01x01 - Play Something

[bunniefuu]

Hi.

So, yeah, that is me,

Amina Hussein, 26, Capricorn,

finishing a Ph.D.

in microbiology.

That is Mum, Dad,

parental unit, standard.

They didn't always come with

me to meet potential spouses.

This guy insisted.

So do you have any hobbies,

aside from worship?

Worship is not a hobby.

Yes. No, of course. Duh.

Are you sure

you wouldn't like some tea?

Mm.

Sure, he had dementor vibes,

but his eyes were actually

kind ofdreamy.

With the shoulders

of a Mesopotamian warlord.

Our eyes meet

across the sand dunes.

Ahh!

Do you always dress

like this?

Bright colours and everything?

Oh, no, no, she's─ mmm

she's usually

much more modest.

And her─And her skin

is usually a lot clearer,

but she's, you know,

pre-menstrual.

Well, she sweats a lot.

I mean, but she's

very fastidious.

Please stop.

- Have you been on hajj?

- Not yet.

- Soon.

- Inshallah.

Amina, why don't you play

everyone a song?

- What?

- What?

Well, she's playing

at the Syrian

children's fundraiser

- No.

- At the town hall.

Please stop.

- Music is haram.

- Totes, innit?

Yeah,

I'm not actually playing.

My kids are playing.

- You have children?

- No!

I teach guitar

to underprivileged youth─

charity.

The kids are playing

at the fundraiser, not me.

I─I don't perform.

No, you don't have to worry.

She hates playing in public.

Huh?

Her nervy disposition

induces diarrhoea and vomiting.

What was that song

you used to play?

Okay, so my husband quest

was going fairly disastrously.

Little did I know, things were

about to change, big time.

One, two, three, four!

I'm gonna k*ll my sister ♪

Gonna ♪

This ain't about you ♪

It's between her and me ♪

She stole my eyeliner ♪

What a b*tch ♪

And she's been stretching

my jeans out with her ♪

f*cking big back ♪

It's an honour k*lling,

it's an honour k*lling ♪

It's an honour k*lling,

it's an honour k*lling ♪

I'm gonna k*ll my sister ♪

Die! Die! Die! ♪

Want to k*ll her mister ♪

She's mine, m*therf*cker ♪

Lady Parts.

That was the band name.

Concocting a confused mix

of hash anthems

and sour girl power.

One part boredom,

two parts identity crisis.

No. No. No. Stop. Stop.

- Why are we stopping?

- We sound wank.

- Profoundly wank.

- Harsh assessment.

No, you know what?

We sound worse than wank.

- What's worse than wank?

- Haemorrhoids.

You know what,

I think we sound great.

- Boris Johnson?

- No.

We sound sh*t.

On a cosmic level.

Athlete's foot. Puberty.

Camel toe.

The Plague.

Black lung. Vegan cheese.

- Shut up, Taz.

- We can't audition

for Sound Smash

sounding like this.

You said that last year.

Maybe the universe is ready

for our vibes, man.

- No. No.

- Why do you have to be

such an epic bonerkill

all the time?

We are not ready.

Can't you hear

our sound is thin?

We need something more.

We need a lead guitarist.

Saira.

I beg you, man,

don't start this again.

Start what again?

Sisters, huh?

With mutual love

and admiration,

we lift each other up, yeah?

Feminism, innit? Hmm?

Dickless. Le Tigre.

Babes in Toyland.

Great three-piece bands.

Blink-182.

- Blink? Blink?

- Yeah, Blink?

- Seriously, Blink?

- Okay fine, not Blink.

You know, I think

getting a lead guitarist

could be a good shot.

Historically, four-piece bands

do have a higher success rate.

Like Metallica, Rolling Stones,

Beatles.

We're in a punk band.

We don't need a wanky,

self-indulgent guitar soloist

just jizzing

all over our songs.

Eh. Ugh.

We're getting a lead

guitarist; it's decided.

Who would have thought

that our orbits

were soon to collide,

like a freight train careening

towards a cute,

unsuspecting lamb

who innocently trotted

onto the tracks in search of,

I don't know, snacks?

I'm the lamb, by the way.

What you have to understand

is I never met girls

like this before.

Saira, lead vocals and guitar.

She works at a butcher's

as her day job.

She likes her job.

Apparently, sawing carcasses

gets the creative juices

flowing.

The band is her life.

Her raison d'être.

Just morning shift

this Saturday, huh?

- Come on.

- Mo, I told you I can't.

Band practice.

Get Mustafa do it.

Mustafa no good. Terrible.

He's your son.

Why you still trying

to be famous pop star, huh?

Like Michael Jackson,

Mick Jagger?

Famous pop star?

We don't seek fame.

We simply seek to speak

our truth before we're mangled

by other people's

bullshit ideas of us.

Our music is about

representation.

It's about being heard.

Well, you should wash your

hair if you want to be heard.

No.

You can't have audition here.

- Please, Mo. Come on.

- No. No. No.

This is not a nightclub.

This is not a den of sin, okay?

Forget it. Forget it!

I'll work Saturday.

Okay. Deal.

Ayesha, drummer.

She likes to vent

her displeasure with humanity

on her drum kit.

She drives an Uber for money.

Her whip is a VW Golf

named Hans.

- She wasn't even fit.

- She was fit, mate.

You see the t*ts on her?

And her backend.

You can't f*cking say that

with one of them.

- Do you know what I mean?

- Hey. Hey.

You know, you don't see

a lot of girl Uber drivers,

do you?

Especially none like you,

anyway.

Yeah. Is your dad

making you work or something?

Yeah, he said

if I don't drive

simple, dickless pissheads

around,

he's gonna send me to Iraq

to marry my cousin.

Oh, no, that's awful.

Is that meant to funny?

Are you starting?

Is she starting?

I'm gonna give you

a sh*t rating, mate.

- One star.

- Give a f*ck.

Just put on some

f*cking music, would you?

We're your customers.

We do have to be treated with

a bit of dignity and respect.

Momtaz is the band manager.

Some say she did time inside

for arson.

Others said she divorced

some sheikh.

No one really knows.

a purveyor of cheap

ladies' undergarments

sold at a significant markup.

Excuse me.

What do you have in 36-D?

Depends.

What sort of bra

are you looking for?

We got recreational,

tittilational, factual,

respectful,

shag me kindly, shag me hard.

Sports?

Shag me kindly?

Excellent choice.

Here's Bisma, bassist.

Earth mother, actual mother.

A cartoonist by trade.

a celebration of femininity.

It's called "The k*lling

Period bracket Apocalypse Vag."

All biro and Sharpie on paper.

It's set in an alternate

dystopian present,

about a group of young women

who all become

homicidal maniacs

when they're on their period.

Think "Handmaid's Tale"

meets "Rugrats," mm?

Two pounds for a single issue,

ten pounds

for the first volume.

This is actually disgusting.

Eww, man.

Sisters, don't hate

your bodies.

Your blood is your friend.

Your blood is your friend!

Sorry.

Yeah.

So this is Lady Parts.

When I wake up ♪

You get the picture.

Well, I know

I'm gonna be ♪

I'm gonna be the man ♪

Who wakes up next to you ♪

When I go out,

yeah I know I'm gonna be ♪

I'm gonna be the man

who goes along with you ♪

And I would walk 500 miles,

and I would walk 500 more ♪

Just to be the man

who walks 1,000 miles ♪

To fall down at your door ♪

Da-da da da, da-da da da,

da-da da da, da-da da da ♪

Da-da dum diddy dum

diddy dum diddy da da─♪

"Band seeks lead guitarist

to elevate sound."

An unstoppable force

soon to meet

an unlovable object

Me.

Yeah. Yeah. Me.

Perfect.

Okay, so the last guy

wasn't the one.

There's plenty more fish

in the sea.

Keep looking.

Noor, my best friend.

She was helping me

reel in a prized catch.

Ooh. Nasir.

Looking for devoted

wife/mother.

Eww. Freaky.

So he wants someone to be his

wife and mum at the same time.

Is that, like, a fetish thing?

No, you numpty.

He wants a woman who will

be a devoted wife to him

and mother to his children.

- A lot of p-nouns missing.

- Tricky.

Here, let me see

your profile.

Wow.

Why are you mentioning

you teach guitar?

It's my charity work.

I thought it'd look good

if I say

I teach underprivileged kids

guitar.

No. It doesn't.

It was good

for getting into university,

but not for getting a husband.

You can have your little

music obsession in private,

but on here,

keep it halal, yeah?

Come on.

It's not an obsession.

"Obsession."

Do you think

any self-respecting,

God-fearing, Muslim man

would want to marry you

if he knew you had this

old white man on your wall?

That is not a white man.

That is Don McLean.

Really, Amina? Really?

Okay, I'm sorry.

It's just

I really want this

to happen for you,

'cause, like

You know you've

been my best friend

since we were bubs, right?

And I wanted to tell you this

before anyone.

What?

I'm engaged.

Imran proposed.

Oh my God! That's amazing!

So there you have it.

All my friends

were either married, engaged,

or in the final throes

of courtship.

And I a withering shell

of a woman.

I had to find a husband.

By Jove, I had to.

Is that his real bulge,

or do we think he stuffs?

You're not seriously

considering him.

So when's band practice?

Always wanted to have

an all-girl backing band.

- Backing band?

- Excuse me?

- Die, b*tch.

- What?

Yeah, thanks for your time.

We'll─we'll be in touch.

So the only person

who showed up for auditions

was a massive tit.

Excellent.

Ah!

Ah!

Unloved. Unwanted.

Rejected by all as far

as the app could reach.

All I had was this aching

heart, three chords,

and the truth.

I am a girl

of constant sorrow ♪

I've seen trouble

all my days ♪

I am alone,

only know Whitechapel ♪

The place

where I was born and raised ♪

The place where

she was born and raised ♪

For 26 years,

I've been single ♪

No husband here on Earth

I've found ♪

Lord, in this world,

I'm bound to ramble ♪

I have no man

to love me now ♪

She has no man ♪

To love her now ♪

Hmm.

- Ma, ow.

- Well─

And you think it's my fault

things didn't work out

with your date?

Look at your facial hair.

You've got handlebars.

I used to have handlebars.

'70s chic.

I don't see why you're

in such a rush.

Your father was a f*cking

nitwit beef goof

when I married him; no offence.

- None taken.

- Just leave it, Ma.

You should go into railing.

You know how I feel

about rail transport.

I threw away my youth on

a good-for-nothing man-child.

- No offence.

- None taken.

- Is that what you want?

- No, Ma, I want

a loving, meaningful connection

with a witty,

kind-hearted man,

with whom I can build a life.

Is that okay with you?

Let her build a life.

- Where are you going?

- Out.

Get some vegetable oil.

Boo-boo, you want something?

Fanta.

Perhaps a life of solitude

awaited me.

I'd die alone.

My cats would feast

on my eyeballs.

Oh, sh*t.

Ahsan Alcoff.

He goes to my uni.

Why was he looking towards me?

What a specimen.

Lustrous facial hair,

indicating royalty,

while maintaining

boy-next-door adorableness,

with eyebrows

you could hang onto.

Was it fate

bringing us together?

Destiny? Kismet?

There was no denying

this was a sign.

Where'd he go?

Hi.

Um, I'm looking

for a boy─a man.

He gave me this.

Medium-built, radiant,

sad eyes you can swim in.

Could you kindly direct me

to his whereabouts?

You got your brother

to hand out the flyers?

Thought he might reel in

a thirsty b*tch

with a shred of talent.

Wait, so you here

to audition or what?

No. No.

You.

You went to St. Abigail's

Primary School.

You played guitar

in the talent show.

- What?

- You were good.

- No.

- Yeah.

- Mm-mm.

- Yeah.

- No.

- You were really good.

Until you puked

all over the years sixes

in the front row.

Not my finest hour.

I remember you.

You're Saira.

You got expelled

for selling school furniture.

Verily, it is I.

Oh, so hang on,

you are a guitarist.

She's a guitarist.

f*ck off, she's a guitarist.

- Play something.

- Play something.

Play something.

I don't play.

I just teach.

You've got to play to teach.

I don't perform.

My nervy disposition induced

diarrhoea and vomiting.

- Eww.

- Mm-hmm.

I just teach, okay?

I just teach!

I just teach!

An unsettling encounter,

no doubt.

But my attention

was needed elsewhere.

The local mosques, schools,

and community centre

had come together

to raise funds

for the Syrian infants.

Everyone in the community

was sure to be there.

And I was doing my bit.

My students

were going to perform.

Okay, team.

Well done for getting this far.

When you get out there,

just remember, stay in time.

Breathe, nice and slow. Yeah?

You've trained for this moment.

Enjoy it. Yay.

Yay!

You need to chill, miss.

We've got this.

I certainly hope so, Donnie.

Today, my students

were my number one priority.

Ahsan? Again?

I'll be right back.

Take five, team.

Was the universe

trying to tell me something?

Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.

- Can I help you?

- I'm fine. Thanks.

Just admiring your bath bombs.

Ooh.

What a gent.

They don't make them

like him anymore.

I hope it not too bold,

- but I wanted to inquire

- Yes?

- Are you spoken for?

- Spoken for?

No, I don't believe I am.

See, you're the most

exquisite creature

I think I've ever laid eyes on.

Sir, you mustn't

speak this way.

Please, don't go.

When can I see you again?

I must see you.

Oh, I couldn't possibly.

Miss Hussein.

Miss Hussein.

It's Donnie. Come quick.

I didn't expect them

to track me down.

They must have done

some serious sleuthing.

According to a tweet,

she's here.

There's no way

she's right for our band.

This is dumb.

Shh. We've got to find her.

Let's split up.

I'll take the backstage.

No. We have to say hi first.

Come on.

Fine.

Start looking.

- Bro, it has been how long?

- Six months.

Six months

of seeing each other.

Now you got to give Saira

an ultimatum, bruv, yeah?

Look, tell her, "Be my girl.

- Or, you know, bounce."

- Bye-bye.

She's gonna tell me

to fudge off.

Well, then she's

not right for you,

is she, Uncle Abdullah?

Tiny child with the wisdom.

Up top.

Cool, here she comes.

Here, look, tell her,

your terms, yeah?

No more of this─

- Casual dating. No.

- Casual dating BS.

You want labels. Labels.

- Yeah. Hi.

- Ma, stop.

My progeny.

How's my vegan

marble cake selling?

- Badly. It tastes like feet.

- Oh.

Hey, knob face.

You look buff.

You all right, dickhead?

You good?

Yeah, I'm good, Abdullah.

Are you?

Yeah. Yeah. I'm good.

I'm good. You?

I mean, yeah. Yeah.

- Why are you weird?

- I'm not weird.

I'm not weird.

- Cool. Catch you later.

- Yeah.

Come on, Bisma.

We got to find her.

Nice.

There he is, little broski,

all grown up, selling soap.

We knew you'd come far,

but this, mashallah.

- Funny.

- Fig and celeriac balm.

Super food and rhubarb

face scrub.

- Are you for real?

- Come on, man.

Celeriac?

Is that a fruit?

Nah, it's ambiguous.

Muslims don't need

this kind of uncertainty

in these dark times, man.

Where's your sandalwood?

Your oud? Oud?

I don't know.

It's Salman's stuff.

I'm just helping out.

Why are you here?

Donnie, just breathe.

I'm sorry, Miss Hussein.

I can't.

I can't. I can't do it.

Donnie, we can't do this

without you.

- You're our soloist.

- I'm sorry.

Well, if he's not doing it,

I'm not.

If you're not going

out there, I'm not.

Cynthia, you're gonna have

to take the solo.

The solo?

Miss, you know I can't.

Can't you just play with us,

Miss Hussein?

No. No. I don't play.

I just teach. I teach.

What about the Syrian

children?

Don't you care?

Please welcome

Smiling Hearts

After-School Guitar Class.

And so the moment

had arrived.

The f*ck is Smiling Hearts?

The onus fell on me,

the teacher,

to lead the troops to victory.

From the sidelines.

What is happening?

Where is she?

Wait.

No. No. Not again.

It was coming.

I could feel it coming.

Yep, that's me, Amina Hussein,

emptying my guts

into a collection bucket.

Scorched by the sizzling glare

of public scrutiny,

I vowed to myself

there and then

I would never perform again.

But Lady Parts

had other plans.

It's her.

She's our guitarist.

You sure?

She's the one.

All the small things ♪

True care, truth brings ♪

I'll take one lift ♪

Your ride, best trip ♪

Always I know ♪

You'll be at my show ♪

Watching, waiting ♪

Commiserating ♪

Say it ain't so ♪