Original subtitles

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

Indeed it is. And in a packed programme tonight, I shall be interviewing a skin

diver who works in the buffet at King's Cross, recovering the teabag.

And I'll be talking to the part -time postman who's just been sacked. He was

meant to be a full -time postman.

And then I'll be talking to the Watford couple who've decided to live together

for a trial period next Saturday night.

But first, the news.

Mrs. Thatcher will not be seeing Mr. Reagan tomorrow.

A Foreign Office spokesman said this is because of illness and fatigue.

She's sick and tired of him.

Today's big event in the racing calendar, the Gay Lib Cup at Kempton

called off during the final furlong when all the jockeys interfered with one

another.

Today was the first day for the Post Office's new stamp commemorating the

inventor of peanut butter. You lick it and it sticks to the roof of your mouth.

But now a sketch featuring Mr. Ronnie Corbett, a man whose idea of adventure

eating an after -eight mint at 7 .30.

Yes, I'm very worried. We've had this letter saying I'm overdrawn. I mean, I'm

sure a check must have gone astray somewhere. Well, like I said, sir,

have to see the manager.

Oh, right. The new manager. Oh, new, oh, yeah.

Enter.

What's happened here? This was just an office.

The offender approved?

Well, I... Ah, you don't approve.

A thousand pardons. The interior decorators shall have the soles of their

beaten. The carpet merchants shall die the death of a thousand cuts.

No, no, please, don't, don't.

I like it, I like it.

It's just that I've come to see about my overdraft. Where is the manager, Mr

Latimer? Latima. Ah, El Atima. Ah, kismet. El Atima has

been visited by the destroyer of all earthly pleasures, by the great leveler

mighty kings and humble peasants, by the spoiler of all earthly mansions. Oh,

you mean... He has transferred to South End branch.

Hakim. Thank you very much indeed.

Tell me, who is then in... In charge. I mean, who is the manager?

This unworthy brigand is the present manager.

Sheikh Alewa al -Harabi.

Totally unsuitable. Oh, I'm sure you're absolutely excellent. No, no, no.

Hopeless, hopeless. For example, this pathetic son of a dog has failed to

remember the great lord's titles and descents.

The great lord. The great lord. The great lord. Sorry.

Dyer. Victor Dyer. Ah.

El Dyer. El Dyer. May my stones wither and my camels miscarry.

Victor Dyer. Of Laburnum Gardens.

Paradise gardens.

Paradise gardens where the fountains tinkle in the courts of the faithful. El

Dyer, whose roof conversion rivals that of Harude Rashid himself.

Whose britches are as the suns of the desert. Oh, I wouldn't go as far as

Whose black and decker attachments defy enumeration.

Outshines Sheba herself. Oh, really?

Whose camels are the fleetest in Laburnum Garden.

Whose double glazing is the most... Oh, please.

Food. Food for his prince of men.

He tithes for your delight.

Oh, no, no, thank you. I've had a light lunch. Thank you very much.

Little baby dancing.

Isn't that Miss C .L. Walters of the position next to the window?

Yes, B .B. Walters, L .B. If you admire her, she is yours. No, no, no, I'm

married. Oh, have it to be encouraged.

You will leave the bank, O moon of my desire, and you will devote yourself

entirely to the pleasures of Mr. V .H .F. Dyer, whose fiery glance will quell

the sight of his enemies, may their faces blacken. No, no, no, no.

Whose overdraft... is like the sounds of the desert. Ah, the overdraft. I wanted

to talk to you about that. Ah, it's a trifle. It does nothing. No, don't say

that. It's worried me a lot. I think there has been a minor computer error.

Ah, the computer men shall have their software struck off.

I was wondering if, accordingly, you could let me have perhaps just a

Alone?

Well... Alone?

You abuse the laws of hospitality, you infidel, you dog, you son of a son of a

dog. Close thy face, woman.

Cast him out.

All that over 78 quid.

Well, I'm off to the Midland. They have a listening bank.

The new Arab manager there might have your ears cut off. Oh, dear.

Well, I shall go to Lloyd's. Mind you, knowing my luck, that flaming horse

kick me to death.

Well, it's the last I'm seeing of this show, that's for sure.

What's that for?

That is a check, dear, in settlement of my overdraft. Good day.

Please welcome our guest this week, Barbara Dixon.

You know, baby, I'm aware of where you go Each time you leave my

door

Watching you walk down the street.

Knowing of the other love you need.

This time before you run.

Leaving me alone and hurt.

I've been good to your baby.

I've been sweet to your baby.

In the name of love.

my heart in the name of love before you

tear it apart and get all over I've known

of your secluded nights I've even seen them maybe once or twice

but is your innocent expression worth more than my love

and affection as this time Before you need my heart And rush

off into her arms Leave it all over Haven't I been good to you, baby?

Haven't I been sweet to you, baby?

Stop in the name

I've been good to you, baby.

I've been sweet to you, babe.

Think about it Think about it Think

about it Think about

it

I say, God pray.

What is it, Humphrey?

My doctor has advised me to give up golf.

Oh, why? Did he examine your heart?

No, he had a look at my scorecard.

Does he play at all?

My doctor, yes, yes.

Terrible cheat. He always puts down one less stroke than he actually took.

We caught him out the other day, though. How was that? Well, he got a hole in

one and he put down naught.

some cream, darling.

Then I'll mix myself a cocktail and I'll see you on the patio.

I'm just going to make some cocoa and bathe the cat's boil. Then I'm off to

Any danger of another beer, Bert?

Yeah. Help yourself. We're in the fridge, Deb.

Darling. No, Edward, we can't.

Not with my husband in the next room.

You're right, dammit.

I shall be back.

I shall return, darling. Every second out of your arms is like an eternity.

That's better. She's on the boil now.

Who's on the boil?

Your wife doing the cat spoil.

Got to put a little thing on the table, no?

Isn't it? Oh, look at that.

Look. Come right off me, Andy.

Do you mind if I do that? No, help yourself. It means you like that.

Darling.

Darling.

Darling, I feel like a volcano waiting to erupt.

I want to make mad, torrid love to you with every fiber of my being.

Later, darling. Come to my room.

Very well, but remember, I'm a wild, untamed beast.

Wild animal, Pat.

Ah, there we are.

Your wife's got to put her back out tonight again, I think.

Put her back out? Doing what?

The cat.

Going to put the cat out tonight again. You know, now she's finished bathing the

boy, all right.

By the way, Ted, I've taken them off so you won't have to fumble about.

What? What? Take off what? So you won't have to fumble about what?

The rings or the other cans of beer in the kitchen.

It's your Doreen.

Oh.

Took her mother's prescription round this afternoon. Do you want to know how

she's getting on us, Brett? Oh, yeah.

Hello, dear.

Don't you hello, dear me.

I know what's going on round there.

You're having an affair with Jeremy's wife, aren't you?

Yeah, that's right. I've given her the full treatment.

You disgusting little reprobate.

How many wives do you need, for heaven's sake?

Two, three times a day.

Sort of grabs you at the back of your legs, you know.

All down the back.

She's got a flaming nerve.

Yes, it's sciatica.

You cheap little philanderer. I'm leaving you.

All right, bye -bye, dear.

Oh, just remembered.

Where are you going now?

I've left my sweets in the cart. I'll be a second. Well, see you're not, that's

all. Just see you're not.

and it was so -and -so.

You were wonderful, darling.

Darling, you were sensational.

Oh, we forget you.

I haven't forgotten. I love you.

Oh, darling, you're so kind and gentle and sweet.

Sweets from the sweet. Sweets from the sweet. Oh, murder a little devil. Oh,

kill him. Hey, how do you fancy a pear drop? You'll have a pear drop. What's

matter?

I'm on the telly.

It's a play, you see.

Off, on, you see what I mean? Yeah, I know, I know, yeah.

I'm watching the telly and think it's happening in real life, like, you know.

Oh, dear, I've got a terrible headache. I don't know why.

Yeah, you do that, love.

Yeah. Night, Ted.

Alone at last, Sharon.

window locks. What a doddle.

Acne burglar off.

Dear, dear.

Money for all wrote this.

Oh, look at that.

Look at that.

Victoria Goliath Mark III. Oh, dear.

All me birthdays have come at once, haven't they, eh?

Oh, he's left his stethoscope and all. Look at that.

Lovely. Good old doctor.

Right. Clunk, click, every trip. Here we go.

And don't come back.

the doctor, no. No, I'm... Well, I just dropped in, like, yeah.

Yeah. Actually, I'm a friend of, uh... I'm a friend of, uh... Sheila's. Yeah,

Sheila. Uh, with a dog.

And a wood behind.

Yeah.

Oh, you are, Sheila. Oh, you are, Sheila. Oh.

And you haven't got a wood behind. Oh, I'm sorry, dear. Yeah, naturally, yeah.

Well, all right, I'll come clean, then. I'm, uh... I'm here doing a job. Yeah.

Yeah, you could call me Andy, man. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Who? Henry?

No. No, he's not here, I'm afraid.

Oh, all right, then. All right, then. Have it your way. He is here.

But you can't talk to him. He's gone to bed early. All right?

A dog.

Yeah. Well, I know he's a dog. Yeah, I know he's a dog. Yeah.

Well, that's why he can't talk to you. Sounds reasonable, doesn't it, eh? Be

true. Yeah.

Now, listen, dear, what I would do if I were you... Oh, what a shame.

Cut off.

Cut off.

Napping telecom.

What is it? Yes, I'm the doctor. Yes. Yes, I am. Yes, I am. Make it quick.

do you want?

Of course I don't talk posh. It's me evening off, isn't it?

I'm not on duty.

I'm not on duty. What?

Pimples. Where you got these pimples, then?

Oh, Dagenham. I see.

Well,

I think the best thing you want to take is that you want to put some of this on

them, yeah.

Snowpake typing errors.

Yeah, of course. Of course I know what it's for. Who's the napping doctor here?

You or me, eh?

No, think about it, think about it. A pimple is simply nature's type in error,

innit, eh? Thank you, madam. I'm wanted on the other line. Thank you.

Hello?

Hello? Oh, dear.

Hello. Yes, madam. What?

Where's the best place for a suppository?

Well, I've got mine with the Abbey National we sell.

Yes, hello. Yes, I'm the doctor. Yes. Yes, I'm the Pakistani doctor. Yes, I

Yes. I know I don't talk Pakistani. That's because I was brought by a pack

wolves in the jungle, rescued by Henry Cooper.

What can I do for you? What? You want your specimen back?

Are you trying to take the... Are you trying to take the... All right, all

right. Where did you put it then, eh?

You put it in the doctor's drawers. That was a silly thing to do, wasn't it?

Just a minute. I'm looking, I'm looking.

There we are.

Did you do it in a piggy bank, did you?

I don't know, do I?

Keep your hair on. Listen, all right, I'll examine you on the phone.

Yes, I'm a doctor. I know what I'm doing. Say ah.

Hang on, hang on. Now, say ah again.

I'm listening to you, yes.

I'm listening through the stethoscope, yes.

Oh, blimey. Hang on. Keep breathing, will you?

Breathing, I said, not panting.

Hello. Hello.

Samaritans?

Yeah? Oh, Doris.

I've told you not to ring me when I'm working, love, haven't I?

You've got a what in the oven?

Well, take it out. I've hardly started here, love.

Yes, of course I love you. Yes, Doris, I'm living with you, aren't I? Of course

I love you.

What?

Say what?

Over the phone? Look, I'm a bit busy, love. All right?

Oh, all right.

Oh.

Knickers.

That's not pathetic. I'm not the heavy -breathing type, am I? I'm not used to

the... Oh, hang on a minute, hang on a minute.

You still breathing there?

Yeah. Keep at it, boy.

Yeah, Doris, try this bloke here.

Go on, damn it.

Right.

Bit of peace at last.

Now then.

Oh, yes. Oh, it's you, Inspector, yes. Yes, I thought it might be, yeah.

Yes, yes, I'll come quietly, yeah. Nice one. Nice one, yeah.

Yeah, what?

I'm allowed one phone call. I don't think I'll bother if it's all the same

you. What?

Handcuffs on the bottom shelf. Right, I'll see to it. Ta -da.

I

see

Humphrey. What is it, Godfrey?

Do you know I'm Robert Redford's double?

What? Yes, I am.

I weigh exactly twice as much as he does.

It's not good for the ticker, though, you know. The old ticker.

Doctor told me to give up smoking at once. Well, I said that was impossible.

Why? Well, I just filled my lighter.

Good doctor, though. He gave my uncle six months to live.

But when he told him he couldn't pay him...

He gave him another six months to live so he could pay him.

I've got the best doctor. I mean, really.

Rightly sympathetic.

Very good about my mother -in -law. I said to him, my mother -in -law is very,

very unsteady on her feet. Oh, what did he say?

Buy her a skateboard.

Just looking round, eh?

Who's looking round?

No, no, don't think you're looking round.

You're looking very slim, as a matter of fact. No, I mean, just looking round

the shop.

All right?

All right, doll.

Who's the little, little pickle, then?

Who's the little...

Who's a furry thing?

Excuse me.

Do guinea pigs usually growl?

You're annoying them.

Oh, no, just saying a few words, you know.

Nothing rude.

I just went, who's a little pickle?

He's done it again.

Yeah, well, he's a stud, you see.

He wants to breed, but the female's got headaches, so leave him alone.

You're as sensitive as a barn door, some people are, you know.

Oh, if you're a stud, you carry on, old boy.

Don't do anything I wouldn't do.

Hello.

Who's a furry bunny one of you?

Listen to me.

Listen, if you're annoying the animals, out.

No, no, I'm not. No, no, I like animals. No, no, I treat them as equals.

Flatter yourself, mate.

Hello?

Hello, Polly.

You're a tortoise.

He knows that, he knows that.

Nobody said who's a pretty boy, then. Well, he is a pretty boy.

Look, Luke, I know about animals, and I know that tortoises don't speak, just as

I know that dogs bark.

Don't I? I mean, know that much?

Oh, he likes me, he does, he doesn't. Don't be too sure.

dog is that?

An Aylesbury.

Where do you buy him? Barking.

Don't you mean quacking?

Quacking? Where the hell's quacking?

A dog's not meant to quack. I mean, a puppy dog's meant to go, you know, like

that. It's not a flaming mouse with a whooping cough.

It's not a depressionist, but that is a dog. And a dog is meant to bark and

growl and howl. Who's got time to teach you all that?

Who teaches a dove to go coo? Nobody.

Well, then. They don't go coo. They do. They coo, they do.

This shop's not natural. Listen, either order something or clear off your

doolally, you are.

I'm doolally. This shop is doolally.

Absolutely doolally. What is that egg doing in there?

What do you want it to do?

What do you mean? Did that dog lay that egg? Don't be daft.

That's a China egg. Well, why is it in there? Well, it's doing curries

shop this is. Well, if I may, I'd like to order a canary that growls, a dozen

gerbils' eggs, and a goldfish that sings the national anthem backwards.

When do you want them by?

I was being sarcastic. I'll tell you what I have got.

I've got a nice goat going cheap.

I don't want a goat that goes cheap. I want a goat that goes bah, bah.

It's supposed to go bah, bah.

You know what a bee does, do you? Yes, I do. Well, then be off.

Oh, it's the wife, thank goodness.

It's the first sense of the word I've heard all day, dear.

Ignorant little creep.

Well done, Chowza. Here's your cat's meat. Go on, clear off.

Thank you.

Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, I have a rather sad announcement to make.

This will probably be the last time I shall ever sit in this chair and tell

a joke. No,

please, please. You're upset, I can understand.

Understandable. Try and hold back the tears.

There's a lady here opening a bottle of champagne.

No. No, it had to happen. Had to happen. Sooner or later. At long last, I

have been lured to Hollywood.

Excuse me.

I beg your pardon.

Paramount have bought up the movie rights to my sensational autobiography,

Ronnie Corbett Story, filmed in microscope.

It's all very exciting.

And I've just had the draft of the screenplay through. Here we are. Look,

Ronnie Corbett story starring Burt Lancaster as Ronnie Corbett.

A challenging role, if ever there was one.

You'd probably end up getting an Oscar.

Co -starring Ronnie Corbett as the Oscar.

There are some very stunning scenes in this film, I'll tell you that. Scene one

starts off. Scene one, the workhouse.

Ronnie Corbett has just been born. His thin, waif -like mother picks up the

infant Corbett in her trembling hands, holds him out towards the midwife and

says, Please miss, can I have some more?

See? My mother would be very annoyed about that.

Scene two.

Fagin teaches Corbett to steal jokes.

I have to admit, the plot has been slightly romanticised.

That is the strange thing. It's the strange thing, you know, about reading

script. The script of your life story brings back so many memories.

You know, our first house was so damp, we held a housewarming party and it

boiled away.

When we got married, that is, you know, my wife and I, naturally.

It's the best way to do it, really. When we got married, well, we didn't

actually, to be honest, get married.

She won me in a pass the parcel.

It happened.

It happened.

No, it happened. I can laugh about it now because, you know, I'm more

But it happened at one of those big showbiz parties, very late in the

evening. All the guests had got a bit merry, you know, on Henry Cooper's

knockout punch.

Cabaret that night was a bit rough.

A string quartet of BBC cleaning ladies playing air on a J -cloth.

and Rod Stewart doing some close harmony numbers with a dodgy starter motor.

Then someone said, let's play Pass the Parcel. Before I knew it, I was being

tossed around the room, and every time the music stopped, the person left

holding me peeled something off.

I'll never forget my wife's words as she removed the final piece of wrapping.

She went, oh, look, she said, what I've always wanted, a bendy toy.

She said...

No, I wasn't embarrassed.

No, not a bit embarrassed. Because I've always, to be honest, I've always been

very proud of what, you know, nature has given me, to be honest.

Little things please little minds.

On to tonight's story.

And I must apologise if it doesn't seem all that funny, but it was actually told

to me by the BBC's Director General.

You know, so you can't expect wit.

Thursday morning...

I received the royal invitation to his office.

As usual, I had to wait a few minutes, you know, outside, while they finished

blow -drying the flock wallpaper.

Come in, he said.

Come in, he said. I've got an awfully funny story for you, sweetie.

He calls me sweetie.

Sweetie, he said. He calls me sweetie. He has called me that for a long time.

Dates back to the first time we met, when I was sleeping rough in a bag of

babies.

He said...

I thought, he said, I thought you could do it in your, you know, your bit of

nonsense this week. So for better or worse, here it is.

Apparently this story actually happened a few weeks ago while he was over in New

York for a conference. He was staying in one of those very incredibly swish

skyscraper hotels, you know, elevators with in -flight movies.

Towels so fluffy and thick, you can't get them in your suitcase.

And a Jehovah's Witness in every bedside cupboard.

And apparently, central heating is very exclusive. You fancy a sudden blast of

hot air, you press a button, and Russell Grant comes up and reads your fortune.

One night, the Director General was sitting in the lounge, having a drink,

he noticed a little scene between two gentlemen at the bar. Now, one of them

an Oriental person, and the other...

a Jewish ice cream manufacturer who worked on Sundays.

Well, as the Oriental gentleman was leaning across the bar to get an

olive, he accidentally knocks over the Jewish gentleman's drink and immediately

gets very upset. He goes, my life, my life.

First Pearl Harbor, he says, now this.

That's typical. That's just the sort of thing I'd expect of your people, the

Oriental gentleman says.

Pardon me, he says.

Fortunately, he's completely lost his accent, this fellow.

Otherwise, it might have been, pardon me, he said, but I happen to be Chinese.

And it was the Japanese who bombed Pearl Harbor.

The chap says, Chinese, Japanese, what's it a name? And he promptly picks up a

nearby soda typhoon and squirts it down the Chinaman's shirt like that.

That's typical, he said. That is typical. Just the sort of thing I'd

you people.

First you sink the Titanic, now this.

Just wait a minute. Sink the Titanic?

What are you talking about? That was nothing to do with the Jews.

That was an iceberg.

Chinaman says iceberg, Goldberg, what's in a...

People don't want clowns no more.

We seem to be out of fashion now.

We seem to have lost our dash somehow.

We seem to have lost our clout.

People don't think we're funny no more.

Comedy seems to have passed us by.

Just moved on, don't ask us why, and left us down and out.

But I remember the day when everyone loved the clown.

I remember the day whenever the circus came to town. All the kids in the

neighborhood ran after you down the street.

Everyone's next door neighbor would bang on the wall as hard as they could.

They're here, they're...

Come out and give them a cheer.

And the elephants holding each other's tails came lumbering through the crowd.

Pulling the cages of hell, the lions of the liberty, horses throttling proud,

and men in the stilts and the acrobats came tumbling through the town.

And behind them all, to tremendous cheer, the hero of the day appeared, the

clown, the clown.

Everyone loved the clown.

People don't want clowns no more.

The things we do don't make them laugh.

Comical car that falls in half no longer stops the show.

People don't go for our gags no more.

The slippery planks and the buckets of paste.

It's sheer hard graft just gone to waste.

And nobody wants to know.

But I remember the day when the clowns were the only thing.

I remember the day whenever we entered the circus ring, a joyful sound, a

magical rock would surge up from the crowd.

And as each pratfall shook the floor, and little Joey came back for more, the

locks were loud.

The locks were long and loud.

And the flower bags bursting all over the place and the custard pies that

And the soda siphon full in the face and the baggy trousers filled with glue.

Jock on his square wheel bicycle and Jimbo's gigantic ears.

And the final chase round the edge of the ring and you feel no pain and the

thing are the cheers. The cheers.

You'd never forget the cheers.

You'd never forget the cheers.

People don't want clowns no more.

I tend to blame the telly meself. That's what's put us on the shelf.

That's what did us in.

It's too sophisticated now.

There's entertainment around the clock.

From breakfast TV to late night rock, it's one long bleeding day.

Too many of us at it now.

The goodies started the rot.

Now everyone's joined the gravy train.

The competition's far too hot.

There's little and large and more coming wise and cannon and ball and all.

The fat one and the little one.

Whose names I can't recall.

Come on, Jacko. We can't sit here.

There's two more shows tomorrow night.

Two more chances to get it right.

Providing family fun.

Let's get moving, there's a dear.

It's half past twelve and I'm soaking wet.

We've got to muck out the elephants yet.

Or we'll never get done.

Welcome to Cockahoopie Castle.

I have a story to tell you, so strange that it will make your blood run cold,

freeze your gizzard, and perish the rubber in your inner tubes.

Before I begin, let me stoke the fire.

McQueenie!

Put another bit of peat on the fire.

We're running out of peat.

There's no much of him left.

Only his right leg.

Oh, it doesn't matter which part.

Will it burn?

What it should do is his wooden body.

Poor old peat.

Home cremation is a tradition in these parts.

And so much cheaper.

Oh, by the by, the McDonald's are here.

They'll be waiting outside for 30 minutes.

Poor wee things will be getting off the cold.

Well, bring them in, man, bring them in. Oh, well, oh, well.

Oh, do you want ketchup or mustard in yours?

Mustard, mustard.

Now get out and stop interrupting me, whispery.

Here, what's that?

Oh, over here.

The story I'm about to tell.

concerns the Bogle of Borgfell.

Hey, don't worry. It's not all going to be in rhyme. That was by accident.

Angus Bogle was a mild -mannered wee man who came to a tragic end.

Finding that his wife was unfaithful to him, he cut her off with a shelling,

whereupon she cut him off with a bread knife to the died intestine, giving no

money to anyone.

And from that day onward...

His ghost haunted the area around his native village of Cockerhoopy.

The village itself was steeped in history ever since it had been pillaged

McNenemy and his Barbican hordes. He drank all the whiskey and left it

-free.

Soon after he died, the Bogle's ghost began to appear to various of the

villagers, always at full moon.

just after the closing time.

The gist of his experience.

Tell us about when everything's done then, Jimmy.

Mrs. Muck Muck, the widow of poor old Mick Muck Muck, the sewage guy, had been

bag of nerves ever since her husband died.

Before that, she'd just been a bag.

She would go to enormous lengths to protect herself from the boggle.

He always hid himself away in his favorite hiding place, the toilet of his

cottage.

In life, ever since he was a bairn, he had always hid there when he was really

frightened.

Now, as a ghost, when frightened by the widow, he sought retreat and safety in

the toilet, which wasn't much fun for the new owners.

And so a plan was hatched to catch the Bogle of Borgfell.

Residing in the village was Professor Monty MacDougall, the inventor of the

world -famous MacDougall's self -raising trousers.

for people who can't get up in the morning.

His brilliant drink -ridden brain was brought to bear upon the problem.

No, gentlemen, I'd like to explain this rather complicated diagram we have here.

The idea is this.

When the booger rushes into the laboratory and pulls the chain, this

this large boulder to shoot up into the basket here. It will roll down this

freshly prepared ramp and crash to the floor and roll to the other end of the

toilet. This will completely overbalance the whole structure, thus trapping the

Bogle inside.

Any questions?

Aye, what time do they open? Any minute now. This one I want.

So the plan was put into action.

Strangely enough, it was the professor himself returning home even drunker than

usual one night.

That was to be the cause of the Bogle's downfall.

Amen.

and his usual place, hoping to find relief from his fears.

All night long he sat in the wee house, as it was known.

But it wasn't until morning that he was relieved enough to pull the chain.

What he didn't realize was that the crafty professor had moved our hero's

hole to a higher location.

That day to this, the village has been known as Bogfell.

That's where the bog fell.

One last thing I'll say to you.

The tale I've told you may seem strange and almost impossible to believe.

But if it's not true, may I be blown to smithereens and the various parts of my

body be distributed and scattered throughout the length and breadth of

including the Trossachs.

We are off.

That seems to be all we have time for tonight, but before we go, a few late

items of news.

There was a nasty shock today for Angus Tripp, the Salford furniture restorer,

who's had several organ transplants.

While testing a polling chair, he damaged his imitation walnut.

And disturbing news at a press conference this morning for soap opera

Ralston Painswick. He's being kept in the series but killed off in real life.

Shattering news.

Larry Grayson has got a girl into trouble.

She was parked on a yellow line and he towed the traffic ward.

In our next programme, we hope to bring you the North Thames Gas Board Dramatic

Society, who will be giving an estimated reading of Hamlet.

And we'll be meeting Wendell Snug, who will be on the second night of his

honeymoon. He'll be dressed in a suit of brightly coloured feathers in the hope

of repeating himself parrot fashion.

Until then, it's goodnight from me.

And it's goodnight from him. Goodnight. Goodnight.

Repair and Synchronization by Easy Subtitles Synchronizer 1.0.0.0