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My name is mine!

And you're all full of shit!

Noah Arkwright, you fucking useless,

miserable piece of shit!

Arrogant, pathetic,

self-indulgent motherfucking cunt!

Which,

although grammatically kind of all over the place,

is a pretty accurate character assessment.

But then Ray is my best mate.

You'd expect him to know me quite well.

My name's Noah Arkwright...

and I want my mum.

I'm just supplying the disease, aren't I?

The rest is just plain old storytelling.

Look at you, practicing your pithy quotes

-for the press release.

There you go.

Yeah, hello?

Yeah, it is, yeah.

Thank you.

Kirstin's dead.

I've gotta go.

She's...?

Ray?

Shit my pants.

In just under 25 minutes,

I've got to stand in front of baggy there

and his unimaginatively centrally cast,

overeducated middle English fuckwit pals

and read out loud from my latest screenplay,

and I'm fucking terrified.

I also feel a little bit of a prat

'cause I tried to drunkenly peroxide my hair

at a party last week, and I've ended up with

this kind of dead ginger guinea pig thing on me head.

Anyway, fuck it.

Since my last two films,

I've got quite major cult status at the moment,

so looking weird probably adds to

the whole rebel aspect of my coolness.

Hey, I don't make up the rules.

And being the hottest new filmmaker

to come out of the U.K. in years

may be a very heady epithet,

but can I cut the academic mustard?

Are they just wasting their money on some inarticulate fake

whose main credentials are good art house box office

and critical reviews in obscure foreign journals?

Always a healthy indicator of class

if some renowned critic in Gdansk thinks you're cool.

I am also drunk.

I hit the station bar at King's Cross big style,

and I've got seven double vodkas in me.

Very nice vodka, I like it.

Aah... nice one, Noah! Thanks, man.

You charmer.

In my pocket is a half bottle of scotch,

and in my head there are two Valium,

and quarter of clinically pure cocaine.

I know this condition well.

It's usually the last scene before

the alcohol and chemical oblivion scene.

Oh, God...

There's a bench right in front of you,

you blind drunk bastard.

Anyway, this is where I met Kirstin.

She was a corn-fed piece of undergraduate perfection

taking her beautiful breasts on a gently bouncing journey

across the quad to listen to me and my genius.

And I was definitely gonna fuck her.

-Decided that on the spot.

My celebrity status would take care of that.

It'd be the thing that'd keep me focused

for the next hour. Good.

Salvation in the shape of a surefire fuck.

This was turning into my kind of gig.

Just what the doctor ordered.

Up yours, doc.

Aah...!

Stay strong! Work with me!

We're nearly there!

Now I'm gonna take an uneducated stab in

the psychological dark that it doesn't work like that.

Noah, mate.

Take a look at the magazine.

Yeah?

Look, she comes from the same manor as you.

Her quartet are playing the Fleming Hall tomorrow afternoon

and you are gonna go and see her play

and you are gonna take her out for a nice cup of tea

after the show.

Despite the fact that neither of us have ever met this girl,

you've decided that this is a great idea

based on this one article, have you?

Yes, I have, 'cause I can feel it.

I don't what it is...

but I can feel it very strongly.

Yeah, I saw that too,

but then I'm pretty fucked up--

I don't know what your excuse is.

And this woman is playing her cello

in a place that floats

somewhere between heaven and earth.

Fluid alabaster.

I know every single person in the room saw that smile,

but I decide it's only meant for me, of course...

Because I'm a wanker.

Totally out of my league.

What the fuck am I doing here?

Ray, what have you got me into?

Maybe she never got the note.

Yeah, they never actually pass 'em on,

these stage door jobsworths, anyway.

It's straight in the rubbish bin

as soon as you're out of sight.

Good, well, that's good.

Probably for the best.

Noah?

Noah Arkwright?

I'm Clare Mattheson.

And somehow I knew in that moment

that she'd be in my life forever.

Bit pukey-pukey, I know, but...

Where the fuck am I?

Oh, corn-fed perfection, it's you.

Things are looking up.

Wonder how I got here.

Wonder if I fucked you.

I wonder how to possibly ask that one.

Oh, my fucking head. Oh, Jesus Ronnie H.

Fucking Corbett!

Keep the noise down, you prick,

you'll wake Gustav.

And who the cunting hell is Gustav

when he's not propping up a bar in Kiev?

He's my son, you... dipso nonhead.

At your service...

Stop staring and say sorry, you twat.

Hey, did we, uh...

No, we most certainly did not.

Oh.

How you even made it through the reading

is a freak of nature.

Hey, I'm a pro, what can I tell you?

Oh...

Oh...

Oh, God help me.

Fucking Jesus fucking Christ help me.

He will if you let him.

Oh, that's all we need, a divine inter-bloody-vention.

I think you think you're funny, Noah. You're not.

You're unfunny. You're an arsehole.

You're an unfunny arsehole.

Well, we're all agreed on that, then.

Hey, Gus.

Thanks for the crib, man.

I'm... sorry I kind of, uh, power-puked

on your power men here a little bit.

I'll make it up to you, though.

I'll, uh...

I'll, uh, come round and...

uh... bake you a cake or something.

Oh, Jesus...

You ready for this, Noah?

I don't even know what this is, do I?

Didn't even know you 18 hours ago.

You know what this is, Noah.

You have an off-the-chart drink problem.

How do I know? I used to have one,

so I know what they look like.

You were sent to me so that I could save you.

Oh, wow, look how I won the top prize.

Shook a seven and ended up with Mother Teresa's

little fucking helper.

Noah...

yesterday's history, tomorrow's a mystery.

Is it? Oh, well, I'll bear that in mind, shall I?

When you get inside, Noah, just remember,

look for the similarities, not the differences.

What, like, "Oh, that's bloke's got the same jacket on as me"?

Oh, I did pack some spare coke after all.

Oh, Noah, you really are a clever,

naughty little druggie.

-Ready? -Yeah.

Yeah, I am, I'm ready. I am.

And listen, thank you very much indeed, okay?

Come on.

Come on, let's do it, shall we?

I'm ready, let's have it.

Ah...

It is... showtime.

welcome to the St. Stephen's Thursday morning

step meeting for Alcoholics Anonymous.

Can we start with a moment of silence

to remember why we're here,

and those still-suffering alcoholics

who've not yet made it into these rooms?

Who the fuck's he waving at?

He wants fucking loonies anonymous, doesn't he?

It's a tradition that we go round the room

and introduce ourselves so we can put a name to a face.

And remember, if it's your first time,

just sit back, listen,

try not to be afraid,

and look for the similarities, not the differences.

Oh, someone else got the new pages

under her door last night.

Okay?

Hi, my name is Darren

and... I'm an alcoholic.

Hi, Darren.

Hi, Darren.

Hello, everyone, I'm Marion and I'm an alcoholic.

Hi, Marion.

Hi, my name is Tom and I'm an alcoholic.

-Hi, Tom. -Tom the alkie.

Hello, my name's Kirstin and... I'm an alcoholic.

Hi, Kirstin.

Oh, my go?

My name is mine!

And you're all full of shit!

No point following the chase, right?

We all know the next bit.

This is where we came in, as they used to say.

Okay, Mr. Arkwright.

Fuck knows how I got here.

I'm not even sure I'm alive.

Could murder a scotch, though, I do know that.

Or even a cuppa.

Sadly, neither seem to be on offer here.

I get the feeling I'm in the "home truths" suite

of the "sit down and fucking listen" motel.

-And sure enough... -Let me give it to you straight.

Here it comes. The state of my union address.

-Your liver is enlarged. -Uh-huh.

Your prostate is enlarged.

Your testicles are enlarged.

So tempted to go for the cheap quip here.

Is that a fact? Big fucking... testicles?

But I don't fancy a bollocking

from doc eyebrows in the state I'm in,

so I stay schtum.

There are traces of blood in your urine.

-Your nostrils are enlarged. -Really?

And your septum has more holes in it

than a cheese grater.

Shit, a gag from the doc. I can respect that.

Your blood alcohol level is off the scale.

I'd fucking hope so, the money I've spent on it, doc.

However... your blood pressure is very low,

almost reptilian.

Who cast this cunt?

Which I suspect is one of the few reasons

you're still alive.

So, in words of one syllable, then,

you know, just...

Mr. Arkwright, I am not in the business of

making fun of ill health.

So instead of indulging you in your dismissive attitude,

I will be blunt with you.

Do not be fooled by this semi-healthy outward appearance,

which may fool your film friends...

Which it does.

Not that I've got that many film friends,

or any other type of friends, for that matter.

Let me be absolutely clear with you.

If you do not stop this idiotic consumption,

you will be dead in three years.

Do you understand what I'm telling you?

Three years.

Be lucky to get two more films made,

maybe only one.

Please, someone give me a drink.

I need a drink-- No, you don't.

Yes, I do-- No, you don't.

Yes, I do.

Ask yourself, Noah,

"Am I not sick and tired of being sick and tired?"

My name is Noah and I'm an alcoholic.

I want to say it out loud but I'm too sick and too tired.

So all I can do is...

Oh, fucking hell...

Please say cut on this scene, please, for fuck's sake?

Will you just fucking cut? Please cut, cut, cut...

Just fucking cut, will you?

I get it, I get it, I get it, I get it, I get it,

I fucking get it. I'm fucked up, all right?

I'm fucked up! I get it! I fucking get it!

Cut, all right? Cut! I'm the fucking director!

And I say fucking cut, doctor! Cut! Cut!

Yes, he agrees he needs treatment.

He's happy to come immediately.

No, I'll get him there.

Thank you, doctor.

You were at the meeting, Ray. How, how? How did you--

What were you doing at the meeting?

How did you get to the meeting?

I mean, you live fucking miles away, man.

What is this, some kind of a conspiracy or something?

Kirstin found my number on an old call sheet

inside your pocket.

Called me last night.

I had no idea Ray was your best friend.

But it shows another way that

destiny's trying to help you.

There are no coincidences, Noah.

And with that sexy little addition to the sloganography,

they looked at each other with this strange kind of oneness.

It was pretty sickly,

like they'd known each other for years, not hours.

I didn't want to freak you out in the meeting,

so, you know, I just kept my head down.

Now there's nothing to hide, is there?

I've been in the program for a while now.

Ever since Greece.

You know, the calamari deal.

Remember?

About 18 months ago,

we were down in Greece, me and Ray.

We'd been picking up some second unit footage

for a movie of the week, which we didn't really need.

So after a day shooting various fishermen

unloading all kinds of smelly fish,

we settled down for a hard day's night

of drinking ouzo... and about anything else

they cared to set in front of us.

-Oh!

Now, Ray is going at it for Great Britain,

but I'm pacing myself because

I think I might be in with old white blouse over there.

See you later, Ray.

Which turns out to be correct.

Next morning, I'm a little bit fuzzy,

but I've been healthily pumped,

and that always helps the hangover--

I don't know why, but it does.

Must be an endorphin thing.

Obviously, Johnny endorphin

enjoys a good shag like the rest of us

and he passes on the good faith by

letting you off in the hangover department.

Great fucking deal if you ask me.

Not that I'm surprised.

Ah, kalimera.

Kalimera. Hey, you seen him?

Calamari!

Calamari!

Then he starts waving his hands about

like an idiot, yelling...

Calamari!

Kalimerais "good morning."

This is calamari!

Kalameri. Kalameri.

-Ooh... -All right, Ray man?

Oh... No, look, no, no, look,

he's smiling.

Look, kissy... Give us a kiss.

-Go on, mate, have at it.

Oh, give us a kiss.

And he gives it a great big smacker.

Which the squid obviously liked,

'cause he responded with equal affection.

And that's when I knew it was serious.

It's like something out of theAlien.

Ray was shit-scared. I mean, he couldn't breathe.

And this little fucker wasn't letting go.

Get off him, man! Fucking get off him!

Ray, fucking breathe, man, breathe!

-Fucking--

It was horrible.

Come on, man, get off him!

It took all of the fisherman's strength

to pull that little bastard off of Ray's face.

Get off him!

Oh, fuck.

-Ray, Ray, Ray-- -Fuck off!

Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray!

Come here, mate, it's all right.

Ray, it's all right, come here.

And he sobbed like I've never heard a man sob before

or since.

Except myself.

And right now here was Ray telling me it was that day

he realized he had to kill the booze

or it would kill him.

And since then, he's always had a string of ready-to-go reasons

why he couldn't come out for a drink,

which I never really questioned at the time.

So, dots were joined.

take care now.

It's the best thing that ever happened to you, mate, trust me.

Why didn't you tell me, Ray?

You should have fucking told me--

You should have fucking told me!

Sorry.

I love you, mate.

You bet your sweet life I'm looking for a bar.

Any joint with a pulse'll do.

don't think I'm going to the alkie home

without a livener in me, do you?

For a good 20 high-tension minutes, there's nothing.

I can feel the panic rising.

And I resort to the prayer of the condemned man.

Dear God, just one last time, please.

Then I'll be good forever and ever, amen.

Oh, you little beauty!

Pull over here and wait.

Ten minutes, all that's required.

Ha!

Four tequila doubles with salt and lime.

Oh, fucking hell!

Oh, fucking hell.

Tequila! Tequila!

I now have four liquid worms in my gut

and a bush fire starting in my veins.

And in a typical alcohol-fueled fit of self-congratulation,

I decide that in spite of all the woes,

I haven't done bad for a snake-belted, gray-shorted,

motherless snotty kid from a council estate in Workington.

When I was seven,

I went to live with my aunt and uncle,

and one day this gypsy came and read my palm.

She said I would go far from this place

and in my middle years I would become very ill,

and how right she was.

Whatever big city or high-falutin' situation

I've been in since then,

I've crawled back into that hole in the road

every night, drunk, drugged

and feeling that nameless fear.

If I carry on with the pattern,

I'll make the second half of the gypsy's prediction

come true.

Might even go mid-line, mid-swig, mid-fuck.

Or maybe all three.

Or maybe all fucking three, mate, eh?

Maybe all fucking three.

What do you think about that?

I'm going to rehab, mate, I'm going to rehab.

Fucking rehab they've sent me to.

Fucking rehab.

I don't wanna go, frankly.

But I must still want to live, mustn't I,

or else I wouldn't be in this cab

traveling up the gravel drive to the funny farm

and all points beyond.

And just then, a little bit of Becket

pops uninvited into my head.

I decide to share.

"Perhaps my best years are gone,

"when there was a chance of happiness,

"but I wouldn't want them back,

not with the fire in me now."

Oh, my God, Noah,

you pretentious cunting fuckwad!

Hello, there.

Oh, hello, love. I didn't hear you come back.

I was bloody miles away there.

I was having a little-- a little reminisce.

Listen, Noah, Etta and I

are going to go to the cottage for the weekend.

Now, don't be angry.

Why would I be angry?

I am angry.

What the fuck is she going down there with Etta for?

She knows I'm threatened by Etta and her,

oh, so safe in the knowledge of her lot in life

"Second violin. I could have been first violin,

but I chose the supporting role"

bullshit she doesn't mean a fucking word of.

Noah, everything's all right, isn't it?

You're not keeping anything from me?

No, of course not, why?

Because you've been pretty bloody strange recently,

even for you.

Tell her now. Tell her.

Tell her the cancer's back.

Yeah, I know, I'm sorry, it's-- it's just these

fucking tossers at the film council.

You know they like to play God with you.

It just winds me up. I'm sorry.

Okay. I'm gonna ask you.

Are you having an affair?

You see, I knew she'd bloody think this.

No. I am so not having an affair, Clare, actually,

thanks a lot, no.

Then you must be drinking again.

No!

Jesus, you are such a nightmare.

Everything else is all right?

Here's your chance. Tell her.

Yeah. Yeah, my-- yeah, um, health's fine, I'm fine.

Well, then, what the fuck is wrong with you? Huh?

This should be one of the happiest times of our lives!

Our second child's on the way, you're well,

I'm sawing, money's no problem.

Jesus Christ, Noah, I even want you!

I'm even horny!

Every time I come near you, you look at me like I'm radioactive!

Don't go to the cottage, Clare, please.

Oh, it's all arranged. You get Coral from school.

You know, and maybe you should think about

going to one of those meetings

where you do whatever it is you do to change,

'cause you are fucking impossible at the moment!

Tell them I told you so!

I love you!

With every inch of my heart.

Tell her.

I know you do.

But do you understand what it means?

Yes.

Oh, shit, why didn't I tell her as soon as I knew?

We'd have had choices then.

But how could I?

Timing just couldn't have been worse.

Oh, whoopti boopti fucking boo.

Welcome back, guys.

Missed ya.

Darling?

Got something to tell you.

Yeah, me too.

You first.

No, no, you.

Okay.

I'm pregnant again.

And the scene is frozen in time

for a hundred thousand years.

The chemo last year had basically been a neutron bomb

making instant corpses of billions of sperm,

and now this, the against-all-odds one.

Oh, he giveth and he taketh fucking away, all right,

old God, I'll give him that.

He's got that fucker down.

Noah, you happy?

Of course I am, darling.

God, that's fantastic! I'm happy as a sandboy!

-Me too, sandgirl. -Sandboy, sandgirl.

-Oh, God, that's fantastic.

Oh-- Oh, that's fantastic.

-Go on, your go. -What?

You wanted to say something.

Oh, God, no, no, no. Pales into insignificance

in the presence of such loftiness, darling.

Oh, no, come on, come on.

I don't want to steal the front page.

No, take it, it's yours, don't worry about it.

Mine was only on page seven at the very, very best,

I promise you.

-Oh, oh, I should call Etta. -Oh, yeah.

-Do you mind? -No, no, course not.

Go on, call her.

No, she's your mate. Go and call her.

Yeah, that was the day, all right.

Not long after Billy Bob's brother

had given me his present, I got another one.

I'd got Clare to come to Morocco

on such a line of bullshit.

It was only our second meeting over coffee.

Going to shoot in Morocco, so...

-Morocco? -Yeah.

How exciting.

-What's the film called? -It's called Kobo.

I've been working on it for about six months now.

Liar.

Um, got a big studio behind me.

Bullshit, you fucking big liar.

And a major actor-- afraid I can't tell you who,

'cause of the old, you know--

wants to play the lead part.

You could be a major actor, Arkwright,

this is such crapola.

It all sounds great.

You must be very highly thought of.

Me? Oh, yeah, I'm one of life's most celebrated

horseshit peddlers.

Anyway, um...

Go on, then, get to the knicker-wetting bit. Ask her.

I wondered if you might want to come with me.

Not a good idea.

There's a man who follows my career very closely.

He sends me a red rose for every performance.

I've never met him.

What the fuck is she telling me this now for?

He's asked me to meet him in Paris.

Okay, you better deal with this, big boy, okay?

Deal with this immediate jealousy and anger

you are feeling.

A red rose every performance,

I'll kill the motherfucker.

Oh, uh, when?

Weekend after next perhaps.

Do it now, dipshit.

Say something magnanimous

or you will blow this right here and now.

Well, P-Paris is beautiful, isn't it, you know what I mean?

Even in March.

Absolutely fucking useless, you twat.

Horrible, just plain horrible.

Go again, this time with feeling.

Noah...

Sorry?

Something happened between us when we first met.

Something that could become very big.

You felt it too, didn't you?

Yeah, I felt it, yeah.

Well, then you will know that I must go to Paris

and see this man and...

And she lets it hang there.

Bloody, hell, she's good, I'll give her that.

Classy. And she wants me to condone it.

But I can't, I can't say it,

I can't say, "Of course, you must go

and spend some time with the rose man of Paris.

Go, go, please, with my blessing."

I hope his dick is two inches long

and he has a curious lupus-type affliction

which manifests itself by his head falling off

at inopportune moments.

Then I get a rare moment of inspiration.

Ha! Genius!

Here you are, Robert Doisneau.

Snap this photo, you French fuck,

and slap it in your album de Paris.

Thank you, Noah.

You know, for a moment there,

I thought you were gonna handle it badly.

Clare came to Morocco with me,

and in between Essaouira and Marrakesh,

we made love for the first time.

In truth, the reason I'm still awake is that

I realized that I made love for the first time...

ever.

More pukey-pukey, I know, but it's true.

I, Noah the fuckmeister,

the man who in any emotional storm

would dock his cock in any vaginal port

had never actually made love to a woman before.

Penny for them.

I was just thinking, today's my birthday, you know.

It's April first.

Huh.

Which one of us is the fool today, I wonder?

Well...

I feel like...

all of the world's fools...

and all of the smartest men that ever lived...

all in one body.

-Good night, Noah. -Good night.

-Happy birthday. -Thank you.

Ah...

Whoa, tilt!

Hey, bartender, what the fuck is this?

Blood in urine with a twist?

Hang on-- deja piss. Why does this ring a bell?

Oh, yeah, the Tribeca twins a few weeks ago.

What the fuck is that?

"Cranberries." "Cranberries?"

"Yeah." "If you say so."

Noah! Come back and fuck us some more!

Yeah! What's the matter with you?

Oh...

Oh, finally.

The Tribeca twins? Okay, I'll tell you.

-Good evening, vicar.

Mind the small one. Excuse me, can I-- Excuse me!

Ray and I met the twins when we were shooting some footage

for a film called Downtown Surf Story.

We were told to get some footage of

this band called The Turd Basket

while they were still raw and bloody.

-Oh, oh! -And there they were.

Rita and Connie, the twins.

They're not really twins but who cares?

Oh, fucking...

Hey, Ray! Ray!

Raymond! Ray!

Very erotic and very aware of it-- I love that.

Raymond! You got some up here, you getting it?

You got this, this...

No pretending to be cute.

"We are young, we are sexy, we are fuckable

and we don't care who knows it."

Oh, that is top.

Fucking excellent.

We went back to their loft and they gave us a show.

It turns out they're graduates from

the London Fashion Institute and very creative.

I decided there and then they would design the costumes

for all my films from now on.

Show us another one, show us another one, come on.

Oh, that's nice.

And then we shagged nonstop for the rest of the day,

and from that day on,

I was never turned away whenever I was in London,

and needy of some female action of

the "how's your father?" variety.

Oh... two thumbs up!

I got two thumbs way up.

And here I am again.

Ladies, I am--

I bid you farewell, all right?

I'm fucking out of here, man, you know what I mean?

It's been a great ride.

You know that.

As ever.

But something tells me this is the last time

we will do this.

Good luck, Noah.

Come back and see us soon.

Yeah, yeah, I will, I'll come back

and see you soon, all right see you.

Love you both. I fucking love you.

Just see you later, right? Ta. See you later.

"Or you strained yourself. Burst a blood vessel"

"What?" "The blood in the piss, Noah.

Probably nothing to worry about."

"Right. Or cranberries."

Yeah, well...

-Whoa, fuckin' hell.

What's the name of this place?

Come to be an alkie!

Anyone home?

Fuck, you don't look well.

You must be Noah!

Jesus fucking Christmas!

Welcome to Bramwell Hospital.

-What? -Kirstin called to say

you were on your way.

We were just starting to get worried.

Oh?

Oh, God.

Sorry! Forgot I was wearing it!

It's our "smile revolution" week.

A smile day keeps the doctor away.

Uh...

I'm Harry.

Harry, do me a favor. Fuck off, will you?

We holding hands?

All right.

Oh, here we go. That's it, it's all right.

Nobody panic.

Fucking Nora, right? That's all right.

These are the works of some of our guests.

Wonderful, aren't they?

No, they're shit, they're fucking shit.

Wa-hey, that one looks like a vagina.

Is that a vagina? Big vag' thing going on.

So, is that what I am now then, Harry?

I'm a guest, am I? Is that it?

Oh, no, not until you've processed by Don.

Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, forgot about that,

yeah, the old processing by Don routine.

Yeah, big bad Don and the processors.

Hell of a band they are.

Whoa! Miss Rabbit Ears,

that is a lot of drugs you've got going on there.

Where you going with 'em?

Oh, no she's gone.

It's optional.

Yeah, and you know what else is optional, Harry?

Cutting your own balls off with a pair of blunt garden shears.

That's optional too.

Where do you think Miss Rabbit Ears

parks that trolley over night-time. Hmm?

You don't know, do you?

You'll be fine, Noah. Don't worry.

We take our work very seriously here.

Do you?

Let's hope so.

All right.

Oh, for fuck's sake. All right.

Okay, fuck it.

Hello, Noah. My name's Don.

Tell us your problem.

Well...

in for a penny and all that.

Hello, Don. My name's Noah,

and I am an alcohol-abusing,

drug-crazy, arrogant arsehole...

since you asked.

don't be so hard on yourself.

The next couple of days are gonna be tough.

Uh.

Tell me a little bit about yourself.

-I'm stuck. -Eh?

Can't think of a single thing, not one thing.

Tequila worms are busy in my brain,

sucking, vacuuming up every thought in there.

I don't-- I don't know what you mean.

Like, what do you mean? What do you mean?

What about a funny story?

-Funny story? -Yeah. A funny story.

Not a joke? A story?

Yeah.

Funny story, funny story, funny, um...

I know loads of funny stories.

Fucking hell. I can't fucking think of one.

I did go to the pub on the way, so hang on.

Sorry, I'm just-- Oh, uh, all right.

Well, I don't know, okay. Funny to me.

Um...

Ray, he's my-- he's my cameraman, all right?

We met at a Black Sabbath concert years ago.

That's a-- That's another story.

Me and him, we're on-- we're in the--

on the M6, right, north of Birmingham,

and we are out of it.

Out of it, totally out of control.

We've had like a six-pack of super-strength lager,

we got a couple thinnies of Zowie Maui sinsemilla dope

and a windowpane of acid each.

Each.

So, Ray's driving is really driving steady, you know,

like that, bosh, like that.

But fuck me if the cars are not whizzing past

at a serious miles an hour,

just mental, mental, mental, mental.

And I don't know if it's just my, you know,

stoned disorientation 'cause they're like fucking--

don't forget, I'm not exactly,

you know what I mean,

going for me law degree that afternoon.

So and then suddenly tap, tap, tap--

Whoa.

On the fucking, on the win-- on the window--

plod.

-Man. -Fuck.

-Yellow man. -Fuck.

So Ray winds the window straight down.

Copper, he says, "What the--

What the fuck do you think you're doing?

Ray puts on his, like-- his best, you know,

college blue voice.

He says, "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, officer."

Were we going a tad over the speed limit?

He says, "You drugged-up, hippie piece of...

...drugged-up hippie piece of shit.

"You ain't doing any speed, wanker!"

You weren't doing any speed at all, you wanker!

"You are standing still...

...in the fucking fast lane of the M-bastard-6!

"Of the M-bastard-6!"

Oh, no, oh, no, no, no. That's terrible.

We were. We, we, we'd stopped,

we'd stopped, we'd stopped.

We must have run out of petrol or-or-or something, you know,

and we were so fucking wiped out and stoned out of our bonces,

we didn't even realize we'd stopped.

And I'm-- I'm saying--

I don't know what I'm saying to this copper.

I'm-- I've gone into-- I'm in another...

Have you got very big feet?

Oh, can I have a look at your feet?

I'm an eight.

Although nine if you're on the continent.

If you're incontinent.

I mean, I don't know how they didn't lock me up

and throw away the key on that day.

"Ecilop" if you say it backwards.

Right, you two out of the car now.

He was not happy. He was not a happy camper,

this, uh, this copper.

He's cross, he's cross, he's cross,

-he's cross, he's cross. -Just stay there.

Okay, I'll stay. What, here, like this?

Not you. Him. Move it!

Do I stay? Oh, he's staying there.

-He's staying there. -So am I still getting out?

You're getting out of the car now!

This is just-- That wasn't there.

Lookit, um... my leg's gone to sleep.

Well, fucking wake it up and get out.

All right.

That's funny, actually. Did you hear what he said?

-Yes. -About my leg?

But anyway, so next thing, cut to, bosh,

thank you very much.

Off you go, see the geezer for a bit of--

You know, slapping.

So we got a bit of a wrist slap for the drugs.

Judge is sitting there, and he says, uh,

"I swear to God, I don't know..."

I swear to God, I don't know

what I'm going to charge you boys with.

He goes, "Ah" he says, "I've got it."

-He says-- -I've got it.

"I'm gonna charge you..."

I'm going to charge you with dangerous parking.

"With dangerous parking."

Fucking dangerous parking we got done with.

That's the funny story, Don.

Obviously not.

Obviously not.

Sign there, please.

I feel a bit awkward now, Don, I'll be honest with you.

Uh... I don't know if I want to stay here.

You'll be fine.

How can I be fine if I'm in here?

How does that work?

We'll make you better.

Ah, fucking hell, will you?

-Yeah. -I didn't know if I needed--

I didn't even know I needed to be made to feel better.

I woke up in this girl's flat this morning.

I don't know who she Is.

I've never seen her before in my life.

She says, "Oh, you're an alcoholic.

Yeah, I-- Yeah, I know what they look like. I'm one.

Well, every fucker's one. You're one.

Go on. Fucking go to rehab."

I mean, rehab, rehab. I'm in rehab. This is rehab.

I like a drink. I like a drink.

I like-- Who doesn't like a drink?

Do you have a drink? Do you like a drink?

I Don't-- I know. I didn't--

You'll help me, will you?

It's gonna be fine.

You've just got to relax and we'll be here to help you.

Right, we'll have it then, shall we?

We'll have a portion of rehab, shall we?

-Yeah. -Me and you and Harry.

Sign there for rehab? Sign there for rehab?

Me on there for rehab?

You got it. Give us it.

Give us it. Give us it. Give us it, then.

Can I use him, old twizzle?

How fucked up is he? Look at that.

I think I'm fucked up. Look at that.

Here you go, Noah Arkwright fucking checking in.

Thank you very much. How about that?

-How about that, Don? -Thank you, Noah.

You're signed and sealed, and now Harry will deliver you.

All right. Harry! Come on, son, we're on.

No jokes or tricks on the fifth floor. House rules.

I never saw a man change so quickly in my whole life.

Half an hour ago, this bloke greeted me

like his long-lost brother.

Now the miserable sod can't even look at me.

Bugger.

And to add insult to injury--

Oh, that is...

I have to say, I thought it was absolutely disgusting.

I mean, this bloke's supposed to be a professional.

You know that was you.

I know that was you.

And all the other people in this lift know that was you.

Poo.

Thank Christ for that.

That was a real methane head-breaker, that was.

All right.

First thing I see is this

emaciated bloke with a pink Mohican

playing table tennis with himself

and a girl with no hair on her head at all,

apart from a tuft of peroxide blonde over each ear.

And I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

It's like I've accidentally been cast in

a version of Cuckoo's Nest

for people with stupid hairdos.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, all right. Fucking hell

Oh! Bloody hell. Hello.

Come on, Noah. I'll show you to your room.

-Will you? -Yeah.

Okay, come on then.

Hey, what day does the hairdresser come?

-What? -No, I need to know

'cause I want an appointment.

Oh, dear. Hey, is it me, right,

or that Harry, is he a fucking schizomaniac?

Please don't swear. It's not necessary.

You shut up, you fucking condescending bitch!

What do you know is necessary or not, you slag?

Right, I want a fucking large scotch

on a bloody great rock of unstepped-on coke,

and if I don't get it right now,

I'm gonna rip this nurse's fucking windpipe out!

Get it?

Yeah, this is the psycho ward all right,

and I'm definitely in the right place.

How do you do?

I'm James.

I'm schizophrenic suicidal.

How long I stood there holding James' limp-dick hand,

I have no idea.

I remember getting a whack of I.V. Librium at some stage,

and then...

next thing I know, it's nighttime.

I've lost time before,

stacks of times.

But this feels different.

This is-- This is not nice.

And before I know it,

I'm counting like it's a school contest.

Thirty, 35, 40.

Go on, Jimmy, get the record, son.

By the time I reach 70,

Jimmy shows no sign of resurfacing.

Then at just past 80, his head starts to come up.

Bloody riveted by this.

The stupid bugger's actually trying to drown himself.

And instead of trying to stop him,

I wish I had a Bolex camera.

This is great stuff!

"Help him, Noah."

"Fuck off! This is not my shit."

Two minutes, he's still under.

20. Amazing!

Truly fucking bizarre.

It's like watching a murder,

but with the murderer and the victim

all rolled up into one bloke.

At just past two minutes thirty...

...a murder is thwarted.

My first instinct is to clap. Don't ask me why.

But then Jimmy starts to sob,

so it seems kind of inappropriate.

So I do the most unhelpful thing imaginable.

Here you go.

You all right?

Fuck.

I'd been in there--

I don't know, maybe four months.

Could have been four years for all I knew.

It's a "no time" zone.

They were pleased with me, or so they said.

I'm a little harder on myself.

I'm a man who never suffered any pain

except that which I brought on myself.

A man with the world at my fingertips

and success in the palm of both hands

who chooses to piss it all away every day of my life.

I'm a drunk without a single excuse.

An addict without reason.

That isn't true, Noah.

And sitting there...

is my dead mother.

Do you mind if I smoke?

It's not allowed in the rooms.

So, how long are you in here for?

But I can't speak,

can't take my eyes off her.

Her jawline so like mine.

Her ears the exact mold for my own.

This is my mother.

She's come to see me...

and I can't cope.

Noah, try and speak to me, pet.

It may be a long time before I get to do this again.

Ask me the question you want to ask me,

the question I want to answer.

Why did you die?

I'd been, um, 33 hours in labor.

There had been a mix-up.

My-- My notes had been mislaid.

My birth canal was blocked.

I should have had immediate surgery.

By the time I was on the table, I was...

too tired from the pain, too full of morphine.

I was sure I could feel your unborn fingernails

clawing at the inside of my womb,

desperate to get out of me before you died.

I heard the surgeon say he could save only one life.

Wasn't a hard choice.

They, uh-- They dug you out of me.

I lived long enough to see you held up before me.

You were sucking in breath, but you didn't cry.

I was addicted to morphine in your womb, they said.

I had to be detoxed at birth.

It was seven days until I cried.

I didn't know that.

Perhaps I shouldn't have come, but you were in so much agony,

I wanted to try to take away your pain.

You have.

Be strong, my son.

I'll leave you with a promise.

If you're ever suffering this much again

and I am unable to come...

I will send an angel to you.

Okay, motherfucker.

It's time to rock and roll.

You've been certified clean and sober.

Now, if you'd do me the honor of stepping through that door

and into your future.

Ah...

Excellent.

Cheers, son, cheers.

All right, cheers, son.

Cheers.

Oh, that is nice, that is nice.

Nice like this? Nice.

What have you got there? Coffee? Coffee? Coffee?

Cunt.

What am I thinking?

That if I stare at this innocuous cup of

the strongest double espresso

this joint can muster long enough,

then when I put it to my mouth,

it will turn into a triple scotch

and take me back to that place

I left behind all those months ago,

but that still yearns for me to re-embrace it

like a long-lost cousin?

Sounds pretty poetic, doesn't it?

Don't be fooled-- it's horrible.

Painful, nasty, and horrible.

Painful, nasty, and horrible!

Six months since I stepped out of detox

and five since my last drink.

I know, okay, well,

I'd been out for about a month,

and I was giving a lecture on screenplay structure

to a bunch of budding Stoppards at Cambridge.

One raven-haired beauty asked me some question

about film language,

which I gave a suitably creamy answer to.

Then later, after hanging out with her pals for a while,

we went back to her place, she drunk and stoned,

me sober and horny, horny, horny as hell.

So, next morning I planned to take a piss,

have a sleepy-eyed fuck,

tape a note to the fridge, and leave.

The piss was uneventful,

but on the way back to the bedroom,

I had to pass through the kitchen,

and who should be sitting there with a huge

"Good morning, Noah, how's it all going?"

grin on her face but Auntie Ginnie herself.

I'd absolutely no intention of touching a drop.

But before I know it,

I'm standing in a stranger's flat,

naked as the day I was born with my flaccid penis dangling

like the flag of a defeated regiment,

guzzling neat gin like a fucking maniac.

You c--

You cunt.

Cunt!

Since then, I've been in a kind of low-key hell.

I'm not drunk, but I'm not sober either.

I like to think I am. I often say I am,

but I'm not.

Somehow in the last three months,

I've managed to put together

a stylish docu-drama on Jackson Pollock,

so artistically, I'm still considered very cool.

The current New York Time Out

carries an article declaring...

"antediluvian"?

No, me neither.

But basically I'm regarded as an arbiter of taste

in a tasteless business.

But I'm 200 miles from home and a billion miles from my soul,

and I am not a happy camper.

Not a happy camper at all.

"So, what's new?"

as they say in the U.S. Of A.?

Fuck-all.

I've been to meetings, in detox and since,

A.A.: Alcoholics Anonymous,

the fellowship, the club.

I had a deep aversion to it from the very start

and always passed on the "how do you do?

This is me" bit, which they're okay with--

it's not compulsory, it's a kind of

whenever you're ready thing, you know?

Hi, my name's Bill.

And looking up at that banner,

at good old step 2,

which I'd looked at many times before,

something inside me snapped.

The resistance cracked and splintered,

and I'm sitting there sick and tired of being

sick and tired,

happy to become a living slogan

if it'll take the pain away.

Hi, my name is Noah...

and I'm an alcoholic.

Truth at last.

And I was relieved and pissed off at the same time.

I always thought my first public declaration

would be floodlit, filmic,

with a soaring soundtrack, effects,

the lot, the full works.

Behold! My name is Noah...

and I am an alcoholic!

It would be a scene that would prompt critics

on both sides of the Atlantic

to use up column-feet rocketing me into

a celebrated orbit to circle the firmament

alongside the great truth-telling auteurs of film.

-But no.

My defining moment was more like a wet, silent fart

than a blast on a golden horn.

And I had meant it too, really meant it.

I suppose that's all that matters.

Will I ever drink again?

Dunno. I hope not.

I can't say for sure. Who can?

I know I'll never enjoy booze again--

that's been taken away.

Guilt will always be peeking over my shoulder

and whispering in my ear.

Remember, Noah,

it's the first drink which gets you drunk.

Pressie.

We're so proud of you, Noah.

Six months-- that is a serious achievement, mate.

-Mean it. -Really?

It's not easy doing what you done, you know.

It's your six-month chip.

Congratulations.

I'll leave you two boys to talk.

Bye, Noah.

All right, see ya. Thanks.

-Bye, babe. -See you later, darling.

I wanna thank you as well, mate.

What for?

Well, for Kirstin.

I mean, she really is the most extraordinary woman

I've ever met. You know, she's beautiful...

Oh, God, he wants me to say something supportive

about the fact that during this whole debacle

he's hooked up with Kirstin and is shagging her

at a frightening rate of knots.

She's funny, she's intelligent...

When I wish I was.

He wants me to let him know I'm pleased for him.

But I'm not. I'm not pleased for him.

Or with him. I partly resent it.

I saw her first, didn't I?

For the first time in my life, seriously,

I am a fucking happy man!

I'm not pleased for him,

I'm not pleased for him at all.

I'm very pleased for you, Ray.

And not only that, I can fuck her day and night.

Oh, please! Rub it in, I insist.

Let's get the K-Y on the go here

and shove it right up my jacksie!

That's good, good.

Noah, everyone needs a partner...

to wit.

That is Clare Mattheson.

Yeah, I can see that, big letters, "Clare Mattheson."

She's a cellist for the string quartet, Marikos.

So it would seem from the bloody great big cello

between the legs, unless, of course, she nicked it.

This woman is your partner...

for a sober future.

What the fuck are you talking about?

Well, her quartet are playing at the Fleming Hall

tomorrow afternoon and I bought you a ticket.

You are gonna go and see her play.

And after the show, you're gonna go backstage,

you're gonna write her a little note asking her

to join you for a nice cup of tea and a cheese sandwich--

Have you gone round the fucking bend, Ray?

Seriously.

Has Kirstin sucked all the gray matter out

through your cock, possibly?

I'm not joking, mate.

You are gonna do this.

I can't.

Yes, you can. Why can't you?

Because it doesn't work like that.

Well, how does it work? I mean, you're hardly

the inner London municipal area spokesperson

for finding the right girl.com.

I mean, how do you know if it works?

Well, maybe I'm not, Ray, maybe I'm not, but, you know,

I'm gonna take an uneducated stab in the psychological dark

that it doesn't work like that.

Noah, mate, take a look at the magazine, yeah?

I will send an angel to you.

Love you both, right? I fucking love you, just--

see you later, right? Ta. See ya.

I felt bad about going to the twins that night.

I just felt so horny.

Ray had got me all worked up

with that Kirstin bonkography.

I had to have sex.

I also had a lot of drugs.

And booze.

Okay, I admit it. Hey! You try it!

You try not touching booze when you...

Fucking love it!

So I'm feeling like shit in almost every department.

Falling-off-the-wagon hangovers are a law unto themselves.

They hurt you in many harsher ways

than regular ones.

And that cranberry piss was a bit worrying, too.

Now I've got a few hours to kill

and get my shit together before my blind date

with this cello-playing woman.

Fuck, it's cold. Icy cold.

Scary cold. I feel edgy.

And I knowing it's coming off me,

which is never a good thing in London--

it exposes you.

The city gremlins can feel you.

You smell like prey.

You are prey.

Shit, why did Ray have to bring that article

with that bloody what's-her-face on it?

Clare Mattheson.

You can do better than that. Shout it out, laddie!

Clare Mattheson!

Got you! Ah, your bum!

Got you! You can't come in here.

This is my zone, my zone, my zone, got you again!

-That's five, 10, 15, 20--

-Twenty-five. Captured. -Cheat.

Clare, there's something I gotta tell you.

I'm an alcoholic.

At least I was, I've been sober for a few months now.

Tell me everything.

Everything meaning what?

Everything meaning everything you can remember

from the day you were born,

including the day you were born.

So I did.

My dad was dead by the time I was seven,

I was living with...

I told her everything I could remember

about my whole life.

When I was at school,

there was this, uh-- this t-- this art teacher,

and he this Bolex camera, and it was him

who actually got me into art college,

'cause he saw a couple of my short films that I did...

And I woke up in her flat and I'm puking up,

just puking up in this kid's bucket,

this child's bucket.

Anyone who wanted a drink-- I'd be like that,

just go, I'd just be with them.

I don't care what his name is, what he does for a living,

whether he's a nice bloke, whether he's a murderer,

whether he's a fucking pedophile.

It didn't matter, it didn't-- it didn't matter.

But now I suppose the thing is to try and--

try and kind of stabilize everything,

and-- and not be such a prat, basically.

Because I've been a prat. I know that.

If I was...

And not once did I get the feeling she was bored.

'Cause I've been the bloke who'd get crazy...

And when I got to the part about that whole crazy day

that ended up with me in Bramwell Hospital...

And the next thing you know, you wake up

and you're in fucking rehab.

She just stopped me and said...

You see? That's just a small bit.

One day, two days.

Don't let it be the focus.

It's just one small piece, hmm?

Come here.

-Thanks. -Come here.

Thank you.

And I knew right then and there that

I would spend the rest of my miserable time on Earth

with this woman.

And that there was a good chance

she could actually save my life.

-Aah! Ooh! Ow! -What?

-Oh, my God, fuck. -What is it?

It was like a-- like a bloody great big stitch suddenly.

Now it's gone.

Boy, that really hurt.

I gotta go for a wee now.

-You all right? -Yeah, I'm fine.

Just need to go for a slash. Cor dear, that was horrible.

Don't shoot me, you muppet. Shoot the kids.

Merci. Au revoir. Au revoir, les enfants.

Oh, what that was fantastic, wasn't it?

-Fantastic. -Oh, it's beautiful, man.

I'm gonna go back and have a bath, I think.

Oh, okay, I'm gonna go and see if I can get

a little bit of refreshment, you know?

No, no, no, not that sort. Just a little...

you know, maybe?

Is that okay?

Yes. Yes, of course it is.

Look, look, alcohol is my problem.

Drugs I've always been able to take or leave.

-Really? -Yeah.

Well, I always thought that...

And you thought right, Clare, my darling,

that I'm a walking fuck-up,

so I talk in riddles.

You will come to know this.

No no, no, no. Joint schmoint.

It's fine, don't worry about it.

Okay, well, that would be nice.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

I'll see you a bit later, all right?

-Yeah. -Be careful, won't you?

-Yeah. -All right.

I scored some weed easy-peasy.

Should I have stopped myself? Sure.

Can you be high and sober? Course not.

For your luck.

Should I go back to the hotel and tell Clare

I have some grass but I can't smoke it with her?

Again, yes.

Aah, ahh, oh! Oh, Jesus fucking-- Aah!

Aah! Aah! Aah!

You need to go home, my friend,

as soon as you can...

for you are unwell.

What are you saying, darling?

What are you saying?

So, cut to six years later,

as they say in the movies.

How can you do that? How do you do that?

Clare and I got married,

had a beautiful daughter named Coral

who we made on the night train to Marrakech.

First-time bull's-eye.

Whoa, oh, here you are, Mum, look.

And sadly the Moroccan Goliath was right

and I discovered that I did indeed have bladder cancer.

Big sobs all around.

Hello, who is it? Oh, it's you, hello.

But I got rid of it. Couple of times, in fact.

Trouble is, it kept coming back,

as if it had forgotten something.

Everybody out.

Like it wanted to chew a bit more of my insides off,

you know?

Almost. Not bad.

It did look very nice, I gotta tell you.

Very nice from where I was standing.

-Fish fingers. -Again? Hey!

Anyway, touch wood, I've been okay for over a year now

and decided to make a film about

the whole experience in true

indulgent-director- craves-the-limelight fashion.

Blood and Milk, I called it.

Seemed to have the right blend of enigma and pretension.

Trouble is, I keep hearing that obnoxious Yankee

movie trailer voice in my head.

This fall,

love and cancer collide...

Wish cancer would collide with

that annoying twat.

We kept showing it to people to get a reaction.

Kirstin lands in ten minutes.

Right, and what are you gonna do when she gets here?

-Not smother her. -Good. Very good.

Give yourself a blow job.

Since she went to live with her family in the States,

Kirstin and Ray have been having a bit of a rocky time,

but he's convinced her to fly to London

so they can have a powwow.

It'll be all right, don't worry about it.

It'll be all right.

Right, let's do this, shall we?

All right.

Mm-hmm.

Yes, they did, I'm telling you.

It played really well, they loved it,

you fucking deal with it.

Oh, they were bored, they were bored, Ray!

Jesus, allow yourself to feel good for once,

you fucking non-lugubrious farce.

Take it from me.

You have done an extremely good job on this one.

You should be very fucking proud.

I know.

If anything, it's gonna be cathartic, isn't it?

Oh, what, turn the camera on meself once?

Not particularly, no.

I'm just supplying the disease, aren't I?

The rest is just plain old storytelling.

Oh, look at you practicing your pithy quotes

-for the press release.

There you go.

Yeah, hello?

Yeah, it is, yeah.

Eyewitnesses said the Bentley Ray had sent

to pick her up as a surprise

was cruising at 60 just past Heston services

when a container truck came down the slip road

like a 40-ton bat out of hell

and rammed it right into the concrete bridge support.

Took the fire brigade 2 1/2 hours

to cut Kirstin out of the wreckage.

And in a small cemetery outside Queens,

we buried her.

And I said goodbye to the complete stranger

who helped to save my life.

We can use this shot.

We pan straight up to the nurse when she's inside--

Okay, but as long as-- as long as inside of all that,

you've got the little girl...

After that, we all dutifully tried to be

brave little soldiers

and look on the bright side of Eric Idle's life.

We were all kind of waiting for something to come along

and take our mind off it,

and lo and behold--

Ow! Oh, Jesus fucking Christ!

Never wanting to disappoint the troops

in their hour of need,

I unselfishly supplied the necessary diversion.

Fucking hell, man.

Oh, you cunt! You cunt!

Et voila!

Smiling Doc Baker, that's my consultant,

confirmed my suspicions.

Light claret,

cloudy with no body, some sediment.

Not a good year at all.

Doesn't look good, does it?

Could just be a small regrowth.

And if it's not?

Well, if it's not, we'll-- we'll deal with it, old boy.

More chemo?

Not-- Not an option, I'm afraid,

no, no, not after last time.

No, that was a bit severe, hmm? No, bit severe, no.

Now, how many sessions did we have?

We? I had ten.

I don't seem to remember you having any.

-Right, right. -Right.

And there was multiple regrowth within the year.

So there was, Doc.

Fuck me sideways, what a memory.

Fancy me not remembering that.

Mm-hmm.

Complete waste of time, irony, with this bloke.

I've never known anyone take anything so literally

that wasn't American.

No, if-- if, um, if chemo's gonna be effective,

you know, on the bladder,

it's gonna be first time around.

Look, I mean, considering the amount you took on board,

-you know-- -A liter.

What?

The amount I took on board.

Hundred CCs a session for ten sessions--

I make that one whole liter,

but then, you know, I could be wrong.

What do I know? I'm just the poor fucker

who took it up the dick!

Well, that's it, you see.

I mean, that is it exactly.

You just-- You don't want to go through that again, do you?

I mean, mind you, I-- I must say

you took it on the chin like a champ, my God.

He really does use these words. Sorry.

You even managed to laugh about it.

You said something very funny, what was it?

Kept your-- What was it?

Sense of tumor.

Kept your sense of tumor, ha!

That's it, that's it, that was bloody, bloody good, that,

bloody good-- kept us in stitches for weeks,

that did.

Matter of fact, there was just one of these hospital junkets,

vascular consulting chum of mine, he was...

And on he goes, blah, blah, blah,

about some mindless anecdote

from who cares when.

But I'm gone.

I'm back in that room,

stark naked from the waist down

as Dr. Patna shoves a 20-millimeter plastic tube

up my urethra.

Routine for him, not for me.

It's only my third chemotherapy session.

So far it's been easy-peasy:

no burning, no nausea, no loss of hair,

a regular stroll in the park.

So when will I know

when the chemo's doing its stuff then?

We'll know the chemicals have bitten deep enough

into the bladder muscle

when you find the pain is intolerable.

Which, scary as it may sound,

I can't really relate to,

'cause I haven't experienced any of those things.

I'll look forward to that then.

So I feel like the guy's gonna get away with it.

In fact,

I feel so curiously detached from the whole thing

that it's like a film I'm directing

that I feel I'm not getting enough from.

No, cut, cut, cut. Hang on a minute.

Noah, listen.

What?

Can, um...

can you just give me a little bit more, you know?

A bit more what?

Well, you know, fear, pain, concern, you know.

This is-- This is chemo. I think we need to--

Yeah, but I'm not-- I'm not feeling

any of those things, am I?

I can't just--

Well, you know maybe you're not,

but can you just pretend that--

that it's something, you know,

'cause it's just, uh--

Well, it's not very good, and, uh,

I'm not getting very much from this, you know?

I-- I may have to cut this scene.

That-- that would be a shame.

Well, I'm sorry, I can't just pretend something

that's not real, sorry.

That's just hokum, okay? I'm not doing that.

That's fake, Noah. That's totally fake.

I'm not doing that, man, just not doing that.

Okay, okay. I hear you, I hear you.

All right, okay. Good, good, good.

-Hack. -Fucking actors.

Right, what session's this again?

Uh, third of ten sessions altogether.

Ten, all right. Listen, reset for session ten.

Joe, let's reset for session ten, shall we?

All right, folks, let's reset,

we're going for session ten now,

session ten, everybody.

But, of course, it's not a film.

It's not a film at all.

No, fuck off!

Get this out of me!

Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, fuck off I can't breathe!

Stay strong! Work with me!

Oh, God, it's burning, it's burning me!

-You can do it! -I can't, I can't, I can't!

I can't, I can't, I can't, no, no, no, no, no!

-We're almost there.

There's just a little bit there.

Bigger! Come on!

Come on, bigger!

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

Miracles do happen. I didn't die.

And apart from that minor regrowth

which Doc Baker rather expertly diagnosed

and then cauterized for me in fairly short order,

it stayed away again for another chunk,

lying there in wait like a snake

in my personal little undergrowth

until the day Clare told me she was pregnant again.

Noah, you happy?

Of course I am, darling.

-That's fantastic. -Go on, your go.

-What? -You wanted to say something.

And that moment right there

that I can never have again...

Oh, God, no, no.

...came and went,

and I've been hiding this latest treatment since then,

so scared it would

affect her or the baby or both,

tried so hard not to be selfish,

put other people first, do the right thing.

I thought so anyway.

This should be one of

the happiest times of our lives!

Our second child on the way,

you're well, I'm sawing, money's no problem.

Jesus Christ, Noah, I even want you,

I'm even horny,

but you look at me like I'm radioactive!

You know, maybe you should think about

going to one of those meetings,

because you are fucking impossible at the moment!

Tell them I told you so!

And I'm getting punished for it,

like I'm in some tacky TV docu-drama soap opera

calledFuckup Street or something.

Clare's been spending more and more time

with her best mate, Etta.

Would you excuse us?

It was our first weekend back in London

after our trip to Morocco,

and who threw a party to welcome her back

so I could be paraded around as the new boyfriend?

There you are. Hello, love.

Hello.

-How are you, baby? -Good, good.

This is-- This is the famous Etta,

who is as talented as she is interesting

as she is lovely as she is gorgeous.

And this is Noah.

Oh, my God!

He's adorable! Hello!

You see? Straight away.

What am I, a fucking Golden Labrador puppy?

Careful, love, I might get excited

and shit on your carpet.

It's very nice to meet you, Etta.

I enjoyed watching you play.

Clare's told me all about you.

All good, I hope. He's lovely!

Oh, goodness me, aren't you cute?

Now you must have a good stiff drink

and meet all these people.

No, 'cause I'm an alcoholic, so I can't.

An alcoholic! Isn't he funny?

What do you think we are, in Hollywood or something?

But she didn't mention that you were a tricksy bastard

and I'd have to watch me back from now on,

but I've worked that out on me own in five seconds,

so we're off to a flyer.

And the next thing I know,

she's sitting down opposite me

with her legs casually open

and she's not wearing any knickers.

She is presenting her bush to me full on,

and it's no mistake either-- it's a challenge.

I can feel it,

despite her efforts to cloak it from the pack.

You're right-- second violin is more relaxed.

-Well, you have to be. -Lazy, even.

And completely without ambition, don't you think?

There, see?

Don't tell me you didn't see that.

That is a full-on face-off, or minge-off in this case,

and it's a top-notch minge, as well,

but my dick doesn't get the slightest twinge,

despite the fact this is one perfect vagina.

'Cause otherwise you get frustrated.

Yeah.

Don't pick up the gauntlet, Noah.

I think so, I think we've got to be

a certain type of person.

Why is that?

Because solos scare the shit out of us.

Don't get me wrong.

We like to be heard in rehearsal,

but if we don't get our way,

I don't think we put up a fight.

I suppose you could say...

you could say we're easygoing.

I suppose you could also say that

you're a scary, manipulative witch.

Are you easygoing, Noah?

Oh, I don't like you, darling.

-Me? -Yeah.

-No. -Not one little bit.

No, I'm not easygoing at all, really.

What was the name of that...

And with that, the curtain closes on the muff matinee.

Next show,30.

So, what? Did I pass that test?

Fail it? Who knows?

I don't feel like I failed.

One thing I do know:

I despise Etta with all of my black little heart.

And now, seven years later,

she's at our cottage with my wife

weaving God only knows what kind of magic spells

and pulling all kinds of weapons of my destruction

from her 9-out-of-10 front bottom.

And she even had the front to invite me

to go with them to my own fucking cottage.

"Oh, change your mind and come...

Change your mind. Come with us. Please.

Be so much fun.

No, it's all right, you-- you girls go,

have a good time.

-Drive carefully, darling. -Mm, I will.

Come on, Ett, jump in.

Is it your cottage that she is at?

Eh? You know it is,

you know it's my cottage she's at.

Do you know where it is and how to get there?

Mate, here, look, this is what you do, all right?

You drive straight down there and you surprise them.

What, now?

No, next February, you fucking maroon.

God, this hamper's bloody heavy,

I'm sweating cobs here.

So what am I gonna do when I get there?

I run through a few options I'd like to do.

Different attitude. Shift-- you have to shift, Noah.

Suddenly, I didn't want them to know I was there.

I hadn't heard Clare laugh for ages.

Hadn't made Clare laugh for ages.

She looked so happy and relaxed.

I didn't want to spoil it.

So I left, feeling very unwanted

and disconnected...

to anything.

Adrift.

I'm Amy.

This is my second meeting and I guess I'm an alcoholic.

I drove back to London like a maniac

and next thing I know, I'm sitting in

a midnight A.A. meeting in Muswell Hill,

confused, lonely and pissed off.

As Ray would say, my head's a dangerous neighborhood

and I shouldn't be walking through it alone.

Why am I here? God knows.

Keeping it all in the moment, like they keep telling me.

And I'm an alcoholic.

God, they look so perky. Look at 'em:

sober, perky fuckers.

Yesterday's history, tomorrow's a mystery.

Piss off.

Hi, my name is Fiona,

and I'm a grateful recovering alcoholic.

Here goes, and I know this is wrong,

but I can't stop myself.

Hi, everyone! My name is Noah,

and, yeah, you guessed it!

I'm an alcoholic too!

And as grateful alkie Fiona

knocks of a quick impression of Munch's "Scream"...

Fucking have some champagne, you fucking sober cunt!

You all fucking want it, don't ya?

You love it, don't ya?

Go on, you fucking sober wankers!

Just gonna pop out and get some more.

Is that all right? Won't be long.

By the way, Peter? Love the suit.

Did I feel better after the champagne debacle?

Obviously not.

Did I tell Clare the cancer was back

when she got home from the cottage?

No, I didn't.

I know: weak, coward, wanker,

all three and others, whatever.

But anyway, as it turned out...

I mean, come off it, Clare,

I haven't made a decent film in ages.

You've almost finished Blood and Milk.

The rough cut's beautiful.

Oh, it's an indulgence.

I think all films are indulgences.

There's no cause in storytelling.

Yeah, that's exactly what I mean.

I might just fart about in post-production, you know,

and I take a few meetings here and there with

fucking disinterested, fucking untalented

miserable fucking twats.

Apart from that, I do fuck-all.

You've been very ill, Noah.

It's not your fault.

I know it's not my fucking fault, Clare!

Oh, my God. Oh, Noah.

How long have you known?

Why didn't you tell me?

I just-- I don't know.

I just-- I don't know--

Look at you, all tongue-tied, sweet.

You know what, Clare, why don't I just fuck off a while

and leave you and Coral?

I'm so obviously just a pain in the fucking arse.

You know what? You know what?

Look at me. Look at me.

When I signed up with you,

I signed up for the full package,

all of it, good and bad.

-You hear me? -Yeah.

Yeah, it's not always a bed of roses,

but you and I, together,

we can get through anything, anything.

-You hear me? -Yeah.

-You hear me? -Yeah.

Tell you the truth,

I always thought roses were vastly overrated anyway.

Clare Mattheson...

will you be mine?

Yes, I will.

Will you be mine, Noah Arkwright?

Yeah, yes, I will.

Oh...

So, everything out in the open.

Good, thank God.

All hands on the same deck again. Excellent.

I hadn't felt so normal in months.

It was a great feeling.

Truth...

best drug on the market.

She found it quite hard to play with the bump,

but she said she loved the idea of the music

vibrating through her body into our unborn child.

I loved her so much for thinking like that.

Ow! Oh!

Aah! Oh! Aah!

Ow, oh! Oh, God, Jesus!

Oh. Ow! Ow!

Clares!

Clares!

Jesus, it fuckin' hurts!

Oh, no.

What are you saying, darling? What are you saying?

I think this might be it.

I think this might be it.

Shut the fuck up, Noah! Shut up!

Darling, are you all right?

Yeah, the baby's coming.

Oh, Lord, what?

My waters have broken. Can you get someone?

Ah, right. Pregnant woman, broken waters,

uh, wheelchair.

That's it, yeah, bring it in, bring it in,

tight ship, tight ship, that's it.

-Go on. -Don't you worry about me.

There you are. Nothing to worry about.

That's it. There you are.

Be careful with her.

Oh, no, I don't want to leave you.

I'm fine. Go and have a baby

and stopping making such a fuss, go on.

Don't worry, darling. I love you.

I love you too. See you later.

Sorry about the attire, old boy.

Bloody farmers' dinner this evening.

No time to go home and change.

Fox steaks?

What?

On the menu tonight, is it fox steaks?

Oh, Lord.

No, no, no. No, nothing like that at all.

No, no. Buggers don't feel a thing,

you know, at the kill, nah, no.

Spoken like a true surgeon.

So...

Noah.

Looks pretty bad in there.

It's, um almost all bloody tumor, you know,

it's hardly any bladder left at all.

It's, um...

bugger struggled for you though, you know,

and-- and we've-- we've done our best

to keep the blighter in, you know.

But it's, uh--

it's come to that time, yes?

And he looks at me expecting some kind of

resignation or other.

Well, I won't make it easy for him.

Let him feel some of the terror of the fox

when he has nowhere to run...

and nowhere to hide.

Bottom line, old boy,

bladder's got to come out.

Immediately.

So, look, um...

you might want to make some calls.

Mm-hmm?

Get the affairs in order, that sort of thing.

And perhaps, uh...

write a couple of letters, hmm?

You know, to your daughter and, uh, of course, the baby.

You know, something they can-- they can read at a future date.

What are you telling me?

I'm telling you to write a couple of letters, Noah.

Shh, shh.

Oh, shh, shh, shh, shh, shh.

Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh, shh.

She's got cello hands.

Have to get her a mini one ASAP

so she can start sawing away.

Yeah.

Go on, sweetheart.

Say what you need to.

You never know when you'll get to do this again.

I'm sorry I had to leave you, Clare.

I tried to stay as long as I could.

All the King's horses and all the King's men...

Well, you know what their track record's like, don't you?

Bloody piss poor.

Oh, my angel.

My angel.

I'll always be here, darling.

I do get to come see Clare quite often.

They say it's because

we had a real connection while I was alive

that you can stay connected after you go.

Whoever "they" are.

You'd think you'd finally meet "them"

on the other side.

Looked for them all over the place,

but no one there seems to know who they are either.

Turns out they don't exist after all.

They're simply a figment of our overactive imagination.

Just another bloody fairy story.

to be searching

Here's something for everyone.

Just look at this place!

You charmer.