All language subtitles for Back.S01E03.Episode.3.WEBRip.x264-ION10

Jaffa Cake, Jaffa Cake, baker's man...

Did the Jaffa Cake guys come up with that

or did the rhyme precede the
invention of Jaffa Cakes?

- It's "pat-a-cake".
- Fuck off!

- It is.
- Pat-a-cake?

That doesn't make sense.
You don't pat a cake.

"Good cake. Well done, cake."

It's a nursery rhyme.

It'll be something to do with
the plague, they always are.

Is everything all right?

Do you want to fuck Mike and Jan?

- Why? What have they said?
- No, just objectively.

Do you want to fuck
them when you see them?

No. But I'm not really a
"fuck on sight" kind of guy.

I think you should want to fuck bar staff.

You come in, you see
them, want to fuck them,

and then you buy more drinks
cos you want to be around them.

Does this apply in all retail?

Should I want to fuck
Fat Chris at the Londis?

Would I buy more milk?

Probably. More fuckable staff
could increase footfall.

You know Q3 footfall is down.

- What's down?
- Footfall in the pub.

Brilliant.

Do you think footfall
means people tripping over?

No.

Let's be careful how we alter
the Barleycorn experience.

It's grown organically over many years.

This is a pub, not a YouTube channel.

It just seemed better
when I was fostered here.

Permanently packed out.

A Golden Age...

I'm not sure about golden...

I just think the place needs a fresh look.

Some visual Viagra.

No. We just have to keep providing people

with the chemicals that
stop "the feeling".

As long as we help keep
"the feeling" at bay,

we're doing our job.

Geoff, you like Mike and Jan, don't you?

- From Bucks Fizz?
- Our bar staff.

Oh, yeah. I love them.

- Yeah. - Could you maybe be
more vocal in your praise?

Andrew doesn't think
they're fuckable enough.

Apparently, everything's
got to be sexy now.

They use sex to sell everything
these days, don't they?

- Perfume, cars, condoms...
- Very true.

Lube, that's another one.

It just might be interesting to
see if we can get a new crowd in.

I agree.

Oh, Cass. Dad's sports jacket.

Cancer Research Shop? Hospice Care Shop?

It's quite hipstery, actually.

- So cancer.
- Yep, cancer has a younger vibe.

We shouldn't fix things if
they ain't, or aren't, broke...

.. n.

You change personnel at your peril.

Look at Spooks.

Well, as a semi-Buddhist, I
believe all change is good.

Our atoms completely
change each year, Stephen.

All of the atoms in our bodies.

That's science.

All of the atoms that make up
our bodies completely change

- each year? - Uh-huh.
- Every single atom?

- Yes, they do.
- What about tattoos?

So, any of your signature
brainwaves, Andrew?

I think, first and foremost,

the John Barleycorn needs to look
like an authentic country pub.

Great, it already does.

Because it is an authentic country pub.

But it doesn't LOOK authentic.

Yes, forgive my pressing this point

but it's authentic because
it is what it is. Do you see?

And to me, something actually being
authentic is more authentic than

something fake that looks authentic.

- N-yeah...
- I can see what Andrew's getting at.

Of course you can.

Just imagine -- refectory
tables, reclaimed church pews,

old mismatched wooden library
chairs painted white.

Distressed and old-fashioned
is attractive.

I'm distressed and old-fashioned
and I haven't had sex in 22 months.

Look, we've just had a
refurb and it cost a lot.

We can't just defurb the refurb.

We could just do the snug
in Andrew's style as a test.

I could get that done for under £500.

- Mates in the trade.
- I knew you'd have mates in the trade.

You're such a
mates-in-the-trade kind of guy.

Do you want to help me out? You
look like you've got a good eye.

Do I? Thanks.

Yeah. I'd love to.

Cass? Looks a bit cancery?

Oh, yes. That's pure cancer.

Could I... try that on?

Ooh.

That wouldn't be weird, would it?

No.

It could've been made for you.

Stephen, would you rather have it?

I'm not sure Dad's clothes fit me.

Oh, Mike, you got my...?

Oh, God, yeah, of course.

Sorry, Geoff. There you go.

- Cheers. - What's that?
- It's Geoff's float.

- It's my float.
- What do you mean "float"?

For sundries and incidentals, you know.

You mean for the pub?

- No. - You just get a fiver from
the till for your... sundries?

Packet of mints, batteries,
pens... Odds and sods, you know.

You get this every day?

- Yeah. - And how long
has this been happening?

- Mike?
- Six years?

- About six years.
- Why have I never known about this?

I've hidden it from you. I
thought you'd get cross.

- Your dad was fine with it.
- I'm not fine with it.

Precisely why I hid my behaviour.

QED, Stephen.

- Oh, Mike...
- What is it, boss man?

I just want to say to you now, Mike,

that you are so fuckable.

Right. Thanks, Geoff.

- Geoff, this isn't what...
- I would happily give you a big old fuck.

You've got a big fuckable face
and I would cheerfully bend you

over this bar and fuck you
in every available hole.

Stop, now, Geoff! This is too much.

No, I'm getting into it.

Do you want to know
what hole I'd start with?

So, is Operation Snug going to
be possible? A boutique makeover?

Absolutely.

Stephen's brilliant refurb was
a great first step on a journey

which may take us in a
completely different direction.

Excellent.

We've got some UMCs on table six.

UMCs?

Unreasonable Moaning Cunts.

Hospitality slang. I thought
you'd worked in restaurants?

- What's the make-up?
- One couple and a floating single.

They said the lamb was too well
done, the broccoli was "limp"

- and the gravy was granules.
- Was the gravy granules?

The gravy was granules, yes.

- Target the single, they're weaker.
- Copy that.

I'm so sorry that there's
been a problem with your food.

- Thank you, no, that's...
- Do you think a meal is about eating food?

I tend to, yes.

Very telling. A meal is also
about service and ambience,

both of which have been appalling.

- Appalling?!
- Do you use gravy granules?

- Never!
- That's a lie.

OK, wait a second...

Erm, friendly bit of
advice -- eat elsewhere.

Food is poor, the service is poor.

Hey! Can you stop saying that?

This isn't North Korea.

We have free speech and
TripAdvisor accounts,

as you'll soon learn.

Come on!

Now, this pew...

- I know...
- .. we really don't want.

No. God, no.

Look at it. Piece of shit.

That is the opposite of what we want.

I mean, it's a pew, sure,
but it says "bench".

We want a pew that... screams "pew".

I love that one!

- You really do have a good eye.
- I'm actually an artist.

I photograph, I paint, I collage.

I did a term at art school in
London but... it wasn't for me.

They created boundaries.

It was all technique and competence
and being able to draw horses.

- Little boxes.
- No, big horses.

No, I meant they want to put
everyone in little boxes.

"You're a painter, you're a plumber,
you're gay, you're straight..."

Exactly.

"You're black, you're white, you
can drive, you can't drive..."

- I love this pew.
- It's a great pew.

Could I see some of your art?

Oh, wow. Of course.

Mum says it's quite challenging.

Oh, I like a challenge.

Right, shall we have a look
for some library chairs?

Yes. I love this.

This is brilliant.

Are you all right, Stephen?

Yeah... Yes.

Sorry. It's just...

that jacket smells of Dad.

- Just got a bit of a...
- Oh, yes.

Oh!

That is Laurie.

Do you want to...?

I'm fine.

Andrew and I were having some
more thoughts about the pub.

Like free peanuts on all the tables.

Why stop there?

What about a charcuterie
platter and a huge free goose?

This isn't a food bank.

Peanuts are tramp bait. They'll
just turn up for the salt.

Also, ketchup in bowls?

I totally see why you have sachets.

They're fun and kitsch and
have that tacky Blackpool vibe

- and it's great to play that note.
- It isn't a note.

We've got a cupboard full
of thousands of sachets.

We need to use them up.

We can't just chuck ketchup
away. We're not the Borgias.

Andrew also thought that
we should bring knives and

forks to the table rather
than people having to get them.

We have a perfectly good
system. People are used to it.

Order drinks at the bar, then food,

get asked if you want a roll and butter,

pay 25p extra for any
butters over and above

the one supplied free butter --

we always recommend a minimum
of two extra butters --

pay for your food, take
a numbered wooden spoon,

proceed to the cutlery and condiment
station, then to your table,

wait for Jan or Mike to
yell your number, hand up,

receive meal, eat meal,
enjoy meal, fuck off.

We need to tell Mike and Jan that
we don't need them at the weekend,

that we're trying out new people.

I'm not telling them. This isn't my idea.

Don't worry, Stephen. I'll do it.

- It's fine.
- Thank you, Andrew.

Tom is baby mad.

He wants loads.

I think he'd prefer it if I was
one of those frogs that can lay

20,000 eggs at a time.

You're a person, not a baby cannon.

Exactly. Thanks, Stephen.

And anyway, the whole thing's going
to be complicated by us moving.

- Who...? Moving?
- We're selling the house.

Our house? I mean, our
old house? Heron Cottage?

Yeah, I need a new challenge work-wise.

And Tom's bored of this town.
Says it's full of mediocre people.

It'll be good to have a new place.

Right. And I suppose there
are a lot of memories

of you and me in Heron Cottage.

Of course.

I mean, not loads.

We weren't there that long
before the divorce, were we?

But some lovely memories of
watching Frozen Planet together.

It was a terrific programme.

- Where might you go?
- Birmingham. Or Manchester.

Somewhere with a pulse.
Less of a backwater.

Understood. Totally. You
belong in a frontwater.

So what sort of timescale
are you guys looking at?

- It's on the market, already had a
couple of viewings, so... - Right.

That sort of timescale.

Stephen, I worry about you being lonely.

You don't have a huge number of friends.

I'm fine. There's Graham.

He lives in Munich.

We e-mail pretty regularly.

He's put on 4st.

Maureen seems well.

Yes! The vet says she may need
possible anus work in the future,

- but we're playing the
anus by ear. - Wise.

I must admit, I want to
fuck them even less now.

This isn't an efficient method.
There must be a better way.

Maybe you could tape the sachets
together and then put them through

a mangle, like a machine gun.

I'll set my mind to finding a solution,

earn my £5 float money.

Do you know when Andrew's back?

He had something he needed to tell us.

Ah, right, yes.

Oh, do you know what it is?

Only we've got dinner to prep in a sec.

Is it about the pay rise
we keep discussing with you?

No, and I think I've explained
my position on that.

Sterling is all over
the place at the moment.

So do you know what it is Andrew wanted?

We'd rather you told us.

We're not that keen on Andrew.
I think he senses it, too.

Don't want to speak out of turn
but he's just a bit, you know...

He reminds Jan a bit of Peter Sutcliffe.

Not in looks, just...

Something about him.

So if you could let us
know what's up, then...

It's about Friday.

And you.

And coming in on Friday.

- To here.
- Do you want us in early?

- No problem.
- No.

- Late?
- No.

- Normal time.
- Oh, copy that, chief.

- You want us normal time.
- No.

Friday evening, you don't come in.

- Until...?
- At all.

- Neither of us?
- That's right.

Won't that be a problem, though?

Yeah, we need to serve
the drinks, et cetera.

- We'll manage.
- I can't see how.

It's very busy on a Friday.

We're trying out two new people.

Oh.

You don't want US working here on Friday?

Or Saturday. Or Sunday.

It's just a trial, two new people.

Emergency backup should you ever fall ill.

Neither of us have called
in sick once in seven years.

No, I know, but you
might have an accident.

A lorry might hit you,

or-or you might get stabbed.

So these two new people are just
cover for if we're ever stabbed?

Sort of, yes.

Or... I don't know why I said stabbed.

Not necessarily stabbed.

Er, kicked to death,

or strangled,

or deliberately set on fire,

or whatever it might be.

Look after yourselves.

And there we go. The Fuckables
are working wonders.

And the snug is looking
as sexy as the staff.

Ah, the whole thing is a triumph!

Could you get me a pint, mate?

I'm intimidated by the Fuckables.

They're just people, Geoff.

No, they're not. They're sexy.

They look like models.

They've got that bone thing
going on in their faces.

You shouldn't be scared
of sexy people, Geoff.

Are they more scared of me than
I am of them, like with snakes?

No. But still, don't be scared of them.

They can't help being sexy.

- I guess some people are born sexy...
- That doesn't sound good...

- .. while others have sexiness thrust
upon them. - .. or that, to be honest.

I might skip the pint.

Get back to my great new ketchup idea.

Three new TripAdvisor reviews.

Shit. Will this be the UMCs saying
we're gravy-granule bastards?

Oh, my God! It's not them.

It's people who have been here
since Andrew defurbed the refurb.

- And do they like us?
- They bloody love us.

Three reviews, all five stars.

That's 15 stars!

Did you get the alert?
Andrew's fucking smashed it!

Oh, and another one!

"Superb atmosphere. Trad
warmth with a hip spritz."

Two more reviews! Both high-fivers!

Hooray! Oh, I knew Laurie was
right to bring you on board.

This is you, isn't it?

We're a team, Stephen.
It's down to all of us.

No, I mean this is you
writing the five-star reviews.

Sock-puppet accounts.

- This is fake news.
- Stephen...

You are playing with fire here, my friend.

We've been getting solid
three-star reviews for years

and now this is going to fuck everything.

We're a two-to-three-star pub.

People will now expect a five-star pub.

This isn't a five-star pub!

These people say it is.

Seriously, you don't stick your
head above the parapet with the

TripAdvisor guys because you
will call down a tsunami of shit.

A sudden flurry of five-star
reviews, they get suspicious,

send the black-ops reviewers in,

there's a string of zero-star
write-ups and then you're fucked.

It happened to The Plough in Harescombe,

they flew too close to the sun.

I haven't written any reviews, Stephen.

And I really don't think there
are "black-ops" reviewers.

- Oh, right, look at me
like - I'm - the crazy one.

He's the guy with the
multiple online personalities.

I'm treading ketchup!

This is one of the best
ideas I've ever had!

Jesus, Geoff!

Are you ill?! It's disgusting!

You're a farmer. Have
you washed your feet?!

Fucking hell! Throw all the ketchup away!

This is fucked up!

Stephen, you need some St
John's wort or something, mate,

because you are one very negative guy.

It's what I live for... really.

Creativity.

I don't know what I'd
do if I couldn't paint.

No.

- Have you always lived
with your mum? - God, no.

This is very temporary.

Just looking for the
perfect space, you know?

Absolutely. Walls that feel
like your walls, right?

Exactly! I did have a flat but the
guy got heavy and weird about his

precious rent and everything.

- Nightmare.
- I hate money.

I wish I didn't have my share
in the pub, if I'm honest.

Makes me feel anxious and tied down.

Lots of travel guides.

Some of these countries
don't exist any more.

Yeah, they're quite old now.

I wanted to travel, but life got
in the way and it never happened.

Then Blair got elected and, you know...

- You've done some travelling,
though? - Oh, yeah.

I'm not some suburban small-town hick.

I mean, where to start?

Been to Boulogne.

- Boulogne. - Obviously, I've
been there loads, like we all have,

back and forth all the bloody time.

But the first time was in the fourth year

and I got suspended for
buying a flick knife.

Classic Boulogne.

And this Bangkok guide?

- Have you been there?
- Yes.

Yes, siree.

It was amazing.

Bangkok. Fucking hell.

The realest place I've ever been to.

Very real. I felt like I was really there.

Did you try the noodles at Bang Rak?

I did. Amazing flavours.

Hot, but sour.

But sweet. And really long.

The longest noodles I've ever seen.

And how did you feel about all
the executions in Thailand?

Sad. You know?

No, me too.

Should I sleep with Andrew?

Unequivocally and without
a shadow of a doubt,

no, you shouldn't.

Maybe I should. It would
sort of be incest,

but with none of the negatives
and all of the positives.

All of the positives?

- Of incest?
- Exciting.

- Forbidden.
- It wouldn't be forbidden.

He's not your actual brother
so it's not forbidden.

Although, I do forbid it.

Do you think those people there
are TripAdvisor black ops?

- That's not a thing.
- They look clever.

Bit sneery, metropolitan elite.

We don't get many clever
people in here ordinarily.

We mainly attract
average-intelligence people,

with a smattering of real fucking thickos.

I'll offer them some extra butters.

I'll say the butters are on the
house because we like their style.

You can't bribe people
with tiny pats of butter.

And how is everything?

Living up to your expectations?

It's all lovely. Thank you.

And, er... are you in
the area for tourism...

or business... or...?

We're going to look at a property.

Thinking of getting a
weekend place out here.

Heron Cottage up on Hill Crescent.

Do you know that part of town?

Yes, I do. It's... it's good that
people are moving back there,

that houses are selling
again in that area.

- Have they not been?
- There was a lot of drug activity.

Buying, selling.

Smoking.

Injecting.

That thing where you heat the spoon up.

But the police are turning a blind eye now

and it's all calmed down into a
sort of semi-lawless "new normal".

Do you need any extra butters?

We're fine for butters.

Sure? Can't tempt you?

Excellent.

Are we all right to sit anywhere?

Just for a drink. Won't be eating.

- Can't afford to eat out now.
- Right.

- How are you?
- Oh, we haven't been stabbed.

- Or have we?
- How are they?

Fine.

Kind of. Look, it wasn't
my idea to get them in.

But you didn't oppose the idea.

That's not fair. I did oppose
the idea, but ineffectually.

Bugger and shit!

The UMCs have finally left their reviews.

Three two-star stinkers.

"They use gravy granules."

"Lamb was cremated."

"Beyond underwhelming."

This'll crucify us!

I'm really sorry about that, Ellen.

Can I get a double gin, Jan, love?

Coming up.

Oh... I don't work here. No.

Hi.

Hi. Laundry.

Great.

Hey, I ran some background on
those two-star kickings we got.

Entitled fuckers.

It's a power play, isn't it?

Which way will Caesar's thumb go?

Well, this is the weird thing.

They seemed like old hands at TripAdvisor,

but the accounts reviewing
us were all brand-new.

- That's odd.
- Odder still, checking the headers,

those three different accounts
are all using the same IP address.

The IP address

of the computer

in the back room...

of the pub.

I think we both know who's responsible...

don't we?

Must be the Fuckables fucking with us.

I'll fire them, get Jan and Mike back.

Hi, Jan, it's Andrew Donnelly.

Look, Stephen and I were
completely wrong to cut your shifts.

We've missed you and Mike enormously
and the pub's just not the same.

So is...? Yeah. Aw.

So is there any way you'd
consider coming back?

Maybe with a substantial pay rise.

- Jan and Mike!
- Andrew!

The Pretenders have retreated,

the true King and Queen have been
restored, and with a salary bump.

All hail the John Barleycorn!

We were totally wrong
about Andrew, Stephen.

Totally wrong. He's completely
won us over, hasn't he, love?

Yeah. He's not Peter Sutcliffe.

He's more Daniel Radcliffe.

Well, it's good to see you both back here.

It's like the ravens have
returned to the tower.

What tower's that, then?

Don't ravens eat nappies from landfill?

Andrew said something
nice about the Pretenders.

They're one of Jan's favourites.

- Wine, Stephen?
- It's far too early.

A Merlot, please.

Did you post the poor reviews?

- I did.
- You trolled your own business!

It was counter-sabotage. I
was trying to save the pub.

By saying it's a shithole?

I had to even out the five-star madness.

Have you been sleeping
all right on that bed?

No. It's like an ironing
board made of hot doorknobs.

But I'm not dangerously underslept.

Andrew'd like you to think
I'm a zombie nutbag,

but I'm not a zombie nutbag.

Should you maybe have some time away?

Don't you be taken in by Andrew, too.

He's managed to get
Mike and Jan on his side.

You're now my only ally.

Fuck off, Stephen. I'm still your ally.

What sort of wanker do you take me for?

I take you entirely for a non-wanker.

Tom and I have a potential
buyer for our place.

- OK...
- Nice couple.

I thought they'd cooled,

but apparently they met
this quite freaky guy who

started shit-mouthing our house.

They assumed he was after
it for himself, so bang!

Instant offer.

I bet that guy feels
like a right prick now.

And he deserves to.

The prick...

♪ Nobody loves me

♪ Nobody seem to care

♪ Nobody loves me, I say

♪ Ah, well, nobody seem to care

♪ Speaking of bad luck and trouble, mama

♪ Well, you know I've had my share. ♪