Look at it! Just look at the bloody stuff! Rain, rain, rain!
The old umbrella man
Let's all join the old umbrella man and sing!
Toodle-lum-a-lum-a Toodle-lum-a-lum-a
- Toora-ay-ayy - Ohhhh
Any umbrellas, any umbrellas
To fix today?
Bring your parasol
It may be small, it may be big
He repairs them all With what you call...
...a thing... ma... jig.
You move your lips, do you know that? When you read, you move your lips.
- What? - That's a sign of a slow reader.
A backward reader.
You could go as far as to say that anyone who moves their lips when they read
is mentally retarded.
- What? - Are you aware of that?
- What did you say? - It's raining. Look at the windows.
Yeah.
What's it about? Eh?
Reginald! I said what's so special? What's it about?
- You've asked me hundreds of times. - Yes. Well, I'm asking you again, ain't I?
Well...
- My God! - It's hard to say.
- Well, if you don't know now... - Murder.
- Good. - Killing and that.
- Let's bloody hope so! - And women. Loose women.
- There you are. - Could do with a few in here!
Now, now.
- Except... - Except, except, except what?
Except they're not really. Not all of 'em.
Some of them are spies, even though they sleep with the customers.
- Is this a knocking shop? - No, club.
Well, go on, I grasped that!
Some of them are - whatchacallits? - Nazis
and some of them are... Well, I dunno... um...
- Footballers? - Get off!
Well, I think that's very clear! I think you've got the whole plot in a nutshell, my boy!
Very succinct, totally understandable!
You could get a job on Reader's Digest - with a mind like yours!
Don't you need to do something? Shall I call for a bedpan?
- Hey, now... - It's hours since you had a shit!
Now, stop it, Reginald. This is not a proper subject.
Here's the nurses. Ask the pretty one for the bedpan.
- Reginald! - You gotta shit sometimes, ain't yer?
Your arse ain't sewed up! Shall I call for you?
Shut your chops, Reginald! This is uncalled for, this is very offensive!
- This is not chops, this is a mouth. - And a very dirty one!
- 'Scuse me! - No more! Say no more!
Carry on reading, then? Go back to my story, can I?
- You must be enjoying it. - When I get a chance. It's busy in here.
- Not the same book, surely? - He's a slow reader.
- I think Mr Hall wants... - I keep interrupting him. Only fair to say.
- I do divert him, oh, yes. - What is it, Reginald? What's it called?
- "The Singing Detective". - By PE Marlow?
- Yeah, that's the geezer. - Down the hatch.
You know he's in here? The man who wrote that book.
- He's in this ward. - What? Who is?
Mr Marlow. Down there.
- PE Marlow. He wrote it, that book. - What, HIM?
He's him? That poor old sod who can't stop nodding his bonce?
- That's not nice. - Next bed. This side down.
Nobody there. The Invisible Man - he write that?
He's out of the ward having treatment, but that bed, yes.
- Him?! - The loudmouth with the skin?
The very one.
You'll be able to ask him how it finishes... Thank you! ...that story of yours.
- He won't know, guarantee you that! - I'd like to talk to him, though.
Fancy that, eh? What a turn-up!
Toodle-lum-a-lum-a Toodle-lum-a-lum-a, toora-ay-ayy
Any umbrellas, any umbrellas To fix today?
Bring your parasol It may be small, it may be big
He repairs them all With what you'd call a thingumy-jig
Pitter patter patter, pitter patter patter It looks like rain
Let it pitter patter, let it pitter patter Don't mind the rain
Face the other way! Watch the bar, you fool!
And you watch your tongue!
Face the other way... please!
Thank you.
He'll mend your umbrella...
Those two up there - one facing in and one facing out.
Standard Intelligence tactics.
Any umbrellas to fix...
Watch yourself. Watch.
When there's a lull and things are dull He sharpens knives for all the wives...
Come on, let him have it, will you?
The barman is winking at me! He thinks I'm a nancy! Come on, let him have it!
... he mends anything
But he'd rather sing
- Ohhhh - Toodle-lum-a-lum-a
- Toora-ay-ayy! Any umbrellas... - Toodle-lum-a-lum-a!
... to fix today?
He'll patch up your troubles...
"His fingers cl-clawed...
"...stiffly... towards... his neck.
"Blood... jerked...
"...and spurted..."
Bloody hell!
THOMAS! THOMAS!
- Too late. - No, no, on time.
- What? - Visitors, Reginald. Visiting time, my boy.
- Put that book away now. - They shoot the wrong one!
- What? Oh, in that bloody book! - Yeah.
Put it away! Put it away! The hordes are upon us!
Oh, you can smell the outside world on their shoes, eh? Eh, my boy?
- Hello. - I was beginning a dream.
I was drifting away... unanchored.
- Where to? - School. Back to school.
- Ooh, God, one of those! - Yeah, one of those.
I hate those sorts of dreams. Somebody asks me what the capital of Iceland is.
- Of course, I never know. - Reykjavik.
Never know in the dream, I mean.
What are you doing here?
Oh... punishing myself.
- You look very... n-nice. - Don't say it like that.
- Like what? - Well...
Like I'm your enemy or like something the cat brought in.
- It's not my imagination. - What isn't?
You are definitely up to something. You're involved in some scheme.
- Good old Philip. - It has something to do with money.
Go on, this is fascinating.
- My money. - Come on, you haven't got any!
Not in cash. Not in your actual foldable, metal-strip portraits of Her Majesty, no.
Nor in coin, come to that. But I do have assets.
- Your flat. - My flat.
A damp basement. Very fashionable nowadays.
- And my work. - Yes, of course.
- My four detective stories. - Yes.
Three of which are out of print.
And... the screenplay.
- What screenplay? - Bingo!
- What are you talking about? - A dot on every I, a cross on every T!
And a curl on each comma!
- Come again? - With my own buckled hands!
- Philip! - Think I could forget a thing like that?
Ten years ago. All right, it was ten years ago I wrote that screenplay.
When I was on holiday, when I felt... When I had cantilevered heels!
Oh, well, I wouldn't know, would I? It was ages before you met me.
What screenplay was this?
"The Singing Detective".
That's it! All done!
About time, too.
"The Singing Detective" - an original screenplay by Mark...
Mark Finney!
Ages since I did any typing!
This gadget - God, you'd think it could pour you a drink!
- Or answer back! - Uh-huh. That's my job.
- Want a drink? - Why not?
Now we've got it safely on disk, we can shred that old shoebox.
Print off as many copies as we need. Ice?
Ice.
- Now we deliver. - And collect!
But you must, must get Marlow to sign the option with my company.
Absolute essential. First things first.
One, he signs with me. Two, I sell it on to Medro Films.
Three, net profit - half a million plus all the points.
Cheers. Not bad, eh?
Cheers.
- He's got to sign, though. - I know, I know.
Nicola...
Can't you be nicer to him?
You know, sweeter. Promise more. All that stuff.
- Hitch up my skirt, you mean. - Oh, Nicola.
All right, but you've no idea how difficult he can be.
See him this evening. Be nice.
What are you talking about? What screenplay was this?
"The Singing Detective".
Really?
Mm. And I put it in a shoebox in the cupboard in the flat.
Oh, that!
My God! Yes, that.
If it's the pages I think you mean, you threw them out.
- I threw them out? - Yeah!
Well, I mean, if it's the one... Yes, the one in the shoebox.
- The one in the shoebox? - You know you did. What is all this?
Ah, well. Easy come, easy go.
- Was it the only copy? - Of course.
Never mind, eh?
Jesus!
- What? - The way you sit.
The way you...
No. Those are the words of a song almost.
- You and your songs. - Yeah, well... banality with a beat.
Will it hurt if I squeeze?
- Yeah, well. - Poor old sod.
But there's... You are improving.
- In what, though? - Your skin.
The way you move your head and arms, all that. I can see a big improvement.
- Except... - Except what?
I'm going mad.
Come on! What do you mean?
I'm going off my head, round the bend, bonkers, losing my marbles,
a candidate for the funny farm, cuckoo, nuts.
That's what I mean. Bananas is what I mean.
- Do you want to talk about it...? - Sex.
- What? - That's what it's all about.
Sex. Sex and lies.
You've been ill too long - stuck with your own thoughts too long.
I want to sleep with you again.
- Philip... - With a big mirror alongside.
- Listen to me... - I can turn my head and leer at myself.
So when it starts spurting out of me,
I can twist to one side, coming off your hot, sticky loins,
and spit straight in my own face.
My God, Philip!
- Well, it's an improvement, innit? - On what?
Spitting at me. At my own reflection.
Not long ago, my idea of happiness would be to spit into YOUR face.
Christ Almighty!
Oh, yes, and him, too.
What are you going to do about these feelings?
I dunno. Write serious literature, I suppose.
Or piss into the wind like poets and priests do.
Who are those two? Who are they?
I don't know! Are they anybody? Why do they bother you?
- Paranoia. - What?
- I'm totally paranoid. - You have everything going for you!
People are beginning to notice us.
- They are looking at us. - Let 'em.
They're all sick, anyway, ain't they?
- Do you reckon that's him? - The nurse said so.
- Gonna go up to him? - What? When he's with her?
- You must be coco! - We can't stand here!
Why not? That's all we ever get to do!
We're just asked to stand around like spare pricks!
- We've got to do something about it. - Tell me what! Just tell me what!
Do you need any help?
- Do we? - Thank you, Miss, no.
We've seen all we wish to see... for the moment.
Let's go.
We'd... er... better... go.
Oi!
- Nurse! - Yes?
- Who were those two? - No idea. But they were peculiar.
- In what way? - You get strange people in hospitals.
They're usually after the drugs.
There was something weird about them. Did you see the way they were dressed?
- Why were they so interested in me? - They weren't, were they?
- They were staring at me. - Well... perhaps.
- Don't humor me, please. - No. All right.
I'll hold the beaker. Just drink this down.
That's it. No, don't spit it out. That's it.
- A drop more. - Nnnnn...!
Mr Tomkey!
It's a thrill a minute in here.
Can't we get you out? Now you've some money coming in.
Money?
You were right, of course. There was more to it than I... er... implied. Sorry.
- Go on. - Thought I'd go and clean your flat.
Well, you'd been in hospital so long, the plants were all dead.
- Good. - There was mould on some of...
- God, Philip! The way you live! - You opened my letters, right?
Most were from Reader's Digest saying to open at once.
My prize numbers! Leave them alone! They're my assets!
And, yes, there was this letter. Sorry.
- About "The Singing Detective"? - From this production company.
- A film company. - Who are they?
- New people. Featherwheel. - Who runs it?
- Man called Finney. - Know him?
- Never heard of him. - You don't sound so sure.
In what context have you never heard of him?
A money context. My agent said... they're angels - theatre, you know.
But obviously moving into films or trying to, more fool them.
You have this letter?
Yeah, I have it with me.
- And it checks out? - So it seems, for what it's worth.
- And I'll get some money straight away? - So it says.
- Who'll do the screenplay? - Finney himself.
God! They all think they can write, don't they?
Every little bleeder who can hold a ballpoint pen the right way up!
My advice is to take the money and run.
- Yeah, maybe you're right. - I know I am.
I didn't expect to see you again.
Well, I... I don't want to leave.
No... I do and I don't.
Fidelity's not exactly your strong suit, is it?
No, no, I'm not trying to be nasty.
I miss you... sort of.
- What? - No...
I do!
Much to my surprise.
Hey... come here.
- What? - Um...
- Could we close these curtains? - What for?
Guess.
They wouldn't let us close the curtains.
Well, then, get better! Quickly!
- Nicola, what's going on? - Oh, what do you mean?
Why are you being so nice?
Oh...!
- Change of policy. - Yes, but why?
- Oh, don't start all that again. - No, all right.
- You did it? Question mark. - I did it! Exclamation mark.
- He signed? Question mark. - He signed! Exclamation mark.
Oh, comma, aren't you the clever one -! Dash, exclamation mark.
Oh, he's a morbid creature! Exclamation mark.
Oh, he's a morbid creature and he thinks I'm going back to him!
What's him a-doin'? What's him a-doin' to our Mam?
Mum! Mum!
Mum!
How long's it take?
It was only a bit of fun, wan't it?
The rain it falls, the sun it shines, the wind blows
and that's what it's like.
We are buffeted by this and by that and it's got nothing to do with you.
Someone you love leaves or dies.
You get ill or you get better. You grow old and you remember. Or you forget.
And all the time, everywhere, there's this canopy stretching over you.
- What canopy? - Things as they are.
Fate. Fate.
Impersonal, irrational, disinterested.
The rain falls, the sun shines, the wind blows.
A bus mounts a pavement and kills a little child and...
I believe in no systems, no ideologies, no religion.
I simply think that...
Oh, this is very, very boring.
I simply think, from time to time, completely at random,
we are visited by what we cannot know, cannot predict, cannot control,
cannot, cannot, cannot understand,
cannot, cannot, cannot escape.
Fate.
Why not? It's a good old word.
Accident.
- What? - You say fate, I say accident.
You can call it what you like. Either way, there's sod-all you can do about it, right?
Progress.
Depends where you're standing when the bomb falls!
No, you.
The way you move when you talk some particularly urgent gibberish.
Oh, ta!
And the clear patches. Your skin is genuinely responding.
- Yes? - Yes.
You see some biochemical or other. Nothing to do with me.
Nothing to do with my mind.
- Have you tried to stand? - Who'd vote for me?
- Have you tried to stand up? - Yes.
- And? - I fell down.
- Tried to hold a pen? - Yes.
- And? - I wrote a whole word!
Oh, well done!
A whole word! Four whole letters!
That may not seem much - four lett...
Oh, I see, yes. A four-letter word.
Gotta be sharper! Had you down for a man who could strike a match on his thumbnail!
Sorry to disappoint you. I'd use a lighter.
- Oh, look! Hurt, are we? - You might conceivably have a point.
- A very small one. - Don't be ashamed. You're only human.
What interests me is the disproportionate pleasure that you'd get out of it.
Well, there you go. Different strokes for different folks.
- You're making physical progress. - Even a doctor can see that.
But are you still... disappointed in things as they are?
Not a bit. Things as they are are no concern of mine.
You object to the word "things"?
There are lots of words I object to.
- Such as? - Such as... loitering.
- Another. - What?
- Another word you dislike. - Ooh, goody! Games?
- If you like, Mr Marlow. - Word games.
- If you like. - Like Scrabble?
No, no. I say a word, any word, and you...
- I say a word I associate with it. - Instantly.
- Nescafé. - No, we haven't started yet!
- No, you have to respond instantly. - Ah, but I did.
- Doctor... - Charlatan.
If we're going to do this, we have to...
We have to agree in advance that it's meaningless, has no diagnostic value.
- Fine. - Judge.
- Wall. - Blank.
- Will. - Bard.
- Black. - Magic.
- Comb. - Honey.
- Blonde. - Honey.
- Money. - Shit.
- Fish. - Jesus.
- God. - Doctor.
- Guardian. - Misprint.
- Sun. - Trash.
- You. - Me.
- Tarzan!
- Legs. - Eleven.
- Arms. - Bombs.
- Hands. - Clap.
- Promiscuity.
- Loose. - Tight.
- Free. - Gift.
- Fair. - Bus.
- Train. - Puff.
- Queen. - Poof.
- King. - Check.
- Young. - Green.
- Old. - Cliff Richard.
- Fly. - Crash.
- Float. - Hook.
- Dream. - Wake.
- Sleep. - Lie.
- Politician. - Lie.
- Tale. - Lie.
- Writer. - Liar.
- Sentence. - Prison.
- Cage. - School...
- Light. - Cigarette.
Lung.
Fish.
- Evasion. - Tax.
- Duty. - Humbug.
- Cant. - Can.
- Tin. - Tack.
- Nail. - Cross.
- Passion. - Pretence.
- Woman. - Fuck.
- Dirt.
- Death!
Start.
Stop.
- A game. - Do you think so?
That's what YOU called it.
And we agreed. No diagnostic value.
None at all. None whatsoever.
I mean, it's words, just words.
Just words.
I don't think I'll come here again.
- No? - No.
Why is that?
Toodle-lum-a-lum-a Toodle-lum-a-lum-a
Toora-ay-ayy
- Duty. - Humbug.
- Cant. - Can.
- Tin. - Tack.
- Nail. - Cross.
- Passion. - Pretence.
- Woman. - Fuck.
- Fuck! - Dirt!
- Dirt. - Death!
- Still needing the assistance? - 'Fraid so.
Ah-ha. Tomatoes.
- What? - You're still eating the tomatoes.
Oh, no, no.
Stay off them, man. It's the pips.
I hears you!
He's back, then, Reginald. The scribe.
He's returned to this little paradise and the oasis of his pit.
The loudmouth, your bloody so-called author, Reginald.
You'd never think it. You'd never think it, not in a million years!
There's lots of things I'd never think.
Like when will I ever again have an intelligent conversation!
- He don't look like he'd write a book like this. - No, he don't!
- Just shows. - What does it show?
Shall I have a word? Talk to him!
Like you do with me? Dazzling, do you mean?
No, tell him how I like his book.
Ask him how it ends, for God's sake.
And how soon.
- Cross. - Passion.
- Pretence. - Woman.
- Fuck. - Fuck.
- Dirt. - Dirt.
Death.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Mouth sucking wet and slack at mouth,
"tongue chafing against tongue, limb thrusting upon limb,
"skin rubbing at skin.
"Faces contort and stretch into a helpless leer.
"Organs spurt out smelly stains and sticky betrayals.
"This is the sweaty farce out of which we are brought into being.
"Welcome."
You rutting bitch!
Doesn't it disgust you, being paid to stretch out and let a stranger enter you?
You disgusting tramp!
The river looks as though it's made of tar, sludging along - full of filth.
You filthy little slut! You disgusting tramp!
You heartless, two-bit fucking whore, Nicola!
I'm sorry. It wasn't really me calling you names.
I don't mean them. I don't want to do it, it's just that, afterwards, I always feel...
Well, I almost always feel...
- It's nothing personal. - Takes all sorts.
Whatcha covered up for? Something wrong with you?
The river looks as if...
- The river... - What about it?
The river looks as if it's full of tar.
Sludging along... full of filth.
What do you expect? Badedas?
Doesn't it disgust you, what you do?
Depends who I do it with.
Being paid to stretch yourself out and let a stranger enter you.
- You expect me to do it for nothing? - 'Course not.
- I mean... how long's it take? - Do you really believe that?
- Christ, that's what you wanted, isn't it? - Yeah.
You always hurt
- The one you love - Roll on, Pop, roll on.
The one you shouldn't hurt at all
You always take
The sweetest rose
And crush it till the petals fall
You always
Break the kindest heart
- With a hasty word you can't recall - Bom bom bom
So if I broke
Your heart last night
It's because I love you most of all
You always hurt
The one you love
The one
You shouldn't hurt at all
You always take
The sweetest rose
And crush it
Till the petals fall
You always break
The kindest heart
With a hasty word
You can't recall
So-o-o
If I broke
Your heart last night
It's because I love you most of all
You always hurt
The one you love
The one
You shouldn't hurt at all
You always take
The sweetest rose
Crush it
Till the petals fall
No, listen to me! Listen to me!
The kindest heart
With a hasty word
You can't recall
So-o-o
If I broke
Your heart last night
It's because
I love you most of all
- There's a good boy. - Mum?
- Looking after your mother, aren't you? - Hasn't worked out, has it?
- What? - Don't like it here, doost?
"Do you", not "doost".
But you don't like it, doost?
You're a very stubborn boy.
Aye, I be.
Well, I don't know where you get it from.
Our Dad.
- No. - Our Dad!
I wish you did.
I wish he had it to give, but he's not made that way, Philip.
Don't you know that?
When's him a-coming, Mum? When's our Dad gonna come?
I don't know. I'm not sure.
I wanna go whum. Back to our Dad. Back to them trees.
Oh, sod the trees!
Oh, no! The oak and the elm and the beech and the ash!
- The oak and the elm and the beech... - Philip!
- Oak and the elm and the beech... - Do you want a smack? Stop it, I said!
- My arm do hurt. - Come on!
- You caught me on my sore. - Your what?
- Me arm, mind. - Let me see.
- T'int nothing. - Let me see!
When did this happen? Did you bump into something?
Dunno.
I'll put some sambac on that when we get back. Pull your sleeve down.
Better show our Dad, an' us? Better show this here arm to our Dad.
- That's what we gotta do. - For God's sake, don't keep on!
You'll drive me... Once and for all, shut up about it! Shut up!
- When's him a-coming, then? - He's not!
Mum... why?
Why, Mum?
Philip... listen to me.
- Listen to me... - Is it 'cause of what that bloke did to you?
- What? - Doin' that stuff with Mr Binney.
- Raymond Binney, Mark's dad. - What stuff? What do you mean?
Rolling about on top of tha.
- What? - Shagging.
- Oh, Philip! - Shagging!
Philip!
Philip! Philip, come back! Please!
Philip!
- Who killed her, then? - What?
- Who? - Her in the river.
- That tart they dragged out the river. - What are you talking about?
- Your book! - Christ! A reader!
Yeah!
You come under the Protection of Endangered Species Act!
- What's that, then? Wit, is it? - Oh, no, not that. No fear.
We're both in here - and you wrote it and I've been reading it! Funny, innit?
- Hilarious. - Good, though. It's good.
- Thanks. - Very good.
Thank you.
- I can tell you're a writer. - How?
All that effing and blinding! You don't half let rip!
"Good writers who once knew far better words now only use four-letter words."
Do they?
- The song. - Oh, yeah.
- "Anything Goes". - Not half!
Yes, well, it's the day and the age.
You're not gonna tell me, are you?
- Tell you? - Who killed her.
- Who put her in the river. That girl. - A swine.
- But which? Lots of 'em in your book. - You'll find out, but only by reading it.
Yeah.
- Well, all the best, then. - Same to you.
We'll have another chat sometime, eh?
Yes, I like these literary discussions.
- Right, then. - Thank you.
I bet you lie there all day long just thinking of murdering people, eh?
Yes.
Yes, I do.
Who killed her, then?
Her in the river. That tart they dragged out the river.
Who did it, hm?
Who?
Who did it? Tell me, there's a good boy.
- Mark Binney, Miss. It was Mark Binney. - No, Miss, it wasn't!
- It was Mark. I saw him. - No, Miss, it in't true! Chunt me!
- Are you sure you saw him? - Yes, Miss.
- No, him couldn't have! - Quite, quite sure?
- I didn't! - Yes, Miss.
How did you see him? What were YOU doing?
- Door. Standing at the door. - Doing what?
- I came back, Miss. After school. - What for?
- To put another flag in the big map. - To do what?
- Berlin, Miss. - What do you mean, boy?
The Russians be there now. They be smashing through.
Well, nearly there, yes.
I thought we ought to stick their flag up. Hammer and sickle.
When I came back, there him was. I saw him.
Him couldn't have! It wasn't me, Miss!
What exactly did you see? What was he doing?
Pooping, Miss.
- I wasn't! - Quiet! All of you!
Philip, that is not the right word.
He was doing his No.2 on the table.
I didn't, I didn't!
Mark Binney...
...come out to the front.
Come here, boy.
Miss.
Philip, you may go back to your desk... for the while.
Yes, Miss.
Thank you, Philip.
Miss, it wasn't me, Miss. Honest, Miss. Honest!
We'll see about that, won't we, my boy?
We are going to find out, aren't we?
We're going to find out even if it takes us the rest of the day.
Miss, it wasn't me, Miss! Honest, Miss! Honest!
You see? Reginald?
They always turn that way first. Nine times out of ten.
Is it fair?
Reginald.
Do you think it's fair?
Tea, coffee or Ovaltine?
- Gone deaf, have we? - Sorry. What?
Which is it? Tea, coffee or Ovaltine?
- Coffee. - Please!
Coffee, please.
- You'll soon use an ordinary cup. - Will I?
- If you try a bit harder. - Please!
- What? - Say please!
- Tea, coffee or Ovaltine? - C... C... C...
C... C... C...
- We'll have Ovaltine, shall we? - Ohh!
- Say please. - Ah... ah...
Oh, never mind.
Ah... ah... arsehole!
- Amused, are we? - It's funny!
- What is? - This bit.
Tea, coffee or Ovaltine?
- I thought it was a thriller, your book. - It is.
Well, then!
- That tart in the river. - Who?
In the book.
- Yes? - Well, it's not her at all!
Say no more. I've got the complete picture! It all makes sense!
You think I fell for that? She thinks I fell - hook, line and sinker.
And look what'll happen. Look what I'll do.
Rot her thieving, narrow, poisonous soul!
Nurse!
Please! Nurse!
You big, fat, dopey bitch! You stupid great cow! I shall mess myself!
Gawd!
Nurse!
Wake up, please wake up, there's a darling, there's a love!
You sodding bitch, you cow! You fat cow!
NURSE!
Here! Over here! Here!
- Why aren't you asleep? - Bedpan, nurse. I need the bedpan.
- Can't you get it yourself? - I mustn't get out of bed. Cardiac.
Please! I need it! The contraption - I need it so badly!
- Something wrong with your heart? - Yes!
- What's the matter? - See what you done? You woke them up.
Tut! I'll get it. You only had to ask. No need to make a noise.
Well, I-I'm sorry, Nurse, but I...
- What the hell's going on, Mr Hall? - It's you! You, my boy!
- What? - You woke everybody up.
Grinding your teeth - like rocks being rubbed together.
Christ! Hurry up! Night nurse is very angry with you.
And I'll tell you something, Reginald, she's not one to make angry. By God, she's not.
I tell you, she's completely off her rocker!
She's round the bend - you've only got to look at her eyes to see that!
Reginald?
All shall be well.
And all shall be well.
And all manner of things shall be well.
We... We should not have run!
What else could we do?
How have we...
Why... Why here?
What are we doing here?
Perhaps we're... I mean...
- Perhaps we... - The question is...
- Tell me.
Are we going to be able to see the wood for the trees?
- Here? I don't think so. -Philip!
Listen!
Where bist? Philip! Come on, old buddy!
Everybody's looking for him!
Everywhere!
-Philip! - Oh, bugger!
- Philip! - Oh... bugger!
Philip?
Why don't tha answer, Philip?
What's the matter, old buddy?
Philip!
Where bist, Philip?
Philip!