Original subtitles

'This programme contains very strong language

from the outset and throughout.'

(SINGS QUIETLY TO HIMSELF)

Oi!

Little Lord Fauntleroy!

Oi! Shirley Temple! (DETECTOR HUMS)

Oh, no, you don't!

These are BRITISH fields

and whatever's found on British fields, stays in British hands.

What? I said,

what the fuck are you doing scavenging on my field?!

YOUR field? Correction - this is no man's land.

This is the unoccupied buffer between our two fiefdoms.

Talk fucking normal!

I'm just as entitled to be on here as you.

And I'm not scavenging.

I'm looking for irreplaceable items that have been stolen,

in the dead of night, from my house.

Oh, yeah. What items? Never mind what items.

But the perpetrators made their way across here,

and the beady eye of suspicion points to your thieving friends.

Hey, that's fucking libel! That's fucking slander...

I don't know what it fucking is but it's something.

Imaginary line right down the middle.

My half, your half.

Now fuck right off.

Well, I'm warning you - so pass it on -

I'm going high tech, low tech,

and every fucking tech in between over there.

It's gonna be like Alcatraz, Fort Knox...

Bold Lane car park.

(DETECTOR BEEPS)

Ah, probably an old fucking tin can.

Hey. Hey.

This is still my land, so whatever you find there is fucking mine!

♪ The best things in life are free...

Tom! You're being fucking unreasonable.

I'm not being unreasonable, right?

I am the proprietor of Hawley's premiere mobile erotic parlour -

Fuck truck.

Yeah... And as such... I cannot be sharing

me storage-cum-office space with my one-time co-assistant manager.

Excuse me! I'm trying to set up a business for us, Tom, right?

I need a proper desk. Have you been downstairs, Erin?

Yeah. It's a pub. It's full of 'em.

I can't run a business off a sticky pub table!

May I introduce you to your friend and mine, the humble wet wipe.

You are fucking sharing.

(PHONE RINGS) (LAUGHS)

Oh! What do you want, Jimbo?

♪ DOVES: Black And White Town

(SINISTER MUSIC)

JIM: Hey, where do you think it leads?

Yes, it's quite curious.

Maybe it leads UNDERGROUND, you fucking lemon.

Well, obviously it leads underground, but THEN where?

All right, come on, then. Let's fucking see.

Right, here we go. Are we ready? Yes. Come on.

Oh, yeah!

Well, whatever it is, it's been here for decades.

Hey. Maybe it's Roman. It's not Roman!

It's not Roman, you plum. It's a fucking padlock on it.

Heave it up. (ALL GROAN WITH EFFORT)

(HINGES SQUEAK)

Oh, my giddy aunt's vagina!

Fuck dude, it's super big down here.

Come on, Shirley, come on, lad.

Hey, this goes right under my field. SHIRLEY: It's in MY field.

ERIN: There's a light switch. (DISAPPOINTED GROANS)

Come on, then.

SHIRLEY: I'm getting a vision of a large circular table

and still seated, six human skeletons.

Shut up. ERIN: Stinks.

Come on, Jimbo. Here we go. Here we go.

Ready?

ERIN: Right, be careful.

(HINGES SQUEAK)

Yeah... Wow. Easy, easy.

(FUNNY VOICE) Hello! Fucking hell!

Me fucking heart! Bastard! You could have fucking killed him.

Could've killed him, but sadly he's still standing.

Fucking hell. Ah.

What the fuck?

Are you joking me? Are you twisting my fucking melon?

It's incredible. ERIN: It's quite damp, isn't it?

(ERIN GASPS) Oh, dude look at it!

No way! (VINNIE LAUGHS)

There's a fucking tea cups and a teapot!

Jeez. Oh, my fucking God. Oh, my God.

I'm telling you now, this is a fucking war bunker, in't it?

It's from the Second World War or summat.

Cables and wires run all the way through here, yeah?

So, surely we could get fucking leccy down here again, couldn't we?

Potentially, yeah. Well, actually, in that case...

congratulations, Erin, we might have just found... your new office.

How's about that? Fuck right off.

No, I mean fucking weed grow, you dick ends, don't I?

Oh. Weed grow?

Look at it. It's bloody perfecto, in't it?

No-one's ever gonna find this fucking place. Not one fold.

Never mind your nefarious activities.

This is heritage, history - Activities...

That is a good idea, Vin, and as your new landlord,

I'll be wanting six months rent in advance.

Is that what you'd like? Yes.

I'll give it you now, you gobshite. Ah, you bastard!

This is MY land.

It's MY land!

I can't fucking believe it. I swear to God,

I've wanted to find summat like that since I was a little lad.

I can't believe... a fucking bunker.

Shit. Vinnie, Vinnie, Vinnie.

Who the hell are they?

Those are our old friends the MacDonaghs.

Make sure they don't fucking see it. Keep it out of sight.

Hello, Thomas... other people.

What the fuck do you two want?

That's not a very nice welcome, is it, after all this time?

I've been away, Vincent, having surgery.

Oh, nothing minor, we hope.

I've had a testicle removed - my left one - most undignified,

but they replaced it with a marvellous artificial one.

You can barely feel the difference. Nice.

And now we're back.

And I'm looking to reignite our business relations.

Nothing to do with Manolito. No. No way.

We're not working with you again. Why not, pretty cheeks?

I tell you why, cos since Dylan went fucking missing,

we vowed we wanted nothing more to do with you and we meant it.

And I told you, after Dylan went missing,

that Barry and I know nothing about it.

I'm rather fond of Dylan...

and despite our differences, I wish him no harm.

Well, you're a sweetheart, but the answer's still a very firm no!

She said you'd say that. Who the fuck's "she"?

Our sister, Donna.

Donna MacDonagh?

During my absence, she's got more involved in the family business.

And she requests a quiet word with you, Vincent, in person.

Sound. All right, well, do us a solid.

You go and tell your Donna to stick a quiet word up her arse.

Hey, hey! Baz, Baz! Leave him, Bazzy!

(EXPLOSION BOOMS)

(HIGH-PITCHED RINGING)

(MUFFLED GROANS AND SCREAMS)

Wow! JIM: Fucking hell!

Argh!

(ERIN GROANS)

Barry?

No, no, no, no. Barry?! Where's me Barry?

JIM: No-one knew it was there. Unexploded mine.

What are the chances?

It was an unused field. A buffer between our fiefdoms.

Not really owned by anyone, especially not me.

Or me. Stop waffling!

My brother's dead...

..in five fucking pieces.

Six. Oh.

Just being accurate. What's wrong with you?

Davey, listen to me, man.

I'm gonna be honest with you when I say this.

There have been times over the last few months,

I have wished harm on you and your brother Baz.

And I fucking mean that, but I swear to God,

nobody would ever want summat like this, man.

It's fucked. It's awful, mate.

Well, thank you, for those kind words, Vincent.

I mean it.

Donna's not gonna be too happy with this.

Fuck, no. She'll rightly want to find blame.

Fucking hell "blame"! Hang fire a minute.

Davey, listen to me.

You saw what went down on that field today.

I ran in the same direction as Barry.

I jumped right over the fucking thing.

It could have easily have been me that was in... five pieces.

Again... six. Oh, for fuck sake.

Why do you keep doing that? It just feels important.

We know a very good undertaker who will give Barry a lovely funeral.

We do. We do and, you know,

now is not the time to be finding blame.

Certainly not. It's just, such a sad, terrible...

It is sad. Horrible... horrible...

Accident. ..accident that's happened.

It's... awful. Awful.

When we were children, Barry used to massage my shoulders in the bath.

Aww. That's nice. Brotherly love.

I'd place a wet flannel over my face,

pretend I was in a Swedish sauna.

He'd do the accent, too, sometimes. Would he?

Sometimes we'd be in there for hours...

splashing about... windows steamy.

All right, mate. Barry's big hands.

Sweat...

..dripping. Right. He's in shock.

He's in shock with it all. He is.

Drinks are on the house!

Barry MacDonagh's dead! What?

He's dead!

Barry MacDonagh's dead!

(CHEERING AND LAUGHTER)

Which one's Barry again?

(GROANS) Put this down, dude.

Oh, fuck me, dude. This fucking... Eurgh!

Fucking torso, for fuck's sake.

Full torso! PARTIAL torso.

I need to wash me hands. I feel gross.

Why do you have to be so fucking pedantic? Gary!

♪ BACH: Toccata And Fugue in D Minor Oh, what the fuck is this?

What are you even doing here?

I'm Gary's new assistant. Learning the ropes.

Found him on Insta.

How the fuck have you ended up...

That's bloody bridezilla -

the lunatic who got married to one of JJ's cousins.

Do you remember? I'm getting married in three days

and I don't need this kind of fucking stress!

Yeah, well it didn't last - the money-squandering,

limp-dicked twat went to retrain as a Reiki therapist.

I think he might've dodged a bullet, to be honest, Satan.

Where the fuck is Gary? 'No, we don't bury gangsters.'

That is just nonsense. You do!

You buried Pretty Boy Patel.

'He was a friend of my aunt.'

And Colin Callawalla. Good memory.

'He was a minor criminal, mostly extortion.

Have you reported the death yet?' No.Yes.

I didn't want the cops snooping around, pointing blame.

'No, listen. You need a death certificate from a doctor.'

Dude, I'll fucking get you one. I'll get you one off Christoph.

Listen, I need fucking help here.

These fuckers, they're the reason Dyldo's gone missing, right?

I mean, Davey's unhinged at the best of fucking times,

you know full well.

And now he's lost his brother, he's capable of...

Jesus Christ, he's capable of anything, in't he?

'Fine, fine, fine!

But I'm in Vegas until next Thursday, so get Meena to do it.'

Are yer? What you doing there?

'It's none of your business what I'm doing.

But if you must know, I'm at an embalming expo...

..and golfing weekend.' The mind boggles, honestly.

Hey, Gary, does your laptop do this?

(LAPTOP BLEEPS) Can you sew a body back together?

I'll do my best. 'I'm still here, you cunts.'

Oh! (LAUGHTER AND CHATTER)

I think, seeing death... that close up,

it just makes my brain wonder, that's all.

Do you know it's happening, or do you welcome it in?

The peace... letting go?

You don't have to fucking bother any more, do you?

Shall I give you a prescription for Viagra?

Why would you? Why would you, after what I've said?

That's quite the leap, in't it? What leap?

I'm talking about sadness and you've gone to hard dicks.

You wouldn't be thinking about death if you had a five-hour boner.

Knob head. I'm worried that I'm spending too much time by myself again.

What about... what's her name, your friend?

Erin? Well, yeah, she's great, but I...

..I don't know whether...

Fuck, I don't know.

Well, maybe you need to talk to somebody.

What the fuck are WE doing right now?

Actually, I DO know a good therapist.

Mmm.

A friend from uni. Got a long waiting list, though.

They always do. Does owe me a favour.

Maybe I can get you an urgent referral.

No, don't. Listen...

I'll be jumping the queue of a load of sad people, won't I?

That's not fair. Here you are, Fiona Frank.

I'll get her to call you, set up a time.

You can pay me back in weed.

Hello, Vincent. Myself and Donna have been talking

and we would like to honour Barry's life with a cocktail party,

tomorrow afternoon, 12:30.

Well, 12:30 for one.

She wants you and all your strange friends to attend.

Dress code: Marvellous.

Oh, and by the way, Vincent,

we need Barry there.

He always loved a cocktail.

'Toodle-oo.'

Jesus. "Dress code: Marvellous"?

What does it even mean? Flamboyant shirts, bold colours.

Dress code: Tommo. Sold. (LAUGHTER)

I don't mind. Yeah, yeah.

JJ working? Yeah, he's always working.

Trying to earn for the baby, in't he?

Shame. I would've loved to see him dress marvellous.

I'll be your plus one.

I don't like it. I don't mind telling you

right fucking now, it's a trap, is what it might be.

I think they're gonna lure us into the house, right,

and then Donna MacDonagh, with her heathenous fucking hook-like claws,

will stick 'em in my fucking spine, in't she, the lunatic.

Why would that happen? Is she mad or something?

Yes! Donna...? Put it this way.

Rumour has it she got put away, three years in prison,

for chopping off a man's finger with a rusty chisel.

Right, why don't we just go, drop Barry off and make our excuses?

Well, I'M going! I mean, if she wants to find you, she'll find you.

Besides, I love a cocktail.

Fuck. She's got a good point there.

We can't walk away from the MacDonaghs. We've learned that!

Shit! Shit.

Marvellous! It said "marvellous".

Couldn't you put like a fucking rainbow headband on?

You're all dark. Everything's black on you.

I'm an undertaker.

I have to project an air of undiluted dignity at all times.

I'm starving. I'm doing these 16-hour fasts.

Right, let's stop en route. Fuck, no.

We'll get something when we're there.

At a cocktail party? That's nibbles, Vinnie.

I need carbs. Unless you wanna witness me hangry!

Oh, heaven forbid.

A hangry undertaker.

Right, do you want anything? Need a shit.

Think they've got a toilet? In a restaurant?

It's hardly a fucking restaurant, is it? It's a shit hole.

Customers only.

I AM a customer. He's with me.

YOU'RE a customer - you've ordered. He's not eating.

What? Dude, come on. What difference does it make?

Rules.

So, say I go in and drop my guts - that's the same as him doing it.

And it wouldn't even be as bad as that,

cos I hardly eat anything, be a little poo.

Sorry. Customers only.

F-F-F-Fucking... you and your fucking unblinking lizard eyes,

holding up ludicrous fucking rules,

about who can poo, from who can't poo.

I mean, there's not even a fucking boss here, no-one of authority.

Only us three would know I've had a shit!

Sorry for shouting.

(CLEARS THROAT)

It's getting urgent. I'm starting to fucking crown, dude. All right?

OK, actually, erm, you know what? I need to go.

Give me the key.

You're just gonna give it to him. No. No.

I don't trust you. Hey, I'm a customer. Key, please.

Thank you.

There you go. Hiyah!

Dickhead!

Well, you should be ashamed of yourself.

Spiteful pizza. Shit!

The coffin's gone. Oh, fuck me!

Who the fuck steals a coffin?

Gary'll kill me! He'll fire me.

Know how much they cost? And that glass!

Never mind the fucking cost. Where's sewn-together Barry now?

We have to get it back. Someone must have seen something.

There's fucking no-one here!

I can't lose this job, Vinnie.

I'm supporting myself now. I need the fucking income.

And besides, I actually like being round dead people.

Christ. Look, can we just... Let's just...

Are you serious with that chomping?

Stop doing it. Are you doing it on purpose?

I'm fucking starving! You're doing me in.

I can't think straight with you chomping like a fucking oxen!

(CHOMPS)

Don't eat more of it.

(THEY MUTTER)

Oh, well done, dickhead!

Now it's all over the floor of a sacred vehicle.

I just can't go back to Davey MacDonagh's house

without his sewn-together brother. Fuck, dude!

We have to come up with a plan and really fucking quick.

What's all this "we" shit? This is your problem.

I just need that fucking coffin back.

We! We share the same fucking problem, don't we, you twit!

Christ!

What if...

we go back to Abracadaver, get another coffin,

weigh it down to Barry weight and take it to the cocktail party?

No. They might open it.

Why would they open it?

Because he's a fucking lunatic!

They're having a cocktail party for a wake, you know what I mean?

We have to prep for every eventuality.

OK, what if... we put a body in there, cover the face

and tell them that Gary's still working on the colouration.

They won't wanna see him look all fucking deformed.

Fuck me, that could work. I mean, no options, have we, fuck sake.

There's only one problem.

We only have females in right now.

Why the fuck would you suggest it, then?!

What's wrong with you? Oh.

Unless...

Can we not just get the fucking old beard man to do it?

Jim? Can we get Jim to get in the box?

He's almost dead for real. He wouldn't cope. It's too hot.

Listen, all you have to do is lie there

and pretend to be fucking dead.

Listen, if it kicks off, anything happens,

they wanna check you for any reason, we'll bang on t'coffin three times.

Now you know it's kicking off,

put your fucking gauze mask on and they're none the wiser.

Do you understand? Yeah. Put the fucking lid on.

You behave yourself in there. I'm serious.

You be dead as fuck.

Right, for the love of God, let's have it.

Now you lot... Oi.

..sombre as fuck.

MEENA: Fucking hell. That must be Donna.

Is this our Barry?

It is, yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

Why's he in ONE coffin?

Sorry, how do you... How do you mean?

He blew into five pieces.

Six. Don't say that. Give over.

So if that was his final state,

if that's what the Lord Almighty wanted for him,

why isn't he in FIVE coffins?

Six Oh, fuck.

Erm, well, we don't really do mini coffins.

They've sewn him back together, Donna.

We have.

Well, they better UN-sew him. Right, then.

Cos I want to see him. Hmm...

Before the funeral. Oh.

In pieces. That's unusual, in't it?

Laid out on a tasteful sheet of silk.

Right, then. OK, of course.

Come on, then.

Oh, come on, then. Let just go and have a...

have a nice time.

OK, Vincent.

♪ MARVIN GAYE: Let's Get It On

See, dickhead? Nibbles. Yeah, fuck the nibbles, dude.

How are we gonna get him laid out on silk

if we've one fucking body? Do you know what I mean?

And six tiny coffins. How much is that gonna cost?

It'll be fucking dear, won't it? I'm telling you.

We're fucked. Hey, WE'RE not fucked.

I'm an innocent bystander. Listen to you.

Fucking giving it big licks.

You're the one who wanted to stop and get a pizza, aren't you?

Cheeky bastard! It was YOU that needed a shit, with your filthy arse crack.

Yeah. Yeah.

Filthy arse crack? Vincent.

How would you know that? Vincent. Lady of death.

Donna would like an audience with you now, Vincent,

in the downstairs lavatory.

Well, that's a fucking weird location, innit?

Hmm. Come along, handsome. (COUGHS)

Same an' all. Bring your cocktail.

I had a poo cos we stopped for pizza.

Fuck off!

You all right? Vincent O'Neil.

Hmm.

Step inside. I'll come inside.

I'll leave you two to chat. (LOCK CLICKS)

Ooh... (LAUGHS)

Tight.

This won't take long, Vinnie.

We're all devastated about Barry,

but he were thick as horse shit.

So it comes as no surprise to me,

he kicked an unexploded bomb and blew himself all over a field.

It's sad and it's a crying shame.

Now that I'm out of prison...

..I'm taking control of the business...

..and the word on the street is...

you grow the very best leaf in town, so...

I know Davey was a...

less than considerate partner on your previous endeavour...

..but I will promise you, as a woman of my word,

that if you get into bed with me...

..you won't end up fucked up the arse.

Nice. That would be nice.

Unfortunately... and I'm sorry to say this...

Look, let me put it like this.

My mate Dylan - very close to - he's gone missing...

..under really suspicious circumstances.

Now, I have it on good authority that it was your brother, Davey,

and he's fucking denying it.

I'd love to work with you, but I can't, can I?

I can't work with people if I can't trust

what's coming out of their mouth. Do you know what I'm saying?

And I AM sorry.

(GLASSES CLINK) Hmm.

You want the truth?

He didn't hurt Dylan.

In fact, if anything - from what Barry told me -

he was a little bit in love with him.

I just fucking... I find it really hard to believe.

Strawberry daiquiri. Mmm.

You tried this? No. Would you like me to?

Mm. I'm doing it.

Delish.

It's the nicest thing that's ever passed my lips.

Mm.

I don't take "no" for an answer, Vinnie.

So, we'll pause this chat...

Si.

To be continued. Oh...

Excited for it. I'm just gonna...

(DOOR UNLOCKS)

Shit!

♪ QUINCY JONES: Soul Bossa Nova

What's up with him? He's not texting me back.

Well, maybe his hand's restricted. Maybe he's not seen his messages.

Yes. Maybe he's dead. Maybe he couldn't breathe after all.

Carol, it's for an hour, in a box, with holes in, all right?

He's not gonna die that quickly, is he?

Ladies. Sorry.

(TAPS GLASS AGAIN)

I would like very much to thank you for coming.

It's so nice to see so many friendly faces... here at an event

that our Barry would have absolutely loved.

(A SNORE FROM COFFIN)

(SNORING STOPS)

No cocktail party would have been complete without our Barry's...

(SNORING) What is that noise?

(SNORING CONTINUES) It's like snoring.

No, no, that will be the... gas that's produced...

You were telling me about that. ..as the microbes break down acids.

Don't think so. It's definitely snoring. Listen.

She's right. Yes, it's the gasses.

Oh, this is a lovely one, in't it?

We'll get YOU that one. Shush.

Wow! How about that? Sorry.

(WHISPERING)

It seems to have gone away.

Maybe it WAS the erm... Gas.

Gases. Science, in't it?

Gases and science.

I thought it would be a nice idea

if we all sang Barry's favourite song.

And I would like everybody to join in.

Mm.

DJ.

♪ SHIRLEY BASSEY: Big Spender

Oh, God, she loves this one.

♪ The minute you walked in the joint

♪ I could tell you was a man of distinction

♪ A real big spender Vin.

I've found the body. ♪ Good lookin'

Fuck me! ♪ So refined...

Come on. Who's got it?

Business email. Subject: "I have your body."

When you open the email, there's this guy.

Well, that's fucked up. Someone's fucking with us.

I'm not happy about this. Who sent that?

Some fucking joker called Phil Brilliance.

Phil shagging Brilliance? It's from his work email.

Phil Brilliance Waste Removal Services.

There's a phone number and address.

Oh, there's an address! Quickly, go get the lads!

(TYRES SCREECH)

Fuck me, it's like the Bates Motel.

He's fucked it, this fella.

Oh, God.

So glad you could come.

Dude, don't fuck about. Open this fucking door right now.

(SCOTTISH ACCENT) Well, what bad manners your mother taught YOU!

Open the fucking door, please.

Er, one moment, please, while I consult with Mr Brilliance.

Who shall I say is calling?

Why would you consult with Brilli...

Fuck, I'm not talking to this puppet.

Take your hand out the arse of this thing, unlock the door

and tell us what you've done with sewn-together Barry.

I'm gonna fucking snap in a minute, dude.

Oh, right, yeah, you've upset his puppet now, haven't you?

Well done. What do you mean?

It's a kiddy thing. Clearly not mentally stable.

He's nicked a fucking coffin. He's speaking through a puppet.

I hate to say it, but on this occasion, she is correct. Thank you.

How to go about this is very much softly-softly catchy monkey...

Ah-ha-ha! Good afternoon!

Good afternoon. My name's Phil Brilliance.

And this is my good friend Russell.

What? Oh, yes.

Shake your hand. Why me?

Shake his hand, for fuck sake.

Yeah, nice one, Russell. Fucking ace.

Well, Russell, aren't you gonna invite them in?

No. YOU invite them in.

Fuck me. I don't like the look of them.

Especially the child dressed like Miami Vice.

Russell... It's party wear, innit.

I am sorry about him, ladies and gentlemen.

Please do come in. I got snacks.

You're fucking exhausting, Philip.

Good fucking Lord God.

Thank you, Russell. Please help yourself to food and drinks.

(CHUCKLES) We've poisoned them.

No, we haven't. Yeah, we're jo.. He's joking.

(CHUCKLES) Yeah. Or AM I?

All right. Fucking hell.

Ha-ha, what's he like?

He's just a fucking right one.

Why don't we put him down for a minute?

Us humans beings have a very serious business conversation

about the whereabouts of that bloody corpse, eh?

(CRUNCHES)

And coffin. And the fucking coffin as well.

Well, Russell, what do you think about that?

Oh, whoo-hoo! Ahh!

(CHUCKLES) Can I have a word in your ear?

Yeah, of course you can.

Excuse me, could we just have a moment alone while we have a chat?

What is it? (TALKS GIBBERISH)

Fucking hell. Bloody idiot. Stay calm.

You dirty bastard. (GIBBERISH)

He's doing my head in. Philip! Phil, Phil.

Nearly finished. Argh.

Phil has, er, asked me to negotiate on his behalf.

(GIBBERS) No! Fuck off!

Vin. Fuck, no! For fucking hell!

I have been very patient indeed. Give me that fucking doll.

No! The time for farting around

is very much over!

Were in dire-fucking-straits, dude. No.

Dire straits. We need to know the location of the fucking body.

I'm not pissing around here, dude.

Here. Fuck me, I'm sorry.

(WHIMPERS)

Where's our fucking coffin?

Right, stop! There's a lot going on here.

Fucking hell, you're scaring him. Phil, hi.

Listen, YOU messaged us. Remember?

Yeah.

We've come to find out what that reason was.

OK.

Barry MacDonagh was a very scary man

and his family are... very scary people,

so we need it back... quite urgently.

OK. OK.

I'll talk. OK.

I want my lawyer present.

You want your lawyer? Yeah.

And he... he's in that box? Yeah.

I just can't imagine where this is gonna go.

All right, you can get your lawyer.

You sit here - out of harm's way.

Come on. Come on, out you come.

We've got business. Oh, Jesus Christ.

Wow.

Top legal mind.

This is St John Moseley.

Good afternoon, gentlemen.

AND ladies.

You all right, Sinj... Sinjun?

Listen, is there any chance you could ask your client

the whereabouts of the fucking corpse he's stolen? I mean...

The gentleman with the horrendous neck tattoo

wishes to know the location of, I quote, "A stolen body".

I advise caution in your response.

Right, tell the gentleman

the body's stored in a safe location.

But unless I get a full and frank apology

from that monster Davey MacDonagh,

I will not reveal the location of the body.

My client says... No, dude!

We fucking heard what the client said.

You said it. I can see your lips move.

At least drink some water at t'same time.

It's very underwhelming. What apology?

The lady asks what is the nature of the apology?

Well, it's simple, in't it?

That man - Davey MacDonagh...

..he ruined my life.

Can we take a moment for my client, please?

(SIFFLES) Thank you.

(SOBS)

Fucking hell.

Mr Brilliance would like me to recount his story to you

on his behalf.

Would you mind making yourselves comfortable?

Go on, then.

It all started several years ago, when Mr Brilliance ran

a hugely successful children's entertainment business.

(CHILDREN CHEER)

'Phil's business was the most successful in the region.

There was so much work, he couldn't fit it all in.

Parents would recommend him to other parents.

Word spread and the kids adored him.

Especially when he brought out the star of the show -

Virgil the cheeky monkey.'

Boys and girls, it's Virgil! Virgil, how are you?

'Then, one fateful day,

Phil got hired by Davey MacDonagh,

to throw a party for his niece, Mabel.'

That's Donna's daughter.

Correct.

My best friend's a monkey. He's called Virgil.

'Unaware of the MacDonaghs' fearsome reputation,

Phil did his usual routine and the party went well...

right up to the point where Virgil made his appearance.'

You want to go over and say hello to the grown-ups? All right.

Here, let's go and say hello to the grown-ups.

(SLIDE WHISTLE) (CHUCKLES) Ooh!

(CHILDREN LAUGH)

(LAUGHTER STOPS)

'It was an innocent mistake,

and Phil tried to apologise afterwards

but things turned nasty.' Argh!

Made a monkey out of me back there, puppet boy!

I apologise! I'll do the show for free to say sorry.

I think some compensation might be in order.

Compensation? For my hurt feelings

and for the distress and trauma

caused to innocent eight year olds who have now been exposed -

at far too early an age -

to the sight of an unfeasibly large male phallus.

Yeah, but it wasn't THAT unfeasibly large, was it?

(FORCED LAUGHTER) Oh, no!

Go on. Then what happened?

Say goodbye cos he's going in the fucking river!

(MOANS) Bye-bye!

Not so fucking BRILLIANT now, are you, Phil?!

Fucking hell, that is brutal, mate.

But that wasn't the end of it.

(FIRE ROARS) (SMOKE ALARM BEEPS)

(PHIL COUGHS)

'Threats, intimidation.'

Every time he turned up to a children's party,

there they were.

Not today, puppet boy.

They started spreading rumours that he was a paedophile,

that he'd touched up a little girl at a children's party,

with his hand inside a monkey.

And DID he..? NO!

They ruined me. They ruined my business.

My wife left me. I was sick with stress.

Everyone thought I was a nonce -

and all because HE didn't wear boxer shorts!

Oh, dear God. It's a bloody shame.

Phil, do you know what? Honestly, man, I can see

that they've really, really hurt you, there.

Wankers, the pair of 'em.

But you're never gonna get an apology off 'em, dude. Never.

Never in a million fucking years.

Then, he's never gonna get his brother back!

Argh! He'll fucking kill you, you non...

you prick. They've ALREADY killed me!

The day they killed Virgil.

That monkey... he was my best friend.

But not only that, it was my livelihood.

They tore my world apart. (SOBS)

There, there.

Now that, that's talent.

Put that in your act. Mm.

Right? Yeah. Good.

What are the chances of getting Davey to apologise? Fucking zero.

We'd have to fess up to losing his brother.

It won't go down well. Wait. I've got an idea.

Some places have started doing this thing

where a family member records themselves talking about their lost loved one,

like summat funny, a rude anecdote.

To warm people up, the undertaker writes something and gets them to say it to camera.

What if we convince Davey to do one,

write up some sentences as his warm up,

and we edit them into an apology? Fah!

It's a shit idea. Yeah.

I think it's a great idea.

Why don't we just stand up and tell a story?

I'll tell you for why.

So, on the day, there is gonna be a lot of emotion. All right?

You know what, you've lost your brother.

I don't think it matters how many times you rehearse that speech,

emotion could creep in and ruin it.

And what tends to happen now - it's very, very popular, isn't it?

Yeah, it's modern a trend. Modern trend.

Especially with the rich folks. Yeah.

They record it. They put on a big old screen there.

People gather round and it becomes more of an event.

Do you know what I mean? Makes sense.

OK, I'm sold.

I'll tell the wheelbarrow pig story. It's hilarious.

It's just that Davey... Oh, I am brilliant at anecdotes.

I tell you what...

why don't you BOTH do one?

Thank God for this one.

'I'd just like to say a few words.

I am very sorry... ..to you... feel...

..for all the pain...

..and furthermore...'

And that'll be that, Phil. I mean, er, "feel".

It's good stuff. I mean, that's...

That has been edited. It's not been edit...

Yeah, a little bit. Cos he pauses. He's a fucking pauser.

That is a full-throttle apology you just heard there.

No. Yeah, it's fucking rare, that.

To get an apology off someone like...

Davey MacDonagh giving an apology - rare as fucking...

Hen's teeth. That's a saying. Hen's teeth.

We've got 20 fucking hours, dude.

20 hours, that's it, and then the funeral starts.

And for reasons only known to his fucking psychopath sister,

she wants to have a look at him - Barry in bits.

So fucking time's of the essence.

My client says he is NOT prepared to reveal the whereabouts of the body.

Fuck you, Sideon, or whatever the fucking...

Vin! No, no, no.

Ahh! Eurgh!

Dude, you're fucking putting our lives at risk, is what you're doing.

I want a face-to-face apology.

You are never ever, in a thousand fucking years,

ever gonna get an apology out of them sociopaths.

It's just not happening. No body.

No. Oh, fuck my arse.

Right. Bodies are really fucking heavy, yeah?

(So, A) it's gonna be hard to hide one.

(B) he's a weirdo, so chances are he's gonna want it close to him.

What you suggesting? Wait till he goes out,

break in, have a look around - loft, attic, garden, everywhere.

No. What... What if he stays in all night?

Everyone leaves eventually, Vincent. Even ventriloquists.

I know how to get him out of the house.

Book a waste removal tonight. False address, miles away.

Fucking sick! Punch the air.

There we go. Fucking finally!

Any sign?

Yeah, Erin, he came out ten minutes ago.

I just didn't say anything about it. Stop being a dickhead, Tommo.

I booked that job for 7:15. Why hasn't he left?

Christ. What have you said to him? You put a voice on?

I did, yeah. I went... (POSHLY) Hello. Is this garden removal?

You didn't, did you? I did, yeah. Why?

Fuck. That's the voice people do when trying

to sound like a posh person, not an actual posh person.

Oh, is it fuck! It is, Erin. You had one job.

I'm over here, meanwhile, fucking master of impersonations,

could do any accent. Was I called upon?

Oh, yeah. No. No, I wasn't.

Fucking sound like Jimmy Savile and Vin Diesel mixed.

That's my own voice, in't it?

That's my natural-born voice. You're so annoying!

Shut up! Shut up, you pair of fucking lemons.

Dickhead! Christ, fucking glasses.

Fucking annoys me, he does.

Well, look at the fu... Of fucking course. Look at him.

Fucking hell. Fucking Ronnie!

(SCREAMS)

Give over. OK.

How do you know Phil Brilliance?

Depends on who's asking. Oh, God, dude. WE'RE asking you.

Oh, right, you just asked. Right, OK.

Can I ask summat? Yes.

Why are you slamming me against here like Who Dares Wills,

interrogating me about legitimate friendships that are going on in Hawley Town?

Because he's nicked a dead body. Barry MacDonagh.Yeah.

And there's no way he's moved it on his own.

So tell us what you know because I need that coffin back!

All right. OK, yeah, sure.

So what, summat goes off, so who do you blame? Ronnie Croft, right?

Do me a favour, stick this in your kettle

and do you know what, smoke it - cos I work for him.

You fucking work for him? Yeah. W-U-R-R-K. "Wurrk". OK?

Ronnie croft is clocking on,

he's paying his taxes... I ain't paying taxes.

Shut up! You move garden shit for Phil Brilliance, yeah?

Yeah, I've got a gig tonight. That's what I call it.

"I'm just nipping out... Just nipping out to do a gig."

Do you know what I mean? Let me off here. I can just... split.

Ronnie, sweetheart, do you expect us to believe, right,

that you work for the bloke, but you've no idea about this fucking missing corpse?

And coffin. And coffin.

Look, I swear to Jah, on Erin's life.

Ronnie!

Right, do you not think - come on, guys, it's me -

I'd have noticed a stolen coffin? They're massive, Vin.

You are gonna help us find out what he's fucking done with it.

OK. Oh, me?

God, all right, come on. Yes! Fucking you. Yes. Fucking hell!

Cos we can't go back in, can we?

For some reason, he clearly trusts you.

Don't know why. So you need to go back in

and find out where that body is - And coffin.

And coffin. And coffin? Yes.

Both. Both! Don't fucking run off!

Yes. He's not running off. Right, OK.

You're fucking staying here, you.

Would you not agree, that man is a fucking bellend?

Dude. Innit? Right, can't be trusted.

So, how's about me and you come up with a little a backup plan?

Knock, knock, knock-knock-knock, knock-nock.

All right. You're late. Yes, you ARE late.

All right, Arnold, don't start.

I just got lost en route-a-toot-toot. All right?

We need to have a word. We need to have a chat, man.

'We're late for the job. What do you wanna speak to me about, Ronnie?'

'Cos we've got problemo magnificio.' 'Meaning what?'

'Come on, Phil, stick the dummy down.'

I am not a dummy.

Well, yeah, you ARE a fucking dummy, dummy.

I'm less of a dummy than you, aren't I?

'At least I've got GCSEs.' He's arguing with a fucking doll.

Look at your legs! They're cloth. Get off my legs.

Stop kicking yourself in the fucking head.

Well, at least I've got some hair. You're like an ugly boiled egg.

Ooh, a bit fucking personal!

I'd sort him out, man, cos I'll put him into another fucking realm.

Know what I mean? Ronnie, listen -

Have a word with him. He gets above himself. What do you want, Ronnie?

It's a fucking heavy heat scenario going on.

People - can't specify who - but they're heavy, right?

They found out about the fucking body.

So I'm gonna need some serious compensation, OK,

to keep a zipper-mouth situation.

You blackmailing me, Ronnie? (LAUGHS) Am I blackmailing you?!

'Yeah! Absolutely.' Motherfucker!

Yeah... No. Erin, I tried my best.

Oh!

(SHOUTS) Give over, you fucking lemon.

I can't see fuck all. Shut up!

Erin, it's getting a little bit stupid.

Listen, honest to God, it's the last time I'm asking.

Where's that fucking body? And coffin.

And the fucking.... For fuck sake! The coffin as well.

Listen, Ronnie, honestly, dude,

I'll leave you down here with the rats -

OK, YOU might but Erin wouldn't, and do you wanna know why, Vin?

It's because family is very, very thicker than water. That's why.

Try me. Ronnie, I know for a fact you're scared of the dark.

Oh. Right, OK.

Phil offered me two large, OK? Aka 200.

If yous go to say, five...

How the fuck am I gonna pay you 500 quid, you cunt?!

What? You're not gonna pay me? In that case, Whitney Houston, we got a problem.

You don't know Whitney Houston, dude.

He means Houston, don't he? He means Houston.

Guys, the jokes on fucking you!

No, no, no, not the dark! OK, I'll give you what you want!

Check it out. Follow the light.

♪ RIVAL SONS: Do Your Worst

Thank fuck for that.

He's all there.

Ronnie Croft saves the day. Nice one.

Hold on.

Where are his eyes? Oh...

His fucking eyes are missing. The fuck, who nicks eyes?

♪ Oh, my, oh, my baby

♪ Devil's gonna get you if I don't first

♪ Take my, take my body

♪ Take my body and do your worst

♪ Oh, my, oh, my baby

♪ Devil's gonna get you if I don't first

♪ Take my, take my body

♪ Take my body and do your worst ♪

He's ready for you now.

They're fine.

Gentlemen... I think we've got away with it.

(MUTED EXCITED CHATTER)

♪ ..over the rainbow

♪ Way up high

♪ There's a land that I heard of

♪ Once in a lullaby

(DOORS SQUEAK OPEN)

♪ Somewhere over the rainbow

♪ Skies are blue

(MUSIC FADES) Thank you.

And before we move Barry on to his final rest,

his brother Davey would like to read...

David. ..a few words from the Good Book.

CARDI: Ash coffin.

What if he starts "coughing"? Do you get it?

Shut up, you fucking... Shut up.

(AMPLIFIED TAPS)

"The righteous perish...

and no man layeth it to heart;

the merciful men are taken away,

none considering

that the righteous are taken away from the evil to come."

(DOORS BURST OPEN)

Oh, shit.

I want an apology!

(MURMURING)

(WHISPERS) Fuck.

You remember me, Davey?

If you know what is good for you, you will leave right now.

Phil Brilliance. Children's entertainer.

Get rid of him.

Would anybody like to meet my new friend?

Stay where the fuck you are. Stay. No.

His name... is Barry.

You want to shut the fuck up, you disrespectful cunt.

Otherwise, you'll end up in a coffin yourself.

Davey, well, he killed my last friend, Virgil,

but I don't think he's gonna hurt this one.

No, no, no.

I don't think he'll hurt this one.

Especially as he's got such beautiful...

eyes.

(SCREAMS) Oh, fuck!

Ahh! Fuck!

An eye for an eye, Davey! You little piece of piss!

Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away!

Cheeky little bastard!

(PHONE RINGS) Fucking phone!

Hello?

Hello, Vincent. This is Fiona Frank.

You were referred to me by Dr Christopher Cox, for psychotherapy.

No, no, no, no! Yep, yep, yep, yep! Go on.

I'm sorry. Is this a bad time? No, it's a good time.

It's a good time. I need you more than ever, actually.

I know this will come as a shock to you, but... I'm your son.

What? (SQUEAKY COMEDY VOICE)

How the fuck can he be mine?

(QUACKS)

Don't wish for it - work for it.

He wants you in his life, Tommo.

Hello, boys.

Charmed.

Do not flirt with my fucking progeny.

Bend down and pick it up.

Argh!

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