Original subtitles

Good night, sweet heart.

All my prayers are for you.

Good night, sweet heart.

I'll be watching over you.

Tears and parting may make us alone.

But with the dawn,

a new day is born.

Go on, then. I can't. I feel silly.

There's no one around. Go on. You're sure?

Don't seem natural to me, throwing up a drink before you've even swallowed it.

Gary, Reg, you will not believe who I've just booked for the club on Thursday

night. You've persuaded Gypsy Rosalie to include us in the British leg of her

European tour?

Silly. I've got something even better than Gypsy Rosalie. Yes, I know you

but not in front of Reg.

I've just persuaded Noel to come and do one of his turns.

His turns?

His cabaret stuff.

It'll be here on Thursday.

He knows we'll get a sophisticated Cleon telling here, so he's promised to

tailor his act accordingly.

Probably won't be sawing a showgirl in half, then.

No.

Look,

Harry. Yeah?

I won't disturb you, will I, if I just sit here and read my book?

No, no, of course not. Good.

Because there's nothing like a good book if they're opening those covers full of

promise, then turning to the first page, ready to go on a journey wherever the

writer takes you, completely at his or her command.

Stop! Yeah, can you just read a little more quietly?

Drowning out John Molson.

Well, I'm sorry, Gary, but I think this is a little bit more important than the

fate of Arsenal Football Club.

More important than the Arsenal?

I didn't realise there was a meteor on collision course with the Earth.

If you must know... Yeah, can you tell me later, now?

If you must know, I've been selected as the judge for a very prestigious book

prize, the Hanbury Truman Award for non -fiction.

You? Why?

Why not?

They clearly needed a woman of taste, culture and refinement.

Actually, it was busy, so they picked you.

The judging panel is made up of all sorts.

Academics, celebrities, business people and Jeremy Paxman.

The last book you read all the way through was Slapper by Edwina Curry.

I don't normally get the time to do all the reading I'd like.

Which is actually an advantage, because I come to this competition untainted

by... By ever having picked up a book.

The problem is, which one to start with? I mean, the wealth of subjects is

amazing.

Tarzan 2000, how to be a swinger in the dating jungle.

And the author who bought you foreplay for dummies.

Bravo 2 -0, the magic eye version.

Michael Palin from Earth to the Moon.

Yeah, well, I think this is Gary Sparrow from Penthouse to Pub.

Oh, don't worry, it won't disturb you. I'll take one of these onto the balcony

and start reading.

Noel Coward, he was interesting, wasn't he?

Yeah, he was, as long as you kept him off the subject of Mediterranean men.

What?

Nothing.

Oh, I've got it.

Who's that?

Probably Ron. Said he might come round and watch the game.

I'll leave you two to bathe in your own testosterone.

Don't disturb me. I am judging.

How's it going?

Terrible. I thought I was over Flick. I mean, it's been three months.

But the thought of her keeps eating away at me.

What if she was my soul mate? What if each person in his entire life only has

one soul mate?

Well, that's obviously nonsense, isn't it? I mean...

I've got two.

It's hardly reassuring, Gary, implying that it does that my other perfect

partner is likely to be Helen of Troy, Saint Joan, or Xena, Warrior Princess.

Actually, I'd settle for Xena.

It's just a question of getting back on the horse, mate.

And I think I have just found your riding manual.

Tarzan 2000, how to be a swinger in the dating jungle.

Oh, thanks, Gary.

This is really going to change my life without it.

Can I have this?

Yeah, you might as well. It's the best one in the box. I mean, you need to book

about an old coward. I live next door to him.

Good Lord.

I never knew he'd done that. Little devil.

Where do I see him again?

Meeting your mate.

How to avoid jungle breath.

Don't be a cheater. It's like this guy's been following me around.

You know, this book could really help me.

That's why it's been nominated for an award, I expect.

I mean, they don't just pick these things up, but... Oh, bugger.

But, sir, this book has pictures.

Well, you normally only read books like that.

Pictures of Noel from his life.

In a biography, fancy.

Age 113.

Oh, bugger.

Noel relaxes with close personal friend Gary Sparrow, March 1945.

This is awful.

It certainly is. It makes you look like an anorexic twiggler.

Not the picture.

The fact that it's dated. The fact that I'm being cuddled by Noel Coward. The

fact that it was taken 17 years before I was born.

That will be hard to explain when Yvonne sees it.

Hard to explain?

Lipstick on your collar is hard to explain.

Calling out another woman's name in bed is hard to explain.

Appearing in a photograph taken two decades before you were born is a

zone.

She's going to contact the publisher, she's going to authenticate the picture,

then she's going to find out about the time travel, about Phoebe, about my son.

Or you could lose the book.

What? Get rid of it.

That way she'll never see the picture.

Yes, genius.

Of course, there's so many other books for her to get through, she'll never

notice if one's missing.

The illustrated history of pockets is really boring.

Have you seen that Noel Coward book?

Reading a bit fast, are you?

How do you mean?

Well, you know, you're supposed to be judging that poor bloke's book. You

be considering every word, every phrase, every comma.

Is the typeface sympathetic to the content?

Are the page numbers centred properly?

You should be reading each page at least six times minimum.

Don't be a pillock, Gary.

What shall we talk about, eh?

We never talk any more, do we? Remember when we first met? God, we talked and

talked and talked. Do you remember that?

I remember you begging me for sex.

Yeah, you see, we never do that anymore, do we?

OK, tonight I'll let you beg me for sex, all right?

Right now, I'm reading.

OK.

It's nearly dinner time, isn't it? I'll help you in the kitchen, if you like.

That's all right, I've ordered pizza.

If it doesn't turn up in the next two minutes, it's free.

Oh.

But have you put plates in the oven?

No. Oh, Gary, would you?

Oh, well, I would, Yvonne. I really would, only, um, I don't want to.

What? Well, we've got so many plates. You know, I'll only get the wrong ones,

wouldn't I? If you do it, I'll hold you back.

If you were any more useless, you'd have your own page on the Innovations

catalogue.

No, I don't think so.

Then where is it?

What?

My book.

What book?

The book that I didn't see you just underarm bowl from the sixth floor of

building. Where is it?

Um... Pizza!

Get it? You find my book.

Mr Bannister, he lives downstairs. Oh, pleased to meet you.

Sorry about the mess.

I've been looking for something. We've lost it, you see. I have turned this

place upside down. I've looked everywhere, honestly.

Everywhere.

Except on Mr Bannister's head.

Sorry? I was walking my dog Freckles downstairs, minding my own business,

suddenly something hit me on my head. Look!

I've never had a crossword with anyone in this building. I like to think I'm

rather popular. Why would anyone throw literature at me?

I'm at a loss to explain. How do you know it's our book, anyway?

I've stuck a frontispiece on every book, Gary.

This book belongs to Baroness Sparrow of Lombard.

I'll have to get them reprinted now. This book belongs to Baroness Sparrow

should not be hurled from high buildings.

What?

Do you think I had something to do with this poor man's accident?

I'm going to have to put you on...

You'll be hearing from my lawyers. And there is your book.

Thank you.

Yes, shall I just... And I assure you, I will not let my husband get his hands

on it again.

The book's possessed.

I've tried pulling it out with the rubbish. I've used it as a briquette on

barbecue. I even tied a pork chop to it and left it out for freckles.

Now look.

Bloody dog's a vegetarian.

No, that book's indestructible.

It keeps turning up like something out of a Stephen King story.

You know, there's only another 30 pages and she's going to see that picture.

Well, can't you just tear out the picture?

No, then she'll know I had something to hide.

If only she had been made a judge for that stupid award.

Hey, then I'd never have got my hands on my new lifestyle Bible.

I've read it cover to cover.

And?

It's a revelation.

Did you know you can now meet girls without leaving the comfort of your own

home?

Yes, they're called escorts.

No, computer chat rooms.

Chapter 11, followed by my favourite chapter, Chapter 12, Prowling the Urban

Jungle.

You're going on the pull in the Bronx?

No, Safeways.

Safeways is the urban jungle.

According to this book, supermarkets are the number one place to meet unattached

women under 40.

They're better than singles bars.

Plus, you can pick up a loaf.

Sounds very romantic.

Where did you meet?

Oh, over the cheese counter.

Our eyes met across an aged Gorgonzola and within a few minutes we'd exchanged

loyalty card numbers.

Well, maybe I won't try that. But it says here, linger among the meals for

if you wish to meet a nice single girl.

Or two supermodels.

I'd settle for that.

You know, it's amazing. I've never been much of a reader, but it seems that all

the answer to all my problems lies in a book.

Yeah, the answer to all my problems lies in getting rid of a book.

Or... What?

You might not have to get rid of the book if you can get rid of the picture.

In the past, you've not reached March 1945 yet, right?

Right. Well, that means the picture hasn't been taken.

All you have to do is make sure that no -one takes a photograph of you and Noel

during March 1945.

That way it can never appear in the book, Yvonne can never see it, and we'll

probably never have this conversation.

Which would suit me, because then I could eat my sandwich in peace.

Thanks so much for agreeing to play at the club, Noel. My pleasure, Phoebe. I

can never resist a damsel in distress.

Any other time, yes, but in distress.

So, what are you going to do for your turn?

My turn?

Well, I thought I'd begin with my fire -eating, then catch a bullet between my

teeth. followed by levitating a Bengal tiger, and finished by leaping astride

Triumph motorcycle and riding Wall of Death style around the club.

I'll take all the mirrors down, then, shall I?

Baby!

I'm home.

I'll tell you the pro... No.

Hello. Greetings, Gary. How are you?

Fine, thanks.

Gary, look.

I'm the... Same if anyone tries to take a picture of me before I've combed their

barn at fair.

Phoebe, where did you get the camera?

Noel gave it to me, so I could take some publicity pics of the club.

Oh, well, that's just... incredibly kind. No, thank you.

So come on in, say, cheese ration. No.

No, I don't think you should take a photo of me.

You know, what if somebody takes a photo of me and it falls into the wrong

hands? You don't have to worry about that.

No, they're worth nothing unless they're autographed.

No, I mean, my effectiveness as a secret agent could be severely compromised if

people just take pictures of me willy -nilly. He's right. I hate anyone taking

pictures of my willy -nilly.

You're so rude, Noel.

Gary, get Noel a cup of tea. Yes, of course.

Tea, Noel?

Yes, please, Gary.

Milk?

Oh, with the bar.

Sugar? No, thank you.

I always say your hospitality is the most unusual in London.

Right, well, drink up, then.

I'm sure you must be very busy with all your writing.

Well, actually, yes, funnily enough, I am very busy at the moment.

The most wonderful idea for a new play has occurred to me. An uplifting

propaganda piece about a pair of young newlyweds moving into their first flat

Mayfair. I'm calling it Gary and Phoebe.

Well, I must be off.

Yeah, no, can I just... Um, well, you know, I'm no drama.

Just one of the reasons I love you. Yeah, but can I just say something about

that idea for a play?

Sounds really boring.

Boring?

Gary, it's based on her.

Yeah, well, not boring, exactly.

It's... Why don't you write another one of your lovely films?

I'd love to, but one must await the muse.

Well, try something you've never tried before.

Um, an action thriller.

A what?

Sorry, a mellow drama about, um...

About a man trapped in a building filled with international terrorists.

I really don't think... All right, then.

International terrorists with really bad manners.

What a provocative subject.

Yes, I shall go home and start working on it immediately. Thank you. And you're

right, that other idea does sound unspeakably boring.

Goodbye, Buttercup.

Oh, that's nice, Gary.

How boring am I?

Wet Sunday afternoon sort of boring, or am I like a human version of a powdered

egg omelette?

No, I didn't mean you were boring, Phoebe. I just didn't want Noel writing

us. Why not?

It would have been really something to see our life upon the stage.

People would have seen that play performed for years to come. Yeah, but,

we... Shut up.

You're boring me.

Going a long, long way In time of the

rocky...

Your walls may tumble They're only made of clay But

our love is here to

stay Oh,

was that okay?

Transcendent. Wasn't she, Gary? Oh, yes. I love a Gershwin tune.

How about you?

Oh, yes.

Thanks so much for doing this, Noel. The club's never been so full, and it's all

down to you.

I think you're underestimating the power of your spam fritters.

But we are grateful. You could have said no. What? Give us a chance to show off.

I'd rather go antiquing in Basingstoke.

And besides, it gives me the opportunity to catch up with a few old friends.

For instance, have you met Cecil?

Cecil! Hello!

Cecil?

Cecil Beaton.

And then Cecil Beaton takes a picture of us. Without so much as a buy or leave.

Cecil flipping Beaton. Who do you think he is? David Bailey?

Ron, what are you doing in there?

Getting ready to go out.

You mean you've actually got a date?

Not exactly.

The Power Rangers?

The X -Men?

A gym.

I've joined a gym.

Holmes Place.

I think they call it Holmes Place because after you've been there for an

you smell like the hand of the Baskervilles.

But you hate exercise.

Who said anything about exercise?

According to my book, the gym is the singles bar of the 90s, only without the

cover charge and the Vinnie Jones look -alike on the door.

So that's the secret of picking up women, is it?

Dressed like the world's first gay superhero.

Don't knock it till you've tried it.

The gym is all about the human body.

Bending, stretching, straining.

It's very sensual.

Nothing is left to the imagination.

Except the bit where you meet a girl and she actually fancies you.

Well, give me a chance. I've only been there once.

I was there for two hours yesterday.

You were at a gym for two hours and you're still alive?

Two hours is nothing.

Those facial scrubs can't be rushed.

And the full body exfoliation, well, that's a labour of love.

Beginning to wish I'd never given you this book. And talking of books, what am

supposed to do about Cecil Beaton?

Steal the photo.

You've got, like, 40 years till it's published, and leave my book alone.

I've still got 38 chapters to do.

I'm not just relying on the gym.

It says in here I should go on a singles holiday, meet individuals with similar

tastes and interests.

And what does that mean? People who need a shag.

I've got a brochure.

Pacific Passion.

A great way to get your passport stamped.

Oh, very classy.

Check out page nine.

Good God.

They do this in public?

How many people are there in that jacuzzi? It looks like the porno version

Where's Wally?

Everyone looks very friendly.

Oh, it's an eighth holiday.

Trouble is, it's really expensive.

Holly, I've got an idea. I can get it much cheaper on the teletext. One of

last -minute bargains.

Yeah, well, judging by what they're wearing, most of these people didn't

time to pack.

Where are you going?

Back to 1945.

You're right.

About the teletext? No, about the photo. I'm going to have to nick it, destroy

it, before Yvonne gets to page 113.

Otherwise, I'm just going to worry about it.

You worry too much.

It's bad for your skin.

We're going a long, long way.

Into... You're like the neighbours.

Buttercup, I am the neighbours.

See? You're right.

Oh, what a bleeding night.

It was a veritable triumph.

Yeah. It was good and all.

Seems as if all of London's society was there. Except, of course, the one Reg

didn't like the look of. Yeah.

Do you think Rex Harrison will ever forgive us?

I hope not.

Oh,

what a pity Gary had to go off.

He loves a bit of a knees -up.

Well, at least he'll have Cecil's photo to remember it by.

Yeah, still, he's always going off and missing the best bits of our life.

I hope he's not losing interest in me and Michael.

Phoebe, darling, as far as I can tell, he's sane and fight it.

Therefore, he can't do anything else but adore you.

You're very kind.

Do you still think I'm attractive, then?

Indisputably.

Do you fancy me?

Well, I think you have some very nice shoes.

Yeah, I do, don't I?

Are you kidding?

Miss Thumbird's residence.

Oh.

Yes, I'll inform her at once.

Thank you.

Oh, what is it?

Gary.

He's been arrested.

You think you're so clever, don't you?

I'm sorry? With all the spivving and the vice?

The network of vicious murdering thugs?

I think you may have got me mixed up with somebody else. Possibly a criminal.

You are a criminal, Torag.

Caught red -handed in Cecil Beaton's studio.

What kind of a man breaks into a dark room in the middle of the night?

The kind who wishes he'd bought a torch.

Why were you burning those negatives then, eh? Answer me that.

Well, it's a long story, but basically Cecil Beaton took a photograph of me and

frankly it's worse than the one in my passport.

You're a homicidal maniac, aren't you?

Well, you don't scare me.

Now, don't try that again or I may have to get tough.

And stop moving about.

I'm not. You're shaking.

That is a vicious lie.

Now, won't you just stay there, quietly, while I foam the serge.

And keep your nose clean.

It's going to be pretty difficult if it starts to itch.

Gary.

So it's true.

I had to see for myself.

You're a black market racketeer. No, I'm not. Reg, I had very good reasons for

what I did.

Hello, Reg.

Cut the reel.

I thought they threw you off the force.

I left to piss you out of every news of interest.

Well, they haven't taken you very far.

Keep an eye on this villain while I get the flashbulb for the camera.

Doesn't like you, does he?

There's a bit of history between us, as you might say.

Police matters, you know. Really?

Sort of personality clash, was it?

Different working methods generated friction.

Pushed you both past boiling point.

It's eerie, that is.

As if you were there.

I like to think of myself as a student of human nature, Rich.

So, what was it that led to the final breakdown in civility between you?

Murder? Bank robbery?

Lunch.

I asked him for cheese and pickle and he got me... Pilchards.

OK, Reg, bring the prisoner over here.

Chop, chop.

Say, please.

Please. Do you mind stepping this way, Gary, please?

If you're hungry, Reg, I've got half a pilchard sandwich here.

Obviously, I'm no Cecil Beaton.

Well, thank Christ for that.

No, you see, you've got to put the flashbulbs... Keep him away from me.

violent. No, he's not.

Oh, isn't he?

Fine. Then you won't mind if I take the appropriate steps to restrain him. Oh,

come on. Look, there's no need to cuff him, Cotterill. Look, it's pretty poor

police work. I have to... Oi!

Don't worry, Reg.

He isn't violent.

Now, let's try this again.

Why don't you say we overpower him and go on the run together?

At first, we'd argue all the time, but ultimately, we'd develop a huge respect

for each other's points of view.

Would I still be able to listen to Tommy Angley on the wireless?

Never mind.

Well, I can't say this is how I wanted to spend the night, but it could have

been a lot worse.

Don't worry, dear heart.

I know the commissioner.

Right.

price, Gary.

This single holiday is half the price of the ones in the brochure. And it's in

Spain. And they guarantee that the women outnumber the men. They guarantee it. I

just hope you've taken precautions, Ron. Of course I have. On bracelet, some

factor 20.

Postcard, if you can summon up the energy.

Hello, love.

Ron Weecroft.

21 and gagging for it.

Mr. Weecroft, are you sure?

Well, that's what it says on my birth certificate, gorgeous.

Well, welcome aboard.

You'd better go and take your seat.

Cheers, mate.

See ya.

He is house -trained, I can assure you.

Oh, it's not that.

I just wondered why he wanted to come on a swinging 60s singles holiday.

Swinging 60s?

You mean this is a holiday for... Swingers over 60.

It'll be the only time he gets off in the next fortnight.

How are you enjoying the book?

Fascinating man, wasn't he? An old coward.

Oh, I stopped reading it. I only got to page 112.

You stopped reading on page 112?

Why? It can't be Truman.

They've decided there's more publicity in the performing arts, so they've

converted the award to a theatre prize.

You're not nice.

Oh, thank you. I'm due at the Playhouse in 40 minutes to see one of his

undiscovered plays.

Gary and Phoebe.

Sounds really boring.

Sweetheart.