:44:04
Gotta go. Good-bye. Hundred quid
on Cavendish in the quarters.
:44:07
Hold your horses.
:44:09
So, still bettin'
against your brother, are ya?
:44:11
It's tactical. If he loses, I get rich.
And if he wins, I get laid.
:44:15
Where the heck did you get
a hundred quid anyway?
:44:17
Photojournalism.
:44:30
I trust you slept well after your
night of debauchery with young master.
:44:34
I declare, I surely did.
:44:36
Good. So did I.
God.
:44:39
No wonder the English
never win Wimbledon.
:44:44
I'd love to see an English guy
in the finals, but give me a break.
:44:47
Peter Colt is the luckiest
man in tennis. Oh. Wanker.
:44:55
God, it's incredible how much
that actually looks like your dad.
:45:00
Oh, shit. Incredible
how much that building...
:45:05
Shit!
Shit!
:45:09
Quick.! Hide.!
:45:12
Oh, Carl! You bastard!
:45:22
Oh, hello. Mr. Bradbury.
Where's my daughter?
:45:25
She... Gone, sadly.
Sadly, gone.
:45:27
She had to go and work
on that first serve.
:45:29
I expect she meant to meet you
at the practice courts.
:45:31
Are you bullshitting me?
Absolutely not.
:45:33
I'd never bullshit you.
I wouldn't dream of it.
:45:36
So, how was your trip down? The traffic
can be murder getting out of London.
:45:40
We left early. Well, the
early bird does catch the worm.
:45:43
Uh, wou-would you like
a cup of, uh, tea?
:45:46
Maybe something stronger.
A shot of whiskey.
:45:49
A shot at me.
:45:51
It's Peter, right?
Yeah.
:45:54
Look, Peter, I got nothing
against you personally.
:45:56
- You seem like a nice guy, and, uh...
- Oh, good.
:45:59
I'm not an idiot. I know that
Lizzie likes to... have her fun.