"I'm the best, so do not test, the top of my profession." "The master of my chosen field, of that there is no question." "Serious." "Serious, profession." "Serious." "Serious, profession." "Tired?" "Certainly not, full of beans." "Wanna go to a rave?" "Well, get to bed nice and early, than." "Uh, can't do anything energetic, like going to bed." "Oh, what a wonderfull day." "Day off, tomorrow." "Ehm, Gareth.." "I'm gonna sleep al tonight, all monday morning, Ehm... all monday afternoon, all monday evening, all monday night." "What a perfect day." "I love life." "Actually, there are a few things, that you'll have to do tomorrow." "Oh, I know, I shall be turning over a couple of times." "Yawning once or twice." "Getting up to empty my bladder, every now and then." "Exercise is essential." "Now, I know you're tired." "Hah, god I can hide nothing from you!" "Who did I marry?" "Nostradamus in a frock, that's you" "I need to talk to you." "Well, oh that's okay, but could you keep it down a bit, I'm trying to sleep here." "I'm serious, actually." "I want you, to do some publicity." "Well, I gave an interview to the Copswold Recorder, a couple of weeks ago." "Yes, and that is not going to make you world-famous." "Bloody waste of time, anyway." "I know." "**A litter of bunebed knew nothing about cooking." "I know, now what I want..." "She thought Artichoke coolie was a heavy metal band." "She thought Tortelini played mid field for Lascio." "Gareth!" "And designed Osso Buco, designed Eric Clapton's jackets" "I hate talking to journalists." "What do you mean with word-famous?" "We're about to own Le Chateau Anglais, having a famous chef in the restaurant, would greately help bussines." "Now I have talked to journalists into interviewing you." "All right, well I can do one a day, next week." "In between cleaning up after lunch and prepping for dinner." "I have eighteen or nineteen whole minutes to myself then," "Actually, I've got two already." "Good, night night." "They're coming tomorrow." "Gareth?" "I just died." "The shock killed me, tomorrow is my day off!" "We're in bussines now, we don't have these anymore." "And try not to make your background seem so dull." "Well it ís dull." "I've been in kitchen since I was sixteen years old." "This is not riveting stuff, you know." "Steven Spielberg isn't camped out on the doorstep, begging for the movie rights." "Well, you spend a long time in France." "Yes, sucking kitchens doing more washing up then Nanette Newman." "I speak the language, I knew the French for **fairy liquid and hurry up toorag" "It's not major biography, you know" "Andrew Neil does not want to serialize it in the Sunday Times." "Gareth, will you stop giving me all this attitude!" "Well, I'm sorry I just..." "It is not easy getting publicity." "No, no, I don't suppose it is." "It taken a lot of graft." "I'm sorry, really..." "You know..." "Yes.." "Not to mention the television program." "You didn't mention the television program." "It's the first chance I've had." "What do you mean, I live here!" "No you don't, you sleep here." "You come home at eleven, you leave at seven thirty in between, you sleep." "I did tell you last night, I've been talking for twenty minutes solid, before I realised you have been asleep for half an hour." "You answered my twice!" "Oh, and who is gloria?" "Tell me about this television program." "Whose Gloria?" "Gloria?" "I don't know any Gloria." "Then why would you suddenly talk to her in your sleep?" "You must have misheared." "Now, tell my about this television program." "It's called "Kitchens Live"." "Live?" "It just means they record it on site, while you're working." "Oh, of course and I have a narrow cramped kitchen, full of high practic kitchen staff who never notice a camera crew." "Gareth!" "The lighting man, the sound man.." "Shut up!" "It won't be as bad as that." "Janice, my darling I know about film sets." "There will be armies of people we'll not be able to move for equipment." "Don't be like that!" "Don't be a little docco." "We won't be making Ben Hur." "Alright, alright, there's nothing to stop the car, for goodness sakes." "Okay, I'll cooperate, I'll cook ninety covers and keep everybody, amused with witty anekdotes, about my life as a mercenary in Angola." "I'll help Lord Lukan escape and what it's really like in bed with Madonna" "Don't worry, come on, we don't wanna be late." "I didn't stop the car." "What?" "It stopped itself" "Come up." "We'll have to walk." "Walk?" "It's miles." "Two at most, come on." "Janice!" "Shut up, Gareth, just bloody well buttened, all right?" "He?" "Do you know where we are, do you know what precise location this is?" "The end of my tether, that is the precise point that we have reached." "Now look..." "We are going to walk to miles, while you make cheerfull, positive non critical conversation, riching remarks, about how well I've done, how lucky you are to have me, and how sensational I was in bed the last time we did it." "If you can remember that far back." "In the mean, you can tell, who bloody Gloria is." "The car is out of petrol, isn't it?" "Yes." "Thought so." "I supposed to fill it yesterday." "That's right." "You asked my specially." "Yes." "And I forgot." "Yes." "And yet just then, even after I've been the tiniest bit joculant," "Even at times, bordering on the sarcastic, you never said, I told you so." "I'm a saint." "You are, it's very impressive." "I know." "I'm sorry, Janice." "It's allright." "I'm really sorry." "It's okay." "I'm really very sorry." "It's okay, Gareth!" "I'll be a model of cooperation." "Good." "What's a docco?" "It's a documentary film." "Oh, of course, how stupid of me." "Yes." "Please stop for a bit." "Why?" "Two things, eh one, we have to go back and push the car of the road," "And two?" "I get terrible indigestion eating humble pie and walking at the same time." "**We've got .. got it today actually." "Really is that ..?" "Gareth!" "This is Kevin." "The director from "Kitchens Live"." "Very pleased, to meet you, very excited about what you're going to do here." "Well..." "Anything you need at all, just ask." "Great, thanks." "So this is it?" "Yes that's right, so look, you just tell me where you want to put your light, your cameras and your sound equipment and everything and we'll work around it." "No no, we work around you that's the whole point." "You won't even know we're here." "Thhh, yes, I'm sure you're very good, but in a kitchen of this size, you know, the lights, cameras, soundmen," "Just the one camera." "One?" "Yep, sound man won't even be here just fix a few mics and get right out of it" "No need for lights, good." "Actually we can put the camera down here, no need to get into the kitchen at all." "No need?" "No." "Just a little docco, fly on the wall stuff." "It'll be a completely normal day." "Oh, good.." "See you tommorrow." "Ah, of one thing." "Yes?" "I'll be in when we finished, I'll need to do some cutaways." "Cutaways?" "Yeah." "As many as you like." "Well.." "Terrific, no problem." "Good." "Cutaways, ha!" "Cutaways, Janice." "Ehm.." "Yeah?" "What are these cutaways?" "Exactly?" "Well, the end of the session, when we finished we just move the camara around a bit and do things again from different angles." "Hm, hm, hm." "So that we can cut the waiting." "Don't worry at all, no problem." "Good." "We'll just shoot it all again, but from different angles." "Don't worry." "No." "If it takes all through the night." "Then so be it." "It will take about three minutes, actually." "Pardon?" "**Well five at the most ... thanks for everyone." "You forgot to ask him what time they'll want you for make up." "Shut up!" "Chef.." "Bloody journalists, bloody journalists." "How old are you, what's your star sign, do you have a favourite colour?" "Yes actually, I do have a favourite colour." ""Dead journalist grey"." "That's my favourite colour." "Bloody journalists." "Do you have a flight of fancy?" "Well, actually yes I do." "I'd like to go all the way back in time, and talk to the infant father of the man, who invented tabloid journalism and talk to him about a vascectomy!" "That's how I fly to fancy, bloody journalists." "Chef.." "I'm in a bad mood today, because I spend all my day off yesterday talking to a bloody journalist." "Chef..." "And Kevin from "Kitchens Live"" "Oh yes, they're coming here to film tonight" "That's it, if none of you have any objections." "We're going to be on television?" "Oh, great." "Chef?" "What!" "Why do they have to put cameras and lights everywhere?" "I mean I'm gonna do the work." "That 'd be stupid, Everton, they just fix a couple of mics and shoot from here, it's not Ben Hur, you know, it's only a little docca." "That is how I spend my day, yesterday." "Therefore I have not have my usual day of rest and recuperation and so, I may not be my usual sweet tempered self" "I give you fair warning." "Yes, Chef." "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." "Good morning, Chef!" "Chef?" "Yes, Lola!" "There is a gentleman waiting to see you in the dining room." "What?" "!" "A journalist." "Oh, oh there, ah double fair." "How old are you, Chief?" "Thirty four." "Hmmm.." "And three quarters." "Does it bother you that, eh, only the very rich come to your restaurant?" "Not as much as it would bother me if they didn't." "Oh, hehehe, oh yes, nice one, nice one Oh, then I'll get the book." "Those marzipans yeah." "You don't do short hand?" "**I don't believe in that's qua." "**I'm only just q... writing heeh" "**That'll be assid then." "My problem is that you see, our readers," "They are not quite ones for going out to the posh restaurants, you know." "**There more ye see toos said fors wowo..." "So, I was hoping, you can help and handle here, you know." "Have you seen the paper?" "Yes." "Hm, is there anything you think I'd like?" "Oh, yes." "Oh, good." "You'd like a copy of my tax return, a topless photo of my wife, and the exact dimensions of my willy in all conditions." "You sound like my editor." "I don't suppose I'll be getting all of that?" "You suppose right." "Ehm.. dehh.." "Ah.." "Ooh..." "Oohhh.. hehehe, charming..." "Yeah...." "How did you get into this cooking lot then?" "Well..." "Did your parents encourage you, did they?" "Well actually, yes." "My mother encouraged my by putting the kind of food in front of my that makes you want put on protective clothing." "I knew I was going to die of malnutrition if someone didn't cook." "My father didn't do anything." "He didn't do anything at all?" "Well, he did eventually, he left home." "We never hit of, my father and I." "Oh, good." "We only once had a real conversation, he asked me what a wanted to be and I said, an orphan." "He was obliging it in the best he could by running of with a catering operative from Brumsgrove." "Sorry it wasn't a belly dancer in Azerbeidzjan" "No, don't worry squire, I expect it will be by the time you'll leave here." "Do you have a favourite colour, Gareth?" "Grey." "Grey?" "Hmhm, that's interesting." "Now I gather you give your employees a bit of a hard time now ain't it?" "I do not." "Who told you that?" "Oh, oh..." "It's absolute nonsense." "Is it?" "That's eh, simply delightfull." "Gerald." "I mean, when you are in my postion, you occasionally have to inform people, that they have not given it their best." "Hihe hahajeh..." "That's all." "You're a pea brained, prat faced colourless, pillock headed, cretin." "What are you?" "I'm a pea braine..." "If you took an intensive course for intelligence adjection, and studied, till you drop, then one day you could might make it to moron third class, failed." "Give me strenght!" "I don't want to shout at you." "No, Chef." "I want to batter you with a hard and jagged kitchen implement." "I'm only restrained, by the ludricous liberal, pingo laws that we've got in this country." "Yes, Chef." "In a sanely ordered civilised society anyone found making runny mayonnaise would be tortured to death slowly in front of a warmely applauding audience!" "It suddenly went.." "There's another thing." "Egg yolk, musterd, rescue it, drop by drop." "Yes, Chef." "Rescueing mayonaise, in a kitchen of this standard, the humiliation of it all." "You see, there's something else." "Where are the crayfish?" "Ehm..." "Ehm..." "Ehm..." "Everton, could you please get past "ehm..."" "you aren't a backing singer with Clannad." "It is important, I want the crayfish." "There were ten of them, I've used five, there is now only the half empty box here." "That's the other thing." "I...." "Let them out." "You let them out?" "Well..." "Are you from the Animal Liberation Front?" "No, no, no, you see..." "For only morning exercise you know." "We don't raise them." "I just needed the top of the box, to cover the mousses while they cooled." "Give me strength." "I never knew, that they could run around." "They are behind there, I think." "Five crayfish, behind there?" "No, only a couple of them I'm not sure about the others they left it." "Left it?" "Pfj pfj pjf... fishy, fishééé..." "No, please god, no." "Fishy, fishy!" "No, for god sakes no, this is not one man and his crayfish." "I can't stand this, it is to much." "Fifty quids worth of life stock." "Are fled to the furthest inaccesable corners of this kitchen." "Doubtless, never to return." "And all, because I have in my kitchen, a ##headed, ##faced, ##brained,###." "Well, I..." "Running mayonaise and nerve us, you are a ##nosed, ##useless, ## ## putrified, ##nasty, what are you?" "##nosed, ##useless, ##brain ## putrified, ##nasty." "Chef." "You're quite frank with your staff, aren't you?" "Well..." "It should, good." "And your words have a playing with the audience, were you?" "Oh no, he was playing it down, for the **.." "Just a bit worried about the amounts of bleeping, that's all." "Couldn't you put that later, you know, without the bleeps." "I don't think there is a slot late enough." "It'll be breakfast television, **..." "Piers can cook in his sleep, you know it's amazing." "How do I know?" "Because I've never seen him do it awake!" "That's how." "Sorry, Chef." "That was Kevin, the show is going out later, without the bleeps." "It is **always." "Ça marche, one foie gras and scalloppes." "Oui, Chef!" "One lamb." "Yes, Chef!" "Hello?" "No, no it's okay we'll do it now." "Are you sixty two?" "I came to it late in life, because of all the time that I spend as a mercenary in Angola." "Oh, I'm sorry I'm just bored of being asked my age by tabloid journalists who can't count to two and unless they have a topless model in front of them." "I'm thirty four years old and I have never done anything interesting ever." "I do know a bit about cooking." "Oh, of course I'll send you six recepes." "Of course I'm sorry I was so rude." "Okay, that's fine." "No problem, bye." "Good grief I've just spoken to a journalist who wants to know about cooking." "You also spoke to Collin." "Yes, I did." "Here are the interests I fear." "He problably wants to use postal photograph of just the Chef sat on a thong made of tagliatelli verde." "Oh, he told you." "Are you sure, you wouldn't rather watch another channel?" "Shut up." "It was easy to see, why the crayfish went into hiding." "Any sane being finding himselves in mr." "Blackstock's kitchen would doubtless, urgently seek a means of escape being plunched into boiling water seems the least terror that might in storm." "Mr. Blackstock's impressive repertoire of luridly obsenic expressions were nearly all new to me." "A special Bafta award for best swearing in a documentary should be minted at once." "Whatever ones opinions on decency or cooking, it has to be admitted, that this was quite riveting television." "He swears like a trooper with a PHD, cooks like an angel, treats people like dirt, and is the most interesting thing to appear on my tv set for a very long time." "I say give the faul mouth, pig headed, **.. the food a big E." "BBC boss is banned bullocking Blackstock." "Hnnhh." "Gloria.." "Just, Gloria." "Gareth!" "Hehn, Gloria." "Gloria.." "Wake up, Gareth." "What, what?" "Oh, sorry, was I asleep?" "Who is Gloria?" "Gloria, who is Gloria?" "Gareth!" "Darling, light of my life, I know no Gloria I have never known a Gloria, of any kind, all right?" "You must have misheared." "What's this?" "Our booking is a way up since did Kitchens Live, way up." "Hihnhh.. who's Gloria?" "The bookings are only up, because the **exile on tele want to hear me effing and bliming at the chef de party." "I mean, I wouldn't mind but that's so untypical of me." "And, someone else wants to do a tv show." "Oh, great, what kind of show?" "Who's Gloria?" "**You, got it!" "Enchanted we could use this for this." "Move away." "What, is going on!" "Hello, nice to meet you, we are just setting up." "What are you talking about, setting up, this is my kitchen." "Look around, there is all this food." "Is this cooker essential?" "Yes.." "He give up **rice isn't it?" "I don't wish to appear unwelcoming, but unless you remove this garbage and your goodsells from my kitchen, in seven seconds flat," "I will by forced to make a sustained and fatal attack, on the nearest person to my." "Mr. Blackstock..." "I'm aware, that I'm heavely outnumbered, but you have violated, that which I hold sacred and so, I have insanety on my side, and I will take at least three of you with me." "Sir, ask yourself, do you feel lucky?" "You did agree, Mr. Blackstock." "To you doing a bit of filming between lunch and dinner." "I mean, we have not started prepping for lunch yet." "I mean look at this place." "We were gonna just setup and then shoot it when you were busy" "Leaving it like this?" "Well...." "You have boobed up the place." "I mean, how could you possibly believe, that we could work under these conditions." "How could you have ever imagined it was feasible?" "Are you deficiently basic intelligence?" "Has there been an end of season clear out on the cranial department?" "We had a film crew here, only last week, it was nothing like this." "Oh well, that was just a little doca, wasn't it?" "Crayfish and bad language tabloid television." "Well, excuse me." "We're interested in the food." "What?" "I ate here last week, by the way, I may say so, you are just about the finest cook therein." "Well, yes I know." "It's only a ten minute film, I simply want to photograph one of your meals." "From raw ingredients to diners table." "Perfectly in big close-up." "Excuse me..." "There are cables, everywhere." "It's simply ludicrous." "Between here and the dining room." "Just nicely laid, so we'll all fall arse over table jesting hot plates of food, over the entire clientele." "Simply, rediculous." "We can't possibly be expected to work under these conditions." "Blimey, what is going on here?" "Bloody hell!" "Oh, no.." "We can't cook with a kitchen like this." "Now, look." "I don't want any attitude from you all about this, okay?" "These gentlemen have to make a very high quality of film, in a very short space of time, under extremely difficult circumstances." "The least we can do, is to not make such a big fuzz just because someone has put a few lamps in the kitchen." "All right?" "Yes Chef!" "Good..." "Two things..." "Yes Chef." "While I was down there, I couldn't help noticing that the kitchenfloor is in the most disgustingly filthy state that it is possible for the human brain to conceive." "Yes Chef." "Amateur Mike Abbas, which just amongst you will find much down there to put him through all and fascinating." "Very likely species as yet unknown to science are breeding freely underfoot even as I speak." "It is possible that I'm kneeling all unbeknownst on a cure for the common cold, herpes and male pattern boldness all rolled into one." "Run such considerations out of your mind and clean this frigging floor!" "Yes, Chef!" "And two..." "Yes, Chef?" "A relative of yours, I think, Everton." "Your late." "I can sleep tomorrow, can't I?" "Of course." "Did you tape the television program?" "Yes." "Did I look wonderfull?" "You weren't in it, it was just the food." "Oh, my god, how simply devine." "Gareth, nobody watches it." "Ooh.." "I will." "Over and over." "What do you want for supper?" "Well.." "I haven't done anything." "I"ll have to go into Oxford and get a takeaway" "Do you want the good news, or the bad news?" "What's the bad news?" "I forgot to put petrol in the car." "I parked halfway the B449." "Gareth!" "Oh, bloody hell!" "You are a useless pillock." "God, how stupid can you get." "Don't you want to hear the good news?" "What good news?" "The taxidriver recognised me." "From the tele." "Did he?" "Yes!" "And then when I gave it to him he said, when Mike Tyson got out of jail, would I fight him anyway." "He didn't." "No, he didn't, that was meant to make you laugh." "In the hope that you'd forget what a pillock I was." "Some hope." "He didn't recognise me though, he had seen the program." "Kept asking me about the crayfish." "Crayfish..." "Hello?" "Yes, I see..." "Who is speaking, please?" "Just a moment, I'll hand you over." "It's for you." "An old friend, who saw you on television." "Oh, great, what's his name?" "Gloria..."