One Day

Bye, guys.

It's three years.

Three years together.

The lads.

Me and you?

We'll see each other again. Really?

They're not going, are they?

Group hug!

See you, ladies! See you later.

Group hug.

Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Tilly?

Callum!

Tilly, come on. It's time to go home.

Come on. Callum!

Ow!

You know, we've never actually met.

Actually, we have. Several times.

Have we?

You gatecrashed my birthday party, called me Julie,

and spilled red wine down my top.

Ouch.

Well, I'm sorry about that.

No, not at all.

You were delightful.

Was I?

No. No, you weren't.

Look, if you're not Julie, then...

I'm Emma. Emma.

Emma Morley. Emma Morley.

Listen, I'll walk you home.

So this is me.

Shh! Welcome home.

So debate is fine, but anyone can talk...

Just sometimes, action's what's needed.

To change the world. I completely agree.

So what are you gonna be when you're, I don't know, 40?

Forty?

Can I say famous? Horribly rich?

Terrible. You're so terribly posh.

Where are you going?

I'm just gonna go brush my teeth.

You know, booze and fags and...

I don't mind.

I do.

Listen, won't be a minute.

No playing with yourself while I'm gone.

What?

All right, concentrate.

Concentrate. Do not cock this up!

Oh, you're going?

Well, it's getting light out, so I thought I could just...

You should go if you want to go.

It's very poignant. Very bittersweet.

Really I just thought you might wanna get some sleep.

I don't have to go.

No, no, go. I'm not bothered.

Sneak off.

I wasn't sneaking off.

Jump out the window for all I care.

It's five floors up, mind.

Look, I'll stay. All right?

I'll stay.

Come on.

Sorry, I'm no good at this.

It's just whenever I go to bed with someone,

I always end up either laughing or weeping,

and it could be nice to go for something in between.

Look, that's fine.

That's fine. Maybe we could just be friends.

Okay. Friends.

Of course, you know it's Saint Swithin's Day today, don't you?

What is?

Well, today. Saint Swithin's Day, the 15th of July.

How do you know that?

Well, he was buried in Winchester Cathedral,

which is where I went to school.

Well, la-dee-da.

La-dee-da.

You know, there's a poem.

"If on Saint Swithin's Day, it doth rain

"something, something, something remain."

Dexter, that's beautiful.

Shut up.

Let's get some sleep.

But, Dex.

Em?

If it doesn't rain...

Mmm-hmm?

Do you want to do something? Me and you?

Mmm-hmm.

Are you all right? Lift, lift.

Okay, well, I'm coming up.

Couldn't you have just hired someone to move this stuff?

No.

Look, I would have paid.

All right, lift from your end.

You've obviously never done a day's work in your life.

Look, seriously, Em, my plane leaves in four hours.

All right, well, all the more reason why you should lift.

God's sake.

Look, I'm doing you a favor.

And I am so, so grateful.

Stop whinging.

I bet this bed could tell some stories.

Yeah, short stories. Horror stories.

Welcome to London. Well, lift it.

I think I'm gonna be very happy here.

What is that smell?

Onions.

Onions and disappointment.

Right.

No, it's not that bad.

It's nothing that a lick of paint

and a nuclear warhead can't fix.

I've got my typewriter. I've got my books. I'm in London.

I think it's going to be all right.

I might actually get things done.

You know, you might actually meet someone.

Dexter, please.

A nice guy.

Sensitive, wears a cardigan.

I told you I'm not interested in any of that.

Matching glasses, matching opinions.

I'm actually glad you're going to India.

Good, 'cause I'm leaving. I've got to catch my flight.

Already?

Yeah, I'm sorry.

Well, go on then. Find yourself.

Keep sending me those letters.

Long ones. I will.

And have fun, Em.

Of course.

You know, it is allowed.

You know, I've got a feeling that this time next year

you're going to take London by storm.

What is the difference between...

A tortilla is either corn or wheat.

But a corn tortilla folded and filled is a taco,

whereas a filled wheat tortilla is a burrito.

Deep fry a burrito, it's a chimichanga.

Toast a tortilla, it's a tostada. Roll it, it's an enchilada.

Is there any chance you could repeat that?

Hello. I'm lan. Ian Whitehead.

The new boy.

Welcome to the graveyard of ambition.

The kitchen. All right, mate.

What these guys can't do with a microwave

and a deep-fat fryer.

Hey, you!

Your basic Tex-Mex food groups.

Cheese on top of chicken under guacamole

on top of beans under rice on top of beef.

Word of warning, avoid the jumbo prawns.

It's like Russian Roulette. One in six will kill you.

So what's your stroke?

Sorry, my what?

Waiter/actor, waiter/model, waiter/writer?

Well, I'm a comedian.

We could use a comedian. We all like to laugh. I know I used to.

Well, I'm just starting out really.

Working on my "unique comedy stylings."

Not jokes so much, more sort of wry, little observations.

Ay caramba!

I've got this whole bit at the moment

about the difference between men and women.

How blokes, when they see a girl they fancy, they get all...

Toilets. Staff toilets. Oh.

Sorry. You were saying?

No, no. I'm doing an open mic tonight if you were interested.

At The House of Laffs, spelled L-A-F-F-S.

It's not a date or anything.

You've probably got a boyfriend anyway, have you?

Ian, I'd love to come, but after work,

I like to head home, comfort eat, weep.

So what about you, Emma? What's your stroke?

What do you really do?

Uh, this. This is what I do.

Still, it's not forever, is it?

My room still smells. Tilly's sending me mad. The flat's a dump.

I keep finding teeth marks in the cheese

and her big gray bras soaking in the sink.

Look, I'm sure it's not a complete disaster.

London's swallowed me up.

I thought I'd make a difference, but no one knows I'm here.

Listen, listen. Nothing truly good was ever easy.

Who said that?

You did.

Did I? That's annoying.

I'm sorry for moaning. I just... I really wanted to hear...

How's teaching? How's Paris?

It's good, Em.

You know, truly, really fulfilling.

Well, don't sleep with any of your students.

It's unethical and predictable.

It's good advice, Em. Thank you.

But I've got to go and have lunch with Mum.

Well, apologize again, will you?

I didn't mean to call your dad a fascist.

A bourgeois fascist.