Hey, Oregon.
I was just passing by and wondered whether you fancied a quick cuddle.
Hey, Vod.
I'm just going door to door and wondered whether...
Quick cuddle?
Christ on a bendy bus, JP.
Has it really come to this?
I'm just in a cuddling mood.
You know, when all you want is a cuddle with a nice girl.
Maybe lie your head down in her lap and cry into her pretty sundress.
All this over a girl.
And to think, you used to be a legend.
I am legend!
Not from where I'm stood.
Josie...
Quick cuddle?
OK!
Aww!
Josie.
Old reliable.
My sweet Welsh harbour.
Subtitles by MemoryOnSmells http://UKsubtitles.ru.
He's Tunisian. You do know about Tunisia?
The Arab Spring et al.
Ooh! He's hot.
Well, that's not the issue. This isn't fucking Take Me Out.
He would clean up on Take Me Out.
Mm! Vod, do you even know what you're signing?
Yeah. The thing. Save the hot guy.
His name's Hasan and he's Tunisi... He's...
He can't pay his tuition fees,
so his visa's being revoked and he's being deported.
I would like to vehemently... abstain.
Well, I'm signing it, because I think he's hot,
because I think that's a perfectly valid reason.
Howard, d'you want a picture of my mum on a pyramid
with her hands on a man who isn't my dad?
No, thanks.
Er...
D'you need to talk to someone?
Cos if so, I could go and get someone else.
Like who?
This is some high-level mum shit.
Which one of you normals is going to understand that?
Kingsley? "Oh, my mum was a bit poorly so she got a free dog."
Vod...
..is that a hand grenade?
Oh! There she is.
I was wondering where that went.
And it is a grenade, is it?
And w-why have you got a grenade?
Oh, I stole it from the RAF base.
I've been saving it for a special occasion.
It's like a cigar or a nice bottle of Moet. Catch!
Lighten up!
God! Someone never grew up round live ammunition.
I made you a cup of tea.
On what grounds?
The normal grounds.
The grounds that you might like a cup of tea.
Diagnosis...
besotted.
Candice...
am I a legend?
How do you mean?
In the sense of me being a ledge? We're talking about legendosity here.
How would one quantify a given legend's legendosity?
A legend is the kind of guy
who rests his balls on another guy's face whilst he's asleep,
photographs himself doing it and then texts it to the other guy's mum.
Quick of wit, loud of voice.
He's always the first person with his arse out.
We're talking about the kind of guy
who walks into a crowded room and shouts,
"Hey, let's just fuck it all off and hire a barge!"
So... I ask you again, Candice -
am I a legend?
Well, have you done those things?
I've done two of those things.
Do you know what Mummy would say if she were here now?
Nothing.
She'd just slap her palm down on my thigh and I'd get it.
"Jonathan, you need to pull your ruddy socks up."
That's it. No more Sam.
I am restoring my legend.
Guys, I'm collecting signatures
on behalf of a Tunisian student who's being deported.
Boring! Oh. Y-You found something already?
No, it's just, you were saying the other day - I think it was Tuesday -
that you wanted to find a cause that you truly believe in...
We don't find our causes, Candice - our causes find us.
I popped out for a ham panini, and I came back with a life on my hands.
Oh, a big list of names?!
James Muttock? Wait till the powers that be
find that James Muttock has signed his name on a piece of paper!
It's called activism, Kingsley.
Oregon... you want to bring back The Vicar Of Dibley? Start a petition.
You want to change the world? Write a song.
OK. Write him a song.
Right now? You can't just order one.
Can you see any tiny pens? I'm not a branch of fucking Argos!
I'll tell you what I can see - the voice of your generation.
Yeah, I never said I was THE voice.
Done it. Burnt the lot.
Whoo!
It was like The Wicker Mum out there!
So how come I don't feel any better?
Yeah, it's weird. It's almost as though
barbecuing a load of Polaroids isn't a valid form of therapy.
Hey. Do we need anything?
Yeah, get some penne. Just take it out of the petty cash jar.
You've got a petty cash jar?
It's not a jar.
It's just a JD Sports mug with money in it.
Wo-ow, Mum and Dad.
Why not go the whole hog and buy a Citroen Xsara
and start wanking off over carpet samples?
OK. You know what, Vod?
Yeah, we do a joint shop.
Oh, how stupid of us!
We put our money together and we buy a four-tin multipack of tuna
for 20p more than three individual cans.
Ker-ching - tuna windfall.
I'm so tired of downplaying our relationship because we live with
a load of hollow-eyed fuckbots with intimacy issues.
Sorry, I have to write that down - that's a really good lyric.
Well, I have to dash.
"Fuckbots with intimacy issues."
That is such a good lyric.
You know what?
You're right. You should be happy.
Cos you have found the one person
that you want to sleep with for the rest of your whole entire life.
But, yeah.
Great lyric.
No, thanks.
Alison...
Um, I hate to be invited into your lovely movement
and then start throwing my weight around -
all 8.5 stone of it!
You're Oregon, aren't you?
Yes, I am. Hello!
I-I was just thinking. You know, it's just names.
Just names, names, names.
"Humphrey Horsebox." I'm not even sure that's a real name.
We need action. We need to do something massive, like -
I don't know - occupy the fucking university.
Yeah, as you know, it's something we've wanted to do for some time.
Well, maybe we just need to stop talking and follow your instincts.
I mean, they got us this far.
"Ca Plane Pour Moi" by Plastic Bertrand
Sorry. Can I help you?
Er, are you in a position to facilitate real change?
Sorry? We're gonna have to take that as a "no".
Everyone! We're now occupying this space
in protest of the university's proposed decision
to hand over our friend Hasan to UK border control by 6pm tonight.
We're not leaving till we've been assured he won't be deported.
Thank you, Alison. If I could just echo those sentiments but also say,
don't panic. This is a peaceful protest.
We're not bloody anarchists.
Er, I'm an anarchist.
He's an anarchist, but he is lovely.
So just to confirm,
once you've left the office you won't be allowed back in.
And thank you for listening. Any questions, my name's Oregon.
I don't bite, and... That's enough.
OK, I'm rambling. Thank you.
Check-a-check it out!
Four kilos of penne, bitch!
You were so right, Kingsley. Why are we hiding this?
We're not pissing about with little bags of penne any more.
We're in the wholesale game, baby.
My God, that's a lot of penne...
Apparently they do a six-kilo bag of penne at Costco.
We should defo go in on a membership.
Looks like penne tonight, then.
And the night after that.
And... good old penne the night after that.
I fucking love penne.
Do you know they used to call me Penne Zellweger?
And... line them up - tiny panpipes.
You must be Vod.
And you must be the headshrinker.
We're illegally occupying Senate House. It's fucking carnage down here.
Ocado password?
Roulette.
I always wanted to do a sit-in.
Stay up all night, talk shit, do a beer bong.
It's not a fucking sleepover.
Get marshmallows.
Make sure you tell Candice.
Candy! Oregon says she's doing a sit-in.
Ask Kingsley how he's getting on with the anthem.
Oregon wants to know how the anthem's coming.
It's not an anthem - it's a protest song.
Guthrie, early Dylan, mid-period Bragg.
He says it's not finished. I think he's struggling.
I'm not struggling!
He says he's not struggling. He says it's going really well.
I didn't say "really well". It's going OK.
Don't unrealistically raise expectations.
Oregon... I have to go now.
It's a wind table. Like in pubs.
Air hockey.
It's a game... and it's in our living room.
I know. Pretty legendary, right?
What the fuck, JP? It's horrible. Is it?
Or is it just the latest chapter
in the legend of Jonathan Pembersley?
At, er, 0.07k, I think it's a bit of a steal.
Air hockey in the living room - what a simply legendary idea.
It doesn't even work.
Yeah. I know.
But you can still play on it. It's just not very good.
So it's just a table?
The legend is, you've bought a horrible table?
I think you'll find it's a great deal more legendary than that.
My fifth birthday party.
Mum forgot to send out the invites
so it was just a load of her mates from the Drum.
We watched Platoon.
There was no cake, no candles.
She just gave me a little bit of Arctic roll, which hadn't defrosted properly,
with five matches stuck in it.
Her mate gave me a balloon.
Skanky Nell.
It was the only present I ever got that wasn't money or bras.
It was blue.
I loved it.
But then she popped it with the lit end of her Lucky Strike,
cos she said it gave her a headache.
OK, sweetie. That's all we've got time for this week.
I knew it!
I'm officially too fucked for therapy.
This is a process. It takes time.
Time and what? Time and that? Bunce?
Honestly, you people.
This really isn't about money.
Is it about a tiny bit...
of weed?
Why don't we just pencil in something for next week?
We've got some students protesting in the main office -
are you all right to sit tight until we figure out what's what?
I've, er, actually got a prior engagement with a...
Nae bother!
Seconds out. Round two.
Ooh! You might want to, er, open a fresh box of tissues.
I call this one "fucked-up Sunday lunch".
Hey, you fancy a razz on the airless hockey table?
Oh. Excuse me.
I was just at Pizza Express, there, depositing some of my leavings.
Good call. Great facilities.
Yeah. I'm trying to avoid Candice. She's become intoxicated with me.
It seems like Vod's mum's like one of these blind tramps
that can see into the future, like you sometimes get in films.
Oh, and also, as the homeowner, I think you should be aware
that Vod is in possession of a grenade.
Whoa. I'm going to stop you right there.
Because do you know what I hear when you say "grenade"? Huh?
I hear "legend".
Right. So when I say "hand grenade", you hear "hand legend"? Yes, I do.
JP, it's a grenade.
It's not a tool for some frat-boy high-jinkery.
OK. I'm heading down to Oregon's sit-in
with the old weapon of mass communication.
Protest song... tick.
All-nighter.
Sounds like fertile breeding ground for my next "japer".
I call them "japers" because they're a mixture between japes and capers,
but with that legendary JP twist.
Howard... I've made you a cup of tea.
Fuck! More fucking tea!
I still haven't paid off my first tranche of the tea debt.
I'm George Osborne and I'm drowning in a sea of tea.
Hello, children, the adult is in attendance.
Sabine! Hi. Wow. Fucking...
pleasantly surprised dot com.
We're both busy people so I'll make this snappy. My thesis is due in
tomorrow. It's about floating hydrophilic dosage forms
and the factor controlling their gastric residence capability.
OK, I'm not even going to front it, that sounds amazing.
I'm glad you think so because I would like you
to help me fact-check it this evening.
Oh, Sabine! I was actually just on my way out.
Erm, there's a thing. It's a sit-in.
Cos there's a guy, and he's hot.
That's not the issue. There is an issue, erm...
I just can't remember what it is. Wow.
Sophie's choice - do you help the hot guy, or do you help your
PhD tutor, who's responsible for marking all your work?
It's quite the dilemma...
Yep.
Come on in.
I've brought my own mug and travel kettle
because I cannot be sure that your house facilities
have not come into contact with JP's semen.
Laptops, yeah?
Twitter, connectivity.
Videography.
You've got to get your message out any way you can.
Nice one, Pete.
Don't film the fucking juggler.
There's a book swap and a poetry slam.
Oh, my God, you have to see this. This is bloody hilarious.
Is that Margaret from The Apprentice with horns?
It's the vice-chancellor.
It's actually a very good likeness.
She's got horns because she's "The Bewilderbeest".
She's bewildered.
It's a lampoon on her bewilderment.
Kingsley, what have you got for me?
Um, it's a song about, um, Tunisia,
but, um, from the point of view of a military drone
that's looking down on all of us.
It posits the question - do drones ever feel alone?
Does it have a catchy chorus?
No, it does not.
This is, er, Drone Alone.
♪ The drone alone
♪ The dog no bone
♪ Like John Coltrane without his saxophone
♪ Well, if androids dream of electric sheep
♪ Do drones dream of electric peep?
♪ Whoa-oh!
♪ Polaroid fuckbots with intimacy issues. ♪
According to some sources,
somewhere in the region of as many as 90-95% of all wartime killings
since 9/11 have been undertaken by unmanned military drones.
Welcome to the age of remote war.
I'm droning on.
You're zoning out.
We're zooming in.
The drone is profoundly alone, ladies and gentlemen.
Or maybe we just sing All Together Now by The Farm.
I knew you wouldn't get it.
I quite liked it. I thought it was a bit weird.
Ha, OK, yeah. Very droll.
Do you know The Psychedelic Furs? Seminal post-punk five-piece?
No, never heard of them.
I thought you sounded a bit like that, but grumpier.
So this isn't a prank,
and you're not perpetrating some sort of low-level,
indie-boy hate crime?
You're genuinely comparing me to The Psychedelic Furs
and telling me that you liked my song?
"Quite." I said, "Quite."
Yeah, do you want to know the biggest compliment
I've been paid before today? "That wasn't as shit
"as I'd expected from someone who looks like you."
Your mum sounds harsh. Yeah.
Are you here for Hasan? I'm here for the photocopier.
Hey, um, guys, sorry to interrupt your little sit-down thing.
Er, so I have just been on the telephone
to a property auction,
where I bought a house...
for a joke.
Yeah, nine grand.
Subject to contract, they've offered me a mortgage
for the legendary sum of £60 per calendar month
and it's got a brick-built outhouse
which I may or may not destroy with a bloody hand grenade,
so remember, hashtag japers.
The... the house.
Oh.
When I heard your story, I was like, "Forget the panini,
"you need to drop everything and help this guy."
This... this is my Live Aid,
and my humble gift to you, sir.
I just hope they listen to us.
Oh, they'll listen.
We've got the support of the student body, we've got a clear message,
and we've got biting, biting satire.
Where's the food already? I'm absolutely starving.
You know, in my home town, Kasserine, there's still fighting.
Just last month, my brother was beaten by guys we knew from school.
Ocado's here!
None of my friends can find any work.
The economy's still really bad. There's no future for me out there.
Ocado! Ocado! Ocado!
Just a state of emergency.
- Oh, my God. - Marshmallows incoming!
Ocado! Ocado! Ocado!
It was 4am.
She woke me up, stinking of gin,
saying that she was going to drive us to Cape Town,
cos she wanted to sleep with
the whole of Ladysmith Black Mambazo.
I mean, I was actually really excited, you know,
cos I'd never been on holiday.
Crikey! That sounds like quite the little adventure!
Are you not getting this? I mean... I am giving you everything.
This is fucking We Need To Talk About Vod.
Well...
since we're off the clock, in the interests of full disclosure,
I'm actually quite the expert in "matters of the mum", yeah?
I could write a bloody book
about my dysfunctional relationship with my mum! Oh!
I've written a book
about my dysfunctional relationship with my mum.
Mother - A Daughter's Tale.
And, as you've been so open with me,
why don't I take a little trip down memory lane myself
and tell you about a particularly painful family Christmas?
So settle in
as the fog of time rolls in
and we find ourselves in Dundee,
in the year of 19...
..79.
Is Candice around?
She's at Oregon's sit-in.
Then Assange can emerge from his embassy.
Sabine.
Howard.
And thus concludes the small talk.
Are you avoiding your new housemate?
Only for the remainder of the semester.
So, if you'll excuse me, I need to look into cooking
an enormous, nutritionally-balanced flapjack.
Why are you avoiding Candice again?
Cos she's infatuated with me.
I am the subject of an infatuation.
She's nice. Do you like her?
OK, fine. I admit it. But I've been burnt before, Josie,
like a hedgehog in a bonfire. So, no, we are just friends.
Howard - and, trust me, I've found this out the hard way -
you'll tend to find that you'll end up fucking most of your friends
one way or another.
You are familiar with the film Inception?
Well, there's reality.
Or what we perceive to be reality.
Or what we perceive to be "Howard",
that being the Howard I project to the world.
And then we go one level down.
The Howard behind the Howard.
Level One Howard is an animal,
but he's a caged animal.
Level Two Howard has base personal habits
and unpleasant thoughts and impulses.
And then we have Level Three Howard.
Howard Unchained.
Howard, The Director's Cut.
Undiluted and unadulterated Howard.
The Howard you have before you
is one part Howard to 50 parts water.
But a glass of neat Howard...
that is unpalatable.
This is my story.
I'm Howard MacGregor
and I am unfit for human consumption.
Yeah, I'd probably just leave it, then.
Is the correct answer.
You can't avoid her for ever.
With a little ingenuity and a large quantity of rolled oats,
I think you'll find I can.
Candice might like the real Howard.
Only one way to find out.
While we complete our work,
we will watch this movie about World War II code breakers.
And we will drink this bottle of wine that I won in a raffle.
'Leave a message if that's cool, but whatever.'
Hot cocking shit, Kingsley. I think I'm hanging out with Sabine!
She's making me drink a bottle of wine that she won at a raffle!
Look, just call me in 15 minutes with an emergency,
and make it convincing.
Just... say my mum fell off the garage roof.
But not that, cos I know that now and I won't be surprised.
First gig?
The Shins at the Corn Exchange.
And, yes, I bought a tour T-shirt
and put it on over my existing T-shirt.
What a wanker.
He's being deported.
They're taking him from somewhere nice
and making him go somewhere horrible.
It's like a shit version of A Place In The Sun.
Oregon, we're covering old ground.
I didn't get it before but now I do.
This is for real.
It's not about poetry slams and fucking Bewilderbeests.
Does that mean I can take the head off?
We need to take this seriously. So I've drawn up a few rules.
No sex. No harassment. No discrimination. No circus skills.
I like a joke as much as the next comrade.
Not a bloody diabolo, not indoors.
OK, well, if that's everything...
Actually, it isn't.
I've contacted the Manchester Evening News,
and they want to interview me and Hasan,
if that's all right by you, San? That would be great.
I don't mean to go on about it but there's very little ventilation.
It's very hot in here.
Favourite member of the Bad Seeds?
Er, Warren Ellis. Is the correct answer.
Funeral song?
Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart.
That's an album. I know it is.
Maximum self-indulgence in the crematorium. Respect.
I've actually got a spare ticket
to Nick Cave at the Apollo if you're interested...
Um... I'm about as interested as Johnny Marr
in a room full of Fender Telecasters.
I'm very fucking interested.
You don't need to check with your girlfriend first?
Oh, Josie? Yeah.
Yeah, we're cool. No, yeah, we're very, very cool.
Let me give you my number.
Joke house, joke house! Who bought a joke house?
Joke house, joke house! The legendary joke house. Joke house!
Hey! Howie, what's got two thumbs
and just bought a bloody house for a joke?
That's senseless.
Oh, God.
I know. What has become of my legend?
Well - and this isn't a tacit endorsement of your legend -
but perhaps, like Faust, you've become the classic overreacher.
Houses, air-hockey tables.
Legends aren't bought, JP.
Legends are forged in steel and fire by men with guts.
Let me stop you right there.
Because do you know what I hear when you say,
"Forged in steel and fire"?
Is it perchance, "Legend, legend, hand legend"?
No.
I hear, "JP should set his trainers on fire."
Oh, dear.
Oh, dear indeed.
Why are you compulsively checking your smartphone?
I was just checking the time.
You know, Josie, you remind me a lot of me when I was your age.
Really? How so?
I was in a relationship. His name was Joost.
It was very intense. I would wash his boxer pants,
I would cook him bitterballen, I would...
I would go with him and watch him play darts with his friends.
I was his trophy girlfriend.
I was merely an... appendage.
OK. That's enough of the raffle wine.
You know, Josie,
you are too young to sit here waiting for him to call
like a dutiful hausfrau,
rattling around your empty home like a pea in a can.
I was checking the time. Pfft!
And now...
I'm going to help myself to a biscuit
like you helped yourself to my birthday cake eight months ago.
"Muggins. Of course it was muggins.
"Who else but wee little five-year-old muggins
"would try to garner her distant mother's affection
"by gift-wrapping a kitten in an airtight Tupperware container?"
Needless to say, Boxing Day was somewhat of a write-off.
God. And I thought Platoon balloon was sad.
So you see, Vod, I'm...
something of an old hand when it comes to mum issues.
We inhale.
We exhale.
We inhale.
We exhale.
I've had an idea. You OK to drive?
Vod...
..I would fuckin' love to drive.
Um...
Sabine.
What would you be doing?
I'm licking Oregon's biscuits
and then placing them back in the packet.
Yeah, cos that's what I thought.
I lived here for six months.
You think I didn't realise you were all laughing behind my back?
And why?
Because I'm Dutch?
Because I'm an adult?
Yeah. Can you stop doing that?
Does my biscuit-licking offend you, Josie?
Little bit. Yeah.
OK, um, you... you lick away.
I'm just going to...
'Leave a message, if that's cool, but whatever.'
For fuck's sake, Kingsley, pick up your phone!
Sabine's gone loco. She's in the kitchen, right now,
using your breadsticks as some sort of loofah.
I need to get rid of her. Just call me when you get this.
Candice.
The reason I'm here
is because you made me a delicious cup of tea, so...
in return, I'm going to offer you
the following cup of steaming-hot Howard.
I urinate in the shower. Hmm?
I brush my teeth situated on the toilet.
I laugh audibly at parked cars
when I can see the interior light is still left on.
Hmm?
And, as you know,
on occasions too numerous to mention, I...
self-masturbate.
Howard, why are you telling me all this?
Because you have a right to know.
And, frankly, you need to rid yourself
of these ludicrous preconceptions of me as some kind of...
polymath demigod.
Howard, I just want to be, um, friends. Friends?
Yeah, I mean, um...
No, no. It's... It's fine.
Friends. I get it.
I apologise. I can...
write the remainder of this boilerplate rejection speech
in my own time, so...
Thank you... and good night.
That's great. Just need a quick photo. Yeah, sure.
Oregon?
Oh, no. You don't want me on it.
OK, go on, then!
Thanks a lot. Thanks a lot. I'll be in touch.
He was great. Wasn't he great?
I mean, you think "regional journalism"
and you assume it's going to be all
"Local Man Loses Debit Card in Bingo Hall".
But he was great. I mean, he asked all the right questions.
Yeah, he was OK.
But you... You were... You were great.
Oh.
It's OK, Josie. I'm in disgrace. I will phone for a taxi.
No, I want you to stay.
Look, I'm home alone
and my wanker boyfriend isn't calling me back.
And I see your raffle wine
and I raise you vodka from a tombola.
I was wrong about you, Josie.
You are a good person.
OK, let's...
Let's just get you away from these breadsticks.
Come on.
Oh, yeah.
Yeah.
Yeah, that's good.
Li... Little... Little bit softer.
Little bit softer still, Oregon.
Oh, my dick.
Something's happened to my dick.
Like, in a good way. Like, sex-wise?
Oh, my God. Oh, my God!
OK, that can't be good. Oh, what's happening?
Why is that happening?!
Oh, my God, you're bleeding! You're really bleeding.
OK. Um...
I think it exploded... I think your dick exploded!
No!
What's going on? I think his dick exploded!
Wow, that doesn't look right.
Get me a doctor! We need a doctor!
A dick doctor! Please.
Ah. Slight snag. Rule number one, no sex. So, bit of a hypocrite.
He's snapped his banjo string.
What? He wasn't playing a banjo. We don't have a banjo.
We do have a banjo. Mike brought a banjo.
Mike brought a uke. What's the difference?
My dick is bleeding!
The stringy bit at the top of his penis, he's snapped it.
I didn't know you could break that. I didn't break it! You broke it!
I don't think this is the time to point fingers!
I think it's the time get a fucking doctor! That's what time it is!
OK. I'll make the call.
Maybe... Maybe it just got so hard, it snapped.
Severed frenulum, heavy flow. We've got a lot of blood.
No, we really do.
They're tending to the wound
and then they're going to hand him over to border control.
Sor-ry!
I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.
I've got loads of ideas of what we could do next.
Shit! Look!
My trainers are on fuckin' fire!
Shit, that's hot! Whoo!
Shit! Shit!
Help!
Hot! Fucking hot!
Shit!
I'm king of the fucking world!
Get off!
Sam! Sam, why are you talking to him?
Let go.
Let's just fuck it all off and hire a barge! Yeah?
Get off me!
Seriously! I will fuck you up.
Get off me!
My uncle is a solicitor. I will sue your arse!
How nice is your dealer, by the way?
What a lovely, lovely man.
Fuck your mum.
Be quick as you like.
Sweet.
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