All language subtitles for white.gold.s01e01.1080p.hdtv.h264-mtb

All right, Vincent?

Never fucking better, Pete.

He knows.

Excluding the literal sense,

there are three types of
wanker in this world.

There's the ones you pity,
the sad, boring type of wanker

who life always seems
to enjoy torturing.

Not me.

See you later, Pete!

Then there's the irritating
types of wanker,

the ones whose only job in life
is to stop the rest of us

enjoying our three score years and ten.

Again, not me.

Excuse me, you can't park there, mate.

Finally, you have the showoffs.

The posers.

The "I'm better than you",

"fuck everything and everyone
twice," type of wankers.

I prefer the term "ambitious",
but whatever the label,

we're the ones you'd better
keep your eyes on.

Good morning, arseholes!

Sync & corrections by emelinewhovian
www.addic7ed.com.

Full disclosure.

You're looking at a room of
doubleglazing salesmen.

As this is 1983, we're not quite
the social pariahs you lot

probably know and loathe,
but give us time.

This is the Monday
morning sales meeting,

where the team hand in
their weekly orders.

In theory, a small matter
of financial housekeeping.

In reality,

a dickswinging contest extraordinaire.

Right, Fitzpatrick, what you got for me?

Fuck off, I went first last week.

Come on, it's Lavatory's turn.

Don't call me that.

All right, calm down, Lavatory,
it's only a nickname.

No, a nickname is an affectionate
term between mates.

I think you're a massive prick,

ergo not a nickname.

Yeah, well, I'll show you
a massive prick.

This reprobate is Brian Fitzpatrick.

In life, deeply unlikeable,
smarmy and charmless.

But give him something to sell,

and somehow, he becomes transformed.

Strong?

President Reagan has a fallout shelter

made entirely of our windows.

Now, the science tells us these
uPVC window frames will be around

long after the human race is extinct.

Also, the proud owner of a massive penis

which he loves to unfurl
at any given opportunity.

And that's fine, is it?

And this lovely man is Martin Lavender.

Honest, decent and well educated.

All qualities which,
in our line of work,

are about as much use
as an aerated condom.

Hello, I'm Martin Lavender
from Cachet Windows.

Just eating dinner.

No, you have your dinner.
I'll call back another day.

Thanks, love.

Formerly a musician,

he quit his struggling band
to join my sales team.

Unfortunately, three months
later, his now exband landed

the biggest number one single of the
year with Wherever I Lay My Hat.

Naturally, we rallied around

to help him through
this difficult period.

Hey!

Unlucky, mate, could've been you!

Right, come on, look,
I want to see some orders.

Don't be shy, Lavender.

Yeah, his mother wasn't.

- Four.
- Bollocks!

4,000. That's got to be
a personal best for you, innit?

Could've been seven if this snake
hadn't undercut me on Warren Close.

You're having a laugh.

There's nothing wrong with
my prices, it's just you.

You couldn't sell ice
to a bloody Eskimo.

But Eskimos don't need ice.
Why would I sell it to them?

Well, you know, cos of the saying,

"He could sell ice to the Eskimos."

You're the fucking opposite, ain't ya?

Yeah, that's not how opposites work.

I get a lot of this.

All right, then, you couldn't
sell food to a starving Ethiopian

with flies round his eyes
and pot belly... shit up his legs.

I'd just give him some food.

I'm not a monster.

Which is why I will always outsell
you in any sales environment.

So you reckon you could
sell ice to the Eskimos?

Not only sell it to them.

By the time I'd left their little igloo,

they'd be asking me to be godfather
to their adorable slantyeyed kids.

Tell me, is it only lazy cultural
stereotypes you sell to,

or real people, too?

Well, unlike Professor No Nuts
over there,

I could sell anything to anyone.

So, taking the ice and Eskimos
analogy, you reckon you could

sell new windows to someone you've
recently sold new windows to?

Yes.

I've got a ton says you can't.

You had a ton.

You might as well hand over
those notes now, Lavatory.

Right, if you bucks are done rutting,

I want to see some orders. Brian?

13 five.

Impressive.

Who'd have thought a weaselly fucker
with terrible BO like you

could charm the life savings
out of anyone?

Well, here's mine.

Just the 17K.

Which makes me employee
of the fucking century.

But don't feel too bad about it, boys,

it's still a record week.

And to celebrate, I've lined up
a special treat for us all

on Saturday night.

Now, let's get out there.

These windows aren't going
to sell themfuckingselves.

- Morning, Vincent.
- Morning, Carol.

Can you dig out the address
for the Solomon house?

I've got time to pop by later...

Guess who...?

The last time I saw these beautiful
fingers,

they were wrapped around my...

- has got the kids with them.
- ..my neck.

They were wrapped around my neck.

My fault for farting in bed, Sam?

That's not what you were going to say.

- What was he going to say?
- Nothing.

Go and play outside.

Go on, I want a word with your dad.

Hello, baby.

I know.

Incredible, isn't she?

What's up?

I thought Cachet's number one
salesman might like some lunch.

It's only cheese,

but I swiped a Penguin from Robbie's
school dinner tin as a little treat.

I do not deserve an angel
like you in my life.

I know.

So what time you home tonight?
I'm doing a curry.

Can't do tonight. I've
got house calls to make.

You are joking? This is the
third night this week.

Sam, honey. The best
time to close a deal

is when the husband and
wife are both there.

Evenings, weekends,
these are the golden hours.

And when do you plan fitting us
into your hectic schedule, then?

Christmas? Bank holidays?

I'm trying to build something
for us here.

In a few months, I'll ease off,
but not right now.

I'll make it up to you, gorgeous.
I promise.

You realise there is no
part of this I cannot see?

What are you doing?

Don't worry. I'm obviously
not wanted here.

Sam. Come back. Sam, come back...

Ignore her, she's mental!

"Thanks for rescuing me, Carol,"
might be nice.

Meanwhile, it hadn't taken
Fitzpatrick long

to find a 73yearold Eskimo
to sell ice to.

But you only put these windows in
three weeks ago.

I know, Mrs Brown.
I'm embarrassed to be here.

But it's only just come to light
that there is a major design flaw

in the plastic frames of those windows

that no one could have foreseen.

- The white bits?
- Yeah, the white bits.

See, they're made from
a plastic compound

called unplasticised polyvinyl chloride,

or uPVC for short.

We've only just discovered
that when exposed to sunlight,

that type of plastic might explode.

- No.
- No, indeed.

But it's not all bad news.

Have you heard of Nasa?

The space people?

They're the ones.

Now, as part of the space
shuttle programme,

they've developed
a far superior plastic compound,

one that won't kill you.

Does it have a name?

Yep, it's called...

PVCu.

So, what I would like to do is
exchange these dangerous

uPVC windows for nice, new, safe
PVCu ones, free of charge,

apart from installation costs.

I don't know.

I should probably ask my son about that.

Is your son Neil Armstrong?

No.

Then I don't think he's qualified
to help us.

Read it and weep.

The whole house?

How have you done that?

You know. Sales acumen, charm.

No, wait. You don't know, do you?

Now, come on, you owe me a ton.

Yeah, hold on, you've only charged
her 100 quid for fitting.

Have you given her a house full of
free windows just to win a bet?

Lavatory. The word
"free" is not in my vocabulary.

Just like the phrase "I've had
a number one hit" is not in yours.

No, I've got a fitter coming
tomorrow to rip out those windows

and pop the very same ones
straight back in again.

The old bag'll never know.

So not only have I sold ice
to the Eskimos,

I've sold them their own fucking ice.

I'm a genius! Come on, pay up.

Yes, there we go. Nom, nom, nom!

Unlike Fitzpatrick, I don't need to
use the dark arts to close a deal.

Good morning, Mr Solomon.
Vincent from Cachet Windows,

we spoke on the phone earlier.

Mr Vincent, yes.

Look, I'm so sorry,

but we're about to sit down for prayer.

Maybe you can leave some brochures

and we can phone you
about prices tomorrow?

Want to know the percentage of people
who sleep on it and call you back?

A big fat fucking zero.

This may sound odd, but may I join?

It's been a spiritually exhausting
last few days for me.

Er... We'd be delighted. Come in.

One more thing,
salesmen are like vampires.

Never invite one into your home.

Once you do, we won't leave
your side until we taste blood.

Not even for a piss.

- Thank you!
- No problem!

The peace of God...

Using the homeowner's loo
is a cardinal sin,

no matter how desperate you are.

The second you leave those
poor bastards alone,

they'll try to conspire a way to
get you out of their house.

You need to get the kids to bed?
That's OK.

I'll give you a hand with bath time.

Your husband is having a heart attack?

Let me run you both down to A&E,

you lying shitbags.

These Godfearing fuckers have
been praying for almost two hours.

And it's not just world
peace shit, either.

Lord, please use thy divine power

to find a good cash buyer
for Brian and Kellie's car.

Dear merciful Lord,
please do what you can

to get a better reception for Aggy's TV.

Dear Lord, please give me the
strength not to piss my pants

in front of these timewasting
sons of bitches.

Eventually, my bladder's prayers
were answered

and Mr Solomon signed for
a full house of windows.

It's safe to say I eat, sleep,
breathe, shit and piss...

sales.

But like Einstein, my true genius
wasn't spotted until later in life.

So, after spending a couple of grand

having this fucking mutt's back legs
amputated and wheels put on it,

he takes it out for its first walk,
and the fucking dog panics,

and rolls straight under a bus.

Poor bastard is devastated.

I told him, "Look on the bright side."

"At least now, you've got a £2,000 rug."

Yeah, this is him.

Fuck.

Now, that was a call informing me
that while I'd been otherwise engaged,

a supertanker on the Thames estuary

had been accidently loaded
with contaminated crude oil.

Unfortunately, the constant
monitoring required

to prevent such millionpound fuckups

was my one and only job.

Upon careful reflection,

you are to be relieved of all
duties with immediate effect.

Do you have anything to say
for the record, Mr Swan?

This is fucking ridiculous...

Maybe we should take a break.

Listen, I've spoken to the boys.

They're ready to walk out
for you on this one, Vince.

I appreciate the support of
the union on this, Terry.

But I'm jacking it in.

I fucking hate this job anyway.

How else are you going to provide
for Sam and the kids??

I'll figure something out.

Oi, you two, the charisma twins.

Upon careful reflection,

I've decided you can stick
your job up your arses.

Here's my notice of resignation.

I couldn't face going home
to tell Sam I'd lost my job.

I said I'd figure something out,

and that's what I intended to do...

right after I got absolutely ratarsed.

I never was a whisky drinker.

Fuck me. Vincent Swan.

Dicky Cox?

Dicky Dipshit, I think you
used to call me at school.

Cox by name, cock by nature.

Yeah, that was another one.

You all right, Vince?
You look like shit.

No. No, I'm not all right, Dicky.

I got sacked this morning,

and now I'm crying next to
a urinal full of my own puke,

talking to you.

No offence, but I think
I just hit rockbottom.

I mean, it's funny how life
turns out, innit?

Who'd have put money on me being
the bloody successful one

and you, Vincent Swan,
being such a fucking loser?

Cheers for the pep talk, Coxy.

Yeah.

Vincent, what would you say

if I told you I earned four times
as much as your monthly wage

in the last week?

I'd say, "Unless the demand
for creepylooking gigolos"

"has gone through the roof,
that's bollocks."

Yeah, funny.

Here.

Have a chuckle at that.

Plus, I've got something else
that could interest you.

What I've got in here
might just change your life.

I'm not a complete fucking yokel,
I've done coke before.

I'm not talking about the drugs.

What, a lump of fucking plastic?

Is it?

Or is it white gold?

No, it's definitely a lump of plastic.

To the uninitiated.

But you add some knowhow
and some bullshit, and this lump

of fucking plastic turns into
something far more eyecatching.

Coxy laid out the doubleglazing
business for me.

Since Thatcher handed us
the right to buy your council house,

the world and his wife
were madly renovating

their newly owned dream homes.

White gold was just plastic,
a cheap alternative to timber,

but it brought the cost of making
brandnew windows down to peanuts.

Coxy would then sell them on
with a 600% markup.

For those that couldn't afford
the astronomical prices,

he'd sell them finance.

That way, they could pay back

what they thought they could
afford each month...

for the rest of their natural lives.

Eventually, those shiny new
windows would cost more

than their dreary former council houses.

It was beautiful.

I want this.

You can have it.

No, not this!

I mean, meeting you. Losing my job.
Everything.

It's happened for a reason.

You ain't going to cry again, are you?

You always were a fucking dipshit.

My fate was sealed the very next day.

I'm not a big believer in kismet,
but you'd have to be blind,

deaf and dumb as shit not
to hear destiny calling me.

Sorry to interrupt.

It's an elephant.

It's not male genitalia.

I'm looking for the owner.

Sorry, I'm new here.

Right. Is the owner around?

Like I said, I'm new, so I
literally can't help you.

Fuck me, Carol. You're a receptionist.

Just take some details, will you?

Well, it doesn't hurt
to be careful, Tony.

He just wandered in off the street.

This is a fucking showroom!

We want people to wander in
off the street.

Hello, sir. I take it
this is your business?

You've got two minutes, pal.

For what?

To sell me whatever the fuck it is
you're selling, then fuck off.

Meet Tony Walsh, the world's
angriest small business owner.

No, I don't want to sell TO you,
I want to sell FOR you.

My name's Vincent.

I don't care if it's Barbra Streisand.

I've already got a sales team.

Well, that was succinct.

Now we've got 90 seconds
to fill with small talk.

Or you could just fuck off early.

Right. And where's the fun in that?

You see that couple? They walked
into your showroom four minutes ago.

In another 45 seconds,
they're going to walk out,

along with thousands in lost revenue.

I've got 20 quid that says
Tweedledum and Tweedledee over there

will still be scratching their arses
when they walk out.

All right, pal.

Here's a price list.

You sign them up, I'll
give you a twoweek trial.

I hear congratulations are in order!

Erm, sorry?

The centennial customer award?
Wait, no one told you?

As our hundredth customer today,

you've won the opportunity to
turn your house into a showhome

for the Cachet range
of windows and doors.

My name's Vincent, nice to meet you.

Hi, I'm Mark. This is my wife, Lorna.

Hello. Wow, we've never
won anything before.

Well, I guess some people
are born lucky,

and the rest of us just have to make
do with good looks and charm?

So, tell me, Mark, Lorna, why are
you looking for new windows?

Ten minutes of bullshit later,
and I was ready to seal the deal.

All of our products come with
safety glass fitted as standard.

Now, I'd imagine those
little boys of yours

are always keeping you on
your toes, right, Lorna?

Always darting about?

Now, imagine them running full pelt
into a plate glass window.

It turned out that not
ALL of our products

came with safety glass
fitted as standard.

It's probably, er, hard, at
this point, not to picture

your precious offspring lying
in a pool of their own blood.

But hold on to that thought, because
this, Lorna, pardon my French,

this DISGRACEFUL piece of shit

is a wellknown national company's
patio door.

I can't say who. Everest.

Christ, it makes me angry.

Can't anyone ever think of the children?

Well, thankfully, here at Cachet, we do.

Maybe it was the adrenaline
in everybody's systems,

but by the time I'd finished with them,

they'd signed for five grand's
worth of windows.

The second I left the showroom,
Walshy called his wife.

I think I've just met the man who's
going to make us our first million.

He was so impressed,
he didn't offer me a trial,

he put me in charge
of his entire sales team.

Who I promptly sacked.

Tweedledee and Tweedledum
went out the door,

and in came Tweedle Dumb and Dumber.

And after Fitzpatrick and Lavender
graduated from the.

Vincent Swan School of Sales,
my team was complete.

Once Walsh's tasteless decor
had been replaced

for something more befitting
of a classy operation like ours,

Cachet Windows was reborn.

Right!

First and only rule, we don't
rip off anyone in our town.

These are our neighbours, our friends.

We always sell our windows at one price,

a fair price.

Sometimes over, sometimes under,
but always at one price.

Sorry, so who pays more?

Dickheads. The terminally stupid.

And less?

Well, no one, if we can help it.

So it's not really one price
for all, is it?

No.

But it sounds good, don't it?

And that pretty much
brings us up to speed.

Want to know the greatest thing
about winning at life?

It's that you get to give
a little something back.

- Hello, Vince.
- Terry. How's tricks?

Yeah, good, you coming in?

Look, I really appreciate
the offer, mate, but...

Doubleglazing salesman?

I mean, no offence,
but it's not really me, is it?

Why not?

I know the refinery's not everyone's
cup of tea, but it's steady,

the pension's good, it's practically
impossible to get sacked.

Yeah, maybe for mere mortals.

Hello, stranger.

Evening, Gillian.

At last, the brains of the house
have arrived.

I'd better run, I'm on nights.

You'll have to bring the family over
for a barbecue soon, Vince.

Yeah, they'd love that, mate.

- Bye, love.
- Ta, darling.

Try not to masturbate
through your entire shift.

Someone's got to sit
in that chair after you.

You're not running out on
me too, are you, Vincent?

It's been ages since
we've had a little gossip.

Would I ever? Stick the kettle on.

So, er, Terry said
you're a salesman now.

Yeah, I finally found a job where being

a selfaggrandising ponce
is considered a plus.

So, what is it you sell?

Double glazing.

Fancy. I quite like them patio doors.

I bet they're expensive, though.

You'd be surprised, Gillian.

I know this looks bad,
but those patio doors

are going to completely
revolutionise the flow

from their downstairs to their garden.

What? This is what I do.

Cachet Windows and Doors.

It's Brendan for you.

Just tell him I've nipped out.

Hang on a minute,
he's just here, Brendan.

Hello, Brendan.

Yeah... But they're the same
fucking ones...

No. Look, I'm coming over.

I told you to tell him I'd nipped out.

I don't know what that means.

Is it an Essex thing?

Oi. What the hell's this, Vincent?

I'm about 90% sure that's an order
for patio doors, Terry.

Am I right? Do you want to talk
about this out back?

- Do excuse me for a moment.
- No, I'm not stopping.

I just came to tell you we don't
want your shitty windows.

Well, maybe you should talk
to your wife once in a while,

because she seemed positively
thrilled by the idea.

And they're precision
engineered, not shitty.

Now if that's all, I'm
busy with customers.

No, no, don't you try and worm
your way out of it.

You took advantage of Gill.

I don't know if you've realised,
mate, but Gill's a grown woman now,

with tits and everything.

And this, this is a contract.
It's legally binding.

So I suggest you go home
and take it up...

Now you stay away from me, my wife
and my windows, you utter scumbag.

Fuck.

Sorry.

Sometimes working here is like being
in a really shit version of Dallas.

Vincent, look he's not here.

He's on a shift.

Yeah, I know. Look, I came to say sorry.

I'm not going to make you honour
the contract.

We all right?

Yeah.

Good, because while I've been
standing here freezing my nuts off,

I couldn't help thinking this
conversation would have been

much more comfortable in a
beautiful doubleglazed porch.

You always did know how to make
me laugh, Vincent Swan.

Interesting place for
a personalised number plate.

I quite like it.

Fancy a spin?

Ooh, yeah. I've never been in
a wankermobile before.

I'll get me coat.

Like I told you, page one
of the training manual.

Never leave the house
without closing the deal.

Yes, it's tricky to see
the difference myself.

What exactly is it you don't
like, Mrs Brown?

They remind me of death.

I want my old new windows back.

Right, well, I could get Brendan
to refit the old ones,

but, I mean, then you'll be paying
to replace these with an identical

and frankly inferior product.

I'm going to call my son,
you can talk to him about it.

No, no, no, don't do that, Mrs Brown.

I tell you what, I'll get Brendan
to replace the windows for free.

I'm sure he won't mind.

You're a lovely young man, Brian.

Yes, he will fucking mind.
I've got another job on.

Look, how do I get this through
that thick Paddy skull of yours?

You're not going to get paid for this
job unless that senile bitch is happy.

So whoever's driveway you've got to
tarmac can fucking wait. Comprende?

You listen to me,
you ferretylooking cunt.

You speak to me like that again,

I'll refit your disgusting
yellow teeth. Comprende?

Yes, completely comprende.

Can you please refit
the windows, Brendan?

Please?

Yes, I will, Brian.

And seeing as you asked me so nicely

I'm only going to charge you
double time for today.

You're fucking joking... Yeah. No.

Double bubble. Excellent.

Looks like the Eskimos aren't
that keen on your ice after all.

- Fuck off.
- Come on, be nice.

Where's that famous charm gone?
My winnings, please.

Here, have your money back.

And another hundred, seeing
as how you lost the bet.

You can swivel, mate.

I'm already paying double time
to the IRAnus over there.

Does he know you call him that?
'Ere, Brendan, have you...

Yeah, all right, all right. Here you go.

Dickhead.

Daddy!

I come in peace.

Someone's seen fit to grace us
with their presence.

Someone also wants to say sorry
for not being around lately.

How are my cheeky little monkeys?

Vincent, you do know I'm 14 years old.

Well, that's handy,
because in here I have

an age14sized Sergio Tacchini
tracksuit top.

No way. It's not snide gear either.

Dad, you're the best.

Vincent, that cost a fortune.

No, my love, this cost a fortune.

Tada.

Are you fucking kidding me?
Is that real mink?

Unless Liberty's have started
skinning cats, it is real.

- Look at you.
- It's gorgeous.

Don't worry, Robbie.
I haven't forgotten about you, mate.

Millennium Falcon!
Are you fucking kidding me?!

Robbie!

That's your fault, that is.

What's all this in aid of?

I told you. We're in this together.

It's time for us to start
enjoying ourselves.

Thank you, Vincent.

Despite what I tell everyone
I meet about you,

you're actually a lovely man.

Now, why don't we get
the kids off to bed

and maybe we can get an
early night ourselves?

God. I know what that means.

Come here.

The kids. You're going to have
to keep that warm for me.

Let me get them off to bed.

No, I got to go out tonight.

What!
- I told you, Saturday night, prime time for sales.

You've got to be kidding me.

Those dead minks don't pay
for themselves. I love you.

You wanker!

Never let it be said that
I wasn't a generous man.

Especially when it came
to spending Walshy's money.

It was time to give the boys
their Saturday night treat.

You know what makes us different to
the rest of the plebs in this town?

It's simply this, we will not
take no for an answer.

Every time we knock on a door
and some knob tells us

he doesn't need new windows,
we're going to sell that prick

more windows than he's got holes
in his fucking walls for.

- Fucking right.
- Hear, hear.

So enjoy the feast and thank
you for a record week.

Cheers, arseholes.

Cheers, boss.

Vincent. Listen,
let's hit a club later, yeah?

We can't sit around here all night

with just Brian's
monster knob for company.

You might want to wait and see
what's for dessert first.

Bloody hell.

My God.

Blimey.

I fucking love this job.

I've been terribly good
this month, yeah.

Pull the blinds, Brian.