You have to admit, he was a bit of an eejit.
Niamh, look. I'm not sure you can call him an eejit.
Why?
Well, he was sort of the son of God.
This was a fella who could turn water into wine.
He could've made a fucking fortune.
But, no. Instead he runs around with his 12 mates,
poking his nose into everybody's business until eventually somebody thinks,
"Sack it, I'm having this head-melter fitted for a cross."
Well, that's an alternative - if slightly controversial -
reading of Christianity, Niamh.
Do you know what? I miss Mass. Mass was class.
Mass was balls.
I moved to London solely to avoid going to Mass.
I just love the wee stories they told. You know,
The Good Samaritan, The Prodigal Son, The Magic Wardrobe.
- The Magic Wardrobe? - Aye, y'know...
God's living in this wardrobe, only he's dressed up like a lion.
That's right.
I'm not sure I even believe in God.
Jesus, Bronagh! Pipe down!
I don't agree with her, by the way, mate. I just want to make that clear.
Maybe this is it. Maybe when we die there's just... nothing.
But if this really is it, shouldn't we be doing more?
I mean, shouldn't we be out there experiencing everything?
Shouldn't we be living every single moment as though it's our last?
Aye, probably.
But, y'know...
...fuck that!
Subtitles by MemoryOnSmells http://UKsubtitles.ru.
Packy.
Packy!
Packy, wake up.
I wouldn't bother, Bronagh. He's out
- for the count. - Oh, you're here. Spectacular!
All right, what's the craic? For Christ's sake!
Where the fuck are we?
We appear to be in some sort of giant futon, Bronagh.
I tell you what, these things get a bad press.
This is surprisingly comfortable.
Whose flat is this?
Hmm, whose flat is this?
Whose flat is this?
Maybe Packy knows.
Maybe Packy knows what?
Where the fuck are we? I say we just go back to sleep.
Conor, could you for once just please not be a dick?
Surely, no bother at all.
Balls.
Right. I don't want to alarm anyone but we seem to be in East London.
- How did we end up in East London? - We could've got a bus or a taxi...
- Shut up, I'm trying to think. - ...could've got a train or a tube.
- Stop it! - We could've got a horse!
What?! How could we have got a horse? Who gets a fucking horse, Conor?
I see fellas on horses. I see fellas on horses
- all the time. - They're policemen, mate.
I'm supposed to be in work. I'm on thin ice as it is cos of that stupid root canal thing.
Will you stop beating yourself up about that, Bronagh?
They should've asked one of the other nurses to give that injection.
You were pished!
Yeah, remind me not to say that at the tribunal.
Ach, Bronagh, everyone knows you're not supposed to work the day after St Paddy's.
Well, unless you're...
Packy, can you turn English?
Do you want me to put my toe up your hole? Is that what you want?
Cos it seems to be what you're angling for, Conor.
Look, just calm down. Let's just figure out where we are first. Let's retrace our steps.
So, we went to the pub...
We went to the pub and then...
All right, hold on. So, we went to the pub...
Oh, I want to kill myself.
Shh, listen!
- Who's that? - I don't know but I'm guessing,
and, like this is just a stab in the fucking dark, but I'm guessing
it's the person who lives here, you living, breathing ballbag!
All right, mate! How's it going?
So...
Any ideas who the wee woman is? Hmm?
- Anyone at all? - Ach, we probably just
got hammered with her in a bar last night.
Christ, my legs are killing me. What was I up to?
Maybe you were riding.
Who? Who was I riding?
Oh, for God's sake, I didn't buck the wee woman.
Well, you don't know that. Anything could've happened.
She could've had a good aul fiddle with you, while you were sleeping.
Yeah, well, he did crash in her flat, Niamh, so... you know,
fair's fair...
Look at this.
Half my Twix is gone.
My best Twix.
Half my Twix has just...
...disappeared.
Holy fuck!
Yep, I'm as shocked as you are, Packy.
Great! She'd better not be dead.
I'm serious, cos that's all I need.
It's OK, she's still breathing.
I mean, half of someone's Twix doesn't just vanish. Someone took it.
Someone stole it!
Someone ate that crunchy chocolate finger, Packy.
You're a walking advertisement for abortion, Conor, you really are.
We're going to have to get her to a hospital.
God, I hate the day after St Patrick's Day. It's always the same.
It's not always the same. How is it always the same? I mean this,
this is a fucking first.
Christ, she is deceptively heavy!
Something bucko always happens. It's cursed. This day is cursed.
- I mean, remember last year? - Not really.
You ate a £20 note, mate.
And we ended up running that marathon.
- Oh, that's right. - Will you take that thing off?
I can't, my hair is an absolute state.
We should've just phoned an ambulance.
And told them to come where, exactly? We've no idea where we are.
Seriously, you need to calm down.
I think you've too much testosterone floating around in your system, Bronagh.
You should get that seen to.
My cousin Jo had that problem. She didn't do anything about it.
And sure, didn't she end up growing a beard.
Hold on, your cousin Jo's a woman?
I mean, stealing half of someone else's Twix... Jesus.
- Who would do something like that? - Well, don't look at me.
I wouldn't thank you for a Twix. I think they're rotten.
Come off it, Niamh. They're pure lovely.
All right, lads, I can't carry her any more.
Bronagh, you may take her for a bit.
Aye, like that's happening!
Why did you have to bring that thing?
Well, I could hardly have left him there, could I?
I think you probably could have, mate, yeah.
Packy, he might know who the thief is. He's a witness!
Conor, the cat doesn't know anything. The cat isn't a witness.
The cat is a fecking cat!
We'll see.
Yeah, she's still breathing, isn't she?
Why are you so obsessed with whether she's breathing or not?
Because if she stops breathing, she dies, Niamh.
- Well, that's up to her. - Aye, Packy, give the woman peace.
Is that the Donnelly sisters?
Christ, lads, she's in a bad way.
- Fuck off, Conor. - All right, Aisling?
What d'you lot do last night?
Your da!
Lovely girls.
Finally.
So, we've established that it wasn't Niamh.
Which leaves us with...
Fuck off about the fucking Twix.
What is it?
Aoife. Aoife McBride's ringing me.
Why is Aoife Mc-fucking-Bride ringing me? Why?
Ah, I bet that's who you bucked.
Amazing. Now I have to leave the country.
Aoife's sound.
I don't think Mickey One Ball would agree with you, mate.
Why is everyone so quick to blame Aoife for that?
Because she sunk her teeth into the poor fella's sack, Bronagh.
Look, Mickey was dicking her about. All she wanted was a bit of commitment.
I don't think that biting him in the balls was the way to get it.
- Surely I wouldn't have rode Aoife. - Even if you did,
it's grand. It doesn't count. You know what they say.
What happens on St Paddy's, stays on St Paddy's.
I've never heard anyone say that in my fucking life, mate.
Aww! Well, I think you make a nice couple.
Oh, Christ, is there a picture of me and Aoife on there?
You, Aoife, me, Niamh, Conor and...
Jesus, is that Michael Flatley?
Who, the Michael Flatley?
Of course, the Michael Flatley.
Oh, no, you're right. Of course, sorry for asking such a stupid question!
Has he had work done?
I...I'm actually having heart palpitations.
It's probably because you mixed your drinks.
Or it could be because we're in possession of a tiny pensioner,
we did fuck-only-knows-what with a champion Irish dancer,
and I may well lose a very beloved bollock, Niamh.
Great night altogether!
Right, I need you to ring me in sick.
- No sweat. - Just... say I'm really ill.
Hello, it's Bronagh Lynch here.
I'm afraid I won't make it in today, I'm not feeling the best.
Niamh, what are you doing?
Aye, it's been coming out both ends all morning, so it has.
Brilliant!
OK, I will do. Bye-bye. Love you.
- What was that? - You told me to ring you in sick.
Aye, as you. I didn't want you to do an impression of me.
If anybody should've been doing an impression of me, it should've been me.
Oh, aye, so it should've.
I'd like to report a robbery, please.
This lady needs urgent medical assistance.
No, we're not exactly sure what happened, but...
But we think the fella from the Riverdance might have been involved.
Basically we were out celebrating St Patrick's Day last night and...
No, really? Same every bloody year.
I'm sorry?
You lot, you never know when to call it a night.
Listen, that's a hugely offensive, extremely damaging stereotype,
- and I for one... - Is there a bar in here?
Yes, well, I'm glad we've cleared that up.
Aoife again. I tell you what, if she did climb up me last night
I'm holding you responsible, Bronagh. You should've kept her away from me.
Sure, I can't watch you when you're pished.
Your dick leads you round corners.
Yeah, well, it won't be leading me anywhere if Aoife bites it off!
- Where'd you pull them from? - Found them on a wee locker.
Like a bedside locker?
- Aye. - Like a hospital patient's
- bedside locker? - Ach, relax, Bronagh.
He couldn't have ate them anyway, he had a tube down his throat.
I was doing him a favour.
Aye, you're nothing but a martyr.
Ach, I say we sack this and do a runner.
Yeah, let's go.
Holy fuck,
- did you see that? - Yep, yes, I did.
Ride-o-rama. I would ride him raw.
What are you doing? I thought we were going?
Oh, no, no, no, you go on, I've got to get the doctor bucked.
Why do you get to buck the doctor?
Well, do you want to buck the doctor?
Yeah, I might, actually. I might want to buck the doctor.
You might? Right. Well, you have a good aul think about it,
decide what you're for doing one way or the other. In the meantime,
if you need me, I'll be bouncing up and down on his bar.
Well, her breathing's fine. Heart rate's normal.
So what happened?
All I know for sure is some bastard stole half my Twix!
And it was the right half, and that's the good half.
Maybe it was Flatley.
He's quick enough on his feet, the fucker.
He means what happened to her, Conor.
- Oh, she just hit the deck. - She just collapsed, Doctor.
- OK, so who's her relative? - Bronagh's my sister.
He means who's her relative, Conor.
Oh, I don't have a baldies.
I see. Well, I'll need to run some blood tests.
If you need any help, just say.
I mean, if you need me to hold anything for you, I can.
I'm really good at holding stuff.
I've a really firm grip.
I think I'm all right.
If anybody helps, it should be me. I'm a nurse, you see.
For teeth. She's a tooth nurse.
It still counts.
Right, are the girls on glue now, or what's the craic?
I'm really bendy, you know, sex-wise.
OK, I'm going to have to interject here cos, to be honest,
I'm starting to feel uncomfortable and I'm not even the one being manhandled.
Doctor, could you point me
in the direction of your forensics department, please?
Is that a cat in your pocket?
I beg your pardon?
I'm sorry, it just looks like you might have a cat in your pocket.
Oh, right enough.
I do, aye.
I have a cat in my pocket.
You can't have animals in here.
Can you not?
No! No, you're going to have to leave immediately.
Grand.
And if anyone else has a pet on them,
I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist you leave as well.
Oh... Oh, God!
What happened?
Well, I'm no expert, I'm just a tooth nurse after all, but I think...
I think she just pretended to collapse.
Ach, Conor, what about you?
Ah, Joe! Are you well?
Not too bad, not too bad.
You've just got your foot stuck in the aul toaster there, have you?
Aye. Desperate.
I'm never going out on St Paddy's again, I mean it this time.
Don't talk to me. Sure, didn't we nearly kill this wee woman?
Oh, nightmare! Still, you're looking well, anyway.
The cat fairly suits you.
Oh, thank you, Joe. That is so nice of you to say.
Listen, I'd better head on here.
Apparently you're not supposed to bring cats into a hospital.
Oh, no, that'll be a vet's. It's a vet you're looking for.
Fair enough.
Listen, I'll... I'll see you later.
Say hello to the mammy for me.
Oh, I will do.
OK, that seems fine. Are you sure you don't want to take that off?
I just feel more comfortable keeping it on. Thank you.
Right.
You seriously think this is going to work?
It's pathetic, Niamh. Well, he had his hand
on my tit for a minute and a half, so I'm doing better than you.
Maybe I'll pretend to faint, maybe I'll hospitalise myself.
No! There'll be no more hospitalising.
I'm putting my foot down about all this hospitalisation. I'm serious now.
I hope he comes back with a camera and sticks it up your hole.
Oh, he can stick whatever he wants... Niamh, I am begging you, do not finish that sentence.
Oh, Aoife again. Ach, will you stop shitting yourself about Aoife? Listen, Bronagh.
I am fond of my balls. I'm attached to them, and they're attached to me.
I'm going for a smoke.
Ah, come on now.
Christ, how much is there?
200. Who the feck does this belong to?
Oh, that'd be mine, Packy.
Funny, ha! I was just wondering what I did with that.
Aye, dead on, Niamh!
We better not have robbed the wee woman last night. Of course we didn't.
I hope you're right because, apart from anything else, it's not what St Patrick would've wanted.
People don't rob pensioners then stay the night on their fucking futon. They just don't.
So how do you explain this then?
Aoife probably gave it to you for "services rendered".
Oh, Jesus, I feel sick.
Ach, Packy, come on, she's joking you.
As if you're worth 200 quid!
All right, lads!
What's happening?
Fuck's sake!
Did you lose your money? No, why?
So the lady you brought in...
Thank you for looking after her, you really didn't have to do that.
Yes, actually I did, it's my job.
Yeah. It must be... so rewarding, doing what you do, you know?
Saving lives. Although, don't get me wrong, I've saved a tooth or two in my time.
So, the woman you brought in is a diabetic.
Seems she's missed a few insulin injections,
so any kind of sugar consumption in the last little while
could've brought this on.
The crafty, thieving wee bitch!
I think... I'm going to raise you, Gary.
It's Tommy.
That's Gary. Oh, sorry, lads.
It's just you've all got the same hairstyle.
That'll be the leukaemia, Conor. Oh, right. I see.
My mate Kevin had a touch of that when he was younger. He's fine now.
Well he's not... fine, he's still a bit of a gobshite.
That never went into remission.
Can you smoke in here?
Right, turns out aul Sticky Fingers over there
ate Conor's Twix and it's put her in a coma.
Twix can put you in a coma?
Jesus, you'd think they'd slap a warning on the wrapper, like.
Look, she's going to be OK. Can we please go now?
I'm not going anywhere until... Fine.
You don't know what I was going to say! Does it involve the doctor's cock? It does, aye.
I'm not leaving either, Bronagh.
I won't just abandon this poor woman. It's not right.
You're worried Aoife's at home waiting for you, aren't you?
I'm not going to lie, it's a concern. A big concern.
I'm petrified, if I'm honest. Scared shitless.
So what are you going to do? Just live here now? I'm considering it.
Oh, I see, grand!
Well played, lads. Well played.
So, what's the damage?
50. Quid?
Yeah. Oh, get to fuck, Gary!
- Tommy! - Whatever.
But, Conor, you lost.
Look, I am not handing over £50.
This isn't Children In Need, lads.
Conor Lynch!
Aoife! What about you?
You're looking well!
Honestly, you are fine. You're good to go.
Maybe I should take my top off so you can get a better look. There's really no need.
No, no, no, let's just get this out of the way
and then you can have a good auld hoke.
Now, just... Unbelievable! Hang on a minute...
Hey! You will never guess who I ran into.
Ach, that's a nice frock, Aoife. All right, how's it going? You suit the green.
I expected better from you. Look, Aoife,
it's not that I don't like you, and it's not that it didn't mean anything,
it was, er... Well, I cannot remember but I'm sure it was lovely.
I'm just not in a relationship place right now. What the fuck are you talking about?
You think something happened between us last night?
I'd rather shit in my hands and clap. Oh, OK, I see.
What the fuck have you done to Auntie Mary?
Ach, is this wee critter your auntie? You know she's my auntie!
We couldn't get back from East London last night,
we all had to crash in her flat and if you've damaged her futon,
she'll be fucking raging. It cost her a fortune. Oh, you can tell, Aoife.
Shut up! I go out to get milk this morning and I come back,
and I find that you've taken her.
You've actually stolen my Auntie Mary!
Well, she stole Conor's Twix. She did WHAT?!
Aoife, we didn't steal your auntie. This is just a misunderstanding.
What? Did you give her a Twix?
She's a fucking diabetic!
I didn't give her that Twix! She stole that Twix, Aoife!
She took it from my very pocket.
Look, this is a hospital. Keep it down or take it outside.
Christ, you're a bit of a ride, aren't you?
We have no idea what happened last night.
I'm not surprised. You were wallpapered when you hit the ceilidh.
You could hardly stand. How you won the four-hand jig is a mystery.
My legs! I wasn't riding, I was jigging. I was just jigging!
We won? We were that good?
You were beautiful, it was poetry in motion, people cried.
That's not the fucking point. Hold on.
An Irish dancing competition? Michael Flatley?
He presented you with your cash prize. How can you not remember?
Fair play to you, Flatley, you fast-footed freak.
Oh! Give me some of that and I can buy that cat back.
What?!
I lost Auntie Mary's cat in a game of poker with two wee bald fellas
from the chemo ward.
Auntie Mary hasn't got a cat.
Right, I see.
Whose cat was that?
You lot never change.
I mean, someone helps you out, gives you a place to stay
for the night and you still just steal their Auntie Mary and put her in a coma.
Ach, Aoife, don't be like that. I never want to see any of you again.
I don't mean you, I'll definitely be seeing you again
but you'll be wearing a lot less clothes. Come on, we're friends.
We are not friends!
And I'm taking this as compensation.
Seriously, this behaviour is completely inappropriate.
You're going to have to talk less. Don't let her away with that!
Give that back.
What you going to do?
Make me?
Careful, mate.
Careful, now.
Actually, do you know what? It's grand, get yourself something nice.
Come on. I'm buying you a drink.
Move it!
She took him!
She took our hot doctor, Bronagh.
You useless prick.
I am serious, that is me finished.
Don't be stupid, Bronagh.
What are you going to do? Not go out on St Patrick's Day?
How's that even possible?
What are we celebrating?
What did he even do? He killed a load of snakes in Ireland. So what? Big deal.
I could kill snakes. You could kill snakes.
We could both go out there right now, kill a fuck-load of snakes.
I'd rather just finish my pint if I'm honest, Bronagh. He also invented Guinness.
I don't think he did invent Guinness. He definitely did.
This taxi driver in Ballyshannon told me all about it.
He invented Guinness.
And socks.
Fair enough.
Why do we do it? I mean, the English don't make a big fuss about their patron saint.
You can't get English saints.
What about St George?
Never heard of him.
You know St George, the fella that killed the dragon.
Jesus, all these lads seem to do is kill wildlife.
A dragon isn't wildlife, mate.
So does Scotland have a patron saint? Aye, Andrew, isn't it?
What about Wales? Er... who did Wales get lumbered with?
It'll probably be your woman.
It's not Shirley Bassey, Niamh. Right. David.
Did we meet him in O'Neill's one night?
What? No, that was just a Welsh fella called David.
Sure, he tried to sell us a load of knocked-off DVDs, remember?
Aye, that's right.
Ach, auld St David!
What a cheeky wee shite!
God, give me strength.
Subtitles by MemoryOnSmells http://UKsubtitles.ru.