Ripped By mstoll
Colin.
- Who are they? - Dad's office, I suppose.
I thought you'd only invited Ray and Anna.
I can't stop them.
What a nerve, eh?
They resented him while he was at work,
never even bothered to contact him after he'd retired.
Why do you have to kick the bucket before people start being nice to you?
- Where the hell is Jen? - She's probably caught in the traffic.
I thought you said chapel number three.
- No. No, you said chapel number three. - I was only going on what you said.
Sorry.
Well, you can't just lose the deeds to a house. It's impossible.
- Is it? - Not even Dad could do it.
Look, they've got to be here somewhere, and I am damn well going to find them.
Colin, it's late!
- Look, you want to sell this place, don't you? - Not right this minute.
We're going to attack it and we're going to be systematic about it.
Hang on! What's this?
Here we are. Documents.
"Rigoletto. Saturday evening, 12th May, 1962."
Oh, look, all my old school reports.
He kept every one.
Colin Anthony Watkins.
- Why the Anthony? - I don't know.
Did we have a relation called Anthony or something?
- Not that I can think of. - Did you fancy Anthony Perkins?
No!
Why give me a middle name at all?
I think we just found "Colin" on its own rather boring.
"Chemistry - No comment.
His position in class reflects the interest and aptitude for the subject.
Position in class - 31st. Number in class - 28..." Eh?
"History - All-in-all, an uninspired term other than a surprisingly excellent,
if somewhat gruesome essay on the murder of Rasputin."
"English.
Satisfactory progress. J. Watkins."
Really pulled out the stops there, didn't we?
What is this?
"Mass equals density over..."
There's all sorts of formulae and figures in here.
Are there?
This is a crib sheet. Did you use this? Did your father know about this?
He designed it.
This is impossible. Let's just leave it tonight.
I am not leaving this room till I have those deeds. Look, you go. I'll sort it out.
"Dear Sir, this is to inform you the above policy expires on 02/04/89."
The counterfoil's still here.
So's the one for '88, '87...
'86, '85.
All the way back to '72.
Is this place insured or not?
Oh, hang on, Watkins, we'll deal with this later. You're looking for the deeds.
- Coffee. - Ta.
No, thanks, no.
Look inside.
Right, that's the house sorted out.
Now the insurance.
Oi, Col!
Yeah, hang on, hang on!
Sorry, sorry, guys. Sorry.
- Bloody hell, what's going on? - Just a bit of reorganisation. Excuse me.
Bill down at Security said you were in at 7:30 this morning. You've got to relax, mate.
I'm perfectly relaxed.
Col, you've had a rough time recently. You've got to wind down a bit.
That'll be for me.
Ah, hello, Mr Beamish. Yes, thank you very much for ringing me back.
Graham, could you pass me Mr Beamish, please? You're standing on him.
Erm, Mr Beamish, you wrote to my predecessor in 1982
about a signals failure at Raynes Park.
I was just ringing to find out if everything's OK now.
Positive? If there are any worries at all, don't sit at home bottling it up, will you?
My name's Watkins. You can get me on extension 3679. Until six, yes.
Then after that, at home - 624-3939.
He's off his trolley.
These files should have been slung out ages ago.
It just struck me, you see. They write to us, we write back and that's the end of it.
You're not ringing everybody in the files?
I should be through all the B's by the end of the week.
You're leaving at the end of the month. You've resigned. What difference does it make?
I'm going to talk to Mr Travers about that today actually. I've changed my mind.
- You're staying on? - Yeah, I don't want to write full-time any more.
It means staying at home, sitting at a typewriter. Alone.
I really don't want that in my life right now.
Hello? Oh, thanks a lot, Beryl, thanks. Put him through, would you, please?
Hello, Mr Benson!
What?
Puedo hablar con Senor Benson?
He moved to Estepona six months ago.
I'm just checking he's still not too miffed about that derailment at Cricklewood last October.
Now, Vicky, Scene 12, Page 24, line 16...
where Watson says, "I haven't driven 400 miles for nothing." Got it?
- Yes. - 'I looked up in my Motoring Atlas of Britain.
Edinburgh's 373 miles from London, not 400. So could we change that, please? '
- I really don't think it'll matter, Colin. - 'Right, now... '
- Page 37, halfway down. - Yes.
"An old B-registration Ford Corsair pulls into Henshaw's drive..."
Now, "B" was 1969, not '70, so that should be C-reg.
No-one will notice. Colin, believe me, Alan said the script was fine.
Vicky, I went to Amadeus and I could have sworn Salieri
was wearing a digital watch at Mozart's funeral. It ruined the entire film for me.
I really must go now, Colin. Alan is expecting me on location.
Just one more tiny thing. Top of Page 104 -
"Sergeant Blake picks up map on table and gives it to Henshaw."
Is it clear it's the map he's giving him and not the table?
Crystal.
'Tell Alan to phone me any time, any rewrites. He's still got my number, hasn't he? '
- Yes. I must go now, Colin. - 'Yeah.'
Right, now, where were we? Er...
"Dear, Mr Beddows, policy number 2657..."
- What have you done? You've wiped it all off! - Good.
- Colin, that's enough. - But I've...
No, no! Listen to me. You can't go on like this.
- Look, this is a... - Your screenplay is finished.
And the stuff you're doing for your mother can wait.
You've been through a traumatic period. It's time to look after number one.
So what do you want me to do - take you out to dinner or what?
Not me! You, you idiot.
Speak to Travers tomorrow. Book a week's leave. You've got to get away.
Away?
You need a holiday.
A holiday, eh?
Name the country, name the place, and we'll go.
What? You're coming too, are you?
"...Interleaved with a dark, deep-flavoured foie gras paté,
spiked with a sliver of marinated truffle
and served with a little diced white-wine jelly.
As for the flan d'asperges, it is obscene to even attempt to describe it.
And then, at last, an hour later, came the fabled dish -
the legendary homard au champagne.
That's the lobster with champagne.
I was terrified it would be an anticlimax,
but one taste and warm tears of joy began flooding uncontrollably down my cheeks
and the table began to rattle as my body convulsed with my first-ever multiple orgasm.
Is Le Cheval D'Or the best restaurant in the world?
All I know is that as soon as I stepped outside, I realised at once
that I'd had a glimpse of infinity."
Why are French McDonald's so much better than the English ones?
So we're actually going to make it to Le Cheval D'Or!
I can hardly believe it - a lifetime's ambition.
You know, Mum and Dad actually ate there when it was just a one star?
Is there anything in there about the prices?
Ah, yup.
- Well, how much is it then? - Guess.
Erm, £70 a head?
Nope.
- Am I hot or cold? - Antarctic.
Er, £100?
Brrrr...
- £130? - Pass my cardigan.
Well, how much is it then?
172.
£172 a head?
Colin, that's the distance from Paris.
The saliva's gathering,
the gastric juices are under starter's orders.
A few miles away, there's a lobster pootling around in a tank,
- blissfully unaware of its fate. - Right.
When we come out of Coussy-Les-Bois, there's a small road on the right
leading to Veaux and Champ-Fleury, which goes over a bridge,
past a railway track and through a small village called La Chapelle.
We don't want that.
- What are you doing? - I'm famished.
We're seconds away from the gastronomic experience of a lifetime
- and you're filling your face with toffees. - I'm having one.
Well, don't. You had one on the ferry.
Sorry, Jen, it's for your own good.
Hang on in there. There's only three kilometres to go. What time is it?
Quarter past twelve.
What? Oh, my God! We're early.
Er, we could go for a walk.
- OK, we'll go for a walk. - Right.
You were absolutely right, you know.
Getting away was the only thing for it.
I feel completely relaxed today for the first time in months.
It was that first waft of Gitanes that did it, getting off the ferry this morning.
Those endless roads with the poplars stretching as far as the eye can see.
That baker's shop with the baguettes in the window... magic!
It's like being on another planet.
I can't bear this. It'll all be over in a couple of hours.
I want to be frozen in time, just sitting here, having this meal forever.
This is it. Nirvana.
And not a GB plate in sight.
What's the matter?
A coach load of West Ham supporters have just pulled up.
- Thanks very much. - It was only a joke.
I've just spat out 30 quid's worth of Puligny-Montrachet.
Madame, Monsieur - vous avez choisi?
- Er, yes, erm... - Si vouse voulez que je revienne.
Non, non. Er... Pour commencer...
je prendrai le homard au champagne.
Le homard. Tres bien. Et pour Madame?
- Yes. What's the salade de laperaeu? - God, here we go!
What?
Can't we make some attempt? I mean, we are in France.
C'est quoi exactement la salade de lapereau?
Oui, c'est une salade composee des tranches de lapereau cuites a pointe
sur une chiffonade de laitue et de frisee,
entouree de truffles dans une vinaigrette de cerfeuil.
Well?
We're having the lobster, anyway. Why do you want to know?
You're having the lobster. I haven't decided yet.
- Menu avec traduction anglaise, Madame? - Oh, thank you.
Oh, yes, that looks delicious. I'll have the salade de lapereau.
Salade de lapereau. Tres bien. Et comme plat principal?
Ah, right. Erm...
Er...
- Jen, what are you having? - I'll have the kidneys in chocolate, please.
Les rognons au chocolat pour Madame.
Les rognons, tres bien. Et pour Monsieur?
Er, pour moi? Pour moi? Er...
Erm...
- Le canard. - Le canard. Tres bien.
Non. Non, non.
La ballottine.
Une ballottine.
Non, non, erm...
Er...
Erm...
L'escalope.
No, erm...
Yes, I'll have the poussin, poussin a la... a la...
- A la Strasbourgeoise? - Oui.
- Vous etes sur, Monsieur? - Oui.
Non.
Jen, what did you say you were having again?
I told you - the kidneys.
- Kidneys? - Yes.
- But I hate offal. - It's for me.
- Then we can't swap. - What would you like me to have?
Pour Madame, pas les kidneys... les rognons...
Le canard aux deux sauces.
Le canard. Tres bien.
Et pour vous?
Pour moi! Ah, moi.
Poor little old moi.
Erm...
Pheasant? Shall I have the pheasant?
You've already chosen, haven't you?
- Yes, the duck, apparently. - Yeah, right.
For God's sake, just make a decision.
- Right, that's done it! - What?
- Don't say, "Just make a decision." - What's the problem? You love pheasant.
I know I do, but if I have the pheasant, it means I can't have the coq au riesling,
the poulet de Bourgogne., the saumon souffle, the navets confits, the...
Qu'est-ce que vous recommandez?
Notre specialite de saison, le poulet de Bourgogne.
Ce sont des tranches de poulet tres fines dans une sauce legere de porteau blanc,
et servies avec une puree de marron.
Bon.
Deux canards.
Tres bien, Monsieur. Merci, Monsieur.
Merci, Madame.
- What are you having? - The same as you.
At least, we didn't have any problem choosing the first course.
Le homard au champagne. I can't believe I'm actually going to have it.
You know, I dreamt about this meal last night.
The waiter came up to you and said they'd run out of lobster.
We didn't know if he was joking or not.
- And? - What?
Was he joking?
I don't know. I fell out of the window and woke up.
Staying on at BR was the right decision, I think.
- I'm not so sure... - I need the place, you know.
I need the routine of getting up in the morning, having somewhere to go.
I reckon my writing's improved because of it, yeah.
I know it's been hell the last couple of months,
but I think the pressure has brought out the best in me.
Like the oyster producing a pearl.
I need thatjob. I'll tell you the most important reason...
why...
Yes?
Yes, I was just, just saying...
Well, what is it then?
- What? - The most important reason.
- Yep, er... Excusez-moi... - Oui, Monsieur?
Qu'est-ce que c'est la bas?
- Ce sont les huitres Moscovites, Monsieur. - I don't believe it!
Look, I'm just asking him what it is, that's all. C'est quoi exactement?
Ce sont des huitres avec du caviar sur une base d'oeufs poches
marine dans du vodka. Vous voulez changez, Monsieur?
Er... Non, non.
Just get it over with.
Oui. Oui! Annulez le homard. Je veux les huitres.
- Vous ne voulez plus le homard? - Non.
- Vous desirez les huitres? - Oui.
- Et vous etes certain, Monsieur. - Absolument.
Tres bien, Monsieur. Pas de probleme.
Look, I don't have to have the lobster, you know.
It's not all down to some berk in a guide book to lay down the law. I make up my own mind.
- Do you know, I'm beginning not to enjoy this. - Come on, Jen, don't spoil the mood.
La salade de lapereau pour Madame
- et les huitres pour Monsieur. - Will you look at that!
Oh, yes!
- Mmm! - What's it like?
- You stick with your oysters. - Go on, give us a bit.
- I'll trade you for an oyster. - You must be joking!
Nothing.
You see that, Jen. That's what I might have been lumbered with.
Thank God I changed my mind, eh? What a stroke of luck.
Yes, I'm definitely on a winner with this one. No doubt about it.
Poor bloke. Yeah. He knows he's picked a bummer!
- Oi, eyes off. You ordered it. You stick with it! - Colin...
No way are you having any of this. No way!
- Be quiet. - Just you try it.
- You're acting like a yob. - You are not having any of mine!
You're not having any of mine!!
You're not having any of my bloody lobster!!
- Mais qu'est-ce que vouse faites? - Qu'est-ce qui se passe?
- Il m'a pris le homard. - Pardon?
Je vous dis qu'il a mis la main dans mon assiette et il I'a pris.
C'est incroyable. Monsieur Robard, je suis desole. Je le remplacerai tout de suite.
Monsieur, je dois vous demander de quitter la maison.
Non, non. Ecoutez, laissez-tomber ca ne vaut pas la peine.
C'est un Anglaise. Lis sont tous un peu fous. C'est bien connu.
Monsieur, si vous voulez du homard, vous n'avez qu' a demander.
- Vous voulez du homard? - Je ne sais pas.
- Vous voulez gardez ves huitres. - Je ne sais pas.
Vous voulez du homard ainsi que vos huitres?
- Je ne sais pas. - Vous voulez peut-etre autre chose?
- Je ne sais pas. - Mais qu'est-ce que vous voulez alors?
I don't bloody know, OK? Come on, Jen, we're going.
Look are you sure you don't want me to drive?
No, I'm OK. I just want to, erm...
I don't know - keep moving, I suppose...
Look, why don't we find a quiet hotel and crash out for a couple of days?
Shit! I miss him.
I miss him so much.
Do you want to stop?
Yeah.
L'essence, s'il vous plait.
Do you know we haven't eaten for 18 hours?
I keep seeing him on the high road, you know. My heart leaps.
I've finally got my chance to put the record straight.
I rush up to him, clap him round the shoulder and say, "Hey, Dad, you're terrific."
Then I wake up.
I thought I was prepared for it,
after the stroke he had last year.
I thought that was the dress rehearsal. Don't let them kid you.
The worst thing is forgetting about it.
You're conned. You ease off. It never happened.
You're back to normal and then you feel that kick inside you.
And you know you're stuck with it... forever.
Jen, it's a bit out of the blue, I know.
But I want to get married.
What are you thinking about?
- Nothing. - Oh, come on!
- You really want to know? - Yes.
Dad. Mum.
The smell of our garden after the lawn had been cut.
You. Me.
Work.
The damp patch in the bedroom.
Whether the rubbish has been collected.
Alan Hunter.
The film.
The ozone layer.
Glenn Hoddle's form since he joined Monaco.
Oh, yeah, and that little bird in the Flintstones who plays records with his beak.
Well, you asked.
Colin, you're giving up that job.
Am I?
Yes.
Why?
Because there aren't 36 hours in a day
and you can't go for slap-up meals if you're nursing an ulcer.
And you've got the talent.
And it means you can drive me into work every day.
Well, that sort of settles it then, doesn't it, really?
When we get back next week, you're going to get yourself a decent agent,
an answer-phone and a year's supply of A4.
Then you're going to go into work and tell Travers you're leaving at the end of the month.
Do you know what?
I'm feeling peckish all of a sudden.
Yes. Well, there's not a lot we can do about that, madam.
What? What?
Look, I don't have to take that... How dare you speak to me like that?
Well, for your information, I think that you're a rude, nasty, malicious, fat-arsed trollop...
and when you die, I hope it's lonely and harrowing!
Well, my answer-phone's working.
Thanks a lot. It was a great, great present.
Look, Graham, Trevor, you've got my number, haven't you?
We must keep in touch, OK?
No. Look, I know we haven't socialised all that much.
- We haven't socialised at all. - No, no, but I'll be different now.
No, I'm serious. We must get together, honestly.
Come on, Col, you're going to piss off out through that door
and we're not going to see each other again.
You're right.
I'm off now then, Colin.
- Oh, Mandy... - So I'll say goodbye then.
Pop in and see us some time, eh?
Yes, well, Brief Encounter had nothing on that.
Well, well, last lap, eh, Colin?
How does it feel? Yeah, I must admit, in some ways, I rather envy you.
- Do you really? - Oh, yes.
Freedom to do what you enjoy. Yes, one of these days, I might do the same.
- You do a bit of writing, do you? - No, no. Boats.
Yes, I've got one down in Chichester harbour.
Who knows? One day, I might get to achieve my impossible dream.
- What, off round the world, eh? - No. The Isle of Wight.
Yes.
So, Colin, tell me...
when's your film on then?
Oh, it's September. Channel 4.
Alan Hunter, eh?
That's right.
Yes, Dark Window was good. The rest was pretty hit and miss.
I didn't know you were a buff, Mr Travers.
Oh, yes. I won a Film Night director's chair once
with my name on the back. It broke when I sat on it.
Well, here's to it, Colin. I wish you... every success.
Thanks. Thanks very much.
Any last requests?
- Pardon? - Any last requests?
You know, take one last complaint before you go?
A wee bit of filing?
A quick staff meeting?
No, thanks, no.
Actually, now I think of it, there is, well, there is one thing.
- Erm... - Yes?
Well, I... No, no, no.
- Come on, Colin! - No, it's... No, it's not on.
Colin, if you don't ask...
Well...
Due to a signals failure at Burgess Hill,
British Rail regret to announce that the following trains have been cancelled:
The 6:23 to Orpington.
The 6:44 to Horley.
The 7:05 to Haywards Heath.
The 7:21 to Brighton.
The 7:52 from Brighton.
The 8:04 to Manchester.
The 8:16 to Liverpool.
The 8:28 to Inverness.
The 8:49 to Paris.
The 9:07 to Stockholm.
The 9:18 to Dar es Salaam.
The 9:32 to a small oasis in the southern Sahara.
The 10:02 to Guildford.
The 11:51 to Wayne's house.
The 11:52 to Sharon's house.
The 12:08 to an old copy of the Radio Times.
The 1:55 to Mother Teresa's building society in west Calcutta.
The 02:27 to a pelican.
The 03:33 to a small piece of halva
I accidentally trod in in an Athens backstreet five years ago.
The 4:04 to...
The 4:06 to...
The 5:15 to...
The 6:23 to...
And the 7:49 to Kentish Town West.
Thank you.
Ripped By mstoll