Original subtitles

It's a delight to be back with you once again, isn't it, Ronnie? Oh, yes,

indeed. And in a density -packed programme tonight, we shall be meeting a

whose wife has bought him a new wig, and all his friends agree it makes him look

30 years sillier.

And I'll be telling you the desperately sad story of Willis Watkins, who

yesterday was within a hair's breadth of achieving his lifelong ambition to play

professional football, but then signed for Wolverhampton Wanderers.

But first, the news.

A government inquiry is to be set up into the company that's made a bomb out

syrup of figs. They'll be asking why the RAF didn't think of it first.

The drains at the House of Commons remain blocked tonight after Dinerod

up, but Blackrod wouldn't let them in.

Meanwhile, miser Mr Albert Moneybags was awarded £80 ,000 damages today after

being struck in a sensitive spot by a cricket ball.

He said the experience had definitely swollen his coffers.

funeral service of former pantomime King Rat, Mr.

Rollo Tooth. The vicar said, what a good man he was.

And the mourner said, oh no, he wasn't.

And our sketch features Mr. Ronnie Corbett, who last night fell in the

bowl and got dressed for dinner.

The winner, the winner of the Best Dressed Tarts and Vicar competition,

Tart, Susie Grundy, for the card.

And, and, the Best Vicar, Manager of Office Printing, our host,

Tommy Finn.

And we've got a very special prize for Tommy.

from the third floor who came as the moderator of the Church of Scotland in a

kilt.

Who are you, by the way? I am the Bishop of Dongo. Oh, I'm calling myself Dean

Martin myself.

Surely this is not one of your deaconesses?

No, I'm just a layperson myself.

Has she nothing to her to cover herself withal?

No, I'm a tart.

Oh, the price of a good woman is beyond rubies.

That's not what Ruby says.

in the basement.

Bring the dressers coming out party.

This is ecumenical Babylon.

There's a man of the cloth over there unclocking himself.

Will him to go and frock himself at once.

Well, you better tell him that, mate.

Have you brought a bottle with you? I should have brought a bell, book and

candle. Oh, it's not bedtime yet.

Oh, I shall pronounce ecclesiastical anathema.

You're very lucky to be able to pronounce anything, mate.

What's the matter with you? Where are you from? You're from auditing. Sent up

spoil everything or what? I am the Bishop of Dongo of the Friendly Islands.

A real bishop?

Yes. What are you doing here, mate? This is the Vickers and Tart party.

Our missionary work in the Friendly Islands costs money.

I spoke to the man at the door in uniform and explained the missionary

Oh, I don't know that one.

The best place for me was the sixth... more. Oh, he's a real bishop, Eric, a

real bishop. Yeah, he's not dressed up.

He's collecting money from the friendly isles. Oh, really? Come on, help him be

friendly, Dory.

How do you do? I'll work it. I got you from dispatch.

The hassock stuck up his cassock.

He's minding you two.

Why didn't you put Peter off?

Well, and furthermore, we shall pay in the next life for the last of the flesh

that we incur in this life. Take a leave. He's driving everyone away. Come

What is it? We're only having a good time. Good time?

Such scenes as these even in ancient Greece.

Susie, come back. Susie!

Oh, had that all laid on. Had it all laid on there, you miserable thing. Why

don't you come and spoil everything?

Sign here, please.

Sign it. What is this? Pardon me, poopers. What's that?

Yes, you've heard of kiss -o -grams and stripper -grams. I'm a nasty bishop

-gram from your wife.

On the line.

You may remember our guest was Phil Collins. Well, tonight, it's the ladies'

turn. And with the song that was made famous by the legendary Billie Holiday,

our special guest, Barbara Dixon and Lover Man.

I don't know why, but I'm feeling so sad.

I long to try something I've

never had.

Hugging and kissing, what I've been missing.

I am showing you how to be making a hot and spicy curry.

And it will be repeated tomorrow morning.

And I will also be showing you how to make papadums.

Now this here, that is a papadum.

And that is a mamadum.

Now the curry I am going to show you how to be making this week is one of my

very own recipes. Actually, it is being an Anglo -Indian vegetable and ham dish.

The vegetables being from India.

and the ham being from England.

So I am naming it the Richard Mahatambara Gandhi Curry.

For this thing of curries, you will be needing one pound of ham, one pound of

diced okra, one half pound of chickpeas, and one half pint of single cream.

And about half a teaspoonful each of garam masala, cumin,

fenugreek, kalonji, coriander, black mustard seed, yellow mustard seed.

Here we go. I'll put those in there like that.

And if you haven't got any of these, don't worry.

Just use an oxo cube.

Now you put the whole lot together in a big pot. And you cook for about one and

a half hours at 300 degrees. Or if you're not in a hurry for your curry.

300 hours at one and a half degrees.

And do not be worried if you did not manage to get all that down. You can

buy my book, which accompanies the series.

Priced £9 .95 or £8 .95 direct from the BBC, the

Bombay Book Club.

Now with this curry, I recommend the stuffed pilau rice.

Pilau rice is the thing to eat with it. And to be making perfect stuffed pilau

rice, you will need... One pint of water and six ounces of basmati rice.

And you cook for 40 minutes and you stuff it into a pillow. Like that, you

First, of course, you must remove the original stuffing from the pillow.

Now, I am not knowing what this pillow is stuffed with. So I am asking the

producer on the phone.

Hello?

Oh, gracious, that is a cucumber.

The question is, where is the phone?

And the answer is, it is in this bowl covered with yogurt.

Yes.

However, however, I have here another telephone that I prepared earlier.

Hello. Hello, producer.

Blessings upon your health now.

Tell me, oh, why is an old seeing old drinking one?

What is this pillow stuffed with?

I said, what is this pillow stuffed with?

No, I am ducking down.

Of course, the pillow is stuffed with duck

down, of course.

This will be very useful.

Thank you, sir. You're a bit late, but hurry and get here.

This will be very useful in next week's program entitled Indigestion with Indian

Food or How to Keep Your Bombay Duck Down.

Well, if you are following correctly the recipe for my hot and spicy curry, you

will not be needing a starter.

You'll be needing a stopper.

That is something to stop you eating too much and getting too full because it is

so delicious. Now, I am making a starter anyway.

Any old way I shall make a starter. And I have chosen an old favorite, tandoori

chicken. Now, this particular recipe was given to me by a friend of mine,

Mohamed Nazir.

sometimes known as marinade, Nazir, because he left his wife overnight.

He's thinking about that one. Now, firstly, we will be making the marinade,

which the chicken will then stand in or run around in if you are marinating it

before you kill it.

And for the marinade, you will need salt, yogurt, we have plenty of yogurt

and the red food coloring. You put all those in the bowl like that.

Half a juice of a whole lemon. Now, if you have not got a whole lemon to take

half the juice of, just use the whole juice of half a lemon.

Well, it's the same thing. Work it out.

Now, for the chicken, which must now be skinning and quartering. Now, many

people are finding this difficult, you see, but it's not difficult at all if

are doing it like I'm telling you, which is by taking your little knife like

this and cutting through the skin like this, you see. Through there, across

there. Around there like that.

And around this side here, from elbow to breakfast time, right around that.

Now it is simple to be pulling the skin off. You just take the skin in the hand.

No, you just take the... Simply

nail it to the board like that.

That is the way. Now, you simply... There

is a photograph

of the completed... Ready to serve.

Now, lastly, and finally, it is my time for my last week's deliberate mistake. I

wonder how many of you were getting it right. Some, perhaps, but not Mr. Gerald

Watkins of Peterborough, who, after failing to notice that in the recipe for

Rogan Josh, I should have said one teaspoonful of chili powder and not one

dustbinful.

He has since been in hospital.

Here he is recovering from the world's first bottom transplant.

What made you give up work and take to the road then, Harry?

I give up work because of sickness.

The boss got sick of me.

You was a railway porter, wasn't you?

Yeah, that's right, yeah.

I got the sack because I trod on a stale.

Why'd you do that?

Well, they'd been following me about all day.

Bit of a blow, wasn't it? You know, losing your job?

Well, yeah.

Yeah, it was, really, cos at the time I had a wife and two ruptures to support.

What made you give it up, then?

Well, I lost the will to live, except at the weekends.

I was always late.

Always. I mean, what they ought to do, really, is cross electric blankets with

toasters and pop people out of bed in the morning.

What happened? Did you get into trouble?

I got into trouble, all right. I had to go up before the boss.

I hadn't been talking to him for more than two minutes and he called me a

What caused the delay?

I don't know.

I must have been talking slow.

My boss used to be rude and all.

And mean.

You know, on flag days, he had a special way of avoiding buying one.

What was that, then?

He used to wear a tray with flags on it.

One Christmas, I sent him a card with Happy Christmas on it.

Next year, he sent the same card back and wrote on it, and the same to you.

totally flimsy, while I mix you a scandalously dry martini after I've

the pianoforte.

the chaise ronde.

Under the what?

Who are you?

I'm the coalman, ain't I?

I didn't order any coal. Good heavens.

It's nearly midnight.

Very precisely.

The special summer bargain offer stops at midnight.

We might like a couple of sacks for them around the place.

Get out.

Look, I've come here to talk, if you must know, about Amanda.

Amanda? Amanda? Where is Amanda? Amanda?

Amanda? Don't shout, you'll bring the property values down.

I'm talking about Amanda, my daughter Deidre. She's downstairs, in the wagon,

waiting for me.

I'm taking her home.

Home? With you?

Fickle jade.

I've always had my doubts about Amanda.

What are you, rough trade?

I'm her father.

Great Scott.

She takes after her mother's side.

Thank heavens for that.

Listen, my Amanda, or Deidre as we call her at home, is very sophisticated.

For a barmaid. But she haven't got much up top, see?

She has the most willowy, wonderful body. I'm not talking about up top here.

She's got plenty up top here.

I'm talking about further up top. Up top here.

I'm sorry? The point is, when they were delivering the brains, she finished up

one sack short of a load. Now, all I want to know, what's been going on

you, sonny boy, and Deirdre?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Nothing has gone on between Deirdre and me which I would not willingly scream in

a loud voice to my grandmother in clear, ringing tone. Let's leave your

grandmother out there, shall we, her and Edward VII?

want to know is, are your intentions honourable? My intentions towards

Amanda, if you must know, are totally loathsome and despicable.

Oh, an honest man. I like that. Put it there.

He did say honourable on the doorbell, but you can't always believe what you

read on doorbells. I know what you mean. Young model.

Yeah. Listen,

how did you get to meet my Deirdre then?

Computer dating.

I shall recommend it to my friends. Isn't that all a bit mechanical, eh?

No, the computer merely arranges that you don't actually go out with one. Oh.

You still, believe it or not, end up with real, living, vibrant flesh.

Yeah. Or in your case, Deidre.

It's funny to think that Deidre is vibrant.

Or even living, for that matter.

Until she's a big girl now.

Big? She is a sylph. She is a nymph. Yes, I've heard that said about her, no?

Nice to meet you. I usually only get to see gentlemen's coal holes.

Wait a minute.

When I said my intentions towards Deirdre were loathsome and despicable,

meant to say was what I was desperately trying... What's wrong with you?

I am inwardly struggling with myself.

Oh, yeah, I know what you mean.

I've gone back to boxer shorts myself.

All I want to do, dear sir...

Is Mick Deirdre my wife?

Are you going to make an honest woman of her? I'm not sure if that's quite

possible, but I certainly hope she's going to be an honest man of me. Oh,

put. Very fair.

Deirdre.

Deirdre, it's a lovely name. It's a dryad.

A fawn. A nymph of silk.

Yes, yes, yes.

Well, I'd better get back to her now. She'll be wondering what's happening to

me. Oh, here she comes.

Not sure yet.

I'd lug up a sack of sun -bright doubles while I was down there.

Is that where you wanted it?

Grab your boots, you filthy lot of airy brutes. Grab the girlie, that's the

closest. Never mind her halitosis.

Take your partner by the hand.

Blow a raspberry to the band.

Step up on your partner's toe. Move to the right and down he'd go.

for a fish and chip. A promenade teacher looks fine after 15 pints of barley

wine.

Oh, your partner full of booze. Tip her up and pinch her shoes.

Grab her by the ankles quick and swing her round until she's lit.

Now sash it to the left and sash it to the right. I've been dying to have a

all night.

Girl across the floor, grab her by the exit door.

dragging on the ground.

Come on, Charlie, grab that floozy with a face like that and she won't be

choosy.

Old one -eyed Cyril's really weird.

He grows mushrooms in his beard.

Greasy down just caught his eye and sucked it landing in the shepherd's

Old Tom notes he's 84.

See him stagger around the floor.

Three parts gone on Lucas' aid.

Promenades with a hearing aid.

Albert's up to all... streaks his feet as fast as 46.

When she swings them round and round, knocks young Albert to the ground.

Watch them as they dozy -do, see them swinging to and fro. When it rains, a

lucky fella uses them as an umbrella.

Not where she live, but what she got.

Every time old Billy meets her, her fizzog looks more like a pizza. She's

pimples on each cheek. Wins a spot prize every week.

Absolutely charming. It is, in fact, the finest real ale house outside London,

really. Yes, it has come up. Good evening, my host. Good evening, sir.

evening, madam. Good evening.

Now, I think we should start you on something not too heavy, you know, just

little tasty, nutty, you know, from the wood, but not too strong.

Could we have two pints, please, of Shagwell's Old Dirigible?

I haven't got any, sir.

Oh, no Shagwell's Old Dirigible?

No, sir. Oh, goodness, that is a bit of a blow.

Well, what about some black nasty stout? Oh, no.

Two halves of black nasty stout, please. I haven't got any, sir.

You haven't got any.

What sort of beer have you got?

We don't sell beer, sir.

What do you mean, you don't sell beer? I mean, the finest real ale house in the

country. Ah, that was last year, sir. Last year? Yes. Yes, the craze for real

ale is over now, sir.

Really? So what do you sell now, then?

We sell water, sir.

Water? Yes, water. Why water?

Well, there was such a craze on the mineral waters last year, sir, we gave

selling beer altogether, sir. Goodness me. Yes, we only sell water now, sir. We

are the first real water pub.

Real water? Yes, yes.

All the top people go for it, sir, now.

I think I've read about it, as a matter of fact. I saw it at the supplement.

Rather lucky we stumbled on this.

What sort of real water do you use after that? Oh, all sorts, all sorts. So you,

I mean, we've got alpine mineral water, we've got island stream water, we've got

Windermere Lake water, we've got Canada dry water, Red Indian running water,

French Perrier water, Yorkshire Terrier water, mountain water, fountain water,

only water, Virginia water, we've got South End sea water, Catford tap water,

soapy water, ropey water, dopey water, fish water, fish water, we've got

evaporating water, condensed water, soda water, distilled water, Still water,

rich water, ditch water, boiling water, toilet water, Thames water, seven water.

Yeah, we've got seven water. We've got six out of seven water. We've got baby's

hot water. We've got baby's pot water. We've got baby's bath water.

We've got murky water, dirty water, squirty water, cold water, gold water,

water, rain water, water on the rocks, water on the knee, water on the bridge.

You seem to have water on the brain.

Yes, we've got water up here.

Well,

I think if we may, we'll plump for the... Windermere? The Windermere,

Lake water, yes.

With or without fluoride, sir?

Oh, without.

Ice, sir? Yes, please. Two lumps, two lumps. Yes, well, we've got alpine

mineral, we've got highland stream, we've got...

We've got washing up water, washing down water, all's water, all's water.

I think we'll have Highland Stream, I think. Yes, sir. Now, what do you want?

Cracked ice? Do you want black ice?

Flushed ice? Crushed ice? Chopped ice? I think we'll have the crushed ice. Oh,

crushed ice. Yes, very good, sir. That will be £1 .40, please, sir. Very good.

Have one yourself.

Oh, thank you very much, sir. That'll be £5. Thank you.

Oh, goodness me. Fancy the old Garden Gate not selling beer.

Yes, we don't call it the Garden Gate anymore, sir.

Now, we call it the Watergate now.

Tell me, do you... Thank you very much.

Do you make your own water?

Well, with this lot, about every five minutes.

Very nice. Very nice.

Cheeky little taste, isn't it?

Yes, I think you'll be amused by its impertinence. Very nice.

I say... I say, I thought you didn't sell beer. That's lager, isn't it? Oh,

but it's not for Sousa. Well, what is it for? Well, we've got to wash the

glasses and something, haven't we, sir?

I'd like to begin tonight, if I may, on rather a serious note.

Something of a sensitive subject, but one I hope we can all approach in the

of adult, mature fashion. The question of my sex appeal.

And why it didn't bring in a single donation.

Now,

I knew you wouldn't take that seriously.

I thought you might take it less seriously than that.

The fact is that it's a popular fallacy that men of my diminutive stature don't

make great lovers.

As I pointed out in my recent book on the subject, How to Make a Little Go a

Long Way, in which I recounted my first ever awakening to the attractions of the

opposite sex. At the age of 12, I can still remember it vividly, I'd just

climbed halfway up Karma Miranda and suddenly lost all interest in scrumping

apples.

adventure in those days because I actually went to a very, very strict

I remember the boy who sat next to me was shot for hurrying a Murray Mint.

What I thought I would do tonight was to bring along this week's sack of fan

mail from all my adoring lady admirers and just pick out one at random.

Just any letter.

There we are. And see what it says.

Now, here we are. To the most erotic man on television, here are the two

Ronnies. See what I mean?

I get this sort of thing all the time.

Now, let's see what it says inside.

Dear Ronnie, here we are. You are the sexiest hunk of man I have ever seen.

Virile. Not very quiet.

Virile and masculine, yet warm and cuddly.

Last night I dreamt that you and I were...

for us to make mad passionate music together, Ronnie. Say it can be so.

All I ask is that you get rid of the weedy little drip who's on the table.

Please ask him to tell the joke about the American tourist and the red Indian.

Well, which brings us rather neatly, if not very convincingly, to tonight's

story. Now...

I'm glad it's this story, actually, because it should cheer up my wife,

rather upset tonight, as today holds rather painful memories for us at home,

because it was exactly a year ago today that the terrible incident occurred when

I was kidnapped.

I haven't talked about this before in public because it left a lot of scars,

naturally, but it all happened one Saturday afternoon. We were taking part

big charity showbiz event on Wimbledon Common.

Very flattering, actually, because my wife and I were the guests of honour.

And as a special tribute to the first night of our honeymoon, the first night

our honeymoon was reenacted by the Field Knot Society.

I'll admit, I'll admit the catering left a lot to be desired.

That was in the hands of the BBC canteen, the catering manager.

You know, the catering was. I swear she hadn't been reading her own recipes

carefully enough because on this occasion for dessert, she served up a

meringue.

And every time you went to eat some, it kept throwing itself off the table.

It was at 5 .30.

We'd just left to go home when suddenly, without warning, the kidnapper struck.

A car roared up alongside us. The door was thrown open and I was dragged in.

we went. Now, we drove for three hours till we came to a deserted, disused old

building, which they'd obviously picked because no one would ever go there.

Watford Football Ground.

No, no, it wasn't. I shouldn't be unfair, because Watford are doing their

to make a go of things.

No, no, only this week they've signed up two new spectators.

I'll be honest, these two kidnappers were pretty hard -nosed.

And they sent a note to the BBC which said, how would you like to see Ronnie

Corbett strung up on a meat hook?

And the next day they got a letter from the head of comedy saying, this show's

promised, let's have lunch.

Eventually, they issued an ultimatum. If the BBC did not leave £5 ,000 in

a hollow tree on St Pancras Station, immediately, immediately, within 24

hours, I would never be seen again.

11 months went by.

various BBC committees.

The ransom note was read out on points of view.

And the kidnappers got fed up waiting and let me go, alive and completely

unharmed. And the BBC sued them for breach of contract.

Here is the joke. There is this chap on a package tour.

going around the United States. And the tour, he takes them deep into Indian

country, down through wounded knee to twisted ankle, finally arriving at

athlete's foot. Well, all pile out of the coach, and the guide draws their

attention to a wizened old red Indian who's standing by the side of the road.

said, that over there is Leaping Turtle, last of the Navajos.

And he has the most amazing memory of any man alive.

who'd like to test them out. He said, so this chap sets forward and he says,

tell me, Leaping, he says, can you recall what you had for breakfast on

the 25th, 1947?

And without hesitation, the Indian replies, eggs.

The chap said, well, I'll be plum -tuckered out, he said.

That's incredible.

Quickly remembering he was American.

What a memory.

At which point their time is up. They all clamber back on the coach

and off they go. Well, the chap enjoys the trip so much that 27 years later he

does it again. And sure enough, there standing by the roadside is the same red

Indian. A bit older now, obviously.

Splashing his scalps with Grecian 2000.

Delivering a rather limp war cry.

I forgot to tell you he was in the Salvation Army.

And Jack can't believe it. He said, that is incredible.

Leaping turtle is still alive after all this time. And he goes up to him again

and he says, how?

And the Indian turns around and he says, scrambled.

Long ago, when Vikings sailed the seas, legend tells of many bold and fearless

warriors.

Of Robert the Hardy.

Jimmy the Young.

And James the Burke.

Yet, of all the noble heroes in Valhalla, one man stood head and

the rest.

Mudguard the Mighty.

Last of the Great Norsemen.

For Mudguard, the sea was his kingdom. The fresh oceans spray his very

lifeblood.

And so it was that in the spring of the year 986, Mudguard led his band of

cutthroats to the shores of Northern Britain on what was to be his final

As you know, I, Mudguard the Mighty, grow old.

And this day, I lead you into battle for the last time against the

ancient Britons.

It will be a cruel and bloody battle.

Many of you will be torn limb from limb.

Others will be horribly hacked about.

Shall we flinch in the face of the enemy?

No!

We shall slit their gizzards.

We shall... Please, sir.

What is it?

I want to be excused, sir.

What? I want to be excused, gizzards slitting today, sir.

I've got a note from me mum, sir. What are you talking about?

Well, I've got this terribly stiffly nose. I don't think I'm up to it today,

sir. Silence!

Put your helmet on straight.

What's your name?

Pithrick, sir.

Pithrick the what?

Pithrick the pathetic, sir.

Silence!

Snivelling son of a slug's entrails.

Have you no Viking's blood in your veins?

Listen, I want it to stay there, sir.

I've never seen such cringing, snivelling cowardice.

You ought to see my brother, sir.

Pithrick, you will go into battle with the rest of the men and like it.

Yes, sir.

Gotta know from your mum.

Right men, forward!

And thus did Mudguard's horde descend upon the Saxon villages, looting every

home, slaughtering men and cattle, ravishing the womenfolk, and generally

behaving in a very naughty manner.

Lodgard proudly looked on as his lusty band of warriors carried off their

prizes.

Hey, you!

Where are you going with that dog?

She was the best I could get, sir.

I'm not talking to you.

Come on, sir.

Hedwig!

They've run out of urgent, sir.

Put that down before I put you down.

Didn't you bring back anything of value?

Well, I did manage to pick up this little Anglo -Saxon musical box. It's

primitive, of course.

Cheap foreign rubbish!

Next time you loot a village, Pithrick!

It appears to be an ancient parchment, sir. I found it stuffed in that music

box. By the gods of Asgard, it is the map to King

Saladbar's tomb.

King Saladbar? Who's King Saladbar?

In life, he was of the evil band that practices black rituals.

What, a reggae singer?

He's a sorcerer, Pithrick, and the legend decrees that... All his golden

treasure was buried with him on his death in the tomb. This map will lead us

the tomb.

Let us see, it says.

First, seek out the river of eternal youth.

River of eternal youth? That could be anywhere.

And so, with his crew now reduced to one man, Mudguard the Mighty took Pithrick

the Pathetic in search of the sorcerer's treasure.

Across the Valley of Woe, and up into the Mountains of Doom.

Over the Cliffs of Calamity, and eventually reaching the Heights of

where Mudguard just managed to stop Pithrick going over the top.

Oh, that's better. Oh, my poor feet.

Beware the enchanted forest, for there dwells Morag, the witch,

who seduces all men and transforms their bodies into swine.

We shall have a head start with you.

Figures, I'm ready.

I'm off to get some more wood for the fire, and while I'm away, I don't want

talking to any strange women.

Greetings, brave Viking.

Me?

What do you want?

You get away from me.

Have no fear.

I only wish you to shave a gunstick with me.

Leave me alone.

You don't know where I've been.

Don't fight it, Viking.

Come into my arms.

Oh, you can't get round me.

There's nothing you could possibly do that would make me...

Come here.

Don't do that when I'm talking to you. I haven't got a walk on this path.

Come on.

I think I'm back to normal now.

Sorry to hear that.

These high -fiber diets have got a lot to answer for.

It says here we are now entering the Garden of Lost Souls, where once dwelt a

strange arboreal young man whose body was made completely from flowers.

Poppycock. It doesn't say what his name was.

How do we get into the tomb?

Oh, it says here, it's all here. It says to find the entrance, you must first

peek out the giant rabbi hole.

What? The rabbi hole.

Giant rabbit hole.

The writing's worn away.

Take 20 paces from the giant toadstool.

Oh, it is. Here, look there. All right, then. Go on, then.

One,

two... We've found it. The lost tomb of Saladbar the

Sorcerer. Seems strange that he left it completely unguarded.

Somehow I expected to find some hideous, horrible monster, but evidently he

seems to have... Oi,

what have we here?

All right, little shepherd, now we're starting. Keep away from...

Cool.

Just so we could spring this surprise party. We couldn't let you go without a

good send -off, could we?

I don't know what to say. In recognition of 50 years of pillaging and looting,

we would like to present you with this solid gold eight -day sundial.

Oh, is that the time?

And this is from all the virgins you've ravished.

All our best wishes for a happy retirement.

I've won the cup.

To Mudguard!

To Mudguard!

And thus ends the saga of Mudguard the

Mighty. Yet even today, a thousand years on, Mudguard's descendants are still to

be seen, swooping mercilessly on defenceless Britons.

Good morning. I'm from the Acme Double Glazing Company. That

seems

to be all we have time for apart from a few extra items of news.

Berthold Burke, the eccentric fish and chip shop owner, has retired, having

devoted his whole life to deep frying in the nude.

He's now realised he's fritted it all away.

Magnus... Magnus Codd, TV's absent -minded professor, caused chaos at a

station this morning when he kissed the train goodbye, jumped on his wife and

went to town.

At today's conference of the Forgetful Society, the chairman gave the keynote

speech. He said that last year had been a complete whatnot of a watchamacallit.

Watch your face hadn't whom a flip and had made a complete thingamabob of it.

then sat down on a doodah and heard his watsit.

In our next series, we'll be talking to Humbert Lodes, the silchester man who

not only moved from a house to a flat to avoid gardening, but now has tarmacked

over his window boxes.

And we're featuring the world premiere of a new pantomime, which is a cross

between Cinderella and Peter Pan.

It's called Fly Button.

So, it's goodnight from me. And it's goodnight from him. Goodnight.

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