Original subtitles

This programme contains strong language.

A hundred years ago, the people of Britain

were living in a very different era.

This era was called the olden days,

and Britain was a very different place.

Every woman in this era was called Vera or Lynn.

One woman was even called both.

She was soon to sing about bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover.

But this was a fallacy. There were no Bluebirds in Vera's Britain.

And although the cliffs of Dover looked white,

they were in fact Farrow & Ball Slightly Munge.

The British were living in the shadows of the First World War.

Their generals lived in chalets at the back

and asked their soldiers at the front to kill millions of Germans,

by calling them on the telephone after breakfast.

Patch in the L-2-5-1, please.

But frequently, their telephone lines were cut by shells.

Hello?

Which meant the soldiers had no idea at all...

Had me blood test.

..whether to kill millions of Germans after breakfast.

And then something happened.

A man called Marconi invented a device

that used short-wave radio signals

to transmit voices without the need for wires.

Hello? MAN: Hello.

And the generals realised that if they had these devices

they would no longer need telephones to ask their men

to kill millions of Germans...

..after breakfast.

But someone else was excited by Marconi's wireless.

His name was John Reith.

Despite being Scottish, John Reith had an optimistic view of life...

..and no interest in killing Germans after breakfast.

He'd observed British soldiers returning from the war

to their cottages with pianos in the kitchen parlour.

Here they could listen to their children making music.

# Yip, yap, yuppie And butters our bread

# I scrubbered me a foreigner And now he's dead. #

But their music was primitive,

their accents indecipherable.

Ee, by gum, the black face, you bugger.

Shut up, woman.

And their dancing unrefined.

Reith realised that if he could place Marconi's wireless

in their homes, they could hear refined classical music

and words spoken by their betters.

He would teach the working classes to say "napkin"

instead of "serviette."

RUMBLING And "lavatory" instead of "toilet."

And instead of clobbering foreigners...

..they'd learn to love them.

Reith dreamt of a Britain where every home would have a lovebox.

BOTH: # We like to watch the BBC The lovely BBC

# We like to watch the BBC When we come home for tea

# The One Show is sublime

# And Crimewatch with its crime

# We like to watch the BBC

# And listen to Radio 3. #

You can't sing that, Candice Marie. Why not, Keith?

Well, it doesn't scan. Come along.

MAN: Are you ready for the music?

It's different today.

ORGAN MUSIC PLAYS

It began a hundred years ago, and by the time of the Second World War,

it had already become the voice of Britain.

A father figure, and a listen with mother.

A beating heart of British culture, and a cornerstone of our democracy.

A Great British institution.

UPBEAT PERCUSSION

This made the politicians and newspapermen puke.

They weren't as popular as the BBC,

so they claimed it was no longer in tune with the people.

It didn't scan.

And because Great British institutions

are no longer held in respect by young people...

..they don't give much of a toss.

WOMAN: Did you like that tune?

WOMAN: Have you seen my napkin?

MAN: You took it with you to the lavatory.

Perhaps you left it in the lavatory.

I shall go and look in the lavatory

and see if my napkin is there.

And I shall play Schubert on the pianoforte.

PIANO MUSIC PLAYS

DOG BARKS

Hush, Napkin.

CAT MEOWS

Quiet, Lavatory.

John Reith also broadcast news and weather.

MAN: Here's the news. The weather is going to be bad.

And the King.

MAN: I am the King.

And instead of killing Germans after breakfast,

the Generals killed pheasants,

and left the BBC alone.

But then, everyone in Britain went on strike.

Except for the Generals, who didn't go on strike,

even though the General Strike was named after them.

Now Prime Minister Stanley Baldrick spoke on the BBC.

This is one of my little fireside chats.

This going-on-strike business is a silly business.

But Prime Minister Baldrick refused to allow

Labour Party leader Ronald McDonald

to speak on the BBC in support of the strike.

ROCK MUSIC PLAYS

Now John Reith made up his mind.

He wanted autonomy, so he wrote a song about it by the Buzzcocks.

# Autonomy... #

Then he gave the British Broadcasting Company

a swanky new name...

..and made himself Director General.

MAN: Jackanory, Jackanory.

On the other side of the world, a small boy had been abandoned

and raised by dingoes in an abandoned house.

And in the abandoned lavatory,

Raised By Dingoes discovered an abandoned wireless.

Now he heard human voices for the first time.

They were loud and violent.

What he didn't know was that these voices

were just Australians speaking normally.

MAN IN AUSTRALIAN ACCENT: If music be the food of love, play on!

And he called his wireless the Crapbox In The Crapper.

Sometimes these voices told the truth.

But Raised By Dingoes found the truth boring.

Mainly, they talked any old bollocks,

and this made him feel better about himself.

Now he saw his future.

He would gain acceptance in the world of humans by giving them

any old bollocks that made them feel better about themselves.

Jackanory.

John Reith now met another Scottish John.

His name was John Yogi Bear.

He had invented a wireless with pictures.

# All the lassies say hello

# Donald, where's your troosers? #

Inspired by John Yogi Bear's invention,

Reith declared that the future was the wireless with pictures.

In November 1936, the BBC broadcast its first television programme.

OPERA SINGING

But this programme was only seen by 400 households,

because the workers couldn't afford televisions.

So the workers became depressed.

And this became known as The Great Depression.

Now nobody had anything to do except listen to the King abdicate.

I am the King.

But I've fallen in love with a wicked American floozy.

But then something happened.

It was time for a Second World War.

Therefore I must tell you, that when you've finished your kippers

or your kedgeree,

you must kill all the Germans.

ALL: Hooray!

This was to be a people's war,

so the Conservatives were now replaced by a

government of national unity.

John Reith's mission to inform, educate and entertain

was now abandoned and Reith resigned.

The airwaves now belonged to cheeky chappies.

# Yip, yap, yuppie And butters our bread

# I scrubbered me a Jerry And now he's dead

# I cut out his liver and I cut off his head

# I chucked them in the river Now the river runs red. #

The BBC had scrapped television for the duration of the war.

It now used its wireless programmes to send coded messages

to agents in occupied Europe.

At nine o'clock this evening,

you must take your napkin to the lavatory.

Then it came up with a programme that was broadcast to Germany itself

that was so boring that millions of Germans instantly became dead.

Das Archers!

After hearing Das Archers himself,

Hitler committed suicide.

GUNSHOT

And even though they'd been human and dancer,

they were killers.

And Britain was glad they were dead.

# Are we human

# Or are we dancer? #

The BBC was now established.

Unlike any other broadcaster in the world,

it was cheap, cheerful, and not particularly cool.

But because it was fuelled by information,

it gave people the freedom to think about things

they'd never thought about before,

such as the danger of drugs.

Hello, Muffin. What's that package on your back?

Heroin? Silly me. You're a drug mule.

You bring drugs into the country for bad people.

And did the boy who was going to buy your drugs

try to swizzle you out of ten shillings and sixpence?

Did that led to a fight in which you trampled the boy to death?

What a naughty drug mule you are.

PIANO PLAYS

# Let's hang Muffin

# Muffin the Mule

# Let's hang Muffin

# Muffin the Mule

# Let's hang Muffin

# Muffin the Mule

# Let's hang Muffin the Mule. #

# I like to be a busy, busy bee

# Being just as busy as a bee can be... #

Britain now needed a boom in babies.

But because such things weren't talked about,

few people knew how babies were made.

How are babies made? Go to bed!

So the government asked the BBC

if it had any information on the subject.

And the BBC remembered it had a twin called David Attenborough.

He'd been born on the same day as the BBC himself,

because he must be 100 by now.

And he was fascinated by living creatures having sex.

So he showed the British people how to create a baby boom.

This spinster has dedicated herself to a life of learning

here at Cambridge University.

But now she's ready to mate.

And she's looking for a suitable partner.

Making a display of her brightly coloured things,

she immediately draws the attention of some fusty professors.

Mmm. Mmm.

But neither of these confirmed bachelors seem to cut the mustard.

She's found her match at last.

GRUNTING

It's all over for the other two.

They'll have to wait for another day.

Or perhaps continue their life as confirmed bachelors.

But for the happy couple, it's time to copulate

and produce a child that combines their love

of brightly coloured things and splendid vacuum cleaners.

But few could afford splendid vacuum cleaners,

because post-war Britain was poor.

And the once-great Britons were now a bit crap.

The BBC reflected these times by inspiring people

to make their once-great homes a bit crap.

I don't know whether you've got a problem like this,

a rather ugly old panel door.

It's one that can be solved quite simply.

You can make it look like this.

No-one was more inspired than a young boy.

His name was Anthony Wedgwood Blair.

As he watched Barry Bucknell, he realised something.

He could take something great and make it crap,

but more in tune with the times.

He now Barry Bucknelled his name to Tony Blair

and transformed himself into a regular guy with no soul,

like a plywood door panel,

and began to dream that one day he'd do the same to the Labour Party

and to Britain.

What he didn't dream was that he'd also become

best pals with Raised By Dingoes.

Jackanory, Jackanory.

In the abandoned house in the Outback,

young Raised By Dingoes had found some letters.

They spoke of love and morality and self-improvement.

Raised By Dingoes now realised something profound.

He could use these letters to wipe his arse.

The authors of these letters were Jason and Kylie.

They'd once lived in the house of dingoes,

and one day they spotted a backpacker.

He was from England on his gap year.

The young man now took a wireless from his backpack

and told them he was going to explain the world's problems

on the BBC.

And when he finally shut the fuck up, they asked him his name.

It was Richard Dimbleby.

It looks as though we've got about six places neck and neck.

Nobody knows who's going to be first,

but we're watching them with eagle eyes.

And here is our first result, it comes from Finchley in North London,

where the seat has been taken for the Conservatives by a lady.

Erm, a rather attractive lady by the look of it, called Thatch.

Where there is bread, may we bring butter.

Where there is mutton, may we bring Jeff.

Where there is tuppence, may we bring ha'penny.

And we have trapped Mr Jeremy Thorpe who won North Devon for the Liberals

and Polly Elwes is sitting with him in Exeter. Let us go over to them.

Now, let's look rather more at your own campaign, your own victory.

You're a bachelor and I'm told you have conducted a very gay campaign.

Erm, I think that people in Devon enjoy a little bit of gaiety,

but I think they feel that they have to know you first

before they'll stand much of it.

Now everyone in Britain could enjoy a bit of gaiety.

The new ITV seemed gayer than the BBC.

It financed its programmes with advertisements

for things people didn't need.

Why does he reject me? Because your bosoms smell!

But now there's a way to keep chest whiff at bay.

Smear your bra once a day with new Bravellous.

ITV made popular working-class programmes.

But the BBC didn't know anyone working class

because it was like a giant public school.

You should've been filming Z-Cars yesterday afternoon.

Why weren't you?

Sir, the cameraman, Mr Pilkington, said he would be away then, sir.

But he wasn't away, was he? He was on set all day. Yes, he was.

You're quite sure that you, erm, didn't miss it intentionally?

Because the BBC didn't know anyone working class,

it looked to the theatre, where a group called the Angry Young Men

had started to write plays about working-class life.

But the Angry Young Men weren't actually working class.

They just pretended to be.

And the liberal middle classes

didn't actually like the working class.

They just pretended to,

and bought expensive theatre tickets to watch them from a safe distance

and empathise with their ghastly lives.

Just as they do today.

The BBC now asked the Angry Young Men

to write Plays For Today.

Would you like one?

A cup, I mean, of tea.

I would.

I'll put it on, then.

The kettle, on the hob.

You don't... What?

..have to make one. A cup, I mean, of tea.

It's no trouble.

But what then?

The teapot.

Shall I...? Would you like me to?

I'll get it myself, when I put it on.

The kettle, I mean.

On the hob.

For the tea.

For the tea.

Middle-class viewers thought Play For Today was frightfully good.

But it had been aimed at the working classes,

and they found it boring and turned over to ITV.

Fancy a cuppa? Aye, put t'kettle on, eh?

Pass us t'teapot, love.

Now everybody had a cup of tea.

And even though the government said they'd never had it so good,

they were still poor.

So the BBC gave children Blue Peter,

and taught them to make their very own crap toys.

But Blue Peter wasn't blue.

Val and Chris, and then John Noakes, were forbidden to swear.

So they couldn't say "Sellotape",

which in the '60s was a very bad word

and only tolerated post-watershed.

MAN ON TV: I'd like to kiss you and hug you until the end of time.

What would you like to do to me, Albert?

I'd like to Sellotape your mouth shut. Oh!

The watershed was nine o'clock.

It had been invented by BBC executive Ted Watershed,

which is why it's called the watershed and not just nine o'clock.

Ted Watershed insisted children should never hear the word

"Sellotape." So on Blue Peter, when Val and Chris, and then John Noakes,

made crap things, they said "sticky-backed plastic."

Sticky-backed plastic. Sticky-backed plastic.

Sticky-backed plastic. Sticky-backed plastic.

Sticky-backed plastic to go round the...

Sticky-backed plastic.

But children didn't know what sticky-backed plastic was,

and their Blue Peter toys fell apart.

Now Britain itself was falling apart.

And in 1964, there was a coup and the Beatles assumed power

and appointed Harold Wilson as Prime Minister.

And the BBC noticed that children were copying

the mop-topped musical junta

by growing their hair long and behaving like animals.

To frighten children into being good,

the BBC invented Doctor Who

and exposed them to really scary fluffy creatures

and terrifying slightly green painted man-eating bubble wrap.

Keep close, Suki.

This must be the way.

Doctor, watch out!

Exterminate!

Cut! DALEK VOICE: Have I got time to pop out for a fag?

Of course, yes.

BOY: I find it frightening.

I hide behind the sofa. So do I.

But at the time, most houses in Britain were small,

and sofas had to be positioned against a wall,

so were impossible to hide behind.

Which is how the BBC knew these children were lying.

They were taken to the Blue Peter garden

and exterminated. Exterminate! Exterminate!

In 1968, Europe was consumed by revolutions,

and the BBC now consumed itself and embraced Beatleism.

Exterminate!

All you squares out there, turn off now to avoid heart palpitations,

for this is Whizz Bang Pop.

What's your name, young lady, and who are you here to dig?

My name's Camilla Parker Bowles and I'm here to dig The Smooths.

Do you have a question for the boys? Yes, I do.

Why did you call yourself The Smooths?

Well, everyone drink a cup of tea,

we digs drinking a cup of cappuccino coffee

like an exotic foreigner and that's what makes us smooth, you dig?

SCREAMING

Take it away, guys.

# You got to take the rough with the smooth

# Baby, can you feel the groove?

# You got to take the rough with the smooth

# Come on, honey, do your move

# It's all right... #

Now Beatleism Britain was the envy of the world.

But there was a problem. Everyone in Britain wanted to be the Beatles,

but only four people could.

And this caused massive industrial unrest.

We demand to be the Beatles!

The strike spread from workers' legitimate demands to be the Beatles

to other grievances.

Now the might of the trade unions dominated every workplace,

including the BBC. And this nearly scuppered the recording

of the greatest tune ever written.

ORCHESTRA TUNING

The Greatest Tune Ever Written, take one.

Everybody out!

We can't have women playing on The Greatest Tune Ever Written.

Women are a menace. A bloody menace. I quite agree.

We give in to your trade union demands.

The Greatest Tune Ever Written, take two.

MATCH OF THE DAY THEME PLAYS

At the time, there was only one woman

believed to be working at the BBC - Joan Bakewell.

And they called her thinking man's crumpet.

Val from Blue Peter was also a woman,

but they didn't think of her as one.

They thought of her as a normal person and left her alone.

A decade later, they were joined by Sue Lawley.

This was still a traumatic event,

so they bet she went like the clappers in the sack.

Ten years later, they were joined by Lenny Henry's wife

and Adrian Edmondson's wife.

By then, the BBC was swarming with so many women

you could count them on the fingers of Moira Stuart's hand.

To congratulate itself on being so progressive,

the BBC gave them their own lavatory.

In the late '60s, the Beatles decided to replace

violence and strife with peace and love.

The solution lay in drugs.

So the BBC produced radical new dramas

which viewers could only endure if they were on drugs.

RINGING

Hello? You've got the wrong number.

This is haberdashery. You want cabinets on the third floor.

Excuse me, you're in my way.

This is my line, you see?

I'm sorry. Fee-fi-fo-fum.

I gobbled up a kipper and the war got won.

I'm Beelzebub.

And I'm Satan.

Here he is. Devils?

Silly Tarquin. They're just pretty names here in Gooplania.

Now even Doctor Who was on drugs.

Fuck it.

There was one man who preferred sailing to drugs.

His name was Ted Heath.

In 1970, he disbanded the Beatles on Disney+

and formed a Conservative government with Rod Stewart.

And then went sailing.

# I am sailing... #

And as he sailed towards France,

he thought of a new government policy.

Evening, all.

Now, it's not everyday you can say to yourself

a politician's got it right for a change.

But yesterday was one of them.

That's a very fine car you're driving.

I build them, Officer.

At Ford in Dagenham.

My shift starts in half an hour, so...

Well, hold your horses, sonny boy.

There's a new government policy.

And us coppers have been charged with issuing fellas like you

a voucher for your local sailing club.

Mr Heath wants fellas like you

off the reefers and out into the fresh air of the high seas.

Think I may be sailing round the world.

As long as I don't get stopped by the Royal Navy every five minutes.

HE LAUGHS

When Ted Heath arrived in France,

he asked a pretty young Frenchman at the bar

what the song was on the jukebox.

The pretty young Frenchman told Ted Heath it was Puppet On A String,

a song chosen by the BBC which had won the Eurovision Song Contest.

Ted Heath now learned that Britain was known as the sick man of Europe.

But now it had won the Eurovision Song Contest,

it was great again.

Ted Heath now sailed back to Britain deep in thought.

And as he reached the Farrow & Ball Slightly Munge Cliffs of Dover,

he made up his mind.

Britain would join the European Union

and dominate it, as it dominated the Eurovision Song Contest.

Britain entered Europe in triumph,

and saved all its kisses for the Brotherhood Of Man.

# Bye-bye, baby... #

But then something happened.

SCREAMING

The United Kingdom lost to the Netherlands.

# Bingy boingy boo

# Say hello Say good morning

# Say how do you do

# Bingy boingy, bingy boingy

# Because I love you... #

Enraged, the miners went on strike.

And sitcoms featuring beating up Europeans

became hugely popular.

Ted Heath was now replaced by Labour.

# Bingy boingy, bingy boingy

# Because I love you. #

But British workers were still furious,

and refused to stop making Austin Allegros.

The BBC now reflected the nation's determination

to make poor-quality products

by spending several fivers on a production of a Star Trek rival.

Warning! Votron attack detected and communications intercepted.

Orders are to destroy our galaxy.

Hmm, if the Votrons succeed, this will mean the end of life on Earth.

We should probably do something about this.

Bucknell. Commandress.

Destroy the Votron attack force immediately.

Votron attack force destroyed.

That was a close shave.

# Wake up, Maggie, I think I've got something to say to you. #

One afternoon in the late '70s,

Thatch was walking home to Finchley from Parliament

because her Austin Allegro was fucked again.

As she reached the road to Damascus Gardens,

she saw, as if in a vision,

that Great Britain had become Little Britain.

"You're the thick man of Europe," said Lou with an amusing lisp.

Thatch now told Little Britain it didn't have to be so negative.

It could have lovely thoughts.

And if it watched the BBC,

it would learn that it didn't matter if you were in a wheelchair.

Or quite large.

If your raincoat was filthy,

or you suffered from wrap-around cardigan syndrome.

You could be heroes.

"Don't want Allegros," said Andy.

"Want Nissan Bluebirds."

Where there is discord, may we bring harmony.

Where there is Marks, may we bring Spencer.

Where there is prawn, may we bring cocktails.

Phwoar.

Now Japanese carmakers flocked of seagulls to Britain

to make cars glued together with big boy's glue -

Nissan Bluebirds.

And Bluebird Britain gave a fucks bizz about Europe.

It had made its mind up.

# For making your mind up... #

The BBC reflected Britain's new place in the sun

by making dramas even more glamorous than Dallas.

I thought I might find you here, Jan.

You're back earlier than expected.

The Jag ate up the M3.

I think I might have overtaken Jackie Stewart.

Never were a feminist, were you, Maurice?

And I don't intend to become one now.

How was your shopping trip to Harrods?

Calvin Klein's £60 richer, I'm afraid.

You're in a good mood. Penny for your thoughts?

I think you mean £5,000.

Go one. That's the investment I'll make in the boat yard

when I win the race on Saturday.

It's always when, never if, with you.

Which is why you married me in June 1972 and not Roger de Beaufort.

And now I'll be able to build bigger boats in my boat yard

than Roger can in his.

Champagne from France?

It seemed the BBC could do no wrong. But it could.

We all retain one piece of knowledge from high school days.

Whilst most of our teachers were swell,

there were some who lurked in our classrooms

who must be described thus. They are...

I find the big wide world a frightening place.

May I crawl back inside your womb, Mother?

My darling boy.

You can't call back inside my womb.

But you can go back to school

and take out your inadequate wankiness on children.

Oh!

What wanker teachers don't realise

is that while they're belittling one child,

the other children are gobbing on their backs.

Because it was like a giant public school,

some wanker teachers ended up at the BBC by mistake.

Chelsea-Arsenal for Match Of The Day.

You should've been filming it yesterday.

Yes, but I got the wrong division.

How do you mean you got the wrong division?

I filmed the Second Division, sir. Hull v Blackpool.

Yes, I see.

These wanker teachers now became political interviewers.

Do you know, since you raised interest rates,

other members of the Cabinet consider you to be royalty.

I don't know what you mean, Robin.

They call you the Cock-up King.

But ITV had a nice teacher.

You're widely considered to be the most intelligent member

of the government. I suppose I am.

And with that intelligence comes a humility.

Yes, I am very humble.

Would a man of your intelligence and humility admit

that rising interest rates was the wrong thing to do? Yes, he would.

And has cost Britain thousands of jobs? Yes, it has.

And this decision was made by one man and one man alone? Me.

And even though the BBC had broadly reflected the Thatch project

of turning ghastliness...

Oi, I want a word with you. Can't it wait? No, it can't.

What's that supposed to mean?

..into sunshine...

AUSTRALIAN ACCENT: Can I have a word with you, mate?

Oh, it can't wait, can it?

No, I'm afraid it can't. No worries. Come in, I'll get us a tinny.

..Thatch herself was not immune from the wanker teachers.

How would you answer those in Number Ten

who say that you are immune to Domestos?

Where there is confusion, may we hear clarity.

Domestos gets rid of bad smells that linger,

and yet you're still here.

Thatch misinterpreted the rudeness of BBC wanker interviewers

as political bias, and began a process that continues to this day

of gobbing on the BBC's back. ..Cabinet members who are so...

The BBC caved in, stripped the wanker teachers of their bow ties

and beat them to death.

And replaced them with David and Jonathan,

The Dimbleby Brothers.

# ..reasonable

# So reasonable

# An argument has always got two sides... #

But the powerful forces of the establishment

now smelt the BBC's blood.

They thought the BBC was worthy and superior.

They wanted to replace the freedom to think

with the freedom to choose,

and to choose not to think.

But to turn over to other channels that were less worthy,

and zone out.

# We're reasonable... #

They now began to undermine the BBC,

hoping to confine it to the rubbish tip of history.

# As reasonable as can be. #

Raised By Dingoes had bought some newspapers in Britain

which gave people a truth that was often bollocks

but made them feel better about themselves.

Now he turned to television,

and giving people so much bollocks

they wouldn't have to do anything with their days

except watch bollocks.

He was ready to launch his crapbox.

You see that, Grandad? That there is the future.

Your state-of-the-art extra-terrestrial set-top telly box.

Oh. Complete with satellite dish extreme

picking up all the alien channels from outer space

what up until now has only rumoured to have existed.

And all inclusive and included for only 250 nicker.

That's a lot more than the BBC, Del Boy.

And the BBC lob in your wireless for nothing.

Oh, I should've pulled the plug out of your wireless years ago,

you dipstick.

Look at all them history channels.

They improve your bonce, Grandad.

I don't want to know about Hitler's dog.

Well, that is because you are determined to remain ignorant.

You're like that Phyllis Stein bird.

Ooh, I like that film.

Oh, got to pay extra for that.

Oh, look. West Ham-Spurs.

Oh, you've got to pay extra for that, an' all.

You know what happens to plonkers like you, Grandad,

what stand in the way of scientific advancement?

No, what, Del?

Ooh, satellite tele. Lovely, Del.

With crapbox competition, the BBC needed to remind people

of its founder John Reith's great mission.

# Like a virgin

# Touched for the very first time... #

It now turned to a post-teenage thirtysomething

called Richard Curtis.

He had written a funny sketch show called Not The Ted Watershed News,

and a funny sitcom starring former Prime Minister Sir Stanley Baldrick.

Baldrick, what are you doing out there?

Don't worry, Mr B. I have a cunning plan.

Richard Curtis was sad emoji because of all the poverty in the world.

Now he heard the voice of John Reith.

He would help alleviate this poverty on the BBC

by creating an exciting new day for children.

THEY LAUGH

With Comic Relief's help, Save The Children and Oxfam

raised enough to buy a large fleet of trucks.

# Today is going to be the day

# That they're going to throw it back to you... #

I've always wanted to walk more like Liam Gallagher.

Move your fucking arms, Sir Tony, you fucking twat!

He's always telling me I mustn't give a toss.

I don't give a toss, I don't give a toss... Come on, Tony.

You don't care, that's it. I don't give a toss. Yes, Tony!

# You got to take your time You got to say what you say... #

You see, I'm doing it!

Bruno Tonioli. Ten!

The BBC was living the Reithian dream.

The total is 4 million...

It had found its great mission.

Seizing the moment, it decided to get rid of communism.

The Berlin Wall had been built by the East German secret police.

For years, they'd been bugging the BBC

and had learnt how to make walls from Blue Peter

with sticky-backed plastic.

And in 1989, the wall collapsed.

But now a tidal wave of East European pop groups

overwhelmed Eurovision.

ELECTRO POP MUSIC PLAYS

# Rapping, chatting, rapping, chatting

# We don't sing the songs

# Rapping, chatting, rapping, chatting

# This is not so wrongs. #

Thatch was furious.

Where there is yes,

may we bring no.

But Eurovision defied her.

And next year, Britain was defeated by Bulgaria.

# I love to pogo Ha, ha, ha

# Such funny jumping Ha, ha, ha

# Picky pucky picky pucky Because I hate you

# Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

# Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

# Ha, ha, ha... #

Thatch was forced out of Downing Street in tears.

They were tears that cried her a river.

Three little fishes swam and swam right over the dam.

The new Prime Minister, Syd Little lookalike John Major,

set his specs on the BBC

and appointed a new man, Syd Little lookalike John Birt,

to make the BBC as efficient as Britain's newly privatised railways.

The BBC was still run like a giant public school.

May I borrow your pencil, Whitehouse?

Of course, Hector. Topping.

Syd Little lookalike John Birt now split the BBC

into lots of little pretend private segments

so it could pretend it was part of a market economy.

Can I borrow your pencil, Mr Whitehouse?

You can't borrow it, Mr Enfield,

but you can lease it from my department, BBC Chuckles,

upon signing the appropriate form. Mr Greenall?

You'll also need a form from BBC Pencils. Miss Cavaliero?

And finally, one from BBC Borrowing Things. Mr Fisher?

May I borrow your pen? You can't borrow it...

The politicians now used the BBC reforms

as a model for everything,

which is why all our public services are now so great.

PANICKED BREATHING

Ah!

DOG BARKING

Hi.

MAN SCREAMS

But then something happened.

After 18 years, the Labour Party was back in power.

Tony Blair had given Labour a makeover.

And now, Blair told the BBC

that everyone and everything should have a makeover.

He's always the kind of soft gangster.

But a moustache on a big man like him

should be incinerated and then shredded.

My God, is she getting it wrong now.

And look at you. You know, he's quite sexy. Yeah, he is.

Now he's sort of...

He's sort of catwalking.

We've put something back in their marriage.

Then Tony Blair gave the BBC a makeover itself.

Inspired by Barry Bucknell's plywood door panel,

he made the BBC move from London's glamourpuss West End

to Salford near Manchester,

where it became bored shitless

because it kept on having to go on morning television.

With the BBC safely out of the way and bored shitless,

Tony Blair entered into a marriage of convenience

with Raised By Dingoes.

And this union was so confusing that everyone now decided

they didn't give much of a shit about anything much.

Things that looked a bit shit might be supposed to look a bit shit.

And you might look a bit shit if you didn't know that.

And most importantly, people who really did give a shit

were completely shit.

No-one encapsulated this giving-a-shit shittiness

more than Richard Curtis.

Now his film Love Actually was declared shit actually.

And love was actually declared shit.

Curtis' age of optimism was now replaced

with the age of coke hedonism, or post-modernism,

and Ricky The Great. Obviously.

For the previous two decades,

blue-collar workers had aspired to being white-collar workers

so they could look more like Spandau Ballet.

# Gold Gold

# Always believe in your soul... #

But in White-Collar Workers Are A Bit Shit,

Ricky The Great exposed white-collar workers as a bit shit.

And White-Collar Workers Are A Bit Shit

was so funny that now everyone wanted to be a bit shit,

even dead famous celebrities.

So Ricky The Great made a new sitcom called

Dead Famous Celebrities Are A Bit Shit.

Ricky, I've just done a poo-poo in my panties, uh-huh.

Disgusting.

FARTING

Because Ricky The Great was so great,

Tony Blair got jealous and decided he had to something great himself.

So he made Afghanistan and Iraq a bit shit.

Are you a criminal? No.

You duped the United Nations, doesn't that make you a criminal?

No, you BLEEP.

Was it correct to go to war

when there was no evidence at all to support your claim?

Well, I, er... The Tony Blair I know,

the deeply moral, deeply charismatic and sexually attractive Tony Blair,

would only have one answer. You're right, Brian. I'm a BLEEP.

War had damaged Britain's international reputation,

but the BBC's reputation was still intact.

It was admired around the world for its news reporting

and it's period dramas.

Mr Darcy, how lovely to see you.

Well, I wish I could return the compliment, Miss Bennett.

But your father's a cretin, your mother a prattling windbag,

your sisters are daft and your bosoms smell.

Good day to you.

Don't worry about him.

He's just shy.

But now the BBC was to embark on its own war with ITV,

which had come up with a period drama

with a modern, sensitive twist.

HE CHUCKLES

Oh, I do love Oscar Wilde, Carson.

Such a shame he was sent to prison.

I don't know why we don't just leave homosexuals alone.

Perhaps one day they'll be able to hold hands in public

after arranging to meet on portable telephones

with bespoke applications for same-sex couples.

If I may be so bold, your Lordship,

that's remarkably forward thinking of you.

Though what business your daughters had marching with Mrs Pankhurst,

I do not know.

You're quite an opinionated little servant, aren't you, Carson?

The BBC now fought back with violence.

GUNSHOT

We're Brummies with guns.

And haircuts.

We've come for your ratings.

Our ratings are enormous.

Why, this episode alone peaked at 14 million viewers.

The peaky blinder and we're taking the lot, because we've got guns.

And haircuts!

Scrummies with guns. And haircuts!

I don't like you, do I?

But we do like you, doe eyes.

Before modern medicine, leeches were attached to the human body

to suck the illness out of the blood of the floundering patient.

The modern leech is called a PR monkey.

It attaches itself to the host

which immediately begins to feel better about itself

and becomes soppy.

What the host doesn't know is that the PR monkey

is sucking at its heart.

The BBC claimed to have filmed the Queen

storming out of a photoshoot with Annie Leibovitz.

But even though Buckingham Palace has 775 rooms,

it doesn't have a photoshoot room.

So you have to storm about a bit

before you bump into Annie Leibovitz.

And this is what the Queen was doing.

Now Raised By Dingoes suddenly forgot all the bollocks

he'd printed about the Royal family in his newspapers

and realised that the Queen was human and dancer,

and what the BBC had done was a Phoebe Waller-Bridge too far.

# Or are we dancer?

# My sign is vital

# My hands are cold

# And I'm on my knees

# Looking for the answer... #

The BBC now panicked.

It exterminated its boss, Peter Flinchless.

And sucked up to the new Prime Minister Dave

by renaming its popular comedy channel Dave.

# Down on Jollity Farm... #

Prime Minister Dave was a hug-a-hoodie PR monkey.

You're a political pipsqueak, aren't you, Dave?

Dave now wondered if the BBC was less trustworthy and relevant

than Raised By Dingoes' news.

Ooh.

So he asked some trendy PR monkeys

to look into whether the BBC was still relevant.

"What do we think about great institutions?", asked Windy Windbag.

"They're not relevant, are they?", said Shoreditch.

"Unlike us."

"The BBC should be as relevant as us."

"Yah."

So they told the BBC to become more relevant.

To stop being a great actor...

..and become one of the guys.

Hiya. Hiya. Hiya. Hiya.

To replace meaning...

..with a state of nothingness.

Hiya. Hiya.

To make the interesting inclusive.

It was just down to luck that I survived and Marie died.

Paul Conroy, who very nearly lost his life in Syria.

Have you very nearly lost your life?

Or anything, for that matter?

Perhaps your car keys, or your toothbrush before an important date.

Email us here at Saturday li...

"What about diversity?", said Windbag.

"Yeah, where are all the people of colour?", said Shoreditch in a huff.

"Oh, goodness me, yes," worried Windbag,

looking around the office.

"On the BBC?", said Shoreditch.

"Oh, yeah," said Windbag.

"Yeah!"

So they told the BBC it was time to reflect the lives

of people of colour on programmes that weren't just EastEnders.

I want a word with you. Can't it wait?

No, it can't. What's that supposed to mean?

Isn't it amazing, sir, that someone from your heritage

should rise to command one of Britain's nuclear submarines

despite the pervasive underlying racism in British society.

Not at all, Lieutenant. As a young Ford Dagenham factory worker,

the pervasive underlying racism in British society

led to me learning to sail.

But then on the high seas I kept getting pulled over

by the Royal Navy and one thing led to another.

You're an inspiration, Commander. So are you, Lieutenant.

We're role models to the youth.

One day they'll live in a world like this

without prejudice of class, creed, sexuality or race.

Sir, we have confirmed reports

that we are being followed by our enemies.

The lousy Chinese or the mad North Koreans?

Commander? Mm. A message has just come in from the BBC.

A mixed message, sir.

Up periscope.

There's been another murder.

Which is why I've been sent from Great Britain.

I quite fancy him.

And even though I have an amusing obsessive-compulsive disorder...

Ah!

I'm scared of mangoes.

THEY LAUGH

I do fancy him.

I'll solve this murder because I'm not a jolly simple

little island plonker like you lot.

THEY LAUGH

I hope my part gets more substantial in season 13.

The more inclusive the BBC now became,

the more it worried it wasn't being inclusive enough.

It had seen what had happened to JK Rowling

when she had opinionated on transitioning,

and didn't want to get it wrong.

So it put RuPaul's Drag Race on the front page of the iPlayer,

and hoped that everyone would think it thought whatever it was

that was right to think.

Then it considered exterminating Richard Curtis.

It worried his Vicar Of Wibbly Wobbly

wasn't actually a woman,

but Mrs Brown, who wasn't actually a woman.

I've wet me knickers, ha, ha, he, he!

But as usual, when Richard Curtis is involved, there was a happy ending.

I'm not your mum.

And I love your pretty dress.

But then something happened.

Britain got a new Prime Minister and his name was Porridge Johnson.

Porridge Johnson had begun his career as Ian Richardson

in House Of Cards.

We haven't won Eurovision since Katrina And The Waves.

Do I think it's time to leave Europe?

I couldn't possibly comment.

Oh, Porridge. Maddie.

I'm so worried, Porridge.

The editor of the newspaper I work for has got wind of your plans

to trash Eurovision and leave Europe.

But he says he'll spike the story if you come clean

about having an affair with me. What shall we do?

Oh, Maddie.

Maddie, Maddie, Maddie.

Come here, Maddie.

I love you, Porridge.

And I love you, Maddie.

Porridge?

Porridge?! Ah!

THUD

Hattie.

Hattie, Hattie, Hattie.

Come here, Hattie.

I rather like this new look, don't you?

Because he was easily bored,

Porridge Johnson had stopped being Ian Richardson from House Of Cards

and become Prime Minister. Ah!

Prime Minister, did you just murder the tea lady?

I-I think it's vital that, er, we move on

from this amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amanty murdery ballyhoo

a-a-and really focus on doing something important.

Say that and see if it sticks.

I don't condone murder, but your charming use of Latin and "ballyhoo"

has left me nostalgic for the whimsical class divisions

of PG Wodehouse.

And I'd forgotten your homicidal idiosyncrasies already.

Bingo. Yes, Prime Minister.

Let's do something important.

Nadine was important,

so Porridge Johnson put her in charge of the BBC.

Nadine now told the BBC that because she'd eaten an ostrich's anus

on I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here

and been buried in maggots, she was more important than it.

She now told the BBC that it must reinvent itself

as a greater marvellous British minnow.

And just before he resigned,

Porridge Johnson forgot to tell Parliament

that he'd sold the BBC in what he said was a great deal for Britain.

It's new owner rebranded the BBC and put it on its streaming service,

if you scrolled down far enough.

Then Raised By Dingoes gobbled up the streaming service

and shat the BBC out, because he'd never liked it in the first place.

And that was the end of the BBC.

Now the British were free to watch any old bollocks

that made them feel better about themselves.

Oh, Britain's Fattest Families.

Celebrity Morons On Water Skis.

And most people returning from holiday that summer felt sad,

because there wasn't much in Britain left to believe in.

In life, loved ones can be annoying, irritating,

occasionally exasperating.

But after they die,

and grand things have been said about them at funerals,

it's the little things we miss.

Mr Mainwaring?

Mr Mainwaring? I'm meeting a young lady from Mancunia, Mr Mainwaring.

Now look here, Pike. There's no such place as Mancunia.

Do you understand?

That's strange, she told me she was Mancunian.

Hello! Stupid boy.

I've got you these.

They're flowers.

HE WHISTLES

Ah!

MASTERMIND THEME PLAYS

MAN: In March 2022, what was the average weekly total of people

who came to BBC News?

Five million. No, 438 million.

And at the end of the round, Mr Mainwaring,

you have scored no points.

Oh, we love tipping the hat. Super light, wonderful!

What a lovely day for the park

and pretending you like other people's weird-looking dogs.

Who's this lovely fellow?

He's called Munge. Munge!

Like the White Cliffs of Dover.

Oh, no, Michael. The White Cliffs of Dover are

Slightly Munge.

Oh, Christ. I've pissed off Dame Judi.

Ladies and gentlemen, Sir Michael Caine.

Hello, Sir Michael. Hello, Sir Michael.

Did you know, that the other day I went fishing

with them two bleeding jokers, Mortimer and Whitehouse.

And what will you fishing for? Don't tell him.

Pike!

BOTH: # We used to watch the BBC The lovely BBC

# We used to watch the BBC When we came home for tea

# The one show was sublime And Crimewatch with its crime

# We used to watch the BBC And the listen to Radio 3. #

Come along, Candice Marie.

# And did those feet in ancient time

# Walk upon England's mountains green?

# And was the holy Lamb of God

# On England's pleasant pastures seen?

# And did the Countenance Divine

# Shine forth upon our clouded hills?

# And was Jerusalem builded here

# Amongst those dark Satanic mills? #

Who are you? My name is Adam Adamant. Adam Adamant?