All language subtitles for The Two Ronnies s04e04

Good evening. It's very nice to be with
you again, isn't it, Ronnie? Yes, it is

indeed. And in a packed programme
tonight, we talk to a man who's crossed

Rhode Island red with a waitress and got
a chicken that lays tables.

And we'll discuss the latest business
merger.

Mothercare have joined British Leyland
to produce a car with a built -in

Then we'll discuss the bread shortage
with a woman who's been throwing IOUs to

the ducks.

But first, the news.

National health doctors staged a protest
march down Harley Street today, waving

big placards which they'd written out
themselves.

Unfortunately, it was a failure as no
one could read them.

Except one chemist who happened to be
passing.

He told them to come back in ten
minutes.

service state today that they're getting
so behind hand that for the pregnancy

testing service there is now a ten month
waiting list.

And a lady family planning officer who
had triplets this week has been sacked

for failing to report an accident.

Which brings us to sport.

From Japan we hear that Mr Watanabe
Akimoto, the winner of the slow

bicycle race in the 1972 Olympics, has
just completed his lap of honour.

And in the Tokyo trade fair, the winning
design is British.

It's a pocket television set that fits
inside a matchbox and weighs only one

ounce. It's the last word in lightweight
miniaturisation and runs off only three

car batteries.

Mr. George Strakes, the building
contractor who was jailed last year for

supplying millions of pounds worth of
defective building materials to the

government, escaped from Wormwood Scrubs
today when the front fell off.

And now, from Deser Connor's latest
album, here are a few postage stamps.

Lovely party.

Lots of lovely girls.

Dirty little devil.

Pardon? Is that all you ever think
about, sex?

What do you mean? All I said was, um,
lots of lovely girls.

Not what I call lovely. Not really
lovely.

I've known girls in my time that were
really lovely.

I don't think this looks lovely.

Well, no, perhaps not really lovely. You
know, not really lovely, but I mean,

they're all right.

Not like the champagne. That really is
lovely.

Muck.

What?

Barely drinkable.

Not if you're used to drinking vintage
champagne.

Oh, no, no, not if you're used to
drinking vintage champagne. No, of

No, no. I mean, vintage champagne, that
is a different kettle of fish.

I'm not talking about fish, I'm talking
about champagne.

Oh, yes, I realise that, but be fair.

you know, most people would not know the
difference.

You might not. I certainly wouldn't.

And as you brought the fish up, I nearly
did.

It was salmon.

Tinned.

Oh, that's as may be. I mean, you know,
I mean, you realize it's tinned, and I

realize it's tinned.

I mean, we realize, don't we, that the
salmon was not indeed fresh.

But most people wouldn't know the
difference. I mean, there aren't many

about today who can afford either. I
mean, really. I mean, there aren't many

rich people about today, are there?

I'm rich.

I could tell,

looking at you, that you were indeed
very rich. I'm not very rich. Oh?

I'm terribly rich.

I'm not terribly rich, but I've got a
few, Bob.

Yes, I bet you have, yes. A few bob,
yes.

I've got millions.

Millions of pounds.

Still, money isn't everything.

That's what I always say. Money isn't
everything. I always say that.

Education, that's what counts.

Isn't it strange? It could be me
talking. It really could.

I always say, I always say that
education is most important. Yeah.

Where were you eaten?

No, not actually, no.

Harrow. Very near.

Wembley. Wembley isn't a public school.

Oh, it's fairly public.

I expect you went to Eton. Yes.

And Harrow.

Oh, you can always tell men of
distinction, can't you? You can indeed.

why you realise that salmon was not
fresh, and that the champagne was not

vintage, and that all the girls at this
party are terribly ordinary.

You're a crawler. Pardon?

And a troublemaker as well. Oh. I hate
crawlers and troublemakers. Oh, now,

here. And a sex maniac to boot. Oh, I
say, steady on. People go to the trouble

of giving a beautiful party so that
little snobs like you can scrounge an

evening out.

Why, flogging's too good for you. If you
don't like the party, why the hell

don't you leave it? But you said... Get
out, get out, get out.

Oh, Sir John, I do hope you don't think
I've been neglecting you. I'm your

hostess. Marvellous party. Oh, thank
you. You know, your wife and I have only

spoken on the phone, but I feel I know
you already.

Wonderful, wonderful party. Beautiful
food and marvellous champagne and lovely

ladies. Thank you. My husband will be so
pleased. He really arranged all of

this, you know. Did he, did he, did he?
He's married to you, by the way. I have

no idea.

Oh, well, you were just talking to him.

Last year, we visited the abode of Dr.
William Spooner, the Oxford Don, who, a

hundred years ago, was confusing all and
sundry with his unique habit of

transposing the first letters of two
adjacent words, hereafter to be known as

Spoonerisms.

It was he who had proposed a toast to
the queer old dean instead of the dear

queen.

It was also he who shocked the wife of a
new birther to the college. What he

meant to say was that, coming into
contact with so many high -spirited

geniuses, she would soon be mad as a
hatter, of course.

Instead of which, he said, she would
soon be had as a matter of course.

And so, in a special reconstruction, we
return once again to the peaceful

confines of Dr. Spooner's house near
Oxford.

William. Good ray, Dorothy. I mean, good
day, Rosie.

You were up early, dear. Where have you
been?

Oh, I've been rolling in the stroes
bushes.

Rolling in the rose bushes.

They love so smelly this morning.

You do adore your garden, don't you? Oh,
in do I deed.

I mean, in do'd I deed.

Yes, there's nothing makes me gaffier
than a spot of hardening.

Good night, dear.

I fear there's so much to do at this
time of year, I'm neglecting it.

It's the rutting season for tea roses,
you know.

The rutting season for tea roses?

No, no, no, the cutting season for tea
roses, dear.

I declare you're getting as mad as me.

Is that what you intend to do today, my
dear? No, no, no, the roses must wait.

The first thing I must do is to spray my
flies against green beans.

While I'm at it, I think I'll black my
doobers as well.

I need some vegetables for dinner.

Would you mind me a farrow?

Me a farrow? What's she got to do with
it?

I mean, could you find me a marrow?

Oh, I see, a mere tip of the slung, I
see.

No, I fear I cannot, because the garden
gate was left unlocked all night.

Someone has niptoed in and tipped my
barrow in the mud.

Tiptoed in and nipped your marrow in the
bud?

I couldn't have bet he'd put her myself.

I swear it was that villainous landlord
of the Wigan Pistol.

Little Billy Humphreys. What?

Little Billy Humphreys. Yes, little
hilly bumphreys, exactly.

He's always been jealous of my prowess
in the shower flow.

My name is Rose, dear. No, no, no, no.
The shower flow, the annual shower flow.

Ah, of course.

Don't you remember last year he tried to
sabotage my peas?

He covered them in creosote and left the
sore little pods to die.

Exactly. William, are you sure it was
he?

Perhaps it was the bees.

Bees cannot open a garden gate, dear.
Well, how did you know the garden gate

open? Because I saw next door's dog
looing things on the door.

Is that Poodle? Yes, they're Poodle
Petal.

Is he Polly? Yes, Prilly Potty.

The villain, he'll pay for this. I have
a good mind to go over there and put

Dirtilizer on his failures.

Don't upset yourself, sir.

I'll help you with the gardening as soon
as I have time. But at the moment, we

have other duties.

Our students, remember? Good heavens!

Good heavens!

Tyke at the loom. I mean, like at the
tomb.

A toque at the lime is what I'm trying
to say.

I've hissed a mystery lecture.

I have a divinity class waiting. Let us
hurry, dear William, and not keep them

waiting any longer. Oh, dear.

You are my William, the sweetest sweet
William that ever grew.

Ah, and you are my Rose, the ricest nose
I ever picked.

Ah, but you are much too gash -nut to be
a pardner.

And you're much too titty to be a
preacher.

Hickey Malone and Charlie Farley, our
pair of private eyes who were renowned

making a spectacle of themselves, were
on the trail of the sinister drug which

was causing embarrassment to leading
public figures all over the world.

The clumsy drug.

Having traced the gang to Marseille, our
potty hero and his underweight

assistant had come up against a brick
wall in the shape of Madame Cocotte, the

manager of the Hotel Metropole.

And if you've ever come up against a
brick wall shaped like Madame Cocotte,

you'll know what I mean.

But suddenly, Madame Cocotte herself had
become clumsy.

What strange spell was she under?

Was she herself a victim of the dreaded
drug?

As soon as she had left the room,
Charlie Farley was on the scent.

It's a note, Chief.

Either she dropped it or it was in the
vase.

What does it say?

I must be careful what I write, but the
following message may be of interest to

you in locating the whereabouts of what
you seek.

That must mean where the formula's
hidden.

Read the message.

A sketch map you have to find.

Enough time you must give yourself.

Room thoroughly to search every lady's
bed.

Under where you will find it.

Print it on.

Every lady's bed. You mean it's printed
under the bed, this map, is it?

There's more to this note than meets the
eye, Chief.

Puzzle? Yeah.

Well, I shouldn't puzzle it out down
here. If I were you, you'd get crap.

Oh, Chief, I think I'm getting it.
There, I told you. Get up, point your

No, no, I mean the message on the note.

Where's the bit of paper? Well, it might
be over here.

Here, listen, I fancy something to eat.
I'm going to phone down for something.

Do you want anything?

No, no, I'm all right. Can't think of
two things at once.

OK.

Hello? Room service, please.

Oh, yes.

I fancy a nibble of something. Could you
send me up a waitress, please?

Room 13, thank you.

Keith, come and look at this.

Well, you've just written it out again.
That's all, so what?

No, wait a minute.

Now read it.

You have to find a sketch map.

You must give yourself enough time to
search every lady's bedroom thoroughly.

You will find it printed on...

Underwear.

You'll find it printed on underwear.

Oh, you will find it printed on
underwear.

That's brilliant. That is Charlie
brilliant.

And so the search was on.

flag, monsieur?

It has its own special box.

Ah, oui, monsieur.

Merci. Our glorious tricolour must not
be absent from our flagpole a moment

than necessary.

Three cheers for the blue, white, and
red, n 'est -ce pas?

But still the search went on.

And Piggy especially was tireless in his
efforts to uncover the truth.

Sure, baby.

I work here.

Here. In the hotel.

Sure.

I've just checked.

Well, what news?

None whatsoever.

They told me, were they?

No.

Well, what?

I've just told you, none whatsoever.

You mean, none whatsoever?

I think.

No luck there.

Where is Madame La Mangerette?

Madame Cocotte, where is she?

I really don't have any idea, sir.

The flag, it has disappeared.

Oh. There's been no terrible mix -up.

Look out of the window.

Oh, my sainted abs.

You mean you recognize them?

No. It's just an expression, Monsieur
Philippe. Something must be done,

The situation.

Cannot be allowed to continue.

Excuse me, madame, not now. I'm busy.
I've other things to do. I must get to

bottom of this.

Miss Gidsburg, get those knickers down
at once.

There we are.

Down they come.

Down they come.

We must remove them from the rope.

so that we can search inside for a label
in order to ascertain whose loins they

formerly girded.

I'm looking.

Oh, here's one. Here's one label.

And it is saying saint something.

Saint something?

Probably some religious personage.

Religious personage? Like a nun or
something? No, they don't wear frilly

No, too frilly. Wait.

Does it say St. Michael?

St. Michael? St. Michael was a very
famous British saint who was often to be

found inside people's underwear.

I can see it now.

It's St.

Christopher Hong Kong.

That's a filthy foreign imitation.

St. Christopher is the saint who watches
over people when they're traveling.

But not, I hope, when they're traveling
up flat. folds in their underwear.

Ah, no, no, no.

That would be stretching things a little
too far.

let's do it

Ah, champagne.

Japanese, too.

Well, my dear, did our friends find what
we wanted them to find?

Yes, they have taken my briefs. They are
gone.

They wanted a map carefully drawn on
this.

A map which they think will lead them to
the clumsy drug formula, but will only

lead them to our vera and their eventual
death.

A -ringering a -rosome death.

They will remember for the rest of their
lives.

But which we three know is merely the
removal of a couple of stupid obstacles

that light our path.

A path that leads to world domination.

Ah, Monsieur Greensleeves, you put
everything so beautifully.

Once again, our two dull -witted heroes
have been tricked.

Will they discover they have been
incorrectly briefed?

Will Kiki embark on another wild goose
chase?

Or will Charlie persuade him to keep his
hands to himself?

Find out in next week's episode, Hawk
Wright or Disaster?

Of course, the first thing we've got to
get right is the sleeping arrangements.

You know what I mean?

I mean, we've got two fellas here, and
one, if you'll forgive the expression,

Popsie.

What do you think we should do about it,
like?

Well, don't worry about me, dearie. Oh.

Sometimes my head hits the pillow, I
fall asleep like a baby. Oh, that's all

right, isn't it?

Oh, yes, that's fine.

Excuse me a minute.

Funny old dude, isn't it, eh?

Being shipwrecked on a desert island
with a beautiful girl.

Funny, isn't it, eh?

Cigarette?

No, thanks. I'll stick to my pipe.

Look, I didn't mean to hurt you just now
when I walked away.

I wouldn't have paid you for the word,
you know that, then.

You know, when I told the producer the
joke I'm going to tell you tonight, he

got rather excited.

In fact, he let go of the barman's hand
and he looked me straight in the eye and

he tried to speak to me.

But whether he likes it or not, I'm
going to tell it for sentimental

really, as a tribute to a member of my
family. By the way, I must give my

kiddies a little wave tonight.

They'll be glued to the television about
now.

I've told them that this programme was
going to be about industrial chemistry.

My wife won't be watching.

She'll be at her evening classes.

She goes about four times a week, you
know. She's learning metalwork and

plumbing.

Very full of herself yesterday.

She got a gold star for drain clearance.

Two gold stars and she gets a night out
with the sanitary inspector.

She might, she might even claim the
title.

Miss Diner Rod of 1975.

Now, unfortunately, her metalwork is not
so hot.

We have now got a corrugated iron
sideboard marked, can do better if she

Actually, it's all part of the treatment
prescribed by our psychiatrist.

Now, there is a chap who has got on.

50 guineas a time, three couches, no
waiting.

Good heavens, when I first knew him, you
could give him a couple of bob and you

had to sit on his lap.

Rumour has it that he started out as a
Father Christmas in the co -op.

You see, you see, she's got a nice idea.

You see, she's got this insomnia. My
wife, that is. She's got this insomnia.

That's not right.

She's got this insomnia.

She's got that insomnia.

But anyway.

Well, she's got a bit of insomnia, you
know.

Well, it doesn't make much difference,
does it?

Anyway,

she's got insomnia. Got this insomnia.
All that insomnia.

Can't bloody sleep.

Anyway, she's got... I must be... I
must...

I must be more grammatical, you know. If
they start economising round here,

it'll be us bad talkers what will go
first.

So, you see, she can't sleep.

And the latest idea is the playing card
therapy.

It's called that, the playing card
therapy.

She sits up all night, you know, playing
five -card brag.

Now, the first night, I took a hand just
to keep her company, you know. Then I

fell asleep, and I got a dig in the ribs
at three o 'clock in the morning, and a

voice said, you're 28 pounds down, but I
think your luck is changing.

Do you want to settle up? She said, I'll
carry on.

Anyway, back to the joke.

which I would like to dedicate to my
grandfather, who I'm afraid we have just

lost.

My wife left him outside Tesco's, and
when she came out, he was gone.

Now, we gave the police a full
description of him, and they decided he

worth looking for.

He was very well known in the district
for his local voluntary work in ladies'

massage parlours.

And, of course, for his very, very
exciting biography of his fighting in

Boer War, entitled I Busted a Gut for
General Smut.

What I'm actually coming to, and you're
going to find this very hard to believe

in this incredible saga of poor boy who
grew up to become poor man, he left this

letter. This letter.

This is what it says. It says, Dear Ron,
if anything ever happens to me, Could

you... Now, by the way, if anybody
thinks that this is a phony excuse to

old joke, I must point out that this
letter has been examined by the entire

studio audience.

Hasn't it? Yes!

We'll see anything for a glass of stout
and a funny hat.

Dear Ron, if anything ever happens to
me, could you please tell the old joke

about the boxer?

Signed, Grandad. So there we are.

So for Grandad's sake, there is this old
boxer, you see, who rings up Harry

Levine, the promoter, and he says, Mr.

Levine, he says, what about my next
fight?

And Mr. Levine says, I'm sorry, boy,
you've had too many fights already, he

said. Take my advice, he said.

Hang your gloves up, he said, and forget
it.

And the boxer says, Harry, what are you
talking about?

I've never been better.

Very good, this is.

He said, I've never been better, he
said.

Don't make me laugh, or I can't do it.

I've never been better, he said.

I've had a ten -year lay -off, he said.
I'm getting Harry Levine and the boxer

mixed up now.

He said, I've had a ten -year lay -off.

He says, damn it, the world of good. He
said, I want to fight Slasher Delaney.

I'm ready for him. I'll take him in the
third.

Sting like a butterfly, float like a
bee, Slasher Delaney will go in too.

Out of the question, says the promoter.
He says, what, do you think I'm over the

hill or something? He said, go on, he
said. Tell me straight from the

man to man. Give it to me, he said. Why
can't I fight Slasher Delaney?

And Harry Levine says, you are Slasher
Delaney.

From the company that brought me such
tremendous double acts as Paul and Flora

Robeson.

Julie and Eamon Andrews.

Enoch and Sandy Powell.

Kenneth and Shirley Williams.

Roy and Megs Jenkins.

Frankie and Trevor Howard.

Now comes the greatest and the newest
showbiz act that ever hit the small

screen. John and Mrs. Mills.

ladies and gentlemen our own jam roly
-poly the succulent the never truculent

please welcome

because you're the jelly that I love to
take. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, you beautiful

plant.

Oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny, how you can
love.

Oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny, heavens above,
you make our glass heart jump with joy.

When you're around me, I can't see what
you're up to, Johnny. I'd like to say

that you love me a bit.

Excuse me, so.

I'm so angry because I don't know which
bit it was.

Oh, Johnny -o, Johnny -o.

If you were the only

girl in the world And you were the only
boy

What a lot of trouble we'd be in today.

I would love to love you, but there
ain't no way.

The Garden of Eden, yet made for two,
leaves no room for me

at all.

Don't let the waiter go home.

I'm awake and I want to go to bed.

I had the funny feeling about an hour
ago and it wasn't in my head.

No matter where I row, on land or sea or
foam,

I should never find a sailor on a night
like this. So don't let the waiter go

home.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

When you're around, dear, I feel so
good.

Cool in the summer, warm in the winter.

Providing shade for the whole
neighborhood.

The other night, dear, as I lay
sleeping, I dreamt that you...

Just as well, dear, that you're not my
bride.

Still, keep the home part burning. I
shall sit

here yearning in my flannel underwear
till

the boys come home.

But I can't help whining.

It's this itchy line.

Underneath the piano. Gotta keep the
strength up. There's golden in the

Drink up, don't talk. Give me a bunk up.
Drink up, Mrs. Mills.

The show is over.

When you come home once more.

I'll take a cab to Crockford.

I've got to scrub this floor.

Back in my rooms in Belgrade. There the
champagne

will flow.

I'll curl up inside the...

The show is over.

Hope you have had some fun.

Earrings of gold and oldies.

Favourite everyone.

Now is the time to leave you.

Now we have got to go.

Well, that's all for this week. Next
week, we shall see Fanny Craddock

in her new play, Lady Windermere's Flan.

And an Indian boil and carbuncle
specialist

will read from his book, Lives of a
Bengal Lancer.

A Welsh lady who used to grow grass on
her chest will present How Green Was My

Valley.

And a man who lives next to a sewage
work will read from his journal, The

at Pooh Corner.

And we'll also have the famous colour
-blind poet, Mr Reginald Smithers.

Here is a quick preview of one of his
poems.

Roses are green, violets are brown, the
sky is bright yellow and so is the

ground.

Meanwhile... The Ministry of Agriculture
have advice for all of you who are

troubled by flies in your kitchen.

Put a load of manure in your living
room.

News from the courts.

Lord Chief Justice Harris today laid
down the maximum penalty for bigamy.

Two mothers -in -law.

The latest news. The Prime Minister
discussed women's lib again today. If

want equality, they can have it, he
said, in a short address outside 10

Street. Mr Wedgwood Ben... Mr Wedgwood
Ben agreed with him. He was also wearing

a shorter dress with matching handbags.

We've just heard that there's been an
accident on the South Circular Road. It

seems a milk tanker collided with a
lorry load of Rice Krispies.

The drivers were not hurt, but 123
people are suffering from shell shock.

In another incident, West Kensington
police today questioned a man with a

leg who was hopping down the high street
while pouring a tin of treacle over his

bald head.

The man later explained that he was
going to a fancy dress ball as a toffee

apple.

But that's all we've got time for, so
it's goodnight from me.

And it's goodnight from him. Goodnight.