Original subtitles

Good night, sweetheart.

All my prayers are for you. Good night,

sweetheart. I'll be watching all you.

Tears and parting may make us alone.

But with the coming, a new day will come.

Toad cuck, rice cake sliced and cooked in beef stock.

Pinday tock, green onions and pork in a pancake.

Sounds nice.

Name nyong.

Noodles in cold soup with vinegar.

Mustard, beef, cucumber, boiled eggs and slices of pear.

Pibim bap, chezo bap and pambap.

Things in baps, I suppose.

Oh, and Kongbat.

Kongbat.

Homicidal fang -toothed ape trapped in a flowery roll.

Ha! Ha!

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

Ha! Ha!

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

Sorry, there's bound to be a McDonald's somewhere in Korea.

I'm not very well, Gary, and it was sex with you that caused it.

I'm a refugee from the tireless wrath of Stella.

Is this by way of being a safe house?

Yvonne's throwing up. She blames me.

So, all is not harmony and accord?

Well, sex is a cruel plot, pregnancy is hell, and all men are bastards.

Mild banter by Stella's standards.

Courier. Hmm.

Yvonne. Courier. Yvonne.

Yvonne. Courier. To what end?

I told you.

Sim Yong wanted to do a stint at head office.

Three week trip.

They say it's going to be a great opportunity.

Well, it'll be a great opportunity to eat pickled cabbage and roast dog.

There's no reason for it, you know.

Reason for what?

Sickness.

Sickness during pregnancy.

No reason for it at all.

I can bloody hear you, Ronald Croft.

It's psychological, delusional, a figment, you might say.

A try -on? Not as such, no.

Physiologically, you can't argue with the symptoms.

Or the vomit.

Or that.

But it's a state of mind. It's an outward manifestation of an emotional

condition. It's fear of flying.

It's a nervous rash.

That's why Gareth Southgate missed.

Can I see a log? Yes.

They're in the kitchen. Forget it.

All right, I'm good.

Whoa!

Brilliantly held by Ron Weecroft at third slip.

A delusional psychological figment.

I wish it were yours.

You wish it was Ron's?

Wish it were his or else yours.

It is mine, isn't it? I mean, I wish he were pregnant or you and then you'd

know. Have I been unsympathetic?

I seem to remember clammy hands and indecent proposals at three o 'clock

morning.

You were feeling better?

Only for a minute.

Yeah, well.

So, Yvonne, I hear you're planning a wise career move.

I said, I hear you're planning... 27.

What? 27.

You're the 27th person to have made that joke.

Gary, I'm going to bed.

Can I bring you anything?

Petey James and a Cumberland sausage.

I thought she'd say that.

Stella phoned earlier.

She said if you happen to turn up here, she won't be home till very late, so

please don't call the police out.

Why would she say that?

Because last time I called the police out.

You were worried?

No, I wasn't. She's having an affair. I wanted to embarrass her.

I'll be sure of that.

She's changed her perfume, raised her hemline and deepened her cleavage.

She walks around with a faint but unmistakable smile most of the time.

It's the smile of a woman who has recently had a thorough seeing -to and

expecting more in the not -too -distant future.

Seings -to, thorough, perfunctory or even partial, have not been a feature of

our marriage for many a moon, which is why I'm so often cheesed off, tanked up

or volcanically randy.

I'll finish this and then I'll call the police out.

Don't go.

Why do you say that?

Because you don't want to go.

How do you know?

I'm not an entirely insensitive person, Yvonne.

Call it male intuition, but I catch the haunted look beneath your brave smile.

I hear what you really mean, echoing like a faint melody beneath the

of your enthusiasm.

I was also ear -wigging when you were on the phone to Wendy.

You said you'd rather go nude bungee jumping in real.

Oh, Gary.

Could you hold this, please? I think I'm going to be sick.

What, Gary's son?

Do you?

Uh, yeah. Thanks, Chris.

Well, I've got good news and I've got bad news.

Eggs are off the ration, but there aren't any eggs.

Oh, thrashy. Tommy Trinder.

No, the bad news is that Rommel is still on the offensive.

And the good news is I've got a fortnight off work.

Gary! We could go on holiday. That's wonderful.

I know.

It's been like that for a couple of days. One minute's sunshine, then

the water works.

Mood swings.

Lovely.

Glamilla.

No, it's a characteristic of pregnancy, Reg. You know, up and down, to and fro.

Is it?

Right.

Strange business, expecting.

Our cat always used to go into the airing cupboard with a torn -up copy of

Reynolds News.

Not that I'm suggesting that for Phoebe, mind.

I should hope not.

Never fit in the cupboard, for a start.

Then there's the question of where I'd write me to Margaret.

It's always baffled me.

What is?

How it, you know... What, Richard?

Gets out.

The baby gets out, you know.

You never think it'll squeeze through.

Oh, why not?

It's such a little thing, isn't it?

The belly button.

Reg, babies aren't born through the belly button.

No?

I found none of the gooseberry bushes, are they?

Brought by the stork. Doctor gives your mum a pill.

No use kidding me, Gary. Man of the world.

No, you see...

I'm going to have to get some help behind the bar.

It's not fair to rely on Reg.

I keep bursting into tears. I don't know why.

It's normal.

Not for me, it's not. It's normal during pregnancy.

I wish you wouldn't use that word, Gary.

It's not a word for a man to use.

Well, didn't the doctor say anything about mood swings?

No. He didn't mention music at all.

He said I'd get two oranges a month and to keep myself regular.

No, mood swings. You know, when you feel happy one minute and... I would pull in

your leg.

I could see what it means.

I can feel what it means.

And having to pretend to everyone that it's Donald doesn't make me feel any

better. What about Donald having to pretend that it's Donald?

You written to him yet?

I haven't had time. I'll get round to it.

Yeah, well, he's supposed to be killing Germans. We don't want to take his mind

off the job, do we?

I felt fine the last few days. Now it's all tears and dry retching.

Looks like I came at just the right time.

Could you give Reg a hand, Gary? I'm beginning to feel a bit queasy.

I had a faggot for me dinner and I don't think it likes me.

Yeah.

Gary, it's just... It makes me a bit nervous when I think of it all.

Nervous and a bit sad.

Especially with Donald having to know and you being away such a lot of the

Look, it'll be all right, Phoebe. I promise.

I'll be there to hold your hand all the way.

Not while I'm having it.

Of course.

Of course I will.

I'm the dad. I want to see my baby born.

Gary Sparrow, I'd never let you see me like that. What are you thinking of?

It would be me and the district nurse, thank you very much.

Anyway, supposed to be Donald's, remember?

Yeah. Yeah, that's a bit I don't like.

It's my kid. I don't like having to pretend. Well, you'll have to start

it. I'll lose my regulars pretty sharp if they found out I was a fallen woman.

Can you go now, please? I think I'm going to be sick.

And I don't want you to see me do that either.

If you can go to the dry cleaners, I'll give you the ticket.

Little Arthur's arriving in the morning, but you'll be at the shop, so I'll be

here for that.

Pick up the wallpaper book. That's you again.

And defining as your way of saying, Yvonne, you're pregnant and need a

and I'm here for you. I appreciate it. I feel much better.

And if you remember not to put creases in my jeans, there might be a treat in

store for you later on. Ooh.

Um, little Arthur?

Yeah? Well, that would be little Arthur as opposed to big Arthur, wouldn't it?

Who? Well, my question exactly.

Who? Have you been drinking?

No, but I think I'm about to start. Look, let's try again.

Little Arthur is arriving tomorrow.

Yes, that's right. He is.

Right, no, good, no, that's fine. I've got that.

Who is he?

Little Arthur.

Your nephew and godson, the child whose moral and spiritual welfare you are

pledged to monitor.

That little Arthur. Right, OK.

Staying here with us?

You've forgotten.

I never knew.

I told you!

Yvonne, forgetfulness is typical of pregnancy. It's not your fault.

An orderly approach to life's affairs is no match for chaotic hormones.

Alison and Craig want to get away on their own for the weekend. I told you

They need to re -examine the dynamic in their relationship in terms of its

emotional constituents.

Well, that's what the lady at Relate said, anyway.

Yvonne, you did not tell me.

I did.

They're going to a hotel in deepest Devon. I told you that, too. They can't

exactly re -examine each other's dynamic with a kid hanging about, so I said

we'd look after Arthur for the weekend.

Be a chance for us to look after a little one. You know, pros and cons,

expect, likely pitfalls.

I told you that.

I didn't tell you that, did I?

No, Yvonne, you didn't.

You don't mind?

Well, I mean, I'm going to be at the shop tomorrow, but Sunday's OK, yeah.

How old is he now? About three?

Going on six.

It's a long time since we've seen him.

You really don't mind.

I mean, we're not exactly experienced in the business of childcare, are we? It'd

be a chance for us to get some practice in.

Yeah, sort of dummy run.

How long are you going to be with that ironing?

Two box of shorts and a wire front.

You are feeling better, aren't you?

I think I'm through the nausea tunnel.

Delightful thought.

Oh, and what sort of treats?

In store for me later on.

I might let you get your hands on me underwear.

Don't forget me French knickers.

As if I could.

Well, that's not the only one I've got in there.

Lits and pieces. Hello.

Gary, I feel dreadful. You're going to have to take over.

Take over.

Arthur, you're going to have to take him for the morning at least.

I can't just leave the shop.

I've got to get the proofs of the catalogue back to Ron. I've got

You were feeling fine last night.

Gary, I am ill. I am barfing every minute on the minute. Under the

circumstances, I'm not best placed to be Mary Poppins. At present, Bitspot has

an entirely different connotation for me.

Yvonne, I can't just close up.

Oh, all right, all right, listen.

Phone Astra Cabs and get Dave to bring him over.

There's a train set here he can play with.

I can't put him in a taxi.

He'll be fine. Dave's great with kids. Don't worry.

Oh, all right.

Arthur, you're going to go on a little adventure.

Can you be safe again, please?

Here we are.

Uncle Gary.

Oh, thanks, Dave.

I've had a very entertaining ride with this one.

I'm told that his mum calls his dad Mr Floppy and Aunty Yvonne puts her head

down the lap.

Well, it's so difficult to get the young entertained, isn't it?

Arthur, there's a train set through there if you want to play with it.

That's a tenner, guv.

Oh.

That's a tenner without the tip, guv.

With me?

Yes. But I'm captain of your dance team.

Oh, nostalgia doesn't stretch that far, you know.

Ta, you're a mate.

You all right, Arthur?

Yeah.

Where do you want these?

What are they?

You wanted posters board -mounted. You've got posters board -mounted. Oh,

just... Stick them over there.

Were you drunk when you laid out this catalogue?

Gary, I cannot deny that from time to time strong drink does pass the lips of

Ron Weecroft the man.

But Ron Weecroft the printer is made of sterner stuff.

When carrying the baton passed down through inky -fingered generations by

noble Caxton, alcohol is a stranger to me.

I print, therefore, I am.

Well, I've got a gasp gasp, a Russian crook and a rap warden's pelmet.

I was drunk.

I shall be drunk again.

I'm sad, I'm confused and I'm tense.

Being drunk helps me to relax.

Well, it helps me fall over.

Listen, you're tense.

I've got two pregnant women riding an emotional seesaw and I spend half my

in a war home.

Perhaps if I'd acceded to her requests for sex in unlikely domestic locations.

If I'd ravished her on the washing machine during the spin cycle.

If I were slender.

If I were dashingly handsome.

If I resembled Linford Christie in slow motion.

Then perhaps Stella wouldn't be dropping them for some Lothario with a turbo

-driven twin tub.

I don't know that. True, Ron. And keep your voice down in front of the kids.

What kid?

Arthur.

Oh, my God. What?

Oh, my God.

What?

I'm looking after my nephew, Arthur. Well, I'm not looking after my nephew,

Arthur. He was there. He was right there playing with the train set.

Well, he could have gone out the front door. We'd have seen him.

He got through the gate.

No, it's impossible. They're security gates. You'd better get your arm

What does he look like?

I don't know.

What do you mean, don't know?

Well, I haven't seen him for two years until today.

Yvonne's feeling lousy, so she sent him over in a cab.

I was looking at the proof. I didn't really look at him.

This is impossible.

No, it's not.

He's gone back.

No, only I can go back.

You don't know that, Gary.

Think of it. The innocence and open imagination of a child.

No, it's not possible.

No?

Where is he, then?

Acceptance.

Belief. The power of the mind.

I shall go back.

He's not there.

Hope you find him. I've got to find him. If I don't, then by the time little

Arthur comes to be born, he'll be 54.

Acceptance.

Belief. The power of the mind.

I shall go back.

You haven't seen a little boy wearing strange clothing, have you? What do you

mean, strange?

Power Rangers T -shirt, Junior Wranglers, Reeboks, anything like that.

I can't, Phoebe. He's been apprehended for attempting to purchase an

intoxicating beverage for an underage person.

Too wet himself.

Contrary to the... something... What's the name?

Arrest. The first arrest for seven months.

I'm letting you all for the caution. On account I'm not in uniform.

Where did you come from?

Are you lost?

You're lost, aren't you?

How would you fancy some sausage and mash?

sausage and mash and ginger beer.

But first, a bath in the sink.

Come on, my lad.

Thank you.

Hey, you, Goldie.

Have you seen a little kid about five wearing American clothes?

What's it worth?

Have you?

Oh, yeah, American clothes.

We're not that way.

Oh, give me that. Oh, yeah!

What's up, Gary?

It's not the invasion, is it? I need a policeman.

I'm a policeman.

No, I mean a proper... No, all right, you'll have to do it.

It's a missing kid. I was looking after my nephew... My neighbour's kid, and

he's wandered off.

We won't come to any harm, Gary. Probably fans and friends.

What could happen to him?

Yeah, of course.

Walked on in London.

Kid wandering around the streets, perfectly safe.

Thank God it's not the 90s.

No, I've got to find him, Reg. I was left in charge.

All right, then.

Let's see.

Child. Name of?

Arthur. Male or female?

I have to comply with the formalities.

Arthur. Lost in the vicinity of?

Duckett Passage. Description?

Well, five, nearly six, and fairish here, I think.

And small.

Well, he would be small, Gary.

Almost all boys of five are small.

Small. Fairish hair.

Very dirty.

No, I didn't say that.

No, I did.

He's in the sink.

He's in the what?

Sink.

Phoebe's given him a scrub down.

He wandered in looking lost.

I had him in custody. She gave him bangers and a mesh and a ginger beer.

Kids get away with murder these days.

You found him. Gary, are you all right?

I am now.

You know who he is?

Ah, nephew.

Mrs. Blott's nephew.

Mrs. Blott's neighbour's nephew.

I said I'd look after him for a bit and I just took my eye off him. You naughty

boy. Well, I'll take him back.

He was covered with mud, so I put his clothes in the copper.

Found him on a dad's old shirt.

Oh, right. Yes, I'll explain.

Well, come on.

He's got no shoes on his feet. They're thick with mud. I threw them out into

yard. No shoes.

Right, I'll... I'll explain that.

Oh, you will be back later, Gary.

Huh? Only I'm feeling much better now.

Much better.

Oh!

Yes, I promise.

Well, come for a minute.

Now, don't bother saying anything to anyone, Arthur, because they will never

believe you.

favorite candy, huh?

Blimey, that was quick.

You're trying to catch me while I'm in the mood.

No, no, just looking.

Well, you haven't lost him again.

No, no, no, no. No, of course not.

Just looking.

Looking for what, Gary?

Looking for something he dropped.

Well, what?

Something he... Money.

Some money.

Some pocket money I gave him.

How much?

A couple of quid. It was nothing. Look, got to go.

A couple of quid?

Pennies. A couple of pennies.

Two P. Two D.

Tuppence.

I couldn't bring him back. He wouldn't... go through.

Odd thing, time.

Einstein made a career out of it.

And then he ran off. He just disappeared down some back doubles and I... What am

I going to tell Yvonne? My own theory for what it's worth is that time is a

river flowing on into infinity.

A river of no return.

An ever -rolling stream that bears all its sons away.

Yeah, in this case, the five -year -old son of Alison and Craig, who are likely

to be ever so slightly hacked off that their little nipper has disappeared into

the midst of bloody time.

What?

What what?

What am I going to tell Yvonne?

I'm sorry, Yvonne, but little Arthur has stumbled into a time warp.

No, he's not lost, he's just gone before.

I'm sorry, Yvonne, but little Arthur's wandering around Wartorn Whitechapel.

Now I'll pop back and have another look for him tomorrow.

I'm sorry, Yvonne, but... Look,

look, I was just proving the catalogue was wrong, right? And we turned round

suddenly... Who's he?

I mean, oh, he's come back.

No thanks to you, Gary.

The constable found him wandering the streets.

Knowing what a useless pillock you are, I took the precaution of putting our

name, address and telephone number in his pocket.

Anything could have happened. This doesn't bode well, does it? First try at

fatherhood and you misplaced the child.

I had hoped you'd take our trial run rather more seriously, but I'd

Arthur was manufactured in May 1990.

About 50 years too late for you to take an interest.

Any better on it?

I am, thank you. Much better.

Not unless it'll do you any good.

Wendy and I are going out. You're babysitting. I expect you'll manage

He'll be asleep and I'll tie your leg to the sofa.

No, not tonight. I've got to go back to the shop.

I'm expecting a delivery.

Don't try it, Gary.

Don't even think about it. You are up to your neck in poo and I am having a

night off.

From you.

Thank you once again, Constable.

All's well that ends well.

A little what's -it, safe and sound.

She'd give me a hamburger and a strawberry milkshake.

On my grandad's day, it would have been a click round the air.

Kids get away with murder these days.

All right, mate.

Enjoy the hamburger.

Great. And the milkshake. Great.

I think I'm going to be sick.

Great.

Sleep will banish sorrow.

Good night, sweetheart.

Till we meet tomorrow.

Dreams enfold you.

In memory I'll hold you.

Good night, sweetheart.