Synced & corrected by QueenMaddie www.addic7ed.com
Pint of London Pride and a pack of dry roasted, please.
How's it going?
What, me?
Sorry, it was more like a nod.
- A nod? - You know, how you...
nod at people
when you're in the same place at the same time.
It's like that.
How's it going?
That's £4, please.
Ooh.
Sneaking a quick one in before the missus turns up.
Oh, brave lad.
- Glass of dry white, please. - Oh, shit, sorry. I forgot.
I got a bit flustered at the bar.
Have you seen who's sitting up there?
- Oh, the battered husband. - He's walked out.
Blimey.
- But I can't buy you a drink. - Why not?
Well, I tried to talk to him.
It didn't go very well. I'm not going back up there.
What did you try to talk to him about?
No, I wasn't starting a conversation. I just nodded.
Why?
Uh, I feel like I know him, you know?
It's an intimate thing, watching someone cry.
And get smacked in the face by your wife.
I nearly brought that up.
- Why on earth would you do that? - Oh, because...
Well, he sort of suggested that I wasn't being very manly.
You gave him an unmanly nod?
Oh, that's the first conclusion you jump to, isn't it?
Not that he's unreasonable. Not that he's being a macho prick.
Oh, no, it has to be my unmanly nod.
What else could it have been if all you did was nod?
Well... I...
I tried a... pleasantry.
- A nod with words. - An unmanly pleasantry, then.
What was it?
I don't know. Just, like...
"Ooh, a lovely pint at last."
- That seems quite manly. - That's what I thought.
Unless it was the "ooh".
The "ooh" sounds a bit, you know, effete.
No.
It wasn't, "ooh", it was, like, "ohh".
- Well, no, that's all right. - That's what I thought.
But he's the cry-baby.
Cry-baby?
That's a bit harsh. You cried last week.
I cried about Brexit,
not about the terrible state of our relationship.
Well, you didn't cry about Brexit per se.
You cried about the fact that I voted for Brexit,
so in a way you did cry about the state of our relationship.
The main reason I cried is because I work in the NHS
and half of my staff is European.
Remember what Kenyon said.
We're not allowed to talk about it until we see her today.
I also cried because you weren't honest about it.
It's a private matter.
Privacy and lying are different.
Anyway...
remember that Kenyon said we're not allowed to talk about it
unless she's in the room.
And I still think we're better off than those two.
You can't be comparative about relationships like that.
You can't look at a couple you don't even know and say,
"Oh, at least we're not like them."
I do.
Your own happiness doesn't come into it?
Nope, entirely dependent on other people being unhappier.
You are absolutely not someone who jumps out of bed in the morning,
full of the joys of not living in Syria.
You're miserable as hell.
You've never once thought you were better off than anyone.
Look, she's out.
Oh, she's crying.
She's coming in here. This is gonna be good.
Don't stare.
- Let me get you that wine. - No, sit down.
Yeah, that's what I was saying.
Well, there goes Syria.
Can you imagine, at their age.
At their age? They're younger than us.
- Really? - Yes. Well, they look it.
Well, he does.
- Than you. - Thanks.
Anyway, still old enough to know better.
There's still time if you want that drink.
Hold on. Old enough to know better?
Can you explain? They're kissing.
In public.
They're feeling passionate about each other.
If they're that passionate about each other,
what are they doing in counseling?
- What? - Do you understand what you just said?
I do now.
It's not good, is it?
I can see why you'd say that.
Are you suggesting there's no passion left?
No, no.
I don't think of passion as...
like petrol,
something you run out of.
I think of it as something you lose, like... keys,
or a biro.
Keys get found, biros don't, so
it's important for me to know which it is.
Keys or a biro?
Come on, keys or a biro?
We seem to be in a position where if I say the word "biro"
our marriage takes an ominous turn for the worse.
- So don't say "biro". - Keys, I hope, of course.
I'm... working on the basis that it's keys.
Either way it's lost.
- Mislaid. - Unless it's a biro.
Well, if it was keys you'd look harder, wouldn't you?
That's why they get found.
Biros get left all over the place.
You might have left one under Matthew's bed.
- Was that necessary? - I'm just...
I'm saying, if you had left a ballpoint under Matthew's bed
you wouldn't necessarily go looking for it.
Stop. Enough. No more biros.
Oh, look. They've gone off for make-up sex.
- Won't solve their problems. - Maybe not.
But they're gonna have a better evening than us.
Hey, we might make a breakthrough with Kenyon.
Well, that breakthrough would have to be a row.
We'd have a row in there, make-up sex at home.
We used to have good rows. And good make-up sex.
Proper stand-up shouting matches.
- Brexit was a row. - Yeah, but we haven't made up.
- Could we have post-Brexit sex? - No.
I voted in, you voted out and I hate you for it.
We could come to an understanding.
Oh, yes, let's come to an understanding,
shake hands and then fuck each other stupid.
But that's the thing, though, isn't it?
We were jogging along quite amicably until you slept with someone.
- I'm just gonna ignore that last bit. - Why?
It was a bit brazen, wasn't it?
Really? A lot of men would like to hear
their wives use the phrase "fuck each other stupid".
It suggests there's still some life left somewhere.
But not you.
"Jogging along amicably." "Come to an agreement."
I mean who...
Who are you?
What's the point of being married
if there's no sex, no feeling, no passion, no nothing?
You could have worn a T-shirt saying "I voted out"
long before anyone ever thought of a referendum.
Europe, you're out. Sex, you're out.
Work, you're out. Marriage, life, friends.
Out, out, out, out, out.
We should go. We're late.
- That's it? - Yes.
That's a pretty good summary of where I'm at.
I mean, the work thing wasn't by choice, but...
You know what's wrong? We've aged differently.
I think that 40 is like 30
except you have to go to the gym more.
You think that 44 is like 65 except your children are younger.
It's not over.
Nothing is over.
- Come on, where's your fight? - Ow.
- What do I need to fight for? - Well...
"Do not go gentle into that good night."
It's not even night, for Christ's sake. It's bloody mid-afternoon.
Fight for your life. Fight for your marriage.
Fight for work. Fight to be this fucking miserable.
- Come on, fight! - Argh!
Shit.
You all right?
I think I might have broken my wrist. Oh!