This programme contains very strong language
Morning.
Hi, Keith. Sorry about Spurs.
Oh, don't rub it in, mate.
You're a masseur, so you can talk.
Ha, nice one. See you at yoga?
Of course. When have I ever missed yoga? Laters, potatoes.
Hm, back to the balaclava then, Geoff?
Didn't you have lots of complaints about it? Police coming around?
Police can fuck off.
I'm a farmer. Keeps my face warm.
Terrorists and sex offenders have decimated
the balaclava industry, Mike.
They should hang their heads.
At the very least. Drink?
Lilt, please.
Sorry. Lilt.
Lilt? I just fancy a Lilt.
A nice Lilt.
Hm. There's some in the kitchen fridge.
Hiya, when's young Stephen back.
Oh, soon, we think.
His therapist is assessing him today.
It'll be good to have him back.
Oh, God, yes.
It absolutely will.
You been served, Geoff? Mike's getting me a Lilt.
A Lilt?
Geoff just fancied a nice Lilt.
JULIAN: Actually, all this talk
of Lilt. Do you want a Lilt, Julian?
No, I'm fine.
Oh, go on, then. I'll have a Lilt.
Aw. Hey!
Lilt.
I forgot to say before you left for the cash and carry. Urinal cakes.
Got them.
Oh, genius. Course you have.
Lots of activity up the road, Andrew.
New place is about to open.
How do you pronounce it?
Is it puh-ub? Or just pub?
I've been saying pube.
It's written p, colon, ub.
You don't want to reference colons if you're serving food.
You know, the manager's upped and left before they've even opened?
They need someone new, quick-smart.
Right.
Do they? Lee and Bryony Kingsley are legends.
Set up so many businesses.
They'll know your reputation, they'll want to nab you.
You'd fit in. You're very modern.
I'm very happy here, Ellen.
No intention of being nabbed.
Although if Puh-ub does become the cool new place, you might
suddenly find you're just some guy running a middling provincial pub.
I'll take the urinal cakes through.
We got the Puh-ub menu through.
Oh, yes. It's very cool, very minimalist.
Stove-warmed fish.
Leaves.
They sound nice.
Heritage pig head.
An egg.
Interesting.
Local curds.
ALL: Ooh...
Fucking ball bags.
I liked it when it was the Kings Arms.
Spit and sawdust place, massive car park.
I don't know why it closed down.
Two people were stabbed to death there, Geoff.
Now, get your facts straight.
They were stabbed in the big car park,
but they actually died later in hospital.
Less of the fake news.
So if Andrew does move on, who'll run the Barleycorn?
Well, I guess Stephen again.
Right. Of course, Stephen.
Ha! Great.
It is a tremendous degree of progress you've made, Stephen.
It's like a journey, isn't it?
Oh, it is. It's very like a journey.
Oh, you're absolutely right.
I say that all the time.
You do, Robbie.
All the time.
Brilliantly.
And, like all journeys, there'll be bumps in the road.
Uh, twist and turns.
T-junctions.
Roundabouts. Filter lanes.
You may proceed in the direction of the green arrow when it,
or the full green light, shows.
I'm just quoting the Highway Code now, but...
Oh, but, but that's what therapy is, isn't it?
It's a kind of Highway Code to get your mind back on the road.
I'm in here for my MOT! Yeah.
And you'll very soon be roadworthy.
We've addressed your drinking,
the uncertainty over your biological father,
your feelings towards Andrew, that car accident in Limoges...
I'm a very different guy from the one who was forcibly encouraged
by his family and the wider community
to become an inpatient here.
So, I think you're ready to go home.
Wow.
You've really helped me get my shit together, Robbie.
There was a lot of disparate shit, and now it's all in one place.
Under control.
Thank you.
Genuinely.
That fucking idiot thinks I'm cured, the prick!
I think so too, actually, Stephen.
Well, maybe not cured, but more yourself.
I'm just pretending. I'm still mad.
You don't seem to be... That's the thing.
I'm so mad, I look normal.
Just a guy in a residential facility being helped by a regime
of appropriate medication and therapy.
What's suspicious about that? Nothing.
It's genius.
MAD genius!
Maybe stop saying mad?
It's useful shorthand.
Well, if your therapist thinks you're progressing...
Robbie knows nothing.
We disagreed a few weeks ago
over the correct plural form of cup-a-soup.
He thinks it's CUP-a-soups.
It's quite clearly CUPS-a-soup!
A multiple number of cups of soup.
KNOCKS ON DOOR
Hi, Stephen. Hi, Cath. Did you find your phone?
Would you believe, it was in my coat pocket all the time?
No, I think you're lying.
Only joking!
I totally believe that it was in your pocket.
Thanks.
There's nothing there.
Oh, I must have accidentally swallowed them.
But, usually, I pretend. Flush them away.
There'll be a lot of rats in these sewers
with excellent serotonin levels.
What do you think Stephen will be like when he comes back?
I'm hoping he's no longer at war with himself.
I mean, what we have to do, all of us, is support him fully.
The last thing we want is for Stephen to get ill again.
You haven't been to see him at all.
He's only wanted to see Alison.
Not even mum, and she's the one who's been paying for his stay.
It's weird, isn't it?
That he's the one who's been having treatment
when I've always been the one with so much mental complexity going on.
Stephen did get very ill, Cass.
I mean, he was paranoid, depressed, anxious, obsessive, compulsive.
It's quite a cocktail.
Oh, and he was an alcoholic.
No, I know.
And it just bring sit home to me how much stuff
I've been coping with, you know?
Silently.
You get very good at hiding your massive complexity
behind a mask of complete ordinariness.
How many layers are there to an onion? No-one knows.
Science can't tell.
Let's hope one day they crack that mystery.
Sorry, Andrew, could we have a word?
We're a bit worried about how to speak to Stephen when he's back.
Mm. The, the tone, you know, because like you say, he's vulnerable.
He's, you know... ..been treated in a facility.
So, do we act normally, or...?
We thought acting normally would be the way to go.
Mm. But it's eggshells, isn't it?
You might say the wrong thing, or...
Nutter - something like that. Yeah.
Obviously, we mustn't let him be driven into mental collapse again.
I can't stress that enough.
So just chat normally to him.
OK. Oh, sure. Normally! Yeah. Good.
Try not to act at all odd or awkward, you know?
Yes. Yes.
IN ACCENT: Can do there, sir, hey?
IN ACCENT: 10-4 on that one, my good pal. Yeah...
Will you be wearing these shoes?
Not sure they'll fit me.
I haven't worn shoes since I arrived here,
and my feet have become very soft and wide. Really?
I've been in backless slippers constantly.
My feet are almost as wide as they are long.
Like veal escalopes.
Thanks, bye-bye. Bye.
Oh, Stephen. Good luck.
You got somewhere to stay?
Oh, uh, no, we, we aren't. Oh, no. I mean, we were, but, uh...
I'll live with my mum for a bit and then take stock.
Good. Well, get some rest and some good food.
Wouldn't like to think of you back in that awful caravan again, living off pot noodles.
Pots noodle.
Sorry? It's fine. Come on, Stephen.
It's...it IS pots noodle. Yes, all right, come on.
It's pot noodle cos... Stephen.
..the noodles have become adjectival.
Noodles, noodle, pot.
Noodle describes the pot, more than one pot, pots noodle.
So, I take it you've told everyone you're coming back this evening?
No, I wanted to surprise them.
Oh. M-Make an entrance.
I've been away in treatment - I'm the exotic one now.
Andrew's just a boring provincial pub landlord.
He hasn't got the key to my head anymore.
Tables have turned.
The shoes are on the other feet.
If I could still wear shoes, yes.
So, where is everyone?
CASS: It was laughably bad, wasn't it, Andrew?
It was spectacularly poor.
You wouldn't want to be headhunted by that lot. Oh, shocking.
We have no worries in terms of losing custom.
That plate of curds. Oh. Abysmal shite.
Even Little Miss Muffet would have told them
to stick it up their arses.
Thought Lee and Bryony were meant to be business legends?
They're business chumps, if you'll pardon my language.
I don't like to be negative,
but I wouldn't have fed that meal to Judas.
Oh, he was the worst one.
Alison!
Is Stephen with you, love? Or are you just a bit stressed?
Oh, no, he's just gone to the loo.
Ha.
Gin and tonic, please, love.
Those urinal cakes look fresh.
Got a new batch this week.
Jeyes. Classic.
How are you feeling, Stephen?
I have a crystal clear mind, wide feet,
and I'm pissing like a greyhound.
How are you?
Can I apologise?
For?
Everything that happened before.
Everything in the world?
The Napoleonic Wars? Smallpox?
The cry-laugh emoji?
Slavery? Declining literacy rates?
I came into this family with too much force
and not enough empathy, and I know that my arrival troubled you
and may have added to your mental distress.
I don't trust a word you say.
I know. I appreciate that.
Those words just then, don't trust them.
Sure. Or that word.
Look... That's a lie.
Look, Stephen, my only hope is that the investment I made
with the Wellness Centre pays off in terms of your future happiness.
Investment? Maybe that's too crude a term.
Um, assistance. Sponsorship.
YOU paid for me to stay at Lyneham Abbey? Not Mum?
I had the means and Ellen felt...
Great. Terrific.
I thought it was Miss Haversham, but it was you.
Big Shitty Magwitch.
Magwitch actually helps Pip to fulfil his dreams.
I know my Dickens, Andrew.
Don't you DARE try to out-Dickens me!
Or it will be the worst of times.
That's Dickens. I'm being clever.
I genuinely just wanted to help you.
By gaslighting me into thinking I'm ill, then paying to put me
in a facility so you can gaslight everyone else into thinking I'm ill?
Stephen, I admit it.
In the past, I've dissembled and played with the truth,
but I've changed. Truly.
All I want to do now is help people.
Go fuck yourself. You can't get into my head anymore, Andrew.
I don't want to get into your head. Oh, yes, you do. But you can't
because I've changed the locks.
I still know you. I see you.
I'm looking at you right now.
I know you are.
Exactly, I'm staring directly at you.
I'm aware of that.
Welcome back, Stephen.
How are you, sweetheart? Um, you better?
Oh, you look a lot better.
Are you better?
Andrew paid for my treatment? He was my sugar daddy?
Only it wasn't sugar - it was Citalopram.
Well, I don't have that kind of money, Stephen,
and something needed to be done urgently.
You were in a bad way.
Andrew offered to help.
And now you're all better.
I just wanted to say, if you ever need to talk about stuff,
I've been there.
Right. Thanks.
Probably actually a bit more seriously than you,
so just use me as a resource.
My suffering should have a positive outcome.
That's meant to be kind, so thank you.
Mike. Jan.
Yes? Hello.
Welcome back...
..to here, where we are.
Thank you. How's it all been?
Oh, you know, fine.
But not because you weren't here. No. Shit. Sorry.
Um, we don't want to distress you.
I'm not distressed.
Oh.
Copy that!
10-4 can do, nice buddy.
How is he?
A lot better.
He's lucky to have you to look out for him.
Oh, I remain vigilant.
And how are you?
Busy, busy.
Swamped at work investigating dodgy planning applications.
Also my mum's getting up my nose and on my tits.
Your mum? Yeah, and dad.
Dependent, needy.
I really haven't got time to fart.
We need to keep Stephen busy.
If he just sits around at Ellen's, that'd be bad for him.
Am I meant to believe you're concerned for him?
I don't expect you to believe it, but it's the truth.
You leave it with me, Luca, we'll work something out.
OK, mate. See you later.
Luca, my farm hand.
Strong as a small horse.
That spiteful fucker from my neighbouring farm is trying to get him deported.
That doesn't sound very fair.
Is he an arable farmer like you, Geoff?
He's an FCQ.
Is that EU code?
Fat Cunt on a Quad bike.
Oh, hello.
Hello, Stephen.
Did you sleep well?
Yes.
You're here early.
In the house.
Did you come round early?
Uh, yes.
I, uh, came round early.
That would be it.
ELLEN: Julian, will you get the wholemeal out of the freezer?
I'm not sure I...
I was just saying how Julian has come round early.
Yes. An early call.
Good morning, Ellen. Good morning.
Oh, yeah, sorry, Stephen.
Should've told you, your mum's fucking a vicar.
He's our new dad. I'm not.
I mean, I am a vicar, but, uh...
SHE CLEARS THROAT Julian and I are very close, love.
I didn't tell you before because I thought it might add to your crisis.
It's fine. It's cool.
I'm happy for you.
Are you? Fuck no.
But I'll get used to it.
Please don't eat the Eucharist wafers, Cass.
They're Christ.
Can I make you some breakfast, Stephen?
Are there muffins?
I don't think there are.
It's just, I always had muffins at Lyneham Abbey, but don't worry.
Have you become a bit institutionalised?
No. I just mentioned that we had muffins for breakfast, that's all.
Lunch on Monday was soup, Tuesday was toastie day,
but it's not important. OK.
Wednesday's lasagne, Thursday soup again, and Friday's fish and chips.
But it's irrelevant. I'll go with the flow.
Whatever's easiest.
I could go and get some muffins.
No. No, it's fine.
Although it would be nice.
Ugh, back on the beer, Geoff?
Yeah, I was just flirting.
Diddled the lilt, but I'm married to beer. Aw!
Cass was saying Stephen's got a bit institutionalised.
Easily done.
Best time of my life was in hospital, recovering from heart surgery.
Really? Bliss.
Lying there for ten days, doing fuck all,
a catheter up your Rees-Mogg, so you don't even have to get up to piss.
That's living, all right. Can't wait for the hospice!
Oh, Andrew? It's come.
The inevitable call.
Lee and Bryony Kingsley left a message about half an hour ago.
You can name your price now, son. They need you.
You're like whoever's an expensive footballer these days.
I'm going to say Trevor Francis, but more recent.
What exactly was the message, Jan?
Can we meet with your brilliant landlord? Meet with...
..like in America.
I bet they get a coffee too.
Well, a meeting can't do any harm.
See how the land lies.
That's it. He's gone.
You reckon? Puh-ub is shit!
But it's a challenge, isn't it? No challenge for Andrew here any more.
He's bored.
In danger of becoming a fixture.
Time to move on.
Yeah, Andrew's far too sharp
and clever to work at the Barleycorn for longer than a few months.
True. How long have you guys been here?
Eight years yesterday.
Congrats. Oh, thanks.
You've eaten here? I have.
Thoughts? Feelings? Ideas?
Honestly? Sure.
No point otherwise.
Truth has value.
Bullshit's worthless.
OK.
Felt like there was a lot of noise, but no clear signal.
Decor, ambience, menu,
all compromised by conflicting influences.
The service was weak, slow and pretentious.
Those are the headline notes. If you want a deep dive, I could...
No, no. No. We agree.
We need to step up our game.
We're looking for a guy to help turn things around.
Copy that.
And that's where you come in, Stephen.
Stephen, we need a firm hand on the tiller.
Serious realignment.
We're impressed with how the Barleycorn used to be run.
It used to look very different. Andrew remodelled it.
I'd done a lovely pine thing,
but then it all burnt down in a massive fire and he changed it.
Reason we've come to you, Stephen,
is we've realised this place is too pretentious.
All this minimalist, metropolitan thing.
Made a mistake. We need to go totally the other way.
Back to how it was when it was the Kings Arms.
People round here, they want something honest, old school.
Not elitist.
Brexit style.
Tell it like it is.
Peppercorn sauce on a big rump steak, swear boxes,
lifeboat boxes, little boy with a slot in his head, some bloke
selling warm crabsticks, curry night, geezers, saucepots, sorts,
types, Scotch eggs, but not artisan Scotch eggs with rare-breed pork.
Just fucking Scotch fucking eggs!
Pardon my language but, I mean, it's what people want now.
Some things may feel old-fashioned, but they're best unchanged.
Exactly.
The reason they've never updated Hangman is it's too difficult
to incrementally draw a stick man serving a 30-year custodial sentence.
I need to talk to Chef. Will you think about it, Stephen?
We'd love to have you on board.
I will think about it. Will I need to wear shoes?
If I take over managing Puh-ub, in a way, I'm leaving the family.
My loyalties will be elsewhere.
It's a huge deal.
I'd probably have to move into the flat above the Puh-ub.
We'd really miss you. Indeed.
But needs must.
Do you want to move on, Stephen? Have a fresh start?
New beginning?
I do...
..I think.
Sometimes, you just have to make the leap.
I mean, like a salmon,
not like that Welsh guy who jumped off the multistorey.
It's wonderful to be wanted.
It's exciting to be valued for who I am,
for the skills and experience I have.
I feel like I've come out of Lyneham Abbey, able to achieve anything.
So, yes.
I will take the job.
ALL: Cheers!
And are these the absolute widest fit you have? Yes, sir.
An H fitting's the widest we've got in the size 9.
You don't do a J or anything like that?
No, there's no such fitting as a J.
No? They should do a Bravissimo, but for big feet.
OK, I'll take them.
Why are you two together? Are you getting married?
Calm down, Stephen.
I went to see Alison in a professional capacity.
I was troubled by Lee and Bryony Kingsley.
Troubled? I didn't trust them.
The feeling was mutual. They thought you were Satan.
But I'm paraphrasing.
I wanted to pick Alison's brains, and...
I've been checking the archives, and Lee
and Bryony are incredibly successful businesspeople, as everyone says.
They're amazing. They have a place in Tuscany.
Said I might be able to stay there.
The thing is, they do get through a lot of businesses,
and there seems to be a pattern.
They take over a business, it doesn't do well, they close it,
they build on the land, and that's how they make their money.
So how does this affect me?
Well, the pattern seems to be that they hire a...
They employ someone who...
What?
They hire a manager who they think will be
so incompetent that he or she will run the business into the ground.
Then, when the business is seen as unsalvageable,
they can apply for change of use and build houses on the land.
Puh-ub has that massive car park. They could make millions.
We may be jumping to conclusions.
There's nothing yet been proved about their previous applications.
But a red flag has gone up.
I didn't want you pulled into a scam.
You've been through enough.
Here we are, sir.
Take them away, please.
And bring me a pair of backless slippers.
H fitting in an 11 and a half.
Thought you took a size 9? Just do it!
Don't give up completely on shoes, Stephen.
Stupid.
I should've known.
Never dream.
Dreams aren't real.
Only nightmares.
I should go.
Mike and Jan are going to be in late, so I need to unlock the pub.
# Baby
# You're driving me crazy
# I said baby
# You're driving me crazy
# Psycho
# Oh!
# Wow! #
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