All language subtitles for White.gold.S02E04.MTB.English-WWW.MY-SUBS.CO

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Be honest, what do you think?
Too Maggie Thatcher?

Even sexier, I'd say.

Don't muck about.

This is a big deal and I want
to make a good impression.

I'm sure you'll make
exactly the impression

that jumped-up
little prick wants you to.

What's that supposed to mean?

I've been to these trade
exhibitions before.

They're full of lecherous old creeps

lusting after anything
that wiggles in a skirt.

Oh, so I'm there as a skirt, am I?

Thanks for assuming my
only value to the business

is so that clients can
fantasise about fucking me.

That is not what I meant.

I just know what pigs
they can be, that's all.

No, I'm sure you'll knock 'em dead
with your charm and your brains.

The brains they want to fuck out of me?

Probably, yeah.

♪ Welcome to your life ♪

♪ There's no turning back. ♪

All right, if Vincent can't be
arsed to turn up here on time,

we'll start without him.

What's this?

Some market research I had
commissioned at Everest.

It looks at the buying habits of
our customers in the North West.

Well, that instantly makes
it a load of old bollocks.

How so?

Well, it's based on
northerners, for a start.

They all live in caves or down pits.

You probably have to
spend about three hours

trying to teach them
the concept of a window.

They're like walls but
you can see through them.

We're getting off track here.

If you read it you'll see
some interesting trends.

I don't see any harm
in trying to up our game.

Thank you, Martin.

One thing that research does show
is that only 8% of sales

originate from showroom visits.

Which means most of the
time you're sat there,

you're next to fucking useless, Brian.

Starting tomorrow,

we'll be running sales training
exercises during the day.

Training?

Me? Look, I'm sorry, love,

but that is like trying to teach
Jimi Hendrix how to play the guitar.

Well, it's happening, so get used to it.

And on to item two,

and try not to choke on your own
vomit at this news, Mr Hendrix,

but I'm suspending your commission
on the Murphy job.

The whole Murphy debacle started
with Fitzpatrick getting a hot lead

on a travellers' site.

I see. This is why you wanted
to drag me along.

You're scared to go in.

I'm not scared, Lavatory.

All I'm asking is you come
in and watch while I pitch.

Then make sure they don't
pull any of their gypsy shit.

I'll sling you a 50 for your trouble.

OK. I'll do it for 50 quid.

- Cheers.
- And half the commission.

Fucking hell. All right, then.

A gentleman by the name of Mick Murphy

had recently
inherited a nice little windfall,

and was looking to transform
his caravan into his dream home.

OK, lads.

I've already started on the
extension for Mick Junior.

Oh, you live with your son?

No, you idiot.

Come here, Mick.

I've had Mick's box attached.

Now we can have our tea together.

Sensing that Mick maybe wasn't
the sharpest knife in the drawer,

Fitzpatrick jumped in and sold
him a full set of windows,

along with a huge conservatory.

When Barry turned up to install,

Mick told him he planned
to fit everything himself.

Being a chronically lazy bastard,

Barry was only too happy
to unload the windows,

and spent the rest of the day
down the pub,

and that was the last anyone
saw or heard of Mick Murphy.

Well, how's this our fault?

It's Barry that's fucked
up here, as far as I can see.

I agree. All we did was
get the deal over the line.

You didn't think there was anything
suspicious about an unemployed gypsy

signing up for £30,000 worth
of windows for his 500 quid caravan?

This is all starting to sound
a little bit racist to me.

Until you can get Mick Murphy to pay
in full or recover those windows,

I'm docking the stock costs
on future commissions.

No fucking way!

We don't have to take this from her.
We've got rights!

Well, you have the right to quit
if you don't like working here.

Oh, it's like that, is it?

Consider your bluff
well and truly called.

I'd love to see you try and run
this place without a sales team.

Come on, Lavender.
Walshy'll give us a job.

Yeah, I'm not quitting.

I'll be seeing you, then, Brian.

I want you to think very
carefully about this, Martin.

OK, don't let this be another
Paul Young-level fuck up for you.

Fine.

This company's finished anyway, mate,

and you, you can shove your training
and your market research

right up your Northern arsehole.

You'll have to get his
nose out of there first.

Thank you, Martin.

It wasn't for your benefit.

I take it if I find Mr Murphy
and get him to pay up,

I get to keep Fitzpatrick's
half of the commission?

Here we are, Sam.

Over 20,000 people will
walk through these doors

over the next three days.

And will they all be as
half-cut as this lot?

Absolutely.
It's basically a jolly for builders.

Buyers meet suppliers on their stands

and, to keep them happy,
they get a well-oiled

and perma-tanned dolly bird
to serve them some nibbles.

Sophisticated.

Right. Shall we?

I swear, Brian, if
this is another wind-up

I'm going to throw
you through the window

of this competitively
priced conservatory.

Neil, listen.

OK, I think it's fair to
say that your skill set

isn't exactly suited to being
the public face of Wuh-Windows.

Double-fucking-U Windows.

Case in point.

Now, look, what you've got
here is a quality product

allied with top-notch technical support.

You're just a head of sales
away from cracking it again.

- Which is where I come in.
- Oh, I see.

You've been slung out by
that toerag, Vincent Swan.

No. I walked.

Cachet is a fucking disaster
waiting to happen.

All right, I'm listening.

I want 20 grand basic salary,
7% commission, plus car.

How about no basic, a three month trial,

10% commission, no car?

No trial, 10% commission,
you take over the lease of my BMW,

plus 20 grand basic.

That's more than your
fucking original offer!

Which is why you probably
should have taken it, Tony.

So, what's it to be?

Well, seeing as you've already
told me you're out of a job,

I'd say I'm holding a handful
of fucking aces, Brian.

Hello?

It's "Double-U" Windows.

Yes, I fucking know
it looks like a mistake!

Hello?

Yeah, I wouldn't say
you're holding all the aces.

All right.

I'll take your first offer.

- On one condition.
- Which is?

You start this second.

This fucking place
is giving me an ulcer.

Over at the travellers' site,
Lavender was starting to realise

that all the lucky heather in the world

wouldn't let him track down Mick Murphy.

Boysie! You made it.

And one clearly non-boysie, I see.

Pleased to meet you, young lady.

Sam, this is Geoff Kemp,
part-time MD of the Profile company

- and full-time pisshead.
- Hello, Geoff.

A pleasure to meet you, Sam.

You'll have to tell me
which agency you came through.

I think Stevie Wonder must have
booked the girls for our stand.

I mean, it's like they literally
put lipstick on pigs.

Oh, no, Geoff, Sam's not a promo girl.

She's the newest member
of our sales team.

Oh, crikey! I do apologise, Sam.

Nice to see the Profile company's
kept up the tradition

of having the Ferrari
of exhibition stands.

Well, summat's got to
make up for me tiny penis.

Let me get you both a drink.

- What you drinking, Sam?
- Oh, I'll just get a Coke, please.

Ooh! Lightweight alert,
lightweight alert!

She'll have a vodka in that, my love,

and get Martin and me a couple
of beers too, please, Francesca.

All right, yeah. When in Rome.

Have an orgy, you say?

Although, is it still an orgy
if it's just the two of us, Sam?

I think one of your customers

is trying to get your attention
there, Geoff.

The one throwing up in a pot plant?

Oh, Christ!

Excuse me one minute.

You all right, there, mate?

- Thank you.
- Cheers.

So, no-one's told Geoff
he could save an absolute fortune

on exhibition space if he just took
his clients directly to a brothel?

Now, now, we're not
here to judge, Samantha.

We just want his advertising spend.

I know. Vincent did warn me.

It's just going to
take some acclimatising.

It's OK.

You can do this.

Sorry about that. Now, where were we?

Well, Geoff, as an exhibition virgin,

I was hoping you could tell me.

Cheers.

Chin, chin.

I wasn't sure if you wanted this.

It's not mine.

- Do you want it, though?
- No.

Sorry. You didn't really have much
in the way of personal belongings.

Got your gentleman's mags.

Yeah, all right. Thanks, Carol.
Put it away, please.

Can't I go now? Cos I hate all this.

It's like reliving my parents' divorce.

No, don't go.

Listen, don't panic, OK?

But I've got a proposition for you.

How would you like to be my
new junior sales assistant?

What? I've never done selling before.

It doesn't matter.

Look, I see great potential in you.

Take a seat, Carol.

What's going on now?

I'm interviewing you - for the post.

Now, tell me, what do
you think your best attributes are?

My mum used to say I could be world
champion of solitaire.

I didn't go out much as a kid.

Allergies, acne, agoraphobia.

All the As.

Sorry, I'm babbling.
What was the question?

Just calm down, OK?

Tell me what makes
you qualified for this job.

I hate talking about myself.

Brings back all the As.

All right, well, let me help you.

You know the double glazing
business, for a start.

You're bubbly.

Uniquely perceptive.

Loyal.

You're making me sound like a dog.

I'd also say that,
once they get to know you properly,

you're the type of person
that people just want to be around.

Like...

...all of the time.

Sorry. It's not for me.

I'm going to go now, Brian.

Oh, no, wait. Carol, don't go, please.

Look...

Is there something else
you want to say to me, Brian?

Yes.

I think the Linda Lusardi issue
of Penthouse is missing, so...

...if you see it knocking about,
just keep an eye out for it.

Goodbye, Brian.

Someone's made an impression
with our most important client.

- Please don't.
- What?

Geoff just told me he's
rebooking the ad campaign

for the Profile
company with us next year.

He said your pitch was professional
and utterly charming,

despite Martin's presence.
His words, not mine.

- That's good, right?
- Yeah, congratulations.

I'm proud of you. Tonight, we celebrate.

Fantastic. What's the plan, boss?

Geoff has very kindly offered
to take us out for dinner

to seal the deal,

and I'm just hoping that Sam
has a few more hours

of Geoff-wrangling left in her.

Yeah, of course.

Daft question, but just wondering
if either of you

have got a spare grope-proof
body suit I could borrow?

Finally, Lavender got a lead
that Mick Murphy was a regular

at a local tavern favoured
by the travelling community.

Excuse me, mate, I'm looking
for a Mick Murphy

who I'm told drinks in here.

I don't suppose you've heard of him?

All right, listen up, you reprobates.

This fella's looking for a Mick Murphy.

- Have we got a Mick Murphy in tonight?
- I'm Mick Murphy.

Oh, sorry, mate.
It's a different Mick Murphy.

I'm Mick Murphy.

I'm Mick Murphy.

I'm Mick Murphy.

- I'm Mick Murphy.
- I'm Mick Murphy.

- No, no, I'm Mick Murphy.
- I'm Mick Murphy.

Here you are, son. If it
makes you feel any better,

you're the fourth double glazing
salesman this month.

What can I get you, mate?

While Lavender was having
his arse handed to him

by the Mick Murphy collective,

Sam was having arse problems of her own.

So I said, listen, love,

just because you've got blood
coming out of your money slot

doesn't mean that you can talk
to me like a prize arsehole.

But what did she say to that?

She arrested me and
slapped me in handcuffs.

- Kinky.
- Serves you right.

Aye, it did, and that is why
I no longer drink gin, Sam.

Although I'd down a bottle
of Gordon's this minute

if you promised
to handcuff me afterwards.

Geoff, how old did
you say your daughter is?

15.

Oh, same age as my daughter.
What size are her tits?

Sorry?

Well, has she got a pair
of boobs on her yet?

Well... What can I say?

She's developing.

Well, hopefully, by the time
she gets her first job interview

she'll have a pair big enough
to get her employer interested.

Now, now, Sam, that's sexist.
It could be a woman.

- She might be a lezzer.
- Easy, boysie.

- Anybody want more champagne?
- Mm.

Maybe you've had enough, Sam.

Hey...

Maybe, if she grows
a fantastic pair of hooters, Geoff,

she could come and work at Daddy's firm.

- OK. I get the message.
- And who knows?

Play along with the boysies,
drop the occasional hint

that she might let them
rest their dicks in her mouth,

and she could even climb the ladder.

Maybe even take over
the old man's empire.

For a much smaller salary, of course.

Yeah. I said I get it.

If you'll excuse me,
I'm just going to the loo.

Yeah, I might join you.

Need to piss out some of these bubbles.

Sam, what are you doing?

- I'm going to bed.
- No, not that. I mean...

Listen, forget it.

Why don't you let me call you a cab?

Believe it or not, Andrew,

I've pushed two children
out of this money slot,

married a third fucking child,

raised them all and
then gone back to work,

so I think I can manage a short walk
back to a different building.

Sorry. OK?

- Hello, Vincent.
- No cold callers, please.

Oh, come on, Vincent, we need to talk.

Look, if Ronnie had've told me
you were this against me joining,

I'd have stayed with Walshy.

That's big of you.

- Can I come in?
- No.

Here's fine.

Kids are asleep.

Fitzpatrick quit.

Well, it's not as easy as it looks,
this man management lark, is it?

Look, I know you're pissed off,

but Cachet needs Vincent Swan firing
on all cylinders right now.

I'm offering a deal.

Let me manage the showroom
for one month.

Lavender and Carol still get
to call you their boss,

but we try things my way.

If, at the end of the month,
you still want me out,

I'll walk away and leave you to it.

And what's in it for you?

I don't spend all me
energy fighting you,

and as a side effect of all this peace,

love and harmony, we make
tonnes of lovely cash.

I can accept your terms.

Great. I'll see you in the morning
for sales training.

Sweet dreams.

Buddy, Scotch and rocks, please.

Jesus, Sam.

- What the hell was that?
- Look...

If you've come to sack me, fair enough.

I'm clearly not cut out for this.

I'm sorry I had to fuck up your
biggest account to figure that out.

I'm not here to sack you, Sam.

Look, no woman should have to put
up with that kind of bullshit.

You're an exceptional person,
and I'm proud to have you with me

at Millman Young.

Well, thank you.

And, listen, if that's what it takes
to get Geoff's account,

dangling you like some sort of carrot,

- then frankly it's not worth it.
- OK, well...

I've never been described
as a carrot before.

- Well, I didn't...
- Relax.

- It's a joke, I'm joking.
- Right.

You know, the most irritating part
of this is Vincent tried to warn me.

I mean, I can imagine Vincent
being right about anything

being incredibly irritating.

I will drink to that.

Cheers.

You're too good for him, Sam.

Yeah. Tell me about it.

No, I mean it.

He doesn't deserve you.

Why did you even give
your marriage another go?

The usual. Kids.

The relentless sadness.

The worst thing about
it is I still loved him,

even after all that.

You know that's supposed to be
the best part, right?

Mm.

Leave him.

It's way past my bedtime.

No, no, I'm serious.

I'd help in any way I could.

I'd do anything for you.

Anything.

Please, leave him.

No, no, Andrew, please, don't.

- Look...
- I'm so, so sorry.

- I shouldn't have done that.
- Listen.

Please, don't say sorry.

Oh, fuck.

It's complicated and it's late.

You are a wonderful man, really.

I just have this rule,

and I can only make one
Titanic-scale fuckup per night.

So I'm going to go to bed -

and I'm going to prevent a double
maritime disaster from happening.

OK.

Ship isn't sinking tonight.

It's unsinkable.

Night, Sam.

Goodnight, Andrew.

OK, so, hopefully you're starting to see

how role-play is the most effective
way of developing good rapport.

Embrace these techniques
and you'll be able to close a deal

even after the customer finds out
you've slept with his wife.

Finally, something that
could come in handy.

Ha-ha.

OK, let's try that as a final role-play.

Lavender, I want
you to close a deal with me.

Let's say I'm a 32-year-old
man called Vincent.

I'm ready to sign for a conservatory

but I've just found out
you've slept with me wife.

- This is nonsense.
- Clearly.

Sam would never cheat on me
for this sack of spuds.

Hello, the Mensa twins.

This is a hypothetical situation.
Come on.

Get this done and I'll leave
you be for the rest of the day.

Fine.

Here we are then, Vincent.

If you could just sign here.

We take a 15% deposit today,
cash or cheque,

and we'll be back in touch within 48
hours with a confirmed fitting date.

Why did you sleep with my wife?

Maybe if you could just sign,
and I'll take questions later.

When did it happen?
Was it when we were separated?

Sorry, look, I don't really know
what we're achieving here.

Stay in the role, Lavender.

Rapport's the only thing
you can rely on here.

This doesn't really seem necessary now.

I blame myself, really.

I mean, how fucked must my marriage
have been for Sam to have an affair

with my best mate?

What the fuck is going on here?

I mean, how did I,
the great Vincent Swan,

let my wife slip so far away from me
that she'd fall in love with a man

so spineless he'd make
a jellyfish look upstanding?

Lavender?

I was going to tell you, mate, but
you and Sam patched things up first.

I don't believe what I'm hearing.
You and Sam, behind my back?

I mean, to be fair,
you were openly in a relationship

with your son's teacher at the time.

You need to get the fuck out of here.

Vincent, we should probably
talk this through.

Morning, everyone.
Really needed that lie-in.

I'm a big fan of these
training mornings.

I said get the fuck out. You're sacked.

I hate to be the bearer
of even more bad news,

but you don't have sole authority
for the hires and fires any more.

No, no, it's fine, I'm going.

I'm sorry, Vincent.

Fuck you, Jo.

You fucking bitch.

Not in front of the children, Vincent.

Shall we take this upstairs?

Is this all part of the training?

Hi.

Morning, Sam.

You sleep well?

Not particularly. You?

No, not really.

I'm going to get
something from the buffet.

Be quick. We've got to
leave in five minutes.

Morning, boss. Samantha.

Now, that was some night.

I'm such an idiot.

Was Geoff furious?

Oh, on the contrary, Samantha.

Geoff felt so guilty
about being such a pig

he committed his firm's entire
advertising budget

exclusively to Millman Young.

It's the biggest deal we've ever landed!

Amazing, eh, boss?

It's great news.

We'd better be going.

Bloody hell.

I'm shocked.

I guess you can teach
an old boysie new tricks.

I think you've turned
Geoff into a feminist, Sam.

- My God, when did all this happen?
- About 3am.

Got him plastered and
took him to a strip club.

That guy is such a feminist.

Listen, now, before you get
all Captain Caveman on me,

let me just say one thing...

Is everything all right between us?

You've barely said a word to me all day.

I've had a few things on my mind.

OK, well, if it's about last night...

No, it's not about that, Sam.

I've had some difficult phone calls
with the owner.

We haven't had the best year.

He's asked me to cut staff by 10%.

So I'm really sorry, Sam,
but I've got to let you go.

Oh. Shit.

Well, didn't you tell him
about the Geoff Kemp deal?

I thought that was a game changer.

I can give you...

...two weeks' paid notice.

You don't have to come into the office.

Well, I don't know
what's more disappointing,

you being worse than Geoff fucking
Kemp or Vincent being right again.

You really are a jumped-up little prick.

Ah!

Come to spend your 30 pieces of silver

on Corringham's number one double
glazing system, have you, Judas?

I'm having second thoughts
about leaving Cachet, actually.

Oh, dear. Well...

Unfortunately for you,
like a certain Mr Paul Young,

I don't do second chances.

Yeah, I've already hired a young
hotshot to complete my sales team.

Seriously? Are you fucking with me?
I'm not going to beg.

Look, I warned you.
You snooze, you lose.

Gentlemen.

Is this your hotshot?

Got them to throw in a waxing
for free at the car wash, boss.

All right, Lavatory.

Had to part ways with the Anglian boys.

Turns out they couldn't handle
a maverick like me in the machine.

But I guess Wuh-Windows
is the w-winner in this game

of high-stakes poker, eh, Bri?

It's "Double-U" Windows, RJ.

For fuck's sake.

Well, in that case,
I've got a little gift for you.

Call it an opening-day bonus.

Does this mean we can
cease all the hostilities?

Some way to negotiate
a peace settlement.

They don't call me Dr Kissinger
for nothing.

It's funny, isn't it?

Told you it would happen.

Yeah.

It's amazing.

I mean, how do you do it, Mystic Meg?

I just looked into your crystal balls.

Hello? Yeah.

Put her through, Carol.

Hello, sweetheart.

Yeah, yeah, of course.

What time does your train get in?

I'll see you there.

- Everything OK?
- Yeah.

Just got to pick Sam
up from the station.

- Look, about this...
- Oh, save your breath, Vincent.

I know how this speech goes.

You're a happily married man,
this was just a moment of madness.

Well, I'm not saying it wasn't
off the wall mind-blowing,

but we both know it can't
become a regular occurrence.

I'm not going to run
off and tell your wife,

- if that's what you're worried about.
- Thanks for understanding.

What's so funny?

Oh, I understand.

I'm not sure you do.

Well, maybe you can enlighten me.

This is checkmate.

The endgame, Vincent.

Either you buckle down
and work for me at Cachet,

or Sam finds out what
an un-redeemable cunt

she has for a husband.

I'd congratulate you, Jo,

but, see, unfortunately
your plan relies heavily

on me giving a shit
about anyone other than myself.

Touche, Vincent.

I guess the only way to find out's
to call me bluff.

You've got 48 hours
to give me an answer.

That's plenty of time to work out
divorce settlement costs.

Well, off you run.

You don't want to keep
your sensational wife waiting.

Lizzie doesn't let me
smoke these in the house.

She said that the smell
clings to the curtains.

I mean, personally
I can't get enough of it.

The aroma of success.

But, like my old man once told me,

the secret to a long and happy marriage

is to let them have small victories.

That was shortly before his third
wife had him killed, but still...

He had a point.

Ronnie, I've taken a lot of shit
over this past year.

You've also taken 50 grand of my money.

Strictly speaking I didn't take it,
I was given it.

I'm sure you didn't drive
all the way out here

to discuss semantics, young Vincent.

This is about Jo, I take it?

I wanted to do this personally. Here.

- And what's this?
- My resignation.

I can't accept someone
coming in over me.

She's coming in alongside you,
not over you.

I didn't have you down
as a sexist, Vincent.

I couldn't give two shits
if she's got tits,

a dick, or a Venus fly trap
under her dress.

No, you are going to have
to make a decision, it's her or me.

But I've already decided,
I want both of you.

- So if that was all...
- Right.

Well, you don't always get
what you want in life,

do you, Ronnie?

Well, I don't know about that, Vincent.

Sit down.

Fucking hell...

Right. Well, you've had your
little paddy, stamped your feet.

If you're smart you might even
still walk away from here

with a pay rise,
but talk to me like that again

and you'll struggle to
walk away from anything, ever.

You got it?

Loud and clear.

Good boy. Now, look, the reason
I brought Jo in

is because she was hurting us.

Yeah? You're still the one
I trust, Vinnie.

Which is why I need you to
run 250 grand in undeclared cash

to Malta for me.

Now, Ronnie's cash was clearly dirtier

than a nursing home's toilet floor,

but putting as much distance
as possible between myself

and that devious bitch Jo seemed
like my only play for now.

I'll tear that little
prick a new arsehole.

Oh, please...
I told you it wasn't his fault.

I couldn't hack it. That's why I quit.

I'm still having words.

I just want to leave
all that shit behind me.

Promise me you won't say anything.

All right. I promise not to confront
the little prick.

However, I do not promise
that the tyres on his Jag

will not get slashed.

Nor do I promise not to sign him
up for the National Youth Theatre.

That's better.
I know what the Swans need.

A holiday.
Have you ever been to Malta before?

I'm so lucky to have you, Vincent Swan.

Where the fuck is Malta?

- Hello?
- Prepare to be happy, boss.

- Who the fuck is this?
- Oh, that's not Brian, is it?

Can I talk to Brian from Wuh-Windows?

Double-fucking-U windows!

Hold on. Brian, have you been
hiring staff without my say so?

Oh, take a Valium,
will you, Walshy, all right?

It's a commission-only hire,
so the only cost to you

is if he sells, which I assume he has.

Pass him here.

- Ronnie Jay, what's happening?
- Christ!

Not Ronnie's fucking runt of a son!

Oh, I've only closed
a deal for 50 grand,

but if that foul-mouthed
ignoramus wants me out,

I'll go and tear up the contract.

No, no, no, no, no.

Let's all just calm down, shall we?

Yeah, no, I'm sure he's going
to be ecstatic when he finds out

you've just closed a deal for 50 grand.

Oh, and tell him this.

It was only that chinless wonder,
Lavatory, who gave me the lead.

Oh, that is sweet.

♪ Na-na naa na-na ♪

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

♪ Altogether now ♪

♪ Na-na naa na-na ♪

♪ Na-na naa na-na ♪

♪ Live ♪

♪ Na-na naa na-na ♪

♪ Live is life ♪

♪ Na-na naa na-na ♪

♪ Life ♪

♪ Na-na naa na-na. ♪