All language subtitles for The Two Ronnies s06e07.eng

Good evening, it's good to be back with
you again, isn't it, Ronnie? Yes, it is.

And in a packed programme tonight, we
shall be going over live to Victoria

Station, where the world's thinnest man
is taking his bride, the world's

thinnest woman, off on honeymoon.

They're looking forward to a rattling
good time.

But first, first the news.

Published in Dublin today were the
results of the Irish government's

on the clothes chop.

99 % voted for Wednesday afternoons.

The Pidderminster man who today squirted
cavity wall foam up a policeman's

trousers will appear in court tomorrow
charged with insulating behaviour.

Good Housekeeping magazine today named
Elizabeth Taylor Good Housekeeper of the

Year. She's been divorced five times and
always kept the house.

A Republican in Islington today sacked
all his topless barmaids for dipping

the tilt.

A sad day today at Lord George
Davidson's circus when Arthur Yallop,

fly, committed insecticide.

A large audience attended the world
premiere of a symphony written by two

newlyweds. It starts with a roll on the
drums, continues with a squeeze on the

harmonium, and builds up to a big finish
on the linoleum.

A now sketch featuring Mr. Ronnie Barker
as a nudist who can't add up and has to

count on his friends.

I ought to be sorry, ladies and
gentlemen, about my brother.

He's quite all right, really. It's just
he keeps taking so many pills and they

keep affecting him in different ways.

All right, now, shh, shh, shh.

Come on, come on. Yes, have a number
seven. Nice number seven.

Is everybody happy?

I'm awfully sorry about this. I think it
was that half of lager. Could you take

that glass away from him, John? Thank
you.

Shouldn't you take him home? No, no, no,
no. He's enjoying himself. Look, he's

like... Sit him over here. Anyway, we
don't get invited to many parties. You

know, I don't know why.

I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'll
give him a number eight. That never

fails. There we are. Oh, no, that's a
number seven. Here we are. Here's a

eight. Come on. Open up. Nice number
eight.

Come on. And there we go.

What? Oh.

Oh, I'm terribly sorry. It's all right.
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spoil you.

I'm sorry. Did I raise my voice? I'm
awfully sorry. I'm awfully sorry. Did I?

Oh, this must be your lovely wife, is
it?

Isn't she beautiful?

Oh, dear.

Oh, I've given him an eight after a
five. That always makes him a bit...

Oh, dear. I'm awfully sorry.

You must be Reg's wife, Genevieve, are
you?

It's been so long.

Aye, aye, aye. Come, come.

Aye, aye, aye. Come.

Aye, aye, aye.

Hello, are you speaking?

I'm going to end it all. No, no. End it?
You must. You'll kill yourself. No, no.

I'm going to stop.

No, no. Not other people's. Other
people's. Drown myself.

You can't drown yourself. There's no
water. Yes, there is. What? Oh.

I've got some brand new ones here.
Number 11. I'll give him a number 11.

me! No, don't do that. It's not an 11.

It's a 7 -iron. That'll kill him.

Of course it isn't.

Come on out, little tranquilizer. Come
along.

Would you hold that, Jeff, please? Oh,
I'm sorry. Come on, little tranquilizer.

There, you can chew that one.

There.

There. You see?

Oh, yes, that's working. He's gone very
tranquil. Oh, lovely. Dr. Dawless will

be here in a minute. I don't think we
can wait for Dr. Dawless. No, I think I

ought to take him away before he spoils
people's evenings.

Yes, come along. I'll just take him.
There we go.

Oh, he's also tranquil. Look at that.

Whoa, just a minute.

I'll just give him a revitalizer.

Yes, just one for the road. Come along.

There's a good lad. One for the road.

There's a good boy.

I'll say goodnight to everyone, will
you? Goodnight, everyone.

That's it. Thank you very much for
loving me.

Must do it again sometime. Goodnight.

Goodnight. Goodnight, Jeff.

And may I just say, how do you fancy a
bunch of flies?

My name is Spooner.

Spock to do now.

I was, uh, I was passing the punt of
your shop, and I thought I would book in

for a look. Look in for a book.

You must forgive me. I sometimes get one
word nuzzled up with a mother.

I'm frequently made of laughing frock.

Oh, yes, Dr.

Spooner, of course.

You're most welcome, sir.

Now, which book did you require?

Well, how about The Complete Shirks of
Wakespeare?

Or perhaps a book of poetry by Kelly or
Sheets?

low on poetry at the moment. Oh, Peter
Wattie. I mean, Potter.

He was to be a crescent for my pud lady.

Your pud lady, sir? Yes, my wife, the
dear thing.

Ah, if it is for a lady, perhaps
something fairly easy to read.

Not too taxing for the female brain.

Ah, on the contrary, nothing too simple.
Oh, no, no, no, no. My wife is a bright

little reader.

A romantic novel, then. Well,
romantic...

Ah, yes, the vicar of Wakefield,
providing it doesn't arouse her animal

instincts. You see, she is very fond of
red beading.

Beading in red, that is.

And last month I bought her Wuthering
Heights, and when I got home that night,

she was kneading it in the rood.

So I don't wish to encourage her to leap
out of her vicars for the knicker of

Wakefield.

Quite. Quite.

Now, let me see, what about chickens?

Pardon? Dahl's Chickens.

Which, in my opinion, one of our most
nipping grovelists.

Something like David Kipperfield or
Knockerless Nickleby.

Ah, I know. What is the one about the
lady with the large chest who advertises

it for sale in the local newspaper?

By Dickens. Yes, by Dickens. You must
know it. Yes, yes.

Oh, of course, The Tale of Two Cities.

I'm afraid not, sir. We could all...
book for you. No, no, that won't do. No,

must have it at once. You see, my wife
has gone to the seaside at Wigan, and

comes back tomorrow, and I wanted to
give her the wook when she got sea from

backside at Wigan.

I mean, I wanted to give her the whack
when she got big from the wee side. I

wanted the book for the whack on the
backside.

I wanted to give her the Wigan.

Do you understand me?

Absolutely. Oh, thank you very much.
Perhaps I should have a book for myself.

Now, what have you to offer me?

A charm from your obvious parts.

Apart from your obvious charms.

Well, it is rather difficult without
knowing your taste.

Perhaps something of an instructional
nature. A textbook.

Ah, now one of my gobbies is hardening.

You need a copy of the complete...

No, no, no, no. Gardening, my dear,
gardening. Oh, I love my garden. When

shun is signing and the twirds are
bittering, how wonderful it is to rip

pick a few noses.

Perhaps a book on flowers?

Familiar wild flowers, from stinkwort to
periwinkle. No, no, no, not wild

flowers. No, no, no. No, there is no
room in my garden for periwort or

stinkwinkle. No, no, no, no. They must
be cultivated flowers. They must be

tupins or lulips, cocksclubs and
farnesians.

Sweet peas, poo -bells and little net
got me forth.

Do you have a gouse with a harden?

No, I live in furnished rooms.

Ah, well, then you must come and see my
garden. Oh, yes, and if you like it, I

will gladly give you the goose of it.

Why not pop round tomorrow for key and
trumpets?

I would love to.

Good, then let's sunsetter at Kittle,
shall we? Goodbye.

I fear we still haven't found you
anything to read.

Ah, don't worry. If it hadn't been
roaring with pain outside, I wouldn't

bummed in for a cook in the first place.

Iggy Malone and Charlie Farley,
investigating the Yokels murders in the

of Devonshire, have built up an alarming
list of suspects.

Lucy Lee, the gypsy girl, who seemed on
the point of revealing everything, and

indeed had already revealed quite a lot.

Farmer Green, an old man who had a small
holding.

And his wife, who had a large holding.

An ugly -looking villain who had leapt
up from a coffin and disappeared into

night. And finally, Lady Bulstrode, lady
of the manor, who kept herself to

herself, drank a bottle of scotch a day
and pickled her own onion.

Our two bewildered heroes decided to
keep a close watch on the churchyard.

I soon relate that someone's bound to
turn up at the church.

No one will spot us up here, will they?
Well, even if they do, it doesn't

matter. They'll never recognise us.

We just look like a couple of, you know,
hikers.

On pleasure bent.

Yeah, we certainly look bent all right.

Do I have to wear this hat?

Look, you must keep the sun off.

Besides, the colour of your moustache
doesn't match the colour of your hair.

Why can't I have a grey moustache?

Of course, that's a Hitler moustache.
Hitler didn't have a grey moustache.

Well, people will know I'm not Hitler,
won't they?

Well, if you don't take your hat off,
they won't.

Secluded up here, isn't it?

Yeah. Just us, really, and these two
people camping on the hill. Yeah.

I wonder why they've got the tent.

perched on the side of the island.

Well, it's well known, isn't it, when
you go camping?

You do try to arrange to have it on the
side.

Well, yes, in case it rains, then the
water all runs away.

Wonderful view up here.

Yes, isn't it?

Blimey, I thought my trousers were
tight.

Look out, Chief, there's someone coming
out of the church.

It's a district nurse, Chief.

District nurse?

What's she doing at the church?

Don't know. There's not much needs
curing up there, apart from the

Perhaps she's been cutting the vicar's
corns ready for the harvest festival.

There she goes, off to torture some poor
old -age penchant.

Just a minute. Do you see what I see?

Another one.

Surely the vicar doesn't have one for
each foot.

Perhaps he gets them all round to give
them an estimate.

I don't like it. Something funny going
on, something fishy.

The sooner we get down there, the
better.

Mark my words, trouble is on its way.

Trouble's right. It's that airy camper.

Look out.

Here. Were you looking through them
binoculars at my wife's doings?

Her doings?

Yes. Her activities.

Oh, no, monsieur.

Je n 'en parle pas depuis.

Nous mustons parler English.

Please.

Isn't that right, Chief?

Oh, yes, sir.

We must go, because...

Yes, yes.

Yes, yes. Yes, yes.

Hello,

sir.

Jake? Yes, get somewhere round it.

I swear that was a man dressed as a
woman.

I reckon you usually are.

Won't she?

what this is, Chief.

It's a mine.

Listen.

Machinery.

But why would they want to build a coal
mine underneath a church?

Who said anything about a coal mine?

They mine other things as well.

Copper, tin. Shh.

Somebody's coming. Get in.

Where have you been, Hobson? You're
late.

Her ladyship's been going mad on the
phone, wondering where everybody is.

What kept you? My suspender, bro.

God save us.

Well, look, get this lot up to the manor
as quick as you can. It's got to be

shipped out with the onions tonight.

Hobson, wait.

What are you doing here?

Well, we... Well, we were following the
path from the village, you see.

Yes, sir. We're hikers. Yes, yes.

I wonder if you could help us.

Which is the quickest way to the
graveyard?

Do you know something?

I think you've found it.

What will happen to Piggy and Charlie?
Do the villains suspect anything? And if

so, will the district nurse give them
the full treatment?

Don't miss next week's final gripping
episode of Stop!

You're killing me!

217. Oh, dear, she's a bit of a madam,
she is. Yeah, look at that in there.

Oh,

dear, it's not like the old days.

This really used to be a four -star
hotel once.

Oh, dear.

Stop picking any circles in here
tonight.

What's this one here?

Evening.

This is one anchor, chief, and it ought
to be a minimum charge, you know. One

anchor... Well,

the chute's certainly working all right.

Of course it is. It's a chute, isn't it?
That's why it's called a chute. You

stick that on the top, it shoots down
the bottom. That's why it's called a

chute, isn't it? Well, I realise that,
yes, but I'm just checking, you see. I

didn't want you to think I'd been flung
down in or anything like that.

I'm the new assistant manager, by the
way, Mr Arkwright. Oh, are you? Johnson,

night laundry supervisor.

Ah, correct.

That's all we needed. You're assistant
manager. Oh, blimey, call Arkwright.

Whatever next... Yes, it's

definitely working all right.

Is someone chucking you down there?

No, no, no, no. The carpet at the top's
a bit ruched. I'll have to have it

repaired. Who's chucking you down there?
The people in 107.

They're having a bit of a party up
there. Oh, are they? Yeah.

What are they doing up there? A bit
bronzed in this, are they? A bit legless

there. Come again?

Pie -eyed as a pudding, are they?

Well, the grape is flowing a bit, yes, I
must be honest. They're a little bit

merry, you know. Yeah, well, I wouldn't
stand for all that being chucked down

the old chute and all that.

No, no, I should go up there and talk to
them straight.

Yes, but be firm but reasonable, see?
Firm but reasonable. That's right. Yes,

should be that. Yeah.

Dear, dear, dear.

Where do they get them from? They must
have a useless Twitch training centre

around here.

I was diplomatic but firm, you know what
I mean? Look, you go and tell them.

Either they knock it on the head or out
they go.

Yes, I should. Right, that's the ticket.
Right, now you tell them that. But be

diplomatic. I will. Just say to them,
we're not running a hotel here for

and they're like to you.

Explain to them... Explain to them that
whereas we realise they were guests,

they must consider the other guests. I
see. Did they come to a decision?

They did, yes. They decided to throw me
down the chute again.

That's it, that's tacked up the
spouting, that's diplomacy out the

it? You go in there with all guns
blazing, mate. I shall do that. The

shall go in there with, as you say, all
guns blazing. That's right.

Right. Go on, then.

Oh, behind the bags.

What's this?

218, what's he been up to? What's he
been... Oh, dear, he's a silly man, that

218. Look, you can't wear this with
this, can you?

I'm getting through to them slowly.

Would you like to go up there and give
me some moral support?

All right, then. Go on, then.

Here, dear, you go first.

Listen, I don't know why you want moral
support.

I'm

not

cut out to be an assistant manager.

You seem a bit overloaded down here. May
I give you a hand? Certainly. Help

yourself, Gladys. What do you have to
do?

Ladies and gentlemen, the Nolan
business.

You've either got or you haven't got

And how

it brought

me applause.

not... Yes, Biffa McGee. That's right,
yes.

Well, fancy seeing you here in the
Adventurers' Club. What?

Oh, God, it must be... How long has it
since I saw you? Must be... Oh, must be

longer than that, I think.

Tell me, Gherkin, old chap.

Pickles. What?

Arthur Pickles. Oh, Pickles. I'm awfully
sorry.

Fancy calling you Gherkin when your
name's Pickles.

Yes, you haven't changed a bit, you
know.

No? No, no, apart from the long
trousers, of course.

Do you remember that awful accident you
had in 4B once?

Well, I'm on my way. I didn't even know
you were a member of the Adventurous

Club. Well, I'm not really. I only
popped in for practice. Not a member?

Oh, yes, I'm a member.

Yes, I've just joined, actually. Good,

good, good.

Welcome aboard, then.

Oh, it's a wonderful club, this, you
know. Wonderful.

Over 300 years old, you know, this club.

Oh, you look in the book, all the names
are there.

Lawrence of Arabia, Scott of the
Antarctic, Edmund Hillary, Tony Hatch,

all in there.

of impostors, you know. Oh, I can
believe that. Yes, people whose only

is to catch the 745 in the King's Cross
each morning. I know the sort you mean.

Yes, yes.

But we weedle them out. Oh, we find
them, yes. You mark my words. Do you

what we do with impostors? I can't
imagine, no. Peter?

Oh, dear. Oh, that must be awfully
painful. Oh, it is, it is painful.

But effective, of course.

Tell me, what do you do, then?

Who, me? Yes.

I mean, what are you, a white hunter or
an explorer or a mountaineer?

No, I'm a stock control clerk.

Sorry, I didn't think I heard you great.
What did you say?

I'm an astronaut.

Astronaut, yes. You know, for the minute
I thought you said a stock control

clerk.

What are those?

You're rather short for an astronaut,
though, aren't you?

I mean, I thought they were all weird.
over six feet. Oh, no, they're not all

tall, you know. I mean, you remember the
first man on the moon? Oh, this is a

giant step, et cetera, yes, yes. He was
only four foot six.

That's why I complained about the size
of the step, you know.

Well, I need some more ammunition.

Ted, save again, please, will you? And
bring one for my friend, would you?

So where are you stationed, then? Cape
Canaveral? Houston?

Well, where else?

Could hardly be an astronaut and live in
Elm Tree Avenue Ealing, could I?

Well, well. Elm Tree Avenue Ealing, just
by the lights there, opposite the cul

-de -sac, near the laundrette. Do you
know where you must go?

Oh, give me a break.

Thank you.

Cheers. Cheers, cheers.

Tell me, is that your Lamborghini in the
car park?

Which one? The one with the dropped
handlebars and the brown saddlebags?

No, no, no. The cream -coloured job with
the smoked windows and the reclining

seats. Oh, no, that's not my
Lamborghini, no. No, I never buy British

I pop around a little American job. Oh,
of course, I've seen it, yes. Dodge.

What? Why?

You've got a Dodge car.

Oh, yes, I have indeed.

So tell me, what have you been doing
recently?

Well, I'm... I'm a spy with MI5.

A spy?

No, you're actually a spy. I meant a
greengrocer. I'm a greengrocer, yes. A

greengrocer? Yes, that's right, yes, a
greengrocer. A greengrocer? Mm -hmm.

What's that bulge in your pocket? I beg
your pardon?

Oh, that pocket. Oh, that is a nothing.

That's a nothing.

Have a luger. A lager. Have a luger.

I think I know what you've got in that
pocket.

Yes, you're absolutely right. Yes, I
have. Yes, I've got a banana in there.

Being a greengrocer, I bring a little
something for the waitress every

I've got a banana in this pocket here.

I've got a rosy apple in that pocket
there. And I've got a beautiful pear in

trouser pocket.

She's very fond of a banana, is she? Oh,
yes, well, well, if price is the way

they are, you know, in these hard times,
every little helps, doesn't it? Biffa?

Yes? You're not a greengrocer at all,
are you? You're an imposter, aren't you?

You're a spy.

Well... You're a spy. I know you're a
spy. And that waitress, she's a spy as

well. You don't give her a banana every
Thursday at all, do you? Don't worry,

don't worry. Don't worry, I can't tell
the committee.

Wouldn't want them to, uh, not with a
man of your size, you know.

Don't worry, your secret's safe with me.
I must be dashing, Biffa.

Don't worry.

Who was that stranger, Mr. McGee?

He was an old chum of mine, actually, a
school chum. He's done very well for

himself. He's an astronaut, you know.

Never mind about him. I understand you
have something for me.

Yes. Put it into my handbag.

And, uh, a couple of King Edwards for
Friday night.

Have you got a nice pair for me?

Have you got a nice pair for me?

Here's a rather unusual story about a
chap who goes on his holidays to

Portsmouth.

I told you it was unusual, didn't I?

I actually wish that he'd gone to Monte
Carlo, you know, which would give this

story the touch of class, you know.

Because that's what this joke needs,
believe me.

Once again, this is not exactly a brand
new joke. It does need, you know, a bit

of something.

No, I'll be honest, it is far from new.
In fact, when it was first discovered at

the turn of the century, among some cave
drawings, it wasn't new even then.

I don't know how many of you have seen
pictures of the grinning skull of the

Piltdown Man, you know, 20 million years
B .C.? Eh?

You guessed it.

This is the joke he was laughing at.

What a pity he can't be here tonight.

That is perhaps not exactly true, but
I've said that to satisfy, to be honest,

our producer, you know, who comes up to
me at the end of the show and said, that

joke he said, that joke tonight, they'd
all heard it, he said, at the squash

club.

He belongs to this squash club, you
know.

Every Friday night, they club together
and buy a bottle of squash.

You see, he worries about the viewing
figures, you know. And in case, by the

way, you wondered how they compile the
viewing charts here at the BBC, they

a team of highly skilled public
relations experts who go out every night

look in people's windows.

And if you're watching us, they make a
note of it, you see. If you're watching

the other side, they knock on the door
and run away.

All of which has nothing to do with the
chap who went to Portsmouth for his

holidays.

Which actually, because this reminds me
of a time years ago myself, when I was

travelling down to Portsmouth, to be
honest, to take part in a very, very,

ago, in a very, very cheap pantomime,
you know.

Goldilocks and the Two Bears.

Or was it Babe in the Wood?

Well, it might have been Robin Hood and
his Merry Man. It doesn't matter. It

doesn't matter.

It mattered then, but it doesn't matter
now. So I got into this compartment all

these years ago with three or four
sailors and a bishop, see? So we are

along, and I'm just sitting there, you
know, enjoying myself, and the sailors

are trying on one another's hats and
having a good time.

And one of the sailors, a big petty
officer, you know, who was reading a

newspaper, leaned across, and he touched
the bishop on the knee.

Now, we had a hell of a job getting him
down from the luggage rack.

Anyway, when we had settled down, he
said to the bishop, he said, what I was

going to ask you, your great is, what is
gout?

And the bishop said, well, he said, I'm
glad you asked me that, he said.

I don't know why he said that, but
that's what he said. I'm glad you asked

that. Goat, he said, my good man, is a
complaint you get from drinking too

smoking too much, and going with
Portsmouth ladies like Lampost Lill and

Hospital Hattie.

That is the cause of goat.

He said, why do you ask? Have you got
it? The sailor said, no, but it says in

here that the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Anyway, that's by the way, this chap is
still on holiday in Portsmouth.

He strolls down to the pub one evening,
probably went into the Swinging Admiral

or something like that, my old local.

Very, very nice old pub actually, but
the landlady's a bit of a grasper. I

remember the night we had a little
ceremony when she pushed a pile of

you know, off the counter, straight into
the till.

There's actually a very interesting
story about that pub. Apparently one

Saturday night about closing time, a
police car, you know, loaded with bad

and breathalyzers, pulled into the car
park, and all the locals were inside the

pub, dancing about and shouting, you
know, have another one, and I love you,

who am I?

But this man, this man staggered out of
the saloon bar.

talking to his car keys, singing You'll
Never Walk Again.

He tried his car keys and everything in
sight, including the gent's toilet and

a police car.

Hello, sailor!

Anyway, until he found his own car. He
fell into it and off he went. The police

car caught up with him about three miles
away and one of the policemen said,

Would you mind getting out the car, sir,
with your driving licence, insurance

certificate? The man said, certainly,
officer.

Here you are, he said, everything up to
date.

Might I ask why you have stopped me?

And the policeman said, yes, just one or
two questions. So he said, may I ask

you what you do for a living? The man
said, yes, I'm a professional decoy.

Back again to the chap who's on
holidays. Now, he comes out of this pub,

gets about halfway home when the thick
fog descends.

Luckily he had his walking stick with
him and he taps his way along until

suddenly there's nothing. Nothing in
front of him.

Nothing at the side.

And he says, oh goodness me, he said.

Or words to that effect.

I must be standing on the edge of a
cliff, he thinks. The only thing to do

stand very still until the fog lifts and
I can see where I am because I just

daren't move. So there he stood without
a movement until the fog lifted in the

morning.

He found he was standing in the middle
of a high street and the end had broken

off his stick.

Good morning, sir. Hmm.

Oh, what a beautiful morning.

Oh, good morning, sir.

Customer, Mr. Green.

Morning, sir.

Just a trim? Faith.

Green seems to have stopped?

Yep. It ain't gonna rain no more, no
more. It ain't gonna rain no more.

Good morning, sir.

Customer, Mr. Brown.

Good morning, sir. Good morning.

Go back inside, sir, please.

I thought so. I knew that the minute you
walked in the door. The minute you

walked in the door.

Oh, good morning, sir.

Customer, Mr. White.

Good morning, sir.

Good morning, sir, indeed.

Anything on it, sir?

Would you cut it first, please?
Certainly, sir.

After I've cut it, sir, if I may ask...
I'd like to put on a little of this.

It's very nice. It's called Moonlight.

Moonlight becomes you.

It goes with your hair.

Would you get on with it, please? Yes,
certainly, sir, certainly.

But I would like to use a little of
that, if I may, because it's very, very

nice, that moonlight, I can tell you.

Oh, by the light. Oh, by the light.

Of the silvery moon. Of the silvery
moon.

What a spoon to my honey, I'll prove
love to you.

Honeymoon, honeymoon, honeymoon, keep it
shining in June and June.

You're a silver...

I love the silvery moon, silvery moon,
silvery moon. I want a spoon, spoon,

spoon, spoon to my honey, I'll croon.
Love's to, love's to honeymoon,

honeymoon, honeymoon.

Keep on shining in June, shining in
June, shining in June. Your silvery

will bring love's dreams. We'll be
cuddling soon, so soon by the

silvery moon.

The moon, the moon by the silvery moon.

The moon, the moon by the silvery moon.

Smooth as a baby's round and thin. Used
by flies as a skating

rink.

Now don't upset

yourselves and don't feel rotten.

Your hair is gone but not forgotten.

There's some weights in the cupboard and
I don't know where I got them, but

they're made of nylon mixed with cotton.

Get away.

Get away.

It's a fact.

You'll never ever ship them. You'll
never ever ship them.

In case you scratch that gal that you
adore, that you adore.

A shave is what's intended, sir.

Makes you feel good inside.

Makes you look good outside.

Hold up your head right.

This show is recommended, sir.

Contains insecticide. Gives you sales,
but what for?

I'm thinking tonight of my love.

Adrift on the deep, splashing foam.

Slashing foam.

Sea sail away, each night I softly pray.

The tide will bring my loved one safely
home, safely home. He

said as we parted, don't cry Maggie
dear, I've left.

There is hope.

There is hope.

So at night by the light of the pale
misty moon or at

noon when the sun's razor sharp razor
sharp I

watch from the shore till the day when
once more

the tide

Every night by the old firelight is
bowed on the

shore.

We don't care. Stick your hats on fair
and square. Then no one will know.

Goodbye.

Well, that's all we have time for this
week. But before we go, the late news.

unhappy moment at King's Cross Station
tonight when a Scottish football fan

all his luggage moments after stepping
off the train. The cork fell out.

And a car mounted the curb outside Mrs.
Mary Whitehouse's home this evening, so

she threw a bucket of water over it.

Tasty -faced Bamber Gascoigne flew into
London Airport this morning complaining

of the effects of heavy airline food and
the complete lack of exercise on the

long flight.

His doctor later gave him a starter for
ten, which worked well just before 11

.30.

Next week, we shall be starting a new
series in which famous people are put in

embarrassing situations.

The Archbishop of Canterbury will be
competing in It's a Knockout.

Kenneth Clark will introduce
multicolored swap shop.

And Reginald Bozenkett will read the
news.

Until then, a good night from me. And a
good night from him.

Good night.

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