Original subtitles

Monday, September the 14th, 1997.

Today is the day I obtain celebrity status.

My cookery programme, Awfully Good, is to be broadcast to the nation.

Or at least that section of the population with nothing better to do

than watch the telly at ten o'clock in the morning.

How will I cope with that dangerous lady that is fame?

Will she turn my head? Or will I still retain the common touch?

Wake up, I've got to go to school.

What time is it? I'm only four.

I can't tell the time.

No, no, no.

Not today.

God knows my family is common enough.

I should record that my sister is secretly pregnant and that I now have a

second son.

Come on. An illegitimate pubescent by the name of Glenn Bott.

Can't take this every morning. It's like a NASA countdown.

I'll try not to let these sordid facts spoil my big day.

What's the problem? There was never no grief when we were late to school.

Double negative, Rosie.

Thanks, Rosie. Thanks for remembering.

What? It's his telly thing.

What's it called again? Hopefully good.

Open.

Oh, my God. If that's Archie Tate, tell him to walk round the block.

We're not ready.

The poor man's only got one leg.

It's for me.

Catch him, Mo. Sign here, please.

Thanks.

I've started my Christmas shopping.

In September.

He's so anal.

Cute. I hate cute.

It's dinner!

Dad,

where are the birds chill out?

Chill out?

Where do birds go when they're tired?

They go to sleep.

In their nests, of course.

There's nobody here.

They've gone inside. Go on, William.

Will you come in with me?

Look, I'm in a hurry. I've got to get back.

Mr. Mould, may I have a word, but timely?

No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Parvez. I'm on national television in 13 minutes.

Yes, scoff, Mrs. Parvez. The next time you see me, I'll be a household name on

a par with Domestos or Roy Hattersley.

What's all about now, that?

You're on in five minutes, Adrian.

Do you really think I don't know?

Archie's here.

That's not it.

What?

I've got something for you.

What? Two minutes to go, everyone.

What kind of... This is most kind. This is more.

Oh, Jesus.

What have you got me a rubber baby for?

I'm having a real one.

What does Mad Dog Jackson think about becoming a parent?

We don't know.

I don't know if I'll have it or not.

You've got to decide. You're running out of time, Rosie.

That monkey will look like King Kong in a few more weeks.

Cool.

It's not easy being a single mother, you know.

Looking after William's the hardest thing I've ever done, Rosie.

Look, I've hired this for two weeks, a considerable expense.

I want you to see what it's like to have a baby with you day and night.

Hello, I'm five weeks old.

I need to be fed every four hours around the clock.

I have been programmed to cry at antisocial times. OK, that's enough.

Warning, warning, warning. If I am roughly handled, an alarm will be

activated which may disturb your neighbours.

Okay, okay.

Do not bait me. Is it a boy or a girl? It's hermaphrodite. Do not ingest my

eyeballs.

And what do I get out of it? What do you want?

Hair extensions.

Okay, I'll pay for hair extensions.

What, from Tony and Guy? One or the other.

Cockery show.

Somebody get that, please. I should be watching in London, with other media

glitterati. Not in Ashby de la Zoosh, with my family, my mother's poncy lover,

and a televisionless pensioner with one leg.

And the illegitimate son.

Glenn.

I've brung you this.

Oh, thanks.

Come in, it's started.

Thanks.

Should I call you Adrian or Dad?

Dad.

Thanks, Dad.

And now a show we know you'll enjoy because it's awfully good.

Hello.

Welcome to Awfully Good.

I'm Adrian Mole.

All that on television.

I'm going to introduce you to the forgotten world of offal. This week,

pig's head broth and Belgian faggots. What else is on?

So once you've got the mixture mixed, divided into balls, six balls.

Six balls, a nice ham filet, eight of you.

She's certainly got a presence on the screen.

Don't you think she's an unnecessary distraction?

I think she's a very necessary distraction, if you ask me.

Get someone nice, Dad.

You're the best.

I can only hope that Pandora, a seasoned television presenter herself, will

appreciate the inherent difficulties of appearing on the small screen.

God, it's tragic.

You remember when he thought he'd be the next D.H. Lawrence?

Pandora Braithwaite's office, her private secretary speaking.

The news of the world?

No.

Sorry, she's not at her desk. Can I help?

Henry James is very fond of pig's head broth.

I'll come over in the commercial break to watch with Dad as it started again.

George! The gardens of Emperor Hirohito were laid out before the Second World

War. Take a pig's head.

Thanks for your support.

Do you know a Professor Cavendish?

Jack? Yes.

I checked him last May. He threatened to throw himself in the Isis.

He sold you out, Pan.

He's written a piece describing your voracious sexual appetite.

He reckons you've had more men inside you than Cardiff Arms Park.

The hypocritical bastard!

He asked me out for dinner only last week.

You should have said yes.

You're on the front of the news of the world on Sunday.

Who hasn't opened Pandora's box?

Get me Alistair.

Did your dad enjoy it? He didn't watch.

I can't face going out in public.

I know.

It was awfully, awfully bad.

Good job of going round the world.

I've sold my soul for a mess of pottage.

The snake got bigger billing than me.

Oh, shut it!

The Queen looked up from the Ambridge Echo when she heard Phil draw up on the

tractor.

Don't know how to work it.

What's that?

A new radio series combining the Royal Family and the Archers. Adrian Mole.

Oh, hello, Brick.

Yes, Justine was good.

Yes, the snake was brilliant.

What problem?

If it's urgent, yes, I can do lunch tomorrow.

Yes! Lunch with my agent at Canary Wharf.

Rosie! I only put her down for a minute.

It's like William Hagen, a baby girl. What's going on? It's Rosie's school

project.

And don't nobody keep calling her it. Her name is Ashby.

Don't nobody.

She's doing it deliberately, Pauline.

She knows that bad grammar makes me physically sick.

No, no, no, no, no. You listen. I want 5% of the gross, excluding frigging

distribution.

Plus, we are keeping the book rights, video games, soft toys, and an option on

a musical. Listen, I got to go. I got a client to congratulate on his genius.

Adrian! Huh?

You get Titch Marsh to call me when they rap.

Great show.

So funny, huh?

I practically beat my pants.

So, what's this problem, Mr. Eagleburger?

Just a few. The critics hate it, and the ratings are lower than a pig's ass.

Okay.

But we can ride that. We got big trouble with the Belgian faggots. I've been on

the line to Brussels all second day long.

Every gay organization in Belgium wants your ass on a plate.

Surely he means head.

Hey, Crystal, bring lunch through.

Yeah, but starters will have the Caribbean breeze, and for the main

course, give me the New Hampshire Zephyr. Is that okay with you?

Yes. We gotta go for what we call in the business the full grovel, okay?

Apologize to the Belgian shirtlifters.

Are you gay, Adrian?

No, I'm strictly heterosexual. Strictly.

I've got a son. Two sons.

Are they straight?

Yes.

To pity.

My best friend Nigel Hetherington is gay.

Great. We got no problem.

I don't know, Brick.

Trust me. I'm an agent.

Serve my guests first.

Oxygen's the new food, Adrian.

Oxygen? This is metropolitan madness.

Okay.

Right.

Listen up.

Adrian Mole is sincerely sorry if he gave offence to any person of any

nationality, colour or sexual orientation.

He'd also like to point out that his best friend Nigel Hetherington is gay

and that the recipe for Belgian faggots was Queen Victoria's favourite.

Would Nigel want me to advertise his sexuality in a press release?

He is dead relaxed about it, unlike me about mine.

I read your manuscript, Adrian, and I gotta tell you, it's a very, very

terrible book, Adrian.

You got a provincial guy as a hero. You got garbage cans. You got rats.

You got the East freaking Midlands here.

Relocated somewhere glamorous.

Monte Carlo.

You spend a year rewriting, you send it back to me, okay?

Imagine it, George.

It could be just like Emperor Hirohito's.

With a koi carp.

More alfalfa.

No, I'm all right for alfalfa, thanks. Don't you?

More soap?

This is rather awkward, George.

But I'm afraid it has to be addressed.

I found something rather disturbing.

Hidden under your bed this morning.

What? It's filthy stuff, George.

And I won't have it in my house.

Yes.

Sorry. I'll get rid of it. It's packed with saturated fats.

care about your heart george i care about yours tanya

it

was drizzling in monte carlo a diseased rat scuttled from behind a dustbin and

an anguished cry was heard dad mrs parvis said birds don't sleep in their

nest oh really so where the sodding hell do they sleep On branches.

Oh, branches.

All night?

No, son. Mrs Pears misinformed you.

She lied, William.

All birds sleep in their nests all year round. Now go to bed.

Oh, Rosie.

She's got no maternal feeling whatsoever.

God, Pauline, you're so beautiful.

not. Look at this cellulite.

Pauline, baby, cellulite is just a thousand fairy dimples, and I love every

one of them.

He must truly love her.

Thanks, Alistair.

Okay, this is the plan.

To get them going, I admit to a certain amount of sexual promiscuity.

I was a free spirit amidst the people's pan.

One time in the 80s, I was enjoying the sexual attentions of three lovers at

once. We were all perfectly happy with the arrangement.

Whilst at the same time being admired for my honesty.

But fundamentally, I'm an old-fashioned girl.

And my first love, the celebrity chef, Adrian Mould, still has a special place

in my heart.

We'll need to get them a photo op in Ashby when it breaks. Arrange for me to

plant a tree or kiss a baby or something. And get Adrian in a decent

suit.

HBMP Pandora Braithwaite spoke today of the many close liaisons she has enjoyed

throughout her life. However, her childhood sweetheart, local man Adrian

Vole, 59, remains special to her.

I knew she loved me!

Vole's TV show, Awfully Good, began last week.

Turn to page two.

Oh no, not the school photo.

Excuse me.

Excuse me.

I'm in a hurry.

You're not fit to be a father.

Pauline, you won't need a pair of high heels.

Well, what about when we eat out at night?

If we eat out at all, it will be where the peasants of the country were

crossing.

In the hovels.

Hovels? How's this to be a journey of enlightenment across rough terrain?

So it won't be needing me all day moves then? No.

Now, what do you get?

Ready?

Oh, Ivan!

Let me see her. Don't try and see her. Oh, I'm not doing anything by me. Oh!

Ivan!

I'm the last one out again, Dad.

Mr. Moe, William has told me that you called me a liar.

May I suggest that you consult Chapter 4 of The Birds in Your Garden by Roy Wren?

Birds do not habitually sleep in their nests.

Blabbermouth.

Mummy?

No, it wasn't all three at once. They took turns, sweetie.

Well, you can print it if you like, but do give the shellfish a plug, darling.

Those bastards at the Treasury won't bung anything at Aginfish unless we

raise the whelk profile.

Bye. Mummy?

My God!

Christ, Mummy, you look like a retired whore.

Are you feeling all right?

I'm feeling, Pandora.

For the first time in years.

Adrian told me you were impotent.

Your mother's put the blood back in me vines.

Well, for a minute or two.

Will you join us for coffee, Pandora?

No, thanks.

It's like something out of Tennessee Williams in here.

Well, George, now that she knows, we don't have to hide anymore.

Come to big daddy, honey child.

Oh!

Where is it?

Who's this?

Christ.

Looks like E.T. in drag.

She's called Ashby.

Whether it suits you, Rosie.

I don't know whether it does or not.

Can't decide.

Hello, Nigel.

What's this?

This is good to take us around the world.

Next Friday.

We're having a bon voyage party on Thursday.

Why don't you come?

Oh, right.

I'm looking for Adrian, actually. What, the celebrity chef?

He's out signing autographs, I don't think.

Get him to ring my mobile.

Tell him Pandora needs him.

Come on, Pauline. Come on.

Hi. Thanks for doing this.

Hello, Pandora.

Did you know that my mother and your father are playing at Hyde the Chipolata

now? More baby boomers immorality.

I'm revolted by them all, aren't you?

On the one hand, I'm enchanted by the synchronicity of the thing. On the

other, I'm appalled and disgusted.

A typical politician's reply.

Please arrive for milk, thank you.

Nigel! How's your grandma?

I was dangerously ill. I was waiting for a kidney.

Oh, can't Pandora get you one? I'm responsible for fish.

You're the awful expert.

OK, let's do it.

Right, what do you want me to do?

Just stand by my side and keep your mouth shut.

Right. Pandora, I... I read in the

paper that you said how you

still love me.

I know.

I should sue.

Now, I'm having trouble with the media myself.

I have a Belgian faggot.

I plant this tree in honour of one thing.

Education, education, education.

Mrs Parvez, I've spoken to the RSPB, and I have it on very good

authority that there are at least three species of bird in the world that do

indeed sleep in their nests.

Name one.

All together, children.

Shh.

Oh,

Pandora.

I've served your cynical purpose.

And now you've cast me aside like a six-fingered glove.

Now what?

Neighbor watch called us. They must have got him through there.

Can you turn the burglar arm off, please, sir?

Jesus. It's an extraterrestrial.

It's Ashby.

Sorry.

I chucked her out the window.

She wouldn't stop crying. She was doing my head in.

I don't want a baby, Adrian.

Will you take me to clinic?

They can fit me in on Thursday.

Yes.

But we'll have to tell Mum.

Good news!

We've had a reply!

Embassy! We've got permission to cross the Gobi Desert!

Don't tell her.

She's so happy for once.

Look at your onions. Give us a pickle.

Oh, Archie. Oh, thanks for coming.

And you.

Oh, thanks.

And this is Glenn, Adrian's newly discovered love child.

Where's our Rosie and Adrian?

Big is it what I've got inside me, Adrian?

It's no bigger than a tadpole.

I used to collect tadpoles.

You've changed your mind.

You want a pulled pie, Grandma?

Glenn, please.

Don't call me Grandma.

Let's be ovaries shriveled. And one, two, three.

What is a dip, darling?

An HP sauce.

Splendidly traditional combination.

In working class culture. Interesting.

Where's your malt?

Take a seat, please.

This is not a good place in which to be a man.

I feel like issuing an apology for the injustices done to womankind over the

centuries.

Brunette on the end looks like a bit of a girl, huh?

Three at once?

I can hardly manage one.

Mind you.

I feel truly liberated, Pam.

Your dad's done wonders for me.

Where do you sit on this tandem, then? At the back.

Behind you, Dad.

However did you live in this pokey little house?

George! Oh, let me have a fag in me, I don't tell you.

What a delightful party.

As a young man, I advocated free love and the rejection of bourgeois

principles.

It's so good to see these principles being practiced so assiduously in your

family, Mrs. Mole. Well, I do my best, Archie.

I wish I was an American and knew how to articulate my innermost feelings.

What would Oprah say to Rosie?

You all right?

Yeah.

I'm just missing Ashby, that's all.

I'll stop at the garage and buy you a magnet.

Hello?

Sorry, no, you'll have to speak up. We're having a party.

Sorry?

Who's left a woman?

No, Rosie's not here, no. Shall I get her to ring you?

Sue herself?

Are you... What the hell was that?

Hello? What clinic?

You cruel bastard.

You killed my grandma.

Me? How?

She didn't know I was gay.

You outed me and her kidney gave up.

How did she find out?

She heard your Belgian faggot apology on hospital radio.

But you came out of the closet years ago.

Not to my grandma.

She thought he was engaged to a nice girl in Brisbane, you insensitive oaf.

I am sorry about Nigel's grandma, but all I can think about is Rosie's

tadpole.

Was it a girl or a boy?

Sorry, Mum.

Who was the father?

I'll bloody kill him. She didn't want to worry you before your adventure.

I'm not going now.

What? How can I set off on a world tour tomorrow when my little girl needs me?

Andorra had a termination in a lunch break once. There was none of this

bloody hysteria. It's not hysteria, Ivan. It's emotion.

Something you and your tight-arse family know nothing about. I'd rather be tight

-arse than emotionally incontinent. Come on, George.

Tanya, sit down and shut up, will you? Don't speak to my wife like that. I

can't take no more shouting!

Where's William?

He cried himself to sleep.

He thought you'd gone away, just like his mother.

Fifteen thousand pounds? We've come to dismantle the Tyrolean chalet. We'll

never be parted from this garden.

I've got a financial emergency.

Pandora, is it true that you spend 20 grand a year on your wardrobe?

How many pages of this goddamn book have you written? Two.

You're gonna leave home. He has left you his house.

And you're also a son of a bitch, Mr. Eagleburger.

Well, Adrian, your life is like a situation comedy.

She doesn't need me. Will you send me your toenail clippings from my

collection? It's got my name on the front. Where is this such place anyway?