Original subtitles

- You don't drink it with your eyes, mate.

That's a good pint.

Lovely drop.

- How would you describe its flavour and profile?

- Oak-aged, brewed with molasses and a robust malt bill.

- Nothing robust about that.

- No.

That is as dead as a dormouse.

Door nail.

"I have eat no meat these five days;

"yet, come thou with thy five men,

and I do not leave you all as dead as a door nail."

Shakespeare, Henry the Fourth.

- Yeah.

- I'll take a lager top. - Mm.

- If you want cocktails, I suggest you go over the road

with the rest of the prawn sandwich brigade.

- Your sign outside says you do food.

- Yeah, that's right. Yeah, we do.

What do you want?

Got a drover's cottage pie.

That's what all the drovers used to eat

when they were drovin'.

- Um, two of those, please. - Yep.

Two drover's cottage pies coming up.

...after every British village

town and community,

now 37 pubs every week are calling last orders

and shutting their doors for good.

Campaign For Real Ale

warns that without extended governmental support--

- Bloody mammals. - What's that?

- Middle-aged muppets in lycra

poncing around the countryside in hot pants.

There ought to be a law against it.

- All right. Yeah, Dad,

I'm gonna need your help with these accounts.

I... I can't work out who's been paid, who hasn't.

- Yeah, don't you worry about it, mate.

It's all logged away up here.

Now, if you'd like to put your pinny on,

I need two cottage pies.

Then when you've done that,

you can bring the empty barrels up

from the cellar 'cause the delivery's coming later.

- All right.

If you shove a broomstick up my arse,

I'll sweep the floor as well.

I'll go and get one.

- Mornin'. - Morning, my love.

Where we off to?

Drovers Arms, please.

- Where's your limo?

Celebrity like you, thought you'd have a chauffeur.

See? Still know all the lyrics!

- Yeah.

- You don't recognise me, do you?

Dawn Higgins?

We played spin the bottle at my 13th birthday.

I should have shagged you when I had the chance.

- Are you married? - No.

Engaged?

No.

Dating?

No.

- Hm. The planets have aligned.

Ah, I love a man who's in touch with his feminine side.

How do you identify?

I'm pansexual.

So, basically means I'm up for it.

Whoever, whenever, wherever.

- Could we pull over?

- Oh, God, yeah.

Thought you'd never ask.

I love getting down and dirty in a public place.

- How much? - Oh, I don't charge.

I just do it for the thrill of it.

- I mean the fare.

- Oh.

- Here's a tenner.

- What happened to sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, eh?

- Shit.

Oh, shit!

Shit.

Shit!

Shit!

Look what the cat's dragged in.

Ed!

Edward!

You'll never guess who I've just seen.

Cal Harley.

- How'd you know that?

- My Dawn just texted me.

Picked him up from the station.

Said he was wearing nail varnish.

- What?

- Hm, wonder what he's doing back.

- Probably to bail his father out of the mess he's in.

- Hm. Not much to be said for fame and fortune, is there?

He's a handsome bugger,

but the man looks an absolute mess.

- It's called fashion, Edith.

Loads of rock stars dress like homeless people.

- There you go. Two drover's cottage pies

made to an original family recipe.

Do you want any sauces with that?

- Anything.

- Hello, Dad.

- I want him gone by the time I get back.

Same again.

- This place is a madhouse.

- Jake, what's happened here?

The pub was always the life and soul of the village.

Where did everyone go?

- Where did you go more like?

We didn't know whether you were dead

or dancing on a beach in Bali.

- It's complicated.

- You go on the missing list for three years

and "complicated" is all you've got?

You're lucky he only punched you once.

The delivery's here.

Come on.

The least you can do is give me a hand.

- Bloody hell, this takes me back.

Good memories down here with you.

Helping Granddad brew.

- Save the sentimentality for your songs.

- I know...

you'd have found a way to forgive him.

I just don't know how.

- Cheers.

How's your mum and dad, then, Harry? All good?

- Oh, yeah, they're good, mate.

Yeah, they're good. Yeah.

They've got a message for you, actually.

They say, um, sod off.

- What's up with him?

- Well, he still blames you for breaking up The Corn Chiefs.

- It was a high-school band.

- Yeah, well, you became famous.

He became a delivery driver.

Well, hang on.

What about our delivery?

- What about your debt?

Boss says no more deliveries

until you put your hand in your pocket.

- How am I supposed to run a pub without any beer?

- We're a business, Jake.

Not a charity.

If you're desperate, you can always call Pritchard.

- What's going on?

It's complicated.

Oh, shit, Romy!

You're gonna have to drive.

I'm on a ban.

Romy, your dad's here.

Coming, miss.

- You coming?

- Probably best I stay here.

- What, are you scared she's gonna punch you too?

- This is a school, Jake.

It's not a creche.

- I know. I know. - I'm so sorry, Abi.

We've had an absolute shocker at the pub today.

- Is that Uncle Cal?

- Um... yeah.

Why don't you go say hello?

So, how was she today?

- She's a great kid, Jake, and you know I'm fond of her,

but there are 30 other kids in the class

that need my attention, too.

- Wow. Romy, you've grown.

- Be something wrong if I hadn't.

- Look, you don't think, um... that, uh...

you know, there might be something wrong with her?

Up top.

- Look, I'm not a doctor, but I think she may have ADHD.

- Come on, every man and their dog says they've got that.

- If you've got ADHD,

trying to focus can be-- - Cal?

- Can be really...

- You're gonna flood it.

...debilitating.

- Right, yeah, and say she has it.

I mean, how would she have got it?

- It's usually genetic.

- Right, yeah.

I'll have to have a think of who that could be.

- Miss, can you give us a jump start?

- So you're still here?

- Still here. Still teaching.

Still happy.

They were together?

- That's awesome. - Is it?

I thought this was the place ambition went to die.

- God, did I really say that? - Yeah.

Look, I...

I was a dick.

- Little bit.

The car isn't going to start itself.

- Right.

- Really?

- Shut up.

- Nice one, Abi.

She's got more lives than a Buddhist, this one.

- Look who it is.

- Got to admire your attempt to go incognito, Cal.

- Good to see you too, Pritchard.

- Oh, I heard your pumps have run dry.

- No, just in between suppliers.

- Shall I meet you at yours? - Perfect.

See you around, Mr. Tambourine Man.

You're my guiding star...

Is it serious between Abi and Pritchard?

- No idea, mate.

- God knows what she sees in him.

- No, me neither.

You know, apart from inheriting 170 pumps

and running an award-winning brewery.

- Right.

Might be rolling in it, but he's still a prize prick.

Sorry.

- I don't mind.

It's what Grandpa calls you.

At least she's honest.

Oh!

We're back.

- Hey, where's my little ray of sunshine?

Mm, how was school?

- Oh, it was okay.

- Yeah?

- We learned about the sea and evolution.

- Oh, yeah?

- Did you know jellyfish have been on this planet

for more than 500 million years,

but they still don't have any brains?

- Oh, well, that should give a bit of hope

to quite a few people in this village.

What's he still doing here?

- Well, someone had to drive.

- You've got every reason to be angry, Dad.

I've come home to apologise.

- It's not your home anymore.

- Why don't you grab a packet of crisps and go play outside.

- What kind of son doesn't even come

to his own mother's funeral?

- Dad, now's not the time to be stubborn.

All right, we could do with Cal's financial help.

- I'm broke, Jake.

- Broke?

What about your, um... royalties and--and the Porsche?

- Lotus.

Doesn't matter.

Um... I flogged the car,

cashed in the royalties for a lump sum...

blew the lot.

- On what?

- What do you think?

On the high life and hookers.

- I've got nowhere else to go, Dad.

- Oh, I see. So have you come home to apologise,

or 'cause you need a roof over your head?

You can sleep in the cellar.

I don't want to see hide nor hair of you.

- Siri, what's a hooker?

- Not again.

I think I've pulled a bollock.

- I'll get the wheelbarrow.

Okay.

Come on then, Paxman.

- Oh, is it a waltz or a tango?

- Just as long as you don't twerk.

Go on. Out you go.

Clear off.

- All right. Good night.

- Good night. Good night.

Good night.

Oh, there goes the other bollock.

- You happy with that?

Pleased with yourselves?

I mean I thought we were doing the "Highland Mary."

That looked like the curly-headed plow boy,

which is what everyone at the Summer Fete

is gonna think by the way.

Jeffrey. - Yes, Jake.

- What's going on, man?

You know what I'm gonna say, don't you?

- Half a beat behind. - Half a beat behind.

Yes, half a beat behind.

And what's this?

What's this? Get your hands up!

I don't know what you're smirking at, Christian.

All right, there's absolutely nothing funny about this.

- You know what? You're right.

This is way beyond its sell-by date.

We need to evolve, move with the times,

dance our way into the 21st century.

- No, no, no, no.

This is about preserving age-old traditions, Paxman.

- Just hear me out on this one.

- What the hell was that?

- Disco Morris.

- Disco Morris?

You know, there are generations of Morris men

turning in their graves right now.

- Well, at least they're turning in time unlike you lot.

Ah, Michael, fancy cutting a rug?

- Uh, no, you're all right.

You know what Thomas Beecham said, don't you?

"Try everything in life once,

except incest and Morris dancing."

- That's good to know, Dad.

- Toast's burning.

- Ah!

- Oh. - Shit.

- Campaign For Real Ale just posted a review of the pub.

- Go on. I'm a big boy.

I can take criticism as long as it's constructive.

- The--the Drovers Arms is overseen by Michael Harley...

a piss-poor publican whose demeanour is as bitter

as the swill he serves.

- Go on.

- Do you mind lowering that spoon?

Upon entering The Drovers,

one is immediately struck by the dim lighting,

the tired decor and palpable cloud

of hostility emanating from the owner himself.

And if Michael Harley doesn't flatten you,

the food and beer definitely will.

- Oof.

- I'm gonna sue those bastards for defamation.

- Who?

- Who d'you think?

Lance Armstrong and Bradley bloody Wiggins.

If we can't afford to buy beer,

we need to brew it.

- What are you talking about?

- Putting the pub back on the map.

The only way we're gonna do that is if we brew something unique.

- And who's gonna drink it?

- If we make a name for ourselves,

it gives the pub a new identity

and, you know, more people will come.

- Cal, it takes years to learn how to craft a half-decent ale.

- Well, luckily for us,

we've got 50 years of knowledge right here.

Look, all of Granddad's notes.

Diagrams, brewing recipes,

written down in one very large book.

Look, we're not kids anymore.

And a few pints of home brew

ain't gonna put us back in the black.

- We could produce 600 litres a time.

It's 80% profit.

- It's only profitable if you've got customers

and they're in short supply.

- You do know there's a pub directly opposite

that's packed out day and night?

- Yeah, a pub that's just won CAMRA's Best British Beer Award

two years on the trot.

Yeah.

See you Thursday for bell ringing.

Nice day for it.

Sun's certainly brought the birds out.

- Seen any rare species?

- Just ticked off a spectacular redhead.

- Woodpecker or finch?

- She's up for anything, mate.

Cal. He's not a twitcher.

- Oh, my god, Cal.

Fancy seeing you here. If I'd have known,

I'd have put you on the group chat.

- No. No, no, no. It's not what it looks like.

- Oh.

- Shit.

- Grandpa?

- Yeah?

- What's "dogging"?

- Ah, hello, Mick.

- All right, Jim?

- Yeah.

Well, no harm done, lads.

A little bit weird.

- It wasn't weird. It was...

it was a misunderstanding.

- Yeah, yeah, of course it was.

Yeah. Well. I'll let you go, eh?

- Cheers, Jim. - Cheers.

See you, then.

Beekeeping.

- What are you doing with all that?

I'm not baking a cake, am I?

Can you give me a hand?

- No. You're all right.

- Nice bin bag.

- It's a poncho.

- Hey, look...

- Gerald said he couldn't believe it

when he waltzed into the farm shop with his list.

Too cocksure by half.

- Well, I've heard he's dug out

his grandfather's old microbrewery

and wants to have a go himself.

- Maybe they'll surprise us all.

- Ah, he may have been bequeathed his grandfather's brewing kit,

it doesn't mean he's inherited his knowledge or palate.

He--he's a cider man at best.

That's a low blow.

- What are you doing?

- What humans have been doing for thousands of years.

Making water more interesting.

- Definitely... Bosh!

Hey.

What are you doing?

- Uh, writing.

- Shopping list?

- Song lyrics.

- I hope it's better than the second album of yours.

- You listened?

- Yeah...

but it wasn't you.

- Yeah. Curse of the second album.

Is that why you came back?

Thought you'd try your hand at brewing beer?

They're all talking about it, you know.

You managed to perplex some people

and ruffle a few feathers.

- Yeah? Your boyfriend's scared

of a little bit of healthy competition?

- Don't say boyfriend. - Why?

- Because I'm too old to have one and he's too old to be one.

- So how about silver spooner?

Or actually, you know what? My favourite.

Just a good old-fashioned posh twat.

Abs, come on.

That's the guy that dobbed us in to your mum

about our very good fake IDs.

- He's changed.

- So have I.

I came back to see you after my first tour.

I just wanted to apologize.

But you'd moved in with James Bradley.

- What did you expect me to do?

Sit around pining for you whilst you sung love songs

about other women?

- Every song was about you.

- Seriously?

You idiot.

Oh, sorry, sorry, my bad.

Ah.

- Ow! Paxman!

This is a shambles.

We need to go back to what we know.

- No, look. I know the timing was a little off,

but we're not changing horses midstream.

- No, that is exactly what we're doing.

Next practice, we're going back to the Highland Mary.

Bloody Disco Morris.

Jake. Jakey.

You all right, mate?

- No, I think I've got concussion.

How much should I aim for, just?

About two and a half.

Is it really?

All right, let's do this and get home.

- Oh, shit.

- Lads!

- Oh, no sodding way.

Absolutely no sodding way.

Get off it! Get down!

- Don't embarrass yourself, mate.

- No! You already took the TVs.

You're not getting my music.

- Oh, yeah?

You and whose army?

- This one.

- Leave that where it is or we'll shove these sticks

where the sun don't shine.

And I don't mean Bristol.

- You folded like a deckchair.

- You see where they wanted to put that stick.

I've got to sit down and drive home, mate.

- I ain't calling head office. You can.

- Thanks for that, lads.

I would normally offer you a pint on the house,

but I've got no draft.

I've got bottles, and I've got spirits.

All Benylin.

Well, if anyone's feeling brave enough,

I could do with an opinion on this.

- What is it?

- It's a traditional single-infusion mash style,

with double dried East Kent Golding hops

in a blend of Irish malt.

- I'll take my chances.

You insured?

Here you go.

- Crikey, that'll put hairs on your chest.

- You wanna try it, Dad?

- No, I haven't got a thirst.

- I'll give it a go.

Here you go.

Here you go.

- Cheers. - Cheers.

Oh... That should be served in a sherry glass.

- Come on.

Remember what Granddad used to say.

"It ain't fair to judge a pint until you've sunk a few."

Ay, true.

- All right, line 'em up.

- All right!

- Hell's Bells?

- Hell's Bells!

- I've got it.

- Yay!

- Hey, you're not laughing now,

are you, Christian?

Morning, gorgeous.

How you feeling?

- Ahh.

Like something Keith Richards coughed up.

- Sorry, mate.

It was a mistake.

- It was a toxin, is what it was.

Look, I blame Granddad's handwriting.

Must've been a three, not an eight.

- Eight what?

- Pounds of sugar.

- You put eight pounds of sugar into a brew?

That could be classed as attempted murder.

Well, surely you were tasting it as you went along?

Oh, no.

Oh, don't tell me you're teetotal.

Cal, how are you supposed to brew a beer

if you can't even drink one?

- All right, look.

I screwed up. I did.

But I think I'm onto something special this time.

A mild ale Granddad was working on

before he passed away.

A lifetime's work channelled into one winning beer

he never got the chance to brew.

I mean, we do this right,

not only could we start turning a profit,

but we could enter CAMRA's Southwest

Regional Tastings with it.

- Please stop talking. - No.

Qualifying rounds are being held here

in the village at the fete.

Then the finals are going to be in London in August,

and... check this.

The winners of the 2010 Best Bitter category

were a microbrewery, just like us.

They went on to sell out to Budweiser and hit pay dirt!

I mean, brewing's in our blood, Jake.

If Pritchard can do it, why can't we?

- Same reason you can't write another hit song.

Hello?

Yeah. I'm on my way.

Romy's been suspended from school

for throwing a drink at another pupil.

Romy.

- What?

- You're supposed to be doing science homework.

- Brewing is a science.

- Don't get smart with me.

- I'm not. It's what Uncle Cal said.

- She's reading, mate.

Glass half full and all that.

- Oh, for God's sake.

Dad, you swore blind you'd been in contact

with the mortgage company.

- Oh, yeah, I forgot.

- Forgetting a debt doesn't mean it forgets you.

- All right, you find me a money tree,

I'll go and shake it.

- Dad, it says here that we've got 14 days to find 10 grand

or they're gonna start repossession proceedings.

- Something will turn up, it always does.

So I don't really know how to say this

without sounding like a 16-year-old again,

but I wrote this song for you.

I hope you like it.

- I'll give you three grand for it.

- Five. - Four.

I want a signature for provenance.

Helps with any future sale.

- But I'm selling it to you.

- It's a business, mate.

Not a museum.

- I'm sorry, gorgeous.

- What's that?

- My investment into our future.

- I thought you said you were skint?

- Sold my guitar.

- There you go.

Told you something would turn up.

- Oh, well, that's just brilliant, that is.

Now, before you couldn't even say his name.

Now you're in his pocket.

Money's money, Jake.

- Well done, Cal.

You know, you've got a real talent

for making everything about you.

- No, it's about making money.

And in six weeks' time,

we'll have another 180 litres of ale to sell.

- Yeah, only if it's drinkable.

And judging by the last pint you brewed,

I'm not holding out much hope.

- No one made you sink seven of them.

- The bottom line is we've got mortgage arrears

coming out of our arse, bloody council tax,

heating, electricity, water.

The list goes on and on.

- I am just trying to help.

- Help?

We've needed your help for years.

And you wait until you've run out of money

and become completely bloody useless

to turn up on your white horse.

Now, I'm sorry, Cal.

Look, no one is more proud of you than me.

But while you've been swanning about being a rock star,

I've been here trying to hold everything together.

And what have I got to show for it?

- You've got Romy.

- Yeah, well...

this is still not enough.

- Well, if you get any bright ideas...

be my guest.

This is Rural FM,

where sheep jive and tractors vibe.

David Ray Jenkins here with a Birchbury bombshell.

Tonight, The Drovers Arms-- somehow still open for trade--

is hosting a pub comeback

for local one-hit wonder Cal Harley.

Remember him? Me neither.

But for those who do,

head on down and have a Bacardi breezer or two.

- I don't believe it.

- What?

It's The Drovers.

- Is it on fire?

- They've got bloody customers.

- Customers?

- That's a sight I never thought I'd see.

- What can I get for you? - Another pint, please.

- Cal Harley! - Why don't you hang on?

What's he doing?

What is that?

- We've got plenty of wine, ladies.

No, that's-- - Jake.

- Oh. - Get over here!

- You said come up with a bright idea.

- Yeah.

Sing again, please.

Yeah.

- So, that's what it's like to have adoring fans.

They look intense.

- They look about one Bacardi breezer

away from dropping their knickers.

- Yeah, don't blame them.

I may have been through the change,

but I'd still give him one.

- Mum! - What?

I'm just saying what we're all thinking.

- Hey, where's he going?

- I don't look as desperate as that, do I, Mum?

- Yeah.

- Cal?

Cal, are you okay?

Cal, what's going on?

- What's happenin'?

- Are you back on it again?

Well, what's going on?

I'm having a panic attack.

- Well, come on, this is no time to get stage fright.

We're taking more money in there tonight

than we have all year.

- Just take some deep breaths.

No, he can breathe later.

Right now, he needs to get back in there.

You know, mix it up, put on a show.

- I can't.

I'm not that person anymore, mate.

- Well, just pretend.

- I'm not well, Dad.

- What do you mean?

- I was sectioned.

I'd been in a bad way for a while...

and then when I heard Mum had died,

I just unravelled.

I hated myself so much I had to make it stop.

- Go on.

- I tried to kill myself.

- Bloody hell, mate.

- I just wanted it to stop...

everything.

- Why didn't you call us?

- I was ashamed.

- You stupid bastard.

You stupid, stupid bastard.

- I'm sorry that I was a coward.

- No, you're not.

There isn't a day goes by when I don't think

about doing the same thing.

The only thing that stops me is the mess I'd leave behind.

And you ain't no coward.

You're my boy.

He looked... broken.

- That's what drink and drugs does.

- He had a nervous breakdown, Ed.

Since when have you cared?

- No matter what you think about him,

you have to agree that what's happened

to that family is tragic.

- Tragedies happen in families all the time.

I've lost my parents.

Shit happens.

- I kept this for you.

- It was a beautiful service.

- Yeah, it was.

- Exactly how Mum wanted it.

- All the words, all the readings...

all the songs.

- Thanks, Dad. - Yes, mate.

- What's this, happy hour?

- It was a lot happier before you came in.

What do you want?

- I want to buy the pub.

- It's not for sale. - Slow down, Dad.

Let's hear what he's got to say.

- We all know this is a dying trade

without proper financial backing.

- He's not wrong. - You keep out of this.

- But 50 places like this close down every month.

Luckily for you,

there's space in my portfolio for the Drovers.

At a fair price.

- We don't need your money.

- Oh, yeah, I heard.

You're going to try and brew your way out of this.

You know, creating a beer

isn't like writing a cheesy pop song.

It took my family 140 years to perfect the perfect pint.

- Listen, you won a couple of prizes.

The way I see it, you put silk on a goat,

it's still a goat.

- Is it?

If you think you can do better,

why don't you step up and be judged?

- Well, that's exactly what we are going to do, Edward.

So we'll see you at the CAMRA Regional Tastings.

How do you like that?

- Looks like you're not the only one who flew

over the cuckoo's nest.

- Say that again.

- Leave it.

- You've broken my nose.

- No, mate.

Your mouth did that.

Well?

- They charged me with ABH.

Bailed me till the end of the month.

- Sorry, lads. Best I could do.

But you might want to calm things down

a little bit, yeah?

A bit of dogging here, violent assault there.

People are gonna talk, you know.

- We weren't dogging.

No, of course you weren't, mate.

Anyway, mind how you go, lads.

- Cheers, Jim.

- We weren't.

- Didn't say you were.

- Now, you've really got to try

and get your temper under control, Dad.

- Nothing wrong with my temper.

Hey! Watch where you're going,

you prick! - You're the prick.

- Oh, yeah, that's good coming from a man dressed like a...

jelly baby.

That's not temper.

That's just being rude.

Come on, let's go home and get started.

- On what?

- On the brew.

I'm not having that bastard win another competition

and rub our noses in it.

- Cool, Dad.

- Look what I've found...

going through your mother's things.

- What the hell is that?

- Granddad's brew stick.

- It's for stirring the wort with.

It adds oxygen,

kick-starts the fungal yeast cells,

enhancing the flavours.

- Dad, this is going to take the beer to a whole new level.

- Sorry, have you two gone mental?

We need to go to Pritchard, beg him to drop the charges,

and pray that he'll still buy this pub.

- We've got nothing to sell, Jake.

We'll be lucky if we leave this place

with the fixtures and fittings.

Now, look, we've got enough money to tide us over

until the CAMRA tastings.

If that goes well, we qualify for the finals,

then we could easily attract some investment,

like Cal said.

- Dad, Cal's beer wasn't fit for human consumption.

- Well, then we learn from his mistakes

until we get it right.

Your grandfather always used to say that beer

is 90% water and 10% magic.

Ooooh! Abra-bloody-cadabra.

- Can't believe it has come to this.

Saturday night, and we're watching a drunk geriatric

walk aimlessly around in circles.

- Standard night out with Paxman.

- But why can't we just use tap water like everyone else?

- Because great-granddad Ted said it doesn't make sense

to brew a living beer with dead water.

- Yeah. - That's right.

I mean, the chemical treatment process

kills off all the bad stuff,

but also zaps the minerals and nutrients.

- Oh, me hands are twitchin'.

- It's 'cause you haven't had a drink yet.

The rod does not lie.

Oh, there we go.

Yeah, this is where we dig.

Just here.

- All right, well, if you can't beat them,

you might as well join them.

- Right there.

I think we're gonna need something sturdier than that,

- don't you? - Yeah.

Keep it coming, Harry.

That's the way.

Keep it coming.

Keep it coming.

That's the way.

Keep it coming, Harry.

Whoa there.

- What was that?

- I've got a good idea.

- You need a new stick, mate.

Well, if brains were taxed,

you lot would get a rebate!

You just cut the bloody electrics.

- Oh, sorry.

We were looking for the old spring.

- Oh, why didn't you say?

Mum's house's always been on well water.

- Brewing basics.

- Do me a favour;

make sure you measure that sugar properly this time.

My body can't handle another five-day hangover.

- I don't get it.

Why are we going to all the trouble

of finding pure spring water

filtered through local limestone,

then you just go and dump a load

of old imported processed sugar in it?

- Well, the yeast have got to feed off something.

- Could use Dad's honey.

- Actually, that's a good idea.

That's what the monks used to do with their mead.

- I mean, we'd have to ask their permission.

- What, the monks?

- The bees.

Now, remember, these are sensitive creatures, okay,

so if they get upset or feel offended,

the hive will swarm and vanish.

So keep your distance.

And under no circumstances, swear or blaspheme.

- That's half of my vocabulary gone.

- Hi, queen bee.

- Hello, worker bees.

It's me Jake.

Now I'm here to ask permission to use your precious honey

for our family ale.

Your gift to the world is pollinating flowers,

ours is pollinating people.

- They're humming.

That's a good sign.

- Oh, good. Nice.

- Ow! Jesus Christ!

The bee just bit me!

- Please tell me you did not just kill it.

- I hope I bloody did.

It bit me.

- Shit, there's one on your shoulder.

- What? - There's one on your shoulder.

- Just calm down.

Son of a bitch, that bloody hurt!

- Can everyone please stop swearing?

That's still swearing.

Well, since when were bees bilingual?

- I can feel it. Get it out of there.

It's on me. - Okay. All right, calm down.

They're feeling your energy.

Motherfucker! Ah!

- Oh, bollocks. - I'm covered in them.

- They're bloody swarming!

- Ah! Oh, my God! - Run!

So it's a no from the bees then?

- Nice amber hue. - Yeah.

Mm.

Aroma ain't bad either.

Yeah I'm getting the, uh, the earthiness... the citrus....

- What about the taste?

- Oh yeah. That holds up nicely, that.

Yeah, the sweetness of the honey is coming through,

the pear drop ester notes,

and... a little hint of butterscotch.

Get your lips around that.

Uh, uh, uh, uh.

Oh, that's lovely, that is.

I'll tell you what.

That is a pint your granddad would be proud of.

- Oh, shit. Abi.

Come on, you.

Let's go and see if Miss Stockton

will let you back in school.

- That's very nice, that is.

I'm gonna have another little drop of that.

- You fill her up, Dad.

- I've got some good news.

Now that you've had your assessment,

they are going to let you back to school.

- Awesome!

- But there are some ground rules.

You have to take your meds,

okay? - Yeah, yeah, yeah.

- And please, for me,

try to hand your homework in on time.

- Yeah. - Finished, okay?

You can't just stop in the middle of a sentence.

You have to reach a conclusion.

- Yeah, deal.

- And, Romy, no cutting Matilda's hair.

I hear you put Romy to work too.

- Yeah, she's basically the boss now.

We're all just working for her.

- Giving her something fun to focus on has clearly helped.

- It's helped me too.

All of us, I think.

- I remember the first time I walked in here.

- Yeah, a lot of firsts happened in this place.

First gig.

First dance.

- First pint. - First pint.

Grandad's solstice special.

- Mm. The longest day turned into the longest night of my life.

- Oh, I remember.

One pint in and you asked me to be your boyfriend.

- Hm. You asked me.

- No. No, that was definitely you.

- Must have been the beer talking.

- Must have been. - Hm...

- Anyway, if you hadn't asked, I would have done, so...

doesn't matter either way.

- Better get going.

I listened to your song.

It was beautiful.

Welcome to the first Grand Summer Fete

and Campaign For Real Ale's regional tastings.

We're here to sample beer and boogie.

Nobody boogies better than local legends Hell's Bells.

- Right, this is going on TikTok.

- I love a man in uniform.

- You love anything with a pulse.

- Let's hope their beer is better than their dancing.

- Oh come on, Ed. It's just a bit of fun.

- Fun will be seeing that thug locked up in prison.

Could all local brewers

and real ale enthusiasts

please make their way to the main tent

for CAMRA's Regional Tastings.

- Here they come.

- Oh, The Drovers!

Worst pub in Britain

- competing for the best beer. - Yeah.

- You pride yourselves as real ale enthusiasts.

Well, this is as real as it gets.

Brewed on the Drovers Arms premises,

using locally sourced natural ingredients

and 100% homemade.

- Like the cottage pie?

- This one's not from the freezer.

- This one's from the heart.

- So which of you is the brewer?

- It's a family affair.

And what's the beer called?

- Drovers.

- Well, let's hope the taste is more inspired than the name.

- They look well out of their depth.

- Uh, the Harleys would be out of their depth

in a drip tray.

- Thank you.

We wish you the best of luck.

- All right.

- Nice, this one.

- Afternoon, ladies.

What's passed your lips today?

- That's a bit forward, Wilf.

- I've told you, Dawn, I'm not interested.

It's your mum I'm after.

Well...

- You should try the Drovers' new brew.

Slips down like a homesick mole.

Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.

We have sipped, sucked and savoured

some absolutely barnstorming beers today.

- So let's hop to it and get to the first category,

Best Bitter.

Representing the Southwest in the national final

for the third year running with their latest offering,

Hoppy-Go-Lucky,

is our local legends, Pritchard's Brewery.

- And representing the Southwest in the Special Bitter Category,

it is Hoptamystic.

- Moving on now to the category of Mild,

but by no means meek...

- Representing the Southwest in this year's national final

at their first attempt--

I can't quite believe I'm saying this

but credit where credit's due--

brewed right here in this very village

from the Drovers Arms Brewery, it is Drovers!

- Go on, Mick!

- Oh, my God!

- We look forward to seeing all the winners

at the national final in London.

- Oi, look.

- Congratulations. - Thank you.

- Hey, Edward.

I guess we see you in the Big Smoke.

- I'll see you in the back of a prison van more like.

Are you hoping to join your father?

Maybe you could get a family room.

- Ed, that's enough.

- I don't know why you're defending the competition.

- They're not competition.

You're all in different categories.

You're all winners.

- I'm getting a bit sick of this.

- Sorry.

- Paxman?

- Yeah?

- Can you help me with my homework, please?

- Thought you'd been sacked from school.

- No, they let me back in.

- What's the question?

- Well we're working on Romeo and Juliet.

Love or hate?

Which is stronger?

- Hmm... Family feud versus young love.

- How young?

- Well, Juliet was 13.

- Do you not think she's a bit young

for all that love stuff?

- Yeah.

First you're too young, next thing you know,

you're too bloody old.

When the time comes, Romy, don't fanny about.

That's my advice.

- We should get going, Dad. - Yeah, I know.

Just getting in a bit of a pickle with this here.

Your mum used to do my tie.

I get this far, and then it all goes reels of cotton.

- Okay.

Let's have a go.

- You still love Abi, don't you?

- I never stopped, Dad.

I'm not good enough for her.

- Of course, you are.

I know you've been to hell and back, mate,

but you're a better man for it.

Look what you've done there.

I look like a bloody teddy boy.

- You look great. Come on.

- Will the accused please stand?

Michael Harley, you've been found guilty of assault,

occasioning actual bodily harm.

We have taken into account your early guilty plea.

It is acknowledged by the court.

Sadly, the level of violent intent you showed

cannot be ignored.

I therefore sentence you to six months in prison...

suspended for two years.

How old were you when you first met Nana?

I was 25.

Cost me eight quid to get into Glastonbury that year.

That was the best money I ever spent.

Van Morrison was top of the bill.

But the real headline act was your grandmother.

On the way back, me and a few mates,

we stopped off here to watch the sunrise.

But I saw something much more beautiful.

Your Nana, my Sarah, she was right there,

singing and dancing with a bunch of her friends.

After a while, we got talking.

We didn't stop for 40 years.

Look at that view though.

That doesn't change.

Looks like time stood still.

It's just a shame that life couldn't, isn't it?

Can you hold that, love?

- Love you, Mum.

- You fly free, my songbird.

Mum, not everyone in this village

is having an affair.

- Oh, there's more to it than meets the eye.

- How about that Mary? - Harry?

- Goes to church. - Churchgoer? Less church,

- more goer, if you ask me. - Harry!

Look at those finger bouquets

she provides for the cricket.

- Why is the barrel hatch open?

- What?

- Oh. - No, no, no, no.

Bastards.

- Here. Drink some water.

- No, scotch.

- Really? - Yeah, scotch.

It's all destroyed.

Mash tun, fermenter.

Done the lot.

- The brew?

- Dregs.

- Grandpa!

- Dad? Dad! Hey!

- Hey, hey, hey!

- Jake, call an ambulance.

- They'll take too long.

Grandpa.

- It's all right, Roms. Roms?

- I need an access code for a DFIB machine, please.

Zero, six.

Romy, sweetheart,

I need you to get back from it, okay?

We've got an ambulance on the way, okay?

Everything will be okay, I promise you.

Just to let you know,

the surgeon's doing an emergency coronary angioplasty

to improve the blood supply to his heart.

If his condition stabilizes, she'll insert a stent.

- If?

- He's receiving the best medical care.

I'll keep you informed of any developments.

Thank you.

- Hello?

- Hey, Cal. It's Dawn.

Uh, Dawn Higgins. - Hey.

- Look, it's probably nothing but, uh,

I saw Harry coming out the back of the Drovers earlier,

and I just-- he looked well shifty.

- What?

- I just thought you should know.

Oh--

- Cal?

Cal!

- If my dad dies, you've got blood on your hands.

- Don't know what you're talking about, mate.

- Whoa, whoa, whoa!

- Get out of it, Wilf! - All right.

- When he saw the cellar had been vandalised,

he had a heart attack.

That beer was all we had.

And now he's fighting for his life,

lying on an operating table.

- I--I'm sorry, Cal.

But what's this got to do with me?

- Don't!

Someone saw you, Harry,

sneaking out the back of the pub.

- Is that true?

- Why?

You can't still be jealous.

Tell me why

I shouldn't press charges. - Cal--

- Tell me why I shouldn't destroy your life

like you destroyed ours.

- Cal, I've got a family-- - Tell me, Harry!

- Pritchard paid me.

He's drunk.

He doesn't know what he's talking about.

- You lying prick.

- Tread very carefully, Harry.

I had nothing to do with this.

I give you my word.

- See, the thing is,

we all know what your word is worth.

And while a lot of things have changed round here

whilst I've been gone, you...

you're just the same lying,

cheating little rat you have always been.

- Abi, I had nothing to do-- - Don't.

- Cal! - Come on.

- Talk to me.

Just let me take you.

- I was just starting to get to know him again.

Why do we always leave things until it's too late?

- It's not.

Jake.

- I'm pleased to say your father's operation

was a success.

We're now going to move him down to the critical care ward.

- Thank you.

This song brings back a lot of memories.

- Hey. - Hey.

Which one you looking at?

- I remember that night.

Like it was yesterday.

God, I was so nervous.

- I was a sucker for a guy with a guitar.

- Probably shouldn't have sold mine then.

- We look so young.

We look happy.

- We were.

I've wasted so much time.

I don't want to waste any more.

Morning.

- Morning.

- Uncle Cal, do you know...

Oh. Hello, miss.

- Hi, Romy.

- We're so in trouble.

- Um, I'll leave this just here.

It's my homework.

On time.

It's love, by the way.

Not hate.

- What is?

- Romeo and Juliet.

Oh, don't fanny about.

That's the conclusion.

- Yeah...

Uh-huh...

All right.

Okay, thank you.

- What'd they say?

- It doesn't matter that we've qualified for the finals.

They're not going to give us a business loan

for a new microbrewery.

- What about a crowdfunding page?

People raise thousands that way.

- We don't have enough time, miss.

- Yeah.

We need to start brewing by the end of the week

to even have a chance of having a beer ready on time.

Forget about the competition.

It's over.

We've run out of road.

The pub's not sustainable.

All right, let's do this!

Gather round.

God gave us two hands.

One to help ourselves.

The second to help others.

- And we're here to help.

- I'm truly sorry for what I did.

I want to help put things right.

So, we've had a chat,

and the village would like to buy you a new brewing kit.

Pritchard was trying to persuade us to invest

in a racehorse syndicate.

- But we'd rather invest close to home.

- There's six thousand five hundred

and four pounds there.

- I don't know what to say.

This is... this is so generous.

Thank you. All of you.

But um, you see to get a brewing kit

that's capable of producing the volume that we need...

you're looking at 15 grand.

- Fifteen?

I'll make up the rest.

Pointless it gathering dust under me mattress.

- Paxman, that's almost nine grand.

- Eight thousand four hundred and ninety six to be exact.

- Why would you do that?

- I'm barred from every pub from Minehead to Mendip.

Where else am I gonna get a bloody pint?

Right, that's right.

- Hey, Grandpa.

- Hello, sweetheart.

- How are you feeling?

- Much better. Ready to come home.

What the bloody hell have you come as?

Am I back on the morphine?

- We needed a compelling marketing story for the beer

that resonates with our family history.

- What, that we're all barking mad?

- That we're descendants of drovers.

- Dad, every successful brand has a story,

and ours goes back two hundred years.

- So we're going to take the traditional route to market

and show those CAMRA judges what we're all about.

- Your mother would be so proud of you two

coming together like this.

- That's it.

That's what we should rename the beer to.

I feel like a medieval Uber driver.

This outfit suits you, you know?

We look like extras from Poldark.

Are we going to have to pay congestion charge?

- I don't know what the law is,

but I don't think we can ride in the dark.

I feel like we should have left a bit earlier.

Yeah, we didn't really think this through, did we?

- I hope these horses have got night vision,

'cause I can't see a bloody thing.

This must have been what it was like

for our ancestors, hundreds of years ago.

- Do you ever wish you were born back then?

Sometimes I think the simpler life

would have suited me better.

- Now you're forgetting the... the work houses,

debtors prisons...

public hangings...

potato famine.

- Apart from them.

- The clap, that was rife...

- Fuck's sake!

- Cholera.

Even a glass of water could have killed you.

- They would have thrown me into Bedlam

before you could say happy pill.

- You know I probably still would have ended up

married to a lunatic.

- Sorry about all that, man.

- I can see how she could leave me.

I can't understand how she could leave Romy.

- You're a great dad.

- Yeah, she's just pleased her Uncle Cal is here.

We all are.

- Love you, too. - I didn't say that.

- Well, Drovers seem to be making quite a stir

with the real ale community.

What's up, Instagram?

Here we are in the Big Smoke.

- What the hell are they thinking?

They're saying they're following

a traditional route to market.

Yeah. They're getting loads of likes.

Oh, comments and shares.

- It's a Real Ale Awards, not a fancy dress competition.

- Just keep the beer flowing.

- Did you just like that?

- Not me. Me finger slipped.

- Afternoon.

- Hi. - Drovers Arms, tag us!

Mm.

- Ah, God, this looks good. Where's the bar?

- Good afternoon.

Welcome to the 35th Great British CAMRA Real Ale Awards.

Today for the first time ever,

two rival pubs from Birchbury, Somerset.

The Drovers Arms and the George Inn

will be competing against each other to be crowned

Champion Beer of Britain Award winner.

Well, in a small village like yours,

I imagine rivalries run deep.

Is this something of a grudge match?

- One that goes all the way back

to the Pitchfork Rebellion of 1685.

- Uh, yeah. Edward Pritchard's ancestors

were loyal to the crown, but peasants like us

said bollocks to the bluebloods.

- Yeah, and give it to the posh knobheads.

- Yeah, yeah, and that's exactly

what we're going to do again today.

- Yeah!

- Who are ya?!

Who are ya?! Who are ya?!

Who are ya?!

Who are ya?! Who are ya?! Who are ya?!

- Obviously this competition means an awful lot

to the good people of Somerset.

Back to you in the studio.

- It's not just a competition.

Beer has played a crucial and underrated role

in the propagation of our species.

- In what way, Paxman?

- By helping ugly people have sex since 32 BC.

This thing go a little faster?

Oh, all right, you're a bit close, mate.

- Where the hell are they?

They were meant to be here an hour ago.

- You got maps on your phone?

I don't know where we're going.

It's like a wardrobe on wheels.

Sorry, sorry, cheers, sorry. - Thank you.

Sorry.

- Come on, come on!

- How long we got?

- Uh, 20 minutes.

This is your final call--

- No. Keeps going to voicemail.

They haven't posted for ages either.

- When they fail to win anything and the pub gets repossessed,

I'm going to buy it at auction and just leave it empty.

- Why would you do that?

- So when those turncoats get thirsty

and come knocking at my door,

I can tell them all with great pleasure

they're barred.

- Looking for signs for Olympia.

The horses know we're lost.

- Yeah we've gone the wrong way.

- There's still no sign of them, eh?

- No I checked the car park.

- Of course, you did.

- They better hurry up.

Judges are going to start tasting soon.

- That is like a hug in a glass.

That is rich.

It has caramel notes.

It's really, um, arousing.

- Yeah, that's what it is.

- Sign. Olympia. There it is.

There, there, there. - I see there.

- Excitement is mounting as we wait

for the results of the Champion British Beer of the year.

I have alongside me the two-time

Supreme Beer of Britain winner,

Edward Pritchard of Pritchard's Brewery.

Do you think you can be the first brewer

to win the triple crown?

- Let's just say I'm looking forward to making history.

- Excuse me; you can't park a vehicle here.

- Well, that's not a vehicle, mate.

It's a horse.

- That is a master class in balance.

The bitterness, the sweetness.

It's like walking a tightrope.

There's a sense of danger. - Yes, yes, yes.

But there's also a sense of safety in there, too.

Like, if I fell,

I know there's a bunch of firemen

waiting to catch me with their big trampoline.

- My thoughts exactly.

A massive trampoline.

Massive firemen. - Massive firemen.

Sorry.

- Drovers Arms. You're late.

What held you up?

Highwaymen?

- No, we got lost.

Okay, we got really lost

and then we woke up late this morning

and the horses needed water and...

just a little bit nervous.

Do you mind if I just...

Oh, that's really nice, that is.

- Shut up.

- Technically, you--

- Technically, you're disqualified.

If we bend the rules for you,

we have to bend them for everyone else.

- Um, we know that your time is precious,

but know we've--we've come a long way both emotionally

and geographically to brew this for you.

And yeah, we might have fallen a bit flat,

but this beer hasn't.

It's good.

It's really bloody good.

- He may be dressed like a pauper,

but are you ready to live like one?

- Cal may not be a millionaire,

but at least he's not morally bankrupt.

Prat.

- Mmm, that is disappointing, Jeremy.

- It's too immature.

- I don't think it knows what it is yet.

- Yeah, at the same time, it's too much.

- Mm. - I like jam.

I don't want to be chased by wasps.

- Exactly. It's--it's, um...

It's...

- Shite. - That's what it is.

It's officially shite.

Could all competitors

please go to the awards area.

The prize ceremony is about to commence.

- Good afternoon, everyone.

We are gathered today to acknowledge the very best

in the British brewing world.

- Yes, those wizards of the wort,

the malt magicians who turn water into wonderment

and hops into happiness!

- Yay!

- So without further ado,

this year's Champion Beer of Britain winners are...

In the Golden category,

Pint of No Return, Ironwood Ales.

- In the Bitter category, Best Bitter...

Hoppy-Go-Lucky,

Pritchard's Brewery. - Yay!

- Come on. Yes!

- Smug git.

- Thank you.

- Strong Bitter, Village Idiot, Barley There Brewery.

Speciality, Hopmen of the Apocalypse,

Bingham's Brewery.

Stouts--Malt Fiction, Grumpy Geezer Ales!

- And in the Mild category...

- Mother's Pride,

The Drovers Arms Brewery!

- Yes, get in!

- We couldn't have done this without you, mate.

Oh, well done.

Well done, my darling.

- Chuffed!

- Well, congratulations to all our winners

and heartfelt sympathies to all our losers.

But there can only be one supreme champion today.

Our judges were unanimous in their voting.

Everyone agreed that the appearance,

the aroma and the flavour of this beer were truly unique.

- So it is with great satisfaction

to award this year's

Supreme Champion Beer of Britain Award...

to The Drovers Arms,

for their mild ale, Mother's Pride.

- That's amazing.

- Well, that was light work.

- Um, first of all,

we need to thank the Drovers Army.

- We love you.

- You guys, you... you know what you did

and it won't be forgotten.

Secondly, every art form needs a source of inspiration

and brewing is no different.

- Mother's Pride is bold, authentic,

daring and full of heart.

Our mum was all of those things

and that is why we're dedicating this

and our beer to her.

- We're just sorry that she couldn't be here

to sink a pint with us today.

Thank you. - Thanks.

- There is no conspiracy, Edward.

The fact is, Hoppy-Go-Lucky

was not as good as your previous offerings.

- Maybe you should focus on making beer

rather than making history.

- You're going to regret this.

- Not as much as you.

You are barred from these awards.

- Oh please, Pritchard's Brewery is the awards.

Come on, let's go.

- Oh, sod off, you twat, and go and brew some cider.

- Everyone, this is David Schumer.

- Congratulations.

- He's a leading craft beer investor.

- I can see you're talented and passionate about brewing.

You've done a great job on social media

building your brand.

My expertise is financial.

I run profitable and successful breweries

and I'd like to do that with you.

- So how much you offering?

It will be a considerable investment

to reach a much wider consumer base.

- I mean that sounds great,

but, um, well, this is a community beer.

- Mm-hmm. - Brewed in the village.

- Owned by the village.

- So we have to run it past our partners first.

- Sure. When--when can I meet them?

- Uh, well, how about now?

- Cheers!

- Whoo!

- Let me hear you say!

- Thank you!

- Hey! Bloody motorists!

I'm trying to save the planet!

Oh, shit.