Original subtitles

Good evening, it's great to be back with you again, isn't it, Ronnie? Yes, it

is, and in a packed programme tonight, we were to have interviewed the star

attraction of Lord George Davidson Circus, Alfredo the Human Bomb.

We've just heard that he's gone off on holiday.

But we will be introducing a talking dog who's gained something of a reputation

as a sheep warrior.

He runs after them and shouts, Mint sauce, mint sauce, mint sauce.

But first, the news.

The stock exchange man who was protesting outside number 10 all

only in a pound note, was arrested when there was a sharp drop in sterling

advances.

And there was consternation in Downing Street this morning when one of Dennis

Healy's eyebrows was indecently assaulted by a hedgehog.

The four girls were disqualified for cheating in the Miss Greater Manchester

competition last night. They were Miss Alteringham, Miss Paddingham, Miss

Pumpingham and Miss Duffingham.

There was a red alert at Wormwood Scrubs this morning when it was realised that

26 of the prisoners had put their names down for picnic lunches.

Latest reports on the electricity board man who survived a 330 ,000 volt shock

say that he is recovering rapidly and is now sitting up in hospital and feeding

himself. He's also feeding two tumble dryers, a dishwasher, the entire

system and Esther Ransom's toothbrush.

And now a sketch about topless go -go dancers in suburbia.

In which I knock around with a couple of rockers.

And I rock around with a couple of nice people from Croydon.

How do you do? How do you do? My name's Dear.

Arnold, dear, I come here every year. My name's Algernon Cruff. Do you write

limericks, I trust? No, I'm only here for the beer.

Just a joke. Just a rhyme and a joke. I can't help it, I'm that sort of bloke.

Just a joke and a rhyme and a jolly good time.

What I really came for was a... Smoke?

No, I won't. Please don't think that I'm rude.

Smoking's fine if you're in the right mood.

I smoke with my food. My wife smokes in the nude, as long as it doesn't intrude.

Tell me, what sort of rhymes do you do?

Oh, just things about ladies from Crewe who step off the train, catch the foot

in the drain, and the porters are, what about you?

Well, I've written a book, and itself is described by the Bishop of Wells as the

best of its kind, and my work is confined to the loo walls of five -star

Of course, published by the AA.

Recommended by Egan Ronay, and yes, it's perfectly true, and BBC Two made it

into a play for today.

You're that witch. who writes things about marriages on the walls of first

-class railway carriages.

Please tell me once more of that classic you saw on the seat of the boys' room

at Claridge's. Ah, my mother, a born intellectual, made me a complete

homosexual.

Underneath wrote some fool, if I gave her the wool, would she make me one? Not

ineffectual.

That's the stuff I wish I could write. But I sit and I ponder all night and I

come up with some tale of a cow and a pail and the last line's a load of...

Quiet, quiet.

My room's pretty grotty. How's yours?

Well, there's woodworm in both of the doors.

There's a hole in the floor, but what worries me more is the dry rot they

in my drawers.

Have you noticed that little blonde tart?

Oh, how pretty she is, bless her heart.

She's a right little girl.

How well do you know her? Well, she's not a real blonde for a start.

With those looks, I don't think I'd quibble.

No, I must say, I fancy a nibble.

He's inspired you, no doubt, with the urge to give out. Yes.

Let's go to the gents for a scribble.

It's a funny old life, being a cinema commissioner, you know.

I stand out here all Doris Day.

Whether it's Claude Rains or Ronald Shiners, I'm all with you.

Elka Summer or Shelley Winters, it's all.

Oh, I've got some mixed memories, though.

I remember when I was a little Alan lad living down Sydney Green Street.

We used to go round kicking folks' diners' doors.

Then at Christmas time, we'd go singing Madeline Carols outside the same diner

doors.

And banging on the knockers.

Of course, when I was Robert Young, I was really Cornell Wild.

I used to go Sarah Miles after me, Warren Oaks, I did.

The first girl I met, she was a bit too Ron Moody, you know.

Always Roy Bolting her food, and she had a face like a Jack Lemmon.

Then I met the first real love of my life. Oh, she was lovely. She had

brown eyes, a very cool Fred Astaire, and lovely big Ginger Rogers.

Well, I was getting Henry Fonda of her all the time, but then she started a tom

mix with the wrong people, you know.

A few months later, she gave birth to Anthony Quinns.

She tried to make out it was me what Irene done it, you know.

She tried to make me marry her, but I said, I'm Dirk Bogart, if I will.

I think she married a Peter Lorre driver in the finish.

Then, of course, I got a bit more victim mature, but...

While I was still too Loretta young, I married this Rachel Wills girl from

Cardiff. But we had a Robert Stack up after a few years.

Well, I got home one night, heard of Jane Russell in the bushes.

I found her with another Anthony Mann, giving her a Gregory Peck on the cheek.

Well, of course, I was in the right Sydney Fury, wasn't I?

I picked up a Patricia Rock and Danny Cayota with it.

Before I knew it, I was all round to the Clara Bow Street in front of the old

James Robertson Justice.

He gave me two years under Roger Moore.

I did ask for Stanley Holloway, but he said that was a woman's prison.

Mind you, that took the clear bloom from me cheeks, I can tell you.

After that, I tried living in Burt, Lancaster and even Susanna York, but I'd

come back to dear old Julie London eventually.

You know, I tried various jobs. I was a Christopher Plummer for the council one

time.

Then I worked as an harbour gardener for the Larry Parks department.

I even got a job as a carol baker, but I kept burning the Lee J Cobbs a nasty

jolly bit.

That's my trouble now, you see, I keep going out under Noah Beery, that's my

trouble. Eating the Alec Guinness.

I wake up with a lousy John Payne in the stomach.

You don't go till I've had a glass of Ari Andrews liver sauce and a couple of

Michael Rennies.

I'm all on me Richard Todd now, of course.

I wouldn't get married again at any Dennis Price.

Very hard up, living on Joan Crawford's cream crackers. Still,

I live in Bobo.

Although most of me low hairs are falling out and the rest are going pearl

white.

I could have done better with me life. I carry Grant, yeah, yeah.

Better than standing here all the rain day getting spotted by the Walter

Still. After all, I suppose I should think myself lucky I don't work at the

seaside, you know.

Wouldn't be Walter Piggins then, it'd be George Seagulls instead.

You just can't keen and win, can you?

Piggy Malone and Charlie Farley are once again up to their necks in murder,

mystery and mutts spreading in the remote Devonshire village of Drake

darkling's farm run by an ancient farmer and his large and lusty wife.

Our heroes meet Lucy, a wild gypsy girl who warns them of strange rituals in the

churchyard and hypnotizes Piggy into being terrified of the demon that lurks

there. Repeat after me.

It's big and it's black and it's furry and I'd be afraid of it.

Charlie has invented a device to lay the ghost, but only succeeds in taking the

lid off something much more sinister.

What

was

that all about, Chief?

I don't know, but that corpse didn't look very dead to me.

Anyway, it's a funny time to hold a funeral.

You didn't half make me jump.

What are you hanging around this graveyard this time of night for, eh?

Oh, he's cold. He wants another cuddle.

See, Rock, he doesn't want anything to do with you.

You've got nothing to offer him, has she, Chief?

Chief?

It's big and it's black and it's furry, and I'd be afraid of it.

I told you, see? Come on, get up.

Did you see that man?

In the coffin.

He be a black -hearted villain, that man. I do call down a curse upon him.

Don't do that.

That's very unhealthy. Somebody's got to be buried in that coffin.

Look, never mind all that.

Do you know that bloke?

Know him?

Everybody around these parts do know him.

He be the lord of the manor.

Everything all right, Chief?

Yeah. What are you rushing about like that for? You're frightening the birds.

Is it you've been spotted?

I've been spotted all over, I should think. I've got damn red ants crawling

me leg, biting me.

I'm itching all over.

Well, if you can point out the parts they've bitten, I'll scratch them for

What were those poles in your arms?

If I could point them out, I could scratch the parts myself, couldn't I?

Can't we have our sandwiches yet? I'm starving.

What time is it?

Have a look.

Quarter to one. No, a quarter now to wait.

All right, all right. I don't need to get like that and all uppity.

is cheese and chutney. Don't I? Cheese and chutney.

Try the other end.

Sandwich bread. Lovely.

Look, I've already told you I've got a plan for that. In my wallet here, I've

got several different business cards. I saw it on television, you see. So

whatever occasion arises, I have a card in here to cover it.

How do you know what occasion's going to occur?

Well, you... Well, you size up the situation, don't you? Then you play it

ear.

You couldn't play this one by ear. It's an optician's.

Point taken.

Oh, but don't forget, we've still got this for added protection.

Here, is that loaded?

I'll say it is.

And don't forget, the steel darts in this can travel through nine inches of

solid wood.

So don't get your head in the way.

Ah, good afternoon, ma 'am.

Could we have a word with hubby?

My husband is dead.

Oh. Oh, well, then, perhaps, in a way, it is indeed fortunate that we have

called at this time.

We represent an old, established firm, experienced in matters of handling

situations of this sort.

My card.

You can rest assured that your husband will be safe in our hands.

Emergency plumbing service.

Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

J.

Harrison Limited.

Undertakers and morticians.

Disposal of the deceased to speciality.

I don't need an undertaker.

You're not supposed to bury people yourself, you know.

My husband has been dead for eight years.

Then why are you crying?

I'm pickling onions.

Good day.

I

think

that's put them off the track.

Oh, they're very confused now, the poor idiots.

Well, what's the matter? Don't you see it's very funny?

Why aren't you laughing?

heroes have been outwitted.

Who is the mad lady of the manor? And who are the mysterious yokels who work

her? Will they too get killed as soon as they finish pickling her onions?

Don't miss next week's exciting episode of Stop!

You're Killing Me!

So you're off work, are you? Why are you off work?

I'm sick.

What, sick of work, you mean?

No, I've been up to the doctors with my feet.

Yeah, best way to go at all.

What's the matter with your feet?

Nothing. Oh, nothing? Oh, you should make page three of the Lancet without a

sick one.

Now, what I mean is, no matter how far I walk, or how often I never wash them,

My feet never smell.

What's the doctor say then?

Said I needed an operation.

Operation? On your feet?

No, on me nose.

Frightened the life out of me, he did. He's a funny bloke, you know. He got out

this long pole with a hook in the end. Well, stuck it up your nose.

Now he opened the windows with it.

I don't want to take no notice of doctors. If doctors are so clever, how

people are still getting ill?

Mind you, doctors have made some advances in recent years. Oh, yeah, I

yeah. You read about them in the News of the World every week, don't you?

I don't mean that kind of advances. I mean blood transfusion, that type of

thing. Look, don't talk to me about blood transfusion. I went up to be a

donor once.

They said I had amnesia.

What, so you didn't give them any? No, they finished up giving me some.

bloody doctors.

It's all these sick people sitting about in the waiting room. They shouldn't

allow sick people in doctors' waiting rooms.

It's unhealthy, isn't it? It's biological, isn't it?

What, like stains?

Where?

Stains? Not where.

Biological stains.

Like you're getting washing powder.

No, no, no. I mean, it's bacteria, isn't it? It's germs. You see, all the sick

people go in to see the doctor, the doctor messes about with them, he picks

the germs, doesn't he? Then you go in there and you pick them up. Well, a week

later, you're back there, aren't you? Now, before you go into surgery, he

what's wrong with you because he bloody gave it you, doesn't he?

Remember Dr Kildare?

Oh, yeah. He used to affect my wife.

Affect her what?

Well, you know, make her, you know, go funny.

Well, you see, he used to be on Sunday nights, didn't he?

And that was our special night, you know.

Well, it still is.

Sometimes.

What do you mean, special night? What's special night?

Well... You know what I mean, don't you? You know.

I mean, don't you?

Don't you and your... Don't look like that, don't you?

and your missus have a special night?

Oh, I see. Oh, yeah, I get you. Yes, we have a special night. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

When's your special night?

Easter Monday.

Well, Sunday used to be our special night, you see, after Dr.

Kildare, you see.

Suited me fine, really.

Left the rest of the week nice and clear.

And the BBC moved it to Friday night and messed up me fishing.

Well, you see, that's why you can't trust these medical sorts, can you, see?

I know, but there has been some great doctors, you've got to admit.

Who? Yeah, he was very good, 18 carats.

Not Doctor Who, I'm saying Who, name one, I mean. Oh, sorry, I thought you

that. No, well, Livingston.

Livingston? Oh, he was a right shroody, he was, wasn't he, eh? What did

Livingston ever do? All he ever did was got lost, didn't he?

Very clever of that. I got lost last week going to Acton.

Yeah, but he got lost in the African bush.

Well, I got lost in Shepherd's Bush.

Just wear a few more clothes, that's all.

Old Stanley, you know, Stanley, he took three years to find that Dr Livingston,

and when he found him, rumour has it that the doctor wouldn't even give him a

sick note.

Well, maybe he didn't have an appointment.

You can't trust these doctors. You read about it in the newspapers every week. A

bloke goes in hospital to have an ingrown toenail done, he comes out with

right arm off, doesn't he?

Well, I didn't know that cured ingrown toenails.

Don't, it don't. It just means they've got the papers all mixed up, you see.

Here, the doctor says I've got to go in and have an operation of my nose. I've

got to have me tonsils out at the same time. Yeah, well, you be careful I don't

mix the papers up. I mean, suppose they got you mixed up with a bloke who went

in for a sex change, eh?

Leave it out, precisely.

Oh, well, if you got mixed up with him, what would you do?

Not a lot.

Speak with a higher -pitched voice? What about him? He'd come out with

everything he went in with, plus a sore throat, wouldn't he?

You don't think it would possibly happen, do you? Who knows? Who knows?

They've got no scruples, these doctors.

You wouldn't have when you come out, either, would you?

Right, I'll get them.

What do you get out? Same again? A pint, is it?

Or would you prefer a small port and lemon, my little old darling, eh?

Better get used to it. Leave off.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Nolan sisters.

Oh, baby.

That's why you're there.

T 'was the day of the gravedigger's wedding.

The churchyard was shrouded in gloom, and the lads of the village sat silent,

playing tiddlywinks on a tune.

The villagers trooped up the high street, trying their best not to grieve.

were losing their jolly young sexton, and alas, there could be no reprieve.

Mr. Hoppin, the star undertaker, was giving his daughter away.

and despite his morose occupation, was doing his best to look gay.

He had finished the final arrangements. He had greeted the groom face to face.

He knew he could make the bride happy, but he measured the lad just in case.

The villagers all were invited.

Invitations sent out to each guest, said be in the churchyard at midday, and

then did no flowers by request.

The bride wore a gown of black muslin, so pretty it fair took your breath.

And shyly, with hesitant footsteps, she went to a fate worse than death.

The groom arrived late for the wedding, and the crowd were all getting alarmed.

He'd been in the old crown and anchor, getting completely embalmed.

The parson was solemnly waiting. The bride stood there, covered in veil. Her

train was held up by two pages. His pants were held up by two nails.

When the parson had joined them and blessed them,

they were sentenced for better or worse, and the organ played Rescue the

Perishing as they hurried away in the hearse.

the breakfast, the bridesmaids were sent in a cab.

The feast was laid out in the garden. The best man laid out on a slab.

The food was all cold as it should be. They'd spared no expense, you can tell.

An abundance of very stiff jelly and a cake with brass handles as well.

The verger had charge of the breakfast. The most popular toast that he gave was

health and long life to the bridegroom. May he live to dig many a grave.

And as soon as the breakfast was over, and they'd filled themselves full of hot

toddy, the bride dropped her wreath and took off her shroud, and everyone viewed

the body.

Tonight, I'd like, if I may, to tell you a joke that holds very nostalgic

memories for me. I'm telling you that straight away, so that if I happen to

break down while I'm telling it, you know, don't mind me crying.

Just you carry on enjoying yourselves.

You see, I haven't told this story since that night, 20 years ago, when I

appeared in cabaret at the St. John's Women's Institute, our go -go.

But it was that evening, all those years ago, when I first met the first love of

my life, Mrs.

Wilkinson. Now, she was a widow. She told me her husband was lost at sea

somewhat unusual circumstances.

Apparently had gone up the ship's mast to see if he could sight land.

When he came down, the ship had gone.

I think it's rather a pity he didn't take my grandfather with him.

There I was, doing my act.

And I noticed this beautiful woman in the audience.

Well, I couldn't help but notice she was the audience.

It was a very quiet evening. A lot of people had stayed at home to listen to

Archers. And I'd just actually finished my unusual impression spot.

I'd done Albert Schweitzer. I'd done Maurice Chevalier's mother.

Emily Pankhurst. I'd done, you know, just the cream of the act.

And I said, has anybody any requests?

You know, one does, you know. And I shall never forget the thrill of hearing

Wilkinson's voice for the first time. She said, yes, she said, if I leave the

keys, will you lock up?

Now, up to then, I must be honest with you, up to then, I was sort of half

awakened. you know, to the opposite sex.

I used to have a fantasy that Raquel Welsh would creep into my bedroom and

her hand down her blouse and bring out two cup final tickets.

I actually went to see a psychiatrist about that.

He didn't seem to understand at all.

He wanted to buy one of the tickets.

I think... I think it's a family weakness because my dad still writes fan

letters to Julie Andrews.

But he blames it on the stuff they put in your tea when he was in the army.

I managed to wind up my performance with something, you know, appropriate.

A couple of verses of Silent Night or something like that.

And when I started talking to Mrs Wilkinson, I discovered she was a very

sophisticated lady. A merry widow.

She was asked to every party in the district.

My God, she had some Tupperware.

So to cut a long story short, something I don't seem very good at, but I do try,

in no time at all, there we are, me and Mrs Wilkinson, getting the taste of

martini in the pub on the motorway, the flat hedgehog.

And by closing time, we both discovered that we had something in

common. We were both drunk.

And I said to her, I love you.

I said, I love you.

And unfortunately, I happened to catch the barman's eye as I said it.

And I still get letters from him, even now.

And a bottle of Brut at Christmas.

So eventually, we got to her doorway.

I said, Mrs.

Wilkinson, I said. She said, please don't call me Mrs.

I said, Wilkinson, I said.

You are the most wonderful woman I have ever met.

You are beautiful, she said, yes.

Sophisticated, yes.

Sense of humor, sense of humor.

You like a drink, I like a drink. Regular job, regular job.

Cuddly toy, cuddly toy.

How did Bruce Versailles get into that?

Then she said, I am also very passionate.

She said, would you like to come inside?

She opened the door, you see, and she walked in.

That's her walking in.

I didn't walk like that. I walked sort of quite normally like that.

As normally as the excitement would allow it.

She opened the door, you see.

She opened the door and there in the hall was a dead horse.

I said, um...

I said, what's that doing there?

She said, I didn't say I was tidy, did I?

She said, I won't be a minute. She said, why don't you go into the sitting room?

By the way, the bit about the dead horse is not absolutely true.

But if I told you the truth, you'd never believe me.

She said, I won't be a minute. She said, why don't you go into the sitting room,

help yourself to a drink, she said, put on a little music, slip into something

comfortable.

Well, it seemed a good idea at the time, so there I was, a few minutes later,

standing there, stripped down to the bifocals, standing there on my mink

-trimmed Y -fronts, and my ex -commando vest to

fit a five -year -old.

Mum had taken a tuck in the back.

Standing there admiring the ducks up the wall and thinking to myself, isn't

nature wonderful?

And she came back in with her three kids.

And she looked at me and she pointed.

She said to them, that's what you'll look like if you don't eat your greens.

I love on the ocean way.

It's better than walking the street.

Sailor's life you crave.

Then up and follow the fleet.

Oh, the skipper's awfully sweet when he comes for his Sunday treat.

Well, when you're abroad, you're bound to get bored and it's nice to get off

your feet.

We are the sailor boy.

The answer's always yes.

I'm a captain, pride and joy.

And I'm the officer's man.

So cheer up, me lads, if you need us, we're here.

We've already had quite a varied career.

Oh, we've both been around, though we're not very old. We've been kissed in the

crow's nest and held in the hold. Hearts of oak we have got, cos me bra's made

of wood.

We always are steady, steady girls, steady.

Oh, she's as bad as me, but we're both pretty good.

We love playing games on the deck or below With a bottle of rum and a quick

yo -ho -ho Though our fishnets get torn in a game of sardines And we sink pretty

low when we play submarines For a joke or a jar with a bloke who's a tar

We always are ready, steady girls, steady We travel round the world but we

don't go too far

I had a date with a drunken sailor, Thursday night with a drunken sailor,

fight with a drunken sailor, early Friday morning.

Yee -haw, and up she rises, she's got knees of different sizes, one's very

and the other wins prizes.

Out in a rowboat with this sailor, all timed up like Elizabeth Taylor,

shouting at each other through a small loud hailer, early in the morning.

The fog got thicker and so did the sailor. The night got dark and he got

Then we were hit by a bloody great whaler. Then we were hit by a bloody

whaler every in the morning.

Lost the oars in the small loud hailer. Hung up the blouse and tried to sail

her. Used me brazier as a bailer all night in the morning.

Hey ho, and I'm too tired.

I've got to get back exercising.

Bedding's has busted. School cat sizes six and seven eighths.

I saved that sozzled, saturated sailor, took him back to me caravan and trailer,

gave him a sniff of me vic inhaler, a lie in the morning.

He took off his suit and prepared to retire, dried his bell -bottoms by the

fire. They weren't his own, we got them on hire from the local Moss Bros.

Hey -ho, and up she rises, they've got suits of different sizes, pockets are

full of little surprises, early in the morning.

Cold and wet and much, much frailer, three sizes smaller, two shades paler.

I finished up with a shrunken sailor early in the morning.

Bobby Shaft has gone to sea. He'll be back in time

for tea. He's in charge of the WC on the channel day.

morning, he did parts with his telescope and charts, all for a glimpse of

foreign parts on the channel fairy.

Bobby Shaft was tall and strong, his legs are thin and his hair is long, he

looks like a laboratory brush gone wrong on the channel fairy.

But I have a little plan to marry Bobby if I can, because I love a WC

going man on the channel fairy.

He's a naval man. You can tell it by his walk. He's a naval man when you listen

to him talk. And the drunken things he lots of when he's lying in the gutter.

You can bend your brain, but he's a naval man. If his kickback's full of

wrinkles, he's a naval man. If you reach from a wink, he's a naval man.

If he hums a little ditty and he tells you that you're pretty, you can bet your

breasts that he's a naval man.

He's a navel man of the ocean going soft. He's a navel man with a girly

pop. You will see him grab and hug her yelling once upon a lager. He's a dirty

rotten ocean of a navel.

He's in a robot on the serpentine. If he tries to put his hand upon your

plimsoll vine.

You're going to get the skin you're born in if he grabs you without warning.

You'll be scuttled in the morning. He's a navel man.

And so we now salute the gallant crew, the captains, the commanders and the

cabin boys who sail the ocean blue.

I love each one and I've had fun with quite a few.

We wear the colours, the flags of great renown, and we'll never, never let them

be pulled down.

June and Tanya, the darlings of the waves, just try...

We shall never, never leave you.

Well, that's all we have time for tonight. But before we go, here are a

items of late news.

Soccer violence.

Fighting between United and City fans tonight was interrupted for 90 minutes

when the pitch was invaded by 22 players.

And tonight, a new pub opened its doors here in Shepherd's Bush. It's jointly

run by Mary Whitehouse and Percy Edwards, and it's called the Prig and

In tonight's wrestling at Lewisham Bath, Larry Grayson beat John Inman by a

technical submission.

They were fighting for the grappling game's biggest ever person. It's about

big and all covered in sequins.

And finally, the public are warned to be on the lookout for Joseph Gomez, a

Spaniard last heard of living in Tuting, whose mother was a nun in Barcelona.

A one -time flautist with a symphony orchestra, he is wanted for looting in

Haifa, where he worked on a farm.

The police urge people to look out for a Haifa -looting, fluting, Tuting son of

a nun from Barcelona, part -time ploughboy Joe.

Until next week, it's goodnight from me. And it's goodnight from him. Goodnight.

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