FOGHORN BELLOWS
- Evening, Vincent. - Ronnie.
Beautiful spot.
I guess, if you like big metal boxes.
Oh, I do.
All these different coloured boxes carrying goods across the world.
You know, I look at those containers and do you know what I see?
Good places to store bodies.
Very funny, although they really are.
No, I see bunts, young Vincent.
They're like lucky dips bags, you never know what's inside
until you break into one and then nick it.
Well, I'm sure you didn't drag me all the way out here to romanticise
some rusty fucking crates, Ronnie.
How's business?
Figures are down again this month, but I've got it under control.
My rival's had an opening month bump, nothing more.
- Won't happen again. - I hope not, Vincent.
Otherwise I might be forced to give you a tour of the inside
of one of these rusty fucking crates.
OK, now the pep talk's out the way, I need a favour.
- What is it? - It's my boy, Ronnie Junior.
Let's just say he's been having a few issues
in the employment market.
I need you to take him on at Cachet.
It's not exactly convenient timing.
Oh, it is for me.
Lyndsey's been banging my earhole about getting him a job,
and obviously I can't have him working alongside me
in the family business.
- You want to protect him? - No, no, no.
It's, um, how can I put this? It's more, he's...
He's just fucking strange.
What can you do, eh?
Unconditional love can be a terrible burden.
Great.
- Do I get a choice? - Of course.
You can say yes, or you can spend the next eight weeks
in that yellow container up there being shipped to South America.
HE WHISTLES
Junior, come and meet Vincent.
He's your new mentor.
Pleased to meet you, Junior.
It's RJ to everyone else.
Have you done any sales before, RJ?
There is nothing you can teach me that I do not already know.
- Oh, good. - Right,
I see you two are going to get on like a house on fire.
Already starting to feel like a right gooseberry.
So, see you lovebirds later.
MUSIC: Church Of The Poison Mind by Culture Club
Sync & corrections by emeline-whovian www.addic7ed.com
More charred meat, girls.
I'd go for the sausages, if I were you.
Unfortunately this isn't a dream sequence.
No, there's no waking up from the living nightmare
that is little prick's annual staff barbecue.
Silencio, silencio, por favor. Gracia, muchas gracias.
Exciting times here at Millman Young.
Hopefully this little shindig goes some way to saying thank you,
not just to my colleagues, but to the wonderful wives
and partners who help support and nourish my team.
So, thank you, ladies.
Thank you, ladies.
Now, I'm just going to talk shop for one moment longer.
I am delighted to announce
that we are going to promote Sam Swan
to a position in the sales advertising team.
Congratulations, Sam.
- You deserve it, sweetheart. - Hear, hear.
Congratulations, my darling.
Now, can everyone get back to eating barbecue and bitching about me
behind my back.
Vincent, it's great to have you here.
Actually, what Andrew said when he first planned this barbecue
was, "I have to invite Vincent.
"I don't want to, but I have to."
Listen, I know we've had our differences but I'm really
- glad you came. - Wouldn't miss it for the world.
- Patronising little prick. - Vincent, stop.
Right.
Are we are ready for the fifth annual Millman Young
World Cup of ping-pong?
SHOUTS OF ENCOURAGEMENT
Oh, this day just gets fucking better and better.
Right, gang, time to get serious.
This year we're playing mixed doubles, not spouses together
because I will not be held responsible for any divorce proceedings.
So the pairings are as follows.
Sally and Chris, Melinda and Bob, Bess and Jim, Sam and myself,
Vincent and Pat, June and Martin, Ann and Alan, Angela and Norman.
- Who's Pat? - I am.
You are going to have to do most of the work, I'm afraid.
Well, the upside of doing a stint in borstal,
Patrick, is it's like a crash course in table tennis. Come on.
♪ Here I am ♪
♪ Rock you like a hurricane ♪
♪ Are you ready, baby? ♪
♪ Here I am ♪
♪ Rock you like a hurricane. ♪
My borstal bat skills just about made up for my partner
being so close to death's door that he could play knock-down ginger on it.
Eventually I dragged the dead weight of Pat all the way to the final,
which pitted me against my wife and the world's most
competitive garden gnome.
The score was 20-17, which gave them three match points.
If the table's too high,
I don't mind you using a stepladder to serve.
I won't be needing that, thank you.
Go on, Sam.
OK, OK.
- Sorry. - 20-18.
20-19.
When you get a chance, you've got to take it, Sam.
Vincent's fucking serving now.
- Sorry. - You had the chance, Sam.
I'm sorry.
Stop apologising and take responsibility for it.
OK, I will, I promise, I'll do better next time, yeah?
If there is a next time.
Yes, that's it.
Give me some skin.
For fuck's sake, sorry, Pat, mate.
You useless bastard.
I'm sorry if I got a little bit spiky just then.
No, you didn't. Honestly, it's fine, forget about it.
I have to admit, you were pretty sensational today.
Every once in awhile, Samantha, you've got to take one
- for the team. - Mmm.
What I was thinking, it's only fair that if you get to take
one for the team, then so should I.
Now, come on, Vincent Swan, I need you to be the bigger man
one last time today.
What's wrong, baby?
I'm sorry, Pat, I've just got a lot on my mind.
- Walshie. - Sort of.
If that sneaky bitch he's got selling for him keeps
stealing our business, I'm not going to hit my target this month.
Well, at least money is not as much of a worry,
now we've got the two salaries and I'm getting a raise.
And so, it seems, is Mr Winky.
He certainly is.
Don't worry.
I'll have this situation under control soon.
I managed to set a little trap and Walshie's golden girl is walking
straight into it.
What kind of a trap?
The sweetest kind.
A honey trap.
And guess which sap was the honey?
As part of his quest to become more ruthless in sales,
Lavender jumped at the opportunity.
It also didn't hurt that the bee in this particular honey trap
was hotter than Satan's arsehole after a vindaloo.
Hiya. It's Jo, isn't it?
You ran the peak performance seminar I went to.
Sorry, I'm Martin Lavender, Cachet Windows.
Ah, Mr Be-More-Assertive. How are you doing, Martin?
I just want to say
you really completely transformed my whole approach to sales.
In fact, I honestly wouldn't be selling at all any more
if it wasn't for you.
Shot myself in the foot, then.
I know you're working, I just wanted to say thanks.
- Where are you heading? - Hot lead, number eight.
The Talbots.
Sneaky two-timing bastards.
Oh, double bookers.
How do you want to handle this?
- All yours. - Really?
- Absolutely. - Oh, thank you.
Well, then, I feel like I failed as a sales coach.
Also I was hoping my tiny act of generosity might get my foot
in the door for a bigger opportunity.
OK, now you've got me interested, Martin.
What's the bigger prize?
Dinner tonight?
Yeah, all right.
I'm married to a sexist dinosaur.
What?
The fact you don't see how incredibly wrong this is
is even more disturbing than dreaming it up in the first place.
What I do know is that if you don't hurry up and get back on board,
Mr Dipply O'Dickus here will soon become extinct.
It's not funny, Vincent.
The poor girl.
Not to mention Martin.
Yeah, I'm sure that furious, hot sex with a beautiful woman is tough.
And there it is.
The cherry on top of this passion-killing cake.
She's beautiful, is she?
That's not what I meant.
Goodnight, Vincent.
And just as my mojo was rising again, Sam had me on a sex ban.
Something that I was wishing Ronnie's wife had done to him
24 years ago.
Boysies, this is Ronnie Junior.
I'll stop you there. It's RJ. Continue.
He'll be working with us from today.
RJ, Fitzpatrick and Lavender will train you up,
- take you out, show you the ropes. - As I said, I won't need training.
Have fun.
Lavender here went to university.
Thought he knew it all when he first turned up.
Turns out, the only thing he learned to transfer to sales
was how to identify various sexually-transmitted diseases.
It's a steep learning curve, mate.
Well, I imagine it's mainly strategy and psychology,
in which case it's highly likely I'll know it all already.
Oh, lovely, did you do psychology?
No.
History?
No, look, I don't want to brag.
I'm sure it won't be taken as bragging.
Fine.
I'm in the top-five players worldwide at Stratego.
What the fuck is Stratego?
It's an advanced strategy turn-based board game.
Oh, right, well,
unfortunately most of our customers are above the age of eight,
so I doubt they'll be impressed by that.
And even though this is a much lowlier arena
than the one in which I would normally compete,
it's highly likely I'll have something to teach each of you.
All right, well, let's start you off with something simple.
- How about some teas? - Go on, then. White, two sugars.
Oh, yeah, OK.
MUSIC: I Just Can't Get Enough by Depeche Mode
We quickly found out why Ronnie wasn't overly keen to integrate
Junior into the family business.
So, we have established five different ways in which your life
could be immeasurably improved by having new windows, yeah?
Yeah, but honestly, we can't do it for the money, Brian.
Look, I've never done this before
and it goes completely against protocol,
but I could try and get you what is called our VIP rates.
- Would it be OK if I use your phone? - Yeah, of course.
OK, well, I'll leave you with my colleague, RJ.
Yeah. Well, boss, you know, I wouldn't be asking if I hadn't
already closed six deals today.
Yeah, I'm on a streak and the Greenwoods, they're good people.
You know, I've purchased all sorts of crap in my life.
None of it has made me happy.
You know what Sir John Betjeman's great regret was before he died?
Not enough sex.
And that's something you don't even have to pay for...
..all the time.
Really? Well, we've never gone that low.
Uh-huh.
Right, we're not comfortable with the direction this has gone in.
- What? - Your colleague is very, very strange.
And it wasn't just on the road that RJ was proving a liability.
Excuse me, could I ask a question about conservatories?
In a minute, I'm still on a throw.
♪ I just can't get enough ♪
♪ I just can't get enough. ♪
RJ, what the fuck? You're supposed to be looking after the showroom.
This is a critical phase of battle, I cannot operate with distractions.
- And who's she? - She's got a name.
Susie, and I'm here cos RJ offered me a job.
She'll be my assistant. She's great with figures.
Don't you work in the Flying Horse?
- I did. - You still do.
Come on, out.
Out!
Ridiculous.
How am I supposed to close a deal whilst I'm nursemaiding
that charmless freak?
I would say he is insane.
Well, I'm sorry, we can't get rid of him.
He's Ronnie's son, which makes him like royalty.
Like one of those weird inbred princes that grow up
to be really fucking dangerous?
- Are you thinking of fairy tales? - I'm thinking of Prince Edward.
Lavender, what have you dug up on the opposition so far?
As far as I can see, she just seems to work very hard
- and have a bloodhound's nose for a sale. - That's it?
We could have got that from her fucking CV, mate.
I don't want to push too hard too soon.
You're not taking a fucking shit, you're spying on a rival.
See, boss, I told you, you should have sent me in as bait.
Yeah, the only problem being, you don't land a prize catch like Jo
with a maggot like him.
Just come up with something pronto
to stop her stealing our fucking business
before Prince Bellend's dad decides to send me to Venezuela.
- You mean Coventry? - I wish I did.
Speak of the devil.
My car keys?
- Thanks, where were they? - I just took it for a spin.
You might want to get the gear knob looked at,
it comes right off in your hand when you try and shift across to third.
It's an automatic.
Oh, yeah, that makes sense.
Can I get a beer?
♪ I know what it means to work hard... ♪
You left something in the toilet.
It's not mine.
Shit!
Ha!
- Would you look at that? - What is it?
It's little Donna.
Brendan's daughter, Donna.
Didn't you once take some seedy photos of her for her dad?
I think what you meant to ask was,
didn't I launch that little cracker's modelling career? And, yes, I did.
Oh, it's nice seeing her all grown up, isn't it?
Not really, it's massively creepy.
She's still not old enough to buy alcohol.
What's creepier? Page 3 or you trying to censor innocent pictures
of the human body?
It's definitely the one where schoolgirls are paid
to bear their breasts for dirty old men.
Carol, do you have any problem whatsoever with Page 3?
Well, it is always in the newspapers so I suppose they have to report it.
Thank you.
A bit of common sense.
And she's a woman.
But it is sexist.
Yeah... Thank you, Carol.
We should invite this local Lolita down to the shop,
might even attract some customers to this morgue you call a showroom.
All right, RJ, you stick to Cluedo.
Let the big boys sell the windows.
That's not a terrible idea.
I mean, Donna is a national sweetheart, albeit a topless one.
Imagine the publicity if we got her down for a meet and greet.
I like it, Lavatory.
You're starting to think like me.
Thanks for seeing me.
Let me start by saying how thrilled we are to have played
a small but vital role in Donna's success.
Now, I know we've had our differences in the past
and I'd just like to say that, first and foremost,
I've always considered you a mate.
That's lovely to hear that, Brian.
And seeing that it's you and Vincent, I'm prepared to offer you
my one-time mate's rate of... £1,000 for the afternoon.
Oh.
Seems a bit steep... mate.
Usually we charge 500, but like I said I am doing
you a special mate's rate.
In light of our past.
You're fucking joking.
You take it or leave it...
...you rat-faced wee prick.
I guess I'll start with a positive.
Didn't find any soft porn in the toilet today.
However, I did find semen on the sink.
No, I'm not pointing the finger, but just in case anyone
new here is under any doubt, that's not fucking on.
I wondered where that went, cheers.
Mystery solved.
While I remember, I've got some expenses need paying.
- What's all this? - Corporate entertainment.
- Entertainment for what? - Myself.
It's very boring working here all day,
so in the evenings I have to entertain myself.
Right, RJ, I want you down the printer's,
we need a thousand copies of this, mate, pronto.
What is it?
Very nice. Tasteful yet risque.
Are you sure making the flyer transparent was the smartest idea?
It's not transparent, numb nuts, it's the film the printers
need to run the flyers off.
Look, Sam has put her neck on the line getting this done for us.
So keep your greasy paws off it.
She's got quite the enigmatic smile.
Maybe she spotted your enigmatic stiffy.
Oh, my God, that is disgusting.
Oh, grow up.
All of you.
None of us would be here if our fathers' penises
didn't engorge with blood when we needed them to.
What are you still doing here?
Get to the fucking printer's.
But before RJ could complete our delivery,
he needed to take care of his own package first.
♪ Tha-tha-tha-tha that's the way Uh-huh, uh-huh, I like it ♪
♪ Uh-huh, uh-huh ♪
♪ That's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh ♪
♪ That's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh... ♪
Do you think you could save it?
Should be able to reconstruct the lettering. What did it say?
Catch-it Windows?
What about the phone number?
I think that's a one, that's another one.
Let's go with one, one, one, one.
While RJ was covering up his spunky tracks,
Lavender was trying to get Jo to unwrap a few secrets of her own.
Is there something wrong?
No, I just thought maybe we could talk for a change.
I mean, we barely know anything about each other.
All right, Michael Parkinson, what do you need to know
besides I like having sex and I like you?
How about we play a game?
I'm only interested if its hide the salami.
I'm serious.
It's an intimacy challenge.
We tell each other one thing secret about each other.
It can be anything at all, but it has to be something
- we've never told anyone. - OK, sounds interesting.
- Who's going first? - I'll kick off.
I once had an affair with a married woman.
My, Lavender, you dark horse.
Was it recent?
I'm not saying anything else about it. Your turn.
OK, my first orgasm was at a sleep-over
at my best friend's house.
It was also on her fingers.
- Jesus Christ, that's amazing. - No, not fair.
I just delivered a lesbian fingering fantasy.
I want something juicier from you.
- You went to a single-sex school, right? - So?
So, boys are curious at that age.
Any sexual experimentation? You know...
You scratch my dick, I'll scratch...
Sorry, the only penis that has been touched
- by these fair hands is my own. - OK, whose wife was it?
- I'm seriously not going there. - What a sniff scandal.
Right, I'm going to sing out some names to see how you react.
- Fitzpatrick. - Oh, come on.
- Walshie. - This is daft, no, I'm not doing this.
Vincent.
All right, I once wanked off a sixth former in the art studio at school.
I knew it, so weird.
Come here, you sexy wanker.
Is that the flyers?
Um, yeah.
RJ, what are these?
The flyers for Saturday's event.
That says "catch it".
- Yeah. - We're called Cachet. Cachet.
We can't use these, you haven't even put the address of the showroom on there.
And it's got the wrong fucking telephone number.
One, one, one, one, one, one, one. How did this happen?!
Look, nobody warned me not to spill ejaculate on the film.
Because nobody needs to be told that. Fucking hell.
Look, don't panic, OK?
This is the sort of problem-solving exercise I encounter in Stratego
all the time.
What, you get jizz all over the playing pieces?
Tell me, RJ, tell me how exactly Stratego is going to help us get
back the £500 you literally spunked away at the printer's.
Yeah, actually, do you boys mind taking the rap for this?
It's not the sort of thing
my dad would take any pleasure in hearing about.
In return for keeping schtum about his 500 quid fuck-up,
RJ agreed to go on a sales training course,
the Anglian Windows training course, to be more precise.
We made him promise to tell his dad that he was head-hunted,
so that was RJ out of our hair.
But we still had the disastrous Page 3 promotion to deal with.
Cancel the whole thing. It's a fucking waste of time.
It's not that simple,
we're cancelling within 48 hours, she'd expect paying.
- How much are we in for? - Another grand.
Are you pricks trying to get me killed by Ronnie?
Look, it'll be fine. I'll have a word with Donna,
tell her how things work in the real world.
I mean, this is Brendan's daughter we're talking about here.
Not Richard fucking Branson.
So, Donna. I can understand that feelings will be hurt,
but this is a business and I'm afraid the situation is
that you're not going to get paid.
It's a contract like any other, Brian.
On top of that, we have a first-rate legal team
of a major national newspaper behind us, which, I would imagine,
would take you into territory you can't afford.
So, yeah, I'll be taking that payment in full, please.
OK, sure.
- Morning, Brian. - Oh!
Jesus!
RJ, what are you doing here?
I thought you were sacked.
I mean, I thought you were training.
It look the course leader less than six minutes to ascertain
I was vastly overqualified.
I agreed and he gave me the week off.
It's a good call from him, to be fair.
I felt partially responsible for the printer mix-up the other day,
so I dived into Dad's Rolodex, made a few calls and,
well, what would you say if I could get a world champion
in their field down to the showroom this afternoon to put
in a personal appearance?
I'd say if it's a world champion in Stratego,
you can fuck off now.
You will have noticed I'm still here, Brian.
And joining me this afternoon will be none other than
Steve fucking Davis.
TV: It comes down to this final pink.
That's it, the World Snooker champion.
For once, RJ had managed to pull off something other than himself.
Steve Davis was managed by an old drinking pal of Ronnie Senior's,
a certain Mr Barry Hearn.
When RJ called, Barry just happened to be sitting down with Steve.
It turned out Steve was free that afternoon and RJ had just fluked
the 147 of lucky breaks.
Ladies and gentlemen, Steve Davis.
Can I have your autograph, please, Steve?
- There you are. - So what's it like playing at the Crucible?
Yeah, it's a good place to play snooker.
What's going through your head in a high-pressure shot?
Yeah, you know, I'm just trying my best to not miss.
Do you know any good trick shots?
Mate, I'm the king of trick shots.
But there's no table, so...
Right.
To be honest, I was surprised
because I normally do bookings at snooker clubs.
There's not really anything I can do here.
Thanks anyway, Steve.
Where is everyone?
I know we didn't have time to advertise,
but Steve Davis is quite impressive, right?
Until you actually meet the boring fucker.
Was it two sugars, Martin?
Oh, yeah, thanks, Steve.
Listen, I was thinking, seeing as it's quietened down,
would it be OK if I shot off a bit early?
No, it fucking wouldn't, Steve.
Is there sugar in that?
Oh, Brian, I'm sorry, I'll get you another one.
Oh, the love of my life.
Couldn't resist the allure of a snooker superstar.
Look, I warn you, he takes a bit of warming up.
I think that Page 3 girl you had booked is appearing
down at Walshie's new place. He's absolutely rammed.
Oh, that's where everyone is.
Unlucky, boys.
It looks like you've been beaten by the better woman.
A Page 3 promotion. Who's the sexist dinosaur now, then?
- That's still you. - Let's get over there.
Oh, where's everyone going?
Fucking rival firm has nicked our Page 3 promotion idea.
Oh, can I come?
No, sorry, someone needs to stick around here,
look after the showroom, Steve.
Ah! You'll have to join the sizeable queue if you're looking to sign up
for one of our Page 3 stunner deals, Vincent.
This was our fucking idea. This event is an infringement
- on our intellectual copyright. - Wrong, boys.
You men think you have the monopoly on using sex to sell?
Although to give you credit, you did stumble on the idea
of putting boobs in a showroom first,
by hiring this pair of tits - ha!
This is your fucking fault, Lavender.
You were supposed to be spying on her,
not tipping her off to our every fucking move.
Honestly, I didn't tell her anything.
Other than your avant-garde sixth-form studies.
This is low. I thought we had an agreement.
I understood you thought you'd flash your green eyes at me
and I'd start blabbing company secrets
- for you to carry back to your boss. - How could you think that?
Because that is exactly what Vincent, or should I call him your pimp,
- literally just blurted out. - Yeah, fair enough.
- Christ, how long have you known? - From the beginning, obviously.
God, I feel so... used.
And for the record, Martin didn't tell us anything.
It's Brendan that offered us Donna's services as a freebie.
Apparently she was already being paid for by you lot,
so cheers for that, Cachet.
Yeah, now that you mention it,
seeing as Donna has got herself another booking,
we don't have to honour our original payment agreement.
What was that, now?
Brian was threatening not to pay us again, Dad.
Threaten is a loaded term.
More exploring the idea, Brendan.
Unless you fancy exploring the back of my van with duct tape
round your wrists and mouth, I suggest you pay my daughter
- what was promised. - Yeah, no, well, we had a contract.
Look, I don't know if any of you are snooker fans,
but if you want to meet
the three-times World Champion Steve Davis,
he is currently over at the Cachet Windows showroom on Southend Road.
- Is he doing trick shots? - No, no fucking trick shots
but he can give you playing tips,
or a very funny story about Terry Griffiths and some lost keys.
Oh, and he makes a mean cup of tea. Anyone?
Oh, there is 1,001 questions I'd like to ask
- Steve fucking Davis. - Here we go.
- Ronnie. - Chief among them being why
his tool of a manager Barry Hearn seems
to be under the impression I'm giving him and that boring ginger
pillock a free fucking conservatory each.
Ronnie, I can explain.
♪ You don't have to take this crap ♪
♪ You don't have to sit back and relax ♪
♪ You can actually try changing it ♪
♪ I know we've always been taught to rely ♪
♪ Upon those in authority ♪
♪ But you never know until you try ♪
♪ How things just might be ♪
♪ If we came together so strongly... ♪