All language subtitles for The Two Ronnies s05e04

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

in a packed programme tonight, we shall
be talking to a stereo expert about his

favourite breakfast, two bowls of Rice
Krispies ten feet apart.

Then we'll have a novelty dance by Rita
Mertricata, who dresses only in three

coins. No, we let her come on the show
as she's down to her last penny.

And we'll be talking to another young
lady who is a world authority on

an expert on rugs and not at all bad on
lino.

But first, the news.

After an all -night sitting in the House
of Commons, all parties have now agreed

it must have been the curry.

Figures released today show that two out
of every ten men work for a

nationalised industry, while the other
eight sit and watch them.

Mr Osbert Grove, Britain's worst ever
postman, who claims he was wrongfully

dismissed by the GPO, today delivered a
petition to the Queen at 15 Station

Street, Scumford.

Following an incident in Oxford Street
involving three ladies shoppers and a

policeman's truncheon, Mr Burt Whither,
a one -man band, has been charged with

conducting himself improperly.

And more news indeed from the world of
music.

Shirley Bassey has just had a single
come out.

One of the straps broke on her dress.

But now a sketch in which Mr Ronnie
Corbett performs the last dance of Bert

Higgins, the famous one -legged tap
dancer.

He collapses in the middle of his act
and has to crawl off the stage on all

threes.

Crowded tonight.

Crowded tonight.

Unusual, you know that, for a Sunday.

Unusual, you know that, for a Sunday.

Would you mind not repeating everything
I say, please?

I'm awfully sorry. Sorry.

My name's Arthur Wilkins, by the way.
Oh, hello, I'm George Prothero. Ah,

I'm George Prothero.

You said you were Arthur Wilkins.

You said you were Arthur Wilkins.

My God, you're doing it again.

My God, you're doing it again.

Please not interrupt me all the time and
repeat everything I say.

More repeats with you than the BBC.

I'm awfully sorry.

Awfully sorry.

I bought a calendar in Tamworth
yesterday.

That's better. That's better.

You're doing it again.

You're doing it again. Stop it. Stop it.
Look, I may be unusual, but I find it

very irritating for someone to keep
repeating everything I say all the time.

It's not what I regard as the art of
conversation.

I'm awfully sorry, but I've got this
nervous compulsion, you see. The first

three things that anybody says, I
repeat.

Then the next one, I don't.

Then the next three, I repeat.

The next one, I don't. And so on.

Oh, my God, how awful. Oh, my God, how
awful.

Well, the best thing for me to do is to
get through my next two remarks as

quickly as possible. Knickers.

Well, the best thing for me to do is get
through my next remarks as quickly as

possible. Knickers.

More knickers.

More knickers.

Good. Good. Now, perhaps we can talk
some sense. How long has this complaint

been going on? Ah, good. Now, perhaps we
can talk some sense. How long has this

complaint been going on?

You've just repeated me a fourth time.
Yes, I know. I think it's getting worse.

I think you're a fake.

I think you're a fake. Right.

I'll fix you.

To escort an orangutan from Barden
-Barden to Wagga -Wagga via Addis Ababa

vice versa is enough to make a Gurkha
Sherpa commit harikiri.

To escort an orangutan from Baden -Baden
to Wagga Wagga via Addis Ababa and vice

versa is enough to make a Sherpa Gurka
commit hara -kiri.

Tasmanian Dalmatians hate Romanian
Alsatians, and Romanian Alsatians hate

Tasmanian Dalmatians. But antiquarian
Bulgarians love planetarians, and

Romanians, Lithuanians, and Tasmanians
all love uranium.

Sometimes I only repeat things twice.

Arnold Splint, and I am here tonight.

This is an appeal for women only. Now,
please don't switch off, because it's

men I want to talk to especially
tonight.

I'm appealing to you for women. I need
them desperately.

I can't get enough.

And the reason I'm appealing to you men
is that I don't appeal to women.

But I still need them.

So this is how you can help. If you have
an old woman you no longer need, send

her to me. Simply tie her arms and legs
together, wrap her in brown paper, and

post her to me, care of the BBC, with
your own name printed clearly on the

bottom.

Because that's the bit I shall undo
first.

Send as many women as you like, no
matter how small.

I assure you all those accepted will be
made good use of by me and my team of

helpers. who, incidentally, carry on
this work many without any form of

I do hope you can find time to send me
something. We did originally start

collecting with a van from door to door,
but this scheme was abandoned owing to

the wear and tear on the knockers.

I think we should remember that
Christmas comes but once a year, and

does come, and you are sitting at home
by your own fireside, warming yourself

beside a roaring great woman.

All those poor unfortunate people who
are having to go without at Christmas.

Why not send them an old flame or two to
warm the cockles of their hearth rug?

Please, post them off today.

Help us set up our women on wheel
service for old men who can't move

I know it's not easy. It requires self
-denial, patience, and an enormous

of string.

But I'm sure you'll feel better for it.
I know I shall. Good night.

Under 1898, the Phantom roamed the
streets, outraging decent human beings

surprise attacks.

No one was safe from this deadly
assailant. The Prime Minister's butler

full brunt of the first onslaught.

Oh, no!

Help! I have never been so... And from
then on, no one of aristocratic blood

could rest easily in their beds.

The Duchess of Ard had been found
floating in her plumage.

The raspberry tattooed on each knee.

He got the week. The phantom
relentlessly continued his attacks.

Time and time again, the phantom struck
all over London.

Heavily overworked, the police force was
in danger of collapse, but the search

went doggedly on.

Here, I want to work with you.

Here,

I want to work with you.

Then, one morning, a ray of hope.

You're twiddling, Inspector.

But this is Mrs. Socks.

What is? This woman I've got hold of
here. Oh, is it? Good afternoon. Please

down. Thank you. No, not you, sir.
Please do.

Now, Mrs. Socks, would you tell me,
please, all you know about the Phantom?

Well, he's my son.

Oh?

Oh. I know I shouldn't be informing on
him to the Roses, but I think you ought

to know why he's a -doing of it.

And why is he a -doing of it?

Well, I've known him since he was born.

It all started with his father.

Yes, yes, it would do, yes.

And his socks and I were a happy pair.

He was a master rubber cushion moulder.

Naturally. Well, he was employed by the
late Lord Cardigan, a wealthy practical

joker, to make whoopee cushions to
embarrass his guests at dinner.

Well, one of his guests, General Fergus
Park, was outraged.

and he in turn decided to make whoopee
cushions bigger and better and louder

ruder to embarrass Lord Cardigan.

I see.

There started a conflict between them,
and the pressure upon my husband was

terrific. Lord Cardigan worked him night
and day to outdo General Pock.

Quite. I do hope I'm not boring you,
Inspector.

Not at all. Go on.

Finally, exhausted after... Ten years of
conflict, they called the truth.

And both invited Ernest and I to dinner.

But, unbeknown to us, they had secreted
an explosive giant whoopee cushion

under my husband's chair.

Then what happened?

Well, as he sat down, the shot was too
much. He had a seizure in his leg.

And what did you do?

I was so surprised, I nearly went... A
tablecloth with my white wine.

And your son swore revenge on behalf of
his father?

Indeed he did. Swore something terrible.

Where is he now, then?

I don't know. I wish I did.

What did you say his first name was?

Dick.

Dick? Dick?

No, just one Dick.

Sergeant Bowles? Yes, sir?

Arrest all men called Dick. Very good,
sir.

And here...

Ever since his father's death, he swore
to get even by attacking the ruling

classes. Even royalty.

Even royalty, eh?

Do you know what this means, Sergeant
Rose? No, sir.

No, I didn't think you would.

It means he may attack even royalty.

Her Majesty.

We must protect the Queen's person at
all costs.

Yes, sir.

Mr. Queen's person, sir.

I have no time to bandy legs with you,
Bowles.

Queen is in mortal danger. Even now it
may be too late.

We must round up all those who are
loosely connected with royalty, whose

Christian name is Dick.

A seemingly hopeless task.

Pardon? No, I didn't speak.

How could even the great Inspector Corn
of the Yard trace one madman in a city

of six million inhabitants?

As luck would have it, The first person
they questioned, called Dick, also had

royal connections.

Dick Harrison, sons.

Loyal subject, you say, Wells?

I don't know, sir.

He says cobblers to the queen.

I think that's a better investigation.

Good day, my man.

I'm a police officer.

They'll be ready Thursday.

They've not come for shoes. I am
pursuing inquiries.

Well, it ain't been through here.

Shut up, Henry.

That's Henry, my brother. He'd be daft.

Not like me. I'd be saving two shillings
to get married.

When were you cobblers for the Queen?

I wasn't. Then why is it on your sign?

Oh, I shouted it once in Hyde Park.

Shut up, Henry, and dip your head in a
bucket of water.

He's terrible scrubbing pains in his
anvil.

I think we're wasting our time here,
Bill. Sure.

That's right, gentlemen.

They'll be ready Thursday.

It's all right, Dick. They've gone.

If you don't calm down, it'll be the
trains again.

The trains! And the rats!

Don't stand!

The rats!

Stop it!

Stop it! Will you stop it? Otherwise,
I'll be done for.

No one must know my awful secret. No one
must know that I'm harping the phantom

raspberry blower of old London town.

Ladies and gentlemen,

Barbara Dixon.

Good day sunshine.

Good day sunshine.

Good day sunshine.

We take a walk.

The sun is shining down.

touch the ground.

And then

we lie beneath a shady tree.

She feels good.

She knows she's been fine.

Secret by Pam Ayres.

I'm on the telly all the time with poems
what I wrote, suppressing giggles in me

cheek and chuckles in me throat.

But I'm now going to surprise you.

Forgive me if I brag about my well -kept
secret.

I'm Benny Hill in drag.

Good evening.

I am speaking to you tonight on behalf
of the Liberal Party.

Now, I'm not going to bore you with a
lot of political clichés which you've

heard time and time again.

Broken promises, soaring prices,
inflation, and all the empty

rhetoric that the Conservatives and
Socialists are so fond of.

I... I'm a liberal.

I am interested in honesty.

And that is why I say to you, let's look
at the facts.

There are people who say there's no
difference between the political parties

anymore. They say that conservatives and
socialists and liberals are all saying

the same thing.

We are not.

And those who say we are saying the same
thing, We in the Labour Party say

wrong. That isn't true at all.

There are basic, radical, fundamental
differences between all three

parties on which there can never, repeat
never, be any real

measure of agreement. Absolutely. What
are those differences?

Well, it is only the conservatives who
really believe in an extended economy,

a united Europe, and the freedom of the
individual. And you're grim.

So why not change your vote this
election and vote for the party with the

difference, the Liberal Party.

Good night, and God bless you.

You know, the newspapers are always so
ludicrously coy about any reference

About any reference to... Any reference
to

the... The procreative habits.

The what?

The procreative... Well, in layman's
language, to be... I mean, the physical

union. The physical conjunction.

What? The papers are.

They always skirt round the subject,
don't they?

What subject?

Well, the subject of not to beat about
the bush, the subject of not beating

about the bush, and being certain about
certain things that do go on between a

man and a woman when married.

Pardon?

Look, to be blunt, the things that the
papers aren't blunt about.

You know, in a word, thing.

Thing.

Thing.

Thing, you know.

What you make when your wife is in bed
on Sunday morning.

Breakfast, you know.

Oh,

sex!

Yes.

Oh, that.

They're all so...

evasive about it, aren't they? Not like
you or I.

I mean, you know, one ought to be able
to use

certain words, you know, freely, like,
um, like, um, like

certain words, you know, which one can
use freely.

Yes, yes, yes, but they're so evasive
about it, aren't they?

The weather's been very nice recently,
hasn't it?

I mean, they always try and skirt around
the subject, don't they? My wife bought

a nice new hat the other day. It was
very nice.

I mean, it says here, look, intimacy
took place.

Now, why did they just come out with it
and say he gave her a jolly good? Did

you see the cricket?

No, I mean, why did they just say he
gave her a jolly good? Crickets!

Why did they say he gave her a jolly
good dinner and then took her home?

intimacy took place.

It's the same with the contra... with
contra... you know, with... with the

pill.

Does your wife take the pill?

I don't pry into a private life.

Mine does. Does she? Yes. Oh, it's my
stop now.

Mind you, only one a day.

Still, that's seven a week, you know.

Of course, we don't use all of them.

Now here is the late news. We've just
heard that in the English Channel, a

carrying red paint has collided with a
ship carrying purple paint.

It is believed both crews have been
marooned.

News from the courts.

A sheik from Abu Dhabi... appeared in
Kuwait Divorce Court today.

His harem claimed infidelity and cited
the Dagenham Girl Pipers.

And a man was prosecuted for cruelty by
the RSPCA. He bought a homing pigeon and

then moved house.

A member of the Buckingham Palace staff
who was accused of stealing ten large

cans of beans, seven pounds of radishes,
and three jars of pickled onions.

has been given a royal pardon.

Our next sketch will feature an artistic
lady nudist who will do lightning pen

and ink sketches, as long as she doesn't
drop her fountain pen and ink -a -dink

-a -do.

Thank you. Thank you, the studio
audience.

No, they really are.

Fabulous audience here this evening, I
can say that.

Good heaven. Well, I think I can,
really.

It's amazing, you know, the difference
that a bowl of soup and a promise of a

bed for the night can make.

Listen to this.

This will make you laugh.

Well, it won't make everybody laugh, you
know, because you can never please

everybody, as we know.

I was working, this is true, I was
working in the theatre last week, and

the performance, two little boys at the
stage doors, and one said, I thought you

were very good, he said. Will you give
me your autograph?

And the other one said, well, I thought
you were rotten.

So I gave him 10p, you see, to the
little boy who said I was rotten. And

other little boy said, I said you were
very good and you gave me nothing.

And he said you were rotten and you gave
him 10p.

And I said, well, I gave him 10p because
he was being absolutely honest.

And the other little boy said, what do
you mean he was being honest?

He never even saw the show. It was me
that told him you were rotten.

Anyway.

Here is this very funny story that my
agent sold me. Now, it's about an

airliner full of holidaymakers returning
from the continent.

Now, there's always a temptation, you
know, when a comedian is talking about

airplanes, to do the jokes, you know,
about the plane was so old that it had

outside toilet. And when we landed to
refuel, we took on wood.

But I am not.

I'm not going to do that sort of thing
because, I mean, all that was years ago

when, you know, when they did these
really cheap continental holidays, you

the old kamikaze pound stretchers.

The white, white knuckle flights, you
know, where everybody used to sit there,

you know, before takeoff, holding their
breath, you know.

Sometimes it was so quiet you could hear
the death watch beetle in the

propellers.

And then, and then when the
undercarriage failed, All the third

passengers had to put their legs through
holes in the floor and run like hell,

you know.

But I have just had a thought that there
might be viewers watching at home.

You know, it's possible. It's a cold
night and people just can't afford to go

the pubs and pictures like they used to,
you know. I rang our local cinema last

night and I said, what time does the big
picture start?

He said, what time can you get here?

Not exactly true, but they have had to
make economies, you know. I mean, we

to have a very pretty girl with a torch
showing us to our seats, you know.

Now they've got a cat with one eye that
walks down the aisle backwards.

But what I'm trying to say, if I'll give

myself half a chance, is that there
might be viewers watching at home of a

nervous disposition who don't like
aeroplane stories, you know.

Actually, my wife has been like that
ever since, you know, during the war.

Her father was shot down by one of our
own aircraft.

No, he was up there building a chimney
and the pilot mistook him.

The pilot mistook him for an enemy
bricklayer.

So if I may digress for a moment, just
to suggest that any nervous viewers that

can slope off now, make a cup of wind
carnage while we finish the J -O -K -E

about the...

Now, what other show looks after
neurotics like we do?

We should get a grant from the National
Health.

We do? I didn't know that. So, I knew I
got a grant

from the National Health. You do if
you're my height.

An undersized grant.

So, anyway, the pilot, back in the
airplane, the pilot said, We shall be

at London. It's the microphone in here.
He said, we shall be landing... What?

Little pen pictures I paint. We shall be
landing... Oh, dear.

It's like the rep at Cromer. We shall be
landing... We shall be landing... We're

doing Lorna Doon at the moment.

At Cromer, you know.

Case comes up on Thursday, but anyway.

We shall be... We shall be landing...

But we shall be landing at London...
We'll be landing in a minute. Hang on.

We shall be landing at London Airport in
five minutes.

Please fasten your seatbelts. Thank you
very much.

And inadvertently, forgetting to turn
the mic off, he turned to the co -pilot,

he said, and the first thing I'm going
to do when I land is have a pint, and

then I'm going to make mad, passionate
love, violent love to that new blonde

hostess. So the hostess down the
airplane, she hears this.

you know, from one of the speakers. So
she runs down the cabin, you know, to

tell him to switch it off, and trips
flat on her face over an old lady's

The old lady looks down and says, no
need to be in such a hurry, dear, she

I distinctly heard him say he was going
to have a pint first.

The last guest will be presented exactly
as it arrived from the author.

It's full of misprints.

But he refuses to sack his typist as she
has a widowed mother and a 42 -inch

bust.

In other words, two very good reasons.

Here, then, is the sketch entitled All
in a Day's Burp.

Good morning, Mr. Sorbit.

Rude morning, Mr. Basker.

Hotter you this morning.

Wool, I trust?

Oh, phone absolutely bone.

I've got a lot of wonk. to do this
morning.

So have I. I've got an enormous pole in
my entry.

Anything in the newspaper?

What?

The nude paper.

Anything in the newspaper?

Not a log, not a log.

No. It's all body dicks these days, you
know.

There's a little bit in here about the
TV play last night. Did you see it? No,

we had some friends over for a mall.

Spicy. Girl running around in nothing
but a pair of knickers.

I see Mrs. Teithouse has complained
again.

She needs a swift kick up the arm.

Quite. I mean, it's not as if she
removed her knockers.

I mean, that would have been different.

Yes, absolutely.

Talking of that, have you seen Mrs.
Wiggins this morning?

She's late again, as usual.

You know, she's been laid every day this
week.

Well, I'll soon put a slop to that.

I'll give her a weeds notice.

Oh, don't do that.

Why knit?

Well, I'd hate to see her toe from here.

Why?

Well, if you must know, Mrs Higgins and
I are in Hove.

Mrs. Friggins.

Yes, but don't toll anyone. It's a
Socrates.

She doosn't wint any bocky to pole about
it.

Now, is that clear?

What, not even moo?

Not even you.

All right. It's O .F. by me.

Well, well, Weddle, you crafty old sea
and so.

I've been so unhappy, you know. Oh.

Well, she's all I ever wanted in a
Roman.

Churning, rude -looking, and a wonderful
doth position.

Why are you so unhacky? Why are you
frying?

Why don't you just get matted?

Well, she's already morried.

Oh, a Jewish chap.

Yes.

The situation is absolutely sopless.

I just have to put a stoke to it. I
mean, over these past few months, it's

so difficult for me to hide my fooling.

Please, you're giving me indigestion as
it is.

Where are my piles?

Oh, here they are.

Come along.

Come along.

Blow your note.

That's it. Oh, morning, Miss Biggins.

Morning.

Morning, Rennie.

Morning, Rummy.

Why are you late?

You know you're supposed to be here by
nine o 'clock.

Well, I'm very soddy.

I thought I'd been here on the bot.

But, um, I had to see the dictator.

Doctor, you're not feeling all, are you?

I never felt better in my loaf.

He's just told me I'm going to have a
boobie.

What?

It's true.

I'm going to be a tummy.

A little bit of two lotions, my bear.

Go in there and put your fees up.

You must bake it easy for a while, you
know. Oh, thank you. You're very kind.

Well, that's that, isn't it, eh? That's
the end of your little affair.

Now you'll have to put a slop to it,
won't you, eh?

Which means, my dear Chip, that all your
trebles are over.

Well, not really. I mean, her husband's
a sailor. He might take me out to sea

and throw me overboard.

Why should he do that? Because of the
child.

He hasn't been home for two years.

What are you trying to tell me?

Do I have to spell it out for you?

I'm going to be a beaver.

Thank you.

Oh, Bolter John was young and fair, and
Bolter John was gay.

He said, I'll tread the morning dew to
take the air, and listen to the

twittering of the birds all day, the
bumblebees at play.

The twit, the twit, the twit, the twit,
the twittering of the birds all day. The

bum, the bum, the bumblebees at play.

Oh, Sir John, he went his way, observing
nature's path.

Dear mother, oh, tell me, pray, why
elephants live so long, they say. Your

live but a day, then they drop dead upon
the grass.

Your flies, your flies, your flies, your
flies, your flies live but a day, then

they drop dead, drop dead, drop dead.

Now both of John, he met a maid as on
her back she lay.

Please show respect and come not near,
for I've seen many a maiden here. Get

lost among the new moneys, so doff your
hat, I pray.

Get lost, get lost, get lost, get lost,
get lost among the new moneys. So doff,

so doff, so doff.

When bold Sir John returned home, they
gave him gin to try.

Nay, fill me not with liquor up, though
give me grain or grape to sup. Poor cow

slips dew into my cup, a pure return am
I.

Poor cow, poor cow, poor cow, poor cow,
poor cow slips dew into my cup. Up you,

up you, up you.

Up you, up you, up you, up you.

Well, that's all for this week. Next
week we'll meet a man who crossed a

with a lady contortionist and got a girl
who could tickle her own fancy.

And we'll talk to an interior decorator
who crossed an elephant with an

axminster rug and got a big thick pile
on his carpet.

But now it's goodnight from me and it's
goodnight from him. Goodnight.