Original subtitles

You may laugh, you may jeer, but it's true.

A prostate op can work wonders for your sex life, you know.

No, really.

I wake up every morning with all the hard work already done, ready to go.

No, no, no, no.

You asked Dave Cartwright.

After his prostate, he thought it was Christmas every day.

You asked Dave.

Basil, he can't ask Dave Cartwright. This is Dave's wake.

Oh, so it is.

Good old Dave.

I bet they had a job to get his lid down. Come,

get on with it.

Ladies and gentlemen, and Diana.

Pick any two.

Let us raise our glasses in memory of Dave Cartwright, who was not only a fine

chappy, but also left us 200 pounds so that we could, in his own words, get

legless in his memory.

What's going on?

Hello, Harvey.

You're looking very pretty today.

You're welcome.

Thank you, Diana.

It's Dave Cartwright's memorial party.

Well, it shouldn't be. Why not, Harvey?

Well, look at them all. They're having a good time. They're drinking.

Well, they are all over 21, Harvey.

Excuse me. If I could have a bit of money, please.

Hello? Jane.

Quiet!

What, Harvey?

Would you like a drink? to celebrate Cartwright's last stand?

Oh, perhaps you'd care for a drink to celebrate those lovely new uplift shoes

yours.

As it happens, I do not drink in the middle of the day. That's because he's

usually in his coffin until sunset.

Excuse me, no, excuse me.

I don't know what got into you all.

Whiskey, mainly, and a spot of champagne.

You're senior citizens, but you're behaving like teenagers.

No, no, and not just here and now, either. At night, too.

Oh, yes.

I know what goes on.

I'm not stupid.

Oh, yes you are.

Oh, no, I'm not.

nothing. And why?

Why? Because I'm a nice guy.

Oh, yes, I am.

This is the dining room.

It is the focal point of this haven of gentility we call Bayview.

It isn't for carousing.

Oh, my God.

Come here.

Listen, you dismal little Gucci fucker.

How many times does it have to be dinned into that?

like brain of yours that we are the paying customers. You are the staff.

And as such, you do not talk to us like naughty children.

I just think you ought to know where to draw the line. Oh, will you tell us

where and when, Harvey?

At what age are we supposed to stop enjoying ourselves, hmm?

What is the final hour for drinks?

What is the date of the last good rumpy -pumpy?

There is no such time.

We are still allowed to enjoy ourselves in whatever way we damn well please.

Be it going catatonic with our memories or reveling on nights with our chums.

Right? Yes, Diana.

Right.

Just carry on.

Congratulate everybody.

I can't fight so I can't. I can't fight so I can't.

Yeah, they're going to end up all over the town again.

At least they've got all their clothes on this time.

We've never had behaviour like this before.

I suppose that's what Marie Antoinette said as they were slicing off her head.

Yes.

It's the first sign of revolution, Jane.

As the population grows older and we increase in number, the GLF will strike.

Who? Geriatric Liberation Front.

We hear terrorists forcing people to play bridge at gunpoint.

Jumbo jets hijacked a Torquay.

Riots in the stadiums of Europe as dry sherry louts throw bottles of Lucozade

the lawn's bulls finals.

I think you've had more than Lucozade today.

Yep. Boozing.

I may take it up as a hobby. I used to be rather good at it, you know.

Why don't you try dancing off the effects?

If I kick my leg up, the bloody thing would probably fly off.

Itching.

Itching. Itching.

Tom's hippie rubbish.

Oh, I shouldn't drink in the

daytime.

Noddy time.

Morning.

Morning, Diana.

Well, what a to -do last night.

Harvey was right. He usually is.

Everyone gets a bit tiddly.

What happened?

We have to have the doctor for Clifford Lutton.

Suffering from acute retention of wine.

Imagine trying to sleep up a tree wearing only a baby doll nightie. I

where I got that from, but Bi Phillips is looking very sheepish today.

Well, I think it's all a bit much.

You come in. I've just made a cup of tea.

Would you like one?

Actually, I won't stop, because I've got to pick up Horace Wilmot from the

laundrette. Spent the night in a tumble dryer?

And I can't find Diana anywhere.

She doesn't seem to be in her room, and her bed doesn't seem to have been slept

in. No, I don't suppose it does.

Am I dead?

Far from it.

Tom. That's me.

What are you doing in my room?

You're in my room.

What?

In my bed.

Bonjour, no?

Would you like a cup of tea? Don't change the subject.

my nightie?

On top of the wardrobe.

How could you? How could you?

Well, I didn't.

Do you promise?

Well, only once. That is if you're referring to what I think you're

No. No, I'm not. I'm sure I'm not. We're always talking at cross purposes.

I must have been talking about something else.

Well, I didn't do something else.

Other than what?

I don't know.

Whatever you want. It's your question.

Tom.

Yes, Diana.

Whatever I'm doing here, whatever we did, we didn't make

love, did we?

Oh, yes, we did that. Oh, my God.

Is there some kind of problem?

Yes, of course there is.

There's you and me and... and sex.

My God.

You took advantage of me.

Did I?

You are a total and utter swine.

That's a bit strong.

Well, a woman takes refuge in your room, goes to sleep in your bed, and you come

in and take her, use her.

You should be in jail.

Diana. This is the end of everything, Tom.

Diana. You were my friend. I trusted you.

How could you do it?

Well, not without help.

and found you in my bed, so I went to sleep in the armchair, where you woke me

up and delivered me a long carpe diem lecture.

We have only got a few happy times in our lives, and we've got to grab them by

both hands.

So you did.

My eyeballs nearly popped out.

Oh, God.

That was my early feminist speech.

Every time I fancied a chap and didn't have time for the usual fiddle -faddle,

I'd tub -thump on about how women should be allowed to take the lead in anything

they damn well pleased.

Oh, as soon as they said such -as, they were gone as basket -cases by breakfast

time. Yes, oh, I think I popped a few rivets myself.

God, Tom, I am so sorry.

But why?

Well, your wife, your Maggie.

You've always been so faithful to her memory.

I hope this hasn't sullied this unlikely coupling.

No, Diana, not at all.

It has been 15 years.

Besides, Maggie liked a good laugh.

I beg your pardon?

I mean, she had a big heart.

And so have you, Tom.

Goes with the rest of me, I suppose. Oh, don't be so pure.

Oh, good Lord.

Oh, it's all coming back to me.

Oh, good heavens.

Oh, my goodness.

Oh, I am sorry about your blender.

Never mind the blender, but we'd better put the divots back in the croaky lawn.

What? And get the lake refilled. What? And ring the Guinness Book of Records.

Right, all right. Let's keep it in proportion.

You did your bit, I did mine. It wasn't gone with the bloody wind.

Absolutely right.

Keep it in proportion.

And forget it ever happened. Oh, definitely.

All forgotten. Good.

Diana.

Yes?

Can we do it again?

What? Well, why not?

It was jolly good fun.

And it beats hell out of upsetting the mobile library lady.

And,

um... Baiting Harvey Bain. Tom.

And you are here, and the scene is sort of set.

Tom.

I am stone cold sober.

Probably better for the furniture.

Tom. Hmm?

This is most unfair.

Yes.

I haven't brushed my teeth.

I think the grade one funeral plan would do him.

Well, it's really not a chuck -em -over -the -back -fence job, but at the same

time, it's only a veneer. So you're not wasting proper wood.

You only get one mourner's car, but I don't mind staying at home. My father

isn't dead yet.

Oh, sorry, Geoffrey.

Hello, Jane.

Dad in, is he?

Hello?

Dad!

We were just passing.

You're as great as me.

Goodness.

It's just as well that wardrobe's good solid pine.

I think you should call the police.

It's not exactly a crime, dear.

Well, it should be.

to complain to the board.

It is not my fault.

I mean, did you not before you went in on them?

What's that got to do with anything?

Well, they would sort of claim that in the privacy of their own rooms they can

do whatever they like.

And some people do.

Whatever they like.

If they like it.

And do it.

And this lot do.

The Trent woman obviously led him astray.

You've got to get rid of her.

Oh, I'd love to.

But I can't get rid of residence for fu... for funny business.

Place will be empty in ten minutes.

They should all be put down.

It's the health angle I'm worried about. I mean, Dad does have a very dicky

ticker.

What? Dad's heart, dear, not very strong. I mean, too much doctors and

could end up real doctors and nurses.

You mean it could kill him?

Well, you know.

Well, get on to it, Doctor. Both of you, go along and see him.

No. Oh, just a minute.

This is an old man's rights we are talking about here. We can't interfere

personal life.

But you... What business of ours is it if these two people, in their autumn

years, should choose to show a bit of normal animal affection towards each

other?

None at all.

In fact, we should encourage it.

Come along, Geoffrey.

What about his heart?

Out the door, Geoffrey.

Of course, if this sort of behaviour were to bring on a heart attack, you

get in touch right away.

A letter or card or something.

Anyone like to go to the pictures this afternoon?

Back row, my treat.

Not surprised.

So what would you like? A plate of blue -clothed tablet?

I'd like a nice piece of beef, please.

Feed the man meat.

You've got a foot.

Oh,

hello, Tom.

You're still standing, I see.

No, I'm sitting.

Tamed the wild beef, eh?

What? I suppose Diana will be quiet with the pussycat from now on.

It's all she needed. I knew it. It's all any of them need.

You've done a great service to Bayview, Tom.

Great. A newer, quieter Diana.

Mr. Baines, Diana's flashing your car tyres.

God, not again!

Tom, I want a word.

What is it, Battle?

You know I'm top dude round here.

Of course, Battle.

You're known throughout the land.

A legend in your own cornflakes packet.

Yes, well, I don't want someone muscling in on my turf.

God forbid.

Yes, well, I'd be most obliged if you'd pack it in.

Me? Yes, you.

All I hear is Tom this and Tom that.

Like you invented the whole damn business.

You mean they know about Diana and me? Yes, of course they do.

Jane's running around the place like a chicken with its head cut off. This is

terrible. Yes, it certainly is. I haven't scored all day.

I am sorry.

And I've got five dozen condoms with a used -by date of next Wednesday.

I really don't want to have Chuck half of them away.

You've been the greatest.

The Muhammad Ali, the Edmund Hillary, the Fanny Craddock of the sexual

revolution.

I always think of myself as Basil Vicious of the Sex Pistol.

It's time now for you to give up the crown and pass the phallic baton on to a

younger man.

A younger man?

Who? Well, me, of course. Tom Barrow.

Super stud.

Ladies.

Afternoon, Jane.

I said good afternoon, Jane.

Jane.

I'm sorry, I just don't feel I can talk to you today, Diana.

Oh, my God.

Jane, sit down.

I'd rather not, thank you.

Jane, sit down or I will chop off your legs and nail the stumps to the chair.

What is the matter with you?

I think you know that only too well.

Are you somehow put out? Because I slept with Tom last night.

Jane, how do you see me?

As a pillar of strength.

I know we have our differences, and you're terribly cruel to Harvey, but

the senior statesman of Bayview, someone they all look up to, listen to.

Where have you been for the past umpteen years?

Has every single tenet of 20th century thinking passed you by on the other

Or have you been so totally brainwashed by the constant drip of kiddie TV that

you are convinced that sex only takes place between beautiful young people who

jump in and out of each other's jeans?

Yes, I thought I was just an old person.

But now, thanks to some cheap plonk and a fully functioning Tom Ballard, I am

rediscovering the fact that I'm still firing on all cylinders and perfectly

capable of going off like the proverbial rocket. Oh!

In fact, in fact, Jane, we must crusade, hmm?

Down the high street, in the shopping malls, tell the elderly if they still

can't see it, they should still be at it.

Right for the next generation, from the 60s onwards, sex has been practically

compulsory. But for us poor sods, there's a sort of built -in credo

that we should knock it off at pension time.

Well, stuff that.

Just because we sag and bag a bit and don't fancy it in the back of a mini

one foot out the window and the other over the diaper shelf.

My goodness, that was fun.

It does not mean that we are not all in favour of it in the privacy and comfort

of our own homes.

Yes, Diana.

In fact, old people must not think of it as something furtive or tacky any

longer. It must all be out in the open.

Metaphorically, of course.

Good. Now, the first thing we need is 24 -hour lighting down all the corridors

and along all the paths.

Yes, Diana.

And a condom vending machine.

I don't think there's any fear of pregnancy around here. Jane, condoms are

just for preventing pregnancy.

Some people like to pull them over their heads and rob banks.

Oh, Jane.

Read this.

This is called Living, Loving and Aging by the people at Age Concern. Now read,

learn and inwardly digest.

Maybe instead of bridge nights we should have orgies every Friday.

Where is Tom, anyway?

He's had an invitation.

Who from?

From the ladies' bowling team.

That bunch of trollops.

Just for tea?

My God, he's no man's safe. They'll kill him off. Come on, Jane, you must rescue

him before they take the flesh from his bones.

Oh, so tasteless.

Yes, I first realised I had an invitation.

when MGM signed me up to play Tarzan.

Of course, in those days, my name was Weissmuller, but I changed it to Ballard

in 1939, as Weissmuller was considered not quite the right sort of name for a

chappy in the RAF.

For many years now, I've been well known as a sexual athlete, breaking bedroom

records, the length and breadth of the country.

Tom?

Oh, golly.

Here comes Bette Davies. She's never forgiven me for running off with Sheila

Lollabigida. Dogs my every footstep.

What ho, Bette?

Tom, what are you doing?

I'm just telling these ladies about my life as one of the century's leading sex

symbols.

Come here.

Now, listen, you lot.

It just so happens that by some fluke of genetic justice, we women tend to live

longer than the men creatures.

And so what happens? The men are outnumbered by the women.

And what does this mean?

It means that a good man is bloody hard to find.

Well, let me warn you, harpies.

I have found me a good man.

And if any one of you so much as glances in his direction, you will end up being

cut into small pieces and sent home in a matchbox.

all get my drift.

Come on, Tom.

See? It's not always wonderful being wonderful.

Bye -bye, ladies.

Oh, get on.

It was indeed very kind of you, Marion, to be so concerned, but I've already

made my funeral arrangements.

No, no, none of yours, no.

I'm having a Viking funeral.

You know, strapped to the mast of a burning longboat and shoved out into the

North Sea by a lot of jolly chaps called Hengist and Vlad.

How much will it cost?

Oh, well, practically every penny I'm worth, I expect.

She's rung off.

You're getting rather good at being a swine.

Well, it's sort of compulsory with us sex gods.

It's got to be mean... Broody and magnificent.

Listen, Tom, I'm delighted to see you with a swagger in your walk and a spring

in your step, but let's face it, we're not talking about inventing the wheel

here.

What are you saying?

I am saying, cool it.

You're going round like some young teenager, grinning from ear to ear

he's just joined the oldest club in the world.

It's no big deal.

Well, it is for me.

Why? Because it's further proof that I might still be alive and not just a

figment of your imagination.

What about your heart?

Oh, who cares?

If you've got to go, you've got to go.

Find me a better way and I'll tell you you're a liar. All right, all right.

Just shut up about it, all right?

I like to be known as a person in my own right.

Already had to clout battle for referring to me as Tom Ballard's bit of

So just shut up about it, all right?

And, uh...

The future. Forget about that, too.

You can't be serious.

Well, maybe Saint's Day is another religious holiday.

But you don't belong to any religion.

I guess that's just the brakes, kid.

Oh.

Oh, well.

It was nice while it lasted.

Another cup of gin, Diana?

Good idea.

What's the date?

The 17th.

17th. Oh, isn't that the feast of St. Kermit and all frogs?

Oh, I don't know.

Oh, I see.

Oh, jolly good.

And isn't tomorrow the feast of St. Donald of all ducks?

I'll decide the calendar round here.

Take it or leave it.

I'll have to think about it.

Okay, I've thought about it.

Here's to St. Kermit.

St. Kermit.