All language subtitles for The Two Ronnies s09e06

Good evening, it's wonderful to be back
with you once again, isn't it, Ronnie?

Indeed it is, and in a packed programme
tonight, we shall be meeting the owner

of a chicken which has been fed on
Smarties only for the past two months,

today laid the first rubic egg.

But first... First, the news.

Britain's gravediggers came out on
strike this morning, and this afternoon

undertakers came out in deepest
sympathy.

A tragic accident had ended the career
of Plastex, the amazing plastic man.

He sat on a radiator today and made a
complete pool of himself.

George... George Trimble.

George Trimble, Blackpool's longest
-serving deck chair attendant, was

tonight after collapsing at work today.

It took five people 40 minutes to work
out how to get him up again.

Music. and a team of researchers in
Salzburg have uncovered an early Mozart

score. She was only 16 and lived over
the bakery opposite.

Finally, in Wales today, the anti
-English front claimed responsibility

Beuys' cabaret act.

But now a sketch featuring Mr Ronnie
Corbett, who's always being let down by

people, otherwise he'd never get off the
bus.

I can't believe we've met.

Clive Winfrey.

Hello. My name is... No, no, no, don't
tell me, don't tell me. There's a little

game I like to play at parties. Oh.

Guessing people's names. Yes, I'm very
good at it, too, yes. I always guess

their name by what they look like, you
know. Ah, well, I think you're on a

with me, old boy, because I have the
most unusual name you've ever heard. I

I can guess it. I bet you can't. How
much do you bet me? Well, I...

I'm so sure that you will not be able to
guess my name. I tell you what, if you

get it right, I will allow you to spend
the night with my wife, Daphne, the

beautiful lady in the red.

If you get it, you see, she's smiling,
looking, chuckling away there. She

obviously fancies you.

Now, if you get my name correct, she's
yours. All right. How many guesses can I

have? You can have as many as you like.
All right, all right.

Well, you look to me like a prat.

Sidney Pratt.

No, no, no, no.

Perhaps you're more like a, I say, more
like a Wally. Are you, let's see, Wally

Partington Smythe? No.

Monty Rothermere? No.

Aristotle Bonaventure? No. Otis Quigley?
No.

Humbert Braceburn? No.

Tennessee Clitterhouse?

No. Mordecai Wimperis? No.

Ezra Barrington Quinn? No.

Ebenezer Flatpass?

No.

Ignatius Giddy?

No. Washington Swackhurst.

Jelly Roll Landfrank.

Israel Arafat.

I think you're just guessing.

No, no. Look, I'll give you a clue.

My surname sounds like something that
comes out at night. Comes out at night.

Malcolm Dentures.

Jeremy Horlicks.

Freddie Starr. No, no. No, no. More
exciting, then. Oh, more exciting.

Tomcat.

I don't think you're going to get it. I
don't think your wife's going to get it.

No, I'll give you another clue. Oh, yes,
right. My Christian name sounds like a

place in London with all the letters
muddled up.

Lewisham Post Office.

No, I didn't mean that. I meant an
anagram.

Oh, an anagram. You mean like Dicapilli
Circus and that sort of thing.

Well, let me think. Waterloo.

Lewater. No, no.

Chalk Farm. Fork Charm. No.

Hidecrack Porner.

You're not even getting warmer, boy.
I've got to mingle with the crowd. But

remember, the bet still stands. If you
manage to get it, my wife is yours. Oh,

right. Oh, Arbelmarch tea fruit bat.

My God, you got it. You guessed it.

So I get the prize, do I? Of course you
do. I don't go back on my word. Tell me,

how did you manage it? Well, luckily,
earlier in the evening, I met a very

charming lady called Mrs.

Arbelmarch tea fruit bat in the red over
there.

Good evening.

See, I'm invisible.

Now, what does this mean? Well, firstly,
and indeed mainly, you can't see me.

Secondly, I can't see myself either.

So how do you know I'm here?

How do I know I'm here?

Well, it says so here in my notes.

BBC Wood Lane. But just to prove it,
Miss Heseltine... Ah, there you are,

Heseltine. Could you pick up that
pencil, please?

One up to me, I think.

But some of you must be asking, why
can't I see his suit?

Well, the answer is staring you in the
face. I'm not wearing one.

I'm an invisible nudist.

And the chaps at the BBC have given me
three minutes to state my case.

Excuse me, the time starts now.

That's it. Now, you're probably
thinking, I haven't seen anyone

my street. Well, you wouldn't, would
you?

With that empty position in the post
office. Now, that's probably one of us.

Might even be one of us who's one of
them.

The gay invisible front.

And back, for that matter, there's a
splinter group.

Now, let me show you a graph. Just come
over here, would you?

Now, here we have a graph showing the
earnings of ordinary people in 1981.

And here is the same graph for invisible
people.

Our invisible earnings were nil.

Trouble is, whenever we go for a job
interview, the man just shouts, next.

Many of our members are important
figures.

Here is our president and lady wife at
the royal wedding.

They are on the right.

And several of our members are prominent
sportsmen.

Here's Reg Johnson winning the
Cheltenham Silver Cup.

And our football team featured in a
recent Spot the Players competition.

And, of course, we can let our hair
down.

Here are 118 of our members crammed into
a phone box for charity.

But we do have to keep our strength up,
and that's why we have to drink a pint

of milk a day. Just excuse me a moment,
would you?

Ah, that's better.

I feel a new man, and that's one of the
other perks.

Which brings me to a tremendous problem,
sex.

For instance, on your wedding night,
it's not much fun wearing see -through

pyjamas if all you can see through them
is a wardrobe and a chest of drawers.

To be frank, our members are not made of
wood. If they were, you could see them.

But embarrassments do occur. One of our
members was enjoying a bit of connubial

bliss with his wife, a very visible and
lovely lady, when in burst the milkman

who misunderstood her smile and gave her
a nasty shock.

But not half the shock he gave her
invisible husband.

So do help us. We need money for our
splendid new headquarters.

There they are. As you see, they're
almost completed.

We need money for clothing. Fig leaves
for the women and bow ties for the men.

We've handed in a petition to 10 Downing
Street, but Margaret Thatcher won't

even see us.

So please send your donations to the
invisible man, invisible house, nowhere,

Milton Keynes.

Oh, and don't bother to look at that
chair anymore. I'm over here in the

audience with Miss Heseltine. Good
night.

then, wasn't it? What was that?

Well, she was trying to economise. She
fed him dog food. She did?

That's dangerous.

I know, but she wouldn't do it. Took no
notice. She said, her friend ate it all

up, she said, and came back for more.

Oh, what happened then?

Well, he's in hospital now. Oh, wow.

Oh, yes.

Nothing to do with the dog food, though.
Oh, well, that's a relief.

Well, what happened then? Well, he was
cocking his leg in the middle of the

and a lorry hit him.

Stormy Weather, our guest this week.
Please welcome Madeline Bell.

Don't know why There's no sun up in the
sky

Stormy Weather

together keeps raining on

walking chair

Mystery, intrigue, and a disappearing
all -girls orchestra.

Our two overrated heroes, Piggy and
Charlie, are getting themselves deeper

by the minute.

Two of the girls in the band, Jane and
June, the tuneful twins, turn out to be

in on the whole racket.

Needless to say, our bewildered pair of
private eyes, hiding in the girls'

cabin, fail to spot their complicity.
Although Piggy, always on the lookout,

spotted almost everything else.

As the two villainesses secretly enter
the cabin of a nasty -looking oriental,

the scoundrel whom we are soon to
discover to be a black -hearted, yellow

slaver, we resume this colourful story.

So, those two English fools suspect
something.

I shall take steps to remedy that.

How, Mr. Chang?

He who takes steps as a snow leopard
does will arrive many days before the

But he who stands still...

will bend in the wind like chrysanthemum
on cloudy day.

What does this mean, Mr. White?

It means I'm going to kill him, knock
him on the head of his job.

But first, we must get all girls off the
boat and to my villa.

My orchestra.

Only need two for a set.

Then they play for me at Andaletta.

Andaletta, how romantic.

But why do you call your villa
Andaletta?

In next to the post office.

We must take girls to join others
already at villa. You go see Alphonse,

transport. I set about catching lost two
girls.

Oh, I don't quit now.

You've got enough for an orchestra.

And they're good girls.

A lot of them can double their
instruments.

Sounds fascinating.

But may one all goes.

Even our manager, Mrs. Bumstead?

She American woman with figure like
hills and valleys of Tibet?

Well, she certainly does go up and down.

No.

Proverbs say, he who will be in the
field needs to know only how to make the

daisy chain.

But he who climb mountain needs special
equipment.

Arrange transport.

Hmm. I wonder, what do you double, my
dear?

Saxophone.

What in that?

Darling.

Well, why don't you take it off?

I have got nothing on underneath it.

See?

This is what I want to talk to you
about.

What is that black thing you've got on?

Flute.

They escaped from the Chinaman's house.

I was in the orchestra.

He's got a lot of us up there and they
have taken away our clothes.

Chinaman? What Chinaman?

What's going on?

Is it lunch?

No, Chief. This girl says all the girls
are up at the Chinaman's house. She's

got no clothes on.

She only got the fur coat.

And she plays the flute.

Sorry, mademoiselle. Can't afford it.
Pas d 'argent.

Je suis complètement broke. Allez, au
point.

You know, it has nothing to do with
that.

My clothes have been removed.

Eating from a French tap.

Do you mind? You're making me hungry.

Will you listen, please? This girl has
managed to extricate herself from the

Chinaman's hands.

He's still got the rest of the
orchestra.

What?

Look, we cannot talk here. We must get
off the boat where we cannot be

overheard. We can talk as we walk.

Yes, well, what I can do, I can record
it all and then write it up later.

Well, you lead the way, Miss... Susie.

Susie. We'll follow.

I hope the cold coat did not attract too
much attention.

Well, well, there's a chink at the back
of it.

No,

no, no. I mean the Chinaman, you know.

Please, Chief, save it for later, if you
don't mind, please.

And so Susie began to unfold her curious
story.

As they walk, they hear of the mad
oriental Chang Fang Wang, a dangerous

deranged villain, who not only desires a
harem of white women, but craves also

to possess a light classical orchestra
of his own to entertain him.

Naturally, he only wants girls who are
good performers.

She warns them that at the Villa
Andaletta, in addition to the mad

Chang Pang Wang, is an even madder Scots
butler, Angus McSpreading.

The entire household is absolutely
biscuits.

Biscuits?

Crackers?

He thinks he's the reincarnation of your
famous Scottish poet.

Robbie Burns, you mean? Yes, yes.

He is covered in red hair.

He wears a kilt and he speaks only in
rhyme.

In rhyme?

All the time.

Good God.

How odd.

I would have thought that was almost
impossible to do.

Wouldn't you?

Hear that, Chief?

It's almost beyond belief.

Very grim.

Must keep a watch out for him.

how she escaped, hidden in a bundle of
old clothes given to the Red Cross by

Wang's German housekeeper, Frau
Blauenblätter.

There was nothing else suitable.

Hardly suitable for this weather,
though, is it? You must be boiling

there. I am, but they do not encourage
nudists in this particular area of the

town.

Hey, you'll pass out. Come on, let's
duck in this alley.

Charlie, keep an eye open, would you?

looking trio decide to try to gain entry
into the sinister villa and the letter

to rescue the unfortunate girls from the
clutches of the wily wang

they begin to lay their plans pausing
only for suzy to prevent piggy from

completely boiling over and to give
charlie a turn

I did give Charlie a turn. I think he
boiled over anyway.

Next day, suitably disguised, the
disastrous duo are driven to the villa

brand new heroine, Susie.

While Susie and Charlie attempt to gain
entry round the back of the house, Piggy

is left to face the front door and the
eccentricities of the mad, fearsome

butler, Angus McSpready.

Wish the way, wish the way, what are you
doing here today?

I am here, how you say, solamente fixe
electricitation.

It's necessary.

Nothing's broke.

Nothing's broke.

What's this, some kind of joke?

The trouble is outside of the car, sir,
my friend, but I have to come in, switch

you off, and check your fuse.

Otherwise, one false move and poof, a
thousand volts light up your spot.

Well, well, if what you say is correct,
come in and get the wiring checked.

But listen, heed my warning clear. My
master keeps his women here.

You'll find them all in friendly mood.

And underneath their clothes, they're
nude.

Keep your mind upon your wires and
sublimate your best desires.

I'll smash your brains in all directions
if I catch you making loose directions.

And as Charlie drops out of sight and
into trouble, a familiar tapping is once

more heard.

Who is the sinister man with the white
stick? Is it a case of blind man's

What will happen to our two heroes of
the harem?

When they try to mingle with the girls,
will they be grabbed by the eunuchs?

Don't miss next week's excruciating
episode of Band of Blades.

Simpkins for you, sir.

Send him in, please.

Morning, Mr. Fishbein.

Morning, Simpkins. Come in, please.

Sit down, please, Simpkins.

Simpkins, how long have you been with us
now in this office as an accountant?

Well, 57, 5781.

It's 24.

It's 24.

It's 8 ,760. That's on the credit side.

And the takeaway weekends, that's 728.

And the bank holidays, 126.

That's 8 ,544.

That's 7 ,906 days net, sir.

I see, Simpkins.

I think it would be fair to say, would
it not, Simpkins?

that you are just about the most boring
man I have ever met in my whole life.

Yes, that's quite correct. I am, sir,
yes.

You are tedious to a degree I have not
hitherto thought possible.

Yes, I quite realise that. So I do try
very hard not to be tedious, but I am by

nature a very dull person, you see. So
I've tried to analyse what it is about

that makes me so insidiously boring,
but...

I've failed to isolate the exact cause
of the problem and thus make amends in

some form for my singly unexcitable
aspect of my general demeanour, which

characterises the innate reserve I have
in my approach to life.

Shut up!

You're a social failure, Simpkins. Yes,
sir.

You are a boring, dreary, piddling
little drone whose rolling dismal career

contained no fun whatsoever.

You're drab.

Our life revolves around the tingly,
drab and boring profession of

Yes, sir.

Yes. Even your name, Simpkins, is
boring. Yes, sir.

Don't keep agreeing with me, Simpkins.
Don't keep agreeing with me. That in

itself is boring. Yes, I couldn't agree
with you more, sir.

I was only saying the same to Simpkins
of Invoicing the other day when I was

talking about the downturn in investment
potential of Unit Trust, sir, which...

Shut up about the downturn of investment
of Unit Trust! How can you refer to

anybody as Simpkins of Invoicing? I beg
your pardon, sir?

She's your wife, Simpkins!

Can't you use her first name?

That is her first name.

The life of you two is one long round of
impetuous hysteria. Oh, no.

I wouldn't go so far as... Have you any
children?

2 .4, sir.

2 .4? Yes, yes. We've got a boy and a
girl and another one on the way, sir.

How old are the children?

Well, the children... Well, Perkins is
13 and Wilkins is nearly 11, sir.

Well, that's three times you haven't
been boring at least.

Yes, I have no complaints from my lady
wife, sir. Mind you, she was asleep at

the time, so I suppose that...

Tommy Simpkins, when you go home at
night, I mean, what do you do to relax?

mean, how do you... How do you let your
hair down?

Well, I watch television sometimes, sir.
I watch Blue Peter or The Weatherman.

Nothing too racy. You know what I mean.

Do you have any pets at all? I expect
you might have a vulture or a black

I've got a little tiny budgie, sir. Oh,
wonderful. You've got a little tiny

budgie. Yes. And what is the tiny budgie
called?

Tompkins, sir.

Tompkins Simpkins. Yes. And tell... Tell
me, Simpkins, do you allow your

children, Perkins Simpkins and Watkins
Simpkins, play with the budgie Tonkins

Simpkins? Or do you leave that to your
wife, Simpkins Simpkins?

I beg your pardon, sir?

Simpkins, have you ever smiled? Do you
ever smile? Oh, yeah, I smile all the

time, sir.

Would you please smile for me then, now?
Oh, I hardly think in office hours that

would be the thing. You hardly think in
office hours that would be the thing?

I'm going to make you smile for me,
Simpkins. If it is the last thing I do,

going to make you smile.

You hear that? You're going to have the
time of your life.

something different. Just once.

Do something different and outrageous.

Just come in in the morning and grab the
tea lady and make mad passionate

laughter on top of the tea, Tony.

All her eclairs, sir.

Never mind her eclairs. Just do
anything. Something different. I will,

will. I'll try to do my very best. Get
out. Get out of here.

You drive me mad with boredom.

Actually, tonight we are all a bit
excited because one of the camera crew

just got into the Guinness Book of
Records.

Earlier this afternoon, he set up a new
world record for the longest a BBC

cameraman has gone without a drink.

27 yards.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

No, I'm just kidding.

Ah,

there we are.

Made me go quite dizzy there.

Actually, to be honest, I'm already, to
be honest, why am I smiling? I'm feeling

a little bit drained at the moment
myself because I spent the weekend

Do I hear a snigger of doubt?

I hope.

No, I say potholing. To be honest,
actually, I was in the back garden

pull up a worm and it got the better of
me.

I was out there trying to do a spot of
gardening.

Bit of a thankless task, because once
again, our annual vegetable crop has

a disaster.

We must be the only family in Surrey who
peel the carrots with a pencil

sharpener.

As usual, the cabbage patch is a
wasteland.

Dennis was only saying the other day, he
said, that's a wasteland.

In fact, the caterpillars have grown
incredibly fat.

My wife found one at the bottom of the
garden, thought it was an unexploded

bomb.

Of course, to be honest, if she wasn't
so fussy, the garden wouldn't be the

state it is, to be honest. Would you
believe we took six months to lay a lawn

because she couldn't decide on the
colour?

As a matter of fact, things have never
been right with that lawn because she

the grass seed mixed up with the bird
seed.

And twice a week we have to mow the
budgie.

The trouble is, she doesn't really think
about what she's doing, my wife. I'll

never forget last bonfire night, a bit
of a memorable evening in itself,

that was the occasion I got my shoelace
caught in a rocket, spent the night on

the church roof.

Well, my wife found out that when you
light a Catherine wheel, you can make it

go round.

So she went indoors and set fire to the
housekeeping money.

I shouldn't really...

I shouldn't really moan because in these
hard times, it does pay to be careful.

Every January, even now, we still go and
fight our way through the sales at the

local discount warehouse.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Fortunately, I learned the real value of
money during my rather spartan

childhood. I always remember the first
proper Christmas dinner we ever had. My

mother served up a kipper.

with two Brussels sprouts on top.

I never forgave her for that.

I thought she'd killed a mermaid.

My mother, fortunately, has a rather
interesting job. She had an interesting

at that time, helping to preserve
stained glass.

She was a window cleaner for British
Rail.

Going on the way I'm doing, I hope I've
not offended the producer, by the way.

He came round the other day and he said
to me, he said, I want no more rambling

this weekend. You just get straight on
with the story.

So here it is. And it concerns... That's
a clever device.

Now, it concerns this story, a small
touring theatrical company who arrive

midweek in this rather bleak, pokey,
dead -and -alive town, nowhere near

Watford.

I must make that clear from the outset,
because I wouldn't want a lot of angry

calls from people in Watford.

Well, it's possible, you know.

Some of them are on the telephone there
now.

I mean, it's an incredible
responsibility. No, it is.

It's an incredible responsibility,
really, when you think that I am sitting

being watched by 17, maybe 18 people.

I do have to be careful, very careful.
So this theatrical company arrived in

town. And the leading light of the
group, a rather grand actor -manager

strolls into the local butcher shop with
his silver top cane, his astrakhan

collar, and he says, good day to you, he
said, butcher. My name, he said, is Sir

Balthazar Pules, the well -famous
thespian.

a world -famous thespian.

Thousands have laughed at my malvolio.

I was wondering whether, perchance, you
would be kind enough to cash me a small

cheque, whereupon he unfolds the cheque
and he holds it up to the butcher, who

squints at it closely and says, politely
but firmly, nap off, Ponce Peter.

I knew you'd like that.

Slight suggestion of style there.

Whereupon the chap carefully folds the
check and he puts it in his back pocket.

He leaves it. And he leaves.

And he goes next door to the baker, same
thing again. My name is Sir Balthasar

Pules, world -famous thespian. Would you
be kind enough to cash me a small

check? Once again, the same reply, on
your bike.

So he wants it.

Carefully folds the check up, puts it
back in his pocket, and leaves.

This happens at every shop in the
street. Grocers, fishmongers, tailors,

ironmongers, even to the man on the
corner selling matches.

Who, unfortunately, only took Diners
Club.

And everyone's the same.

Finally!

Finally, he arrives at the laundry. He
goes in, takes the cheque out of his

pocket, unfolds it. My name is the
Balthasar Pules. And the chap behind the

counter said, I'm sorry, we don't cash
cheques. He said, I don't want you to

cash it, I want you to iron it.

You can't get a dose of flu.

We're marching in the fleet with
patriotic.

Crossbite's gone and got it around your
you -know -what.

You'll ain't you know where.

You'll ain't you know where.

I've been a bounty all my life.

This cramping's not a load of fun.

I've got bow legs and corns like eggs.
This hat weighs half a ton.

Don't forget, I'm brave and bold. But
when it's cold, I'd rather get a big

brunette.

He was wanted all the way from Quebec to
Hudson's Bay. He was lousy, he was

mean, the dirty cheat. Dirty cheat. And
he wore a grimy shirt, partly wool and

largely dirt. He was known to one and
all as Pongy P.

He was wanted in Tehran.

Winnipeg and Montreal.

Montreal. He was filthy, top to toe. He
had acne and BO.

He's the wanted man we want the least of
all.

The Mounties on their horses. It's the
fight that's sure to please.

I'm taking riding lessons and I'm
learning by degrees.

I leap upon my charger.

And it buckles up the knees.

We can't ride no more.

When we go out on maneuver, I've got a
horse that's quite a mover.

I've a bucket and a hoover.

John Pierre, always on the loose.

Around the old caboose, hunting elk and
moose, shot a duck and gave his girl a

goose, but she wasn't interested.

Jean -Pierre, hunting everywhere,
buffalo and hare, called his lady fair.

Next week he said, I fancy hunting bear,
and he got arrested.

Bracely, in old Quebec, too.

And you're a wreck.

Mamsells, damsells, blondes in every
bar.

Gin and French and lots of ooh -la -la.

Wine dates and candlelight.

Our dates were quite the sight.

I got fillers and fillers down. I got
Chloe and couple banters.

That's sexy lumberjack.

Lumberjack. He'd throw up the forest
every track. Every track. The blighter

his mark on every bush and tree.

Not to mention Rosemary.

She was big and strong and hairy. She
was winsome, weak and wary. And he

her out the prairie for a dairy leaf.

He said, come here. And she said,
thanks.

Yes, and thanks. She was thick as two
short planks. She lumbered down but

broke the rotten feet.

And now he's lumbered Rosemary.

Rosemary.

He'd see us gallop through the trees. I
call my horse Tornado, cause he's faster

than the breeze.

I call my pony Windy, cause he's fed on
hay and peas.

The open air, the open air for me.

A man can be just what he wants to be.

I think that I'll be eight stone ten.
And I'll be six foot three.

We're off to the wild blue yonder It's
up the creek and right around

the bend To places where the blondes are
plunder We'd rather

go by bus We'll march to the golden
sunset We're off

to join the tea and fun

Well, that's just about all we have time
for tonight, isn't it, Ronnie? Yes, I'm

sorry to say it is, but before we go,
here's a few late items of news.

Jay Willington Threep, the blue film
music composer who had a few words with

lady flautist after last night's
performance of his pornographic symphony

one, was today charged with making
improper overtures.

In London today, Max von Stettenheim,
who claims to have been Adolf Hitler's

favourite cook, launched the first
volume of his autobiography entitled Out

the Frying Pan into the Fuhrer.

Greaser Dibbs, the Pentonville prisoner,
who's watched 199 consecutive

episodes of Crossroads, didn't reach the
magic 200 mark tonight. He's been

released from the punishment block.

Spencer Whittle, Britain's oldest post
office clerk, retired today.

Friends and colleagues lined up to shake
his hand, and he told them to go to the

next window.

A spokesman for the Common Market
admitted today there were unmistakable

it was in trouble.

The Italians have asked to change sides.

There were amazing scenes at a Doncaster
nightclub tonight when a cross -eyed

stripper came on and took the pianist's
clothes off.

Finally, the incredible shrinking boxer.

Harry Zontal, who started his career as
a heavyweight, became a bantamweight,

and finished up as a lightweight, is to
retire and take up a desk job.

He'll be a paperweight.

Next week in a bumper show, London
Transport have promised us that a

London bus driver will be coming into
the studio. But he won't be stopping.

Until then, it's goodnight from me. And
it's goodnight from him. Goodnight.