- You looking for a lodger? - Yeah.
All I've had so far are loonies.
"How to click with women". Already can! Clickety-click, click-click.
You've got to be more exciting, a bit more, you know, spontaneous.
I'm sure that can be arranged.
- Mac's had some difficult news. - Oh, really?
Yeah, about Holly. She's pregnant.
- Who's pregnant? - Holly the baby-killer.
- Oh, dear! - Jesus!
- Oh, I must have... - Man!
I must have tripped over your enormous, Neanderthal feet.
Go away.
- When d'you wanna move in? - Tomorrow?
Hooray!
I'm 42. I'm 42, I'm 42, I'm 42, I'm 42.
Oh, Christ!
Forty-two?
Oh, face it, Joanna, you're 48.
Go away!
Yeah, no one's gonna know you've got a 48-year-old foofie.
Happy birthday, foofie. Happy birthday, Joanna.
It's me - Enobarbus, your humble servant -
calling with birthday greetings.
Why do birds suddenly appear
Every time you are near?
Just like me
They want to be...
... close to you
Aah-aah...
Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.
Yes, yes, yes. Erm, bye. Goodbye to you.
Er, that's... it's very, very interesting.
W-Why... why do birds... ?
Er, the gulls...
You know, jenny wrens.
Er, tommy tits.
N-Not... not actually...
No, I wouldn't say that, as such. But, erm...
Good morning to you. Nice to see that you're, erm...
I was explaining...
OK, birthday cake.
- What about this one? - No, a bit stuffy.
How about this?
A bit childish.
Ooh, this one.
That's more Rachel. It's not really Joanna.
We can put a candle on each nipple.
I've always wanted to do that.
Either that or run away and join the circus.
- Maybe we should get the iced cake. - No, go on, let's be daring.
- OK. - Ha!
Angela! Do you want coffee?
- Yes! - What did your last slave die of?
Angela, what are you doing?
- Are you all right? - Yeah.
Oh, my God!
- Have I just seen you come? - Almost.
I think I just missed.
Oh, I'm so sorry. Look, I'll just leave your coffee there.
- Morning, Liam. - Morning.
- Buggering wank! - The Swiss water-polo team has lost again?
No. The bloody woman from Obstetrics is wearing knee-length patent-leather boots.
We should march on Obstetrics with flaming torches and we should kill her.
- I knew you wouldn't understand. - Who is she?
I don't know, she just is.
Join me again next week on Let's Make No Fucking Sense, when I will be waxing an owl.
Just as I'd nearly finished putting all the data in as well. Grr!
- What? - The league table.
- You haven't got one just for Obstetrics? - Don't be stupid.
It's for all hospital females.
And knee-length patent-leather boots bump her up to a six in kinkiness.
- You just never bloody know with women. - Soon they'll say we can't thrash our wives.
Yeah! Look what it's done to the graph. It's knocked it out of whack.
Obstetrics is now kinkier than Personnel.
And the cute Chinese nurse from Fincham Ward is down to 19th. Jesus!
Have you ever thought, this is just a shot in the dark,
- you may be taking this too seriously? - What?
Your life might be easier if you didn't bother with it.
Then how in God's name am I supposed to put women in the proper order?
Oh, my God, look! There is a coachload of Swedish physios.
What? Oh, shut up.
That would raise some conflicting issues from you.
Very exciting sexually. On the other hand, a lot of admin.
I did have a coachload of Swedish physios once.
They smelt of herring, surprisingly. And flat-pack furniture. And Rolf Harris.
- Rolf Harris isn't Swedish. - That's what was so surprising.
- Ooh, ooh, ooh! - She's coming. Quick.
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday, dear Joanna
Happy birthday to you
Right, thanks. Surprise, surprise.
Same banner as last year. Hope it's a fresh cake.
We didn't know how old you were, so...
Ha, bloody ha-ha-ha.
- What's that on your coat? - What?
- Silver lines, on there. - Oh, snails.
Yeah, I went to a party last night and, er... woke up in the garden.
Hello, Mum. It's me.
Martin. Martin Dear.
No, Mar... M-A-R... You know who it is.
No, I'm in the corridor. No one can hear me.
I just wa... Hello?
Luxury penthouse apartment in the Docklands, panoramic views - yours for a year.
- Electronic swipe card entrances? - Yes, and a concierge on the door.
And there'd probably be a swimming pool in the basement with a gym and sauna.
- Probably or definitely? - Can't say at this stage.
- Will it have a glass lift? - No, a normal lift.
OK, what's the price?
Two weeks as Esther Rantzen's love bitch.
Is that a five-day week, or are weekends included?
- No, weekends are included. 14 days. - OK. Erm... no.
Whenever I'd look through the panoramic windows, I'd get flashbacks of how I got there.
So five days. And she gets to film it, with the possibility it might end up on the internet.
- Probably or definitely? - I can't say at this stage.
- That's the gamble you take. - OK, yes.
As long as at some stage in the future a glass lift was installed.
- Who was that? - Shagged his mum.
Highest sag factor in the league. I left my watch inside her.
- At least you look cool. - Yeah, well, I'm taking them back.
They said they were photochromic. They go dark when I come inside, and light...
- When you go outside? - Yeah.
Got them from the market. Still, they do look cool, though.
This psychologist, Carol Rothwell,
claims to have devised a formula for happiness.
- Can you do that? - She seems to think so.
Apparently, happiness = p + 5e squared, minus the square root of 3, minus D cubed -
where p = personal hygiene, e = entertainment value, and d = density.
- What does that mean? - I've no idea. It's put me in a bad mood.
Yeah, well...
Bloody happiness, eh?
Oh, you know, it's... more trouble than it's worth, that happiness.
You are so right, Martin.
I never wear sunglasses. I see the reflections of my own eyes staring back at me -
it's too spooky.
Yeah, well, you know, you've got really nice eyes.
Martin!
You think I've got really nice eyes?
Yeah, well, I mean... You know, the whole head is... is good.
But, well, it's your eyes... They're top eyes.
Ah!
Ah, you're really sweet.
Er... sweaty.
Erm, has anyone been in my office this morning?
- Just Lyndon. - Lyndon?
Yeah, he did that antivirus thing.
- Lyndon? - Mm-hm.
I didn't see Lyndon this morning.
Oh. Morning again. Nice to see you with some clothes on.
What? Oh, gosh, I'm sorry about the live bed-show with Liam.
I don't know what it is, it just keeps getting better.
- I guess we just click. - Sounds like you put your hip out.
- I could have done, the way he... - Enough! Enough of your clickety-clicking.
From now on, all clicking is to be done behind closed doors.
- Sorry, Mrs Landlady. - Don't call me that!
Makes me feel like a spinster smelling of wee who hasn't had a good click in ages.
Don't be silly. You're not a spinster, you're a babe.
- You think I'm a babe? - No, Guy does.
It's one of the categories in this chart of women staff.
There are scores, and look, here's you: arse.
- They've called me an arse? - No, it's the arse category.
- You've scored four. - Out of five?
Er, no. Ten.
- What did you get? - I don't know, and I couldn't care less.
- It's nonsense. - You got an eight for arse.
I got an eight? Did I really? That can't be right -
you only getting a four and me getting an eight.
That's nearly full marks.
Good for you! If it meant anything. Which it doesn't, cos it's nonsense.
Nonsense.
You... you arrange courses to help staff with personal development, don't you?
- I do. - Cos I was wondering...
- Yes? - Erm...
Is there some sort of...
male/female interrelationship creation course?
I mean, I'd go halves, so...
- What, a course for getting a girlfriend? - Well, yeah... I suppose, in a sense.
Well, why didn't you say, eh?
You don't need to go on a course. I can help you now.
- Really? - It's easy.
- OK. - Yeah. Let's have a look in here.
Oh, right. Here we go. Just the ticket.
Now, you just take these magic beans...
but mind out for the ogre.
Look, I'm not gonna plant any of your bloody beans!
- They don't work. - No?
It's not your job to...
All I'm asking of you...
Er... yes, here's you. Nine. Congrats.
Nine? For what? "Easiness"? What the hell is that?
Easy-going, easy to get on with. It's good.
No, it's appalling. It's degrading, it's sexist, it's untrue.
- Somebody should probably report him. - Yeah. I know.
Gosh, I can't believe your arse only got a four and mine got an eight.
What about breasts? Is there a mark for pertness?
- Karen, where's the ward 2B file? - In the filing cabinet.
- Yes, but where? - Under "ward 2B".
- Karen, are you going to the snack machine? - Probably.
Can you get me a Toffee Crisp and some Quavers?
- Oh, and a carton of Ribena. - Yeah.
Can you get me a yoghurt from the canteen, and a frothy coffee, no sugar?
- Can't you get it yourself? - There's no point in us all going.
- Get a tray. - I'd like a frothy coffee. Two sugars.
- And a banana. - No, I won't!
I am not your slave!
Hark at her! Who rattled your cage?
You lot, I am sick of it! Taking advantage, just cos I haven't got any breasts!
Have you seen... ? Hi.
- Hello. Lost something? - Er, maybe.
This, by any chance? It was lying around.
- Ah. - Makes very interesting reading.
Seems I score quite highly in all-round easiness.
Though I lose a few marks on cleanliness and mental attitude.
- Yeah, thing is... - Additional comments:
"Probably looks up at you in a pleading way during intercourse".
- You're wondering what I've got to say? - Yeah, it crossed my mind.
- Well... the thing is... - What?
- Well, the... What you have to bear in mind... - Yes?
- ..is... is... - Is what?
It's Mac's.
- This... this is Doctor Macartney's? - Yes, it is.
Well, you... you shouldn't look like a man who has one of these.
Do you look up pleadingly during inter... ? Yeah.
She probably does.
Control, alt, delete will lock your system and prevent your data getting wiped.
- I only went to the loo. - Sure. Just remember, control, alt, delete.
Then it doesn't matter if someone sits on your keyboard - all your files are safe.
- Show me again? - You try.
Well, OK then. This one, this one, and...
Gosh, they all look the same, don't they?
It's a bit of a stretch. I've only got tiny hands.
- Use the other one. - Oh, OK.
- If you just... - Psst. Thank you.
Cheeky boy!
Yeah, I just wanted to say thanks. Big lug.
- For? - Love it. Love, love, love it.
The email was spot on. Yeah, very thoughtful.
You're a bad boy. A bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad boy.
- Laters? - Sorry?
Catch you laters.
Later, birthday drinks in the bar, about sixish.
- Not you. Just him. - I don't think I...
OK, do you want to try again?
You have the chauffeur-driven car 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, seven days a week.
If I wanted to go to any pub, at any hour, in any part of the country, it would take me?
Yes.
Would the driver be parked outside my house 24 hours a day?
- No. - How would I contact him?
- OK, whatever. He's outside 24 hours. - One man can't stay awake 24 hours a day.
There are several drivers working in shifts.
- Would he have a uniform? - Yes.
- Designed by me? - Yes.
- What make of car? - You would have... a Bentley.
But more than a Bentley. You would have a Bentley with...
diplomatic immunity.
The price?
Three nights of passion... with Dr Alan Statham.
I'll do it. Diplomatic immunity? Bargain!
What about the same thing without immunity?
Only if I have a Swiss flag on the front of the Bentley, like ambassadors do.
Every day you'll go to work, see him, and be reminded of the horrors of those three nights.
- But I'd have a chauffeur-driven Bentley! - Fair point.
Yes, fair point.
- He's waking up. - Oh, yes.
Hello, Mum. It's me again.
Don't hang up. I know you're there.
I just want...
Hi, Mum. It's me again. I...
Celebrating Joanna's birthday. Piece of cake?
- No, I'm here to discuss Lyndon. - Oh, right, the Prince of Darkness.
Yes, and that's partly... absolutely nothing to do with it.
It's just that, erm... I think we're going to have to let him go.
Lovely, lovely. Lovely Lyndon.
The female contingent in the hospital feel unable to talk about it, so they...
I've designated myself their voice. Erm... he looms.
- Looms? - Yes.
- Cake? - No.
He creeps out of dark corners in frankly a predatory fashion,
with his ulterior ways,
and he slips into their still-warm seats.
- He unsettles them. - Does he now?
- And who exactly does he unsettle? - I'm speaking for many anonymous women.
- I need names. - Well, erm, Joanna... Clore for one.
She's unsettled by his loomingness.
Er... she becomes breathy and skittish around him, and a moisture forms on her brows.
Erm...
Would you say that I'm looming now?
No, you remain completely unscary, in spite of...
And don't think I know what you're getting at, w-with your face paint.
- She's in there. - I can't wait to meet this perfect woman.
The one who scores top in everything, including personality.
Men are such dopes. Don't they realise women who are too nice are secretly evil?
Yes. Very slowly.
Slowly. Yes. Come on.
Very good. Yes! Come on.
Yes!
- You see? Pure evil. - Yeah.
She's playing on their emotions, turning on the tears so they like her more.
- She's got a big mouth. - But men like that. It's voluptuous.
Yeah, but not like a letter box. You've got a big mouth.
- No, I haven't. - Yes, you have.
- That's not your real mouth. - This is a pert mouth.
- I'm not. - Not what?
One of those people who thinks ill of someone because of their... er...
I think we've all of us learnt from the pop group Showaddywaddy.
The story goes that, out of the entire pop group,
they had only nine O levels between them -
obviously the result of a comprehensive education.
But the Caucasians hadn't passed any exams at all,
and it was in fact the darker... the darkest chap
who in fact passed all of the exams himself.
Everyone was amazed. Who would have thought it of the... the...
But not me. I wasn't surprised in the least.
- You weren't? - No. The rest of the group were clearly...
And so, that's... that's why.
No.
Non.
Nein.
That's it for the prawn cocktail. Ready salted.
OK. Non.
No.
Yes! Yes, direct hit. Open it up. Open her up.
- Yes! 20 quid. - 20 quid!
- That's 80 quid now. - 20 British quid.
Stick it with the others. There's plenty more to come.
No.
This is out of bounds, Mr Boyce. What are you doing?
Me? I, er... just wanted to be at the helm.
Just wanted to feel what it was like to be like you.
Dream on, Mr Boyce. Dream on!
You will never know what it's like to be like me.
I know that now. Takes someone special to control a ship like that.
- Yes, it does. - You're special.
You're like Obi-Wan Kenobi to my Luke Skywalker.
So, er... what makes me special, then?
- What? - What makes me special?
You have the whole effortless charm thing going for you.
- Do I? - Of course you do. Everyone can see it.
But what have I got?
Dunno.
You must do. I know what makes you attractive,
so surely you must sense what my special gift is.
Charts. You do nice charts.
- Do I? - Yes, very neat handwriting.
Really?
- Anything else? - Erm...
Well...
Eyes like blue...
- Are they? - Like chipped blue ice.
- What have you got there? - Soup.
- What kind? - Minestrone flavour.
- Minestrone's not a flavour. - It is.
No. A flavour's like...
strawberry, or salt and vinegar, or sour cream and chive.
- Vanilla. - Yeah, vanilla. Or lemon.
- Pistachio. - We could say, "What flavour's minestrone?"
"Is it tomatoey or garlicky?"
Or oniony.
- It's minestrone-y. - No, it fucking isn't!
- Please don't swear. - You haven't tried it.
- I don't care. There's no such thing. - It's my soup.
It's not a bloody flavour, all right?
Mmm!
Minestrone-y.
Tomatoey.
Left hands. Unless you want to sort your hair out.
- Prepare to burn. - Light the flames.
Er, right. Yes, that's good. Ready?
- Yeah. - Don't go till I say, OK?
- Ready? Three, two... - You fucker!
- Burn, you titty! - Find the extra gear.
Oh, yes.
- No! - Feel the heat. Feel the heat.
- Ow! - Void.
- No, it's not. - It is. The Fartin dropped the match.
- I won. - Sorry, that's my final word on the matter.
Sorry, Mac. It was burning my finger, see? It throbs.
- You want a rematch? Why not? - I don't want to.
- Yeah, cos you're afraid to lose. - No!
- Right, we want a word with you. - No, I won't go out with you both.
Not you, him. About this ridiculous league table of women.
- Where'd you get that? - A print-out from Mac's poisonous gadget.
It's childish and offensive.
Actually, most women would be flattered at the attention.
- He gave Caroline's bum a four out of ten! - Shut up!
- He knows what he gave you. - Do I?
Well, actually, in that skirt, you are a four out of ten.
- I would give you a nine. - Thank you, Martin.
If you were wearing cuppy pants, you might have the arse of a seven.
But in those, it's a four. So, we were... he was just stating a fact.
- End of story. - No, it's not the end of the story.
I don't say, "Guy, you look like the donkey from Shrek".
Or, "Ginger freak" to Mac. Or, "Martin, you look like a vole".
Or you, Boyce, "You look like a porcelain lady-boy sometimes". Do I?
No, you don't. Because that would be offensive, and that would be personal abuse,
as stated in the discrimination policy.
- What? - You heard.
You just made discriminatory remarks about each one of us.
- No, I didn't. - Yes, you did.
You said he looks like the donkey from Shrek. That is making fun of physical deformity.
You said Boyce looks like a lady-boy. Homophobic.
You said I'm a ginger freak. That's colour-blind, for a start.
- It's also racist. - You said I look like a vole.
Yeah. You said all these things in front of witnesses.
- You're lucky that we don't report you. - I might report you.
- You can't. I've done nothing wrong. - You kind of have.
I suggest that you leave, and we won't take this any further.
- Well, wh-what about the table? - If you ignore the table,
we will let the homophobic, the racist, the disability jibes slide.
- Nice one, Mac. - Yours, I believe.
As is this.
- Do you really think I look like a vole? - Yeah.
Listen, I really appreciate that. Thanks. I won't forget it.
- Neither will I. - There's nothing wrong with ginger pubes.
There she is. There's the birthday girl.
- Yes. What? - Got my little token, I see.
- Your what? - My symbol of affection.
- This isn't from you? - Yes, it is.
Thank you very much. I secretly put it on your desk this morning.
Bugger!
It's, erm... It's from Enobarbus to his Cleopatra.
Sorry, you said "bugger". Why did you say that?
It had to be from you - the bloody thing's broken.
- It can't be. - It is. Did you get it from the market?
- It's shoddy. I've got gluey stuff all over me. - Oh, dear.
- We'll have that fixed. - What is it, anyway?
Well, have a guess. Go on, have a guess.
- I don't know. - It's man's milk.
- It's... my love juice. - That had better be a joke.
Don't worry, I can easily refill it.
Well, not here obviously.
Are you telling me you've given me a spunk-filled locket for my birthday?
Happy birthday to you
Now that you're 52!
- Joke. Nice trinket. May I? - No!
Well, there seems to be a slight discharge there.
- What is that? Perfume? - No. No, it's a special nectar.
It's an Indian tribal youth-giving...
- It's hippy shit, you know. - Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!
Yum, yum! We could all do with a bit of youth.
- Are you in the market for a bun? - No, I'm not.
- Thank you so much. - I've got you something else.
You'll get your main present... later.
- OK, why has my wee gone blue? - Blue? Oh, shouldn't be that colour.
- Broadly speaking, that's my point, Dr Tit. - Maybe you have a hideous wasting disease.
Or maybe somebody spiked my lunch with something to make my wee blue.
- We wouldn't do that. - Let's put that to the test.
- Eat some of that. - I don't want it.
- Guilt speaks. - I just don't like sweetcorn.
- Can I pick it out? - And remove the evidence?
Hang on. Are you seriously suggesting that I got a syringe,
injected individual pieces of sweetcorn with stuff that makes wee blue?
Of course we didn't.
- Yeah, well, I... - Of course not.
It was in your Fanta.
"Dr Tit"!
Good. I think this demonstrates perfectly the hip screw I was discussing yesterday.
- It's cold in here. - Yes, it's a problem with the heating.
I can see your nipples through your shirt.
- Erm... can you? - They're like little bullets pointing at me.
Stand behind me so you can't see them.
Yeah. Sorry, yeah.
So, something may be caught. The iliopsoas muscle may be entrapped
between the overhanging cup component, on the one hand, and the...
The thing is is that I still know that they're erect.
Look, it's a perfectly unremarkable involuntary physical response.
Kindly pay attention and stop thinking about my nipples.
I'm sorry. Of course.
So we're looking for an abnormality of some sort, possibly.
In this case, specifically...
I think yours are erect now, by the way.
- Are they? - Yes.
They're like beady eyes.
Must be the cold.
Er, there's a nip in the air, as it were.
Why don't we go back to the x-rays,
but this time we could rub our nipples to bring them down?
That's good. Very good.
Oh, they're retracting.
When...
... an infiltration into the painful muscle of local anaesthetic would...
... some relief, obviously.
And, er...
Goodbye.
Erm...
... c-correct, Doctor.
Well done. That's cleared... cleared that...
All shipshape and...
I'll check...
Happy birthday to you
Happy bir...
Enter.
Ah, Dr Todd. Come in, take a seat.
Thank you.
Oh, God, I... You've... Well, they're...
- Bigger? - Yes.
How odd you notice.
Not really. They're hard to miss.
Oh. Like you, I'm drawn to large breasts. Full ones.
- I'm not drawn to them. - You noticed mine.
- Well, yes... - Comforting, aren't they?
I think I want to touch a big woman's breasts.
I'm not a lesbian, it's just they look so inviting, don't they?
Well, actually, maybe I am a lesbian.
Breathe. Breathe.
- Now, how can I help? - It doesn't...
Well, I just have some concerns about attitudes to female staff.
Some of the male doctors are... I don't think it matters now.
- Did you just throw your breast at me? - No.
- Do you want me to? - No.
- Marty! - Boycie!
- Marty, Marty, Marty, Marty, Marty! - Boycie, Boycie, Boycie, Boycie, Boycie!
- Marty! - Boycie!
Stop it.
Boycie!
Erm... you're... you're...
you're probably thinking that, erm...
er...
In some way...
But, er...
Ooh, Karen! Martin Dear "isn't he queer" is on his way up.
- Oh, my God. How do I look? - Rough.
I know, crouch down. It makes you look less ugly.
- OK. - No, crouch.
Hm, still ugly. Yes.
Is, erm... Joanna, Joanna Clore in the...
the...
- Hello, ladies. - Martin.
- Or Dr Dear. - Whatever.
Is... is frizzhead around - the one with the curly hair?
- I need some T and D forms. - I'm here.
- What you doing down there? - Searching.
- For what? - Something.
Can I get some forms, please?
They're... they're over there.
I'll get them.
- There you go. - Thanks.
So...
got lots of hair, haven't you?
Yeah.
Curly wurly, sort of...
Is it... is it like that all over? D'you...
Can you tell Joanna Clore that I have passed by, please?
Thanks.
See? I told you you look better crouched down.
And what is this?
- Mr Boyce? - It's a bone.
Of course it's a bone, you fool. The question is, which bone is it?
- That's not the question you asked. - It is.
No, you said, "What's this?"
Yes, well, I meant, "What bone is this?"
Hm... don't know.
Then don't waste people's time by raising your nipple... hands
to ask a question - answer - that you have no idea about.
I knew the answer to the question you asked, so I was right to raise my hand.
It wasn't the question I meant, so you were wrong.
- Is that not a bone? - Yes, but you didn't get the question right.
- I didn't answer that question. - Just... That is beside the point.
Just cease now!
- Do I still have chipped-ice blue eyes? - Moving on.
- And neat handwriting? - Moving on! Anybody know what this is?
- It's a bone. - Mr Boyce, you... Nobody move!
- Where is everyone? - Gone.
- What, to the bar? - No, home, I think.
Good. What a relief.
God, I was dreading having to make conversation with you lot,
- pretend we all like each other. - Yes, well, have a nice night.
This isn't a joke, is it? You know, a surprise party.
I think you've all gone home, then find you're all in the bar?
No.
- Cos I'd hate that. - It's all right, that's not the plan.
Good. Good! What a relief.
- There's not one colour photo in this. - That's an old one, that one.
- I mean... - "I mean"? Yes?
- Nothing. - No, go on.
How would you boys feel if I'd been compiling a league table about you,
reducing you to mere physical attributes listed in cold numerical order,
- and just concentrating on sex, sex, sex?! - I'd like that.
- I'd be fascinated. - Unbelievable!
All right, we'll make one up, shall we?
Arses, out of ten. Guy, six. Mac, four. Martin, seven.
Hair. Martin, three. Mac, three. Guy, six.
Fuckocity. Nil.
Nil.
- Guess what. - What?
Nil.
- OK? Happy, boys? - Yeah, very.
I got seven for my arse.
- Oh, shut up. - She was making it up.
Those words came out of her mouth.
- "Vole" came out of her mouth earlier. - Along with "face" and "donkey".
- I still got a seven. - No, you didn't get a seven.
That was made up. She was just saying the first thing that came into her head.
It is hard to suppress thoughts completely, and she did it quickly,
so there might be something in it - you do have the shittest hair.
If you actually listened, you'd remember I tied with Martin on hair.
Yeah, but I won it! And what's more, with a clear three-point margin.
And I had the highest combined total.
That is it. I think there might be something in it after all.
We still got nil for fuckocity, though, didn't we?
Yeah, we did.
Still, I've got the nicest arse.
I said, "You do not know the difference between diphenhydramine hydrochloride
and nucleic acid".
- Another drink? - Alan, you go.
- I don't mind. - No, it's Dr Statham's turn.
- No, it isn't. - You know it is.
No. Well, actually, it's just that I'd rather not go to the bar.
It might be rather awkward, cos the staff and I had a bit of a disagreement.
- About what? - Erm...
br... bringing a dog into the bar.
- You haven't got a dog. - No, that's right.
That's why they wouldn't serve me. They said they were only serving dog owners.
- That's bizarre. - Yes. Quite mad, they are.
- There's some money. If you don't mind. - He does mind.
- No, he doesn't mind. - I don't.
What's the matter with you? Can't you do your own thing for one minute?
What, and leave you alone with him? You must be mad!
- He's got methods. - What?
He's got devious ways. One minute you're having a perfectly nice drink,
the next minute you're spread-eagled on a rug in the woods
while he's rutting on top of you, ploughing his mucky little furrow.
Mmm!
What?
Nothing.
- What you doing? - Writing a speech.
- You resigning? - No, it's his best-man speech.
- You gonna be a best man? - Yep.
- Fuck. - He's been asked to do it seven times.
- That is popularity for you. - You wanna watch it, mate.
My dad used to say to me, "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride".
- You were a bridesmaid? - What? No, I...
You said your father said, "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride".
That would imply that you were a bridesmaid.
- It was a turn of phrase. - A turn of gender?
Actually, in Switzerland, it's quite common for men to be bridesmaids.
- No, it isn't. - Are you Swiss? You don't know.
I do know that bridesmaids are women. What did you wear?
Fuck off. A long tunic.
- A dress. - No. I was five.
I don't care how old you were. That is a thing that girls do.
- If you tell anyone, I'll cut your heart out. - Whatever!
"Always the bridesmaid" - that's brilliant.
I said shut up. I'm gonna go and strain the greens.
Yep.
I bet you look lovely in a tunic.
- If you want to go to the loo, go. - I don't.
I know you do. You're sitting there jiggling with your legs crossed, like you always do.
- Maybe I should go. - Oh, no, please, Lyndon. It's my birthday.
Maybe just a few minutes.
So, the world of IT.
What a mystery it is to the rest of us.
- How long have you been doing it for now? - Four years.
- Four years? Hmm. - All right, you win.
Just remember what I said. He's got methods.
OK.
- I'm OK. - Lyndon.
Lyndon, I don't think I got my birthday kiss.
- Hello. - What the hell do you want?
Dr Statham said he'd give me 20 quid if I sat here. Peanut?
- I'd better go. - Oh, no, Lyndon...
Oh, fuck!
Just bring it straight through.
Careful, Liam.
- I thought you'd moved all your stuff in. - Just all the little bits and bobs.
- Right. - Is this yours?
Yes. Actually, I'd rather you didn't play with that.
Sorry. It's just it was quite expensive.
- How long have you been playing? - Oh, let me see.
God, erm... It was when I was... so...
- About six months. - Have you taken any grades?
Oh, no, no, no. It's purely for relaxation.
I'm completely self-taught. The thing about the flute is,
it's a far more complicated business than you'd imagine.
It actually takes about three months to get any sound out of it at all.
- Really? - Yeah, yeah. I'm getting quite good now.
- Maybe I will take an exam. - Brilliant.
I used to play the flute when I was little.
Sure you're not thinking about the recorder? This goes out to the side, not up and down.
I'm pretty sure it was one of those long silvery tube things.
- Good job it's not nickel-plated. - Why?
Acidic perspiration makes all the plating come off.
That'd be no good to a sweaty pig like me. They'd just dissolve.
- No, I didn't mean... - Maybe we could play together.
- Do you still have your flute? - No.
Ah. It gets a bit difficult after the first year, doesn't it?
- I just sort of moved on. - Yeah?
A bit daunting, was it?
- Where d'you wanna put the harp? - Hang on. Let me give you a hand.
- Not waiting to take drugs, I hope? - What?
That's what people do - take drugs in the cubicles. I read it in a report.
Are you, er... are you accusing me of taking cocaine on duty?
No, no, no. Just...
I fully understand you're just waiting to do... to do a private poo.
No, I'm not waiting to do a private poo.
I, er... just normally like using a cubicle.
But just to prove to you that I'm not doing drugs or wanting a poo,
I will use the urinal, OK?
Yes, yes.
Erm...
You do realise that your... your wee is...
- fluorescent? - Yes, thank you. Yes.
Fuck! Shit!
It's not a discharge.
- Stealer. - What?
You've got a rug in the woods, haven't you? Warmed and waiting.
- I beg your pardon? - You heard.
Didn't work this time, though, did it? Mister!
Mental!
I-I... I just think it's something you might have mentioned before you moved in.
Yeah, I know. And gosh, I'm so sorry. I really am.
The thing is, it's such a part of me that I sometimes forget that it's quite big.
I think it's terribly exciting.
And you can play it, can you? Or do you just... just jam?
I wouldn't say I could play to a professional standard. I got Grade 7.
Oh, what a clever baby!
But when I made the decision to do medicine, well... I just play for pleasure now.
That I want to see.
But if it's going to cause a row, then I can just pop it into storage.
- Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! No. - No, no, no.
No, no, it's fine. I wouldn't dream of it.
I'm really looking forward to hearing you play.
- Isn't it a shame you didn't get Grade 8? - I know!
- Hi, there. - God! Don't do that.
- Did I scare you? - No, I meant don't come near me.
I've got something for you.
Go on, then. Make it quick.
Well, happy birthday...
Mum.
Bugger off!
- What about a birthday hug? - Great. Find me a fireman.
- No, I meant from your son. - No.
Please?
- Oh, happy birthday, Mum. - Yeah.
- Oh, you're lovely. - No, I'm not.
- You're like a big, pink hot-water bottle. - Yeah, thanks very much.
Right. So, the Heimlich manoeuvre from the front is basically a non-starter.
Yeah, that's right. The Heimlich manoeuvre from the front is not gonna work.
- It's dangerous. - Nice talking to you, Dr Dear.
- Good. - Go away.
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