02x06 - The Hip Operation

[bunniefuu]

(Harvey) Come along, folks, panto time.
(Woman) Panto time? It's July.

(Harvey) Be December
by the time you get there.

And the runners are all lined up.

They are under starter's orders
for this year's Derby.

Diana, you really are unspeakable.

Well, that's my job. Diana Trent,
unspeakable swine, by appointment.

— You shouldn't mock the afflicted.
— They can't fight back.

You're onto a winner, mocking the afflicted.

Come on, Millie, cut him off at the corner!

You can't tempt fate like that, you know.
It'll get you in the end.

No, the day I lay hand to walking frame
will be the day I pull the plug on myself.

My son Geoffrey said the same thing
about turning 30.

— Pity he didn't listen to himself.
— Please don't wish my family dead, Diana.

— They wish you dead.
— That's my family.

Families wishing each other dead is the norm.

But if outsiders do it, it's just plain rude.

Oh, come on,
I've got something to show you.

Yes, but what is it?

Just wait.

— Is it something yummy?
— Oh, it is!

— Can I eat it?
— Not until after my niece's wedding.

It's a cake! Marvellous. A wedding cake.

(From indoors) No, it's not a cake. It's a hat.

— Well?
— A hat?

You're sure about that?

— What's wrong with it?
— Nothing.

Nothing. You don't look like
a peppermint cream at all.

It is for a wedding.
People wear hats like this at weddings.

In this country?

My niece Sarah is the only family I have got
and I am trying to do the right thing.

Are you also going
to wear bells on your shoes?

Oh, what do you know about fashion,
you dull bumpkin?

Diana, this is supposed to be
Sarah's and Sam's special day.

The focus should be on them.

But it won't be if you turn up
looking like the Sydney Opera House.

I'll never get it together as a maiden aunt.

Sarah and her crook would've understood.

— Do you think Sam is a crook?
— Bent as a nine—quid note.

Oh, well, at least you outwitted him.

Got your daughter—in—law a business
to channel her neuroses through.

The beauty parlour was just what Marion
needed to make her a human being.

— Huh.
— And I get free facials every week.

— You what?
— Just because the clock's winding down

doesn't mean
you don't have to polish the case.

— Oh, dear God.
— Anyway, must be off.

I'm having an avocado face pack this week.

# I feel pretty, oh, so pretty

# I feel pretty and witty and gay! #

Stop mincing around, Tom.

You're far too old to start turning
any of life's great corners.

— Sarah wants me to give her away.
— Well, that's good, Dad.

— I'm touched.
— You can say that again.

— She's sniping at me again, Geoffrey.
— No, Dad.

I got her this place.

If I hadn't outwitted Sarah's fiancé,
she'd still be popping pills and slugging gin.

She still does that, Dad.
She's having a few problems here.

— What?
— Ahhh!

— She hasn't a clue what she's doing.
— (Woman screams)

— She isn't making any money out of it.
— Oh dear, oh dear. Marion?

— What?
— How's it going?

Oh, fine, fine.

I'm going broke, the place is overrun
by dirty old men expecting freebies.

— Everything's wonderful. Ohh!
— (Phone)

(Customer sobs hysterically)

— Why isn't she making any money?
— Sarah's fiancé Sam.

You got us the franchise for nothing

but the small print gives him
a percentage of the gross.

He slices it off the top
before we've even deducted expenses.

— Oh, dear.
— It's Diana. She's had a fall.

— How is she?
— Swearing the place down.

Thank God she's all right.

I'd better skip the mudpack this week.

— What happened?
— She slipped and fell on her hip.

She was trying to throw a brick
at the gardener.

— How did you find her?
— Well, she was very, er, vocal.

The people in the next village complained.

— So what's the damage?
— Severe fracture of the hip.

— They're going to operate soon.
— Have they knocked her out already?

No, she's just very tired.

Had a bit of a swear at the surgeon.

Oh.

— Maybe we'd better be off.
— You cam; on, Jane.

I'll just sit here for a moment.

Oh, right.

Bye.

Bye—bye, Diana.

You say I said bye—bye.

(Loud metallic clattering outside)

Oh, Diana, you poor old duck.

Never mind, we're all here,
we're all behind you.

Oh, shut up, you cloying old woman.

— What—ho. Good sleep?
— I've been awake all along.

I just didn't want to have to listen
to Jane going on about brittle bones

and taking it easy at my time of life.

— She might have a point, you know?
— Don't you start.

I'm going to be out of here tomorrow.
I'm taking up polo.

Good idea.

Maybe we should form a trapeze act together.

— It's a bugger, isn't it?
— Certainly is. Oh...

Hurts like hell, too.

— Shall I get a nurse?
— No, no, no, it's OK.

— I want to go to this wedding, Tom.
— Oh, I wouldn't worn/ about that.

You usually hate weddings. All those cheerful
and happy people. It'd only depress you.

Yes, but it's a matter of principle.
I said I'd be there.

I don't want to be thwarted by old age.

It's nothing to do with age.

You fell over, had an accident.
It could happen to anyone.

Buses don't just run over old folk, you know.

(Speaks Welsh) How are you, then?

This is my surgeon — Taff the Kn*fe.

— David Davis. How do you do?
— Tom Ballard.

— You the husband?
— I'm not married.

I've told you once. They all deaf in your valley?

— Bundle of laughs, isn't she?
— Yes, she puts the t*nk in cantankerous.

Do you mind? I am here, you know.

You're my surgeon. You talk to me,
not this buffoon. Now what do these say?

Oh, my God, is that me?
Get your nose out.

I've got no flesh on.

Given yourself quite a whack, my dear.

When I go in,
chances are I might give you a new hip.

— The old ball—and—socket job.
— Nothing wrong with my hip.

Bit brittle, you know.
It's the steroid treatments.

You'd probably
need a new one soon anyway.

Tom, will you tell this Celtic dimwit

that I do want a new hip.

Hip replacements are for the old
and the infirm.

She says she thanks you very much
and would love a new hip.

Will you vent her spleen while you're at it?

My pleasure.

OK, Nurse.

Body snatcher!

Oh! Look what you're doing!
Those things are sharp!

Take it easy, old thing.
There's nothing to be afraid of.

I am going to that wedding.

Here you are, Diana,
our usual six o'clock gin.

What? Fill it up, you fool? You feel like getting
legless and b*ating up a lager lout?

Certainly. (Chuckles) OK?

Guess who dropped by this afternoon.
Ernest Hemingway.

He wanted us to go to Pamplona
to run with a bull

but I told him it might be a bit tricky
for you at the moment.

What? Oh, that's not very nice, Diana.
Ernest Hemingway is a great writer.

He's not a macho old poof at all.

Tom...

What's the matter with your voice, Diana?

I'm over here, Tom.

You sound like that idiot Bains.

I am the idiot Bains.

— Oh, look, it's the idiot Bains.
— I'm not the idiot Bains.

— You just said you were the idiot Bains.
— I meant it's me, Harvey Bains.

— I am not an idiot.
— He said he's not an idiot.

She says, "Do you have that in writing?"

Now, listen, Diana, I'm getting a little tired

of this constant undermining
of my authority here and furthermore...

— And furthermore you're not even there.
— Oh, yes, she is.

Even though she's under the surgeon's Kn*fe
at the moment,

she astrally traveled here to have
a cup of gin, isn't that so, my dear?

She says,
"Yes, it is, you smarmy little piggy."

Diana is not there, Tom.

It's no use, Diana, he sees through you.

I could've been in double glazing,
I could've been.

Did you want something or did you just drop
by to spend a few minutes looking daft?

I was assessing the ongoing situation
vis—a—vis Diana's new state.

What?

I was trying to work out what Diana will
do now that she's going to be a cr*pple.

A what?

You know what it's like
when these old ducks cr*ck up.

— She can't stay in this unit.
— Why not?

It's not wheelchair accessible.

We might move her into the garage until
she can find somewhere else to live.

You're at it again, trying to get rid of us.

Tom, Diana has broken her hip.

She is falling apart.
This isn't cr*pple City here, you know.

If you can't walk upright unaided,
you can't stop here.

It's the same with toilet ability. If you
can't pee solo, I'm afraid it's goodbye.

— It's subsection 4, para 9 of the contract.
— You fool.

— I'm sorry.
— You appallingly ignorant fool.

She's only having a hip replacement and
that's as common as an appendix job now.

You end up better off than
when you went in, you great clot.

— Really?
— Yes, really.

A new hip will give Diana a new lease of life.

Then she won't just be slinging words
at you, she'll be running after you,

hitting you about your silly head!

(Laughs hysterically)

— Oh, that is good news.
— Yes!

Oh, what wonderful news.

Well, my prayers have been answered.
I must send her some flowers.

(Harvey) Damn, damn,
damn, damn, damn!

JANE!

Cheers, old thing.

So...how did it go?

Fine. Brand—new hip.
Some of my best work there.

The best that money can buy.
And it won't cr*ck and wear out.

My first false bit.

Be the teeth next.

Then the heart and lungs, kidneys.

God, stick round long enough,
you get to be somebody else.

The physio people will have you up
tomorrow, walking in a few days.

Walking? On what?

Oh, a frame to begin with. Then two sticks,

then one, then none, and after that,
you can go back to the corps de ballet.

Frame? A walking frame?

What, like old women use?

— For a few days.
— Never.

— Sorry?
— Never in a million years.

— I don't understand.
— She suffers from Zimmer—phobia.

She believes that
once you've put your hand on a walking frame,

it is but a willy—whisker away
from the final plunge off your perch.

— Nonsense.
— All right, you've done your bit.

You've earned your fat fee.

Why don't you just go and jump into
your Range Rover and bugger off?

All right. OK. You sort her out, Tom.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Well, he's turned me into an old person.

Nonsense.

If you're 35 and break a hip,

they don't bung in a new one cos you'll
probably need it in a couple of years.

They fix the damn thing,
you get on with your life.

Bloody quacks.

Useless for women.

Before puberty, they tell you,
"Oh, it'll all be cured by puberty."

Then later,
"It'll be OK when you've had a baby."

Then it's, "Oh, well, you're of a certain
age. You'll be better after the change."

And now it's, "Ah, well, you've got
to expect these things at your age."

When is there a stage in a woman's life
when she'll be cured of her ills

without passing through
some male—defined age barrier?

— I don't know.
— When she's dead.

Unless she's a Buddhist. Then they'll say,

"Oh, don't worry,
you'll be better in the next life."

Why do those nurses never come
when you press the damn buttons?

— What do you want?
— A drink of water.

Got a mouth like the bottom of a Turkish
wrestler's coal scuttle or whatever it's called.

I could give you that, for goodness' sake. No
need to run the poor staff into the ground.

Tom, am I being a bit of a pain in the burn?

A bit? No. You're just being...

a huge pain in the burn.

— Well, I'm fed up.
— Oh.

It's only a wound. Flesh and bone.
They fix themselves. It's nothing nasty.

Not one of your dark demons that lurk within

and only announce their fatal presence

when their deadly work is well nigh done.

Oh, my God, Tom,
don't start going gothic on me.

I'm just saying, it'll be all right.
It's no big deal.

You're trying to set it up as a watershed,
which it isn't.

I wouldn't be seen dead on a walking frame.

— How else will you get to that wedding?
— Simple.

They'll have to postpone it.

— Can't do that, Diana.
— Why not?

It's your wedding. Have it when you like.

Well, it's for financial reasons.
The end of my tax year, you see.

If we get married next Saturday, we get
income splitting advantages for 2 years.

— How very romantic.
— It would cost us a fortune to put it off.

Oh.

I don't suppose you'll need me there,
anyway. Tom's giving you away.

Maybe you'll show me the photos one day.

— Never really liked that hat, anyway.
— I did have a word with your surgeon.

Oh, did he understand it? He's Welsh, you know.

He's also one of the most qualified
hip men in the country.

He said you could easily attend the wedding
if you wanted to.

What, in a wheelchair? On a walking frame?

So I can have your tedious yuppie pals
smiling at me, patting me on the head,

and talking slowly and clearly in case
the old biddy doesn't understand?

That's what happens, you know. The moment
you show any signs of physical infirmity,

they treat you like a basket case who
won't make it beyond the vol—au—vents.

No, thank you very much.

Well, I must be off.
Gotta go and see Marion and Geoffrey.

— What for?
— Oh, just business.

Keeping the old balls in the air.

I'll see you later, darling.

— (Sam) Mmm!
— Do you mind? This is a hospital, you know.

Ciao, Di.

No point in you hanging around
any longer. I'm not a freak show.

Oh, get off, girl.

— You're such a rock, you know.
— Bollocks.

No, you are.

You might strive to be a flinty old crab,
but underneath...

Underneath, I am a vicious old cynic

who hates any overt displays of emotionalism.

What do you want?

Do you think I should marry him?

Is this a serious question
or are you just asking for reassurance?

I don't know.

— Will you be honest with me?
— Not for a second.

I shall say what I think is best for you
at the time at which I say it.

— What do you think of Sam?
— Oh, he is a saint amongst men.

Charming, witty, intelligent, good—looking.

He's a dreadful con man,
totally without any scruples whatsoever.

— There is that side to him.
— So why do I love him?

Hmph! God knows.

Your father was just the same. Totally doolally.

He and that mother of yours
were completely unsuited.

She was a wet little mouse

and he couldn't stand still while
there was a virgin left on the planet.

And what happened? They got married.

He stopped messing about and she
blossomed into a rare beauty and brain

and they were forced to suffer millions
of years' appalling happiness together.

Oh, I don't know why you love
your dreadful little chiseller.

Love isn't a quantifiable or definable product.

It's, er... Well, it's like a sort of elephant
sitting in the corner of your sitting room.

You can't ignore it,
but if you don't do something about it,

you'll find yourself knee—deep in elephant poo.

— Why did you never marry?
— Oh, my God.

Why doesn't everybody always ask me
that boring question?

I never married
because I was a photographer.

— A photographer?
— Mm.

I could always see the whole picture.
I was objective.

Oh, I knew what I wanted in a husband.

He had to be this, he had to be that,
de—da—de—da—de—da.

And, of course, I should love him.

But just one problem.

The good guys, the responsible ones,
the...the kind ones,

well, they never threw the magic switch,
they never lit up my promenade.

Huh. No, the firework merchants

were the pirates, the swashbuckling,
no—good so—and—so's.

— The bastards.
— And you wouldn't marry one of those.

Hoo—hoo, no!

— Sam's a no—good, a pirate.
— And I...

I am here. On my own.

— You mean...
— Maybe I should've nail my colours

to one of those tall masts.

Even if the ship was rotten and sinking.

— So...
— So many your wicked charm—boat.

And the moment he steps out of line,
you string him up by the offending part.

And if there's another woman involved,
drop a truck on her.

You break him down, but all the time,
you give him everything you've got.

And if at the end of it,
you are not gloriously happy,

you can always strangle the little sod.

— Thank you, Diana.
— Is that what you wanted to hear?

Of course.

Be happy, you miserable brat.

— I really am sorry.
— No, you're not.

I am. With the wedding and everything,
I feel as though you're almost family.

— So you don't enjoy ripping us off?
— It's not ripping you off.

It's in all the franchise contracts.
We get a piece of the turnover off the top.

— Which means we run at a loss.
— None of the other salons run at a loss.

The others aren't run by an incompetent.

— Who are you talking about?
— You, dear.

Oh. Thank you, Geoffrey.

Your efficiency problems
are your problems, not mine.

My problem is collecting what I'm owed.

I'm working to support my wife's losses.

Ow! Ohh! Oww!

— Ohh! OW!
— You thought of changing your wife?

— That's difficult.
— Do shut up. just suck your silly finger.

She has a problem with relationships.

I should coco.
So if I could just have your cheque.

— I suppose so.
— (Tom) Hang on a tick.

Oh, still daylight.

Hello, Tom. I...I didn't see you there.

Geoffrey, do you enjoy spending
your spare time here?

— No, Dad.
— Marion, are you happy in your work?

(Sobs)

Sam, what happens to those
who default on their payments?

The franchise reverts to me and they lose
what they paid for said franchise.

Nothing. Because I threatened
to tell Sarah you were a crook

unless you gave them a free franchise.

Right, but...

— So it's obvious.
— What is?

Geoffrey, Marion, you're not enjoying
yourselves, you're making no money.

Pick up your bed and walk.

— What?
— You can quit.

— just like that?
— Yes.

Oh, I can't believe it.

Quick, out the door
before Mr. Swifty here re—writes the contract.

— just a minute....
— Bye—bye.

— Thanks, Dad.
— (Chuckles) Geoffrey...

Marion.

— Thank you, Tom.
— Off you go.

What about my nails?

Bite them!

— Sorry, old chap.
— Not at all.

You're a pretty good mover, Tom,
a real soft—top GTi.

— What about my nails?
— Have you paid yet?

No.

I'll be right with you.
I'll see you at the wedding, Tom.

Oh, and if you do ever think of going
into business...stay away from me.

(Church bells ring)

Oh, isn't it wonderful, Harvey?

— What is?
— Going to a wedding.

You and me going to a wedding.

Who knows, it might give you some ideas.

You know, Jane. You're absolutely right. This
church does make me think of something.

And what might that be, Harvey,
if I might make so bold?

If I could get Bayview registered
as a religious charity,

we might be in for some really big tax breaks.

Oh, Geoffrey, life is so wonderful.

— That's because you're drunk, dear.
— Yes!

It's so nice to be back to the old me —
drunk and stupid.

— Here comes the groom, the rotten bastard.
— He's rather sexy.

Geoff, could you do me a favour?
I've lost my best man.

— How did you do that?
— I had to fire him this morning.

— Wasn't he also your brother?
— Yes, but he's out now, anyway.

— Could you do the honours for me?
— He'd love to.

— No, I wouldn't. You're a swine.
— 500 quid?

Have you got the ring?

(Organ playing)

— Got another appointment, have you?
— Not for a couple of hours.

I always cm; at weddings.

— Not on the suit, Jane.
— Sorry, Harvey.

Such a shame Diana isn't here.

Very sad. Poor Diana.
Let's hope things don't go terribly wrong

and she gets gangrene and has to have
her leg off and falls over all the time.

— Do I look all right?
— You look fine, Tom.

I always get nervous at weddings.

When Jane Russell and I tied the knot,
I nearly fainted right away.

It's all right, he's just a bit daft.

— What a pity Diana couldn't be here.
— Pride, I'm afraid.

Pride coupled with a manic desire
to be miserable at all costs.

— We'd better go.
— (Car horn, tires screeching)

Oh, my God!

— What is it?
— We'd better hang on a second.

Come on, you silly fools,
get out of my way!

All right, you crocks, quick march!

— (Sarah whispers) What is it?
— It's Diana Brando and the wild bunch.

Oh, how marvellous!

— How tasteless.
— Oh, bother!

What's the matter? Never seen
anyone with a Zimmer before?

You, play the music!

All right, Tom,
let's get this show on the road.

(Organ plays Thine Is The Glory)

Oh, get on with it.