Pitter Patter The Singing Detective

This programme contains some strong language and some scenes of a sexual nature

THUNDERSTORM

Look at it. Look at the bloody stuff! Rain, rain, rain!

# The old umbrella man... #

Let's join the old umbrella man

-and sing...

-# Toodle-lum-a-lum-a Toodle-aye-ay

# Any umber-ellas Any umber-ellas to fix today?

# Bring your parasol

# It may be small, it may be big

# He repairs them all With what you'd call... #

"..A thing-a-me-jig."

You move your lips, d'you know that? When you read, you move your lips! What?

That's the sign of a slow reader, a backward reader.

You could even say that anyone who moves their lips when they read is mentally retarded!

What did you say?!

It's raining. It's raining, look!

Yeah.

< What's it about, eh? Reginald!

What's it about? You've asked hundreds of times! Well, I'm askin' you again.

Well...

My God!

It's hard to say! Well, if you don't know now... Murder!

Good. Killing an' that... And loose women!

There you are! Could do with THEM in here. Now, now.

Except... Except WHAT?!

Except they're not really. Some of them are spies who have to sleep with the customers.

A knockin' shop? No, a club.

- Well, go on! - Some of them are Nazis,

and some of them are... oh, I don't know...

- Footballers(?) - Get off!

Well, I think that's very clear. You've got the whole plot in a nutshell there(!)

Totally understandable(!)

You'll always get a job on Reader's Digest with YOUR mind!

Why don't you DO somethin', Mr Hall?

Shall I call for the bed-pan? >

- You haven't had a shit for ages. - Stop it, Reginald! That's enough.

- Ask the pretty nurse for the bed-pan... - Reginald!

You got to shit sometimes. Your arse ain't sewed up. Shall I call her?

Shut your chops! This is very offensive!

- Not "chops", a MOUTH. - And a dirty one!

- Excuse me! - Say no more!

Go back to my story then, can I(?)

You must be enjoying it.

- When I get the chance. - Same book?!

-A slow reader... I think Mr Hall wants the... But

-I

-keep interrupting him!

I DO divert him. Oh, yes.

- What's it called? - The Singing Detective. - By PE Marlow?

Yeah, that's the geezer. < He's in here, you know.

- The author is in this ward. - What?! Who is? - Mr Marlow! Down there.

PE Marlow. He wrote that book.

What, that old sod that can't stop noddin'?!

That's not very nice! No, next bed.

Nobody there. The Invisible Man - HE write that?

He's out of the ward having treatment at the moment.

Him?! The loudmouth with the skin?

The very one!

You'll be able to ask him how it finishes, Reginald. HE won't know.

I'd like to talk to him, though. Fancy that. What a turn up!

# Toodle-lum-a-lum-a Toodle-lum-a-lum-a Toodle-aye-ay

# Any umber-ellas Any umber-ellas to fix today?

# Bring your parasol It may be small, it may be big

# He repairs them all With what you call a thingummyjig

# Pitter-patter-patter Pitter-patter-patter It looks like rain

# Let it pitter-patter Let it pitter-patter Don't mind the rain... #

Watch the bar, you fool! Then YOU watch your tongue!

Face the other way...please.

Thank you.

# He'll mend your umbrella... #

'Those two up there. One facing in, one facing out.

'Standard intelligence tactics. What's going on? Watch yourself. Watch!'

# When there's a lull And things are dull... #

Come on! Let him have it!

The barman's winkin' at me. He thinks I'm a nancy! Let him have it!

# He mends anything But he'd rather sing!

# Toodle-lum-a-lum-a Toodle-aye-ay... #

Toodle-lum-a-lum-a.

# ..to fix today? Patch up your troubles... #

SILENCED GUNSHOTS

REGINALD: ' "His fingers...clawed... st-stiffly towards...his neck.

' "Blood...jerked...'

"..and...spurted..." Bloody hell!

SCREAMS AND MORE GUNSHOTS

SHOUTING

TYRES SQUEAL

Too late. No, no! On time. What?

Visitors, Reginald. Visiting time. You can put that book away now.

They shoot the wrong one. What? ..Oh, in that bloody book! Put it away!

The hordes are upon us.

You can smell the outside world on their shoes, eh? Eh, my boy?

SHE WHISTLES

Hello.

I was beginning a dream. Drifting away.

-Unanchored.

-Where to?

-School. Back to school.

God. One of those.

Yeah, one of those.

-THOSE dreams! I'm always asked the capital of Iceland, and I never know.

-Reykjavik.

-Never know in the DREAM.

-What're you doing here?

-Punishing myself.

You look very...nice.

-Don't say it like that.

-Like what?

-Well...like I'm your enemy or like something the cat brought in.

-It's not my imagination.

-What?

-You are DEFINITELY up to something.

-Good old Philip.

-And it must involve money!

-Go on. This is fascinating.

-MY money!

-You haven't got any!

Not in cash. Not in your foldable portraits of Her Majesty, no. Nor in coins.

But I DO have assets.

-Your flat.

-My flat.

-A damp basement. That is very fashionable(!)

-And my work!

-Oh...yes, of course.

-My four detective stories.

-Yes.

-Three of which are out of print.

-And...the screenplay.

-What screenplay?

Bingo!

-What are you talking about?

-The dot on every "i", the curl on each comma!

-Come again?

-With my buckled hands!

-Philip!

-D'you think I could forget a thing like that?

OK, it was ten years ago I wrote that screenplay. I was on holiday.

I had cantilevered heels.

Well, I wouldn't know, would I? It was ages before you met ME.

What screenplay was this?

The Singing Detective.

That's it! All done!

About time, too.

-The Singing Detective. An original screenplay by...

-Mark Finney!

It's AGES since I did any typing.

This gadget. You'd think it could pour a drink...or answer back.

-Uh-uh, that's MY job. D'you want a drink?

-Why not!

Now we've got it safely on disk, we can shred that old shoe box and print off copies. Ice?

Ice.

NICOLA HUMS "The Umbrella Man"

-Now we deliver.

-AND collect.

But you MUST get Marlow to sign the option with my company.

An absolute essential. First things first.

One, he signs with ME. Two, I sell it to Metro Films. Three, net profit - over £500,000.

Cheers. Not bad, eh?

Cheers!

-He's got to sign.

-I know.

-Nicola...

Can't you be nicer to him? You know...sweeter. Promise more. All that stuff.

-Hitch up my skirt, do you mean?

-Oh, Nicola.

-All right, all right. But you've no idea how difficult he can be.

-See him this evening. Be nice, hmm?

NICOLA'S VOICE: 'What are you talking about? What screenplay was this?'

The Singing Detective.

-Really?!

-Mmm.

And I put it in a shoebox in the cupboard in the flat.

Oh, THAT!

-Ohh...

-My God. Yes, that.

-If it's the pages I think you mean, you threw them out. Ages ago.

-I

-threw them out?!

-Yeah. If it's the one...

Yes! The one in the shoebox.

-The one in the shoebox?

-You know very well you did. What IS all this?

Oh, well... Easy come, easy go.

-Was it the only copy?

-Of course.

Never mind, eh?

Jesus.

-What?

-The way you sit.

The way you...

-No. Those are song lyrics, almost.

-You and your songs.

Yeah, well... Banality with a beat.

Will it hurt if I squeeze?

-Yeah, well...

-Poor old sod.

But there's... You ARE improving.

-In what, though?

-Your skin.

The way you move your head.

-I can see a big improvement.

-Except...

-Except what?

-I'm going mad.

Come on. What do you mean?

I'm going off my head. Bonkers.

A candidate for the funny farm. Cuckoo. Nuts. Bananas is what I mean. Got it?

Do you want to talk about it, or...?

-Sex!

-What?

-That's what it's all about. Sex and lies!

You've been stuck with your own thoughts too long.

-I want to sleep with you again.

-Philip...

-With a mirror alongside.

-Listen to me...

So that I can turn my head while I'm doing it, and leer at myself.

And when it spurts out of me, I can come off your sticky loins and spit in my own face!

My GOD, Philip!

-Well, it's an improvement.

-What?!

-Spitting at ME, my own reflection.

-Few weeks ago my idea of happiness would be to spit into YOUR face.

-Christ Almighty!

-Yes. And HIM, too.

-What are you going to do about all these feelings?

-I dunno.

Write serious literature, I suppose. Or piss into the wind, like poets and priests do.

Who are those two?

-Who ARE they?

-Well, I don't know! Why do they bother you?

-Paranoia.

-What?

-I'm totally paranoid.

-You have everything going for you, then, haven't you(?)

(People are beginning to notice us. They are looking at us.

(Let 'em. They're all sick. Do you reckon that's him?

< (The nurse said so.)

Are you going over? What? When he's with HER?!

We can't stand here. Why not?! That's all we ever do.

< That's all we're asked to do. Stand around like spare pricks.

Let's do something. Like what? Need any help?

(Do we?) Thank you, Miss. No. We've seen all we wish to see. For the moment.

Let's go.

We'd, uh...better...go.

Ah!

Oi!

Nurse!

-Yes?

-Who are those two? Do you know?

-No idea.

-But they're very peculiar. >

-In what way?

Strange people come into hospitals. Usually after the drugs.

I knew there was something weird about them.

-Why were they so interested in ME?

-They weren't.

-They stared at me.

-Well...perhaps.

-Don't humour me.

-No, no.

< I'LL hold the beaker.

Just drink this... That's it!

No, don't spit it out.

< That's it. A little drop more.

-< Mr Tomkey!

-It's a thrill a minute in here(!)

Can't we get you out of here? Now that you've got money coming in.

-Money?!

-You were right, of course.

There was more to it than I...implied. Sorry.

-Go on.

-I thought I'd go and clean your flat. The plants were all dead.

-Good.

-There was mould on... God, Philip! The way you live.

-You opened my letters, right?

-Most were from Reader's Digest.

-My prize numbers! They're assets!

-And, yes...there was this letter.

-About The Singing Detective?

-From this production company.

-Who?

-New people, Featherwheel.

-Who runs it?

-Man called Finney.

-Know him?

-Never heard of him.

-You don't sound sure.

-I AM.

-In what context have you never heard of him?

-A money context.

They're theatre "angels", trying to move into films.

-You have this letter?

-I have it with me.

-And it checks out?

-So it SEEMS.

-And I'll get some money straight away?

-So it SAYS.

-Who'll do the screenplay?

-Finney himself.

-Ohhh...(!)

They all think they can write. Every little bleeder who can hold a pen!

-My advice is to take the money and run.

-Maybe you're right.

-I AM.

I didn't expect to see you again.

Well, I...I don't want to leave.

No...I do and I don't.

Fidelity's not your strong suit, is it?

No, I'm not trying to be nasty.

I miss you...sort of.

-What?!

-No...

I DO. Much to my surprise.

Hey!

Come here.

-What?

-Um...

Could we close these curtains?

-What for?

-Guess!

They wouldn't let us close them.

Well, then, get better. Quickly!

-Nicola, what's going on?

-What do you mean?

-Why are you being so nice?

-Oh... Change of policy.

-Yes, but WHY?

-Oh, don't start all that again!

-No. All right.

-You did it? Question mark.

-I did it! Exclamation mark.

-He signed? Question mark.

-He signed! Exclamation mark.

Oh, comma, aren't you the clever one - dash! Exclamation mark.

Oh, he's a morbid creature! Exclamation mark.

Oh, he's a morbid creature and he thinks I'm going back to him.

-YOUNG PHILIP:

-'What's him a'doing?

'What's him a'doing to our mam?

'Mam!

'Mam! Mam!'

SONIA: 'I mean, how long does it take?'

It's only a bit of fun, innit?

MRS MARLOW SOBS

The rain, it falls. The sun, it shines. The wind blows. And that's what it's like.

We are buffeted by things, and it's got NOTHING to do with YOU.

Someone you love leaves or dies. You get ill or you get better.

You grow old and you remember, or you forget.

And all the time there's this canopy over you.

-What canopy?

-Things as they are!

Fate. FATE - impersonal, irrational, disinterested.

The rain falls. The sun shines. The wind blows.

A bus mounts a pavement and kills a little child, and...

I believe in no systems, no ideologies, no religion. I simply think...

Oh, this is very, very boring.

I think that from time to time we are visited by what we cannot know, cannot control,

cannot CANNOT understand, cannot cannot cannot escape...FATE!

Why not? It's a good old word.

-Accident.

-What?

You say fate, I say accident.

You can call it what you like. Either way, there's sod all you can do about it, right?

Progress.

-Depends on where you're standing when the bomb falls.

-No, YOU.

-The way you move when you talk some especially urgent gibberish.

-Ta(!)

-And your skin is genuinely responding.

-Ye-e-es.

-Yes!

That's something biochemical. Nothing to do with my MIND.

-Have you tried to stand?

-Who'd vote for me?

-To stand UP.

Yes.

-And?

-I fell down.

-Have you held a pen?

-Yes.

-AND?

-I wrote a whole word.

-Oh, well done!

Yes, a whole word - four whole letters!

That may not seem much, four letters...

Oh, I see. A four-letter word.

-Not very sharp. I imagined you striking matches on your thumbnail.

-I would use a lighter.

-Hurt, are we?

-You might just have a point.

-Don't be ashamed.

What interests me is the disproportionate pleasure

-that you get out of it.

-Different strokes for different folks.

-There's physical progress.

-Yes.

-But are you still disappointed in things as they are?

Not a bit. "Things as they are" are no concern of mine.

You object to the word "things"?

I object to lots of words.

-Such as?

-Such as..."loitering".

Another.

-What?

-Another word you dislike.

-Oh, goody. Games(!)

-If you like.

-Word games?

-If you like.

-Like Scrabble?

-No, I say a word, and YOU...

-I say a word I associate with it.

-Instantly.

-Nescafe!

-No, we haven't started yet. No, YOU have to respond instantly without hesitation.

-But I DID.

-Doctor...

-Charlatan.

Look, if we're going to do this we have to...

-We have to agree it has no diagnostic value.

-Fine.

Judge.

Wall.

-Blank.

-Will.

-Bard.

-Black.

-Magic.

-Comb.

-Honey.

-Blonde.

-Honey.

-Money.

-Shit.

-Fish.

-Jesus.

-God.

-Doctor.

Guardian.

-Misprint.

-Sun.

-Trash.

-You.

-Me.

-Me.

-Tarzan.

-Legs.

-Eleven.

-Arms.

-Bombs.

-Hands.

-Clap.

-Clap.

-Promiscuity.

-Loose.

-Tight.

-Free.

-Gift.

-Fair.

-Bus.

-Train.

-Puff.

-Queen.

-Poof.

-King.

-Check.

-Young.

-Green.

-Old.

-Cliff Richard.

-Fly.

-Crash.

-Float.

-Hook.

-Dream.

-Wake.

-Sleep.

-Lie.

-Politician.

-Lie.

-Tale.

-Lie.

-Writer.

-Liar.

-Sentence.

-Prison.

-Cage.

-School.

Light.

Cigarette.

-Lung.

-Fish.

-Evasion.

-Tax.

-Duty.

-Humbug.

-Cant.

-Can.

-Tin.

-Tack.

-Nail.

-Cross.

-Passion.

-Pretence.

-Woman.

-Fuck.

-Fuck.

-Dirt.

-Dirt.

-Death.

-Start.

Stop.

-The game.

-D'you think so?

That's what YOU called it. And we agreed.

-No diagnostic value.

-None at all. None whatsoever.

-I mean, it's words. Just words.

-Just words.

I don't think I'll come here again.

-No?

-No.

-Why is that?

# Toodle-lum-a-lum-a Toodle-lum-a-lum-a Toodle-aye-ay... #

-'Duty.

-Humbug.

-Cant.

-Can.

-Tin.

-Tack.

-Nail.

-Cross.'

-Passion.

-Pretence.

-Woman.

-Fuck.

-Fuck.

-Dirt.

-Dirt.

-Death.

KNOCK AT DOOR

-Still needin' assistance?

-Afraid so.

-Ahh, tomatoes.

-What?

-You still eatin' them tomatoes?

-Oh, no, no.

Stay off them. It's the pips.

I hears you!

He's back, Reginald. The scribe. He's returned to this paradise, the oasis of his pit(!)

The loudmouth. Your bloody so-called author.

You'd never think it, would you? Not in a million years.

When will I ever again have an intelligent conversation?

He don't look like a writer. No, he don't.

Just shows. > What does it show?

Shall I go over and talk to him?

Like you do with ME? Dazzle him(?)

No, tell him how I like his book.

Ask him how it ends, for God's sake.

And how soon.

-'Cross.

-Passion.

-'Pretence.

-Woman.

-'Fuck.

-Fuck.

-'Dirt.

-Dirt.

-Death.'

Knock...knock...knock.

GIBBON: ' "Mouth sucking wet and slack at mouth,

' "tongue chafing against tongue, limb thrusting upon limb, skin rubbing at skin.

' "Faces contort and stretch into a helpless leer.

' "Organs spurt out smelly stains and sticky betrayals.

' "This is the sweaty farce out of which we are brought into being.

' "Welcome."

'Who are you opening your legs for now, you rutting bitch?!

'Doesn't it disgust you, what you do? Being paid to stretch out and let a stranger enter you?

'You disgusting tramp!'

The river looks as though it's made of tar. Sludging along. Full of filth.

'You filthy little slut! You disgusting tramp!

'You heartless two-bit rutting whore, Nicola...!'

GASPING BREATHS

I'm sorry. It wasn't really ME calling you names.

I don't mean them.

I don't WANT to do it. It's just that afterwards I almost always feel...

It's nothing personal.

Takes all sorts. What you covered up for?

Something wrong with you?

The river looks as if...

-The river...

-What about it?

The river looks as if it's full of tar. Sludging along. Full of filth.

What d'you expect, Badedas?

Doesn't it disgust you, what you do?

Depends on who I do it with.

Being paid to stretch yourself out and let a stranger enter you.

-You expect me to do it for nothin'?

-Of course not.

I mean, how long does it take?

-Do you really believe that?

-Oh, Christ, that's what you wanted.

Yeah.

GUITAR MUSIC STARTS

# You always hurt... #

Roll on, Pop, eh? Roll on.

# The one you shouldn't hurt at all

# You always take

# The sweetest rose

# And crush it

# Till the petals fa-a-all

# You always break the kindest heart

# With a hasty word you can't recall

# So if I broke your heart last night

# It's because I love you most of a-a-a-all

# You always hurt

# The one you love

# The one you shouldn't hurt at a-a-a-all

# You always take

# The sweetest rose

# And crush it till the petals fa-a-a-all...

# You always break the kindest heart

# With a hasty word you can't recall

# So-o-o-o-o-o If I broke your heart last night

# It's because I love you most of a-a-a-a-all

# You always hurt

# The one you love

# The one you shouldn't hurt at a-a-a-a-all

# You always take

# The sweetest rose

# Crush it till the petals fa-a-a-a-all... #

No! No, listen...

# ..You always break

# The kindest heart

# With a hasty word

# You can't recall

# So-o-o-o-o-o-o

# If I broke your heart last night

# It's because I love you most of a-a-a-a-all. #

-There's a good boy.

-Mam...?

Looking after your mother, eh?

-Hasn't worked out, has it?

-What?

-You don't like it here, durst?

"Do you", not "durst"!

But you don't like it, durst?

You're a very stubborn boy.

Aye. I be.

-Well, I don't know where you get it from.

-Our dad.

-No.

-OUR DAD.

I wish you DID. I wish he had it to give.

But he's not made that way, Philip.

Don't you know that?

-When's him a'coming, Mam? When's our dad gonna come?

-I don't know. I'm not sure.

-I want to go home. Back to our dad. Back to them trees.

-Sod the trees!

Oh, no! The oak and the elm and the beech and the ash.

-The oak and the elm and the beech and the ash.

-Philip!

The oak and the elm and...

-D'you want a smack?! Stop it, I said!

-My arm do hurt.

-Oh, come on!

-Caught me on my sore!

-Your what?

-On me arm, mind.

-Let me see.

-Ain't nothin'.

-Let me see!

When did THIS happen?

-Did you bump into something?

-Dunno.

I'll put something on that when we get back.

-Better show our dad. Better show this arm to our dad.

-God's sake!

Don't keep on! Don't keep on! Once and for all...

Shut up about it. SHUT UP!

-When's him a'coming?

-He's NOT!

Mam...why? Why, Mam?

Philip...listen to me.

-Listen to me.

-Is it because of what that bloke did to you in the woods?

-What?!

-That stuff wi' Mr Binney.

-Raymond Binney. Mark's dad!

-What stuff?!

-Him on top of tha!

-What?!

-Shaggin'.

Oh, Philip.

Shaggin'!

Philip!

Philip! Philip, come back!

PHILIP! PHILIP!

'PHILIP!'

PHILIP!

PHILIP!

-Who killed her, then?

-What?

Who?

That tart they pulled out the river.

-What are you talking about?

-Your book!

Christ! A reader!

-Yeah.

-You come under the Protection of Endangered Species Act.

-What's that? Wit, is it?

Oh, no, not that. No fear.

-Both of us in here... You wrote it and I'm readin' it. It's funny, eh?

-Hilarious.

-It's good.

-Thanks.

-Very good.

-Thank you.

-Can tell you're a writer.

-How?

All that effin' and blindin'.

Writers who once knew better words Now only use four-letter words.

-Do they?

-The song.

-Oh, yeah.

-Anything Goes.

-Not 'alf!

Well, it's the day and the age.

-You're not goin' to tell me, eh?

-Tell you?

-Who put her in the river.

-A swine.

-Which one? There's lots in your book.

You'll find out by reading it.

-Yeah. ..Well, all the best, then.

-Same to you.

-We'll chat again, eh?

-Yes, I like literary discussions.

-Right, then.

-Thank you.

I'll bet you lie there all day thinking of murdering people, eh?

Yes.

Yes, I do.

REGINALD: 'Who killed her, then?

'Her in the river. That tart they dragged out the river.'

PHILIP'S TEACHER: 'Who did it, mmm? WHO?'

Who did it? Tell me. There's a good boy.

Mark Binney, Miss. It was Mark.

No, Miss. It wasn't!

-It was Mark. I saw him.

-No, Miss. Not ME.

-Are you SURE you saw him?

-Yes, Miss.

-No, him couldn't have!

-QUITE sure?

-I didn't!

-Yes, Miss.

-How did you see him? Where were YOU?

-Door.

-What?

-Standin' at the door.

-Doing WHAT?

-I came back a'ter school.

-What for?

-To put another flag up.

-To do what?

-Berlin, Miss!

-What?

-The Russians be there now. They be smashin' through.

Well, NEARLY there, yes.

I wanted to stick their flag up... Anyway, I came back. There him was.

-I saw him.

-Him couldn't have. It wasn't ME, Miss.

-What did you see? What was he doing?

-Pooping, Miss.

-I wasn't.

-Quiet!

-Philip, that is NOT the right word.

-He was doin' his number two on the table, Miss.

I didn't. I didn't!

Mark Binney...

Come out to the front!

-Come here, boy!

-Miss...

-Philip, you may go back to your desk for now.

-Yes, Miss.

Thank you, Philip.

It warn't ME, Miss! Honest!

We'll see about that, won't we?

We're going to find out, aren't we?

We're going to find out, even if it takes us the rest of the day!

'It warn't me, Miss. Honest, Miss. Honest!'

You see? ..Reginald!

< They always turn THAT way first. Nine times out of ten!

Is it fair?! ..Reginald!

DO YOU think it's fair?

Tea, coffee or Ovaltine?

-Gone deaf, have we?

-Sorry. What?

-Well, which is it?

-Coffee.

-Ple-e-e-ease.

-Coffee, ple-e-e-ease!

-You'll soon be able to use an ordinary cup.

-Will I(?)

-If you try harder.

-Ple-e-e-ease!

-What?!

-Say ple-e-e-ease.

Tea, coffee or Ovaltine?

Kuh...kuh...kuh...

Kuh-kuh... We'll have Ovaltine!

Oh!

Say ple-e-e-ease!

Ah...ah...ah... Oh, never mind.

Ah...ah...ah...

Ah...!

ARSEHOLE!

Amused, are we? It's funny.

What is? This bit.

< Tea, coffee or Ovaltine?

I thought it was a thriller. It IS.

Well, then. That tart in the river...

Who? In the book.

Yes?! It's not her at all.

Say no more. I've got the COMPLETE picture. It all makes sense(!)

GENTLE SNORING, MONITOR BEEPS

'You think I fell for THAT?

'SHE thinks I fell hook, line and sinker.

'And look what'll happen. Look what I'll do.

'Rot her thieving, narrow, poisonous soul!'

SOFTLY: Nurse?

Nurse?

< Nu-u-u-urse.

Nurse.

Please...Nu-u-u-u-urse.

Big fat dopey bitch. You stupid cow, I shall mess myself!

Gawd... Nu-u-u-u-urse!

Wake up, please. Please wake up. There's a darling. There's a love.

You sodding bitch! You cow! You fat cow!

NURSE!

(Here! Over here! Here!)

Why aren't you asleep? Sorry. I need the bed-pan.

Can't you get it yourself? I mustn't get up. Cardiac.

Please, I need it. The contraption. I need it badly. Heart trouble, eh?

Yes!

What? What's the matter?

See what you done? You woke them up!

I'll get it for you. No need to make all this noise.

Well, I'm...I'm sorry, but I...

What the hell's goin' on? It's YOU. YOU, my boy!

What? You were grinding your teeth.

< Like rocks being rubbed together. What?

Christ, hurry up.

Night Nurse is very angry with you, and I'll tell you something - she is not one to make angry!

She's completely off her rocker.

I tell you, she's round the bend. Look at her eyes.

LIGHT SNORING < Reginald?

Reginald?

'All shall be well. And all shall be well.

'And all manner of things shall be well.'

We... We should not have run.

What else could we do?

How have we...?

Why...why HERE?

What are we doin' HERE?

BIRD SCREECHES

GUNSHOT

Perhaps we're... I mean, perhaps we... The question IS... >

The question IS... Tell me.

Will we be able to see the wood for the trees?

Here? I don't think so.

MR MARLOW: Philip! Where be'est, Philip?

Come on, old buddy! > Everybody's lookin' for him. Everywhere!

PHILIP! > The bugger!

Philip! Oh, the bugger!

Philip?

Why doesn't tha answer, Philip?

What's the matter, old buddy?

PHILIP!

Where be'est, Philip?

PHILIP!

Subtitles by Ewan Angus BBC Scotland 1986