♪ I could be so good for you
♪ Love you like you want me to
♪ I could be so good for you
♪ Love me like you want me to
(RACECOURSE TANNOY)
I don't know what I'm doing here.
I could be doing other things.
You know.
I could be at the dogs. Hackney.
Dogs? Terry. This is where it's at.
Your own county set.
Your Mark Phillips lot.
Contacts, innit?
Combine business with pleasure.
I got a smashing Lancia
I'm trying to unload.
1979 logbook.
Only 14 thou on the clock.
Not a trace of rust.
Go a b*mb with the chinless wonder,
I should think.
(INHALES)
Cor! Smell that affluence.
You don't get that
at Hackney dog track.
Nah. It's dung (!)
You're standing in it.
"Declarations for the next race,
the maiden race,
close in 10 minutes time."
"Declarations for the next race,
the maiden race,
close in 10 minutes time."
(DOG WHINES)
"The runners will shortly
leave the parade ring.
Will the public please
clear the course?"
- That's my one.
- That's got a bint on it.
So? Wouldn't say no to her either,
as it happens.
Lily Law?
(LAUGHS)
You can't fancy a horse
with a name like that.
- You, of all people? (LAUGHS)
- I fancy it.
No chance. No chance at all.
Look at his legs.
Look at his hindquarters. (LAUGHS)
What you going on
about his pins for?
I want to stick a oncer
on its nose, not give it one.
'Ere. Stick a fiver
on the other grey for me.
Be advised, Terry. Stand on me.
Lily Law (!)
(LAUGHS)
There you go.
Seven quid on Spring Return.
£28 for seven, Spring Return.
Ticket number 301.
Excuse me.
There you go. Four to one.
Four to one?
He must've seen you coming.
Some of the others had it
at seven to two.
- Do it yourself?
- Couple of quid, yeah.
Right, form a line.
Just there, jockeys.
Now just walk up, slowly, slowly.
Steady on the line.
"They're under starter's orders...
and off for the opening race."
"And settling down,
going to the first,
Lily Law goes into the lead
and, at the rear,
Spring Return has started slowly.
"Lily Law clear in the lead."
Come on, my son.
(CHEERING)
Go on!
"One horse has refused. Spring
Return a refuser at the first."
The bugger's baulked at the first.
"And on the run in, it's Lily Law
winning easily from Flying Stations
and Phone Bill."
"Here is the result
of the open race."
- It's always been your problem, Terry.
- What has?
Dithering about,
chopping and changing.
What's known in the psychiatric
profession as a grasshopper mind.
In the good old days,
you could get treatment for it.
Pelmanism. If you have a fancy,
a feeling in your water, stick to it.
Well, it was you
who talked me out of it!
And that's the point I trying to make.
You shouldn't have listened to me.
You've gotta be strong-willed in this
world, Terry. Implacable, like me.
Now, come on. Twist my arm
and take me for a drink.
Listen. If you're going point-to-pointing
again, let me know.
I'll arrange to be busy (!)
Hang about, Terry.
We may have done our bread in...
but maybe it's
only cast on the waters.
Eh?
Clock the geezer in the Wind In The Willows
waistcoat and snappy felt hat over there.
- That's Watson Everett.
- Who?
- Watson Everett.
- Stroll on (!)
Oh, come on, Terry. He's only one of
your genuine NH trainers.
He's not rubbish. Hey.
I know a bloke who's got
a couple of jumpers with him.
The Honourable Jeremy Burnham Jones.
Have you swallowed the Who's Who?
or something?
What's a Jeremy Burnham Jones
when it's at home?
It's a contract, innit, Terry.
Only one of your
Brighton true blue jetset.
Heavily into antique
commemorative pottery.
I'd forgotten he was also
heavily into gee-gees.
- So, what good's that gonna do us?
- Because, Terry,
as well as being
heavily into gee-gees,
I am not entirely disassociated
with antique statueware.
Since when?
Subsequent to a favour
I did a geezer yesterday.
Antique statueware? You?
(LAUGHS)
Well, why not?
Look. Is there anything
you're not into?
Yeah. There's one or two things.
Still. You never know your luck.
An honest opinion.
- A connoisseur's assessment.
- Me?
- You.
- What it's worth, you mean?
Yeah.
All right.
Well, for a start, is it nicked?
Terry!
- Well, it's old, innit?
- Mid-19th-century, yeah.
Well, it's an ornament.
It's a... a statue.
It's a geezer.
I don't think Arthur Negus
could've nailed it better (!)
- It's china.
- Is it?
- He's got right eyes.
- Not chinese, china.
Not bamboo-chamboo china,
Staffordshire china.
Ah.
A fine, unrecorded
Staffordshire figure
holding a book
and resting his elbow on a pedestal.
That is how your bona fide art world
auctioneer will classify it.
It's Milton.
- Milton who?
- Milton!
- False teeth merchant?
- The poet Milton!
Paradise Lost, Paradise Got Back -
all that.
Go on, go on. Put a price on it.
Yeah, but am I buying or selling?
To the punter, what you are holding,
Terry, is worth 80 quid.
95, top whack.
Is it really?
Yeah, it's nice, innit?
'Andsome.
Bet you wish you had a hundred.
Two gross.
Cor, blimey!
- Fakes.
- They are 100% genuine reproductions.
Well, you're holding, then,
aren't you?
All you need now is some punter
to get rid of 'em for you.
That is where my friend
Jeremy Burnham Jones comes in.
What, the geezer from Brighton
who's into pottery and horses?
Contacts, Terry.
That is what life is all about.
I've been on the blower to him.
He does me a favour,
I do him one in return.
Oh, yeah?
And what favour are you doing him?
Oh, be fair, Arthur. I mean,
credit where credit's due.
Your average punter
is not gonna stand for it.
Terry. Your average punter is gonna
stand what he's told to stand for,
cos your average punter is a mug.
Yeah, all right, all right.
I won't argue with that.
Your average punter IS a mug.
But he's not a bleedin' lunatic,
is he?
How come?
Look. Your average punter is not
gonna lob out 85 or 90 sovs...
..on an antique Staffordshire statue
that was manufactured by
a factory full of Pakistanis
round the back of Orient
Football Ground, are they?
Think not?
No, Arthur.
Highbury, maybe, Orient, no (!)
Terry, I'll mark your card
of your average punter for you.
He goes into an antique shop,
picks up a little piece of pottery.
If it's got a sticker on its bottom
saying £3.50,
he is astute enough to know a piece of
rubbish when it's put in front of him.
Vodka and tonic.
No. Only light ales.
Two light ales, then.
If, contrarywise,
the sticker says 90 knicker...
he knows enough about the subject
to know...
a bargain when it's put
in front of him.
'Hello, hello, hello, ' says your
average Mr Nice Guy punter.
'90 knicker? This can't be rubbish.'
Ipso facto, we got a result, Terence.
£1.60.
288 times 90 is...
No, no, no. It's not all profit,
Terry.
They are genuine reproductions.
Pakistani craftsmen
or no Pakistani craftsmen.
- Oh, yeah?
- Yeah. They cost me six quid apiece.
And there's overheads,
travelling exes.
- Meals (!)
- Exactly.
And what little I do
come out on top with
I've got to split down the middle,
haven't I?
And Jeremy Burnham Whatsit's
gonna want a cup of coffee, ain't he?
Sad, but true.
But life isn't just
material possessions, Terry.
Do you know what life is
really all about?
- Contacts.
- Right.
Brighton is Mecca for
your antique tourist punter.
Jeremy has friends at court.
What I was thinking, what keeps
going through my mind is er...
while you're buzzing around
all these antique merchants,
what am I gonna be doing?
I'm not surprised they turned it in,
you know.
Your theatrical knights,
your up-market lot.
- Turned what in?
- Commuting.
London to Brighton, Brighton
to London, regular as clockwork.
- Before it was elbowed.
- What was elbowed?
Brighton Belle.
It was champagne and kippers.
They all did it.
Johnny Gielgud, Ralphy Richardson.
David Sexton.
Every morning of the week.
We had Pullman cars then.
They had vintage cars an' all,
didn't they?
London to Brighton.
I mean... I mean, can you see Johnny
Gielgud, Sir Johnny Gielgud, no less,
with his light ale slopping around
in his plastic beaker,
stuffing an individual fruit pie
into his mouth?
No, it's not on, is it, mate?
What, sitting here like this?
He wouldn't stand for it.
See, what I keep thinking is...
why do you need the heavy brigade?
- Heavy brigade?
- Yours truly.
Who down there needs leaning on?
Nobody. It's a little seaside trip
for you, innit? Fresh air, all that.
- Put money on it?
- Much as you like, my son.
You'll find you're on a loser.
Cheers. That was great.
He worked well on the
bridle over six furlongs.
He'll be there in time for Plumwick.
He'll be all right in time
for the race, all right.
- Langton!
- Yes, Guv'nor.
Make sure he's done up properly.
- See he eats up.
- Right. I'll do that right enough.
A rare 19th century commemorative Staffordshire
equestrian figure you've got there, Terry.
Worth a bob or two,
I can tell you that.
- What, more than Milt (?)
- What?
Your pottery equestrian's a different
class to your pottery poet.
That's really kosher. You're into the
ton and a half club there, I'd say.
- Really? Let's have a look.
- Rather more than that, Arthur.
Yes. Hello, Jeremy.
How nice to see you again.
Thank you.
So this is the friend you were
telling me about, Arthur.
Yeah. Terry Mc... (CLEARS THROAT)
Terence McCann.
The Honourable Jeremy Burnham Jones.
Pleased to meet you.
Hello, Terence.
You like the archer.
The what?
Fred Archer, Mr McCann.
He rode over 2,750 winners.
Six Ledgers, five Derbys, four Oaks.
The 2,000 Guineas four times,
the 1,000 Guineas... twice.
Greatest there was.
Oh, you haven't heard of him.
No, it's not up my street.
No, it's not his strongest subject,
the history of the turf, Jeremy.
Now, that.
That's more like it, innit?
What?
Master McGrath.
Winner of the Brownlow, Starisbrick
and Douglas Cups - the only dog ever
to win the Waterloo three times.
Hardly the sport of kings.
(ARTHUR LAUGHS)
How about queens, Jeremy (?)
Royal Command. It was presented
to Queen Victoria at court.
(LAUGHS)
He will have his little joke.
All the same, one hopes that...
Mr McCann will prove
rather better than useless
when it comes
to earning his keep.
- I want a word with you.
- Yeah, of course.
Outside.
Don't worry, Jeremy.
Underneath all that...
solid gold.
- All that glisters, Arthur.
- Exactly.
Since when have I been
on his payroll?!
I was gonna tell you, Terry.
But I was just waiting for the
opportune moment. You know.
- Like now (?)
- Yeah. Well, look.
As I explained to you, Jeremy is doing me
a favour apropos the Milts. Right?
- Yeah, all right. Yeah.
- And I, in return,
and by courtesy of you,
am doing him a favour back.
What sort of favour?
Oh, no. Don't lose your bottle.
Nothing big.
Nothing you haven't
handled before.
Sort of erm... watchdogging
type of thing. You know.
What sort of watchdogging?
Well... watch-horseing, really.
I mean, to be absolutely clinical.
Me? Sleep in there? Leave it out!
- But, Terry -
- No, no, no. It's not nice, is it?
What do you mean, it's not nice?
Me, kipping down
with a bleedin' nag.
No, I'm sorry,
mate. It's not on.
But, Terry, this is the countryside.
This is your great outdoors.
Look. You could be sitting behind
a desk in a Soho club.
Breathing in all that ciggy smoke
and all that rubbish.
Grappling with legless marauders
from Man United's far-flung legions.
Having aggro. This is Shangri-La.
No, Arthur, it is not on.
Stone me, even the Old Pals Act has
its limits.
Yeah, but it's only for a few days.
Just till the off.
- To make sure he don't get nobbled.
- I'm not kipping on straw! Finito!
It was good enough for our saviour,
Terry.
But you wouldn't have to be kipping
on the straw. We've an armchair,
especially for that specific purpose.
They've got an armchair. That's
terrific. I tell you what, Paddy.
You get your head down, go on. You
sleep with Pelmet. I mean, Pelmet!
What's wrong with Pelmet for a name?
Nothing, on a curtain rail.
Listen, you.
There is no way I'm going in with several
hundredweight of unprocessed dogmeat!
That is one of the country's
foremost chasers!
No, Arthur!
Well, if you won't do it,
there's always them that will.
Well, you'd better get 'em.
Listen. Wouldn't be
the first time a stable lass
has stood guard all night
lying down with a racehorse.
- A bird?
- Yeah.
The mind boggles, dunnit?
?????
Hello.
I'm Jocelyn Maxwell Saunders.
Oh, I'm Arthur Edward Daley.
Oh. You must be
the Good Samaritan
who's volontered to keep
a watchful eye on this chap.
- Erm... well...
- Well... no, actually.
No. It's er... it's me.
- Terry McCann.
- Oh, hello.
It really is awfully kind of you.
Don't be silly.
Any friend of Arthur...
We're awfully grateful, Pel and I.
Pel's his stable name.
I'm riding him next week.
I'm Rita.
I was gonna get landed with the job
of spending my nights in there.
So you've done me
a right favour.
I'd given up all hope of
any beauty sleep.
Yeah, well...
- Your need is greater (!)
- Any road.
If there's anything I can do,
you only have to ask.
No, I'll er... do my utmost
not to be a bother.
(HORSE FARTS, LONG AND LOUD)
Oh, you're a toff, you are (!)
Cor, dear, oh, lor!
Oh, that's nice, innit? Phwoa!
(FOOTSTEPS)
Get back!
Don't ever do that again.
I mean, why couldn't you knock?
I didn't like to. I thought
you might've had your head down.
Only, I fetched you a cup of cocoa.
- Oh, ta.
- Do you take sugar?
- No. No.
- Oh, I thought you would.
You look as if you do.
Only, I've put three spoonfuls in.
Well, I won't stir it, then, eh?
Nothing else you want?
No. No.
Oh. Right.
Well, I'll say goodnight, then,
Terry.
OK.
Goodnight, then, Terry.
- Morning.
- Morning.
(HORSE FARTS)
You could do with a cork up your bum.
Work day today, Rita. Soon as you can,
let's have them tacked up early.
Morning, Terry. Have a nice night?
T'riffic (!)
Oi! Paddy!
Yes, Patrick.
- I want a wash and a shave.
- Well, you're easily taken care of.
There's a standpipe
right behind me.
- What, no hot water?
- No hot water.
- How do you shave, then?
- Electric razor.
Well, that's what I've got.
Where did you plug it in?
I didn't plug it in.
It works on a battery.
- Morning.
- Oh. Morning, Joce.
- Morning.
- Morning.
'Ere. Any chance of a cup of tea
or something?
Oh, there was a cup of tea for them
that were up in time for it, but er...
there'll be nothing now
till after the gallops.
What, no breakfast?
Morning, Miltons.
(PNEUMATIC DRILL)
(RATTLE OF FALLING RUBBLE)
Oh, my good Gawd!
- That's funny.
- What's that?
Well, don't make it obvious,
but if you look to your right...
..I keep seeing something glint
in those trees.
Can't see anything.
- No, you're right. It's gone.
- Probably not important.
No, maybe not.
It's possibly kids from the village
fooling around.
It's a bit early in
the day for kids.
Anyway, they're always on the go.
Always dodging about.
That's the third time I've seen something
in the same place in the last 10 minutes.
Do you think someone's
trying to nobble Pel?
What do you think?
All things are possible,
as the poet said.
What poet? Milton?
Shouldn't you stroll up
and take a look?
No, no, no.
No. If he sees me coming,
he'll just leg it somewhere else.
He'll also know I know where he is.
Nope. Always allow the enemy to
believe he's two moves ahead. Right?
But always be one move ahead of him.
- Who said that?
- Certainly not Milton.
- Wellington at Waterloo?
- No.
- Alexander at Illyria?
- No.
George C Scott.
Joce? Give him a rub over,
let him down, will you?
I'll give you odds you've never done
a day's work like this before.
Hm? Being a bodyguard to a gee-gee.
(CHUCKLES)
I spent a fortnight once,
before Christmas,
being nursemaid to a load
of residents of a turkey farm.
Oh. They're not very much alike,
though, I wouldn't think.
You know. Turkeys and racehorses.
- You'd be surprised, you know.
- Yeah?
Once they're boned and rolled,
sage and onion stuffing, of course,
and lashings of thick, brown gravy -
smashing (!)
Hey, listen. You're not one of them
heathens that eats horse flesh, are you?
Oh, I get it. It's a joke. Yeah.
Roast racehorse. (LAUGHS)
It's very good!
(LAUGHS)
Did you hear that, huh?
Roast racehorse.
Come on, Dobbin.
That tickled you, didn't it?
Oh, my God, Rita! No, no, Rita!
Get out! Get out!
Sorry, Terry.
(LAUGHS)
God, you're a terrible man.
Right. What's on the menu, then?
Er, what day is it?
- Thursday, innit?
- Oh, is it Thursday already?
Oh, in that case, it'll be...
(Monday, Tuesday...) ...beef bourgignon. Eh?
Beef bourgignon. Thursday is Joce's
day to put the chef's hat on.
Now, if it was Rita's day,
it'd be egg and chips.
- It was egg and chips yesterday, wasn't it?
- Yeah.
I must say, I prefer
the bourgignon.
You're supposed to
like my egg and chips!
I've nothing against it
in principle, but beef bourgignon
has more protein.
(KNOCK)
Have you got a minute, Langton?
I'm totally committed
to the washing up, Guv'nor.
It looks like it (!)
When you finish, Rita,
sh**t across and give Joce a hand
in the tack room.
I'm going off to the village.
(CHUCKLES)
- 'Ere, Paddy?
- Patrick, your honour.
Have you seen this geezer
who's creating all the fuss?
The Phantom nobbler?
Yeah, I've seem somebody
a time or two up in them woods.
Is that what you think it is?
Somebody trying to nobble
the honourable's gee-gee?
Well, he's hardly bird watching
up there.
And there's a rumour someone's
trying to get at the horse.
And Jeremy would lose a few bob,
right? If his horse was got at.
Yeah, he'd lose his prize money.
600 quid, first past the post.
600?
- Yeah.
- Cor, dear, oh, lor.
I've seen more in the pontoon kitty
at the Fulham Conservative Club.
Yeah, but there's a cut glass
decanter goes with it.
Really (?)
Must be hoping to make a k*lling with
the bookies, then, eh?
- No, he won't do that.
- Why not?
He'll start off as a red hot
favourite. Way off.
- Odds on. He's not worth a bet.
- That much a certainty?
Yeah. Sure thing.
All he has to do is turn up
at Plumwick on the day
and he's as good as past the post.
And he'll turn up, all right.
Fit as a fiddle.
We've got you to see to that.
- What did you say this was?
- Hm?
Oh, it's beef bourgignon.
It's French.
- It's horrible!
- What?
Hey, that's not... that's not
beef bourgignon you've got there.
- Where did you get that from?
- At the pan over there.
- Oh, that... that explains it.
- Explains what?
Well, your beef bourgignon
is in the oven.
And what you've got there
is a... special diet that I was
heating up for the three-year-old.
- Horse food!
- Well, what's wrong with that?
I'm eating horse food?!
Listen. There's nothing in there
you couldn't eat yourself.
You sure of that?
Sure I'm sure.
Mixed it up myself personally.
It's got oats and it's got bran
and it's...
Well, there's just one little problem
that you've got there, Patrick.
Go on.
The horse is on a diet
for constipation.
And I put some jollop in there
to... give the horse the... the trots.
So, if I was you, I'd keep my
plimsolls on for the rest of the day.
You know what I mean?
You can't have out, Terry.
If it were humanly possible you
could
but I have given my word to Jeremy.
In his circle your word is thingy...
sacrosanct.
I've eaten horse food!
During the w*r we ate all sorts of
things.
We ate whales, even the odd snook.
No. I'm not spending another night
with that horse.
It farts.
None of us are perfect Terry.
And that silly cow, she's after me.
- Yeah?
- Yeah.
She only soaked all my clothes,
didn't she?
Really? Well, you seem to be getting
some fringe benefits.
I'm not certain I haven't got
a little visitor, either.
If you've got fleas,
you haven't got 'em from the horse!
And don't go giving 'em
to the horse!
Or questions'll be asked
in the house.
You think you've got problems.
You should be where I am.
I am where you are. Not of this
immediate moment, you nerk!
I mean in the hot seat,
wearing out shoe leather.
Trying to knock out Milts.
Now, if I'd been asked to kip
in a proper stable,
with a Derby runner, or something...
Plumwick Pelmet? Leave me out!
- Milton?
- Brighton.
I'd've thought they'd've gone a b*mb
with your Yankee tourists punters.
But they're all into royalty.
They've got no literary heritage
they can call their own.
All they want is pottery
kings and queens.
She's a pigeon fancier.
What?
The queen. A pigeon fancier.
Hard to believe, really, innit?
I used to win a few f*gs with that
in the Scrubs.
Used to carry around a clipping...
from Titbits.
What have pigeons
got to do with it?
I'm talking about American literature
before your present 20th century.
There was Mark Twain...
the Moby d*ck bloke...
Uncle Tom's Cabin...
And what's that one about the red Indian
with the short back and sides?
- What's his name?
- Geronimo?
No, no, no, no, no, no. Erm...
Hawkeye's oppo.
Last Of The...
Mohicans.
Oh, she's got class.
Yeah, she has, as it happens.
Eh?
You should see her at the gallops.
Firm, young thighs
clasped against the horse's flanks,
holding it back.
You didn't get that bit of purple
prose out of Titbits (!)
You haven't been giving it one,
have you?
Nah. All I get from her
is double blanks.
It's that other silly moo
I'm fighting off.
Trying to buy my body
with mugs of cocoa.
????
She must have better manners in the
kip than your four-legged friend.
Oh, leave it out, Arthur.
Oh! That'd be one
for your memoirs, Terry.
You'll get a result there.
Oh, well. Press on.
I might have recourse
to going back to town.
- England?
- Yeah, London. Yeah.
I'm considering the feasibility. I mean
the Milt's not doing a hot cakes act here.
I might just as well
chase my contacts up west.
Well, that's suits me.
I've had a bellyful of this.
Oh, no, no. Not you.
I have given Jeremy my word
that you will see this job through.
- Arthur...
- And I am a man of my word.
And you are a man of my word, too.
Anyway, I'll keep in touch.
Ooh. She wants you.
Terry!
Terry?
Terry!
(FOOTSTEPS)
(KNOCKING)
That'll be the cocoa queen.
(ROARS)
(FIRE CRACKLES)
(expl*si*n, AND HORSE WHINNEYS)
Whoa!
(FIRE BELL)
Grab that extinguisher!
Get the other buggers out.
Clear the stables first.
Move it!
- What the hell happened?
- I had a visitor. He had a go.
Did you see his face?
Did you recognise the lunatic?
No. But I'll know him next time.
And I'll have him!
Enjoy the racing, Patrick.
- You not going?
- Somebody has to mind the shop.
- Oh, cheers (!)
- Anyway.
I'll not miss it much.
Hey, I'll tell you something.
She'll lead from the start.
All the rest of 'em will see'll
be the back of her bum.
(CAR HORN)
Mr McCann?
Yeah, well, ta-ta, Paddy, mate.
I'll see you, eh?
- Look after yourself.
- God bless, Patrick.
Hey!
Keep taking the horse tablets (!)
(CHUCKLES)
Come on. It's ten o'clock already.
I wanna get him there and settled down
a couple of hours before the off.
Let him down just before
you see the steward.
Where the hell's Rita got to?
'Ey-up. Do you happen to have
the time on you, Terry?
Yes, thanks.
Would you mind telling me?
I haven't got my watch on.
Just gone twelve.
It's at the mender's...
getting mended.
You on your own,
or waiting for somebody?
Yeah, something like that.
- Haven't you got things to do?
- Joce'll see her into the stables.
She doesn't run until the 2:15.
Only, if you are on your own...
I'm on my own.
So while we're waiting for the gates
to open, you could buy me a drink.
Or, on the other hand,
I could buy you a drink.
(BEEPS HORN)
Sorry, Reet. Gotta see a man about
a horse. See you later. Be lucky.
- Never another job like that one.
- Hello, young lover (!)
Not playing gooseberry, am I (?)
Open the boot.
- Look at that! Cor!
- That's a bit tawdry, innit?
- Stone me. That's him!
- Pardon?
Geezer who tried to bonfire me.
(RACECOURSE TANNOY)
Oi! You!
(ROARS)
All right, drop it...
'Vengeance is mine!'
'I will repay, ' sayeth the Lord.
Yes!
Go on. You dare! And I'll do
more than sayeth something.
I'll have you put away again, my lad!
Hold that tongue, woman!
Thou art shapen in wickedness
and in sin hath thy mother
conceived thee!
- Is that a friend of yours?
- He's no friend of mine.
- He's round the bleedin' twist!
- I know.
I must've been off mine
when I married the daft, dozy sod!
Generation of vipers!
Who hath warned thee
from the wrath to come?!
Shut your gob!
Can't you leave me alone?
Can't you let me live my life?
I wouldn't care, but I've been
separated from him two year.
We've been divorced 10 months.
I knew it was you. I knew all along!
Only, I tried to kid myself.
I've got a court order on him
for molesting!
You know you'll suffer for it
in the long run!
Why carry on?!
Let us do evil
that good may come!
You're not right in the bloody head.
He follows me round the country.
Had a right good live-in job at
a riding stables near Hebdon Bridge.
Run by a married gentleman
with a son at university.
A Rotarian, who never laid a finger
on me, never even looked at me!
And this stupid, senseless article
broke three of his ribs!
What do you think you'll get
for this lot?!
Bloody arson!
(SOBS)
You wouldn't credit this.
But he was as right as rain
until one Sunday morning.
When a couple of religious maniacs
kept him talking on the doorstep.
You're not...
You're not right in the bloody head!
(SOBS)
(TYRES ON GRAVEL)
Well, as the man said,
it takes all sorts.
Very astutely put, my son.
But if we stand here philosophising
all afternoon, we won't earn our wages.
Come on.
TANNOY: "Number four, M Cantle,
number five ridden by W Alexander."
"Number six, J Bender."
Six runners for the second race.
Number three...
Pelmet - Miss Maxwell Saunders.
Grey and gold.
- Any extras to declare?
- No extras. Allowance, 3lbs.
Claiming... three... pounds.
Only just (!)
Go and get a cup of tea.
Next!
"After the steward's enquiry,
the placings remain unaltered."
(ANNOUNCEMENTS CONTINUE)
"The runners are now going down
to the start for the second race."
"The first to go down
is number six..."
Here you are, my son. One ton.
Put yourself about,
see what you can get.
- 100?
- Yeah.
He's gonna be no price, is he?
He's bound to be odds on.
Mackerel to catch a sprat, then,
innit?
Look. It's the biggest certainty since
the tortoise walloped the hare.
And catching a sprat's
better than bugger all.
Well, go on!
What did your last servant die of (?)
Enlarged arteries (!)
Excuse me.
Sorry.
- 'Ere you go.
- Yes, sunshine.
- 100 quid - Pelmet.
- 100 to 20 - Pelmet. 100 to 20.
Ticket 734.
"Number six, Judy's Delight, has now
joined the others down at the start,
so they will shortly be coming
under starter's orders."
Ta.
There you go. Five to one on.
Five to one on?
Hundred knicker to twenty?
- Is that the best you could get?
- Yes.
- Do it yourself?
- Nah. Never do odds on shots.
So, I walk away with 20 quid.
That can't be bad.
- Minus tax.
- Oh, yeah.
No, I never have done odds ons.
In any case...
In any case, what, Terry?
Make a line, please.
- "They're under starter's orders..."
- Come on, then.
"and they're off."
In any case, what, Terry?
If Pelmet is such a good thing,
how come I saw your oppo Jeremy
putting all his dough on the
second favourite, Linda's Lunch?
- Linda's Lunch?
- Yeah. Six to one.
Not a bad price, that, is it?
"has unseated his rider,
leaving Southern Haze in the lead."
She's only done it again.
Unseated his rider? She got off!
Come on, Linda's Lunch.
Come on, my beauty!
What are you on about?
Go on, my son! Kick her on!
Ta.
I never fancied that Pelmet, anyway,
even before I saw His Lordship
backing the second favourite.
- Just never fancied it.
- Why not?
Feeling in my water.
- You might've told me.
- What for?
Wouldn't have done any good,
would it?
You're wossname, aren't you?
Implacable.
- Here's another thing.
- What?
All that stuff you were giving me
before the off.
'The greatest certainty since
the tortoise walloped the hare.'
- Well, what about it?
- Historically inaccurate, innit?
Before the start of that race, the hare
was odds on favourite, weren't he?
(LAUGHS)
Amazing.
Who do you think you are?
Bleedin' Aesop?
Ooh, dear (!)
Oi!
Jeremy. You basard.
You had that race rigged.
Oh, Arthur.
As if I would.
Jocelyn's foot slipped out
of the iron, that's all.
Leave it out. She took a dive.
I had her in my bins.
You might've roped me in.
You do owe me a favor.
- I lent you Terry.
- Well, I would've helped you.
But one has to be discreet if one wants
to keep the odds out on the second favourite.
How did you get that bird to sling
it? Break her arm or something?
- Hello, darling.
- Hello, darling.
Dear, oh, dear, Terry.
What is it all about, eh?
Contacts, innit (!)
Sorry I couldn't help you
push the Miltons, Arthur.
Give us a ring if ever
I can help again.
No, no, no, Terry.
Yeah, go on.
There's a copper!
No, I never had her card marked
as being dodgy, I must say.
And him - I thought
he was definitely bent.
He was bent.
Oh, yeah. Bent crooked. I thought
he was bent peculiar. You know.
- We didn't study the form, Terry, did we?
- No.
And your favourite finished
well down the field, didn't he?
'What though the field be lost?
All is not lost.'
'The unconquerable will,
the study of revenge...'
Er... et cetera, et cetera.
- Milton?
- The lad himself.
Nil desperandum. That's what I think
he's trying to tell us, Terry. Cop that.
- It's a paintbrush.
- That is your starter for 10.
This is a pot of blue paint,
this is a pot of white paint.
I want them painted. Blue shirts,
blue breeches, white socks.
Nice pair of boots.
Do what?
I have another contact
in commemorative pottery.
No, be honest.
I've got a mate with a souvenir shop
not far from Stamford Bridge.
I'll stand a loss. But he'll knock 'em out
for me as Chelsea footballers.
Leave it out.
You can't do that.
He's a famous antique poet.
He's got a book in his hand.
- FA Handbook, innit?
- But he's wearing a cloak.
Well, paint it.
Stick a number on the back.
Don't argue with me, Terry.
Exercise your artistic talents.
'Ere. You have the blue.
Here's another one for you.
'Eyeless in Gaza
at the mill with sl*ves.'
Samson Agony-istes.
- I've got one for you.
- Oh?
When the ball
hit the back of the net...
I was over the moon, Brian.'
Kevin Keegan.
(LAUGHS)
I think you're an inside forward,
my son.
subtitles by Deluxe
♪ If you want to
I'll change the situation
♪ Right people right time
♪ Just the wrong location
♪ I've got a good idea
♪ Just you keep me near,
I'll be so good for you
♪ I could be so good for you,
I'm gonna help you
♪ Love you like you want me to
♪ I'll do anything for you ooh-ooh
♪ I'll be so good for you
♪ I could be so good for you
♪ I'll do it like you want me to
♪ Love you like you want me to
♪ There ain't nothing
I can't go through ooh-ooh
♪ I'll be so good for you ♪
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