All language subtitles for White Gold s02e02.eng

FOGHORN BELLOWS

- Evening, Vincent.
- Ronnie.

Beautiful spot.

I guess, if you like big metal boxes.

Oh, I do.

All these different coloured boxes
carrying goods across the world.

You know, I look at those containers
and do you know what I see?

Good places to store bodies.

Very funny, although they really are.

No, I see bunts, young Vincent.

They're like lucky dips bags,
you never know what's inside

until you break into one
and then nick it.

Well, I'm sure you didn't drag me
all the way out here to romanticise

some rusty fucking crates, Ronnie.

How's business?

Figures are down again this month,
but I've got it under control.

My rival's had an opening
month bump, nothing more.

- Won't happen again.
- I hope not, Vincent.

Otherwise I might be forced to
give you a tour of the inside

of one of these rusty fucking crates.

OK, now the pep talk's out the way,
I need a favour.

- What is it?
- It's my boy, Ronnie Junior.

Let's just say
he's been having a few issues

in the employment market.

I need you to take him on at Cachet.

It's not exactly convenient timing.

Oh, it is for me.

Lyndsey's been banging my earhole
about getting him a job,

and obviously I can't have him
working alongside me

in the family business.

- You want to protect him?
- No, no, no.

It's, um, how can I put this?
It's more, he's...

He's just fucking strange.

What can you do, eh?

Unconditional love
can be a terrible burden.

Great.

- Do I get a choice?
- Of course.

You can say yes, or you can
spend the next eight weeks

in that yellow container up there
being shipped to South America.

HE WHISTLES

Junior, come and meet Vincent.

He's your new mentor.

Pleased to meet you, Junior.

It's RJ to everyone else.

Have you done any sales before, RJ?

There is nothing you can teach me
that I do not already know.

- Oh, good.
- Right,

I see you two are going to
get on like a house on fire.

Already starting to feel
like a right gooseberry.

So, see you lovebirds later.

MUSIC: Church Of The Poison Mind
by Culture Club

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

More charred meat, girls.

I'd go for the sausages, if I were you.

Unfortunately
this isn't a dream sequence.

No, there's no waking up
from the living nightmare

that is little prick's
annual staff barbecue.

Silencio, silencio, por favor.
Gracia, muchas gracias.

Exciting times here at Millman Young.

Hopefully this little shindig goes
some way to saying thank you,

not just to my colleagues,
but to the wonderful wives

and partners who help support
and nourish my team.

So, thank you, ladies.

Thank you, ladies.

Now, I'm just going to talk shop
for one moment longer.

I am delighted to announce

that we are going to promote Sam Swan

to a position in the
sales advertising team.

Congratulations, Sam.

- You deserve it, sweetheart.
- Hear, hear.

Congratulations, my darling.

Now, can everyone get back to eating
barbecue and bitching about me

behind my back.

Vincent, it's great to have you here.

Actually, what Andrew said when
he first planned this barbecue

was, "I have to invite Vincent.

"I don't want to, but I have to."

Listen, I know we've had our
differences but I'm really

- glad you came.
- Wouldn't miss it for the world.

- Patronising little prick.
- Vincent, stop.

Right.

Are we are ready for the
fifth annual Millman Young

World Cup of ping-pong?

SHOUTS OF ENCOURAGEMENT

Oh, this day just gets
fucking better and better.

Right, gang, time to get serious.

This year we're playing mixed
doubles, not spouses together

because I will not be held responsible
for any divorce proceedings.

So the pairings are as follows.

Sally and Chris, Melinda and Bob,
Bess and Jim, Sam and myself,

Vincent and Pat, June and Martin,
Ann and Alan, Angela and Norman.

- Who's Pat?
- I am.

You are going to have to do most
of the work, I'm afraid.

Well, the upside of
doing a stint in borstal,

Patrick, is it's like a crash course
in table tennis. Come on.

My borstal bat skills just
about made up for my partner

being so close to death's door that
he could play knock-down ginger on it.

Eventually I dragged the dead weight
of Pat all the way to the final,

which pitted me against my wife
and the world's most

competitive garden gnome.

The score was 20-17,
which gave them three match points.

If the table's too high,

I don't mind you using
a stepladder to serve.

I won't be needing that, thank you.

Go on, Sam.

OK, OK.

- Sorry.
- 20-18.

20-19.

When you get a chance,
you've got to take it, Sam.

Vincent's fucking serving now.

- Sorry.
- You had the chance, Sam.

Stop apologising and
take responsibility for it.

OK, I will, I promise,
I'll do better next time, yeah?

If there is a next time.

Yes, that's it.

For fuck's sake, sorry, Pat, mate.

You useless bastard.

I'm sorry if I got a little bit
spiky just then.

No, you didn't. Honestly,
it's fine, forget about it.

I have to admit, you were
pretty sensational today.

Every once in awhile, Samantha,
you've got to take one

- for the team.
- Mmm.

What I was thinking, it's only
fair that if you get to take

one for the team, then so should I.

Now, come on, Vincent Swan,
I need you to be the bigger man

one last time today.

What's wrong, baby?

I'm sorry, Pat,
I've just got a lot on my mind.

- Walshie.
- Sort of.

If that sneaky bitch he's
got selling for him keeps

stealing our business, I'm not
going to hit my target this month.

Well, at least money is
not as much of a worry,

now we've got the two salaries
and I'm getting a raise.

And so, it seems, is Mr Winky.

He certainly is.

Don't worry.

I'll have this situation
under control soon.

I managed to set a little trap
and Walshie's golden girl is walking

straight into it.

What kind of a trap?

The sweetest kind.

A honey trap.

And guess which sap was the honey?

As part of his quest to become
more ruthless in sales,

Lavender jumped at the opportunity.

It also didn't hurt that the bee
in this particular honey trap

was hotter than Satan's
arsehole after a vindaloo.

Hiya. It's Jo, isn't it?

You ran the peak performance
seminar I went to.

Sorry, I'm Martin Lavender,
Cachet Windows.

Ah, Mr Be-More-Assertive.
How are you doing, Martin?

I just want to say

you really completely transformed
my whole approach to sales.

In fact, I honestly wouldn't
be selling at all any more

if it wasn't for you.

Shot myself in the foot, then.

I know you're working,
I just wanted to say thanks.

- Where are you heading?
- Hot lead, number eight.

The Talbots.

Sneaky two-timing bastards.

Oh, double bookers.

How do you want to handle this?

- All yours.
- Really?

- Absolutely.
- Oh, thank you.

Well, then, I feel like
I failed as a sales coach.

Also I was hoping my tiny act
of generosity might get my foot

in the door for a bigger opportunity.

OK, now you've got me
interested, Martin.

What's the bigger prize?

Dinner tonight?

Yeah, all right.

I'm married to a sexist dinosaur.

What?

The fact you don't see how
incredibly wrong this is

is even more disturbing than
dreaming it up in the first place.

What I do know is that if you don't
hurry up and get back on board,

Mr Dipply O'Dickus here
will soon become extinct.

It's not funny, Vincent.

The poor girl.

Not to mention Martin.

Yeah, I'm sure that furious, hot
sex with a beautiful woman is tough.

And there it is.

The cherry on top of
this passion-killing cake.

She's beautiful, is she?

That's not what I meant.

Goodnight, Vincent.

And just as my mojo was rising
again, Sam had me on a sex ban.

Something that I was wishing
Ronnie's wife had done to him

24 years ago.

Boysies, this is Ronnie Junior.

I'll stop you there. It's RJ. Continue.

He'll be working with us from today.

RJ, Fitzpatrick and Lavender
will train you up,

- take you out, show you the ropes.
- As I said, I won't need training.

Have fun.

Lavender here went to university.

Thought he knew it all
when he first turned up.

Turns out, the only thing he learned
to transfer to sales

was how to identify various
sexually-transmitted diseases.

It's a steep learning curve, mate.

Well, I imagine it's mainly
strategy and psychology,

in which case it's highly likely
I'll know it all already.

Oh, lovely, did you do psychology?

No.

History?

No, look, I don't want to brag.

I'm sure it won't be taken as bragging.

Fine.

I'm in the top-five players
worldwide at Stratego.

What the fuck is Stratego?

It's an advanced
strategy turn-based board game.

Oh, right, well,

unfortunately most of our customers
are above the age of eight,

so I doubt they'll be impressed by that.

And even though this
is a much lowlier arena

than the one in which I
would normally compete,

it's highly likely I'll have something
to teach each of you.

All right, well, let's start you off
with something simple.

- How about some teas?
- Go on, then. White, two sugars.

Oh, yeah, OK.

MUSIC: I Just Can't Get Enough
by Depeche Mode

We quickly found out why Ronnie
wasn't overly keen to integrate

Junior into the family business.

So, we have established five
different ways in which your life

could be immeasurably improved
by having new windows, yeah?

Yeah, but honestly, we can't do it
for the money, Brian.

Look, I've never done this before

and it goes completely against protocol,

but I could try and get you
what is called our VIP rates.

- Would it be OK if I use your phone?
- Yeah, of course.

OK, well, I'll leave you
with my colleague, RJ.

Yeah. Well, boss, you know,
I wouldn't be asking if I hadn't

already closed six deals today.

Yeah, I'm on a streak and the
Greenwoods, they're good people.

You know, I've purchased
all sorts of crap in my life.

None of it has made me happy.

You know what Sir John Betjeman's
great regret was before he died?

Not enough sex.

And that's something
you don't even have to pay for...

..all the time.

Really? Well, we've never gone that low.

Uh-huh.

Right, we're not comfortable
with the direction this has gone in.

- What?
- Your colleague is very, very strange.

And it wasn't just on the road
that RJ was proving a liability.

Excuse me, could I ask a question
about conservatories?

In a minute, I'm still on a throw.

RJ, what the fuck? You're supposed
to be looking after the showroom.

This is a critical phase of battle,
I cannot operate with distractions.

- And who's she?
- She's got a name.

Susie, and I'm here
cos RJ offered me a job.

She'll be my assistant.
She's great with figures.

Don't you work in the Flying Horse?

- I did.
- You still do.

Come on, out.

Out!

Ridiculous.

How am I supposed to close a deal
whilst I'm nursemaiding

that charmless freak?

I would say he is insane.

Well, I'm sorry,
we can't get rid of him.

He's Ronnie's son,
which makes him like royalty.

Like one of those weird
inbred princes that grow up

to be really fucking dangerous?

- Are you thinking of fairy tales?
- I'm thinking of Prince Edward.

Lavender, what have you dug up
on the opposition so far?

As far as I can see,
she just seems to work very hard

- and have a bloodhound's nose for a sale.
- That's it?

We could have got that
from her fucking CV, mate.

I don't want to push too hard too soon.

You're not taking a fucking shit,
you're spying on a rival.

See, boss, I told you,
you should have sent me in as bait.

Yeah, the only problem being, you
don't land a prize catch like Jo

with a maggot like him.

Just come up with something pronto

to stop her stealing
our fucking business

before Prince Bellend's dad
decides to send me to Venezuela.

- You mean Coventry?
- I wish I did.

Speak of the devil.

My car keys?

- Thanks, where were they?
- I just took it for a spin.

You might want to get
the gear knob looked at,

it comes right off in your hand when
you try and shift across to third.

It's an automatic.

Oh, yeah, that makes sense.

Can I get a beer?

You left something in the toilet.

It's not mine.

Shit!

Ha!

- Would you look at that?
- What is it?

It's little Donna.

Brendan's daughter, Donna.

Didn't you once take some seedy
photos of her for her dad?

I think what you meant to ask was,

didn't I launch that little cracker's
modelling career? And, yes, I did.

Oh, it's nice seeing
her all grown up, isn't it?

Not really, it's massively creepy.

She's still not old enough
to buy alcohol.

What's creepier? Page 3 or you
trying to censor innocent pictures

of the human body?

It's definitely the one
where schoolgirls are paid

to bear their breasts for dirty old men.

Carol, do you have any problem
whatsoever with Page 3?

Well, it is always in the newspapers
so I suppose they have to report it.

Thank you.

A bit of common sense.

And she's a woman.

But it is sexist.

Yeah... Thank you, Carol.

We should invite this local Lolita
down to the shop,

might even attract some customers
to this morgue you call a showroom.

All right, RJ, you stick to Cluedo.

Let the big boys sell the windows.

That's not a terrible idea.

I mean, Donna is a national
sweetheart, albeit a topless one.

Imagine the publicity if we got
her down for a meet and greet.

I like it, Lavatory.

You're starting to think like me.

Thanks for seeing me.

Let me start by saying
how thrilled we are to have played

a small but vital role
in Donna's success.

Now, I know we've had our
differences in the past

and I'd just like to say
that, first and foremost,

I've always considered you a mate.

That's lovely to hear that, Brian.

And seeing that it's you and
Vincent, I'm prepared to offer you

my one-time mate's rate of...
?1,000 for the afternoon.

Oh.

Seems a bit steep... mate.

Usually we charge 500,
but like I said I am doing

you a special mate's rate.

In light of our past.

You're fucking joking.

You take it or leave it...

...you rat-faced wee prick.

I guess I'll start with a positive.

Didn't find any soft porn
in the toilet today.

However, I did find semen on the sink.

No, I'm not pointing the finger,
but just in case anyone

new here is under any doubt,
that's not fucking on.

I wondered where that went, cheers.

Mystery solved.

While I remember, I've got
some expenses need paying.

- What's all this?
- Corporate entertainment.

- Entertainment for what?
- Myself.

It's very boring working here all day,

so in the evenings
I have to entertain myself.

Right, RJ, I want you
down the printer's,

we need a thousand copies
of this, mate, pronto.

What is it?

Very nice. Tasteful yet risque.

Are you sure making the flyer
transparent was the smartest idea?

It's not transparent, numb nuts,
it's the film the printers

need to run the flyers off.

Look, Sam has put her neck on
the line getting this done for us.

So keep your greasy paws off it.

She's got quite the enigmatic smile.

Maybe she spotted your enigmatic stiffy.

Oh, my God, that is disgusting.

Oh, grow up.

All of you.

None of us would be here
if our fathers' penises

didn't engorge with blood
when we needed them to.

What are you still doing here?

Get to the fucking printer's.

But before RJ could
complete our delivery,

he needed to take care
of his own package first.

Do you think you could save it?

Should be able to reconstruct
the lettering. What did it say?

Catch-it Windows?

What about the phone number?

I think that's a one,
that's another one.

Let's go with one, one, one, one.

While RJ was covering up
his spunky tracks,

Lavender was trying to get Jo
to unwrap a few secrets of her own.

Is there something wrong?

No, I just thought
maybe we could talk for a change.

I mean, we barely know anything
about each other.

All right, Michael Parkinson,
what do you need to know

besides I like having sex
and I like you?

How about we play a game?

I'm only interested
if its hide the salami.

I'm serious.

It's an intimacy challenge.

We tell each other one thing secret
about each other.

It can be anything at all,
but it has to be something

- we've never told anyone.
- OK, sounds interesting.

- Who's going first?
- I'll kick off.

I once had an affair
with a married woman.

My, Lavender, you dark horse.

Was it recent?

I'm not saying anything else
about it. Your turn.

OK, my first orgasm was at a sleep-over

at my best friend's house.

It was also on her fingers.

- Jesus Christ, that's amazing.
- No, not fair.

I just delivered
a lesbian fingering fantasy.

I want something juicier from you.

- You went to a single-sex school, right?
- So?

So, boys are curious at that age.

Any sexual experimentation? You know...

You scratch my dick, I'll scratch...

Sorry, the only penis
that has been touched

- by these fair hands is my own.
- OK, whose wife was it?

- I'm seriously not going there.
- What a sniff scandal.

Right, I'm going to sing out
some names to see how you react.

- Fitzpatrick.
- Oh, come on.

- Walshie.
- This is daft, no, I'm not doing this.

Vincent.

All right, I once wanked off a sixth
former in the art studio at school.

I knew it, so weird.

Come here, you sexy wanker.

Is that the flyers?

Um, yeah.

RJ, what are these?

The flyers for Saturday's event.

That says "catch it".

- Yeah.
- We're called Cachet. Cachet.

We can't use these, you haven't even put
the address of the showroom on there.

And it's got the wrong
fucking telephone number.

One, one, one, one, one, one, one.
How did this happen?!

Look, nobody warned me
not to spill ejaculate on the film.

Because nobody needs to be told that.
Fucking hell.

Look, don't panic, OK?

This is the sort of problem-solving
exercise I encounter in Stratego

all the time.

What, you get jizz
all over the playing pieces?

Tell me, RJ, tell me how exactly
Stratego is going to help us get

back the ?500 you literally
spunked away at the printer's.

Yeah, actually, do you boys
mind taking the rap for this?

It's not the sort of thing

my dad would take any pleasure
in hearing about.

In return for keeping schtum
about his 500 quid fuck-up,

RJ agreed to go
on a sales training course,

the Anglian Windows training course,
to be more precise.

We made him promise to tell his dad
that he was head-hunted,

so that was RJ out of our hair.

But we still had the disastrous
Page 3 promotion to deal with.

Cancel the whole thing.
It's a fucking waste of time.

It's not that simple,

we're cancelling within 48 hours,
she'd expect paying.

- How much are we in for?
- Another grand.

Are you pricks trying
to get me killed by Ronnie?

Look, it'll be fine. I'll
have a word with Donna,

tell her how things work
in the real world.

I mean, this is Brendan's daughter
we're talking about here.

Not Richard fucking Branson.

So, Donna. I can understand
that feelings will be hurt,

but this is a business
and I'm afraid the situation is

that you're not going to get paid.

It's a contract like any other, Brian.

On top of that, we have
a first-rate legal team

of a major national newspaper
behind us, which, I would imagine,

would take you into territory
you can't afford.

So, yeah, I'll be taking
that payment in full, please.

OK, sure.

- Morning, Brian.
- Oh!

Jesus!

RJ, what are you doing here?

I thought you were sacked.

I mean, I thought you were training.

It look the course leader
less than six minutes to ascertain

I was vastly overqualified.

I agreed and he gave me the week off.

It's a good call from him, to be fair.

I felt partially responsible for the
printer mix-up the other day,

so I dived into Dad's Rolodex,
made a few calls and,

well, what would you say
if I could get a world champion

in their field down to the showroom
this afternoon to put

in a personal appearance?

I'd say if it's a world
champion in Stratego,

you can fuck off now.

You will have noticed
I'm still here, Brian.

And joining me this afternoon
will be none other than

Steve fucking Davis.

TV: It comes down to this final pink.

That's it, the World Snooker champion.

For once, RJ had managed to pull off
something other than himself.

Steve Davis was managed by an old
drinking pal of Ronnie Senior's,

a certain Mr Barry Hearn.

When RJ called, Barry just happened
to be sitting down with Steve.

It turned out Steve was free that
afternoon and RJ had just fluked

the 147 of lucky breaks.

Ladies and gentlemen, Steve Davis.

Can I have your
autograph, please, Steve?

- There you are.
- So what's it like playing at the Crucible?

Yeah, it's a good place to play snooker.

What's going through your head
in a high-pressure shot?

Yeah, you know, I'm just trying
my best to not miss.

Do you know any good trick shots?

Mate, I'm the king of trick shots.

But there's no table, so...

Right.

To be honest, I was surprised

because I normally do bookings
at snooker clubs.

There's not really
anything I can do here.

Thanks anyway, Steve.

Where is everyone?

I know we didn't have time to advertise,

but Steve Davis is
quite impressive, right?

Until you actually meet
the boring fucker.

Was it two sugars, Martin?

Oh, yeah, thanks, Steve.

Listen, I was thinking,
seeing as it's quietened down,

would it be OK
if I shot off a bit early?

No, it fucking wouldn't, Steve.

Is there sugar in that?

Oh, Brian, I'm sorry,
I'll get you another one.

Oh, the love of my life.

Couldn't resist the allure
of a snooker superstar.

Look, I warn you,
he takes a bit of warming up.

I think that Page 3 girl
you had booked is appearing

down at Walshie's new place.
He's absolutely rammed.

Oh, that's where everyone is.

Unlucky, boys.

It looks like you've been beaten
by the better woman.

A Page 3 promotion. Who's
the sexist dinosaur now, then?

- That's still you.
- Let's get over there.

Oh, where's everyone going?

Fucking rival firm has nicked
our Page 3 promotion idea.

Oh, can I come?

No, sorry, someone needs
to stick around here,

look after the showroom, Steve.

Ah! You'll have to join the sizeable
queue if you're looking to sign up

for one of our Page 3
stunner deals, Vincent.

This was our fucking idea.
This event is an infringement

- on our intellectual copyright.
- Wrong, boys.

You men think you have the
monopoly on using sex to sell?

Although to give you credit,
you did stumble on the idea

of putting boobs in a showroom first,

by hiring this pair of tits - ha!

This is your fucking fault, Lavender.

You were supposed to be spying on her,

not tipping her off
to our every fucking move.

Honestly, I didn't tell her anything.

Other than your avant-garde
sixth-form studies.

This is low.
I thought we had an agreement.

I understood you thought
you'd flash your green eyes at me

and I'd start blabbing company secrets

- for you to carry back to your boss.
- How could you think that?

Because that is exactly what Vincent,
or should I call him your pimp,

- literally just blurted out.
- Yeah, fair enough.

- Christ, how long have you known?
- From the beginning, obviously.

God, I feel so... used.

And for the record,
Martin didn't tell us anything.

It's Brendan that offered us
Donna's services as a freebie.

Apparently she was already
being paid for by you lot,

so cheers for that, Cachet.

Yeah, now that you mention it,

seeing as Donna has got herself
another booking,

we don't have to honour
our original payment agreement.

What was that, now?

Brian was threatening
not to pay us again, Dad.

Threaten is a loaded term.

More exploring the idea, Brendan.

Unless you fancy exploring
the back of my van with duct tape

round your wrists and mouth,
I suggest you pay my daughter

- what was promised.
- Yeah, no, well, we had a contract.

Look, I don't know
if any of you are snooker fans,

but if you want to meet

the three-times
World Champion Steve Davis,

he is currently over at the Cachet
Windows showroom on Southend Road.

- Is he doing trick shots?
- No, no fucking trick shots

but he can give you playing tips,

or a very funny story about Terry
Griffiths and some lost keys.

Oh, and he makes a mean cup of tea.
Anyone?

Oh, there is 1,001 questions
I'd like to ask

- Steve fucking Davis.
- Here we go.

- Ronnie.
- Chief among them being why

his tool of a manager Barry Hearn seems

to be under the impression I'm
giving him and that boring ginger

pillock a free fucking
conservatory each.

Ronnie, I can explain.

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