Original subtitles

Hey, Fer!

Let's see if I've got this right so far. The family of a High Court judge are

all found murdered, but the judge himself's gone missing. We tracked down

woman we think he's been having an affair with, and by now she's been

death as well.

I don't know if you've got a strong stomach, Mr Lipton.

Well, God, these are appalling.

Well, police photographers can't expect quality.

Notice the couple there, the son and daughter -in -law.

They're still sitting at a chess table.

The board and the pieces still laid out in front of them.

Macabre. There's something wrong with that picture. I just wish I could work

what it is.

And then what about the canary?

Exactly.

What canary?

When I found the girlfriend's body, there was a dead canary lying on the

of its cage.

Well, Teneris aren't noted for the high suicide rate, Mr Lipson.

I'm very dodgy about this whole story.

And very dangerous. I'm not sure it's safe for you to be investigating all

violence and brutality.

I've covered Labour Party conferences.

I'll manage.

And I've been meeting with Mr Rathbone now.

Well, stick with it for the moment then, Maggie. I'm hoping for a good, honest

story from this in the end.

God knows we need one.

See you, Mr Lipson.

35 years ago, Terence Rathbone had a dream.

He dreamt of a place of magic, fun and excitement on a high -yield investment

basis. A happy land where children laugh and sing and dog turds are a thing of

the past.

Everyone can share in that dream at Rat World, a fantasy land for all the family

of non -exportative admission prices.

At Rat World, you'll gaze in wonder at our life -size animated models of the

royal family.

They're almost real.

For the first time, you can go inside the palace and watch the queen scrubbing

her toenails in the bath and Diana hurling four -letter obscenities at each

other.

Andrew going to the lavatory. Yes, there's something for everyone at Rat

Visit Britt Eklund's house of toy boys for a special puppet show of her

favourite sexual positions every half hour. Then, why not take a trip to the

wonderful world of the loony left, where everything is topsy -turvy.

Lesbians frolic in the woods. Money grows on trees. And Labour councillors

to discuss their spending policies.

Yes, rat world. For a dazzling day out amid nature's miracles.

Near Farringbridge in Hampshire, formerly the New Forest.

I don't know what to say, sir.

I mean, the New Forest used to be home to...

Deer and ponies.

Conservation of the local fauna was our top priority, Dickie. We had them all

skinned and turned into robots.

Extinction becomes a thing of the past.

But all these shows and attractions, this is everything you hate.

This is what we're trying to eradicate in the Crucible, isn't it?

Yes, of course it is.

You shouldn't have had Russell Spam on board as creative advisor. Still!

What can be ironed out? I didn't build Rat World as the ultimate in tacky

commercialism. I built it as a monument for the nation.

I'm sorry. I cannot endorse it in its present form and I cannot publish these

adverts in the Crucible.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have urgent things to attend to downstairs.

Yes, well, uh... Good morning, Mr. Rathbaird.

Yes, Dickie.

Good morning.

And finally, our resident psychiatrist, Dr. Lillian Schwarzkopf,

for her weekly column on the couch with lobotomy Lil.

Dear Lil, I have just undergone the distressing experience of a mastectomy.

It has left me totally shattered and unable to cope with life anymore.

Lil replies,

Cheer up, lovey, and keep your pecker up.

Okay, so you're a knocker down on most women, but you're still one up on Marty

Kane.

Your contracts all expire at the end of the month.

They will not be renewed.

It is too good for a man whose mission to El Salvador as political

resulted in a horse being sawn in half.

I am therefore demoting you to the lowliest rank possible in a national

newspaper. As from now, you are show business editor.

Really, Mr. Lipton, are you sure? Not another word, Greg.

Out! I've got a lot to do.

Joe Russell, probably of which brings me to what must be one of the greatest

single mysteries in modern civilization.

Who is it that writes the captions for the page three girl?

What species of deformed mutant can sit down and compose lines

like these?

Cockney Cawker, Susie Tompkins, 17, is a real brainy beauty.

She's got an O -level in geography.

Well, as we know one thing, her contours have certainly put her on the map.

A tree died for this, Russell.

She's a lump of plastic with teeth.

The women here are just about as real as the robots in Rat World.

Well, as for now, they're out.

There will be no more topless girls in this newspaper.

It worries me more than I can pay, Russell. I wish I'd never said I'd on

Dickie Lipton's old medical records.

As the actor in Rep, he suffered a severe nervous breakdown brought on by

pressures of playing King Lear and Widow Twankie on alternate nights.

He made a good discovery, of course, and has been in perfect mental health ever

since.

Nevertheless, Russell... You've got me worrying as well now, sir.

Who's to say that further emotional stress, fatigue and confusion might not

again push him over the precipice into the twilight zone of madness?

Script A50 brings us up to week 46, which is one of yours, Tony.

Then Gillian's, in which we finally discover the identity of the child's

Any points, anyone?

Yes. I'm not very happy with the master storyline, I'm afraid, though I've drawn

up a few changes.

In the first week's episode, Angie kills herself with a meat cleaver.

After her new lover goes off with Kenny Everett.

And Doc Cotton becomes pregnant.

After Libby and Gunman occupy the local laundrette.

A plain invitation from the left -wing council.

Also, I've rejigged your script for tomorrow, Jonathan.

The manager gave you the new script pages to type up.

All right, come on. You've no right to be in here.

But I presented my documentation at the gate. I told you, possession of a BBC

licence does not grant you the right to direct programmes.

There we go.

This is trial by television.

I hope the information I've given you will be of use in fathoming out the

affair at number 15.

Oh, I'm sure it will. And I've really enjoyed our three -hour discussion.

Incidentally, some of the other reporters who've interviewed me thought

little bit strange.

Yeah?

Just because you saw a yeti going into her house.

Very valuable, eh? I'm not certain it was a yeti. It was very dark at the

It could have been a yeti or Bigfoot.

as it's colloquially known.

Or indeed, some other gigantic species of ape -related extraterrestrial from

another world, say, Jupiter or Uranus.

It was very large, with huge, lumbering feet.

Feet. Terrific. Well, thanks for all the leaflets.

Incidentally. If you did wish to know more about my strange sightings and

discoveries, why not pop in one night to our local society?

It's the South Peckham and District UFO and Intriguing Phenomena Society.

Spadufoits.

And my name's Pooley.

P -O -O -L -Y.

Trevor.

Pooley. The first evening I get free.

OK, well, all the best, then, and thanks for your information.

Nice to have met you, Miss Troon. Oh, nice to have met you, Mr Loopy.

Look, Russell, you're just trying to confuse me. It doesn't make sense.

How could Dirty Dan's cousin Susie be having an affair with a former Nazi war

criminal? It's quite clear it's Greg's copy, Dickie. A man named Jim Barnes.

Yes, but Jim Barnes isn't a former Nazi war criminal. Well, of course he is.

What, just because he played a Gestapo officer in a low, low?

No, no, it isn't real. It's just a TV series.

So is EastEnders, Dickie.

Yes, but in EastEnders, he's not a Gestapo officer.

No, he isn't in EastEnders, Dickie. He's in Brookside.

Why should he be having an affair with Dirty Dan's cousin if she's in

EastEnders? She isn't in EastEnders. She's in Brookside.

But you just said she was Dirty Dan's cousin.

She is.

How could Dirty Dan's cousin in EastEnders be his cousin in Brookside?

She isn't Dirty Dan's cousin in EastEnders, Dickie.

But you just said she was.

No, she's Dirty Dan's cousin in real life.

The picket's on the front gate. It took me half an hour to get through.

The picket?

Well, we settled the Sogat dispute weeks ago.

It's not Sogat, Russell.

It's worse than that.

Much worse.

As the crippling strike by page three girls enters its second week, sales of

the major tabloids have tumbled by 60%. But the girls' newly formed union, the

Democratic Federation of Luscious Lovelies, plans to stay on strike until

members at the Crucible are reinstated.

General Secretary Mandy Papworth, 18, said, we're not as brainless as people

think. If necessary, we'll take our case to amputation.

And then John Helmender today launched an attack on a new front by

outside the entrance to Rat World, the multi -million pound amusement park of

Crucible owner Terence Rathbone.

Thousands of potential customers turned back, refusing to cross the picket line.

The man who started the whole dispute, Mr Richard Lipton, now being dubbed in

rival newspapers the tit -finder general, who came on the quarter earlier

outside the Crucible's premises in East London.

No, I do not prepare to bring back topless girls in the Crucible. To be

find naked bosoms quite distasteful. Well, stop toasting them, then.

Quite distasteful and an insult to women. I intend to preserve and protect

values I hold most dear, the simple values of human dignity.

This page three dispute is getting out of hand, Dickie. It was with unbridled

horror that I heard last night how you were beaten up in an alleyway by a gang

of cavacious cuties. For God's sake, this must be settled.

As a lifelong socialist, I cannot stand by and see innocent, sexy Sizzlers

thrown on the scrap heap. I cannot deny an individual the right to work, for

denying an individual the right to work is the effect of a bad curry in the

bottom of my heart.

Without in the least usurping your authority, I've referred this whole

to ACAS, and I trust you'll abide by their decision.

ACAS?

Right.

Incidentally, I hope you'll let me know if the strain is getting too much,

Dickie. If I thought all this was turning you into a mindless, gibbering

I'd have it on my conscience forever.

More Valium.

another report I found snooping around this morning, I hear. This is about the

only place left now you can get any privacy.

Confirmed that a deal has been worked out in this dispute, and I've been asked

to read the following statement.

From midnight tonight, the girls will resume normal working.

In return, the management of the Daily Crucible have agreed to reinstate all

photographs of bare breasts backdated to the 1st of March.

So, there'll be 13 pairs of them on page three tomorrow.

The pay structure will be phased in with differentials linked to nipple size.

And for scaled and highly scaled models, those with more than one facial

expression, there will be an incentive scheme involving Nick Kershaw's phone

number. Thank you.

Which one do you think, Dickie?

Page three, pick, strike, spiked.

Tip Finder General delts no -blows body blow as Dreamboat Dolly Deal gives green

light to Presspix Fleshpot Jackpot.

Pardon, Russell.

Huh?

Or this one.

Chest Flash Chick Fans Cheer Chart of a Cheesecake.

what you're saying to me anymore.

Don't want to think, Jack.

Shovel with the spread, Dickie.

TV star that spills all in the first installment of her sizzling bonk and

memoirs.

Former actress Goldie Finch tells it like it is behind the scenes and between

the sheets.

Over the next week, I will reveal, blob, how I put on black suspenders for

Friar Tuck.

to a Dalek.

Blah. How I was ravished at a showbiz orgy by Roland Ratt and Orville the

And ended up in a Soho nightclub snorting copasute.

Russell, I don't think I know what you're trying to do to me here.

I think I can't see that all this is just a try and make me crack up.

Sorry, Dickie. Well, it hasn't worked, has it?

Because I know what your game is.

I know what a tissue of lies all this is, Russell. Yes, Dickie. Yes, I know.

Because Sooty told me.

Thank you, Sooty.

Right. And from now on, Sooty and I are taking no nonsense from anyone.

Yes, we're first with the news again, as the white -hot crucible brings you the

burning issues of the century, the sensational medical secrets of the

EastEnders. Top -level investigative journalism triumphs again, as we uncork

amazing urine samples of the soap superstars. Yes, it's all in their

Who's threatened?

Who's diabetic?

Which well -known character is an alcoholic?

And just who has an embarrassing complaint that needs two injections a

it clears up?

Carly Street urologist tests the water and tells all. All this plus a chance to

win a year at Rat World with the dummy Queen and Prince Philip. Only in the

crucible tomorrow. The paper with integrity.

Words cannot describe, gentlemen, the outrageousness of this tasteless drivel.

Quite aside from how you came to acquire these unspeakable specimens in the

first place.

I and the BBC want to know what you propose to do to make amends for this

atrocity.

I understand your feelings, of course.

I fully sympathise with them. I can only ask you to be assured I'm in total

command of the situation and that I... Oh, my God, no, sit down. What are you

doing with that metal bar?

Afternoon. I'm Maggie Trink from the Daily Crucible newspaper.

I wonder if you could spare... Not today, darling. We're very busy men.

Why don't you hop in like a nice girl, eh?

Right. I suppose you've heard that the woman from next door here was found

murdered. Look, we don't know anything and we haven't seen anyone.

And if we had, we wouldn't tell the press.

Because they're the scum of the earth.

OK?

Thanks for your help, then.

Let a brick work between these sessions. Are you using timber or high -tensile

steel for these roof truss collars?

Timber.

I don't give much for your compressive stress ratios.

See you.

From the University of London, we bring you Miss Brainy Breasts of Britain,

introduced by your host, Richard Lipton.

And at the end of that run, Stephanie, you have scored no points today. You

passed on 36.

The letters USA stand for United States of America.

Contender, please, Miss Rat World.

Miss Rat World is an 18 -year -old mechanical robot.

Her hobbies are megalomania, self -publicity, and lifelong socialism.

Her ambition is to go around the world and buy it.

Greg, may I have the jar of human organs, please?

And you have dead... They can decide whether these are Dirty Dan's

or the duck's kidney stones, or Martin Cain's...

Right, you can paint the front of it any colour you want.

This is one here that I did earlier.

And I'm sure if your mummy got one of these for Mother's Day, she'd be

absolutely thrilled to bits. And the good thing about it...

It was a mistake anyone could have

made, Mr Rathbone. It seems that when Dickie came to in the BBC studio set of

the series, Casualty, where we left him for a lie down, he thought it was a real

hospital. He got out of the bed and stumbled naked into the studio next door

during a live broadcast of Blue Peter.

We can but hope that the shock of exposing his genitals to millions of

schoolchildren at tea time will not impede his return to full health. And I,

my part, will personally ensure that his rest cure at the London Rat Health

Clinic is made as comfortable as possible and that he's fully shielded

upset that might unhinge his mind.

Well, I feel as fit as a fiddle again and ready to get back to work at the

crucible again. And may I thank you, Mr. Rathbone, from the bottom of my heart,

for your kindness, understanding, tireless support, and... Impressed,

How they do it beats me.

As from tomorrow, this automated robot will have pride of place at Rat World in

the new exhibit, Great Flashers of the 20th Century.

Well done, Dickie.

off his master, and a story with some sordid text. Feel someone's secrets we

have grabbed, famous facts that we have stabbed.

Now you want to know