All language subtitles for The Two Ronnies s10e02.eng

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

Yes, it's wonderful to be back with me
once again.

And in fact, program tonight, we were
hoping to have introduced you to a

Eskimo fisherman who sits for hours on
the ice in the nude, but unfortunately,

his arrangements have fallen through.

But we shall be meeting Napper
Napecroft, the plumber from Glossop, who

disillusioned he tried to blow his
drains out.

First, the news.

There was an ugly demonstration this
afternoon outside the House of Commons

Mrs. Thatcher's car was pelted with
eggs, tomatoes and onions.

Later, Mrs. Thatcher made a rousing
speech and her chauffeur made a Spanish

omelette.

And now, showbiz news.

Unemployed actor Ralston Mayne appeared
in court today, refused to swear on the

Bible, but agreed to swear on Channel 4
if there were any vacancies.

Tonight, the Collier's Row Workshop
Theatre, who specialise in acting in the

pouring rain, premiere their latest
production, Thoroughly Sodden Millie.

Finally.

Finally, it's been a day of double
celebration for Mr. Ludlow Tripp of

Brentford. Earlier this morning, he
established a new world record for lying

a bed of nails, and tonight he won first
prize at a fancy dress party. He went

as a watering can.

And now a musical sketch about farm
workers in Lapland in which Mr. Ronnie

Corbett plays a tiny hand who's frozen.

Excuse me, I wonder if you can help me.
I'm having some trouble finding a book.

Oh? Yes, they all seem to be... They all
seem to be mixed up.

Mixed up?

They look all right to me.

All the red books over there, all the
blue books over there.

You don't classify books by the colour.
Oh, yes, it's the architect's idea. He

said it looked neater.

Well, neater it may be.

But it doesn't make it easy to find the
book you want, does it? Ah, well, maybe

I can help you. So what book exactly did
you want, sir? Well, it's called The

Twisted Spur by E .M. Haggerty. Right,
Haggerty.

Haggerty, Haggerty.

Haggerty, Haggerty.

Hennessey, Tennessee.

Haggerty, Haggerty.

Haggerty, Haggerty. There he is,
Haggerty.

Haggerty.

Spur twisted thee.

Haggerty, E .M.

It's a green book.

Find it back there with all the green
books.

But there are thousands of green books
there. I mean... Oh, well, naturally,

they are subdivided. Oh, good.

All the big books are on the bottom, all
the little books on the top.

All the big books on the bottom, the
little books on the top? Yes, what are

a little one or a big one?

I don't know, do I? You're not being
very helpful, are you, sir? I'm not

very helpful? Are we supposed to find
books if you file them like that?

Well, I've never had any trouble.

Only this very morning, I found just the
book I wanted, just like that.

A big red one.

Look, I am not interested in the size or
the colour. Well, fortunately, upstairs

we have duplicates of all these books
that are down here, all up on the second

floor. Not classified by size and
colour. Not classified by size or

good. Then perhaps you can tell me
where, on the second floor, I can find

twisted spur by E .M. Haggerty.

Western, is it?

Yes, it is.

Is it a thick western or a thin western?

Well, I don't know, do I? Well, all the
thin westerns are on the right -hand

side. I don't believe this.

Thick, green, thin, thick.

I mean, it's barmy. Barmy? Is that E .M.
Barmy or W .H .O.? No, your system is

stupid. Well, no one else has ever
complained.

Well, I'm complaining.

Will you please finally tell me where I
can find a copy of The Tristed Spur by E

.M. Haggerty? Oh.

Oh, hello, Mrs Pollitt. How did you
enjoy your book, then? Oh, it was

The most wonderful love story I've ever
read.

Oh, they were so passionate.

I mean, every time they met, he... And
she was all... I mean, and they

always, I mean, call.

And he wouldn't leave her alone, and she
kept going...

Makes me... Well, now,

what book was it you wanted, sir? The
big blue one.

Our guest this week, ladies and
gentlemen, Stephanie Lawrence.

The right to sing, the right to play,

the right to do the things I do in my

own way.

And if you took it all and asked me to
pretend,

you'd be breaking a heart that won't
bend.

The right to win, the right to lose,

the right to fall in love with anyone

I choose.

And when it's my mistake and everything
goes wrong,

I would ride what I feel.

Just what they mean And if it turns out

That my hopes were not to be Then
there's no one to

blame

to stand.

The bits of film we're about to show
you, or at least I hope we're going to

you if they don't fall apart, are
selected from the archives situated in

bowels, and I use the term loosely, but
not too loosely, of the earth beneath

the television centre. And if the actual
film doesn't fall apart, I'm sure

you'll agree with me, and if you don't,
I certainly shan't lose any sleep over

it. The sum of the acts certainly do
fall apart, that is, not act, if you can

call singing acting, which I'm not sure
you can. Where was I? Oh, hello and good

evening. The act we're about to see was
the first one, and when I say the first

one, I mean one of the first, to come to
light, if you can call it light.

bearing in mind that it was in the
bowels, and I use the term even more

than the last time, of the radio doctor
here at Television Centre, and who am I

to criticise?

The man in the burnt cork and the fuzzy
wig was, or is, unless he's died, which

he probably has by now, although I
wouldn't bank on it. Some of these

seem to go on forever. He certainly
does. He's the great Al Vermont, always

billed as the chocolate -coloured cough
drop. See what you make of it.

Never will belong to me Cause she's too

sophisticated And syncopated You

see

She's a syncopated

woman She's a little weary shady And I
listen to her daily And she fucks a

ukulele And her eyes are kind of and the
clothes are kind of trashy and she

smokes them smaller vannas and she threw
some big bananas.

Seeds like bulls and labels like wine.

Thumpy, thumpy, thumpy cause they're
hard as mine.

Thumpy, thumpy, thumpy cause the shape
of it is so bumpy. It's so dimply and so

dumpy. Kind of loose and kind of lumpy
and it has no impact.

points in all directions.

How I love them pounds and ounces in
that sweater when it bounces and it

me kind of jumpy when our arms entwine.

Thumpy, thumpy, thumpy goes that heart
of mine.

And I love the way she dances.

She

lives

at number seven, but she sleeps at
number nine.

It's, uh, darling, do you know who that
chap is, though?

No. No, I don't think so.

Looks very left out of it, doesn't he? I
think I might bring him into the fold,

you know, my good deed for the day.

Once a boy scout, always a boy scout.

Good evening.

Are you enjoying the party?

Not much.

I'm Edgar Pocket, by the way. I'm in
insurance for my sins.

Or other people's sins.

Otherwise I wouldn't be in insurance.

Sebastian Mills.

Uh -huh.

Yes, well, what line are you in,
Sebastian?

I'm a medium.

Oh, fascinating.

Medium what?

I'm a psychic medium. I talk to the
dead.

Oh, that must be nice.

A little bit one -sided, perhaps.

Not at all. I always get an answer. Oh,
you should try ringing director

inquiries.

Don't be futile.

You think you could possibly get a
message for me through to someone

Dead? Well, yes, on the dead side.

Well, I am a professional man. It's hard
at the time or the place, is it? No,

but it wouldn't take too long. I could
do it in 12 words.

The fact is, you see the lady behind us
here in the pale grey?

Very nice.

Yes, she is very nice. Well, she is my
second wife.

It is my first wife who is... Dead.
Dead, exactly, yes.

Deirdre, she's called, or was called, or
might still be called Deirdre.

I'm just wondering if I could have a few
words with Deirdre.

What do you want to say?

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

You'll be fabulous.

No, sorry, I was being fabulous. Well, I
just want to ask her, really, if she's

well, apart from being dead, and about
the garden roller, whether, in fact,

she did lend it to our next -door
neighbour, Mr Clay, or whether the

fact, have stolen it.

You can ask Mr. Clegg. Well, he has gone
on holiday.

I'm not walking down the long, dark road
that leads to the Vale of Shades in

order to inquire about some damn garden
roller.

Well, it wasn't just that. I wanted to
ask her if, in fact, she and our

Charlie Hackett, had had a romantic
affair, because we used to have the

round more than most people.

Twice a day, in fact.

That's more like it. Yes, you see, he...

He sang, in fact, like Maurice
Chevalier, and no woman could resist

well, I'm not surprised.

Why don't we start now, shall we? Yes,
yes.

Is there anybody there?

Shh, shh, shh. Shall we hold hands or
anything? No, I'll take two if you don't

mind. He's looking for my wife.

She's dead, of course.

Is there anybody there?

There is someone there.

Who's a pretty boy, then?

That's not Deirdre, that's Horace the
parrot.

Oh, naughty, naughty.

Oh, naughty, naughty.

Oh, she's having fun with the plumber.

Horace, what do you say? Oh, that's the
way to do it.

I'll speak to Deirdre, Horace. There's
someone else there.

Hello.

Hello, Eddie.

Is that you, Deirdre? Of course it's me.
Of course it's me, dear.

Give me a kiss, my darling.

No, this is, uh, this is not. This is
for the pot plant.

As if I were always, yes, a little gin
and tonic.

What do you want, dear? Do tell me.

Well, do you remember the plumber we
used to have that sounded like, uh,

Chevalier? Oh, Charlie Hackett. Yes,
Charlie Hackett. Well, I was wondering

Charlie and you ever did consummate the
plumbing at all. Oh, dear!

Mr. Hitler to you.

You'll marry that old Hitler? He's done
all the decorating.

Well, he would do.

Goodbye. Goodbye. Look at that, dear me,
you didn't say. Did you, Charlie?

No, well, the plumbing was in a
frightful state.

And I always loved Murray's Chevalier.

I'll murder that Charlie Hackett. Too
late, mate. Somebody did.

Charlie Hackett, you seduced my dear me.
No, it was her suggestion, mate. Oh,

and you never left your tools behind
either, I expect.

ballcocks to you, mate.

Seems to whisper, Louise. He seduced my
wife.

Well, not him, not my wife.

Came to Twitter, Louise.

I've always loved Maurice Chevalier.
Have you, love? Want to see the pipes in

the cellar? Come on, love.

He's done it again.

Look at that. It's the first time
tonight I've had my eye on you all

love.

Let me pour some of that down your bush.

There's a noisy fruit machine.

Tennis on a TV screen. Shifty fun
rockers and jazz.

Oh, dear.

Look what they have done to it down at
the New Bullock Bush. All right,

George, what are you going to have?
Well, I don't know, but it'll be useful.

Yeah, all right, then. Yeah, it'll be
useful.

PR, PR, I'll have a PR. It's Lousy Keg
Bitter IPR. Oh, dear.

No. Hops is in it. Far too much gas in
it. Fills you with wind up to here.

Can't post a breed in it. This bloke has
weed in it. He's decidedly queer.

What can you do with it? Straight down
the loo with it. Oh, the same old

-fashioned beer.

Give me a whiskey.

Isn't that risky?

You've had seven gins of snowball and a
port.

We'll make it a brandy. Me legs are gone
bandy.

Hee, hee, hee, there's a girl that
fancies me.

Shows that you've had too much grog,
you're winking at the landlord's dog.

would I live all alone? Who would live
without crows? My old woman's just the

same. I wish she'd go back on the game.

I'm not going home till three.

Who's round next, you or me?

There's a friend I've got to see.

It's the town, it's the town, and now
it's starting going round and round and

round, and it's night.

As if I've started drinking yet. It must
be something what I ate.

No, I haven't had too many. I had some
with Jack and Lenny and another with

Belinda at the Rosencrown.

I called and had one at the start. Just
a jar, you know. And then went on to

Harry's Barn.

I had a few with some people that I met.

It's definitely something what I ate.

Time, gentlemen, please. Oh, dear.

Once they start calling time, it's the
end, mate.

But it really is a crime. Who's your
friend, mate?

Oh, it really is a sin. I could sink a
drop of gin.

Have we time to get one in? It's the
end, mate.

Goodbye, goodbye.

There's a nice topless bar we could try.

Oh, the barmaid, there's a lot.

I'm sure you could manage the other
half.

Goodbye.

Dudley, I'm feeling awfully dry.

No, we won't be all right till tomorrow
night.

Time to go, cheerio.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

I say, Humphrey.

What is it, Godfrey? Who was that?
terrible woman you were with today.

That was my sister.

Oh, yes, of course. I should have
noticed the resemblance.

She just got married, hasn't she?

Yes, yes.

And do you know, she's married a man
whom people invariably take an instant

dislike to. Oh, why is that, you say? It
saves time.

She just moved to Cheltenham. She loves
Cheltenham.

She says in Cheltenham, breeding is
everything.

Yes, well, we enjoy it in Kensington as
well.

Funny thing is, though, although he's a
bully, an idler and a drunk, she intends

to have 17 children by him. Oh, grief,
why on earth do you want to do that?

She says she's hoping to lose him in the
crowd.

I say, Bosun.

Yeah?

We've been cast adrift in this little
boat now for three months, two weeks and

day. Yeah, that's right.

I was just wondering, do you know any
other tunes?

Why, don't you like all things bright
and beautiful, then? Not as much as I

to, no.

Where did we last eat? I'll have to look
in the log for that.

Well, we ate the log, didn't we? Oh,
yes, so we did, yeah. I'd forgotten

yeah. Well, if I remember rightly, the
last time we ate was New Year's Eve.

Remember, we had that old running
plimsoll left over from Christmas.

I didn't like it cold.

I didn't like it hot.

That's the trouble with plimsolls. You
have one, and four hours later, you need

another, don't you?

Well, you know, we'll have to face up to
it, Bosun.

Yeah. What?

Well, I mean, there's you and me here,
two fellas, in this situation.

Stan's still raising, doesn't he?

What do you mean?

Hello, sailor, you mean?

Certainly not. Of course I don't, you
twit. Hello, sailor. I mean we're both

very hungry and one of us will have to
eat the other.

Oh, goodbye, sailor, you mean.

must be scrupulously fair into how we
decide who eats who. Oh, yeah, of

Must be that.

It's the big one, this is. I mean,
deciding who's going to be

is a big question. You must do that
strictly according to the rule book.

Right.

Here we are.

In which hand is the seagull dropping?

Well, no, in you both.

Wrong neither.

You lose.

Best of three.

Well, I haven't got three hands, have I?

All right, all right. It's goodbye then,
isn't it? Yes, it's goodbye, Bosent.

Just a minute.

Hang on a minute, hang on a minute.
You're Jewish, aren't you?

Well, put it this way. I help them out
when they're busy.

Well, you can't eat me, because I'm not
kosher, you see. Oh, you will be in a

minute now.

Hold still, this will not hurt a bit.
Not until I pull the trigger, anyhow.

to be tasty like this. Why don't I jump
over the edge, swim about in the salt

water, you know, kind of broil myself,
marinate myself.

Oh, I see your little plan.

You're open to be eaten by sharks,
aren't you?

Well, that's all very well for you, but
what about me? What about me, you poor

hungry mate?

Yeah, sorry, I didn't think there was...
No, you never do. Any last requests?

Yes, just one, please.

What is it? Could I play All Things
Bright and Beautiful one last time? No,

can play me last.

Are you sitting comfortably?

Yeah, I am. Listen, wait a minute, I
thought of something.

How long, how long will one of my legs
last you?

Well, first day roast, second day cold,
third day curried.

Top whack three days.

Well, three days we might be rescued.

I might be rescued. No, we.

Don't kill me. Just take the leg.

We'll eat you a bit at a time, you mean?

Yeah.

Then at least some of me might be
rescued.

You got a point there, yes, yes.

Another thing.

What?

Can I have a bit?

Well,

I can't just sit and watch. After all,
it's my leg, isn't it? And I am hungry.

What is your own leg?

Will you bite your nails?

Well, not for dinner.

Not for dinner.

You're trying to put me off my food,
aren't you?

No, it'd be nice, wouldn't it, the two
of us? You know, a bit of company.

You're out of the conversation and all
that.

Well, all right, if you like, if you
like, yeah. Yeah, make a do of it, you

Moonlight, bit of music. Yeah. Dance the
night away.

What, on one leg? Well, I... Yeah, yeah,
all right. I'll tell you what. I'll

tell you what.

You have got spirit, Boston, I'll say
that for you. And talking of spirit, we

could finish that last pot of white
wine, couldn't we, eh?

White wine? I'm not fish.

Surely I rate a decent red, don't I?

Here, I'm quite looking forward to this.
Do you mind if we dine early?

No, not at all. I'm a bit famished
myself.

Oh, that's good.

Will you carve or shall I?

Well... Who's that?

A ship! Oh, it's a ship! It's a ship!
Oh, yeah!

Food!

What does it say on the side of that
ship?

Sea link.

Sea link?

No, it's all right. We're all right.

Thank you

very

much. Before we go any further, I must
just blow a token kiss to

our producer.

The man who makes Boy George look like
Charles Bronson.

Just a little token kiss for this
wonderful chair.

No, I think he deserves it, because all
the producers here at the BBC are

feeling the pinch at the moment.

I blame that new fellow in wardrobe
myself.

Actually, times are rather hard. Only
this morning our conductor, Ronnie

Hazlehurst, was told he'd have to cut
the orchestra down.

Personally, I think he was wrong to
string them up in the first place.

But he's always a hard taskmaster, isn't
he?

Incidentally, if I seem, you know, a wee
bit perkier than usual tonight, there's

a very good reason.

I wonder how many of you five years ago
remember on this show that I announced

that I had received a letter.

Do you remember? Well, just... Well,
just to prove it was no fluke,

I've had another one.

Interested? No, I know what's going on.
I know all the sceptics are saying at

home, I don't believe it. It's the same
one as before with the dearest stamp on

it.

No, but you're wrong, because I have
brought the first letter along as well,

just to show you.

I brought that along.

Pathetic, isn't it?

Why don't I grow up?

If you find out, let me know, will you?

No, come on. Let her stop. being
ridiculous.

My goodness.

It's nothing special.

It's a perfectly ordinary everyday
event, having a letter. I've had a

that's all.

So let us open it.

Thank you.

I think we can dispense with black rod.

Now, what does it say? Just let me see
what it says.

Dear Mr. Corbett, I wonder if you can
cast your mind back over 40 years.

when you were in class 4B at James
Gillespie's primary school.

And I wonder if you remember that little
girl with long blonde hair and big blue

eyes you were once so madly in love
with.

That's right.

I could never get near her for her fat,
spotty friend, Mabel Briggs -Dyke.

Well, I am her friend, fatty, spotty...
Seeing you, seeing...

you on television, I often think back to
our school days together and remember

how you always used to boast that you...
And to prove it one day behind the

cycle shed.

Well, that is not true. I don't remember
that at all.

I never even had a champion conqueror.

P .S. P .S. it says. I wonder whatever
became of the old caretaker Mr.

Wogan.

No, it doesn't say that.

I just put that bit in just to finish on
a high note.

On swiftly to tonight's joke, which was

reminded, which I was reminded of a
couple of months ago

when I went to Australia.

Now, I'll be honest about this.

I have never been very good at flying,
which is why I always...

Which is why I always take a plane.

I went there actually this time to visit
my adoring public.

And next year he's coming over here.

I was actually over there during the
celebrations for the America's Cup

You know, it was wonderful.

Amazing. Really amazing. Amazing scenes.

Pictures of the team plastered
everywhere, you know.

One or two of them sober, naturally.

I was very caught up in it all because
I've always...

had the sea in my blood.

As a young boy, I was a stowaway in a
gravy boat.

While I was there, while I was in
Australia, I was taken one day by this

of mine,

Basil Snugfitting.

Spelled with two small T's and a round
of toast.

Basil Snugfitting took me on this day,
he took me on this day trip to a South

Pacific island.

Now, I should have been more careful,
because it was only a few years ago on

this very island that a gay lib
expedition ran into a group of cannibals

to be rescued from the sweet trolley.

There I was.

There I was.

There I was in this jungle, hacking my
way through the toadstools.

Hacking my way through the toadstools.

Very low things, toadstools.

And Basil started telling me this story
to raise my spirits, I suppose.

To raise your spirits.

Apparently, there are these two Scotsmen
on holiday in Italy.

And the Mafia have gone into hiding for
the week. And naturally, these two

Scotsmen are after a good time, you see.

Now, they've both drawn a blank looking
for streetwalkers in Venice.

And one night, one night, they end up in
this little bar in Rome where

one of them very carefully consults his
Italian phrasebook. And he goes up to

the counter and he says to the bar, he
says, Hey, you, he says.

You.

What face, he says.

He has two pints, he said.

He has two pints of draft tartan.

Whereupon the Italian barman, who is
also a bit of a linguist, replies.

He replies, I'm sorry, he says.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

He seems to be doing waiters all night.

We know a silly draft tartan, he says.
I'm sorry.

It's amazing, you know, I think I've
never had a coronator in my life.

Anyway, we note that.

Maybe we have something else like, you
know. So the Scotsman says, well, wait a

minute. When in Rome, he said, we should
do as the Romans do. He says, I've got

a wee idea.

He said, do you mind telling me what the
Pope thinks? Because if it's good

enough for the Pope, I'll have some of
that.

Ah, see, says the Italian.

He says, His Holiness the Pope, he said,
he is a very fond of, he's a very fond.

You really need subtitles for this
story, don't you?

That Bob is a very fond of a small creme
de menthe, he says. That's what he

likes. So the Scotchman said, that I'll
do, I should say.

Give us two pints of draught.

Two pints of draught creme de menthe.

So it's a cut -along story, shortly.
Spend the night putting away tankards of

creme de menthe. And the next morning,
they wake up with most almighty

The first Scotsman delicately eases
himself down from the chandelier.

Double glazed eyes.

Head like the inside of a telephone
exchange.

And he turns to his friend and he says,
Dearie me, he says.

Dearie me, Willie, he says.

If that's the stuff the Pope drinks, he
says, no wonder they always carry him

round in a chair.

Yes, this must be it, driver.

Nag's bottom.

Ages ago, most of the guests are already
here.

Colonel, so nice to see you and your
niece again.

She will be served shortly.

Oh, niece.

She won't get much out of him.

He's old enough to be her father.

What's your excuse?

Hurry up.

We're just waiting for Monsieur Poirot,
and then we can begin. Poirot?

I don't think you were invited.

Hercule Poirot, the detective, here for
the weekend.

He's a very good friend of the bishop's.
The man is a walking jinx, my dear. I

mean, he's only got to set foot in a
place and people get horribly murdered.

Don't be so preposterous. What about
that society wedding he was at last

when six of the bride's family got
slaughtered with a cake knife?

What about a comedy hotel in Scotland,
when four of the houseguests choked to

death on a septic haggis?

He comes to this house, my dear, over my
dead body.

Once and for all, Sidney, he is not
welcome under my roof.

Too late. He's here already.

Ah!

Madame.

Or is it Aphrodite, goddess of beauty,
come to bestow her radiance upon our

world of mortals?

But tell me, Your charming consort.

Is he not with you also?

Tell him I'm not here.

Tell him it's been cancelled.

Tell him I've got leprosy. Anything.
Only get rid of me.

Oh.

There you are, Mr. Poirot.

Doesn't the grass smell lovely this time
of year?

Tea on the lawn awaits, Mr. Poirot.

We are all so... I'm looking forward to
hearing some of your famous murder

stories.

And yet Lady Agatha's party was destined
to end in tragedy, for one of the

guests was already planning a fiendish
murder, a murder so grisly, so

that...

What is the matter, Mr. Bultitude? Is
something worrying you?

Worrying me? Good heavens, no. Good
heavens.

Whatever made you think that?

Even as the guests were playing croquet
on the lawn, the murderer had crept

silently into the kitchen and lashed the
orange juice with cyanide.

have guessed that the murderer was about
to strike again.

Who could have suspected that somewhere
in the bushes, the barrel of a gun was

trained upon the poor victim's heart?

Slowly, relentlessly, the finger began
to squeeze upon the trigger.

The opening of the umbrella was
obviously a put -up job.

Supposing the killer had already left
his victim a little present.

Yes, my friends, lying there coiled
beneath the Percy's desk was an assassin

more deadly than any man.

A black mamba.

Picked on his tether.

As slowly it slithered up his leg.

Imagine the victim's horror.

Every fiber of his being frozen in
mortal dread.

As slowly it began to worm its way up.

In this mission of death.

Madame Baltitude, I fear I have
discovered a minute speck of earwig

upon my pillow slip.

My apologies.

I'll just get you a fresh one.

Mr. Multitude, there is no need for you
to keep hiding like this. Your fears of

being murdered are completely
groundless.

Hide? Who could ever love you? Who's
hiding? I'm not.

Really? Not one of your guests has any
motive to

murder you.

I have been chatting with them. On the
contrary, they are very fond of you.

All of them are planning to leave you
large sums of money in their will soon.

If anything, it is you who have a motive
to murder them.

Murder? I mean, they actually... Oh,
well, well, well.

I never walked by, of course.

I'm not afraid to be killed. Me?

I was in the war, you know. Not afraid
of looking death in the face. Nor after

years of looking my wife in the face.

What was that?

I don't understand the night in real, if
you don't mind. Oh, no, you don't.

You're spending the night with me.

Of course.

I suppose there are some fates worse
than death.

Good morning, everyone.

Did you sleep well?

Marvelous. Wonderful.

Not a wink.

I can see why.

Fetch!

Bless you.

Fetch!

Oh, no.

My heart.

Oh, my God.

He's dead.

Watch that one.

Good

morning,

Madame Belkitude.

What a lovely day.

A son of day that makes one glad to be
alive.

Would you like one? Oh, you are most
kind.

Oh, you prepare an excellent kipper,
Madame Altitude.

Flattery will get you everywhere,
Monsieur Poirot.

Oh, yes, a beautiful morning, a
beautiful hostess, a well -turned

What more can a man desire in his
pursuit of paradise?

Oh, Monsieur Poirot.

Such pulchritude.

It is your pulchritude that sets you
aside from the multitude, Madame

Actually, there's a perfectly simple
explanation.

I deduced, therefore, that all four
deaths were meticulously planned.

After the colonel had expired, the other
three deaths were triggered off

automatically. The niece grabbed at the
loose wire, thus electrocuting herself.

The lantern crashed down upon the
bishop's head and he, in turn, fell

onto Miss Tabitha, plunging the knitting
needles into her chest. A simple chain

reaction. But how to kill the colonel?

In the first place, the answer lay in
his allergy to cats. The cat made him

sneeze, and the sneeze after his
nocturnal insomnia was too much for his

weak heart.

Only one problem remained.

What would make the cat jump upon his
lap in the first place? And the answer

the smell of kittles.

And whose idea was it to serve kippers?

Yes, Mrs. Virtitude.

You.

You killed those four people as surely
as if you had gunned them down in cold

blood by serving kippers for breakfast.

You planned it all last night after our
conversation so that you and your

husband could indirect the money.

What? Take her away, Constable.

Let me go.

Let me go, I tell you. It's all...

You played your part beautifully, Mr.
Bultitude.

She will be found guilty, and she will
go down for 20 years at least.

Worked exactly as you said it would. I'm
now finally free of the old bat.

What a pity, mind you, about the guests.

It's a pity, though, about the digitalis
that found its way into the colonel's

conflicts this morning.

It's a pity about the faulty wiring, but
there we are.

By the way, I think you can safely drop
the accent now.

Oh, I think I can, isn't it?

Thank you, Father. You are, in fact,
Albert Finney.

It's a damn good job none of them had
seen the movie, weren't they?

Hey, cheers, Vivian. Cheers.

Well,

that's about all we have time for
tonight, but first, the news.

GPO announced its new second -task
parcel post. It's called the Dropkick.

And doctors at the Houston General
Hospital are pleased with the progress

made by Apple Belonge, Britain's worst
-ever ballroom dancer.

They say he should be back on somebody
else's feet in no time.

Foreign news.

And prove today that the rain in Spain
really does fall mainly on the plane

Janet Street Porter got drenched in
Barcelona.

Finally, Basingstoke housewife, Ursula
Plackett, appealed for help tonight in

ridding herself of the belief that she's
a soggy dishcloth.

Anyone who can help is asked to give her
a ring.

In the show next week, we'll be meeting
Maisie Dotes, the girl who blames her

loose morals on a mistake she once made
knitting.

She read the pattern backwards and made
herself a pushover.

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

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