I'm so sorry, sir.
I tried to get rid of them.
No matter, Grace, let them through.
Now, gentlemen, what can I do for you?
We want your tie, you... you fogey!
I don't wear a tie.
Aah!
You shot him!
Now, that should've been a paint gun.
Oh, fucking hell!
Grace?
Would you like me to get rid of the gun, sir?
Marvellous. If you could bury it with the other things, the racehorse and so on.
Righto, sir.
That silly tiny racehorse.
Ptew! Ptew! Ptew!
Good morning, madwoman. Sports jock. Spotty.
Cream pie bender!
You know what you are?
Little bit Clooney, little bit Basil Brush.
Ah! Did you see my pants?
Um... no.
You did, didn't you?
Yeah, I did.
Right. Sorry about that.
It's fine. I've seen pants before.
Hear this, men in the urinals and toilets! You will all pay back the money.
I know you. Pay the money back.
Have you got GCSE maths?
Well, I'm a mathematics lecturer, so...
Is that a no?
No, no, it's not a no.
Electing a new pope?
I have a medical condition. I need nicotine in order to shit.
We're destined to clash, that's all. Words and numbers, you see.
Like fire and ice, order and chaos.
Occasionally one of us gets the sweaty upper hand
but we're locked in writhing, sexy mortal combat for the rest of our days.
It's nothing to worry about...
Yeah, well, that's life.
I mean, my story's like any other ex-jockey who gained weight
But I have supped from the goblet of power and I'm probably immortal.
But wait.
Who's this?
A stranger in our midst.
I sense that trouble is coming.
My Achilles perineum is itching.
'Who are you,
'you windy red woman a-blowing in my face?'
Hey, J-Man.
Aah. Jesus. Nicole.
Sorry, J-Man.
Do you want some tea?
No, I'm fine, actually.
I just came looking for biscuits.
Er...
Ooh! Is that a chocolate bar?
Er... yeah.
Can I have it?
Er... well... I was hoping to dip it in my tea.
Oh, never mind.
I've sort of got a system, so...
There you go. Open up.
Why don't we just share it?
Good plan.
Oh, right, like that.
OK, er...
Mm.
Hm. Thank you very much.
Want some more?
Um... I'd prefer to...
Why don't you just take a bite and give me the rest?
I can't do that.
You can't do that.
Uh-huh.
OK, OK...
Hey, hello, Grace. Just sharing my chocolate bar.
All right, thank you.
No, thank you.
'Oh, the innocence of youth.
'Followed by the arrogance of just plain juvenile and... and annoying,
bothersome, shameless, floppy haired, flappy shirted, ignorant fat-head.'
'I wonder, can a fat-head ever have hidden depths?'
Clap.
Vice Chancellor?
Yes.
George Bryan is here to see you.
The education department's blue-eyed boy. This should be interesting.
Perhaps we'll actually learn what the term "consultant" means.
George Bryan. You and your financially crippled university have been expecting me.
My university is no cripple, sir.
Not after I've rolled away its wheelchair and made the fuckerwalk.
Mr Bryan, I'm confused. Your hair is slightly effeminate.
I am a woman.
Oh.
I see. Please enter.
Finished. Have you got any more?
What? How did you finish that?
Do you have any more?
Er... yes, I do, but...
Where?
Well, no. No, no, no, no.
I'm not gonna show you. Why?
Because we're biscuit brothers.
You've just boshed a whole chocolate bar. I'm not giving you another one.
Sometimes you can be really selfish, Jason.
Does my being an attractive woman trouble someone like you?
Someone like you?
Someone less attractive than I.
Well, that depends what your purpose is.
I'll be recommending streamlining measures
and outlining fiscal strategy going forward.
Hm, but I'm still in charge.
No.
But I am still in charge.
No.
But I am still in charge.
No.
Yes!
Now, we are going to have to wrap up this little conversation
because I am due in hospital this afternoon to be placed into an induced coma.
Oh, your facial concerns warm my belly.
Worry not, my little consultant.
I'm a chronic insomniac, and this weekly coma helps me catch up.
Now, if you'll excuse me.
♪ Happy birthday to you Happy birthday to you ♪
♪ Happy birthday Dear, dear, dear Lydia ♪
♪ Happy birthday to you. ♪
Cough up.
Why? Do you want to test my prostate?
No, put your hand in your pocket.
Oh, it's always in my pocket.
Don't be disgusting.
Oh, he's just a little boy touching his winkie winkle cos no-one else will.
Yeah, and when I do, I think of you.
Oh! If my hands weren't full, I'd slap you.
What are you collecting for?
Birthday.
Whose?
Mine. £5 minimum.
Can one collect for one's own birthday?
One doesn't give a fuck. £5.
Don't want to donate. Don't find the cause worthy.
It's not a cause.
Beg to differ.
I've only got £20. Have you got change?
No.
So, Felydia, what are you gonna get for yourself?
Apparently, I'm getting myself a new microscope.
Finally get to see your personality.
I thought more I'd try and look for your cock.
Happy birthday.
She's right. I am incredibly small.
Till it gets angry. Then it's massive.
Happy birthday.
Grace, have you seen my owl?
Patrick?
Mousy.
Patrick.
Come and get the mousy.
Patrick.
Jonty wants to catch a Canadian.
Oh, don't let me near that filing cabinet.
Why not?
I mustn't know what's in the top drawer.
Distract me. Talk about something else.
What's in it?
Well, I don't know. You're all being so secretive.
Oh, it's a birthday cake.
Oh, you weren't supposed to tell me about that, were you?
Who's that for?
Me. Expect it's for me.
How do you know?
Well, it's my birthday.
That doesn't prove it's yours.
Who else is it going to be for?
Me. I'm going to have it.
What?
Finders keepers.
I bloody put it in there, you thieving witch.
Oh, who's going to believe that?
Make a wish.
Hm! Mm.
Mm.
Cockle.
Please. I'm working.
Winkle.
I have ten minutes to read this.
Scallop.
Are the baggage handlers still on strike,
or is this some sort of refugee centre?
I'm looking for a professor of English. His name is Matthew Beer.
Professor of English.
He should be taking a tutorial, but there's no sign of him.
He's not in his office.
Professor Matt, I've got your cigarettes and a muffin.
Danke.
No, it's... it's a muffin.
Hi.
Professor Matt? Would that be short for Matthew Beer?
Might be.
I thought you didn't speak English.
So did I.
My God. I'm as amazed as you are. My God. After all these years.
Professor Beer, I'm George Bryan.
I've been tasked with turning this place into a university.
American? Canadian.
I'm sorry to hear that.
Really cute campus you've got here.
If you like stained concrete.
If you want to bitch about Americans, go right ahead.
You let all that insecurity out.
No, no, I like Americans. I think they're dynamic and thrusting.
Morbidly obese.
Only poor ones. They don't count.
Now, I'm told you can give me a tour of the English department.
Course, yeah. You show me where it is and I shall give you a tour.
Um... whelk.
Whelk.
Seafood that looks like a clitoris.
Whelk is good.
I wonder what the plural for clitoris is.
Clitory? Clitori?
Or, more interestingly, the collective noun.
A tremble of clitories?
Er... box of clitori?
Clitorati?
Yeah, we believe that Kirke's combination of direction, choice, personal attention
gives it unique appeal. We hope that after three years
our students will have a wide but also deep knowledge
of English literature and language,
and that they will have specialised in the areas of this that they enjoy.
Did you get that off the website? Yeah.
Not ours. It's Oxford's.
And these offices are used by...?
Er... they put little clues on the door. That's Professor Norris.
And he is...? Er... she, now.
And what's in here? Yeah, just ignore that one.
Why? It's the wanking cupboard.
Are you always this flippant and rude? Only when I'm nervous.
I make you nervous? I think you do.
Ah, Professor Rowden. Matt.
Sorry. Were you waiting? No, it's all right.
Being a professor is very stressful. Sometimes you do just need to, you know... Pssss!
It... it's unisex, if you want to...
No? All right.
I just need to get the, um...
Psst! Psst, Jason.
Psst, Nicole, Nicole.
Have you checked your Facebook? No. Why?
Have a look. What, now?
Come on. Madness.
Can I style your hair? Yeah, why not? OK, let's have a look.
You have been tagged in a photograph. There you are.
That's my name attached to a picture of quite a mournful-looking bear.
That's what you're like sometimes, a mournful bear.
All confused but lovely and warm.
All your other photos were so serious. Lean back.
Leaning back.
Now lean forward. Leaning forward.
Let's take a look at you. Very dashing.
Absolutely. Now, off you pop.
Do you mind if I just hang out here for a couple of minutes?
No, fun's over. Students waiting.
Can I just borrow this box file? Yeah, off you go.
Should I leave you alone for a moment? Yeah, that'd be good.
Hello again. That's private. I'm trying to write.
Were you watching Bargain Hunt? What?
No. Yes, what if I was?
No, I like Bargain Hunt.
It's only for students and old people, and you're not really either of those.
Not really? Well, you're not. Are you?
You've got an office. Why don't you watch it in there?
I'm not comfortable with the decorators. Oh, no.
They make my voice go high-pitched. They've not been sniffing your chair
and wiping their penis over your pencil pot?
No. Cos that's what they did at my mate's.
They don't all do that. And my mum's.
So, are we up for this jog? Or are you gonna stay in and watch Countdown like an oldwoman?
Sorry? As old women do. Not that you are one.
Although you are... You're obviously, you know, older than...
people younger than you, but not by much.
I'm 32. And I'm 22.
It's just one figure difference.
Bit of maths.
Anyway, I will see you out there, yeah? Yeah, see you out there.
Ooh, is that your toy boy?
I haven't got a toy boy. You should have. It suits you.
What do you mean by that? Just something about your face.
Right, anyway, GCSE maths.
Yay! Can't wait. Oh.
Now, where shall we begin?
I could draw a cock in my rough book. Oh, that's a thought.
Er... Matt. Professor Beer.
Er... Professor Beer, I was thinking, not for any particular reason,
just generally wondering, have you ever been out with an older woman?
How old? Does it matter?
Well, depends how old old is. If she's so old that you have to gob up it, then... What? Gob up?
Yeah, can't get squeamish if you intend to go with the older lady.
Not that old that I have to gob up it.
OK, look, some older women can look quite pretty from the outside.
The render's good, they've got nice window boxes,
you know, shutters, roses climbing round the front door,
but if you do a full structural survey, you'll find subsidence, cracking,
severe dry rot,
and in such a case you have to be prepared to...
Yes, yes, I get the idea.
Gob up it.
And through here we have... It's another corridor.
Good corridor. No.
It's a great corridor, my little wonder.
For behind these walls there are hungry young minds
gorging themselves on good old Kirke education.
And through this door we have...
rien de tout!
But... Now, Jane.
GCSE maths.
Let's start with probability. Why do we need to do that?
Probability? Yeah.
Well, we need to know how likely something is to happen.
Do we really? Well, yes.
Why? Well, then we can make decisions based on that knowledge.
Rather than just using horoscopes? Yes.
Or our female intuition? Yes.
OK, um... how likely is it that I'd meet my sexual partner here?
In this library? No, in the whole university.
Right, well, we could collect data for relationships
which occur in educational establishments in general.
Mm-hm. Then...
we could collect further data
which is more directly associated with your personal relationships,
like what type you'd be attracted to,
how many type of those people are present on campus, la-la-la,
the frequency with which you might come into contact with those people...
So, your horoscope would be quicker? Well, not as accurate.
But, I mean, let's say this morning, my horoscope said
I would be spending a lot of time with someone I used to think was peculiar.
And? Well...
Well, what?
I was just saying. Oh...
And have you spent time with someone like that today?
No, I haven't, actually. Oh, well, there you are.
So... I suppose... Jason.
Oh, that'll be it.
There you go, then.
I like your glasses.Oh, thanks.
Jane, through here we have our magnificent walkway.
Actually, Jane, if I can just take a moment
to apologise for my behaviour earlier today.
Jane, you will understand that these are difficult times for a vice chancellor.
Understood, but my name is not Jane.
Oh, silly me.
I keep mistaking you for Agatha Christie's fictional detective, Miss Jane Marple.
An investigator, like myself.
Oft portrayed as a prim, tight-lipped joyless little ferret
scurrying around in the way of the real detective.
Really? I thought she solved crimes
that the inept provincial policemen couldn't get their tiny brains around. Mm, did you?
Well, I thought that she stuck her hatchet face in where it wasn't required
and ended up getting knifed to death in the shower.
No, somehow you've conflated Miss Marple with Psycho.
Or maybe you just missed that episode.
Look, Mr de Wolfe... Please! Call me Gregory.
I thought it was Jonty. Touche, my little ferret, touche.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I musty away for my elevenses.
Hiya. Hey.
Has the pilgrim lowered his staff?
Sorry?
Is Woody Harrelson still on the sofa?
Er... the actor?
Have you still got a hard-on? Oh, God, no. I'm so sorry about that.
It was just such a weird thing. I, um... I just...
Yeah, I wouldn't want you to think there was anything weird between us.
It's just a weird erection interlude.Nothing happened.
No. It was just all harmless larrikins.
Yeah. So, nothing happened, then?
Cos I was a bit worried about the... the emotional politics...
of the mound. No, nothing.
Nothing. Great. That's tremendously relieving.
Great. Great. So, shall we take our lunch outside?
Er... yeah, maybe later.
What, later after lunch? After we've eaten our lunch?
Sounds good.
Are you OK? It's... It's happened again, I'm afraid.
Oh, that was quick.
Yeah, it was the relief of the last one not being awkward any more.
Mm, so it seems quite a lot of things set it off.
Yeah.
What kind of things? Oh, God, anything. Sitting on the Tube.
Washing up. Driving a hatchback.
And just general relief? Seems so.
OK. Well, I'm gonna go off. OK.
Unless you want someone to chat to.
Probably better if you go.
OK. OK.
Hello, Grace.
Lunch box.
Hey, head up and don't forget the arms.
I haven't forgotten the arms. They're just a bit wilful.
Look, watch me, OK? Why are you doing that?
I just copied someone I saw on YouTube.
That running backwards thing? Oh, you just... turn around.
But how do you know where you're going? You keep checking.
Oh, right. Oh, yeah.
Oh, I see, yeah. Quite easy.
Aah!
God, are you OK? I'll be fine. Probably just a bruise.
Oh. Can I kiss it better? It's my bottom that hurts, so...
Well, if it had been your knees. My knee or my head or my elbow.
I could give it a rub.
A rub? A deep massage.
Oh, it's probably safer if you don't.
It's probably just a bruised ego anyway. OK.
Well, um... that I can kiss better. Oh, well, how?
I've run into a tree as well. Oh, really?
Yeah, five, actually. Wow, that's pretty thick.
Thanks. Oh, no, thank you.
My ego's feeling much better.
Well, that's it for today.Oh, shit.
How am I gonna avoid writing my book?
Oh, God, I said that out loud! Oh, God, I'm always doing that.
Losing control of your inner monologue? No, more the saying things out loud bit.
We could get a coffee, if you like. Oh, OK, then.
Don't look so pleased.
Probably would have agreed to take part in medical trials for the Black Death.
See, you really should stretch, especially because you're that bit older.
Oh, great, why don't you just push me into my bath chair
whilst I clack my wizened gums together?
Wizard? Wizened.
Oh.
Thanks for coming for a birthday drink.
You're not leaving? Just going to the loo.
Shall we sing Happy Birthday?
Will you be accompanied by a choir of gorgeous naked black men?
No. Then no.
I bricked up the shit-house window two hours ago, if that's your plan.
The office you've given me is unacceptable.
Why? It's small, badly lit, and I smell fish.
Maybe a fan of your work has secreted fish heads somewhere in the office as a welcome gift.
You do know that crumpet isn't actually going to toast, don't you?
Oh, patience, my little one.
Patience.
♪ Toasted crumpet yummy in the little VC's tummy. ♪
Mm.
Er... Grace.
Oh, Jason. Your girlfriend called.
She says please could you pick her up some okra after work.
Have you got a girlfriend?
Her name is Cecilia.
Yeah, I know what her name is.
You never mentioned that.
What? Didn't I?
No, I don't think so.
I must tell you about her some time.
Yeah.
I... I've just remembered the thing.
OK.
She sounded fat on the phone.
How do you sound fat?
Hi, my name is Cecilia, Jason's girlfriend.
Could he pick me up some okra?
You're right. She sounds really fat.
Mm.
She's not really fat, is she?
No.
Did she sound ugly?
Hm.
Did she sound like she might have a disease coming?
Did she sound barren?
Did she sound hairy?
Did she sound taller than him?
OK, de Wolfe, I get you.
You care about your university.
You care about educating people.
Mm-hm.
And you think that all I give a damn about is profit and cash.
Mm. Mm-hm.
And, sure, that frightens you.
You have ideals.
Mm.
But I have an ideal too.
Are... are you even listening to me?
Yeah.
You have my full attention. Eeh-eeh-eeh-eeh-eeh.
What happened to your eyes?
Nothing.
No, they're... You...
Are you wearing contact lenses with dollar signs in them?
Nope. We are in a cartoon
and I've just had an idea about robbing a bank.
We are not in a cartoon.
Ooh, ooh. Exactemente.
Now, in terms of a rebrand, I have had a rather nifty little idea.
For many years now,
further education in this country has underestimated
the value of the science-fictive pound.
There are millions, millions of milk-drinking, maladjusted,
never-felt-a-woman science-fiction freaks
who are desperate for a degree in interstellar warfare
or an MA in light speed.
You want Kirke to become a science-fiction institute?
Nope. I just want to be called Captain Kirke.
No.
How about we drop the whole science-fiction thing
but I still call myself...
Captain Kirke?
Hm. No.
Grace. How easy would it be
to cancel an order for 20 billion business cards?
'Remarkably hard.'
As I thought.
Ruh. Puh.
Fuh.
Um...
You and Imogen.
You've been seen out running,
the Moffster alongside you, stick legs a blur.
So?
Are you boffing the Moff?
You're paying to get this laptop de-pizza'd, Professor Beer.
Matt. Lack of denial very much noted.
Older women have scaly vaginas.
How would you know?
She's not rich.
She can't take you on a ride into space or buy you a panther.
I'm helping her train.
She's got a bit of a block with her book.
You're her Mr Dyno-Rod, are you?
Author-unblocking a specialty, with your big plunger?
I thought I'd help her out. Boost her morale.
Well, stay away from Little Miss Moffat.
Stop spreading well being and confidence where they're not wanted.
How do you know what she wants?
Pardon?
How do you know what she wants?
Pardon?
How do you know what she wants?
Oh, shit. You are trying to shag her, aren't you?
I'm having these for a start.
I've got 17 pairs, anyway.
Fee, fi, fo, fum!
I smell the stench of consultant's bum.
Ah!
Il professore! The very man!
Can I offer you a snack from my basket?
You trying to seduce me?
Afraid not.
Although, according to Mrs de Wolfe, you can be rather attractive.
Didn't think I've met her.
You haven't. She saw your photo in the prospectus,
ripped it out and wears it in her bra.
On hot days when the ink runs,
she has your weeping Christ-like face printed in reverse on her bosom.
Stop you for a minute. This shopping?
Mm-hm, yes.
Plums, melons, baps.
Bloomers, cherries and a spicy sausage.
I've been to the newest delicatessen on the high street, Innuendos.
Does that actually exist?
Of course it does. Choose freely.
All right. Erm...
Aha! You've gone for the melon.
You wouldn't prefer a chocolate doughnut or a bearded clam?
I'm sensing there's more to this snack offer than meets the eye.
Oh, you are a very smartish cookie. All in good time, my friend. Salut!
Just the man for my fiendish plan.
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
Tell me about her.
Er... Cecilia?
Cecilia Hare.
The family's very rich but... genetically interesting.
They all have eyes widely set.
Almost on the sides of their heads.
Like a hare?
Exactly. They think that's where the surname must come from.
So Cecilia looks a little unsettling,
but, to be fair, she's also very difficult to creep up on.
You have tried to creep up on her?
It's how she rationed sex.
Yeah, she'd... she'd hide in the orchard,
concealed somewhere in the tall grass,
and if I found her, we could do it. But I could never find her.
Any time I got anywhere near, she'd suddenly bolt.
I once I thought I'd caught her. It turned out to be her aunt.
Er... things change. Not all women are the same.
Like, some women have got eyes on the front of their heads.
Some women want to be caught. Some of us.
Some of you do, do you? Hm.
Yeah, well, did you know that, um, when hares box in the spring?
People always think it's the males fighting,
but in fact, it's the female testing out the male
to see how keen he is to mate.
How does that work, then?
Er... well, it's... They just... they go at each other.
They just... they just go, "I'm keen, I'm keen!
"I'm really keen! I'm keen!
"I'm keen! I'm keen! I'm keen! I'm keen! I'm keen!"
Waah!
Stupid man. Shut up.
We're boxing! We're hares boxing!
Shitting Christ, my cocking ear!
Are you all right?
Oh, God.
Oh, I can hear... It's really weird. I can hear humming.
Are you humming?
Stop humming.
See you later.
Look at her beavering away with her beaver.
Do you think she's seeing how long we take for our break?
We're not at school.
I think she's following me.
Maybe she fancies you.
Doubt it. You're painfully uninteresting. No offence.
How do you say that without offence?
I just did.
She was waiting at the bike lock-ups this morning when I arrived.
Maybe she fancies you.
Must you think everything's about sex?
Yes, I must.
There are some exceptions. Some things make you think of vomit.
I think she's observing us to unnerve us. Make us doubt ourselves.
Well, it's working.
She's not gonna intimidate me. I can out-intimidate her.
She's off.
Maybe she is trailing the maths pixie.
That's thrilling for her. Why's she trailing her and not me?
Cos she's got a better face, better legs, better breasts,
better smile, better glasses,
better forehead, better elbows, better ankles, better voice, chin.
I could go on.
If I didn't have a lecture, I would breathe on you to death.Hah!
Or you could just send in your flying-monkey army.
The turban is not just a piece of cloth fashioned into a fancy hat,
it is a self-crowning of the individual.
For many people, the hair is sexually attractive.
In covering it up, we protect ourselves
from the lower nature of those that are not our spouses.
Mrs de Wolfe is a very jealous woman.
She knows my barnet fair is admired by many.
So, for her peace of mind, I have become a day Sikh.
But by night, I am a mountain lion.
Aah!
You do realise there are no mountain lions in India?
Rarrr.
Leave me.
Also, I'm not a Sikh.
Hey.
So, um... I talked to Cecilia earlier,
and she says the reason she's been out of sorts and volatile...
She's been jealous.
Apparently, I mention...
Mention what?
You.
Why do you do that?
I don't know.
No wonder she's jealous.
If you're mentioning another girl's name all the time.
No, it's just that maybe we should just ease off a little.
Oh. Well, would it help if I said I was gay?
Er... Are you gay?
Yes, deeply so. But so far I've only come out to me.
So...
And me.
Yes, so keep it under your hat.
OK. Well, congratulations to you.
It means we can still be friends.
So, you're sure you're gay?
Yes, 94% sure. In fact, let me at the ladies.
Right. OK.
So, right. You're... you're gay?
Yeah, definitely.
Well, that's... Yeah, that's OK.
Want to hug a lesbian?
Yeah, go on, then.
Hey. Come on.
Bad luck.
I mean, not... just... you know.
I'm cool with it and everything.
Yeah. Hold on. Yeah.
Yeah, my little... My little homo friend.
See you later.
OK.
Fly, Patrick, fly!
Professor Matthew Beer. Welcome...
to the Room In Which I Plot The Organised Campaign Of Revolt
Through Which We Will Attempt To Psychologically
or Materially Dominate Our Canadian Oppressor.
Or, for short, welcome to the PTOCORTWWWAPMDOCO room.
Wouldn't it be easier to call it the war room?
Bit over the top, isn't it?
Well, while we're on the subject of overreacting...
Grace, pull down the pully-downy toggle.
Universities our foe has wiped off the map.
Yeah, well, not this map.
No, I had to have this map made to show the universities
she's wiped off all the other maps.
All right. That is actually quite a lot of universities. Blimey.
Blimey indeed, my friend.
But I have a plan,
a plan so fiendish that it can only be discussed here,
in the very bowels of the university,
a place which has itself been wiped from the map,
a no place, out of Euclidean place and time...
Excuse me, we've booked this room for Lego Club, actually.
Oh. I wondered why these were here.
He's got a hat on.
I want you to neutralise the Canadian.
You'd trust me with a hysterectomy?
Yes, as a matter of fact, I would. You have very nimble fingers.
But, no, I want you to sleep with her.
That's your secret plan?
It would have sounded better in amongst the maps and all the stuff.
Grace, unfurl the map.
I need you to sleep with the Canadian.
You want me to bed the devil?
Melt the ice queen, Matt.
Sure. Do we really have a Lego Club?
I know. Bit gay, isn't it? Oh, no offence, Grace.
Walk quicker! Oink, oink.
Good afternoon.
I don't mean to alarm.
Don't you knock?
I have access all areas.
I'm busy.
Imogen Penelope Moffat?
Yes.
Age 32.
Yes, a sprightly 32.
How would you feel about cleaning your own office?
Why would I clean my own office?
Do you clean your own home?
Yes, but this is not my home.
I'm asking you how you would feel about cleaning your own office.
Well, I would feel that with the work that I do,
that on top of that I would feel that cleaning my own office
would be too much.
Too much.
What did everyone else say?
Oh, I'm not at liberty to disclose that.
They said they wouldn't mind?
I really can't say.
To save money they wouldn't mind a bit of cleaning?
My lips are sealed.
They were happy to do that?
It's confidential.
OK. I wouldn't mind doing just a quick tidy round.
OK, I'll make a note of that. "Wouldn't mind a quick tidy round."
Thank you for your time, senior lecturer Moffat.
It's been fun.
Has it?
I'm good at my job, Imogen.
And being good at my job means others lose theirs.
As a delicate English female, you may find that work distasteful,
but it's a dirty world, Dr Moffat.
A girlfriend of mine has a summer job going through car wrecks,
finding severed body parts.
I don't want that job, you don't want that job,
but do you want to bury your decapitated mother
without a chance to have her hair done nicely?
Well, no. I don't.
Well, there you go.
What a mean old bean.
No, I want to understand.
How do you actually, um... get started in lesbianism?
You write a letter to the International Council of Lesbians
asking to join.
Uh-huh.
You enclose two passport-sized photos. A cheque for ?12.
If you're accepted, they send you a membership card and you're in...
I know I'm not paying attention, but I don't think that's actually true.
All right, er... well, in my case,
it all started with Jodie Foster.
A-ha.
I... First of all, I admired her as an actress,
and then I realised that I admired her as a woman.
And then when she came out as a lesbian herself,
everything just kind of snowballed from there.
So, what you're saying is that Jodie Foster acted
as a kind of... a gateway lesbian.
A lesbian that started you going down a slippery slope,
which sounds a lot ruder than I meant it to. I'm gonna go back to the card.
Who's it for?
Cecilia. She thinks I'm not paying enough attention to her.
Oh, only one kiss? Are you sure?
I've not done any kisses yet.
Jason X.
No, that's what she thinks I'm called.
Early on, I sent her an e-mail with a kiss,
then I worried that I'd gone too far too soon,
and so I said it wasn't a kiss, but it was actually my name.
She thinks you're called Jasonx?
Jasonix. I told her it was Greek.
So, what language is Jasonx?
No, it's not Jasonx. Jasonix. Like Asterix or...
The point is, she thinks it's Greek.
She's an idiot!
Er...
I didn't mean it. I meant, you know...
I'm sure she's nice. I didn't mean that. You know what I mean.
Just because...
No, she is an idiot.
Now I think about it, how could she possibly think Jasonix is Greek?
I don't know. I think it was the way I sort of presented it to her.
Ha! His latest victim.
I wonder what the pathetic modus operandi is.
What's up?
I just hate my life. I haven't spoken to my dad for a month.
And I don't care if I ever speak to him again.
So, he wants you to finish the course. You want to do...
Full-time modelling.
OK.
Fashion or glamour?
Plasticine. Stop-frame animation.
OK, the thing is, um...
Claire.
You have to do whatever you're gonna do for yourself, not for your dad.
You're angry with him.
You resent the way he thinks he can rule your life,
so you're just immediately rejecting anything he says.
So, just ignore all that. Ask yourself, what do you want?
I want to finish the course and then do the modelling.
There you go.
So, don't hate your life. Leave that sort of thing to me.
What are you doing?
Just keeping people up to speed. Twitter.
Nice.
I've just put that you've been a really big help.
If I can pay you back in any way...
Maybe you'd like to come round this evening?
Um...
Claire, I don't want you to take this the wrong way
but I'm gonna have to decline.
A, your head's not in the right place.
And, B, you don't need a father figure at the moment.
I think you need to talk to your actual father.
Thanks, Professor Beer.
That's all right.
If you don't mind, could you tweet that I did accept your offer
and I rogered you senseless?
Otherwise my reputation'll be in tatters.
Sure.
Cheers.
Oh, hi.
Just keeping my hand in.
I'd expect nothing less.
You big fat liar.
Oh, Kirke.
A dark, ugly, evil, heartless, cartoon-voiced Canadian fog
has descended upon our kingdom,
threatening to wash away our meagre annual budgets,
and pour red-dressed acid rains on our dreams.
Oh, Kirke.
I may be a man of flesh and blood and you a building of
bricks and mortar but we share a mutual dependency.
An alignment of interests.
For you need me to build you up.
And I... I need you to prove the world wrong.
There's nothing I wouldn't do for you.
♪ Did you ever know that you're my hero? ♪
♪ And everything I would like to be ♪
♪ For I can fly higher than an eagle ♪
♪ And you are the wind beneath my wings ♪
♪ Oh, the wind beneath my wings ♪
♪ Fly ♪
♪ Fly away ♪
♪ Oh, fly away ♪
♪ The wind beneath my wings ♪
♪ Thank you ♪
♪ Oh, thank you, Kirke ♪
♪ The wind beneath my wings. ♪
Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd, MemoryOnSmells