Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Not now.
.
I'm going to let Mrs Wilkinson
Can't smoke on here, mate. These are private buses.
Grandma, tea time.
I'll miss you if you go away.
Left hand on the bar.
What about that Wayne Sleep? He's not a poof.
MAN ON TV: In a speech to Tory MPs yesterday,
How do I look?
And first.
and I will have missed seeing you grow.
And a one, two, three, pas de bourrée.
TONY: Sheila's not got that kind of money. She can't even keep the soup kitchen open.
Who do you think I am?
To my son Billy.
Give us your hand.
Ow.
JACKIE: Scabs eat well.
Is that the lot, then?
MRS WILKINSON: Step open and balancé, balancé, balancé.
-(WHISPERS) Sorry, mate. -It's all right, Tony.
Drop your shoulders.
If you just wanna stand round getting the shit kicked out of you,
Tony. Tony!
Ahhh!
Yeah.
What's a plié?
He did it He fucking did it
which is probably a good thing.
And a happy Christmas to you, too.
Po Po Po Po Power with Bearglove
Because you're a failure!
BILLY: Can I put a tape on, Miss?
See? You're a nutter, you.
(SIGHS)
Can we have a go of it, Miss?
Breathe and stretch.
I used to go to ballet.
Dad did it with this woman from work, but they don't think I know.
MAN 1: Paul.
JACKIE: That's okay, Son. We're all scared.
I haven't seen hide nor hair of your Billy for months.
Not as much as you might think. Maybe two grand.
(SPITS) Tastes like piss.
Second, and down.
If it was up to me, I'd shut the lot of them down tomorrow.
Who do you think's better? Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers?
You know perfectly well what's wrong with it.
(JACKIE SHRIEKS)
and four, five.
-Merry Christmas. -Merry Christmas.
MRS WILKINSON: If they're special to you, they're right.
You do. Why don't you bring it along next week?
The dancing.
(GROANS)
What are you after, like, a list?
It's Billy.
what does it feel like when you're dancing?
Shit!
Don't be stupid!
Both of you!
Shoulders down, long neck.
Where are you looking, Susan?
Ballet.
Forget about it. You're dreaming. Look at youse.
JACKIE: Billy Elliot. We've come for an audition.
He doesn't know.
Jackie Elliot.
Arms are in fifth.
Just you and me.
Boots off. Seven and eight.
Twat.
It's fine. We'll be digging it up again next month.