All language subtitles for The Two Ronnies s11e03

Good evening.

It's lovely to be back with you once
again, isn't it, Raleigh? Yes, indeed it

is. And in a packed program tonight, we
shall be talking to Boy George, who

tonight announced that he's sick of
bisexuals and he's going back to contact

lenses.

Then we'll be meeting the nymphomaniac,
Guernsey O 'Farrell, and she'll be

telling us she's a bit of a pullover.

But first, the news. The Metropolitan
Police apologised tonight for today's

traffic hold -up in the Parliament
Square area. This was due to Cyril Smith

shifting his load.

The down -and -out vagrant from Wrexham,
who thinks she's the leader of the SDP,

was admitted to hospital today suffering
from an inferiority complex.

And there were fears today that Mrs
Whitehouse needs a new pair of glasses

she threw a bucket of water over a car
transporter.

Show business. The National Theatre
announced tonight that Dolly Parton is

star in Romeo and Juliet.

She'll play the balcony.

There was trouble tonight for leading
spiritualist Arthur Skeet when his wife

discovered he was having a bit on the
other side.

Sport.

Exciting news from the open at St.

Andrews. British golfers are occupying
the first 20 places in the car park.

But now a sketch featuring Mr. Ronnie
Corbett, the only tennis player who,

he wins, runs up to the net and climbs
through a little hole in it.

Oh, dear.

Another one?

Yes. But this time I've had enough. This
time they're not getting it back.

Quite right, my dear.

Well, right in my day, dear.

Yes?

Excuse me, please.

Could we have our ball back, please?

No.

Sorry? I said, no, you cannot have your
ball back.

But England are playing.

Then England will have to stop playing,
won't they?

But, I mean, it's a test match, you see,
with top international players. Top

international and very careless players.

You're playing the Australians.

Ah, well, that would account for a great
deal.

Now, look, Mr. Thompson.

Oh, you know who I... I am, do you? Oh,
yes, we all know who you are.

That's why they sent me across to ask
for the ball back.

You know, they thought if they sent one
of their star players... Oh, so you're a

star player, are you?

And was it you who hit that ball into my
dahlias? No, no, no, it was Ian Botham.

Ian Botham?

And who, pray, is Ian Botham?

He's one of our best players.

He's a terrific all -rounder. He's
absolutely bang in form.

And he hit the most magnificent drive
straight back over the bowler's head,

all the way.

And it was very silly of him, wasn't it?

Well, I mean, that's what he tries to
do, hit it as hard as that, you see.

And he's very silly.

Well, that's the idea of the game.

It's a very silly idea, isn't it?

Very silly idea and a very silly game.

Isn't it, young man?

Isn't it?

Yes.

Yes, Mr. Thompson.

Yes, Mr. Thompson.

And tell me, why did he send you to pick
up this ball?

Why did he not come himself?

Bit of a weed, is it?

No, no, he's just a bit tense. He's a
bit... A bit on edge. You see, he's 98.

Well, he's old enough to know better.

I should tell him what you said. Yes,
do. Do. And tell him in future just to

simply pat the ball gently.

That way he'll have much more fun and he
won't upset anyone.

Yes. Yes, I'll tell him that. Yes.

I'll tell him what you said. Yes. In the
meantime, could we have the... That

ball, Sonny, has damaged my garden.

Well, you have a full apology from
England, I assure you, officially. Full

apologies, butter no parsnips, young
man.

However, that ball has certainly
battered my parsnips.

What are you laughing at? Oh, sorry.

Can we have the ball, do you think? I'm
still waiting for one little word.

Sorry? No.

Please.

Please, Mr. Thompson, may we have the
ball back that we so foolishly and

harmfully hit into your garden.

Please, Mr. Thompson, may we have the
ball back that we so foolishly and...

Harmfully? Harmfully hit into your
garden.

Now, be warned.

If you hit this ball into my garden once
more, I shall confiscate it

permanently. And then you and your Mr.
Botham will have to find something

to do on a Saturday afternoon.

Yes, I shall tell Mr. Botham. Thank you.

You're too soft with them, Gerald. You
should have kept it. I know.

But quite frankly, my dear, where would
we have put it?

No collection of songs would be complete
without an Astaire number, since he

created most of the great standards.
Here it is, then. Slap That Bass from

We Dance, Elaine Page.

Zoom.

With politics and taxes and people
grinding axes, there's no

happiness.

Zoom, zoom, zoom, zoom.

Rhythm, lead your race.

The future doesn't fret me if I can only
get me.

Fatility. Slap that face.

Keep the rhythm busy. Zoom, zoom, zoom.

Misery, you got to go.

Slap that face.

Use it like a tonic. Slap that face.

Keep you philharmonic. Zoom, zoom, zoom.

If you want a bubble, slap that face.
Slap away your trouble.

Zoom, zoom, zoom.

Slap that face.

Dictators would be better off if they
could zoom.

You mean? Yeah.

You're Robert Redford, aren't you?

No. I'm afraid you mistaken there.

You must often get taken for him.

Well, not very often, I must be honest.

You're somebody.

Oh, I'm somebody, all right. Yes, I'm
somebody.

Everybody's somebody, aren't they?

Otherwise, nobody would be anybody.

I've seen you.

Well, I doubt it. I mean, I don't appear
anywhere.

You've appeared here, haven't you?

Yes, but I mean, I don't perform.

Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.

I mean, I don't entertain. I'm not an
entertainer.

Calm off, eh?

Look, honestly, no. I promise you, I'm
just an ordinary, rather dull person. I

haven't got one ounce of show business
spark.

or scintillation or pizzazz. Ah, you're
Robin Day, ain't you?

I would hardly describe Robin Day as
having no show business pizzazz. I mean,

he's got so much of it, goodness me.

If you want to see a real over -the -top
performance, just you watch Question

Time.

No, you're not him, then.

No, I'm not him.

Who's that ventriloquist bloke who works
with a dummy?

Lord Charles.

Yeah, that's it. Yeah.

You're one of them.

Which one?

Oh, either.

Do you mind? Lord Charles has made a
wood. Do you mind?

You're not thinking of Rod Hull and Emu,
are you? Oh, yeah, that's him. Yeah,

yeah. Will you just leave me in peace,
please?

Just thank you very much. Just to enjoy
my drink. Thank you very much. Sorry.

Sorry. All right.

On holiday, Danny, are you? No, I work
here.

Oh, yeah? What, in cabaret, then? No,
look. No, not cabaret. I am not in show

business. Shall we just leave me in
peace?

Thank you, just to enjoy my drink.

Like a drink, do you? Yes, I do. I enjoy
a drink, I must be honest. In peace, I

like a drink.

A lot of your people are heavy drinkers,
aren't they?

What do you mean, my people? What do you
mean, my people? What kind of

generalisation? What do you mean, my
mother, my father -in -law?

What do you mean, my people?

Show business people.

Look, I am not show business.

I am not a heavy drinker. I'm a nine
-stone -four drinker, you must know.

Leave me in peace, if you don't mind.
I'm sorry, sorry to intrude.

It's just that I find it fascinating,
you know.

And although I really realise that your
privacy is to be respected, and I know

that whatever I think about you and what
you are and who you are makes no

difference at all whatsoever to you, I
think you're Harry Seacombe.

Harry Seacombe is enormous.

He's lost a lot of weight.

All right, all right, I'll admit it. I
am in show business.

I'm a very, very well -known name.

I star in my own TV special. I'm a
household name, do you understand that?

have my own act, you know, that is
wonderful, a great success, and finishes

this.

Make my bed.

Good evening.

Here's the weather forecast.

In the home counties, there'll be sunny
intervals, but only during the night.

There'll be an attack of giant spiders
in the north here.

And it'll be raining from Somerset to
Cornwall. So if you're going from Bath

Loo and back, you better take a towel.

In Liverpool, it'll be raining cats and
dogs.

Or in Manchester, it'll be hissing down.

Sorry, I've spat on Milton Keynes.

But then, who hasn't?

Now, let us look at the overall picture.

Isn't it lovely? Now, let's look at the
overall picture.

This is my assistant, Miss Good.

I said, what's your name? She replied,
Hermione Good. I said, well, we'll find

out later. What's your name?

As you can see, there's nothing new
under the sun.

Not onto these, anyway.

But she is a lovely girl, although she
tends to wear rather hairy eyebrows and

very runny nose.

Good idea, forever.

Now, we have some of our latest
instruments over here.

Here we have the barometer, and here we
have the seaweed, and here, of course,

we have the rainfall gauge. Now, last
night, we had 27 inches of rain.

10 inches in this one and 17 inches in
that one.

Now, either there was a tidal wave or
there's been an elephant on the Air

Ministry roof.

Well, there's good news for spinsters in
Scotland.

You'll get a monsoon.

Here, coming up on your screens now, is
today's satellite picture supplied by

the Americans.

Quite useless, as you see, all the
weather's hidden by clouds.

However, our new British satellite is in
much lower orbit. It's actually

positioned on the top deck of a number
11 bus.

Here's today's picture.

A puddle outside Hackney Garage.

Which brings me to flooding. Now, this
is the area that will be affected if the

River Thames should flood. There we are.

Now, if it should happen, and there's
only a very remote chance that it won't,

you'll get a warning sound like this.

That means, don't panic, go upstairs and
watch the boat race at Launce.

Or do a bit of duck shooting, if you'd
rather.

Ten seconds later, you might get this.

Means that the man who did this is now
underwater.

Airlocks, I hear you cry.

And, of course, they will be open even
on Sunday.

Well, there you have it. But not
underwater, I hope.

Until next weather forecast, remember
that old saw and put a bit of ointment

it.

Red sky at night, shepherd's delight.

Red rash in the morning, doctor's
warning.

Absolutely loads. Oh, look, there's Don.

Oh, hello, Don. Hello, Don. Nice chap,
Don.

He's an Aussie, isn't he?

Don, an Aussie. No, no, no, no, he's a
jock.

Like Mick.

Hi, Mick. Oh, Mick.

Surely Mick isn't a jock, Mick's a
paddy. No, no, no, he's a jock.

Paddy's a Mick.

Top of the evening to you, Paddy.

I know Paddy's a Mick, but isn't Mick a
paddy?

Never, no, no, Mick's a jock, like Don.

Oh. Well, what about jock, then?

Good to see you, Jock.

He's an Aussie, isn't he?

No, no, no. He's as much a Brit as I am.

Hi, Jerry.

Ah, now, he's an Aussie. Oh, Jerry.

That's right. Very simple, really.

Mick's a Jock. Jock's a Brit.

Paddy's a Mick. Aussie's a Paddy. Brit's
a Jerry. And Jerry is an Aussie.

Are you sure Jerry's an Aussie? Oh, yes.
Just the other day he told me how much

he adored Sidney. Oh, yes. I'd heard
he's an answer.

Who's a Brit?

Do you know Alice?

Alice?

Alice Springs?

Oh, does she? I must make a note of
that.

Ernie. You know, he recently won an
Oscar. Oh, yes.

It gave him an enormous fillip.

Now, there was someone I haven't seen
for ages. Oh, enormous fillip.

You know, he won something on Ernie.
Yes, and from what I heard, Ernie's got

something on Tony. Yes, and Tony's got
something on Oscar.

Oh,

who's that just come in?

Oh, it's Gene. Yes, he's with Gene.

Oh, a pair of jeans.

Is that Frank?

Well, he wasn't Frank with me.

who's just arrived. Well, dear, it's
Guy.

And Guy.

And Guy. And Guy. Do you know all those
guys?

Yes.

Give me the Willys. Tell me something.
Do you like Willy?

Willy? Well, quite frankly, dear, I
think he's a Wally. Willy? A Wally? A

a Charlie.

Not a Charlie.

No, no, not a Charlie.

Herbert's a Charlie.

Charlie, of course, is a complete dud.
And dud is a bit of a Herbert. Oh.

And Wally?

Oh, he's a right Nana.

Oh, Nana!

Love your last record, young.

Between ourselves, I think Mick is a
Wally, too. Mick?

He's a Don. He can't be a Wally. Well,
why not? Look at Paddy. He used to be a

Ted. Now he's a Bobby. He's still a
Mick. He's still a Wally. And, of

Jerry may be an Aussie, and he may be
married to Britt, who's a Dolly, and

pretend to be a jock, but we all know
he's a great big Jesse.

Exactly.

By the way, what's your name?

Oh, I'm Reggie. Oh, I'm Reggie, too.

Sensible names, aren't they? Yes, no
funny business. No, no, no silly jokes,

right.

What's your surname?

Oh, I'm a Burke.

I'm a Pratt.

I come from a long line of Burkes. Oh,
really? I'm one of the biggest Pratts in

town.

I say, shall we go and get another
little drink here? Why not, dear?

My sister's just gone to New York, you
know. She's going to marry a pin.

It says here they've invented a
telescope what can see 93 million miles.

Impossible.

Nothing's impossible.

Well, it must be something.

No.

I'll tell you something that's
impossible.

What? It is impossible for a worm to
fall over.

That is different, isn't it?

I mean, space and that.

I don't trust these space scientists and
all that. I mean, if they're so clever,

why do they count backwards?

Exactly.

One of them telescopes wouldn't do no
good to me, I tell you that. I've got

spots before me eyes.

Well, you called them new classes,
didn't you? Didn't they help? Well, sort

you know. It didn't get rid of the
spots, you know, but I can see them much

clearer now.

Famous poet and author Robert Looney
Stevenson Shelleybrook died alone in the

tropical heat of the jungle where he had
gone to escape illness. Yet, who never

once lost his love of the country that
was forever in his heart, England. He

wrote frequently and passionately of his
love for England and its people, often

hoping that one day he would return to
them, which sadly he never did.

I wish I were in England now, the
mudlarks chase the turning plow.

I wish I were in England now, of meadow
glean and rustic bough.

I wish I were in England now, in
maidenhead or sunny slough.

I wish I were in England now, of lazy
youth and daisy cow.

And not in this far empire corner.

Growing daily more for Lorna.

Forgotten, lost, a last retreat.

And none to greet me save the heat.

Where sandpan ply their ugly trade. And
darkened glance is often made.

Where nasty little chink -eyed gits are
everywhere like ruddy mitts. And lousy,

evil, skinny coolies need a kick right
in the...

Rotten, slimy, yellow johnnies spend all
day on their sitter ponies.

I really do not like this place.

It reminds me of a fish's face.

It's hot, it's wet, it smells like jelly
kept inside a rancid welly.

People are a faggoty crew who look like
they've been down the loo. I hate them

all, these foreign breeders. What a
bunch of slit -eyed bleeders.

Come push off, you yellow dross, for
whom I couldn't give a toss, and leave

place to us fine British, whose eyes are
not the least bit slitted. We'd turn

this pig and trough about, and kick you
tribe of nippies out.

I wish I were in England now, of
sparrows' cough and dogs' bow -wow.

I wish I were in England now, of pussy's
purr.

And cats, meow.

God, these lantern -lighting johnnies
drive me proppo. Written and performed

Stevenson Shelleybrook in 1902.

Also in the archives, two shorter works.

In the first that we see now, the poet
returns once again to the theme of

England he is missing so dearly.

If I should die, think only this of me.

There is some corner of a foreign field
that is forever England.

That's one in the eye for this tribe of
thieves.

With scrawny arms in baggy sleeves, push
off, you mangy yellow skins, before I

kick you in the shin.

In Britain in the good old days, your
slit -eyed oriental ways just wouldn't

stand a chance in hell. Your feet squint
and your eyeballs smell.

Get out, you maggoty rice pickers. I'd
like to kick you up the knickers.

And you, you old bag.

And finally, the work on which we close
tonight.

England, England, forever England. The
last work ever written by the poet

just before he died.

They couldn't give a damn, you know.

A leaking sump.

They've cut off the raspberry jam, you
know.

I hate them.

The rotten, filthy layabouts.

The stinking, evil, slit -eyed louts.

Can't trust a chink is what I say.

But Britishers go all the way.

I like the English through and through.

Wait a minute.

Come to think of it, that's not true.

I like him, Moses.

Comes as a bit of a shock.

Finding that out.

Tonight...

Thank

you very much. Very kind.

Tonight I have made a solemn, binding
promise to our producer to get straight

with the story.

Not indulge in any of that customary
rambling.

That I do.

So, you know. So, here goes.

There's this priest and, well, let's
face it. I mean, it only wastes time,

doesn't it, for Anthony?

You know, if I just sit here and witter
on about everything under the sun, you

know, it's pointless.

You know, it's irrelevant.

You know, there's no need for it,
really.

So, tonight, right on with the story.

About, as I say, this priest who one day
decides to become a missionary.

added to which really rambling, you
know, rambling.

We've got this new controller here at
the BBC and he is very, very hot on

efficiency. My goodness, is he ever
efficient?

Not very often, no.

But he is better than the last
controller.

He stepped down recently with the
highest redundancy settlement ever paid

the BBC.

£400 and a crackerjack pencil.

Not that he will need it, to be honest,
because his wife is something big in the

city.

She's the Thames flood barrier.

That was just a case of mistaken
identity, which went for an early

He actually started here as a producer
with Children's Television in 1956, and

remember that year very clearly, because
at that time I was having rather a

torrid affair with one of the
Woodentops.

And he was kind enough. to pull a few
strings for me.

When he left, when he left, the BBC
threw one of their special parties in

honour. You know, the usual thing.

Bottles of champagne, scotch, gin, vodka
were all locked away in a can of 7

-Ups.

It was a little bit of a boisterous
evening, to be honest, just as they were

about to hold the raffle for the
Twiglets.

A fight broke out between two of the
guests.

Rather unfortunate, because Marcel
Marceau was being strangled by the

man.

Everyone just stood around and clapped.

That was the night, it's all coming back
to me now, when I leapt onto the dance

floor and did my rather racy impression
of John Travolta.

I suppose it must have been, you know,
the animal in me.

I had to tear it down my trousers.

Oh yes, no rambling. I mustn't upset the
new controller because this new

controller thinks I am the funniest man
in Britain.

He's been told to stay in bed and take
things easy for a while. So if you feel

like joining in with the words, please
don't. It's hard enough as it is.

as I say, it concerns this priest who
one day decides to go on a missionary

expedition to Africa.

And he's a little bit nervous, you know,
in case it turns out to be dangerous.

So he prays to God. He says, look, as I
am a devout Christian and I'm a firm

believer in life after death, I support
Watford.

All the same to you, I'd rather not get
killed because I'm worried about how it

will affect my social life. To which God
replies, do not worry about a thing, he

says. I will look after you.

All I ask is that you trust me, no
matter what happens, however bad things

Trust me, and I will look after you,
see.

Quite a good impression, that, actually.

So off the priest goes, and a month
later, there he is, trekking across

to his mission station, on the back of
this donkey.

He was supposed to go on an elephant,
but at the last minute it did the dirty

him.

And ran away, please.

Don't make up your own jokes.

Just as they're starting to climb up
this mountainside, all of a sudden

a terrible, almighty avalanche. And the
priest goes hurtling back down the

mountain again, ends up clinging
precariously by his fingernails to a

-thin precipice. While down below in the
swirling waters, there's this huge,

monstrous crocodile snapping away.

And don't ask me why a crocodile was
taking photographs.

At this point, a small single -seater
airplane happens to be passing overhead,

and the pilot looks down and says,
Excuse me, sir.

Excuse me, he said, I can't help
noticing you are clinging precariously

fingernails to a wafer -thin precipice.

Is everything all right?

And remembering what he's been told, the
priest said, steals himself, says, yes,

he said, I have put my trust in God. He
said, he will look after me. And the

plane flies away. Well, a few minutes
later, some natives from a nearby

are paddling up the river in a boat. And
one of them starts to ask if he needs

any help. And again, the priest replies,
no, I have put my trust in God. He will

look after me. And away they go. And an
hour later, he's still there, clinging.

And a helicopter happens to pass by, and
naturally the chap leans out of the

helicopter, calls down to the priest,
can I, can I interest you in a Barrett's

home at all, he said.

No, he didn't say anything of the sort.
That would be ridiculous.

He asked the priest if he was in
trouble, and once again, the priest,

sustained by his faith, replies, no, I
have put my trust in God, and I know

he will look after me. At which point,
he falls off the ledge, into the river,

and is eaten by the crocodile.

Next thing he knows, he's walking around
heaven, and he meets God. He said,

look, this is terrible, he said. You
said if I put my trust in you, you'd

after me. What went wrong?

And God said, well, I don't know. I sent
a plane, a boat, and I...

£6 .40 altogether. £10. Thank you very
much, madam.

Oh, dear.

Ali Baba's a bit off course, isn't he,
eh?

Hello, Abdul.

Are you all right, are you? That's the
idea.

The cheek of Araby, eh?

There we are, madam.

£3 .60, James. Thanks very much. Be all
right, dear. Bye -bye.

Down by, Fred. What can I do for you?

I want, um... I want mouse.

Mouse? Mouse? Ah, you're in the wrong
shop there. You want a pet shop.

Pet shop down the road.

Chocolaty mouse.

Chocolaty mouse.

Chocolaty mouse.

Chocolaty mouse.

Oh, chocolate mouse you want. Chocolate
mouse. That's a sweets, you see. That's

a sweet. We don't sell chocolate mice
here. You have to go down to sweets. No,

please, not the mice. Not the mice.

The mouse.

No, well, mice is the plural of mouse in
England. You have to learn to speak

English when you're old.

Chocolaty mouse.

Yeah.

Oh, I see. Well, yes, I suppose you
could call it Chocolaty Mouse, yes.

Chocolaty Mouse, if you like, yes.

Chocolaty Mouse. Yes. Or Chocolate
Mouse, we actually say, you see. We say

Chocolate Mouse. No, Chocolaty Mouse.
No, no, no.

Yeah, all right then, all right.

We'll call it Chocolaty Mouse. Here we
are, sir. One Chocolaty Mouse. Yes, very

good, sir.

There we are. Now, what would you like
next, sir? Um, purry.

Curry? No, purry. Purry. Purry.

Purry, purry, purry, purry.

Purry, purry. Tomato purry.

Tomato purry.

Tomato purry.

Tomato purry. Tomato purry.

Tomato... Oh, tomato puree, you mean.
Tomato puree.

Tomato purry. No, I must correct you
this time, sir. The correct

you see, is tomato purry.

Yeah, that's how we say it over here.
Tomato purry. That's right.

You've got that one. Where is the tomato
purry?

Just a minute.

Molly, where's the tomato purry, love?
We seem to run out of it. Tomato purry,

love. Where's the what? The tomato
purry. Oh, it's all right. It's right

me nose. Here it is. I've got some.
Here, one tin of tomato purry, sir. Are

too drunk? Shut up.

Apologies for the wife, sir.

Sodder. Yes, that's what I say, sir.

No, please, sodder. What?

Sodder. Yeah.

Sodder. Vicar bonnet of sodder.

Bicker bonnet. Bicker bonnet.

Oh, we're back on the... Bicker bonnet
of soda. Bicker bonnet of soda.

Bicarbonate of soda.

Oh, very good.

You have no uses, don't you?

There we are, one bicker bonnet of soda,
sir.

Jewish? No, no, not me, no, no.

Chinaman. Chinaman, hardly, sir, hardly.
No, I'm C of E. Oh, C of E. C of E,

yes. Also C of E. You C of E? No, no,
not me, C of E. You're a muslin, aren't

you? No, no, C of E on my knees. C of E.
C of E. C of E.

Coffee. I mean, C of E. Oh, C of E.
Coffee.

No, coffee.

Where is it, love? Well, it's over where
it always is, by the juice, love. A

Jewess. Jewess. Oh, Jewess. Oh, that
sort of Jewess. Oh, I see.

What sort of Jewess did you want, sir? A
Prickett. A Prickett Jewess.

Prickett Jewess over there, dear.
Prickett Jewess. Look, cinnamon.

Cinnamon? Chinaman. Oh, Chinaman.

Very good. The Prickett Jewess down to
cinnamon.

Chinaman. Right, sir. What else, sir?
Dong Yu.

Not at all. My pleasure, sir.

Tongue. Tongue?

Tongue. Tin of tongue you. Tongue you.
Oh, tin of tongue you. Oh, tin of tongue

you. There we are, one tin of tongue
you, sir.

Lovely. Yes, next.

Pee? Hmm?

Pee.

Tin or frozen?

No, pee.

No, pee. I want, I want pee.

Ah.

Well, I'll tell you what you do. You go
out here, down to the phone.

No, villain them pee.

Villain them pee.

Villand MP.

Villand MP. Oh, Villand MP.

Villand MP. Villand MP.

Villand MP.

What would you like? A nice thick slicky
here. That's a thick slicky.

Right, so now, come on now, give me a
really hard one. Come on.

Soup. Soup. Soup.

Oh, now, you want soup to wash your
hands with, don't you? Eh?

That's what I'm catching on, you see.
Well, we don't sell it. That's down at

chemist, you see. He's a very good
bloke. He'll cure you or anything.

My malady. Yes, he'll cure your malady.

He'll cure it.

My malady. My malady. My malady. My
malady. For... My malady for the two

Two -arsed. Two -arsed. The breakfast,
the my malady and the two -arsed. Two

-arsed. C .A .B. C .A .B. Oh, I've got
it. Oh, a nice cup of C .A .B., couple

slices of two -arsed and some my malady
on the top.

Silver Shred My Malady, there you are,
sir.

Got one of your little friends on the
side there.

He may not be there for much longer, but
he's definitely there.

I want, uh, cack.

Hmm? Cack.

Cack. Cack, you know. Plenty of cack.
Plenty of cack, right? Oh, I know cack.

Yes, here we are, sir. There he is.

Mr. Kipling makes exceedingly good cack.
There we are.

Do you like it? Wonderful. I have the
chocolatey mouse, the tomato puree, the

bicarbonate of soda, the cinnamon, the
juice, the apricot juice, the soup, and

the cack.

Oh, very good.

300 pounds.

Before we change for that. Oh, no,
please. No, no, not to change, please.

change. Oh, very nice of you, sir. I'm
going now to have the sherry.

Have the sherry. Oh, very nice. Just
going down for a quick one before lunch,

please.

No, no, no, please. Not the quick one
before lunch. No, no. I'm going to have

the sherry. Have the sherry. To have the
sherry for the clothing.

Oh, the clothing. Oh, well, the
haberdashery.

Haberdashery. Oh, no, the haberdashery.
Yes. Because I got to get large brass

ears for my wife, you see. Oh.

No, no, no, the brass ears, the brass
ears.

Oh, the brass ears.

Yes,

I have to get the large brass ears,
because her tights are enormous.

Hi there, and welcome to this special
edition

of Plop of the Plop.

Status who? Those brilliants of rock and
roll. We've got Big Mama, an enormous

success, and a new entry at 39, 45, 87.

And least but not last, it is number one
chart buster, Little Steamy Window.

No summer rain.

Like warm champagne.

No sun, no birds, no bees.

No flowers, no trees, November.

Gray skies above.

No thought of love.

And I can say, a gloomier day, I can't
remember.

At half past four, I knocked your door

to run a check.

On your electrical supply I smiled at

you And we both knew When

your eyes lit up The sparks began to fly

Very soon you had me underneath the
stairs.

Then I stayed to check your heels.

You switched me on. Now we're

connected. Waiting for a little

build to come.

You pick my mama, I'm a blacker than a
black guy.

I get you up in the morning and I
flatten you every night.

I've known a lot of women and I've known
a lot of men.

I've always loved the difference ever
since I was ten.

I'm a sweet chump who turned out.

But she goes on and on and on and on and
on and on and on. She nags me every

morning and she nags me every night. She
nags me when I'm sober and she nags me

when I'm tired.

When I come home, it really gets me go.

She can't nag me in person, so she
leaves a nagging note.

Very fond of her.

lunchtime so she rings me up at work she
nags at me at mealtime and she nags me

on the job if I wasn't such a gentleman
I'd smack her in the gob very

ponderous but she goes on and on

Thank you.

to be very nearly all we have time for
tonight, but before we go, a few late

items of news.

There was a strange happening during a
performance of Elgar's sea pictures at a

concert hall in Bermuda tonight when a
man playing the triangle disappeared.

For the first time in 17 months, Terry
Wogan did not appear on television

Tonight he went into hospital suffering
from underexposure.

Pot Legal Society announced tonight that
they are planning a trip to Blackpool

this year to see the hallucinations.

Proof positive tonight that criminals
are getting younger and younger. A

in Bridgewater had their bedroom
ransacked while they were watching

but caught the burglar when he called
downstairs for a glass of water.

And finally, it's been announced that
newlywed contortionists Vic and Doris

are going on a second honeymoon to
unwind.

In next week's programme, we'll be
introducing you to the Scotsman who

say it with flowers on his wife's
birthday, so he sent her a packet of

And also, also on the show, we'll be
welcoming Cliff Richard, who spoke out

tonight about his sex life and said he
wishes people would stop harping on

it. It was no more than an isolated
incident that took place over 20 years

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

Thank you.