He was here for seven years!
So in real life I might only have been shot a second ago.
Your head has made up a puzzle for you?
Because that is the way that I will get strong.
I'm facing up to you. I'm strong enough to wake up.
He's under arrest!
They say that before you die,
you see all the mistakes you've ever made, in that last moment.
Somewhere between life and death.
- Mummy. - Your presence is required
just a little bit longer round here... by me.
First, the news, with John Humphreys.
Egypt has made another move against Islamic fundamentalists,
this time taking control of the country's 40, 000 private mosques...
Note to psyche:
a little less irony, a little more Dynasty, please.
In Panorama tonight, we look at international agreement
to limit trading wars between...
The eyes of the world will be on Lady Diana Spencer
as she becomes the wife of the heir to the throne and takes the princess...
It's been a long, hard struggle for justice, but today
a jury found my client not guilty of assaulting a police officer.
Until today there has been no recognition from the Metropolitan Police
of anything wrong with the way this investigation had been carried out.
Today, finally, up against the wire, confronted by...
Mum.
...their own lies and evasions, it has been admitted.
- Can you clarify? - Mummy...
You do what your mother says.
Everyone else has gone home to watch the royal wedding with their parents.
But you're staying here on your own, Alex.
Make sure she concentrates. She's easily distracted.
Goodbye, Alex.
It's not real.
I will not get upset.
Alex!
I'm here to see them die before they die, aren't I?
My name is Alex Drake.
I've just been shot and that bullet has taken me back to 1981.
I may be one second away from life,
or one second away from death.
You still on for tonight, Shaz?
Might be, might not be.
Good morning, imaginary constructs.
Morning, ma'am.
It actually looks quite busy in here, what's going on?
Oh, the guv's like a dog on a hot tin roof.
Special Branch are all over him about the royal wedding.
In case some of you hadn't noticed,
we are about to witness the joyous union
of Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer.
In the meantime,
we've got jessies on the Isle of Dogs about to stage a protest.
Why the rush?
Gotta stamp on this before the press get wind of it.
Take that seatbelt off, you're a police officer, not a bloody vicar!
I know this bit. I know this bit!
Right, we'll go the long way round.
I'm not scratching this baby.
I thought we were in a rush.
The family have locked themselves in upstairs, say they're not coming down.
This is the last place left, the rest have been compuls...
compuls...
They had to leave.
- Any journalists? - Just a couple of locals.
This is hardly CID stuff, guv, is it?
It's like a powder keg waiting for a spark.
It's not going to happen. Not on my patch.
Not for Di. Chris, kick the door down. Let's get 'em out of there.
Well, hang on. Why risk a spark?
Who's the dominant personality up there?
Landlord, David Bonds.
- Hard as nails. - Who else?
His wife, who wouldn't say boo to a goose.
Son, who looks as though
he might have spent too much time in the shallow end of the gene pool.
OK. Look and learn, constructs.
Let her do her stuff for a minute. Then break the sodding door down.
Mr Bonds?
- What's happening? - Shut up!
Mr Bonds, my name's DI Alex Drake.
I wonder if myself and my colleague could come up and have a chat.
See if we could help you achieve the conclusion you're looking for.
Right. Let's get the door down.
My dad was the landlord of this pub,
and his dad before him.
It'll be his when the time's right.
Generations of skilled workers drank here.
Now they've all been chucked on the slag-heap by Thatcher and Heseltine.
Homes destroyed to make buildings and offices,
with no new homes built to replace 'em!
The march of history, Mr Bonds.
Hitler couldn't drive my dad out of this pub,
and I'll tell you this, Mr Hunt,
no poxy Docklands development's going to succeed
where the Luftwaffe failed!
We ain't going nowhere!
The thing is, Mr Bonds, that...
Where will you be watching the royal wedding?
We won't be watching it anywhere!
It's a charade,
to paper over the cracks of mass unemployment
and the wholesale destruction of working-class communities!
You're a cheerful bugger, aren't you?
Inbred bloody fascists.
Don't you dare swear in front of your mother!
- Sorry, Dad. - Idiot!
Mr Bonds, I'm not interested in spoiling your protest.
What I do ask
is that you sit up here quietly
until after Di and Charles have tied the knot.
Can we shake hands on that?
Can I just...?
Do you mind if I have another garibaldi, Mrs Bonds?
- Fine fare. - Presto's.
Shut up and listen to me!
This is my bloody fantasy and I will be listened to!
Excuse my colleague.
Education of a toff, manners of a sewer rat.
Sorry.
I just wanted to say that I admire your stance, Mr Bonds, I really do.
But there is no point in fighting a battle that can't be won.
You know, in ten years' time,
glass and steel will tower above us.
The only thing that will remain from this street
will be the street name.
I've seen it, so I know.
So, please, let us help you move on.
There'll be other battles to fight in other places,
and battles you may even have a chance of winning.
Piss off... out of my home.
Well, that went well.
It's all about profiling. It takes a little time.
Bollocks.
Right, shall we get back to some proper policing?
Bit of admin, we need to stamp your arse.
I beg your pardon?
It's a tradition.
When a woman joins the Met, skirt up,
stamp your bum with the day's date, down the pub.
Then you get to see us moon you.
You must be joking. What is wrong with my mind?
Personally, I have no desire whatsoever to see
your boney, privately-educated buttocks, but it's good for morale.
- Well, it's not going to happen. - Guv?
What?
You are not gonna believe what's just happened back on the Isle of Dogs, guv.
There has been an incident over at the Royal Docks.
What sort of incident?
A bloody messy one, that's what.
If anybody laughs,
I will attach jump leads to their genitalia.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Oh, God.
Only, some of my friends don't think I've got a sense of humour.
An exploding dog, from my psyche...
If you've quite finished, DI Drake.
You see, the thing is, my parents were...
It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter.
- What's the point? Carry on. - Are you sure?
Please.
So...
Special Branch are as nervous as a virgin in a brothel,
especially since HRH was sent a letter bomb in May.
I remember that. That's why I've put it in this story.
Do you mind?!
So nervous they want to investigate this one themselves.
I hope you told them where to get off.
I did.
Which means my reputation is on the line.
So, there will be no hiccups
between now and the twanging of the royal hymen. Understood?
Apparently, she was the only posh virgin they could find.
How do they know she's a virgin?
I dunno. Had a little peek, I suppose.
Is that understood?
- Yes, guv. - Good!
So...
If some nutter is playing with dynamite on my patch I wanna know about it.
Let's round up all them anti-establishment toe-rags,
all of the usual lunatics and losers and put the fear of God up 'em. Questions?
What?
Can I come, please?
Gentlemen...
You have several things in common,
all of which irritate me immensely.
Poor skin, donkey jackets, and membership of anarchist groups.
I don't think I'm supposed to be here. I'm part of the Anti-Nazi League.
Don't you dare talk to me!
One of you gobs of pond life has been mucking around with explosives.
- Why was that? - Is this really necessary?
Because in your dark, twisted little minds,
you think trying to stop the redevelopment of the East End
is an act of revolution.
Wrong.
Do Anarchists have smaller tadgers than normal men?
It's the fear. They get sucked up into the body.
So when you limp out of here,
you will spread the word amongst your scummy comrades
I will personally remove the intestines...
from anyone who even thinks about causing trouble this week.
Bernie...
the bolt.
I'm not supposed to be here!
I'm the Anti-Nazi League, not an anarchist!
Anarchy doesn't work!
No! No!
All right, love?
- Brown or pink, guv? - God save the Queen.
I wonder how you get a job like that?
Like what?
Checking out posh totty to see if they're a virgin.
All right, Skip?
Ah, you're working, sir.
Not an April Fool's, is it?
Bit busy trying to find a bomber.
Cast your eyes on that, sir.
London Liberation Front?
It's a new one on me, guv.
Next time it's Moore? What does that mean?
That's obvious. They've misspelled "more".
No, the syntax is too good.
What?!
Well, there's the correct usage of a contracted apostrophe.
If they know how to use that, then they know how to spell "more".
Yes, thank you, Miss Jean bloody Brodie.
Who is "Moore"?
Bobby Moore.
Bobby Moore?!
Footballer.
Yeah, I know who he is, numb-nuts!
Why would anyone want to blow up Bobby Moore?
He WAS in Escape To Victory.
We will not have the aristocracy of this country
blown to smithereens on my watch.
- Understood? - Yes, guv'nor.
I want you, Einstein,
to trace the original publication of the letters from this note.
What about Daniel Moore?
He's got a few enemies, I bet.
When I need advice from a lobotomised Essex Girl,
I'll ask for it, OK?
Danny Moore is on the board of the Docklands Development Agency.
Born in the East End,
dragged himself up by his boot straps, worth at least a million.
Really?
A real, living breathing Thatcherite businessman?
How completely brilliant.
Personal friend of the Great Handbag herself, so try and behave.
I promise not to twang his red braces...
More than once.
Hi, Danny Moore.
What's all this about?
Erm, we found a small amount of explosives on land near Royal Docks.
Well, technically, a small dog found it.
He's an even smaller dog now.
It wasn't made public.
And yet the warning note we received mentioned that incident
and indicated you could be a possible future target.
Do you have any enemies, Mr Moore?
With what I'm doing, you upset a few people, big ones and little ones.
I get threats almost daily.
Well, if you will go around destroying communities...
People will be disconcerted, I don't deny that.
Look, I'm sorry, I've got a business meeting.
Actually, although there was widespread opposition at the time and,
and God knows, the woman was appalling,
the Left came to see Thatcherism as a necessary political evil.
Unions were emasculated
which led to the abolition of Clause 4 and the rise of New Labour.
Although not everybody...
Sorry. Sorry. Bombs. Dogs. Carry on.
You'll have to excuse the ramblings of my DI.
- Don't you apologise for me. - Well, someone has to!
No apologies necessary.
I like the cut and thrust of a good argument. Do you?
That depends who's doing the cutting and, er...
...and who's doing the thrusting.
So, we'll go ahead and arrange some protection for you, Mr Moore.
It's very kind of you to offer it.
It's not really an offer. I insist.
And I'm going to politely decline.
Your life is in danger!
Well, life is always dangerous. That's the thrill of it.
- Hope we meet again. - It's unlikely.
I'm not going to be here very long.
I'll be the judge of that.
I wonder if these calories count.
What?
A moment on the lips, an afterlife on the hips.
That would be just my luck.
He's a bloody fool.
Still, as long as he doesn't come crying to me when he's blown to bits.
Oi, Luigi!
I hope you gave this horse a decent funeral.
Very funny, Mr Hunt.
Good one.
I am going to stamp your arse, you do know that.
You most certainly are not!
I promise you, it doesn't hurt. Over the desk, skirt up... bosh.
"Property of the Metropolitan Police".
You show us yours, we show you ours.
In your dreams. And if you continue to bang on about it,
I'm going to have to re-imagine you.
She wants it, really.
You got anything on the London Liberation Front, Raymondo?
Not a thing. I think it's just kids pissing about.
Do you?
Well, I'll remind you of that when we're picking
bits of viscounts out of them lovely trees on the Mall.
Have you got that bloody note sorted?
Er... three of the letters are from The Mirror.
Two from a Millwall programme.
And this curly thing here...
The apostrophe?
Yeah, it's from the Woman's Weekly. I think.
It's these weird "o"s, though, I can't seem to find them anywhere.
Someone to see you, ma'am.
Yum.
There's something I'd like to show you.
I bet there is.
You carry on, Drake, we'll get on with the hard graft.
She's a beauty, isn't she?
Thank you, frontal cortex.
OK, I'm going to come straight to the point.
Are there any men in your life?
No. I've given up on men.
Kids?
One little girl.
Well, not so little. Molly.
She's not with me at the moment.
Where is she?
She's with her godfather, Evan.
I'm on my way to her birthday party. Or hope I am.
You're an enigma
wrapped in a riddle, Alex.
You don't know the half.
Well, then show me.
One more thing. Have dinner with me.
- Can I walk you in? - No, thanks.
I will have dinner with you. If the offer's still on.
The offer's still on. I'll call you.
All right.
Do you hear a ticking sound?
I think it's under your seat!
I don't think so! I think it's under yours!
Get out! Get out! Get out!
Get me out! Get me out! Get me...
Alex!
Alex! Alex, it's all right! Alex!
Alex, it's all right!
Look, there's a note, it's supposed to frighten me.
Bloody worked, too, thought we were both goners!
We're alive!
It's all right. It's OK...
They were just letting you know that they could get to you,
- any time, any place. - You all right, ma'am?
So what does it say?
"On Wedding Day you die." Bastards.
Should we get Special Branch involved?
No, we do not get Special Branch involved!
My patch, my crime, my result!
- I've changed my mind. - Are you still here?
I'd like police protection.
I'm at risk, I'm frightened, I need protection.
- I could do it. - DI Drake was assigned the task.
I offered you protection before!
No. I'm needed here...
You offered me protection, Mr Hunt, and I'm accepting the offer.
Look at the state of you. You're no use to us here.
You're still trembling.
Well, we did nearly die.
I'm allowed to tremble.
If you can die in this world.
Weren't you frightened today? I mean, you could have died.
Didn't I tell you? I'm immortal.
Are you?
Me, too!
So, what do you want to do tonight?
Well...
I would really...
like to see if you could surprise me.
I would love to know if that's possible.
Wow! This is amazing!
Welcome to Blitz.
Thanks, George!
You dance?
No.
I said no! I don't dance!
Sorry, I can't hear you!
Sorry.
- Chris! What's happened to you?! - Shaz.
Don't tell anyone at work, ma'am.
- What? - I'd never hear the end of it.
Can't hear you, Chris!
Don't say anything at work.
I'd never hear the end of it!
- I'm gonna go get a drink. - OK, darlin'.
Hurry up, Alex.
We are waiting for you, Alex.
What can I get you?
Let me through! Police officer!
Sorry.
What do you want?!
Please, don't hurt me!
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
Thank you very much.
I hope you enjoyed our new single. That was Fade To Grey. Thank you.
- Night, Ray. - Night, mate.
So what have we got?
A dog in assorted pieces
and a poxy note from a group that don't even exist.
It's not much.
Results from the explosives, guv.
We've got a potential major incident here and everyone's gone AWOL.
Where's Chris?
Says he's got a dicky stomach. Fairy.
And Drake'll be getting her knickers off round about now in the DeLorean.
Anything?
World War Two dynamite, they reckon.
- Gathering dust for 40 years. - It doesn't make any sense.
Who'd hang on to explosives for 40 years and then blow up a dog?
If I knew that, Raymondo, you and I could be sat on the crapper
or out there shagging Thatcherites like the rest of the team.
No, whoever it is, we haven't heard the end of it.
As for Danny Moore, he might be a step above a...
...flea-ridden mongrel,
but it's our job to protect the bastard.
What from? The dynamite or Drake?
She might be a bird, Ray,
but she's your superior officer, don't you forget it!
All right, guv, all right.
I'll get on to it.
No, no, no.
It's too late now. You get yourself off home and get some kip.
You and I, see if we can nail these bastards,
whoever they are, in the morning.
- See you later. - See you.
Night, guv.
Night.
A lot of people have clown phobias.
Don't worry about it.
Thank you...
for a wonderful evening.
Or maybe it was a micro-second.
I think it was. I hope it was.
Thank you. For a wonderful micro-second.
Alex?
Yes, Danny?
You talk too much.
We are waiting...
Make sure she concentrates. She's easily distracted.
We're moving!
Can't you feel it?
You've had a bit to drink, why don't we get some air?
No. No, I've been distracted, but I'm all right now.
Alex, where are you going?
I'm going to a birthday party.
It makes perfect sense.
He hero-worships his father, he looks up to him,
sees him humiliated
by having to sell his pub, his home, his identity.
Danny Moore is the developer.
Well, you've changed your tune.
You were just doing a pretty passable impression of a useless bimbo.
I was distracted. I am not any more.
Bring him in before he kills.
Don't buy it.
I know that I'm right, I know his profile.
So where does speccy four-eyes get his dynamite from?
Two dabs of sherbet and some nitroglycerin? Please!
I don't know yet, but I know that I'm right.
You think our future king wants to become a tampon,
so your views don't count!
- Please. - No.
I'll let you stamp my bum.
I'll get my coat.
- Let's all stay very calm. - Innocent men don't run, son.
Don't make me hurt him, Bonds.
- You bastard! - David, stop him!
We're arresting you for the attempted murder of Daniel Moore.
- You do not have to say... - That's not how it goes!
He might hate Daniel Moore, we all do!
But he's not capable of murder, look at him! You're a coward, Hunt.
You want to have a go at someone, come and have a go at me.
Put that down, Mr Bonds.
- David! - Get off me!
You wearing make-up?
No.
Everything all right?
You didn't say you were going to do this.
When you become my mother, Raymondo, I'll let you know.
- Chris, turn this place upside down. - What am I looking for?
- Dynamite. - Dynamite?
Ace!
There's no dynamite in my house, you stupid bleeding cow!
I'm so sorry, I have no idea where this stuff is coming from.
Stop it! Please, stop it!
Get them down the station. I want this done and dusted.
Come on.
Let David go. If we can get rid of the father, we can isolate the son.
Pretty confident, aren't you?
What if you're wrong and the bomber's still out there?
I'm not. He's not.
Right, let the old man go.
I'm going to squeeze his son's zits until I hit his nervous system.
- Let me talk to him. - Why should I?
Because he's a frightened, confused kid. And I'm an expert.
If it were me, I'd have him stuffed and mounted, and sent to Special Branch.
He needs a brief. I want this case to stick.
May I suggest using Caroline Price?
Viv has got a list of pet solicitors behind the desk,
use one of them.
Everyone else has gone home to watch the royal wedding with their parents.
Just stay here on your own, Alex.
Do you understand?
Make sure she concentrates.
She's easily distracted.
I was once... but not any more.
New Romantics?
Bunch of suburban poofs wearing doilies on their heads.
You didn't really go there, did you?
Back against the wall, obviously.
Hey, guess who else was there?
DI Drake.
You're kidding? I told you she was a lesbo.
Who's a lesbo?
You never said if you enjoyed last night.
Yeah, it was really good.
He's just told me it was full of poofs and saddos.
Did you say that?
Some of those poofs and saddos are my best friends.
Did he tell you he was wearing eyeliner?
- I've got work to do. - What the f...?
"We are all prostitutes."
"Everyone has their price, and you too will learn to live the lie."
"Aggression, competition, ambition."
"Consumer fascism."
"Capitalism is the most barbaric of all religions."
I'm sure Barry Manilow's covered that one.
Is that what you believe, George?
I just like the music.
Now we know you're a liar!
All the letters in the warning note can be traced
- to publications found in your home. - So?
Do you want a smoke?
The working classes are enslaved by the tobacco industry.
Where is my snooker cue?
I think you were planning on murdering Daniel Moore, George.
Prove it!
The correct answer is, "No, I wasn't!"
Piss off.
You know something, George?
I think that I am going to give you a ruddy good slap.
George, don't give him the satisfaction.
Let's not do this his way.
Can I go home? Please?
I don't know. A terrified kid like that should be singing like a canary.
You won't get to him by threatening him.
What if he's got associates?
He won't have. He's a loner, I'm sure of it.
Not good enough. I need to break him,
find out if there are any more explosives out there.
Right, I hope you've got your best knickers on.
Why?
A deal's a deal, Bolly.
All inked up and ready to go.
Please, tell me you're not serious.
Just lie back and think of Cheltenham. Over in a jiffy.
They did it to me, ma'am, too. Pathetic, but it doesn't hurt.
Oh, for Christ's sake.
It's not real,
nobody will ever know but me and my therapist.
Raymondo? Stampo.
Detective Inspector Drake,
we would like to formally welcome you
to the Metropolitan Police Force.
Just get on with it!
I've had dinner with Germaine Greer, you know?
A little bit busy, Christopher.
Will you please just stamp my arse?!
Mum.
What did you say?
Er... bum, I mean. Nothing.
To what do we owe this unpleasant visit?
Someone phoned my office.
I'm representing George Bonds.
Our cup runneth over.
It's amazing to meet you... Caroline.
Erm, Mrs Price. I've, erm, I've been...
- I've admired you... - Are you trying to be funny?
- Oh, God. - No.
We'll see who's laughing when I'm finished here.
I want to see my client.
You do not walk into an interview room with that woman
without a confession written in the suspect's own blood!
- We know he did it! - We think we know!
Look, I can't believe I am about to say this, but we need evidence!
The cut-out letters. Danny Moore being class enemy number one.
- Him taking over the pub! - All circumstantial.
She will have our heads on spikes above the Old Bailey.
I am going in there with her!
Guv. We took the floorboards up in that pub.
We found this.
You really think you can take on Caroline Price?
Well, you might need some of this.
Where did the dynamite come from, George?
I don't know.
If we are going to help each other out here,
you need to be completely honest with me.
Did you not hear him? He said he doesn't know.
- Love-15. - Please, let's not play this game.
This is not a game, Detective Inspector Drake.
Alex. Please, my name is Alex.
Detective Inspector Drake, charge him or release him.
- It's quite simple. - Love-30.
Your evidence is circumstantial at best, at worst, malicious.
Just because his family made a stand which inconvenienced you...
I'm sorry, you think dynamite is circumstantial?
I do when it's so fortuitously discovered
by members of the Metropolitan Police.
I'm trying to help your client here. Can we stop these games?
- Know what I think? - No, no, tell me.
I think you've been put under pressure by your superior officers
to pin this crime on some innocent, weak member of society,
so you can tell them all will be well for the royal wedding.
So, we would let an innocent man go down
and leave a potential killer free to walk the streets?
The police immoral? Tell me it's not so.
I don't know if you're spectacularly naive, or spectacularly stupid.
Judging by your place of employment, I'd have to suspect the latter.
Would you?
And you... are a rude bitch.
- Maybe you WILL get him off. - I don't think so.
Will you shut up?! You may get him off.
And he may repay you by blowing you to kingdom come!
What a very strange thing to say.
Perhaps we should reconvene this interview
when you're a little less excited.
Charge him or release him.
Consider him charged.
I look forward to seeing you in court.
Maybe we should pop along and do some profiling.
Thank you for your support.
I thought you'd gone.
- I was waiting for you. - Really?!
You look like you could do with a drink.
Yeah. I'd like that.
I'm sorry if I was a bit hard on you.
The last thing I want to do is embarrass a fellow female in a male profession.
You know you're the only female DI in the division?
I know. Lucky me.
Listen, about the stamping thing...
There must be a lot of pressure on a woman
to become like a man in your position.
Either join the club or get isolated and abused.
People like you fought the fight so that people like me don't have to.
The Metropolitan Police presents a very united front to people like me.
"Hatred", I think, is the word.
We're on the same side. Can't we work together?
Would you really like to help me, DI Drake?
Alex, please.
I would love to help you.
I have a daughter called Alex.
I know. I know!
What's she like?
Bright as a penny.
I bet she adores you.
Not when I ask her to tidy her room.
You never ask her to tidy her room.
I bet.
Can I see her?
What?
Do you have a photograph or...?
Oh, er, somewhere.
Sorry, my perfume leaked everywhere.
I really must get a new one.
She looks quite sad.
Where is she now?
What would really help me, Alex,
is for us to become friends.
- Really? - We could talk sometimes.
You could tell me about things that go on at work.
What sort of things?
Things that should be in the public domain, not in a dark police cell.
OK.
You want me to spy on my colleagues?
I want you to do what you know is right.
No.
No, not even in death, not even to please you.
Do you know the one thing worse than women being refused power, DI Drake?
Can we meet again?
I think that we've got off to a bad...
It's women fighting to get the keys to the kingdom
and then behaving like men.
Please! Just get to know me. I might even be able to save your life!
I don't want to get to know you.
Thank God the only thing my daughter shares with you is her name.
I'd be ashamed if she grew up to be like you.
Obviously, I wouldn't do this...
in real life.
I don't shag Thatcherite businessmen, no matter how cute they are.
I... am merely going to piss off
that part of the Id...
that spewed up my mother.
And nobody will know...
...but me.
Oh, God, oh, Danny!
Ah, stiff trot!
Oh... stiff trot!
DI Bolly Knickers.
You appear to be drunk in control of a handbag and dressed like a tart again.
Oh, piss off, you lardy fascist!
We'll make a copper of you yet.
Luigi! Another bottle of your Chianti.
I don't want a drink,
I'm going upstairs.
Oh, and a bottle of your ridiculously over-priced fizzy water.
Yes, Mr Hunt.
Sit.
Even in my own bloody fantasy, my mother is ashamed of me.
Would you like to take some advice from the Gene Genie?
Not really.
When the rest of humanity...
finds themselves in the dung heap...
...misery lapping at their throats...
threatening to drown them...
...the rat of despair gnawing away at their genitals...
Yeah, all right! Give me some wine.
- Yes! - No!
You and me, Bolly,
we're police officers.
We can drive fast cars,
we can shout at people.
We can do something. We can make a difference.
Keep on fighting, don't get distracted.
- Exactly. - Yes!
Careful, Bolls.
That Formica was hewn from the hills above Florence.
Thank you.
What for?
I was lost...
but now I am found.
Kenny Rogers?
Book of Luke, Chapter 15.
Hey! Can I offer you deserts, Signore Hunt?
DESSERTS, Luigi! How many times? Desert is somewhere
where Montgomery gave your Nazi mates a bloody good hiding.
Hitler couldn't drive my dad out of this pub.
Work to do, Bolly.
Think I need to start at The Finish.
There's no dynamite hidden in this house, you stupid bastard! Get off me!
George, I am going to put every card I have
on the table.
You tried to intimidate Mr Moore with the fake car bomb.
- No! - Then you threatened his life.
- I want to see my brief. - You know it, and I know it.
You were angry at Mr Moore
because he was trying to hurt your family, your dad,
and you struck out.
A jury will understand that.
Your wonderful lawyer will make sure that they do.
I know what it's like to adore a parent, George.
A powerful, dominating,
exciting parent who, well, sometimes
doesn't give you as much attention as you think you might be due.
You know nothing about me.
I've seen where this ends, George.
Boys who haven't even been born yet, so full of hate
that they strap bombs to themselves to obliterate innocent people.
Not even the IRA would do that.
Do you remember when I said that it was futile to fight?
Well...
I was wrong and you were right.
It's never futile to fight, George.
- What are you talking about? - I am fighting for my life.
I am fighting to see my little girl again.
You're barking.
Just don't be driven by hate, George.
Be driven by love.
- Dad? - I'm sorry, DI Drake,
I didn't realise you were interviewing in here.
- What have you brought him in for? - Didn't I tell you? He's our bomber.
You're insane, Hunt. I know nothing about it!
I did it.
What?
I did it. I'm the bomber.
It's me.
I was trying to scare Moore away.
I wanted you to be proud of me, Dad.
- No, George. - I did it.
I did it.
I'm sorry.
So sorry.
- Did anybody help you, George? - No.
No, it was just me.
Don't say another word, son, until the lawyer gets here.
Here is the stuff of which fairy tales are made.
Nobody does this better than us.
- Nobody. - The Prince and Princess...
- Are you crying, mate? - No!
Whoa! Get out the way!
But fairy tales usually end at this point
with the simple phrase,
"They lived happily ever after."
Isn't she lovely?
That's Emanuel.
Yeah, it's a lovely dress.
Don't pretend you've got a soft side.
It's a bit wrinkled.
It's meant to be wrinkled.
Poof.
- Have they tied the Royal knot yet? - Almost there, guv.
Spotty, useless, anarchic twat, nil, Royal Family and Gene Hunt, one.
Go easy on him.
- Do you think he'll make a good king? - It worries me he's Welsh.
No offence, Viv, I'm not a racialist.
I see the jungle drums are sounding in Hampstead then.
- Hello! - George, what have you done?
I want this officer removed from the case, she's not competent.
Oh, is that right? Is that right?
Well, at least I'm not out trying to score cheap points off coppers
while my daughter is stuck at school on her own for the Royal wedding.
How dare you speak to me like that!
I've felt guilty about that all my life, but not any more.
She's your daughter, you bloody love her!
Ladies... can we deal with this before the mud wrestling?
Shut up!
Mrs Bonds...
...catch!
Get down!
What are you doing?
Garibaldis?
You were expecting these, were you, Private Bonds?
You're nicked.
I'm sorry, I don't understand.
He served in the Army in North Africa,
blowing up sunburnt Germans,
knows his way around a set of explosives.
You're the bomber, aren't you?
You bitter old bastard?
Erm, can you keep the noise down over there, please?
I think actually if you're not in the Royal Wedding mood by now
I can assure you you never will be.
I was absolutely convinced.
Classic father worship, hero envy.
Inadequate, angry, bright.
I'd have put money on him being the bomber.
Nah, not in a million years.
And as for Daddy Bond's...
well, he's a coward.
All talk and no trousers. Cheers.
Never mind.
Your boyfriend's invited us to a bit of a do.
That's the trouble being posh.
There's always somebody posher.
Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention, please?
Oi!
No, I just want to say a few words.
I know that we haven't always seen eye to eye
on the development of this area...
What are they doing here?
Getting on with their lives.
...you and I are the same.
We have the same blood running in our veins...
For what it's worth,
I think it took a lot of courage to come here this evening.
I thought about what you said, and you were right.
Everybody must fight.
...will be given a cash sum to start a new life in a new place.
And every man here
will have a job in my company if that's what they want.
I don't want braying public schoolboys on the floor,
I want barrow boys...
...and wide boys.
I want our street wisdom,
our ducking and diving. Our East End blood.
You know, one day this place will have all the romance of Venice
and the commercial power of New York.
And I give you my word,
we'll make a few quid on the way.
He's a smooth operator, I'll give him that.
The future is bright, my friends.
I give you the Royal Couple.
God Save The Queen!
I kept the best stuff back.
It was a pretty speech.
I meant every word.
Listen, if you ever got bored of working with an oaf like that,
there's a job waiting for you.
I could use a woman like you.
I think you already have.
- Guv. - What? I'm molesting a toff here!
Guv, there's a bomb here.
What?
George, he's planted a bomb. We have to get everybody out.
Please... trust me.
If you're wrong...
Right. Come on, everybody. Show's over!
Come on, everybody, move on down to the end of the street.
Cut the conga.
Move to the end of the street.
Quickly as you can. Back of the street, right to the back!
We are all prostitutes!
Everything is significant, Molly,
I just don't know why yet.
But the more I experience, the more clues I'll get
and the sooner I'll be back home to you.
Maybe I can save them.
Maybe that's why I'm here. Maybe that's...
That'll be my release.
I won't leave you on your own, Molly.
I promise.
How are you?
I'm fine. Um...
Well, no, I mean, I'm not fine. I mean, I'm a mess.
I'm not surprised, that must have been a horrible experience.
I just wanted you to know I had no idea he was capable of that.
Well, passion and belief in a cause.
He won't be the last.
Would you like to come and have...?
Sorry, I can't. I'm going to pick up my daughter from school.
Oh! Well, that's good.
I'll see you again, DI Drake.
- Alex. - Alex.
A deal's a deal, Bolly.
Trousers down.
One... two... three!
Subtitles by Red Bee Media transcripts.subtitle.me.uk
Spoilers coming...
Wait till you hear this one, guv.
Prozzie wants to make a complaint of rape.
Drop this quicker than your drawers
or I'll arrest you for wasting police time.
Whether you believe Trixie or not,
someone hurt her and someone left her for dead.
He's gonna do it again. He's a nutter!
I thought he was going to kill me.
God, you were gorgeous!
- Were? - Er... are!
Say it.
My name's Bond... James Bond.
I'm Clark Kent.
Let's just get the twisted bastard!
Anything you say will be taken down, ripped up and shoved down
your scummy throat until you choke to death.
Gene Hunt. Chapter one, verse two.