God's Own Country

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(WIND WHISTLES)

(HE RETCHES)

(HE VOMITS)

(HE SPITS)

(HE PANTS)

DEIRDRE:
John Saxby!

Dad's been asking for you.

Did you look in on him?

That heifer needs looking at, he said.

You kept us up half the night, lad.

And if you think

I'm cleaning your sick up again

you've got another thing coming.

(CLATTER)

(HE PANTS)

(HE SNIFFS)

It's alright.

- It's alright, lass. It's just me.

- (COW MOOS)

Shh, shh.

Shh, it's alright, lass.

That's it, there, come on.

Come on.

It's alright.

That's it.

It's just your Johnny boy.

Eh?

Not be long now.

A little fat calf. That's what we want, eh?

You're gonna wait

until Johnny boy's back, aren't you?

Good lass.

Come on, that's it.

AUCTIONEER:
80 bid. One? 81. Two? 82.

(BIDDING CONTINUES)

- AUCTIONEER:
89.50.

- (GAVEL BANGS)

M. Saxby & Son now. Good cow here, 700kg.

(BIDDING COMMENCES)

100 bid? Underbid. Call it 99.50.

- Hauxwell.

- (GAVEL BANGS)

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

Hold up, mate. Alright?

How's you? Wanna get a pint or summat?

No.

Right. I just...

You know, it were fun an' that.

- I thought we might...

- We?

- Yeah.

- No.

Where've you been? Dad had to see to her.

It were arse about tit.

Bull calf an' all.

You could've saved that.

- I'll get the vet.

- No.

Don't talk wet. Just get on with it.

(GUNSHOT)

Shoulders on it.

- What did you draw for that cull cow?

- 700.

Right.

Maybe next time you'll frame yourself.

I could have been quicker,

hobbling around on these damn things.

- Thank God that lad's on his way.

- Yeah, I could've managed.

- I have done so far.

- Yeah, course you have.

Let's all give you

a round of applause, shall we?

(HE GRUNTS)

Is there any afters?

Might be a tin of fruit cocktail

you can have.

Go easy on that.

I want that lad picking up in good time.

- Why do I have to go?

- Oh, wind your neck in.

- I didn't even want him here, did I?

- He were the only bugger to apply.

Let's at least get him here

in one piece, shall we?

Whatever. It's always down to muggins here.

Oh, enough mardy arse.

You're getting on my wick.

F*ck's sake.

(BEEPS HORN)

Do they call thee Georgie or summat?

- Gheorghe.

- Whatever. Get in.

That'll be as much use

as a chocolate fireguard up here.

It's a bit of a midden, like.

That thing unfolds out into like a bed thing.

You can switch that on, but it's

a gas bottle, mind, so don't go mad wi' it.

There's a bog in there.

This looks OK.

- You half-Paki or summat?

- Pardon?

Er, no, I am from Romania.

- Gypsy.

- Please don't call me that.

That door needs a shove.

Don't always close proper.

Me Nan said to say come over and she'll

make you a bap and a brew when you're set.

I told you, didn't I?

Shitehole. Bet you wish

you'd stayed in Romania.

(HE SIGHS)

I hate train journeys, me.

I always end up gipping my guts up.

When were you last on a train?

I'm just saying.

It's 100 odd Swaledale

crossed blackface gimmers.

Do you understand me?

And what about milk?

Just got a few beef cattle,

nowt much to speak of.

No, sorry, the sheep. Do you make cheese?

It's very good cheese, and good money.

DEIRDRE:
Your English is good.

My mother teaches English back in Romania.

Fancy.

We muddle through on our own most of t' time

but wi' lambing and that

our lad needs extra help.

It's perfect for me.

You got somewhere to go after?

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