Original subtitles

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

it is. And in a packed programme tonight, we shall be investigating

of slow service in the post office and finding out why the Queen now has to

telegrams to people who are only 97.

And we'll be talking to a car designer who's crossed Toyota with Quasimodo and

come up with a hatchback of Notre Dame.

But first, the news.

At a press conference today, excited movie executives announced that Julie

Andrews will appear topless in her next movie.

The film will be called Mary Poppouts.

It's been a bad week for Brandon Truscott, the steeple -ass man who

the difference between fixative and laxative.

His teeth have been stuck on the lavatory since last summer.

News tonight that Mr. Norman Sting and Stivas has at last been able to arrange

an audience with the Pope.

Up until now, Norman hasn't been able to spare the time.

Rough House Row, Tower Hamlets, which is London's toughest street, held a party

today for its oldest inhabitant. He'll be 23 on Monday.

Sport. At the White City tonight, a Russian athlete who cleared 18 feet in

long jump was beaten into second place during the interval by a Max Bygraves

record which cleared the entire stadium.

The funeral of dustman Arnold Purge took place today at Warburton Cemetery.

Later, his ashes were scattered all the way down somebody's front path.

But now a sketch in which Mr. Ronnie Corbett will be showing us... how he

cotton wool buds for all his important little places.

He'll be cleaning out his Wendy house.

about the musical?

Hmm.

I've come for a thing.

Thing?

What sort of thing?

I'm going to, you know, a thing to the director hoping you'll like me.

Well, it's a woman, isn't it? Oh, is it? Oh, well, I'll have to, uh, a thing to

her then. Yes.

Ah, I hope I get the job.

I need the money because I'm thick.

Well, jobs aren't easy these days, are they? No. I don't get many because of my

thighs.

What's the matter with them?

I'm too fat. My thighs affects the way I thing.

Well, you what?

Well, I thing.

Thing -a -thon.

You're a size.

You're a thing -a.

I said I'm a thing -a.

I think you're absolutely white.

Well, I'm nervy, see.

No,

no, I think you're white. You're white.

You are white.

I agree with you about the size. It's the same with me being small.

I never get to play anything wagged.

I'm always a went man or a water.

Excuse me, you can't sound your R's, can you?

You can't sound your wresses, can you? No.

Well, some I can.

When I'm not sinking.

Ah, there, I found you one then.

You ought to try practising. You ought to try... You ought to say something

like, how many shirts can Sister Susie sew if Sister Susie's slow at

sewing shirts?

It's a famous wisdom.

I don't go for riddles myself.

I think they're soft.

No, I don't go for whittles either.

If I do whittles, it's whiskey.

I don't drink myself.

No, whiskey.

Whiskey. You know, too much of a whisk.

What are you going to sing?

Oh, Red Sails in the Sunset.

Red what?

Red Sails in the Sunset, you know.

Way over the sea.

Oh, please send my sailor home safely to me.

You think that's a silly song to sing?

Oh, no, I think that would be a wow.

What do you mean, a wow?

A wow.

A wow, an absolute wow, a hit.

Know that song? It was in a musical I was in.

I had a long one in the West End with that.

You was in the West End?

What's your name?

Cecil.

What's yours?

Randolph.

Do you mind? Do you mind if I call you Wendy?

Do you mind if I call you Claude?

I'll taste that without spitting.

Morning.

Morning. Morning.

Nice morning.

You come to sing?

Yes.

It rang me this morning.

Excuse me, you can't sound your heart, can you? No.

Oh, you're racist.

No.

Or my wheeze. Or my wobble -wooze.

Oh, what a shame. What a shame. Good morning, gentlemen. Oh, good morning.

Morning. Morning.

Oh, wonderful.

You... Yes, you're just right. Would you wait in my office?

Thank you for coming, gentlemen.

Perhaps another time.

But he can't say his S's. Or his R's. Or his L's. Or his wheeze or his wobble

-wooze.

Doesn't matter. It's a non -speaking part.

asked by the government to talk about energy and how to hold on to it.

Well, I'll talk about how to hold on to it next week.

But what about energy? Well, first of all, how can we save energy by

Now, here is a rough pointer.

It is rough, isn't it?

Yeah, because it's insulated. Now, tell me, what is wrong with the insulation of

this house here?

Well, for a start, it's got a bloody great hole in the wall.

My house, properly insulated, there is a model of it.

Have you seen it?

I'm going to live in that in comfort, just as soon as I can find the door.

But I'm not here to air my personal grievances.

No, they're all very nicely wrapped up, thank you.

But insulation does make sense. You can cut down your overall heat loss by

double -glazing your overalls.

And, of course, you must always lag your pipes.

There you are.

Here's a neat idea from the London Zoo. Here we are. That's a feather boa

constrictor.

You see? It's lovely. So always wrap up well and always constrict your boas.

Trained by Rod Hull. Don't worry about it. So to sum up, get with the trend and

don't lag behind.

And here is a lag behind.

We've also come up with a little thing that you can insert in your wall cavity.

We calculate it can save you £34 a year.

How does it work? Well, simply drill a hole, insert the apparatus, and you can

watch your neighbour's television through the wall.

Now, where is our energy going to come from? Well, I'm wearing a sun -powered

hearing aid.

Ah, but what happens when the sun goes in? I don't hear you ask.

Now, what can we get from atomic piles? apart from agony in the morning.

Well, the Japanese have come up with this new miniaturised atomic reactor and

fish fryer. Over here, there you are, you see?

Look at that.

Nuclear fish and chips.

What's more, you can use it as a trouser press.

Unfortunately, this morning, I got the reactor mixed up with the trouser press,

so I pressed my atom and split my trousers.

Luckily, I had a lag behind.

You see, it all makes sense. Now, what about transport? Well, here is the

revolutionary new log -burning Lamborghini.

On a test run this morning, burning old ship's timbers, it did 83 miles to the

galleon.

And look at this, executive unicycle. The makers claim it runs for three hours

on a xenopod.

But then, who doesn't?

on pure alcohol.

Four gins will get it to Paris.

Only one more than my secretary, Miss Zuma.

But I must say, she did run out of fierce Indiana.

And what about railways? Now, did you know that if all British rail tracks

laid end -to -end, it would help a lot?

boffins have come up with a winner. They have discovered that the energy

generated in one night by a young honeymoon couple is enough to drive a

rail train from St Pancras to Kettering, with a 20 -minute rest at Luton.

And for the over -50s, there's the Festiniog narrow -gauge railway,

on the downhill run.

Well, there you have it, on the downhill run.

From now on, all honeymoons will be spent in transports of delight. So,

if I've got the time and you've got the inclination, we'll all have the energy.

Good night.

Didn't old Charlie go down to doctors with his ears?

That's right, yeah.

Daph, wasn't he?

Eh? Daph.

Yeah.

Did the doctor improve his hearing then?

Must have done.

He just heard from his brother in America.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our first guest, Bobby Bates.

Made up for the wasted time.

I showed you everything a girl could do.

Now my heart aches for heaven's sake.

Sorrows come alive.

No use in telling me that love is blind.

That nuns are blind. That will not be.

Thought I could kill you

Cup, please.

Cup or mug?

Mug, please.

Pint or half pint?

Half pint, please.

Tea or coffee?

Tea, please.

China or Indian?

Indian, please.

Black or white?

White, please.

Milk or cream?

Milk, please.

Goats or cows?

Friesian or Jersey?

Jersey.

Devon or Hereford?

Devon. Oakhampton or Tavistock?

Tavistock. Corn waste farm or hill barn farm?

Hill barn farm.

Daisy or buttercup?

You know what? The cow's name... days your buttercup days your buttercup

stuff it take an onion or chestnut

The year is 2012.

England, traditionally a land of heroes and great statesmen, is in the grip of a

new regime.

The country is being run by women.

They are the breadwinners, the rulers, and their state police strike terror

the hearts of the subjugated male.

In short, the roles have been completely reversed.

It is the man, not the woman, who now wears the frock.

Even their names are feminine.

But one poor downtrodden worm is about to turn.

This man.

Janet Carter.

Employed as a tea boy at police headquarters, Janet has one friend he

Betty Chalmers.

Our story starts one afternoon over a cup of tea.

I think the secret police have heard about my collection of chauvinistic

I'm sure the house is going to be searched any moment.

We'll have to get rid of them.

Can't you see? Not before Thursday.

You know, I'm having the private show in the auction rooms.

It'll be the last, because it's just getting too risky.

Did you know that you can get three months' hard labour for showing a

Bogart?

Next day in the hairdressers, Janet and Betty are surprised by a raid from the

secret police.

A customer by the name of Ursula Debenham.

Tall, balding, with a beard.

No, I don't think so.

He's wanted for petty crimes against the state.

Stand up!

Phyllis Willis.

Was that a joke? My father thought so. Just because he had a silly name, he

me one.

Your father?

Dillis Willis.

Papers.

Have you recently shaved a beard off this man?

No, ma 'am.

Carry on.

Then if you see or hear of this man, it's your duty to report him.

What was his crime?

Playing illicit rugby and pipe smoking.

Hello,

Shirley, old boy.

How are you? It's me. I'm just ringing up to say Sewing Circle evening

All right?

You know what I mean?

Yes, it is. Good drying weather, though.

Mine was on the line ten o 'clock this morning.

Oh, have you?

No, I haven't got a rich wife to buy me a dryer.

No, I didn't mean it. Yes, all right, then. See you Thursday. Yes, bye.

Yes, yes, Thursday.

Yes, usual place, auctioneers.

Yes, fine, fine.

How's George?

Is she?

Amazing woman.

She's still playing left half for Brentford.

Give him a big kiss on the gold mouth of me, will you?

Bye.

Evening, chaps.

Evening. Just a word before we start.

I'm afraid this is going to be the last film shown for a while.

I know it is a show. I know, I know, but I can't help it. I'm afraid I've got to

go undercover.

There's been a little dicky bird has told me there's been a bit of a leak and

might get raided.

So here we are. However, tonight, to make the most of it, I should really try

stay here and sit back and enjoy myself because tonight we're going to have...

and John Wayneville.

Thank you.

Here, you're a woman.

Get down.

Who are

you? State police.

Are you taking me in?

Yes. To the castle?

Yes.

It's a rather long journey. Do you think I might go to the toilet?

All right.

Can I take my hands down?

If you must.

Most essential.

Very difficult otherwise.

Look, would you please turn around and face the other way?

No.

Oh.

In that case, I will.

Then move.

You

shot

me in the behind.

I think she would faint.

Did you say fainted, old chap? She's dead.

Dead? She was only shot in the backside.

You can't die of a shot in the backside. She didn't die of a shot in the

backside. She died of a head down the toilet.

Oh, yes.

But after both of us, Betty, old chap.

They certainly are, Janet, old boy.

The thing is, what are we going to do with the body?

What will happen now?

Are Janet and Betty doomed?

Can the toilet keep its grisly secret?

Or will the police flush it out?

next week's enthralling episode of The Worm That Turned.

Evening. Morning.

New face, eh?

No, I've always had this face.

Have you been around here long? No, I just come in the door.

What's the name?

It's called the front door.

No, I mean yours.

Oh, my name's Michael.

Oh, Michael, there's a coincidence.

Why? Mine's James.

The only James I know is tall and thin with a ginger beard. Would that be you?

Yes, that'd be right, yes.

Apart from the glasses, that is. But you're not wearing glasses?

No, neither does he.

Bottoms up, is it?

Look at the same name as you came in here earlier on this morning.

Oh, what was his name?

He never said.

Then how did you know it was him?

Well, I asked him, didn't I? What is that there?

That's a parrot.

Whose is that?

Lord knows.

Well, who left it there? Lord knows.

Well, it must be his then.

Do you fancy a brown ale?

What colour is it?

Don't know. We don't stock it. Oh, I won't have it then. I'll tell you what I

will have. I will have a gin without.

Without what would that be?

Well, what haven't you got?

Now, we haven't got lime.

Oh, what about tonic?

Oh, tonics we've got. We've got tonic. Oh, dear. That's what I wanted without.

Very frightening noise. That, you know, we don't know what it is.

What is it? I don't know.

The parrot never budged.

No, it's stuffed.

Oh. Who stuffed it? Lord knows.

Member of the local gentry, is he? Yes, that would be it, yes.

The plumber never came this morning. Oh, dear.

Did he come this afternoon?

No. That's twice he's never been.

I am a poacher, you know.

I never asked you what you did.

Well, ask me then.

Are you a poacher? It's none of your business.

Rabbits, is it? No, no, clocks.

Oh, clocks.

I tell you what, if you can guess how many clocks I've got in this bag, you

have them both.

Three. Correct.

Now, look at this here clock there. See that?

Yes. That is unique.

Have you got another one like it? Yes.

Well, that one is.

Yes, I must say, this one here is not nearly as identical as that one.

That is definitely the most identical of the two, that one. Yes, right, yes,

right. Do you want to buy one? How much? Eh, 30 quid.

I'll give you 35.

Do me a favour.

All right, I'll give you 20.

Done.

Have you got change of a four pound note? Oh, yes.

That's yours.

Thank you very much.

There we are.

Have you got the time?

Yeah, what time would you like?

Um, 3 .30.

No, you'd have to ask me a bit later on.

When? About four o 'clock.

You're too late. Oh, well, in that case, I must be off now. Yes, are you coming

back? Oh, yes, I shall come back. Where? I'll come back here. Well, you're here

now. That's true. Why don't I wait till I get back to help myself with yours?

The parrot doesn't say much. No, he's still stuck. Oh, is he?

Why was he stuffed in the first place?

He's stuffed in every place.

The wife's away for a few days, you know.

They give her a new wooden leg.

In cork it was.

Oh, well, at least she'll float.

She's expecting a baby.

Oh, when's that? Whenever I can get round to it, you know.

You expecting anyone else? No, just the baby.

No, I mean, are you expecting anyone else in the pub here? Oh, Lord, no. Oh,

when he gets here, give him a ring, will you?

Who? Me. Oh, yes. Give me a ring. Yes, where will you be? I'll be here.

Oh, yes. Well, what's your number? It'll be the same number as yours.

Well, we're not on the blower, are we? Oh, well, in that case, I will reverse

the charges. All right.

Make the post office look silly, if that were needed.

Who's he?

Lord knows.

Oh, thank God you've turned up. Your bloody parrot's still here.

Yeah.

You know we live in the same sort of house?

Yeah. Same road, same shape, same size rooms.

Well, you know when you papered your front room, you told me you bought eight

rolls of wallpaper.

That's right, yeah.

Well, I just papered our front room. Oh, yeah?

I bought eight rolls of wallpaper.

When I finished, I had two over.

That's funny.

So did I.

Thank you very much. Thank you very much. Particularly over there on the

Now,

altogether or not at all. Now, what I... Now, I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking, what on earth is that stupid thing doing there?

And why is he wearing a false nose?

No, it is... it is... it is pathetic, isn't it? I mean, you know, a chameleon

my calibre, you know.

Small war.

Having to resort to cheap visual gimmicks. Actually, to be absolutely

was the producer's idea. He put it on, he said.

You start the spot with a big laugh, he said.

I said, I'm sorry, I said, but our studio audience are intelligent, witty,

highly sophisticated people.

Underneath.

And they are far too mature just to laugh at a silly nose.

So...

Just for that, I shall tell you a joke. Now, there we are.

Now, this joke comes from our producer, and if it doesn't seem all that funny,

we must make alliances, because at the time he told me he'd just been involved

in a very, very nasty accident.

He'd bought a round of drinks.

I think it all stems from his rather proper upbringing in Cheltenham, where

worked for five years as a gentleman's gentleman.

A laboratory attendant.

Until one day he got demoted and became a producer with Light Entertainment.

So, anyway.

Anyway,

he beckoned me over with his handbag. And he winked at me with his good

eye.

He said, Ronald Sweetie Pie.

I said, yes, sugar heart.

I'm not sure what he's got, but I'm convinced it's catching.

I said, yes, sugar heart. He said, Ronald Honeybunch, which old joke will

finally laying to rest tonight?

I said, well, I've thought it over.

And I'm going to do the one about the chap who goes to the psychiatrist

he's been feeling a little bit strange. And the psychiatrist shows him one of

those inkblot tests, you know. And he said, now, the psychiatrist said, now,

what do you think of when you look at this? And the chap examined it very

carefully and he said, sex.

And the psychiatrist showed him another inkblot.

We said, what do you think when you look at this one? And the fellow replied

again, he said, sex.

Well, ten more inkblots are shown to him, and every time he gives the same

answer. Sex, he said.

Finally, the psychiatrist... It's rather exciting, actually.

Finally, the psychiatrist slaps the book shut and he said, my good man, it is my

considered diagnosis that yours is an acute case of chronic rumpomania.

In short...

In short, you are completely and totally obsessed with sex. And the chap said,

I'm obsessed with sex. Who's been showing me all the dirty pictures?

The producer, unfortunately, fell asleep before I finished, so I never found

out, to be honest, whether he liked it. So instead, I am going to tell another

much funnier joke, which I happened to hear last week at the funeral of my old

uncle Cyrus. Bless him.

No, I mean, we ought not... I mean, his... You didn't, but we ought not to

anyway.

No,

we ought not to laugh. You didn't, but we ought not to anyway.

His death... His death... No. His death came... No, no, please.

His death... His death came as no great surprise to us, to be honest, because he

was 94 years old, you know, and he'd just got married to a young girl of 18.

And... Because...

He said he wanted to carry on the family strain and of course it was too much

for him really.

We were married on Saturday and we buried him the following Tuesday.

We would have buried him on the Sunday but it took us two days to wipe the

off his face.

This story concerns a chap who was just about to go home from the pub one night,

not looking forward to it, wondering to himself, how hard will the wife hit me

in the head with the rolling pin, and will I have to take my cap off again

the bottle open?

When a man from a nearby group of revelers comes over to him and he

rather unusual bet, he said, now look, you're a sporting gent, you look a

sporting gent, I'll bet you £100 that you can't do three things, nominated by

myself and my friends here.

Well, at the words £100, the chap immediately... He pricks up his ears. He

what three things would these be prey, he said.

The other man said, I'll bet you you can't drink ten pints of beer, wrestle a

gorilla, and make love to an Eskimo.

Well, this being the sort of challenge you don't meet every day, the chap takes

the bet on there and there and immediately consumes ten pints of the

barbeque.

A crowd are all obviously impressed. Shout, well done. They shout, bravo.

Pick him up.

Then off they go to the local zoo where the chap gets in the cage with this

grisly -looking gorilla. Before you know what's happened, they're locked

together, punches flying, fur all over the place. Finally the chap comes out,

looking battered and bruised, still clearly in one piece, dusts himself down

proudly, says, Right, now let's go and wrestle the Eskimo.

It's springtime on the Somerset Hills. We're galloping over the course.

Hooray, hooray for meadows in May. Up on a stride and we're well away.

Give us a filly that won't say nay. I hope I can stay in the course.

A hunted we will go.

A hunted we will go.

Show us a place for a rollicking taste. A hunted we will go.

I am the master of the hunt. And I'm his pedigree child.

We shoot, we fish, we paddle, we punt.

And I'm the pride of the chumly hunt. And he's wearing his jodhpurs back to

front and his crotons are slightly numb.

A -hunting we will go.

A -hunting we will go.

Second of port is my favourite sport. A -hunting we will go.

Come, landlord, bring me flagons of wine. And I'll have a chamois as well. A

single tot of his bubbling brew makes hunters trot their jogging on to.

But put away three and a skip to be new and down to the ding -de -dell. To the

hunting we will go.

A -hunting we will go.

We'll never say no to a big galley hole. A -hunting we will go.

I am the jovial landlord here. And I'm his youngest daughter.

My homemade beer. is light and clear. Largely wind and water.

Come here and buy the crowd my bar to see the naughty Nancy.

She'll give you pale and export ale on anything you fancy.

The steeple fund was short of cash until the Duke suggested a hunt could raise

the steeplechase. The bets could be invested.

Old Lady B lost fifty feet at ten to one the vicar. She gave a cough and cried

fair off and down went half a knicker.

Lift your cup and bottoms up on Dobbin, please, and thump her. There's Lady May

on Dapple Grey. I see she's getting plumper. But if you want to point to

then try Fiona's jumper.

Lady

Daphne's terribly

quaint. Title cheers, Lady Shane.

Fixing her face with putty and paint whenever we rise to harm.

Lady Sarah Basil in pits, goddess in pits, technical hits, ripping her

doing his splits, wherever he writes her.

The ever so cautioned canterley with the band on, scuppers are washed with Kerry

and Mowish and on.

Side by side on lager and lime, jogging along, passing our prime, but game for a

tumble in the old time.

Side by side on bangers and mash, high as a kite, low as a cat, show us a jump

and we'll have a bash.

Don't let them mess around.

When they tighten up your skin.

If they take a bull... the snack, you'll find your nose around the back, and you

end up sitting pretty on the pimple on your chin.

We're nice to dress for riding. We look a proper top.

I've got a hacking jacket. I've got a hacking top.

We've all the right equipment that's suitable for sports. I've got my riding

pretty. And I've got my jockey shorts.

So long. I had a chestnut. He rode it every day.

It chucked him in the spinny. It tossed him in the hay.

It dumped him in the duck pond. It downed him in the lane.

It kicked him in the fetlocks. Now we call him Lady Jane.

Vanessa's got a saddle shop. Her tackle's rather nice. She's got some

habits with discount on the price.

A rein is half a sovereign. A stirrup's fifty.

But ask her for a bridle and you'll get a bit for free.

New York's ready, oh, we're ready to go, so toodle your hunting horn.

You're out of luck, it's covered in muck and the jolly old pea is gone.

I fell off my horse today, me tootle hit the grass.

I upped and tripped and staggered and slipped and fell on me hunting grass.

I'm clean for the upper class.

I'm clean for the upper class. So for hunting we will go, for hunting we will

go. You never say no to it.

Well, that's all we seem to have time for tonight, but before we go, a few

of late news.

Police are tonight searching for the Fulham supporter who waited for Jimmy

after Match of the Day and threatened to knock the living highlights out of him.

In Wembley today, a staggering, bleary -eyed man was reported to be shouting

obscenities at a bus conductor and refusing to pay his fare.

Police are holding 45 ,000 Scotsmen for questioning.

Tonight saw the opening in the West End of Paul Raymond's new full -frontal

Agatha Christie thriller.

Birthnighters, when asked who did it, replied, everybody.

Finally, Harry Ackroyd, self -styled taken kidney pudding king, was buried

along with his secret recipe.

Relatives said that if the ingredients are ever revealed, he'll turn in his

gravy.

Next week, we'll be showing you a new and reliable method for contacting the

dead. Just dial 100 and wait.

And we'll be talking to radio personalities who've taken up self

There'll be a disc jockey who is a green belt in jiu -jitsu, a newsreader who's

a black belt in judo, and an actor who's a fifth dan in the archers.

And we hope we'll be meeting Betty Buxton, the Soho good -time girl who

bought herself a speedboat.

She'll be telling us what it's like to sell yourself right down the river.

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

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