All language subtitles for Rivals - 1x01 - Episode 1.WEB.SuccessfulCrab.en

This is your captain speaking,

keep your eyes on the board.
We're about to go supersonic.

Ninety-seven, 98...

Ninety-nine!

Did we break the sound barrier?

Sorry, Mr Campbell-Black.
I didn't know it was you in there.

Enjoying your flight, Rupert?

Tony Baddingham.

Do you know Beattie Johnson
from the Scorpion?

Oh, no, but I hear great things.

Did the prime minister give you permission

to fuck a journalist
in the onboard toilet?

Loo, Tony. Don't be plebeian.

Beattie's ghosting my memoirs,

and I always believe
in laying one's ghost.

Oh, Beattie. What's your angle?

Champion showjumper put out to pasture?

Now a powerless backbench politician,
casting around for his next hobby?

Never quite achieving
the success he once had.

What were you doing in New York?

Whoring yourself around advertisers?

You know, if you don't start spending
some of that fortune you're coining

on making decent television,
you're gonna lose your business.

Very much in hand.
Just recruited a hot shit young producer.

Who?

Hmm. Cameron Cook.

Never heard of him.

You will.

Desperate to work for Corinium.
Bit my hand off, in fact.

Hope it didn't bleed on your nice suit.

Wake me when we hit Mach 2.

Drug use, pornography, easier divorce,
rampant homosexuality.

Recent studies have shown

that HIV isn't exclusively a
homosexual disease, Deputy Prime Minister.

Oh, but loveless rutting.

The promiscuous encounters that
characterise a Saturday night in Soho.

Those are the preconditions
for this virus which threatens--

The precondition, Deputy Prime Minister,

is the Victorian conservatism
of the Tory government,

which is narrow-minded,
hypocritical and, quite frankly, cruel.

- Okay. And cut there. Thank you.
- We're in the proc--

- Ready to go again.
- He can say gay sex is loveless rutting,

but I can't make a small comment
about the government?

BBC editorial policy, Declan.

Sorry, Deputy Prime Minister.

- We're going again.
- Yeah.

Cue Declan.

Mr Stratton, yourself and Mrs Stratton
have been married, what, 15 years?

Fifteen in April. Yeah.

Three children, a wife,
a mistress and an all-consuming job.

It must be difficult to juggle everything.

- What?
- Uh, though your wife, Winifred,

has been staying
at her family's Pimlico apartment,

which must have made it easier for you
to spend time with your, uh,

29-year-old secretary, Miss Sarah Price,

who proudly told our researchers
that you have the girth and stamina

to compete with
any championship racehorse.

Is that a fair comment to make, sir?

I, uh-- Well-- The--

Cut. Cut.

I would look to your own glass house,
Deputy Prime Minister,

before you start
throwing rocks at others'.

Declan, if we could just
do another take without the slander.

Fuck off, Alistair.

Fucking prick.

...fucking... ...bullshit.

Fucking...

Fuck.

Don't know whose bloomers
are in more of a twist tonight,

Auntie's or the prime minister's.

We both know the BBC
won't show tonight's episode.

I've said it before, Lord Baddingham.
I'm happy here.

And I'm not interested
in commercial television.

Oh.

Director general calling to say
you've been a naughty boy?

I'm offering you freedom.

I saw your interview with Reagan.
I bet they hacked out some corkers.

We'd put you out live.

- Live?
- Complete editorial control.

Skewer the bastards on air.

It's halfway around the world
before anyone's got a chance to complain.

Satellite's coming. We're going global.

It's exciting.

You're stuck here
with a load of librarians

when you could be an astronaut.

I'd have to persuade Maud.

Massive house in the country?
She'd love it.

What's a Wicklow man like you doing
in Fulham, dodging litter and dog shit?

Come to the Cotswolds.

Even I have to wince sometimes
at how fucking pretty the place is.

- Little signing bonus.
- Ugh.

Declan, come on.
You're being paid peanuts

to give bloodless interviews
with one hand tied behind your back.

It's the golden age of television.

You're missing the game.

Oh. Daddy's home.

Hi, Daddy.

Hello, darling. How was your day?

Extremely successful.

Sorry I landed on your game.

Yes, we do have other lawns.

Here we are, girls. The Priory.

Caitlin, we're here.

- What?
- We're here. We're here.

Look. We're here.

Oh, my God.

Exciting things are gonna happen to us
in a place like this.

Amazing.

Race you to the top.

- Bagsy best room.
- Absolutely not.

Prettiest prison I ever saw.

Jehovah's Witness.

- Oh, fuck. She's seen us.
- Oh, shit.

- Oh, you'll have to go down.
- What? Why me?

- I'm a lookout. For him.
- What? God.

Soviet officials ...

... have announced that
79 bodies have been recovered

and nearly 320 people are missing...

Door!

...after a Soviet cruise
ship sank in the Black Sea on Sunday.

Door!

Hello.

- I just wanted to welcome you to-- Oh.
- Down, Gertrude. Sorry.

- Oh, no. No, thank you.
- Hmm.

Uh, we're not on the best of terms
with Jehovah in this house.

Taggie, just shut the door.

Oh, it's not mine. I found it on the lawn.

- New English?
- Um...

- Is it the New English Bible?
- Ye-Yes.

Daddy says it's a literary abomination.
He must've thrown it out the window.

I'm Lizzie. I-I live down the valley.

I brought you a bottle and some eggs.

We'll open this now.

Okay.

Come on in.

We haven't found
the wineglasses yet.

What time is the second post here?

Oh, there isn't a second post.

Hmm.
Taggie lost her virginity this summer

to one of our son Patrick's
university friends.

He's in the south of France right now

- and not writing many postcards.
- Mummy.

Aw, it must be so lonely for Rupert
now he's not showjumping.

And the only thing that persuaded Caitlin
to leave all her friends in London

was the thought of living opposite
Rupert Campbell-Black.

I want him to ravish me.

He's a middle-aged MP, Caitlin.

Well, I'm so cross.

I'm off to boarding school
and won't get first crack at him.

He's bound to fall for Taggie
or even Mummy.

How well do you know him?

Oh, I-I-I'm not sure anyone
really knows Rupert, but we're friends.

So not carnally then?

I'm one of the few women around here
who hasn't been ravished by Rupert.

Is your husband fiercely protective?

Oh, that's my novel.

I wrote it. Have you read it?

Oh, no. Taggie doesn't read.
Uh, she's dyslexic.

For a long time,
we thought she was retarded.

Oh, He Took What He Wanted. I loved this.

Talk about getting ravished.

Isn't there a very naughty bit
with some dock leaves?

Oh.

Oh.

Yeah, the photo's quite old.

Have you got another one coming out?

Well, what with the children
and my husband,

I don't find much time to write nowadays.

Tag, I need a shirt
and some fucking socks.

Oh.

- Daddy, that's Lizzie.
- I-I-I live just down the valley.

- She writes dirty books.
- Nice to meet you.

- You're wearing my socks.
- They're warmer than tights.

- Sorry, still unpacking.
- Thanks, love.

How easy is it to find help around here?

We are not forking out for a cleaner.

Well, stealing a woman's help around here
is worse than stealing her husband.

What if you stole both?

That's grand, Tag.

Right, I am going to buy 30 pairs of socks
in such a disgusting colour

that none of you
will ever pinch them again.

- Nice to meet you, Lizzie.
- Yeah.

- Good luck, Daddy.
- Give 'em hell!

- Yeah.
- All right, let's get smashed!

Welcome to Rutshire.

Ooh. Whoo!

Declan, hi.

- Yeah.
- There he is!

- That's him!
- It's Declan!

Okay.

- What the fuck?
- Declan!

Just a man of the people.

Don't be jealous, James.
At least he won't steal your sunbed.

He's tall, isn't he?

Standing next to a very short car.

I saw him in Penscombe.

- I think he looks older in the flesh.
- Thank you, Deirdre.

- Who's producing him?
- Cameron.

But it's factual, not drama. And why
does Cameron get all the good stuff?

I really can't think.

Declan, how much are they paying you?

Why'd you leave the BBC, Declan?

- Give us a smile.
- All right. Thanks, lads. That's your lot.

- Get me the fuck out of here.
- This way.

You've put the Paddy among the pigeons,
haven't you?

Who says no Blacks, no Irish?

I'm a one-man
equal opportunities revolution, Ginger.

I am a journalist, not a celebrity.
I ask the questions.

It's Declan O'Hara.

Where the fuck is this Cameron guy
I'm supposed to report to?

I mean, Jesus,

you don't just ambush someone.

I'm a serious fucking journalist.

I don't discuss my career
with the Scorpion.

Shitshow.

Come in.

Where is he?

Take a seat, Declan.

- What, you're--
- Cameron Cook.

You were expecting a man, possibly queer,

which you would have endured

but certainly not a woman
and God forbid, a Black one.

I thought you were a publicity girl.

No, I'm a "producer-y" woman.

Listen, I'm not--

Prejudice? Of course not.
You're an asshole to everyone.

This isn't gonna work, Tony.

It's not a chat show.
It's a serious programme.

I wanna produce a serious programme too,
but there are ways

- of drawing the audience in first.
- Cuddling up on a sofa with cushions?

You've seen the set design then?

I know my audience, Tony. A fucking sofa?

You might listen to Cameron.

NBC howled when I poached her.

Do you know Charles Fairburn,
Controller of Programmes?

- Oh.
- Declan.

We knew each other at the Beeb.

Hey, you look, um--

Fatter. I don't miss the canteen
at the BBC, darling.

And Ginger Baines, Head of Operations.

I'm sorry, Tony. I produce myself.

I've got Johnny Friedlander flying over
for your first interview.

Johnny Friedlander the film star?

No, Johnny Friedlander my dentist.

I don't interview actors.

Friedlander doesn't give interviews.
Not since the sex tape.

- They're saying he could be the next Bond.
- They'll have trouble replacing Roger.

I've been speaking to Jackie Kennedy.

She'll just blabber on
about her old, boring publishing job.

No, she wants to talk about life
as a single American woman, actually.

Hmm, you could learn something, Cameron.

Look, you two lock horns
if it turns you on,

but don't forget I hired you both
because you can get ratings.

So let's pull together and get them, yes?

The BBC have put Top of the Pops
against us in the schedule.

So you need to be more popular
than Jimmy Savile.

Johnny Friedlander is a global megastar,

and he hasn't given an interview
in five years.

People will watch this.

Book Jackie for the next one.

Okay, fine.

But I do my own research.

And no fucking sofa.

Give him whatever fucking furniture
he wants, all right?

- We all know it's not about the sofa.
- I don't need this shit, Tony.

You brought me here to produce drama.
Not a chat show.

I brought you here to be
the cleverest person in the building

and terrify the rest of them
into pulling their socks up.

So far so good.
You're a lion in a petting zoo.

But we need big game like Declan

to convince the IBA to renew our contract.

We lose the franchise,
there won't be any drama to produce.

You'll be on the next boat back.

I didn't come here on a boat.

Forgive me. Semantics.

I flew here on fucking Concorde.

I paid for the ticket.

Worth every penny.

- It's gorgeous.
- Yes.

There are badger setts
up at the top there.

And in spring, the bluebells
flame between the beech trees

like little Bunsen burners.

Sorry, I sound like an estate agent.

Oh... ...I just
can't believe this is all ours.

Well, only to the bottom of the wood,

and then Rupert will have you
for trespassing.

Oh, thank you for walking me back.

I'm really quite pissed.

Hmm.

Looks like Rupert's back home.
Caitlin will be scaling the wall.

Caitlin's all talk.

She's sworn off marriage
until she's at least 35.

Got too much to do, she says.

And you?

With parents like yours,
you must have big plans.

- Oh. I'd like to be a cook...
- Oh.

...but following recipes
and writing things down--

I, um, don't know
what to do with myself really.

How old are you? Nineteen?

Twenty.

Your whole life ahead of you.

It's 1986.

You can have whatever you want...

...so Cosmo tells us.

Hmm.

- Back into battle.
- Ellie, I'm gonna get you.

- How many children do you have?
- Two.

Three, counting my husband.

He works for Corinium too.

- Oh, you didn't say.
- Go away, Sebastian!

I talk about my husband
as little as possible.

He does enough of that himself.

- Oh.
- I'm gonna get you.

I'm gonna get you!

You can't catch me.

Hello.

What's going on?

Oh, my God. There's a fire.

Uh, there's a fire! Oh.

Oh, come on.

Fire!

I can't hit a bloody thing.

Fire! There's a fire!

Tit fault. Your tits were
at least six inches over the line.

Well, cock fault then.
You're at least ten inches over the line.

Um...

Don't be shy, darling.

Your fields are on fire.

And? It's the quickest way to get rid of
the stubble after the harvest.

Could you, um--

So, you set fire to them on purpose?

Sorry,

who the fuck are you,
and why are you here?

What about the animals?
The rabbits and voles and birds--

Yes, and the lovely ickle earwigs.

Should I stop ploughing my fields
'cause it's cruel to woodlice?

You're murdering them.

Do you want me to give them
a state funeral?

What the hell?

Uh, I called the fire brigade.

Get off my land
before I call the police as well...

...and take that brute back to its pigsty.

You are utterly ab--

Ooh.

- Ab--
- Abhorrent!

Gentlemen, you ordered
a full-bodied Argentinian?

And the wine, Basil.

Yes. Have you tried
this one before? It's very, very nice.

I'm assuming we're on expenses.

Bas enjoys
helping me spend Corinium money.

I do. Oh, wonderful.

Now, I must say, I loved your coverage
of the royal wedding, Charles.

Thank you, Bas. Andrew and Fergie
are a modern-day fairy tale.

Well, you know what they say
about redheads.

Enjoy, chaps.

That's Tony's brother?

Half-brother.

He got the good half.

The mother had a scandalous fling
with an Argentinian polo player.

Basil was the result.

Bas was always the favourite with Daddy,
despite his dubious origins,

and poor Tony
just never managed to catch up.

Does he hold a grudge?

Tony? Darling,
he cultivates them like rare orchids.

Artists. Tony cultivates artists.

You're in safe hands.

We're-- We're-- We're so lucky
to have such a strong leader at the helm.

Hello, Archie.

I'll have the liver and marmalade,
and a radicchio salad.

- And for you, sir?
- Steak. Still mooing.

Tony's son.

Working here for the summer holidays,
teaching his children the value of money.

And tell me, is Cameron Cook
as big a bitch as she seems?

She is a genius.

So, we ripped up the treatment,

aged all the characters down ten years
and gave them some desire.

The men were all dickless,
so I said to Tony,

"Our audience wants to fantasise
about being banged over the sink

while doing the dishes."

And Four Men Went To Mow is now
the top-rated network drama of the year.

Looking good, boys.

I smell like Sunday lunch.

You look delicious.

Everybody, this is Lady Gosling,

chairwoman of the
Independent Broadcasting Authority.

Best behaviour, everyone.

And this is the Declan set.

Yes, very impressive.
You're rather impressive, aren't you?

Where did Tony find you?

New York.

August 26, 1970,

I marched with Gloria Steinem
on the Women's Strike for Equality.

My mom was on that march.

- "Don't iron while the strike is hot."
- Hmm.

I think you'll be pleased with the efforts
we've made to address your concerns.

I am not your Barbie doll.

And Declan O'Hara's presence
on the Corinium team,

it just nudges
that political dial leftwards.

And the board?

If you want to hang on to your franchise,
then Corinium's board needs strengthening.

Well--

Have you thought of Rupert Campbell-Black?

Rupert's presence
would give you legitimacy, Anthony.

I don't like
taking people's franchises away,

but Rupert would
give Corinium real sparkle.

I want to be convinced
that I'm backing the right horse.

Tell me more about your mother.

- My mom was into politics.
- Really?

All about female pow--

I mean, they don't tell you
when you leave the BBC...

Yes, there's a lot more money
in independent television...

...but you're going up against
14 other regional companies just like you.

And then there's franchise renewal.

But that's what, once every five years,
is it?

Yeah, but the anxiety is constant because
some other company can just waltz in

and take your franchise away.

We may not have had biscuits at the BBC,
but all we had to do was make television.

- Do you think I made the wrong move?
- Oh, no.

Granada have Coronation Street,
LWT has Blind Date,

- Corinium now has you.
- Hmm.

You're the golden goose, darling.

Sit back
and let Tony fucking fatten you up.

The foie gras is divine here, by the way.

Ugh.

I wish I was coming too.

I've only been invited so I can drive
Mummy and Daddy home when they're drunk.

You've already met Rupert. It's not fair.

You saw his willy.

He's vile.

Oh, that journalist is so lucky
to be shagging him.

- What are you looking for?
- The bright-blue mini.

Do you think it's gonna happen again?

What?

Mummy.

Now we're here, I quite want to stay.

Taggie?

Oh, let's go.

What?

You're wearing Taggie's dress.

Uh, I wore this to Bono's Christmas party.

- It was mine then too.
- Oh, you're so touchy these days.

Look, we are going to go and meet
the most wonderful people this afternoon.

I'm excited.

Leaving London's going to be good
for her and Daddy, isn't it?

It will be.

It'll be okay. I promise.

Well done, darling.
Great turnout again, I must say.

Yes, I've told them to up the proportion
of orange juice in the Buck's Fizz.

I don't want everyone
plastered like last year.

No.

So, which one is it you want
for your board?

Is it the electronics millionaire chap?

Freddie Jones.
He's over there with the tash.

I'll get him onto satellite technology.

You can ask her if she's made any friends
in the area yet.

She's opened a boutique in Cotchester,

so you should offer
to pop in and buy something.

Hmm. Is Miss Cook coming?

Couldn't drag her away from the studio.

Declan goes live in a matter of days.

And here's our star.

You're even more beautiful in the flesh,
Mrs O'Hara.

- Thank you.
- Declan.

- Tony.
- We're so glad you're here.

Everyone's dying to meet some new people.

We're all very bored of each other.

The Maud O'Hara. My favourite actress.

Bas, the better Baddingham.

If you say so.

So pleased you could make it, Basil.

Declan, let me show you off
to some board members.

Why don't we get you a drink?

You were wonderful as Lady Macbeth.

- Oh.
- Come.

Yep. Oh.

Not going to Lord B's party?

Hmm, I turned Tony down.
Not my kind of crowd.

Is that the only reason?

What other reason would there be?

I want your opinion.

I'm not paid to have opinions.

Mm-hmm.

Now, I agreed to ditch the sofa,
but why a desk?

He's-- He's not a news anchor.

Perhaps he wants to hide behind it.

Huh.

It's not because he hasn't got good legs.
I've looked.

Steve, move the desk off the set
for a minute.

- Declan asked for the desk.
- Yeah, I wanna see it without the desk.

It's just, we built the desk--

Not telling you to burn the damn thing.

I'm telling you to move it
so I can see the set. Can you do that?

All right. Keep your wig on.

That's funny.

You know what isn't funny?

Looking for another fucking job.

Mmm.

It's better. See? It's better.

There they are.

Well, Rupert's arrived.

Really?

That's Gerald. Rupert's aide.

We go way back.

Where's your gorgeous lord and master?

- He's not here? Damn it.
- No.

I have a pile of papers for him to sign
and I can only pin him down at parties.

You can pin me down later if you like.

Stop it.

- Vol-au-vent?
- Thank you.

Actually, I think I might just, uh...

Li--

Lizzie. Lizzie!

Um, I-- I think that man wants you.

He doesn't want me. That's my husband.

Thank you.

Thank you, darling.

Feel like I should be reading the news.

Fortunately, we have the wonderful
James Vereker to do that instead.

Oh. Thank you. Thank you.

Um, now I-- Don't worry,
I won't keep you from your lunch.

Uh, but I'm very glad to have you all here

to celebrate Corinium's newest star
with me.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Declan O'Hara.

Cheers.

Declan joins Corinium, of course,
on the crest of a wave.

Uh, wonderful ratings for our prestige
drama, Four Men Went To Mow.

Who knew arable farming could be so sexy?

Uh, and with revenue
from our sales to America,

we are confident that this is going to be
our most successful autumn ever.

Hear. Hear.

...then jumped over
six full-grown men.

Oh, my God. It's him.

So sorry. Sorry.
Didn't mean to steal your thunder.

No fire engines with you today?

Um, please, uh...
...go on with your speech.

- Oh, hello, darling.
- Hello.

Um, but Declan, you are undoubtedly
the jewel in the Corinium crown.

And I know everyone here joins me
in welcoming you, your wife, Maud,

and your daughter, Agatha,
to our Cotchester family.

Declan O'Hara, Ladies and Gentlemen.

- Lunch, everybody. Lunch.
- Drink?

Thank you, darling.

Mmm.
Look at all this gorgeous food.

People are always saying,
"You should write a book, Mrs Jones.

You've led such a fascinating life."

How funny.

People are always telling me
I should open a shop.

Oh.

Uh, so where have you moved to?

Wychey, Green Lawns.

It's a lovely house, now we've added
the extension and double-glazed

over those draughty old windows.

Those Victorians must have worn
a lot of jumpers.

Oh. Very good.

But the only house I know round there
is Bottom Hollow Court.

Green Lawns sounded so much prettier.

Especially now we've, uh,
landscaped the garden.

No tatties, Fred-Fred.

Lord Baddingham is
wooing my Fred-Fred for his board.

Oh.

I'm encouraging him to get more cultured.

We could do with a few more caring wives
at Corinium, Mrs Jones.

Oh. Please, call me Mousie.

All of my friends do.

Shall we go and find somewhere to perch?

Let's, Mousie.

Do move on to something soft, darling.
We don't want the hunt ball again.

Mmm.

I do so enjoy your Cotswold Round-Up.

My husband tells me you're one
of the most powerful men in England.

Yeah, I suppose I am.

Then I expect
you're allowed a few potatoes.

One potato, two potato, three.

- Shall we find more booze?
- Mmm.

Hello, Declan.

I'll see you later.

We were all so surprised
when you left the BBC for Corinium.

- Mm-hmm.
- Do you miss your integrity,

or do you feel lighter without it?

What was it the Private Eye called you?

The first not-quite-a-lady
of Fleet Street, was it?

Tag, have you seen your mother around?

No, I haven't.

I've met a few athletes in my time.
They always get what they want.

And what do we want?

To win.

Well, sadly,
I'm not showjumping anymore.

Well, you're still athletic.

You're certainly too disturbing
to be living across the valley.

- Ah. There you are.
- Finally.

Shergar himself.

Mr Campbell-Black,
getting to know the neighbours?

Huh.

Taggie, have you met Rupert?

No. Think I'd remember.

Ugh, Agatha. It's my daughter.

Uh, Taggie.

I hear you did a hatchet job
on Paul Stratton.

- That I'd have loved to see.
- Mmm.

Shall we make a dent
in Tony's whisky collection?

Why not?

Are you hiding again?

Oh, they're just at the end
of "Das Rheingold."

I need you out there with me.

Bloody Rupert.
I want to get this over with.

Oh, come here.

I can't believe
I'm going to him for legitimacy.

All he did for his status
was be born into it.

It's just social currency, darling.
It's the way the world works.

Public school wanker.

Well, shall we send Archie to a
comprehensive and save on the school fees?

Mmm. He'll only make you feel inferior
if you give him permission.

Now, deep breath, shoulders back.

Good boy.

Working the weekend?

Oh, I hope Tony's paying you
handsomely, Ginger.

Come on, dogs.

Took some digging, but I found these.

I think you'll enjoy them.

It's a little Declan O'Hara insurance.

Oh.

Mm-hmm.

"Peaceful is the country
that is strongly armed."

Hmm.

Baddingham family motto.

Circa 1972.

Lord Pop Pop, Tony's father,

made his millions in munitions
during the war.

That's why Tony married
Lady Monica of the Glen.

He had Daddy's cash,
Mon-Mon had the house,

and, what Tony wants most of all, class.

And why are the English so obsessed
with class and money?

Declan!

I was only asking Mr Campbell-Black
a question, love.

Rupert, you've met Declan then.

Anyone want another drink?

Oh! You've found one.

Hmm.

It's decent Scotch. Did Monica choose it?

Ignore us.
Our families go back a long way.

Not that far.

Listen, uh, can I have a word,
Rupert, in private?

A business proposition.

Well, we're all friends here.

Nothing you could say to me
that dear Maudie shouldn't hear.

I am not drinking sherry with
the wives while the men have all the fun.

No. You wanna be here
when Tony asks me to be on his board.

Uh, uh, uh, uh-- Well, all right.

It's a lucrative game.
I thought you'd want in.

It's so hard to take you seriously, Tony.

You just always sound
like you're playing Monopoly.

The answer's no.

Lady Gosling thinks
I can give you some class,

help you keep your franchise,

but I'm not using my family name so
you can buy yourself a bigger helicopter.

Uh, Tony, Paul Stratton's here.

Ah!

Sorry we're late, everyone.

Bit of trouble
getting out of bed actually.

You know
what newly-weds are like.

Paul.

Mind yourself in those jeans.
You bend over, your eyes will pop out.

And the new Mrs Stratton,
now you are a very welcome upgrade.

Well done, Paul.

- Uh, do you know Declan O'Hara?
- Oh, yes.

Yeah, you did us all a favour, actually,
Mr O'Hara.

Good to get everything out in the open.

We're insanely happy.

Aren't we, Paul?

I'm a new man.

Excuse me.

This is so fucking stupid.

I heard about you catching Campbell-Black
playing tennis in the noddy.

That's enough to upset anyone.

Who knows about that?

Well, the whole valley
knows about the fire engines.

And I know
who the mystery woman was now, don't I?

You know you're dancing with the devil,
don't you?

Says the man who works for Thatcher.

Let's hope you've got rhythm.

Oh, incoming.

You bastard!

You've been shagging Sarah Stratton too?

It was only tennis!

Ow.

Fuck!

- Ow.
- Drop!

Ouch!

Beattie, darling!

I'm going to ruin you.

I'm so sorry.

I wouldn't mind, but...
...that's my car.

- So it's Rupert now, is it?
- It was a conversation. I was conversing.

You were all over him.

Oh, what, now I can't even talk to a man
without you assuming that I'm after him.

- Oh, grow up.
- God.

I didn't ask to come here.

You're the one that took the cheque
and just sold us all out.

Yeah, Maud. It's a horrible house
and you live a terrible life.

What, and these are our people now?
Oh, my God.

They're all horses and dogs,
and houses and cars,

and who's got
the longest fecking driveway.

I mean, God, the men are all desperate
to ride anything,

as long as they're not married to it.

The wives, Jesus,

they haven't had an orgasm
since... ...Pony Club camp.

Oh, for fuck--

That's not us, is it?

Everyone was looking at you.

Huh. And did you like that?

Oh, God.

How much?
How much did you like that?

- Tell me. Yeah.
- A lot.

- How much?
- A lot.

Yeah. Hello. Come on.

Did you miss me?

Yes?

Yes, fine.

No, it was, uh, a buffet table.

Of course. See you 9:00 a.m.?

You have a good evening, Prime Minister.

Come on, dogs.

Daddy's in trouble again.

Mummy and Daddy are clearly back on track.
Was Rupert there?

Yeah, I think so.

"As she gazed at the O'Caseys,

with their burnished bohemian beauty,

entering this world of unbridled passion,
she worried."

"Little did Diarmuid O'Casey know that
he had brought his family into the wild."

"Into a world of untameable beasts
giving in to their basest needs.

Hungry for sex."

"Hungry for status."

"Hungry for love.

Hungry for power."

You know,
Campbell-Black is finished after today.

"Hungry for comfort."

Are you coming to bed?

You had better be stark bollock naked
when I get through there.

Good dogs. Good dogs. Lie down.

Mmm. "Mine eyes have seen the glory
of the coming of the Lord."

"Because as seductive
as these predators might be,

one should always beware of being eaten."

Bloody hell!

Oh, yes!

This is a surprise.

The prime minister wasn't thrilled
about seeing her ministers' private lives

splashed all over the papers.

Paul Stratton's been shuffled
to the backbenches.

Oh, dear. Have you lost your job?

No. Not at all. No.

No, Mrs Thatcher's given me a promotion.

I'm her new Minister for Sport,
so thank you.

I couldn't have done it without you.

You had to come all this way
to tell me that?

I want you to keep your grubby little nose
out of my affairs.

Maggie will see through you soon enough,
you overprivileged cunt.

You'll have to try harder than that
if you wanna beat me, Lord Baddingham.

Game on.