Original subtitles

Papers, papers, give us your daily news.

Papers, papers,

we'll tell you what's the news. Just buy your papers, papers,

we'll tell you what's the news.

Get buy your papers!

Okay, Jack, so, intro.

Mrs. Brenda Turpin is waving goodbye to all those fattening pork pies, pastries

and puds.

Dash, thanks to the Crucible.

Porky Brenda, who tips the scales at 23 and a half stone, admits she can never

stick to a normal diet.

So this week, at her own insistence, the Crucible had her mouth surgically wired

up and she's got to tell you again.

Away from all those catching naughty nibbles.

Say, blubbery Brenda, thanks to the crucible, I shall be in this cage for a

month eating nothing but low -calorie carrot juice through a straw.

Well, that's it then, Mrs Turpin. We've got a couple of the lads coming up from

the packing bench to take you home again. We shan't keep you long.

the health and beauty feature tied up.

Yeah, page seven.

Oh, hello. Good morning, Dickie. How are you today? I just ran into Greg Kettler

on the lift who said he was on his way to investigate a story that tennis

Boris Becker was a lesbian.

It's somewhat flimsy evidence that he's been seen going out with women.

Now, this is just a kind of pernicious path that Mr. Rathbone brought me in to

stamp out.

I've sent Ketlock instead to do a piece on the government's new blueprint for

primary schools.

Could make a decent spread.

Are our infants getting the education they deserve?

How do teachers in the 80s measure... Hold that right there.

Two washed oranges, like this.

what the number nine looks like.

Yes.

I think you'll find that's the one that's like a balloon on a stick.

Now, perhaps you'd answer a question of mine. Do you or do you not have in your

school library, freely available for all the children to see, a copy of the book

Rumpelstiltskin?

Rumpelstiltskin. No, we don't have any copy of that book in the school. I see.

harmless fairy tale.

banned by the left -wing council, no doubt, for depicting subjugation of

child abuse, and derisive references to disabled laws.

Mr. Dillon, if Mr.

Kittle doesn't keep quiet, I shall have to bring him out the front and give him

a smack on the bottom.

Sorry, Mrs. Strong, phone call for you in your office. Thank you, sir.

All right, class, you can all start sharpening your pencils.

When I come back, I shall tell you what to do with them.

Thank you very much, gentlemen.

Thank you.

There was a going to be next week, Russell. The crucible's cure for acne?

Simply stick your head in a guillotine?

You must think I'm some kind of simpleton.

Last night, I went through the crucible and made a list of all its major faults.

The minor ones are being delivered later in a pantechnicon.

Now then, first of all, the use of labels in headlines.

Cliff Plunge Baby Horror.

Great Girl.

Skin Graft Boy.

Herpes Man.

I think a 70 -year -old man who's been horribly injured in the war feels about

being christened No Dick O .A .P.

So now, all headlines like this come to me first for approval. Is that

understood? Without your say -so, Dickie, they shall not pass.

Oh, ten o 'clock.

Is it time for your regular morning briefing with Mr Rathbone?

Oh, God, yes.

Yes, it is. It's just the sort of place I've been looking for, Derek, as a

little weekend pied -à -terre.

A deceptively spacious four -lagooned island.

situated in the fashionable part of Fiji.

They're asking a seven -figure sum for it, which, if I were a rabid, mercenary

capitalist, I'd simply cream off from the Crucible's record profits in the

of a fat director's bonus, because a profiteering act would fly in the face

my principles as a lifelong socialist and champion of the working classes.

Ah,

Dickie, come in.

Derek, we'll talk later.

Dickie! You're looking well.

How's tricks down on the 15th floor?

Walk me along nicely, Mr. Rathburn. I think Spam's realized I'm getting wise

his various little shenanigans now.

Russell Spam's various little shenanigans are the nest of maggots in

of my eye.

Crucible needs new blood, Dickie, and you're the man to give it.

It's too much mischief of a copy.

Reaching the newspaper.

Copies such as this.

Entry for the Crucible diary page which has been brought to my attention by

presence unknown.

Why is movie megastar Meryl Streep looking so pleased with herself just

Thoughts is close to the American beauty face because she's madly in love with

Mr. Terence Rathbone.

A little more media mogul and lifelong socialist.

The two are rumoured to have met while bopping at a New York nightclub.

The district immediately fell for the millionaire philanthropist's hunky good

looks.

To the young 62, Rathbun is said to have the bedroom staying power of a man half

his age.

Nevertheless,

I cannot in all conscience bar you from publishing the story. It would be a

gross invasion of your editorial independence.

You must just pay it away and do with it as you will.

Don't worry, sir.

This is just the kind of unbelievable drivel I determined to stop you.

Rest assured, your reputation is totally safe with me.

Indeed, Dickie, indeed.

And that's why you have to be ever so clever to become a reporter.

Because it's the job of the reporter to make sure every word you read in your

newspaper is completely true.

What the hell's going on? Get away from that blackboard at once! Also, before

you let a strange man into your house to search through your belongings, always

ask to see his press card first. Oh!

It's true that he's a bona fide member of Her Majesty's press corps.

Jack, read it to me again.

Sex show shocker for tiny tots.

Five -year -old kiddies at a London infant school were this week forced to

witness bizarre sexually explicit acts involving a man being beaten with a cane

by a busted blonde in high -heeled boots.

Mistress Mrs Rowena Strong, who had earlier invited reporter Greg Kettle to

part in a kinky spanking session, then joined with another woman in leather

skirt and black stockings in a threesome of flagellation and female dominance.

Pupil Darren Jessop, five and a half, commented, I blame the loopy liberals on

Camden Council.

Since they appointed Mrs Strong, Sudbury Road Infants has become more like St.

Pervo's Academy for Sexual Deviants.

I've had the headmistress on the phone for two hours this morning.

I just managed to pacify on the end by saying we'd go back there today to do a

proper story.

This time showing the school that it really is.

The truth, Greg. Do I make myself clear?

Clear as crystal, Mr. Lipton. I'm on my way.

Something wrong with the system, Russell.

Stories are still slipping through without my seeing them. I've had no

three nights worrying about it, Dickie.

As custodian of our morals, you must be free to monitor all material. But now

that we're computerised, it couldn't be easier.

On this key system, you can AMDIS into your edition menu.

with a standard page digit code and then simply access to your story display

with the relevant alphanumeric command. It's all in the manual.

Here.

Hello, copy? Greg Kettle here with the truth about Sudbury Road Infant School.

Catch line, hookers.

This was at St. Pervo's Academy in North London.

Yesterday shocked parents with a new addition to her kinky curriculum.

Lettons in prostitution.

I watched in horror as during an innocent school outing, Rauchy

Rowena Strong led a party of little girls through King's Cross, a well

soliciting point for call girls.

Then she explained how, when there were no policemen about, They should stand on

street corners looking out for men in cars.

Always wait under red lights.

When I approached one little girl and asked, did she do French, she replied,

quotes, no, but my 12 -year -old sister does.

I made an excuse and left.

Aha! Got it, Russell!

More sex shock than it's... school of sin.

Herbert unveils his new top training department.

Oh, sorry, Dickie, I've just kicked your plug out.

Mr. Lipson flashed just in from AP.

A 34 -year -old woman rushed to hospital with a major heart attack.

No, Jack, I've acquired too many important...

There, that's that little story squash, Russell.

A woman, Mrs. Brenda Turpin, suffered a coronary thrombosis brought on by a

massive uncontrolled eating spree of 112 Danish pastries.

Her husband, Mr. Arthur Turpin, said, this is all the fault of that bastard

Lipton for looking after that cage.

I'm going right round there now and break his bloody neck.

I'll just lock this door just now, just in case.

Mr Turpin, a burly 15 -star window cleaner, then declined to make any

comments.

Right!

You little tosser!

I should warn you, I won't vote for Cambridge!

Um, what do you want me to do with this new intro, Russell? Girl who... bitten

on the chest by a black mamba.

Read it out to me, Maggie, will you, please?

How's it done?

Snakes Alive.

Zookeeper Trudy Dangerfield is on the danger lift after one of her slippery

specimens in the reptile house made a beeline for her bee cup.

As 19 -year -old Trudy was rushed into intensive care with a boob full of

snake poison, it was a case of fangs for the mammary.

Condition is described as critical.

Critical, Maggie, much better.

Have a look at this one now, will you?

Are our courts tough enough on sex offenders? Should rapists be castrated

birth?

Reel out a few judges, see what they're going to say.

Good one, Russell.

Oh.

The last thing.

Where am I?

The last thing I remember.

is going to hit that man.

A devastating display of pugilism, Dickie. You broke both hands on his

Oh.

As a result of your absence from the office, Spam has disgraced the Crucible

again with this sordid perversion of the truth.

Merrill's just wild about twigging.

Screen eyes. Little Miss Cheap spends nights of luck with millionaire text

machines.

I'm shattered, Dickie, after your solemn reassurances that such salacious gossip

would never see the light of day. I can't think how could possibly... Cuties

come late in the day, Dickie. Frankly, I think it's time you got off that fat

backside of yours and did something about this odious trashmongering.

Now, don't try to move. They've strapped you in for extra safety.

Dunstan. And in the case of indecent exposure, would you tar and feather them

before or after you put a padlock on the genitals?

Fine.

Okay. Well, thanks for your help.

Hello, is that the home of Mr. Justice Hitchcock?

Um, David Crucible newspaper here. I wondered if I could... Jesus Christ.

How the hell did you find out about this? I'm sorry?

Uh, yeah. We have no statement to make at this moment in time.

Uh, not until all the relatives have been informed.

Relatives? I'm sorry?

Hello,

St. Demian's Hospital?

Administrator's office, please.

Hello,

Daily Crucible here, Maggie Troon. Have you had any details in about a death at

the home of Mr Justice Hitchcock in the village of Purlington, please?

That's exactly what I wanted to know. Bye -bye.

Well, it's about what we expected, Russell.

The press counsel's ruled that the Sudbury Road infant coverage was

sensationalistic, and wholly and utterly without any foundation whatever.

Yes. Single out as especially vindictive was today's testimonial by a so -called

handwriting expert that the loops and curls in Mrs.

Strong's rendition of the cat's hat on the mat

Dearly so. She is a raving nympho and bondage freak.

Well, how can they argue with hard facts like that?

What, the only thing we... Dickie, you've regained consciousness.

Either that or I'm still dreaming. Let me see.

No, this could only be part of some hideous nightmare. I must be awake.

Over the court jester, Dickie. I'm sorry to dash, but Jack and I are needed down

at Playstop. Russell, what about...

Yes, what do you want?

Um, a bag of chips would go down quite well.

Can't you read the sign on the door?

Yeah, it says open.

Everywhere seems to be locked up. The place is like a ghost town.

What's going on?

Stand over there.

The, uh...

Blue bottles a bit frisky round here, are they?

Could have been him, couldn't you?

The psychopathic killer what's on the loose out there.

Psychopathic killer, eh?

My lucky day.

No, no, no.

Nothing like that, fortunately.

I'm a reporter from the Daily Crucible.

Crucible cleans up St.

Pervos.

Extracurricular activities at the Burbos Academy are over. It's official.

A press council investigation into the school for scandal found yesterday no

kinky beatings, no spanking sessions, no lessons in prostitution.

Crucible editor Russell Spann says thanks to our clean -up campaign,

children can return... Thanks to our clean -up campaign.

This hunt paid.

I order you to remove it this instant.

Very well, Dickie.

Oh, come, you're... First edition's halfway up the M1.

Jack, get down there and change this flash for the later editions.

It is great. Change it to what, Mr Lipson? Change it to... You've got a

major front page lead up your sleeve, have you?

Hello?

It's Maggie here.

I'm down in some godforsaken hole in Hertfordshire, and I think I've got a

one.

Mass murder?

They found four bodies, ten o 'clock this morning, at the home of the High

judge, Justice James Hitchcock, as in Alfred.

His wife, his son, his daughter -in -law, and their 14 -year -old son.

Apparently they were found lying in pools of blood, with their throats cut.

Nice, eh?

Yes. Look, I'll hand you over to Russell, Maggie.

The weird thing is, the old boy himself, Judge Hitchcock, has apparently

vanished. Can't be traced anywhere.

So, you know, finger suspicion and all that.

I've rung the nick and they're holding a formal press conference tomorrow

morning. Yeah, but if we run it tonight, it'll be exclusive.

OK, Maggie, give me everything you've got.

Jack, just at a spot of good news, four people hacked to death in Hertfordshire.

Just a minute.

In a statement just issued, said there was no truth at all in the rumour that

Miss Meryl Streep was expecting his baby.

Accordingly, he was planning to sue his own newspaper for libel.

Where such pernicious rumours originate is a complete mystery to me, gentlemen.

Ladies, however...

My lawyers have, during the last hour, concluded an out -of -court settlement

with the Crucible for a seven -figure sum by way of damages, which I trust

marked an end to the whole tasteless affair. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have

urgent flight to Fiji to catch. Good night to you all!

Terrific, Maggie!

Murder me, lad.

Justice Jim flees cutthroat carnage in hack -up house horror.

That bath bin sparks midnight manhunts for jugular judge.

Yes, sounds great, Russell.

Listen, Russell, there is a school of thought around here that the killer may

actually still be on the loose in this village.

You know, lurking around, waiting for his next victim.

So, um, if you don't need me here anymore... Good thinking, Meg.

Better stay put.

Homicidal psychopath might strike again at any moment. And when he does, the

crucible won't be...

Oh, Tom, stop.

On any page you'll find disaster, servants killing off his master, and a

with some sordid sex appeal.

Someone's secrets we have grabbed, famous facts that we have stabbed.

Now you want to know whether...