All language subtitles for The Two Ronnies s10e04

Good evening. It's wonderful to be back
with you once again, isn't it, Roy? Yes,

indeed it is. And in a packed programme
tonight, we shall be showing you an

astonishingly frank interview with the
Strathclyde mother -to -be, Flora

McDingle, who claims she was put in the
pudding club by artificial insemolina.

And I'll be talking to a man who was
late for his work this morning. He

overslept because the football match he
was dreaming about went into extra time.

But first, the news.

Britain's decathlon squad was told today
that frequent sexual indulgence reduces

their chances of success.

Daly Thompson will henceforth be known
as Twice Nightly Thompson.

Norbert Tush was charged at Bridlington
Town Hall today under the Leaseholders

Act of willful misuse of Home
Improvement Grant. He used it to send

-in -law to Australia.

And at Romford Magistrates Court today,
a £50 fine was imposed on the driver of

an ice cream van for failing to stop
when the lights were on strawberry.

A disappointing end this afternoon to
Wyndham Ponsonby's heroic one -man walk

across the roof of the world.

He fell down the chimney.

London gangland's farewell to gambling
den operator Nifter Nugent was cut short

today when the police showed up and his
ashes immediately scattered themselves.

And there's sensational news from
Heathrow Airport.

Mr Chamberlain's luggage has just got
back from Munich.

Now a sketch in which Mr Ronnie Corbett
plays the part of a KGB mole who is

positively vetted by MI5 and then
doctored by the RSPCA.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here...
sight of God and in the face of this

congregation to join together this man
and this woman in Holy Gladys.

What do you mean, Holy Gladys? What do
you mean, Holy Gladys? I'm awfully

It is Gladys, isn't it? It's Gladys
Brocklebank, isn't it?

Hello, Henry.

Hello, Henry.

I didn't know you were going to do the
service.

Oh, yes. I'm just standing in, you see.
Standing in what, may I ask?

Father, don't make a fuss.

As a matter of fact, Gladys and I used
to walk out together.

Oh, did you? Well, if you don't get on
with the service, mate, you and I'll be

walking out together.

We should get one right in the vestry.
Now carry on with it, please.

If any of you know cause or just
impediment why these two persons should

joined together in holy matrimony, ye do
now declare it, or else hereafter

forever hold thy peace.

Well, it's quiet, isn't it?

Why don't you carry on, then? I'm
waiting. Someone in the congregation

have an impediment.

Look, mate, my Uncle George is sitting
back in the third row. He's got a

terrible stutter.

And a double hernia. But what difference
does that make to the price of

tomatoes?

They're ever so high at the moment.

Pardon?

She's trying to make conversation.

Look, Glab, will you please keep out of
this?

This is strictly between the Randy Rev
and me.

Don't talk to her in that manner. You're
not fit to kiss the hem of her bridal

gown or any other part of her bridal
gown, Amy.

You never mind where I'm going to kiss
her. It's your job to make it legal.

will you kindly get on with the verbals,
Vicar, please? If you will bear with me

for just a moment, there might be a
slight delay.

There is, in fact, an impediment.

What are you talking about, mate?

Someone disapproves of this union.

I'm not even a member of the union.

This marriage.

Who's that, then? Me.

You're off your trolley, Vicar. Seven
years ago, Gladys swore to be faithful

me eternally.

Is he so, Gladys? No, of course not.

There you are, Vicar, on your bike.

What's this? Look.

There you are. What's that?

Scotch mist? What does it say there?

Henry and Gladys.

and a little rat standing in a bowl of
spaghetti.

A little rat standing in a bowl of
spaghetti. Those are the twin serpents

true love surmounted by the lion of
virtue.

Look, mate, I've got a tattoo round my
belly button that says, I love Burton

best. What does that make me, Elizabeth
Taylor?

Have you forgotten, Gladys? Have you
forgotten what we meant to each other?

That wonderful golden fortnight in
Little St Anne's? Or the time when we

away from the Ken Dodd concert at twenty
past one?

And we went on that moonlight podalo
trip on the ship canal?

Henry, please, not the ship canal.

Oh, it's like that, is it?

Listen, Gladys, did you give yourself to
him, then?

No, I didn't. Well, did you lend
yourself to him?

Listen, Arthur Brimshaw, do you want to
marry me or not? What do you think? Of

course I do.

I spent 75 quid in once on this outfit.

Gladys, marry me. I have a handsome
stipend. I bet you have, all covered in

tattoos and all that.

Forget the pedalos, dear. After this bum
fight, we shall be off to Venice. We'll

be being serenaded by dagos in dongolas.

Marry me, please. My flesh yearns for
you. So does mine, so does mine.

I bet my flesh yearns twice as much as
yours does.

You've got twice as much flesh as me,
haven't you?

Gladys, we could...

utopia together, you and I. Listen,
we've already built a base, isn't it?

got planning permission for the garage
and everything.

Take your filthy hands off her spotless
white bridal gown.

It ought to be white anyway, not after
Lytham's in hands.

He insulted me. Well, be fair. He does
have a point, doesn't he, Gladys? Well,

the ship can... Careful, you'll get one
on the cassock, you know that.

Oh, I'm fed up with a pair of you. I'm
going to marry Purse. Purse? The best

man? Well, he's certainly better than
you two.

Come on, Purse.

Oh, that is nice, isn't it? Couple of
nice tickets to Venice, right up the

Swanee. You know, I've never been to
Venice.

No? There you are, Rev. Have them on me.
Oh, I see. That's awfully sweet of you.

No, I've been to Paris three times and
Rome twice and once to Vienna and to

Nice. Oh, and a long weekend in Bogda.
My goodness, it was long, too.

But I always like the champagne on the
wedding night, you see. What do you

Well, a lot of people part at the altar.
They always give me the honeymoon

tickets. Care to come with me? What?

Me cover you? Yes, why not? They say
there's a wonderful little flea market

the Rialto.

Well, why not? After all, I paid for
them, didn't I?

You're on, Vic, you're on. Certainly.

Will you want to go home and change? Oh,
yes, I've got a lovely little girl on

the way out.

Please welcome our guest this week,

Elaine Page.

Some shrimp and bovril.

So, your Lil's having a night out
tonight, is she? Yeah, she's gone to the

Yeah, well, we know that, but she's
having a night out.

No, but she's gone down the racetrack
with your Eid, hasn't she? You know,

they've gone dog racing for the night.
Oh, that's right. They'll probably lose

all their money gambling, finish up
paralytic as pigs.

They'll get picked up by a couple of
drunks, probably finish up being ravaged

some all -night orgy at Peckham.

Still, it keeps them out of mischief,
doesn't it?

Talking of mischief, by the way, far be
it from me, Sid, to pry into your sexual

procavities. But I couldn't help
noticing, ever since you've come in

you've been wearing a frilly black
garter around the sleeve of your donkey

jacket. If my memory serves me correct,
it's not your usual modus operandi, is

it? Now, where is the next place for
that, George? I sure jolly well hope so.

You remember the other weekend you and I
went up the West End, don't we? Yeah.

And we ended up about two in the morning
in that draughty little strip club.

Oh, yeah, the air on the G -string,
yeah, I remember.

Well, as I recall, that night we had
quite a few. As a matter of fact, I

remember rightly what happened. Anyway,
the other day there I was at home, you

see. Yeah. Lil, minding her own
business, going through my pockets.

And she found this black garter, you
see. Well, naturally, I had my wits

me, didn't I? So I spruced her along
that it was a black...

And I bought, you see, in mourning for
my Uncle Cedric, who, as luck would have

it, had dropped dead the day before.

Oh, yeah. That was lucky, wasn't it?
Yeah.

Very fortuitous. Yeah, not, of course,
quite so lucky for Uncle Cedric, now,

it?

And then, of course, being very, you
know, what's the name? You know, what

word, you know, means, you know, they
believe anything you say.

Thank you.

She swallowed it all, you see, of
course. But, of course, they've still

wear this for a few days, otherwise you
get very suspicious.

Oh, yeah. Good job she didn't find that
bra in your other pocket then, wouldn't

she?

Otherwise you'd be walking around with
red satin earmuffs, wouldn't you?

Little holes to poke your earlobes
through.

Here,

listen, how old was Uncle Cedric when he
kicked it then?

Well, the wrong side of 60.

What's that?

94.

Mind you, for the last four months, he'd
been shacked up. a young bird of 25.

Shacked up? Yeah. A girl of 20? I think
he was shacked out, wasn't he?

You see, he never had kids of his own.
He wanted to carry on the family strain.

Well, it would have been a strain, yeah.

Would he die of terminal ecstasy or
what?

You know, it's funny talking about life
or death. You know, I often sit here and

I wonder, I wonder, why are we here?

Well, the beer's cheaper for one.

sitting here in the Mary Thatcher having
a pint. No, I'm talking about the

answer to the external riddle.

Why do any of us exist?

Well, it's something to do, isn't it?

Furthermore, what happens afterwards?

Now, I was watching this programme the
other night on ITV and there was a

on there what reckoned that it is
possible that there is intelligent life

other side.

What, you mean on Channel 4, you mean?

Not Channel 4, no.

Be realistic, Sid, for God's sake.

No, no, he reckoned that snuffing it is
not the be -all and end -all of

everything, you see. Oh.

Yeah, in fact, you and I could very well
finish up in hell.

No. Oh, hell.

What do you suppose... What do you
suppose hell's like, George? I mean, do

suppose... Not a very nice place, I
suppose.

Well, of course it ain't a very nice
place, is it? Otherwise it wouldn't be

hell, would it? No, no. It must be a
terrible place. I always imagined it as

some vast...

bottomless burning pit where everyone's
all chained up, you know, and forced to

eat shrimp and Bob real crisps, right?

Bit like East Croydon.

You suppose my Uncle Cedric then has
ended up in hell, would you think? No,

It's my theory that even now he's been
reincarnated.

Reincarnated? What do you mean by that?
Well, reincarnated, you know, when you

come back to something else. Oh, yeah.

If I had to come back to something else,
you know, I was thinking, if I had to

come back to something else, I'll come
back as an hyena.

What would you come back as a hyena for
then? Well, if you come back as a hyena,

you're laughing, aren't you?

You've got all that foreign sunshine, no
food to hunt for for yourself. All your

food is provided for you by lions.

By lions?

Yeah. What, you mean lion's corners?

It's not that sort of food. It's deer.

It's not all that deer and lion's
corners.

cats, you see. The big cats, they go out
and hunt all the food that the hyenas

scavenge off.

Oh, it must be a great life.

Oh, no. If I come back as anything, I
think I'll come back as a giraffe.

A giraffe? Why? Well, I wouldn't want to
be a hyena, not with my feet for a

start, would I? Well, you wouldn't have
your feet, would you? You'd have the

hyena's feet, wouldn't you? You wouldn't
be trouting about through the tropical

undergrowth wearing two pairs of black
blokes and a set of odour eaters, would

you?

You'd have the hyena's feet, wouldn't
you?

Yeah. But I still think, really,
basically, overall, taking an average,

were to come back, I'd soon be a
giraffe.

Why is this about a giraffe? Why a
giraffe?

Well, it'd stop you picking your nose so
much, wouldn't it?

Listen, now, let's talk about this
reincarnation. If my Lil was to be

reincarnated, what do you suppose she's
come back as? Well, a great white whale,

I think.

All that whalebone corset and all that
blubber and everything.

She's got a head start, hasn't she? She
certainly has, yeah.

She nearly got harpooned when you took
her paddling at Clacton that time.

Here, I'll be set. The time is two o
'clock.

I've got to be getting out of here.

Here, I must put my armband on now. My
black armband, here it is.

What, are you going to a funeral and
all, then? No, I'm going to watch

play at home.

Good evening.

I'm the Minister of Cuts.

I represent the National Institute of
Cutting Known Economic Resources, Double

Urgent, or Nickers to You.

Now, what does all this mean? Well,
firstly, we've cut the armed services.

And here's the new streamlined army
brigade.

Two men, one to fire the gun and the
other to ask for the bullet back.

Lance Corporal Hackett has reported
sick.

What's more, we're putting the army on a
one -day week, so unless the Russians

attack on a Monday, we'll be closed.

Now, the Navy will remain on full
strength, but we will be using the

missile launcher from Scotland.

Yes, members of the RAF will still be up
there flying, although a much greater

degree of skill will be demanded of
them, as there won't be any aeroplanes.

Now, what is wrong with this picture?

Yes, you've spotted it.

It's not the real Queen.

Many famous people are being replaced by
robots.

Here is a bionic Clement Croyd.

It doesn't move, but it's
indistinguishable from the real thing.

We already have four Michael Heseltines
sitting on various committees.

There they are.

Androids, I hear you cry. And you can
get them if you sit on too many

committees.

And what about overproduction? Well,
this is the European jockstrap mountain.

Sometimes known as St. Michael's Mount.

The tightening of our hold on underpants
should lead to a slackening off in

production. Now, transport.

People have pointed out that due to
cuts, the London Scunthorpe motorway

goes as far as my home in Potter's Bar.

Where? Who wants to go to Scunthorpe
anyway?

It will be extended as soon as I move to
Royston.

Now, this ticket here is British Rail's
new stay -away day.

How does it work? Well, you travel to a
secret destination and we close down the

line before you come back.

Trans -Siberian Railway is open, of
course, so you can still go to the

but not while the train is standing in
the station.

And we'll cut education.

Eaton and Harrow will come down to half
size and merge with Sandwich College.

So we'll get a narrow Harrow and a half
-Eaton sandwich.

Sport? Well, here's a new government
racket.

There it is, for cheaper doubles.

Wimbledon will be simplified this year.
In the mixed doubles, Joan Collins will

play with everyone.

Danny LaRue will play in the mixed
singles.

And McEnroe will provide his own ball
boys.

But where do you come in?

Well, there are many ways to cut your
outgoings. Cut your heating costs by

night storage solar panels.

Yes, it takes a little longer, that one.

Now, if you have to dial the speaking
clock, wait till six and get the cheaper

rates. And do use these new economical
inventions.

Here we are.

The ultimate oven -ready chicken.

It has roller skates instead of feet.

Instant meals on wheels. There we go.

Our metal -saving scheme here.

The metal -saving scheme. There it is.
We put holes in all the tins. Here, for

example, is a lovely tin of cock -a
-leaky soup.

Yes, soup in a basket.

Plenty of leaky, but very little of
anything else.

Lastly, government.

Parliament will be halved and many
members cut down to size, including Mr

who will be reduced to six inches.

The Liberal Party will be allowed only
three seats, which means there'll only

room for Cyril Smith.

Well, there you have it. I myself am
going back to Whitehall now, and by

I shall be completely cut myself.

But who cares? Tell you the truth, I'm
half cut already.

Good night.

I say, Humphrey.

What is it, Godfrey? You know, no matter
how hot the day is, at night,

it gets dark.

Yes, it's the same in America.

Yes. Just come back, Havell.

Did you go for pleasure, or did the wife
go with you?

I went alone, you know.

Very, very grand hotel.

Oh, really?

Yes, so grand that even the guests...
have to use the service entrance.

That is grand.

Funny people, the Americans.

On the plane going over, a woman
collapsed.

Doctor sitting one side of her refused
to help. Said he was on holiday.

Amazing. Jack sitting the other side of
her said, that's disgraceful.

The doctor said, would you carry on your
profession if you were on holiday?

I certainly would, said the other chap.
All right, what is your profession, he

said. I'm a fishmonger, said the other
chap. And he picked the woman up,

loosened her clothing, and sold her two
pounds of head up.

I said three blind mice.

See how they run. My, my, how they run.

They run after the farmer's wife. She
cut off their tails with a cockney

Never saw such a thing in my life. Those
three blind mice.

Listen, everybody, while I tell you all
the story of the three blonde moths

living on a farm in Arizona where the
owner was a real mean string bean

to a farming man. Well, late one Friday
evening, they were leaving Harrisboro

and they were all blonde drunk,
staggering and flipping over, tottering

tripping over each other's tails.

Now the farmer's wife was waiting out on
the veranda cutting vegetables for

dinner and without no hesitating.

With a speed that makes you shudder, she
cut off his tiny rudder. Oh, Lord, it

should have hurt that way.

I heard the story of the gory situation
of the three blonde boys living

on a farm in Arizona where the owner was
a real mean string bean married to a

farm. So, when you're sitting losing and
your vision you are losing, don't

forget those marks.

Keep away from all the farmer's wives
because the little chalmers might cut

your tail.

Three blind vines.

Three myopic marks.

See how they run.

Oh my God, how they run.

They all ran after the farmer's wife.
She cut off their tails with a carving

knife. Which certainly ruins the old
love life.

Oh, yes. Good evening.

Good evening. Hello. Nice party, isn't
it? Yes.

I'm a travel agent, actually. I don't
know if you've fixed your holidays yet,

no? Well, perhaps I can offer you one or
two rather interesting ideas. No, no

need, old boy. Too late. I'm a travel
agent as well. I'm giving him ideas

myself. You see, we rather specialise in
unusual methods of travel. For example,

go on stilts through Wilts or by pogo to
Togo.

Well, that's nothing. With us, you could
scoot into Beirut or you could balloon

into Rangoon.

In Syracuse, I hire a cruiser and it's
hello, sailor, to Venezuela.

taxidermy holiday, you know.

Embalming things in Palm Springs.

Stop a crow in Buffalo.

You're not actually into taxidermy. No,
I probably thought that. You poor

inordinate broke who likes to do simple
things like shopping. Well, indeed, go

shopping with us. Go shopping and
whopping.

Buy a welly in New Delhi or a hat in
Eilat. A sandal gay in Mandalay.

Or cop a natty kettle and pop a cat a
petal.

Play your bongo in the Congo or rattle
your maracas in Caracas.

Why not try our...

the world's sanitation crews. If you
want to spend a penny, try Abergavenny.

to the loo in Peru, sample the ablutions
in the Aleutians. There's a thunderbox

in Thunder Rocks, there's a dodgy old
carsey to the east of Benghazi.

But in Rockall, there's absolutely
nothing.

Perhaps he doesn't want a safari at all,
a sanitation safari of that sort. I

mean, who does? Perhaps you'd like one
of our booze tours.

Get blotto in the Blue Grotto and canned
in the Strand.

Or a little tipsy in Porkipsy or
plastered in Paris.

Giving me a headache.

Oh, you want a medical holiday? Well,
fair enough. Go to Tulsa for an ulcer or

sin for the wind. Yes, if you're
blushing, go to flushing. If you're

try Wyoming.

For migraine, it's the Ukraine. For
sores, the Azores. Ethiopia for myopia

for the fear of Lumbago, Tierra del
Fuego.

And it's off to the Bahamas if you
suffer from the pharma. Yes, but for a

shock, Bangkok.

I don't want any of your holidays. I'm a
travel agent too. I'm knobblers of

Twickenham. Oh, knickers the Twickers.
And that's the knobblers.

Now, the joke I'm going to tell you
tonight is not exactly the funniest joke

the world.

Now, I'll be honest, you know, this joke
is so unfunny, I told it to Stuart Hall

of It's a Knockout, and he only laughed
for one and three quarter hours.

We were in the BBC club at the time, and
things were a bit boisterous.

One of Paul Daniel's tricks had got out
of hand.

And there were 73 Nolan sisters at the
bar.

And over in the corner, people were agog
with the news that Patrick Moore's suit

had just walked into a dry cleaner's and
given itself up.

No, he had some bother, poor old
Patrick, because one of the moths in his

applied for a home improvement grant.

As usual, our producer was feeling a
little bit full of himself.

as he stood there with a pint of
Guinness between his legs, trying to get

frock out with a corkscrew.

It is difficult to say, isn't it?

It's not so difficult to laugh at, I
hope.

Oh, by the way, I almost forgot at this
stage a little wave to my wife, because

I sometimes just do this, to be honest
with you. She's not been herself just

lately. Not since I got her that part
-time job as a lollipop lady at Brands

Hatch.

Let's face it, there have been a few
problems at home recently.

There was that episode with the settee
in the front room.

Two weeks ago, a lady came round to
recover it.

And since then, it's been incredibly
lumpy.

Added to which, we haven't seen my
wife's mother for a fortnight.

So it's very worrying. And on Tuesday,
on Tuesday there was an incident when I

got up in the middle of the night to fix
myself a snack.

I went too near the extractor fan and
end up sailing through next door's

window.

So that took the wind out of their
sails.

As a matter of fact, they've been a bit
of a nuisance next door, to be honest.

They are gadget mad.

They have got solar heating panels that
are so sensitive that when Terry Wogan

smiles on television, the kettle boils.

And a few weeks ago, they bought this
big new waterbed with a very powerful

electric blanket on top.

And at two o 'clock every morning, they
both start whistling.

Added to all that, I've had a lot of
worries myself ever since I bought that

racehorse from Tesco's.

Now, I know it sounds ridiculous,
doesn't it? I mean, how would anybody be

stupid as to buy a racehorse from
Tesco's? But I did.

I got five pee off because I had a dent
in it.

No, I didn't really buy it. I didn't buy
a racehorse from Tesco's at all. I

actually bought a zebra.

It wasn't my fault. I thought it was a
racehorse with a computer pattern on it.

On to the story. Now, this story this
week all takes place on a farm where one

day this chap turns up to do a spot of
casual work and is given the job of

cleaning out the pigsty.

And he's, incidentally, if at any point
you're dazzled, By my fluent grasp of

agricultural terms.

Like pig.

You may have heard me say it's stye.

Just like that. I should point out that
I did once work in a farm myself.

Very small farm, to be honest. We had
one sheep.

And that was 75 % polyester.

As it happened, I only worked on this
particular farm for a few weeks. I used

take the cockerel round every night to
charge up the battery hens.

Oh, that's the sort of stuff you have.

And it wasn't easy, I can tell you,
because the cockerels and the hens had

formed a vigilante group to hunt down
Colonel Sanders.

That was at night time. In the daytime,
I was told to go out and cut the corn.

Nothing changes, really.

There's this chap.

There's a chap happily hoovering out the
pigsty and suddenly he notices that one

of the pigs has got a wooden leg.

Don't ask me which one it was. I can't
remember.

So full of curiosity, doesn't really
matter which one it was, one of them had

wooden leg.

And since it was only one, it was quite
easy to notice.

He immediately takes the farmer aside.
He said, listen.

I wasn't sure whether he takes or talks.
Anyway, he takes the pharmacy. He said,

will you excuse me? Excuse me asking
this, he said. But I can't help

speaking in a hushed tone, I can't help
noticing that that pig has got a wooden

leg.

Well, you know, why would this be, pray?
And the farmer says, well, if it wasn't

for that pig, he says, this farm
wouldn't be here, he said. A few weeks

when I was on my holiday, a fire broke
out in that hayloft there.

Straight away, the pig smelt the smoke,
jumped out of the sty, raced over to the

shed, got the house pipe out, connected
up to the tap there, and then turned all

the water on and put all the flames.

Then he wrangled out with fire brigade
and came over, cleaned up the mess. And

if it hadn't been for that pig, he said,
the whole place would have gone up in

smoke.

That's absolutely incredible, he said,
for a pig to do a thing like that. But

why has it got the wooden leg? The
farmer said, listen, I'll tell you

else. Another thing.

That pig saved my life, he said. Two
weeks ago, I was in town on business.

Two muggers cornered me in an alleyway,
and they pulled a gun at me. I shouts

for help, and from five miles away, that
pig hears.

He jumps out of the stye, he leaps on
his bicycle, cycles all the way into

then with two swift karate chops from
his trotter, he said he fells both the

muggers and immediately disarms them.

And seeing me fainted, he gives me the
kiss of life. And he carries me on his

back to the nearest doctor for
assistance.

And if it wasn't for that pig, he said,
I wouldn't be alive today. So the chap

says, well, he said, that's the most
amazing story I've ever heard. He said,

why? Why has it got a wooden leg?

Oh, the farmer says, listen, he said,
well, you've got a pig of that quality.

You don't eat it all at once.

Podmore's End. Never heard of it. You
familiar with Podmore's End?

Not at all.

Lucky Podmore.

Don't make pathetic jokes, Brian. You
haven't the faintest idea where we are,

have you? I know exactly where we are,
Muriel. We're lost.

That's where we are.

There's another name up there. I can't
see it from here.

Well, get out then.

Place called Mildoway.

Half a mile away.

It's only a footpath.

Well, at least there may be someone who
can tell us where we are.

Righto. You staying?

No, I'm not.

It's far too hot and I'm getting bitten
all over with gnats as it is. Probably

attracted by your aftershave. Brian!

Talking of Freudian slips, mind where
you put your feet round about here.

Do you think there'll be anywhere where
we can spend the night?

Well, there's bound to be a pub or an
inn or something, you know.

Might be quite nice, actually.

Single bed, mind.

What, for the two of us?

Don't be facetious, Brian. You know how
set I am on a single bed.

I won't be moved on that.

I wouldn't agree with trying to move you
on any kind of bed.

Good day, master, mistress.

I do see by your apparel, in shape and
form most foreign to mine eye, that you

be strangers in this valley and these
lands.

I give you welcome, master.

Oh, thanks, hopefully.

By the way, I'm sorry to disturb you in
the middle of your carnival day.

It's just that we were wondering if
there's perhaps an inn, you know, where

could spend the night.

Single beds, of course.

Well, it'll be the end, good master.
Yonder there.

But I must warn you straight.

The landlord here, true to his title,
landlord, doth possess and is in sooth

lord of all these lands.

He is our thane, our duke, our governing
peer, and he doth rule and over all all

sway. I know the type.

A bit of a big head.

Shall I convey thee to my good lord's
door?

Yes, certainly.

I'll soon sort him out.

You're not even in the good food garden.

Now, poxy white, if I do but catch thee
once again with thy greasy hand inside

my money bags, I'll wrap thy legs around
thy neck and hang thee up by thy

garters for the crows to peck at.

Now, be gone.

Old Sir Thomas Thumb, I do declare.

Christ welcome, good Sir Tom, and to thy
spouse.

If such is that she is, such frosty
looks dispute she is the mistress of his

bed.

Single beds, Brown.

Good evening.

What I'm wondering is, could you
accommodate us for the night in single

Both of us, that is.

Separately. In the same room.

Yes, replacing different ways.

What I mean is, can you put it up?

What? Put you up?

I marry that I shall, my microcosmic
lord. Thou shalt be up as tall as any

subject in the realm.

Thou shalt take dinner seated on a cask
of good red claret, earmarked for the

feast.

Astride this mount, the tap between thy
legs, thou shalt replenish all the

serving maids.

What? Up indeed, the highest in the
land, thou shalt dine here with me on my

right hand. Thy frosty spouse, like
Claret by my crown, should not be up.

Nay, she should be laid down.

That reminds me, Brian, hot water
bottles.

Oh, yes, yes.

Are the beds warm? There is a wench who,
for an honest groat, will warm thy bed

with warming pan of coals, or whatsoever
method you devise, twit her anew.

The girl knows all the ways.

As to this glacier, this Siberian stone,
give me its latchkey, I will warm it

straight.

Come, enter, and prepare ye for the
feast.

Come on, dear.

I hope he takes Barclay card.

You promised you would never touch me
there, Brian.

I didn't mean to grab you badly. Just
thought I'm hiding from that woman.

Had to drop down really low, you know.

She's got such a big bosom, she can't
see the floor.

I think I'd like to go to our room now,
Brian.

I want to listen to Book at Bedtime on
Radio 4.

That's effective, isn't it?

He can relate. Supper's always the same,
you know.

I've just realised I don't know what
room we're in.

Well, let's ask him. Oh, dear me.

Excuse me, my host.

We'd like to retire.

So shall you, good Sir Tom.

Sweet dreams.

Thank you. But say, before you go,
there's reckoning to be made.

Thou must, for this night's work, due
recompense in full account of cost be

discharged. This is the custom in these
whereabouts.

No man shall sleep until he pay his
dues.

Obviously, a union man.

Well, how would you like to be paid,
sir?

Barter card, or...?

Used timers? What?

Papers? Bills and promissory notes?

Nay, this is not a London counting
house.

Were not the vittles real?

The meat not warm? Was not the wine wet?
Did the cheese not bite?

How then can we accept some airy pledge,
the promise of some future settlement?

A shilling in the silver of the realm,
the honest coin that bears our good

queen's head.

A shilling?

Why didn't you say?

It's obviously Arts Council.

Lord Montague's probably behind it.

There we are, my man.

Five feet.

Come on, Muriel.

This coin is counterfeit.

Restrain them.

Bear witness all that some strange alien
face doth masquerade hereon for good

Queen Bess.

Elizabeth II, the legend bears.

We know, God knows.

Let there be only one.

But look!

But me no buts, thou scurvy knave. This
counterfeiting is a heinous crime.

The punishment is clear and widely
known.

The forfeiture of all thy goods and
wealth.

And for thy further humblement and
shame, to spend the night imprisoned in

stocks. Take him away!

Yet hold his wife close by.

She being but a chattel of his house is
likewise forfeit to our royal claim.

Go, women, and prepare her for the night
with perfumes, unctions.

Dress her all in white.

White is the ice that floats on arctic
sea.

But ice must melt.

And melt then, so shall she.

This would never have happened if we'd
stuck to Trust House 40.

It's going to be freezing cold standing
out here all night.

Lift them up and give me something on my
head.

Sorry, I spoke.

Brian, dear.

You all right?

I'm not sure.

I think I'm possibly quite well.

Why are you doing that, Brian? You look
silly.

Well, it's the stocks, dear, and I just
set like it.

You'll have to drive.

Did you get much sleep?

Not a lot.

Do you know, I just realised that sign
isn't there.

You know, the one that said mile away.

I suppose we dreamt it, all of you.

My God, what a nightmare.

Oh, I don't know.

All set, Brian, dear?

Yes, fine.

You seem very, uh, you know, relaxed
this morning.

Oh, I'm just looking forward to the
drive, that's all.

Don't drive too fast, will you?

In this position, I might fly away.

Let's have some music, shall we?

Now listen to me, little chickabiddies.
With such beautiful weather, you should

be out there in the country. Not even
indoors.

Listen to this kind of rubbish.

There's places out there you've never
even heard of. Believe me, it's worth

Go and find yourself an adventure.

It may change your life.

Well, that seems to be all we have time
for tonight.

But before we go, a few late items of
news.

Special arrangements were made tonight
at Lord George Davidson Circus when

Boris, the retiring human cannonball,
was fired for the last time from the 10

-inch howitzer.

They shot him straight through the front
door of the old folks' home.

Today also saw the presentation to BBC
TV's longest -serving canteen

Imogen Scudamore.

She said she wanted something warm and
furry, so they gave her the tea urn.

The annual secret service luncheon at
the Guildhall took place today. They all

toasted themselves in invisible ink,
memorised the menu and ate it.

But finally, some good news tonight.
There's been a marked improvement in the

condition of TV star Terry Wogan. He's
lost his voice.

In next week's programme, we'll be
demonstrating the new indecent breakfast

cereal from Denmark.

It's called Porn Flakes.

When you put the milk on, they go slap,
tickle and grope.

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