All language subtitles for White.gold.S01E02.WEB.WaLMaRT.English-WWW.MY-SUBS.CO

Translated By The Community Of WWW.MY-SUBS.COM

Hang on a second, Walshy, frankly
I can't believe what I'm hearing.

Having a company car
is a basic human right.

Stop being an arse, Vincent.

No double glazing salesman
has ever had a company car.

Which is exactly why
I think I deserve one.

You are delusional, mate.
You're having a tin bath!

Not by my lights. Do you know how
much business I've brought in

- these past three months?
- You know, the problem with you is

you've formed your own fan club.

The Vincent Swan fan club.
Membership one, Vincent Swan.

- You. - Were you up all night working
on that line, you smart arse prick?

284 grand is the answer.

You aren't getting a fucking
company car! End of!

Well, you've left me with no other
choice than to resign, Walshy.

You think I'm bothered? Resign then.

I'll have 50 mugs lined up
to do your job by lunchtime.

Good luck with that. You'd
better hire them all to replace

the money I bring in,
you short-sighted wanker.

Every man has his line in the sand
and that prick Walshy just

took a piss all over mine.

It's always been a dream of mine
to have a company car.

Ever since yesterday lunchtime.

Sync & corrections by emeline-whovian
www.MY-SUBS.com

_

I go round the back, knock on his
dressing room and say, "Listen..."

Who the fuck are these clowns?

"..you've got no face, and you've
got fucking bollocks for hands.

"Other than that you do pretty well."

My dearest Suzanne.

While I accept you have
to serve other men,

you could at least try and pretend
you're not enjoying it.

Martin, this is Vincent Swan,
local wind-up merchant.

Runs Cachet Windows in the high street.

Likes to pretend he runs
this place as well.

How are you doing, mate?

Yeah good, mate. Good.

Martin works in magazine publishing.
Very glamorous, eh?

- I hope they're not porn mags, Martin.
- Ha, no.

You'd be hard pushed to knock one
out over one of our magazines.

They're trade publications.

You know, Ventilation Units Weekly,

Roofing Supply Monthly,
that sort of thing.

Fuck me, they sound about as boring
as that suit you're wearing.

- There's no need for that.
- It's just a joke.

I'll tell you what's not
boring, my old son.

The amount of money we're making
selling advertising space.

- Now, what are you boys drinking?
- Nah, let me get these.

Absolutely not. I insist.
We're already running a tab.

I'll just claim it back on the old
expenses. What's your poison?

I'm not fussed. Whatever you're having.

- Lovely lager. Same for you, boyses?
- Cheers.

You get an expense account?

We spend half our lives on the road,
wining and dining clients,

so the old company car and expense
account comes in handy.

Although it's not always easy
getting a receipt

from a knocking shop in
Manchester, is it, Mart?

No, it is not, Philip.

But it did save me from having
to fellate the client myself.

Here you go, boyses. Winner.

Winner.

Winner.

Nice meeting you, boyses.

If you ever fancy leaving
the lucrative world

of door to door sales, give us a call.

We're always on the lookout for
new blood at Millman Young.

- Who do we ask for?
- Yeah, I wasn't talking to you.

- What sort of company car do you get?
- Ford Granada, XL.

Oh, right. A cousin of mine used
to rep for a stationary firm.

He got given a Granada,
and we're talking

a couple of years back before
they gave them to any old wanker.

Anyway, the first night
he gets his new wheels

he decides to go for a
spot of night fishing.

so he just drives the car
up to the lake,

beams the headlights
onto the water and...

Right, gentlemen, we should
probably be making a move.

- Who's this little prick?
- Sorry what?

Vincent, this is Andrew,
our sales director.

Andrew, Vincent Swan, local raconteur.

Time to get back to the phones, lads.

Obviously, they didn't teach you
manners at whatever school

you've just bunked off from.

Do your parents know you're
hanging out in pubs?

Yes, very funny.
I'm clearly not a child.

OK, that's us. Nice meeting you, boyses.

Hang on, I haven't finished my story.

Oh, come on then, let's all
hear the end of your story.

Well, he'd parked the car on
a bank with the handbrake off.

It rolled straight into the lake.

That sounds very unlikely.
Right, are we done?

Hardly Peter Ustinov, is he?

Don't expect to see him on
Parkinson anytime soon(!)

Brash fuckers. "Oh, look at me,
I don't own my own car.

"I drive someone else's car,
like a bloody bus driver."

Why was that little one so grumpy?

He's one of the Seven Dwarves, isn't he?

Fitzpatrick was right.
They were brash fuckers.

Which is why I was confident
I'd fit right in there.

Right, no need to panic. Brian,
you're temporary showroom manager.

Yes! I won't let you down,
boss. It is an honour.

You fucking kidding me?
It's only temporary.

- But why him?
- Because he actually sells my bloody windows!

If you want to be considered for
the role then get out there

and sign me some fucking orders!

Ouch. Can I just say that firing
Vincent was a smart move.

I don't want to speak ill
of the recently departed

but that man was a liability.

I'm going to have to ring some
serious changes round here

if we're going to be competitive again.

Look, until I get the chance to
meet some potential new recruits,

I just need you to steady the ship
and not fuck anything up, Brian.

Understood, boss.

Still, in the meantime, there's no harm
me showing you how we get things done

the Fitzpatrick way.

You obviously are aware the
name Fitzpatrick is synonymous

with fucking things up.

Yeah, well, unless you
want it to be "synonymous"

with getting the sack,

I suggest you start showing
your new boss some respect.

OK. One, you're not my new boss,
you're just a temporary manager.

Two, respect is earned, mate,
not demanded, and three...

you haven't got the balls to sack me.

Yeah? Well I'll see your...
and I'll raise you.

Oh, I'm not going to fire you, mate,

I've got something much,
much worse in store for you.

No, I'm going to be your mentor,
I'll be Yoda to your Luke Skywalker.

I see what's happened here.
You've mistaken being a weird,

ugly fella for being a Jedi Master.

Are you two fucking imbeciles
going to get off your arses and

sell my bloody windows or
do I need to sack you, too?!

Chop chop, Lavender.

So, you quit your job,
without consulting me,

because he wouldn't give you a car
when we've already got two cars.

Company car, Sam, we're
talking about a company car.

Stop saying company car like
it's a flying fucking carpet.

It's still a bloody car we don't need.

Unlike, er, food, clothes,
a roof over our heads.

Will you just calm down?

This isn't like when I resigned
from the refinery.

You were sacked from the bloody
refinery! You didn't resign!

Potato, pot-ato. Walked, sacked,
it's all the same.

It's not the same.

The important thing is here
I've been offered a better job.

One with a company car.

If you say company car one
more time I'm divorcing you.

- What's the better job?
- Ah.

See, this is what I've been
trying to tell you.

I'm moving on from double glazing.

Into publishing, selling advertising
space in magazines.

No more slumming it for me
as a door to door salesman.

And when were you planning
on telling me about this new job,

then, Mr Advertising Executive?

Right after they offer it to me.
The interview's tomorrow.

So, when you say you've got a
new job what you actually mean

- is you haven't got a job?
- Potato, pot-ato.

That's it, run away
you spineless arsehole.

Sam wasn't quite grasping
the difference between a car and

a company car but I felt like now
wasn't the time to enlighten her.

From sales performance
to leadership qualities,

Vincent Swan is the single best
employee I've ever had

the pleasure of working alongside.

Our terrible loss

will be his new employer's
most fortuitous gain.

Ah, that's sweet. Shall I
finish it "Love, Walshy?"

No, "Yours sincerely,
Mr Tony Walsh" will do.

He fainted instantly... What
the fuck are you doing here?

Lovely to see you, too, Brian.

If you've come to beg Walshy
for your job back, you're too late.

There's a new sheriff in town.

Yeah, I'd heard shit for brains
had finally employed

a cowboy to run this place.

Very funny. I've got one for you.

- Knock knock.
- Who's there?

- Vincent.
- Vincent who?

Exactly. Vincent Who.

That's what people will say
when I turn this business

into a mega success story.

So? I don't give a shit,
mate, I've moved on.

Got myself a job with
those publishing boyses.

You know what, if you're lucky,
I might just let you have

a spin in my mega company
car when it arrives.

Fuck off.

Congratulations, mate. Are
they still looking for reps?

You disloyal little shit.

Do I sense some disharmony in the ranks?

Do let me know if you need a few
pointers on how to motivate

a sales team, Sheriff.

From you? Do me a favour.

No, my morale boosting end
of week parties are going to

blow your grubby shenanigans

out the water with their decadence,
depravity and...

- Doctors? Daffodils? Dragons?
- Debauchery.

Well, that is lovely to hear cos
I'm expecting you boyses

to throw me a memorable send
off for my leaving do Friday.

- Well... trust me you will not be disappointed.
- I better not be.

- Well, you won't be.
- Excellent.

More than excellent, mate.

- You'll probably need to bring a sick bag.
- Why's that?

Because...

I'm taking you on a roller-coaster
ride of sexual thrills.

I'm looking forward to it.
I'll see you Friday.

- You haven't arranged
anything, have you? - No.

I'll say this for Fitzpatrick,

he was putting the hours in
designing his sexy roller-coaster.

_

Bingo.

Welcome to the world of magazine
publishing. Morning, boyses.

These lucky pricks don't know it
yet, but in the coming months

I'm going to be leading
them to great things.

First and foremost a great tailor.

Fitzpatrick was right, those
suits ARE fucking boring.

- He's just in here, Mr Swan.
- Thank you.

Hello, Vincent.

Hello. I didn't get your name
the other day.

- Andrew. Andrew Davies.
- That's the one.

Andrew. I thought Martin was
going to be doing the interview.

No.

We didn't get a chance
to chat the other day.

- Well, we may have had a brief
exchange, but... - Did we?

Yes, we did, there was an exchange.

Pffff. It's forgotten. Water under
the bridge. Let's move on.

Absolutely. Let's put it behind us.

Now, Vincent, can I be frank with you?

You can be whoever you want, Andy.

I find this whole concept of
interviewing very flawed.

You know, two people sat across
a desk, best foot forward,

spinning lie after lie at one another.

It's like being on a blind date.

- Hopefully with less fingering at the end.
- Ha, yeah.

Listen, I'll be completely
straight with you,

if your sales figures and your
references back up what my gut tells

me about you, then this interview is
already two minutes too long.

Well, that's very flattering, Andy.

Maybe there can be
a bit of fingering after all.

Now, Vincent, do you like golf?

- Love the stuff.
- Excellent.

Then what I propose is that we
finish this interview

out on the golf course.

Could you make Saturday,
tee off around nine?

Perfect.

Apologies in advance if
the old competitive beast

comes out on the course.

I've yet to meet a good salesman
who isn't a terrible loser.

Absolutely, boss.

I'm sure I'll turn into a
total cunt out there as well.

I'll see you Saturday.

All right, boyses.

Meanwhile, Fitzpatrick's attempt
at modernising Cachet had hit

a Brummie brick wall.

If it's so bloody clever, why
can't I just say, "Computer,

"store these addresses," rather
than all this mumbo jumbo

from the future language.

Because it's the cutting edge
of technology, Carol,

not a genie from a fucking lamp.

A lamp in here would be more useful.
It gets very gloomy.

Whether you like it or not,

I'm trying to drag this
operation into the 1980s.

You don't see NASA running
off to a filing cabinet

every time one of their astronauts
says, "Houston, we have a problem."

Because they're completely
comparable operations,

NASA and Cachet.

Now, that's a really shite telly.

Carol, love, we need an address

for that bay window front
door job in Tilbury.

I'll get it from the filing cabinet.

No, let's start as we
mean to go on, yeah?

It's on the system. Under Tiernan.

I don't know how to work it.

Oh, come on, get out the way, will ya?

Let me demonstrate to you
the power of technology.

We haven't got all day!

All right, hold your horses!

Right. So, you press Shift 4.

Then type Tier... nan

into the search field

and...

- It's not worked, has it?
- I'll get it from the filing cabinet.

No, it's all right, I remember...
I mean look it's here.

Ah, yeah. It's 78 Romley Avenue.
Write that down for him, Carol.

Why don't you print it out for him?

Because there's no point
wasting ink, is there?

Let's have a look.

Oh, no, must've been a power surge.

I'll just... we'll have to reboot it.
That's a shame.

Anything else, Brendan?

You know Romley Avenue's split
into East and West, don't you?

Really? Well, that's an interesting
story, Terry fucking Wogan.

Well, is it east or is it west?

- Um...
- He'll just check on the computer.

It's West. OK? It's fucking West.
Now can we just move on.

- Come on.
- All right, West. Got it.

Thanks.

Got a mouth on him, hasn't he?

Keep an eye on him, Carol.

Despite not having the first
fucking clue about golf,

it wasn't going to stop
me looking the part.

Or, to be more precise,

looking like a kids' TV presenter
who got dressed in the dark.

Meanwhile, Fitzpatrick was
discovering that new technology

is only ever as reliable as
the fuckwit operating it.

Uh-huh.

No, no, no, they would have done.

No.

I'm looking at the docket now,

it says they were fitted this afternoon.
78 Romley Avenue West.

What?

78 Romley Avenue East?

Yeah. No, that's what I meant.
That's what it says on the docket.

- Bollocks.
- Do you want me to come with you?

What, and have you apologise
the homeowners to death?

No, I'll take care of this.
Fuck them before they fuck us.

I understand, mistakes happen.

It's our junior intern. She's first
week. Still very nervous.

Been transferred to the
New York showroom now.

But, as it was wholly our mistake,
I'm very happy to offer you

a generous 15% off the window and door.

But I didn't ask for them.

I'm not paying for something
I didn't ask for.

Here we go. Look, I get
it, I'm a businessman.

I admire your brazenness.

- You've seen an opportunity and
you've run with it. - Opportunity?

Yeah. You want free windows.
That's fine, I don't blame ya.

You live here. It's a bit of a shit-hole.
You want to make it look nicer.

Sorry, let me make this very clear.

I don't want your horrible windows.

Well, maybe you should have
thought about that before you let

- my fitter install them!
- Well, as it happens,

my nine-year-old daughter
was at home on her own

expecting the window cleaner.
Your fitter called,

said he was here to do the
windows so she let him in.

Your fitter needs to get
his addresses right.

Yeah, well, I blame the girl far
more than him, to be honest.

I'm picturing her,
I'm picturing an idiot.

Do not call my daughter an idiot.

Right. I'd like you off
my property right now.

That's fine, but my fitter
will be round here tomorrow

to rip out that window.

And, if you resist, I'll have
you arrested for theft.

Do you know what you are?
Classic pikey scum.

Pikey scum that wants
something for nothing,

just for sitting on
your fat arse all day.

Right. That is it.
I am calling my brother.

I don't think your big brother's
going to make this go away.

Oh, I think he might.

That's all been resolved, then, has it?

I think I've just called
Ronnie Farrell's sister pikey scum.

Ronnie Farrell who runs
Ronnie Farrell Debt Collection?

The one with a conviction
for manslaughter?

No, the other Ronnie Farrell who
works for Amnesty, you daft prick.

Isn't he a bit... dangerous?

He's a fucking lunatic!

And I just called his nine-year-old
niece an idiot.

I'm a dead man, right?

No, I mean gangsters
very rarely take slights

against their family seriously.

Yeah, she's probably bluffing.

Apologise to my sister.

I'm sorry... I'm really sorry.
Ronnie, please!

Aargh!

She keeps the door and window.

Yes, absolutely. Free of charge.

Obviously, free of charge, you tit.

Yeah, I know, I was just clarifying.

Aargh, Ronnie, please...!

Good.

Now that you're being reasonable,
why don't you compose yourself

and we'll start again. OK?

- OK.
- Go and sit down.

What's happening?

I don't know.

Hello.

I was in here a moment ago
discussing my sister's windows.

Yeah, I remember.

Well, I just got to thinking,
the new door and window,

they don't match the rest
of the windows in the house.

So, what I was thinking
was maybe you can replace

the rest of the windows as well.

To maintain the aesthetic.

Right. And would you be
looking to pay anything

- for these windows, Ronnie?
- What do you think?

So, Maggie can expect someone round
to measure up, what... on Monday?

Monday. Monday's great.

Pleasure doing business with you.

I'll be seeing you.

I love your little telly.

Oh, dear, did someone shoot the Sheriff?

Even for a bag of shit like you,
you look like a bag of shit, mate.

Cracking under the
pressure of not being me?

No chance. Just taking
a little breather.

The only thing cracking round
here are sales records.

Delighted to hear it.
So tonight's celebrations

- should be one to remember, eh, Lavender?
- Apparently so.

They don't call me the postman
for nothing. I always deliver.

You two are going to be wanking
over the memory of tonight's

little treat until the day you both die.

Nice to have my final death wank sorted.

Voilà.

- Have we broken down?
- I think you got the wrong address, Postie.

Think again, boys, because
tonight we're pioneers,

witnessing the start of a
whole new sexual movement.

Dogging.

What the fuck's dogging?

Dogging is the combination
of two revolutions,

the motor vehicle revolution
and the sexual revolution,

making the ultimate form
of sexual expression.

You sly old dog. This has the
potential to be interesting.

Fucking hell. Are there people
having sex in these cars?

Yes, if that's all right
with you, Lavender?

What are we doing?

I don't know about you but
I'm going to go and have

a wank over some dirty fuckers
screwing in a car park.

Shit me. Fucking look at that.

Fuck me, they're going for it.

Welcome to the promised land.

Oi, Jimmy Hill, give the fucking
live commentary a rest.

- Oh, my God.
- Fitzpatrick, why have you brought me out

to watch two men fuck?
Is this what you're into?

- It's completely fine if you are, mate.
- Fuck off. I didn't know.

Anyone else want a turn?

Um, no, we, erm... We can't actually.

You see, we're not gay.

Why's he got his cock in his hand, then?

Yeah, no, sorry. I don't suppose
you've spotted any females around?

It's not a bloody safari park.

Friday night is gay.
Straight couples on Thursday.

Read the bloody newsletter, love.

Yep. Will do. Sorry about the
mix up, it's a work night out.

Oh, my God. Fitzpatrick
was tugging off to it.

- Fuck off!
- Well, you're gay.

No, I wasn't. Oh, God,
what's he doing now?

- What do you think he's doing?
- He can't do that.

Don't bring us dogging then!
Oh, Christ there's one behind us.

Shit, we're surrounded. Right
let's get moving, Fitzpatrick.

I can't. We're boxed in.

Out the way, gentlemen.

Don't startle them.

- There's more over here.
- I can't get out.

Just move forward slowly
and they'll clear.

They're not fucking deer.

I do hope that was a seagull
that just shit up my window.

There's a gap. Floor it!
Don't look back.

- Drive, drive, drive!
- I am fucking driving!

It was a novel approach to team
building, I'll give him that.

I was soon back in the
countryside, although this time

there was only the one
little prick to deal with.

So, er, what's your handicap, Vincent?

Probably a 9 or a 10.
Comes in waves. But, yeah.

Probably an 8, or a 9, or a 10.

Interesting. Is that a brand-new club?

Yeah, never use the same club twice.

Mind if I tee off first?

All right, mate.

What do you reckon?

- Yeah.
- Please.

Great to be back out on the course.

Is that...?

Nah, it's all right.

- Thought I saw someone out there.
- I didn't see anyone.

There definitely was something.
Move out the fucking way!

Vincent, the etiquette in
golf is to shout "Fore."

Yeah. Golf's all about etiquette for me.

Fucking fore!

Where were we?

Fuck's sake. What is it with golf, eh?

Why do we put ourselves through it?

There she is, the old lady.

Lovely.

Bollocks.

Get in the fucking hole.

Get in!

I think that means, taking into
account your handicap...

I think that means I've
won by 18 holes to none.

I don't mind saying the better man won.

There you are, boss.
Until the next time.

- My pleasure. And I'm not your boss.
- Not yet but...

- Not ever. You'll never work for me.
- What?

Is this a joke?

No, you're the joke, Vincent.
I know what you are.

I've spoken to people who've been
exposed to your men's methods.

You're con-men.

Yes, all right, you've
had a good few months.

But it won't last.

You're selling a worthless product
for as much money as you can,

as quickly as you can. And sooner
or later people will find out.

You're not proper businessmen,
you're not salesmen.

You're hustlers. You're fairground
workers in shiny suits,

selling a product as
worthless as you are.

Is this because I called
you a little prick?

Maybe.

Anyway, now that our
interview's over, I'm afraid

I'm going to have to kindly
ask you to leave,

since I don't think you are or ever
will be a member of this club.

That's all right, mate,
I'll gladly leave.

Like Groucho Marx said,
"I refuse to join a golf club

"that would have you, a fucking
little prick, as a member."

That's not the quote, actually.

Fuck off.

I don't know what to say.
You were right.

I've let you all down.

Right, here's what you're going to do.

You're going to go back to Walshy,
and ask him for your job back.

- You might have to start a rung down..
- I can't, Sam.

It won't be for long, will it?

Fitzpatrick will be lucky if he gets
another week as showroom manager.

I don't think I can do it.

Vincent, look at me.

No-one believes in you more
than you do, baby. Right?

There's always going to be
a Walshy or a little prick

trying to fuck you over,
but you're better than them.

That's why I married you.

You old romantic.

- I thought it was cos I got you pregnant.
- Yeah, there was that.

You are incredible. I thought
you were going to leave me.

Well, it's hard to be mad at you
when you're wearing

- those tight white trousers.
- I do look a bit like John Travolta, eh?

- More like Bucks Fizz.
- Sexier then.

Oh, yeah.

Now, do you think you've got
time for a quick birdie

- before the kids get back?
- Oh, we can do better than that.

How about a hole in one?

- Or I could plop my balls in your...
- All right don't spoil it.

Here we go. I don't think

my gag reflex will let me
swallow this much pride.

You wanted to see me, Vincent.

I want to get one thing
straight from the start.

Yeah, hold on, hold on.

Before you say anything you
might regret, come with me.

Ta-dah. Ford Granada LX.
Top-of-the-range. Your company car.

Really? I think you've forgotten
I don't work here any more.

Come on, don't milk it.
This is me saying sorry.

I need you back, Vincent.

Fitzpatrick's taken us from
selling 50 grand a week to zero.

Minus four grand if you include
Carol's fucking unusable computer.

Well, you're on the right lines, Walshy.

But you better make it a BMW

or I'll never set foot in
your poxy showroom again.

- Oh, fucking hell, Vincent!
- Call it danger money.

Carol told me you've got that psycho
Ronnie Farrell on your case.

OK. I'll call the leasing company
and get you a BMW,

but you better get us out
of this hole with Ronnie.

I can't afford to be giving away
five grand's worth of windows.

Leave Ronnie to me.

I quickly managed to get
Ronnie Farrell onside by making him

an offer he couldn't refuse.

- So you've sorted it with Farrell?
- Yeah, you can stop

shitting your pants now.
He's not going to hurt anyone.

- How did you do that?
- Let's just say we came to a compromise.

Great. What's the compromise?

I told him he can have
the windows for free.

What?! Why have you done that?

Because he's an incredibly
violent, dangerous man.

But that's going to cost
me five fucking grand!

You should have thought about that

before you put Fitzpatrick
in charge, you stupid prick.

Let that be a valuable lesson to you.

You need to talk to him!

I did get one concession from Ronnie.

Turns out as an eminent local
businessman and being neither

female, foreign or Jewish, Ronnie
was a big wig at the golf club.

For the price of one "nice little telly"

I managed to wrangle membership.

Now, golfers often say the toughest
opponent you can face

on the course is yourself.

Oi! Stop getting in the way you wanker!

Hurry up, bell ends!

Well, every Saturday morning
from now until I eventually

get banned from this place,

I'm going to be this little prick's
toughest opponent.

Fucking fore!