Oh, God! Oh, sweetie!
- Zero, zero, zero, enter. - Stupid little thing...
The simplest number possible. Even a fool could remember it, but I overestimated you again.
What's the point of it if it's just going to make a bloody racket?
- It's supposed to. - I don't care if someone took all the furniture.
I can get it back on the insurance. I can't get a perforated eardrum back, can I?
I've got to call the central station and tell them
that my mother has the memory span of a fruit fly. Then I need to speak to you.
Oh, darling! Yes, speak to me. I'm shaking in my boots, darling.
- What is it? - Go back to bed, darling.
- Have you just come in? - Into my own house, would you believe it?
After rather a gorgeous night out.
- What time is it? - 7:30.
What, in the... 7:30, you say?
- It means nothing to me. - Go back to bed, darling.
Don't stop there, sweetie. Keep going. Come on, move your body.
What are you smirking at? Do you think this is funny?
Oh... Funny what, darling? Funny ha-ha-ha?
You might have rung and told me what you were doing.
I was too busy doing it, darling.
- What's the matter? Jealous? - No, worried.
Worried about me having fun? Well, I was having bloody great fun.
Ask her who with. - Who with?
- Jean-Pierre. - That bastard! You didn't tell me he was around.
I sort of ran into him by accident, darling.
He's over here directing a video for a hip-rave-rap... band, darling.
I thought we were going out.
Thanks to you I had to spend the evening here alone with Helena Bonham Carter here!
I'm going back to bed. There's no point in my being up at this hour.
- Helps me to sleep. - Back in your coffin.
Darling! Patsy is an insomniac, sweetie.
- More like the walking dead... - Ooohh!
- How long is she here for? - Don't know. How long are you here for?
- How long? - Until her flat has been fumigated.
She can't live in it breathing fumes all day.
I thought sniffing chemicals was what she did best.
I'm surprised she's not there already with a straw stuck up her nose.
She should try it. It could be the substance that makes her socially acceptable.
- Darling, it would kill her! - Exactly.
A few hormones talking there, haven't we?
- So, Jean-Pierre... - Yeah, yeah!
- Is he over long? - It sort of depends on me, darling.
He made it clear last night that he was re-smitten. You know what I mean?
- Did you...? - Of course, darling.
I know it's been a long time, but it must be like riding a bicycle.
It's just something you never forget.
- I hope... - Very careful, darling, yes! The whole packet!
- Mum! - Well...
Once you've brushed off the cobwebs there's no stopping me.
- I don't want to know. - You asked the question.
No point getting all umphy about it now, is there?
- Anything else you'd like to know? - No, thanks.
If you had a few boyfriends you wouldn't be so hung-up about it.
I'm not hung-up!
"I'm not hung-up! I'm not hung-up!"
I know it's a sensitive issue with someone your age, darling.
A bit embarrassed to talk about it, aren't you? Mm?
My analyst says that I should let you sort it out in your own time, and everything.
But Jesus Christ, darling!
Not one bloody boyfriend in the whole time I've known you!
You're not that bloody ugly. What's the matter with you? Huh?
Have you read that Kama Sutra I gave you? No!
That Dutch cap has only ever seen the light of day.
God! Here I am, your mother, poised for your first sexual experience
and night after night, dry bloody sheets!
I'm sorry, darling, but I don't want a little moustached virgin for a daughter,
so do something about it!
- Unless of course... - Mum, don't!
- Mum, please! - Unless of course...
- Unless of course you're gay! - Mum!
Sweetie! You can tell me, sweetie. Are you?
- Yes, I'm gay. - Hurrah!
Well done, darling, well done!
I'm glad it makes you so happy, but actually I'm not.
- What? - I'm not gay!
- I'm sorry. - Oh?
Break it to me like that, why don't you?
Yes...
I suppose it's not your fault, really.
Just your old mother clutching at straws.
Trying to find one exotic, interesting feature about you, but there we are.
- What time is it? - 8:00.
Wake me at 9:30. I'll let the world warm up and have its first fag before I get up.
It's usually smoked 12 packets and got lung cancer by the time you hit the road.
Get a haircut and a boiler suit so I don't have to explain you to my friends.
All night I've had to hear that! Any more hacking and you'll bring up oil
- Darling, has anyone called? - No.
- What are you wearing? - Is it awful, darling?
I'm seeing Jean-Pierre and thought that this was him.
It is him, darling, but it's not you.
- Saff? - Well, I like it.
I'll change.
- Are you seeing him for lunch? - Yes. Pont de la Tour.
- I thought we were having lunch. - I always have lunch with you.
- Can't I come? - You don't like Jean-Pierre.
Nobody likes Jean-Pierre. I wouldn't talk to him, I'd talk to you.
Look, I just don't want you to make a horrible mistake again.
- What do you mean? - I'm your best friend.
Let's be honest. Your taste in men is famously bad.
I've had to save you from two disastrous marriages
and some ghastly, pathetic affairs you might have had.
- What a great friend you are! - Don't make me have lunch on my own.
- You can get someone to have lunch with. - Of course I could always get someone!
It's just that I haven't got someone. Go on...
- Alright, you can come. - Thanks, Eddy.
- Are you going to the office? - I have to sort out a few things about the shop.
It's going very well, by the way.
I've got gorgeous things coming in from Kashmir, Afghanistan, Albania...
I've got blankets and rugs from Ethiopia. Dirt cheap, honestly.
We'll sell lip plates from dead Amazonian Indians as ashtrays.
Don't look at me like that. We do take the lip off!
Honestly, sweetie...
We've got some lovely cooking pots from Somalia.
They don't need them. They've got no food to put in them.
- And also, the best news of all time! - Yes?
- You know the villages deserted by the Kurds? - Yes.
- I bought the entire contents. - Well done!
I know, the trucks are moving in.
Coups, revolutions and disasters are all bargain basements to you!
Oh, darling! They're happy camping.
- What are you doing today, Pats? - I hope she's not staying here.
Will you shut up? Will you just shut up?
I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to my friend. Is that alright?
God, it's like living with a chronically-depressed budgerigar.
Shut up!
- Pats? - I'm going in to my office.
- Your... ... office.
The magazine? Is that still there?
Of course it is. There's a little meeting so I've got to go. About 10 minutes.
- What do you do? - Darling!
Patsy is a top fashion editor in a top magazine.
Director. Executive Fashion Director.
- But she's never at work. - I am always at work.
Thanks to our friend, Mr Mobile Phone. Patsy's got that job for life.
You don't mean that she's good at something?
No, darling. She slept with the publisher.
- I'm bloody good at it. Bloody good.
- So what does a fashion director do? - Oh, darling!
She gets a 50% discount at Harvey Nichols.
- It's not only that. There is skill involved. - Of course there is.
I decide what goes in the magazine.
I snap my finger and raise hemlines so high that the world is your gynaecologist.
Exactly.
- You get lots of free champagne. Yes.
- I direct... The fashion.
Yeah. You get lots of little free goodies, little things.
- You've never had to pay for anything! - I paid for you, darling.
A hundred times over!
I'm going to go and change and then we'll go.
- Can I still come to lunch? - Yes.
To help you get to the car.
I'm sure this is it. They must have washed the outside.
That's why I didn't recognise it. I'll come with you, Patsy.
We'll be about five minutes. And then on to San Lorenzo.
Are you sure this is the one, Pats?
- Don't question me. - No bells ringing...
Now, floor. Do you remember what floor?
We'll just go to the reception and ask for a map and a list. Can you do that?
Yes, I recognise this.
"Fifth floor. Editor, Deputy Editor, Beauty Editor, Chief Sub-editor,
"Food and Drink Editor, Managing Editor, Friend of Editor,
"Deputy Chief Sub-editor, Senior Sub-editor, Social Editor... Excuse me.
"Special Projects Editor". Now...
- Are you looking at the list of editors? - Yes.
I'm not an editor, I'm a director. I'm the Fashion Director.
It's not even on this floor, Pats!
Here we are. "Art Director, Style Director, Circulation Director, Managing Director,
"Ad Director, Promotions Director... "
- This is it. - As you left it, by the look of things.
Nobody gets flowers from that florist any more. Bloody cheek!
- Look! Darling, Armani! - Only "Emporio".
I can just felt-pen that out. No one will know.
- Is my Chanel still in there? This one?
Yes, my little baby. I'll wear it if there's a meeting.
It frightens the editors I'm the only one with Chanel couture.
Let them kiss my buttons.
- Patsy Stone. - Hi, Mags.
- You know Eddy. - Hi.
- Are you coming to the meeting? - If I must.
We need to drum up more advertising revenue.
We've lost Swiss watches, Lanson, Nivea, two lingeries, one shower gel,
- and all my tampons have dropped out. - Oh, dear.
If it wasn't for an Estée Lauder and a Rive Gauche we'd be looking thin this month.
- Is the meeting going to be long? - Five minutes.
I've got to do three lunches and a tights launch by two.
And all this with my working breakfast with Marie Helvin floating about here.
- I'll see you in two minutes. - Right.
Best editor this side of American Vogue. Chuck me Chanel, Eds.
Yes, I went. Cheap wine and crap canapés.
If I don't get my discount card bloody quick
she'll find herself plunged into obscurity designing for British Home Stores.
- Where's Magda? - On the phone to Fergie.
Just give her the bloody hat. If she calls again I'm out.
Right, I've got one minute. Features. Catriona?
- Well... - Do something on a car.
- What? - Do something on a car. I need a new car.
- A nice one, no rubbish. - Right.
- And something about how lovely champagne is. - We could tie that in with some glasses.
A friend of mine has got a shop with lovely glasses.
- Henrietta? - Yes. Maybe we could do some lovely photos.
What about people? Who's in, who's out,
who's sexy, who's not sexy, who's clever, who's not clever.
- Who's in, who's out. - Here's my list.
Cross her out, she screwed me. Put him in, he screwed me.
Do something on River Phoenix. I really fancy him.
- Right. - River Phoenix, Mickey Rourke, Liam Neeson.
Don't do anything on anyone called Freud. I don't like them.
- Bunch of no-talents with an ancestor. - But they were in last month.
So? I'm not running a bloody charity.
I don't have to lick their boots because some grandad invented penis envy.
It's just that they're pretty good friends of mine.
- It doesn't matter, but... - Beauty. Make it quick.
She's fabulous. - Puts you into perspective.
Clarins, Shisheido, Paloma Picasso, Chanel Make-up, generally...
Faces-eyes, lips, nostrils... This is all off the top of my head.
Douching with mint is a thought.
Ten tips on tropical toenails. I'm thinking natural zing.
"Moist" is my "word de jour".
Lovely wet moist droplets. Lusciousness.
I see sun, sand, water, beach...
Photo shoot-wise I'm looking at two weeks in the Caribbean.
Skin is in.
And the usual-try to look more beautiful if you want more sex.
Very good. Chuck us that wrinkle cream, will you?
Get Hamish in here. I want to find out about the restaurant I'm having lunch in.
- Pats? - It's only big names this month.
Laurent, Armani, Lagerfeld, Oscar de la Renta. No British tat.
- In Moscow. Glamour in the Red Square. - I'm not using Russians.
- They're all too bloody ugly. And fat.
400 years of potato diet won't squeeze into a Gautier cup.
If I looked like that I wouldn't go out.
- Magda? - Hamish.
Tell me about the restaurant I'm having lunch at.
Comfortable in the grand manner.
Stuffed with plutocratic goodies and a decent duck.
The dining room is boudoiresque, fin-de-siècle eclectic,
and still fashionably uncomfortable.
A melange, possibly a post-Orwellian version of an Edwardian eatery.
The food? Ecumenical in flavour,
a cosmopolitan adventure full of exuberant eclecticism,
full of amuse-gueule and gastro-credibility.
No flash in the bain-marie this.
A comforting air. Generally, the tomatoes were rather pulpeuse.
Ta.
It's bollocks, but it uses up paper and that's what the magazine is all about.
One more thing. Patsy, the television people have been on to us.
They want us to do a make-over on their morning programme.
Their regular has dropped out. It's good for the magazine, so I said that you'd do it.
- Are you mad? - My secretary has the details.
Some miseries in shell suits are waiting downstairs for you to perform a miracle on them.
- Help me, Eddy. - Darling, you'll be alright.
- What do I do? - Take them for a haircut,
put them in a designer dress and parade them on TV.
Public humiliation, darling. Nothing you can't handle.
- Television? I go on television? - Yes.
Television? I always thought I'd be good at that.
- See you later, darling. - Yes.
- Are you going to be in later? - Probably. Are you alright?
Yes, yes. Piece of cake, sweetie.
Television, eh?
Oh. "Hello. Hello, I'm Patsy Stone. "
Eddy.!
Jesus Christ!
She's not in.
- So, how did the make-over go? - How did you know about that?
Mum phoned. She's out on her own with Jean-Pierre,
having a great time without you.
Have you managed to turn some normal people into fashion freaks this afternoon?
Bitches! They had no taste. We disagreed and the whole thing's off.
- Oh... - It was hideous.
- What, the outfit? - No, the fight.
Her mother and I came to blows over a geometric bob.
I told her the only thing she looked good in was a body bag.
The daughter rebelled in Yamahoto's shop. She's in hospital
having a bit of modern furniture removed. Miserable little slut!
No thought for me and my reputation
or the fact that I've got to be on TV tomorrow.
Two fantastic outfits and no one to wear them. Selfish peasants!
Oh, I'm weeping!
- Don't bother. Can I come in.?
I know what you want and the answer is no.
- How can you know what I want? - Well, maybe I'm wrong.
I thought you had come up here to persuade me to be a fashion victim for you.
Perhaps you've come for a chat. A nice, cosy, personal chat with me.
- Don't shut that door. - Don't you like my room?
It's what I expected. A little patterned cell Curtains...
Would you mind dragging your old carcass out of here?
Look, I'm sorry.
I know I pretend to hate you and you pretend to hate me and...
- I do hate you. - Why?
Because you're a despicable person who's resented me since I was born.
Before!
- So why should I ever do a favour for you? - I'll pay you.
- No. - I'm your mother's best friend.
- Best friend? What kind of a friend are you? - What kind of a daughter are you?
- At least she's got fun with me. - I care about her.
Care about her? You may dress like a Christian, but the similarity ends there.
I think you do it on purpose.
How long does it take to get the crease so crisp on your jeans, you torturer?
Get out!
For you...
- I picked those. - They're lovely.
- Look, I understand. - You don't understand anything. Get out!
At least your mother wanted you.
If this is one of your terrible sob stories, make it quick.
I can hardly hold back the tears.
Go on, tell me about your tragic childhood, about your parents we never hear from,
who you've probably had committed to a home so they don't discover how old you are.
They're dead. Smirk your way out of that one, babe.
I'm sorry.
Yes, well... I never knew my father.
My mother only knew him fairly briefly.
She had me when she was in her forties.
I nursed her through her last years.
It put a stopper on me finding someone for myself and settling down,
but there you are. Anyway, it wasn't her fault.
She didn't want a child. She would've got rid of me,
but she mistook being pregnant for the menopause.
When she found out it was too late.
Patsy, that's awful
It was having Eddy and your grandmother that made it OK. It gave me somewhere to go.
My mother didn't like having me around the house. She said I cramped her style,
made her feel old.
I am Aphrodite.
I live, I breathe.
I am Diana. I am Queen Dido.
Oh, what a light dances over the world!
Get out of my way, child.
Don't stand in my path when I am trying to express!
What are you doing here?
They cut the cord when you were born, when my body expelled you.
Accept your liberty, my little void,
and let this spirit be free!
Anyway, I've got Humphrey and Andre coming over.
I'd rather not have you around.
If you're planning to go out, don't forget the key.
I'm hoping for a little imaginative synthesis tonight,
and could frankly...
...do without the competition.
Beat it!
- Is your mother not feeding you, dear? You know what she's like.
She's not burning her bra again, is she?
We can't have you turn into a great, gangly whatsit.
Skinny, "balinky" long legs, big banana feet.
And a roly-poly pudding that nobody wants to meet.
Thanks, Mrs M.
Look at you.
All grief and resentful care.
Here I am in this place of old age and pallid diseases,
looked after by so-called nurses.
Just gropers of old bones.
You come here and hang breathless around me,
hoping for me to die.
Denied even my intellectual liberty.
Allowed only two Barbara Cartlands a day.
Forced to sit on my female eunuch
to keep their dirty hands off it.
The tyranny of children.
Oh, for God's sake, just die!
She died soon after that.
The last thing she said to me was, "Why?"
"Why have our swords always been locked in battle?
"Why have we always been fighting?"
And what did you say?
I said we had locked shields, not swords.
- Patsy, that's very sad. - I know!
- Look. - Yes?
- I... Yes?
- I'll make a deal with you. - OK.
I'll do your make-over thing on two conditions.
Name them.
You move out of this house into a hotel
and you allow Mum to have a boyfriend.
Done.
And call your grandmother. I need an old woman, too.
- What are you up for? - I'm coming, darling, aren't I?
- Aren't you with Jean-Pierre today? - No, he's shooting his video today.
- Aren't you needed in the shop? - I'll be there later. I'm coming, OK?
Wake up, Pats! Come on, darling!
Sweetie. - What time is it?
Six o'clock in the morning. Don't even think about it, babe.
- What time did you get to sleep? - I nodded off at about three a. m.
I tried at midnight, took some pills at one. Couldn't do it.
It's so long since I actually remember going to sleep instead of passing out.
- How did we do it? I don't know.
How did you get on with Saff and the old woman?
Your mother wears anything I'll tell her to, but that bitch daughter of yours!
She just won't wear the dress I want her to.
This might sound rather odd, but have you tried saying "please"?
- What? - Sometimes it works with Saffy.
- I can't. - Try. It's over quite quickly, darling.
No, I mean I can't say it.
- Don't make me say it. It's difficult for me. - Just say "please" and smile.
I can't smile like that. I can't afford the wrinkles.
- You do it, Ed. No, sweetie...
Saffy, darling. Pats has got something she wants to ask you, darling.
Do it now. Go on!
Smile!
- Come on. "Please". - Please.
Yeah, will you wear the dress?
OK. Come on, we're going to be late.
Come on, you two. We're due in Make-up at seven.
- I wonder if Auntie Clare Rayner will be on. - No, I'm on.
Yes, I know, but she may be on, too.
I do hope so. I'm always writing to Clare.
What for? There's nothing the matter with you.
Well, I did think once that I had that disease.
You know the one that makes you forget everything.
- Alzheimer's. - The one you get when you're old.
- Alzheimer's. - What's it called?
- Alzheimer's! - I can't remember.
Come on, we'll be late!
It seems strange that the make-over should be on us.
Come on, darling. Come on, sweetie!
There's another one here...
- You're alright? You're not nervous? - No.
- Have you got a catch-phrase to sum up with? - What?
Think about it. A little catch-phrase. Sum up with something, say something.
Yeah, I could do it in my sleep.
- We'll talk to the Sports Personality of the Year... Contradiction in terms...
...but now it's on to my favourite spot which is the fashion spot.
We're lucky enough to be joined by a top fashion editor spot person
from Ella magazine: Patsy Stone.
Patsy, hello.
Yes, cheers. Thanks a lot.
Am I right in thinking that you've changed the fashion spot
into a sort of make-over spot this week?
How did you get on?
Yes, really... well W-well
I see... Am I right in thinking that you took two ordinary members of the public
and made their dreams come true?
Y- yes, that's right.
I see. Could we perhaps take a look at a photo of our two "make-over spotters"?
No, no, that's a photograph of my new son. Isn't he sweet?
Have we got a photo?
Yes, we have. I'd say there's an awful lot of work to be done there, wouldn't you?
Yes, cheers, thanks a lot.
Right... Perhaps now we're going to bring in our make-over spotters
and see what they look like now.
There's something wonderful! A lovely outfit, there.
Sort of a mixture between a colander and a chain-mail outfit, isn't it?
And here comes a lady in the more mature years.
Not afraid to wear black in the evening of her life, I notice.
Do sit down. Marvellous!
- Is Clare going to be on? - No, we lost her with the franchise.
Gone.
They're not exactly workaday outfits, are they, Patsy?
You'd feel a bit of a fool going to the supermarket wearing one of those!
Yes, cheers, thanks a lot.
Why don't we ask our guinea-pigs
exactly how they feel about the particular outfits they're wearing?
How do you feel about them, dear?
I'm more of an M & S person myself.
You know? So am I. You can't fail, can you?
Anyway, moving on... Thank you very much for coming along, everybody.
Patsy. Marvellous work, if not a bit way-out for me!
- Can I just say something? - Yes.
Er... You can never have enough hats, gloves and shoes.
Right... Thank you very much, Patsy!
Invaluable advice there from our top professional fashion expert.
- Thanks a lot. - Now...
Later on, we'll be taking an in-depth look at acute schizophrenia
from 9:20 to 9:23.
And afterwards, what else but euthanasia?
We'll talk to some people who pulled the plug on their elderly mothers,
so you'd better watch out, dear!
Anyway, now over to Ulrika for the weather. No, sit, sit!
Roll it.
Never have I been so embarrassed in all my life,
and that is saying something after living with my mother for 18 years.
- I thought it went very well, dear. - Did you? Eddy?
Sweetie, you were marvellous. Darling, you were.
Don't humour her! She stank!
Listen, they offered me a job!
It's only doing the weather.
Mum, have you spoken to Jean-Pierre? He left a message on the machine.
Sweetie, I don't think I'll be seeing Jean-Pierre any more.
Pats and I talked about it last night, and she's right.
With his job and my shop and everything, it's not really practical, darling.
Get out of this house! You can at least keep one half of the deal
Listen, sucker! You went on television, I'm not going anywhere.
- Have you no honour? - She lost that at 14, dear.
I knew the boy.
Right!
Oh, darling! Success at last, a teenage temper tantrum.
How did you persuade her to do it?
I fed her some story about my mother not loving me and her being a tyrant,
me looking after her in old age, blah, blah, blah...
That's true, isn't it, darling?
Oh, damn!
You can never have enough hats, gloves and shoes.
- What are you doing tonight, Pats? - Seeing the publisher, just to be sure.
Darling, even Amanda de Cadenet would remember the word "accessories".