Original subtitles

(TYRES SQUEAL)

Oh, my God. Oh, my God!

(LAUGHTER)

That's it, Pusface!

- Jonny!

- Keep running!

- Get off!

- What?!

Pissface!

Agh! Oh! Oh!

- I did it!

- You weirdo.

Running all the way.

Water!

- Water, please?

- Ugh! Please!

My champion!

Salt?! You bloody arsehole!

It worked! It worked!

Jonathan!

Come in, Adam.

You can piss off!

- What...? Oi!

- My little Bobble.

Running home to Mummy.

That was a killer.

Classic.

Ow!

Mum!

Come through, sweetie.

Dead.

(CHORTLES)

Here you are, darling.

- Thirsty.

- I bet you are. So brave.

So brave? So disgusting!

(SNIFFS) Oh, he stinks.

Er, do you want me to rub my sweaty

groin juice all over your face?

- You dare!

- Boys! Ugh, groin juice?!

Revolting! (TUTS)

Oh, beef tonight.

- Beef? Boom! Yes!

- # Bring it on! #

And I thought maybe you were going

to ask your girlfriends over,

you know, the ones we've never met.

- You thought wrong.

- Very wrong.

Oh, it is Dad's birthday.

Where is the birthday boy...er, man?

And what is this doing here?

Cos your not-mad father made me

take it all down.

- Did he?

- He's been such a misery guts all day.

I don't know what to do with him.

Push him off the roof?

- (LAUGHS)

- Finally.

Wait! Just a minute.

- There, Bobble.

- Really?

Good boy.

- Good dog.

- Pissface.

Oh, hello, Martin.

- (GRUNTS)

- Happy birthday, Dad.

Happy birthday.

Balls!

- Sorry?

- What?

- Balls!

- Can you please stop saying "balls"

every time anyone wishes you

a happy birthday?! See?!

Why are you dressed like a berk?

You are in a good mood, aren't you?!

Martin, you know

Adam was running here tonight.

Why were you running again?

- Cos he's a tit.

- Groin juice?

- Don't you dare!

- Don't you remember?

For his training.

The race, remember? Sunday?

What? Oh, yeah. The marathon.

- It's not a marathon.

- Really?

You're running a marathon, aren't you?

Very good. You know it's not a marathon.

- Sorry. Half marathon.

- Keep going.

You don't mean quarter marathon, do you?!

Stop it, Jonny. It's not a quarter

marathon, is it? It's a half marathon.

Mum, I told you, it's a quarter marathon.

That's what I've been training for -

a quarter marathon.

Quarter marathon? Does that even exist?!

I bet you couldn't run a quarter marathon.

Course I could. What, is it? A mile?

Er, 6.5 miles.

6.55 miles.

Human calculator.

- Ugh! I need more water.

- Allow me.

Er, no thanks.

Boys, behave.

Pusface.

Did you make these?

Seriously, do you have to be such a dick?

Yup. And seriously,

do you have to smell like a sewer?

Um, no, that's just your face.

Sorry?

- Groin juice?

- Urgh!

- No!

- Adam!

(JONNY HOWLS)

It's actually 6.554 miles.

Oh!

So, we only got you a couple of things,

cos you only asked for a couple of things.

The world's most boring couple of things.

- Here.

- Is this a present?

No, it's your arse. Course it's a present!

No need to say thank you.

- It's a battery tester.

- Yes.

Well, say thank you.

In a minute! I haven't tested it yet.

You're going to test the battery tester?

Obviously.

God, how much crap

do you keep in your pockets?

Pillock. Here, have a pound!

Ow! God, Dad!

- Martin!

- (LAUGHS) Nice shot, Dad.

(TESTER BEEPS)

It works.

You're welcome.

- (PHONE RINGS)

- Oh, please stop calling me.

(SIGHS) It's your wretched mother again.

Ugh! Horrible Grandma?!

Hello again, Cynthia.

It's Martin's birthday.

I know, Cynthia.

Martin's my only son.

Cynthia, we've had this conversation

three times already.

We're having a quiet night in,

just the four of us, OK?

- She hung up. Again.

- Good.

Nice one, Mum.

I'm sorry, but I'm not having

that grotty old moose ruining

another of Dad's birthdays.

Yes, another

of Dad's wonderful birthdays.

Huh?

Here, Mr Wonderful.

Is that my other present?

No, it's your other arse.

Drill bits.

You're welcome again.

Where are you going?

Well, to test the drill bits, obviously.

- (CHUCKLES)

- What is wrong with him tonight?!

Maybe we could drill

into his head to find out.

- (DRILLING)

- Dad!

Right!

I'm not having any more of this crap!

My drill!

Martin, it's your birthday.

Why are you being such a grumpy git

the whole time?!

- What are you talking about?

- I'm serious.

- What is going on?

- What?

Nothing is going on.

(TUTS)

- Dad?

- Dad?

(SIGHS) All right! God.

I'm not going into space.

I'm sorry?

I'm not going into bloody space!

Wha...?

You're not going into space?

When are you not going into space?

- Tonight?

- Well, obviously not tonight!

Did you see my spaceship outside?!

Er, have you been drinking?

Yeah, out of the drains?

What are you talking about, Martin?

I read an article.

Right.

Read it.

What? The whole article?

Oh, bleeding hell!

"Affordable space travel for all

"not expected until 2050, say experts."

And?

2050.

- And?!

- Well, I'll be dead by then, won't I?

- Will you?

- Yes.

- Right, and who told you that?

- Your psychic doctor?

Prats. The computer system.

- It's called the internet, but do go on.

- There was this programme on it,

and it asks your date of birth

and other stuff, and then it tells you

when you're going to, you know, die.

Oh, Martin. Why would you do that?

I die on April 9th, 2048.

- Oh, my God, Dad!

- I did yours as well.

- No way!

- What?!

You did the boys?

Er, we really don't want to know

when we die, thank you!

- Yeah!

- You looked up

when our lovely sons are going to...

- ...perish?

- What?

How could you do such a thing?!

You didn't do mine, did you?

Well, you last a couple of months

after me.

Oh, my God!

- Incredible.

- 3rd of June, 2048.

- Dad!

- Martin!

Right.

Thank you for telling me

when I'm actually going to die.

Thank you so much!

You're unbelievable!

Eh? Calm down, Jackie.

It's probably not the exact exact date.

- Just go away.

- Although, it's probably pretty close,

because I did have to put in

quite a lot of your medical data so, er...

Right. Thank you again!

(DOORBELL)

(SIGHS) If that's your bloody mother

coming to ruin everything...

I am so angry with you!

Well done.

Yes, good work, Doctor Death.

Please don't be her.

(GROANS)

Jackie?

Oh, Jim! Thank God it's you.

Oh, Jackie, thank God it's you, too.

- Um, can I help you, Jim?

- What?

Oh, yes, we just popped round

to wish Martin a happy birthday,

didn't we, Milson?

Um, hello, Jim.

Happy birthday, Martin.

- Balls!

- Ugh!

Um, Jim, could I have your date of birth,

please?

- Do not tell him.

- Don't tell him that.

Right, why don't you go in there

and practise holding your breath

- for an hour, hmm?

- Jackie!

Bye-bye, Martin.

But, Jackie!

- Anything else, Jim?

- Yes, um,

I wondered if I could perhaps perform

some magic tricks for the birthday boy.

- What?

- Magic tricks?

You do magic?

Oh, yes, we've been teaching ourselves

lots of magic tricks lately,

haven't we, Milson?

Look.

- What are you doing?

- Magic with my magic hankie.

Does Martin enjoy magic?

Absolutely hates it.

Would rather set his head on fire.

Um, do come in, Jim.

Any card?

Any card, Martin.

Bleeding hell. Now what?

Look at the card.

And now tell me what the card is.

Really? Um, the four of clubs.

(BREATHES HEAVILY)

Martin Goodman,

is your card the king of diamonds?

- What?!

- No. The four of clubs!

- Oh, yes. I can never do that one.

- Well, thanks so much, Jim.

Er, sorry, Martin, but I don't think

Jim's quite finished. Have you?

Oh, no, Jackie,

I've got lots more magic for Martin.

- How exciting! Do carry on, Jim.

- Yes, bravo!

- Bravo!

- Buggers.

Well, that's your dad sorted

for the night!

Maybe Jim will saw him in half.

- (CHUCKLES)

- Or much smaller pieces.

Shall we just start dinner without him?

- Yes, please!

- Definitely.

Right. Birthday beef

without the birthday boy!

# Skill McGill! #

- # Skilligan McGilligan! #

- (DOOR CLOSES)

Huh? Hello?

What are you doing? Where's Jim?

- He's gone.

- Gone?

Yeah, I paid him and he went.

- You paid him?

- Ah!

So that's how you get rid of Jim.

- What did you pay him with?

- I found 20 quid in your purse.

- Fantastic.

- Er, thank you very much, Martin.

Can I have my dinner now?

No, you cannot have your dinner now.

- Boys?

- Jackie!

What am I going to bleeding eat?

It's my birthday!

Er, really? I thought it

was your death day.

Not this crap again.

Well, maybe we don't want our dinner

with someone who keeps telling us

- when we're gonna drop dead.

- What?!

I didn't tell you

- when the boys were going to drop dead.

- How kind.

Anyway, those two have nothing

to worry about.

They go on for years.

Please shut up.

Yes, shut up, Martin. Oh, potatoes.

You last right up to

the Mars Colonisation Programme.

Um, and what year is

the Mars Colonisation Programme?

Er...

2085.

- (GROANS)

- Wait!

2085 - that's all right, isn't it?

Er, yeah, actually, that is ages away.

See! And you get to go to Mars,

you lucky sods.

What do you think about that?

- Yeah, that's pretty cool.

- Yeah.

Sorry, no. Adam, you get to go to Mars.

Jonny, you don't.

- What?!

- Cos you die first.

- Ah!

- I die first?!

But Adam's older than me!

Yeah, but he lives longer cos of his,

you know, running and exercise.

Of course! My running and exercise.

(GROANS)

July 22nd, 2082. That's when you die.

Oh, my God!

- What?!

- Dad just told me my death day.

- Oh, Martin!

- Ow!

July 22nd, 2082.

Don't tell me, Jonny!

Ow!

Jackie, calm down. Adam's gonna go

to Mars, isn't that fantastic?

- That is fantastic.

- I need a drink.

But, Jackie, Mars!

Don't you think that's incredible?

Mars, Mars, Mars.

Brilliant.

Well, I promise

I'll give you a lovely funeral.

- Thank you.

- And I'll try not to fart on your grave.

Pusface! Anyway, it's all crap, isn't it,

working out when you're gonna die?

Yeah.

It's just a shame

you never took up running.

Right, well, I'll just start running now,

then I'll live longer than you.

You're gonna start running now, are you?

Yeah. Let's go for a run.

Sorry? You want to go for a run right now?

Yes, I can run as far as you - easy!

- Where are you going?

- Putting my shoes on.

Pissface?!

- Your mother!

- What?

Oh. Yeah.

Go on, then.

March 20th, 2085.

Great.

- You're running now?!

- Now?

- Yes!

- You can't run now. We've got beef.

- Can you move out of the way, please?

- Jonny!

Yes, he has gone insane.

Right. Ready, Pusface?

Wait.

- That's not...

- Oh, my God.

Horrible Grandma.

Happy birthday, Martin.

Balls!

Banning me from seeing my son

on his birthday...

I wasn't banning you, Cynthia.

My only son.

I don't think we got your card

this year, did we, Martin?

- Jackie.

- That's because I didn't send a card.

Fair enough.

Oh, I thought you were going

to give Martin a present then.

Bleeding hell, Jackie.

Why would I give Martin a present?

His birthday, perhaps?

But he's not a baby.

Um, that's not quite how birthdays work.

- Horrible...

- Grandma.

I stopped giving Martin presents years ago

when he was seven.

- Six.

- Yes, six.

I remember, because I just re-wrapped

the same present

I'd given him when he was five. (LAUGHS)

- Lovely.

- A whistle.

- Lovely.

- Well, he wasn't to know, was he?

- Jackie, can we bloody eat now?

- All right!

I'm looking forward to the beef.

Oh, are you, Cynthia?

Well, it's about the only thing you make

that's edible.

Get rid of her?

How am I going to get rid of her?

Er, poison?

- Garrotting?

- Drowning in a bucket!

- Any of those will do.

- Idiots.

I really don't care

how you get rid of her, Martin -

you can take her to Mars

in your spaceship if you like.

Jackie, I don't have a spaceship!

Ju... OK.

Let's all just sit down,

eat our beef and...

Eat our beef?! I am not eating

my lovely beef with that...woman.

- But, Jackie.

- And instead of looking up

when your wife and kids drop dead,

why don't you look up

when your pig of a mother snuffs it?!

Er, yes, actually!

Who the hell do you think

I looked up first?!

- And?

- She lives to a shitting 100.

- Of course she does.

- What?!

OK, well,

if you're not going to get rid of her,

you can have your dinner with her.

Huh?

Jacqueline, are you going to feed me

tonight or what?

Oh, yes, Cynthia.

- And?

- Grim.

Really? How grim?

- Prison grim.

- Ooh, that is grim.

Well, he wanted a shitty birthday, so...

To Dad's shitty birthday!

ADAM AND MUM: Dad's shitty birthday!

Uh...

Er, no, you're not allowed in here!

What? Please don't send me back in there.

Martin, go and sit with your mother!

But, Jackie,

I can't take it in there any more.

Any more? You've been in there

for, like, two minutes.

What, that long?!

- Oh, hello, Mum.

- There's been a little accident.

It's all over them!

Yes, I don't know how it happened.

I must have just slipped

and somehow bumped into the bottle.

It's on the walls as well!

Yes, it is, isn't it?

And this wall?

You did this on purpose,

didn't you, Cynthia?

- I beg your pardon?

- Oh, God.

You know, Cynthia, you come here

and you treat this place like crap.

Oh, do I, Jacqueline?

Yes, you bloody do!

Well, maybe

that's because this place is crap.

- Er...

- This place is crap, is it?

Yes. Crap.

- And the food.

- Really?

I thought you liked my beef -

you said it was "edible".

Well, I was wrong.

It was inedible.

Sort of see that one coming.

And you know what else is crap?

No, do tell me.

Your family.

Your family is crap!

You'd better bloody say something

right now.

Er, Mum...

Have you finished your meal?

Oh, my God! My family's crap?!

Well, I've got news for you, Cynthia,

you're part of this crap family!

And don't I bloody know it?!

With my crap daughter-in-law

and her crap hair!

Crap hair?!

And those idiotic boys,

whose names I can barely

be bothered to remember.

- I'm Nicholas.

- And I'm Lawrence.

And your son? Eh, Cynthia?

What about your son? Your only son?

Well, he used to be bearable,

but then he met you.

Right!

Martin.

I'm not taking this shit any more!

You, Cynthia Goodman,

are a terrible mother!

- Hooray!

- And a terrible human being!

- Hoorah!

- Oh, it's all coming out now!

Well, don't think I don't know

your secret name for me.

It's Horrible Grandma, isn't it?

Yup! It's Horrible Grandma!

Cos you're the most horrible grandma

in the world.

Er, universe.

- Multiverse.

- Huh?

Well, cos scientists think there could be

any number of universes out there.

- Yeah, maybe later.

- Well, since you all hate me so much...

And we do.

- You're going home and never coming back?

- No.

I'm going to stay right here,

and you'll never get rid of me!

(GIGGLES)

You're a pig!

Well, you would know!

(DOOR SLAMS)

Oh, my God.

What just happened?

More gin. More gin!

(GLASS SMASHES)

What the...?

Huh?

Oh, dear!

The shelves just fell off the wall!

OK, if that cow isn't out of

- this bloody house in two seconds...!

- I just told you

I'm not going anywhere!

Right, then, I'm getting out

of this bloody house!

- Jackie...

- Boys, we're going for a run.

- What?!

- Mum?

- And Martin?

- Yes?

You're staying here

and guarding your lunatic of a mother.

Oh, shitting shit!

Careful you don't break

both your legs, Jacqueline.

(GROWLS)

- (GIGGLES)

- Come on!

- Best night ever?

- Possible!

Hello, all!

Oh, God. No, Jim, not now.

Sorry, Jackie, but I think

I left something in your house.

Well, you can get it tomorrow, OK?

Excuse me.

But I must have it now, Jackie. I must!

It's my hankie.

Your hankie.

My magic hankie.

I'm sure I left it in here somewhere.

- Please hurry up.

- Please!

I can't believe you made her tea.

(SPLUTTERS)

It's delicious.

Oh, here it is! Silly me.

It was in my pocket the whole time.

- (SNORTS)

- What is it?

It's my magic hankie.

Well, bye, all!

Er, goodbye, Jim.

Actually, Jim...

...how would you like to perform

some magic

for my wonderful mother-in-law?

Well, get on with it, you silly man!

Mrs Cynthia Goodman,

is your card

the ten of hearts?

I just told you, you idiot -

it's the queen of bloody spades!

Oh.

Such a difficult one, isn't it, Jim?

Yes, it's difficult, isn't it?

Perhaps you'd like to see me

make something

- disappear?

- I'd like to see you

make someone disappear.

Actually, why don't you make me disappear

from this stupid craphole?

Aw, how sweet.

Um, OK, then, Mrs Goodman.

- Perhaps I could borrow this towel?

- The magic towel?

The magic towel.

And so...

...I say the magic word...

...Abadababadababada...

...and she's gone!

Er, isn't she just

sort of behind the towel?

What? Oh, no, no,

she's definitely disappeared.

- Right.

- And now,

with the power of magic,

I will make her come back again.

Please don't.

Abadababadababada...

Cynthia?

As I said,

with such a massive heart attack,

she really wouldn't have felt a thing,

Mr Goodman -

all just very quick and painless.

A good way to go.

- Thanks, Doctor.

- Thank you.

Wow.

Yeah.

Again, Martin, I'm so sorry

that I killed your mother.

With my magic.

- Er, right, Jim.

- In a way,

I did sort of make her disappear.

- Goodbye, Jim.

- Come on, Milson.

Good girl.

Ooh, and Martin, here's that £20 back.

Buy yourself something nice

at the funeral.

- Er...

- Goodbye, Jim.

Well, she definitely didn't last to 100.

- Adam.

- It's all just so strange.

- What? Being murdered by magic?

- Jonny!

- And on my birthday, too.

- Yeah, your birthday.

What a birthday.

Oh, poor Dad.

Yeah.

I'm sorry, Dad.

(SOBS)

That's it, Martin. Aw, let it all out.

(SOBS TURN TO LAUGHTER)

- Er...

- It's just nerves.

Is it nerves?

It's not nerves!

(UPROARIOUS LAUGHTER)