03x04 - The Heatwave

[bunniefuu]

The summer of '89,

and it was horribly close
on the Close

as temperatures soared
to a record high.

Alan, you're gonna have
to stop doing that -

-you're gonna defrost my mince.
-Don't make me go in!

They won't even let you
take your tie off. It's inhumane.

Gary!

'Few days into a hosepipe ban,

'and we were as frazzled
as our lawns.'

Why am I wearing a coat?!

Gonna be 89 today.

'The cars didn't do well
in the heat.'

Gonna be 89 today.

This is too much.
We need to evacuate!

Send me to the coast.

Charlie's cool as a cucumber.
It's in the blood, innit?

We're a 16th Mediterranean.

Mediterranean. Yeah, you've told us.

-Bit hot for that, isn't it?
-Ooh! Thirsty work, mate!

-Oh, there we are.
-Nothing a cool lemonade won't sort.

Builder's taking the mick,
ain't he?

Smile. You know full well
were being talked about.

Right, give us a kiss. Mwah.
Come here.

Oh, what's that? Give us it.

CAR STARTS

-You've defrosted my peas.
-He's got sweetcorn round the back.

You're not having my sweetcorn!

Why am I STILL in this coat?

This is ungodly.

Are we quite sure
all of the windows are open?!

Yes? Really?

For heaven's sake,
it barely opens an inch!

-I think it's so we don't fall out.
-Live a little.

Should be falling out of everything
at your age -

trees... nightclubs... aeroplanes.

For a woman who'd once snapped
Julian Lloyd Webber's cello in half,

Miss Gideon looked
unusually vulnerable.

Well, we have a very special guest
with us here today.

She's a published author,
she's written three books.

Most recently...

-Jagged Rocks.
-Yes.

Which has sold
various copies worldwide.

And she's launching
a short story competition

with a £10 Woolworths voucher
up for grabs!

Oh!

So welcome to be here,

my dear, dear friend
Madeleine Whiwhall!

Whiwhall? Huh.

-I hope we're all readers here.
-Well, yes.

Good. That's how it starts.
To write, you have got to read.

I've been reading since I was one.

I could read before I could walk.

School was awful for me.

I had one friend,
and she was a hamster.

Books have been my refuge, my joy,

a place to escape.

'I felt like that author
was talking directly to me.

'But then her voice was so booming,

'it also felt like she was talking
to half of Kettering and Corby.'

Books have been good to me,
and I have been good to books!

My God, it is hot in here!

Madeleine?!

Oh... my... God.

'I loved to read, hated school,
and I only had one friend.

- 'This was my calling!'
- What do we do when this happens?

I was gonna be a writer!

'You know, sometimes,
the right person comes along

'at just the right time
and gives you a good old...'

-Oi, oi!
-HE LAUGHS

Give 'em a rest, Gray.
It's 89 degrees, innit?

This is the pitch.
Nick, Nick, this is the pitch.

Gather round. Come in, come in.
I want a picture.

I want a memento of this moment,

the moment that I, Nick Chalmers,
single handedly saved The Cobblers.

Ha.

Hundred percent success rate,

satisfaction guaranteed
or your money back.

Right. Can we do it later?
We're in the middle of training.

I bought 'em. I'm the chairman.

I want an ickle piccy with 'em,
don't I?

-Yeah.
-It's a new era.

Nick's on the ball. Get in!

Get that for us, son.

-Really?
-Really?

Yes. What you wearing a jumper for,
you doughnut?

Go on. Off you go.

Right, come on, boys,
in front of the goal.

Get in. Quick. Quick. Quick.
Wipe your nose.

Right, come on, Gray.
You and me at the front.

Ron used to stand to the side,
at the back.

He also used to wazz your money
up a wall,

so forgive me
if I don't follow suit.

Come on. You and me, in the front.

Get up. What you doing?
We're not at communion.

Gray, come on. Big smiles!

Rid of that.

Big smiles. Come on, Gray, cheer up,
you miserable git!

Smile!

Everyone have fun. Say Cobblers!

-A FEW MEN: - Cobblers.
-Loud... Louder than that.

Wrong with you? Cobblers!

-Cobblers!
-Yeah!

"The crumbling rock..."

Crrr-umbling! Hit the consonants.

"The crrr-umbling rock,
the dewy moss."

Feel the dew.

Yeah, I am!

"Crustaceans clinging like a baby
to the nipple."

LAUGHTER

None of you would be here
without the nipple.

OK, Alan, let's stop there.
That's enough for now.

-I think Madeleine needs to... to rest.
-No, I don't.

-I'll read it. I'll read it!
-That's enough.

Stop. Look at you.
Just do your work!

He's elegant, isn't he?
Like a gazelle.

-Who?
-Jake.

Is he? Never really noticed.

'A writing competition
with MY imagination?

'Ha! I could definitely do this.'

Oh, I can't do this.

It's too hot to do anything.
Just lie down.

They say "write what you know".

That's all right for Jackie Collins.
She lived in Monte Carlo.

What am I gonna write about?
What, the Grosvenor Centre and Gary?

-Don't knock it till you've tried it.
-I'm going on a walk.

I need inspiration!

Oh! Argh!

'Even though Ange had a back garden,
she preferred to burn in public.'

Er, Ange,
what's Charlie writing about?

He's trying to fry an egg on the
window sill at the minute, Alan.

We've got a short-story competition.
Has he mentioned it?

He hasn't, no.

I'm struggling, to be honest.
Still trying to find my muse.

Alan, that's very sweet,
but I'm a bit busy at the minute.

-Er...
-Can't believe it!

Someone's got their sprinkler on.
There is a hosepipe ban!

BANGING ON DOOR,
DOORBELL RINGS

-Got your sprinkler on?
-What?

I followed the sound.
It's coming from here.

No, we haven't got a sprinkler.

Don't lie to me.
I've seen your lawn.

Nigel, I am telling you
we do not have a sprinkler!

Well, someone has!

-Where's Graham?
-He's at work.

Nigel, do your breathing, all right?

Wait. Listen! I can hear it!

DISTANT BIRD CALLS

-It's Jean's house.
-Jean's in respite care.

Oh, she will be in a minute.

Jean?! Jean?!

Sorry about him. He gets a bit...
in the heat, you know.

We think it's glandular. Yeah.

He was up at 3am last night
thinking he was flying a Spitfire.

Kept trying to find
the ejector seat.

Look at me. I haven't even asked
how your prickly heat is.

-I don't have prickly heat.
-You poor bugger.

I saw you from across the road
the other day, legs like Peperamis.

-Is it sore?
-Not as sore as that's gonna be.

SCHOOL BELL RINGS

So, to inspire
those short story characters,

look across at the person opposite

and feel them with your eyes.

Let your gaze caress their hair,
their cheekbones.

Describe them poetically.

Bathe in metaphors and similes.

Shall I start... with your... eyes?

They're like opals.

Opal gemstones, not Opal Fruits.

Or a lake...

with sunlight
bouncing off the surface.

All offset with your mesmerising
mood ring on your pinkie.

Oh, thanks, but it's a signet ring.

And your hair is brown,
basic brown, so...

-Finished!
-Oh, no, I've gotta do yours now.

'Jake was gonna describe me!

'I wonder if he'd mention
my shapely legs.'

Supposed to be in PE
ten minutes ago!

Excuse me, do you mind?!

Supposed to be up and out,
not sat in here like rotting veg.

They cannot go outside in this heat.

Yeah, I can't play rounders today.

You can't play rounders any day -
you're crap.

LAUGHTER

I had merely tweaked the schedule
for the good of their health.

Oh, you just want
a c*ptive audience...

cos you can't get an acting job.

Et tu, Brute.

That's Shakespeare.

Get your sport out of my classroom.

What are you gonna do about it,
little lady?

- KIDS:
- Ooh!

Though she is little, she is fierce.
Shakespeare again!

Oh, is she now?

Yes, she is.

-Is she?
-She is.

I am.

Right.

- CLEARS HIS THROAT
- Right!

Anybody who wants to do rounders,
follow me.

What about MY eyes?

He shouldn't be allowed
to just yank a pupil out

in the middle of an exercise!

-Awful man.
-Are you all right, Miss?

Please, Alan.

I need to remember this
without your voice.

Oh, God!

SCHOOL BELL RINGS

Have you thought
what you're gonna write about?

I dunno. Probably the w*r.

No way!

-Yeah, me too!
-Yeah?

-Mm!
-What one?

Oh, they all blend together
after a while, don't they?

So, what drew you to w*r?

I don't know.
It's just interesting, isn't it?

Politics and that,
all the countries.

Oh, God, yeah,
it's like being in Eurovision.

Few boom-bang-a-bangs over Dresden.

I think I'm gonna focus more
on the...

...on the relationship
between the soldiers,

the buzz of the trench.

Yeah, yeah. Sounds good.

Oh, we should probably
do some research.

So why don't we meet up
one lunchtime, go to the library?

Cool. Yeah. Oh, that's my bus.

-See you, Alan.
-Yeah. Bye.

'w*r. What was it good for?
Absolutely everything.'

Of all the nice things
you could write about,

why have you chosen the w*r?

There were nice moments in the w*r.

The camaraderie,

singing We'll Meet Again
around the old Joanna.

My story is about two soldiers.

Their wives, dead.

-What, both of 'em?
-Mm.

Blitz campaign in Kettering.

It's normally
the soldiers who die, innit?

-Why have you k*lled off the wives?
-I'm playing with the form.

Picture this.

It's late at night.

They're trying to sleep,
but they can't because of all...

Maybe they're showing each other
photographs of their wives,

little black-and-white ones.

DOORBELL RINGS

Why you so obsessed with the wives?

-A visit from the muse.
-Mm.

I've got something
in this Jiffy bag, Alan,

-that's gonna get your juices flowing.
-I doubt it.

-Is your mum in?
-Yeah.

That's a shame.

NIGEL: - Watering the plants there,
aren't you? There's a hosepipe ban.

-I'm just watering.
-Yeah, you shouldn't be doing it.

-Why not?
-It's ill*gal.

Why can you and I can't? No way!

No, seriously. Give it back.
What are you doing?

-You shouldn't be doing it. It's ill*gal.
-Whoa! Whoa!

There's a hosepipe ban.
I mean, this is serious.

Give me that!

MUSIC: 'Hot In The City'
by Billy Idol

♪ Stranger

♪ It's hot here at night
Lonely, black and quiet

♪ On a hot summer night... ♪

Oi, oi!
Room for another Calippo in there?

-♪ Of the world we made... ♪
-Right, budge up!

Up, up, up, up, up, up!

Ooh! Ooh-hoo-hoo.

{\an8}Do you always have a bath
with the lads?

Er, no, no. It's...

No, it's the heat.

-Actually, I'm gonna get out.
-Graham, Graham, Graham, Graham...

{\an8}I know you're gutted
that your little mate's run off

{\an8}and left you in the lurch,
and I feel for you, I really do.

{\an8}But I hope you'll come
to think of this, me,

{\an8}as an opportunity.

You know,


getting a ball smacked in your face
will make you thick.

That's just science.

And I know you're very good at the,

"Kick it there,
kick it in the goal there," crap,

but you ain't a business man.

You need a thinker,
someone with a bit of nous.

Well, you know,
you've got plenty of that.

Yes, I do.

I'm gonna make changes, Gray.
Big changes.

The cavalry is here.

Well, er... excuse me.
I've got work to do.

Okey dokey.

- WHISTLES
- Clean as a whistle.

Gray, we should have
all our meetings in here.

I like it.

♪ Hot in the city

♪ Hot in the city tonight... ♪

- FARTS
- ♪ Tonight

♪ Hot in the city... ♪

-Oh, course you're having a bath.
-It's two inches of water, Ange!

Rest of us are making do
with a wet wipe under each armpit,

but you, yeah, you fill your boots!

-I bought you these over.
-Oh!

-Cos I know your parents don't read.
-I do read.

I did a book club.
I suggested a book!


Pasta bake is not a plot.

You want a love story,
you will not get better than those.

Two hundred of 'em.

The passion on those pages...

He compares me to a ripe nectarine
in one of 'em.

Oh, I love a ripe nectarine!

Everyone does. That's his point.

"I'm trying to stay strong in here,
but it's getting..."

-Who's Darryl?
-Darryl?

-Darryl was a poet.
-Belmarsh?!

A poet and a burglar.

You got a prison pen pal?
Bloody hell, Ange!

Long time ago.
He's out now, working in Timpson's.

-Ange, what's this?
-Oh, God.

-We were beyond words by the end.
-Hm.

Did Dad ever write you
love letters, Mum?

No. No, we're not...

No, I don't need letters.

It's your actions, isn't it?
He shows me.

How? How does he show you?

-Lots of ways.
-Hm.

He, erm... He...

He... It's...
It's the little things, isn't it?

Cleared the loft out for me
the other day.

-Nigel cuts my... my toast into little hearts.
-Aw.

-Must waste quite a lot of bread.
-It's like George. He's a romantic.

He's one of the soldiers
in my story. It's set in a trench.

Ooh, I love a trench.

He's a quiet type,
very stoic, elegant.

Like a gazelle, quick on his feet.

He sees me weeping. "Meekee!"

He sees Meekee weeping.

That's how the Germans
pronounce "Micky".

He's another soldier in my story.
LAUGHS FAINTLY

Yeah, Meekee is crying
cos he's going over the top.

There's a surprise.

Fun fact. Do you know trenches
were never dug in a straight line?

It's like love.

Because love is a winding road.

He's very good, isn't he?

I mean, his dad's a bit of a robot,
but he's... he's got something.

Here, why don't you show
those letters to Graham,

get his juices flowing?

DOOR CLOSES

-'Ello, 'ello.
-EXHALES

All right?

Right. Do I not get a greeting?

Oh, for God's sake,
what do you want, a curtsy?

No, no, it's...
it's just... you know.

Oh! Can I not have a minute
to myself?

You come in the door,
and you're already starting.

-I'm not starting. I'm...
-SHE SIGHS

What have I done?

I think it's cos you never
write her love letters.

-What?
-Or cut her toast into hearts.

You should do something romantic.

Right, can we...? Can we not?

You know, I've had a bit of a day.

I'm only trying to giving you
an heads-up, mano to mano.

-Ah. What's for tea?
-Cheese and salad cream sandwich.

HE SIGHS

She was too hot.
You could make dinner.

You've got to keep
the fires burning, Dad.

OLDER ALAN:
'We'd both been inspired.

'Dad had to whip up a feast,
I had to whip up a plot.

'It all made sense to me now -
write what you know.'

HE PANTS

Garnish.

-Are you gonna get yours, then?
-Ooft, no.

I haven't got the energy
to make another one.

BELL RINGS

So, what are you gonna buy
with the winnings?

What? Oh!

I don't know.

I'm not really in it
for the Woolies voucher.

The writing is its own reward.

No, it's not!
It's like pulling teeth.

I think I'm gonna get a Mr Frosty.

Good morning, Easton Lovell.

CHATTERING

Quiet! So, Mrs "With-wall"...

"Wh". "Wh".

Wh... W... "Whi-wall"...
has read all your entries,

and she said that the standard
is incredibly high.

And... there can only be one winner.

And this entry was, "Deeply moving
with a real relish of language"

"and a precocious
narrative confidence."

So, let's announce the winner.

Could...

Oh.

...Alan Carr please come up?

-Yes!
-Oh!

-STUDENT: - It's a fix!
-BOOING AND APPLAUSE

So this was it.
This was the beginning.

- 'Watch and weep, Easton Lovell.'
- Well done.

'Today, a Woolies voucher.
Tomorrow, the Booker.'

So the process was excruciating.
So what?

You had got to suffer for your art.

-And I, Alan Carr, was an Artist!
-Shh!

Well done, Alan.

Now Miss Gideon will read
an extract. Miss Gideon?

Clever boy.

Open Arms, by Alan Graham Carr.

"George's long, lithe neck"

"stuck high above the parapet,
a gazelle in the firing line."

"His tussled auburn curls adding an
extra inch or two to his height..."

"..Forming a kind of halo,"

"which seemed to illuminate his face
in the brutal darkness."

"George thrashed into the sea,
his muscular arms parting the water"

"like Moses in fatigues, as Meekee's
head slipped below the surface."

That's like you and Jake
in the pool.

What?! No, it's not.

"George lunged through the surf,
Meekee's body bucked."

"His nostril not only flared
with w*r... but with chlorine."

-Chlorine? In Dunkirk?
-No.

Why would I write about Jake?
It's fiction.

Reality creeps in.

Nothing creeps in!

"As Meekee's lungs filled
with water,"

"George's opal eyes came into focus
beneath the waves, eyes..."

"..Blue as the ocean.

"The mood ring
on his outstretched pinkie

-"seemed to be mesmerising..."
-SNICKERING

Right, OK. I think that's enough.

We all need to be getting to class,
don't we?

- HUSHED CHATTERING
- Hm.

"He surrendered his body to George."

"Is this the miracle Meekee needed?"

- ALAN COUGHS
- "A... A hero?"

THEY MOUTH

"But it... it wasn't."

"He was dead. He... He had died."

-Er... "He drowned."
-CHUCKLES AWKWARDLY

Gosh, so sad.

Poor Meekee. That's... That's...

So, yes, that's the... the end!

'She'd stopped the world
form knowing I was g*y

'and took that secret to her grave.
Love you, Jackie!'

That's a joke, man.
Mine was way better than that!

Oi, zip it!

Well done, Alan.
You surprised us all.

Now, off you go, then!

I couldn't see myself
slaving over a hot biro,

scrapping a living as an author.

I was a talker, a raconteur,
a chatty man. Huh!

But who was gonna pay me
to do that job?

♪ Take me down to the Paradise City

♪ Where the grass is green
And the girls are pretty

- ♪ Take me home
- Oh, want you please take me home?

♪ Just an urchin
Living under the street

♪ I'm a hard case
That's tough to beat

♪ I'm your charity case... ♪

Sorry, Nige,
could you give these to Ange?

Tell her I found the haikus
especially moving.

Right.

Er... See you later..

Oh. Ooh, oh!