RRussell
Party of ten for Swallow Tours. Are you all here? Let me have your tickets and passports, and we'll get you checked through.
Want a Playboy for your Neville?
I'm not getting that, it's disgusting!
[Laughs] Cosmo? Ooh, I'll have that after you.
Listen, pass us down the Nursing News. There's a really good article about... [The rest of their conversation is drowned out by the airport tannoy, and they pick magazines.]
AAAirport Announcer
Passengers for Flight 213 to Málaga to Gateway 2, please.
[To Debbie] I think it's very noble of your dad to bring you and your mum along, you know? 'Cos it'll keep him out of mischief! Listen, d'you know why? Because we're going to be sampling all that pulchritude down there. [Laughs.]
There'll not be much of that, man. The tourist season's well finished.
There'll be enough, divvn't you worry. Anyway, with a bit of luck, we'll have sorted summat out before we land.
'Ere! Are you trying to tell me, right, that on this charter tour, there ain't gonna be a surplus of salesgirls, secretaries, hairdressers, the lot, eh? I tell you, we'll be well locked off before we've even landed, son!
RRussell
[At the check-in line] Check-in over here, Mr. Patterson. [The group join the check-in line. In front of them is a large group of pensioners.]
Hold on, what's all this lot, then?
RRussell
It's the Spennymoor & District Senior Citizens Society. They go every year. You were lucky to get those seats! [Wayne's face falls.]
I wouldn't waste any time, Wayne. I'd steam in now! [Cockney accent] Get it all locked off, son! [Laughs.]
What was it Fraser said aboot us coming doon here? He was sendin' a team doon to help the British unemployed. Ho, ho, what a lot of bollocks! [Takes a swig of a bottle of beer.] It's obvious we're here 'cos there's not a building worker available from Malaga to Gib!
I never saw so much building in all my life!
It's a brickie's paradise!
Mind, I think it's ruined the view.
Aye, but think of all the lads they're employing, man. They must all be millionaires.
Y'know, I had a totally false impression of this place. I thought it was all, y'know, yachts, and playboys with Porsches. I've seen more bloody cranes than sports cars!
Yeah, y'see, leisure is the new growth industry of the eighties.
We ain't got the climate, have we, Nev? Look, look. [Points to a giant water slide] When would you ever see a bloody water chute in Wolverhampton High Street?
It's nice to think you could retire to somewhere like this. I suppose the best I could hope for is a caravan near Clevedon overlooking the Bristol Channel.
At least people would talk to you there, Bomb. You'd have neighbours and friends. Where out here, you'd probably wind up next to some people like that couple who hoyed us out of their pool today.
Aye. I know we were trespassing, like, but as soon as I seen his face I hate him. He's just the sort of person that makes you ashamed to be English.
In all fairness, Oz, he probably feels exactly the same about you.
What? Well, he shouldn't, should he? 'Cos I'm isn't. He is. He is. Every time I see his sort, the hairs on me back curl up!
Yeah. A prick, in my language. He's the sort of bloke who'd sit in the golf club all day, moaning and groaning, or write to the papers about [Posh accent] how people don't pull their weight. [Normal accent] Then what does he do when he cops his pension, eh? Whoosh! Body sweve doon to Spain so he'll not get collared wi' nae tax!
Er, when did you last pay your income tax, Oz? Was it...
What's that gotta do with anything?
I thought you lads might be a bit thirsty.
Oh, San Miguel? [Wayne and Nev take a beer from the tray.]
Vicky, just bring that over here, will you? I'll take care of that. [She puts the tray on the table] There you go, gentlemen, help yourselves to a beer. I'll be with you in just a moment. Uno momento. Vicky? [Goes into the villa. Vicky follows.]
Always wondered what our Vicky would look like unwrapped.
Look, Vicky, when we've got these cowboys around the place, it might look better if you didn't go around flaunting yourself.
[Looks down at her bikini-clad body] Who's flaunting?
D'ya think that bikini's the height of discretion? I used to use bigger plasters to cover my pimples.
Yes, well, you don't complain as a rule, do you? [Reclines on the sofa]
Well, as a rule, I don't have seven randy brickies running around the patio!
Well, there's going to be no point in going out is there? I mean, I cannae sunbathe, I cannae go for a swim 'cos there's nae water in the pool, I cannae play me records 'cos I cannae hear them for the concrete mixer...
Are the arrangements not to your liking, Vicky?
Is the villa no longer up to scratch? May I just remind you that two years ago, when you were a manicurist at Maison André, your idea of the holiday of a lifetime was a fortnight at Redcar!
Listen, I travelled before I met you, Ally Fraser. Me and me friend Barbara had two successive summers in Magaluf.
Och, well, in that case... In that case... [Picks up the phone and hands it to Vicky] Why don't you just give Barbara a bell? See if she's still got the tent!
Afternoon, Ally. Didn't expect to see you back this early. [Fraser produces a copy of The Sun.]
Is that an English paper you got there?
That's right, Oz, I've got an English paper. Something I'd like to read to you here, boys, I don't want to take up too much of your valuable time. If you just gather around, please. [The lads down tools and gather round Fraser.] Right. Are we all sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. [Reads from the paper] "Spain's Costa del Crime is still a haven for the growing band of Brits who Scotland Yard are," quote, "'anxious to question'. Kenny Ames, 47, who persists in denying he was Britain's King of Porn, continues to sun himself on his luxury yacht in Marbella."
Ah, that sounds like the one we were on, is it?
[Continues reading] "No doubt, his companions, newly arrived from England are business associates." [He puts the paper down for the others to see.]
[Pointing to the photo] Hey, that's us!
Hey, look at that! Centre spread!
I've seen much better photos of me than that one, though.
What's Brenda's folks ganna say?
[He picks up where Fraser left off.] "I spoke exclusively to the new arrivals in their luxury hotel."
"They were evasive about their reasons for being in Spain, one of them claiming that they were members of the Wolverhampton Aqualung Society." [Looks at Barry, then back at the paper.] "Research has shown that no such club exists. Meanwhile, police continue their search for the gang who pulled off the daring payroll robbery in Sheffield last week." [The lads voice their disdain.]
Wasn't that geezer who was buyin' all the booze in the bar the other neet called Nick?
Is this your idea of keeping a low profile?
Why, that story's a load of bollocks!
I know that, and I bet half of Fleet Street knows that, and in their effort to discredit this story they'll be down here buzzing 'round you like flies 'round a jam jar!
Well, why don't we just tell 'em we're ordinary gadgys?
[Presses the paper to Neville's chest] Working on my villa, I suppose? Well that's precisely exactly what I'm trying to avoid, my friend!
Wait a minute, I mean, we can still be ordinary gadgys. Just down here on holiday. We just have to make it look convincing, that's all.
And how do we do that, Dennis?
Well, er... you'd better give us the rest of the week off.
GGeoffrey
Good heavens! Look at this. [Gives the paper to Pauline, who looks at the photo.]
PPauline
I'm not surprised. [Throws the paper onto the floor.] One only had to look at them.
GGeoffrey
I sometimes wonder if Worthing wouldn't have been a better idea.
LLionel
Oh, hello, mate. Where's the rest of your mob, then?
Oh, er, they're on the beach. Could I have a lager, please?
LLionel
Ah, that's a shame. Look, I've given it place of honour on the wall. [Shows Moxey the photo and headline from the previous episode pinned to the wall behind the bar.]
Oh, 'ey, we asked you not to do that. It's bloody embarrassin', y'know.
LLeather
[From behind his copy of The Sun] You'll get used to it, son.
LLeather
[Puts the paper down] Oh. Terry, please. And you're, er..?
Oh, er, Moxey. We didn't go courtin' that publicity, y'know.
LLeather
I'm sure you didn't. None of us goes chasing newsprint, do we? But, you see, if you adjourn over here suddenly, leaving a few question marks behind, it's bound to happen, ain't it?
LLeather
And also, Moxey, what you've got to remember is that these people... [Points to his paper] ...these so-called gentlemen of the press are, in fact, the scum of the earth. You wouldn't say hello to 'em on a lonely day.
Very true, Terry. [Leather picks up his glass] 'Ere, what's that you're drinkin'? Er, Scotch, is it?
LLeather
Yeah, cheers. [Finishes his Scotch] Malt.
[To Lionel] Er, a malt for, er, Terry and, er, I'll have a lager, please.
LLionel
[To the barmaid] Jenny? Serve the gentleman, love.
LLeather
You see, these people do not have one iota of respect for privacy of the individual. [Scoffs] Let me tell you, lad, Princess Di, Joan Collins and Hurricane Higgins? They've got my upmost sympathy for the intrustions that they incur.
People always wanna have a got a you when you're famous, don't they?
LLionel
Yeah, some of those no-marks made a bob or two out of your exploits, eh, Tel?
LLeather
Don't remind me! There was this geezer lived down our street in Ilford, see. Now, I have met that bloke twice, right? Once when I picked my little girl up from his kid's bonfire night party, and once when he borrowed my hovering lawnmower. Well, next thing I know, he's... he's managed to stretch these brief encounters into three instalments of "The Villain on My Doorstep"! [Chuckles]
Aye, we certainly learnt our lesson. We're keepin' our heads down from now on.
LLionel
Ah, so you'll be staying down here for a bit, will you?
Well, I think the others will be movin' on, like, y'know, but, er, I'm gonna stick around for a while, yeah.
LLeather
You'll be needing a drum, then.
You what? Oh, yeah. Yeah.
LLeather
Well, what you got in mind? A villa? Condo?
Somethin' like that, yeah.
LLeather
Listen, Moxey, anything you want, feel free. Investment advice, real estate, a new motor. I mean, we know a few people. D'you understand me?
Thanks, Terry. Thanks very much. Actually, there is somethin' you could, er, help us out with, like.
Er, it might sound a bit soft, but er... don't know of any plasterin' jobs goin' round 'ere, d'you?
LLeather
Now, hang on, you can't be short of a few bob, surely?
No? No! It's just a way of, er... passin' the time, like.
LLeather
Ah, I don't understand you Northern lads. Must be all that Hovis you eat!
[Shouts to Wayne] Oi-oi, London! What's happenin'? Owt you can't handle, send 'em up to me. [Wayne returns to the lads.]
Not much joy out there, Oz. See, they're Norwgeian, ain't they, and you know what your only point of reference is when you're Norwegian, don't ya?
Open deck sarnie, ain't it?
Well, that's probably why they're a bit sticky, then, innit?
RRonnie
Sorry to interrupt, but I can see you're busy.
SSid
[Pulls out a dictaphone] Have you lads got a few words to say to the press?
[Scoffs] Aye, yes. I've got two, and the second one's "off".
Go on and beat it. We're in enough trouble because of you buggers.
RRonnie
We know about that, but we want to help you lads.
Here, you wouldn't happen to know the Norwegian for "Can I get into your knickers?", would you? [Chuckles]
SSid
Look, the more you stall us, the more difficult it's gonna be for you in the end.
Look, look. [To Wayne] Gan have a swim. [Wayne walks off. To the journalists] Look, that rubbish in the papers wasn't true, right? It was a load of crap, alright? We're not bank robbers, man, for Christ's sake!
RRonnie
Lovely, we wanna believe that too, so we can write spoilers on that crap Nick Wheeler wrote.
SSid
So, just tell us who you really are and what you're doing here, and we'll all go home. [Holds his dictaphone right in Oz's face]
Just mind yer own business! [Shoves the dictaphone away.]
RRonnie
Hey, hey, you're not helping us, son!
Look, boyos, what that bloke wrote was a load of cobblers. We know it, so why should we have to prove it to you?
SSid
So we can deny it on your behalf.
[Returns] Oh yeah? So the other mob can deny it again, and erm, it's a vicious circle, innit?
'Ere, I've had enough of these bastards! [Snatches the dictaphone from Douglas] I'm gonna bury them in the sand, head first, eh?
RRonnie
Hey, hold on, hold on.
Head first! [Takes the tape out of the dictaphone and throws it away, before throwing the dictaphone away.]
RRonnie
Here, hold on, son!
RRonnie
We can always head back to England and write you up as holidaying scroungers from the dole queue!
SSid
It's all right! It's all right, it'll probably take a day or two to realise it's all in your own... [Turns round and sees Bomber stood up and glaring down at him.] ...Come on, Ronnie! [The two journalists run away.]
Remind me not to buy the English papers when I get home!
Incredible this place, innit? It's like Bermondsey transported to the Costa del Sol.
I was standin' at the bar there before getting the bevvies. A bloke comes up, says, "tooled up on yer last job, were ya, Geordie?" "Oh, aye, I had two trowels, a spirit level..." [Laughs, but notices Barry doesn't] He never laughed at it, neither.
You can say that again. [Points out a group of women.] Look at these here. You can just tell by lookin' at them that they've spent the best part of their married life behind an ironing board in some poxy tower block, yer kna, husband in an' oot the nick all the time, but just manages to keep everything together with the promise of one big last job, and then it'll be off skiing, the sunshine, champagne. Yer kna, all that. And then it comes off, they gets here, and what do they dae? Recreate all the squalor they wanted to piss off from in the first place!
[Shakes his head] What a futile existence, eh? No need to work, but no real way of enjoying themselves, except from getting pissed and maudlin about London.
Fish oot of water, man, isnit?
I wonder what their kids do for schooling.
Perhaps their dads teach them. [They laugh.]
Oh, you can just imagine that, can't you? "All right, now, son, here's the question: If yer daddy and yer Uncle Terry and yer Uncle Arthur stick up an armoured car for half a million quid in the Mile End Road, how much does that leave them with each? And you can use yer fingers." [Chuckles]
We're not saying anything.
SSid
All we want to do, love, is clear the air. I mean, all this must be very embarrasing for you back home. Is it?
No. What's embarrassing is having to answer questions from people like you. Now, look, we didn't invite you in here, and we'd be very obliged if you'd kindly leave. [Dennis and Neville enter the villa.]
SSid
[Gets out of the armchair] It's all right, it's all right. Press.
No, it's not all right! What are you doing here?
[To Brenda and Christine] Have they been asking you questions?
We didn't tell them anything, Neville.
SSid
Neville Hope and Dennis Patterson. Is that right?
It's about the only thing you blokes have got right.
RRonnie
Oh, smarten up, son. We know you're not villains.
SSid
As we were saying to your ladies, all we want to do is clear the air, get at the truth.
Oh, howay, we might as well. Gan on, tell 'em, Dennis.
Alright, I am Dennis Patterson, this is Neville Hope. We're brickies, we're from Newcastle and we're here on holiday. That's it. Come on. [Motions for the journalists to leave.]
RRonnie
And what about the rest of the gang?
They're all bricklayers too. We met out in Germany a few years back, and er, this is like a reunion, innit?
SSid
Right, we'll need names and home addresses so the London desk can check out their backgrounds.
Well, some of these addresses might be a bit vague. Let's see... There's erm, Mr. Osbourne, Mr. Taylor, Mr. Norris, Mr. Busbridge, and, er... what's the name of your mate, Nev, with the spotty face?
[Head in hands] Dear me, I thought I'd ne'er thought I'd see the day I'd be glad I couldn't get a fry-up! [Coughs loudly. Moxey, also hungover, joins them. Oz laughs] Don Juan! [Barry stirs his coffee noisily.] D'yer have to do that? D'yer have to do that... so loud?
Ah, sorry. [Takes the spoon out and taps the top of his mug a few times. Oz winces.]
Oh, what was that bloody stuff we were drinking last night?
Never mind what we were drinking, it was what them bastard groupies was guzzlin' in that done all the damage! [Reaches into his pocket and pulls out some money.] I've got about three pound left.
Maybe we should rob a payroll wagon after all. [Carlos brings Moxey a coffee.]
That remark is in very poor taste, if you don't mind me saying so, Moxey. If it wasn't for people like you glamourising criminal activity, we wouldn't be pestered by the press, would we? Or exploited by those vacuous females last night.
That didn't stop ye stickin' yer heid in the door, did it? See if there was any exploitin' to be done, eh?
Well, if we can't go out, and we can't stay in, there's not much point in being here, is there?
Nah. We're not tourists. We're not workers. We're trapped. We're in limbo!
They divvn't limbo here, man. They flamenco. [Chuckles, then coughs.]
Barry's got a point though, eh? Leisure without graft has got a pretty hollow ring.
Well, none of this is actually helping to decide what we're gonna do today though, is it? [Gets out of his chair to go to the breakfast buffet] Don't think I can face another day of sunlight, sangria... [Clutches his stomach] ...or food, either. [Carefully sits back down.]
I've just had an absolutely brilliant idea. Why don't we hire a couple of cars and hit the road? Eh? Toddle off down to Gibraltar, it's not far you know, border's open now. What do you think?
There'd be cheap British beer, duty frees, and today's papers too.
Papers are still a sore point, you know, Bomb.
Aye, g'wan, I'm up for it. I've alwayd wanted me photo taken with them... with them baboons.
Right... [Gets some money from his pocket.] Here is my contribution. I suggest you three pool your resources as well. I'll go and wake Wayne up. [Gets up.] If he's interested, I'll get a hire car brochure in Reception. [Leaves the bar.]
I wonder if they do a five-seater Porsche?
Why do I all of a sudden get a dreadful feeling, Nev? Yer kna, like Oz is sticking pins in a Dennis Patterson doll.
[Arrives on the sun terrace with a newspaper. He's very pissed off.] D'you know? Your boys are wasted in the building industry, Dennis! You ought to be organising military coups in a banana republic!
Has someone been in bother, like?
Oh no, nothing like that, no. They've just spent half an hour slagging off some of the most influential members of Marbella society, of which I am no longer a member!
Dennis I thought it was a bit too good to last, like.
Aye, well you can whistle 'em all back out now because your true and humble status has been revealed to a grateful nation! [Drops the paper beside Dennis.]
Right, first thing in the morn, I'll get them back to work.
No, I've got a better idea, Dennis. Let's have a night shift!
Go 'round to The Office? You sure that's a good idea now they know who we really are?
Oh, I dunno. Ally said they'd still make us welcome. Apparently, they understood we're victims of a press smear. In fact, they symphathise with us.
Aye, might be some money in it for us, an' all. A few little jobs.
[Scoffs] Probably want us to double-glaze their houses with bulletproof glass.
Don't suppose there'd be any harm in it. Nothing to lose now. Our stigmas have been cleansed.
Howay, Mox, man! We didn't give your name to the paper! As far as Terry Leather or anybody else is concerned, you're still a man of mystery.
Right, lads. Listen, we'll just play it cool, right? See what they want, and if we don't like the smell of it, we'll politely decline. Okay? [Around the corner from The Office, they spot someone on the roof with a long-lens camera taking photos of them.]
Oh, another bloody journalist! [The lads rush through a door and confront the photographer. Oz snatches the camera]]
Just... calm down! [Oz doesn't listen, he throws the camera off the roof.]
[To the 'photographer'] When are you bastards gonna stop pickin' on wor, eh?
Yeah! Why don't yer leave us alone, you shifty sod? We ain't done nuthin'!
Which particular comic do you work for, anyway? [The 'photographer' takes out his Metropolitan Police ID badge]
BBritish Detective
Shall we say the Police Review?
[Takes the ID badge and examines it.] What, you're the Old Bill, are ya?
BBritish Detective
Scotland Yard Surveillance Squad. And if this wasn't Spain, Albert Arthur Moxey, alias Brendan Mulcahy, arsonist and absconder, your arse would be well and truly nicked!
Oh, I'm not so sure, Bomb. I mean, at Ally's party, you know, in Geordieland, I definitely got a flash off that one.
You mess around with her and bollocks it up for the rest of us, you'll have more than a flash off me, Wayne!
Eh? Don't sermonise me, Bomb! You're not past a bit of lechery yourself. I saw you the other night, down the casino. Two young travel agents from Preston, eh? [Chuckles]
Nothin' I did with them is gonna come back on us lot. [Quiet for sternly] Off limits!
[Now on the terrace] Mornin', lads.
[Hard at work on the tiling in the pool with Neville] Hello.
[Stops what he's doing] Right, I'll not be long.
[Inspecting the lads' work] Eee, mind, this place is comin' on. You'll be finished here soon.
[Chucking rocks from the deep end to the terrace] Aye, we divvn't hang aboot, us lot, yer kna.
Er... what are you ganna do when the job's finished, Oz?
Me? I don't kna. S'pose I'll have to gan back and... face the grim reality of Margaret Thatcher's Britain. [Has a swig of his beer.] Unless your Ally coughs up a finishin' bonus, like. Then I can postpone it... for a week.
An', er... take off somewhere, like?
Ah, well, me an' Barry had planned tae have a slow tovy back through France. But now with his, yer kna, fiancée, we've had to give La Français the big E, so to speak. So, I'll be on me own, as usual.
I'm... very sorry if my personal affairs have intruded on your plans, Oz(!)
Not my plans, pal. You were the one that wanted to gan an' see the shite hooses of the Loire.
'Ey, I've always fancied San Tropez, meself. I think there's more nightlife. An', I mean, well, it's more sophisticated than this, like, isn'it?
Oh, aye, yeah. Definitely. Give me San Tropez every time!
[Looking at a couple of samples] Which one do you think, Chris?
Well, it is your villa, after all, Vicky.
Oh, I know, but you've got a flair for this sort of thing, an' that's what I wanted you to come.
SSalesman
Es doble mas caro que éste. (That one costs twice as much as the other.)
He says that one's twice as expensive as that. [Pointing to the two samples]
[Motioning behind him] There's plenty more to choose from, yer kna.
No, no. Me mind's made up. It's between these two.
Well, if it was up to me, I would go for this one - the more traditional design. But that is the expensive one.
Oh, I'm not bothered about that, I mean, it's Ally's money.
That's the one, then, is it?
Aye, I'm adamant. I'll have that one. [Points to her choice.]
Right. I'll do the business, okay. [Dennis goes inside with the salesman.]
[Looking at more samples] I wonder if I should tile the barbecue area. What do you think?
Hmm? Oh, I don't know, Vicky. I really don't know. [Sits on a bench] But I'm sure the villa is going to be absolutely exquisite once it's finished.
[Unenthusiastically] Hmmm... [Sits next to Christine]
[Picking up on this...] You don't sound very enthusiastic.
Oh, it'd be all right if it was just for the odd week.
Oh, Chris, I've got nobody to confide in. That's why I'm pleased you're here. I mean, Ally never tells me anythin', but even I can put 2 and 2 together. He's been really tetchy recently, an' there's been all these late night phone calls, and now his solicitor's turned up. You can bet Hallwood's not down here for a tan.
What are you saying, Vicky?
I'm sayin' we might be down here for good.
Oh? Well, if it does come to that, there are worse places to live.
Ah, I kna it's got everything, I mean, the climate and the Mediterranean, an' we get all English television flown over on video. But... Chris, I'd die if I thought I was never goin' to see Newcastle again!
[Fanning himself with his hat] I envy Den, me. At this moment, he'll be sittin' in an English pub, murderin' an English pint.
You're a strange bloke, you are, Nev. Ever since I've known you, you've always wanted to be someplace else. There's people down here paid a fortune to enjoy this hot Spanish sunshine.
Yeah, well he'd rather be drinking warm ale in some manky pub in Gateshead.
Yeah, but if he was there, then he'd wish he was here.
[Still smarting from being carried off by Bomber while in mid-conversation with Vicky the previous night] I reckon that Bomber's on Ally's payroll. Acting like my naffing chaperone. I was on with that Vicky last night, I'm sure I was.
Look, obviously the lass has problems, reet? Obviously, she's vulnerable that this point in time. Even to your transparent overtures. But it's not gonna do us much good, is it? An' it's not gonna do the lass much good if ye leap on her bones!
Oh, I see. So you've joined the moral majority, have you?
What is it with you, eh? I mean, yer nuts aren't gonna gan rusty down here, are they? I mean you've got Spanish boilers, French tarts, German tarts, Swedish tarts, Danish tarts, British tarts... I mean, from Málaga to Gibraltar, it's wall-to-wall totty. So why Vicky, eh? Is it the danger? Does the thought of gettin' yer knees shattered give yer a great big bonk on or summat?
[Gets out of his deckchair and puts his hat on] Right, lads. Shouldn't we be gettin' back to work?
What's all this? Are you deputy gaffer, or what?
No, it's just if we start a bit early, we can finish a bit early. Get a few jars in.
Aye, right. [Gets off the cooler he's been sat on. Bomber also gets up.]
Oh, by the way, the drinks are on Haze tonight. She's asked me, like, to ask you, to join us for cocktails at the Hollywood Bar in the port.
'Ey! Well done, Barry, you cracked it! What a strike, kid!
What are you talkin' about?
Barry an' Hazel invite us for cocktails. If any of you know cause, or just im-p-p-pediment ye are to declare it.
Don't be coy, son. An announcement is obviously imminent.
Yeah. Good lad, Barry. Have you got a date yet?
Look, I'm not getting engaged! Right? It's just that Hazel won some money at the casino last night and she wants us to celebrate.
Oh, er... £500, thereabouts.
Blow me. She's an heiress! I'd shut the gate on that one if I were you!
