Original subtitles

And now, another showing of drop the dead donkey.

This first episode was originally broadcast in a week when

sir alistair Burnett went for a televised stroll

with the queen mother, and petrol prices soared

as Iraq's invasion of Kuwait prompted fears of war.

What's Hussein's latest justification for going in?

He's still saying he received an invitation.

Yes, a little card.

"You are cordially invited to invade our country. Dress informal.

"Two-thirty for 3am. Please bring a bottle and tank."

Could we be serious, please?

We could be on the brink of a full-scale war here.

Marvellous, isn't it, hmm? What?

Well, this sort of crisis.

This sort of crisis is the ultimate challenge for any decent newsreader.

You furrow the eyebrows slightly.

You drop the voice an extra semitone, and you say,

"good evening. Tonight, the world stands on the brink of war."

You scare the whole country shitless.

Now, that is real newsreading!

Not poncing around behind the queen mother,

smelling of bloody rhododendrons.

Burbling about how all her trees are her "personal friends".

Did you see that programme? He retches

it was just so unbelievably coy.

I was just praying that one of the queen mum's corgis

would start shagging Burnett's leg.

Thank you, David. Now, are there any other stories?

Yep. I might have a story on some big new corn circles.

Good. All right, now,

the Tory backbenchers have been on at us again,

so can we make sure we avoid

even the slightest hint of irresponsibility?

Now, for instance, this piece we're doing

on the state of our drinking water -

let's not frighten people unnecessarily.

That's right. Let's stress the positive side -

like how all the aluminium in the water is killing off the worms.

What I'm saying is we have a resp... phone rings

yes. Speaking.

No. No. No.

Nope. No, I don't want a personal insurance plan, thank you.

No, not even with additional cover against attack by chemical weapons.

How'd he get this number? Where was I? Yes.

Now, I want someone to put together a series of features

on a single European market in 1992.

All grumble no, no, no, come on.

1992 is a developing story.

Trade barriers are coming down. Common European currency.

It's exciting, it's... Both: It's boring.

Hard cheese. I want a series of features on 1992.

And I shall be allocating it to someone, so you'd better watch out.

Hang on. There's a late story - a big takeover.

Takeovers are boring. Who's being taken over this time?

We are.

What? Good god.

It's described as a "friendly takeover" by sir roysten merchant.

Roysten merchant? God, that ruthless bastard.

I met him once at a charity dinner. He auctioned his chauffeur.

We all know what'll happen, don't we?

Exactly what's happened at all his other TV stations and newspapers.

He'll just drag us downmarket.

It'll be, "good evening, here is the news...

"Read by Samantha fox in a wet t-shirt."

"President gorbachov says that Elvis is alive and well

"and bonking princess Anne."

Hold it. We might be all right.

There's a bid from a rival consortium.

Now, they're saying that merchant "is an unfit person

"to control a news organisation." Surprise, surprise.

Of course he is. I mean, they're obviously right.

They've got to win the day, haven't they? Haven't they?

Oh, of course they have! Come on, you lot.

Don't look so down in the dumps.

We've got a programme to make, haven't we?

Let's show everyone what we're made of.

Let's jolly well go out there and make television.

A fine orator, George, isn't he? Reminds me of the great demosthenes.

Why, did he talk crap as well?

Roysten merchant? What a morning. Roysten merchant!

Come on, George. You've just got to show everybody what you're made of

and jolly well get on with it. Damien! In here!

Damien? Oh, yes.

Ulcer? Mm. Well, I think so.

My gp says it's nerves. Mind you, he puts all my symptoms down to nerves.

I can see him now at my funeral,

reassuring me that death is only psychosomatic.

Standing. Yeah, well, look, I'm in a hurry.

There's been a gas explosion. All in good time.

Phone rings

Alex pates, yup.

George, it's for you. Douglas hurd.

Oh, god, what have we done now?

Hello, mr hurd.

Yes, mr hurd.

Well, I'm just not prepared to talk about it, ok?

Well, I'm taking that attitude because I was under the impression

you were Douglas hurd her majesty's foreign secretary,

not Douglas hurd, insurance adviser. Good day!

Got my private line now.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. Edited highlights -

the best of Damien day - starting with June 1986.

And here, among the ruins of west beirut,

lies perhaps the most poignant testimony

to the tragedy of the Lebanon,

poking pathetically through the rubble - a child's Teddy bear.

And now march 1989.

And buried inside the remnants of this hospital,

devastated by the earthquake,

a sad symbol of tragedy - a child's Teddy bear.

And finally, last month.

'A sad trail of destruction, and, among the wreckage,

'a grim reminder of the human cost of this air crash...'

hand it over.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Hand it over!

And the blood-stained plimsoll.

You've been warned about this before, Damien.

Come on, you two. You know what these stories are like.

You turn up and the emergency services have cleared away

all the carnage, so you've got no pictures.

These are just creative touches

to bring home the full drama of the story to the viewer.

I've won three awards with dimbles.

All right. I concede that maybe I've overused him a teensy bit.

A teensy bit?

This bear's visited more disaster scenes than Margaret Thatcher.

It's the only cuddly toy to have taken part in the Iran-Iraq war.

Where, as I recall, you claimed it was a mascot

abandoned by martyrs of Allah.

Now, if there are any more of these "creative touches",

you're gonna be out. Is that clear? Yes, George.

Now, I mean it, Damien. Yes, George. Look, can I go now,

because I am supposed to be covering this gas explosion.

George, president bush has made a major speech.

What's he said?

Well, the gist of it is, "go ahead, punk. Make my day."

Bye, everybody.

Er, Damien, I think you forgot something.

Oh, that? That's a present...

For my niece.

All right, I'll just read this final paragraph back.

"As professional broadcasters,

"we feel most strongly that an established news service

should not fall under the control of an opportunist like merchant."

How about "ruthless opportunist"?

No, it's still too weak. How about "ruthless megalomaniac"?

I'm not putting my name to that!

It's factual. He is a ruthless megalomaniac.

Exactly. Which is why I don't want to get the wrong side of him.

Yes, I think we'll just go with "ruthless opportunist".

You're just being weak, George. Phone rings

yes? No, go away!

Who was that? Stupid pest, Douglas hurd.

Bloody hell, George, just cos Alex said you were weak,

there's no need to go overboard.

He's not Douglas hurd the... oh, it doesn't matter.

Look, I think the best thing we could do is sign this thing

and then I'll get it biked directly over to the guardian.

George, um, shouldn't my name appear first, my dear fellow?

I mean, as far as Joe viewer is concerned, I am the most well known.

Well, I am the editor. Within the industry, I'm well known.

Quite well known, you say.

Do you ever get asked for your autograph in restaurants?

Well, no, but, er... do you appear on wogan?

No, but... do you receive letters

from a frustrated housewife, offering oral sex

if you ever you're passing through accrington?

No. I rest my case.

I just hope sir roysten doesn't win. How do you mean?

Well, then we'd have all signed a letter slagging off

our new boss. Wouldn't be very pleased, would he?

I don't know, I think he'd admire our integrity. And our frankness.

Perhaps "ruthless opportunist" is too strong, actually.

How about just, er, "entrepreneur"?

I don't believe this! What are you so scared of?

We're just speaking our minds. Besides, there's absolutely no way

that the shareholders will approve this bid.

She's right, of course.

There's no way the shareholders would approve sir roysten's bid.

And when your shareholders approved sir roysten's bid,

it was agreed by sir roysten, and your directors,

at a meeting late last night,

that I should interface with your team as,

for want of a better label, "chief executive".

But, please, please, don't think of me as that,

because I'm a teamwork person.

And initially, I just want to access into your operational landscape

to get the feel, to get the feel of your ballpark.

Basically, I'm very much on a learning curve here.

Internally: 'He seems ok. Saying all the right things.'

'not saying them in English, but I can't complain.

'I was expecting a devious bastard.'

'he's a devious bastard.'

'people who use the term "learning curve" are always devious bastards.'

'the man's a moron. How will he cope?

'Our business demands commitment, professionalism and concentration...

'Hello, she's nice. Must be new.'

and I feel sure we're all going to be one big,

happy, collective organism. Here, here!

As for me, well, I can assure you Gus hedges

is very much a light-touch, hands-off,

arms-length executive bloke.

So you just carry on as normal. I want everyone to ignore me.

Yes, well, thank you, Gus, for those words.

All 3 million of them.

I'm sure you've calmed any fears we might have had over this takeover.

Oh, please, not takeover - change of management emphasis.

Yes, this, er, change of management emphasis. Well, er...

Welcome aboard! All: Cheers.

Right, troops. Back to work.

Oh, George, George.

I have, er... I have something very important to tell you.

Yes? I'm not here.

Right.

In other words, relax. Don't mind me. Just carry on as normal.

I'll watch and learn from you, ok? You're the boss.

Right. Thanks. It needed saying.

And I said the same thing to sir roysten only this morning.

Right.

Yes. He was terribly interested to know all about you.

Was he? Oh, yes, and I told him,

"I don't care what anyone says,

"George dent is obviously the right man for this job."

He runs a tight ship. He knows how to walk that tightrope

between populism and irresponsibility.

Right. I'm very strict on irresponsibility.

Damien, Damien, there's a farmer on the phone.

He says, "how big do you want the corn circles?"

Oh, great.

Yes, I'm very hot on that sort of thing.

The man's a monster! He's a complete megalomaniac.

He's got all that money and power

and he's still not satisfied with what he's got.

I think it would be better if somebody just shot him.

Please can we stop going on about Jeremy beadle

and get back to this meeting?

I know he was in the express at the weekend, but nobody's had a good

TV interview with Ridley since he went. Any joy on that front?

I'll try him again, George, but I just keep getting his answer phone.

It's a sad day, isn't it, when insulting Germans

is considered a resigning offence?

Yeah. Answer phone again.

Grunts guten tag, mr Ridley,

ve are on our vay!

Alex, I just wanted to say, I'm not here.

Maybe none of us is here, Gus.

Maybe we're all just figments of some alien being's imagination.

Nice use of humour. I like to see that in a team-mate.

Now, um, I know there's some nervousness here about sir roysten,

and I know he gets a bad write-up in the papers.

Well, those he doesn't own. Very good. But I, um...

I do want to reassure you, Alex,

I'm not gonna bring this operation downmarket.

Good. George? George.

Which graphic do you want to accompany

the violence against the elderly story?

We've got the silhouette of the granny being cudgelled

or the collage of cosh mask and machete?

This is exactly what I'm talking about.

Cheap and sensationalist. Which reminds me, where's Damien?

Have you seen him? Er, no, I've been with Gus.

What do you make of Gus?

He's like... a eunuch's memories.

Eh? Full of bollocks.

He's rather supportive of me, actually. Says I run a tight ship.

Told you. Full of bollocks.

Humming 'nessun dorma'

ah, ah, a quid, Henry.

What? Nessun dorma box.

How much have you made this week?

Er, 48 quid. Nearly enough for a gallon of petrol.

TV: 'When we were asleep, the river rose up.

'And when we got up, it was flowing through the middle of the village.

Ah, there you are. Now, about these corn circles...

Shh-shh-shh! Oh, sorry.

Crying: 'I lost all my family.'

what's this? Some stuff on the floods in India.

'..Washed away.' She sobs

'i survived because I hung on to the branches of a tree,

'but they've all died.'

poor woman.

This is very moving, isn't it? Yes.

But she was better in one of the later takes, actually.

Later takes?

Yes, it was, er, take nine, I think it was.

The crying was better.

How many takes did you record? 17.

You interviewed a woman whose family had just died,

and you did 17 consecutive takes?!

Oh, look, of course I didn't. What do you take me for?

I gave her a break in the middle so she could take a breather.

Now, the best take's coming up,

I got her to say she was devastated rather than just stunned.

Right, that does it.

This is definitely never, ever being broadcast!

It was clearly obtained in the most reprehensible manner.

And I'm issuing you a final warning. Is that clear?

Yes, George. Now, this final warning,

do you want me to disregard the four previous final warnings

I've had this month? What are you suggesting?

Nothing.

Are you implying that I have problems making decisions?

Well, are you? You're fired.

What?

Well, you heard me, er, you're fired. Dismissed.

You don't mean it.

Well, George, I've only been here one day

and you've already sacked your best-known reporter.

What a little ball of fire you are.

You're positive it's right to sack Damien?

Well, you did say you admired my stand on responsibility.

Oh, absolutely. It's just that research shows Damien's reports

have a high-response factor.

I mean, televisually speaking, he's extremely viewer-friendly.

He's an animal.

He'd napalm his own granny if he thought he's get good pictures.

He's got to go!

Whatever you say, coach. Damien goes...

..Even if he is sir roysten's favourite.

How do you know he's sir roysten's favourite?

Sir roysten mentioned it in passing

when he rang me about that letter in the guardian.

Ah, er. How did he take that letter?

Sir roysten's not brilliant at accepting criticism.

You know, I saw him head-butt a speak-your-weight machine once.

But I explained to him that the letter showed

you are a man of fierce, fearless integrity.

Of course, he didn't see it quite like that, but never mind.

He'll calm down... eventually.

Mind you, if, then, he discovers you've sacked

his favourite reporter... well, I...

Yes, but he couldn't dismiss me, could he?

He promised the authorities he wouldn't interfere

on editorial matters. He wouldn't dismiss you.

He might redefine you. Redefine me?

Perhaps if Damien was disciplined - not that I want to call the shots...

I'm just lobbing ideas into your net.

Well, er, I've fired him now.

What if I disciplined him? Oh, I'd be severe.

Wouldn't that undermine my credibility?

I think you'll find your credibility will be the same as it always was.

Oh, well, all right, then.

By the way, incidentally, if you should be speaking to sir roysten,

perhaps you could mention that letter was a group effort.

But you were the brains behind it, eh, George?

Who told you that? Why, Dave, of course.

Of course.

You know what gets me about this crisis?

I mean, let's face it. It's the oldest trick in the book -

despotic ruler faced with a declining economic situation

has a war to increase personal popularity.

That's Thatcher's position dealt with. What about Hussein's?

Moving on from that, please.

Ah, yes. Incidentally, I've had a word with the graphics department.

I'm still not happy with them.

In fact, I've had to give them a real talking to.

I've told them I don't want any more graphics

that are sensationalist or cheap.

Well said, George. And I'd just like to point out to staff

that as a result of a disciplinary breach,

Damien is being taken off big news stories.

In the meantime,

he'll be researching a series of features on 1992.

All laugh

meeting adjourned.

There you are, you see? He backed me up all the way.

Unlike some people we could mention, eh, Judas?

Off-screen female: George! Telephone.

Why did he call you Judas?

You know what George is like with names.

Probably mixed me up with that bloke Judas in photocopying.

Excuse me.

I do not want special cover against dog bites.

And b, how d'you know my neighbour has a rottweiler?

Well, well, dear boy. The sin bin for you. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

What are you doing?

I'm just writing a letter to a housewife in accrington.

Not Sandra? Yeah.

She writes to you as well? Henry, she writes to all of us.

She sent the weatherman some lace panties.

That jezebel!

Well, Damien, what rotten luck. 1992, eh?

Yeah, yeah, pretty boring. Though I am putting together

one programme looking at transport across Europe.

Sounds riveting, Damien.

Mm. With a special emphasis on safety.

Go on.

Well, yeah, I'll be looking at many of the most recent

European rail and road disasters, examining the causes,

and of course interviewing relatives of the deceased

to get their reactions. Gus, I want a word with you!

She hums 'nessun dorma'

phone rings

speaking.

Oh, yes, I do need some insurance, actually.

Have you got a policy which covers me against breaking my leg

whilst kicking an insurance man to death?

Gus, about Damien. Words fail me!

Oh, please, don't thank me.

Thank you?! You've just sent a vampire

on a tour of Europe's freshest blood banks!

He's doing 1992 - a story he hates.

Covering it in a way he loves. You've made an idiot of me, Gus,

and I am very, very angry! And I respect your anger, George.

I feel sure we all respect your anger,

and I know your anger respects you.

Knock at door

George, revised graphics for the crime against the elderly story.

I want a word with you later, mr-it-was-all-George's-idea.

Yeah, all right. No, no, no. I'm serious, Dave.

I'm fed up with people not taking me seriously.

Sometimes I think that everyone is just taking the Mickey.

Hello, Joyce?

Could you send the graphics department up here, please?

George? Yeah?

British telecom have just announced a profit of �741 million...

What?! ..For the last three months.

What?! Get bt on the phone for a quote.

How did they make �741 million?

I dunno, probably �200 million from call boxes that eat your money,

�300 million from moronic chatlines and the rest from wrong numbers.

Hello, is that bt?

Oh, sorry, I must have been misconnected.

Bloody hell.

I know. Let's find out Maureen lipman's address,

go round to her house and beat her up.

Hmm.

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