Original subtitles

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

Yes, it's wonderful to be back with me once again.

And in fact, program tonight, we were hoping to have introduced you to a

Eskimo fisherman who sits for hours on the ice in the nude, but unfortunately,

his arrangements have fallen through.

But we shall be meeting Napper Napecroft, the plumber from Glossop, who

disillusioned he tried to blow his drains out.

First, the news.

There was an ugly demonstration this afternoon outside the House of Commons

Mrs. Thatcher's car was pelted with eggs, tomatoes and onions.

Later, Mrs. Thatcher made a rousing speech and her chauffeur made a Spanish

omelette.

And now, showbiz news.

Unemployed actor Ralston Mayne appeared in court today, refused to swear on the

Bible, but agreed to swear on Channel 4 if there were any vacancies.

Tonight, the Collier's Row Workshop Theatre, who specialise in acting in the

pouring rain, premiere their latest production, Thoroughly Sodden Millie.

Finally.

Finally, it's been a day of double celebration for Mr. Ludlow Tripp of

Brentford. Earlier this morning, he established a new world record for lying

a bed of nails, and tonight he won first prize at a fancy dress party. He went

as a watering can.

And now a musical sketch about farm workers in Lapland in which Mr. Ronnie

Corbett plays a tiny hand who's frozen.

Excuse me, I wonder if you can help me. I'm having some trouble finding a book.

Oh? Yes, they all seem to be... They all seem to be mixed up.

Mixed up?

They look all right to me.

All the red books over there, all the blue books over there.

You don't classify books by the colour. Oh, yes, it's the architect's idea. He

said it looked neater.

Well, neater it may be.

But it doesn't make it easy to find the book you want, does it? Ah, well, maybe

I can help you. So what book exactly did you want, sir? Well, it's called The

Twisted Spur by E .M. Haggerty. Right, Haggerty.

Haggerty, Haggerty.

Haggerty, Haggerty.

Hennessey, Tennessee.

Haggerty, Haggerty.

Haggerty, Haggerty. There he is, Haggerty.

Haggerty.

Spur twisted thee.

Haggerty, E .M.

It's a green book.

Find it back there with all the green books.

But there are thousands of green books there. I mean... Oh, well, naturally,

they are subdivided. Oh, good.

All the big books are on the bottom, all the little books on the top.

All the big books on the bottom, the little books on the top? Yes, what are

a little one or a big one?

I don't know, do I? You're not being very helpful, are you, sir? I'm not

very helpful? Are we supposed to find books if you file them like that?

Well, I've never had any trouble.

Only this very morning, I found just the book I wanted, just like that.

A big red one.

Look, I am not interested in the size or the colour. Well, fortunately, upstairs

we have duplicates of all these books that are down here, all up on the second

floor. Not classified by size and colour. Not classified by size or

good. Then perhaps you can tell me where, on the second floor, I can find

twisted spur by E .M. Haggerty.

Western, is it?

Yes, it is.

Is it a thick western or a thin western?

Well, I don't know, do I? Well, all the thin westerns are on the right -hand

side. I don't believe this.

Thick, green, thin, thick.

I mean, it's barmy. Barmy? Is that E .M. Barmy or W .H .O.? No, your system is

stupid. Well, no one else has ever complained.

Well, I'm complaining.

Will you please finally tell me where I can find a copy of The Tristed Spur by E

.M. Haggerty? Oh.

Oh, hello, Mrs Pollitt. How did you enjoy your book, then? Oh, it was

The most wonderful love story I've ever read.

Oh, they were so passionate.

I mean, every time they met, he... And she was all... I mean, and they

always, I mean, call.

And he wouldn't leave her alone, and she kept going...

Makes me... Well, now,

what book was it you wanted, sir? The big blue one.

Our guest this week, ladies and gentlemen, Stephanie Lawrence.

The right to sing, the right to play,

the right to do the things I do in my

own way.

And if you took it all and asked me to pretend,

you'd be breaking a heart that won't bend.

The right to win, the right to lose,

the right to fall in love with anyone

I choose.

And when it's my mistake and everything goes wrong,

I would ride what I feel.

Just what they mean And if it turns out

That my hopes were not to be Then there's no one to

blame

to stand.

The bits of film we're about to show you, or at least I hope we're going to

you if they don't fall apart, are selected from the archives situated in

bowels, and I use the term loosely, but not too loosely, of the earth beneath

the television centre. And if the actual film doesn't fall apart, I'm sure

you'll agree with me, and if you don't, I certainly shan't lose any sleep over

it. The sum of the acts certainly do fall apart, that is, not act, if you can

call singing acting, which I'm not sure you can. Where was I? Oh, hello and good

evening. The act we're about to see was the first one, and when I say the first

one, I mean one of the first, to come to light, if you can call it light.

bearing in mind that it was in the bowels, and I use the term even more

than the last time, of the radio doctor here at Television Centre, and who am I

to criticise?

The man in the burnt cork and the fuzzy wig was, or is, unless he's died, which

he probably has by now, although I wouldn't bank on it. Some of these

seem to go on forever. He certainly does. He's the great Al Vermont, always

billed as the chocolate -coloured cough drop. See what you make of it.

Never will belong to me Cause she's too

sophisticated And syncopated You

see

She's a syncopated

woman She's a little weary shady And I listen to her daily And she fucks a

ukulele And her eyes are kind of and the clothes are kind of trashy and she

smokes them smaller vannas and she threw some big bananas.

Seeds like bulls and labels like wine.

Thumpy, thumpy, thumpy cause they're hard as mine.

Thumpy, thumpy, thumpy cause the shape of it is so bumpy. It's so dimply and so

dumpy. Kind of loose and kind of lumpy and it has no impact.

points in all directions.

How I love them pounds and ounces in that sweater when it bounces and it

me kind of jumpy when our arms entwine.

Thumpy, thumpy, thumpy goes that heart of mine.

And I love the way she dances.

She

lives

at number seven, but she sleeps at number nine.

It's, uh, darling, do you know who that chap is, though?

No. No, I don't think so.

Looks very left out of it, doesn't he? I think I might bring him into the fold,

you know, my good deed for the day.

Once a boy scout, always a boy scout.

Good evening.

Are you enjoying the party?

Not much.

I'm Edgar Pocket, by the way. I'm in insurance for my sins.

Or other people's sins.

Otherwise I wouldn't be in insurance.

Sebastian Mills.

Uh -huh.

Yes, well, what line are you in, Sebastian?

I'm a medium.

Oh, fascinating.

Medium what?

I'm a psychic medium. I talk to the dead.

Oh, that must be nice.

A little bit one -sided, perhaps.

Not at all. I always get an answer. Oh, you should try ringing director

inquiries.

Don't be futile.

You think you could possibly get a message for me through to someone

Dead? Well, yes, on the dead side.

Well, I am a professional man. It's hard at the time or the place, is it? No,

but it wouldn't take too long. I could do it in 12 words.

The fact is, you see the lady behind us here in the pale grey?

Very nice.

Yes, she is very nice. Well, she is my second wife.

It is my first wife who is... Dead. Dead, exactly, yes.

Deirdre, she's called, or was called, or might still be called Deirdre.

I'm just wondering if I could have a few words with Deirdre.

What do you want to say?

Well, it's private, isn't it?

You'll be fabulous.

No, sorry, I was being fabulous. Well, I just want to ask her, really, if she's

well, apart from being dead, and about the garden roller, whether, in fact,

she did lend it to our next -door neighbour, Mr Clay, or whether the

fact, have stolen it.

You can ask Mr. Clegg. Well, he has gone on holiday.

I'm not walking down the long, dark road that leads to the Vale of Shades in

order to inquire about some damn garden roller.

Well, it wasn't just that. I wanted to ask her if, in fact, she and our

Charlie Hackett, had had a romantic affair, because we used to have the

round more than most people.

Twice a day, in fact.

That's more like it. Yes, you see, he...

He sang, in fact, like Maurice Chevalier, and no woman could resist

well, I'm not surprised.

Why don't we start now, shall we? Yes, yes.

Is there anybody there?

Shh, shh, shh. Shall we hold hands or anything? No, I'll take two if you don't

mind. He's looking for my wife.

She's dead, of course.

Is there anybody there?

There is someone there.

Who's a pretty boy, then?

That's not Deirdre, that's Horace the parrot.

Oh, naughty, naughty.

Oh, naughty, naughty.

Oh, she's having fun with the plumber.

Horace, what do you say? Oh, that's the way to do it.

I'll speak to Deirdre, Horace. There's someone else there.

Hello.

Hello, Eddie.

Is that you, Deirdre? Of course it's me. Of course it's me, dear.

Give me a kiss, my darling.

No, this is, uh, this is not. This is for the pot plant.

As if I were always, yes, a little gin and tonic.

What do you want, dear? Do tell me.

Well, do you remember the plumber we used to have that sounded like, uh,

Chevalier? Oh, Charlie Hackett. Yes, Charlie Hackett. Well, I was wondering

Charlie and you ever did consummate the plumbing at all. Oh, dear!

Mr. Hitler to you.

You'll marry that old Hitler? He's done all the decorating.

Well, he would do.

Goodbye. Goodbye. Look at that, dear me, you didn't say. Did you, Charlie?

No, well, the plumbing was in a frightful state.

And I always loved Murray's Chevalier.

I'll murder that Charlie Hackett. Too late, mate. Somebody did.

Charlie Hackett, you seduced my dear me. No, it was her suggestion, mate. Oh,

and you never left your tools behind either, I expect.

ballcocks to you, mate.

Seems to whisper, Louise. He seduced my wife.

Well, not him, not my wife.

Came to Twitter, Louise.

I've always loved Maurice Chevalier. Have you, love? Want to see the pipes in

the cellar? Come on, love.

He's done it again.

Look at that. It's the first time tonight I've had my eye on you all

love.

Let me pour some of that down your bush.

There's a noisy fruit machine.

Tennis on a TV screen. Shifty fun rockers and jazz.

Oh, dear.

Look what they have done to it down at the New Bullock Bush. All right,

George, what are you going to have? Well, I don't know, but it'll be useful.

Yeah, all right, then. Yeah, it'll be useful.

PR, PR, I'll have a PR. It's Lousy Keg Bitter IPR. Oh, dear.

No. Hops is in it. Far too much gas in it. Fills you with wind up to here.

Can't post a breed in it. This bloke has weed in it. He's decidedly queer.

What can you do with it? Straight down the loo with it. Oh, the same old

-fashioned beer.

Give me a whiskey.

Isn't that risky?

You've had seven gins of snowball and a port.

We'll make it a brandy. Me legs are gone bandy.

Hee, hee, hee, there's a girl that fancies me.

Shows that you've had too much grog, you're winking at the landlord's dog.

would I live all alone? Who would live without crows? My old woman's just the

same. I wish she'd go back on the game.

I'm not going home till three.

Who's round next, you or me?

There's a friend I've got to see.

It's the town, it's the town, and now it's starting going round and round and

round, and it's night.

As if I've started drinking yet. It must be something what I ate.

No, I haven't had too many. I had some with Jack and Lenny and another with

Belinda at the Rosencrown.

I called and had one at the start. Just a jar, you know. And then went on to

Harry's Barn.

I had a few with some people that I met.

It's definitely something what I ate.

Time, gentlemen, please. Oh, dear.

Once they start calling time, it's the end, mate.

But it really is a crime. Who's your friend, mate?

Oh, it really is a sin. I could sink a drop of gin.

Have we time to get one in? It's the end, mate.

Goodbye, goodbye.

There's a nice topless bar we could try.

Oh, the barmaid, there's a lot.

I'm sure you could manage the other half.

Goodbye.

Dudley, I'm feeling awfully dry.

No, we won't be all right till tomorrow night.

Time to go, cheerio.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

I say, Humphrey.

What is it, Godfrey? Who was that? terrible woman you were with today.

That was my sister.

Oh, yes, of course. I should have noticed the resemblance.

She just got married, hasn't she?

Yes, yes.

And do you know, she's married a man whom people invariably take an instant

dislike to. Oh, why is that, you say? It saves time.

She just moved to Cheltenham. She loves Cheltenham.

She says in Cheltenham, breeding is everything.

Yes, well, we enjoy it in Kensington as well.

Funny thing is, though, although he's a bully, an idler and a drunk, she intends

to have 17 children by him. Oh, grief, why on earth do you want to do that?

She says she's hoping to lose him in the crowd.

I say, Bosun.

Yeah?

We've been cast adrift in this little boat now for three months, two weeks and

day. Yeah, that's right.

I was just wondering, do you know any other tunes?

Why, don't you like all things bright and beautiful, then? Not as much as I

to, no.

Where did we last eat? I'll have to look in the log for that.

Well, we ate the log, didn't we? Oh, yes, so we did, yeah. I'd forgotten

yeah. Well, if I remember rightly, the last time we ate was New Year's Eve.

Remember, we had that old running plimsoll left over from Christmas.

I didn't like it cold.

I didn't like it hot.

That's the trouble with plimsolls. You have one, and four hours later, you need

another, don't you?

Well, you know, we'll have to face up to it, Bosun.

Yeah. What?

Well, I mean, there's you and me here, two fellas, in this situation.

Stan's still raising, doesn't he?

What do you mean?

Hello, sailor, you mean?

Certainly not. Of course I don't, you twit. Hello, sailor. I mean we're both

very hungry and one of us will have to eat the other.

Oh, goodbye, sailor, you mean.

must be scrupulously fair into how we decide who eats who. Oh, yeah, of

Must be that.

It's the big one, this is. I mean, deciding who's going to be

is a big question. You must do that strictly according to the rule book.

Right.

Here we are.

In which hand is the seagull dropping?

Well, no, in you both.

Wrong neither.

You lose.

Best of three.

Well, I haven't got three hands, have I?

All right, all right. It's goodbye then, isn't it? Yes, it's goodbye, Bosent.

Just a minute.

Hang on a minute, hang on a minute. You're Jewish, aren't you?

Well, put it this way. I help them out when they're busy.

Well, you can't eat me, because I'm not kosher, you see. Oh, you will be in a

minute now.

Hold still, this will not hurt a bit. Not until I pull the trigger, anyhow.

to be tasty like this. Why don't I jump over the edge, swim about in the salt

water, you know, kind of broil myself, marinate myself.

Oh, I see your little plan.

You're open to be eaten by sharks, aren't you?

Well, that's all very well for you, but what about me? What about me, you poor

hungry mate?

Yeah, sorry, I didn't think there was... No, you never do. Any last requests?

Yes, just one, please.

What is it? Could I play All Things Bright and Beautiful one last time? No,

can play me last.

Are you sitting comfortably?

Yeah, I am. Listen, wait a minute, I thought of something.

How long, how long will one of my legs last you?

Well, first day roast, second day cold, third day curried.

Top whack three days.

Well, three days we might be rescued.

I might be rescued. No, we.

Don't kill me. Just take the leg.

We'll eat you a bit at a time, you mean?

Yeah.

Then at least some of me might be rescued.

You got a point there, yes, yes.

Another thing.

What?

Can I have a bit?

Well,

I can't just sit and watch. After all, it's my leg, isn't it? And I am hungry.

What is your own leg?

Will you bite your nails?

Well, not for dinner.

Not for dinner.

You're trying to put me off my food, aren't you?

No, it'd be nice, wouldn't it, the two of us? You know, a bit of company.

You're out of the conversation and all that.

Well, all right, if you like, if you like, yeah. Yeah, make a do of it, you

Moonlight, bit of music. Yeah. Dance the night away.

What, on one leg? Well, I... Yeah, yeah, all right. I'll tell you what. I'll

tell you what.

You have got spirit, Boston, I'll say that for you. And talking of spirit, we

could finish that last pot of white wine, couldn't we, eh?

White wine? I'm not fish.

Surely I rate a decent red, don't I?

Here, I'm quite looking forward to this. Do you mind if we dine early?

No, not at all. I'm a bit famished myself.

Oh, that's good.

Will you carve or shall I?

Well... Who's that?

A ship! Oh, it's a ship! It's a ship! Oh, yeah!

Food!

What does it say on the side of that ship?

Sea link.

Sea link?

No, it's all right. We're all right.

Thank you

very

much. Before we go any further, I must just blow a token kiss to

our producer.

The man who makes Boy George look like Charles Bronson.

Just a little token kiss for this wonderful chair.

No, I think he deserves it, because all the producers here at the BBC are

feeling the pinch at the moment.

I blame that new fellow in wardrobe myself.

Actually, times are rather hard. Only this morning our conductor, Ronnie

Hazlehurst, was told he'd have to cut the orchestra down.

Personally, I think he was wrong to string them up in the first place.

But he's always a hard taskmaster, isn't he?

Incidentally, if I seem, you know, a wee bit perkier than usual tonight, there's

a very good reason.

I wonder how many of you five years ago remember on this show that I announced

that I had received a letter.

Do you remember? Well, just... Well, just to prove it was no fluke,

I've had another one.

Interested? No, I know what's going on. I know all the sceptics are saying at

home, I don't believe it. It's the same one as before with the dearest stamp on

it.

No, but you're wrong, because I have brought the first letter along as well,

just to show you.

I brought that along.

Pathetic, isn't it?

Why don't I grow up?

If you find out, let me know, will you?

No, come on. Let her stop. being ridiculous.

My goodness.

It's nothing special.

It's a perfectly ordinary everyday event, having a letter. I've had a

that's all.

So let us open it.

Thank you.

I think we can dispense with black rod.

Now, what does it say? Just let me see what it says.

Dear Mr. Corbett, I wonder if you can cast your mind back over 40 years.

when you were in class 4B at James Gillespie's primary school.

And I wonder if you remember that little girl with long blonde hair and big blue

eyes you were once so madly in love with.

That's right.

I could never get near her for her fat, spotty friend, Mabel Briggs -Dyke.

Well, I am her friend, fatty, spotty... Seeing you, seeing...

you on television, I often think back to our school days together and remember

how you always used to boast that you... And to prove it one day behind the

cycle shed.

Well, that is not true. I don't remember that at all.

I never even had a champion conqueror.

P .S. P .S. it says. I wonder whatever became of the old caretaker Mr.

Wogan.

No, it doesn't say that.

I just put that bit in just to finish on a high note.

On swiftly to tonight's joke, which was

reminded, which I was reminded of a couple of months ago

when I went to Australia.

Now, I'll be honest about this.

I have never been very good at flying, which is why I always...

Which is why I always take a plane.

I went there actually this time to visit my adoring public.

And next year he's coming over here.

I was actually over there during the celebrations for the America's Cup

You know, it was wonderful.

Amazing. Really amazing. Amazing scenes.

Pictures of the team plastered everywhere, you know.

One or two of them sober, naturally.

I was very caught up in it all because I've always...

had the sea in my blood.

As a young boy, I was a stowaway in a gravy boat.

While I was there, while I was in Australia, I was taken one day by this

of mine,

Basil Snugfitting.

Spelled with two small T's and a round of toast.

Basil Snugfitting took me on this day, he took me on this day trip to a South

Pacific island.

Now, I should have been more careful, because it was only a few years ago on

this very island that a gay lib expedition ran into a group of cannibals

to be rescued from the sweet trolley.

There I was.

There I was.

There I was in this jungle, hacking my way through the toadstools.

Hacking my way through the toadstools.

Very low things, toadstools.

And Basil started telling me this story to raise my spirits, I suppose.

To raise your spirits.

Apparently, there are these two Scotsmen on holiday in Italy.

And the Mafia have gone into hiding for the week. And naturally, these two

Scotsmen are after a good time, you see.

Now, they've both drawn a blank looking for streetwalkers in Venice.

And one night, one night, they end up in this little bar in Rome where

one of them very carefully consults his Italian phrasebook. And he goes up to

the counter and he says to the bar, he says, Hey, you, he says.

You.

What face, he says.

He has two pints, he said.

He has two pints of draft tartan.

Whereupon the Italian barman, who is also a bit of a linguist, replies.

He replies, I'm sorry, he says.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

He seems to be doing waiters all night.

We know a silly draft tartan, he says. I'm sorry.

It's amazing, you know, I think I've never had a coronator in my life.

Anyway, we note that.

Maybe we have something else like, you know. So the Scotsman says, well, wait a

minute. When in Rome, he said, we should do as the Romans do. He says, I've got

a wee idea.

He said, do you mind telling me what the Pope thinks? Because if it's good

enough for the Pope, I'll have some of that.

Ah, see, says the Italian.

He says, His Holiness the Pope, he said, he is a very fond of, he's a very fond.

You really need subtitles for this story, don't you?

That Bob is a very fond of a small creme de menthe, he says. That's what he

likes. So the Scotchman said, that I'll do, I should say.

Give us two pints of draught.

Two pints of draught creme de menthe.

So it's a cut -along story, shortly. Spend the night putting away tankards of

creme de menthe. And the next morning, they wake up with most almighty

The first Scotsman delicately eases himself down from the chandelier.

Double glazed eyes.

Head like the inside of a telephone exchange.

And he turns to his friend and he says, Dearie me, he says.

Dearie me, Willie, he says.

If that's the stuff the Pope drinks, he says, no wonder they always carry him

round in a chair.

Yes, this must be it, driver.

Nag's bottom.

Ages ago, most of the guests are already here.

Colonel, so nice to see you and your niece again.

She will be served shortly.

Oh, niece.

She won't get much out of him.

He's old enough to be her father.

What's your excuse?

Hurry up.

We're just waiting for Monsieur Poirot, and then we can begin. Poirot?

I don't think you were invited.

Hercule Poirot, the detective, here for the weekend.

He's a very good friend of the bishop's. The man is a walking jinx, my dear. I

mean, he's only got to set foot in a place and people get horribly murdered.

Don't be so preposterous. What about that society wedding he was at last

when six of the bride's family got slaughtered with a cake knife?

What about a comedy hotel in Scotland, when four of the houseguests choked to

death on a septic haggis?

He comes to this house, my dear, over my dead body.

Once and for all, Sidney, he is not welcome under my roof.

Too late. He's here already.

Ah!

Madame.

Or is it Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, come to bestow her radiance upon our

world of mortals?

But tell me, Your charming consort.

Is he not with you also?

Tell him I'm not here.

Tell him it's been cancelled.

Tell him I've got leprosy. Anything. Only get rid of me.

Oh.

There you are, Mr. Poirot.

Doesn't the grass smell lovely this time of year?

Tea on the lawn awaits, Mr. Poirot.

We are all so... I'm looking forward to hearing some of your famous murder

stories.

And yet Lady Agatha's party was destined to end in tragedy, for one of the

guests was already planning a fiendish murder, a murder so grisly, so

that...

What is the matter, Mr. Bultitude? Is something worrying you?

Worrying me? Good heavens, no. Good heavens.

Whatever made you think that?

Even as the guests were playing croquet on the lawn, the murderer had crept

silently into the kitchen and lashed the orange juice with cyanide.

have guessed that the murderer was about to strike again.

Who could have suspected that somewhere in the bushes, the barrel of a gun was

trained upon the poor victim's heart?

Slowly, relentlessly, the finger began to squeeze upon the trigger.

The opening of the umbrella was obviously a put -up job.

Supposing the killer had already left his victim a little present.

Yes, my friends, lying there coiled beneath the Percy's desk was an assassin

more deadly than any man.

A black mamba.

Picked on his tether.

As slowly it slithered up his leg.

Imagine the victim's horror.

Every fiber of his being frozen in mortal dread.

As slowly it began to worm its way up.

In this mission of death.

Madame Baltitude, I fear I have discovered a minute speck of earwig

upon my pillow slip.

My apologies.

I'll just get you a fresh one.

Mr. Multitude, there is no need for you to keep hiding like this. Your fears of

being murdered are completely groundless.

Hide? Who could ever love you? Who's hiding? I'm not.

Really? Not one of your guests has any motive to

murder you.

I have been chatting with them. On the contrary, they are very fond of you.

All of them are planning to leave you large sums of money in their will soon.

If anything, it is you who have a motive to murder them.

Murder? I mean, they actually... Oh, well, well, well.

I never walked by, of course.

I'm not afraid to be killed. Me?

I was in the war, you know. Not afraid of looking death in the face. Nor after

years of looking my wife in the face.

What was that?

I don't understand the night in real, if you don't mind. Oh, no, you don't.

You're spending the night with me.

Of course.

I suppose there are some fates worse than death.

Good morning, everyone.

Did you sleep well?

Marvelous. Wonderful.

Not a wink.

I can see why.

Fetch!

Bless you.

Fetch!

Oh, no.

My heart.

Oh, my God.

He's dead.

Watch that one.

Good

morning,

Madame Belkitude.

What a lovely day.

A son of day that makes one glad to be alive.

Would you like one? Oh, you are most kind.

Oh, you prepare an excellent kipper, Madame Altitude.

Flattery will get you everywhere, Monsieur Poirot.

Oh, yes, a beautiful morning, a beautiful hostess, a well -turned

What more can a man desire in his pursuit of paradise?

Oh, Monsieur Poirot.

Such pulchritude.

It is your pulchritude that sets you aside from the multitude, Madame

Actually, there's a perfectly simple explanation.

I deduced, therefore, that all four deaths were meticulously planned.

After the colonel had expired, the other three deaths were triggered off

automatically. The niece grabbed at the loose wire, thus electrocuting herself.

The lantern crashed down upon the bishop's head and he, in turn, fell

onto Miss Tabitha, plunging the knitting needles into her chest. A simple chain

reaction. But how to kill the colonel?

In the first place, the answer lay in his allergy to cats. The cat made him

sneeze, and the sneeze after his nocturnal insomnia was too much for his

weak heart.

Only one problem remained.

What would make the cat jump upon his lap in the first place? And the answer

the smell of kittles.

And whose idea was it to serve kippers?

Yes, Mrs. Virtitude.

You.

You killed those four people as surely as if you had gunned them down in cold

blood by serving kippers for breakfast.

You planned it all last night after our conversation so that you and your

husband could indirect the money.

What? Take her away, Constable.

Let me go.

Let me go, I tell you. It's all...

You played your part beautifully, Mr. Bultitude.

She will be found guilty, and she will go down for 20 years at least.

Worked exactly as you said it would. I'm now finally free of the old bat.

What a pity, mind you, about the guests.

It's a pity, though, about the digitalis that found its way into the colonel's

conflicts this morning.

It's a pity about the faulty wiring, but there we are.

By the way, I think you can safely drop the accent now.

Oh, I think I can, isn't it?

Thank you, Father. You are, in fact, Albert Finney.

It's a damn good job none of them had seen the movie, weren't they?

Hey, cheers, Vivian. Cheers.

Well,

that's about all we have time for tonight, but first, the news.

GPO announced its new second -task parcel post. It's called the Dropkick.

And doctors at the Houston General Hospital are pleased with the progress

made by Apple Belonge, Britain's worst -ever ballroom dancer.

They say he should be back on somebody else's feet in no time.

Foreign news.

And prove today that the rain in Spain really does fall mainly on the plane

Janet Street Porter got drenched in Barcelona.

Finally, Basingstoke housewife, Ursula Plackett, appealed for help tonight in

ridding herself of the belief that she's a soggy dishcloth.

Anyone who can help is asked to give her a ring.

In the show next week, we'll be meeting Maisie Dotes, the girl who blames her

loose morals on a mistake she once made knitting.

She read the pattern backwards and made herself a pushover.

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

Repair and Synchronization by Easy Subtitles Synchronizer 1.0.0.0