Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Good-bye, Billy.

TONY: What sort of a teacher are you?

Have you any idea of what we're going through?

(SLOW SONG PLAYING)

I beg your pardon?

You do it again.

You owe us 50 pence.

What does your dad say?

But he is my son, isn't he?

Well, Merry Christmas, everybody.

(CAPTIVATING CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING)

and four, and five, and six, and...

five, six, seven.

And come up. And up.

MRS WILKINSON: Okay, Billy Elliot, into the centre.

MRS WILKINSON: Go!

Ballet school? Is that in Newcastle?

(MR BRAITHWAITE PLAYING CLASSICAL MUSIC ON PIANO)

And up, and hold.

When she becomes real again.

Boxing. Where do you think?

What are you trying to do, make him a fucking scab for the rest of his life?

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)

Who the fuck are you?

So they can't have sex.

TONY: George, you know there's nothing left. Stop putting ideas in his head, man!

Three, four, five...

doesn't mean I'm a poof, you know?

Thanks, George.

MRS WILKINSON: Okay, girls.

And then one night,

So she has to be a swan for good?

Here. It was a toss-up between a new punch bag or you.

Don't pick on me 'cause you fucked up your own life!

And then round the corner came this wallaby.

Oi! You tidy our room. Dad!

He's like a fanny in a fit.

FOREMAN: Right. Okay, you lot. Over here. All aboard the skylark. Look lively.

What do you do, Mr Wilkinson?

(FLOORBOARDS CREAK)

Excuse me. This is not for my gratification.

Prepare, one and two.

Might not be a problem. Come on. Keep going.

What the fuck are you gonna do about it?

And a one, two, three, pas de bourrée.

MAN: Mr Elliot, I'm afraid that mutual respect and self-discipline

Oi! Little one.

Well, there's no mines in London.

(SIRENS WAILING)

All right, bend over. Right down.

OFFICER: The union leader! Get him!

The Royal Ballet?

They were my dad's gloves.

(FOOTSTEPS PATTERING)