Oh, my God, it's Oscar.
- Oscar? - You know, my ex.
- Ah, what's your name, bruvs? - It's Tom.
Don't tell me.
We're all heading back to our camp. We've got everything there.
Food, shelter, poi.
- I slept with Oscar. - Bitch!
Aaaah, no! Laura!
Aargh!
Not cool, bruv! This is my wanking hand!
- Right, boss. - I'm not your boss.
You are now.
- Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom... - I'm like a god to these people.
Oh. It's the gaffer.
The Special One.
So I've been looking at my calendar and I just don't have time to be leader any more.
I've got this other thing. It's quite hectic.
- I've got quite a lot going on. - What, like drawing pictures of Steven Seagal?
Someone has to remember, Suze. I carry the flame now.
Tom, you promised these people you'd be their leader.
And now, with all the hardship, the danger, the fear... you're gonna break that promise?
- I was planning to, yeah. - You need to ask yourself one question.
And I ask it every day and, truthfully,
I think childbirth has made you more attractive.
- Now you've got more of this Nicki Minaj thing. - No!
Tom, don't you want to be the best you can be?
Meh.
Fine. I'll do it.
Now, what, oh, what, can you do... to reciprocate?
Oh, really? You're that manipulative?
No! We can compromise on a handjob.
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Tom! Tom! Tom! Tom! Tom! Tom! Tom!
All right. All right! Thank you.
Ten minutes till the end of the world and you rescue a lute?
- You don't like the lute? - Not crazy about it.
Your wish is my command.
Beers, el presidente?
- Ma'am? - Oh.
- Little one? - Er... no.
- Laura, no! - Yes.
Mr Tom, sir.
My neighbour Old Mother Pudmore's stolen a pound of rancid butter, see...
Damn, I forgot to wear my medieval-dispute-solving hat.
- No wimple today. Sorry. - Oh.
And you're sure I have to do this?
I mean, there's the real Prime Minister. He is technically still in charge.
Swingeing cuts, eat my shit!
The next limp-dick left-winger gets a faceful of my chocolate.
Eh! Tom?
Tom? Come here, geeze. We need a natter.
- This one's for the ladies. - Switch on!
Bump. My conscience is flat-roofing, bruvs.
But me and Suzie, we got history.
- You done the dutty, cos bitch... - La, la, la, la, la...
- Ain't a crime to get a blowie. - La, la, la, la, la...
I'm done. I'm done, I'm done.
I'm sorry, man. I done a likkle bit of time, so can I please come out now?
Hash-tag "my bucket is full of pimp juice".
I'm the boss. I hate you.
So the whole hash-tag "swimming in your own shit" thing?
Not looking good for a couple more years.
But it ain't fair on Zulu.
Zulu. A black dog.
- Represent. - Nice.
No hard feelings? Touch.
Yeah, I'm not shaking your hand, man.
- Is that cos it's been on Suzie's? - Stop now.
That's an order.
Cooch.
- Touch. - Aargh. You...
Oh, fuck me, that was cool.
I wish bears still roamed England so that one could come along
and claw that bastard's face off.
Bears never roamed England.
Er... why d'you think they called it Paddington Station?
Fight, fight, fight!
- All right, come on, let's get out of here. - Tom, you're in charge!
Stop, men. I forbid fighting.
Tom, do something!
Bite him, bite him!
Come on, bruv.
Yes!
Mess him up!
He's a stranger! He came here to steal food from our families.
OK. But nothing - absolutely nothing - is worth a man's life.
I killed a man. For Coco Pops.
He stole your Coco Pops?
- Death was too good for that son of a bitch. - I must be crazy.
You know what is crazy?
Remember when they renamed them Choco Krispies?
Like everyone already knew the theme song.
Like melodically, "Choco Krispies" just does not work.
- You've got brain on you. - Ahhh!
These are my Waitrose, man. Now all I got is my Lidls.
How can I ever be forgiven?
Well, you do owe a debt to society. But... I'm sure we can work something out.
You took that man's Coco Pops?
Just oiling the wheels of justice with delicious chocolatey milk.
- No. - Oi!
- Bastard, I expressed that milk! - Can I have some?
I need calcium to grow big and strong.
Are you playing that card again? "I'm a little girl."
- Yummy. - Greedy-guts.
Did I tell you that Mum's starting a school, Daddy?
- How cool is that? - Not at all cool.
Your life's already shizzle.
We're going to learn literature, biology and French. It's exciting!
- Literature? Are you trying to bore her to death? - What's boring about Shakespeare?
Literally everything.
And French - that's just pretentious shrugging.
Hola, generalissimo.
- You like the armour, Suzanne? - Handcrafted by muggins.
After that fight last night, I'm putting my guys on guard duty.
Any thieves or cannibals come round these parts, we'll give 'em a right fisting.
- The fisting of a lifetime. - This is very impressive, Tom.
Leadership's a piece of piss.
You done the rota for the guards yet, boss?
Oh, my God, I made you a codpiece.
I can't do everything.
No offence, it's just... we were wondering who's gonna be on duty after us?
I'll do it. I have to do everything else round here.
Boss!
- Do you want the bad news? - Or?
- The good news? - There is no good news.
He wants some good news. Make it happen.
Yeah, well, this is serious, cos the water purifier's about to explode.
Make him feel good, you bastard!
Oooh! There's a problem with the water purifier.
It's gonna explode and many mother-funkies gonna die.
What was that?
That is the bad news, but in the style of James Brown.
Did it make you feel good? I knew that it would.
He's good. This guy is good.
It's them fucking pilot holes, boss. Rusted to buggery.
Well, here's the... stuff.
So that's all good? You can sort this out?
I'm on lunch, I gotta get home for the match.
- Bloody traffic, eh? - What?
Hi. This is my design.
The whole structure's rusted.
It's dangerous, but we've gotta get in and stop it collapsing.
Right.
Hey, do you remember Waterworld? Stars Kevin Costner?
- I'm aware of the film. - Cos this is just like Waterworld.
- No, it's not. - Well, it's not unlike Waterworld.
I've spent eight years perfecting a system to clean contaminated water
and all people say is, "It's just like fucking Waterworld."
All right, it's a compliment!
- It's gonna blow! - All hands on deck!
Right! I'll stay back.
Give it some blue sky helicopter vision... in the box, out the box.
Shut up and help us!
Er... have many water-cooler moments?
- Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. - You know, a bit of gossip.
- Who's shagging who. - Well, that's your wife and Oscar.
She's not my wife. Dick.
Mr Tom, sir?
My cauldron of fatted chestnut broth's gone missing, see.
- Help us, boss. - Ahh...
Sorry, mate. But this is the real crisis.
Chestnut broth. Nightmare.
She don't admit to nothing, but you just smell Old Mother Pudmore's breath.
Oh, fuck!
Aaargh!
Right, well, job done.
Cup of tea?
Oi, cape.
Let's get one thing straight, right?
I don't give a shit who's in charge out there.
In here, I'm a pharaoh and this is my pyramid.
We cool?
- I killed a man... - Enough!
Now, have I ever told you that I was born to run a bar?
Go on.
So...
Biology.
Ooh, if you put a slice of potato into salty water, the potato gets really soggy.
Um... Smoking kills...
- Shut up! - You shut up!
- Hey. Both of you! - They said you and Oscar did The Bad Thing.
Well, they're talking shi... zzle out of their arsehizzles.
Now, are there any genuine questions relating to biology?
- Yes? - What exactly is The Bad Thing?
- Jesus Christ. - You all right, boss?
Don't just stand there. Give me a hand with Old Mother Pudmore.
OK. Where are you taking her, back to your place?
What is wrong with you?
So, boss, is this just a two-way thing or can anyone get involved?
That's it, one last push.
Doctor, doctor! Oh!
And pop goes the weasel.
I delivered Laura with Suze's parents.
That was quite... an awkward 19 hours.
Right. Is there anything official I need to do when we bury Pudmore?
- Bury? - Or do we cremate people?
You don't? You're cannibals too!
- We only eat dead people. - Oh, and that's medically fine, is it, Shipman?
- We don't have much food. - We ate a pig yesterday!
How do you have pigs in the first place?
You know how it was only people in basements and cellars who survived the bombs?
- Yeah. - I was in a basement with some pigs.
- Why? - Best not to ask.
- I won't. - Unless you want a sleepless night.
- I don't. - It's a victimless crime.
- Didn't ask. - There's chickens if that's more your thing.
Fucking hell.
Would you like to cut the placenta, boss?
Mother Nature's birthday cake.
- Make a wish. - Get me out of here.
Ooopsie. Now it won't come true.
Take my turn.
- Just like Question Time. - I'm so sorry.
He's scheduled to masturbate until five - I had brown snowballs pencilled for tomorrow.
Sometimes I think he's gone a little bit mad!
Gaaah!
No! No, no! No!
So... what have we learnt about adult relationships?
One. Be safe.
Two. If in doubt, ladies first.
Three. Guys, you're not going to nag her pants off.
Oh, look, everyone, it's Tom.
Let's thank him for all the good work he's doing for this community.
Er... about that. Can I have a word?
Um... Just turn to page two in your book, please, everyone.
These people eat their dead.
Listen, it's like when Piers Morgan briefly became popular.
Yeah, it's fucked up... but that's just the way it is.
I can't do this leadership thing any more. I quit.
Well, the only way that you're going to salvage a shred of dignity
is by organising a free and fair election.
And I promise to do that.
Hmm.
So we are going to find my replacement with a talent show.
Whoever wins What's Left Of Britain's Got Talent gets to inherit this heavy, heavy crown.
- Suze, wait! - You break every single promise.
I break promises? What about you and Oscar?
- Kids, we're going back to school. - You can't.
We're kinda using it for the contestants' dressing room.
Don't worry, we've already changed.
Heel, Bubbles! To heel!
Come on, you cheeky little monkey.
Michael Jackson.
Come on.
Fridays will be funky house.
Hey, Suzie? This cage is so cramped.
- I've got bare deep-vein thrombosis. - Come on, kids.
Shits and gigs! Please!
You fuck one guy's wife...
You did not... his wife.
I'm his girlfriend.
And you didn't even... her because you came on my leg before you could even pop it in,
so you have embarrassed yourself.
Stop vexing me, yat, we were up all night long.
I had jizz up my shin.
And I hope your bloody legs do drop off.
And your dick.
Oooh!
Spit spot, kids.
Pick up your lip.
- Now, returning to my cocktail bar... - Not again!
I'd probably only show German football.
This is shizzle.
No, it's not. It's a field trip to look at a building full of useless relics.
It's like Buckingham Palace.
- I think you're feeling guilty. - Guilty? About what?
- No, I'm not. - Little bit?
Nope. Laura, don't do your smug face.
What you doing here, boss?
I quit.
That boss bollocks was all about what Suze wanted.
I've got dreams, you know? Desires...
Oh, I hear you, loud and clear.
I've got a nice plump hen with your name written all over it.
- Not like that. - But you are going on guard duty?
- Or is someone covering your shift? - I forgot.
But someone's guarding us now, right? Right?
Oh, shit. Suze...
Dad listens to your dreams.
You laugh at his jokes.
You're the big spoon. He's the little spoon.
You're perfect together.
Plus the dating game is way harder nowadays, so don't throw it all away.
You're right, sweetheart.
OK, kids, field trip over.
Come on.
Let's go...
- All right? ...home.
- Come on, lads. - OK. Quickly, guys, that way.
Go, go! Go.
Suze? Laura?
Zorbotron? Zorbotron?
- Who the hell is Zorbotron? - That's my son.
My wife and I thought the bombs heralded the space age.
Starships, whole meals in single pills.
Robot hookers. Zorbotron!
Robot hookers? Go on.
- Don't come any closer. - You're scran, ya quilt.
I mean it. Cos we will mess you up.
Because we were born to raise hell.
The warmth of a woman, but without any of the reservations.
Zorbotron!
Aargh!
Aargh! Aargh!
Oooh!
- Hey! - What?
Aargh!
Aaargh!
I'm devoed now, you divvy blert!
Your mum's wicked.
- Come on! - Suze!
Suze! Suze! Don't worry... I'm here.
I'm gonna save ya!
Suze, I've got ya! Don't you worry...
Aargh!
Come on!
Go on, miss!
Get him!
Aargh!
I think I slightly twisted my ankle.
Hello. All right?
Commend my soul to Shankley.
Ooh!
All right, Tom? Field trip.
- Nice one. - Nice one, miss!
That's my girlfriend.
Whoo!
- How did you do that? - My dad made me take fencing lessons.
You are so posh.
Tom, you don't have to be the best that you can be.
I wouldn't like that guy anyway. Cos he'd be obnoxious and he'd steal my thunder.
- I'm sorry. - No need to apologise.
After what you did back there? I don't wanna fight ever again, babe.
- Also, me and Oscar, we didn't actually... - La, la, la, la...
Nothing happened... My shin. On my shin!
Welcome to What's Left Of Britain's Got Talent!
Let's welcome our first contestant - Mr Felix Sleeve!
Go, Felix!
Hello, wasteland!
Who's this an impression of?
"Oh, I'm really cool and happening,
but actually my girlfriend's having sex with Oscar behind my back."
All right.
Ooh!
- He can go all night. - Like you mean it, bruv.
Aaargh!
Jesus will rise again!
Next up, Zulu!
Yeah!
It's dancing! It's a miracle.
Leader! Leader!
Leader! Leader! Leader! Leader!
You can't vote for Zulu...
Cos I'm taking back what's mine!
- How did you escape? - Oh, that would be my bad.
I was taking him back to his cage and I took the opportunity to empty old Mr Poo Bucket here.
I only turned my back for a second, honestly, boss.
He ain't your boss. I am.
Right, technically we should get Zulu to mediate the situation...
- Shut it, crump. - The dog's our leader now. Them's the apples.
- That's not the saying. - This baggamanz my people!
Right.
I am so sick of this.
Politics isn't a dick-measuring competition
between a few childish, arrogant, incompetent fools...
...any more.
Listen. Just put the spade down, babe.
- Do not call me babe! - Or what?
Zulu - get her!
No!
Why, Suze?
You hit my fucking dog with a spade, man.
We should never have given power to just one man. Particularly that one man.
- All right. - From now on, we run this place by committee.
- Any questions? - Can I have some more Zulu?
Tell you what, for a mangy old dog, Zulu doesn't half taste good.
I never thought a spit roast would make me so sad.
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