you said.
You came into my room.
You sat down on my bed.
What did you say?
I mean we were sisters, weren't we?
Well, what did she say?
I'll never forget what you said.
You sat on my bed.
Didn't you? Do you remember?
The girl was in love with me -
I'm trying to tell you.
Do you remember what you said?
Good evening.
Good evening.
Good evening.
Everything in order?
First class.
I'm so glad.
Can I say something?
But indeed -
Everyone is so happy in your restaurant.
I mean women and men.
You make people so happy.
Well, we do like to feel
that it's a happy restaurant.
It is a happy restaurant.
For example, look at me. Look at me.
I'm basically a totally
disordered personality;
some people would describe me
as a psychopath. Am I right?
Yes.
But when I'm sitting in this restaurant
I suddenly find
I have no psychopathic tendencies at all.
I don't feel like
killing everyone in sight,
I don't feel like putting a bomb
under everyone's arse.
I feel something quite different,
I have a sense of equilibrium,
of harmony,
I love my fellow diners.
Now this is very unusual for me.
Normally I feel - as I've just said -
absolute malice and hatred
towards everyone
within spitting distance -
but here I feel love.
How do you explain it?
It's the ambience.
Yes, I think ambience is that
intangible thing that cannot be defined.
Quite right.
It is intangible.
You're absolutely right.
Absolutely.
That is absolutely right. But it does -
I would freely admit - exist.
It's something you find you are a part of.
Without knowing exactly what it is.
Yes. I had an old schoolmaster once who
used to say that ambience surrounds you.
He never stopped saying that.
He lived in a little house in a nice
little village but none of us boys
were ever invited to tea.
Yes, it's funny you should say that.
I was brought up
in a little village myself.
No? Were you?
Yes, isn't it odd?
In a little village in the country.
What, right in the country?
Oh, absolutely. And my father once
took me to our village pub.
I was only that high. Too young
to join him for his pint, of course.
But I did look in. Black beams.
On the roof?
Well, holding the ceiling up in fact.
Old men smoking pipes,
no music of course,
cheese rolls, gherkins, happiness.
I think this restaurant -
which you so kindly patronize -
was inspired by that pub in my childhood.
I do hope you noticed that you have
complimentary gherkins
as soon as you take your seat.
That was you! That was your idea!
I believe the concept of this restaurant
rests in that public house
of my childhood.
I find that incredibly moving.
I'd like to raise my glass.
What to?
To my wife. To my anniversary.
Oh, darling! You remembered!
I'd like to raise my glass. I ask you
to raise your glasses to my wife.
I'm so touched by this, honestly.
I mean I have to say -
Raise your fucking glass and shut up!
But darling, that's naked aggression.
He doesn't normally go in
for naked aggression.
He usually disguises it under
honeyed words. What is it, sweetie?
He's got a cold in the nose,
that's what it is.
I want us to drink to our anniversary.
We've been married more bloody years
than I can remember
and it don't seem a day too long.
Cheers.
Cheers.
It's funny our children aren't here.
When they were young
we spent so much time with them,
the little things, looking after them.
I know.
Playing with them.
Feeding them.
Being their mothers.
They always loved me much more
than they loved him.
Me too. They loved me to distraction.
I was their mother.
Yes, I was too.
I was my children's mother.
They have no memory.
Who?
Children. They have no memory.
They remember nothing.
They don't remember who their father was
or who their mother was.
It's all a hole in the wall for them.
They don't remember their own life.
Everything all right?
Perfect.
Were you at the opera this evening?
No.
No.
Theater?
No.
No.
This is a celebration.