Original subtitles

28 more shopping days till Christmas.

It's the longest month of my life.

Did you say something, dear?

Not that I was aware of.

Oh, an odd moment.

I thought you were talking to yourself.

Ooh, it's desperately cold outside.

Wouldn't be surprised if we had a white

Christmas.

This year, my dear, we're going to have

a black Christmas.

Black?

Why black?

All Christmases are black.

Some are blacker than others.

It's a season of rush and crush, drinking

and drunks, jobs undone, letters unanswered.

That was a Christmas card.

Much too early.

Above all, it's the season of the office

party.

The office party is the bane of my

life.

Couldn't you get young Leighton to organise it?

He seems a very capable sort.

He may seem a very capable sort.

He may think he's a very capable sort.

He's merely a very ambitious sort, which isn't

quite the same thing.

In this country, if you want something done

properly, you have to do it yourself.

I have been organising the office party now

for the last 30 years.

During that time, I dread to think how

many bottles of sherry and how many mince

pies have gone down their greedy gullets.

I don't know why bother.

Everybody hates it.

Why do you say that?

I love it.

You know, Mrs Peckham simply lives for it.

Oh, Mrs Peckham is 110 and has not

anything else to live for.

Of course, the pensioners like it.

Gives them a chance to talk over old

times.

We've got more pensioners now at Peckham's than

we have actual staff.

Dozens of them in wheelchairs, on crutches, shuffling,

snuffling, cracking their teeth, talking at the top

of their voices, slurping the sherry, munching the

mince pies, crunching the chips, grabbing at everything

that's going, or merely sitting slumped in a

chair with a paper cap on their head.

No, darling, please.

Our office parties are a living argument for

euthanasia.

One day, I'm going to put ground glass

in the mince pies, cyanide in the sherry,

salt the chips with arsenic, and give an

office party to end all office parties.

You're tired, darling.

You always get overwrought at this time of

the year.

Now, tuck your scarf in properly.

I'm not overwrought.

I'm not underwrought.

I'm merely fed up, as I have every

right to be.

Do you know how long I've been at

Peckhams?

Yes, dear, I do.

Forty years, and you've done very well.

Now you're the general manager.

General dog's body.

Why do you say that?

Mr. Peckham thinks the world of you.

Mr. Peckham's a senile old fool.

He's not old.

You don't have to be old to be

senile.

Mr. Peckham was born senile.

My, what

a picture of industry.

Mr. Peckham's without a secretary again.

Oh, for a change.

All his temps get tempier and tempier.

I don't know.

We get him women in their 60s.

We get him grandmothers, and he still can't

keep his hands to himself.

Cheers.

Yes, well, I can only tell you he's

a perfect gentleman with me.

Yes, well, I wouldn't be if I was

in his position.

Oh, where's your boss?

Is he with Peckham?

I thought he was, and Peckham thinks he

should be, but he doesn't appear to be

anywhere.

I don't know what's happening to him.

You're not the first person to say that.

He's always a trifle on edge around Christmas.

It's still four weeks to Christmas.

I think I know what's worrying him.

What?

The takeover.

The what?

Takeover.

It's a merger, not a takeover, and you're

not supposed to know anything about it yet.

There's very little in this building that I

don't know, especially now I'm taking Peckham's letters.

Well, I'll tell you something, though if you

breathe a word about it to anyone, I'll

kill you.

The deed's as good as done.

Leclerc will be in this office in another

week or two's time to settle and sign,

and when that's done, no one's job is

safe.

Not yours, not mine, not even Knox's.

And that, incidentally, is why I want the

party to go off with a bang.

Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we're

redundant.

You don't mean it, do you?

Well, the junior staff is safe, but I'm

not sure about the others, and I certainly

wouldn't like to be in Knox's shoes.

That's good.

I can't imagine Peckham's without Knox.

No.

No, neither can I.

But when Peckham's becomes Peckham and Leclerc, or

worse, if it becomes Leclerc and Peckham, and

the head office moves to Brussels, we shall

have an entirely new regime.

Oh.

And don't forget, he hardly speaks a word

of French.

He's been trying very hard to learn.

No, he has, but he's left it about

40 years too late, and none of us

is really safe, which is why, as I

said, it will be the party of parties.

I want there to be gay abandon till

dawn.

Ah, Mr. Knox.

I do believe Mr. Peckham was looking for

you.

Mr. Peckham has found me, thank you.

There is such a thing, you know, as

an internal telephone, which I'm pleased to say

Mr. Peckham has now learned to use.

It was very nice of you to come

in search.

Yes.

What were you saying about a party?

A party?

A party.

Oh, that's just something small we're having at

the George.

Oh, I see.

Not the office party.

Well, you see, the office party is rather...

The office party is what, Mr. Lee?

Well, what I'm trying to explain is that

the party at the George is for youngsters,

really.

It's a disco dancing, that sort of thing.

See, of course, the office party is for

old fogies, like Mr. Peckham, Mr. Peckham's mother,

and myself.

Do you know how long I've been at

Peckham's?

40 years.

Rather longer, I fancy, than you've been on

the earth.

During that time, we've managed to see the

old year out without discos.

There can be no question of Peckham's paying

for a disco.

Peckham's wouldn't have to pay.

Wouldn't it?

No, of course not.

This is a private party, though, of course,

you'd be perfectly welcome to come and bring

your wife.

Oh, that is kind of you.

I rather fancy Mrs. Knox and I will

be otherwise engaged that evening.

Well, now, perhaps if you'll get back to

your work and allow this young lady to

get back to hers.

Yes.

You going to the disco?

I haven't thought about it.

It's some time away.

When are they planning to have it?

Um, December the 20th, I think.

December the 20th?

That's the day before the office party.

The office party's going to be rather a

come down after that, isn't it?

What are sherry and mince pies compared to

discos, canned beer, Bacardi, rum?

Bacardi is rum.

You seem to know more about these things

than I do.

Martinis, Camparis, drinks I never even heard of

when I was your age.

Of course, there are more dark corners in

the George, aren't there?

Forty-watt bulbs, if I remember correctly.

I'm surprised they haven't lost their licence.

Oh, yes, the office party's going to be

a come down, all right.

Not much fun for you young people.

My mother wouldn't miss it for anything.

I'm not talking about your mother.

I'm talking about you.

Well, it's a tradition.

Well, it's not likely to stay a tradition

much longer.

If you people are going to have orgies

at the George, we might as well scrap

it.

One lump or two?

Sorry to barge in like this, sir, but

something rather urgent has cropped up.

Urgent?

It's about the party.

Party?

The Christmas party.

Well, it's not Christmas yet, is it?

It will be in four weeks.

Will it now?

How time flies.

Can I ask you to take that in

hand?

The party, I mean.

I'm already doing so, sir.

I've been organising the office party for the

last 30 years.

And you feel it should be taken over

by a younger man.

Quite understand?

Quite understand.

Try young Leighton.

Seems a very capable sort.

Not quite what I mean, sir.

I have no objection to organising the office

party.

It's not what they want.

They are planning a disco.

A what?

A disco, sir.

Basically, it's a gramophone, records, and dancing, if

you can call it dancing.

Not the sort of thing I fancy myself.

The wife has a slipped disc.

But if that's what you want...

Of course, it's not what I want.

It isn't?

Good heavens, no.

Well, then, damn it, what do you want?

I'm a fairly busy man, you know.

Mr. Peckham, do you know how long I've

been with this firm?

Is this some sort of riddle?

As a point of interest, do you know

how long I've been with Peckham's?

As a matter of fact, somebody mentioned it

to me the other day.

40 years.

And for the last 30, I have been

organising the office party.

Still don't know what you're getting at.

Mr. Peckham, if the disco is going to

be on the 20th, what is the point

of having the office party on the 21st?

I don't see any sense in having party

after party, night after night.

No, neither do I, really.

But after all, Christmas is Christmas, isn't it?

I'm your teddy bear.

I love you.

Jolly, isn't it?

Yes?

Um, oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Peckham, I'll come

back.

Oh, come in, come in, Gary.

Sit yourself down.

Mr. Knox and I have just finished.

Yes, well, if you'll excuse me, sir.

I like it when you scrub my fur.

Now, then, Gary, what do you think about

this?

Just right for Christmas?

Yes, you take me to bed with you

every night.

But I thought you liked lamb casserole.

Is that what it was?

Delicious.

You've hardly touched it.

I'm slightly off food.

You seem to me to be more than

slightly off everything.

If you're upset about something, why don't we

talk about it?

I've been speaking to Mrs. Peckham.

Is it true the company is going to

be taken over?

Is that what she told you?

No, she didn't.

But she's been hearing all sorts of rumours

and claims nobody tells her anything.

For a woman to whom nobody tells anything,

she seems to know rather too much.

Oh, so it is going to be taken

over.

If that's what the proprietor's wife says, dear,

who am I to deny it?

She says all the jobs are going to

be absolutely safe, especially yours.

Peckham wouldn't be Peckham's without you, Henry.

That may be her opinion.

It may not be the opinion of our

new masters.

To tell you the truth, I don't think

I care very much.

In some ways, I wouldn't be sorry to

go.

But Peckham's is your life, Henry.

Peckham's was my life.

Peckham's isn't Peckham's anymore.

You know the trouble I always take with

the office party?

Of course I do, dear.

For having a rival party, a disco.

It's sabotage.

Sabotage?

What is?

Having the disco the night before the office

party.

Well, this morning you said you hated the

office party.

Well, I hate the Albert Memorial.

I don't want it blown up in my

face.

I'll tell you what.

Let's have a party of our own that

evening.

Remember that little Italian restaurant on Queen Street?

Oh, wasn't it lovely?

It was expensive.

Yes, but you got value for money.

I got indigestion.

I know.

Perhaps we could ask the Peckhams and make

up a foursome.

Oh, my God.

See, quite enough of him at the office.

Thank you very much.

Besides, he'd probably leave me to pay the

bill.

That's how the rich stay rich.

No, we're not poor, Henry.

Not yet.

Put out the light, darling.

I put it out.

Fuss, fuss.

You'll appreciate delays are not uncommon at this

time of the year or any congestion at

the post office.

However, in order to save you any further

inconvenience, we are dispatching a fresh consignment of

pandas, which we hope you will find...

Do you ever lunch at the George?

Sometimes have a sandwich and a beer.

The meals are too pricey.

Doesn't seem to stop our Mr. Leighton.

What time is it?

Nearly four o'clock.

These meant to be Christmas decorations or an

obstacle course.

Did you put them up?

Gary helped me.

Gary?

Um, Mr. Leighton.

Oh, yes, extraordinary.

Mr. Leighton seems to find time to do

everything except what he's supposed to do.

Well, next time he puts up the decorations,

will you remind him that there are grown

men in this office who do not wish

to have their brains dashed out with his

wretched baubles.

Your health, Monsieur.

Merci, Monsieur Pecan.

A votre santé et joyeux Noël.

Yes.

Ah, here you are, Knox.

We've just been talking about you.

Now, you've met Monsieur Leclerc, haven't you?

Bonjour, Monsieur.

Bonjour, Monsieur.

Permettez-moi de vous présenter mon assistant, Monsieur

Noël.

Ah, oui.

À Noël, il ne fait pas beau temps.

Et très froid ici en hiver.

Yes.

Anything particularly urgent?

Oh, pas du tout.

Je reviens demain matin.

Oh, couldn't it wait until tomorrow morning?

Parfait.

Parfait?

I didn't know he spoke French.

He doesn't.

Blast.

It's all right, dear.

It'll soon be over.

I don't know which will be over first,

me or Christmas.

The office closes tomorrow, doesn't it?

Try and be back early, dear.

I've ordered a table at the restaurant for

seven.

For seven?

Seven o'clock, dear.

Oh.

And put on your dinner jacket.

We'll do it in style.

When I wear a dinner jacket, everybody thinks

I'm the head waiter.

You'll have to explain you're off duty.

You look very elegant in a dinner jacket.

And I'll have my hair done.

Again?

Aren't we overdoing it a bit?

No, dear.

You've been working very hard.

Oh.

Henry, you are clever.

My, my.

We are in a hurry.

Disco time already.

Where are the glasses?

Oh, I haven't sent them yet.

Well, you'd better phone the George.

No, no, don't bother.

I'll do it myself.

I don't want to keep you from your

innocent pleasures.

You'll be in early in the morning, won't

you?

There'll be a good deal to do.

Don't worry.

I'll be here first thing.

Looking like a zombie, no doubt, after a

night of debauchery.

Is that the George?

This is Knox of Peckhams.

I want to speak to Mr. Tapsko, please.

How do you mean he's not available?

An important...

Oh, has he?

Well, will you tell him that I have

an important function tomorrow?

And if he doesn't phone me back in

five minutes, the order is cancelled.

Moreover, he'll never get another order from this

firm.

Who are you?

Sue.

Sue?

I'm the temp.

Oh, another one.

I'm just going to have a word with

Mr. Peckham.

Oh, you can't.

How do you mean I can't?

He's gone to the party at the George.

They've nearly all gone.

There's hardly a soul in the building.

Aren't you going?

Mr. Peckham's gone to the George?

That's what he said.

I'm the only one that hasn't been invited.

Worst luck.

Congratulations.

From God our Heavenly Father A blessed angel

came And unto Heaven's heaven The tidings of

the same For that in Bethlehem was born

The Son of God by name Oh, tidings

of comfort and joy Comfort and joy Oh,

tidings of comfort and joy Disco?

This isn't a disco.

It's a banquet.

Mr. Leighton.

Mrs. Leighton.

Mrs. Peckham.

Honoured guest.

Mr. Peckham.

Honoured guest.

I see.

A wedding feast.

The union of Peckham's and Leclerc.

Minus Knox.

So this is the climax to the comings

and goings.

The fertile looks.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to

propose the toast of our new masters.

Leclerc.

As you know, I have been at Peckham's

now for 40 years.

Man and boy.

I would like to have stayed a little

longer.

You can't expect a man to linger at

his own funeral.

However, I cannot let this occasion pass without

paying my tribute to old Mrs. Peckham.

The brains behind this firm who during the

second childhood of her son has selected the

toys which we have tried to market.

So ladies and gentlemen, please be upstanding and

drink the toast of the union of Peckham

and Leclerc.

Ladies and gentlemen, there seems to be a

small emergency.

Don't panic.

I shall be all this.

On the other hand.

Henry, you're late.

Goodness, where have you been?

What are you wearing on your head?

Oh, it's Christmas, dear.

I could do with a drink.

You could bring me one in my bath.

Yes, dear.

I'm afraid we're going to be late.

Nonsense.

These internment places stay open till midnight.

I can smell burning.

I can't smell anything.

Henry.

Henry, it's the police.

Typical.

Henry!

Good evening, Emma.

Any idea what's happening?

I've no idea.

I'm afraid we're going to be late.

Yes, we are.

But as long as he's here, we're all

right.

It's the George.

The George?

What, on fire?

Yeah, they think it's arson.

In fact, they're sure it is.

One of the barmaids saw chap running out

of the building.

Well, they'll catch him, I suppose, but that

won't help us much.

Henry.

Shall we tell him?

Well, there's no point in keeping it a

secret now.

Secret?

You mean the merger?

There isn't going to be any merger.

That's all over and done with.

That frog fellow wanted us to take on

his name.

Leclerc.

I told him to go and jump in

the Ghent Canal.

Peckhams is Peckhams.

What secret?

Oh, let the poor chap out of his

agony.

We were planning a dinner here to celebrate

your 40 years with Peckhams.

The press was invited.

The mayor.

The Lord Lieutenant of the county.

I thought we were going to an Italian

restaurant.

You thought we were, but we were really

bringing you to the George.

What was all that about a disco?

A smokescreen.

Darling, it's a presentation for you.

A gold watch.

Swiss.

Goes underwater.

Very useful if you should go down with

your ship.

I...

I can't read the inscription.

Anyway, Henry, we're offering you a place on

the board.

Many congratulations and a very happy Christmas.

Happy Christmas.

Darling.

you