Original subtitles

Friday, May the 2nd, 1997.

The first day of the first Labour government in 18 years.

And for a change, it feels good to be alive.

Good morning, it is 8 o'clock on Friday, May 2nd. It is a landslide for Labour, a

landslide of historic proportions that has left the Conservative Party in

disarray. Tony Blair becomes the youngest Prime Minister this century. It

was predicted that Labour could end up... Today, anything is possible.

Publication, marriage to Pandora, anything.

Hi. Hello, Pandora?

If you're available at this number, you can contact me via the House of Commons.

Security. She'd make a perfect hostage, what with her low pain threshold and

addiction to cigarettes.

Hello. This is for the urgent attention of Mr John Burt.

It's The White Van, a serial killer comedy in 12 half hours.

Is he expecting it?

He should be. I've called his office twice a week for a month.

It stars David Jason, Pauline Quirk and Harry Enfield.

It's a parable of our times.

By the way, none of the actors I mentioned have been approached yet.

Tanya, congratulations.

It's amazing.

Your daughter in the Commons. These Mavis have had one hour's sleep.

No, I mustn't get too enthusiastic, Mavis. This is Tanya, who rations her

laughter and ekes out her tight little smiles.

Hello. Hello, Adrian.

No, I couldn't possibly divulge Pandora's new number. She needs me to

get in touch. I'm her special advisor on Middle England.

I have to have access to her at all hours of the day and night. She doesn't

need you, Adrian.

My daughter's going to be the most successful woman MP in New Labour

because she's exceptionally beautiful, has long hair and fills a 36 double-D

cup bra.

Goodbye.

What a vile, sexist thing to say.

Women in particular voted for Pandora.

Because they admired the fact that she knew one end of a bloody mascara, one

from the other.

All the other labour women look like toddlers who've been let loose at Boots

Cosmetic Counter.

And where were you last night between the hours of two and nine?

I was driving the volunteers home, Inspector Morse. And who was the last

person you dropped off?

A woman.

Adrian's mother.

I always forget her name.

Her name is Pauline.

Pauline!

Pauline! Bring me fags up.

You look happy.

I am.

And so should you be.

Tony's going to change all our lives. He won't be changing mine, will he? I'm a

spent force.

You went on Prozac under the Tories.

I was a three times a week man under Mrs Thatcher.

More if the weather was hot.

I was talking about your job prospects.

Yeah, well, all I'm saying is, when Maggie was in power, I'd let him be

pencil.

Oh, don't go, Pauline.

I've got to take the new dog for a walk.

You never take the new dog for a walk.

Nobody does.

It needs the exercise.

Can't get up the stairs without coughing its lungs up.

Ah, the provincial returns.

So how is Ashby de la Zeus? It's very happy now it's represented by a Labour

MP. So you got what you wanted then, Mole?

A commie government led by a hoofda.

Mr Blair is a happily married man who's fathered a trio of children. Outside.

Now that's a shot for poofdas, am I right, Mole?

The shop specialises in clothes and equipment for gay men, yes.

And are none of Rod's customers happily married?

So, Mr Blair's marriage is a sham, and his children are nothing but ciphers

conceived in a bed of political cynicism. Mark my words, my old Blair is

a friend of Rod's, if ever I saw one.

This country is obsessed with sex.

Ivan is wrong. There's no way Pandora's a double decal.

Take a look a bit more towards me, Pandora.

Perfect.

It's for a media blitz, including Vogue. You know, that best-dressed MP crap.

Ah, yeah, I see you're back at Millbank.

Alistair says you can show precisely an inch of cleavage. Any more tit and we

lose the Daily Mail. Any less, we lose the sun.

No.

Let's go for the third way.

Beautiful.

Luigi, can you figure out what I'm saying?

Director Inquiries, House of Commons, please. Adrian, tell him.

It's in London.

Oh, Luigi, please, not in the sink.

I've got a fungus on my feet. What do you want me to do?

Well, try the House of Commons.

Sophia Loren, she said to me one night, Luigi, I have a word of advice for you.

Always look after your feet. I'm spelling the T-H-E.

Adrian. Have you got enough meat for Max just to keep him going?

Hi, Max.

You've not been fair to me. We were that busy in the club last night. You

couldn't squeeze another Tory MP in the place.

Not if you cut the dicks off. Drowning their sorrows, eh? It must be in the

phone book. It's the birthplace of our democratic process.

Never mind. Thank you.

What's happened to England's telephonists?

Has there been a call?

How long have the robots been in charge?

Max looks a bit poorly.

Are you poorly, Max?

You'd feel bad if you were shedding your skin, Malcolm. Like me!

Off with my feet!

Morons.

How long must I wait for the call from Pandora or John Burt that will take me

out of this dump so that I can take my rightful place amongst the

intelligentsia?

Dear diary, tonight a customer complained that there were three hairs

in his soup.

I was horrified.

All three were mine.

Will I be bald at 35 like my father?

Is my mother in love with Ivan Braithwaite because his follicles appear

to be stable?

Oh, Ivan, I can smell you.

Oh, no.

Oh, God, no.

Not a Kit Kat.

Oh, no.

Hello? Adrian, it's Tanya.

I'm sorry. I know it's 2 o'clock in the morning, but I must know.

Does your mother eat Kit Kats?

You bastard!

So, it's official.

My mother, my son's primary carer, is an adulteress.

Members of the new Labour government assemble at Westminster today, including

the largest ever contingent of women MPs.

Please don't make me work from a tiny office, Arthur.

I suffer terribly from claustrophobia.

Well, if you suffer from a medical condition... Oh, I suffer.

And I sense that you do too.

I thought this one.

Darling. I brought you a coffee. I'm going to work.

You look exhausted. Do you have to go in?

Do you no longer care about the conditions of the Brazilian cocoa

workers, Ivan?

What?

I found this in your coat pocket.

We've boycotted Roundtree's products since 1989.

So? I just fancied one.

Don't do this, Ivan.

Not when we've got the gardeners. We like it.

Jeremy would like to have you on the show as soon as possible, so can you

ring me at BBC?

Thanks. The best dress shoot.

Alastair loves them. It's Stephen.

Splendid news, pal.

Come to Norfolk, have dinner. Love you.

He's such a sweetie.

Pandora.

It's me, Adrian.

I've been trying to reach you for... Well, it's about Middle England.

Ring me on my mobile. It's 0585... Oh, hang on, I've forgotten the rest.

I need that personal secretary you promised me, Marcus.

It's in hand. I know a good girl. No, not a girl.

I can't be bothered with maternity leave and menstrual dramas.

There's this lovely bloke in my constituency. He's desperate to move on.

He's bright, he's ambitious. I'll ring him.

Pandora? Hello, Dad.

Oh, hello, William. Which telly tubby did you like best?

My favourite's probably La La.

What? He's got a sort of integrity.

I thought you liked Poe best.

No, Poe's rubbish.

I want to stop talking now.

Bye.

I hope the lad's all right.

Why is nobody supervising his phone calls?

Who else does he ring?

Childline?

Which do you like best, Grandad?

Poe. He's adding shoulders above the rest.

Come on, then.

Time for a walk.

You know I don't leave the ass calling.

Relax, I was talking to the dog.

Another walk, you'll wear its bloody legs down.

No socialists, no sodomites, no vegetarians, no Welsh, no non-smokers,

no lesbians, no pensioners, no working class, no disabled, no fat people, no

Liverpudlians, no designer handbags, no ex-wives, no mobile phones, no

comedians, no poncy wankers asking for risotto.

I was born in Liverpool and my partner's a lesbian comedian.

It's political incorrectness gone mad.

Luigi, what's going on?

Kim upset him.

He's back on the powder, isn't he?

Powder? That notice disqualifies most of your regular customers. You'll be

bankrupt in a week.

I don't give a toss. I don't want new Labour poncies in here or my wife.

Why? What's she done? I'm fed up with waking up to the sound of Birmingham on

my pillow every morning. So what do I do?

I'll give her £1,000 for a ten-week elocution course.

A poxy £1,000.

And what does she go and play on?

Shoes? No.

She donates it to the Labour Party.

Another marriage down the drain.

I'll be the groucho club. Mr Savage, before you go, you've got talcum powder

on the end of your nose.

Why does he always cross his legs when he laughs?

I suspect stress incontinence.

for a photo opportunity at Westminster.

Pandora! She'll be there!

Pandora, this... Pandora! To me!

Tony!

This way!

Small Pandora!

Yes!

Over here!

Moley! Nigel! What are you doing here? I'm working for Pandora. I started

today.

Why didn't you choose me? Why you?

I did get a first in business, politics and media studies at the Open

University. And I'm gay.

So stereotypically, I know about clothes. So does she still want me as a

special advisor?

I don't think so, Adrian.

Middle England's not really a priority.

Well, give her my regards.

Nigel, can you get me an appointment with her?

She hasn't got a window aid. It's very important.

It's a personal matter regarding her father and my mother. It could

jeopardise her whole career.

She's on news night tomorrow.

Afterwards, we're meeting the Mandarins in Quaglino to talk about Pandora's long

-term plans.

Cancel. Bring them to Hoi Poloi. I've got to see her.

These are important people.

Cook her a meal. She'll never forget.

Go on, then.

Oh, when you're booking, don't mention new labour.

More risotto!

Yesterday you were there like that before we were married?

George, what are you doing up?

Rosie said Pandora's on newsnight. I thought I'd come to see how she stood up

to Paxman.

Where is that Rosie?

Rosie? Erm... Out somewhere.

She's never in. Where is she?

I don't know. She shouts at me if I ask. I'm just nipping out.

You can't take any more walks, Paulie.

Amber, we're going to watch Newsnight with Ivan and Tanya.

Right. Say hello for me.

Yeah.

Tonight on Newsnight, the women in Blair's government line up for the

camera. But are they there just to look decorative?

I'll be talking to Pandora Braithwaite MP.

But first...

Look

what I found hanging around by the bins.

Looks like that Humphrey what was on the news, the one they threw out of Downing

Street for weighing on the carpet.

You're right, it does look like Humphrey.

Did Cherie chuck you out?

Tony Blair said it had gone to a good home in Streatham.

An obvious lie.

There are no good homes in Streatham.

Is this the first betrayal of truth in the new regime?

My feet are itching me like crazy.

Shush!

Clearly not.

I and my fellow women MPs have been assured that our voices will be heard in

government. Heard, yes, but listened to.

Oh, I'll make sure they're listened to, Jeremy.

But who, apart from Harmon and Beckett, is actually going to get into the

Cabinet? Braithwaite, eventually.

No, Tony Blair is dedicated to the principle of women's rights and to the

representation of women in top jobs, both in and out of politics.

Come on, you know perfectly well it's going to be jobs for the boys as usual.

Help it, Jeremy.

That's the most sexually arousing thing I've seen on television since Barbara

Windsor lost her bra in Carry On Camping.

God help Tony Blair is all I can say. Pandora Braithwaite, thank you. Now,

interest rates are set to rise.

Should we hear any minutes?

Come on.

Oi, what's that? Tonight's special?

Get it out. Was Humphrey the Prime Minister's cat that weaned on Tony

Blair's carpet?

Did it?

Well, in that case, pour a sauce of champagne and give it sanctuary.

Adrian! She's here!

This is it.

It's a once-in-a-lifetime chance to impress the woman I love.

Chef, chef, chef. Complaints and writing, please. No, no, it's a word of

advice. When you're making a pig's head broth, you really should strain out the

bristles first, OK? They're stuck in my teeth.

Pandora! Adrian.

Dazzle us with the food. This is the most important meeting of my life.

What's it about?

It's about how I get to be the first ever British woman Prime Minister.

What about Margaret Thatcher? Man in drag.

Surely you knew that.

Pandora, there's something you should know about my mother and your father.

I don't know how to tell you this. They're in love.

Pathetic, isn't it?

Yes, your mother faxed me a John Betjeman poem about middle-aged love.

Faxed you?

It was addressed to my father. My love, my life, my Ivan.

My mother doesn't know how to send a fax. Clearly not. As I said, it came to

me. Well, could it damage you politically?

You know, family values?

Adrian, the House of Commons is absolutely full of adulterers.

It gives them something to do between divisions.

No, it'll fizzle out.

Concentrate on the food, eh?

That'll be hard with you in the next room.

Hello, Heidi.

Hello.

You're his old bird, aren't you?

A.D., could I borrow some vegetable oil? I'm really worried about Max's skin.

Yeah, ask Malcolm.

Could we get on an order, please?

I didn't know we had more customers. You've heard bloody English, you know

nothing. That's why you invent the overcraft. How am I supposed to serve my

speciality broth to our VIP customers when you've thrown the last pig's head

away?

You're the awful chef, aren't you? Yes, I am.

Complaints in writing, please. No, no, I loved it.

My name's Zipper Montefiore. I own Pike Cross Productions.

You may have seen our cookery shows on the telly.

I don't watch television. I'm a bit of an intellectual.

Or you.

I was just wondering... My first television offer.

That woman came in here.

Where would I find her? Well, she's in the food store rubbing oil into her

snake.

After that Paxil tonight, the world's your oyster.

How long before I'm Foreign Secretary, Alec? Well, as we all know, Robin's

being a bit of a naughty boy.

So try and keep your nose clean, pal.

Oh, I'm being such a good girl lately, I'm beginning to bore myself.

You can't do that.

I'll wash it off.

Nobody ain't going to know it's been in the bin.

Let's clean it off.

Good evening.

My name is Voss.

I'm a public health inspector.

I'm here with my colleague to conduct a random check of the premises in

accordance with the Food Safety Act 1994.

Who's in charge of the kitchen?

I am.

Excuse me, is there any chance of us getting served tonight?

In accordance with the powers vested in me, I am closing this restaurant down

with immediate effect.

What for?

Moles got horrid germs, didn't you?

I have recorded 72 separate violations of the Public Health Act, Mr Savage.

We found 193 cigarette butts in between the larder and the stove, a pig's head

retrieved from a waste unit, a live cat infested with fleas, a Class A

prohibited narcotic, namely cocaine.

the discarded skin of a large snake and 14 traces of foot fungus in the sink.

The food storage area contains a man committing a sexual act with a lap

dancer and the newly skinned snake.

Mr Savage is bound to be tolerant.

He's a member of Alcoholics Anonymous.

I blame you for this, Paul.

Get out!

Out! You! Out!

Get out! Out! All of you!

Out!

Get out!

Out! Every one of you!

Hey,

Mo! Your post.

It came this morning.

Christ. That was the best sex I've had since... Eaton?

Who's Eaton?

Friday, 25th May 1997.

I'm moving back to Middle England.

I have no choice but to return to my mother's house.

What have I got to show for my 31 years on this earth?

Three unpublished novels, a next overcoat and a five-year-old son.

It's more than some, but considerably less than others.

Martin Amis, for instance.

Look at the state of this place, Dad.

Your mother's not been there, has she?

She rang in the night.

Said she was in a travel lodge.

She said she had to go away to think.

I don't know why.

I can think here if I have to.

Was she with anybody?

No. She said she was on her own.

I could hear a man's voice.

She said it was Richard and Judy.

Well. Richard.

Does my father still believe in fairies? I want to drive to the travel lodge and

punch Ivan Braithwaite's teeth down his throat.

I don't think about anything much anymore, Adrian.

My life has been a total waste.

Nobody knows me name outside the storage-eating industry.

I haven't even had me 15 minutes of fame as promised by Andy bloody Warhol.

It was Marshall McLuhan.

You see?

You were on Midlands today.

Tell me you were blown out to sea on a lie, though. Oh, Jesus!

The wife's a fate, I.

All I had on was a pair of spados.

I don't know how to fax.

What is that on your head, William?

It's Jeremy Clarkson, Wig.

The boy lives in a fantasy world.

Best place.

Hello, Adrian.

Pandora's here. I rang her with the news.

George. How was Corclino's?

Extremely civilised. Ivan's found Pauline, George. He's bringing her here.

She's in one piece, is she?

Apparently. Well, that's great stuff.

Oh, yeah. Where did he find her?

Let's celebrate my wife's return.

Adrian, crack open that bottle of Lambrusco I've got in the fridge.

I hardly think... Can I have a glass?

Of course you can, Mum.

Rosie was out all night looking for her mother.

Really?

How did you get that love-boy on your neck?

The dog did it.

No, it didn't, Rosie.

The dog doesn't even like you.

That's why I got involved, though.

Who's that boy?

Him. That's Glenn, but he goes to my school. He's a right dumber.

Here, here. Come on, raise a glass.

Courage, mon ami.

Welcome back, Farlane.

And thanks, Ivan.

Thanks? Have you finished thinking, love?

I've got something to say to you all.

How shall we do this? Smokers at one end, non-smokers at the other.

Yeah.

I'm fully cognizant of the effect my words are going to have on everyone in

this room. All our lives are about to change, irrevocably. What Ivan's trying

to say is, we've been in love since election night on May the 1st at 25 past

one. We are, in fact, totally besotted with each other.

They're crazily, madly, overpoweringly in love.

My father is aging before my eyes.

You said Pauline Mole was vulgar. Yes, I did. She's gloriously vulgar.

Gloriously. You told me Ivan Braithwaite was a slimy know-all. Well, I didn't

know the inner man then, did I?

You have to look beyond the silly hair and daft shoes.

He's thoughtful and romantic.

When was the last time you bought me so much as a flower?

Last night.

Ivan covered me in red rose petals. You could have done that to me, Ivan.

No, I couldn't. You're allergic to rose petals, Tanya.

But you're not going to leave, Mummy, are you? I cannot live without love.

You're going to live with him, Pauline. I can't live without him. Where are you

going to live, Mum? Here.

There's not room for him.

I'm sorry, George.

You'll have to go.

I can't live here.

My shed's here and everything.

There's spare rooms at the lawns.

You're welcome to one of them, George.

When love happens, George, you just have to follow.

Pandora, can't you put that cigarette out and come down to this side of the

room to comfort me? You're not the only one who's upset. Couldn't you just risk

a little passive smoking and come to me?

No, I can't.

Well, you know what Chekhov said.

All happy families resemble one another.

But each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

It was Tolstoy.

And what he actually said was... That's

right, yes.

Would you like to say anything, Rosie?

In English?

Yeah.

Who's going to look after William?

It was at that moment, Diary, that I became a full-time single parent and an

occupant of the House of Sorrows.

No, not the green ones! From now on, it's you looking after William.

Hiya, Sherry! The Foreign Office is yours.

Adrian, I'm going to make you rich and famous.

I'm filming a TV pilot tomorrow.

I'm plagued with incessant suicidal thoughts. I want the world.

The next time I see him, I'm going to hit him so hard he'll need a tube off

his bloody nose.

Is that too much to ask?

Welcome to awfully good.

Nigel! Your dad could be the millionaire Barry Kent or Adrian Mole, who's got

nothing really.