You can throw a fast one.
How about it, kitten? What's the chance of a bit tonight?
Oh, why, yes, of course, boys.
I'll leave the front door open, and you can all troop in and give me a jab.
Not up to it, then?
You innocent, shovel-wielding, horny-handed sons of the native sod.
Not many people are, munchkin.
Not many people can take the tale of Patrick Braden...
a.k.a. Saint Kitten...
who strutted the catwalks, face lit by a halo of flashbulbs...
as, "Oh!" she shrieked, "l told you, from my best side, darlings."
I was born, you see, munchkin...
in a small town near the Irish border.
I was left in a basket on a certain doorstep...
and only the robins knew why.
Oh, but then, they knew everybody's business.
Those red-breasted busybodies.
Every secret behind every lace-curtain window.
Uh-oh, behind you
This looks like trouble
Oh dear!
Let's go
Robins! Would you believe it, Father? Pecking at the cream.
I suppose it's Christmas morning, after all.
Is your breakfast all right?
Well, I'll get ready for Mass, so. God bless.
God bless.
He hasn't been himself lately, so.
-No, he hasn't been himself at all... -Since the blonde housekeeper left
The one that looked like the film star... with the bubble-cut curls
Mitzi Gaynor!
-Just the job. -Mr. Steed?
-Cutex coral pink. -Yes.
What a charming atmosphere you have here.
-Do you mind? -Not at all.
-Thank you. -Will you have a love seat?
The love seat? Why not?
Mr. Lovejoy will see you in a moment.
He's just congratulating one of our happy couples.
-How very encouraging. -Yes.
Perhaps you'd like a glass of champers?
-Champers? Now you're talking. -Or...
-a piece of wedding cake? -No, thank you. I've just had breakfast.
Mr. Steed?
My good shoes! My good shoes, you little brat!
Do it harder, Mammy. Teach him not to wear my dress again.
He'll make a disgrace of us? Well, you'll not!
Do you really have to?
I'll march you up and down the street and disgrace you in front of the whole town.
Promise?
Hit him with it, Ma! Give him the brush again!
-Say, "l am not a girl." -I'm not a girl.
-"l am a boy. I'm not a girl." -I'm a boy, not a girl.
Say it right.
Make him say it right, Ma.
My heart broke from the cursed day I ever took you in.
A short one by Gareth Carey, up along the far wing to Tony Haddon.
Tony Haddon, 40 yards out now, from the....
Off he goes then, the ball across him towards the center.
And coming, Alfred Whitney. He's capped there.
Well down over his eyes is Nick Brady.
The ball comes over. Who's got it? Reid Morgan.
Reid Morgan gets the 35-yard....
Brother Barnabas says he'll try you on the football team...
and I want you to read this.
Heading high and to the right, and yes, it is....
It's gone over the bar for the first goal of the game.
Paddy Gardy.
The first goal of the game. Paddy Gardy took one from this side.
It had a curl on it, and one had to wait until the umpires gave their decision...
as to whether it was in or not. It was.
And I call my mother names.
Well, you know, you shouldn't do that, my son.
What do you call her?
Hairy Arse.
Hairy Arse and Bockedy Hole. And Cunthooks.
-Stay where you are! You must not proceed. -Jesus!
You must not curse. If you curse, you'll be exterminated.
Holy fuck!
You've been warned, earthling. Now you must die!
No, Dalek, please.
-Sausages, sausages, stay where you are. -Yes, yes, of course! Please don't shoot!
-Lawrence, come on. -Not now, I'm busy. I'm busy.
-Come on. -I'm busy.
Oh, figgly boogles, I'm dead.
Die for lreland?
I'm sorry, but it appeared to me...
that someone here had taken leave of their senses.
Are you playing the game or not, Braden?
Me play! Dying for lreland. Earthling, stay where you are!
Well, come on, Englishman, a bullet, please.
And next up is the dashing Feely...
sporting a smoking jacket, fedora hat, and sunglasses by Gucci.
Madam.
The man himself.
-Your mother will be back in a while. -Oh.
So how's Patrick and the Braden household?
They're well, Mr. Feely.
Especially my mother, wherever she is.
So someone's told you something, Patrick?
They don't have to.
Hairy Arse Braden tells me every day.
Patrick, now....
I'm sorry, Mr. Feely.
You know, I saw her once, your real mother...
Iong after the day she left.
It was in London.
I was doing work for Genie McQuillan.
I was going home through Piccadilly...
and there, passing by, was Eily Bergin.
Lovely as the day she left, I swear it to God.
Did you talk to her, Mr. Feely?
What did she say?
I shouted after her, Patrick, but she didn't hear.
London swallowed her up.
The most beautiful girl in the town.
Biggest city in the world...
it swallowed my mother up.
What about my father, Mr. Feely?
I wouldn't know about that, son. Things be complicated, you know.
What did she look like?
Mitzi Gaynor, son.
That's who she looked like, Mitzi.
Mitzi Gaynor.
Well, fuck me pink with a hairy arse!
In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, amen.
You see, once upon a time...
there was a young girl named Eily Bergin...
who looked not unlike the well-known film star Mitzi Gaynor...
who sang I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair.
And she went to London, the biggest city in the world...
which swallowed her up.
But before she vanished...
I think she worked as a priest's housekeeper, Father.
But I could be wrong there, couldn't l?
I mean, I could be wrong. After all, l....
All I wanted was her address.
There between the Po and the Apennines, boys...
the climate is always the same.
The landscape never changes...
and in country like this you can stop along any road for a moment...
and look at a farmhouse sitting in the middle of maize and hemp...
and immediately a story is born.
Now, when you're writing your essay for me this morning...
whatever form it takes is up to you.
It can be called "l Fought in the Easter Rising"...
"l Was Dracula's Girlfriend"...
or even "A Day in the Life of an Old Boot".
You've got one hour, so learn to write.
"God bless us.
"It's yourself"...
-God bless us. It's yourself, ma'am. -lt is indeed, Father.
...remarked...
randy Father Liam...
as he opened the door...
to a young woman...
who bore a startling resemblance...
to Mitzi Gaynor.
So you are the replacement for Mrs. McGlynn?
I am indeed, Father.
Destroyed with the lumbago, she is. Destroyed, and that's a fact.
But sure she'll be back on her feet soon, please God.
Please God she will, now.
But tell me this...
have I begun to dote...
or do you remind me of someone special?
When she sensed a movement...
underneath his black serge trousers.
Oh, Father, please, how could l?
When I've gone out of my way...
knowing that your dicky doodle, naughty poopster that he is...
given the slightest encouragement...
would be only too eager to get up to mischief...
Down, boy! Naughty dicky...
to camouflage myself and look like any ordinary old curate's drudge.
"And most definitely not...
"a perfume-sprayed vision...
"named Mitzi Gaynor...
"with a head of bubble-cut curls...
"that would make any man's privates go sprong. "
I've got the standard uniform, Father.
The blue housecoat with the bow at the back...
the tan stockings, color of stale tea...
the old hairnet, which says to all them Mickies...
whose duty it is to stay inside and wear black serge...
"No Mickies today.
"Down, boys. That's it, my sweets, off with you and say your prayers."
Breakfast, Father?
By God, and now you're talking.
Mickey is devious...
and no matter how much you tell him...
he simply won't stay down.
But drab old housecoats...
and tea-colored stockings might well have kept him down...
if it wasn't for that pesky spot of grease.
Oh, this is powerful altogether.
I would do jail for another rasher. Do you know that, Eily?
I'll fry you some more this minute, then, Father.
Come here till I tell you. Did you hear the one about peanuts at confession?
No, Father. At least I don't think so.
Says the priest to the young fellow, "Did you throw peanuts in the river, too?"
To which the young lad says, "No, Father, I am Peanuts."
Not a very funny joke...
but she laughed and she laughed.
In fact, you could say she laughed until she cried.
My skirt and housecoat are riding up.
Better abort this task at once...
or we could have an exploding clergyman filling the air with pent-up sexual energy.
Oh, no!
-Priest grows wings in latest miracle. -Eily!
"When she found herself enveloped by his skirts. "
Now, Father, is this another joke?
That hurt, Father.
Frank Sinatra wouldn't do this, Father. Neither would Vic Damone.
I'm all wet, Father.
What are you doing down there, Father?
Are you playing squidgy with my Fairy Liquid?
But she was soon to realize...
it wasn't Fairy Liquid he'd been playing with down there.
The end.
No...
it wasn't Fairy Liquid at all.
"...privates go sprong."
"Privates go...."
How dare you?
When I said, "develop your literary skills"...
I did not, repeat, not, mean this.
Why did you write it?
I thought there was a moral, sir. A lesson, if you will.
Young girls in mortal danger.
Get out of this classroom, Braden! To the Dean's office!
Hello, class. My name is Miss Kitten...
and I'd like to tell you about the perils of being a priest's housekeeper...
especially when you look like Mitzi Gaynor.
Hands up who can tell me who Mitzi Gaynor is.
So, you see, Patrick, we're on your side.
We're here to help you. I don't think you understand that.
Well, no, you're wrong, Father. I do.
So, if you can think of anything that would help us to help you, well....
Well...
there is one thing, Father.
-lnstead of PE... -Yeah.
...I could take Home Economics and Needlework class.
And you think that would help you...
knuckle down and apply yourself?
What's that, Patrick?
Oh, and you can call me Kitten, Father.
Kitten?
Yes, Patrick Kitten Braden, after Saint Kitten.
Well, now, there was no Saint Kitten, Patrick.
Oh, no, but there was a Saint Cettin, Father...
and some have been known to call him...
or was it a her...
Kitten.
Saint Kitten?
He or she was an acolyte of Saint Patrick.
Wore a dress. As did Saint Patrick, actually. A hairy dress.
Quite ruined her complexion.
And they're for your sister, Patrick?
Oh, she really needs a bit of glamour in her life, Mrs. Coyle.
But then again, don't we all?
The trouble broke out as the Minister of State for Northern Ireland, Mr. Channon...
was visiting Derry to see businessmen there...
for the second time inside a month.
Jesus, Mammy, I'm exhausted.
At least you have a job...
which is more than that waster yonder is ever likely to have.
Now, one more complaint from that school...
and it'll not be good for you, by Christ, it'll not.
Oh, Mammy?
Do you have the price of the dance and a cup of coffee?
Price of the dance and a cup of coffee?
Well, do you think I'm made of money?
Do you think I'm made of money?
Will you just hand over the cash?
Will you just fork out the money...
and stop blathering, you fucking whiskery old whore.
Here. And don't ask me again.
Well, thank you so much, Mammy. Thank you so much.
-No. No, no, no, no, no. -Why not?
I'm not obliged to give you any reasons, but I'll give you two anyway.
Him and her.
Don't have to stand for this, do we, Paddy?
Oh, Paddy's her name. Well, that's reason number three.
-Did you ever ride a man, Lukie? -No, but I rode a man that did.
Fuck you.
-Evening. -How you doing?
Mikey, go get the lads.
I'm warning you, get out of here!
Fuck them and their Rob Strong. We'll go to the glen.
Excuse me. Can we have a lift?
Get on.
Moving out.
Druids, man. We're like the Border Knights.
Knew all about the space-time continuum.
-No, Lawrence! No. Excuse me, please. -Open his eyes.
-What do you see, bro? -Sausages.
No stars?
Stars and sausages.
Now you're talking.
Gotta get behind the surface.
Yes, surface.
I see four green fields, Brits in one of them.
-Not for fucking long. -Hey, no politics, man.
Border Knights don't allow them.
Jams the astral highway.
So why do you call yourselves the Border Knights?
Because the only border that matters...
is the one between what's in front...
and what you've left behind.
When I ride my hog, you think I'm riding the road?
No way, man.
I'm traveling from the past into the future with a druid at my back.
-Druid man or druid woman? -That doesn't matter.
What matters is the journey.
-You know where it goes, baby? -Where?
We'll visit the stars and journey to Mars
Finding our breakfast
On Pluto
Pluto?
Pluto.
No, not Pluto the dog. Pluto the planet.
Named by Percival Lowell and William H. Pickering...
after the invisible king of the underworld.
You think about that.
Oh, kiss me, Joseph. Kiss me, Joseph Hanratty.
I'll beat your fucking....
Now, boys and girls...
a retreat is time for prayer and reflection.
Some of you may have already noticed that your bodies are...
going through some changes...
and I would like you to feel free to approach us...
about any problem that concerns you.
So, I will leave this problem box...
here by the altar rails.
No problem should be precluded.
After all, that is why we are here.
Now, does everyone remember last week we were talking about....
You'll not bring my retreat into disrepute, do you hear me?
How dare it. How dare you, you pup, you....
Sir, you're hurting me.
-What did you write on the paper, Patrick? -Nothing.
Nothing.
Just, did he know any place that does a good sex change?
Disgraced!
Disgraced in front of the whole town, so we are! Oh, Jesus!
How could you do it, Paddy? Mammy has a bad heart!
-And now you've broken it. -Oh, God, oh, God!
Oh, Jesus Christ. My arm!
-She's not my mammy. -What did you say?
I'm sorry, Caz. Sorry, Mammy, wherever you are.
Oh, stop it, Patrick, please!
Why won't you stop it and let us get on with our lives?
I'm sorry, Caz. I never meant to hurt you.
-After all, we've both been through this-- -Get away!
Get your hands off me, you creature!
Oh, figgly boogles. What's the point?
That's it, I've tried my best. I'm off.
Are you going to Scotsfield, by any chance?
We'd better be. We're playing there tonight. Get in the back.
Hello.
What do you think of this trouble up North?
-Oh, I think it's an absolute terror. -Do you think so, yeah?
Oh, I do it. A terror to the living world, so it is.
I don't think you care either way...
my good-looking young friend.
No, I know how serious it is.
They think they can break us, don't they?
Hang Paddy from the ceiling. Fuck him from a helicopter.
Give him a dose of white noise.
Shove electrodes up his arse.
-Now, really, Mr.-- -Hatchett. They call me Billy Hatchett.
Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hatchett.
You really don't know who I am, do you?
I haven't had the pleasure.
Do you hear that, lads? He's never heard of Billy Hatchett and the Mohawks.
So, have you somewhere to stay tonight, Paddy?
Or should I call you Patrick?
You can call me Kitten, darling.
Kitten?
After Saint Cettin.
He or she was an acolyte of Patrick, Saint Patrick.
So you have somewhere to stay, then?
Mammy threw me out, I'm afraid.
Well, I could always put you up in the van.
-It's not much, but I could. -Mr. Hatchett!
Thank you.
You're welcome, Kitten.
I'll be off to the hotel, then, Kitten.
I'd stay the night. I'd stay the night, but the boys....
The boys might get the wrong idea.
No, I've gotta go.
-I've gotta go. -Oh, please don't go just yet.
Oh, Kitten. I gotta go. I really have.
Billy! Billy, Billy.
It's Bobby Goldsboro.
Used to help me get to sleep.
His wife dies. You see, she dies when he's away from home.
-Oh, Kitten, I've gotta go now. -Billy.
I really have.
If you were away with the band...
and you came home and you found me lying there...
Iike Bobby's wife....
What about it?
-Would you take me to the hospital? -Oh, of course I would.
Of course I would, Kitten.
Oh, I wish that could happen.
I've seen it all now. I tell you, I've fucking well seen it all now.
Where the fuck do you think he disappeared to...
when we were in San Francisco?
I'd even bring you flowers.
-Roses? -Roses.
Oh, Billy.
Oh, Kitten.
Billy.
For I ask you, Billy Bobby, nicest man...
what's an lndian band without a squaw?
"A squaw?"
-Name, please? -Paddy Kitten. What's yours, darling?
I could tell you were a Paddy all right.
-What about Geronimo? -What would I know? I'm just a Mick.
Thirteen of your lot shot in Derry. What do you know about that?
Maybe you'd know about thirteen less to deal with.
Fuck off, mate.
Fuck off.
Get off the fucking stage, you stupid bitch.
Patrick, I don't know how to say this to you.
It's the boys, the boys in the band.
They feel a squaw just isn't working out.
It could be they have a point.
They say it doesn't feel right.
I don't know, they've been with me so long and....
I'm sorry.
But I have a little proposal.
-A ring, perhaps? -Oh, Patrick, Patrick....
I told you not to call me that.
I'm sorry, Kitten.
Bobby Billy, would you bring me sweeties, too?
You know I would.
-What kind would they be? -Oh, for the love of Jesus.
-No. No, Quality Street. -Quality Street?
It was my mother's. She left it to me in her will.
Nobody stays here, and I need somebody to look after it, Kitten.
-What do you reckon? -House of dreams and longing.
I wouldn't exactly call it a house, but tell us what you think.
Oh, to have a little house. To own the hearth, stool and all.
So, Kitten, can I come and visit you every now and again?
Of course you can, you great, big, silly Bobby Goldsboro.
You don't even have to ask.
Well, goodness gracious, icky-oakie me.
-What? -What's with Diana Ross?
Leave him be, he knows nothing.
-Keep it that way. -No problem.
If I volunteer, lrwin, could I have pink glasses, please?
Can't you take anything serious?
Oh, serious, serious, serious.
You might have to soon enough.
So fucking what, Charlie? I sell Republican News.
A few fucking papers, big deal. What are you, my fucking wife?
Don't you lie to me, lrwin. I don't believe your stories.
I'm involved in nothing! I sell their paper, for all the difference it makes in this kip.
Nobody gives a fuck!
Soon enough they fucking will.
If I find out you're lying to me, I'll finish with you, I swear!
Yeah, well, finish it with me, see if I fucking care!
Come on, move off the road. There's a vehicle coming through.
Get back. It's for your own safety.
Get these people off the street!
I want everyone to move away from the red van!
Come on, folks. Stand back, please. Move!
Bring it down careful now. Yeah, gently.
-Please, move back. -Move back.
Now let the Army go to work. Get back, now, get back.
Move back and clear the area.
-There may be other devices. -You're to get away now. Get back, now.
Get away from the street. Get off the street now.
Clear this area for your own safety.
Move back.
-It's a Dalek. Exterminate. -Lawrence!
Exterminate. Exterminate. Exterminate. Exterminate.
Exterminate.
Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return...
until the Lord raises you up on the last day.
Let us pray for our brother Lawrence to our Lord Jesus Christ...
who said, "l am the resurrection, and the life.
"The man who believes in me will live even if he dies."
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come...
thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
Serious, serious.
Time for some serious spring cleaning.
Fuck.
Don't you know what this means?
Do you know what these guys are like, Paddy?
-Don't let this come between us, Billy. -Shut up!
Jesus, what the fuck am I gonna do?
-Fucking Jesus! -Tell them I was spring cleaning, darling.
Where are they, Paddy? Tell me, where are they?
Now, what is this you mean, my darling?
The guns, you little fucking whore, where are they?
The guns! It's all too fucking serious! Don't go fucking me around.
Oh, all of a sudden everybody's getting serious.
Serious, serious, serious.
I'm not fucking joking, Patrick!
-Where are they? -I told you to call me Kitten.
Don't fucking know me.
You don't know where I've gone.
And if they come, if they fucking come, you tell them nothing.
-I mean nothing. -Whatever you say, darling.
You're way out of your league, Patrick.
You don't know what you're dealing with. Don't fucking know.
Oh, I do. I know, all right.
I know you were only joking about the roses...
and sweets, too, probably.
But it was nice while it lasted.
Are you happy now?
Are you happy now that you got what you wanted?
Now that they've bombed down here?
Are your Republican friends good and happy...
now they can see what they've done?
What the fuck are you talking about?
It had nothing to do with Republicans.
What the fuck would they bomb a southern town for, huh?
You hear me, Charlie?
And if you want out, just say so.
Open the door.
-I can't, go away. Come back in the morning. -Open it, bitch! This is serious!
-Open the fucking door! -Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. I'm coming.
-Where did he put them? -I'm afraid I don't understand.
The guns, nancy boy. Where did he put the guns?
Oh, yes, the guns.
Oh, Billy buried them outside just to be safe.
Go.
There's no fucking guns down here.
-I think they might just be... -The little cunt!
-He's taking the hand out of us. -...over here.
I'll nut him! I swear to God I'll nut him!
Say goodbye to my friends, will you?
Charlie lives in Sunbeam Heights and lrwin's up The Backs.
Irwin who?
Why, lrwin Kerr, of course.
-The big-time Volunteer. -How do you know lrwin Kerr?
Oh, nothing. Never mind. Well, come on then.
Just do it. I've nothing left to live for in this stupid, serious world.
Oh, fuck him.
Leave him be. He's not worth the bullet, the mental nancy boy.
Oh, what is it with nancy boys that you can't be bothered killing them?
-You kill everyone else. -Look, I'm fucking warning you.
Do you know what you're doing here? Are you on dope or what?
Wish that I was, Mr. Killing Man. Why, do you have any?
You're way out of your league, sunshine.
Not that again. "Out of your league, out of your league."
"Oh, you're in over your head. You're in over your head."
Oh, for heaven's sake!
Surely you've one bullet to spare between yous.
Bollocks!
-Where are we going? -You hit us, we hit you.
-It's simple. -Right.
The bomb was made up here and driven across the border.
Wee Bobby Anderson. Likes killing Catholics.
It'll be the last fucking bomb he'll make.
Turn the lights off. Keep it running.
Oh, Lord.
Get us the fuck out of here, will you?
-What's the smell? -He shat himself.
You not toilet trained?
What do you think you are, Kerr? What the fuck do you think this is?
Tell me you're not serious.
You see, there is that word again. It's everywhere.
But you don't know a soul in London, Paddy.
There's only one soul I need, Charlie.
You really think you'll find her?
How many Eily Bergins can there be?
Maybe she's changed her name.
She won't have changed her eyes, lrwin.
How will you get by?
Saint Anthony will guide me.
The thing is, you come to the city that never sleeps...
and you think it's open all the time, but it does sleep.
Excuse me?
Of course it does.
I'm looking for my mother, please. Eily Bergin. Phantom Lady.
I've just got two Bergins for 1956.
Bergin, Ellen, and Bergin with a simple initial E.
Well, that's her. I mean, it has to be one of them.
One's from Aldgate and the other's from East London.
Will you be going back home after you've found her?
Oh, yes, of course. Maybe she'll come with me.
-And, son, will you promise me something? -Yes.
-Take care of yourself. -Oh, I will, Mrs. Henderson.
Thank you.
No, mate, they knocked those houses down years ago.
I'm....
The man himself.
About time, too.
Are you here for the job, kid?
What job?
This is showbiz, kid. You gotta be on the ball.
You try that with Stephenson, now, you've no fucking chance.
Who's Stephenson?
He thinks he's in charge. RAF, my bollocks! I'll give him RAF.
-You're lrish, you are. -Tyreelin, County Cavan.
Well then, County Cavan...
give us a song and you're home and dry.
Underground, overground, wombling free
The Wombles of Wimbledon Common are we
Good man, you have it. Now the dance, okay? Okay?
I'm going in.
Right. Hop, one. Hop, two. Hop, one, two, three.
Flap, flap, flap. Okay?
Go, go on. Hop, hop one, hop two, hop one, two, three.
Flap, flap, flap. Right, ready?
Right, hop one, hop two.
For fuck's sake, will you hop right? One, two, three.
Hop one, hop two. Hop, one, two, three.
Flap, flap. Flap it out, flap it out.
Sell it to me.
Overground, underground, wombling free
The Wombles of Wimbledon Common are we
Give him the drill, Bulgaria.
Enough already. You take the croquet. Capisce?
-Capisce. -I gotta wheel.
Every morning, 9:00, be there.
Bulgaria?
I told you before, these are your responsibility.
You're head Womble here.
-Well, that's this.... Fuck! -Fuck!
I'll give you RAF.
I broke no fucking mallet!
-I broke no fucking mallet! -Keep away from me.
Put that down!
I'll break it across your back, you bollocks!
I'll bust it....
"You broke the mallet," he says.
"I'll have to dock it from your pay." I broke no fucking mallet.
You fucked me one last time.
RAF, my bollocks! That's the end of the line!
Enough of that, John Joe.
Back off, motherfucker.
You don't know what you're dealing with here!
Back in the can, you wanna know what they used to say?
"Stay away, man. He's out where the buses don't run!"
-You're out of your league here, friend. -Oh, not that again.
You have to show them where you stand.
They fuck with you, you fuck with them.
You fuck them so bad you make them wish they'd never been born.
-You want another shot? -I'd love a Babycham.
You got it, kemo sabe.
Tommy, one Babycham, one Powers.
Please.
Two weeks' severance, in the paw.
You fuck with John Joe Kenny, that's one time you fuck too many.
He's from Cavan.
So, where's Cavan?
Next to Monaghan.
I'm going for a womble. If you want to come, give us a shout, right?
Really, Uncle Bulgaria.
Underground, overground, wombling free
The Wombles of Wimbledon Common are we
Underground, overground, wombling free
I was a Womble one time. Did you know that?
Hey, you can't sleep here, love.
Have you got a home to go to?
You can get a cab outside.
Oh, I do believe I have a small, elfin dwelling on Wimbledon Common.
Oi!
You doing business, do it somewhere else, love.
This pavement's got my name on it.
What, pray, is your name? Concrete?
My name is Scratch Your Eyes Out, Bite Your Bleeding Nose Off...
which is what I'll do if you don't get off my patch.
All right, lover?
She giving you trouble, son?
Oh, no trouble at all. We were just exchanging names.
Go on, you fucking nancy boy!
Don't fucking come back!
And her name is Scratch Your Eyes Out and Bite Your Bleeding Nose Off.
And my name is Patricia Kitten Braden.
Pleased to meet you, Patricia Kitten Braden.
Just what were you doing back there?
I was looking for the Phantom Lady.
You found the right street, then.
Why, what's it called? Phantom Lady Street?
You could call it that. And just who is this Phantom Lady?
Well, it's my mother, really. I call her that.
To pretend it's a story that's happening to someone else, you see.
And why do you pretend that?
Because otherwise I might cry and never stop.
If you cried, I'd make you stop.
Oh, you would?
Oh, how kind, kind sir.
Yes, I'd definitely make you stop.
And just what is it you do, then?
Oh, this and that. Showbiz, kind of. Singing.
-What do you like to sing about? -I sing about true love.
That's nice.
Have you ever found it?
I thought I had, once.
Here's one about true love.
Ever heard this one?
Nice, isn't it?
I just love love songs.
Take it off.
-Don't you like it? -Take it off, there's a good lad.
As you wish, sir.
-Now, isn't that more comfortable? -Yes, sir.
Of course it is, my love-loving friend.
Here, feel that.
Good old-fashioned silk.
-Here you are. -Thank you.
It's beautiful.
-You like it? -It's beautiful.
Like it?
But did true love save Kitten from the hands of the beast...
in that worst of all fairy tales?
No, what saved Kitten...
was her precious perfume spray...
bought for ¡ê2. 99 in Roches Stores on Henry Street...
before she left her beloved Emerald Isle.
Hello.
I'm sorry to interrupt...
but are you all right, miss?
Yes, fine, thank you.
Just tired after my hard day's work.
You have been sitting there for four hours now.
Yes, busy at my desk.
Busy at your desk?
Writing my little book.
Your little book?
What type of book?
Well, it's a....
It's a mystery thriller, sir.
About a woman who disappears.
May I ask what it's called?
Yes.
It's called...
Footprints in the Custard.
No, I'm only joking. It doesn't have a name yet...
because I don't know what's gonna happen if the mystery is ever solved.
But the lady has a name?
Phantom Lady.
"Phantom Lady."
No, her real name's Eily Bergin. She was my mother.
-Your mother? -Yeah.
And then she went away to the city of all cities...
that never sleeps from dusk till dawn.
-So, you think she's here in London? -No, I know she's here in London.
Fantastic!
The fantastic tale of Eily Bergin.
I can't wait to hear the ending.
-But you haven't even heard the start. -I can't wait to hear that, either.
-So, are you a writer, too, then, sir? -Oh, good Lord, no.
But something similar, maybe.
Something similar? I wonder what that could be.
You're a magician!
Bertie Vaughan at your service.
Now, the first thing that has to be said, Bertie dearest...
is that you bear absolutely no resemblance to Marlon "Margarine" Brando.
We all have our off days.
So, tell me more about the Phantom Lady.
Why? What's in it for me?
I'll take you to see my show.
Oh, it's a deal, Magic.
So, where were we? Yes, the Phantom Lady.
Eily Bergin had just arrived in Dublin...
and just realized that her boat didn't sail for another four hours.
Lo and behold, not a scratch.
Thank you, my dear.
Pick a card.
Anyone?
Come along, madam, pick a card.
Any card.
-Oh, my God! -Oh, yes, blimey.
"Oh, my God" is right.
I do believe you've chosen the 101 of hearts.
Thank you, my dear, I'll take care of that.
Time, of course.
The time.
Looks like it's up, you lovely people.
Come on, help me, please, my loves.
Anyone out there willing to encounter the great watch?
-Hello, young lady. -Hello.
And what's the story behind those beautiful blue eyes?
-What's your name, young lady? -Patricia Kitten Braden.
-And where are you from, my dear? -lreland.
Keep your eye on the watch, young Patricia.
The whole world is in there.
Tick-tock.
Swing-swong.
And, dare I say it...
ding-dong.
And let the great watch guide you.
And what brings you to our great metropolis?
I'm looking for my mammy.
Oh. And where did Mummy go?
-The city swallowed her up. -Oh, fancy that.
Well, it will do that to people.
But do you know what, Patricia?
-I think I see your mother. -Where?
Why, down there by that table by the jukebox.
Mammy!
On second thoughts, Patricia...
she's not your mother, she's your great-aunt lda.
That's your mother over there.
Mammy?
Mammy!
Oh, Mammy.
Actually...
Patricia, that's your second cousin Ronnie, just out of the Scrubs.
In fact...
your mummy is right up here.
Up here on stage.
Come to Mummy.
You love your mummy and your poppy.
Good to have you back, darling.
And Mummy's never leaving again.
Never.
Never, I promise. Never.
Just call me Old Sawbones.
-You all right, dear? -Yes.