I've Hundreds of Cousins

Hello, Ms. Glass. He's up with his birds this morning.

Hope you mean the feathered kind.

You know very well what I mean.

Go on. You know the way.

Ta-ta.

All right, babe?

You all right, Dad?

Have a guess where this little fella's just flown in from.

-Where? - Avignon.

Why anyone would swap the South of France for a prison in Guildford is beyond me.

Yeah, well, it's homing instincts, innit? And you can't override it.

What you got there?

Oh, the greatest smell in the world.

Well, you gotta enjoy the finer things in life.

Yeah. What's the bubbly for?

Are we celebratin'?

Thought it'd make a change from the usual vino collapso.

Ah, so we're not raising a glass to the duke, then?

Even though we've got two new weed farms and an expanding empire.

Well, to clarify the situation,

Eddie's of the opinion

that the additional facilities he's helped us acquire

are very much a part of his exit strategy.

Ah, well,

that boy ain't gonna be going nowhere.

And I'll tell you why.

You see, deep down, he doesn't wanna.

An insight based on one boozy lunch.

No. I… I think he's got a taste for it.

Well, as reluctant as I was to indulge in your whimsical adventure with the duke,

I must admit he has turned out to be something of an asset.

However,

I don't think it's stopped him wanting us off his land.

And if he wants to make me more money, that's fine.

But he can't walk away. No one walks away.

And it's down to you to keep him under manners.

If he fucks me about at the end of the year, I'll chop his head off.

Under manners it is.

- How would you like it, sir? -Out, please, Mr. Lawrence.

Over the last few months,

you've proved yourself to be a consummate team player.

So I was wondering

whether you might want to take on a more formal, long-term position

within the organization.

Well, as much as I appreciate the performance review,

I think I'm happy with the agreement as it currently stands.

You sure about that, Eddie?

I have to say, there have been a couple of moments in the last few months,

I reckon…

you've been enjoying yourself.

Good game.

Whilst I still have you,

I'd love to get your optics on the current situation I'm trying to navigate.

I think you have a set of military skills that could be applicable.

Always happy to lend a hand if it expedites my extradition.

Ever been to the port of Zeebrugge?

We transport £80 million worth of puff through it every year.

We don't just grow it, Edward. We export it too.

However, recently, we've hit a little bit of a bump in the highway.

Several shipments have been seized by the Belgian federal police.

I've had to cease exports.

Needless to say, there's a lot of fucking clam hanging in the balance.

Who's running things down there?

A real piece of work named Florian de Groot.

Or, as my dad likes to call him, that shit-eating cunt from Belgium.

Catchy.

Only thing he likes more than wine and fine dining

is the sound of his own voice.

I'm having Keith and Blanket bring him over to England

so I can figure out what the fuck's going on.

Sh.

You know why we're here.

What I need is a second opinion. De Groot gets under my skin.

I struggle to separate what's him being him…

You should taste it too.

…from him trying to pull a fast one.

-You need more of a macro view of things. -Exactly.

I can have them bring him to the farm

and you won't even need to leave the comfort of your own home.

I can do it in my slippers.

Hmm. Whatever floats your boat, Captain.

C'est le Brexit.

The more rules and regulations that are imposed by your country,

the more employees the European Union must bring in to enforce them.

And more people means more mouths that have to be fed, Susie.

So if you want your… merchandise

to continue its safe passage to the continent,

it's going to cost more money.

How much more exactly?

1.5 million.

How exactly did you arrive on this very specific figure?

In Zeebrugge, we have police locale,

police federale ,

police maritime ,

customs officers, trade and compliance officers.

Everybody's very greedy.

And if I don't pay them immediately,

they will get angry

and squawk.

-Do you mind if we have a word? - Of course. Of course.

-Quick chat, Susan. -Sure.

-I think he's fucking us. -Right.

He's tipped off the border police, and he's using it to drive the price up.

-Why now though? -Maybe he got greedy.

I'd understand if he was asking for an extra 10%,

but he's trying double.

He must think he has significant leverage.

Either way, you must have another route to use.

Give him what he wants, he's gonna keep asking for more.

I can go to 1.2,

but that is my final offer.

If you want to resolve the situation,

you have to pay the going rate, plus 1.5.

Understand?

I appreciate that various people need to wet their respective beaks.

That's the way of the world.

But within reason.

You don't take the fucking piss.

-Jimmy, what's going on with the lights? - Um…

The first one's hooked on. Go!

Oh, you're trying to scare me with your cheap parlor tricks, huh? Ooh!

You cannot tie me up like a fucking animal.

This better not be anything to do with you.

Eddie, check out what's going on. Take Blanket with you.

Come on!

They're nicking the fucking gennies!

For God's sake, get in the car.

You're kiddin' me, ain't you?

You're gonna love this.

- Think that's a little excessive. -Well…

There's no way you're gonna kill us without it coming back on ye.

I've hundreds of cousins.

No one's getting killed here.

What about him, then? Big man with the gun.

Well, he just got a bit excited. Didn't you, Blanket?

Fuck that. Thieving gypsies.

-Fuck you, you racist scumbag. -Fuck off!

We're a fucking minority. You need some diversity training.

We're not gypsies. We're travellers.

Same fucking thing.

All right, all right. All right. Just… Just relax.

Everybody relax.

Blanket, go and see Susie. Tell her what happened.

Yeah, fuck off, Blankie.

Go on. We'll be all right.

Gobby, what's your name?

-Fuck off. -How about you give me your real name?

Surname's Ward. And that's all you're fucking getting, old man.

You're on private property and you've stolen two of our generators. Why?

We had no choice.

A man from the council took ours. Left us with nothing.

-Why's that my problem? -Come on, man, like you fucking need it.

There's little kids there with no heating, sleeping in freezing cold beds. Huh?

Would you do that to us, lads?

Come on, think of the babies.

Boys, let's unhook the generator. Come on.

Out of charity, we'll give you the one you've stolen for the babies.

This one stays here.

Come on.

Is this gonna be a problem?

The Ward family are very notorious around these parts, sir.

Dog fighting, cock fighting, in-fighting.

A hundred generations of dynastic volatility.

We're gonna have to tread very carefully.

What happened?

One of your cows found the light switcher?

See what I mean? Arrogant prick.

Maybe we should agree to a temporary uplift.

Until we figure out an alternative avenue.

I don't like someone putting a gun to my head, Edward.

Let's send him back to Belgium. Tell him we're thinking about it.

Let him stew a little bit.

What about the travellers?

-Dunno. What do you think? - Depends on what they've seen.

But if they know what we're up to, I think they could be an issue.

Maybe we should pay them a visit.

Excuse me, I would like to go home to the civilisation .

What you fucking gawping at?

You, you baldy fucking cunt.

All right, keep your hair on, pony boy.

We want to speak to your head honcho, whoever's in charge here.

Who's asking?

The people who kindly donated that generator to you.

JP!

Kellie Ann!

They're the bastards who shot at us last night.

- Which one of them? - That one.

That's not gonna save you here.

Did you take a shot at my fucking family?

We didn't know it was children because it was very dark

on account of our generators being recently appropriated.

How about we have a little conversation, hmm?

Maybe somewhere a bit more private.

If you've something to say, say it.

What are you doing, Mammy?

He's a fucking duke, Kellie Ann. I've seen him in the papers.

Go on.

Milk and sugar, Your Grace?