Original subtitles

Good night, sweetheart.

All my prayers are for you. Good night,

sweetheart. I'll be watching over you.

Tears and parting may make us alone.

But with the dawn, a new day is born.

Oh, good evening, sir. I wonder if you could spare a minute.

Oh, no, don't tell me.

You're an unemployed young person who's decided to get on their bike, and you're

here to give me the opportunity of buying a genuine Jurassic Park solid

tax disc holder for the bargain price that I... No, no, I'm collecting for

charity. I put a plastic bag and a card through your door yesterday to say we'd

be round collecting unwanted clothes, yeah? Oh, yeah, sorry. Yeah, sorry

somehow. There you go.

I said charity.

Not the Victoria and Albert Museum.

It looks very nice on.

Caught you out, then. Hi.

What do you mean?

You should have got rid of the visiting massage service a mile earlier, Gary.

Why was she going walking up and down your back in her Doc Martens? She was

a charity.

Oh, I didn't realise you were such a deserving call.

Been up in the loft, have you, eh? Yeah. Going to be the next Elton John after

all. Well, I'm not so sure, you know.

On the one hand, there's the enormous wealth, the fame, the access to the

world's finest hair weavers.

On the other, you've got to watch Watford play every week.

So, how was your open university course, then? Are you officially clever?

I'm officially brilliant.

It was fantastic.

I loved it. And I got a terrific reaction when I read my dissertation.

Oh, yeah? It was entitled Fantasy, Reality and Obsession, a case study.

It wasn't about me by any chance, was it?

Asked her husband with a mixture of pride and trepidation.

Oh, you're so vain.

Although, since we're talking about people with a tenuous grip on reality,

long have you been cuddling your spit suit?

Oh, no, I wasn't cuddling it. I was trying to get rid of it.

But it seems the George Rath look is not yet de rigueur in the third world. Oh?

Does that mean the party's off?

What party? The surprise 1940s theme party you said you were going to throw

my birthday.

Yeah, well, it's not much of a surprise now, is it? I know. I'm sorry. I blew

it. I've just been so wound up with my core.

But now I've got through this stage, I can relax a bit more. We can do more

things together.

I can share your interests more.

What are there this week?

Knock it off, Yvonne. No, I mean it. I can understand why the 40s appealed so

much. It's a time of certainty.

A time when people knew what they were doing and why they were doing it. A time

when men wore hats and women dyed their legs with cold tea.

You're sending me off again, aren't you? Only a bit.

And that dancing was really nice.

You know when we did the foxtrot? Or the quick step, or whatever it was.

I like it when the man takes the lead.

Once in a while.

You're not going to change your course from psychology to pathobi, are you?

Don't be so prickly, Gary.

No, I just thought maybe we could take dancing lessons together.

Well, it would give us a shared interest.

An excuse.

Or a reason to hold each other more.

It might improve our sex life, too.

You think it needs improving?

Well, I was talking to some of the girls on the course and they said that the

average... They're lying.

What are you doing here?

No, don't tell me.

The Martians have landed and they've sent you to get some change of planet

cards.

I'm sorry, Ron.

And that's supposed to make it all better, is it?

I mean, what sort of a practical joker gets me to print him a set of wartime

papers, says he can take me through to the past, and then leaves me stranded in

the East End looking like a right div?

The last thing this world needs, and I mean the very last thing, is another

Jeremy Beadle.

I mean, where did you disappear to? And don't say the blitz, otherwise you'll be

experiencing a sudden blackout.

Look, I know you're not going to believe anything I say.

I just wanted to thank you for not telling Yvonne.

Yeah, well, I nearly did.

But I don't believe in grassing on pals.

Even ex -pals.

Look, I know you've got the hump. The hump?

I've got enough hump to reform the camel corps.

And as for my hair, what there is left of it, I make... Billy Jones looked like

a New Age traveller!

I think it looks very masculine.

In a severe sort of way.

Don't take the Michael.

Stella hates it.

She used to love running her fingers through my hair.

In fact, at the moment of maximum passion, she used to like to grab hold

hang on tight.

But now, no hair equals no passion.

So go on, get lost, I've got work to do.

I've got something to show you.

It's from 1940.

Don't start... No, really.

Look.

Well?

You're a printer.

How old's that paper?

53 years?

Or 53 hours?

Well, you've either got a 1938 Hogue Grabtree hot metal press in your attic,

you really did go back.

But why couldn't I? I don't know.

Maybe it was because I didn't believe, didn't have enough faith.

But next time... No, it can't be that. The first time I went back, I didn't

there was a back to go to.

And... There isn't going to be a next time.

Phoebe walked out on me.

And Yvonne wants to make our marriage work, so maybe now's the time to start

thinking about the present, you know?

My wife, my mates.

I understand.

So do you fancy a baby tonight, then? Can't tonight, Ron.

I'm starting boring dancing classes.

I've finished moving the furniture.

Ta -da!

Don't panic. I think a card came through from one of those 24 -hour

psychiatrists. Low call -out charge, no brain too small.

Well, I just hired it for a laugh and stuff. Well, it's worked.

Gary, why do you always plunge into everything with this 150 % over -the

attitude? Oh, I don't know. It probably wasn't breastfed long enough.

Or too long.

Or too much from one side?

Oh, that explains one thing.

Explains what?

It doesn't matter. I'm not complaining.

Oh.

That makes synchronised swimmers look depressed.

Go on, then.

What do you mean? What? That foot. Yeah. Right? Yeah. Go on, then.

No, you've got to smile. You've got to go...

You come here often?

Sometimes, but sometimes I have to fake it.

What do you do for a living?

I'm an obsessive.

I'm hoping to be promoted to a psychotic.

You? Assistant personnel manager and part -time sex goddess.

Really? Why wouldn't you do that then, evenings and weekends?

Whenever I get the chance, really.

That was super.

Now, let's all try a basic tango.

Fancy a basic tango?

I bought another video, too.

Oh.

I don't want to watch a martial arts film.

It's not martial, my little dyslexic. It's marital.

Yeah?

Yeah.

You'll have to do a bit of part -time work, eh? I might.

I'll just go upstairs and change into something a little more comfortable,

I? Oh, yeah.

As long as it's not your acroland card in your carpet slippers.

But the plucky old -age pensioner saw off the raiders by threatening them with

her husband's World War II revolver.

When we asked 80 -year -old Phoebe Sparrow from Bethnal Green how she felt,

said, I lived through the blitz. A couple of hooligans aren't going to get

better of me.

Ron, this changes everything, don't you see? Why?

80 -year -old Phoebe Sparrow.

It must mean we got married.

Not necessarily.

She may have married somebody else with your surname.

Or maybe she never met anybody else like you and started using your name in a

wistful, nay, poignant attempt to keep alive the dying embers of your brief,

unfulfilled relationship.

Let's say we did get married, back in the 1940s.

If I don't go back, I'm changing the course of history.

But if you pursue that argument, you risk changing the course of history

time you do go back, don't you? Well, not really.

It is my Grandpa Gareth's name on my ration book.

So if anyone does check up, at least there's a Mr G Sparrow on the electoral

roll. And what happens if somebody decides to pop round to your grandad's

visit you? Come on, what are the odds on that?

Plus, he spent most of the war on submarines.

But if I don't marry Phoebe when I'm supposed to... Then why don't you just

round and visit this battling granny? See if she recognises you. I can't do

that. The shot could kill her.

You're going to have to cover for me.

So you can go back and marry Phoebe?

No, she thinks I'm already married.

To Marilyn Monroe.

It was the first name that came into my head.

That's brilliant.

Here, hang about.

Next time you go back, if anybody asks, you can show them a picture of your

wife.

Oh, my love.

Marilee.

There you go. Thanks.

So when are you going back?

Well, I was thinking, England are playing in Lithuania tomorrow night,

Now, I could say that you and me have been given tickets.

OK.

If she asks, I'll cover for you.

No, you're actually going to have to go.

Well, just in case Stella says something to Yvonne.

But I don't want to go to Lithuania.

It'll cost me a fortune.

The beer will be garbage and the results a foregone conclusion.

Shock win for plucky Lithuania.

All right, I'll pay.

Eh? If you go, I'll pay.

Haven't you ever wanted a Lithuanian stamp in your passport?

Yeah, of course, by stuffing himself with too much pasta and Newcastle brown.

Are you still here?

Er, yeah, yeah, just off.

I'm going to pick up Ron on my way to the airport.

I can't believe you're going.

It's only a football match, I'm not defecting. Gary, the last time you went

see England play, you spent the rest of the month scouring yellow pages for a

hitman who assassinated Graham Taylor.

Hey, go on, you don't understand.

Hating the manager and despising his team selection is one of the only

left in supporting England.

Every fan life I think he can do better.

Don't remind me how to type your job application when Bobby Robson resigned.

Yeah, and did I even get the courtesy of a reply?

They thought you were a mite underqualified.

I mean, as I recall, the season you were player manager for the work's third

team, Domestic Appliance League Division Air. I had a weak squad.

The results read, played 11, lost 11.

Goals for three, goals against 57.

Points, Gary?

Minus two.

Quite an achievement, that, isn't it? Finishing the season with fewer points

than you started with.

My doctor's two points for fielding an unregistered goalie. I know.

Me.

Still say their ninth goal was offside.

Look, if this is about me going to Lithuania... Oh, the ruble's dropped,

Gary? I thought we were supposed to be doing more things together.

We are.

We started the ballroom dancing.

I know. Why don't I come to Lithuania with you?

What?

Could be quite romantic, Vilnius, in November.

No, you see, because I've only got... Gary, I'm only winding you up.

Go on, clear off before I tie your shoelaces together.

Thanks.

And don't forget to buy plenty of condoms at the airport.

What? You don't think I'm going over there... Of course not, sir. They're in

short supply.

Might be able to swap them for some caviar.

I'd hate to think he suffered.

Probably kept him drugged out with morphine. I doubt he felt a sausage.

Yes, but he was also stubborn.

Yes.

Catapulted into our lives in a moment of crisis.

Yet somehow he always seemed out of step with his own time.

I'm not dead.

Oh, Gary, how do you feel?

I'm fine, honest. I'm not dead. Of course you're not, son.

You've got a badly sprained wrist, concussion, bruising and contusions.

You were talking as if I was dead. We were talking about Mr Chamberlain.

He kicked the bucket on a Saturday night.

He was out in the fog as well, was he? You two, former leaders of his Majesty's

Government, do not kick buckets.

They pass away peacefully in the night. Allow the man some dignity.

I don't see why I should.

It was because of appeasers like him and Mr Baldwin that we're in this war.

If we'd stopped Hitler back in 36 when he re -militarised the Rhinelands...

I am not just a pretty face, Gary Sparrow.

That's right, son. After all, it wouldn't Phoebe who went out in the

without a torch.

Well, what was it, a hit and run?

In a way, it was the ambulance that hit you. What, run you up the hospital?

You had us all going for a bit. Some of the stuff you're babbling in your sleep.

Like what? Hold on.

High -eight camcorder, night -cam digital stereo, something about

laser, lazy discs.

Yeah, well, forget all that. It's top secret.

Told you.

Enough said.

Anyway,

good to see you're on the mend.

Right, I must pop down to mortuary.

My old Cyril usually has a kettle on about now.

Yeah, I'd better be on my way as well.

Oh, don't be daft. Look at the state of you.

That's right, a quack would be wanting to give you the once -over. No, I'm

honest. I just...

See? You're in no fit state to go anywhere.

You're worried your Marilyn will be missing you.

No, she's not expecting me back until tonight.

Who's this Marilyn, then?

His wife.

Well, where are you going to go and see Cyril, then?

Right you are.

I'll tell you something for nothing, Gary.

My heart went off in my mouth when PC Debman told us you'd been run over.

Didn't know you cared.

Course you did.

Well, I just thought, after life, Pam, you know, when you walked out on me.

You were entitled to, of course, seeing as you just found out I was still

secretly married.

Yeah. Well, I know I hit the roof, but I think I've been hasty and I've had a

chance to think and I... Well, I realise now that when you used to go on about

how after the war people won't be forced to stay in loveless marriages, you

weren't only talking about me and Donald.

You were talking about you and Marilyn and all.

So perhaps we're destined to be together.

Destined?

Phoebe, do you believe in all that fate stuff?

Yes, I do.

I believe there's a purpose to life.

That it isn't all just a big game of charm.

I didn't know you were so deep.

There's a lot you've got to learn about me.

Here we are again.

I've retrieved your personal belongings. Oh, great.

Hold your horses.

Got to make sure everything's all present and correct.

Now, one suit, brown.

One shirt, bloodstained.

One pair of underpants, illustrated.

Yeah, all right. I know what I was wearing.

Procedures have to be adhered to, son. Please.

Now, where was I? One watch, broken.

One wallet, brown leather, containing.

One five -pound note, two one -pound notes, one ten -shilling note.

A picture of a rather glamorous blonde signed, All my love, Marilyn.

Yeah, do you mind?

Why's that Irving? Can I see?

This is the trouble and strife, then. She looks a corker.

Yeah, she's American.

Oh, well, that explains it. You never get my mythies to have her snap taken,

standing on top of a great din with a skirt blown up round her handbag.

Bit saucy, if you don't mind my saying so.

So, I'll find Mrs Sparrow at 23 Maidstone Gardens, Crickerwood, will I?

Look, see, that picture was taken a long time ago.

Tell you what, I'll be off duty in about half hour. I could pop round there,

tell her you're all right. No.

No, there's no need. Of course there's a need.

Poor woman would be distraught.

She might need comforting.

Is this grating anywhere near your ass at all?

Sorry, Grandma.

What's wrong?

She's ever so glamorous.

Oh, I must be bonkers.

Why?

To think that you might prefer me to her.

Don't be silly, Fee. All right, girl. Stop mooning at him and get back down

pub. There's all the tables to scrub down before opening time. Dad!

Don't you dad me. Go on, hop it. I want a word with young Romeo here.

PTFE.

Well, you got a devious way with you, I must say.

What? She was beside herself when she found out you was married, you two

gigolo. But I thought, well, at least this way she'll get him out of her

and then, blow me, you stage this little accident to win her back.

Hold on, stage an accident? I could have been killed. Tommy Rot, you wait till

it's foggy and the traffic's all creeping about at five miles an hour,

walk in front of an ambulance, let it strike you a glancing blow.

Why would I do that?

It's obvious.

She's my only daughter, I'm a pub landlord of many years' standing, good

reputation, fine line of business. You worm your way into her affections,

her mind against her lawfully wedded spouse, a brave soldier away doing his

up to his neck in muck and bullets.

He's in the desert.

Well, all right, then, sand and bullets.

Either way, when I finally pop my clogs, you intend to move into a nice,

comfortable little tenancy.

I know what you're up to, you can't fool me.

I wasn't born yesterday.

Neither was I.

What are you doing here?

I just wondered if Gary might fancy a few beds.

No, he's not home yet.

I'll call back tomorrow.

You will not.

Where is Gary?

Well, I just presumed he made his own way back.

You know, caught a train, changed it to Smolensk for Liverpool Street.

But didn't you say he wasn't on the plane with you?

Well, after a few bites and grass vodkas, Elvis could have been sitting

me and I wouldn't have noticed.

Don't push your luck, Ron.

Now, I am angry.

What really happened? And it's no use covering for him.

I can't, Yvonne.

He's my mate. You shouldn't ask mates to grass on mates.

Spare me this male bonding.

But, Yvonne... Tell me, otherwise you won't have anything male left to bond

with. Now, where the hell is my husband?

Well, if he's not here, then he's probably in a Lithuanian prison awaiting

trial.

What? Don't worry.

I expect they'll just fine him for indecent exposure, then deport him.

exposure?

He'll probably never be able to go back to Lithuania for the rest of his life,

but that's no great hardship.

The beer's garbage!

What happened?

Well, after the game, we decided to go for a drink with

an unusually sophisticated group of supporters from Ashton Underline.

Unfortunately, we mistook this little museum for a pub.

It being rather dark this time of year in the Arctic Circle.

And there was a...

regrettable incident involving a Zippo lighter a bottle of damson brandy and a

700 year old tapestry nothing to do with gary of course consequently the curator

called the riot police and the last i saw of gary he was being chased through

the red light district by 17 armed gendarmes wearing nothing but a union

gary that is not the police

Are you making this up?

Yvonne, if I could make this up, I'd be writing Emmerdale Farm.

Hello.

Hello yourself.

You look miles better.

Yeah, yeah, I feel miles better.

In fact, the doctor said I can go home whenever I want.

Oh, then why haven't you?

Don't fancy going home to your Marilyn, then?

No, I was just hoping you'd pop in.

Oh.

Well, I have.

So there you are then, clever dick.

Read me like a book, can't you?

Cheer up. Might never happen.

I know.

That's the trouble.

I'd be hell to live with.

Always coming and going unannounced, spending weeks away, never able to tell

where I've been.

Gary, what are you saying?

I'm not sure.

I thought I'd find you in here.

Well, it is a hospital. I've been run over. Oh, well, I'm speaking to you,

Phoebe. I thought I forbade you ever to see him again.

Oh, don't start all that again, Dad. I will start all that again, Dad.

You are cheapening yourself with a married man who's got a wife waiting and

worrying for him over in Cricklewood. Not exactly, Eric. Eh?

I don't like to have to break this to you, son, but I called in on your

who must take one hell of a photograph because in a penny and headscarf she

didn't look nothing the right home about.

I told her her husband was in hospital when this hulking great chap in a

Submariner's pullover appears in the doorway.

Sorry, Grandad. And judging by his carpet slippers, he's got his feet well

the table.

Oh, Gary.

It's a terrible thing.

A woman entertaining strange men in a marital abode. Her husband not even away

in the services.

Well, that's why she's doing it. She's taken up with a Submariner. A fighting

man. A real man.

Not some...

who writes love songs and pretends to be a spy.

Dad, Barry's not a pansy.

I'm sure he'll be going right round there to sort him out, won't you?

I wouldn't if I was you, son. He's a whacking big bloke and beefy with it.

Oh.

I don't know.

I'm away a mere 36 hours. She's moved in her fancy piece.

I think I'd like to be on my own for a while. Of course you would, son.

Shall I ask the lady armament to come and have a comforting little heart -to

-heart? No.

No, I'll be all right.

Phoebe? In a minute, Dad.

Well, make sure it is just a minute, all right?

You going to be all right?

Yeah. Yeah, once it's sunk in.

Where are you going to stay tonight?

I don't know.

I've got friends.

So when are we going to see each other again?

Phoebe, I don't know exactly.

What are we going to do, Gary?

I wish I knew.

Well, because now... Yeah.

Looks like things are going to be different, eh?

How different, Gary?

Lithuania said that all the football hooligans had been put on a train out of

the country first thing this morning.

Ah, here's the conquering hero now.

All right, speak to you later.

Hi. I see the Lithuanian police gave you a hiding.

Good. And I suppose you're really proud of yourself.

What do you mean?

Ron has told me everything.

Honestly, Gary.

Oh, well, you know how it is.

No, I'm sorry. I don't know how it is.

I cannot imagine any circumstances in which I would wish to expose myself in

streets in the capital of Lithuania, especially in November.

So, Ron told you I'd expose myself.

Well... Gareth, I couldn't give a monkey's. I'm going round to my sister's

few hours. See if you can mature into an adult while I'm away, will you?

Yeah.

Seventeen -fourth row.

Yes? Um, I was looking for a Mrs. Phoebe Sparrow.

We don't want no more journalists around here. The last one, Nick, the photo

album. No, no, I'm not a journalist. I'm just... Well, a sort of friend of the

family, I suppose.

Huh?

Well?

It's Gary.

Remember?

From the war?

Marilyn Monroe?

Look, it's sort of complicated, but... I think we might have got married or

something. What is it, Edie?

Another ruffian from Wapping? Worse! This young crackhead thinks he's my

husband!

Well, don't stand there cackling, Phoebe Sparrow!

Get the car!

Good night, sweetheart. Sleep will banish sorrow.

Good night, sweetheart.

Till we meet tomorrow.

Dreams enfold you.

In memory I'll fold you.

Good night, sweetheart.