Alex Taylor speaking. Can I call you back?
I'm in a meeting.
Hello.
Morning.
Thank you for my alarm call and my cappuccino.
Oi.
Can't face staying at Stephen's house any more
and I got locked out of the office last night by the security guard.
You've gotta laugh.
Have you? Really, Alex, you're sleeping in a car.
Yeah, but, you know, look on the bright side...
it is my car and it's a Mercedes.
Oh, yeah, I was quite forgetting you're a very classy kinda hobo.
I realised last night as I snuggled down under Fireman Sam...
I've hit rock bottom.
Brilliant! The only way is up, baby.
Time to sort my life out.
Just like you said you wanted me to.
I don't want you to. Well, I mean, I do want you to,
if that's what you want.
Just whatever you do, don't do it for me.
All I meant was you need some calmness and stability in your life
before you get involved with someone.
But not me. Ever. Sorry, I thought I'd made that clear.
Yeah, well, you have now.
So can I stay at yours for a few months? As a friend?
No!
Oh, you could bloody think about it!
You could pause for a second as if you were actually weighing it up
before condemning me to spending the winter in a rusty German banger.
Um...
.. no!
Funnily enough, men I've had a couple of disaster shags with
aren't on my list of top ten flat-mates.
Well, second shag wasn't that bad.
Please, Alex! It's not fair.
There must be someone else.
I can't be the only friend you could stay with.
You are. Cheers. His mum phones a lot, but that's about it.
Maybe you could move in with your mum.
I just really like what you've done with your flat, you know.
All that beige, it's very calming.
It's the perfect place to get over a midlife crisis.
Thank you very much.
I'll make sure the estate agent puts that on the details when I come to sell it.
Yeah. It's like you said, I need a stable environment
in which to get better, and if I stay in your stable environment,
then we can get better together.
I am better.
Are you sure about that?
Better than you, anyway.
What?
Gather round, gash-hounds.
Friday, as some of you already know, is the funeral of my old rival,
Charlie Renfrew.
Oh, I met Charlie a few times.
Real gentleman agent. One of the old school ruthless bastards.
I want all you dick licks to be at the service
to pay our respects to a dear friend and an esteemed colleague,
and to nick the poor cunt's clients.
Memorise names, faces, especially this award-winning Celtic cop,
Richard Rourke. Check out who he's fucking, who they're all fucking,
who they used to fuck and, crucially, who they wanna fuck in the future.
And if any of them want to fuck any of you,
then by all means, my cuntlings, put the condoms on expenses,
but not the lube.
I draw the line at doing any of our potential clients up the arse.
I wanted to teach, that's the tragedy of it.
Not make a career out of gate-crashing funerals.
I wanted to teach drama in some failing inner-city comp.
Like Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society,
only without the elitism and the sensitive one topping himself.
I wanted to do something worthwhile,
and if I hadn't come across that job ad in the Guardian -
"Needs strong personality and a love of the theatre".
Fuck those four magic words!
If I hadn't stumbled across them, I'd be at the chalk face right now,
inspiring disadvantaged teenagers to rise above their circumstances.
No, you wouldn't! You failed your degree. You can't teach without that.
Well, I think maybe I could have done primary.
No, because I thought about teaching, and you definitely...
Whatever. The point is, teaching was what I wanted to do,
that was my plan. Hi.
Instead of which, tomorrow I make my debut
as a professional grave-robber.
I live in my family car without my frigging family.
I've been dumped by you, and what's worse,
the only person I've got to talk to about being dumped by you is you.
Is that so bad? I'm pretty good on me. At least I know what I'm like.
I'll hold onto the receipt, actually, thank you.
This is a work funeral, love. This tie's going on expenses.
250 quid.
Our accounts department might think I'm taking the piss.
You should see someone, you know.
Your GP, get something proper, anti-depressants or...
No, I'm not depressed.
I'm not, I'm just sad.
There is a difference.
I'm just going through a lot of stuff, that's all.
Yeah. It's just all that sad stuff you're going through
is making you really, really depressed.
Are you on the happy pills?
I'm actually feeling pretty good at the moment.
Well, at the moment you are, yeah, right now.
With that baby on your head, you're top of the world.
- What about Friday? - What about it?
I'm gonna be spending my working day
trying to steal a dead agent's clients.
I don't feel good about that.
I'm not looking forward to the whole tacky experience any more than you are,
but I tell you this, mister,
I may be a vulture,
but at least I'm a vulture who looks good in a hat.
Mm, OK, fine.
I was just thinking,
you can't have been to many funerals since Pete died, so...
Haven't been to any since Pete died...
.. haven't been to any.
Fucking hell!
Excuse me, but where can I drink some alcohol in this department store?
I shouldn't have said those things about Pete.
No, you should have.
I was just blocking them out, that's what I do.
Later, I'm seeing Pete's sister
and I'm thinking, "Later, I'm seeing Pete's sister,"
when I should be thinking, "Later, I'm seeing Pete's sister!"
Well, maybe you are just seeing Pete's sister, maybe it'll be fine.
No, it won't be fine. You know, we've never got on,
and then after Pete died, well, I hardly ever see them.
Do you want me to come with you?
Oh, no, I've gotta butch up about this kinda stuff
and Sophie and Malcolm, I mean, they've had a baby now, so that'll be...
Weird, ironic, a bit upsetting?
Seriously, I don't mind tagging along if it helps.
No, thanks, honestly, I'll be fine.
No, it won't be, probably. There's a good chance it'll be pretty bad.
You're gonna need a shoulder to cry on. Mine, for example.
Please let me come. I really don't wanna be on my own tonight.
God, for a moment there I thought you were actually worried about me.
I was, I am - I'm just slightly concerned about myself as well.
I'm worried about both of us.
Oh, how much shit are we in, eh?
No. You can't come, and anyway, Sophie and Malcolm,
they're fine, but they're very straight, just kinda normal.
I can pretend to be straight, I can act normal.
- You can't! - How do you know till I've tried?
- You just wouldn't enjoy it anyway. - Well, of course I wouldn't enjoy it!
It's meeting new people, isn't it?
I hate meeting new people, that's why I'm such a shit agent.
I just really don't wanna be hanging out with myself tonight.
I've been doing that a lot lately and I am terrible company.
Oh, in that case, come along and entertain my friends, then.
Seeing as they're so happy with their new baby and full of the miracle of life,
a night in with a manic depressive is just what they need!
I'm not a manic depressive, if you don't mind.
I'm an emotional cripple.
Thank you for the champagne. What a treat!
Ooh!
It's just easier for us not to have alcohol in the house at the moment.
Now we're breast-feeding.
Well, I've given that up, so...
reckon I'm safe to knock back a couple.
As long as you don't mind drinking on your own.
To be honest, I prefer it. Congratulations!
Wow.
Well, almost like home.
Although I haven't got one of those.
Do you want one? Because Mark can print off a copy.
No, you're all right, don't worry.
Er, actually, yeah, please, that'd be great.
We go every Sunday, after church.
How about you?
Not every Sunday, no.
In fact, not any Sunday, not to the crematorium.
I understand.
It's painful.
And it's in Ruislip, so that's a hell of a tube journey.
And I don't really see that as where Pete is,
that place we went to for half an hour
where the priest got his name wrong.
I just don't connect that with Pete.
Shall I... Shall I not print this out, then?
Yes, you should.
Five by seven or ten by eight?
Oh, just a small one, please, yeah, just to fit in my wallet,
so I can show people at parties.
"Here's a pic of my mum, there's the dog...
"Oh, here's the place they burnt my boyfriend. "
I know you think I'm a bitch.
I don't, I...
You were never a bitch to me.
Well, I mean, there was that Christmas...
My brother loved you.
If he hadn't died when he did, then we would have been family.
So whatever you think of us,
Malcolm and I wanted to ask you something.
Oh, do you want to see Peta?
What?
Oh, it's... it's Peta with an A.
After Pete.
Yeah.
Not after... that animal rights charity...
that Jodie Marsh does all that work for.
No? Oh, that's a relief.
Oh...
Hello!
There she is.
Oh, OK. Oh, got her.
Oh, could you... Would you take the...
Actually, I'll just wet the baby's head.
I should be getting off home...
to my car.
You haven't got a spare room, have you?
She's gorgeous!
Helen, we'd like you to be Peta's godmother.
What, really?
What, like... like a proper godmother where you believe in God,
and stand up in church and repent your sins, and stuff?
Is that a problem?
No, it's just some parents do that thing where you're called godmother,
but they don't actually do the church thing, they just have a big party,
and then you give their kids presents at Christmas and birthdays,
and take them to The Lion King, or whatever.
That doesn't sound right for us, but I'm sure Pete would love to
go and see The Lion King when she's older.
Pete?
Yeah.
We call her that sometimes.
Well, you do.
Shut up.
Whoo!
You could knock. Might have been in the middle of my morning wank.
Sorry.
Having said that, if I had been in the middle of my morning wank,
I wouldn't have minded you walking in at all.
Oh, thanks... Oh... no, thanks.
I normally knock one out around 11, if you wanna make a mental note.
Look, I can't do this. Not when it's the first one since Pete.
Not if I'm even gonna think about being a godparent.
I'm not going to that fucking funeral!
I don't think you've met Sally-Anne, Charlie Renfrew's widow.
Hi.
I'm saying a few words at that fucking funeral,
and we were just going over my speech.
Well, I-I wasn't talking about your husband's fucking funeral.
No, I'm going to that one. I'm really looking forward to it.
Great. See you at the funeral.
Charlie Renfrew was the agent's agent,
respected not only by his illustrious clients,
but also by his colleagues and competitors.
Loved by his partner, Sally-Anne, and by their young daughter,
Hermione,
by his former wife, Tanya, and before that
by his childhood sweetheart, Jane,
and their two sons,
Richard and Andy.
This is what my funeral's gonna be like.
My ex and my kids there, not talking to the other kids I might have
with whoever my next two wives are gonna be.
I think I'll probably just stay single.
Oh, that's a bit of a waste.
Think of all those new children you could walk out on.
Tempting, but I've decided from here on in, I'm married to my job.
"The true way to render ourselves happy
"is to love our work and find in it our pleasure. "
Francoise Bertaut de Motteville.
Who?
Who's Francoise Bertaut de... whatever the fuck you said?
Haven't a clue. Couldn't sleep in the Merc last night, so I Googled,
"For pity's sake, how will I ever be happy again?" on my Blackberry,
and the wise words of Madame de Motteville
were one of the 565 million results.
God bless the internet.
That's how we're gonna get through this shit, Helen,
by throwing ourselves into our work.
If we were teachers, like we'd wanted,
we could throw ourselves into some marking, but we're agents,
so we're gonna throw ourselves into a spot of graveside talent-snatching.
Are you sure you're not on the Prozac?
We think too much. Look at Stephen and Dan, just getting on with it.
Free from all the angst that drags you and me down.
I'm not being dragged down by angst.
I'm being slightly held back by a fucking awful hangover,
just like every morning.
It'll be great. This is gonna be like the Great Train Robbery,
except with Britpack actors instead of gold bullion.
Scalp number one, the finest classical actress of her generation.
Wish me luck.
Hiya.
My gran had a bamboo coffin.
She went a bit Friends of the Earth when the Alzheimer's kicked in.
I mean, it's all very eco-friendly, but you do worry somewhere in China
a panda's going without its dinner.
I think she got the message.
- Pussy. - Yes, that's me, mate.
I'm young, I'm hungry and I give you my word I haven't got cancer.
There's none in my family. You can ask my fucking mother.
So screwed up about death in the West,
don't you think?
Oh, we grieve and suffer.
Well, that's the way life is.
Yes, yes, yes, it is.
That's what we believe, anyway.
Yes, we do.
Sorry, who are "we"?
Oh, I'm sorry, we're Mahayana Buddhists.
Well, I am.
Richard.
Rourke, yes, yes, I know. Yeah, well, everyone does,
unless they don't watch movies, or... read Heat...
.. or that fascinating article in the Guardian the other week.
That stuff needed saying.
Alex Taylor from CMA.
Agent?
Yeah, guilty.
An agent who cries.
That's something I thought I'd never see.
Yeah, that's me, all right. The caring face of cunt-hood.
Not you.
Oh, hi.
Helen, from yesterday.
"I'm not going to your husband's fucking funeral. "
Can I get you a drink of all this whisky that probably belongs to you?
Funny.
You gonna sign Charlie's missus?
Easy, tiger.
You've gotta go gently with the bereaved.
But the good news is we're talking,
and barring any fuck-ups, the bitch'll be mine by Christmas.
Congratulations. Me and Richard the Buddhist are at one as well.
Yeah, spiritually and representationally.
In fact, here's something I never knew.
The Buddha left four wives and a child
to go off into the mountains and pursue a life of...
self-reflection.
The chubby guy was on my team, Helen.
He's like the patron saint of bolters.
That's a very interesting interpretation,
if possibly quite offensive to millions and millions of people.
Anyway, we're having lunch next week to talk about me taking him on.
I'm just a starter and a main course away
from being a ruthless scum bastard. Stephen'll be proud of me.
People used to say
Charlie's one of the only two agents in London who have taste,
excellent negotiating skills,
and who you could actually imagine fucking without wanting to hurl.
Who's the other one?
Stephen Caldwell.
What are you doing about representation?
To Charlie Renfrew, who's gone to a better place.
Doubt it.
Sorry?
Charlie was a brilliant agent, but he was a total bastard as a person.
Ruthless and cynical.
He'd do anything to sign a client.
Anything? Really?
The divorces, abandoning children,
you don't do that kind of karmic shit
without being reborn into one of the 136 levels of hell.
Right. What if you only walked out on your children once
and were very sorry and you actually wanted to be a teacher?
Where might you be reborn then?
What? If you didn't end up in the hell room?
Yeah, I mean, you know, hell?
It's for the murderers, surely - paedophiles, rapists, terrorists.
You don't end up there
for an inability to stay in long-term relationships.
Well, I guess the next room up is hungry ghosts.
Oh, that's much better! Disney-ish.
Yeah, it's a bit like that old kids' film.
Hungry ghosts suffer from a hunger and greed they can never satisfy.
They have these huge stomachs but these really tiny little mouths,
and when they see food and water, they're so delusional,
they think they're seeing blood and vomit.
And even if they do manage to actually put anything in their gobs,
it burns their throat and stomach like fire for all eternity.
Oh, shut up!
Sorry, you are taking the piss now.
And this from the shit who dumped his pregnant girlfriend by text message.
It said in Grazia, apparently.
Excuse me. Lovely sermon, by the way.
And you got his name right, which is good, and you're sober,
which puts you way ahead of the guy at the last funeral
I went to, and... and me at this one, because I'm drunk.
I just wanted to get your advice on...
another spiritual matter.
Is it ever, um, OK to, um...
become a godparent if you don't actually believe in God?
If, in fact, you thought God was a total bastard
for killing your boyfriend, for example?
You know, would it be... would it be a bad thing to do?
Even if you were doing it for a good reason,
to make your... your dead boyfriend's sister happy?
Would it be spiritually acceptable to stand up in church
and promise to help this... this baby,
who truly has the look of her dead uncle, to help her...
walk in the way of Christ,
even if you yourself haven't the slightest intention of...
of walking in his way ever again?
Would it be... Would it be wrong to promise all that?
Even if you were crossing your fingers?
Yes.
What, even in the Church of England?
I'm afraid so.
But, Miss...
I'd say this.
In order for the Lord to be the total bastard you think he is,
he would actually have to exist in the first place, so perhaps in time,
when all the hurt and the pain which you naturally feel
has begun to ease, as it naturally will,
you may want to believe in Him again.
I doubt it.
No, we're... It's over, we're finished, me and the Almighty.
But thank you, really, that's... You've restored my faith in vicars.
I believe in you, but not you!
You couldn't find me somewhere to be sick, could you?
Be sick in the taxi. That bloody actor's trying to get me fired.
Is that one of yours?
I don't think Buddhism's for me.
From here on, I'm putting my faith back in my old motto.
What's that, then?
"Just pretend the shit's not happening
"until you can get yourself a girlfriend. "
Cos when you've got a girlfriend, you just feel better about everything.
Night, then!
Oh, no, you can't. Not again.
Yeah, I have to, unless I bribe security to let me into the office,
or I come home with you, or you park up alongside?
Me and my Merc would be glad of the company,
especially as you're way too drunk to drive.
Oh, bollocks!
I'll have to get a taxi.
Without you. You can't come with me.
Not when I'm like this. You'll only try and shag me or something.
Mm, that's true.
And I can't let that happen, not if I'm gonna be a godmother.
You really gonna go through with that?
Yeah, you know, I weighed it all up, and on the one hand,
I'm going against centuries of church teaching, but on the other hand,
that baby's damned cute and I get to buy another hat.
No contest. Just glad you're doing it for all the right reasons.
- Sleep tight. - Yeah.
Vagrant.
The good news is that it doesn't end there,
what with Peta's 18th, her graduation, her wedding even,
your god parenting career's gonna be jam-packed
with hat-buying opportunities.