White Gold

Be honest, what do you think? Too Maggie Thatcher?

Even sexier, I'd say.

Don't muck about.

This is a big deal and I want to make a good impression.

I'm sure you'll make exactly the impression

that jumped-up little prick wants you to.

What's that supposed to mean?

I've been to these trade exhibitions before.

They're full of lecherous old creeps

lusting after anything that wiggles in a skirt.

Oh, so I'm there as a skirt, am I?

Thanks for assuming my only value to the business

is so that clients can fantasise about fucking me.

That is not what I meant.

I just know what pigs they can be, that's all.

No, I'm sure you'll knock 'em dead with your charm and your brains.

The brains they want to fuck out of me?

Probably, yeah.

All right, if Vincent can't be arsed to turn up here on time,

we'll start without him.

What's this?

Some market research I had commissioned at Everest.

It looks at the buying habits of our customers in the North West.

Well, that instantly makes it a load of old bollocks.

How so?

Well, it's based on northerners, for a start.

They all live in caves or down pits.

You probably have to spend about three hours

trying to teach them the concept of a window.

They're like walls but you can see through them.

We're getting off track here.

If you read it you'll see some interesting trends.

I don't see any harm in trying to up our game.

Thank you, Martin.

One thing that research does show is that only 8% of sales

originate from showroom visits.

Which means most of the time you're sat there,

you're next to fucking useless, Brian.

Starting tomorrow,

we'll be running sales training exercises during the day.

Training?

Me? Look, I'm sorry, love,

but that is like trying to teach Jimi Hendrix how to play the guitar.

Well, it's happening, so get used to it.

And on to item two,

and try not to choke on your own vomit at this news, Mr Hendrix,

but I'm suspending your commission on the Murphy job.

The whole Murphy debacle started with Fitzpatrick getting a hot lead

on a travellers' site.

I see. This is why you wanted to drag me along.

You're scared to go in.

I'm not scared, Lavatory.

All I'm asking is you come in and watch while I pitch.

Then make sure they don't pull any of their gypsy shit.

I'll sling you a 50 for your trouble.

OK. I'll do it for 50 quid.

- Cheers. - And half the commission.

Fucking hell. All right, then.

A gentleman by the name of Mick Murphy

had recently inherited a nice little windfall,

and was looking to transform his caravan into his dream home.

OK, lads.

I've already started on the extension for Mick Junior.

Oh, you live with your son?

No, you idiot.

Come here, Mick.

I've had Mick's box attached.

Now we can have our tea together.

Sensing that Mick maybe wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer,

Fitzpatrick jumped in and sold him a full set of windows,

along with a huge conservatory.

When Barry turned up to install,

Mick told him he planned to fit everything himself.

Being a chronically lazy bastard,

Barry was only too happy to unload the windows,

and spent the rest of the day down the pub,

and that was the last anyone saw or heard of Mick Murphy.

Well, how's this our fault?

It's Barry that's fucked up here, as far as I can see.

I agree. All we did was get the deal over the line.

You didn't think there was anything suspicious about an unemployed gypsy

signing up for £30,000 worth of windows for his 500 quid caravan?

This is all starting to sound a little bit racist to me.

Until you can get Mick Murphy to pay in full or recover those windows,

I'm docking the stock costs on future commissions.

No fucking way!

We don't have to take this from her. We've got rights!

Well, you have the right to quit if you don't like working here.

Oh, it's like that, is it?

Consider your bluff well and truly called.

I'd love to see you try and run this place without a sales team.

Come on, Lavender. Walshy'll give us a job.

Yeah, I'm not quitting.

I'll be seeing you, then, Brian.

I want you to think very carefully about this, Martin.

OK, don't let this be another Paul Young-level fuck up for you.

Fine.

This company's finished anyway, mate,

and you, you can shove your training and your market research

right up your Northern arsehole.

You'll have to get his nose out of there first.

Thank you, Martin.

It wasn't for your benefit.

I take it if I find Mr Murphy and get him to pay up,

I get to keep Fitzpatrick's half of the commission?

Here we are, Sam.

Over 20,000 people will walk through these doors

over the next three days.

And will they all be as half-cut as this lot?

Absolutely. It's basically a jolly for builders.

Buyers meet suppliers on their stands

and, to keep them happy, they get a well-oiled

and perma-tanned dolly bird to serve them some nibbles.

Sophisticated.

Right. Shall we?

I swear, Brian, if this is another wind-up

I'm going to throw you through the window

of this competitively priced conservatory.

Neil, listen.

OK, I think it's fair to say that your skill set

isn't exactly suited to being the public face of Wuh-Windows.

Double-fucking-U Windows.

Case in point.

Now, look, what you've got here is a quality product

allied with top-notch technical support.

You're just a head of sales away from cracking it again.

- Which is where I come in. - Oh, I see.

You've been slung out by that toerag, Vincent Swan.

No. I walked.

Cachet is a fucking disaster waiting to happen.

All right, I'm listening.

I want 20 grand basic salary, 7% commission, plus car.

How about no basic, a three month trial,

10% commission, no car?

No trial, 10% commission, you take over the lease of my BMW,

plus 20 grand basic.

That's more than your fucking original offer!

Which is why you probably should have taken it, Tony.

So, what's it to be?

Well, seeing as you've already told me you're out of a job,

I'd say I'm holding a handful of fucking aces, Brian.

Hello?

It's "Double-U" Windows.

Yes, I fucking know it looks like a mistake!

Hello?

Yeah, I wouldn't say you're holding all the aces.

All right.

I'll take your first offer.

- On one condition. - Which is?

You start this second.

This fucking place is giving me an ulcer.

Over at the travellers' site, Lavender was starting to realise

that all the lucky heather in the world

wouldn't let him track down Mick Murphy.

Boysie! You made it.

And one clearly non-boysie, I see.

Pleased to meet you, young lady.

Sam, this is Geoff Kemp, part-time MD of the Profile company

- and full-time pisshead. - Hello, Geoff.

A pleasure to meet you, Sam.

You'll have to tell me which agency you came through.

I think Stevie Wonder must have booked the girls for our stand.

I mean, it's like they literally put lipstick on pigs.

Oh, no, Geoff, Sam's not a promo girl.

She's the newest member of our sales team.

Oh, crikey! I do apologise, Sam.

Nice to see the Profile company's kept up the tradition

of having the Ferrari of exhibition stands.

Well, summat's got to make up for me tiny penis.

Let me get you both a drink.

- What you drinking, Sam? - Oh, I'll just get a Coke, please.

Ooh! Lightweight alert, lightweight alert!

She'll have a vodka in that, my love,

and get Martin and me a couple of beers too, please, Francesca.

All right, yeah. When in Rome.

Have an orgy, you say?

Although, is it still an orgy if it's just the two of us, Sam?

I think one of your customers

is trying to get your attention there, Geoff.

The one throwing up in a pot plant?

Oh, Christ!

Excuse me one minute.

You all right, there, mate?

- Thank you. - Cheers.

So, no-one's told Geoff he could save an absolute fortune

on exhibition space if he just took his clients directly to a brothel?

Now, now, we're not here to judge, Samantha.

We just want his advertising spend.

I know. Vincent did warn me.

It's just going to take some acclimatising.

It's OK.

You can do this.

Sorry about that. Now, where were we?

Well, Geoff, as an exhibition virgin,

I was hoping you could tell me.

Cheers.

Chin, chin.

I wasn't sure if you wanted this.

It's not mine.

- Do you want it, though? - No.