All language subtitles for The Two Ronnies s09e01

Good evening. It's lovely to be back
with you once again, isn't it, Ronnie?

Indeed it is. And in a packed programme
tonight, we shall be meeting the

brilliant top civil servant who's got
his ear to the ground, his nose to the

grindstone, his shoulder to the wheel,
his eye on the clock, his hand in the

till, his back to the wall, his foot in
the door and his finger on the button.

And we'll be asking him how he does his
flies up.

We'll also be hearing about the
explorer, who's also a bit of a

and got lost in the back of his own
beyond.

But first, the news. The search for
Twilton Gumboots, Britain's most

criminal, will be getting underway very
shortly when police have closed their

eyes and counted up to 100.

Her Majesty the Queen had a heavy cold
today and cancelled a royal walkabout.

She stayed in and read the telephone
directory instead.

And it's been a sad day for Walton
Shrubs, the lonely bachelor who joined a

computer dating agency because he
couldn't chat up girls.

Now he's discovered he can't fill in
forms either.

Widespread concern was being voiced in
the House of Commons today about

inadequate height of the furniture.

This follows an incident on Monday when
a minister ran into the House and tabled

his amendments.

And at the exhibition of motorway art,
which opened at the Hayward Gallery this

morning, an oil painting of the Drive
Slowly sign was so realistic that 59

people completely ignored it.

Finally, fears that standards are
dropping at the annual cattle show were

confirmed today when the best of breed
prize was won by a tin of oxtail soup.

And now a sketch featuring Mr. Ronnie
Corbett, whose wife tries not to bring

the beast in him because she's afraid of
mice.

Hello, Jack.

Hello.

Monte Carlo Robinson.

Good heavens, Monte Carlo.

Haven't seen you for ages. I'll join you
in a minute. Yes.

Monte Carlo.

It's a damn funny name, isn't it?

Yes, it was all the rage in those days,
you know. One named one's child after

the place he or she was, in fact,
conceived, as it were.

Apparently, the Robinsons had a cracking
good time in Monte Carlo.

Hence, he is called Monte Carlo.

Of course, of course. I remember. I know
his younger brother.

Really? What's he called? He's called
Monte Carlo, isn't he? They must have

there every year.

Probably, probably.

Yeah. Hello, Orchard.

Hello, Nancy.

Nancy? He was actually conceived in
North Sea. Ah, I see.

The car broke down on the way to Monte
Carlo.

He's since been anglicized. Has he?

I mean, and he's now called... He's now
called Nancy.

Yes. Well, of course, the way cars break
down nowadays, there must be Nancy boys

everywhere.

Yeah. Hello there, old chap.

Hello, Ramsgate.

Ramsgate? Are you a Ramsgate fan, Shaw?

Obviously, your parents couldn't even
wait till they got on the ferry.

Tell me, Henshaw, you're not named after
the place you were... Oh, no, no,

absolutely not, certainly not, certainly
not. A letter, Mr.

Fanshawe. Thank you, Romford.

I say, this isn't for me, this is for
you, Henshaw. What? Not Fanshawe, this

for you.

What terrible writing. What is that
Christian name? Never mind that, never

that. Be patient, my dear.

Equality. Now, the government white
paper on the equal society was published

today. Its main provisions are as
follows. From April the 1st, 1981,

must be of equal height.

This height will be three foot above the
saloon bar for men and two foot under

the hairdryer for women.

Anyone found shorter than the equal
height will be looked down upon.

He will then be sent to a government
height -inducing camp where he will

in a barrel of manure until he's tall
enough to step out without catching

anything on the rusty nail at the top.

must also be of equal weight. This
weight, everyone, I should say, must be

equal weight. This weight to be
established as quite heavy for men and

so heavy for women.

Except during pregnancy, of course, when
women will be permitted a little more.

Men, however, will not be permitted
anything at all.

Now, anyone below equal weight will be
forcibly fed with chocolate biscuits

through the usual channels.

And will receive a silicone injection in
the event, or in the arm.

woman thinks silicone is silly, she can
have cortisone instead.

If a man has cortisone, he should be
more careful with his... All

people must also be of equal colour.
There will be a choice of complexion,

peaches and cream, salmon and shrimp, or
blackberry and custard.

No one will be allowed to be more than
one colour, except Chinese communists,

who will be both red and yellow.

Chinese Communist honeymoon couples, who
will be red, yellow, and green, and

Chinese Communist honeymoon couples who
didn't make out, who will be red,

yellow, green, and blue.

Anyone found to be red, yellow, green,
black, and blue will be deemed to be a

Chinese Communist honeymoon couple who
did make out.

Now, I would like to show you a diagram.
I would like to, but I can't, as Mrs.

Whitehouse might complain.

But I'll tell you about it. As from
1985, everyone will be of equal shape.

Except, of course, that women will have
two of these and one of those.

And men will have one of these and two
of those.

If any man is found to have two of
these, he will be declared a woman,

he has one of those or not.

Now, if a man has got one of these but
only one of those, he will get a

and two of those, he won't get a
pension, but he will get attention.

Believe you me, any man found with three
of those will be ostracized.

Which is bad news for pawnbrokers.

Excuse me.

Hello. Oh, hello, Mrs. Whitehouse. You
what?

You insist on the viewers being all
these, these and those?

Very well, very well.

There we are.

Disgusting, isn't it, but true to life.

Now, noses.

Noses. There will be a choice of noses,
Roman aquiline or hooked turnip. Now,

the number of nostrils will remain two,
although there will be a choice, of

course, of straight or flared.

Members of the public will be allowed to
make their choice in their own time,

but the House of Commons is to have a
special session when members can all

their noses together.

Finally, in future, all children must be
born equally. That is, on October 1st

each year. This will be known as Labour
Day.

To achieve this objective, all
television transmissions during the week

December the 23rd will close down at
nine o 'clock when everyone will have an

early night.

Very happy just before Christmas to you
all. Good night.

Dr. Wilson sent my Charlie to see one of
them specialists.

Oh, which one was that?

You know, one of them sexologists.

I don't know if you want to send him
there for.

Well, it's a strange thing, but he said
every time he sneezes, he fancies a bit

of slap and tickle.

Chases me all over the house.

So what did the specialist say then?

Well, he told him to stop.

What, fancying you?

No, taking snuff.

Will you welcome, please, our guest this
week, Kiki Hood.

There he goes.

To all the born and fair boys, Nigel,
oh, Nigel.

Yeah, Saturday night, boys.

But he don't want to fight no one.

Determine this, Nigel, to get on and do
well.

He laughs along and won't end up with
nothing.

Surviving is something to learn to do
well.

Repetition is so strong.

He'll never let you down.

He's a midnight flyer straight down the
line.

He'll look you in the eye at any time.

He's a midnight flyer you all want to
be.

He's better than the rest more than
you'll ever be.

I told you he's running somewhere new.
They say he always gets attention.

What's up? What's the problem?

Everybody knows them guys who eat the
business.

And they're the place that'll come to
you.

Ain't a race, ain't a class.

He's a midnight choir straight down the
line.

Don't laugh, Nigel. Ask him where he's
been to and he'll tell you where to go.

Tired of that, Nigel.

No one's pleased to ask questions.

He believes everyone should be.

...great ports of the world, arteries
through which crime can spread its ugly

tentacles ever wider as each year
passes.

Piggy Malone, if not the greatest
detective in the world, then certainly

the largest, and Charlie Farley, even
less great and certainly a lot less

were no stranger to world crime, as
their past records show.

Piggy's expertise in the case of the
Bombay Duck is still talked about in

takeaways, The Length and Dreadful End
of It.

And Charlie Farley dealt with the
phantom of the French pan as only he

from the inside.

In Marseille, city of sin, neither of
our two heroes managed to find any.

Discovering the secret formula on the
villainous's undergarments came pretty

close to it.

But on a certain muggy April morning in
northwest London, the fat detective's

thoughts were on more mundane matters.

Ah, morning, G.

How's it going?

Not too bad. I've only just started, as
a matter of fact.

I decided to paint it the same colour
again, you know.

Why? When I found this paint down the
cellar, you know, left over from last

year, I thought, well, I might as well,
you know, if it runs out, won't notice

as much, you know.

Is that my apron you were wearing there?
Yeah, the one you got for Christmas.

You don't mind, do you? No, it looks
silly on me.

Well, as a matter of fact, it looks a
little bit silly on you.

My mouth is like the Caligari Desert.

Oh, Caligari, gee.

Caligari was that mad doctor who starred
in the film. You know, the cabinet of

Dr. Caligari. But that box full of
nasty, creepy, crawly things.

Yeah, well, the inside of my mouth is
like that.

I thought you were supposed to be on a
diet, eh?

I mean, Elsie's made a salad for your
lunch, you know. Elsie? Yeah.

I think I'll have it now. Where's Elsie?
Elsie!

All the time. I only die at mealtime,
see?

Over the downstairs door. Might be a
case. I'm going to go down and answer

Will you carry on with the painting,
Elsie? Otherwise, you know, when it

these real nasty marks, you know... I'm
going shopping in a minute for your

salad. I've ordered some peppers.

Can I bring one?

Yes, very nice.

They're only red ones that haven't
ripened.

I don't blame him.

Filthy old beggar outside.

Says he's starving.

So am I. Got any biscuits, Elsie? What
about your diet?

Nah, it's not for two hours yet. Come
on.

Look, he hasn't eaten for three days.

Look, I haven't got any money.

It's not money that's bothering him. The
reason he hasn't eaten for three days

is he's broken his false teeth. His
what?

He's broken his false teeth and
wondering if we've got any super glue.

Oh, yeah, he's sniffing that, I
shouldn't wonder. He wants to be careful

that. If you accidentally sit down on
that sort of stuff, that is grounds for

divorce, you know.

He's on the level, all right. Look,
there you are. There they are there.

Oh, dear.

How do we know there is? Well, he took
them out of his mouth when I was

there to polish them and they... What
else did he say? Well, after he'd taken

his teeth out, I couldn't make out what
he was on about.

I'll tell you what we'll do.

We'll get him up here, see if they fit
him.

That's a very good idea, Chip. Do you
mind if I slip out of this?

Only that's getting some very, very
funny looks. You know, from the milkman.

That'll have to do for now.

That's made me behind.

That's what? That's put me behind on me
ledger.

You said it was a man, Charlie.

I beg your pardon? You said it was a
filthy old beggar with no teeth.

No teeth. This is Mrs.

Bumstead. She's a case.

I can see that.

Have a go, Mrs. Hampstead. Sit down.

Bumstead. Oh, well, whatever.

Put it down there.

Madam, what can we in the North West
London Detective and Surveillance Bureau

for you?

What? It's the new name. The North West
London Detective and Surveillance

Bureau. Have you got the card printed?

That's good.

How many of these have you had done?
Two.

One each.

Where am I supposed to keep this? Down
me trouser leg or what?

Mr. Maguire, there is no time to lose.

The name is Malone, Mrs. Bedstead.

Bumstead. Exactly.

Please, let me explain my dilemma.

I have a large ensemble and it's
disappearing fast.

Oh, that's funny. The chief's going on a
diet today and all that.

Ensemble? Music, you mean?

Precisely. A ladies' orchestra?

Oh, like the Ivy Benson band, you mean?

Hardly. We play light classical.

And, of course, some genteel dance music
for the captain when he has his parties

aboard. Captain?

Aboard? Then this means it's a ladies'
orchestra on a ship.

You are remarkably quick on the uptake,
my good sir.

I'm surprising myself a bit this
morning.

You say disappearing they are, then, to
us?

Well, just vanishing one by one.

I started off with 16.

Now I'm down to 10.

The last one to go was my old old
saxophonist.

A wonderful girl, devoted to her work.

Tax mad she was.

Lived for her instruments.

That's what I thought you said.

Something sinister is happening.

Frankly, I suspect white slavers.

Chinamen.

Chinamen are yellow, not white.

The girls they abduct are white. The
actual slavers can be any colour, you

Chinamen, eh? This gives it a sort of
Far Eastern flavour then, doesn't it?

are these girls the sort of girls who
would interest white slavers?

Well, of course.

All well -educated.

And none of them are older than me.

Well, they wouldn't have to be, wouldn't
they?

I mean, they wouldn't have to be well
-educated. On the other hand, of course,

suppose it wouldn't matter at all, would
it?

No, I mean, just because a girl plays a
cello doesn't mean she's no good at

anything else.

Precisely. In fact, with that sort of a
training, she would be very well

equipped to, well, to ride a motorbike,
for instance.

Please, gentlemen, won't you help me?

The ship is bound for Madeira, so it
ought to be quite a pleasant cruise.

We don't know Madeira, do we? No. I know
their cake very well.

Your usual fee, of course.

All expenses paid?

Certainly.

Well, before we decide, have we got time
to consider it?

As you wish.

I've already considered it. So have I.

We'll do it.

Splendid. I'll send the car around for
you at two o 'clock. The boat sails this

afternoon. We'll be there.

Splendid. My girls will be most
grateful.

And I shall be delighted to welcome you
to my happy circle.

Come on, let's go.

You see, only ten left.

My woodwind section is very much
affected.

Ten? I've only seen nine. Look, there's
another one gone there.

Why, heavens, Julia's gone, the
trombonist.

That knocked me right back on my brass
as well.

Best slide trombonist around.

Perhaps she just slid out for the loo.

Nonsense. She wouldn't go to the
lavatory in the middle of an English

garden.

No, she's been kidnapped like the rest.

By now, she's probably in the back room
of some dockside cafe.

Then we're about to sail. There's the
signal.

And so the boat sets sail. And with it,
our two befuddled heroes.

What will befall them on their voyage?

Who is the sinister blind man?

And what has happened to Mrs. Bumstead's
woodwind section?

Don't miss next week's exciting episode
of Band of Slaves.

Hello, Simon.

Hello, Gerald here.

Hello, Doris. Doris, it's me, Walter.

How are you, old man?

All right, thanks.

Listen, Simon, I had to ring you up to
find out how you got on with that

fabulous new girl last night.

Not too bad. There were one or two
things I couldn't quite get hold of.

Oh, yes. Yes, I know the kind of girl,
yes.

Where did you take her? Somewhere
exotic?

Sainsbury's.

Bianca Jagger goes there, doesn't she?

I think the best thing I can do, dear,
is to go through the list with you.

Yes, yes, that's a good idea. So what
was she like? I mean, what sort of girl?

A French bred.

Oh, yes.

Bloomers too large.

Well, kept slipping down, you mean.

Oh, well, if you will go ice skating,
you will keep slipping down, won't you?

Yes. And rolls to 20p.

She doesn't.

What did you say her name was?

Hovis.

I think I know her.

Isn't she pregnant at the moment,
though?

No, no, no current bonds, dear.

No, no, they've run out.

A tin of something for the cat.

This all sounds very fishy to me,
Oldsport.

Very fishy indeed. Did you say her
parents were in oil?

Yes, the Pilchards.

She sounds a right little raver. I don't
know how she had the energy.

She said the milkman hadn't been round
yet.

That would explain it, of course. What
did you do?

I had to get sterilised.

Good God.

To be on the safe side, I put them in
the fridge when I get back.

Well, rather you than me, old Joe.

Now, er... Where was I?

So, she took you home and gave you a
nightcap, did she? Yes, yes, dear.

What sort?

What? That sounds a bit of a poofy
drink, old chap.

Well, it's all she had, fairy liquid.

Oh, I see, I see. She had the bitter
lemon and you had something stronger.

Yes, three tins of curry powder.

Yes, just to keep you going, eh?

You lucky devil, I wish I'd been there.
What sort of perfume was she wearing?

Something really exotic.

Salt and vinegar.

And smoky bacon.

Making a pig of herself, was she?

Oh, sorry, that was a mistake, dear.

She was what? Wearing a cross -your
-heart bra?

I thought it said Oxo.

Oh, that's easy.

So you naturally took the opportunity of
having a quick... Butchers, yes, dear,

yes. Yes, I didn't forget the steaks.

You saw her do what to the bra?

Fill it.

With two portions of sirloin.

Yes, I did make sure they were tender,
dear, yes.

So, I see you had her sitting there,
nicely on the boil.

Then what did you do?

I went across the road for some apples.

That's all you need, isn't it? I mean,
that is all you need. A dog leaping up

into your lap.

Yes, the crunchy sort.

With the yellow skin, you know. A golden
retriever. Golden delicious.

I bet he bites people, doesn't he? And
cocks his pippins.

Yes, I'm sure. What a terrible thing to
happen. So, what exactly did you say?

My three minutes is up. I'll have to go,
dear.

That's about all you could say, I
suppose.

Listen, you haven't told me yet, Simon,
what this girl does for a living.

What? She what?

She works at the same, Riz. Oh, God,
your champagne wants to go.

That's for after you, later.

I tell you, Simon, is this girl about
six foot tall, blonde, big blue eyes and

other things to match?

I'm going to be late.

I've got a fair bit to see to.

I should forget it all, Simon. I'm
sorry, old sport, you've been short

My little basket.

Do you know anything that prevents
baldness?

Only hair.

You've gone balding, lad. No, me
husband. It's all falling out.

Where, all over?

Yeah, all over the Shag Park carpet.

Since when have you had Shag Park
carpet?

Ever since Harry's hair started falling
off.

You Harry always had nice, wavy hair.

Yeah, well, it's waving goodbye now.

His is growing very bushy elsewhere.

I'll get near him.

It's ruining our love life.

Well, since he's grown this beard, he
kisses me through a straw.

Here is a very funny story

about a man who lives in Dagenham.

It's not very funny so far, is it?

And I speak with...

The voice of experience, because I have
just recently moved out of a house in

Dagenham. Well, that place, it was too
cramped for comfort.

Every time the morning paper arrived, I
went flying out the back window.

And I have to be honest, it was
something of a rough neighbourhood.

We had to put a crook lock on the cat.

I remember once the lady next door, a
lady next door once held a Tupperware

party, and all police leave was
cancelled.

In fact, the crime rate was so high,
there was a six -month waiting list to

mugged.

The neighbourhood, you can laugh, the
neighbourhood was so tough that John

was our Avon lady.

Now, fortunately, our new home is much
nicer. I mean, I have to admit, the

garden is a little bit overgrown. My
wife was hanging out some washing

and three Japanese soldiers came out and
surrendered.

At the moment, she is unbelievably thin.

With the tongue out, she looks like a
zip.

On Saturday, I decided to give her a
hand with the housework, and that's

made my big mistake.

There I was in the kitchen, washing a
few clothes out, and I fell into the

tumble dryer.

My two young children came in and
thought they were watching Magic

Luckily, I had my wits about me.

I did three minutes of my cabaret act
and they got up and switched off.

Understandably, I was still rather
shaken the next day and I went to see

producer of the show, you know, in the
Oval Office.

And as I walked in, he was sitting
behind the desk arranging a bunch of

For a special he's doing with the
Osmonds.

He put the phone down, he came over to
me, he said to me, what are you going to

do for your little chatty poos tonight,
lovey?

I don't do that voice too often, I might
get to like it.

I said, well, actually, lovey, I'm going
to do the one about the chap from

Dagenham, which I happen to overhear in
the BBC canteen at lunchtime, if you

don't mind. I don't usually go to the
BBC canteen today, but it's a special

occasion, you know. They were presenting
one of the sausage rolls, the Gold

Watch.

I overheard...

These two fellas talking.

Now, one of them I knew quite well, the
sort of bloke who's always trying to

make a mountain out of a molehill, and
Marty Cain's costume designer.

The other one was a producer, as a
matter of fact, with BBC Scotland.

Last I heard, he was due to make a new
series about arts in Glasgow called

Stitch That Jimmy.

Apparently, apparently it never came
off. The story goes, to be honest, that

annoyed Paul Daniels in the bar one day
and spent three weeks inside a matchbox.

This was the joke they were telling
about a chap who lives in Dagenham. Now,

don't ask me why he lives in Dagenham.

They're now as queer as folk, as I
always remember my Uncle Doris telling

Shortly before he was cashiered from the
Wrens.

The important thing is...

that he is flying this plane in a solo
flight round the world, next to which

Dagenham bit is all a bit irrelevant, or
irrelevant, or better still,

irrelevant. So off he goes on this solo
flight in his

lightweight Moulinex turboprop, and as
luck would have it, a freak wind...

It blows him off course, and he has to
make a forced landing.

Excuse me laughing, but I've heard it,
you see. Has to make a slap bang in the

middle of the African jungle.

Blow it, he says.

What was that effect?

Now I'm stranded. No food, no water
supplies. Thank God I brought some

pouches. At that moment, there is a
rustle in the bushes, you see.

And from out of the undergrowth steps
this seven -foot -tall African native.

bone through the nose, shrunken heads
hanging around his neck.

I think he was from Dagenham as well.

Carrying his hand, a rude spear, which
we won't dwell on.

Naturally, the chap is just about to
start saying his prayers when the native

speaks to him, seven foot tall native,
says, pardon me, my good man, but I... I

can't help noticing that you...

seemed to be in some distress.

I was therefore wondering whether I
might perchance be of any

assistance to you.

The chap said, well, if he's very kind,
he said, not at all, he said, I'm only

too happy to offer it.

Doesn't half take it out of you.

In whatever way you desire.

Well, at this point, the chap's
curiosity gets the better of him. He

excuse me for asking this. He said, but
here we are in the middle of the jungle.

How is it you speak such immaculate
English?

Well, the seven foot tall native said,
well, he said, as a matter of fact, sir,

I picked it up on shortwave radio.

We are twice as greedy as all our chums.
I take philosophy

as it comes.

I'm good at spelling and doing some.

I'm terribly bright and frequently tight
on Saturday night.

Well, in the Latin and Greek, are we?

I got a Master of Arts degree.

I got a buttercup cookie.

And now I'm getting ten out of ten for
filling his pen.

I saw me tutor.

What did he say?

If you don't work for your B .S .C.,
you'll end up with B .A.

Oxford and working wonders there.

I'm reading trigonometry and I'm reading
Rupert Bear.

At breakfast time the table's laid by
rows of buxom serving maids who's over

large and underpaid and helps the
students cram. Not Friday night.

She burnt her boats on the breakfast
toast, all because of a midnight raid

several undergrads who stayed for a go
at her Oxford marmalade. And now she's

the jam.

Last Wednesday night I saw the dean cast
off his gown of bombazine and in the

buff the daft old queen went dancing
down the high.

And every passerby could see his BTM and
his PhD.

And when I asked him where he'd been, he
answered with a word obscene, which in

the Greek I took to mean, go forth and
multiply.

In Bale, Oriel, Corpus and Harps, they
knock off as soon as the bell goes. In

Wadham and Keeble, there's masters of
arts, who don't know their arts from

elbows. St. Kitts is full of twits.

There's lots of swats at Merton, but for
top... Mox, giggles and mox, give us a

gurgle, gurgle.

What a day for a picnic.

What a day for a do.

Cake and champagne when the party stops.

And Fred's well away with a couple of
pies.

We said, by jingo, what fun.

He's got jam, spam, overcooked ham, and
a hot cross bun.

Stirring up the jelly, Nelly, custard
all complete.

Flustered in the belly, Nelly dropped it
on my feet.

She's a peach and cream complexion, and
she trifles with affection.

So I'll wear... my Mac and Welly. Welly,
if you will be my sweet.

Taking tea with the girls are our
varsity pals.

Doing parlor tricks charming and balmy.

There's Nick with a trick which he does
with a brick, two eggs and a stick of

salami. There's Halgen on hearth, the
divinity first, with a party trick even

unica. But he's hissed and he's booed as
he stands in the nude.

Playing God Save the King on his
squeaker.

You can tell she's a sport when you pour
her a port. She's

the sort that will always say when.

Oh, the good times she's shown us when I
got a bonus.

And I got a starter for ten.

On the banks of the river, each summer
we see... Big niggers, big niggers, big

niggers.

the boat race with compits and tea.

Our homemade rosettes are of various
blues.

And our lady friends yell as their
undies they lose.

Cause the cruise to a man when invited
to choose.

I'm an Oxford blue.

And I do a little yachting. I'm an
Oxford Blue with a lady in the crew. I

often hugger -mugger with the lady in
the lugger, but a pounce a little

for an Oxford.

I'm an Oxford Blue with a pennant on me
dinghy. I'm an Oxford Blue and I know a

thing or two. When I cuddle little
Glynnis, I'm a menace in a pinnacle. I'm

of fun and Guinness. I'm an Oxford Blue.

Thank you. Thank you.

That seems to be almost all we have time
for tonight, doesn't it, Ronnie? Yes,

indeed it does. But before we go, a few
late items of news.

Lovejoy Sprigg, the Essex man who
doesn't know the difference between a

-down and a hoedown, was trampled to
death tonight during the semi -final of

Come Dancing.

LAUGHTER Honeymooning lorry driver

Sid Frostleby and his bride were rescued
tonight from their hotel bedroom.

Apparently the bed jackknifed as he was
attempting a three -point turn.

Girling Pinnock, the trainee hermit from
Hales Owen, this afternoon entered the

third week of his training course for
the solitary life. He's been standing on

the terraces at Chelsea Football Ground.

There was a fire at the main inland
revenue office in London today, but it

put out before any serious good was
done.

The attempt by Mr. Delmas Buckley to
sail round the world in a bathtub ended

failure this morning.

He'd only been at sea for ten minutes
when he had to get out and answer the

phone.

Next week, I shall be telling you about
an exciting innovation in the gardening

world. Harry Smutters of Hendon has
crossed a red -hot poker with a forget

-not and come up with a painful
reminder.

And in a packed programme, we shall be
showing you the latest form of self

-improvement. It involves a full -length
mirror and a tin of varnish, so you can

gloss over your shortcomings.

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