Our Girl

Elvis?

Now I'm going to kill you.

You know, I could get out of this but it would involve inflicting

- much pain upon your personage. - You reckon?

- Hi. - Hi.

- We're getting married tomorrow! - Mm-mm. No.

- Day after tomorrow. - Are you sure?

- Mm-hm. - Are you sure?

Oh, no, shit. No, it is tomorrow.

Listen, when I'm done here, I've gotta get back, babe.

- No, uh-uh. - It's a full-on day.

I've got to bring the car back to London,

I've got to try my suit on.

When you're done here? You cheeky bastard.

Do you think when they're married,

he'll still be sneaking in her bedroom window?

They'll be in married quarters so he won't need to.

Can I go through my speech one more time?

No. Just go to sleep.

It's bloody good, though, isn't it?

Moving and hilarious.

Yes, love.

Oh, gross!

I'd rather listen to your speech

than them bonking next door.

Hiya.

What've you been up to, you dirty, horrible degenerate?

Nothing, just been, erm,

practising my wedding dance with your sister.

- Oh, yeah, bet you have - Oi!

Tarring me with your brush, again. Morning.

What's going on?

Erm, I am just about to head back to London,

to try my glad rags on.

Not getting married in your birthday suit, then?

No, can't afford the bridesmaids

fainting at the altar, can we?

They've been practising their wedding dance apparently.

Oh, aye? What's your wedding dance then, Elvis?

You going to be shaking your funky stuff

- on the dance floor, Elvis? - Can't tell you.

Hey, are you going to serenade us?

I mean, your mum must have called you Elvis for a reason.

I can't tell you, it's classified!

- I can hold a tune, me. - Yeah?

- Mm. - Well, listen, it's our dance,

it's our special song and you lot are all going to love it.

- Oooh! - See you later.

- Thanks. - Thank you.

Pleasure.

Hey, can I just say...

Please don't say anything, Dad. If you make me cry,

my mascara runs, I look like a panda.

- I'm going to get your train. - Thank you.

So I think, when I get married, Dad,

I'm going to have a horse and carriage.

That's what your dad wants for his funeral.

Well, maybe we can make a deal with the company

- and get a discount, eh? - Can we hurry up?

- My hair's going to frizzle. - Even with frizzled hair

- you're still too good for him. - Right, family,

are we ready? Are we ready?

Come on!

Hi!

Good to see you.

Ahh, you look so smart. Nice to see you.

Thanks for coming.

- You look gorgeous. - Dad, your jacket...

There you go.

Thank you.

Oh, I've had enough of this.

Oh, hello, Grandmother's coming!

Georgie, where is he?

He is still coming, in't he?

He should be waiting for you, not you waiting for him!

Oh, he's always late on parade, it's fine.

The groom should be here before the bride,

- you know that, don't you? - Oh, I know. I know what he's like.

It's fine.

Where is he, Dad?

- What time is it? - It's only five past,

we've got the place till half past, don't worry!

Have you spoken to him this morning?

No.

What's going on?

Er...

can we go somewhere private?

Yeah.

- Is everything all right? - Who's that?

I'm so sorry, Georgie.

He said...

Tell me again.

He said that he can't go through with it.

And that's it?

Why's he done this to me?

Dad!

It's all right. Let it out. Let it out.

_

So, on the cry of "man down",

you get to the body as soon as you can,

making sure of your own personal safety.

Why, Jenkinson?

Erm, so...

Sorry, I'm not sure, Staff.

Because a dead medic is no use to their platoon.

So once it is safe, and you've done your 5s, your 20s,

proceed to the casualty.

Carry out your primary survey,

C, A, B, C. Yeah?

Catastrophic bleed,

airway,

breathing,

circulation.

So what do we do, Cox?

Yeah, erm,

- check the airwaves and then make sure... - Airway, Cox. Airway.

Erm... Erm...

Catastrophic bleed, airway,

breathing,

circulation...

... deformities,

environment exposure.

Cox, airway. Now.

You're all right, relax.

- Sir. - Relax.

All right, Georgie, how have you been?

Yeah, good, thanks, sir.

- How's things with you? - Yeah, very well, thank you.

- Molly's back in Afghan. - Yeah, I heard.

Facebook.

She's working with the training and advisory team.

You probably know that already.

So what you doing here?

Final mission-specific training on the moors before Kenya.

You going Kenya?

Humanitarian mission.

Outreach project in the refugee camps on the Somali border.

Well, some of us have to work for a living.

I've just had a word with your CO

and he thinks it's a sound idea.

What?

Need a medic.

Experienced.

Top of the range, fully loaded,

and you fit the bill.

What do you think?

Actually, don't answer that now,

you can chat it through with your loved ones

and tell me in the morning.

And you can say to your new chap

that it's only six weeks and you'll be back by Christmas.

Isn't that what they said when they headed out

to the First World War?

I wouldn't know, Georgie.

I'm not as old as I look.

How do you know that I've got a new chap?

Ah.

Molly.

- No secret is safe with social media. - No.

- He's a doctor, I believe. - Mm-hm,

a notch up from a squaddie.

Well,

why don't you think that over?

You won't hear from me in the morning.

Why's that?

Because I can say "yes" now, sir.

- Ooh... 14 hour, 12 minute shift. - Yeah!

Apartment. Bath.

Candles. Wine.

I wish people would only get ill for eight hours a day.

What? It'd relieve the pressure on the NHS.

Well, funny you should say that, because in Afghan...

- Oh, during the war... - Yes.

Yeah... Heard it all before.

I got made a rather interesting proposition today.

Oi, you're marrying me.

Tell all the other suitors to back off.

Yeah, well, it's not that interesting.

It's, erm, work.

In Kenya.

A six-week humanitarian mission.

Well, I hope you told 'em where to stick it.

You're on a humanitarian mission in Manchester,

looking after me.

Your eyes are rather beautiful.

- Oh, yeah? - Mm-hm.

Well, the sclera of your eyes

are as white as virgin snow.

- I can't... I'm sorry! - What?

Come on, you see, I try to be romantic

and you just throw it back in my face!

Everything is just medical with you.

Yeah, military with you, young lady!

It's six weeks. OK?