All language subtitles for Colins.Sandwich.2E06

Ripped By mstoll

Colin.

- Who are they?
- Dad's office, I suppose.

I thought you'd only
invited Ray and Anna.

I can't stop them.

What a nerve, eh?

They resented him
while he was at work,

never even bothered to
contact him after he'd retired.

Why do you have to kick the bucket
before people start being nice to you?

- Where the hell is Jen?
- She's probably caught in the traffic.

I thought you said chapel number three.

- No. No, you said chapel number three.
- I was only going on what you said.

Sorry.

Well, you can't just lose the deeds
to a house. It's impossible.

- Is it?
- Not even Dad could do it.

Look, they've got to be here somewhere,
and I am damn well going to find them.

Colin, it's late!

- Look, you want to sell this place, don't you?
- Not right this minute.

We're going to attack it and we're
going to be systematic about it.

Hang on! What's this?

Here we are. Documents.

"Rigoletto. Saturday evening,
12th May, 1962."

Oh, look, all my old school reports.

He kept every one.

Colin Anthony Watkins.

- Why the Anthony?
- I don't know.

Did we have a relation called
Anthony or something?

- Not that I can think of.
- Did you fancy Anthony Perkins?

No!

Why give me a middle name at all?

I think we just found "Colin"
on its own rather boring.

"Chemistry - No comment.

His position in class reflects the
interest and aptitude for the subject.

Position in class - 31st.
Number in class - 28..." Eh?

"History - All-in-all, an uninspired term
other than a surprisingly excellent,

if somewhat gruesome essay
on the murder of Rasputin."

"English.

Satisfactory progress. J. Watkins."

Really pulled out the stops there,
didn't we?

What is this?

"Mass equals density over..."

There's all sorts of
formulae and figures in here.

Are there?

This is a crib sheet. Did you use this?
Did your father know about this?

He designed it.

This is impossible.
Let's just leave it tonight.

I am not leaving this room till I have
those deeds. Look, you go. I'll sort it out.

"Dear Sir, this is to inform you
the above policy expires on 02/04/89."

The counterfoil's still here.

So's the one for '88, '87...

'86, '85.

All the way back to '72.

Is this place insured or not?

Oh, hang on, Watkins, we'll deal with
this later. You're looking for the deeds.

- Coffee.
- Ta.

No, thanks, no.

Look inside.

Right, that's the house sorted out.

Now the insurance.

Oi, Col!

Yeah, hang on, hang on!

Sorry, sorry, guys. Sorry.

- Bloody hell, what's going on?
- Just a bit of reorganisation. Excuse me.

Bill down at Security said you were in at
7:30 this morning. You've got to relax, mate.

I'm perfectly relaxed.

Col, you've had a rough time recently.
You've got to wind down a bit.

That'll be for me.

Ah, hello, Mr Beamish. Yes, thank
you very much for ringing me back.

Graham, could you pass me Mr Beamish,
please? You're standing on him.

Erm, Mr Beamish, you wrote
to my predecessor in 1982

about a signals failure at Raynes Park.

I was just ringing to find out
if everything's OK now.

Positive? If there are any worries at all,
don't sit at home bottling it up, will you?

My name's Watkins. You can get me
on extension 3679. Until six, yes.

Then after that, at home - 624-3939.

He's off his trolley.

These files should have been
slung out ages ago.

It just struck me, you see. They write to
us, we write back and that's the end of it.

You're not ringing everybody in the files?

I should be through all the B's
by the end of the week.

You're leaving at the end of the month. You've
resigned. What difference does it make?

I'm going to talk to Mr Travers about that
today actually. I've changed my mind.

- You're staying on?
- Yeah, I don't want to write full-time any more.

It means staying at home,
sitting at a typewriter. Alone.

I really don't want that
in my life right now.

Hello? Oh, thanks a lot, Beryl, thanks.
Put him through, would you, please?

Hello, Mr Benson!

What?

Puedo hablar con Senor Benson?

He moved to Estepona
six months ago.

I'm just checking he's still not too miffed about
that derailment at Cricklewood last October.

Now, Vicky, Scene 12,
Page 24, line 16...

where Watson says, "I haven't
driven 400 miles for nothing." Got it?

- Yes.
- 'I looked up in my Motoring Atlas of Britain.

Edinburgh's 373 miles from London,
not 400. So could we change that, please? '

- I really don't think it'll matter, Colin.
- 'Right, now... '

- Page 37, halfway down.
- Yes.

"An old B-registration Ford Corsair
pulls into Henshaw's drive..."

Now, "B" was 1969, not '70,
so that should be C-reg.

No-one will notice. Colin, believe
me, Alan said the script was fine.

Vicky, I went to Amadeus
and I could have sworn Salieri

was wearing a digital watch at Mozart's
funeral. It ruined the entire film for me.

I really must go now, Colin.
Alan is expecting me on location.

Just one more tiny thing.
Top of Page 104 -

"Sergeant Blake picks up map
on table and gives it to Henshaw."

Is it clear it's the map he's giving
him and not the table?

Crystal.

'Tell Alan to phone me any time, any
rewrites. He's still got my number, hasn't he? '

- Yes. I must go now, Colin.
- 'Yeah.'

Right, now, where were we? Er...

"Dear, Mr Beddows, policy number 2657..."

- What have you done? You've wiped it all off!
- Good.

- Colin, that's enough.
- But I've...

No, no! Listen to me.
You can't go on like this.

- Look, this is a...
- Your screenplay is finished.

And the stuff you're doing
for your mother can wait.

You've been through a traumatic period.
It's time to look after number one.

So what do you want me to do -
take you out to dinner or what?

Not me! You, you idiot.

Speak to Travers tomorrow. Book
a week's leave. You've got to get away.

Away?

You need a holiday.

A holiday, eh?

Name the country, name the place,
and we'll go.

What?
You're coming too, are you?

"...Interleaved with a dark,
deep-flavoured foie gras pat�,

spiked with a sliver of marinated truffle

and served with a little
diced white-wine jelly.

As for the flan d'asperges, it is obscene
to even attempt to describe it.

And then, at last, an hour later,
came the fabled dish -

the legendary homard au champagne.

That's the lobster with champagne.

I was terrified it would be an anticlimax,

but one taste and warm tears of joy began
flooding uncontrollably down my cheeks

and the table began to rattle as my body
convulsed with my first-ever multiple orgasm.

Is Le Cheval D'Or the best restaurant
in the world?

All I know is that as soon as I stepped
outside, I realised at once

that I'd had a glimpse of infinity."

Why are French McDonald's so
much better than the English ones?

So we're actually going to
make it to Le Cheval D'Or!

I can hardly believe it -
a lifetime's ambition.

You know, Mum and Dad actually
ate there when it was just a one star?

Is there anything in there
about the prices?

Ah, yup.

- Well, how much is it then?
- Guess.

Erm, �70 a head?

Nope.

- Am I hot or cold?
- Antarctic.

Er, �100?

Brrrr...

- �130?
- Pass my cardigan.

Well, how much is it then?

172.

�172 a head?

Colin, that's the distance from Paris.

The saliva's gathering,

the gastric juices are
under starter's orders.

A few miles away, there's a lobster
pootling around in a tank,

- blissfully unaware of its fate.
- Right.

When we come out of Coussy-Les-Bois,
there's a small road on the right

leading to Veaux and Champ-Fleury,
which goes over a bridge,

past a railway track and through
a small village called La Chapelle.

We don't want that.

- What are you doing?
- I'm famished.

We're seconds away from the
gastronomic experience of a lifetime

- and you're filling your face with toffees.
- I'm having one.

Well, don't. You had one on the ferry.

Sorry, Jen, it's for your own good.

Hang on in there. There's only three
kilometres to go. What time is it?

Quarter past twelve.

What? Oh, my God! We're early.

Er, we could go for a walk.

- OK, we'll go for a walk.
- Right.

You were absolutely right, you know.

Getting away was the only thing for it.

I feel completely relaxed today
for the first time in months.

It was that first waft of Gitanes that
did it, getting off the ferry this morning.

Those endless roads with the poplars
stretching as far as the eye can see.

That baker's shop with the baguettes
in the window... magic!

It's like being on another planet.

I can't bear this. It'll all be over
in a couple of hours.

I want to be frozen in time, just sitting here,
having this meal forever.

This is it. Nirvana.

And not a GB plate in sight.

What's the matter?

A coach load of West Ham
supporters have just pulled up.

- Thanks very much.
- It was only a joke.

I've just spat out 30 quid's worth
of Puligny-Montrachet.

Madame, Monsieur -
vous avez choisi?

- Er, yes, erm...
- Si vouse voulez que je revienne.

Non, non.
Er... Pour commencer...

je prendrai le homard au champagne.

Le homard. Tres bien.
Et pour Madame?

- Yes. What's the salade de laperaeu?
- God, here we go!

What?

Can't we make some attempt?
I mean, we are in France.

C'est quoi exactement
la salade de lapereau?

Oui, c'est une salade composee des
tranches de lapereau cuites a pointe

sur une chiffonade
de laitue et de frisee,

entouree de truffles dans
une vinaigrette de cerfeuil.

Well?

We're having the lobster, anyway.
Why do you want to know?

You're having the lobster.
I haven't decided yet.

- Menu avec traduction anglaise, Madame?
- Oh, thank you.

Oh, yes, that looks delicious.
I'll have the salade de lapereau.

Salade de lapereau. Tres bien.
Et comme plat principal?

Ah, right. Erm...

Er...

- Jen, what are you having?
- I'll have the kidneys in chocolate, please.

Les rognons au chocolat pour Madame.

Les rognons, tres bien.
Et pour Monsieur?

Er, pour moi? Pour moi? Er...

Erm...

- Le canard.
- Le canard. Tres bien.

Non. Non, non.

La ballottine.

Une ballottine.

Non, non, erm...

Er...

Erm...

L'escalope.

No, erm...

Yes, I'll have the poussin,
poussin a la... a la...

- A la Strasbourgeoise?
- Oui.

- Vous etes sur, Monsieur?
- Oui.

Non.

Jen, what did you say
you were having again?

I told you - the kidneys.

- Kidneys?
- Yes.

- But I hate offal.
- It's for me.

- Then we can't swap.
- What would you like me to have?

Pour Madame, pas les kidneys...
les rognons...

Le canard aux deux sauces.

Le canard. Tres bien.

Et pour vous?

Pour moi! Ah, moi.

Poor little old moi.

Erm...

Pheasant? Shall I have the pheasant?

You've already chosen,
haven't you?

- Yes, the duck, apparently.
- Yeah, right.

For God's sake, just make a decision.

- Right, that's done it!
- What?

- Don't say, "Just make a decision."
- What's the problem? You love pheasant.

I know I do, but if I have the pheasant,
it means I can't have the coq au riesling,

the poulet de Bourgogne., the saumon
souffle, the navets confits, the...

Qu'est-ce que vous recommandez?

Notre specialite de saison,
le poulet de Bourgogne.

Ce sont des tranches de poulet tres fines
dans une sauce legere de porteau blanc,

et servies avec une puree de marron.

Bon.

Deux canards.

Tres bien, Monsieur.
Merci, Monsieur.

Merci, Madame.

- What are you having?
- The same as you.

At least, we didn't have any
problem choosing the first course.

Le homard au champagne. I can't
believe I'm actually going to have it.

You know, I dreamt about
this meal last night.

The waiter came up to you
and said they'd run out of lobster.

We didn't know if
he was joking or not.

- And?
- What?

Was he joking?

I don't know.
I fell out of the window and woke up.

Staying on at BR was
the right decision, I think.

- I'm not so sure...
- I need the place, you know.

I need the routine of getting up in
the morning, having somewhere to go.

I reckon my writing's improved
because of it, yeah.

I know it's been hell
the last couple of months,

but I think the pressure has
brought out the best in me.

Like the oyster producing a pearl.

I need thatjob. I'll tell you
the most important reason...

why...

Yes?

Yes, I was just, just saying...

Well, what is it then?

- What?
- The most important reason.

- Yep, er... Excusez-moi...
- Oui, Monsieur?

Qu'est-ce que c'est la bas?

- Ce sont les huitres Moscovites, Monsieur.
- I don't believe it!

Look, I'm just asking him what it is,
that's all. C'est quoi exactement?

Ce sont des huitres avec du caviar
sur une base d'oeufs poches

marine dans du vodka.
Vous voulez changez, Monsieur?

Er... Non, non.

Just get it over with.

Oui. Oui! Annulez le homard.
Je veux les huitres.

- Vous ne voulez plus le homard?
- Non.

- Vous desirez les huitres?
- Oui.

- Et vous etes certain, Monsieur.
- Absolument.

Tres bien, Monsieur.
Pas de probleme.

Look, I don't have to have the lobster,
you know.

It's not all down to some berk in a guide book
to lay down the law. I make up my own mind.

- Do you know, I'm beginning not to enjoy this.
- Come on, Jen, don't spoil the mood.

La salade de lapereau pour Madame

- et les huitres pour Monsieur.
- Will you look at that!

Oh, yes!

- Mmm!
- What's it like?

- You stick with your oysters.
- Go on, give us a bit.

- I'll trade you for an oyster.
- You must be joking!

Nothing.

You see that, Jen. That's what
I might have been lumbered with.

Thank God I changed my mind, eh?
What a stroke of luck.

Yes, I'm definitely on a winner with this one.
No doubt about it.

Poor bloke. Yeah.
He knows he's picked a bummer!

- Oi, eyes off. You ordered it. You stick with it!
- Colin...

No way are you having any of this.
No way!

- Be quiet.
- Just you try it.

- You're acting like a yob.
- You are not having any of mine!

You're not having any of mine!!

You're not having any
of my bloody lobster!!

- Mais qu'est-ce que vouse faites?
- Qu'est-ce qui se passe?

- Il m'a pris le homard.
- Pardon?

Je vous dis qu'il a mis la main
dans mon assiette et il I'a pris.

C'est incroyable. Monsieur Robard, je suis
desole. Je le remplacerai tout de suite.

Monsieur, je dois vous
demander de quitter la maison.

Non, non. Ecoutez, laissez-tomber
ca ne vaut pas la peine.

C'est un Anglaise. Lis sont tous
un peu fous. C'est bien connu.

Monsieur, si vous voulez du homard,
vous n'avez qu' a demander.

- Vous voulez du homard?
- Je ne sais pas.

- Vous voulez gardez ves huitres.
- Je ne sais pas.

Vous voulez du homard
ainsi que vos huitres?

- Je ne sais pas.
- Vous voulez peut-etre autre chose?

- Je ne sais pas.
- Mais qu'est-ce que vous voulez alors?

I don't bloody know, OK?
Come on, Jen, we're going.

Look are you sure you
don't want me to drive?

No, I'm OK. I just want to, erm...

I don't know - keep moving, I suppose...

Look, why don't we find a quiet hotel
and crash out for a couple of days?

Shit! I miss him.

I miss him so much.

Do you want to stop?

Yeah.

L'essence, s'il vous plait.

Do you know we haven't
eaten for 18 hours?

I keep seeing him on the high road,
you know. My heart leaps.

I've finally got my chance
to put the record straight.

I rush up to him, clap him round the shoulder
and say, "Hey, Dad, you're terrific."

Then I wake up.

I thought I was prepared for it,

after the stroke he had last year.

I thought that was the dress
rehearsal. Don't let them kid you.

The worst thing is forgetting about it.

You're conned. You ease off.
It never happened.

You're back to normal and then
you feel that kick inside you.

And you know you're stuck
with it... forever.

Jen, it's a bit out of the blue, I know.

But I want to get married.

What are you thinking about?

- Nothing.
- Oh, come on!

- You really want to know?
- Yes.

Dad. Mum.

The smell of our garden
after the lawn had been cut.

You. Me.

Work.

The damp patch in the bedroom.

Whether the rubbish
has been collected.

Alan Hunter.

The film.

The ozone layer.

Glenn Hoddle's form
since he joined Monaco.

Oh, yeah, and that little bird in the
Flintstones who plays records with his beak.

Well, you asked.

Colin, you're giving up that job.

Am I?

Yes.

Why?

Because there aren't 36 hours in a day

and you can't go for slap-up meals
if you're nursing an ulcer.

And you've got the talent.

And it means you can drive me
into work every day.

Well, that sort of settles it then,
doesn't it, really?

When we get back next week,
you're going to get yourself a decent agent,

an answer-phone
and a year's supply of A4.

Then you're going to go into work and tell
Travers you're leaving at the end of the month.

Do you know what?

I'm feeling peckish all of a sudden.

Yes. Well, there's not a lot
we can do about that, madam.

What? What?

Look, I don't have to take that...
How dare you speak to me like that?

Well, for your information, I think that you're
a rude, nasty, malicious, fat-arsed trollop...

and when you die, I hope
it's lonely and harrowing!

Well, my answer-phone's working.

Thanks a lot. It was a great, great present.

Look, Graham, Trevor,
you've got my number, haven't you?

We must keep in touch, OK?

No. Look, I know we haven't
socialised all that much.

- We haven't socialised at all.
- No, no, but I'll be different now.

No, I'm serious.
We must get together, honestly.

Come on, Col, you're going to
piss off out through that door

and we're not going to
see each other again.

You're right.

I'm off now then, Colin.

- Oh, Mandy...
- So I'll say goodbye then.

Pop in and see us some time, eh?

Yes, well, Brief Encounter
had nothing on that.

Well, well, last lap, eh, Colin?

How does it feel? Yeah, I must admit,
in some ways, I rather envy you.

- Do you really?
- Oh, yes.

Freedom to do what you enjoy. Yes,
one of these days, I might do the same.

- You do a bit of writing, do you?
- No, no. Boats.

Yes, I've got one down
in Chichester harbour.

Who knows? One day, I might get
to achieve my impossible dream.

- What, off round the world, eh?
- No. The Isle of Wight.

Yes.

So, Colin, tell me...

when's your film on then?

Oh, it's September. Channel 4.

Alan Hunter, eh?

That's right.

Yes, Dark Window was good.
The rest was pretty hit and miss.

I didn't know you were a buff,
Mr Travers.

Oh, yes. I won a Film Night
director's chair once

with my name on the back.
It broke when I sat on it.

Well, here's to it, Colin.
I wish you... every success.

Thanks. Thanks very much.

Any last requests?

- Pardon?
- Any last requests?

You know, take one last complaint
before you go?

A wee bit of filing?

A quick staff meeting?

No, thanks, no.

Actually, now I think of it,
there is, well, there is one thing.

- Erm...
- Yes?

Well, I... No, no, no.

- Come on, Colin!
- No, it's... No, it's not on.

Colin, if you don't ask...

Well...

Due to a signals failure at Burgess Hill,

British Rail regret to announce that
the following trains have been cancelled:

The 6:23 to Orpington.

The 6:44 to Horley.

The 7:05 to Haywards Heath.

The 7:21 to Brighton.

The 7:52 from Brighton.

The 8:04 to Manchester.

The 8:16 to Liverpool.

The 8:28 to Inverness.

The 8:49 to Paris.

The 9:07 to Stockholm.

The 9:18 to Dar es Salaam.

The 9:32 to a small oasis
in the southern Sahara.

The 10:02 to Guildford.

The 11:51 to Wayne's house.

The 11:52 to Sharon's house.

The 12:08 to an old copy
of the Radio Times.

The 1:55 to Mother Teresa's
building society in west Calcutta.

The 02:27 to a pelican.

The 03:33 to a small piece of halva

I accidentally trod in in an Athens
backstreet five years ago.

The 4:04 to...

The 4:06 to...

The 5:15 to...

The 6:23 to...

And the 7:49 to Kentish Town West.

Thank you.

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