Original subtitles

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

And in a packed programme tonight, we shall be going over live to Victoria

Station, where the world's thinnest man is taking his bride, the world's

thinnest woman, off on honeymoon.

They're looking forward to a rattling good time.

But first, first the news.

Published in Dublin today were the results of the Irish government's

on the clothes chop.

99 % voted for Wednesday afternoons.

The Pidderminster man who today squirted cavity wall foam up a policeman's

trousers will appear in court tomorrow charged with insulating behaviour.

Good Housekeeping magazine today named Elizabeth Taylor Good Housekeeper of the

Year. She's been divorced five times and always kept the house.

A Republican in Islington today sacked all his topless barmaids for dipping

the tilt.

A sad day today at Lord George Davidson's circus when Arthur Yallop,

fly, committed insecticide.

A large audience attended the world premiere of a symphony written by two

newlyweds. It starts with a roll on the drums, continues with a squeeze on the

harmonium, and builds up to a big finish on the linoleum.

A now sketch featuring Mr. Ronnie Barker as a nudist who can't add up and has to

count on his friends.

I ought to be sorry, ladies and gentlemen, about my brother.

He's quite all right, really. It's just he keeps taking so many pills and they

keep affecting him in different ways.

All right, now, shh, shh, shh.

Come on, come on. Yes, have a number seven. Nice number seven.

Is everybody happy?

I'm awfully sorry about this. I think it was that half of lager. Could you take

that glass away from him, John? Thank you.

Shouldn't you take him home? No, no, no, no. He's enjoying himself. Look, he's

like... Sit him over here. Anyway, we don't get invited to many parties. You

know, I don't know why.

I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'll give him a number eight. That never

fails. There we are. Oh, no, that's a number seven. Here we are. Here's a

eight. Come on. Open up. Nice number eight.

Come on. And there we go.

What? Oh.

Oh, I'm terribly sorry. It's all right. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spoil you.

I'm sorry. Did I raise my voice? I'm awfully sorry. I'm awfully sorry. Did I?

Oh, this must be your lovely wife, is it?

Isn't she beautiful?

Oh, dear.

Oh, I've given him an eight after a five. That always makes him a bit...

Oh, dear. I'm awfully sorry.

You must be Reg's wife, Genevieve, are you?

It's been so long.

Aye, aye, aye. Come, come.

Aye, aye, aye. Come.

Aye, aye, aye.

Hello, are you speaking?

I'm going to end it all. No, no. End it? You must. You'll kill yourself. No, no.

I'm going to stop.

No, no. Not other people's. Other people's. Drown myself.

You can't drown yourself. There's no water. Yes, there is. What? Oh.

I've got some brand new ones here. Number 11. I'll give him a number 11.

me! No, don't do that. It's not an 11.

It's a 7 -iron. That'll kill him.

Of course it isn't.

Come on out, little tranquilizer. Come along.

Would you hold that, Jeff, please? Oh, I'm sorry. Come on, little tranquilizer.

There, you can chew that one.

There.

There. You see?

Oh, yes, that's working. He's gone very tranquil. Oh, lovely. Dr. Dawless will

be here in a minute. I don't think we can wait for Dr. Dawless. No, I think I

ought to take him away before he spoils people's evenings.

Yes, come along. I'll just take him. There we go.

Oh, he's also tranquil. Look at that.

Whoa, just a minute.

I'll just give him a revitalizer.

Yes, just one for the road. Come along.

There's a good lad. One for the road.

There's a good boy.

I'll say goodnight to everyone, will you? Goodnight, everyone.

That's it. Thank you very much for loving me.

Must do it again sometime. Goodnight.

Goodnight. Goodnight, Jeff.

And may I just say, how do you fancy a bunch of flies?

My name is Spooner.

Spock to do now.

I was, uh, I was passing the punt of your shop, and I thought I would book in

for a look. Look in for a book.

You must forgive me. I sometimes get one word nuzzled up with a mother.

I'm frequently made of laughing frock.

Oh, yes, Dr.

Spooner, of course.

You're most welcome, sir.

Now, which book did you require?

Well, how about The Complete Shirks of Wakespeare?

Or perhaps a book of poetry by Kelly or Sheets?

low on poetry at the moment. Oh, Peter Wattie. I mean, Potter.

He was to be a crescent for my pud lady.

Your pud lady, sir? Yes, my wife, the dear thing.

Ah, if it is for a lady, perhaps something fairly easy to read.

Not too taxing for the female brain.

Ah, on the contrary, nothing too simple. Oh, no, no, no, no. My wife is a bright

little reader.

A romantic novel, then. Well, romantic...

Ah, yes, the vicar of Wakefield, providing it doesn't arouse her animal

instincts. You see, she is very fond of red beading.

Beading in red, that is.

And last month I bought her Wuthering Heights, and when I got home that night,

she was kneading it in the rood.

So I don't wish to encourage her to leap out of her vicars for the knicker of

Wakefield.

Quite. Quite.

Now, let me see, what about chickens?

Pardon? Dahl's Chickens.

Which, in my opinion, one of our most nipping grovelists.

Something like David Kipperfield or Knockerless Nickleby.

Ah, I know. What is the one about the lady with the large chest who advertises

it for sale in the local newspaper?

By Dickens. Yes, by Dickens. You must know it. Yes, yes.

Oh, of course, The Tale of Two Cities.

I'm afraid not, sir. We could all... book for you. No, no, that won't do. No,

must have it at once. You see, my wife has gone to the seaside at Wigan, and

comes back tomorrow, and I wanted to give her the wook when she got sea from

backside at Wigan.

I mean, I wanted to give her the whack when she got big from the wee side. I

wanted the book for the whack on the backside.

I wanted to give her the Wigan.

Do you understand me?

Absolutely. Oh, thank you very much. Perhaps I should have a book for myself.

Now, what have you to offer me?

A charm from your obvious parts.

Apart from your obvious charms.

Well, it is rather difficult without knowing your taste.

Perhaps something of an instructional nature. A textbook.

Ah, now one of my gobbies is hardening.

You need a copy of the complete...

No, no, no, no. Gardening, my dear, gardening. Oh, I love my garden. When

shun is signing and the twirds are bittering, how wonderful it is to rip

pick a few noses.

Perhaps a book on flowers?

Familiar wild flowers, from stinkwort to periwinkle. No, no, no, not wild

flowers. No, no, no. No, there is no room in my garden for periwort or

stinkwinkle. No, no, no, no. They must be cultivated flowers. They must be

tupins or lulips, cocksclubs and farnesians.

Sweet peas, poo -bells and little net got me forth.

Do you have a gouse with a harden?

No, I live in furnished rooms.

Ah, well, then you must come and see my garden. Oh, yes, and if you like it, I

will gladly give you the goose of it.

Why not pop round tomorrow for key and trumpets?

I would love to.

Good, then let's sunsetter at Kittle, shall we? Goodbye.

I fear we still haven't found you anything to read.

Ah, don't worry. If it hadn't been roaring with pain outside, I wouldn't

bummed in for a cook in the first place.

Iggy Malone and Charlie Farley, investigating the Yokels murders in the

of Devonshire, have built up an alarming list of suspects.

Lucy Lee, the gypsy girl, who seemed on the point of revealing everything, and

indeed had already revealed quite a lot.

Farmer Green, an old man who had a small holding.

And his wife, who had a large holding.

An ugly -looking villain who had leapt up from a coffin and disappeared into

night. And finally, Lady Bulstrode, lady of the manor, who kept herself to

herself, drank a bottle of scotch a day and pickled her own onion.

Our two bewildered heroes decided to keep a close watch on the churchyard.

I soon relate that someone's bound to turn up at the church.

No one will spot us up here, will they? Well, even if they do, it doesn't

matter. They'll never recognise us.

We just look like a couple of, you know, hikers.

On pleasure bent.

Yeah, we certainly look bent all right.

Do I have to wear this hat?

Look, you must keep the sun off.

Besides, the colour of your moustache doesn't match the colour of your hair.

Why can't I have a grey moustache?

Of course, that's a Hitler moustache. Hitler didn't have a grey moustache.

Well, people will know I'm not Hitler, won't they?

Well, if you don't take your hat off, they won't.

Secluded up here, isn't it?

Yeah. Just us, really, and these two people camping on the hill. Yeah.

I wonder why they've got the tent.

perched on the side of the island.

Well, it's well known, isn't it, when you go camping?

You do try to arrange to have it on the side.

Well, yes, in case it rains, then the water all runs away.

Wonderful view up here.

Yes, isn't it?

Blimey, I thought my trousers were tight.

Look out, Chief, there's someone coming out of the church.

It's a district nurse, Chief.

District nurse?

What's she doing at the church?

Don't know. There's not much needs curing up there, apart from the

Perhaps she's been cutting the vicar's corns ready for the harvest festival.

There she goes, off to torture some poor old -age penchant.

Just a minute. Do you see what I see?

Another one.

Surely the vicar doesn't have one for each foot.

Perhaps he gets them all round to give them an estimate.

I don't like it. Something funny going on, something fishy.

The sooner we get down there, the better.

Mark my words, trouble is on its way.

Trouble's right. It's that airy camper.

Look out.

Here. Were you looking through them binoculars at my wife's doings?

Her doings?

Yes. Her activities.

Oh, no, monsieur.

Je n 'en parle pas depuis.

Nous mustons parler English.

Please.

Isn't that right, Chief?

Oh, yes, sir.

We must go, because...

Yes, yes.

Yes, yes. Yes, yes.

Hello,

sir.

Jake? Yes, get somewhere round it.

I swear that was a man dressed as a woman.

I reckon you usually are.

Won't she?

what this is, Chief.

It's a mine.

Listen.

Machinery.

But why would they want to build a coal mine underneath a church?

Who said anything about a coal mine?

They mine other things as well.

Copper, tin. Shh.

Somebody's coming. Get in.

Where have you been, Hobson? You're late.

Her ladyship's been going mad on the phone, wondering where everybody is.

What kept you? My suspender, bro.

God save us.

Well, look, get this lot up to the manor as quick as you can. It's got to be

shipped out with the onions tonight.

Hobson, wait.

What are you doing here?

Well, we... Well, we were following the path from the village, you see.

Yes, sir. We're hikers. Yes, yes.

I wonder if you could help us.

Which is the quickest way to the graveyard?

Do you know something?

I think you've found it.

What will happen to Piggy and Charlie? Do the villains suspect anything? And if

so, will the district nurse give them the full treatment?

Don't miss next week's final gripping episode of Stop!

You're killing me!

217. Oh, dear, she's a bit of a madam, she is. Yeah, look at that in there.

Oh,

dear, it's not like the old days.

This really used to be a four -star hotel once.

Oh, dear.

Stop picking any circles in here tonight.

What's this one here?

Evening.

This is one anchor, chief, and it ought to be a minimum charge, you know. One

anchor... Well,

the chute's certainly working all right.

Of course it is. It's a chute, isn't it? That's why it's called a chute. You

stick that on the top, it shoots down the bottom. That's why it's called a

chute, isn't it? Well, I realise that, yes, but I'm just checking, you see. I

didn't want you to think I'd been flung down in or anything like that.

I'm the new assistant manager, by the way, Mr Arkwright. Oh, are you? Johnson,

night laundry supervisor.

Ah, correct.

That's all we needed. You're assistant manager. Oh, blimey, call Arkwright.

Whatever next... Yes, it's

definitely working all right.

Is someone chucking you down there?

No, no, no, no. The carpet at the top's a bit ruched. I'll have to have it

repaired. Who's chucking you down there? The people in 107.

They're having a bit of a party up there. Oh, are they? Yeah.

What are they doing up there? A bit bronzed in this, are they? A bit legless

there. Come again?

Pie -eyed as a pudding, are they?

Well, the grape is flowing a bit, yes, I must be honest. They're a little bit

merry, you know. Yeah, well, I wouldn't stand for all that being chucked down

the old chute and all that.

No, no, I should go up there and talk to them straight.

Yes, but be firm but reasonable, see? Firm but reasonable. That's right. Yes,

should be that. Yeah.

Dear, dear, dear.

Where do they get them from? They must have a useless Twitch training centre

around here.

I was diplomatic but firm, you know what I mean? Look, you go and tell them.

Either they knock it on the head or out they go.

Yes, I should. Right, that's the ticket. Right, now you tell them that. But be

diplomatic. I will. Just say to them, we're not running a hotel here for

and they're like to you.

Explain to them... Explain to them that whereas we realise they were guests,

they must consider the other guests. I see. Did they come to a decision?

They did, yes. They decided to throw me down the chute again.

That's it, that's tacked up the spouting, that's diplomacy out the

it? You go in there with all guns blazing, mate. I shall do that. The

shall go in there with, as you say, all guns blazing. That's right.

Right. Go on, then.

Oh, behind the bags.

What's this?

218, what's he been up to? What's he been... Oh, dear, he's a silly man, that

218. Look, you can't wear this with this, can you?

I'm getting through to them slowly.

Would you like to go up there and give me some moral support?

All right, then. Go on, then.

Here, dear, you go first.

Listen, I don't know why you want moral support.

I'm

not

cut out to be an assistant manager.

You seem a bit overloaded down here. May I give you a hand? Certainly. Help

yourself, Gladys. What do you have to do?

Ladies and gentlemen, the Nolan business.

You've either got or you haven't got

And how

it brought

me applause.

not... Yes, Biffa McGee. That's right, yes.

Well, fancy seeing you here in the Adventurers' Club. What?

Oh, God, it must be... How long has it since I saw you? Must be... Oh, must be

longer than that, I think.

Tell me, Gherkin, old chap.

Pickles. What?

Arthur Pickles. Oh, Pickles. I'm awfully sorry.

Fancy calling you Gherkin when your name's Pickles.

Yes, you haven't changed a bit, you know.

No? No, no, apart from the long trousers, of course.

Do you remember that awful accident you had in 4B once?

Well, I'm on my way. I didn't even know you were a member of the Adventurous

Club. Well, I'm not really. I only popped in for practice. Not a member?

Oh, yes, I'm a member.

Yes, I've just joined, actually. Good,

good, good.

Welcome aboard, then.

Oh, it's a wonderful club, this, you know. Wonderful.

Over 300 years old, you know, this club.

Oh, you look in the book, all the names are there.

Lawrence of Arabia, Scott of the Antarctic, Edmund Hillary, Tony Hatch,

all in there.

of impostors, you know. Oh, I can believe that. Yes, people whose only

is to catch the 745 in the King's Cross each morning. I know the sort you mean.

Yes, yes.

But we weedle them out. Oh, we find them, yes. You mark my words. Do you

what we do with impostors? I can't imagine, no. Peter?

Oh, dear. Oh, that must be awfully painful. Oh, it is, it is painful.

But effective, of course.

Tell me, what do you do, then?

Who, me? Yes.

I mean, what are you, a white hunter or an explorer or a mountaineer?

No, I'm a stock control clerk.

Sorry, I didn't think I heard you great. What did you say?

I'm an astronaut.

Astronaut, yes. You know, for the minute I thought you said a stock control

clerk.

What are those?

You're rather short for an astronaut, though, aren't you?

I mean, I thought they were all weird. over six feet. Oh, no, they're not all

tall, you know. I mean, you remember the first man on the moon? Oh, this is a

giant step, et cetera, yes, yes. He was only four foot six.

That's why I complained about the size of the step, you know.

Well, I need some more ammunition.

Ted, save again, please, will you? And bring one for my friend, would you?

So where are you stationed, then? Cape Canaveral? Houston?

Well, where else?

Could hardly be an astronaut and live in Elm Tree Avenue Ealing, could I?

Well, well. Elm Tree Avenue Ealing, just by the lights there, opposite the cul

-de -sac, near the laundrette. Do you know where you must go?

Oh, give me a break.

Thank you.

Cheers. Cheers, cheers.

Tell me, is that your Lamborghini in the car park?

Which one? The one with the dropped handlebars and the brown saddlebags?

No, no, no. The cream -coloured job with the smoked windows and the reclining

seats. Oh, no, that's not my Lamborghini, no. No, I never buy British

I pop around a little American job. Oh, of course, I've seen it, yes. Dodge.

What? Why?

You've got a Dodge car.

Oh, yes, I have indeed.

So tell me, what have you been doing recently?

Well, I'm... I'm a spy with MI5.

A spy?

No, you're actually a spy. I meant a greengrocer. I'm a greengrocer, yes. A

greengrocer? Yes, that's right, yes, a greengrocer. A greengrocer? Mm -hmm.

What's that bulge in your pocket? I beg your pardon?

Oh, that pocket. Oh, that is a nothing.

That's a nothing.

Have a luger. A lager. Have a luger.

I think I know what you've got in that pocket.

Yes, you're absolutely right. Yes, I have. Yes, I've got a banana in there.

Being a greengrocer, I bring a little something for the waitress every

I've got a banana in this pocket here.

I've got a rosy apple in that pocket there. And I've got a beautiful pear in

trouser pocket.

She's very fond of a banana, is she? Oh, yes, well, well, if price is the way

they are, you know, in these hard times, every little helps, doesn't it? Biffa?

Yes? You're not a greengrocer at all, are you? You're an imposter, aren't you?

You're a spy.

Well... You're a spy. I know you're a spy. And that waitress, she's a spy as

well. You don't give her a banana every Thursday at all, do you? Don't worry,

don't worry. Don't worry, I can't tell the committee.

Wouldn't want them to, uh, not with a man of your size, you know.

Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I must be dashing, Biffa.

Don't worry.

Who was that stranger, Mr. McGee?

He was an old chum of mine, actually, a school chum. He's done very well for

himself. He's an astronaut, you know.

Never mind about him. I understand you have something for me.

Yes. Put it into my handbag.

And, uh, a couple of King Edwards for Friday night.

Have you got a nice pair for me?

Have you got a nice pair for me?

Here's a rather unusual story about a chap who goes on his holidays to

Portsmouth.

I told you it was unusual, didn't I?

I actually wish that he'd gone to Monte Carlo, you know, which would give this

story the touch of class, you know.

Because that's what this joke needs, believe me.

Once again, this is not exactly a brand new joke. It does need, you know, a bit

of something.

No, I'll be honest, it is far from new. In fact, when it was first discovered at

the turn of the century, among some cave drawings, it wasn't new even then.

I don't know how many of you have seen pictures of the grinning skull of the

Piltdown Man, you know, 20 million years B .C.? Eh?

You guessed it.

This is the joke he was laughing at.

What a pity he can't be here tonight.

That is perhaps not exactly true, but I've said that to satisfy, to be honest,

our producer, you know, who comes up to me at the end of the show and said, that

joke he said, that joke tonight, they'd all heard it, he said, at the squash

club.

He belongs to this squash club, you know.

Every Friday night, they club together and buy a bottle of squash.

You see, he worries about the viewing figures, you know. And in case, by the

way, you wondered how they compile the viewing charts here at the BBC, they

a team of highly skilled public relations experts who go out every night

look in people's windows.

And if you're watching us, they make a note of it, you see. If you're watching

the other side, they knock on the door and run away.

All of which has nothing to do with the chap who went to Portsmouth for his

holidays.

Which actually, because this reminds me of a time years ago myself, when I was

travelling down to Portsmouth, to be honest, to take part in a very, very,

ago, in a very, very cheap pantomime, you know.

Goldilocks and the Two Bears.

Or was it Babe in the Wood?

Well, it might have been Robin Hood and his Merry Man. It doesn't matter. It

doesn't matter.

It mattered then, but it doesn't matter now. So I got into this compartment all

these years ago with three or four sailors and a bishop, see? So we are

along, and I'm just sitting there, you know, enjoying myself, and the sailors

are trying on one another's hats and having a good time.

And one of the sailors, a big petty officer, you know, who was reading a

newspaper, leaned across, and he touched the bishop on the knee.

Now, we had a hell of a job getting him down from the luggage rack.

Anyway, when we had settled down, he said to the bishop, he said, what I was

going to ask you, your great is, what is gout?

And the bishop said, well, he said, I'm glad you asked me that, he said.

I don't know why he said that, but that's what he said. I'm glad you asked

that. Goat, he said, my good man, is a complaint you get from drinking too

smoking too much, and going with Portsmouth ladies like Lampost Lill and

Hospital Hattie.

That is the cause of goat.

He said, why do you ask? Have you got it? The sailor said, no, but it says in

here that the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Anyway, that's by the way, this chap is still on holiday in Portsmouth.

He strolls down to the pub one evening, probably went into the Swinging Admiral

or something like that, my old local.

Very, very nice old pub actually, but the landlady's a bit of a grasper. I

remember the night we had a little ceremony when she pushed a pile of

you know, off the counter, straight into the till.

There's actually a very interesting story about that pub. Apparently one

Saturday night about closing time, a police car, you know, loaded with bad

and breathalyzers, pulled into the car park, and all the locals were inside the

pub, dancing about and shouting, you know, have another one, and I love you,

who am I?

But this man, this man staggered out of the saloon bar.

talking to his car keys, singing You'll Never Walk Again.

He tried his car keys and everything in sight, including the gent's toilet and

a police car.

Hello, sailor!

Anyway, until he found his own car. He fell into it and off he went. The police

car caught up with him about three miles away and one of the policemen said,

Would you mind getting out the car, sir, with your driving licence, insurance

certificate? The man said, certainly, officer.

Here you are, he said, everything up to date.

Might I ask why you have stopped me?

And the policeman said, yes, just one or two questions. So he said, may I ask

you what you do for a living? The man said, yes, I'm a professional decoy.

Back again to the chap who's on holidays. Now, he comes out of this pub,

gets about halfway home when the thick fog descends.

Luckily he had his walking stick with him and he taps his way along until

suddenly there's nothing. Nothing in front of him.

Nothing at the side.

And he says, oh goodness me, he said.

Or words to that effect.

I must be standing on the edge of a cliff, he thinks. The only thing to do

stand very still until the fog lifts and I can see where I am because I just

daren't move. So there he stood without a movement until the fog lifted in the

morning.

He found he was standing in the middle of a high street and the end had broken

off his stick.

Good morning, sir. Hmm.

Oh, what a beautiful morning.

Oh, good morning, sir.

Customer, Mr. Green.

Morning, sir.

Just a trim? Faith.

Green seems to have stopped?

Yep. It ain't gonna rain no more, no more. It ain't gonna rain no more.

Good morning, sir.

Customer, Mr. Brown.

Good morning, sir. Good morning.

Go back inside, sir, please.

I thought so. I knew that the minute you walked in the door. The minute you

walked in the door.

Oh, good morning, sir.

Customer, Mr. White.

Good morning, sir.

Good morning, sir, indeed.

Anything on it, sir?

Would you cut it first, please? Certainly, sir.

After I've cut it, sir, if I may ask... I'd like to put on a little of this.

It's very nice. It's called Moonlight.

Moonlight becomes you.

It goes with your hair.

Would you get on with it, please? Yes, certainly, sir, certainly.

But I would like to use a little of that, if I may, because it's very, very

nice, that moonlight, I can tell you.

Oh, by the light. Oh, by the light.

Of the silvery moon. Of the silvery moon.

What a spoon to my honey, I'll prove love to you.

Honeymoon, honeymoon, honeymoon, keep it shining in June and June.

You're a silver...

I love the silvery moon, silvery moon, silvery moon. I want a spoon, spoon,

spoon, spoon to my honey, I'll croon. Love's to, love's to honeymoon,

honeymoon, honeymoon.

Keep on shining in June, shining in June, shining in June. Your silvery

will bring love's dreams. We'll be cuddling soon, so soon by the

silvery moon.

The moon, the moon by the silvery moon.

The moon, the moon by the silvery moon.

Smooth as a baby's round and thin. Used by flies as a skating

rink.

Now don't upset

yourselves and don't feel rotten.

Your hair is gone but not forgotten.

There's some weights in the cupboard and I don't know where I got them, but

they're made of nylon mixed with cotton.

Get away.

Get away.

It's a fact.

You'll never ever ship them. You'll never ever ship them.

In case you scratch that gal that you adore, that you adore.

A shave is what's intended, sir.

Makes you feel good inside.

Makes you look good outside.

Hold up your head right.

This show is recommended, sir.

Contains insecticide. Gives you sales, but what for?

I'm thinking tonight of my love.

Adrift on the deep, splashing foam.

Slashing foam.

Sea sail away, each night I softly pray.

The tide will bring my loved one safely home, safely home. He

said as we parted, don't cry Maggie dear, I've left.

There is hope.

There is hope.

So at night by the light of the pale misty moon or at

noon when the sun's razor sharp razor sharp I

watch from the shore till the day when once more

the tide

Every night by the old firelight is bowed on the

shore.

We don't care. Stick your hats on fair and square. Then no one will know.

Goodbye.

Well, that's all we have time for this week. But before we go, the late news.

unhappy moment at King's Cross Station tonight when a Scottish football fan

all his luggage moments after stepping off the train. The cork fell out.

And a car mounted the curb outside Mrs. Mary Whitehouse's home this evening, so

she threw a bucket of water over it.

Tasty -faced Bamber Gascoigne flew into London Airport this morning complaining

of the effects of heavy airline food and the complete lack of exercise on the

long flight.

His doctor later gave him a starter for ten, which worked well just before 11

.30.

Next week, we shall be starting a new series in which famous people are put in

embarrassing situations.

The Archbishop of Canterbury will be competing in It's a Knockout.

Kenneth Clark will introduce multicolored swap shop.

And Reginald Bozenkett will read the news.

Until then, a good night from me. And a good night from him.

Good night.

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