All of Us Strangers

Meanwhile, work goes on for the Brits who've relocated to the Costa.

Running a bar in the sun is the classic British dream.

It can easily turn into a nightmare,

but Gary and Cherry from Macclesfield have made it work. The bamboo bar is a success.

Hello. Hello.

I saw you looking at me from the street.

I've seen you a bunch of times coming along with your head down.

One day it'll be for real, that alarm.

We're basically the only ones here. Can you fucking

believe that? I mean, they haven't got security guards yet.

I'm Harry.

Adam.

Hey.

How do you cope?

- With... what? - I said.

It's so quiet. I mean, London's out there, but we can't even fuck your thing.

I play music right, but it's worse when it ends. And I even got one of those, um...

uh, wide noise machines right. But it's like

there's someone in the corner of the room

whispering about me. I mean, we can't even open

the windows, but I guess

you don't really want us to jump.

It's hard for business, you know.

Bodies broken on the concrete.

I mean, who's gonna move in then?

Drink?

It's Japanese.

It's meant to be the best in the world, but I couldn't tell you why, so...

No, thanks.

Okay, um...

Okay, how about I come in anyway?

If not for a drink, then...

for whatever else you might want.

I think that's a good idea.

Do I scare you?

No.

Well, you don't have to do anything if I'm not your type.

Hi.

Hi.

I, uh, thought someone was strong.

Run out like this.

No, thanks.

Shall we go?

Go where?

She's gonna be over the moon to see you.

Guess who I found later and in the park?

Is it him?

Oh, yeah, it's definitely him.

Look in his eyes.

Yes, it is you.

Hi.

Hi.

Don't just stand there.

Get yourself inside.

Is that where you live in there?

Not around here, I'm sure.

I'm in London.

Oh, how fancy.

Do you live by yourself?

Do you own your own place?

Uh, yeah, it's just a flat.

What did I tell you?

What did I tell you?

I told you he'd be doing well for himself, didn't I?

Can't be cheap,

living up there in the smoke.

And what is it that you do?

I'm a writer.

And what did I tell you?

No, no, no, I'm not particularly rich or anything.

Not really.

No, I always knew you'd be creative.

What kind of writer are you?

You know how I love Stephen King,

Carrie, Cujo, different seasons.

No, no, no, I'm not a proper writer.

I write scripts for film,

TV when I have to.

A writer.

God, this is so bloody exciting.

If I knew the neighbours, I'd run over and I'd tell them right now.

I've always said that writers know less about the real world than almost anyone else.

What the hell would you know?

You could barely write joined up.

It's true.

A writer.

Our son.

We're very bloody pleased to see you doing so well, then.

Here.

Look at that puffy shirt.

Our boy's back home.

What are you putting on?

Oh, you'll see.

Oh.

Oh, do you remember your little red car that you had?

You loved it and you wanted to take it

out onto the main road and drive it with all the big cars.

It's my first memory, actually.

It was a Ford Granada that hit him, wasn't it? No, it was.

It was racing green.

Do you remember that?

Mmm.

It was a red dog.

You went so high up in there, I'll never forget it.

Oh, but you were fine, though.

You were fine. You had a couple of bruises.

I think they thought I was exaggerating when I took you in.

What about that one bonfire night when you lost it?

Remember that bonfire night?

How old were you? Six? No, he was not.

He was older than that.

The fireworks went off.

Poor boy, he started screaming and howling.

Had to carry him all the way home.

He did? Yeah.

Fell asleep on my shoulder.

You don't remember that?

You were really beside yourself.

You were really having a hard time.

And we were just trying to get you to enjoy the fireworks.

You've always been a sensitive boy.

Yeah.

Are you still afraid of fireworks now?

No.

Do you know what you said about him?

Is that just like my mother?

He does.

He did say something, though.

Yeah, it's when he speaks to me.

I don't know.

It's been so bloody lovely to see you again.

Aren't you sure we ever would?

No.

Here you are.

Here I am.

Come back soon, hm?

One of us will be in.

Please.

Yeah, I will.

I will.

What's going on?

Good night, sweetheart.

Good night, son. Bye.

I'm really sorry about the other night.

Oh, it's all right.

Don't worry about it.

See ya.

See ya.

I actually do like whiskey.

Do you want to have a drink, or?

Hi.

Hi.

Do you want to come in?

Sure.

Yeah.

What have you got?

I've got vodka and some beer.

And some weed, if you prefer.

Yeah.

Weed's better.

I'm off alcohol.

Do you like living here?

I think I like it more when people move in.

If people move in.

Have you got friends nearby?

No.

Not really.

Do you? No, not really.

Most of my friends have moved out of London.

They want to have gardens for their kids.

They want to be near their grandparents so they can look after their kids.

I'm guessing you didn't want to move too?

Uh, no.

What am I going to do in Dorking?

It's not for people like me.

I'm just checking you are queer, right?

Yeah.

That's good.

Or gay.

Queer, I'm not.

I get used to calling myself queer.

It was always such an insult.

That's probably why we hate gay so much now.

I mean, it was always like...

Your haircut's gay.

The sofa's gay.

Your trainers are gay.

Your school bag's gay.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Queer does feel polite somehow, though.

You know, it's like, um...

I don't know.

It's like all the dick-sucking's been taken out.

Yeah.

I'm assuming you're not with anyone.

Never see you with anyone.

No.

No.

You often single?