Original subtitles

Good evening. It's nice to be with you again, isn't it, Ronnie? Isn't it, isn't

it? Well, this evening we've got a bumper show for you. Yes, fell off the

of a lorry.

But first of all, the news.

A British rail spokesman said today, fares are to go up 20%, but we will give

value for money.

Journeys in future will take 20 % longer.

And a thief broke into a men's outfitters in London today and stole a

a straw boater.

And police are looking for a very careful tap dancer.

There's news today of a South American tribe whose women make themselves

attractive by covering their skin in mud, rotting Brussels sprouts and

oil.

The tribe is extinct.

A man found asleep in the back of his mini last night was charged with

sleeping. tossing and turning without signals and snoring in a built -up area.

Said a police witness he was fast asleep.

In fact, he was sleeping much too fast.

The president of the Sex Change Association, Mr. Daphne Smith,

is to marry Miss George Watson.

Miss Watson, the former Mr. Angela Watson, will marry Mr. Smith, the former

Henry Smith.

At St John's Wood Registry Office, the former St Martha's Wood Registry Office.

An accident was narrowly avoided at the annual cheese rolling contest on the

South Downs today when several cheeses landed on nudists sunbathing at the foot

of the hill.

No more was heard of the incident until a motorist on the Brighton Road reported

seeing two Welsh rarebits hitchhiking.

A man was arrested today for peering through the changing cubicles at an

outsized women's dress shop.

He described himself as a quantity surveyor.

And finally, and finally, a viewer's letter. Mrs. J. Arthur of Putney. You

is it considered right for me to eat gherkins with my fingers?

Well, Mrs. Arthur, it is not considered right. Eat your gherkins first, then

your fingers.

Right. Shall we start?

I've already started.

Mr. Twiney?

Yes, sorry.

Sorry.

Mr. Twiney? Yes.

My name is Hill.

I'm your examiner. Have you ever taken a driving test before?

No, no, certainly not. I see, fine.

Well, when you're ready, if you'd just like to turn left and go into the high

street, please.

What, now?

Yes, please. Oh, yes, right.

I can't find the pedals.

They're in the front here.

Oh, yes.

Sorry. Yes, sorry. Don't tell me they're... They're on the floor.

They're on the floor underneath the... Wait a minute. Underneath the steering

button.

The steering wheel. Steering wheel. Steering wheel, that's it.

Yes, steering wheel. All right, Mr. Charlie. Well, I haven't got all day. If

you'd just like to come into the front here and start the car, please. Right,

all right. Then I'm just coming and coming.

That's it. I don't think I'm going to be able to... That's it.

Oh, there's more of a use of seven.

All right, start the car.

Start the car.

It's easier.

Start the car.

One started car coming up.

Mr. Twiney, switch on the ignition, depress the clutch, and start the car.

The clutch, that's it, that's the clutch.

One potato, two potato, three potato, four potato, five potato, six potato,

more. That's it, the clutch, yes.

If you find the key is missing, look for it in the ignition.

What's that?

Whistle, whistle, I always whistle. Give a little whistle, for luck, you see.

Give a little whistle, Dame Fortune will be your guide.

All right, Mr. Charlie, all right. Off you go.

Oh, I didn't think it would be over as quick as this. No, no.

Off you go with the car. Start the car and let's get out of here. All right.

That's the radio.

What's that for?

Well, I'm singing. What for?

Well, I always sing when I let the handbrake off.

Oh, all right, Mr Twiney, if it's going to help you. All right.

I'll be loving you eternally.

Right, now then.

Take the car forward. Forward.

F -O -R -W -E.

Mr Twiney, and you went backward.

Does it make any difference?

Yes. Why?

This is a one -way street, Mr Twiney.

Have you ever driven a car before? No, no, certainly not. Then I suggest that

you do before you attempt to take a driving test. You are neither competent

fit to appear on the public highway.

Now, if you'll kindly change places with me, I shall drive us back.

And you may as well watch... Watch what I do.

At least you might learn how to start a car. Yes.

Now then. All right? Yes.

Right.

Now then.

If at first the key is missing, look for it in the ignition.

Right?

I'll be loving you eternally.

With a love that's true eternally.

F -O -R -W -A -R -D forward.

Have you ever tried really reaching out for the other

side?

Maybe climbing on rainbows, but baby,

here goes.

My name is Major Phipps Baldrup.

In Phipps, I've got two small Fs. And in Baldrup, I've got a big B, because I'm

built that way.

And a small P, because I'm nervous. Now, this week... This week, you may have

noticed, there is no coronation.

And as there are lots of unemployment about, we chaps in the catering corps...

Motto, sick transit suet pudding per ardua ad bromide.

We decided it was high time we put on a really big military show of some kind.

And I'm very glad to tell you that next Tuesday week, the Prince of Wales will

be invested with the world's largest marang.

Why a marang, I hear you ask, and my reply is, mind your own business.

There'll be bags of bands and lots of marching and saluting and lots and lots

bunting. The army will do all the marching and saluting.

But you will have to provide your own bunting.

So you'll better get some practice in.

Because there's nothing worse than being bunted when you're not ready for it.

You've got until next Tuesday week to learn how to bunt. Now then.

The president here moves off from Chelsea Barracks here at 02300 hours and

be led by three air hostesses wearing the uniform of an admiral of the fleet.

He will be followed by the admiral of the fleet wearing the uniform of an air

hostess. Now this is his own idea.

wants, then who am I to stand in his way?

In fact, I should keep well out of his way when he's got that on him.

Now next, on the world's biggest mechanised willow pattern plate will

mamang itself, followed by the loyal toast, the royal jelly and the crumpet

mollandry.

All the public houses will be closed, but the public lavatories will remain

open.

by mistake we opened all the pubs and closed all the lavatories.

And disaster was only averted by the arrival of a thunderstorm.

Which fortunately cleared the air and filled the gutters at the same time.

Now we'll try to improve the roads.

A rotten road will be made moderately satisfactory road and it will be lined

with boy scouts.

And here is an easy guide.

There we are.

diversions, things like naked archery, that sort of thing, and the Canberra and

Highlanders will be tossing their cabers and generally taking the kilt off the

gingerbread.

All along the route, here, here, here, and here, will be MPs shouting here,

here, and here, here.

Now, three regiments will act as escort.

First will come the 17th Foot and Mouth.

These will be followed by the Duke of Norfolk's Eleven, and bringing up the

rear, the Second Mounted Queens.

to Valga Square, mince up the mail, and camp all along Horse Guard Parade.

Now, when the procession reaches the tower, it will be met by the masked

McKellar, who will sing the ceremonial ode to the meringue in these lovely

words. Bang, bang, bang, let the world go hang, we're a wonderful gang, who all

often sang till the rafters rang, and we don't use slang and our bows go twang

and our cymbals clang.

On our wildest gang with our boomerang, we face the fang of the orangutan.

Please accept this large meringue.

Pretty, isn't it?

After which, the Lord Privy Seal will go round and seal up everybody's privies.

Well, let's hope it doesn't rain.

Next week, the catering corps will be attempting the changing of the lard and

the trooping of the calendar.

And if the Prince of Wales accepts the meringue this week, next month, we shall

be giving Princess Anne a gigantic raspberry.

Good night.

The place, Brimston Grange. The time, April 2nd, the date, Wednesday.

Piggy Malone, unsuccessful private eye and Cornish pasty expert, and his

undaunted assistant, Charlie Farley, a man who said little and knew less, found

themselves in the middle of one of the most extraordinary murder mysteries

the mousetrap, now in its 82nd year.

Amos Brimston lay murdered, a knife in his back and his face in a trifle.

The beautifully upholstered Blanche Brimston had urged Malone to go to her

bedroom, saying she had something vital to reveal to him.

And Malone didn't need much urging.

In fact, he'd had the urge before she even asked her.

Charlie Farley was left alone with the body.

Stone the crows.

That sounds like a very nasty habit, young man.

Still, I don't suppose you meant it literally.

Just an expression.

Tell me, madam, what do you know of this murder?

Only what you've told me, Mr Farley.

I've told you nothing.

Then that's exactly how much I know about it. Nothing.

I see.

Would you be prepared to answer a few questions?

Certainly.

Right.

I'm trying to think of something.

Question one.

Why did you return to the scene of the crime so suddenly?

I didn't return to the scene of the crime, as you put it. I simply came back

get my handbag.

And I resent that word suddenly.

With my legs, you don't do anything suddenly.

I'll bear that in mind.

Question three.

What happened to question two?

I'm coming to that.

Question four.

What have you got in your handbag that you don't wish me to see?

Well,

let me see now. There's a photo of me in bathing drawers.

Anything else?

I think I was wearing a picture hat and plimsolls at the time. I can't quite

remember. I don't mean that. I mean anything else in the handbag. No, no.

Absolutely nothing.

Very well, Lady Brimstone, if that's the way you wish to play it.

Well, how do you want me to play it? With a lip?

Look, madam, I refuse to stand here and bandy legs with you.

Now, one final question.

Is there a bathroom on this floor? Just outside. Why?

Don't be personal.

Has he gone, Jemima, dear? Yes, yes, all's clear. He suspects nothing.

Mind you, there was one nasty moment. He tried to get his hands on my Dorothy

bag. Oh, disgusting!

I don't know if the younger generation is coming, too.

Well, I've cut the cheese into little pieces and put it on little pieces of

bread. Then all we have to do is to put a little drop of arsenic on each one,

and that will be that.

Oh, I do hope we're doing right, dear.

Of course we are.

It serves them right for trying to kill other little creatures.

One should live and let live.

Exactly. So let's put plenty of poison on to make absolutely sure. Yes. Come

along, then. Let's hurry, because there's a program I want to see on

when we've finished.

It's all about two clergymen who don't wear any underclothes.

What's it called?

The Nicholas Parsons Show.

And so they went, leaving the room empty and the television critic of the Sunday

Times wondering whether to quote that last remark of the worst joke of the

Meanwhile, in a large, comfortable bedroom with a view of the rolling

woman answering to roughly the same description was deeply engrossed with a

detective who couldn't keep his eyes off her bedroom biscuit tin.

It was Blanche, and she was about to give him a piece of her mind, which was

last thing he wanted at that moment.

Would you mind going behind the screen? I want to change my clothes.

Seems a funny arrangement.

Why don't you go behind the screen?

I'm too tall. I show over the top.

As tall as you are.

I know, but it doesn't matter if you show over the top.

You're not changing your clothes.

Yes, that makes sense, yes.

Thank you.

No, that's not right, is it?

No.

Excuse me.

Ah, that's better.

No, you might have asked a few questions.

What did you say?

Pardon?

I didn't hear what you said.

I said, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?

Sit down.

Oh, yes.

Very well.

Well, I get a feeling you're trying to hide something.

Yes, and I'm finding it extremely difficult with you bobbing up and down

jack -in -the -box.

Talking of boxes, who's the local undertaker?

A man called Grout.

He and his wife run the business.

They've got a daughter called Debbie.

Oh, thanks.

Pretty.

Why do you ask?

I don't know.

Just nice to know where you can...

That was an attempt on my life.

That's what that was, madam.

Two hands grabbed me through a secret panel.

Wearing gardening gloves.

Who'd want to murder you?

No, Mr. Malone, that was meant for me.

Possibly. But if you'd been standing behind the screen here changing, you'd

been standing up, wouldn't you? So?

Would you mind coming in a minute?

So if you had been standing here, you couldn't have been strangled. But you

could have been... Are

any of the gardeners desperately in love with you?

I've no idea.

There are so many of them.

There were indeed many gardeners employed at Brimstone Grange, and even

smallest of them was no bigger than the rest.

His mock beat a heart just as strong, just as lustful as any man in the

district. And he loved the Lady Blanche.

He would mutter her name to himself as he wheeled his wheelbarrow.

My Blanche, my Blanche. And sometimes, because he was an idiot, he would say...

My Blanche, my Blanche.

My Blanche, my Blanche.

Only one other man in the household equaled his lust.

Pike, the butler.

He was a lustful and a stealthy man.

In fact, everything he ever did was either stealthy or lustful.

At the moment, he was being both as he approached the bedroom door, behind

Blanche and the overweight Malone were in conference.

Blanche, suddenly tired and not quite knowing what to do next, lay on the bed

and smoked.

Malone, suddenly not tired and knowing exactly what to do next, stood by the

door and steamed.

You're a bit of a snooper, aren't you, eh?

Yes, sir, I do snoop a bit.

Why? Why do you snoop?

Why, sir?

Why do you do it? Why do you snoop about?

Well, well... Go on, admit it. You like it, don't you?

Snooping about.

Well, well... How do you do it?

Well, it's a sort of hobby, sir.

Hobby?

Snooping?

What's that hobby you call that?

Snooping about.

Well, why do you do it, sir?

Why do you snoop about?

Well, it's my living, isn't it?

Oh.

What was that?

Sounded like a cry for help, sir. Come on. It was indeed.

The Dowager Lady Brimstone and Nellie Tremblay, her aged companion, who never

went anywhere alone unless they were together, had somehow managed to become

imprisoned inside the same outside WC, or as Shakespeare once put it, it's the

two old ladies locked in the lavatory.

Think it's a trap?

No, sir. It's a lever.

Mind you, didn't you be a bit of a nitwit, sir?

Don't pull the chain!

That night.

Have you seen the time?

It's a quarter to ten and we're supposed to be there at nine.

I don't think the registrar will be very pleased when we show up an

hour late like two frozen peas.

Both now facing for the first time, press the clean pass.

Something that begins with M and ends in a last.

More than a complete disaster, even from the start. What could it be?

It's matrimony.

I know how you dreamt about

being walked down the aisle.

But think of the money we're saving. You'll see it's worthwhile.

It won't please our moms and dads. They don't even know.

They decide if they did watch the betting, they wouldn't even show.

You and me are all that matters.

Disregard the rest.

Trust your student to be old, man. He knows what is best.

Very shortly now, there's going to be a...

And one from me, the spectrum of me.

Oh, I'm truly grateful for the little things in life that have made me so

Every other hour that I spend with you is not the least bit sad.

Quite the opposite fact, and if you don't believe me, here's the truth.

Ask me if I, I say I.

You and me are all that matters.

Disregard the rest.

Trust your soon -to -be old man. He knows what is best.

Very shortly now there's going to be an answer from you and one from me.

It's matrimony.

Marriage.

Till death us do part.

Thank you, Georgie and Alan.

Well, this evening, I'd like, if I may, to tell you something about my family

history, which might interest you because it has got one or two surprises.

Not many laughs, but one or two surprises.

For instance, would it surprise you to know that it was to one of my ancestors

that King Harold, at the Battle of Hastings, spoke his very last words.

He said...

Watch where you're pointing that bow and arrow. You'll have someone's eye out in

a minute.

And that I, according to recent research, am actually Gervais Courtney

Ronald Corbett, 14th Earl of Watford, Knight of Friday the 28th,

and Queen's Champion.

Now, if there are any queens listening, I should point out that I don't take

that part of it too seriously.

Now, the title has not yet been announced in the court circular, but it

mentioned in a handout at Tesco's.

When I most graciously opened the new bacon counter at Croydon last week, for

which I received a few bob and half a pig's head.

Which, incidentally, my wife, the Lady Martianess, refused to

cook because it was still smiling.

Well, not a whole smile, just the sort of half smile.

Now, actually, I would never have known that I wasn't common like the rest of

you if my wife hadn't been reading a magazine in a doctor's waiting room.

she spends a lot of time in the doctor's waiting room. She spends lots of time.

At the doctor's, I'll start there. She spends an awful lot of time at the

doctor's, my wife. More time than he does, really.

Now, not that I mind her being, you know, a bit sickly. In fact, sometimes

very useful because if you're feeling a bit dodgy and you're not sure what's

wrong, ask her.

And if she hasn't got it, she can get it for you.

Anyway, she was reading this magazine in a doctor's waiting room last week. Now,

I don't know what she was there for at the time.

Oh, yes, I do. Yes, I do.

Tell a lie. Yes, I do. The night before, she'd gone down the cellar for a shovel

of coal, came up again too quick and got the bends.

Anyway, she noticed this advertisement for people, you know, that traced your

family tree. So she wrote off to them because she had to have a few quid to

spare. She had it to spare because she'd found it in the bottom of my wardrobe.

Now, actually, it was a little something I'd been putting away for a surprise

weekend for two in Mallorca.

and half of it belonged to the au pair.

Now, I was a bit annoyed. I was a little bit annoyed that she didn't keep the

advertisement to herself, because a friend of mine across the road got in

us and laid claim, would you believe this, he laid claim to being the first

of Watford.

The first Jewish king of Watford.

Morris I.

A direct descendant of Nathan the Nerdywell.

The fellow who put up the money for Stonehenge.

Now, actually, it was rather sad.

It was rather sad about Morris because he'd only just started raining when he

was gone.

Well, it was hardly a rain, more a short shower, really.

It came as a terrible shock to me. You see, I'd always played golf with him

every Sunday morning because I like a game of golf, you know. If I didn't like

it, I wouldn't play it, would I?

I mean, it stands to reason, you know, I'm not an idiot.

I mean, I wouldn't trudge around the pouring rain getting frozen to the bone

knock a little white ball down a hole if I wasn't enjoying myself, now would I?

That's neither here nor there. Anyway, I went over last Sunday, you see, and

knocked on the door for him. And his wife came to the door and she said, do

want Morris?

And I said, yes.

She said, he's dead.

I said, he's not.

She said, he is.

I said, he's not.

Silly conversation, really.

Because she's a nice woman.

I mean, she wouldn't lie about a thing like that, would she?

I said, well, this has come as a terrible blow to me.

She said, well, I don't suppose he was too pleased about it.

I said to her, how did he go?

She said, like that.

Just like that, she said, like that.

I said, goodness me.

I said, I didn't mean that. I meant, what were the circumstances? She said,

well, I told her. He went down the garden, she said, I'll be honest with

went down the garden to cut a cabbage for dinner.

And he bent down and, bonk, he was gone.

I said, this is terrible.

I said, what are you going to do?

She said, well, I'll have to open a tin of beans.

Hello, druids, ladies and gentlemen.

It is my august honor here at the Albert Hall.

to welcome two esteemed visitors to this evening's recital of Welsh culture and

art. It is none other than Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor.

Learned bards, lady mayoress, lords, night shift workers, and Auntie Nora.

It is with great pride, a tremendous feeling of warmth, and a certain amount

difficulty that I stand here tonight.

This party, this gathering, is a culmination of an idea that my beautiful

gave birth to some months back.

In the grey, green, straddlingly narrow -streeted village that clings

desperately to the mist -covered hills.

That is for us home.

Anyhow, there we were in Hampstead.

On the blasted heath getting bloody frozen and Mother here, Mother here said

me, Dickie, she said.

I paid no particular attention. I thought she was talking to the birds.

She'll talk to anyone. She'll drink with anyone, too. She's not proud.

May I speak?

Doesn't he go on?

He'll bore the pants off you.

And if that doesn't work, he'll try some other way.

You.

You little Welshman, you.

No, all we wanted to say was... that we would like to recreate for you a very

historical occasion with a few catchy short airs that I'm sure you'll all be

familiar with.

We're going to sing for you, that's what she's trying to say. Funny way of

putting things she's got. Anyway, what Mother here was referring to when she

talked of the wonderful historical occasion was in fact her 40th birthday

Budapest. Oh, and what a blowout that was.

And what an enormous amount of lovely gifts I received from my little Richard.

A lovely gold necklace.

Made from all your old wedding rings.

And, my dear, do you remember I gave you that most beautiful king -sized jar of

penicillin? Oh, yes, for the girl who has everything.

Yes, and can't get rid of it.

Also, you gave me boots, of course. And Timothy Whiteson -Taylor's.

Look at that. Isn't that too much?

It lights up at midnight.

Yeah.

You should see where I keep the batteries.

So, on with the show. For our medley tonight, we are accompanied by none

than the famous all -male, ponty -breathe, naturally male voice choir.

And here it is.

Haven't they got lovely vibratos?

I'll say, they sing good, too.

Okay, boys, the Ash Grove from the top.

When Liz here turned 40...

We both got a little naughty.

I said to my little shorty, let's paint the town mauve. Soon each local

urchin from cheap alcohol was lurching. And many a lad was searching for my

treasure trove.

As my sweet Welsh rabbit did his funny Fred Astaire bit, a

tame grizzly bear bit me in the Ash Grove.

Me and Liz got rather brandy.

All the boys, this famous stock, it's cat to sing song. We were

sharpest. I played flute and he was harpist.

When

friends

of my father's...

Passed out and went to bed.

Liz served up the patty. Frog's legs and fried bread.

What a treat for every guest.

People queued up for a breast.

To feast on my middle -aged bread.

We gave them bread and garlic jam and jelly.

Chops and cheeses, old and smelly.

And his aunt Nellie got locked in the loo.

Drill the table, Rose and Doctor.

People standing in the gutter. Doing scenes from O

'Calcutta. What a smashing do.

Women getting flustered.

Men as keen as mustard.

Derek Fox.

and filled it full of caviar and custard each

glass cost me half a knicker

Alan Wicker kissed the vicar he was ticker too

we paid a welcome in the hillside with

crepes and strong well -tailed

dined on cream cakes, prawns and meatballs, macaroni and french fried

racket cost my dickie quite a packet. So next time I will arrange to hold it at

the corn exchange.

for this week. And next week, we'll be showing you part of the new Clint

Eastwood Weston and part of the new Clint Westwood Easton.

We shall also be looking at secretaries on the eve of their retirement and

posing the question, are they on their last lap?

We had hoped to interview this evening 88 -year -old Mr. Cyril Crittenden, one

of the last survivors in the sinking of the Titanic.

But when he finally swam ashore this morning, he was too tired to make a

statement.

And finally, a late newsflash.

News is just coming in of a customer being taken violently thick in the

revolving restaurant on the top of the post office tower.

Now, pedestrians... Sorry, I'll say that again.

Pedestrians are advised to walk with extreme care along Oxford Street,

Court Road, Euston Road and Jett Court Street.

Oxford Street, Tottenham Court Road, Euston Road and Jett Court Street.

And so it's goodnight from me.

And it's good night from him.

Good night.