Andrew, you butt licker, where are we off to?
Ah...
The night's young.
Yeah.
it's just your last film was absolutely brilliant.
Ah, never mind!
See you later!
It wasn't that funny.
Yeah, I know.
But with those cheekbones and that film career,
I'd happily find his farts fucking hilarious.
Of course you would.
Hi. Taxi to 40B Kenyon Street, Fulham, please.
Fulham! That's 20, my friend!
Just for a second there I thought it's not like you
to be that full of shit. But then I remembered, it is.
You want the taxi?
No. No, actually I'll have two taxis.
Two 20 taxis to 40B Kenyon Street, Fulham, please.
That's 40!
Yeah, it is, isn't it?
You don't want to go with him?
What if you do go with him, but he sits in the back?
No, thanks. I hate to think of His Holiness here
having to share a cab with the kind of whore who laughs at her client's jokes
just to make them happy.
Or, has sex with Dr Two-Scenes at her birthday party instead of him!
- What? - Oh, that's what this is about, isn't it?
That's what it's been about all bloody week.
Oh, don't flatter yourself!
Who cares which sad salsa dancing, low-rent, bit part
glorified extra in some, basically, really bad drama series you went to bed with?
- I couldn't give two shits! - No, course. That's obvious...
.. don't you think, everyone?
Yeah. Actually, I don't want that cab to go to Kenyon Street.
Right... At one in the morning, where else do you want it to go?
I don't know. A lap-dancing club? An all-night garage? A 24-hour Tesco's maybe?
Tesco's, Cromwell Road? That's 15.
Maybe I'll take the cab and shag one of my clients like you!
Oh, really? Well, in that case, it's a shame Dr Two-Scenes is taken
- cos he was a brilliant shag. - Oh, he's taken, is he?
Oh, you know what I mean.
I do. You said he's taken. Who by? You're going out with him, are you?
Are you having a relationship with Dr Two-Scenes?
What? I am not not going out with Dr Two-Scenes.
- It was just a one-night... - Yeah, you had a drunken one-night stand
with that talentless tosser and now you're thoroughly ashamed of yourself.
Oh, I'm ashamed, am I?
OK... Hi. Can I get a taxi to Colchester, please? To go and see Dr Two-Scenes.
Who I may or may not be having a relationship with.
I'll probably decide tonight... after one of his brilliant shags.
Can you have a "brilliant shag" in Colchester?
I thought great sex stopped around the M11.
- You're not really going, are you? - I fucking well am.
Colchester, 150!
I'm going to need to stop at a cashpoint.
- And probably an off-licence. - Two-Scenes is a total loser!
Yeah, yeah. He is, isn't he,
with his good looks and his semi-regular appearances on TV,
not to mention a three-bedroom house with a massive garden,
which in no way compares to your rented room in a frigging maisonette?!
Your frigging maisonette! It belongs to you! it's your name on the deeds.
So who's the loser now, Helen? Yeah?
I think it's probably you, if you think about it, Alex.
He only got that house cos he inherited it from his auntie!
Hi, could I have that cab to Kenyon Street, please,
now that she's gone to Colchester?
You're not going anywhere, you cock dribble,
except for a little congratulatory drinkie with Uncle Steve.
- And your Uncle Dan. - Who are we congratulating?
Me, cunty! I'm getting married, and you're going to be my best man.
No-one's ever asked me to be their best man before.
- I'm actually really touched. - Well, don't be. I only asked you
because I've run out of friends after all my divorces.
- Oh. - And Dan just said no.
Sorry, but I'm not going through all that shit again.
- What shit? - Which wedding were you?
- The air hostess. - Aw, dear Ludmilla.
- Ivanka. - Well, something asylum seeker-ish.
She urgently needed to stay in the country and I urgently needed
to renew my membership of the mile high club.
Botty sex in business class. What a wedding night!
Ow!
Shit.
Oh, no!
Oh, um... Sorry, excuse me.
Um, I've just realised I don't want to go
to Colchester to shag that doctor.
I want to go to... Ruislip to see my dead boyfriend.
I think it is in Middlesex or Hertfordshire or somewhere.
Just follow the signs. The... You'll see signs for it.
I'm marrying the latest Mrs Caudwell on Saturday and I...
- Saturday?! - Yes, of course.
- Marry in haste, as the saying goes. - What about repenting at leisure?
Oh, absolutely. I love the repenting.
I love the going down on your knees and begging for forgiveness.
- Right. - But most of all, I love the punishing...
Guys, what are we going to do about a stag night?
This is my stag night, you smeg collector!
You, me and Daniel. The lads!
On a good old boys' night out at Madame Wendy's Suck 'n' Fuck Club!
STEVE LAUGHS
T- There's always that curry house round the corner. That's open pretty late.
Wendy, my darling! A bottle of your wildly overpriced champagne,
a phial of the amyl nitrate de maison
and some oral, without, to start, please. And the same for my friends here.
- Oh, actually... - Now, you chaps can have your oral
at the table, or if you would prefer, it's nice and cosy through there.
A fuck dungeon! Rather!
Are you sure this is a good idea, Stephen? I mean, come on,
- what would your fiancee say? - Oh, good point!
I'm not sure. Perhaps I should ask her.
Darling, our best man, Alex here, was wondering what you'd say to us
grabbing a quick gobble off one of your lovely ladies?
I'd say, "It's Monday night, business is slow.
"Help yourself to as much head as you want!"
We are going to give you gentlemen an evening to remember!
I've just remembered, I can't be your best man next Saturday.
- Oh, why ever not? - I haven't got a baby-sitter.
Oh, bring your babies.
What's a wedding if there aren't any kiddies around?
Some of mine are coming. Maybe all of them, actually.
I must remember to ask their mothers.
I can't believe I haven't married a prostitute before.
I mean, dur! What was I thinking? Come on, then!
Isn't Dan coming to the party?
No, man. It's a personal rule of mine.
I never pay for sex... except on the Internet.
Of course. Well done, you
Eh, look, I... I, um...
I would love to come to the...
you know, fuck dungeon for some oral-based whatever, but what a twat!
I've come out without my wallet.
Well, it's a jolly good thing that you're not paying, isn't it?
Come on!
Oh, stop being such a spoilsport!
This might be the last stag night I ever have!
Oh, yes!
Aaaah!
You're shut?
Yes, I'm sorry, madam. We're not one of those all-night crematoriums.
But crematorium-nums should never close. Like Tesco's.
I mean, what do you think I'm going to do? Run off with some ashes?
Like I'm an illegal composter or something?
I get a kick out of sprinkling strangers on my flowerbeds?
I just really want to see my fiance.
You know, or his plot or whatever.
Just for a minute. Just a little minute.
- Where's his headstone? - What?
We have the remains of 165,000 people here over 25 acres of land.
Where did they bury your fiance's ashes?
Shit. Good question.
Um...
It was a year ago, you know?
It was a difficult day. I had a lot to drink.
Um...
You didn't go to Colchester, then?
Yeah, and I didn't go and shag one of my clients.
In fact, I ended up paying a Russian girl
who insisted her name was Tiffany a hundred quid not to have sex with me.
- It was Stephen's latest stag night. - Well, that's OK, then.
He's marrying a prostitute next Saturday. You're invited.
Yeah, I know. I'm going to get myself a hat.
Or a gimp mask, maybe. That might be more appropriate.
I'm delivering the best man's speech in a latex body stocking, if that helps.
- So, you're the best man? - Yeah.
I thought he was going to ask Dan after I said no.
What happened to the Petes? Don't tell me you're replacing them
with a few life-size photos of Dr Two-Scenes. I'd have to move out.
- Maybe you should move out. - Blimey! Sorry, it was a bad joke.
Put some photos up of the doctor, if you want.
In fact, I've got about 350 of him back in the office
posing like a retouched Ewan McGregor.
They're only postcard-size, but you could do a collage.
No, seriously. I think we should both move out. I'm going to sell the flat.
There's too many memories. I need to make a fresh start somewhere else.
I need to give up this frigging job of ours.
You're right, you know? I'm just full of shit,
blowing smoke up my clients' arses for a living. Who needs it?
Your clients need it. They depend on it.
I mean, we're talking about some of the most creative arses in town.
Please don't leave the agency. Don't leave me with all those fuck-ups.
We are those fuck-ups, Alex! Those fuck-ups are exactly who we are.
OK, just don't leave me alone with all those other fuck-ups.
Seriously... I mean, what else are you going to do?
God knows. Charity work?
I thought about training as a therapist once.
I wouldn't mind you being a therapist.
At least that way we'd still get to see each other.
Yeah, hi. Yeah, I'm ringing about your ad for a room in your flat
even though I'm living in a perfectly good one
at the moment that actually has an en suite fucking bathroom!
- Helen's just handed me her resignation! - Yeah.
This wouldn't have anything to do with me inviting her on our honeymoon
as the character Helene Depardieu,
our trusty servant slash orgy-loving harlot, would it?
No, it's more to do with her being desperately lost
and unhappy after the death of her fiance.
Oh, good. I'd just hate to think I'd gone too far this time.
Oh, actually, Stephen, I was just starting to think about my speech.
Not masses to go on in terms of your early years.
Anyone I could talk to for a few childhood anecdotes?
My headmaster could tell you some stories.
As long as you don't mind popping over to the paedo wing at Parkhurst
- to hear them from the old nonce... - Ah, do you know what?
Or my first drug dealer.
Lucy Lick It! You could try ringing her! Not her real name, by the way.
The reason we called her that at Cambridge was...
Emma, I'm pretty sure I've got a meeting now.
No.
Alex?
Oh, hi, Sarah...
Having a party? Can I come?
No, I'm just... I'm best man at my boss's wedding and he sent me
in there for table decorations.
So, who's your boss? Max Mosley
Well, not far off.
- Shall I take that? - Eh, no.
I've been waiting so long for you to ask me out again
I might as well get one.
- You've got one, haven't you? - Have I?
Oh... I just had this dim sort of...
When we were at uni, didn't you buy a vibrator?
Oh, you remember! How touching!
Yeah, my vibrator's about 15 years old now.
They grow up so fast, don't they?
- Maybe I should get an upgrade. - Absolutely.
So, if you remember so much about my ancient dildos etc,
why can't you remember to call me, you bastard?
I don't know!
What draws you to the idea of training as a therapist?
I'm a writer's agent, so, you know...
I mean, I pretty much am a therapist. My job is just like yours
except you don't have to pretend to like your patients' movies.
- Have you ever been in therapy yourself? - God, no!
Joke.
Even when you lost your fiance?
Oh, no, I had therapy then. Yeah, red wine therapy.
Lots of it. Worked a treat.
- That's funny. - Thank you.
Do you always use humour as a defence mechanism?
Guilty! Well, not guilty. I mean, I'm not... I don't feel guilty.
I've got nothing to feel guilty about.
Helen?
God, I bet you get to hear some scary shit in here, eh?
So, are you going to be a shrink, then?
No, no. I definitely need a shrink, though, apparently.
Just for ten years or so and then I should no longer be a fruit-loop.
I wouldn't count on it, but it gives you something to aim for.
Exactly! D'you know the other great thing about being a mental?
She reckons that now isn't the time for change and upheaval,
- so I'm going to stay at CMA! - Bloody hell. That's a bit selfish.
Who's going to be my therapist now it's not going to be you?
Well, I could put a good word in with mine.
I, er... I told her all about you, by the way.
Aw, I couldn't afford ten years of therapy.
20, I'm afraid. She reckons you're twice as fucked up as me.
Wow, she's good. That's about right.
Er... I'll wait in the car.
Oh, you don't have to. I'll get a taxi.
No, it's all right. You'll only end up not going to Colchester or something!
Um, Alex, I was talking
to the therapist about the whole "you moving out" thing.
Oh, that's all right. That's OK. I'm fine with it.
Um, well, the thing is, I'm not because...
It's sorted. I'm going to move in with Sarah.
- You're what? - Yeah, Sarah Stephens.
She's got a spare room in her house. There's no en suite,
- but there is a garden. - Are you totally fucking mad?
I think we've established
that I'm 100% more totally fucking mad than you, yeah.
Look, I'm not stupid, Helen. I'm not going to move in with someone
I want to have a relationship with... again.
I'm going to take next week off and move my stuff.
Do you need a week? Couldn't you move the whole bin bag in your tea break?
I just thought it would be good for us to get...
a bit of distance.
Oh, yes, certainly let's get some of that.
Get as much of that as you want. Is this enough for you?
How about this?
All right, what did your sodding therapist say about me moving out then?
She said you were a tosser.
A knob. She said you were clearly a massive twat
and I was lucky to be shot of you.
Wow, the potty mouth on those Jungians.
You are such a prick.
I wasn't talking about him.
Pete's not a prick. Well, he wasn't.
Well, he was sometimes, you know?
Like anyone, for God's sake.
That's the prick I'm talking about.
Hi, Dad!
Ow! Thanks for looking after them this morning. I really appreciate it.
No problem. I had a week's worth of Jeremy Kyles to catch up on
so we just watched all of them.
- Oh, good. - Get a job!
Dad? Can I never go round Emma's house again, please?
Sure. We might not mention this to Mum, OK? Hey, how are you feeling?
Any last minute doubts? It's only natural.
The only doubts I've got are about you, you clit licker. Now fuck off!
Shit. What got into him?
I booked us into a hotel that didn't have a porn channel.
You twat! Stephen can never get to sleep
without watching a few hours of Red Hot Cum Lovers.
Everybody knows that.
I tried downloading porn onto my BlackBerry...
It's not the same. Screen size obviously is an issue.
And the audio. Though what's weird is I enjoy wanking with an iPhone,
which I imagine is something to do with the touch screen.
Sorry I'm late!
Wendy. I didn't recognise you with your clothes on!
This is my mother, you pillock.
Alex is a theatrical agent, like Stephen.
Hi!
I am sorry. Mummy doesn't really approve of show business.
And weeing on middle-aged men for money? Is she OK with that?
I should hope so. She did it for long enough.
- Look after those bridesmaids. - Hello.
Hello.
- Just through here, thank you. - Thank you.
I promise to love and care for you.
I promise to be faithful to you always.
Sorry.
I'm know he'll do his best.
I promise to walk with you in sorrow and joy,
in illness and old age.
Did you promise all that to Mum?
Why did you lie, then?
Ssh!
Are you thinking what I'm thinking?
The two of them naked and oiled
and giving it to each other with a strap on?
Exactly.
No. That's not what I was thinking.
That's a shame.
Can I give you a word of advice, old cunt.
You've been given a second chance, don't fuck it up.
On the other hand, if you do fuck up your second chance,
try not to fuck up your third.
Or your fourth.
Five chances is...
all you can hope for these days.
Although, thinking about it, I'm up to about eight or nine, so...
Don't fuck up.
- Hi. - Hi.
How was your week? Did you move out all your stuff all right?
Yeah, yeah.
Plugged in my new Currys iPod dock on the the first night,
then spent the next six days unpacking both my T-shirts.
Your kids are really cute.
Although the little one did tell me I had a cracking arse.
Well, you do. So, at least he's inherited
his dad's great taste in arses.
Speaking of which, how's Sarah Stephen's arse?
Are you still not having sex with it?
Or any other part of her anatomy?
Please, you know a gentleman never tells
whether or not he's fucking his flatmates.
So you are.
I've only been there a week.
All you need is 20 minutes, from what I can remember.
Er, well, all right.
Doing the maths... Um, yeah, you're absolutely right,
I'd shagged her 700 times times by about Wednesday.
Had you?
No, I hadn't.
It was just the once.
Usual pattern. 20-minute shag and then...
12 hours of embarrassment and mortification.
And then another shag.
To be honest.
OK.
OK, fine.
I had sex with Dr Two-Scenes and you had sex with Sarah, so...
we're definitely one-all in the meaningless shag stakes.
Well, technically it's two-one, but...
I did it twice with Sarah, and you...
Yeah, call it a draw.
Just do the decent thing and dump her... in a nice way.
You can have your old room back and we can forget any of this...
- I can't do that. - Yes, you can.
I can't! I can't go on walking out on people.
Leaving when it just gets too difficult.
The boys really like Sarah. What am I saying to them
if I dump her like I did their mother?
I suppose you're saying,
sorry, kids, I only shagged Sarah because Helen wouldn't shag me,
so it's probably not the best reason to make her your stepmother.
Sex changes everything.
Once you've had sex with someone
you have to at least offer to go out with them.
It's the rules.
Well, it's my rules.
Night, then.
That's who I am, Helen! It's like your therapist said,
I'm twice as fucked up as you, you're lucky to be shot of me.
That's not what my therapist said. As a matter of interest...
Well, she didn't really say anything because they don't do they, quacks?
Apparently, for a thousand quid an hour or whatever,
it's far too much to expect any answers to your problems.
You just get a load of questions.
How did you feel when this person cried after having sex with you, Helen?
Do you think this person leaving his family means
this person is a bad person, Helen?
If you think he's a good person,
why do you feel so guilty about liking this person?
I wish I'd met you before Pete, OK?
I know I shouldn't say it, but it's true.
I wish I had met you before Justin the fucking city boy
I wasted my twenties on,
or Philippe the ski instructor,
or Colin the twat who I met in my first year
who was always pestering me to have a threesome!
Where the fucking hell were you, Alex,
while I was pissing my life away on that lot?
You probably don't wish you'd met me before Colin the twat.
I had seriously bad psoriasis in the eighties.
And I'd probably have pestered you to have a threesome, as well.
It's not easy when you realise the person you're most suited to
is an emotional fucking retard!
A Natural Woman by Aretha Franklin
Get the fuck off my dad, you slag!
Could you cunts clear the room now? We need to set up for the disco!
Come on!