Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

And then one night,

All right, bend over. Right down.

When she becomes real again.

(MR BRAITHWAITE PLAYING CLASSICAL MUSIC ON PIANO)

He's like a fanny in a fit.

You do it again.

(SLOW SONG PLAYING)

What the fuck are you gonna do about it?

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

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

MRS WILKINSON: Okay, girls.

What do you do, Mr Wilkinson?

(CAPTIVATING CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING)

Three, four, five...

Excuse me. This is not for my gratification.

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

And come up. And up.

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

TONY: What sort of a teacher are you?

Well, Merry Christmas, everybody.

Thanks, George.

You owe us 50 pence.

So she has to be a swan for good?

What does your dad say?

Ballet school? Is that in Newcastle?

Prepare, one and two.

Boxing. Where do you think?

(FLOORBOARDS CREAK)

The Royal Ballet?

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

Well, there's no mines in London.

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

Oi! You tidy our room. Dad!

And up, and hold.

They were my dad's gloves.

So they can't have sex.

Oi! Little one.

I beg your pardon?

And then round the corner came this wallaby.

Good-bye, Billy.

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

But he is my son, isn't he?

(FOOTSTEPS PATTERING)

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

Who the fuck are you?

OFFICER: The union leader! Get him!

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

MRS WILKINSON: Go!

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

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)

(SIRENS WAILING)

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

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

five, six, seven.