All language subtitles for movieddl.me_Fresh.Meat.S04E03.Episode.3.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DD+2.0.x264-Cinefeel

♪ O mio babbino caro

♪ Mi piace, e bello, bello

♪ Vo'andare in Porta Rossa

♪ A comperar I'anello! ♪

Are you ready?

Can you believe 50% of our
mark is about to be decided?

Something terrible has happened.

What?

Well, when I was writing this,
I had this amazing feeling

like it was the most original...

thought-provoking
dissertation ever written.

In the English language.

But now, looking back over it...

...well, it's more like the...

tedious meandering waffle of
a madwoman.

What's going on?

You're probably just too close to
it to be objective. Want me to...?

Fuck off.

What if it's shit?

What if it's genius?

What if it's shit?

What if it's genius?

What if it's shit?

What if it's genius?

What I'm thinking... is what they're
gonna want is a playlist of the self.

Five songs that distil my
essence.

Who is Kingsley Owen?

They will ask you about your work
ethic, or if you are a team player.

No, no, no, no, no.

They're gonna be like...

"Do you dig Miles?"

You just don't want to be
pretentious or, you know...

boring.

I have to get back to the
office.

Um, cool. I'll call you later, yeah?
Let you know how it goes?

Cool.

I may come with you on the
Megabus.

I'm applying for a job at Ordnance
Survey, but they're based in London.

I need to do a recce of the
surrounding environment,

make sure we're compatible.

I don't want to work for Ordnance
Survey if it requires, for example,

being kettled by Metropolitan
Police on a daily basis,

as happened on my last visit
to London.

I'm pretty sure you're not going to
get randomly kettled

on the way to work, Howard.

Oh, Kingsley doesn't "think" I'll
get kettled. How reassuring

And yet experience tells me that
on 100% of my visits to London,

I have been kettled.

Therefore, it is only sensible to
make sure. So, can I come?

I guess, but you have to be ready
early, OK?

Oh, don't you worry.

I'll be ready.

Hi, Tony.

Thanks for calling. Um...

I've got two minutes, so let me download
the facts and then you can respond, OK?

Basically, Jeanette Winterson has agreed
to be our judge for the Shawcross...

Uh-huh.

Uh-huh, yes, it's fabulous.

But the thing is, she only has time
to judge the two best poems.

Now, what I need is someone to read
through the bulk of the poems

and choose Jeanette's two.

A stableboy, if you will.

Someone to shovel through
the shit and find the gold.

And I thought of you.

Now, I know that lecturers don't make
the big money any more,

so, er, I can offer you
Ј100 plus expenses.

Because I'm offering you the chance
to work with Jeanette Winterson!

Oh, thank you.

That's great. OK, you won't
regret this.

I promise.

Rosa, why are there six angry men in
wheelchairs in my office, shouting at me?

They are protesting your decision
to take away their minibus.

I didn't take away their minibus.
It's the murderball team.

That's the murderball team.

Yes, that's the murderball team.

No, that's the murderball team.

OK, why do we keep saying it?

Those men in wheelchairs
are the murderball team.

"Murderball" is another word
for wheelchair rugby.

Yes, you took away their
special minibus.

The one that takes them
from the outreach programme

to the disadvantaged youth
centre.

And you used the money to
fund poems

for a prize named after
yourself.

Obviously, you knew that.

Because you wouldn't slash
funding for something

without understanding what it
was for, would you?

Oh, no.

Where's our bus? Where's our bus?

Ohh.

Oregon, are you about for a chat?

Vod, can we have a talk about...?

Yes, hello, Nightline?

I need to talk to someone.

About something I've done.

Something terrible.

I've had sex with JP before.
Quite a few times.

But this is the first time
we've ever done it...

...sober.

I fucking hate myself.

Yeah, well, I would talk to my
friends about it,

except they're all third years
and they're too busy,

so I'm in this on my own.

Maybe I need to detach
myself from these people.

Try and be more...

...self-sufficient.

More independent.

Yeah, I'm the guy who, yeah, will
listen to I'm Ready by Royal Trux

when he gets fucked on Jack.

But sees no contradiction in rolling
out of bed the next day

and slowly grooving to Sweet
Caroline by Neil Diamond

while he sips his morning latte.

No, wait...

Well... the family baton
has been foisted upon me.

So, here I am.

About to don my father's suit

and go for a job in the City
with a starting salary of 100K.

I tried so hard to escape my
destiny.

But alas,

she has come to claim me.

Have you tried that hard, though?

I mean, really?

Of course I have.

You wouldn't understand.

You don't have a destiny.

But people like me...

we always have a destiny.

And we must always fulfil that
destiny.

Because if we didn't, the whole
fabric of society would unravel.

I mean, what would happen if...

people like me stopped quietly
accepting their privilege

and started shirking the responsibility
of being in charge of everything?

We are overwhelmed with gratitude.

Eurgh. Another shit one.

Add that to the shit pile.

Where's the good pile?

There is no good pile.
They're all shit.

Hi, Nas, have they gone yet?

Well, they're gonna have to
eat and sleep at some point,

so can you just let me know
when they've given up?

Ooh, To The President. This sounds
hopeful. It might be political.

"You took away my rugby
You took away my bus

"You took away all hopes and
dreams from us."

OK, well, that doesn't even
scan properly.

"I hope you die of something
Like tetanus or Aids

"If I wasn't in a wheelchair
I'd dance upon your grave."

Shit. Oh!

No, not a-shitting-nother one.

Oh, sweaty fucking Christ.

Right, you dozy fuckers.

Let's do a bong.

What did you just say?

I said, load up the billy,
I wanna smoke a bowl.

- Why are you talking like that?
- Like what?

Also, um, I need a new
nickname.

- The Idiot?
- Something, um, cool and catchy

and something people will chant,
like, er... you know, Josie is...

- Cosy.
- No! Something cool.

People already think I'm too
nice.

I've got it.

- Ohh! Leave me alone.
- OK, what about...?

Listen. What about...

- Jobbo?
- No.

- Jobbo, yeah?
- It sounds like a cross

between a blow job and a poo.

- No, it doesn't.
- I don't like Jobbo.

Guess what?

Jobbo doesn't care if you
don't like her.

That's what makes her so
fucking likeable.

I need a lift right now.

- Oregon?
- Where?

- Er, West Wittering.
- Yeah, great.

Where's that? Is it far?

- Quite far.
- Great.

- Where are you going?
- Just a little getaway.

Not like driving away fast from the
scene of a crime or anything.

Just like a mini-break.

- Is it?
- Sort of, yeah.

Er, I need to see an old friend,
Paz, down at a free space commune.

Is that my lipstick?

No. Can I come?

Sorry, Jose,
it's not really a group thing.

Oregon's just gonna drop me
down there.

A commune's not really a
group thing?

Right, so you're going, Oregon's going,
and the three boys are going to London.

So, if I don't go, I'll just be
here on my own like Robinson Crusoe

and I'll end up talking to a beachball
and eating my own legs, or something.

No. I'll just get fresh knickers.

- No...
- Why are you going to West Wittering?

Need to see an old friend.

Get some advice.

I'll explain more later, yeah?

Shall we?

Wait for Jobbo.

So, we introduce me
as Jobbo, yeah?

Cos that's my new name now.

What the fuck is
that?

What, this?

This is Jobbo's marijuana
cap.

Who the fuck is Jobbo?

I'm Jobbo. It's my new nickname.

Anyway, according to their
website,

your anarchist commune do shamanic
eraldaketa sessions.

They do what?

Completely changes your personality
for a significant amount of time.

Jobbo's gonna take some.

- No, she is not.
- Yes, she fucking is.

Shamanic eraldaketa?
That's pure fucking Jobbo.

There it is.

- That's free space?
- Yeah.

- I thought it'd be more...
- Ye-e-eah.

Why are we here again?

Er, see Paz, my friend from
my band.

You'll like her, Oregon.
She's a sand-poet.

She's a what?

Oh, there she is.

Oi, Paz.

Nas? What?

But it's been 24 hours.
How can they still be there?

Jesus Christ, what more do they want
from me?

- Everything OK?
- Yeah. Everything's brilliant.

- Oh, Vod! Welcome.
- Ahh!

I'm the guy with Dropout Boogie by
Beefheart going in one earphone,

and September by Earth
Wind & Fire in the other.

Hurry up, I've got just enough
time to get to my interview.

- What's the quickest way to Temple?
- Haven't you checked?

Well, no, I thought they'd
send a car.

Oh, here, I've got a map.

Howard's day bag has useful
items for every eventuality.

Mind the gap.

- Oh, hold on, that's my application.
- Get on with it!

Get on! I'm gonna be late.

- Howard, get on the train.
- Come on!

Driver!

What's the protocol now?

- Do we get off at the next station
and go back?
- What if Howard's got on

the next train, then he gets off
at the next station and goes back,

but we're already on the next train
forwards?

- I don't have time for this shit.
- We'll just call him when we get
above ground.

Howard's from Glasgow, isn't he?
He can look after himself.

And then I printed out my essay

and that was just loads of
meaningless bits of paper

all put together.

And now I'm thinking...

...I don't know what
to do.

That is an obscene amount of money
to spend on shuttlecocks.

I say we cut Bad Soc funding in half
and send that back to murderball.

Yeah, uh-huh. Mm, uh-huh.

Mm-hm. OK, OK. Now read me the
budget for hockey.

Why not get yourself a meaningless bit
of paper, if that's what you want?

I don't know if it is what I want.

You know, and I owe all this money
and, ugh,

no idea how I'm gonna pay it back,
and what if it was like the band?

- Cor!
- You know?

Cos at the beginning, we were all
like, we're gonna be famous,

our lyrics are gonna change
the world,

and we actually believed it.
- Yeah!

Then we were, like, sleeping in the
back of a van for three years.

Tssh.

Ohh.

What if this whole university thing's
just another pointless dream?

Oh, come on.

Come on.

All I'm saying is, there's no
boundaries any more.

We're in a post-genre landscape.
It's fucking anarchy.

And I'm just watching it all
play out

with Forever Changes by
Love on heavy rotation.

OK, then, peeps. Let's kick things
off with the first question.

Er, Kingsley, how would you describe
your work ethic?

So, what's with this Jobbo
thing, then?

You just imagined a new
personality out of thin air?

- Yeah, why not?
- Where'd you get your, er, inspiration?

Oh, where'd you get your lipstick?

- I got it from a really crazy little
shop you've never even heard of.
- Oh.

What can I say?
When God made Jobbo,

- he broke the mould.
- Hi, guys.

Right, some more info.

All right, there we are.

First of all, let me say how
impressed we are with your CV.

And from what your brother's told
me, I think you're exactly the kind

of chap we're looking for here at
Frome & Harrington.

I'm just gonna run you through a
couple of simple questions.

I'm sure it's nothing you can't
handle.

What do you feel you'd bring to the
role of wealth manager's assistant?

Mm.

I'd probably bring...

...cheese sandwiches.

- I'm sorry?
- And a little flask of tea.

You know, one of those ones with the
little... detachable cup on top.

I meant qualities you'd bring that
make you suitable for the role.

OK. First up...

...I've got a great sense of humour.

No? Um... Sure.

I can see you're looking at me,
thinking,

"Jonathan, wouldn't it, for example,
be better to mention something like

maths at this point?"

But, actually, I'd be up for any
kind of evil shit

you want me to undertake.

Er, gambling with people's pensions,

lying about investments,

hiding Nazi gold.

Sign me up.

I just wanna get my Christmas bonus.

And I will do literally anything
to get it.

So, yeah, I guess you could
put that down as a quality.

I dunno what you'd call that.

Grasping?

Greedy?

Ruthless?

- Amoral.
- Yes, Jonathan,
that's not quite what I meant.

- Look...
- Oh!

I don't care about the old
people or the poor people,

any kind of people, except our
people.

Hm?

Now, that is what makes me right
for this job.

Shall I take your plate?

Time for washing-up duty.

OK, that's it. I can't take any
more.

Tell me what's going on here,
please, Vod.

- What d'you mean?
- I mean...

you have to have a trick
up your sleeve, right?

Like, um... Like we're gonna steal
all the drugs.

Or a really hot guy's gonna turn up
who we all wanna have sex with,

who maybe we will all have sex with,
cos it's just that kind of vibe.

I'm not sure I follow.

I'm talking about this place

and how you've gotta have some sort
of ulterior motive for being here.

Because it can't be over a
desire to do washing-up duty

or read a big book of rules,
can it, Vod?

- Shh.
- This isn't you.

Yeah, well, maybe you don't know me
as well as you thought.

Sorry, no smoking in the main hall.

Yeah, not so much anarchist commune
as, er, nanny state, eh, Paz?

Listen, Jobbo.

I've gotta live with these
people, OK?

So, try not to piss 'em off.

What d'you mean, live with them?

You are coming back to
Manchester, aren't you, Vod?

OK, fine, look, I didn't wanna make
a big fuss about it,

but I might be moving here.

- When?
- Now.

You can't just drop out right before
your exams. That's madness.

Why d'you care, Jobbo?

OK, guys, if I call your name,
you're through to the next round.

If I don't call your name,
thanks so much for coming,

you haven't made it this time, but there
is feedback available over by Simeon.

OK? So...

- Juniper.
- Yes!

Frankie.

Hannah.

And Asif.

Yeah! Thank you.

Everyone else, thanks for your time
and all the best for the future.

OK, let's crack on with round two.

Oh, and don't forget your feedback.

Feedback.

Some feedback. Oh!

Feedback, yeah.

Thanks.

Because what I need in the wake of
this all-crushing

and, frankly, heartbreaking failure is
a big list of what's wrong with me.

Yes, please, BBC 6 Music.
While you're at it,

why don't you cut my throat and ask
if I mind if you stamp on my head?

Your moustache is horrid,
by the way.

There's my "feedback" for you.

How do you like it?

Feedback's optional.

Thanks. Thank you.

- To freedom.
- Yeah.

Except I don't wanna be free. I
wanna be an intern at BBC 6 Music.

And instead, I get fucking feedback.

Knutsford, I think you're taking
this all too much to heart.

What did the feedback say?

- I don't know, I didn't take it.
- You didn't take it?

When someone rejects you, the last
thing you want is a list of reasons.

I just thought it might be
useful for next time.

If you get another interview.

- Where the fuck is Howard?
- I textedhim and
told him to meet us here.

- I'll text him again.
- I should've taken the feedback.

- I should've read
what they had to say...

...so I could be better next time.

Oh, shit!

Oh, shit. Howard's phone.

Thanks to the invention
of the hand-held device,

I don't have one useful telephone
number memorised.

And all I can think to do
is call the operator

and speak to John at Ordnance
Survey, ask for his help, but...

how can I admit to the man at
Ordnance Survey that I'm lost?

I mean, look at me.

First morning in the capital
and I'm already destitute.

Rita, this may sound strange, but...

can you spare me some change?

You came all the way to London just
to commit interview suicide?

Fuck Tomothy.

I went and did his stupid little
interview

and now he needs to let go of
my balls.

And if he doesn't let go of my balls,
I'm gonna tell him to suck on my balls.

I did his stupid interview.

He didn't say how well I had
to do it.

I'm my own man. I will not be
dictated to by my brother.

- I shall do as I wish.
- Like what?

- Dunno. Something amazing.
- For example?

For example, think of something
amazing to do and then do it...

amazingly.

You're not worried? At all?

I'm not worried.
Why would I be worried?

And even if I was worried, I wouldn't
allow myself to feel worried,

because feelings of weakness only
make other people uncomfortable.

If one boy cries, we all want to
cry.

And since we all want to cry,
but we also don't want to cry,

we need to beat the boy who's crying
to stop him from crying.

- You see?
- Oh.

Oh, shit. Tomothy.

Shit.

Jonathan, it's your brother.

I've just had a phone call from Magda. She
told me what you did, you little shit.

D'you really think you're gonna get
away with this?

Isn't this when you get out there
and tell him to suck your...?

Shh.

Daddy's turning in his grave, JP.

Squirming in his fucking grave.

If he wasn't already dead,
he'd probably die of shame.

Just call me back straightaway,
or I'm calling Mummy.

Paz tells me you're joining us.

Yeah.

Need to get away for a while,
go off-grid for a bit.

Yeah.

I know what you mean.

Best decision I ever made,
escaping all that shit.

- Job? Mortgage?
- You just don't need it.

Wife? Two kids?

Had the lot.

It weighs on you.

You know, that kind of baggage.

Out here,

no way they can track me down.

Haven't even got a phone.
It's brilliant.

Hello, Ordnance Survey, John
speaking. How can I help?

Hi, John, it's Howard here.

- I'm sorry?
- Howard McGregor.

We've been exchanging e-mails about
my potential application

for a job at your company.

Howard, of course. How can I help?

I'm in London with no phone,
no money, no access to GPS,

and my only piece of navigational
equipment is the old-fashioned compass.

I was wondering if you might be able
to help me.

Go on.

Oh...

Sorry, I changed my mind.
I want my feedback.

At the time, I didn't wanna
know my faults, but now I do.

I mean, I already know one of my faults
was not wanting to know my faults.

- But... I'm ready now.
- You were at the workshop?

- That's right.
- Yeah, I'm sorry,

I think we put all the
unwanted feedback in the bin.

- Oh.
- What was your name again?

Er, Kingsley Owen.
Could you just maybe...

maybe just tell me what it was

so I can be better next time?
- Right, Kingsley.

Yeah, what did we say about you?

Er...

Ooh, was it, maybe, um...

Some of my opinions were half-baked?

- Er...
- Did you find me pretentious?

Or annoying? My personality can be
grating?

- Well...
- I'm inauthentic, maybe?

I'm boring? Um... Oh, no, wait.
Um, I'm a people-pleaser.

I'm indecisive?

- Sorry, were you in today or yesterday?
- Um...

Well, today.
It was... It was... It was today.

Right, it's just we've been running these
workshops all week, I'm ever so sorry.

Um...

I'm the guy who listens to I'm Ready by
Royal Trux when he gets fucked up on Jack,

but then...
- Right, yes!

Now I remember, yeah.

Yeah, I asked what music you liked and...
you were talking for about half an hour

and I couldn't really work out
what your answer was.

It was all, like, "Oh, I don't
really believe in genres."

But, you know, all I wanted to
know was...

D'you like U2 or do you not?

I'm sorry, I don't really understand
the question.

Cut golf, cut fencing, cut fucking
Juggle Soc, OK, Nas, I don't care.

Just do it.

You know the radio waves from that thing
are being absorbed by your brain?

It's OK, I don't mind.

Is that...?

- Are you doing your poetry?
- Yeah.

You can write better poems in the sand
than in any of your fucking books.

I've written over 1,000 poems
in the sand.

I've written a whole
screenplay in the sand.

- Awesome.
- And once they're finished...

...no-one will ever read them.

- Right, and that's good, is it?
- Right, so, are we ready to begin?

Yes.

In the words of Shirley
Bassey, Pink

and Welsh hero Rhydian
Roberts from The X Factor,

- let's get this party started.
- Wait.

Before you drink,
you must cleanse the space.

Speak your truth.

If you don't, you can have a very,
very bad trip.

I once hallucinated 1,000 Jabba the
Hutts crawling out of my eye sockets

and ejaculating onto my breasts.

Yeah?

So, unless you want that, get any
little grudges, any secrets,

out in the open.

Cos once you drink this stuff, it is
all coming out, one way or another.

Ring this bell when you're ready.

I'll come and pour the eraldaketa.

Yeah.

Mm-hm.

Mm-hm. Yes, thank you.

Howard...

Anyone who can find their
way to HQ

using nothing more
than latitudinal coordinates

and an old-fashioned compass

might be just the kind of candidate we're
looking for here at Ordnance Survey.

And especially one with such great
taste in knitwear.

Well, now you've got me, are there
any questions you'd like to ask me?

Well...

actually,

I wanted to ask if you could see
your way to lend me?29 in cash?

You what?

That is the peak-time fare
from London to Manchester,

without which, unless I manage to
meet up with my friends,

I won't be able to make it home.

I would, of course, repay you.

Perhaps...

...at my interview.

And, yes, I should have checked
what murderball was,

but I've been really busy

with Fulbright and my dissertation
and the Shawcross.

And what have I learned?

That I can't trust my staff.

And I guess I'm also feeling really bad
because I haven't read any good poems

and I need to find one to send
to Jeanette Winterson.

But I'll get round to it
after we've finished this.

Er, OK, I think I'm done.

Jobbo?

You got something?

OK, so, um...

I was hoping to find a better
time to talk about this,

but I think I need to say it now because
I'm quite afraid of having a bad trip.

Yeah, no big deal, but I...
woke up yesterday morning

and it turns out
that I had had sex with JP.

Again.

You...

We've actually, um...

done it quite a few times
recently, regularly.

So... yeah.

OK.

There's no need to look at me like that,
all right, Mrs Judge and Mrs Judgey.

OK? I'm not going out with
him. It's just sex.

Jobbo is very much like Vod
in that respect.

I just use men and I dump 'em
when I'm through with 'em.

How's that like me?

You know what I mean.

I don't give a shit
about anyone else's feelings.

I just chuck people away whenever
I decide to move on.

OK.

Er... Oh, I've got one.

- I fucked JP.
- What?!

- Really?
- Yeah.

No.

Or was it the other one?

Maybe it was another house.

When we all went to Liverpool
on that night.

- We've never been to Liverpool.
- Oh, yeah.

No, I didn't wanna fuck JP.

So, I didn't.

Right, take this seriously.

We're meant to be speaking
our truth.

All right. Here's one.

I don't like Jobbo.

- I think Jobbo's a wanker.
- What?!

How can you not like Jobbo when
she's so clearly based on you?

I knew it.

- How is Jobbo like me?
- I'm just cruising through life,

never facing up to any of the
consequences of my actions.

I'm so fucking cool, it hurts.

Well, no, you're not.
And neither am I.

- Yes, you are.
- Am I like that, Oregon?

- No.
- Vod, you've nearly finished uni

and you're about to fuck off
and live on some commune.

- You're doing what?
- Yeah, she's planning to move here.

At least I'm not shagging JP.

I can't believe
you're planning to move here.

I knew you were judging me.

How dare you,
after everything you've done?

OK, yes,

it's disgusting.

Yes, it's not very fair on
Kingsley.

Yes, it's sneaky to do it
behind my friends' backs.

But maybe, if my friends weren't being
such fucking self-important twats,

then maybe I wouldn't have
done it in the first place.

"Oh, oh, we're third years,
we're so important."

"Oh, no, I can't come for a pint
with you, Josie. I'm union president."

"Oh, no, I can't. I've gotta write
my dissertation."

"We don't care about Josie and her
stupid, second year, immature

"wanting to hang out
and do fun stuff bullshit."

So, now she's lonely
and she's accidentally

had quite a lot of sex with JP.

But that could happen to anyone.

One time you asked me
to go for a pint with you

because you said everybody
else was busy.

Which proves my point.

Do you think I've had a pint
with Oregon?

If I wanna see Oregon, I have to
make a fucking appointment.

You don't have to make
an appointment.

OK, so you've got time
to go for a pint with Oregon...

Oregon is my best mate, Josie.

And I hardly see her any more.

Oh, my God. This is so unfair.

I'm applying to be a Fulbright
scholar. I'm union president.

"I'm union president."

Oh, fuck you.

You're both selfish,

you're both self-centred,

and I'm shagging JP
and you're both responsible.

You are really fucking me off
now, Josie.

Yeah, well, if you cared about any of us,
Vod, then you'd come back to Manchester,

like a proper friend,
and you'd finish uni.

But, no, you don't give a shit,
so you're just dropping out.

You wanna shut your fucking mouth
right now before I lose my temper.

D'you think Jobbo's scared of
you? Because she's not.

- Maybe she should be.
- Maybe she's not.

Oh, God, I'm so sorry.
I didn't mean to. I'm really...

- Stop it!
- I'm gonna kill you!

Josie, stop it. Ah!

Ow!

Rrrgh!

You know, I worked really hard to
get to Manchester, Josie.

I worked my factory job in the day
and did an access course at night,

and lived on fucking beans so I
could afford our rent near college.

And now I'm about...

£5 billion in debt.

And guess what?

I don't have Mummy and Daddy to come
and bail me out. I'm on my own.

So, I might have fucked about
a bit these past three years,

but if you think that means I don't
give a shit then you don't know me.

Here's your fucking truth.

What are we gonna do?

We can't just hang around London on
the off-chance that we bump into him.

I knew we should have put a tag on him.
"Please look after this Howard."

- We've gotta get on the coach.
- Yeah.

Just hope he finds his way back,
like a big, bearded homing pigeon.

Wait.

Look.

Howard!

We've found you.

The next time we go on a trip

and I propose arranging a safe meeting
point in case of nuclear attack,

- I suggest you take me seriously.
- Oh, fuck it.

Thank God you're safe.

It's not that bad, you know.

A solid 2:2. Borderline 2:1.

A 2:1?

It's not actually that hard to
get a 2:1.

You basically just have to
hand stuff in.

I don't want a 2:1. I want a first.

Do you?

Yeah.

I've always wanted a first.

Just something about a first just
appeals to me more than a 2:1.

Know what I mean?

Kind of.

Let me get this straight.

You either want a first
or you want to leave civilisation?

Yeah.

If we leave now, we can still make it
back in time for you to hand this in.

Yeah, OK.

I'm killing Jobbo!

Just to check...

Begging a future employer for
bus fare...

Impressively nonchalant or
incredibly bad first impression?

Mummy?

'Have you spoken to Tomothy?'

Tomothy? No, he hasn't called me.

Why?

'What the bloody hell
have you done?'

Well, I don't know what he's talking
about, Mummy.

"And so I said, 'Could I be dead

"Or should I be in Maidenhead?"

Shit.

"Let me be alone till now

- "I..."
- Shit.

"Whose woods these are,
I think I know

"His house is in the village,
though."

Shit.

- Shit.
- Shit.

Shit.

Shit!

♪ ...No, I don't listen
to their wasted lines

♪ Got my eyes wide open

♪ And I see the signs

♪ But they don't know about us

♪ And they've never heard of love

- ♪ Doo doo-doo-doo
- ♪ Why should it matter to us

♪ If they don't approve?

♪ Doo doo-doo-doo

♪ We should just take our
chances

♪ While we've got nothing to
lose... ♪