Original subtitles

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

in a packed program tonight, we shall review the diary of P .P. von

Gripsdrangler, the 19th century good -time girl who had visits from several

famous musicians.

She remembers particularly Rachmaninoff's Third and Beethoven's

She also mentions Haydn's Surprise, Berlioz' Fantastic, Tchaikovsky's

and Schubert's Unfinished.

Then we'll talk to a Scotsman who every year takes all his money out of the bank

for a holiday.

Then when it's had a nice holiday, puts it all back in.

But first, the news.

Allegations that the government are a load of softies and not fit to run the

country are completely denied today in a new government white paper.

Delivered to MPs in a scented pink envelope with dinky little hearts all

it.

Mr Patrick O 'Flynn of Dublin was arrested today for streaking through a

camp.

Sport. And in the 3A's championship yesterday, George Minter won the 26

walk for the third year running.

He was disqualified because he should have been walking.

And in the international relay event, the Irish 4x400m team built up a

commanding lead before handing the baton to the Russian team.

In the show jumping at the badminton horse trials, Princess Anne once again

her mark. So he had to go home by bus.

Crack shot big game hunter Sir Hartley Fawcett, famous for his slogan, shoot

right between the eyes, was eaten late last night by two one -eyed tigers

walking arm in arm.

In the sketch that follows, I interview the Archbishop of Canterbury and

Marjorie Proops, and I interview Marjorie and the Archbishop of

Proops.

Yes, I have ice.

Half a pint of bitter, please.

chum of mine.

Bill was minor.

Henry Spillworth.

Oh, you do Spillworth minor?

This is Trudy. You know, he and I used to share everything at school together,

didn't we? Same house, same form, same locker. We had that place pretty well

sewn up between us, didn't we?

One year I'd win the sports prize, he'd win the form prize. Next year he'd win

the sports prize, I'd win the science prize.

Remember old Phipps, the old master, used to say, if ever Britain needed two

prime ministers at once, it would be us two. Do you remember that?

Come on, tell all, tell all. What are you doing, running the Foreign Office?

No, I didn't do that, after all.

Now, don't tell me you became a barrister. You said you wouldn't become

barrister, old chap. No, I went to work in my father's business.

Oh, yes, wait a minute. You told me about it. It's a confectionery business,

isn't it? Yes.

Sweet shop.

Sweet shop. Yes.

Well, that's awfully nice, isn't it? Sweet shop, yes. How lovely. I often

had done something like that myself, you know, yes.

Yes, what are you? What do you actually... What are you doing? Oh,

made rather a mess of my life, actually.

I got myself dragged into the awful world of films, you know.

You? Gosh, that's pretty exciting. Oh, no, it's not. No, it's absolutely awful.

No, it's just like going to the office, really. Just there, I see. What was

right to collect him every morning? Yes, darling, yes. Where are you living at

the moment, old chap? Well, I've got this flat.

You ready about the...

of the shop. Oh, have you? Yes, that's nice. That's nice.

Convenient, yes, yes.

And what about you? Where do you live? Well, I've got a sort of little flatty

type house, you know. It's actually too big, really.

Awfully difficult to look after, you know. It's not as big as the house in

Hollywood. Hollywood?

Gosh.

That's very exciting. No, no, it's just a house they lend me, you know, when I'm

over there working.

Jasper is always having to fly to Los Angeles.

Gosh, how exciting, Los Angeles.

Jasper has his own private plane, a Boeing.

A Boeing?

Well, it's only a little Boeing, darling. No, it has eight engines, and

Oh, it has done lots of things. I know it's got eight engines, but we don't use

them all, darling.

Do you know Henry Kissinger?

Oh, my. Um, Henry Kiss... Well, I've seen pictures of him, you know, with the

wavy hair and the glasses. Jack Burr and Henry Kissinger are just like that.

Oh, now, darling, that's not true. We've had him to dinner twice.

Henry Kissinger?

What is the Secretary of State of the whole of the United States of America? I

know, but for how long, old chap? For how long, eh? No, no, let's talk about

you. You're much more important. Let's talk about you, eh? No, not really. I

must be getting back at you. Now, look, what sort of a sweet... So you're

running a little sweet shop. Yes, I'd better be getting back to it, actually.

What sort of sweets sell best, though? There are not very many at the moment.

We're changing it all. I love sweets.

I'll see you later.

Mint lumps. Don't go away, old boy. I want to hear about your little sweet

old chap.

He's gone.

You know, that's the first time I've beaten that swine spill, whether it's

anything.

Good evening.

I'm appealing to you tonight on behalf of those unfortunate people who have

difficulty with worms.

They just can't say their worms correctly.

Now, my name is Pocter Poggesmish, and I'm an eminent drain sturgeon, and I'm

squeaking to you tonight.

Secretary of the Loyal Society for the Provence Nation of Pismanunciation.

Now, you know, Pismanunciation can be very embrassery.

If you go up to the vicar, meaning to say, And it comes out as, You

don't half feel a twit.

Some people even use entirely the wrong worms, and this can be very unfastened

all round.

I remember twice a dong lime ago, an old angler exploded to me, I haven't fought

a king all day.

Of course he hadn't. You don't find many kings to fight on the River Itchen. He

meant I haven't caught a ding or thing.

He was using the wrong worms, and that's why he hadn't caught a thing.

It was all extremely dicky -pult for him.

Now, what do you do if you suffer from this affection?

Well, here's a piece of abuse.

If it hurts, you don't succeed. High five, fry again.

Let me put that another way. Foam wasn't spilt in a tray.

And don't put all your legs in one gusky.

Why not join our society? Our members range from pukes to pus conductors.

We even have one member who, not to mince words, is a trash.

Or, in other words, a prostitute.

We have branches in London, Glasgow, Liverpool, and on the Pontinent, if

going Pontinent.

At Brussels, Amsterdam, Harris, Ropestick, Holm, Helsinki, and also...

patrons include Her Majesty the Queeg.

Prince Phyllis.

The Grime Minister, Mr. Grim Callaghan.

And the bleeder of the opposition, Mrs. Scratch.

to you on the television, the response was, frankly, a great dish of ointment

me.

In fact, we didn't get a single letter, so this time, please fry and do butter.

Send us your honey, whether in marge or in small amounts, to this address, the

Loyal Society for the Pretension of Miserable Bunchitation, the Old Major

32 Zed, Hugh Street, Puckingham Tux.

I'll just repeal that.

Thank me and from you, foodbite to me all.

Foodbite. And thank you for listening.

Ned was slowly drawing in on the Phantom Raspberry Blower, who, for weeks, had

been frightening the respectable inhabitants of Old London Town by his

and repulsive attacks.

Queen Victoria herself was threatened.

Chief Inspector Corner of the Yard had received a note.

telling him to be in the graveyard at midnight.

On the way there, he had come within an inch of victory outside the stage door

of the heaven room.

Oh, Darcy, darling, you gorgeous creature.

Hello, Lord Peter.

I got your note, Lord Peter. And what is your answer, dearest little thing?

Well, when a girl is offered a diamond bracelet, a country cottage and a fur

rag, all she's got to do is just well.

What you said in your note? Well, the only possible answer is... Hey,

good Lord, look here, steady on.

Really? What was that?

You know what that was, don't you? That was him.

That was... the phantom raspberry blower of old London town.

What was that? I thought I heard the thud of something dull hitting the

That was his lordship.

Inspector, that was the phantom dressed as a flower seller.

What? So he's escaped, turned around, very nosy.

We must get his lordship to hospital. There's one round the corner.

Oh, good.

That's a loony bin.

Great Scott, so it is.

Why didn't I think of that before?

Maybe that is the phantom's hiding place.

We are going to the asylum.

Oh. Feeling to be all of colour again, sir?

Not me, you fool. We are going to search the place.

I can't seem to concentrate, Doctor.

One minute I'm talking about something and the next minute I've forgotten every

word about it.

I see.

And how long has this been going on?

How long has what been going on?

People tell me.

Why don't you believe them?

Look, I tell you what you've got to do. You've got to take a teaspoonful of

horse manure every morning.

Won't that cure it? No, but it'll tone it down a bit.

Oh, I see.

Hello.

Any sign of him?

No, sir. What a complete waste of time.

Oh, I rather enjoyed it, sir.

Good grief.

It's nearly midnight.

To the graveyard.

That's for a whistle, sir.

Outside, a cab was waiting.

To the graveyard.

as you or I are.

He just wants us to believe he's insane.

But if he thinks I'm daft enough to believe he's mad, he's crazy.

Yes, sir.

Gad, but we must stop him before he reaches Her Majesty the Queen.

Only we knew what he looked like, you see. I mean, we'd both seen him twice,

yet, and yet, one of those faces once seen Never remembered.

Yes, sir.

What's the matter, Bowles? You suddenly look so different.

I'm not myself this evening, sir.

Well, we must keep our spirits up.

Time for a quick chorus of God Save the Queen before we get there.

You wait over there, and if you see anything, scream.

Don't worry. I will.

Thank you.

Once again, it is victory for the monster.

Once again, the inspector is beaten. Once again, the world is at the mercy of

the phantom raspberry blower of old London town.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Barbara Dixon.

Fortunes can be made if you should ride upon a wind.

And you'll see the easy way laid out for you.

Golden pilvers filling out an endless fountain with a song.

To dazzle your eyes but have no doubt you need to send the same.

You've got to keep your senses keen.

All you know will be mean.

High on fortune, high on fame.

High on fortune, high on fame.

You've got to keep your senses keen.

Yes, Miss Tyndale?

Mr. Ratbane to see you, sir.

Ratbane? Is that that playwright chappy again?

Yes, Mr. Wilson.

Oh, God.

All right, send him in.

The door opens and Ratbane stands in the doorway.

Come in, Mr. Ratbane. The room is that of a provincial solicitor. There's an

armchair down centre opposite Wilson's desk right.

Whiskey and soda stand ready on a small table down left. This is obviously a

room with a purpose.

See, frontispiece.

Won't you take a seat, Mr. Ratbane? September sun slants in through the

upstairs, right? It is evening. Ratbane looks around him and walks further into

the room.

Wilson speaks.

Please sit down, Mr. Ratbane. Ratbane moves centre and does so.

He's a well -dressed man, attractive without ostentation, intelligent, the

women can trust.

Sit, Rat.

With easy grace.

Thank you.

Wilson with rising impatience.

Mr. Rathbain, what can I do for you?

Wilson is in his early fifties and is rapidly going to seed.

He's fairly dressed, coarse and clumsy. Oh, I say.

His fingers make small drumming movements on the table.

Oh, look.

Look, it would be unfair to think of Mr. Wilson as being in any way vulgar.

His delicate movements exemplify an inner sensitivity.

Although those... His demure looks hide a man of steel, Wilson with rising

impatience. I'm a very busy man, Mr. Ratbane.

Facetiously, no, really.

So kindly come to the point, sitting.

Ratbane... Ratbane, knowing he holds all the cards down left, relishes the

moment.

Walks upstage, flicks cigarette out of window.

This past week, moving closer to Wilson.

Care to say, oh, really?

Towering above him, his shoulders like the facts of life. Yes.

I have been up in my grandmother's attic. Right up. Upright.

Seemingly indifferent.

Oh, yes.

Confident now, moving downstairs. Yes. And what I discovered might very well

interest your secretary, Miss Tyndale.

Wilson starts.

A person with complete suavity rising.

I don't know what you're talking about. With equal suavity, oh, yes, you do. And

with sudden violence. And this time money won't save you.

I've discovered that Laura Tyndale is the rightful heir to the Cheeseman

Millions. And with pointed finger you have been keeping her in ignorance.

God, I never.

Vehemently, yes.

Incredulously me.

It's over waste paper basket.

The door opens.

A lady enters with a gun. It is Laura Tyndale.

Outwardly a mousy creature, but the discerning eye might well see signs of a

barely hidden passionate nature. She only awaits the right man.

I have overheard all.

She points to intercom. They all stare at the guilty instrument.

With cold fury.

You have denied my birthright. Downright.

Pathetically upright. No, no.

With wild aim. Take that.

She shoots.

This thing moving up center is bigger than...

Lost in the desert, without food or water, you know.

Sun is blazing down from a cloudless sky.

A beautiful day, in fact.

And he's staggering along, saying, water, water.

Actually, he didn't say, sorry, he didn't say, by the way, water, water,

actually.

No, no, I thought you might have, no, I said that, I said the actually.

No, or, well, you know, you might be confused.

All he said was water, water.

I did the actually, actually was mine.

I, um...

Well, you look a bit stupid, staggering about in the desert, saying, water,

water, actually.

Although I suppose if there's nobody there to hear him, it doesn't matter

whether he says, water, water, or kiss my aunt, does it really?

I digress. And what I was going to say is that this is not the actual joke that

I'm going to tell you. This is one I happen to notice.

No, it's one that I happen to notice in an old reader's digest, you know, when I

was asleep in bed last night.

Well, obviously, I wasn't asleep when I noticed it. You know, that would be

cleverer than most. But I had been asleep.

I had been asleep. I want to get the facts right. I had been asleep, you see.

And my wife woke me up.

She said, hey, you, Shorty.

She's got a terrible memory for names, bless her.

She said, would you like to hear the patter of tiny feet?

I said, darling, of course I would, she said. She said, so would I. Go and get

me a glass of water.

So a bit later, I am laying there, you see. I can't sleep.

I'm wondering about things like, you know, why does she always spill it on my

side and whatever happened to Jane Russell and isn't nature wonderful

and all that sort of thing. And I looked at my wife and I toyed for a moment

with the idea of giving her a knock on the mud pack.

You know, it's hard to imagine, you know, that when we first met, she was a

beauty queen at our local tyre factory.

Miss Retread of 1964.

Actually, I think our marriage got off to a bad start on our honeymoon, you

know. I've heard of brides going to bed with a rose between their teeth.

She had a cyanide capsule.

And a night... And a nightdress that hadn't seen action since it was a

in the Polish cavalry.

And what I'm trying to tell you is how I came to find this joke, was that I

thought to myself, well, it's no good lying here crying, you know.

I'll go and find something to read, cheer myself up a bit, you see. And I

remembered that lying on the sideboard downstairs was an old Reader's Digest,

April 1968.

I remembered that because I'd been lying there since April 1968.

It's another thing, you know. My wife is not very, no, she's not very house

-proud.

We are probably the only family in Wimbledon with her Christmas decorations

year round.

She doesn't get much time for housework because she's a health fanatic.

She doesn't do exercises and all that. She just spends a lot of time at the

doctor's.

She spends a lot of time at the doctor's.

More time than he does, actually.

No, she takes sandwiches and hangs around the waiting room waiting for

appointments.

And she reads all the medical journals, you know, like... Lancet and all that

sort of thing. And does all the competitions in them.

Like spot the gynecologist.

And there's another one where they show you pictures of six doctors and you have

to put them down in the order in which you should be struck off.

You can have lovely prizes too. You can have, you win, you know, you can have

two of your friends certified for Christmas.

So now you know where I found the joke about the chap in the desert.

Remember him?

Water, water, actually.

Remember, he didn't say the actually, I said the actually.

So he staggers.

Well, you could go home tonight and say he told a wonderful story about water,

water, actually.

So he staggers along, you see, until he meets an Arab on a camel.

You see, and he goes,

water, water, water.

Do you know, I've never had an acting lesson in my life.

Water. Perhaps I should have done.

The Arab, who unfortunately speaks with a Pakistani accent.

If ever there was a piece of material written to show off my limitations, this

would be it.

It's a human to purchase a lovely Tizer.

Actually, I'm not as bad as I thought.

And he produces a suitcase full of ties. They're lovely ties. They're in all

colors. He said, I've got a wonderful blue one here. Go very nicely with your

sunburn. And he said, what about a nice BBC tie, perhaps?

Small checks.

Water, water, says our friend. The Arab just gets on the back of his camel and

goes away. The next day, the same thing happens again. The Arab on the camel. Do

you want to buy a lovely tie?

Water, water.

No deal, you see. By the following day, the chap is on his last gasp when he

comes to this great new hotel in the desert. And he practically crawls up the

front steps, you know, hand after hand. He arrives at the front and goes, water,

water. And the doorman stops him. He says, I'm sorry, sir, but you can't come

here without a tie.

The little village of Bendover in Buckinghamshire, normally a peaceful,

drowsy backwater, is today transformed into an excited community.

Its inhabitants are going about their business with a gleam in their eye and

purpose in their step, because only last week they were chosen to represent

Britain in the international final of It's a Knockout in Belgium later this

month. The whole population is on tent oaks, because naturally everyone wants

take part, but only eight people.

Four men, four women are allowed in the team. So, as you can imagine, the

competition is extremely key.

Everyone is in training, trying desperately to prove themselves good

be chosen as part of that lucky team of competitors to have two weeks in

Brussels.

Charlie Tickler has been practising for three weeks and hopes to be chosen for

his accuracy.

In the nearby supermarket, the ladies of the village train as they do their

morning shopping.

Now they're lined up ready for the off now. They're under starter's orders and

they're off.

They're off, and the race is over two lengths of the bacon counter, and one of

these ladies is carrying seven stone overweight, but has proved very good

rough ground.

And here she is, the red dragon, the red dragon.

There she is, and some wonderful footwork there going on with the cheese.

here comes Black Beauty. She's closely followed by Black Beauty.

She's fallen at cornflakes' turn, and the rest of the field are passing her by

now. And here comes Black Beauty. Oh, no, she's being sent back. She's been

back by the judges.

She's failed to collect the proper goods, and the rest of the field are

past now, and it's going to be a race for last place now between Black Beauty

and the Red Dragon. At the line.

They're out of time.

Now the box balancing. A lot of bumping and boring goes on here as the ladies

try to get through to the car park.

And here comes Black Beauty again. How does she do it? How does she do it? Oh,

that's how she does it.

in this fight to make the team for Boulder.

Flying toilet rolls feature in the next event, and the ladies score every time

they catch one in their skirt.

All she's likely to catch is a cold.

There's plenty of rivalry in the village.

and training is pretty well non -stop.

Mary Upjohn and her next -door neighbour, Janet Sykes, liven up a

day with a friendly pillow fight.

They even have an umpire up alone.

But friendly as it is, even the best of friends must part.

Arthur Wainscott, bank manager, is in strict training and his wife has devised

marvellous way of combining a rigorous exercise programme with a very effective

method of dieting.

round two. Janet is attempting to dry her small.

But Mary's aim is to wet them.

But umpire PC Green is there to see that no one gets too wet.

One couple who are determined to make the knockout team are Mr.

and Mrs.

Arnold Beckwith. Mr. Beckwith informs me that they limber up every evening in

the bedroom.

Mrs. Beckwith says she feels much better for it.

But the bed springs have certainly taken a hammering.

them for an evening's training.

But according to Mr. Beckwith, he can't get the hang of it and keeps causing

Mrs. Beckwith to fall on top of him.

Mr. Beckwith is quite confident and says that Roger isn't even in with a chance.

Whatever happens, life in the peaceful village of Bendover in Buckinghamshire

looks as though it might not be quite so uneventful after this.

The cause of my pining's at present reclining in her chamber dim. Ah,

me, when will she be?

That's all for this week. On the show next week, we'll have the oldest

in Scotland, Mr. Jock McDougall, who in World War I played so well in the battle

that the enemy used to shout out requests.

But one last item of news. We've just heard that in California today, at the

Miss World preliminary contest, an electrician fell 60 feet and landed on

France and Miss Sweden.

His condition is described as extremely comfortable.

That's all we've got time for. So it's good night from me. And it's good night

from him. Good night.

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