All language subtitles for The Two Ronnies s09e08

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

Indeed it is, and in a packed programme
tonight, we shall be talking to the

landlord of the Whippet Whiskers in
Ongar, who tells us that he found a way

round the bylaw which forbids him to
have singing and dancing as

He's booked Lionel Blair.

And we'll be hearing about Glenda
Pickup, who spends so much time in the

cars, the AA are to start showing her on
the route maps.

But first the news. Mr. George Nerdle,
Britain's oldest muck spreader, 100

old today, has declined to meet Her
Majesty the Queen.

He said, I'd love to, but I've got much
too much on my hands at the moment.

A government directive issued today
orders civil servants not to look out of

windows before lunch.

This is so they'll have something to do
in the afternoon.

There was panic this evening at the
Moulin Rouge when lights failed and a

stuck between two floors, trapping ten
topless dancers.

Fortunately, lift attendant Jules Grimpe
found the emergency button on his 21st

attempt.

Going to the absence of his official car
today, the Minister of Health went on a

walkabout. Going to the absence of his
wife, the Minister of Fisheries went on

gadabout. And owing to the complete
absence of toilets, the Minister of

went on a roundabout.

Finally, there's news today of a big
gusher in the North Sea. Barbara

visiting an oil rig.

And now a sketch featuring Mr Ronnie
Barker playing a man who adopts an

alternative lifestyle, practices
alternative medicine, and joins the

Society. All to get a bit of the other.

Oh, hello, Roger.

I say, hold it down, folks. Hold it
down. I'd like you all to meet Roger,

just moved into the village.

There are three chairs for Roger.

Oh, very nice.

Well, I must say, this is...

Bit of a surprise.

Surprise? In what way, Roger? Well, the
fellow who told me was obviously talking

through his hat. But, I mean, before I
moved here to Nether Edgeley, I was told

that you were all, well, it's awful to
say, but you were all, you know, a bit

clannish. He said to me that you were
very unfriendly to

newcomers.

Unfriendly to newcomers? It's like a
cigar, Roger.

A dream. Can I borrow my car for the
weekend?

Or my wife.

Obviously, we are not. We're not
unfriendly to newcomers.

Right, now, let's settle down. Less
frivolity, ladies and gentlemen. Let's

settle down and discuss the very serious
subject of this year's Village Fact.

All right, now, I've made a little list,
as usual, but for God's sake, if anyone

objects to anything I've asked them to
do, please shout out, won't you,

away, and we can change it. Now, first
of all, Henry, Lucky Dip. All right,

Henry? Oh, fine by me. Good.

Daphne, Bring and Buy Store.

Yes.

Claude, Secondhand Bookstore. Yes, of
course.

Marjorie? Homemade preserves, dear.
That's it. Ben, I thought white elephant

stall this time.

All right. Oh, Marion, bric -a -brac
bazaar. Yes, dear.

And Peter, pin the tail to the donkey.
All right.

Don't get it wrong like you did last
year.

Country craft stall.

All right, dear. And Roger, the
skydiving.

To open the fate, we ought to get a
television personality. Excuse me.

Yes, what is it, Roger? Excuse me. I
don't know. Was I imagining that?

did you say... Did you say that you...
What?

Skydiving. Yes.

Skydiving. Now, as I was saying, a
television personality is really needed

open the fate.

What's the matter, Roger? Excuse me. I
don't want to be an awful nuisance,

but... I'd rather not do the skydiving,
if you don't mind. If you don't mind.

No, no, we don't mind, do we, gang? We
don't want to do anything you want to.

Yes,

don't worry. I'll put you down for
something else. I'll put you down for

lion taming.

We must have a television personality.

I'm sorry, I'd really rather not.

do the lion taming either, if you don't
mind. Well, it's only for the one

performance. Yes, I'm sure, yes.

You know, I'd just be... I'd be happier
doing something else. Well, all right,

fine. Yes, no, don't worry. I'll put you
down for something else. Yes, I'll put

you down for, uh...

Let's see, I'll put you down for that
there. Right, now then, we must get... I

thought we were getting Arthur Needless.

Or if we can't get him, maybe Patrick
Moore.

Or, okay, Angela Rippon. I'm sorry, I
don't want to do that. I don't want to

that. I don't want to be the moving
target in the archery competition.

I don't want to be that. I don't want to
be the moving target in the archery

competition.

Very well, Walter, very well. I'll put
you down for the surprise item. All

right. What surprise, that? Well, it's a
surprise, isn't it?

I know, but I mean, what sort of
surprise? Well, it does involve a

Wrestling with her, I shouldn't wonder.
Well, if you want to escape from the

snake pit, yes.

It is true, it is true what this fellow
said. You are unfriendly to newcomers.

Us unfriendly? You're the one who's
unfriendly. Yes, you obviously don't

take part in this year's village fete. I
do want to take part in the fete, but I

want to take part in next year's as
well.

Has anyone any objection if I let Roger
look after the bingo this year? You

can't. You always look after the bingo.
You looked after the bingo for years.

Well, maybe it's time someone else
looked after it. Eh?

What do you think? Would you be happy
looking after the bingo? Yes, I would.

Are you sure?

No objections at all. I'd love to look
after the bingo.

Right. Ladies and gentlemen.

Roger will this year look after the
bingo, all right? Right. I think we'd

actually have a practice. Lad, sort out
the bingo, would you? Come on, you'd

better have a look. This is the bucket,
yeah?

That's the bucket.

And there's the rope. What's on the end
of the rope? The bingo.

Oh, those are the caves, that's why.

mean to us?

Or to put it another way, do you keep
something under the bed for an

Well, I want you to take it out, look at
it and ask yourself, is it being put to

good use?

Or am I missing out and making a
horrible mess of it all?

Now, if you are in the dark, let me put
you onto the PO.

When it comes to savings, we at the post
office are proud of our record.

Here it is.

It's called I'm in the nude for love.

And you can get it over the counter if
the postmistress is not too busy.

On the other side, you see, is the new
passbook, so you'll know your money's

going to go round 33 times a minute.

Now, we're introducing schemes to suit
all types of people.

Only last week a man came to me and said
he was a trouser fitter.

He'd been putting a little bit to one
side every day of his working day.

All he'd kept was the pocket money.

He'd learnt, you see, he'd learnt the
secret of saving. You've got to be

regular. You must never forget, like an
elephant.

It's no good making a big deposit one
week and nothing the next.

I mean, if an elephant did that, where
would we be?

We'll be up to our necks in all sorts of
trouble.

Now, to encourage young savers, we're
going to let them open an account for

10p. And to make it go a little further,
we're going to give them a free gift of

one of these.

Another smashing gift on offer this week
is this piece of string.

But this is only for people who want to
tie their money up for a long time.

That sounds a bit of a bind. Our new
hokey -cokey savings account might

to you. In this, you can put it in, take
it out, and shake it all about any time

you like.

Last week, my personal assistant, Miss
Gladbracket, found her savings book that

had been missing for months.

There she is, Miss Gladbracket.

She found it under the filing cabinet.
As she stooped to pick it up, she was

amazed at the interest that she built
up.

more of you save with us. Now, just have
a look at this chart over here.

We asked 100 people what they did with
their savings.

Now, 15 % said bank, 30 % said building
society, and 55 % said P .O.

So we did.

But this illustrates my point, you see.

Much longer queues at the post office.

Now, apart from you 007 fans, I wonder
how many of you thought of holding

Now, I know a spinster whose only source
of income is from her basement flat

that she rents to a six -foot, nine
-inch, exiled African chief named

She's got some premium bonds, and she
tells me she's always waiting for Ernie

come up and solve all her problems.

Of course, in the event of a post office
strike, the draw is cancelled, and the

first to know is my personal assistant.
She phones me at the office and just

says the magic words, draws off.

I hear you say, is a nest egg all it's
cracked up to be? And why should we

bother to shell out on savings? Well,
for those little luxuries like some beef

for the freezer.

You'll need a joint account for that, by
the way.

Maybe for a new bed.

And Miss Gladbracket is with me on this.

We both think you should have something
to fall back on.

And she's certainly got that. Now, you
see, we're trying to make it easier for

you to save. As from Monday, if you
can't get to the post office, you'll be

to pay by standing order.

I'll just show you one of those.
Attention!

That didn't give you a start. Maybe
these new piggy banks will.

Now, this one here, you see, that is for
one for people who live from hand to

mouth. This one here.

That one there is for teenagers, you
see. In one ear and out the other.

That one's very popular in Scotland.

And this one here is for those people
who get behind in their payments.

But what I've said, and remember what
your mother said about the first hateful

you've ever had, put it away. You don't
know where it's been. Good night.

Good

night.

Here, my Harry opened a bank account
yesterday for the first time. Go on.

Hasn't he never been a bank before,
then?

Well, not officially, no.

I never knew you had anything to put in
a bank.

Oh, we ain't, but Harry says he's going
to borrow enough to get completely out

of debt.

You'll have an overdraft. How are you
ever going to pay back all?

Harry said it's simple. Just send him a
cheque. Oh, not me.

Charlie keeps his money in a shoebox
under the bed.

You just don't get any interest on it if
it's there, do you?

Oh, well, that's where Charlie's ever so
clever, you see. He's putting away a

little bit extra to take care of that.

Ladies and gentlemen, this week's guest,
Clodagh Rudd.

Hey, don't you knock on my door. I won't
be home anymore.

You will find me out walking in the sun.

Oh, you hide so well, it isn't easy to
tell.

I know a heartache when I see you on.

There was a time I was a true believer.

Only a fool would believe what you say.

Hey, don't you knock on my door. I won't
be home.

It taught me well, a loser is the one
who cries.

Well, when you cry like a baby and you
feel like hell, you know that devil by

the look in his eyes.

Hey, don't you knock on my door.

I won't be home.

The case of the disappearing all -girls
orchestra is nearing its climax.

The plot has thickened so much it is
almost impossible to wade through. It

be the same that Piggy and Charlie now
find themselves arriving back in England

after a few hairy escapes.

Charlie, in fact, is a good deal more
hairy than Piggy.

Things look black for him, and for Piggy
they look even blacker.

The wily Oriental and his wicked girl
Fridays have managed to smuggle his

kidnapped harem out of Madeira. But
Piggy and Charlie give chase.

His mad Scots butler, Angus McSpreading,
is knocked unconscious by our

overenthusiastic overweight hero.

Charlie took his place and is even now
arriving in London with his bevy of

beautiful booty.

Mrs. Bumstead, stalwart leader of the
girls' orchestra, and Susie, our

follow in a taxi to a Chinese restaurant
in a seedy Chinatown area in Dockland.

Susie insists they keep a low profile
and Mrs. Bumstead is doing her best.

Go down street.

Collect my army of thugs.

We have slight alteration to plan.

Hurry. Don't know, boss.

Maybe not up yet.

Work late, long hair.

Many tallest.

Bloody foreigners.

We want ruthless killers.

Where are my magnificent seven?

Only six now, boss. One drop out.

Bye.

Mother wouldn't let him come.

Which one?

Low slung.

Low slung? Him with short legs?

He can't run fast enough anyhow.

I need at least a dozen men.

Me get real with us.

Them pretty heavy handed.

I've just seen Angus and girls in back
room.

Have my bandits arrived yet?

All right, boss.

I want you to kill him, too.

Him, too?

Who's him, too?

I've never heard of him.

Angus, I want you to kill him, too. Oh,
that's fine.

Why?

I'm not real Angus.

I'm not stupid detective.

He gave himself away. I hear noises
coming from underneath his spine.

Ah.

Maybe he's in criticals.

I'm staying to use his tummy.

a bit of fun with that?

Good Lord, good gracious do.

What's who, what now, and how are you?

Not a very good rhyme, Charlie.

But you know, it was me.

It's the way you kill time.

Don't start.

This is reporting the SS Uganda which
leaves Southampton this afternoon bound

for Hong Kong.

Now get to Southampton as quickly as
possible and take Mrs. Bumpstead.

Where's Piggy? Isn't he with you?

Well, I lost track of him. I mean, for
all I know, he might be lying in the

gutter somewhere.

Dead? Or drunk.

Surely someone may have spotted him.

Not necessarily. I mean, in that outfit,
he looks like a black plastic bag full

of garbage.

Coming!

What? Twenty quid? Why, that's a mint.

You sweep it cool and tickle it's mint.

Scottish idiot.

Why are you not here?

Listen.

Fly at once to Gatwick, gateway to the
south.

Take you about three hours.

Drive straight to Southampton docks. No!

Detectives not go to docks.

Detectives go to their death on
motorcoats.

My hired assassins, take them to Sepali
Tower, kill them, and feed them to the

lions.

Belly diabolical.

And 100 % final.

The Proverbs say, when the lion sit down
to dinner with a lamb, only one

enjoy the taste of mintsauce.

Would you come? Would you come? Dear,

dear, dear.

Will you try it?

Now, ladies, if you're not too weak,
we'll play a game of hide and seek.

I take a girl and then depart.

You count a hundred and then you start.

Now, did I have you in mind? I need
someone big to hide behind.

What will

happen

now? Will our ill -thought -out couple
dodge the yellow peril? Or will the

get them?

Will they turn out to be the men you
think they are? Or will they merely turn

out to be the men you?

Don't miss the final captivating episode
of Band of Slaves.

going to cars again.

You can't even seem to read the graffiti
out there.

Like there's the Ace of Spades out
there, Sid.

It's like playing Russian roulette in a
power cut now.

How are you? All right? Not so bad, not
so bad.

I got you a pint. Oh, cheers.

I guess you was here. I could tell by
all the crisps round the floor.

How's things today? Well, not so bad. My
old Watson has been playing me up a

bit. Oh, have they? Oh, dear.

Have you ever thought of putting hot
bread polkas on them?

No. Oh, don't.

I think not. I shouldn't think that'd be
much help for the feet, really, polkas

like that. No, no. No, no, no, I
shouldn't think so.

I'd thought going up to the doctors with
them, as a matter of fact. You don't

want to go up to the doctors. What do
you want to go up to the doctors with

for? They don't give you a lot of pills,
what do you, eh?

I mean, if your electric gas stove goes
on the blink, you don't send for the

water board, do you?

Ah, you want to call in the advice of an
expert, don't you? Or me.

Well, that's exactly what I did do,
didn't I? What? Didn't I? Consult an

by my feet.

What, a chiropodist? No, a fellow who
runs a shoe repair shop in the corner.

He's only going to mess you about, isn't
he? He was the bloke who made you get a

dog licence for your arse puppies,
wasn't he?

He knows what he's on about. All right,
of course he does.

He gave me a what's -her -name, a what's
-her -name of examination and

prescribed a packet of odoritas.

Oh, yeah, I've heard about that, but
they ain't good.

Marvellous, marvellous.

Ain't half hard to swallow, though.

Well, you see, that's the trouble with
Britain today, isn't it? I'll be pill

-mad. Everyone's pill -mad, aren't they,
eh?

I mean, take last year when I was in
hospital having that British Rail donut

removed.

They stuffed me full of antibiotics
then, didn't they?

I had so many pills, I sneezed one
morning, the bloke in the next bed got

better.

You see, that's the trouble.

Whatever's wrong with you, all they do,
they fall back on a bottle of pills. I

did that once in all, you know. What?
Fell back on a bottle of pills.

You know, didn't half hurt.

Funny thing was, nor do a painkiller.

I didn't quite mean that, see, you see,
I was speaking more meteorologically,

you know what I mean?

You see, I don't believe in all these
newfangled drugs and medicines and all

that. Matter of fact, I bought a book a
couple of weeks back.

You bought a book? Yeah, well, I got it
cheap. It fell off the back of a mobile

library, you know.

But the book was called Ancient Cures
and Remedies of the Druids. That's what

was called, yeah. All full of old
recipes and what have you, you know. Ah,

yeah, yeah.

Funny enough, I had an uncle once, you
know, used to cover himself with lard.

Ah, what was he, a channel swimmer? No,
a bus conductor.

Used to cover himself with the lard, and
to prevent the cold, mainly, I suppose.

That was the actual psychology of it.
Anyway, but a funny thing happened once

Russia. I was at the top of the bus, he
was.

And what were the people squeezing to
get on, and him covered in lard,

up being shot straight through the back
window, you know.

Finished up in the middle of a Lambeth
High Road.

up with two broken arms, lard poisoning
and the sack for slipping off without

permission.

Here. You know my little problem?

What's that?

The one you don't mention, you mean?

No, the one I do mention.

If it was the one I didn't mention, I
wouldn't even mention it, would I?

Fair enough. Anyway, I took it down to
surgery, you see. I saw the new doctor

down there, old Ranjit Singh, you know.
And I said, I didn't believe in all

these newfangled medicines. So he found
me a very good old -fashioned cure, you

know. Yeah, well, he said, I've got to
go down to Common, when there's a full

moon, right, take off all me clothes and
run three times round the tennis courts

waving some runes above me head.

I thought you'd already tried runes as a
cure.

No, no, that was prunes.

His ancient documents were mystical
powers, you see. But you see, if you

get hold of any of them, the old grey
-armed expressor do, see.

Of course, my granddaddy was the one. He
used to make his own potions up, you

know. He once had a tummy upset, and he
made up this potion, which was a pint of

oil of turpentine, five ounces of Epsom
salts, a teaspoonful of pigeon's milk,

and a beetroot.

And it worked?

Well, it must have done. There was no
mention of tummy upset on the coroner's

report at all.

You always said that they discovered
that for the last 15 years he'd been

wearing his truss upside down.

Oh, yeah, well, that was neither here
nor there.

Here, I tell you what, you come in with
me, then I'm going down to the tennis

courts now.

What, is there a full moon there? Yeah,
got me ground expressing.

Oh, I'm going to try that.

Oh, lovely.

Listen, do you mind if I drop off at the
chemist, get a film for me camera?

Not for you. There won't be much to
photograph.

Well, you never know, he might have
cured it.

Thank you. Thank you very much. Here is
a rather amusing story, which, to be

honest, I used to tell in my very early
days as a comedian.

I mean, it's funny, actually, but I can
still remember the first time I ever got

a laugh.

I wish I could remember the last time.

I happened to be reminded of this
particular joke last weekend.

I told you, what happened was, I was
sitting in the kitchen.

de -coking the toaster.

Let's face it, my wife is not the
world's greatest cook, to be honest.

She still has to look up the ingredients
for a boiled egg.

Last weekend, she made a cottage pie and
the local council had it condemned.

On this particular morning, we were both
feeling rather bored and listless.

Time was going so slowly, you know,
really dragging. At one point, the

threw itself out of the clock.

I received a phone call from an old
friend of mine. Now, he was actually a

old wartime comic, this chap. He was now
a very successful theatrical producer.

My goodness, he's certainly come a long
way since the days he used to warm up

for the Nuremberg rallies.

He had run up. all excited, laughing
away, you know.

Well, she was here tonight.

Anyway, he rang up to tell me about a
big new London show he was putting on.

He said, this will be a smash hit
musical, he said, clearing his throat

that. He said, this will be a smash hit
musical, he said. He said, guess what?

He said, we've got Streisand playing the
lead.

I said, that's terrific.

Barbra Streisand. He said, no, no, no,
Mabel Streisand.

He said, she's not very well known, but
given time, he said, I think she'll

become really big. And he said, in any
case, he said, with music by Wright and

Lloyd Webber, we'll be on to a surefire
winner. I said, well, that's marvellous.

Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber, I
mean, they are the tops. No, no, he

no, this is Bert Rice.

Bertie Lloyd Webber.

He said, nobody in the country's heard
of them yet, but just you wait.

And he said, and listen to this, he
said, the star comedian is a chap named

Manning.

I said, not Bernard Manning. He said,
yes, that's him.

As he was... Well, he said nasty things
about me.

As he was offering free tickets to the
premiere, my wife and I decided to go

along, because I'll be honest, we don't
really go out a lot these days. If I

remember rightly, the last time I took
my wife out, it was to the local civic

hall to see Big Daddy in giant
haystacks.

No, that was the famous night when both
men's tights split open.

And we were treated to a display of all
-out wrestling.

Now, that was the last time we went out.
I did actually offer to take her to see

the 1981 Labour Party conference, but
unfortunately she can't stand blood

sports, so... So anyway, there I am at
this glittering gala, rubbing shoulders

with the beautiful actresses. Well, not
exactly, in my case, rubbing shoulders,

but having a good time generally.

Nodding about all over the place. And
this place, of course, it was...

packed with glittering personalities.

I remember I had quite a long chat with
Liberace, who was actually quite a card,

Queen of Diamonds.

But I digress, because it was at this
big premiere that someone reminded me of

this joke.

Now, it all takes place at the end of
the last century in one of the last

outposts of the British Empire, Ealing
Broadway.

Picture, if you will, a small garrison
of British soldiers in the baking hot

South African province of Natal, where
one day a new army chaplain arrives, and

straightaway goes along to see the
colonel, who's in charge of the unit.

So he goes along, he opens the door, he
says, he said, good morning, he said,

I'm the new army chaplain.

It's a bit wet, this man.

His dog collar's got a little bell on
it. It says, my name is the White

Weatherland Wadney Wenfew Wobbles.

Wom -wobble -bum.

And the colonel says, welcome to the
wedgment.

No, the regiment.

He said, I'm sure you're going to have a
cracking time here. He said, the

colonel, absolutely cracking.

We have an excellent social life, he
said. Every Wednesday, all the lads get

together on the met, drink until they're
sick of pigs, and then all fall over.

He said, you'll love every minute of it.
And the chaplain said, well, he said,

as a matter of fact, sir, he said, I'm
rather afraid I don't actually approve

the winking.

The colonel said, oh, well, you'll like
Thursdays then. That is the night we run

our poker school.

Unlimited stakes, you could win a
fortune.

I said, I'm afraid, said the chaplain.
I'm afraid I don't go in for gambling

either, he said. He said, well, Friday,
said the colonel, you will enjoy.

Every Friday, a bunch of the local
native girls come over. You'll love

Ravishing women all night long. The
chaplain said, look, he said, I'm

sorry, he said.

As a matter of fact, he said, I don't
actually do that sort of thing either

the ladies. The colonel said, my God.

You don't mean to tell me you're a... I
mean, you're not anything, you know,

funny about... I mean, you're not... I
mean, there's nothing... The chap said,

certainly not. He said, oh, said the
colonel, well, you won't enjoy Saturday

nights either, then.

In a garden, in a garden, when you're
diggin' dusk and dawn, and you're rakin'

with the rakin' till you're flakin' on
the lawn.

Up a -classes, what they're grasses,
like a bloomin' billiard ball.

So we bow them, but it's blow them, say
the garden's a -peppin' them all.

In a garden, in a garden, with a dibble,
spade and hoe.

Growing entries for the gentries at the
local flower show.

Put the judges, no smudges, on the
carrots on her stall.

It were rabbits with bad habits, no
medals for everything at all.

Every stately home has got some lovely
things to do.

Beaulieu's got a car or two.

Woburn has got a stately zoo.

Everything at all has got damn all the
visitors to get chuffed.

There's only a moggy, two ducks and a
doggy. And one of the ducks is stuffed.

In a garden, when the trippers pay a
call.

We look on board, never mumble. But it's
plain that we're effing them all.

In

his

grace, I declare this ascent.

in the air?

Is it roses red or violets blue? Is
grace inhaled an odor or two? Is it

Is it fruit?

Is it balm?

Is it brute?

But he knew damn well that it wasn't
Chanel when he fell in the compost heap.

They went to a bowl wearing lupins and
lilies round here,

and won the award as the loneliest night
of the year.

Fertilizer, a word apart.

Every tongue sounds much nicer than the
stuff that is usually

slung. The word that we use is shorter.

We know we didn't order.

You've got to admit when you trot on a
bit that it's easier said than done.

Her ladyship bought a sapling.

She wanted to grow some logs.

She watered it every evening.

So did the neighbor's dog.

She tended it all her lifetime.

And 70 feet it spread.

But now she's not here to enjoy it.
Because that damn thing fell down on her

head.

It just pours from the sky Then the
month that it buckets We call flaming

And it's followed by sudden July In
August it's wet In September we get

influenza And so we'd sit On a ration of
rum When October bombs come

But November's the month we get missed
Down

there by the lake There's a

statue of Cupid in bronze.

He's covered in ferns. And you can't see
his quiver for bronze.

He's beautifully built. But his head is
still giving a lurch.

Now he's gonna tilt.

And the sparrows have got a new bird.

Oh, God.

And a squirt!

But his lordship got tied on some
gooseberry wine of her grace's.

And legless and rubbery, left in the
shrubbery, casting off caution of

Her grace had a faint hysteria,
observing the ducal posterior.

Well, only a bunch of wisteria,
concealing the family crest.

Red as uranium, picked up a pot which he
cracked on his cranium, corrugated it

with a rough bit of uranium, even
reached all over his head.

The maker of the ghost took a whack at
the duker, old man, who was filthy with

compost, and Luca remarked, it's not
cricket, she said, no, it's snooker, and

potted him in all the red.

He was used to Ghana, the tropical peach
and banana, they plant him with cheap

marijuana,

but he's going to pot up the old man.

Thank you.

Well, that seems to be just about all we
have time for, doesn't it, Ronnie? Yes,

indeed it does. But before we go, a few
late items of news. In the Celtic versus

Rangers match tonight, fighting amongst
the crowd was interrupted when football

broke out on the pitch.

Harmonica virtuoso, Larry Adler.

had a bizarre experience tonight at a
concert sponsored by the Brotherhood of

Faith Cure Practitioners.

Halfway through, the holes in his mouth
organ suddenly healed up.

Auburn Clamp, the bi -fleet man who
spends six months of the year as a

pianist and the other six as a washer
-up at the Savoy, tonight combined his

careers to wonderful effect with a
delightful rendition of Handel's Dirty

Music.

There was an embarrassing incident today
at a Hollywood topless barbecue wedding

reception when Raquel Welsh got too near
the charcoal and toasted the happy

couple.

Finally, Linda Gouge and Denzel Wallop,
the Prestwich couple who make mad

passionate love every time they eat
semolina, blancmange or suet pudding,

married today. They plan to live happily
ever after.

Next week, we'll be having a special
musical show in which we'll be talking

the lady opera fan who's keen on
baritones, mad on basses, and will do

for a tenor.

And I will be meeting the woman who
claims to have slept with every member

the Halley Orchestra and admits to being
a bit of a symphomaniac.

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

Goodnight.