All language subtitles for Chelmsford 123 s2e03 - Bird Trouble

Sanctus fumus!

What are you looking at
then, oh mighty Jupiter?

Planet Earth, my dear Vulcan.
The 20th century.

Oh, what misery. What senseless
waste and confusion.

Men and women looking
on in dumb horror.

- Well, what is it?
- The Paul Daniels Christmas Special.

- Shall I zap him with my thunderbolt?
- Not yet, Vulcan.

Oh, bloody hell, ambrosia
and nectar again.

It's always the bloody same.

I'd kill for sausage, egg and chips.
Ripped By mstoll

Seen better days,
hasn't she, Venus?

Look, Jupe, are you going to let
me use this thunderbolt or what?

What's the rush, Vulcan? You've
got the whole of eternity!

In a few thousand years' time

you will be able to use it for
the great benefit of mankind.

Doing what?

Killing people who play golf.

Now what's this?

Ah yes. Britain.

Chelmsford 123 AB.

Grasientus, I have the distinct impression
that someone is tampering with the mail.

Listen to this. Letter
from the Emperor.

"The Emperor Hadrian urges
all provincial governors

to take swift action against any
rebellious tribal leader except Badvoc,

who despite having a roguish
appearance really has a heart of gold.

In fact, anything he can
do for the Romans he will.

Just tip us the wink."

Not the style we are used
to from our divine Emperor.

Aulus, I think I know who's
been tampering with the mail.

- Mm?
- Badvoc.

That's brilliant, Grasientus!

You know, we're wasting
that brain of yours here.

It could be wedging open a door.

- How are we going to prove it's Badvoc?
- Easy. I have a plan.

- All we need is a case of tongue loosener.
- Not my best wine again.

Yes, just one glass and he'll
let the beans out of the bag.

- No, no, you mean the cat.
- Yes, sorry, beans out of the cat.

Stupid language!
Anyway, whatever.

He'll be legless in no time.

And then she takes off
the last veil, right?

- And you'll never guess what!
- She was a bloke?

No! She was a bloke!

- Thanks for the drink. I must be off.
- Ah!

Badvoc, tampering with the
imperial mail is a...

Ooh, have I ever
shown you this ring?

This is the magic
diamond of Selena.

This ring has
amazing properties.

So the story goes, the wearer of this
ring will one day rule the world.

That's me.

Aulus world rule! Do
you see what I mean?

No, I'm afraid I don't.

That's er... that's er...
because you are intoxicated.

You are incapable of intelligent
thought and coherent spooch.

I have no alternative but to
go "blaargh!" And pass out.

Blaargh!

Full stop.

Let's read that back.

"And so, my dear sister, while accidentally
pressing my ear against Aulus's door,

I couldn't help overhearing
the sensational

news that the ring your
dear husband wears

contains the famous magical
diamond of Selena.

I immediately thought
that the only person

with the ingenuity, the will
and the irresistible charm

to relieve Aulus of
this ring was you.

I know it's a long way
to come from Rome

but here in Chelmsford there is the
answer to your wildest dreams.

The key to unimaginable power.

And late night
shopping on Thursdays.

Thanks once again for
your last letter.

I was sickened to hear that
in the Emperor's last purge

Father was mutilated and sent to
Syria in 47 separate parcels.

But look on the bright side. He
always wanted to be posted abroad.

P.S. The only other person who
knows about this ring is Badvoc,

the leader of the local tribe.

But he is too stupid to realise
its importance and value."

Quick, let's get this ring off.
Damn, it's stuck!

Oh... Oh God...

- Right, who's got the butter?
- Here.

We're removing a ring
off somebody's finger.

I got a bit extra just in case.

Just in case? Just in case what?

We have to glaze 50,000
carrots on the way home?

- Let's just cut his finger off.
- Don't be ridiculous!

Look, it'll be easy.
You just take a knife.

You saw through the outer skin.

Slice through the gristle, take
the knife into the socket.

Snip the cartilage, rip off the finger,
slip off the ring, finger back on.

Brilliant. What are we going
to stick the finger on with?

Butter?

Oh! Oh! Oh my gorgeous!

Oh, is that you? Oh, my sweet.

Come, walk with me, skip through
the misty glades of the forest.

Come, skip, my peony petal.

Skip through the bluebells,
skip, skip, skip!

Badvoc, one kiss and
he's a dead man.

To bed, my sweet.
To bed! To bed!

Intruders! Intruders!

- Quick, get in the bed!
- Guard! Guard!

- Aulus! Aulus! Wake up!
- What? What? What?

There's been a break-in!

Grasientus, how dare you burst
into my bedchamber like that?

- You're alone, aren't you?
- Of course I am.

Supposing that lying here was
some gorgeous young... Argh!

Erm...

Butter, anyone?

There you go, posty.

Drink up, son, there's plenty
more where that came from.

Eat up, eat up, help yourself.

Always an honour to entertain
the imperial postman.

- Well?
- There's a lot of mail from Rome.

- How long will you be?
- I don't know.

Thanks for everything, Badvoc,
but I must be making a move now.

You can't go just yet, posty.
Surely you can stay for another...

- Ten minutes.
- Ten minutes.

No, I really must leave now.
Where did I put that bag?

Well, what a shame.

What a shame you have to go now.

Means you won't get a chance
to meet her but never mind.

Sorry?

Oh, it's just some
stunningly beautiful girl

with this insatiable sexual
obsession with postmen.

It's funny, really. She
sees a postman and

she's just got to have
rampant sex with him.

Still, if you can't stay,
you can't stay. See you.

Well, I... I could probably
spare five minutes.

She's really beautiful
then, is she?

I don't know if you can picture perfection
in human form but this girl is it.

The limpid depths
of her green eyes.

- Go on.
- Er, the er... fullness of her lips.

Yeah.

- The moist wetness of...
- Yeah!

The first week of February.

Badvoc. Finished.

- When will she get here?
- Any minute now, I should think.

- Hello, Badvoc!
- Ah, Blag. Blag?

Where is she? Oh no! I bet you've
come to say she's not coming.

- Who?
- Who! That's right, Who!

That's the girl's name. Who. It's
a foreign name, I think, yes.

- Who's not coming?
- Damn, I knew it!

I knew she'd let us down.

Never mind, another time. You best be off.
Don't forget your mail.

- You will let me know when she comes?
- We'll keep you posted.

Well?

Grasientus and his sister
Marcella, Aulus's wife.

- Right.
- Are hatching a plan to get the ring.

She's travelling from Rome.

This is the sort of information we
can use to our advantage. Let's go.

Here, do you want me
to wait for that girl?

- Who?
- That's the one.

What? She's coming here?

But why? Why would she want to leave
Rome and come to this armhole?

- Armpit.
- Armpit.

Stupid language!

Badvoc, that woman, she's a monster,
she's insane. She's inhuman.

- Aulus, she can't really be that bad.
- Can't be that bad? Grasientus!

- Yes?
- Get out!

Yes.

That was her brother.

I see what you mean.

Er... Listen, Aulus,
I've been thinking.

And I think I've got a plan of
how we can get rid of Marcella.

- How?
- You give me all your possessions.

- I do what?
- You make me governor.

Give me your power, your wealth,
your villa, your silk togas,

your horses, that
insignificant little ring.

Those golden sandals with the flowers on.
You give me everything.

But I'd have to be
mad to do that.

Exactly!

And would Marcella want to
be married to a madman? No.

She'd be on the first boat back
to Rome filing for a divorce.

Do you know, Badvoc, I think
you've just had a good idea.

I'll pretend I'm mad. I'll pretend
I'm completely around the corner.

- Bend.
- Good idea, I'll bend.

I'll bend.

I'll walk in a silly way and pretend
I'm completely mad! What do you think?

- No.
- She's terrified of birds.

I'll pretend to be a bird!
This is brilliant.

What kind of bird
shall I become?

- I always thought of you as a tit.
- Really?

I know, I'll become a duck!
A duck, that's right.

Pathetic, isn't it?

How could a race so stupid ever
conquer us in the first place?

He's good, isn't he?

Easily.

- So far so good, boys. Got the ring.
- It's a bit tarty, isn't it?

I wouldn't wear it.

- Right, that'll be Marcella.
- She's good on that trumpet, isn't she?

Come on, you old
dragon, get in here.

Good day, gentlemen.

Where is my husband Aulus?

- Erm...

Excuse me. Excuse me.

Mungo, stop thinking
what you're thinking.

Start thinking it when
I've finished thinking it.

Sorry about that, your ladyship.
My name is Badvoc.

- The temporary Roman governor of Britain.
- Put it there.

I'm Mungo.

They call me
Eight-times-a-night Mungo.

- Really?
- Yeah, he's got a very weak bladder.

Can somebody tell
me what's going on?

Yeah, we had a bit of bad news
about your husband, your ladyship.

- You see...
- What's wrong with him? Is he ill?

Well, sort of. He's
ill in the head.

- Has he gone mad?
- Let's put it this way.

If there's a competition for
the sanest man in Chelmsford,

I don't think Aulus would
feature in the final 16.

Let me see him. I must see him.

I don't think that would be wise in
his present state. He has gone gaga.

- Oh look, there he is!

- You're Socrates, the philosopher.
- Am I?

- Yes, you don't recognise me, do you?
- No.

I'm the pyramids!

- Perhaps this will jog your memory.
- Oh yeah!

Argh! What's that?

It's a lamb chop!
An old lamb chop!

A rancid, maggot-ridden
old lamb chop.

My poor dear husband. What
have they done to you?

Argh! It's a talking lamb chop.

I told you, no
talking lamb chops!

- It's good fun. How am I doing?
- Less of the physical.

- Sorry. Where's Grasientus?
- Oh, he's erm... washing his hair.

You put him in prison? Good.

Well, I'm not standing for this, Socrates.
I don't care what you say.

I want this old lamb chop removed
by sunset yesterday. Come on, boy!

Giddy-up! Giddy-up!

Is he always like that?

No, we're lucky today.
Normally he talks nonsense.

I couldn't help noticing he
wasn't wearing his ring.

- What ring?
- This ring.

- Oh, that ring!
- It's an old family heirloom. Worthless.

Sentimental value only.
Why have you got it?

He gave it to me. It
was a swap, really.

- What did you give him?
- A cloud.

A cloud?

It was one he'd seen and
liked and I thought why not.

- I don't believe this.
- Look out, here he comes.

You, hold Alexander the Great.

Badvoc, a word.

I am posthumous cheese
chomper, king of the dormice.

I'm in the area checking for stray...
Agh! What's that behind you?

Oh that, it's a lamb chop.

Are you mad? It's a tabby cat!

A mangy tabby cat! I told you
before, no cats in here!

Stop thumping me.

- If you'd let me do my duck she'd be gone.
- It's going fine.

Haven't you got any skirting boards you'd
like to nibble, king cheese chomper?

What? Oh yes! Yes, I have! Yes.
Squeak squeak squeak!

It's just too awful.

My poor darling husband,
totally unrecognisable.

If only I had something
to remember him by.

This worthless ring, for example,
would mean so much to me.

I'd do anything to have it.

- Erm... anything?
- Anything.

Does anything
include everything?

- It might.
- I am Neptune, king of the oceans!

- I don't believe this.
- Neptune am I, ruler of the deep.

I am the king and the
waves are my subjects.

You say hello to one
of my subjects.

Oh!

Right, that does it. Excuse me, Marcella,
it's time for Aulus's medication.

Oh!

- Is he all right?
- Yeah, juts a mild sedative.

Shall we?

Here, Mungo. Is
madness infectious?

- Course not.
- Told you!

Come on, eat up.

This is erm... interesting.
What is it?

It's horse.

Horse?

Takes a lot of careful
preparation, horse, you know.

I mean, you don't just kill a
horse, slap it on the table.

You have to do
things to it first.

Got to get the rider
off it for a start.

That's right.

And then you've got to detach the cart
or you wouldn't get it in the oven.

Badvoc, as much as I'd love

to discuss the delights of Celtic
cuisine with these halfwits,

I think we have more pressing
business to attend to.

Right, I'll go and
muck out the bed.

But first I think we should
pay Aulus a little visit.

Er, why?

Because I don't believe he's mad.
I think it's put on.

But what about our
pressing business?

Aulus first, pressing later.

Neptune! Neptune!

The look on Badvoc's face when
I threw that water over him!

Next time I'll be
the god of fire.

I wonder how he'd cope with a
burning torch up his breeches?

I think he's through
here, Marcella.

- Oh my God!
- What's wrong?

The madness has got worse. He's started
talking and doing everything backwards.

- No, he hasn't.
- You better come and see for yourself.

- He looks all right to me.
- How are things, Aulus?

- That's awful!
- I think it's brilliant.

- He really has gone mad.
- Yes, I'm afraid it gets worse.

After the backwards phase
he goes into his er...

standing upside down with his head in
a bucket full of pig's liver phase.

- Of course, I'll have to divorce him.
- Definitely, yeah.

I can't be married to a man who
does everything backwards.

Quite, yeah.

- We weren't really suited deep down.
- Really?

- He was very jealous of me.
- Yeah.

I expect he told you
foul things about me.

No, no.

He probably said I was bad
tempered, violent and mad.

No, no.

That I take pleasure from stripping men
and singeing their groins with torches.

It never cropped up
in conversation.

- It's because he feels inadequate.
- Yeah.

- He just couldn't satisfy my needs.
- No.

- I need a lusty forest beast.
- Yeah.

I need a godlike animal.

I need a faun, half
man, half goat.

I need a... a Pan.

I can get you a pan.
They're in the kitchen.

- You'll satisfy me, won't you, Badvoc?
- Yeah.

- Aulus was so poor a lover, you know.
- Really?

Sometimes he could only keep
going for five or six hours.

Pardon?

He could only manage to
fulfil me 20 times a night.

- Really? Er...
- You're not like him, are you, Badvoc?

No, I'm definitely not like him, no.
Er...

Then do your damnedest!

Do you want to look at the pans?

- Take me, Badvoc, now!
- Right, right.

But first, Badvoc, poppet,
take off the ring.

Why?

Well, I can't make my love to a man
who's wearing my poor husband's ring.

I shouldn't think Aulus will mind. He's
probably got his head in pig's liver.

I insist. Take it off
and give it to me.

Can't I give it to you
then take it off?

Don't be so impudent,
you fetid savage!

You're not fit to lie with any
woman, let alone a Roman.

You're filth, you're scum. You're
as bad as that other worm Aulus.

Give me that ring.

You spineless
abomination, you purulent

louse, you grunting
primeval pig-faced slug!

Give it to me. Give it to me!

Give it to me or I'll
shred you to bits!

Er... I take it the shag's off?

Arrrgh!

- Badvoc, Badvoc, it's me, the postman.
- Listen, I'm in a bit of a hurry.

Whatever happened to that
gorgeous girl you had for me?

- Who?
- That's the one.

I tell you what...

Talking backwards!

- Aulus! Aulus!

You're right. She's
totally insane.

- She tried to seduce you?
- Tried to seduce me.

- "Badvoc, I need a Pan."
- All that, yeah.

- She pulls a knife?
- At my throat.

I told you, she's inhuman,
she's insane, she's a monster.

- She's behind me.
- She's behind you. What?!

Excuse me, sir, I wonder,
could you help me?

- I certainly hope so.
- I'm looking for Badvoc.

Yeah. I've just...

Just a minute!

You're her, aren't you?

- Who?
- That's right.

Well, actually, I'm a postman.

- So come on, give it to me.
- All right, then.

Badvoc, I want that ring!

Oh, I see. Oh dear, oh dear.

You've both gone mad and
think you're birds?

And as you know, Aulus, I have
a terrible fear of birds.

So terrible, in fact, that
I consulted a doctor.

Oh-oh!

Told me that the only way to overcome
this fear was to confront it.

Eradicate it.

Kill it.

So much for the ring that gives
the wearer unlimited powers.

Die!

Bloody hell!

I told you not to use
that thunderbolt!

I'm sorry but I got fed up of those
two prats pretending to be birds.

You hit that rather
attractive young lady.

Oh no! She was a
nice bit of crumpet!

Now she's a nice bit
of toasted crumpet.

Don't blame me. You gave me the
thunderbolt for my birthday.

I wanted a football. You
gave Mars a football.

- Yes, well.
- And a train set.

- But...
- And a spirograph.

Well, he's the god of war.

I don't want to upset him, do I?

Jupiter, you're an all-seeing, all-knowing
god who understands everything.

- Yes...
- Well, answer me this.

What does a producer do?

Well, there are some things
even a god can't fathom.

Ripped By mstoll