My family has to come first.
Then you leave me no option.
You're dismissed.
-Hello. -I like you to meet Suzanne.
We reinstate Aunty Brenda as mayor of Pontyberry
with immediate effect.
Is she aware of how you feel?
She believes I hate her.
I want custody. I'm taking you to court.
You wanna fight?
Bring it on, old man.
(VOCALISING)
And then she smiles
And my heart starts beating
I go weak inside
Na na na na na na
Na na na
All right?
-Yeah. just measuring my marrow. -Mmm-mmm.
Curse of the vegetable garden, everything sounds like an innuendo.
I've only just come out here by the way. I've been on the phone all day.
OK.
Tried every law firm in Cardiff but nothing's doing.
I'd look further afield but if I want to be around for the baby then...
-Anything from Beyonce? -No.
She won't even take my calls let alone let me see Jackson.
I spoke to a lawyer a friend of mine who specialised in custody cases.
He's already send a letter.
Oh well, that should get things moving.
Are you can get changed? Rob and Suzanne will be here in a minute.
Sure. just gonna put this prize winner to bed.
AUNTY BRENDA: Prize winner.
-You'll be lucky Michael Jackson. -Aunty Brenda.
I know you're an expert in a wide variety of topics.
But I didn't realise that extended to summer squashes.
George The Butcher have won the Pontyberry Flower and Produce Show
every year since 1 989.
I'm not saying how.
I'm not one to make slanderful accusations.
-Fair enough. -Bribery.
That's how. That and the fact that he is very good at growing marrows.
Yeah, well so is Michael.
-Look at that. -BRENDA: Aw.
It's like a marrow only smaller.
How was your day, my love?
Ah, I've been rushed off my feet.
Dishing out advice to the poor and needy.
Like that Michael Jackson, unemployed, going for custody of a love child
and now making the biggest mistake of his life
by entering a marrow against George The Butcher.
The fool.
I'd like to wipe the smile off George's face.
And not just because he tried to defrock me as mayor.
Although that is a contributory factor.
Maybe I could help to wipe the smile off his face.
What do you mean?
Mmm.
ZOE: Who is he again?
Cerwyn Collins.
A famous poet, apparently.
-Never heard of him. -Nor me.
Bet he had a patch on Pam Ayres.
God, there's loads to do.
It's nearly half six, I promised jack
-I could be back to tuck him in. -(DOOR OPENING)
-Bobby Gittins, Zoe Morgan? -In by here!
I have news. Good news.
I have today a new job, accepted.
At the Conservatoire de Mort.
The Conservatoire de Mort?
The most prestigious undertaker's academy in the world.
Based in Middlesbrough.
You must be delighted.
Yes, my heart soars like an eagle on the wind.
That's great. Ivan, congratulations.
(DOOR OPENING)
BOBBY: You took my advice then.
Making a new start and moving away from Nadine.
This concerns Nadine Bevan not.
I have for many years wished to work at the Conservatoire de Mort
also they say Middlesbrough is wonderful this time of year.
Indeed, they do. (CHUCKLES)
So, who's gonna manage this place for you then, while you're gone?
I know not.
Perhaps someone who understands the industry
and has a CV as impeccable as his fringe.
I know you're rushed off your feet,
so why don't I look after our famous poet.
I'm more than capable.
That would remove a load from my shoulder.
Also to tell the truth I do nothing of poetry.
Apart from Pam Ayres.
Hmm.
(BIRDS CHIRPING)
That's the beauty and no mistake.
Like a green Hindenburg.
Did you want something, Aunty Brenda?
Only to admire the perfect form of your marrow.
And to give you, as they do say in America,
a heads up about some council business.
-(SIGHS) Which is? -I'm proposing, and this is big
with a capital B,
that we change the garden waste bins from green to red.
What?
No.
You know how I feel about refuse bin colouring.
Really? I had no idea.
You will change those colours over my dead body.
That's a price I'm willing to pay.
This is a scandal.
-(SNIFFS) -We're so sorry for your loss.
Your brother was a great man.
Indeed, he was.
The finest poet of his generation.
I take it you're familiar with his writing.
-Yes, of course. -Absolutely.
It's so important to me that he is laid to rest by people who embraced his work.
Well, that's us definitely.
-(SNIFFS) -So is there anything in particular
you'd like in the funeral service?
Readings of his poems, obviously.
Like some of his early work perhaps?
He burned his early poems.
Everybody knows that.
Well, yes. His, uh, early poems he did.
Then how about something from his later period?
-Yes. -(SIGHS)
That's what I was thinking too.
And did you have any thoughts on music?
I thought that would be obvious.
He writes about his musical taste in the poem, I love the Beatles.
Ah.
-The Beatles it is then. -No.
The title was ironic. He hated The Beatles.
I thought you knew his work.
-We do... -Of course.
-I... -just tell me that you're planning
on involving Sian somewhere in the service.
Definitely. I'll just get her details.
He never left her side.
Till now.
(BOTH LAUGHING)
Yes.
How long did he follow you for?
Up the hill and back again.
I thought well if the ranting don't kill him the exercise probably will.
What? Oh, don't say you feel sorry for him now.
No. It's just good to see you laugh again.
You used to laugh a lot.
I laugh plenty. Thank you.
Uh, I know.
I was just thinking, well, hoping that maybe we could go back
to how things used to be.
Back in the day.
I'll think about it.
-Did you say... -I said, I'll think about it.
''Sian Llewellyn ap Morfydd was the lover and muse of Welsh poet
''Cerwyn Caradog Collins.
''Her untimely death was a major influence on his writing.
''In particular the poems, Death Star Tunnel,
''Everybody Dies and She's Dead, She's Dead, Dear God, She's Dead. ''
Oh, bet he was a laugh on New Year's Eve.
Right. You get us a book of his poems,
I'll start thinking of a colour scheme for the funeral.
Did he do any poems about colours?
Black, Black all is Black.
Oh, well that's narrowed it down.
Bobs, when's Ivan starting his new job?
Your guess is as good as mine. I did try to ask him this morning
but he was off to the produce show with his wreaths.
Be awful if he didn't pick you, and he put some stranger in charge.
Oh, tell me about it.
Undertaking is the only thing I'm any good at.
(SIGHS) I've tried image consultancy,
security guarding,
-celebrity reflexology. -(CHUCKLES)
It's not funny.
You try massaging Keith Chegwin's feet.
I still wake up screaming.
Right. I can't promise this will be any good.
But the recipe is supposed to be easy to follow,
so if it's rubbish, you can blame Jamie Oliver.
-You might wanna get drunk first. -Oi, you.
Looks lovely, Stella. What is it?
Moroccan chicken tagine.
-That's posh. -Oh no, we eat this all the time.
-(CHUCKLES) -All right, Michael.
Um, the sauce has got a bit of wine in it,
but otherwise it's low fat. So it's good for...
Well, you know...
Those of us awaiting life or death operations.
Any news on that?
Um, no.
Rob is a man of few words.
Sometimes I could strangle him.
-Sometimes she tries. -Mmm-hmm.
We're still waiting for the new consultant to give us a date.
The delay is not good, but hopefully we'll hear soon
and then, we'll go to London.
See, it wasn't so hard, was it?
Stella, this is superb.
Hmm. Really is. Did you seriously make this?
I think there is a compliment in there somewhere.
SUZANNE: It's always the same.
They're sweet as kittens when you first meet.
Then three months down the line you end up rowing
about who's going to take out the trash.
Actually, uh, we had a row when we first met.
We sort of crashed into each other,
and shared a beautiful moment of road rage.
Oh, that is so cute.
See, I told you.
And how did you and Rob meet?
-Oh, well... -Oh, didn't Rob construction company
build a new wing in your hospital and uh, you ended up arguing
about the roof tiles. So he took you out to dinner
trying to talk you round.
-I asked Luke. -(CLEARS THROAT)
Well, he told me actually. So I probably got the details wrong.
No. That's exactly how it happened.
(CHUCKLES)
-Salad? Anyone? -Thank you.
I'm fine. Thank you.
(CROWD CHEERS)
HOST: The Pontyberry Flower and Produce Show
is more competitive than a Wales England Rugby International,
-and just as ugly. -(DOG BARKING)
Now, judging have started in a few of the categories.
But the results aren't till three.
So there's a plenty of time to get pissed
on some lovely homemade wine.
Oi, Quinnell!
Watch that mouth of yours.
Fair play. just to repeat, results aren't till three,
so there's plenty of time to have a drink.
-On some fucking lovely homemade wine. -(BOY LAUGHS)
People do think pansies are soft.
Cos of the name like.
But they the hardest flower there is.
They'd survive a nuclear war along with cockroaches and molluscs.
And my mate, Kenny,
-who've built his own shelter. -Ah.
Bet they wouldn't survive a pint of this.
I told you.
It's a new batch.
It ain't half as strong.
What a fine looking specimen.
Gotta be in with a chance there.
I thought you said it was too small.
Must have been a trick of the light.
Yeah, but George The Butcher isn't here yet.
Oh, well then, perhaps fate is on your side today, Michael Jackson.
You got hay fever or something?
Ask me no what's-names I'll tell you what-ya-calls.
Oh. You are, you are. (LAUGHS)
Do you think you'll be like her when you grow up?
I really hope not.
(EEHALES) Right. I better be heading off.
If the pubs quiet, I'll try and finish early.
Come back and watch you win first prize.
Mmm.
Good luck.
I must say, that's wonderful.
-What is it? -Apricot. Infused with brandy,
blended with a summer compote.
And marinated in a 'troker' of sugars.
-Sorry, what? -She means troika.
It means the blend of three things.
I know what it means.
Anyway, it's very good.
-Well done. -(CHUCKLES)
It's not even my first language and I'm correcting you.
It's quite funny really. (LAUGHS)
Or not funny at all.
(HORN HONKS)
-Need a lift? -No, you're all right.
just heading in to work, could do with the exercise.
And I could do with the company.
It's literally two minutes.
What a lovely two minutes it'll be.
(SIGHS)
ROB: Thanks again for last night.
STELLA: It was fun, wasn't it?
And Suzanne's lovely.
Very... What's the word?
Very Rob.
Meaning?
Meaning you always land on your feet.
-(CHUCKLES) -STELLA: What?
I'm being nice.
I'm glad she's came over
-cos someone needs to sort you out. -Mmm.
Where to you going, anyway?
Oh, I just dropped her off at Luke's.
-They're taking the kids to the park. -Hmm.
It's nice she wants to spent time with them.
-Hmm. -You're very lucky.
-Well, I always land on my feet. -(STELLA CHUCKLES)
STELLA: Right. Thanks for the lift.
So, you know, we've been waiting for a date for the surgery.
Oh, don't tell me they've changed their minds.
No. It's a week today.
-I heard this morning. -Oh.
-God, you must be so relieved. -Yeah.
I mean I can think of a hundred other things I'd rather be doing
-but, yeah. -Hmm.
You watch. It'll be over before you know it.
-You can start running marathons again. -Mmm-hmm.
Look I'm really sorry but I gotta go.
-Sod it. -STELLA: What you're doing?
I'm meant to start my shift in 1 0 minutes.
Oh, come on. Skive off work. Live a little.
(SIGHS)
(CROWD CLAPPING)
(ANNOUNCER SPEAKS INDISTINCTLY)
-(CROWD CHEERS) -(CROWD CLAPS)
Nadine Bevan.
-Ivan Slosh. -Schloss.
Schloss.
Have you any interest in funeral wreaths?
No. Funeral wreaths always reminds me of death.
(INDISTINCT ANNOUNCEMENT)
Well, I'll be off.
IVAN: Soon I must leave Pontyberry.
What?
I am to move to the historic town of Middlesbrough.
Don't know why you're telling me.
I mean nothing to you and vice versa I'm sure.
Excuse me.
(SIGHS)
(CROWD CLAPPING)
And here we are.
Where?
-Ah, isn't it beautiful? -Uh, yeah.
You don't remember.
Shame on you.
October, half-term, 1 986.
We cycled up here. I got a puncture.
-Missed the last bus. -(EEHALES)
Spend the night in the pub.
-And then... -Yeah, all right. I remember now.
Well I thought it would be fun to come back here and have lunch.
Rob Morgan, having fun.
Come on.
A walk will do us good.
Hang on a minute.
Uh, don't you just love the country air?
It's the low alcohol version.
Lower.
But still with subtle floral overtones.
-And it's good for wind. -I don't have wind.
You will have.
I don't believe it.
Clem Draper.
-All right, pal. -Keith Baxter.
Bax.
-The axe. -Bax.
No way.
-I haven't seen you since... -Mason's Arms, Ipswich, 1978.
-Oh! Bloody hell! -(LAUGHS) Those were the days,
pure rock and roll.
Still at it, I see.
Sang with them a couple of weeks back. Nothing serious.
-Doing what you love though. -Aye.
Still skint, mind.
So what about you, what you're doing here?
Got a stall.
Fertiliser.
-That's great, man. -It's not what you call glamorous
but it's steady, you know.
ANNOUNCER: Will Keith Baxter please return to his stand.
He's got somebody here who like to talk to him about...
-Fertiliser. -Pig shit.
Right. Well, that's me then. (CHUCKLES)
-Nice to see you again. -And you.
Keep on rocking.
-You too pal. -(CHUCKLES)
Closed down. A year or so back.
Ah, there we are then.
Best be heading home.
I think it's locked, Rob.
I won't tell if you won't.
And pansies are such a resilient flower.
-They'd even survive... -A nuclear war
along with molluscs and your mate, Kenny. Yeah, you said.
Look, I really gotta go. The judging is about to start.
Mike, can I have a word?
-So you're talking to me now? -I don't want to argue, OK.
-Not in front of Jackson. -Hasn't stopped you...
Sorry.
Neither do I.
Hello, little man.
I got the letter from your solicitor.
About the custody thing.
Sorry, but that's what I think is best for all of us.
No, I'm sorry for not being honest with you.
-What do you mean? -You see the thing is...
(SIGHS)
Jackson isn't yours.
-What? -(SIGHS)
I only said you were the dad because you're loaded.
Should have never let it go on this long.
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
Do you think I'm that stupid?
You're only doing this to stop me applying for custody.
-What? No, it's true. -Really?
Yeah, cos your track record on telling the truth is great.
Oh my God, I am not lying!
-You are not Jackson's father, OK? -(ALL GASP)
If I'm not his father, who is?
-Keckers. -(AUNTY BRENDA GASPS)
Fucking hell.
Keckers? But...
-How can you be so sure? -A girl just knows, OK?
Don't make me spell it out.
So, is there anything else you want this lot to know,
-or can I go? -I don't believe you.
I want a paternity test. Beyonce.
And the winner is...
-George The Butcher. -Yes!
Would you believe it?
Some little bugger stole what they thought was my marrow.
But that was just my safety marrow.
My prize winners are kept under lock and key,
and are only picked by the light of the full moon.
Some people, eh, Aunty Brenda?
-Yeah. -(CROWD CLAPPING IN DISTANCE)
What was up here?
Don't tell me you've forgotten the bedrooms?
(ROB CHUCKLES)
ROB: Huh. Could be a little gold mine, this place.
You should buy it then.
I might do.
Tart it up a bit, put Luke in charge.
Maybe even run it myself.
-You could help. -(CHUCKLES)
I know how to pull a pint, presh.
But what do I know about running a pub?
In fact, what do you know about running a pub?
It was just a thought.
We're friends, Rob.
-Nothing more. -Friends don't kiss each other.
-Oh, now look... -Friends don't leave long,
answer phone messages saying that they love you,
but not in that way.
-This isn't fair. -Even though you can hear in their voice
that it is in that way.
The truth is, Stella,
I don't think you and I can be just friends.
(CHILD LAUGHS)
ROB: That should've been us.
Seeing our boy grow up, going on holiday,
all that stuff we never did.
Cut the self-pity, it really doesn't suit you.
-Stella. -No, don't say it.
I need to be with you, Stella, for the rest of my life.
However short that is.
-Oh, you're not playing that card. -It's not a card.
Sorry.
So what are you suggesting, then?
We move here,
-run a pub... -Forget the bloody pub.
I'll go anywhere and do anything to be with you.
Pontyberry, Canada,
Timbuk-sodding-tu.
-What about Suzanne? -She's not you.
-And Michael? What about Michael? -He's not me.
I'm not doing this.
-Stella. -We are not doing this.
STELLA: You think if you and me had got together,
it would have been some big fairy-tale romance,
but it wouldn't.
I'd have got fed up of washing your socks,
and you'd have yelled at me for loading the dishwasher wrong...
-I might not. -...or a million and one
other boring domestic things.
Well, there's only one way to find out, isn't there?
Oh, for fuck sake, Rob, it's not gonna happen.
We had a chance, and we chose not to take it.
-Oh, come on, Stella... -You can't, on a whim,
decide you wanna make a go of things again, because it's too late.
We both left it too late.
And you're with Suzanne now, and I'm with Michael,
and not because he's second best, but because I love him.
I know.
Remember when we'd been going out for six months?
You made me that little silver heart.
God, yeah. You remember that?
-Well, I kept it. -Did you?
And I carry it with me, in here.
Because you're always gonna be a part of my life, Rob,
and I am always gonna love you.
And that doesn't change how I feel about Michael,
because what me and Michael have got is so different.
We've got Luke, you and me.
We've got our story.
-We just haven't got a future. -Oh, but we have.
Because you were so wrong when you said you and me couldn't be friends,
we can be the best friends on this planet,
because I am so loyal to you.
And I will kill anyone who ever hurts you,
including Suzanne, although I think that's unlikely
because she's absolutely besotted.
Also, I think she looks like she might beat me in a fight.
I know you're scared about next week.
It's gonna be all right, sweetheart.
(SIGHS)
''And tears of death are always willing to fall upon
''the hell and killing.''
Are all his poems about death?
No. No, there's one here about a little bunny rabbit called Hoppy,
who dies of myxomatosis. I mean...
You have not finished the arranging of the poet funeral?
Yeah, we're getting there.
It's taken us all day to find the flowers.
Roses of black?
Cerwyn's favourite colour.
The rose of black is very expensive.
-Yes... -And not in the budget.
The extra from our profit comes.
-It's only a few quid. -We are not a case of charity.
Have you finished the order of service?
-We're just about... -just about?
The funeral is tomorrow, and the printers they are closing at six.
I've rang 'em, and they've said they are happy to work late.
-For a few extra quid. -What?
No. No, no, no, this is unacceptable.
Ivan?
Have you been drinking? Again?
That is not the question.
Well, it's a question.
I have funeraled around the world for princes and for paupers.
For stars of stage and screen. Next week,
I am to arrange an open casket funeral for a 92-year-old queen of drag.
I do not need your help or advice. Now, go.
I will sort out this mess.
-Mess? What mess? -Not another word.
-But it's so unfair... -No!
-You're being unreasonable... -Silence! Let me work.
(COUNTRY MUSIC PLAYING)
Young at heart, Yet what a start
Old before their time
They married young For love at last
Was their only crime
How come I love them now How come I love them more
-(SINGING CONTINUES) -He's good, ain't he?
-Your fella. -AUNTY BRENDA: He's not my fella.
My mistake. Talking of mistakes,
a lot of people think the pansy is a soft flower...
-Go away. -Roger that.
You're so young at heart
How come I love them now
How come I love them more
How come I love them now
How come I love them more
(SINGING CONTINUES)
Hello.
-Am I glad to see you. -Hmm.
Oh, sweetheart. You didn't win.
No, came second.
I'm so sorry.
It's just a stupid marrow competition, it's not that bad.
Bad is what Beyonce told me this afternoon.
You're so young at heart
(CROWD CHEERS)
IVAN: Yes, for tomorrow.
The order of services.
No, I will not pay extra.
I do not care.
just print and deliver. I send now.
(CLEM LAUGHS)
Going...
Gone. (LAUGHS)
-Oh, what a night, eh? -Shoes.
(GRUNTS)
Keith was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.
He said he was gonna quit his job,
and get the band back together. I said, ''No way.''
I'm sticking here with my Brenda,
see how things play out.
He was all like, ''Nah man, let's just hit the road.''
(EEHALES DEEPLY)
I said, uh, ''No way, pal.
''I love her.
''I can't leave her again.''
♪ FRANK SINATRA: They Can't Take That Away From Me
(SLURRING) ...all that...
No, no they can't take away from me
-(CRASH) -(CAT MEOWS)
I mean, there's no way she can say for sure
that Keckers is the father, even if she did sleep with him.
I mean, I was right to ask for a paternity test, wasn't I?
I dunno.
What do the rest of Pontyberry think?
Yeah, probably not the best forum to announce that.
Oh, God. It's such a mess, isn't it?
Actually, don't answer that.
-just say it'll all be fine. -It'll all be fine.
-Michael? -Yeah.
I've been having a little think today,
and there's something I wanna talk to you about.
Something important.
(DOORBELL RINGS)
-Hello, Mum. -Emma?
Oh, my God.
(GASPS)
What're you doing back?
This is Oak.
My husband.
Namaste.
-There you go. -Thanks.
You want some, Oak?
Is it locally sourced?
It's from the corner shop.
Right. But is it fair trade?
Uh, I have no idea what that means.
I can do you some eggs, if you like.
Um, actually I'm vegan.
He eats chicken, though. Don't you, babe?
Only when my blood sugar's low.
He's diabetic, Mum, and the doctors didn't even spot it.
Well, the western doctors didn't with their corporate blinkers.
But, Stella, please don't worry.
I'll pick up some quinoa later on, from one of your local shops.
Good luck with that.
Um, I'm gonna go meditate, Titali, I'm a bit out of balance.
Titali?
It's Hindi for butterfly.
-Lovely, isn't it? -Hmm.
Emma, love.
You're gonna ask me about Sunny, ain't you?
No, I was gonna ask you about your toast.
And then I was gonna ask what the hell you mean by telling me
that Oak is your husband.
I mean, what happened with Sunny?
I thought you were gonna make a go of it.
We tried it for a while,
but we soon realised we'd come to the end of our journey together.
Oh, is that Oak throwing his voice?
Oak isn't my husband in boring western terms.
The monk that did the ceremony said our spirits were entwined
for eternity...
Which I think is better.
And when exactly did all this happen?
-That's not important. -How long have you known him, Em?
Three weeks.
That's two ''Thanks, but no thanks'' from people who said they'd consider me.
I bet you anything Maria's behind all this,
giving me a crappy reference.
If there was a cat here, I'd kick it.
Hey, it's life's gift to set us challenges.
The wings of a dove are stronger than the swords of a thousand armies.
Aww.
-Huh. -OAK: Titali?
Where's my meditation cushion?
In my rucksack, under your iPad.
(SIGHS)
(EEHALES DEEPLY)
Good morning, my sweet.
I made you breakfast. Five minutes.
(SNIFFING)
(HUMMING)
What's all this?
It's been fun, Clem. It really has.
B?
But you're the proverbial rolling stone, and I'm a stick in the mud.
I don't want to spend my life
telling you what you should or shouldn't be doing,
even if I could do so with uncanny accuracy.
But I want to be with you.
Last night, Keith was going on about going back on the road,
with all expenses paid. I mean, the guy is loaded.
But I still said no in a heartbeat.
It wasn't a heartbeat, boot.
The two of you talked about it for over an hour,
laughing and joking.
What you gonna do stuck here in Pontyberry?
I mean, yes you'll have the prestige of being married to a local celebrity
slash political firebrand, but deep down,
you and me are as different as chalk and cheesecake.
If I were you,
I'd go and see that Keith fella and have a chat.
Last night, when we came home...
Did we...
No.
Oh.
Yes.
(CHUCKLES)
He's still not answering his phone.
Should we just tell Reverend Watts to get started?
You can't start a funeral without an order of service.
We're not animals!
Oh!
I have them here.
I have just from the printers picked them up.
Give these out, forthwith.
Right, all set. Ready to go?
-just giving out the order of service. -Thank goodness.
To be honest, I don't know anything about Cerwyn Collins,
so any information gladly received...
Oh, my God.
Oh, dear. Ivan, did you check these?
There was no time. Come, we must not delay.
Only I'm pretty sure Cerwyn Collins wasn't a 92-year-old drag queen.
Why you working up here?
Well, I tried downstairs,
but Oak started telling me about ley lines.
Anyway, I'm heading to Cardiff in a bit. Do some networking.
Try and drum up some work.
I thought we could have dinner tonight.
You'll be back by eightish, wouldn't you?
Hopefully. I have no idea
who's gonna see me or when.
I just thought it'd be nice to...
You know...
Cwtch up.
Have a chat and stuff...
I know, it's just this custody case, when it comes to court,
the first question the judge will ask me will be about my finances,
I can hardly say I'm unemployed, can I?
-What about what's-his-face, Al Komadi? -There's no point.
Maria's contacted everyone I worked with poured poison in their ears.
-So tell them she's wrong. -It's not that easy.
If it was I'd do it. Anyway, there's such a thing as professional pride.
OK.
No, I'm sorry. I'm just a bit stressed. I'll be back for dinner. I promise.
Sadly, Cerwyn is no longer with us,
and that is very sad indeed.
But his memory lives on in some of his best remembered poems,
like, um...
(WHISPERS) She's Dead.
She's deaf.
And of course,
(SOFTLY) Hell and Killing.
Helen Keller?
Anyway, we are blessed that
Gwyneth, his beloved sister, is here to read perhaps his most famous work
which may be in the order of service, um...
Eh, bit of a mix up there, sorry.
Luckily for you, I don't need it. I know it off by heart.
Everybody Dies,
by Cerwyn Collins. (SOBBING)
GWYNETH: Oh (SOBBING)
I'm sorry, I can't.
(CRYING) Oh, I can't.
Allow me.
''The postman walking down the lane,
''will die.
''Alone, engulfed in pain.
''All of us will die...
''Die...
''Die.''
Oh, it goes on like that for another fifteen verses
and to be honest, it is a bit dep...
But,
at the end,
there's a verse about the one thing that made him happy.
The love of his life, Sian.
''Then rising through the hurt and sorrow,
''a reason comes to see tomorrow.
''For though we may be worlds apart,
''she lives forever,
''in my heart.''
Even though she died,
Sian stayed with Cerwyn throughout his life.
Both in here...
And in by here.
So it seems fitting,
that they be buried together.
(SQUEAK)
(THUD)
I have not been so moved since my father was jailed for stealing a horse.
There's no doubt you have what it takes to be a master undertaker.
The manager's position is yours.
(GASPS)
Thank you, Ivan. Thank you.
I won't let you down, promise.
I got the job!
(BOTH SCREAM EECITEDLY)
-Sorry for your loss. -I'm sorry.
Sorry for your loss.
MICHAEL: Stell?
Stella?
(DOOR SQUEAKS)
-What do you think? -It's incredible.
What's going on?
-I'm being romantic. -In the allotment?
What's wrong with the allotment?
You've shagged me enough times in that shed.
I thought you're being romantic.
-Fancy some champagne? -Yes.
-Actually, I've bought some as well. -Hmm.
-We've got something to celebrate. -Which is?
Well, after a fruitless job search in Cardiff, I thought
what would Stella do in this situation.
So I took your advice and I called Al Komadi.
And?
-He offered me a job. -Serious?
Couple of days a week in the office, but mainly working from home
so I get more time with Jackson once this paternity thing is sorted, anyway.
-(EEHALES) Thank you. -(GLASSES CLINK)
-I should listen to you more often. -You really should.
Hang on a minute, why have you got champagne?
Well... (CLEARS THROAT)
You see, the thing is... Um...
I don't wanna be your lovely girlfriend any more.
OK.
I wanna be your lovely wife.
So, are you doing what I think you're doing?
Shut up, I rehearsed this and everything. (CLEARS THROAT)
Michael Matthew Jackson
-will you do me the honour. -Shouldn't you be down on one knee?
-In the mud. -It's what I'd do, yeah.
-What you really expect me... -Where's my ring?
-Men don't have rings. -Sexist.
Are you trying to put me off on purpose?
Sorry it's, uh, I think I'm a bit nervous.
Go on.
-I've lost my drift now. -Sorry.
Michael...
I love you
totally
and unreservedly,
and completely and unconditionally, and...
Well, do you wanna marry me or what?
(EEHALES) Like you wouldn't believe.
(EEHALES DEEPLY)
I just heard you two are getting married!
If I do not ask you this, I will live with regret until my dying breath.
-Are you all right, Lukey. -You know me, Mam,
nerves of steel.
This is exactly what it looks like.
You still love her, don't you, Rob?