

- just before he had a massive number one hit.
- Ouch!

Step away from the past, Martin.
What do you want out of this?

I want to become better at selling.

And?

I feel that my default
setting is acceptance.

I need to start taking
control of my life.

I want to become more assertive.

And you will make that happen.

Right, who's next?
Gentleman at the back.

- Tommy?
- It's Tony, they fucked the badge up.

- Walshy?
- What do you want from this, Tony?

Well, if life has taught me
one thing it's that salesmen,

like haemorrhoids, are massive
pains in my fucking arse

that I could well do without.

OK, and what are you hoping
to get from this course?

I want to become one.

A salesman, not a haemorrhoid.

Maybe a Jacuzzi, put
a little champagne on ice.

The little shit's up next.

Where'd you get a hold of this, Carol?

A friend of mine wanted to try one
of those new video dating agencies.

- A friend.
- OK, where do I start?

I'm Brian, I'm 28 years old.

What the fuck?

I don't know what I'm
looking for, really.

I suppose what I'm not looking for

is a big, 30st monster
that can't stop thinking

about eating food. Yeah.

- Good to put that out at first.
- Oh, special interests?

Well, I like fun, having fun.

I suppose I'm looking for
someone who likes having fun.

Oh, wow, Brian! You're such an enigma!

I never thought I'd meet another
human who was interested in fun.

You've probably already noticed
I have incredibly deep brown eyes.

I've been told that makes
me seem mysterious.

By who, the police?

I think it's vile.

Married men preying on desperate,
vulnerable, single women

like me. My friend.

I've got a good mind
to show this to Maureen.

- Who?
- Thyroid.

Finally, I have no history
of domestic violence,

a clean driving licence.

I do have a cat allergy,
but I'm willing to take

an antihistamine for the right woman.

Just to clarify, that is no,
N-O history of domestic violence.

Don't even know why I brought that up.

Unbelievable!

This, this is a violation
of my basic human rights!

Those protests would carry
more weight if they weren't coming

- from a philandering shitbag.
- She's got a point, mate.

Look, it's not what you think.

She's left me. OK?

Yeah?

So, do me a favour, and just bloody
well leave it alone, will you?

As an indirect result of getting hooked

on Brian's amphetamine-based
slimming pills,

Maureen had started hitting
her local aerobics class.

One, two, three, four,
thrust, six, seven,

and, one, two, three, four...

♪ And I, I've got to have
my way now, baby... ♪

OK, and down.

Then arch your back.

As well as getting thighs
like Jane Fonda's,

she was also getting
extra one-on-one tuition...

...in the art of home lesbionics.

Fitzpatrick was too embarrassed
to tell us he turned Maureen gay,

so he moves out of the house
and into his shed.

♪ You spin me right round, baby ♪

♪ Right round like a record, baby
Right round, round, round ♪

♪ You spin me right round, baby ♪

♪ Right round like a record, baby
Right round, round, round. ♪

Look, it's probably for the best.

I mean, you said yourself
there were problems.

Let me make you a nice cup
of tea to say sorry.

I mean, don't get me wrong,
we despise each other.

It's like when I had that
cyst removed last year.

It was fucking agony at the time,
and it definitely had to go,

but even now, when I look
at myself in the mirror,

I just feel like there's someone
else staring back at me.

- I thought that cyst was on your arsehole.
- It was.

Why are you staring at your arsehole
in the mirror, Brian?

That's the only way you can see it.

Fair enough. Anyway,

I've got something
that might cheer you boys up.

Bumped into Walshy the other day,
he's getting back in the business.

"W-windows?" Is that a fucking typo?

Well, it's certainly
a unique selling point.

Britain's first double-glazing
company with a stutter.

- He's pronouncing it as W Windows.
- That's just as fucking ludicrous.

Guess I'll have to put him
out of business again.

Was he tapping you up to sell for him?

No, no. That's the best part,

- he's going to be doing his own selling.
- Ha!

I cannot think of anyone
less suitable to sell windows

to the public than that fucking lunatic.

Present company excepted,
of course, lavatory.

Oh, you've perked up.
I think the shit salesman jokes

might be slightly past
their sell-by date.

I've outsold you for
the past three weeks.

Oh, really?

Come see me when you've posted
the numbers I do over a 12-month

period, then we'll talk, sunshine.

The past does not equal
the future, Fitzpatrick.

For those of you wondering
if there are downsides

to all this new-found success,
may I present exhibit A,

a dinner party with the new neighbours.

Emily? James?

Robbie and Nat are here.
Do you want to go up?

I'd prefer to stay down here
and talk with the adults.

Sweetpea, if Patricia and Ralph
had wanted a disturbing presence

at the dinner table,
we would've brought a Ouija board.

When are you going to grow up?!

And now magazine
publishing, how did you,

how did you find your way into that?

Um, it was a colleague of Vincent's
that actually offered me the job.

- I wouldn't call him a colleague.
- Ooh, intriguing.

What's the story?

Well he's actually a very good boss,

but him and Vincent don't
really see eye to eye.

That's because I'm three
foot taller than him,

and he's a fucking midget.

You don't approve, Vincent?

Well, luckily, I don't need
Vincent's approval,

but despite what he's been saying,
you've actually been very

supportive, haven't you, baby?

Now, listen, apologies for, uh,
for talking shop, Vincent,

but I just wanted to confirm, it's
Monday that the fitters are coming?

Yeah, let me know when it's convenient,

- and I'll make it happen.
- Great.

- Oh, what's this?
- The new conservatory.

Oh.

So, Robbie, your mum tells me
you're taking the 11 plus.

Yeah, even harder when I go
to grammar school.

It's for the posh ponces and gays,
ain't that right, Dad?

- Absolutely.
- Robbie!

- That's where Emily and James go.
- I mean, absolutely not.

Well, don't worry, Rob.
If your actual results

are as bad as your marks,
you won't have to suffer

the indignity of a first-rate education.

If he's as bright as he seems,

there are always other avenues
to getting selected.

No point in being a school governor
if you don't get a little sway

- in these matters.
- Patricia, you're a governor?

- Mm-hmm.
- Wow!

- Right, that's it, you're dead!
- Oh, I'm scared Rob!

Did you have to sell them
a bloody conservatory?

Seeing as they already
have new windows, yes.

Don't get fucking cute with me.

Sweetheart, they said
they needed an extra room,

I offered to help.
What was I supposed to do?

Send them to Walshy?

I'm warning you,
don't shit on our doorstep,

I like it here.

I like having neighbours
that haven't been to prison,

or aren't sex offenders.

Don't fuck this up for us.

Ah, Brendan, just the man
I wanted to see.

I need you to fast-track a
conservatory for my new neighbours.

I told them you'd get started next week.

Well, unless they want a conservatory
built on the Isle of Wight,

they'll have to fucking wait.
I'm off on holiday Monday.

I don't remember seeing a holiday
form for Brendan, do you, Carol?

- Didn't know we had holiday forms.
- You're not fucking going.

Hang on!

Until I start receiving
a company pension

or getting paid in anything
other than cash by this firm,

- I'll do as I fucking well please!
- OK, let me put this another way.

You either get my neighbours'
conservatory built next week,

or you can holiday
on the Isle of Sacked, forever.

- OK, fine.
- Good.

Carol's got the details, I'll
tell them to expect you Monday.

No, I meant, "OK, fine, sack me."

Walshy's looking for fitters,
he called me last week.

You can fit the fucking
glorified porch yourself!

I'll have driven him out of
business by the time you get

back from that stinking
fucking caravan holiday!

Well, I suppose I won't
be bringing you back

any coloured sand now, then, will I?

The great British Jobcentre.
Chances are, if you're looking

for a vocation in life, it's not
going to be advertised

on a four-inch card in one of these
graveyards for the unemployable.

Excuse me, sir.

Are you available to work today?

- Depends.
- Depends on what?

Depends on what it is.

I'm not going to drive
a van off the Dartford Bridge

just because someone's paying me, am I?

Well, that's a very wise
mantra to live your life by.

I can tell I'm dealing
with a high-calibre individual.

- So, what is it?
- I represent Cachet Windows And Doors.

We're currently running
an induction course

for trainee fenestration engineers.

What's fenestration?

The science of windows.
Have you got any carpentry skills?

No.

- Can you lay bricks?
- No.

Do you have any experience
at all in the building trade?

- I can dig holes.
- That will do.

Vincent Swan, pleased to meet you.
Come with me.

Hello, Patricia, love. This is
Barry, he's our top fitter.

I had to pull him from another job,
but neighbours do come first.

Oh, well, why don't you come
in and get yourself settled, Barry?

I'll put the kettle on.

- My name is not Barry, it's Derek.
- Yeah, it's a nickname.

"Barry who ain't Barry",
his old apprentice gave him it,

and it sort of stuck, didn't it, Bazzer?

- Oh, well, sugar, Barry?
- Four and a half, please.

Right.

I don't know how to build
a fucking conservatory!

Well, there's no better place
to learn than on the job.

It's easy.

You lay the foundation,
knock through to the lounge,

then piece it all together.
There's even an instruction manual.

It's like a giant Lego set.

My doctor told me to avoid
stressful situations.

Fuck me, Barry, would an
extra 20 quid help relieve

some of that stress for you?

- Mm-hmm.
- Right.

Well, I'll pop back in an hour
and see how you're getting on.

Everything you need is in the van.

Call the showroom if you need me.

The first rule of sales
warfare is "know your enemy",

so I sent the boys on a little
reconnaissance mission.

State of that.

No, it's not bullocks, it's science.

The sealed unit reduces...

There's no need for that!

You're missing out, mate!

Oh, for f...

Why didn't you tell me you were
moving 45 fucking minutes ago?!

Next time you want to waste
someone's time, call the Samaritans!

This is going to be
easier than we all thought.

Yeah, I know.

Good afternoon, W Windows.

Oh, hello, is that W-windows?

Yes, sir, but it's pronounced W Windows.

Oh, right, I was after
W-windows, never mind.

No, sir, it is W-windows,
but it's pronounced...

How can I help you today, sir?

Well, I was just wondering,
do you only do w-windows,

or do you do d-doors
as well, you d-daft w-wanker?

What?! What?!

Ha-ha!

Oh, shit, he's coming out!

Come on, go!

- Sam, can I have a quick word?
- Yeah, of course.

It's about the new conservatory.

I have left several
messages at the showroom,

but no-one's called me back yet.

We're having a few teething problems.

Teething problems?

Hmm. A spot of leakage,
some of the windows open inwards.

I mean, nothing that can't
be tweaked, I'm sure.

Right.

Well, um, Vincent's been away
for a few days on a training course,

but he'll be mortified when I tell him.

In fact, why don't you come to us
for dinner tomorrow

to make up for the inconvenience?

And I promise I'll make sure

Vincent gets those bloody tweaks
sorted before then.

Marvellous. Thank you, neighbour.

Vincent, you wanker.

As predicted, not only
is there a steaming great turd

on our doorstep, but as fucking always,

- I'm the one left to clean it up.
- Honey, I'll take care of it.

The customer always
thinks they're right,

it's my job to convince them otherwise.

It's hardly a matter
of opinion is it, Vincent?

They've either got a bloody
leaking conservatory,

- or they haven't.
- Exactly.

Look, don't worry, I'll tell Pat all
our conservatories leak at first,

they just need
a bit of time to settle in.

I mean, you couldn't have
said anything more worrying.

- Barry. Barry, mate!
- It's Derek.

Derek, the newly qualified
fitter, don't you mean?

Congratulations, you've made the grade.

Now, come on, I need you to take a
look at that test job you did for me.

I can't, I've got to sign on.

No, because that would be
social security fraud

now that you've got a
job, wouldn't it, Bazzer?

Chop chop.

Yeah, you need to switch the
opening window units around,

straighten up the hinges
on the door, and sort out the leak.

And how do I do that?

If I knew the answer
to that particular question,

I wouldn't be paying fitters
100 quid a day, would I, Barry?

Derek. And you pay me 50 quid a day.

At this juncture in your career,
yes, because you're an apprentice.

You do stellar job here and I'll
make you a fully-fledged fitter.

Great, thank you.

- I still don't know what I'm doing.
- Use your initiative.

And when that fails, plug every
fucking joint with mastic.

That should hold long enough
to get Robbie in a toff school.

Meanwhile, something was seriously
wrong in the estates of Corringham.

I believe you asked for someone
to come around to talk you

through our range of windows and doors.

Oh, sorry, I saw your
colleague yesterday.

Seeing as though we're back in the area,

I might as well come in,
give you a free quotation.

Do you remember the name
of the rep who called around?

Yeah, it was Joe.

So, did Joe leave any
of our leaflets with you?

Signed the order yesterday.

OK, well, if you're sure,
I'll cancel the appointment.

OK, bye.

- Traitor.
- What did you call me?

Oh, sorry, I thought you'd hung up!

This is the least professional...

What's going on?

That's the fifth cancellation today.

I'll tell you what's going on,
some prick called Joe at W-windows

has been cold-calling every
fucking house on our patch

and stealing our leads.

Well it's definitely not Walshy,

he couldn't sell a 12-year-old's
knickers to a kiddie fiddler.

Well, I'm not having this,

it's about time I introduced
myself to this Joe goon.

I mean, if we haven't got honour
amongst salesmen, what have we got?

- Incredible levels of self-delusion?
- Yeah, fuck you, Martin.

- Hello.
- Yep, just give me a minute.

No need, I'm here for the
organ grinder, not the monkey.

- He just happens to look like an ape.
- Sorry, sir, he's not here.

Can I help?

Yeah, you can pass
a message on to your boss.

- Tony Walsh?
- Yeah.

And for the underhand shit-for-brains
pond life he's got working for him.

If they want a war, they better
be prepared for it to go nuclear.

If it does go nuclear,
bagsy sharing a bunker with you.

- Just pass on the message.
- Who should I say called by?

- He'll know.
- Well, he may well do.

What do I call this
immaculately dressed,

handsome, young
firebrand stood before me?

- Are you fucking with me?
- Joanne Scott.

Head of sales.

Thanks for asking, and, no,
not fucking with you.

- Not yet anyway.
- You're the fucking lead thief.

The penny finally drops!

Well, if you're the finest
Cachet has to offer,

it's no wonder I'm
cleaning up around town.

Oh, I haven't even begun to get
warmed up yet, sweetheart.

Oh, I know. I know, but
you're Mr Thermonuclear,

the man with the red-hot missile,

ready to wipe me out.

Maybe, before we unleash mutually
assured destruction on one another,

we should go out with a bang.

Come on, Vincent, you understand
the first rule of warfare better

than anyone - "know your enemy".

What are you doing?!

I'm giving you the opportunity
to know every inch of your enemy.

Right now.

I don't think so.

- Even if I wasn't happily married...
- Sure you are.

...to the most sensational
woman on the planet,

- it's not happening.
- Oh, it is.

You've got some front,
I'll give you that.

I mean, maybe not today or the next day

but, trust me, it's happening.

Now, is that an Intercontinental
ballistic missile you keep

in your pocket or are
you pleased to see me?

Ah. I see you've met my new
head of sales, Vincent.

I had to shell out a fucking fortune
to get her on board,

but it'll be worth every penny
to wipe that smarmy smile

from off your smug fucking chops.

Now, if you wouldn't mind fucking off,

we've got a successful
window business to run.

Toodle-pip.

At least with the dating agency
there's a paper trail in case

of going missing.

Sorry, I don't want you to get the
impression that I only picked you

because you're the
least likely to kill me.

Well, I do, obviously, but...

Can we just drop this subject?

I literally haven't said a word.

Sorry. I'm really nervous.

I want you to know, I feel really shitty

about showing everyone your tape, Brian.

Oh, look, it's fine, OK?

I understand, you thought
I was cheating on Maureen.

Who? Oh, Thyroid.

So... here we are.

Yeah.

What is it that you do?

- What do you mean?
- For a living?

- What are you doing?
- Small talk.

But you know what I do.

Well, it's really hard
being on a blind date

with someone you know really well.

You ask me something.

All right, um, have
you ever been in love?

Well, I'm not answering
personal questions.

OK, uh...

- Do you want to go home?
- Yeah, please.

Probably just chalk this one
up as a bad idea, shall we?

Agreed.

Do you think we should have
a compatibility shag at least?

- What?
- Sex, Brian.

We might discover some as yet
undetected physical chemistry.

Right, yeah, well, I mean, you know,
I guess it's always a good idea

to rule these things out, or in.

You never know, we might...

Oh, we won't.

But I haven't really got anything
else to say on the feedback form

for the video agency.

While I can hardly expect a medal
for not cheating on my wife,

I am allowed to enjoy
being good for once.

Hello, my gorgeous.

- Honestly, what would you say this is?
- A prawn cocktail.

Yes! Right, come and have a
look at my beef Wellington.

All right, but we'll have to be quick,

the Browns will be here in half an hour.

- That's actually pretty funny for you.
- I aim to please.

Good, because I could
do with some pleasing.

Yeah?

This had better be good news! Hi, Pat.

Whoa! What? I'll be right over.

In what world would anyone think

that this is an acceptable
finish, Vincent?

It looks like a wedding cake.

Hmm. Did you raise any
of this with Barry?

I would have, but Barry was sat
outside in the garden crying

when I got back, so I sent him home.

Yeah, sometimes the mastic can react

with the polycarbonate
and raise up like this.

It usually rectifies
itself in a few hours.

Sorry, did you not hear
what I just said about Barry?

And the bloody door doesn't open now!

Ah. Yeah, you just need
to adjust the hinge.

You can fix that with
a screwdriver, Ralph.

But that's not my responsibility!

Well, technically, it kind of is.

If you didn't raise these
problems with our fitter,

then contractually you've
accepted the remedial works,

but I'll tell you what,
in the spirit of neighbourly love,

I'll get Barry to pop
over in the morning.

No, no, no, no, no. Barry
is not coming back, OK?

He's having a nervous breakdown.

And it still fucking leaks!

Why don't I give you and Patricia
a few minutes to cool down?

What the fuck is happening, Vincent?

Bad news, baby. Pat's come
down with a terrible bug.

All the more beef Wellington for us.

So, how was that?

I mean... nothing.

Nada.

It's just weird, cos I can usually
get satisfaction from anything,

even that teddy.

But this just felt like... nothing.

What did you think?

Yeah, yeah. Same, probably.

Um, maybe we should give it another go,

- treat that one as a warm-up.
- Oh, no, Brian.

No, some experiments
should never have happened,

like Frankenstein,

or Elton John's hair transplant.

Sync & corrections by emeline-whovian
www.addic7ed.com