All language subtitles for Birds of a Feather s05e14 It Happened In Hollywood- CHRIS SPECIAL.eng

Grant, we pray you, that your servant
may rest at peace in this grave until

day when you, the resurrection and the
life, enrich her with life made new.

May she, in the light of your
countenance, behold eternal light in

heaven.

Poor old Aunty Silver.

Whenever I smell cabbage boiling, I'll
think of her.

What a way to go on. Run over.

Twice.

Two consecutive buses.

Typical, isn't it?

You hang about for ages, then two come
at last.

Excuse me.

Tracy? Sharon?

Yeah? I'm an old friend of your Aunty
Sylvie's.

She often spoke about the two of you. I
recognised you from her pictures.

Oh.

I just wanted to say how sorry I am.

Sylvie was a good friend to me over the
years.

So very much.

Anyway, nice to have met you.

You know, I swear she knew her days were
numbered.

Oh, yeah?

A few days ago, she made me promise that
if anything happened to her, I was to

get in touch with you both.

Aunt Sylvie had the gift.

She could see the future coming.

Yeah? She only didn't work on them
bathies.

She asked me to give you this.

It's a key.

Well done, Sherlock.

It's a key to a safety deposit box.

Victoria Station.

What's Sylvie doing with a safety
deposit box?

Perhaps she wanted to stash away the
family heirlooms.

Here, Trace, we could have an
inheritance.

Don't daft.

It's possible, isn't it?

Here, mate, did she say... Where's he
gone?

There he is.

Oi! Oi, hold up! Sharon!

This is Walthamstow Cemetery, not
Petticoat Lane Market.

It doesn't matter, does it?

Oh, please God, let it be diamonds.

I don't like ratness crap either.

So much for our inheritance.

The old bat's left us her gas bill.

There's a note and all.

Dear girls, by the time you read this, I
will have shuffled off this mortal

coil. If, on the other hand, I'm still
alive and you are a couple of tea

then get your stinking hands off my
property, you toe rags.

She always had lovely waving words.

For many years, I've carried with me a
secret about the two of you and your

natural parents.

The truth is I knew who they were.

When your mum, God rest her soul,
adopted you both, she made me swear to

shtum. But now I'm gone, it's up to you
to decide for yourselves.

Everything you need to know is in the
envelope.

Love, Sylvie.

I say we open it, and I say we burn it.

Don't be a lemon. Our parents' name's in
there.

Mum and Dad were our parents.

They're gone, Trace. We ain't got no one
now.

Nah? What about Daryl and Chris?

In case you've forgotten, butch
casserole and a sundial are doing a

stretch at one of Her Majesty's holiday
camps.

I don't care.

I still don't want to know. All right.

Have I called it a bad time?

Oh, good. I love to see working -class
women bicker. It's so Albert Square.

Listen here, yo -yo knickers.

I am not in the mood to be patronised by
you, all right?

Very good, Sharon.

A three -syllable word and used in the
correct context.

You should apply to join Mencap.

I think you mean men, sir.

I know what I mean.

Now, girls, I have an important
announcement.

Very soon, Marcus and I are to celebrate
our silver wedding anniversary. And to

mark the occasion... The Queen's going
to present him with the Victoria Cross

for Brady.

We are going to throw the party of the
year.

And I will be the bell of the ball.

Even Big Ben ain't got a bell that old.

You're a hypocrite, Dorian.

What do you mean?

Well, if your guest list was to include
half the blokes you've had since we've

known you, you'd have to hold the party
at Wembley Stadium.

Well, I may have succumbed to the odd
dalliance. Odd dalliance? You've spent

more time staring up at ceilings than
Michelangelo.

Gracie, you exaggerate.

Well, maybe not. Anyway, I want this
party to be the highlight of the

social calendar.

That shouldn't be too difficult.

Your only competition is the annual
rugby club disco, otherwise known as the

Pukason.

Well, not so, Sharon.

As luck would have it, our anniversary
falls on the 18th, the very day that low

-rent bitch, my very best friend Melanie
Fishman, celebrates her birthday.

What, and she's also having a party?

Exactly.

Oh, so all this is about keeping up with
the Fishmans.

Keeping up?

Oh, no.

I fully intend to trounce that white
trash into oblivion.

Well, I think it's an insult to the
sanctity of marriage.

Then you won't mind not being invited,
will you?

Nice one, Trace.

You've just talked yourself out of a
buckshee booze -up.

Oh, don't get smug, Sharon. You're
hardly A -list material yourself.

I'll be coming, will I?

Sharon. If I was that eager to embarrass
myself, I'd become a contestant on

Stars in Their Eyes.

I take it that's a no.

Nothing gets past you, does it?

Well, we don't want to go to your poxy
party anyway.

No, it's nothing personal, Tracy.

I mean, should I ever host a good old
cockney knees -up with whelks and pies

scruffy old flatulent men singing
jitters about the Second World War,

the first to know.

Well, now you've given us your uninvite,
you can sling your hook. We've got

things to discuss.

Private things.

Hold up, Trace. It might help to get the
opinion of an outsider.

Even if she's a prat.

This sounds juicy. What's going on?

In that envelope are the names of our
real parents.

I want to open it. And I don't. Because
you're saying that, it means we don't. I

don't want to open it.

I don't want to open it. Because you're
the oldest, you always have to open it.

Torn apart by the path they cannot
escape. This could be wonderful material

my next novel.

Why?

What do you think, Dor?

Open it. Go on.

I feel disloyal. Oh, that soon wears
off, trust me.

Oh, Christ.

Mum and Dad wouldn't mind us finding out
who our real parents are after they're

dead, would they?

Strange as it seems, I think I
actually... actually know what she's

about. See?

Come on, Trace, please.

All right.

I can't wait.

You won't have to. You ain't invited.

Nothing personal.

Shut the door, please, darling.

And make sure you're on the other side
of it.

Here we go.

I'm in faith.

It's our real birth certificates.

Do you want the good news or the bad
news?

The good news.

The good news is our mum's name is Mavis
Bullock.

And she comes from Chiswick.

What's the bad news?

The bad news is she's dead, Trace.

Over ten years ago.

Here's an obituary cutting from the
local paper.

What about our dad?

Oh, my goodness.

What is it?

Mum and Dad weren't married, Trace. Oh,
lovely.

First were a pair of bullocks, now a
couple of...

You're never going to believe who our
old man is.

Who?

It's... It's... Yeah?

George Hamilton.

Who?

You know, the actor.

The one with the sun tannels in a law
magazine.

Yes, I know who the George Hamilton is,
Sharon.

stupid is American.

So what?

Americans can have babies, Trey.

Think yourself.

Father's name, George Hamilton.

Yeah, on both of them.

Look what it's got down for his
occupation.

Actor.

I always knew there was something
different about us.

Something special.

Get a grip, Sharon.

It's a common name, isn't it?

No. It all fits into place.

George flitting round London doing a
spot of acting.

Yeah. He must have had a thing going
with her mum.

Sharon, the chances of the George
Hamilton being our father have got to be

in a million.

Maybe so.

But it's worth doing a spot of detective
work to find out, isn't it?

Yes, Mrs Hamilton.

I know your husband's dead, but did he
ever know a Magus Bullock?

Hello?

Hello?

And another one bites the dust.

Literally, in this case.

God bless Fat Stan, eh?

His son done us a right good turn
hacking into the electoral registers for

Yeah, thanks.

Yeah, three of them.

Yeah, I owe you one, mate.

No, not one of them, you dirty lech.

Morning, Vicar!

What's happened?

Trace, I've got brilliant news.

That Stan's had all his tickets out,
mates, checking out all the George

Ambersons that weren't in the phone
book. The ones we couldn't get hold of.

And? And the final results are...
Fourteen have kicked the bucket.

Twelve are waiting for their voices to
break.

Ten have never heard of Mavis Bullock.

Six have never heard of Chiswick.

Three are impotent. Two are black.

And one's living in Northampton with a
choreographer named Gordon.

Well, you see what this means, don't
you?

That's it.

We've eliminated them all.

We can't have.

We have. Here's the proof.

George is our dad.

Sharon, any one of them could have been
lying.

Skeletons in the closet and all that. It
don't disprove he's our dad, does it?

No. Right, now, what we've got to do is
confront him with the facts.

Hang about.

I'll just put my coat on.

There's got to be some way of getting in
touch with a bloke. How?

He lives in America.

Shame them Uber tickets never turned up.

My God, look at the state of you both.

You look like you should be sitting in a
doorway selling copies of The Big

Issue.

Oh, for your information... Excuse me,
I'm wanted on the mobile.

Hello? Oh, Monsieur Raymond.

It's Monsieur Raymond, ethics foremost
function coordinator.

That's concise for caterer.

You got my message.

Kill the cock -o -bam. We'll have salmon
on crout instead.

The caviar?

Oh, well, we'll have it too.

Loads of the stuff. Spread it on with
the trowel, Raymond.

The cost?

How much can little fish eggs cost these
days?

How much?

Yes, I'll get back to you, Raymond.

Ciao.

Damn, damn, damn.

Why can't a woman be more like a man?

Do I take it that keeping up with the
fishmans isn't going as swimmingly as

at home?

I order no -air chandon. Melanie orders
krug. I order canapes. She orders

truffles. That woman is definitely
starting to rain on my parade.

Sounds to me like she's peeing on it
from a break.

She's even got celebrity guests.

Lionel Blair and half the Arsenal team
have promised to attend. Do you have

any... the idea of the sort of money it
takes to book a star of the calibre of

Lionel Blair?

No. Give us a clue.

Serves you right for not inviting us to
your party.

Yeah. And us having a famous bed and
all.

What?

You heard?

Me and Tracy are celebrity children.

Really?

I didn't know King Kong had been allowed
to meet.

You'll be laughing the other side of
your mush when you find out who it is.

Are you serious?

Who?

Should we tell her, Trace?

Nah.

You can come to my party.

We'll think about it. Good. Now spill
the beans. Who is it?

George Hamilton.

Sorry.

George Hamilton.

What's so funny?

George Hamilton is your father.

Slim, suntan, gorgeous George Hamilton.

Yeah, that's right.

Oh, my God, they'll have to rewrite the
laws of genetics.

There must have been 147 of them,
actually. And we've checked every one of

out.

But it's not possible.

George Hamilton has been out with some
of the world's most beautiful women.

Joan Collins.

Elizabeth Taylor.

Mavis Bullock.

I don't believe it.

I have adored him ever since I was a
teenager. The man is a bona fide sex

Are you?

Don't talk dirty about our date.

It isn't possible.

It is.

And there's the proof.

Look, Cheryl, we don't know for sure.

No. But you must find out, because if
this is true, it could change your life.

Our lives don't want changing.

Speak for yourself.

You have to get in touch.

Now, George always spends the summer in
Bel -Air. That's Hollywood.

Hollywood? We can't afford the fare to
Cricklewood.

I might be able to help.

I have been secretly hoarding Marcus's
air miles from his business trips.

They're Marcus's.

Only legally.

I might have enough stashed away to get
you to the States.

Are you saying that you'd pay for us to
go to America?

Of course.

Think of it as a token of friendship.

No, better still, look on it as charity.

What's the catch?

There isn't one.

No, I could do with a break myself.

There's the catch.

Well, that's settled then.

Hollywood?

that need was so ugly.

Doreen, you didn't.

Virgin of all airlines.

I know, it's ironic.

Most people get their nuts in little
packets.

Not her, though.

I've always wanted to join the Mile High
Club.

Hopefully that should earn me honorary
life membership.

I dare it, you daft tart.

We ain't taken off yet.

We're still on the flipping runway.

There we are.

Anyway, see you both later.

Where are you going now?

Well, I'm off to the upper class
section.

You really didn't expect me to stay here
amidst social groups D .E. and Florida

Riot.

I'm off to find a nice wealthy tycoon.

Ciao.

Have a good time.

to make your acquaintance.

I'm Dorian.

Dorian Green.

And you are? My name's Richard.

Mind if I call you Dick?

Now, have you flown before, Dick?

I do it all the time.

They're flying, that is.

America. I can't believe we're here.

So big.

So much to see.

to the Hotel California.

Oh, well.

Cheap and cheerful.

Come on, Zorba, get moving.

Me? No, this is your accommodation.

I'm staying at the Mondrian.

The top people's hotel.

You... We'll rendezvous in the bar at
nine o 'clock. And Sharon,

try to dress a little more cosmopolitan.

Dry...

Now, I've been working on a plan to get
to George. And I picked up this from the

hotel lobby.

Guided tours of Hollywood? I don't think
so, Tracy.

Why? What's wrong with them?

Tours are for tourists.

Tourists come from Basildon, wear cheap
knitwear and watch GMTV.

So I am more of a global citizen. I
blend easily into foreign cultures.

You are a foreign culture.

The tour includes the homes at the
start.

South, I said. Donna, Barbara Streisand,
George Hampton.

Trace, you're a genius.

We'll get tickets.

Tomorrow, one o 'clock.

Your left is the luxurious home of Bruce
Willis and his lovely wife, Demi Moore.

No prizes for guessing which one chose
that ghastly colour.

Look at that, Trace.

Makes your gas look like a flea bit.

Not very much.

Belt up, you little germinal. Sew your
lips together.

Next up is the lavishly decorated
mansion house of Hollywood's most famous

suntan, movie star and playboy, Mr.
George Hamilton.

Right, let's say stop.

Time for plane B into action.

What is happening here?

It's my sister. She's having a turn.
You're going to have to let us off.

No one leaves this bus, ma 'am. Company
policy.

But you don't understand.

She could get violent.

I can't be responsible for her behavior.

What exactly is the matter with her?

What's the matter with her?

It's rare.

It's very rare.

Yes. And tragic.

It happened when she was a child.

What did? The incident.

She was bitten.

By a dingo.

Was it wild?

Absolutely furious.

Well, perhaps in this case I can make an
exception.

A

bitten

by a dingo.

In Elfield. I was improvising.

You were bullshitting.

the size of those gates.

How are we going to get in?

Tracy, do you have a crowbar?

What? They're breaking in.

No, but I'll never get those cranks off
without one.

Sandy!

Come on, we're getting over here.

All right, you go first, all right? It's
before beauty.

Lucy, I need a fun cup.

crazy women living at the bottom of your
garden?

I didn't think so. We better get some
security up here quickly.

I'll stay here and guard the valuables.

Thank you, you little ones.

Your leader has returned.

designer shorts ruined.

Do you have any idea how many strange
men must have seen my bottom?

I don't know. What year are we going
from?

This is an omen. We shouldn't be doing
this.

Shut up, you wimp.

We're not going back to that house
again.

They could shoot us next time. Oh, don't
worry.

We could always take cover behind
Sharon.

Some it'll turn up, Trace. We'll get in
touch with him somehow.

A fair chance.

We'll need a flipping miracle.

Attention all you ladies. Tomorrow,
Universal Studios Hollywood's very own

George Hamilton will begin work on a new
multi -million dollar TV miniseries.

Oh,

that's it.

That's it.

I've died and gone to heaven.

Well, you haven't. I've got bigger boobs
than you.

I don't.

You've got these massive feet. Where
have all the muscles gone?

You've got a bit of safety.

These muscles are as human as a shell.

I can't eat them, can I?

No, but I could.

Oh, just look at those bodies.

Boy! We're supposed to be working our
asses into the studios.

It's not a line up of talent.

Sidney, your receptionist. How may I
help you?

Hi. I'm Tracy Beckham -Stubbs. We're
here to interview George Hamilton for

Hello! magazine.

Hello!

Oh, Lucy, what are you?

Dorianne Green, stylist to the stars.

Sharon Theodopolopoulos.

They call me the snapper.

Well, I'm afraid I have no record of any
interviews scheduled.

Well, there must be some mistake. I
jetted in from Paris especially.

Didn't even have time to kiss David and
Iman goodbye.

If you'd like to take a seat, I can
phone her and check.

Oh, that won't be necessary. We'll just
pop over there ourselves. That won't be

possible. They're in rehearsal.

Hi. Stage 14. This is Sydney on
reception.

Do you know anything about an interview
with George Hamilton?

Excuse me, Sid.

Could you tell me where the car is,
please?

The toilet.

The bathroom's over there.

I want a slash, not a shower.

Attention, attention.

We have three intruders on the compound.

Female, Caucasian, heading for stage 14.

And it was... Ruth!

You sure you know how to drive this
thing?

Blimey, what's all this?

I thought them were maces.

All right, Daryl.

Fancy a lardy? Yeah, I might as well do.

Where'd all this lot come from, then?
Well, let's just say I've got friends.

Good friends.

Oh, smoked salmon or durbaris?

Look,

Chris, the only bloke who can get hold
of this stuff in here is Elfie Conroy.

And he ain't the sort of bloke you want
to go get him mixed up with.

He's a diamond, is he?

Sweeter than that. Yeah?

That's what his mum used to say just
before he dropped the heater in her

bathtub.

How must this lot set you back? Well, I
don't know.

Got it all on tick.

Oh, dear.

You really are as stupid as you look,
aren't you?

In fact, you look to do you a
disservice.

You're actually a complete moron.

You're never going to be able to pay for
all this.

Relax, devil!

Look, let's just say I've got a bit of
business going down, right? And I stand

to make myself a nice few quid. Oh,
yeah? What kind of business?

Well, I can't say, sir.

Confidential.

Of course.

I ain't got no secrets from you. Well,
hold on. Hang about.

Here.

I'm selling Sharon's story, ain't I?

For the papers.

I was a superstar's love child.

Well, they paid big bucks for that kind
of thing.

Smart move, eh?

Yes. Slimy, rotten lowlife.

Stitching up your own wife for a couple
of quid? Not to mention my Tracy.

Calm down, devil.

I won't mention nothing about Tracy.

Honest. Look, have another cigar.

Chocolate? Take the lot.

Who was that?

Roger the barman.

So was it not what you've been doing?

For your information, I have been out
with Roger for your sake.

I'll tell very much. I really appreciate
it. Roger tends bar at lots of

celebrity functions. Now, tomorrow
night, he will be working at an

company bash at the Beau Rivage, L .A.'s
chicest restaurant.

Tune in same time tomorrow for another
thrilling edition of...

Life with Roger.

George Hamilton is going to be there.

What? Yes.

And so are we.

Roger has promised to arrange it as a
special favour.

And what does Roger the Dodger expect in
return for this special favour?

Don't worry, he's been paid in advance.

The things I do for you girls.

Exclusive bash, eh?

I'll have to give the velour tracksuit
of going over with the old right girl.

I don't think so, Sharon. We will be
mixing with the creme de la creme of

Hollywood society.

Right, but I think dressy women.

Right, then we will dedicate tomorrow to
my second favourite activity in the

entire world.

Girls, we are going to shop till we
drop.

Welcome to Giorgio Armani.

Have a look around.

Oh, hi, sir.

Someone's left their phone number on
this one.

Lovely phone.

This is quite beautiful.

I think this is a bit young for you.

Something like arriving in Star, was
there?

Oh, if only Melanie Fishman could see me
now.

Look, even that Sharon Stone over there.

Hi.

Well, can I get you ladies anything?

Aroused would be nice.

I'll tell you a story.

You can be Roger the Rabbit, like.

The main man of Cure Royale, darling.

I'll have a bottle of lemonade.

A pint of Heineken for me, please.

I'm going out.

You're not.

Look at that pain.

He must come to sleep for some bit
strapped to his gut.

I think it is time to introduce you to
your father.

May I help you?

No, thanks. We're just leaving. We'd
like a table, please. You are aware that

our dining area is reserved for a VIP
list?

Of course.

I am a VIP.

Yeah, very impulsive pervert.

Your name is?

My name.

Yes, madam.

They're very fashionable here in L .A.
Simply everybody has one.

Who are you? This is Jack and Lauren.

Roger never mentioned there was a VIP
enclosure.

Who does that mean?

Roger and Art.

I can't believe it.

I was that close to him, I could have
spat on him.

I hardly think gobbing's an appropriate
form of greeting, darling Sharon.

We're not going to get nowhere near the
bloke, let alone speak to him.

She might as well go home. Tracy,
remember what they say in the movies.

The show ain't over till the fat lady
sings.

Exactly, how did you get that nasty
little head?

Nothing.

Really?

Not what I heard.

Look, 80 % of all accidents occur in the
barber shop. That makes me just a

meaningless statistic.

If you say so.

Only I heard it, though.

Came from a little run -in with some
female admirers.

George, I have no female admirers, and
that includes my immediate family.

I

was just

parking, so I thought I'd drop in.

Excuse me, I'm with these people.

Stop, don't talk to me, you stupid, fat
American.

Call me.

We'll do lunch.

Is that John Connors?

Thank God you got here.

Get me out of this hellhole.

I can't. I couldn't raise the $10 ,000
bail.

How much have you got?

Nothing.

Cracking. Whatever.

We could always ring Marcus.

Ask him for the dosh.

I told her we shouldn't have come. I
knew it'd end in tears. I've said it all

along. Oh, whine, whine, whine. It's all
you've done since we left London.

Don't ever go at her. She's upset.

Well, what's she got to be upset about?

I'm the one in prison.

I'm the one that's gone over the limit
on Marcus's credit card.

And I'm the one that hasn't got a
special celebrity guest at my very own

anniversary party.

Gorgeous George by my side. I would have
wiped the floor with Melanie Fishman's

pathetic little birthday bash.

He'd have escorted me onto the floor.

As he's done with all the other great
beauties of our time.

Joan Collins.

Elizabeth Taylor.

And me.

Dorian Green.

He would have knocked Lionel Blair's tap
dance into a cocked bloody hat.

Are you saying...

The only reason you helped us find our
dad was so that he'd go to your party.

Well, don't look so hurt.

The name's Dorian Green, not Cilla
Black.

No. Go, go.

You were always my main concern.

About my bail.

Stop it.

Dorian Green?

Yes. Yes, that's me.

Sign here. You're free to go.

Really? Yep. You're out of here. Well,
thank you. Thank you. Hey, don't thank

me. Thank Mr. Wendell.

Who's he?

The commissioner?

No, the guy you've been stalking.

Me, a stalker?

The town knows about you. Hey, you're
famous.

This is libelous.

I shall sue.

I shall sue the entire book of second
country.

She's a stalker. Then how come she let
me go?

We had a call from Mr. Wendt's agent.
Now he is happy as a clam about the

publicity. In this town, you are nobody
until you've had your own stalker.

I bet Melanie Fisher has never thought
about that.

Are

you

ready? Aggie is downstairs.

Almost.

Come in.

Please.

Look, I just want to say I'm sorry.

Yeah, we know.

Sorry that George Hamilton won't be
coming to your party.

No.

Sorry you didn't get the chance to find
out if he was your... And I'm sorry for

everything I've done.

I know I can be a selfish bitch.

Come on. Give your hand to your luggage.

Flipping egg door. What have you got in
here?

Supposedly the south, not the bathtub.

Only the poor travel light, Tracy.

Oh, leave them for the bellboy.

Thank you, Mr.

Hamilton. Please call me George.

Cheers, George.

Is your friend okay?

I think she's a bit overcome.

She's been carrying a bit of a torch for
you ever since she was a young girl.

Well, no wonder she's exhausted.

So you really thought I was your father?

Yeah.

I suppose you think we're really stupid.

Not at all. I'm very flattered. You have
been to London, have you?

Sure, many times. It's a beautiful city.

Someday I may go back and buy it.

While you were there, you never, uh...
You know.

Absolutely not.

Well, not with anyone by the name of
Mavis Bullock, anyway.

Well, thanks for listening to us,
George.

We won't take up any more of your time.
No, not so fast, now.

You come all the way from England to see
me, the least I can do for you is to

invite you back to my mansion for a
little, uh...

Champagne by the pool and some
sunbathing?

Huh? What do you say?

You're kidding.

I never kid where sunbathing is
concerned.

What are we waiting for?

What about your friend?

We can't just leave her here.

Oh, are we?

We'll tell the bellboy to leave her with
the rest of the old baggage till we get

back.

Thank you, Charles.

Sharon. Yes, George. Make sure you get
right in those toes here.

Good girl.

And, uh, Tracy.

Coming, George.

You missed a spot.

Up a bit.

Higher. Right there.

That's it.

Isn't this fun?

They got back safe then?

Right.

So did you meet him?

Really?

So is he a...

Oh, how's not?

Oh, I'm sorry, Trace.

You all right?

Oh, good.

Yeah, I'm disappointed for you, love.

Yeah?

Oh, yeah, of course I'll tell Chris.

Yeah, I'm sure he'll be disappointed as
well.

In fact, I know I'll be very cut up.

I'm sorry to bother you.

I'm looking for number 58, the
fisherman's birthday party.

Mr Blair.

Yes. So glad you made it. Oh, yes, but
I... Come in.

You know you may be, love you, whoa,
whoa, whoa, whoa. Darling, George

Hamilton and I were like that.

We were in his mansion, sipping the
finest champagne.

The man was obviously besotted with me.

Couldn't keep the chance off me, so
what's that then?

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