(THEME MUSIC PLAYING) -(ELECTRONIC BLEEPING) -(VOCALIZING) Oh, God.

Oh, sweetie.

-(ALARM BLARING) -(EDINA SHOUTING INDISTINCTLY) (INDISTINCT CHATTER) Oh!

(BLARING STOPS) -(SIGHS) Oh.

-Zero, zero, zero, enter.

Stupid little thing.

We made it the simplest number possible so that even a fool could remember it.

I've overestimated you again.

Well, what's the point of it, if it's just going to make a bloody racket all the time?

It's supposed to.

Well, I don't care if someone came and took all the furniture, darling.

I can get it back on the insurance.

I can't get a perforated eardrum back on insurance, can I, sweetie?

Look, I've got to go and call the central station and let them know my mother has the memory span of a fruit fly.

And then, I need to speak to you.

Oh, darling.

Yes, speak to me, sweetie.

I'm shaking in my boots, darling.

What... What is it?

Oh, go back to bed, darling.

Have you just come in?

Yeah, into my own bloody house, you wouldn't believe it, would you?

After rather a gorgeous night out.

-What time is it?

-7:30.

What, in the... 7:30, you say?

-It means nothing to me.

-Edina: Go back to bed, darling.

Go back to... Don't stop there, darling.

Sweetie, keep going.

Come on.

(CLAPS) Move your body.

(MUMBLING) What are you smirking at?

Do you think this is funny?

Oh.

Funny what, darling?

Funny ha-ha-ha?

You might have rung and let me know what you were doing.

I was too busy doing it, darling.

What's the matter?

Are you jealous?

No, worried.

Oh, what, worried about me having some fun?

Well, I was, darling.

Bloody great, bloody fun, alright?

-Patsy: Ask her who with.

-Who with?

Jean-Pierre.

Not that bastard.

You didn't tell me he was around.

Oh.

I sort of ran into him by accident, darling.

He's over here directing a new video for a hip-rave-rap band, darling.

I thought we were going out.

Thanks to you, I had to spend the whole eveningalone in this house with Helena Bonham Carter here.

I'm going back to bed.

There's no point in me being up at this hour.

-Helps me to sleep.

-Yeah.

Back in your coffin.

Darling, Patsy's an insomniac, sweetie.

More like the walking dead.

Ooh.

Ooh.

How long is she here for?

I don't know.

How long are you here for?

How long?

Well, until her flat has been fumigated, darling.

She can't live in it breathing fumes all day, can she?

Why not?

I thought sniffing chemicals was what she did best.

Ooh.

I'm surprised she's not up there already with a straw stuck up her nose.

She should try it, you know.

It might actually be the one substance that makes her socially acceptable.

Darling, it would kill her.

Exactly.

A few hormones talking there, haven't we, sweetie, huh?

-So, Jean-Pierre... -Yeah, yeah.

Is he over long?

Well, it sort of depends on me, you know, darling.

He sort of made it quite clear last night he was very well re-smitten, if you know what I mean.

-Did you-- -Of course, darling.

I know it's been a long time for me, but it must be like riding a bicycle, really.

It's just something you never forget.

-Well, I hope-- -Very careful, darling, yes.

-The whole packet.

-Saffy: Mum.

What?

Once you've brushed off the cobwebs, there's no stopping me.

Oh, please.

I don't want to know.

Well, darling, you asked the question.

No point getting all umphy about it now, is there, hmm?

-Anything else you'd like to know, sweetie?

-No, thank you.

Maybe if you had a few boyfriends around once in a while, you wouldn't get so hung-up about it.

I'm not hung-up.

(WHISPERS) "Not hung-up."

"Not hung-up."

I know it's a sensitive issue with someone your age, darling.

A bit embarrassed to talk about it, aren't you, sweetie?

Hmm?

Hmm?

My analyst says I should sort of let you sort it out in your own time, and everything.

(YELLING) But Jesus Christ, darling!

Huh?

Not one bloody boyfriend in the whole time that I've known you!

I mean, you're not that bloody ugly.

What's the matter with you?

Huh?

Have you read that Kama Sutra I gave you?

No!

That Dutch cap has only ever seen the light of day.

I mean, God!

Here I am, your mother, poised for your first sexual experience, and night after night, dry bloody sheets!

Well, I'm sorry, darling, but I don't want a little mustached virgin for a daughter, so do something about it.

-Unless of course-- -Mum, don't.

-Well, darling-- -Mum, please.

Unless of course... unless of course you're gay, darling.

-Mum!

-Well, sweetie?

Are you, darling?

You can tell me, sweetie.

Are you, darling?

-Yes, I'm gay.

-Oh, hoorah!

Hoorah.

Oh, well done, darling!

Well done!

I'm glad it makes you so happy, but actually, I'm not.

-What?

-I'm not gay.

-Oh.

-I'm sorry.

Oh.

Oh, break it to me like that, why don't you?

Huh?

Huh?

Yeah.

(EXHALES) I suppose it's not your fault, really, is it?

Just your old mother clutching at straws.

Trying to find one exotic, interesting feature about you, but there we are.

(SIGHS) What time is it?

Eight o'clock.

Oh, wake me at 9:30.

I'll let the world warm up and have its first fag before I get up.

It's usually smoked 12 packets and been diagnosed of having lung cancer by the time you hit the road.

Get a haircut and a boiler suit so I don't keep having to explain you to my friends, will you, darling?

(COUGHING) All night I've had to hear that.

Any more hacking, and you'll bring up oil.

-Darling, has anyone called?

-No.

What are you wearing?

Oh, is it awful, darling?

It's just that I'm seeing Jean-Pierre for lunch, I thought it was sort of him.

Oh, it is him, darling, but it's not you.

-Saff?

-Well, I like it.

I'll change.

-You said you're seeing him for lunch?

-Yup.

Pont de la Tour.

I thought we were having lunch.

Darling, I always have lunch with you.

-Can't I come?

-You don't like Jean-Pierre.

Well, nobody likes Jean-Pierre.

Anyway, I wouldn't talk to him, I'd talk to you.

Oh, look, I just don't want you to make a horrible mistake again.

-What do you mean?

-Darling, I'm your best friend.

And let's be honest, your taste in men is famously bad.

You know, sweetie, I've had to save you from two disastrous marriages and some ghastly, pathetic affairs you might nearly have had.

Oh, what a great friend you are, Patsy.

Don't make me have lunch on my own.

Oh, sweetie, you can get someone to have lunch with.

Of course I can get someone!

I can always get someone!

It's just that...

I haven't got someone.

Go on.

Alright, you can come.

-Patsy: Thanks, Eddy.

-Edina: Hmm.

-Are you going to the office?

-Yeah.

I've gotta sort out a few things about the shop, darling.

It's going very well, by the way.

I've got gorgeous things coming in from Kashmir, Afghanistan, Albania.

I've got blankets and rugs from Ethiopia.

Dirt cheap, darling, honestly.

And some of those lip plates from dead Amazonian Indians.

I thought we could sell them as ashtrays.

Don't look at me like that, darling.

We do take the lip off, you know.

Honestly, sweetie...

I've got some lovely cooking pots coming in from Somalia.

I mean, they don't need them.

They've got no food to put in them after all.

And also, sweetie, best news of all, darling.

You know those villages that were deserted by the Kurds?

-Yeah.

-I bought the entire contents.

-Oh, well done, Eddy.

Well done.

-I know, I know.

The trucks are moving in.

Coups, revolutions, disasters, they're all bargain basements to you.

Oh, darling.

They're happy camping.

(EXHALES) What are you doing today, Pat?

Well, I hope she's not lolling around the house again.

(YELLING) Will you shut up?

Will you just shut up?

I'm not talking to you!

I'm talking to my friend!

Is that alright?

God, it's like living with a chronically depressed budgerigar, living with you.

Shut up.

Pats?

I'm going in to my office.

-Your... Off... -Office.

The magazine, darling?

Is that still there?

Of course it is, yeah.

There's a little meeting, you know?

So I've got to go, you know.

About ten minutes or something.

Edina: Huh?

What do you do?

-(PATSY AND EDINA SCOFF) -Oh, darling.

Patsy's one of the top fashion editors in a top magazine.

-Director.

-Dir... Director.

-Executive Fashion Director.

-...fashion Director.

But she's never at work.

-I am always at work.

-Edina: Yeah.

-Thanks to our friend, Mr.

Mobile Telephone.

-Patsy: Yeah.

Anyway, Patsy's got that job for life.

You don't mean to say she's actually good at something?

No, darling.

She slept with the publisher.

-I'm bloody good at it.

-Edina: Bloody good at it.

So, what does a fashion director do?

Oh, darling.

She gets a 50% discount at Harvey Nic's.

(SPUTTERS) It's not only that.

I mean, there is work involved.

-You know, skill.

-Yeah, of course there is.

-I-I-I decide what goes in the magazine.

-Edina: Yeah.

You know, one snap of my fingers, and I can raise hemlines so high that the world is your gynecologist.

Edina: Exactly.

You get lots of free champagne, don't you?

-So, free champagne -Yeah, yeah.

I-I direct... -The fashion.

-Both: Yeah.

You get lots of little free goodies.

-Little things, you get.

-Patsy: Yeah.

Hmm.

You two have never had to pay for anything, have you?

(SCOFFS) I paid for you, darling.

A hundred times over.

I'm gonna go and change quickly and then we'll go, alright?

-Can I still come to lunch?

-Yes.

Patsy: Aw!

To help you get to the car.

Patsy: Now, I'm sure this is it.

They must have washed the outside or something.

That's why I didn't recognize it.

Edina: I'll come with you, Patsy.

We'll be about five minutes.

And then, on to San Lorenzo.

Are you sure this is the one, Pats?

-Don't question me, Eddy.

-No bells ringing.

Now, floor.

Do you remember what floor?

Patsy: We'll just go to reception and ask for a map and a list.

Can you do that?

Yes, I recognize this.

"Fifth floor.

"Editor, Deputy Editor, Beauty Editor, Chief Sub-editor, "Food and Drink Editor, Managing Editor, Friend of Editor, "Deputy Chief Sub-editor, Senior Sub-editor, Sub-editor, Social Editor..." Excuse me.

"Special Projects Editor."

-Now... -Are you looking at the list of editors?

-Yeah.

-I'm not an editor, I'm a director.

I'm the Fashion Director.

It's not, it's not even on this floor, Pats.

Well, here we are.

"Art Director, Style Director, Circulation Director, "Managing Director, Ad Director, Promotions Director..." -Yeah, this is it.

-(SIGHS) Much as you left it, by the look of things, Pats.

Ah, nobody gets flowers from that florist anymore.

Bloody cheek.

Look.

Darling, Armani.

Yeah, only Emporio.

I know, but I can just felt-pen that little bit out.

No one will know.

-Is my Chanel still in there?

-This one?

Patsy: Yeah, my little baby.

I wear it if there's a meeting.

It frightens the editors.

I'm the only one with Chanel couture.

(LAUGHS) Let 'em kiss my buttons.

-Patsy Stone.

-Hi, Mags.

You know Eddy.

-Magda: Yeah.

-Hi.

Look, are you coming to this meeting?

-If I must.

-Yeah, good.

We need to drum up some more advertising revenue.

We've lost Swiss watches, Lanson, Nivea, two lingeries, one shower gel.

-And all my tampons have dropped out.

-Oh, dear.

If it wasn't for a three-page Estée Lauder and a bloody Rive Gauche, -we'd be looking pretty thin this month.

-Patsy: Hmm.

It's not gonna be long, this meeting, is it?

No, five minutes at the most.

I've got three lunches and a tights launch to get to by two o'clock.

And all this with my working breakfast with Marie Helvin floating about here.

-I'll see you in two minutes.

-Right.

Best editor this side of American Vogue.

Chuck me Chanel, Eds.

Yeah, I went.

Yeah.

Cheap wine and crap canapés.

If I don't get my discount card pretty bloody quick, she'll find herself plunged into obscurity designing for British Home Stores.

-Where's Magda?

-On the phone to Fergie.

Magda: Oh, just give her the bloody hat.

And if she calls again, I'm out.

Right, I've got one minute.

Features, Catriona?

-Well... -Do something on a car.

-What?

-Do something about a car.

-I need a new car.

A nice one, no rubbish.

-Right.

And something about how lovely champagne is.

Well, we could tie that in with some glasses.

A friend of mine has got a shop with some lovely glasses.

-Henrietta?

-Yeah.

Maybe we could do some lovely photos.

What about people, you know, who's in, who's out, who's sexy, who's not sexy, who's clever, who's not clever?

-Right, who's in, who's out.

-Right.

Here's my list.

Oh, cross her off, she screwed me.

Oh, put him in, he screwed me.

-Catriona: Right.

-And do something on River Phoenix.

-I really fancy him.

-Right.

River Phoenix, Mickey Rourke, Liam Neeson.

Don't do anything on anyone called Freud.

I don't like 'em.

Bunch of no-talents with an ancestor.

But they were in last month.

So?

I'm not running a bloody charity.

Just 'cause some old granddad invented penis envy doesn't mean I have to lick their boots.

It's just that they're pretty good friends of mine.

I mean, it doesn't matter, but...

Right.

Beauty.

And make it quick.

Patsy: She's fabulous, isn't she?

Puts you into perspective, darling.

Clarins, Shiseido, Paloma Picasso, uh, Chanel.

Makeup, generally.

Um... Faces, eyes, lips, nostrils...

This is all off the top of my head.

Um, douching with mint is a thought.

Uh, ten tips on tropical toenails.

Um, I'm thinking natural zing.

Moist is my word du jour.

Lovely wet moist droplets.

Lusciousness.

Um, I see sun, sand, water, beach.

Photo shoot-wise, I'm looking at two weeks in the Caribbean.

Um, skin is in.

Or, of course, the usual, try to look more beautiful if you want to have more sex.

Very good.

Chuck us that wrinkle cream, will ya?

Right.

Get Hamish in here.

I want to find out about that restaurant I'm having lunch in.

-Patsy?

-You know, it's only big names this month.

Uh, Laurent, Armani, Lagerfeld, Oscar de la Renta, you know.

No British tat.

In Moscow.

Glamour in Red Square.

I'm not using no Russians.

-They're all too bloody ugly.

-Magda: Yeah, and fat.

Four hundred years of potato diet won't squeeze into a Gautier cup.

If I looked like that I wouldn't go out.

-(CLEARS THROAT) Magda?

-Hamish.

Tell me about this restaurant I'm having lunch at.

Hmm.

Comfortable in the grand manner.

Um, stuffed with plutocratic goodies and a decent duck.

A dining room, boudoiresque, fin-de-siècle eclectic, and still fashionably uncomfortable.

A melange, possibly a post-Orwellian version of an Edwardian eatery.

The food?

Ecumenical in flavor, a cosmopolitan adventure of exuberant eclecticism, full of amuse-gueule and gastro-credibility.

No flash in the bain-marie this.

A, a comforting air.

Generally, the tomatoes were rather pulpeuse.

Ta.

It's bollocks, but it uses up paper and that's what the magazine is all about.

Right.

One more thing.

Patsy, the television people have been on to us.

They want us to do a makeover on their morning television program.

Their regular's dropped out.

It's good for the magazine, so I said you'd do it.

-Are you mad?

-My secretary has the details.

There's a couple of miseries in shell suits waiting downstairs for you to perform a miracle on them.

-Help me, Eddy.

-Darling, you'll be alright.

No, what do I do?

Well, sweetie, you just take them out, get 'em a haircut, put 'em in a designer dress and parade them on television.

Public humiliation, darling.

Nothing you can't handle.

Television?

I go on television?

Yeah.

-On television?

-Yeah.

I always thought I'd be rather good at that.

-See you later, darling.

-Oh, darling.

Are you gonna be in later this evening?

Yeah, probably.

You'll be alright?

-Yeah.

Yeah, yeah.

Piece of cake, sweetie.

-Yeah.

Television, eh?

Oh.

Hello.

Hello, I'm Patsy Stone.

Eddy!

Jesus Christ.

Saffy: She's not in.

So, how did the makeover go?

How did you know about that?

Mum phoned.

She's out on her own with Jean-Pierre having a great time without you.

So have you managed to turn some normal happy people into pathetic fashion freaks this afternoon?

Bitches.

They had no taste.

We disagreed, the whole thing's off.

-Oh.

-It was hideous.

-What, the outfit?

-No, the fight.

Her mother and I came to blows over a geometric bob.

I told her the only thing she looked good in was a body bag.

The daughter rebelled in Yamahoto's shop.

She's now in hospital having a bit of modern furniture removed from her.

Miserable little slut.

I mean, no thought for me and my reputation or the fact that I've gotta be on television tomorrow morning.

Two fantastic outfits, and no one to wear them.

Selfish peasant.

Oh, I'm weeping.

(CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING) (KNOCK ON DOOR) -(TURNS MUSIC OFF) -Don't bother.

Patsy: (SINGSONGY) Can I come in?

I know what you want, and the answer's no.

How can you know what I want?

Oh, well, maybe I'm wrong.

But I thought you'd come up here to persuade me to be a fashion victim for you.

But perhaps you've come up for a little chat, hmm?

A nice, cozy, little personal little chat with me.

-Don't shut that door.

-Don't you like my room?

Well, it's what I expected, you know.

A little patterned cell.

Curtains, yeah.

Would you mind dragging your old carcass out of here now?

(PATSY SIGHS) Look, I'm sorry.

(CHUCKLES) I know I pretend to hate you and you pretend to hate me, and...

I do hate you.

Why?

Because you're a despicable person who's resented me since the day I was born.

Before.

So, why should I ever do a favor for you?

I'll pay you.

-No.

-I'm your mother's best friend.

Best friend?

What kind of a friend are you?

What kind of a daughter are you?

At least she has fun with me.

-I care about her.

-Care about her?

You may dress like a Christian, but the similarity ends there.

Oh, and I think you do it on purpose.

How long does it take to get the crease so crisp down the front of your jeans, you torturer?

Get out.

For you.

I picked those.

Oh, they're lovely.

Oh, look, I understand.

You don't understand anything.

Get out.

At least your mother wanted you.

Oh, look, if this is gonna be one of your terrible sob stories, make it quick.

I can hardly hold back the tears.

Go on, tell me about your tragic childhood, about these parents of yours that we never hear anything from, who you've probably had committed to an old people's home so they don't discover how old you are.

They're dead.

Smirk your way out of that one, babe.

I'm sorry.

Yeah, well...

I never knew my father.

My mother only knew him fairly briefly.

She had me when she was in her 40s.

I nursed her through her last years.

It sort of put a bit of a stopper on me finding someone for myself and settling down, but there you are.

Anyway, it wasn't her fault.

She didn't want a child.

She would've got rid of me, but she mistook being pregnant for the menopause.

When she found out, it was too late.

Patsy, that's awful.

It was having Eddy and your grandmother that made it okay.

You know, it gave me somewhere to go.

(SNIFFLES) My mother didn't like me having around the house.

She said I-I cramped her style.

Made her feel old.

I am Aphrodite.

I live, I breathe.

I am Diana.

I am Queen Dido.

Oh.

What a light dances over the world.

Get out of my way, child.

Don't stand in my path when I'm trying to express.

What are you doing here?

They cut the cord when you were born, when my body expelled you.

Accept your liberty, my little void, and let this spirit be free!

Anyway, I've got Humphrey and Andre coming over.

I'd rather not have you around.

If you're planning to go out, don't forget the key.

I'm hoping for a little imaginative synthesis tonight, and could frankly... do without the competition.

Beat it!

-(HUMMING) -(SOFT POP SONG PLAYING OVER RADIO) Is your mother not feeding you, dear?

Edina: Oh, you know what she's like.

She's not burning her bra again, is she?

We can't have you turning into a great, gangly whatsit.

Skinny, balinky long legs, big banana feet.

And a roly-poly pudding that nobody wants to meet.

Thanks, Mrs. M. Look at you.

All grief and resentful care.

Here I am in this place of old age and pallid diseases, looked after by so-called nurses.

Just gropers of old bones.

You come here and hang breathless around me, hoping for me to die.

(BREATHING HEAVILY) Denied even my intellectual liberty.

Allowed only two Barbara Cartlands a day.

Forced to sit on my female eunuch to keep their dirty hands off it.

(BREATHING HEAVILY) The tyranny of children.

Oh, for God's sake, just die!

She died soon after that.

The last thing she said to me was, "Why?

"Why have our swords always been locked in battle?

Why have we always been fighting?"

And what did you say?

I said we've had locked shields, not swords.

(SOBBING) Patsy, that's very sad.

(VOICE BREAKING) I know.

-Look... -(IN NORMAL VOICE) Yeah?

-I... -Patsy: Yeah?

(SIGHS) I'll make a deal with you.

Patsy: Okay.

I'll do your makeover thing on two conditions.

Name them.

You move out of this house into a hotel and you allow Mum to have a boyfriend.

Done.

(SPITS) And call your grandmother.

I need an old woman too.

What are you up for?

I'm coming, darling, aren't I?

Aren't you with Jean-Pierre today?

No, sweetie, he's shooting his video today, you know.

Well, aren't you needed in the shop?

Look, I will be there later.

I'm coming, okay?

Oh.

Wake up, Pats!

Come on, darling!

(SNORTS) Oh, sweetie.

Oh.

Oh, what time is it?

Oh, six o'clock in the morning.

Don't even think about it, babe.

What time did you get to sleep?

-I nodded off at about 3:00 a.m. -Hmm.

I tried at midnight, I took some pills at 1:00, couldn't do it.

You know, it's so long since I actually remember going to sleep instead of passing out.

-How did we do it?

-Edina: I don't know.

How did you get on with Saff and the old woman?

Oh, your mother's fine, she'll wear anything I'll tell her to, but that bitch daughter of yours, she just won't wear the dress I want her to.

This might sound rather odd, darling, but have you tried saying "please"?

-What?

-I don't know why, just sometimes it works with Saffy, darling.

-I can't.

-No... No, try.

It's over quite quickly, darling.

No, I can't.

I mean, I can't, I can't say it.

Don't make me say it.

It's difficult for me.

All you need to say is, "Please, will you wear the thing I want you to wear?"

and then smile.

I can't smile like that.

I can't afford the wrinkles.

-No, you do it, Ed.

-No, sweetie...

Darling!

Saffy?

Darling, Pats has got a little thing she wants to ask you, darling.

-Go on.

Do it now.

Go on.

-(EXHALES) Smile.

Uh... Come on.

"Please."

Please.

Yeah, will you wear the dress?

Okay.

Come on, we're going to be late.

Come on, you two.

We're due in makeup at 7:00.

I wonder if Auntie Claire Rayner will be on.

No, I'm on.

Yes, I know, dear, but she may be on too.

Oh, I do hope so.

I'm always writing to Claire.

What for?

There's nothing the matter with you.

Well, I did think once that I had that disease.

Oh, you know the one.

The one that makes you forget everything.

-Alzheimer's.

-The one that you get when you're old.

-Alzheimer's.

-Yes, what's it called?

-Alzheimer's.

-I can't remember.

Come on, we're going to be late.

It seems strange that the makeover should be on us.

Come on, darling.

Come on, sweetie.

Hmm.

Woman: There's another one here... You're alright?

You're not nervous?

-No.

-Woman: I was... Have you got a catchphrase to sort of sum up with, sweetie?

Well, think about it.

A little catchphrase, sum up with something, say something.

Yeah, I could do it in my sleep.

(shoes clomping) And later on we'll be talking to the Sports Personality of the Year...

Patsy: Contradiction in terms...

But now it's onto my favorite spot which is the fashion spot.

And we're lucky enough this week, to be joined by a top fashion editor spot person from Ella magazine, Patsy Stone.

Patsy, hello.

Yeah, cheers.

Thanks a lot.

Patsy, um, am I right in thinking that you've changed the fashion spot into a sort of makeover spot this week?

Is that right?

How did you get on?

(STAMMERING) Yeah, really well.

We-well...

I see.

Am I right in thinking that you took two ordinary members of the public and made their dreams come true?

Yeah, yeah, that's right.

I see.

Could we, um, perhaps take a look at a photograph of our two makeover spotters, perhaps?

No, no, that's a photograph of my new son.

Isn't he sweet?

Have we got a photogra...

Uh...

Uh...

Yes, we have.

I'd say that's an awful lot of work to be done there, I'd say, Patsy, wouldn't you?

Yeah, cheers, thanks a lot.

Right, uh, perhaps now we could bring in our makeover spotters, see what they look like now.

There's something wonderful.

A lovely outfit, there.

Sort of a mixture between a colander and a chainmail outfit, isn't it?

And here comes a lady in the more mature years.

Not afraid to wear black in the evening of her life, I notice.

(CHUCKLES) Do sit down.

Marvelous.

Is Claire going to be on?

No, dear, sorry.

We lost her with the franchise.

Gone.

Well, they're not exactly workaday outfits, are they, Patsy?

I mean, you'd feel a bit of a fool going up to the supermarket wearing one of those, wouldn't you?

(LAUGHS) Yeah, cheers, thanks a lot.

Well, why don't we just ask our guinea pigs exactly how they feel about the particular outfits they're wearing?

How do you feel about them then, dear?

I'm more of an M&S person myself.

You know, so am I.

You can't fail, can you?

Anyway, moving on.

Thank you very much for coming along, everybody.

Patsy, marvelous work, if not a bit way-out for me.

(CHUCKLES) (STAMMERS) Can I just say something?

Yes.

Uh... Um, you can, you can never have enough hats, gloves and shoes.

Right, thank you very much, Patsy.

(CHUCKLES) Invaluable advice there from our top professional fashion expert.

-Yeah, cheers, thanks a lot.

-Now, um... Later on, we'll be taking an in-depth look at acute schizophrenia from 9:20 to 9:23.

And afterwards, what else but euthanasia?

We're going to be talking to a couple of people who pulled the plugs on their elderly mothers, so you'd better watch out, dear.

(LAUGHS) Anyway, now over to Ulrika for the weather.

No, sit, sit.

(INDISTINCT) Never have I been so embarrassed in all my life, and that is saying something after living with my mother for 18 years.

I thought it went very well, dear.

Did you?

Yeah, Eddy?

Sweetie, you were marvelous.

Darling, you were.

Mum, don't humor her.

She stunk.

Listen, you, they offered me a job.

It was only doing the weather.

Oh.

Mum, have you spoken to Jean-Pierre?

He left a message on the machine.

Oh, sweetie, I don't think I'll be seeing Jean-Pierre anymore, darling.

I mean, Pats and I talked about it last night and she's right, you know.

You know, with his job and my shop and everything, it's not really practical, darling.

Get out of this house.

You can at least keep one half of the deal.

Listen, sucker.

You went on television, I'm not going anywhere.

Have you no honor?

She lost that at 14, dear.

I knew the boy.

Right.

Oh, darling.

Success at last, a teenage temper tantrum.

How did you ever persuade her to do it in the first place, darling?

Oh, I just fed her some old story about my mother not loving me, you know, her being a tyrant, me looking after her in her old age, blah, blah, blah... (LAUGHS) That's true, isn't it, darling?

Oh, damn.

(CLOSING THEME PLAYING) And you can, you can never have enough hats, gloves and shoes.

What you doing tonight, Pats?

Oh, I'm seeing the publisher again, you know, -just to be sure.

-Edina: Hmm.

I mean, darling, even Amanda De Cadenet would remember the word "accessories."

(THEME MUSIC CONTINUES)