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Westminster. The House of Commons.

Every nation, they say, gets the government it deserves,

if that isn't a sobering thought.

Beneath that noble roof, my friends, sit six hundred MPs,

made up, for the most part, of Conservatives and Socialists.

One might sum up the enormous difference between the two by saying that,

whereas the Conservative philosophy is the exploitation of man by man,

with the Socialists, it is exactly the other way round.

Behind those dedicated six hundred, stand the voters who put them there.

And heavy indeed is the responsibility that they bear.

Let's take a look at them for a change.

Up in the typical parliamentary borough of Earndale,

they're having a by-election next month,

and I can assure you

that you will find the electors of Earndale

as intelligent as any in the country.

Accustomed as they are to exercising their keen judgement

on matters of national importance.

Alert as they are to the social problems of the day.

Impartial and full of the spirit of British fair play.

- Call yourself a referee? - Get out of it!

Mature, serious-minded, intelligent citizens, as you'd expect.

For are they not the inheritors

of three thousand years of civilisation and culture?

Oh, yes.

The eyes of the country are on Earndale, all right.

And Earndale, I am sure, has but one thought in mind.

Ladies and gentlemen,

tonight we bring you this week's edition of our popular panel game,

What on Earth Was That?

Good evening. Here we are again with a brand-new set of sound effects

to challenge the panel, who are, as usual, your good friends,

Gilbert Harding...

How do you do?

Josephine Douglas...

Hello.

Carole Carr...

Good evening.

And Robert Wilcot.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

Well, I'm sorry to tell you that Bob Wilcot

is making his last appearance with the panel until further notice,

for the very interesting reason that he's just been adopted

as Conservative candidate for Earndale.

Bob, we shall miss you very much.

Yes, indeed.

They're always asking me.

Thank you, Eamonn. Thank you, Gilbert. Thank you.

You've been with us a long time now, Bob.

Over a year, Eamonn.

Do you remember your first TV appearance?

Oh, I certainly do.

Well, before we begin, we have a little surprise for you.

Hold tight, Bob.

You'd just come back from the Combined Universities'

Antarctic Research Expedition, remember?

Pity he doesn't always wear a beard.

You're the naturalist of the party, I believe, Mr Wilcot.

Er, yes. That is correct.

Well, now, what was it like down there?

Erm... What was it like?

Cold.

What was your job?

Erm...

Well, I concentrated on various forms of Antarctic life, you know,

erm, of Antarctic life.

In fact, I, um... Various forms of life in the Antarctic.

Including penguins?

Oh, yes, yes.

Penguins are very much my cup of tea.

Oh, purely scientifically speaking, of course.

If one can have a scientific cup of tea,

which I don't suppose one can, really.

But, if you could, then I would.

- What was the question again? - What?

Well, you've come a long way since that day, Bob.

- I was only a beginner then, Eamonn. - Well, you all know the rest.

The following week, he appeared on Tonight,

the week after that, he joined the panel of What on Earth Was That?

And now he's plunging into politics.

I think, if it is felt, in inviting one,

that one has something to offer,

then one should offer that something,

whatever that something may happen to be.

Yes...

Well, I'm-I'm sure you all appreciate Bob's sincerity.

Well, now, we really must get on.

You all know the rules. All against all. Highest score wins.

What on Earth was that?

Oh, some improbable rubbish.

Greyhound derby. Summit conference.

Um... Fox terriers, perhaps?

Dog foxes.

Well, Bob. What was that?

Yes. Well, that was the branta leucopsis or barnacle goose.

It breeds in Greenland and Spitsbergen,

and visits the Inner and Outer Hebrides in winter.

Absolutely correct!

Aha! Well, me boy,

you certainly signed off with a bang tonight, didn't you?

The luck was on my side, Gilbert.

- Here you are. - No, thank you.

- When are you going to Earndale? - Er, tomorrow morning.

- Straight fight against Labour, isn't it? - That's right.

Ah. And who's your opponent?

- A Miss Stoker. - Miss Stoker.

- She ever appeared on television? - Not that I know of.

Well, that fixes her, doesn't it, eh? You'll win in a canter.

I always say the party who'll win the next election,

is the one that nails its flag to the television mast.

What's she like, this, er... Miss Stoker?

Oh, one of those bluestocking battle-axes, I gather.

- Thank you. - One at a time, girls. Please.

There you go.

- Lovely fresh haddocks. Best quality. - How much?

- Fifteen bob. - Charge me twelve.

- Do me a favour, will you? - I'll give you thirteen.

Now, look, the price is fifteen bob, you fellas. It's not a penny less.

- I'll give you fourteen for five. - They're yours. That's five away to you.

- Dad! - Stella!

- Dad! - Hello, Stella, girl.

- Leavin'? - That's right, Jim.

I'm just gonna say goodbye to Dad.

Stella's goin' now, Alf.

- Jim. Take over for a minute, will ya? - Okay, Alf.

Try and get rid of them yellow cod. I'll take half a quid.

- So you're off to Earndale? - Bill's driving me to the station.

I wish I could pop down there with you, Stella,

but I look like being in trouble for the next week or two.

- I'll manage. - Yes, I'll bet you will.

Not that I ever thought any daughter of mine would put up for Parliament!

We've always been such a respectable family.

Well, goodbye, Stella, love.

And win or lose, I'm proud of you.

Speech! Speech! Speech!

I don't have the time.

Well...

I can't promise you I'll win, because, well...

after all, it is my first try.

But I will promise you one thing,

and that is that I'll put up a jolly good fight.

You'll win, Stella!

See you in the House of Commons!

And don't forget to take a tanner off the beer!

Bye.

Oh, Bill, we'll never get out.

Oh, that's all right.

What time d'you say your train was?

- Half past. - Oh, we'll do it easy.

All right?

Telegraph and Mail, please.

Bobby!

Darling!

Annabel! What are you doing here?

You don't think I'd let you go without seeing you off?

Are you taking breakfast in the diner, sir?

- Um... Yes, that's right. - I'll go and get you a seat.

Righty-o.

Darling, I'm thrilled to the absolute marrow

that you've been chosen to be an MP.

I'm not an MP yet, Annabel, dear. Just a candidate.

But you're bound to get in, Bobby. You're so frightfully attractive.

Especially to me.

Now, Annabel, you must not start all that over again.

It's not the real me you feel that way about.

You're just mesmerised by the public figure.

Oh, Mr Wilcot, may we just have a picture, sir?

Oh, you think anybody's interested?

If the two of you would just close up...

Is Miss Brentwood going down to Earndale with you, Mr Wilcot?

Well, I'd simply love to.

No, no, no, she's far too busy modelling.

- Two, sir? - Er, no, just one, please.

- This way, sir. - Thank you.

Oh, there's a nice seat, Stell. Sit down and, er...

I'll go and get you something to read.

Oh, the New Statesman if they've got it, please, Bill.

Okay. He's putting your bags down the end.

- Oh, right. - I won't be a minute.

Are you two expecting to make any announcement?

- What of? - Oh, Bobby, really.

Any announcement would be premature.

Well, just the teeniest bit premature.

- We are merely good friends. - Dear friends.

I've reserved you a seat, sir. Number five in the diner.

Oh, thank you, porter.

- Well, thank you very much, Mr Wilcot. - Right-o!

- There we are. - Thank you, sir.

Well...

Time I got on the train. Bye-bye, Annabel.

Oh, it's all right, darling. I've got a platform ticket.

Here you are, Stell.

The train's due to leave in a minute. Anything else I can get you?

I don't think so. It was sweet of you to see me off.

What on Earth's this?

Woman's Dream?

Oh, well... I-I thought you'd might like it.

There's an article on page ten about, er, infant welfare.

You know, in my opinion, you'd do well to settle down and raise a family.

- With your co-operation, I suppose. - Well, that's the general idea.

Oh, well, think it over anyway.

I have, Bill. You know that.

Why won't you let me come up, Robert? I'm madly keen to help the Liberals.

Annabel, I have mentioned this before, dear,

I'm not a Liberal, I'm a Conservative.

Oh.

Oh, well. There I go, I'm afraid.

Bye-bye, Annabel.

I wish you luck, anyway and, er...

Well, I'm always here to turn to. You know that.

Bye, Stell.

Good luck.

Oh, sorry.

- That's all right. - Au revoir, Robert.

Tremendously good luck!

- Morning. - Good morning.

Breakfast, madam, sir?

Yes.

Together or separate?

- Separate. - Separate.

Taking the set breakfast?

- Only toast and tea, please. - Just tea and toast, please.

Tea and toast for two, please, steward.

We seem to have the same ideas.

Yes, don't we?

I never have a cooked breakfast, myself.

Neither do I.

I had to get used to the simple life in the...

well, rather remote parts of the world at one time or another.

You've travelled a lot?

Oh, here and there, you know. To say nothing of everywhere.

You don't watch TV?

Not since Dad threw the set out of the window.

Ah!

Bilge!

Oh, I beg your pardon.

- What? Is something wrong? - No, it's...

It's just that it infuriates me, the trash people write for women's magazines.

What?

"Love at Second Sight."

Listen to this.

"When Mélisande..."

Mélisande, I ask you.

"When Mélisande saw Bartram for the second time,

"a strange thing happened.

"It was as if all the natural sounds of the day faded utterly away,

"and, in their place, she distinctly heard a gentle tintinnabulation

"as of distant musical glasses."

I must say, that's a bit much.

When women are given slush like that to drool over,

how can they ever take their proper place in the world?

"Tintinnabulation"?

Well, it's not only slush, it's unsound biologically.

Love at first or even second sight is a romantic fiction.

I couldn't agree more.

Man's selection of a mate

and the display ritual that goes with it

has much in common with the same manifestations in birdlife

as I know from my researches.

Into... birdlife?

Quite.

Take penguins, for instance.

Sometimes, weeks go by before they even pair off.

Yes, but that's on ice.

Yes...

Um... You seem to know a lot about it.

Oh, natural history's my subject.

Or rather, it was, until the one-eyed monster got me.

"One-eyed monster"?

- The television. - Oh.

- Television? - That's right.

And...

penguins.

- Then you must be... - Ah, guilty.

Yes. I'm Robert Wilcot, I'm afraid.

It's extraordinary how I'm recognised wherever I go these days.

One of the penalties of, um...

fame, one supposes.

And you're going to Earndale for the by-election?

Oh, I see you've heard about it.

- Oh, yes. - Here, that's me there, in the middle.

Just underneath the main headline.

Of course, I wouldn't exactly call myself a political expert.

Oh, wouldn't you?

Ah, Peterson.

- You came straight here? - Yes, in His Lordship's car.

- And the press laid on? - They'll soon be here, Mr Harding-Pratt.

It's Bert Glimmer, your opposite number.

Very opposite, I fervently hope. What's he doing here?

Old Pompous Percy, eh?

I wonder what he's up to.

Top of the morning to you, old sport!

Good day, Glimmer! How are you?

Little squirt.

I hope our candidate's going to be up to snuff.

He's smashing on the telly.

That's not necessarily a sign of political genius.

And do you expect to win this election, Mr Wilcot?

Well, they seem to think I have a good chance.

Of course, there's an old family connection with the seat there, you know.

- Really? - Mmm. My uncle lives at Wilcot Priory.

In fact, I rather fancy the old rascal put my name up in the first place.

"The old rascal" would be, um...

- Lord Wilcot. - That's right.

Why, my ancestors used to fix the elections there

when Earndale was a rotten borough.

- Really? - Not that I intend to bring that out.

I don't blame you.

Mind you, I don't know the first thing about Earndale myself.

In fact, between you and me, I haven't been to Earndale since I was eight.

Not that you intend to bring that out either.

Well, no point in playing into the hands of the opposition, is there?

No, of course not.

By the way, should you be talking like this to a complete stranger?

Well, if you don't mind my saying so,

you're so awfully easy to talk to.

Thank you.

Talking of the opposition...

- What about your opponent? - Oh, the battle-axe?

- What? - Ah!

Apparently she's one of those bluestockings

from the London School of Economics.

I don't know why there should be always something slightly comic

about the London School of Economics.

Neither do I.

Mr Wilcot...

Isn't it just possible that the electors

might prefer a battle-axe who knows her business

to a TV type who doesn't?

Well, I say, that's a bit hard. I'm willing to learn, you know. And...

well, after all, my name is familiar in every home.

You could say the same for almost any detergent.

We're just coming into Earndale now, sir.

Oh, are we?

Oh, er... I say, I'm afraid I've talked an awful lot.

- I do hope I haven't bored you. - No, not at all.

You have no idea how fascinating this has been.

- Are you getting off here too? - Yes.

Oh, good!

Are you going to be in Earndale long?

- About three weeks. - Oh? Same here.

Oh, we might meet again, then.

We're bound to...

run across each other.

- Where are you staying? - The Castle and Ball.

I'm at the Bear. Well, at least tonight. I'm staying with my uncle.

Oh, I say, look, just a moment. No, let me.

- No, it's quite all right. - No, really, I insist.

Here she is.

Here he is.

What? It can't be. He's with the Labour candidate.

- She's with the Tory. - What?

He's carrying her bags!

- Just a minute, sir. - Oh.

I'm sorry about this. It's always happening.

Would you look at the lady, sir?

Do you mind?

Here, wait a minute!

And now one of the lady alone.

- What? - Hold it.

Mr Wilcot, what are you doing?

Thank you, Miss Stoker.

- Stoker? - She's the Socialist.

Socialist?

Well done, Stella, old girl. What an entrance, eh?

Very nice of you to carry her bags, old man.

Very thoughtful.

Mr Wilcot...

I did warn you.

Well, she might have told me who she was.

Why? This is warfare, Wilcot.

You must learn to look on Earndale as a jungle,

with that fellow Glimmer gibbering up the nearest tree.

Blast his eyes. He's going to make hay of this in the papers tomorrow.

I'm awfully sorry.

Oh, well. As long as you learn from your first whiff of grapeshot.

I hope you didn't say anything indiscreet.

Um...

- No, no, no. I don't think so. - Good.

Oh, we're coming up to the priory now. Remember it?

Oh, very well.

The lake, deer park, Queen Elizabeth Room,

so many historical associations.

Hmm, yes. Mmm.

Your uncle's a very remarkable man.

I won't come in. I must get back. I've got a lot to do.

Press conference first thing tomorrow morning.

Here's the programme for the first week.

They'll collect you about eight-thirty. I'll see you then.

Right. Thanks for everything.

One complimentary. His Lordship's orders.

- You'll find His Lordship pottering about. - Right, thank you very much.

Leave that thing alone, Jimmy!

Accrington and Stockport parties, please!

What party are you in?

- Conservative. - Oh.

Any more from the Accrington and Stockport parties?

This way. Pass along, please. This way. This way.

Excuse me. Could you tell me where I could find Lord Wilcot?

In the kitchen, I expect.

Accrington and Stockport parties, this way, please!

Um, Lord Wilcot?

- What? - Lord Wilcot.

Hello.

Oh! You must be Robert.

Oh, come in, come in, come in, come in, come in.

Make yourself really uncomfortable.

How are you, sir?

- So you're my nephew and heir. - That's right, sir.

Let me see. When did we last meet?

- When I was eight, sir. - Really?

You changed.

I expect so.

Well, now, let me see.

Bacon and eggs suit you?

I've been trying to fix these darned fruit machines.

They're paying out far too many jackpots.

- Won't do at all. Two eggs? - Um, no, just one. Thank you, sir.

Haven't you got a cook, Uncle?

A cook? Ha!

My dear boy, my staff is fully occupied with Wilcot Entertainments Limited.

I expect to have a bumper season, thanks to you.

Thanks to me?

Yes.

Recommending you as a candidate was my biggest brainwave.

I don't quite follow you, sir.

Well, with famous TV personality Bobby Wilcot as a candidate,

Wilcot Priory is bound to get a tremendous boost.

Oh, there are endless possibilities.

I intend to revive the old-fashioned hustings here in the grounds.

We could charge at least a shilling a time for your autograph.

Tanner to me, tanner to you.

Uncle!

Do you mean to say that you recommended me to the party

for sordid financial reasons?

Why "sordid"?

Oh, but surely, Uncle... Well, as a Conservative...

Oh, but I'm not anymore.

No, I'm neutral.

Got to be with fifty coachloads a year from the Co-op, hmm?

Uncle, I am finding this acutely embarrassing.

My dear boy, you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs.

With respect, sir,

I did not come up here to fight this election

purely to advertise your country seat.

Anything that benefits me must benefit the election,

so what on Earth are you worrying about?

- Uncle... - There, there, I understand, my boy.

You want to serve your country and so you shall.

This is all so disillusioning.

Hmm. Fuse.

Hello, my boy. What can I do for you, hmm?

The fuse has gone in my room, Uncle.

No, that's no fuse.

It needs another shilling in the meter.

- Meter? - Mmm, they're in all the bedrooms now.

Do you need a shilling? Here you are.

Thank you.

Uncle?

What are my chances in the election, really?

Oh, touch and go, I'd say.

I see.

- Thank you very much, Uncle. - Er, Robert...

Robert, we're all governed by dead ideas,

but when it comes to party programmes, an idea has not merely to be dead,

but to have lost all meaning before it has any chance of being adopted

with real enthusiasm.

Remember that, my boy.

It'll get you absolutely nowhere.

A hundred and four pounds, two and eightpence for the day's total.

Well above average for this time of year, hmm?

Well, sleep well, my boy. You can pay me back in the morning.

- Good night, Uncle. - Good night, Robert.

Hardy the chauffeur, sir.

Couple of Americans in the Queen Elizabeth Room tonight, sir,

so we're laying on all the trimmings.

Bring you a cup of tea at seven-thirty?

Good night, Mr Robert.

"Carry Your Bag, Ma'am?"

This is how the Earndale Express, which is the local left-wing paper,

features the little incident earlier in the week.

"TV Galahad Comes to Earndale."

Needless to say, the Earndale Advertiser is the right-wing paper,

which takes an exactly opposite view.

Well, viewers, as I said,

today is nomination day in the Earndale by-election,

and, at any moment now,

the candidates will be handing in their papers

together with their deposits, and...

Oh, and there's a car coming here now.

It is Bob Wilcot, the Tory candidate!

How does it feel to be a Tory candidate, Mr Wilcot?

Absolutely splendid.

I expect you find all this very different from the panel game, eh, sir?

Oh, well, yes, I do, but...

Well, I'm sure I shall find the right answers here, too.

I see your opponent, Miss Stoker, has just arrived.

See if you can get her, Jack.

Would you care to say anything about the little incident earlier in the week?

I would just like to say this.

A rather clumsy attempt has been made

to take advantage of a perfectly ordinary piece of good manners,

but I bear no malice whatsoever.

I intend to fight this election without mudslinging,

in a true sporting spirit of fair play.

- Bravo, bravo. - Bravo!

That's the idea. Put them in the wrong.

- Have you any comment, Miss Stoker? - I certainly have.

What is a true sporting spirit?

I don't know and neither does he.

It's simply a meaningless catchphrase, a piece of...

immature political goo.

As for mudslinging...

mud can only be slung where there's any to sling,

and where there's mud to sling,

I assure Mr Wilcot that I intend to sling it in no uncertain manner.

And I hope some of it sticks.

I may be young,

I may be inexperienced,

I may be a woman,

but let me tell you, I am a professional.

A hundred and fifty years ago,

Earndale was a rotten borough controlled by a Wilcot.

Now, we have the last of the line here, pretending to be a local man, when,

let me tell you,

he hasn't seen Earndale since he was eight.

No, Mr Wilcot, this is not cricket

but war to the knife.

- Hear, hear! - Bravo, bravo!

Come along, Wilcot.

Well, come along!

- The nomination. You know. - Oh, yes.

If she wants war to the knife,

she shall have war to the knife.

Mud and all.

Carry the attack to her. Don't you agree, Mr Wilcot?

Don't you agree, Mr Wilcot?

Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Yes, rather, rather.

If she wants the gloves off, she shall have the gloves off.

Here's to mud in her eye.

Dig up all the information you can about the girl, Peterson.

Very good, H-P.

She was London School of Economics, wasn't she?

That's always good for a crack. Why, I can't think.

Neither can I.

How about fish?

- Fish? - Her father is a fish merchant.

If Mr Wilcot could work in something about crying, stinking fish,

it would go down rather well, I feel.

Well, I mean, fish is always funny.

Why? We all eat fish, don't we?

How's this for a slogan, H-P?

"The Labour Party is frying tonight."

I think we should reserve that for election day.

Meanwhile, I'm sure you all agree that we have a fine candidate

even if we haven't made one of the most fortunate of starts.

Now, to business.

Peterson, will you read out the rest of the week's programme?

Tomorrow, ten o'clock, press conference.

Eleven o'clock, visit to almshouse,

Mr Wilcot will speak to old-age pensioners.

Television cameras will be laid on.

Twelve-thirty, lunch at Young Farmers' Club.

Two-thirty to four, canvassing in South Street ward.

Five o'clock, Smith & Hendrix Factory. Six o'clock...

return to base.

...under starter's orders.

They're under starter's orders now. Coming up to the tapes.

A very nice line-up... and they're off!

Good afternoon, everybody.

In a moment, Robert Wilcot, your Conservative candidate,

...will be walking down this street

to show himself to you

and undoubtedly there are many of you who would like to meet him.

Thank you.

Our canvassers have marked the likely names and addresses.

Put down a "C" if they'll vote for you,

"S" for Socialist, and "D" for doubtful.

"C" for me, "S" for her.

- "D" for doubtful. - "D" for doubtful.

I'll drift along behind and winkle 'em out with the old voice box.

- All right? - Right.

Your candidate,

Bob Wilcot of TV fame...

is now walking down this street to call on you.

Vote for Wilcot.

The man who knows exactly what he's doing.

- Mr Reeves? - Why don't you fit a blasted suppressor?!

Vote for Wilcot,

the man who will stop at nothing to defend your interest.

Come on, here. On this side.

There, how about that, eh? How...

Vote for Wilcot, the housewife's choice.

Oh, Mrs Maggs?

Oh!

Oh, I know you, don't I?

- I know who you are. - Oh, do you?

- You're Bobby Wallcode. - That's right.

- Now... - Oh, I am pleased to see you.

You look just like you do on the telly.

- Do I? - Yes.

We turn you on every week. Regular like clockwork.

We wouldn't miss you for the world.

I always say you're just like one of the family.

Oh, then I'm sure I can rely on your vote.

Oh, no, I couldn't do that.

- What? - Oh no, I couldn't do anything like that.

Mrs Maggs!

- Mrs Maggs! - I couldn't do a thing like that.

Oh, Mr Smithson?

May I introduce myself?

I am your Conservative candidate.

Yes, I'm Robert Wilcot.

I see.

Just showing myself to my supporters, you know.

I see.

Well, thank you very much.

Mr Wilcot!

You know we're due at the factory in a couple of minutes?

Oh, yes.

- Getting any results? - Oh, yes.

Definitely.

I've been working on one or two thoughts.

How's this for a point?

"My fair opponent may have learned at the London School of Economics

"how many red herrings make five.

"That seems no reason for introducing Billingsgate methods into this contest."

- Pretty good, hmm? - Yes, but...

Why do we have to be so personal?

Well, she started it, didn't she?

I feel "how many red herrings make five" is a particularly happy touch.

Well, we'll reserve it for your uncle's hustings. Oh, here we are.

Hello, everybody!

Here is your Conservative candidate Robert Wilcot to speak to you.

- Well, here we are. - You speak from the Land Rover.

- Thank you, Mr Egerton. - Good day, Mrs Samson.

Good day, Mr Harding-Pratt.

Autographs after the meeting, thank you, madam.

Now, don't forget, everybody knows you.

Just relax, imagine you're on television.

- My friends. - Hello, Bobby boy!

My friends, I feel I can call you that because...

after all, I have appeared in so many of your homes.

In fact, when I leave here,

I hope that nobody will turn to his neighbour and say,

"What on Earth was that?"

Well, I have come here so that I can see you and...

so that you can see what sort of a fellow I am.

Well, now, what is the policy that I stand for?

Vote Labour!

Gather round, lads and lassies, and listen to your Labour candidate.

What you mean by trespassing on our territory?

Trespassing, old dear? This is our pitch.

- It's in our programme. Time and place. - Free country, isn't it?

Do you realise that, without some sort of elementary give and take,

the whole thing will become an absolute shambles!

Oh, that's right, cock. You give way, we take your place.

We're not shifting an inch!

Please yourself, old darling, please yourself.

Hello, everybody.

This is Stella Stoker, your only professional candidate.

I don't know what you can think of me, because...

I've never been on a TV programme.

I've never been to the Antarctic...

Carry on, Wilcot. Don't falter!

- And I've only seen a penguin at the zoo. - What is the policy that I stand for?

- I stand for free enterprise, and I am... - So I must be

- a dead loss... - ...not ashamed of having been

- to the Antarctic. - ...by Tory standards here.

You, the electorate, are therefore faced with a clear choice

between my Labour opponent and myself.

- Fair play! - And all you have to do

- is to decide between... - Free speech!

The eyes of the country are upon Earndale at this moment.

Be British!

...problems of the working people

- of Great Britain. - Rubbish!

The Conservative Party

- has a proud tradition... - As for myself, I have no doubt...

I am determined to make

myself heard, and nothing is going to stop me!

...going to stop me... stop me... stop me...

Oh.

You can carry on, Wilcot. It's all yours.

What is the policy I stand for?

Well, don't ask them! Tell them!

Look at this, my friends!

Sabotage! Are we gonna stand for sabotage?

No!

Does he think he can shout us down?

No!

My party stands, and I stand...

Loudspeaker or no loudspeaker, if this...

ROBERT: I stand for free speech...

Vote Labour! Vote Labour!

Freedom of speech! Freedom of speech!

Up the Labour Party!

Silence!

Silence!

Thank you.

To resume,

What is the policy that I stand for?

I stand for free enterprise

and freedom of speech!

The issues are therefore clear-cut as these two parties face each other.

You, the electorate, are faced

with a clear choice between my Labour opponent and myself.

Stella...

"I'm not saying that Mr Wilcot

"couldn't manage to guess the right answer

"in some daft panel game,

"or cure a penguin of a sick headache,

"but will that pay the rent for a single old-age pensioner?"

How's that, Stell?

Do we have to go on being personal all the time?

Well, that's the whole idea of hustings. Slanging match.

"Cure a penguin of a sick headache."

One of my best bon mots, although I say it myself.

It is now my pleasure to present to you Miss Stella Stoker,

the Labour candidate.

Mr Wilcot may be able to cure a sick penguin...

Anyway, I'm sure he'd try and...

we all know what brilliant guesses he makes on TV.

But will this help a single old-age pensioner?

Oh, I know he wants to help them, but, I mean...

Well... will it?

My fair opponent may have learned how many red herrings make five

at the London School of Economics,

and all credit to her for having made her way there

entirely through her own efforts.

But that is no reason for resorting to Billingsgate methods.

Though I am sure they are being forced upon her by others less scrupulous.

Well, now, it's time we came to the question of policy.

What my party intends to do.

What I intend to do, if I'm elected.

Er, I beg your pardon. I mean...

when I am elected.

Psst!

Thank you! Thank you. Thank you.

- Latest figures, my Lord. - Yes, Hardy.

Car park: twenty-five pounds ten. Coaches: sixty-seven pounds.

Bicycles: twelve pounds fifteen.

That's an all-time record to date, my Lord.

Good man, Hardy. Keep me posted.

To resume, it is my sincere belief

that our programme cannot be approached

by that of any other political party.

Hear, hear!

And when I have outlined that programme to you,

I feel confident that you will agree with me.

Item one...

Housing!

Hear, hear! Housing!

Thank you, my boy. Thank you, indeed.

A top-hole speech.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, question time will come later.

In the meantime, there will be an interval

for the splendid, self-service teas in the priory cellars.

And don't forget that both candidates, at four-fifty precisely,

will be visiting the magnificent sideshows provided for your entertainment.

That's all. Off you go and enjoy yourselves.

Item one...

Housing!

All right, then. Item two...

Come along, now. Roll up, roll up.

Here's your chance to silence the speaker

or... or puncture the chancellor of the exchequer.

Splendid shooting, my boy.

He's winged the prime minister.

Have another bob's worth. Only a shilling a time.

Come along now. Demolish your political opponents.

Three balls for sixpence but seven for a shilling.

Oh, bad luck, Miss Stoker!

Come along now, Robert. You have a go.

This is an absolute rap, Uncle.

Yes, isn't it wonderful?

Down with the Tories!

Oh!

Walk up, walk up, and solve the mystery of the Westminster Maze.

All you have to do is to test your political know-how

by finding your way in

and then finding your way out again. That's all.

Robert, my boy. Forward!

Have you no shame at all, Uncle?

Not... Not enough to notice.

But seriously, Robert, you ought to have a go.

It's a remarkably ingenious bit of designing.

It was built by my great-grandfather as a refuge...

from my great-grandmother. Oh, it worked, too!

I want to get back onto the platform!

Robert, Robert, the filly is approaching the starting gate.

Are you going to stay in the paddock?

She's wasted in politics, that girl.

Oh, if I were only... Let me see now,

forty-five years younger.

I'd better go in with him. I'm seriously concerned about his fighting spirit.

You stay with His Lordship and, for Heaven's sake,

keep the old boy off the parsnip wine.

- Wilcot! Are you feeling tired? - No.

A little below par perhaps? I thought it showed in your speech.

You know, you did my piece about the five red herrings

rather less than justice, if I may say so.

After all, the campaign had...

Wilcot!

Wilcot!

Wilcot!

But I'm worried about you, Stella.

I tell you, I'm perfectly all right.

Well, you ruined that bit about the penguin with a sick headache.

I wish you'd stop carping and try to find the way out.

But it's my job to... Stella! Wait a minute!

Stella!

- Lost? - Certainly not!

Oh, in that case, you can tell me which is the right way.

- I've no idea. - Oh, then you must be lost.

- I'm nothing of the kind. - You are, obviously.

Look, perhaps if we sort of work this thing out together...

You know perfectly well I can't talk to you.

Anyway, I don't want to, so please don't follow me.

No intention of doing anything of the kind.

- Wilcot! - Oh, shut up.

Oh!

Wilcot!

Must you dog my footsteps?

I'm not dogging anybody.

Just trying to find my way out of this blasted place.

Why can't you be civil?

Oh, Miss Stoker.

I think you're absolutely bloody marvellous.

I can't think of anything else but you.

I know I shouldn't say it, but... Well, there you are, I've said it.

- You must be mad. - Oh, I am.

I know it doesn't make any sense politically.

In fact, carried through to its logical conclusions,

this sort of thing would make party divisions utterly meaningless.

But the fact of the matter is...

I am completely besotted with you,

and it's unhinging my whole campaign.

Oh! Well, I can't stay here.

- I can't. - I know you won't believe this, but...

Well, it's just like it said in your magazine.

Everything sort of stopped.

I heard a gentle tintinnabulation.

You too?

Oh, must have been a delusion, of...

What?!

Stella.

Oh, Stella!

Stella!

Mr Wilcot, what have you done?

And I'm the one who's gonna do it.

I'll teach the Tories to nominate a sex maniac

for a respectable seat like Earndale.

No wonder they had to send him to the Antarctic.

Heaven knows what he'd be like in a heatwave.

He won't dare to show his face in decent society after this.

He won't even be able to show it on television.

- No, Bert. - What?

I don't want anything said or done.

I just want to forget about it.

I mean it, Bert.

Stella, my girl. Are you trying to tell me...

I just said I wanted to forget about it.

Gor, stone the crows!

Then I did see what I thought I saw.

Well, this is horrible.

Not only horrible, I...

don't think it's ever happened before.

If we was all to behave like this,

what would happen to parliamentary government?

- That's what he said. - I don't care what he said!

I don't want to know!

I'm not at all sure you haven't...

destroyed my faith in human nature.

I understand how you feel, Bert.

I'm shaken rigid, that's the truth.

I know I gave way to a stupid impulse, but...

only for a moment.

I promise it won't happen again, ever.

I want to fight this election as if nothing had happened

and we'll win it, Bert, you'll see!

You mean it's war to the knife again?

War to the knife.

And no holds barred? Er... No quarter?

No quarter.

- You sure about that? - Well, of course I'm sure.

- What do you take me for? - Well, I mean we want...

Do you think I have no sense of responsibility?

- Well, don't get excited. - You think I'm not ashamed?

- All right. - Do you think I can't control myself?

♪ Though parted apart from my darling ♪

Wilcot!

Just a minute!

♪ I dream of her everywhere

- ♪ The sound of her voice is about me ♪ - Singing!

♪ The spell of her presence is there ♪

- Oh, not another! - ♪ The face of a gentle maiden

♪ Will follow me

♪ Till I die ♪

Hello, my dear chap. Where have you been?

Someone had to invent some reason

why neither candidate returned to the platform.

And then I find you singing in your bath. Actually singing!

I'm terribly sorry, but it just slipped out.

Singing!

After behaviour better suited to the shadier streets of Naples!

Oh, don't you realise? This might lead to the most ghastly scandal.

That girl's as clever as a wagonload of monkeys.

I must ask you to be very careful indeed

how you speak of Miss Stoker.

Oh, really! What about the party?

- When is it? - Oh!

What about the electors? What about me?

Well, I suppose it's only natural that you should flap a bit, Harding-Pratt,

not knowing the sort of fellow I really am.

- What? - Oh, I admit that my feelings

got the better of me this afternoon.

But I can assure you that it will not occur again.

I've thought the matter over very carefully

and I have decided, in the interests of the party,

that I shall not see Miss Stoker again until immediately after I am elected.

- You really mean that? - I do.

- And you won't go back on it? - Never.

And you really will put your heart and soul into this campaign?

Definitely.

Wilcot, you've taken an enormous weight off my mind.

ROBERT: Come in.

Sorry, sir. The lady sent them back.

- Wouldn't take them in. - Oh, well, um... Never mind.

- Thank you very much. - Thank you, sir.

Wilcot, you didn't send those flowers to her!

Well, only anonymously.

"Only anonymously"? She knew where to send them back, didn't she?

Sending flowers to your opponent? This is callowness run riot.

"What next?" I ask myself. "What next?"

And what's that doing there?

Well... Montgomery had a photograph of Rommel in his caravan, didn't he?

Wilcot, I'm overcome with a feeling of almost ludicrous inadequacy.

I have given you my word...

Hello?

- Hello... - It's probably the press.

We must appear absolutely nonchalant.

Hello.

Yes, speaking.

Who?

It's that fellow Glimmer.

Blackmail, no doubt. I'd better go straight over to the attack.

Hello, Glimmer. Well, I take it you're calling me with an apology?

What do you mean, "Come off it"?

Oh. Oh, you think so, do you?

Well, I...

I might. It depends.

What time?

Where?

Wait for me, will you?

Large Scotch, please.

- Well? - This is a very nasty business.

I hope you told your candidate so.

What do you mean? Yours assaulted mine.

I have no wish to be indelicate,

but I distinctly saw yours returning the pressure.

Look, supposing we drop this, old sport? We're both in a spot.

I agree with you.

Just this once.

The truth is, there's no room for a ruddy Romeo and Juliet in a by-election.

Quite. If this obscene canker spreads,

it'll make a mockery of the House of Commons.

- That's what he said. - Who?

- Yours. - Mine?

Well, he's a fine one to talk.

Well, mine's gone completely broody.

In my opinion, women and politics simply don't mix.

Well, I feel just the same about amateurs.

After all, we're the pros, old man.

We're the ones who get 'em in.

Not that we're ever appreciated.

They just don't know, H-P, they don't know.

You don't mind if I call you "H-P"?

No, of course not, um... Bert.

H-P, this flaming romance has got to be nipped in the bud.

Yes, but how?

Turn 'em against each other?

Well, that'll take some doing. Sickening couple.

We could do with an old flame.

The old infernal triangle, if you'll pardon the "clitch".

Or better still, a quadrangle.

By gosh, you're right!

- What? - I've just remembered something.

Bert, you and I have got to go into partnership.

Ooh!

Steady on, old man.

It was a nasty turn coming out with a thing like that.

"Arriving this afternoon, 2.45 p.m. train.

"Wildly excited, darling. Annabel."

Annabel?

I say, H-P, we can't have this. We must stop her at once!

Too late.

I still think someone else should meet Annabel

and push her right back again on the first train to London.

From what you've told me yourself, she's a well-known model

and the rebuff might attract the worst kind of publicity.

I don't want to see Annabel at all, especially "wildly excited".

Bobby!

- Darling! - Oh.

You got here, then, Annabel?

Of course. I came the minute I heard.

"Heard"?

How do you do, Miss Brentwood? I'm Christopher Harding-Pratt.

So pleased.

Well, darling, are you collecting a lovely lot of delicious votes?

I thought you said the press weren't to be told.

Peterson, Peterson! How on Earth did this happen?

I did my best, H-P.

I'm sure you did.

This way, Miss Brentwood.

Sir!

Would you care to say a few words on this romantic occasion?

This what?

Romantic occasion.

How did you ever guess?

What's going on here?

- Ssh! We're transmitting. - We're what?

Oh, are we really?

Are you pleased to see Miss Brentwood, Mr Wilcot?

- Am I pleased? - Is he pleased!

And how does it feel, Miss Brentwood,

to stand by his side in this exciting contest?

I was thrilled to the absolute core when he sent for me.

Sent for you?

Are you staying long?

- No, just... - Oh, yes, indefinitely.

And are you expecting an arduous campaign?

Oh, yes. Very arduous.

I see what you mean.

So your visit is not entirely political, Miss Brentwood?

Oh, no.

May we say definitely there is a romance?

What do you say, darling?

Well...

Oh, Bobby, darling!

- Stella. - I'm sure that'll be

of great interest to viewers. - How did the meeting go?

First class. I think I was pretty good, as a matter of fact.

There was a bit of heckling, but, um...

Oh, Bobby, darling.

May we expect an early announcement, sir?

Announcement?

Wedding bells.

Shall we wait until after the election?

With a victory behind these two young people, who knows?

Who knows, indeed!

And now, after that charming and romantic little surprise item,

it's time to say "au revoir" from Earndale.

Well, who put the idea into Annabel's head if you didn't?

Oh, dear chap, how can you suggest such a thing?

You told me yourself you always called her the "eager beaver".

Well, how did the television cameras get there, then?

Somebody must have tipped them off.

I'm gonna send her packing.

She hasn't finished unpacking yet.

All that nonsense about wedding bells.

There isn't any romance! I'm gonna say so publicly.

If you do that, you will destroy your chances in the election.

To blazes with the election!

I prefer to close my ears to that remark.

I must warn you, Wilcot,

publicly jilt that helpless, trusting girl,

and you'll become a social outcast.

Never able to appear on a panel game again.

The car's waiting.

You're already an hour behind with your programme.

You'll pay for this, Harding-Pratt.

I doubt it.

- Hello, Castle and Ball? - Yes?

Is Miss Stoker there, please? I must talk to her.

Who's that?

Bert Glimmer.

And make it snappy, will ya, ducks?

Oh, I'll try her room, Mr Glimmer.

Yes?

- I wanna talk to Miss Stoker. - Who is that?

Bert Glimmer.

What?

Look, put her on the line, will you, old man?

Sharp's the word, quick's the action, don't muck about.

The wee lassie's having a wee bit of rrrest

in her rrroom, Mr Glimmerrr.

Can I take a message?

Um... Who's that?

McAllister... rrr.

Ye ken old Arch... Errrchie McAllister?

Oh, yes. Hello, Archie.

Well, can I take a message?

Um...

Well, surely, ye can trrrust your old friend Errrchie.

All right, Archie. Well, listen carefully.

Tell Miss Stoker not to believe all she hears about the other party.

He's been framed. It's a put-up job.

- Hello, Stella. - Bill!

I can't tell you how glad I am to see you.

Hello?

Well, why didn't you tell me you were coming?

Well, it was... It was sort of short notice.

Hello?

What's goin' on. Did you get that, Archie?

Yeah, I got it all right.

I'll take you down to reception. They'll fix something.

Come on, Bill. We've just time for a cup of tea.

Now, you get this.

You'll be surprised to hear the young lady's

very thoroughly engaged just now with her old childhood sweetheart.

In fact, between you and I, I'm feeling a bit de trop meself.

But don't worry, your secret's safe with me.

Silent as the grrrave is Bert Glimmer.

Cheery-bye, me old cock sparrer.

You simply must vote for Wilcot, everybody.

Do vote for Bobby,

I mean, Wilcot.

Wilcot is too wonderful.

Wilcot is absolutely devas.

Are you going to vote for a...

TV glamour boy, a...

a panel puppet?

No!

Take it from me,

you can't trust a man like that an inch.

Mine's chock full of fighting spirit, H-P. How's yours?

"Savage" is the only word for him, Bert.

The boy's really getting mean.

I will not descend to the cheaper forms of Billingsgate abuse

with which Miss Stoker seems to be so very much at home.

But I warn her,

Billingsgate will boomerang!

With polling day only three days away, things are really hotting up.

The rival candidates seem to be fighting it out

in a spirit of bitter hostility.

Over now to Ronald Basingstoke at Earndale,

a town caught in the grip of election fever

as the political temperature rises to blood heat.

Would you like to tell the viewers what you think of this exciting election, sir?

Bit of a lark, ain't it?

And who do you think will get in?

Don't make no odds either way, do it?

Thank you, Mr Hornsby.

Ormsby.

Thank you, Mr... Ormsby.

Vote Conservative. Remember,

a vote for the Socialists is a vote for legalised robbery,

extortion, national extinction, and reduced profits.

A vote for Labour is a vote for prosperity.

Vote for Stoker. She's the girl for you.

Toryism means unemployment!

It means poverty!

It means destitution!

It means starvation!

It means despair!

Vote for Wilcot and keep out Stoker!

Vote for Stoker and keep out Wilcot!

Whoever you vote for,

celebrate the result at my grand Declaration of Poll party tomorrow night.

Mammoth firework display,

dancing on the greensward to Alf Farthingale and his Hot Six.

Stella's doing fine, brother.

Turned out to be a first-class candidate,

once I ironed out the headaches for her.

Don't worry, we'll put down the red carpet for him.

Bye for now.

Paulsen!

Lay on a car to pick up tonight's speaker

off the seven-thirty train.

Take him straight down to St Luke's School for the meeting.

Okay.

- Oh. - Can I have a word, Mr Glimmer?

Well, a little later. I've got an appointment now...

- Y-Yeah, but I'm worried about Stella. - Why?

Well...

- I-I-I don't know how to put it, but... - Well, come on.

Yeah. Well, she seems to be...

acting all the time.

Well, of course she is. She's fighting an election, isn't she?

Hello, Bert! I thought you weren't coming.

Sorry. Got held up.

I say!

Well, in view of all our trials and tribs, I thought champers was indicated.

Well, I'm all for a spot of inflation.

Just a little gesture on the eve of polling day.

Well, very nice too.

Pop goes old Romeo and Juliet.

And a very good thing, too.

Here, I'll give you a toast.

"A plague on both their houses."

With brass trimmings.

Not bad, hmm?

Nearly as good as the '47, in my opinion.

May the best man win!

Woman.

Well, we're not going to quarrel about genders, old man.

Well, I second that, old pal.

Now, alas, I must wend my way to the Corn Exchange for our final meeting.

We've got one of the party intellectuals coming down from Whitehall.

Same here. Big pop from Transport House.

I think we'd better leave separately, Bert.

Cheerio. See you after the poll.

Cheerio, old boy.

Good night.

What do you mean by following me?

Well, I've been thinking again, Mr Glimmer.

- Oh... - Well, I'm not satisfied.

I've known Stella since we were kids,

and I think there's something preying on her mind,

and I want to know what it is.

Come over here.

I know I should've said something to you before.

You don't know the sleepless nights I've had.

Being such a delicate matter, I...

don't rightly know how I'm going to tell you at all.

You don't mean to tell me that Stella's got herself into trouble?

Good gracious, no.

Well, I'm surprised at you. I am, really.

I'm sorry, Mr Glimmer.

However, she did have a very nasty experience.

- It's over and done with now. - What is?

Well, not to put too fine a point on it,

Wilcot forced his attentions on her.

In His Lordship's maze.

They got lost, and...

his animal passions got the better of him.

But he must be sixty-five!

He... Not Lord Wilcot, Robert!

- No! - Yes.

Fortunately, we got there in time and hushed it up.

"Hushed it up"? Why?

Well, we wouldn't want to win an election that way, would we?

Oh, wouldn't we? Why wouldn't we?

No precedent for it.

Oh, I see.

Well, she ought to have given the swine in charge.

She put the election first. And I hope you'll do the same, my son.

I know you won't say anything until it's all over.

Not even to Stella.

It's a sordid story, I grant you, but...

so is a great deal of Shakespeare.

Well, I'll see you later, young feller-me-lad.

You don't know the part that you played in our hour of trial.

- Oh, good evening. - Good evening, sir.

- Frightfully good attendance, isn't it? - Yes.

I'll be in the anteroom if you want me.

- Good evening. - Good evening.

- Good evening. - Oh, good evening.

Good evening, Peterson. Looks like a full house.

Standing room only, I shouldn't be surprised.

"And so, gentlemen,

"by this means, we may well hope to reduce the cost of living."

Hello, Wilcot. Word perfect.

I'll have you know that I definitely intend to win this election.

Well, that is welcome news indeed.

And, after that, I hope I never set eyes

on that smug, self-satisfied,

hypocritical, treacherous,

lying double face of yours again.

Where was I?

"Turning now to the international scone..."

"Turning..."

The what?

Oh, no, Annabel. Not "scone", "scene". "Scene"!

This isn't a cookery contest.

Seven-ten, Peterson. I think you'd better go down to the station

and collect Grimsby Armfield.

I don't see how I can, H-P. I've got to receive the press.

Well, somebody.

Send Annabel. A good idea.

Oh, yes, please.

I mean, meeting cabinet ministers and things.

Be such good practice for afterwards.

Oh, mind.

Peterson, get someone to take Miss Brentwood down to the station.

- All right. - Oh, thanks frightfully.

Curious accent that girl has.

Darn few consonants, no vowels at all.

Car, please, to meet the seven-thirty.

Car wanted. Mr Satterthwaite, please.

Oh, excuse me. Could you tell me where I could find Mr Wilcot, please?

Oh, he's inside,

in the little room by the platform.

Oh. Thanks very much.

It's a pleasure.

"...steady application of sound economic measures.

"And now, my friends, turning to the international scone..."

Oh, blast!

I want a word with you.

- Me? - Yes.

Boo!

Absolutely packed to the rafters. I'm sure it's going to be an abso...

There.

Mr Wilcot!

Excuse me.

- Oh, did you see Mr Wilcot? - That's right.

- You've cut your lip. - Oh, have I?

Ready, Miss Brentwood.

Oh, now you've smeared it all over your chin.

Do you mind if I just dab it a little?

Oh, you mustn't do that.

You'll spoil it.

Miss Brentwood, we'll be late!

I... I said, is it all right now?

It's perfectly lovely.

Miss Brentwood, please!

They... They're calling you.

Oh, yes, yes, I... I must go now.

- Thanks very much. - Thank you.

Well, give him air. Loosen his collar or something.

He's unconscious. The candidate's unconscious.

Well, he might have waited till he'd taken his seat in the House.

H-P!

It's seven-forty. They're getting a bit restive.

- Where's Grimsby Armfield? - Not here yet.

Train must be late.

Well, go outside and see if somebody's coming.

- All right. - Oh, look, don't bother with that now.

Look, get up on the platform and keep the flag flying.

I said we'd miss the train.

Over there!

Are you the speaker for our meeting?

Yes, I am.

Frightfully sorry we're late. Absolutely devastated. Do jump in.

Thank you very much.

I think his eyelids flickered.

Where the blazes is Grimsby Armfield?

- He's here! - Oh, thank Heaven.

The speaker's here.

What?! You're not Grimsby Armfield.

Of course I'm not. I'm Bray, from Labour HQ.

- Oh, are you? - Labour...

You cretin! You've met the wrong man!

- But isn't this St Luke's? - No! Here, take me to the station.

- Oh, there's nobody there. - Well, of course there is. Unless...

Unless Grimsby Armfield has gone to the wrong meeting.

Oh, no, not that!

St Luke's School, quick!

Wait for me!

Oh dear.

St Luke's School, quick, the Labour meeting!

Here, get in. Oh, come along, old man.

Faster! Can't you go any faster?

Stop! Here we are.

Our policy, my friends, is your policy.

A Britain where social justice prevails,

where each has his opportunity,

and the old-age pensioners are not forgotten.

- It's Armfield! - Speaking!

I tell you, my friends,

if we keep these aims in mind...

He can't have joined the Labour Party in that time.

Fool.

Come on, Egerton. Rescue party.

...our promised land.

- He's spoken. - Car, car!

He's finished.

- Well, that was a splendid speech, sir. - Thank you.

I'm sorry you've got to push off, but thanks very much for coming down.

- It's been a pleasure, Mr Harding-Pratt. - I...

What?

Oh!

Back to the Corn Exchange, hurry!

A Britain where social justice prevails, where each has his opportunity,

and the old-age pensioners are not forgotten.

I tell you, my friends,

if we keep these aims in mind,

under Providence we shall never doubt it.

Gain our haven, our harbourage,

our promised land.

Thank you. Thank you, Mr Armfield.

Thank you

for a brilliant, thought-provoking, and highly original speech.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I call upon your candidate,

that fine, dynamic, upstanding young personality,

Robert Wilcot!

This way, gentlemen, please.

- Take Mr Wilcot up to his room. - Right.

What's the trouble, exactly?

Oh, nothing serious. Just a slight recurrence of his old Antarctic sickness.

- Antarctic sickness? - Yes.

Same sort of thing as snow blindness but it affects the middle ear.

He'll be as right as rain in the morning.

I hope...

Hello, everybody. This is Stella Stoker,

your Labour candidate,

making a last appeal for your votes.

Don't stay home tomorrow.

Come out in your thousands

and vote for me,

the only professional candidate.

Vote for Stoker.

Stella.

And keep out the Tory.

Well, I shall have to tell her about us.

I don't know how I shall tell Robert.

He'll be utterly shattered.

But, well... We must. I mean, it's only right.

Oh, Bill.

- Well. Here... Here goes. - Hello, everybody. This is Stella Stoker,

your professional parliamentary candidate

making a last appeal for your votes.

Don't stay at home.

- Come out and vote. - Stella! Stella!

Stella.

Where have you been all this time?

Look, I've got something to tell you.

Well, I'm busy. Can't you see?

Look, you've got to listen. Please listen.

When I got the truth out of old Glimmer, well, I...

I sort of saw red, see.

What are you talking about?

Well, I'm just trying to tell you how we met.

- I went round to knock his block off... - Whose block?

Well, the Tory bloke, what's his name, Wilcot.

- And then when I was coming out after... - After what?

Well, after I clocked him. And there she was, Stella...

You hit him?

Yeah, I knocked him cold.

- But did you hurt him? - But, Stella, what I'm trying to...

Well, who cares! Look, Stella,

- I was coming out of the... - Where is he now?

I don't know, Stella. They carried him back to his hotel.

Carried him? How dare you!

Who told you to interfere, you thug?

You might have killed him!

Oh, you're just a great big ape!

Stella!

Stella!

Quite comfy, Bobby, dear?

- You sure you're all right? - Yes, I'm all right.

- Here, knock this back. - Oh.

I'll just have a word with H-P. See if the press have gone.

I've got something to tell you, Bobby, dear.

I'm afraid it's going to be an absolutely frightful blow.

I do hope you won't do something too desperate.

Desperate? Why? What's the matter?

I've met someone else.

No!

His name's Bill Hemingway and he's a muscle builder.

You know, you cut him on the lip.

What, him?!

Yes, we were both absolutely bowled over.

Annabel, does he feel the same way about you?

Oh, yes. Utterly.

Annabel!

Stella!

Stella!

Stella!

Stella.

S-Stella.

I thought you said he was seriously injured!

Stella!

Stella!

What are you doing here? Get out!

- Wilcot! - Stella!

Blimey, he's kidnapped her!

But she admits she loves me.

Well, don't think I'm proud of it.

I'm disgusted with myself and I'm determined

to trample the beastly thing underfoot.

Anybody would think I was a monster.

No, only a Tory.

Oh, Stella, darling. Listen, please!

Tonight, this whole thing will be over no matter which one of us wins.

Well, if you win,

do you think I'd dream of marrying a Conservative MP?

I know it is not very likely, but... well, supposing you won?

Well, of course I'll win.

Then what the devil have you been arguing about all night?

The point is, if I win,

I intend to devote myself entirely to politics.

Pshaw and taradiddle.

I mean it.

Oh, Stella.

I couldn't bear to think of you wasting yourself,

day after day, on six hundred MPs.

Don't worry. Most of them won't be there.

You'd have to find some cause to devote yourself to, I mean...

- a really worthwhile one. - But I have.

Stella Stoker.

But she's a red menace.

- Your chairman said so. - No, she's not.

She's my favourite shade of parlour pink.

It doesn't go with Tory blue, Robert.

Look, before you go through all the colours of the spectrum,

may I say that I find this conversation frankly nauseating?

Well...

Goodbye, Robert.

I'll always remember you.

I don't want to be remembered.

I want to spend the rest of my life with you!

Better let her leave first.

Besides, you can't go back in that dressing gown.

The British voter will never go for that Noël Coward stuff.

I shall never be able to get her out of my mind, Uncle.

Oh, don't give up entirely, my boy.

She wavered.

She distinctly wavered.

And, looking on the bright side, you may not win the election.

Nothing in life is certain.

And Providence sometimes uses the most unexpected devices

to achieve her ends.

Well, one thing is certain.

If I win...

I lose.

Stella!

Thank goodness. Where have you been?

What's happened? We've been searching all around the...

I didn't expect to find you asleep on polling day, Glimmer.

There must be a hundred things to do.

Isn't it time you started to do some of them?

Sixteen, please.

Wilcot, so you're back!

- Where the devil have you been? - Fishing.

We've been scouring the countryside all night. I haven't slept a wink.

That is the best bit of news I've heard for years.

Not bad, Hardy.

Nature obviously intended me for a signwriter.

Oh, no. Halt!

Up with it, Hardy! Up, up, up!

- Look out, sir! - Splint...

Are you all right, sir?

No.

No, blast it, I'm not.

No, no, no. Better not move me.

I think this is a case for the vet.

Call Dr Rushall.

Voting in the by-election is in full swing at Earndale.

At midnight, the result will be declared from the Earndale town hall.

Which of them will win?

- How's it going? - Neck and neck, I think.

I'm afraid you can't smoke here.

Evening, Wilcot.

- Evening, Mr Pottle. - Ssh!

Can you both come up here, please?

There's a margin of just twenty-four votes in Wilcot's favour.

- We'd like a recount. - Yes, sir.

We have a majority of twenty-four on the first counts.

Splendid! They'll be frying tonight!

They've asked for a recount, of course.

- Oh, yes, of course. - Oh, good.

Oh, really?

Well done!

Well, it's not over yet, you know. There's always the recount.

Don't forget the recount.

Mr Glimmer. Mr Harding-Pratt.

Well, that's ten thousand, three hundred and eighteen,

we've got ten thousand three hundred and twenty...

Margin of ten votes in Miss Stoker's favour.

- We'd like a recount, please. - Yes, sir.

I'm afraid it's gone the other way this time. Majority of ten in her favour.

- Oh dear. - That's bad.

Well, we've asked for a recount, of course.

Oh, is that absolutely necessary?

Of course!

I, John Bates,

being the returning officer at the election

for the constituency of Earndale,

hereby declare the number of votes recorded for each candidate

after no fewer than four recounts.

Wilcot...

ten thousand, three hundred and twenty-three.

Stoker...

ten thousand three hundred and one.

Majority, twenty-two.

Electors of Earndale, I present to you your new member, Robert Wilcot.

Congratulations, Mr Wilcot.

Tell them they've made you a very happy man.

What?

Oh, yes. Um...

You have made me a very happy man.

And I would just like to thank all my helpers and my supporters

for putting me where I am tonight.

My success was entirely due to them.

He's right there.

Well, it's all over now, Bert. Pity one side had to get the chopper.

Oh, no hard feelings, old pal.

And now, the gallant loser.

Well...

I've lost.

As it was, well...

someone had to win,

and I sincerely congratulate my Conservative opponent.

Well, now it's all over, Bert, how about a drink?

- I can hardly wait, old pal. - Come along, old man. Here we go.

Congratulations, Mr Wilcot.

- I'm sorry it had to end like this. - So am I.

Because I haven't won, really.

I've lost.

Darling Robert.

Stella. Oh, Stella, my dear.

MAN: Oh, I say!

- Mr Harding-Pratt, sir. - Yes?

I've got some terrible news, sir.

I know, we're watching it.

I must tell Mr Robert, sir.

His uncle has passed away.

Oh, no, he hasn't!

I've come to inform Mr Robert

that he's been Lord Wilcot since ten forty-eight.

Glimmer, do you realise what this means?

He'll never be able to take his seat.

He'll go straight to the House of Lords. The election's no go.

We'll have to fight the whole blasted campaign all over again.

And I thought we fixed 'em.

Oh, we fixed 'em all right. Pity we didn't leave 'em alone.

Well, it was your idea, old man.

Who telephoned me in the first place?

Are you trying to pin the blame on me?

Glimmer, are you trying to wriggle out of this?

Oh, now listen, just because you mucked the whole thing up like a proper Charlie.

You appalling little squirt!

Take the hot potato out of your mouth.

Try and talk like a normal human being.

I've always thought of you as a flashy little counter-jumper

and by gad, I was right.

You're crude, Glimmer, helplessly, painfully crude!

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah!

Harding-Pratt? Whoa, what a name, what a face!

- You oaf! - You drip!

- You... lout! - Oh! Go on...

- Don't speak to me like that! - Now, just wait a minute, son.

No! Here, don't...

No, you won't.

Get out!