All language subtitles for The Two Ronnies s12e05.eng

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

Indeed it is. And in a packed program
tonight, I shall be meeting Elasto,

Britain's most depressed contortionist,
who last week tried to bend it all.

And then I'll be looking at three
landscape paintings.

Paris, seen through the eyes of a Paris
artist.

Madrid, seen through the eyes of a
Madrid artist.

And Pisa...

Seen through the eyes of Dean Martin.

But first, the news.

In Parliament today, opposition members
claimed that the government's enthusiasm

for law and order could lead to innocent
people being punished by an act dating

back to 1729.

Paul Daniels.

On the industrial front, Arthur Scargill
admitted tonight that he is a three

-shredded -wheat -a -day man.

He eats two and wears the other one on
his head.

The workforce at Bryant and May's
matches were amazed today when executive

director Mr. L .F. Sprott was discovered
wearing women's clothing.

He later admitted to being a scorned
vestite.

Claims that modern technology is
destroying traditional sheep farming

confirmed today when in the one -man
-and -his -dog finals at Windermere,

portions of frozen lamb cutlets were
rounded up by a radio -controlled pyjama

case.

The Naskets, featuring Mr. Ronnie
Corbett, direct from his first

triumph in The Merchant of Venice as the
pound of flesh.

for a party, isn't it, darling? The
great comedian.

Terrific idea.

I love it.

It certainly is.

Thank you, Groucho.

Oh, that's good. Oh, that's very, very
good. Yes. I don't think we've got a

sooty.

Haven't come a sooty? Oh, haven't you?
No, certainly not. Oh, well, it's just

well, isn't it, really? I mean, you
don't want to spend the rest of the

with someone's hand up your jumper all
night, do you?

Nonetheless, is that French maid over
there? Oh, no, that's supposed to be

Marilyn Monroe as a French maid. Ah,
well, she can dust my knick -knacks any

time.

So, which famous comedian have you come
as, then?

Isn't it rather, you know, isn't it
rather obvious?

No, no, can't place you, no, no.

You know, I work on the telly a lot. Oh.

Work on the telly. Oh, I see. Single
act.

No, no, no, no. Oh.

There aren't seven of you, are there?

No, certainly not. No, I work on the
telly a lot with my big partner.

Oh, your big partner, yes. Oh, call her.
Of course I should have realized that.

Basil Brush.

How can you be so stupid? Do I have a
bushy tail?

I shouldn't do that about you. There's a
chap over there. Come as Larry Grayson.

He likes you.

Now, I'll give you a little clue.

A little what? A little clue.

Oh, yes.

My second name begins with C.

C. Oh!

Of course, yes.

The chirpiness, yes, of course.

Give a little whistle.

Jiminy Cricket.

No, no, no. I'll give you a further
clue. Right. Not just C, Corbett. Oh,

Corbett. Second name Corbett. Corbett.
Harry Corbett and Sooty. Oh, two of

We shall get your Harry Corbett later in
the evening, shall we? No, you will not

get my Harry Corbett because I have not
come as Harry Corbett or Sooty or Basil

Brush or Jiminy Cricket or one of the
seven dwarves. I have come as Ronnie

Corbett.

Nothing like him.

If I told you one of his stories, would
you believe me in that? Yes, go on, tell

me one of his stories. Well,

tonight's story... My producers
suggested this story, by the way. And

story concerns a little BBC party we all
went to. It was one of these economical

parties, you know, where they take away
the barman's hearing aid.

Nothing like him.

Nothing like it. No, no, Mike Yarwood
doesn't matter that.

Look, mate, I will tell you, not only
have I come as Ronnie Corbett, but I am

Ronnie Corbett. You can't be. Why not?
Because the real Ronnie Corbett happens

to be over there.

Good heavens.

There you are, you see.

Basil Brush.

I am not Basil Brush.

Basil, my favourite.

I always... Take my little battle breath
doll to bed with me every night.

Look, I don't care if you take it.
Really?

Really? Oh, yeah. And cuddle up to him.
And mmm.

Want to come to my place for coffee?

Some like it hot.

Ha, ha, ha.

When I feel things, a very big Motown
hit of the 60s, taken from his second

successful solo album, Hello, I Must Be
Going. Ladies and gentlemen, Phil

Collins with You Can't Hurry Love.

I need to find time, someone to call
mine. My mama said, you can't hurry

No, you'll just have to wait.

She said, love don't come easy.

But it's a game of faith I take.

You can't hurry love.

No, you'll just have to wait.

Just trust in my good time.

No matter how long it takes. How many
heartaches must I say?

Before I found the love to let me live
again.

Right now the only thing that keeps me
hanging on.

When I feel my strength.

It's almost gone. I remember mama said.
I know you'll just have to wait.

She said love don't come easy.

It's a game I'll play and take. How long
must I wait? How much more must I take?

Well, it's a game of give and take. You
can't hurry, love.

No, you just have to wait.

Just trust in the good times.

No matter how long it takes. And I'm
free.

Now, love, love, it don't come easy.

But I keep on waiting on this love.

of stealth and total obscurity with
special responsibility for limbs and

And I'm here tonight to talk to you
about your bodies and what can be done

improve them. Now, here is a photograph
of my secretary, Miss Bedtime.

Now, what could be done to improve her
body? Well, not a lot.

But let us face it, which I do quite
frequently, couldn't it be better if her

bosom was round at the back? I mean,
think of the advantages.

dancing would be given an added
pleasure.

It would certainly liven up page four of
the Sun.

And it would be a shot in the arm for
the British haversack industry.

In fact, Hollywood has already signed
Dolly Parton to have the operation and

play the lead in the remake of The
Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Technology already exists to bring about
these changes. I myself have had

several parts of my body attended to.

as my secretary, Miss Bedtime, will
attest.

Now, you might think I'm talking out of
the back of my head, but I'm not.

But I could do if I wish, because that's
where I have my extra mouth.

An alternative place for the mouth, of
course, is in the top of the head.

This means you can put your breakfast in
your hat and eat it going to work.

Now, here is someone else who has an
extra mouth.

I am not at liberty to say where it is.

on mouth and trousers.

Let me give you a few examples of the
improvements we are capable of.

Now, what is odd about this man?

That's right, he's an Australian.

And he has three legs.

But what uses a third leg? Well, over
here is a composite picture of Mr.

Bird, the famous English umpire.

That does away with the need for
wickets.

The idea is to try and hit one of his
legs and knock his bales off.

No more will you be able to make the
excuse that you've only got one pair of

hands because now you will be able to
have two pairs of hands.

Boon for the man whose wife tells him he
doesn't appreciate her. Now he will be

able to show his appreciation by giving
her a cuddle and a round of applause at

the same time.

a lot of conjecture about the best place
to put the third eye.

Now, many people suggest that the navel
is simply begging for an eye.

Then, of course, where would we put the
salt when we were eating our crisps in

bed?

Many people have suggested that the best
place for a third eye would be the end

of this finger.

And I can see the advantages.

What about the benefit of hindsight?

would be perfect for keeping an eye on
the bathroom door whilst searching for

the soap.

Now, what about an extra ear, I hear you
say? Although, of course, if I do hear

you say that, why do I need an extra
ear? Well, I don't. But consider someone

who is using a Sonny Walkman. Here we
are.

Now, thus rendering themselves oblivious
to all that's going on around them.

But if they had an extra ear, like so...

could still listen to their Sonny
Walkman with the added benefit that they

also be able to hear the juggernaut just
before it hit them.

Now, for those desiring additional limbs
and organs, special hospitals have been

set up throughout the country to
accommodate you. For instance, anyone

extra hands will be dealt with here at
Handsworth.

And we have additional specialist
hospitals here at Neasden, Henley,

Liverpool, Musselburgh.

And, of course, Hampton Wick.

Excuse me.

Yes?

Where are you speaking from?

Oh, don't be silly.

Someone talking through their hat.

Now, turning to the nose...

realise that we spend over ten million
pounds a year on disposable tissues, so

we propose to save all that money with
the disposable nose.

These will come in convenient boxes here
of ten, or one if you happen to be

Barry Manilow.

And there you have it.

Good Lord, is that the time?

why he lived in paradise.

You don't like women, do you?

Not a lot.

You was married, though, wasn't you?

Oh, yeah, yeah. My wife came from a fine
old English family.

Unfortunately, she brought it with her.

Is that why you took the road then, was
it?

No, no. I took the road because she was
stupid.

That's why I told her my great
-grandfather was killed at Waterloo, and

said, which platform?

And so and so, as if the platform
mattered.

Exactly.

And she was kind of blind and all, and
never told me.

Well, how do you find out?

Well, she made a rhubarb pie...

flogged ten seamen today, keelhauled
four, clapped three in arms.

Quite a light day, really.

But I hear mutiny.

I know that the first mate, Fletcher
Christian, plans to take over the ship.

Come here.

What is it, Mr. Christian? Captain Bly,
I am to tell you that I am to relieve

you of your command and take over the
ship.

You mean you're going to mutiny? Yes.

You and the members of the crew loyal to
you will be put in the longboat. With

such provisions as we can spare, I and
the remainder of the men shall set sail

for a new life on the high seas.

You mutinous dog!

This day will live in infamy.

The name Fletcher Christian will forever
go down in history as a disloyal

traitor. Nay, the name of Captain Bly
will go down as a cruel despot.

high seas. That's as may be. One thing
is certain, that this incident, this

shipboard rebellion, will forever be
known and renowned as the mutiny on the

Skylark.

So be it.

But no, wait.

What? We can't, this is awful. You're
not going to mutiny?

No, no, no, we're going to mutiny. Yes,
of course mutiny, but mutiny on the

Skylark. I mean, so wet, isn't it? Well,
it is, yes.

I mean, it's so sort of...

Sissy, really, isn't it? I mean, it's
like a bunch of office cleaners on a day

trip round the lighthouse.

I never liked the name myself.

No, we were never taken seriously. I
mean, even when they launched the ship,

they used a bottle of orangeade.

In history, when the incident is
mentioned, mutiny on the Skylark, people

simply snigger, you know.

Snigger. Oh, poof.

It's your fault, really.

I mean, why did you call it the Skylark?
It was my wife's favourite bird.

Why didn't you choose her second
favourite bird? That's the great tit.

But you're right, Christian. Our names
will forever be a historical laughing

stock. Like Ethelred the Unready and
Alfred the Cake.

Yes. I did so want to be a romantic
hero.

We could change it, of course.

Could we? Why not? If we change it
before you mutiny, then it won't be the

mutiny on the Skylark, will it? It'll be
mutiny upon the whatever.

What a good idea. What could we change
it to? Well, let's see. I mean, there

must be millions of names, mustn't
there? Millions. I mean, there's...

what do they call ships these days?

Usually after women. Women's names.

Well, there we are. What women's names
do we know, then?

My God, we have been at sea a long time.

What about your wife? You call it after
your wife? Yes, yes. What about that?

Mutiny on the mural.

What about that little bit you met in
Tahiti? That Polynesian piece, what was

her name?

Tahoa Aloa Aloa Wagga Wagga Ala Woo.

Yes, well, in years to come, that should
certainly sort them out at O -level.

I like calling it after the cabin boy.

Jim Hawkins.

Mutiny on the Jim Hawkins. Jim Hawkins
is not a woman.

No, no.

But on a Friday, he puts on a pretty
little dress and a hat.

Don't want any of that, thank you,
Christian.

None of that on my ship. What we can do
is call it anything we like. It doesn't

have to be a woman's name. The very next
thing that we think of, that's what

we'll call it. Agreed? Agreed.

Come in. Mr. Christian, sir, have you
taken over the ship? No, not yet. Not

In the meanwhile, will you put such
provisions as we can spare in the

for the captain?

We have very long provisions, sir.

Well, I have some of those new chocolate
bars in my locker.

Put them in as well, just for the time
being.

Oh, yes.

That's it. Chocolate bars.

That's what we'll call the ship after.
Your new chocolate bars.

Indeed, then, in history, we will go
down as serious and important people. Of

course. Captain Bly, Fletcher Christian.

And the mutiny. On the crunchy.

As soon as he copper -plated a suspender
and bra, you should have mighty caned

his gerbils, shouldn't you?

Of course you could, yeah.

Cooked him on a Fagans and left him
denture and truss.

Yeah. Eh?

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

Yeah. Not at all.

Kipped her down the trousers, me old
love.

What was that all about, then? I haven't
got a blind idea.

Probably a wrong sandwich.

You mean a wrong cucumber?

Yeah, a wrong cucumber sandwich, yeah.

He probably just wanted the Ilton.

What, you mean a Milton?

Milton Keynes.

You know, Huey Greenes. No, no, no, he
just wanted Hilton. You know what they

say. I know, it's confusing, isn't it?

It's all beyond me, all this modern
rabbit.

A policeman's lot is not a bowl of
cherries. Tom and Jerry's. But the

isn't rounding up a gang. Let them hang.

For today's police, the thing that
really worries. Chicken curry.

Is a keeping up with all the rhyming
slang.

Who is it prank?

For your average modern rosa watches
minder.

Organ grinder. Just the Sweeney. Juliet
Bravo and the Bill. Jimmy Hill.

A young 'un's talk is a reminder.

Play the blinder. That you lack the
modern conversation skill.

Pebble mill.

Get a modern cockney copper. Give the
verbal.

Dr. Goebbels. In a language never
uttered by the Queen. Know what I mean.

And the more mature policeman's blood
just curdles. Latex girdle. And the

sibling back Dixon of Doc Green.

Mr. Clean.

For the young.

Longer generation copies able.

Coffee table. Two converting slang
drivers up the pole. Bake and roll.

So the station sounds just like the
Tower of Babel. Benny Grable. When the

blokes all talk like Waterman and Cole.

Down the old.

Calling all jam jars. Calling all jam
jars.

Proceeding once to the M40. Naughty,
naughty.

Junction 5. Duck and dive.

Where punch -up is taking place between
owner of a Ford, four wheels and a Ford,

and an inarticulated lorry driver. Don't
forget the diver.

trucks have given the breathalyzer.

That doesn't work. Try fertilizer.

Roger and out. The big boy's out.

The policeman's lot is not for beer and
skittles, peanut brittles. When a

perlin's called, he seldom does his
bird.

Richard the third.

And the reason he keep getting these
acquittals, large and little, is the

can't understand a blinking word.

Deaf old turkey.

Bingo may be kosher on the telly.
Barbara Kelly.

But it hinders the custodians of the
law. Roger Moore.

Do we know what's going on? Not on your
nelly.

Botticelli. No, we can't keep up with
Waterman and Thor. Shut that door.

with tit for tat and ours your father
nicely thank you we can understand a

genuine old lag oily rag but the latest
one just gets us in a lava so I garver

when they're uttered by some wily little
wag Melvin Bragg now anything

we fail to understand kiss me hand
either me or my diminutive chum Thomas

three wise monkeys we've agreed to
imitate Kiss me, Kate.

And be completely blind and deaf and
dumb.

Kiss me quick.

And be completely blind and deaf and
dumb.

Evening all...

Can you suggest something for a
headache?

I haven't got a headache.

No, no, for my headache, dear. Oh, don't
worry.

Will you send in a cup of herbal tea,
please?

And the next patient. Thank you.

Very good, sir.

to be the trouble.

I have got a hatchet in my head.

Good Lord, is it? Dear me.

Funny enough, I noticed it, but I
thought it was some sort of, you know,

sort of hat.

It is some sort of hat.

Yes, indeed it is. Sorry, what sort? The
painful sort.

I'm sorry, good Lord, is it causing you
some discomfort? Of course it is, of

course it is.

Oh, dear, yes, it does look... It does
look rather sore, I must say. You see,

you've got it bang here, haven't you?
Right in there. Right between, you know,

your sexual drive and your ability to
sew on buttons.

Will you do something about it, please?

Certainly. First things first. Now, your
name, please.

Spat.

Initials? TK. Look, I failed to see
what... Excuse me. Excuse me, Mr. Spat.

Your date of birth, please?

August the 4th, 1930.

Ah, well, that's it.

What's it? Typical Leo.

Typical what?

Typical Leo, you see, the fire sign.

Fire, metal, hatchet. It is a fireman's
hatchet, isn't it? Yes, it is.

And, of course, it's the 11th of the
month. Of course. You are bound to get a

hatchet in your head.

Strangely enough, I've written a paper
on the very subject. Would you care

Yes, I don't feel like reading at the
moment, thank you very much. I've got

headache. Yes.

Yeah, but I've got a hatchet in mine.

Excuse me, to the outward eye, the
untutored eye, you have outwardly got a

hatchet. Yeah, some of it is inwardly
and all.

It hurts.

Excuse me, Mrs. Bass, I am the doctor.

Please allow me to decide what hurts and
what does not.

Will you please remember? Tell me, are
you getting any tingling at the end of

your fingers? No, no, none whatsoever.

No, all the tingling is in my head. That
is possibly due to the fact... Let us

not jump to conclusions, Mr Spat. That
hatchet in the head could possibly be

symptom of something very much worse.
Worse? What could be worse? What could

worse than that? Look, it's an
emergency. Will you do something? It's

emergency in my head here. If only you'd
come to me ten years ago.

I've come to you ten years ago. I've
only just got it in my...

A lifetime husband is sitting in the
wrong position.

Diet of red meat. I mean, you don't even
know your birth sign. Of course you're

going to get a hatchet in your head.
Look, just pull it out, will you please,

Professor? We have to treat, don't you
understand?

We have to treat the whole man.

What about the hole in the man?

What sort of doctor are you?

Mr. Spat, you're living out of accord
with nature, you see.

Do you understand?

Your ying and your yang are slightly
imbalanced. Of course you feel

You feel violent. I didn't put it in my
head.

The man upstairs was violent.

Listen, the man upstairs obeys forces
from higher planes as well. Oh, I'm

I'm sorry. I'm just going to the nearest
National Health Outpatient Department.

Thank you very much. Oh, you ignorant
amateur. You have no idea, have you, of

the cosmos.

Look, you're a crank, you're a windbag,
you're full of hot air, and I hope you

sit on your own acupuncture needles.

Ingrate. Good gracious, my headache has
completely gone.

Thank you very much for that spontaneous
applause.

And we'll...

Not my fault you couldn't get tickets
for Cracker Jack.

Now, tonight, I... Cracker Jack!

Oh, thank you, ma 'am.

A bit late, but very good. Now...
Tonight... Tonight, some of

you may have noticed a slight addition
to the picture on your television

I better explain.

This is due to a new law.

The TV Viewers Protection Act.

brackets, comedians of limited growth.

I don't know why that should include me.
Which makes it compulsory for all

comedians under five foot with big back
glasses who sit in chairs telling jokes

to carry a government health watch.

Well, it is fair enough, I suppose,
because research does show that the

I tell can lead to fatal illness.

People get sick to death of them.

So that is why we have to put up this
sign. Now, incidentally, to be honest, I

have been a bit off colour myself all
round lately.

My imagination has been playing little
tricks on me. The other day I was in the

garden trimming the big cockerel on the
front edge, you know.

And as I had picked up the shears, I
swear I heard the cockerel say, not too

much off the top, please.

All in the mind, you see. I must admit,
my new car has been a bit of a

disappointment. The Robin Reliant Turbo.

fastest car I've ever driven.

The warranty ran out while I was backing
it out of the showroom.

In fact, all in all, it has been rather
a tragic week.

Last Thursday morning, our little pet
sausage dog, Ronnie Junior, died.

He died.

No, he didn't die, but he did die, and
rigor mortis set in.

My wife took it surprisingly well.
Within half an hour, she plucked up the

courage to lay it out on the kitchen
table.

And by lunchtime, she was rolling the
pastry with it.

She's a little bit absent -minded, I'll
be honest. I once asked her to let the

cat out, and she was up all night with a
needle and cotton.

To cheer her up, I took her to

Madame Tussauds for the unveiling of the
new wax dummy of Nigel Lawson.

And it was so realistic, the head fell
off and the pound rose 25 cents against

the knob.

On with the joke, which I am bound by
law to tell you is best before August

3rd, 1876.

And which I laughed at quite a few years
ago now when I was doing a very cheap

Christmas show in Chinatown called Jack
and the Greensprout.

It wasn't much of a part, I'll be
honest. I was appearing with Dudley

Charlie Drake as a pantomime earwig.

And I must make a good job of this story
tonight because it is actually a

particular favourite of the controller
of BBC One.

And I have not been in his good books
ever since I disgraced myself over the

suggestion box.

I suggested they put a hole in the top.

Which didn't go down too well. The next
day he summoned me to his plush seventh

floor office.

My goodness, big dick.

I've seen a flypaper in there with the
red arrows stuck to it.

And he does take a very keen personal
interest in this show, The Controller.

Every week he and the producer get
together upstairs and kick a few ideas

around. Then they come down here and
kick me around.

When I saw him this week, he was feeling
rather full of himself showing off

his... New Lacoste nose job.

With a little crocodile over one
nostril.

Get a pigging move on in the chair this
week, he said. Get a pigging move on in

the chair with uncharacteristic
eloquence. So tonight, for the first

history, I shall dispense with any
rambling and get right into the joke,

is the one about the policeman who is
out on his beat one night in the middle

winter, five below zero. He's got
icicles around his helmet.

Goose pimples on his truncheon.

And he is trudging around the streets,
not much action about.

He's cautioned a couple of cockroaches
for curb crawling.

Otherwise, all is quiet. And as he's
standing there in the corner, little

flakes begin to flutter down from the
sky.

And immediately, he snaps into his
police training.

Hello, hello, hello, he says.

Little white flakes fluttering down from
the sky.

It must be snowing.

Because he's quite bright.

But thick with it. The forecast said
three feet of snow and I've only got two

boots on.

Can't stop tonight, I'm sorry, I'm
rushing on.

I should have worn my big police
overcoat.

So to cut a long story short, or not
very short, he hurries back to the

you know, sort of like that, only to
find his wife has gone to bed on the

of the front door. What an unfortunate
circumstance, he says, or worse to that

effect.

a pebble up at the bedroom window and
out pops his wife's head. She says, what

do you mean by getting me out of bed at
three o 'clock in the morning? Go away

or I'll call the police.

He says, look, I am sorry to wake you
up, dearest, but if you just throw down

big police overcoat, I'll be on my way.
So she disappears from the window, gets

the coat, throws it down the way he
goes, warm as toast, you see. Well, five

hours later, he's back in the nick,
walks into the mess room, says, my God,

a night that was, he said.

Thank goodness for the old police
overcoat, save my bacon.

His mate says, yes, you can say that
again. By Jove. Then he gives him a

look. He says, wait a minute. He says,
here, by the way, George, how long have

you been a sergeant?

You're not answering, sir.

Father?

Father?

Oh, my God.

What is it, James?

It's mother.

Stand back, both of you.

the police at once.

No. I don't trust the police.

I find they tend to be biased in favor
of the innocent.

We need a private detective.

Miss Marple, then.

Fortunately, she lives in the next
village.

Even more fortunate, the great Belgian
detective, Hercule Poirot, happens to be

staying the weekend with her.

I must go and see them at once. Yes, do.

Two great detectives for the price of
one, eh?

Father couldn't be in better hands.

Lucky old dog.

fallen on his feet again.

The mist is rising.

I fancy the sailors are in for a filthy
night.

Really? Yes, they've just opened a new
strip club in Portsmouth.

Oh, Mrs Marbles.

You've almost slipped my memory.

What do you make of this?

Doesn't go with your shoes, Mr. Poirot.

My name is not Mrs.

Marbles. Miss Marple. I pray you, madam,
do not digress.

This bag was left behind by a visitor
while we were out buying you some more

wool. What can you tell me of its owner?

Aside from the fact that she was a bald,
fat woman named Hyde who wiped her nose

upon her sleeve and whose husband wore a
truss.

Really, Mr. Poirot, that's pure
conjecture.

Simplicity itself, madame.

Inside the unbag you will find a small
lace hanky which has never been used.

Therefore, she must wipe her nose upon
her sleeve.

Also, a newspaper clipping containing
two advertisements.

One for outsized corsets and the other
pledging relief for earlier sufferers.

Deduction, she is fat, her husband wears
a truss.

Why bold?

The comb, madame.

There is no comb.

Exactement. Who but a bald woman would
neglect to carry a comb on her person?

for the name Hyde, it is embossed upon
the handbag itself, along with her

Christian names, genuine and cow.

But wait.

I detect a foot outside the door.

We are the visitor.

Oh, Monsieur Potter.

I almost fell over this foot outside the
door.

The bravest you did, mademoiselle.

Oh, you found my bag.

Oh, this is your handbag.

Oh, Miss Martins, you must help me.

I'm at my wit's end.

Have a sip of this brandy, my dear.

Tell us all about it.

It's, um, a 1933 Armagnac.

the case.

My name is Agnes Pumfret.

My father was Colonel Joshua Pumfret,
who retired six years ago to take up

beekeeping in Oswestry. Yes, the speck
of grit in your left ear lobe told me

that much.

Try to stick to the point.

Well, yesterday morning we found Father
dead on the floor.

It appeared to be suicide.

The gun was still in his hand. The door
and all the windows were still locked

from the inside.

This press clipping gives most of the
details.

Outsized corsets.

And yet there is something about this
case that no one could explain, Monsieur

Poirot. Why, before killing himself,
would my father shoot his own teddy

The bullet was still in his chest.

It's almost as if someone murdered my
father and then shot the teddy bear

because it was a witness.

To make sure that he did not squeal.

Teddy bears don't squeal.

They squeak.

Spare me the zoological details, please,
Mrs. Marbles.

This case intrigues me. There is no time
to lose.

Pack yourself a spare toothbrush and
some knitting needles.

We must leave at once.

Don't forget your handbag.

Oh, no.

It belonged to my great -aunt in
Becantree.

Oh. I came from Becantree.

Oh, perhaps you knew her. A bald, fat
woman named Hyde.

She wrapped her nose in a sleeve.

Mr.

Campbell, this is Mr. Poirot, the famous
detective.

Oh, Mr. Poirot, you're much thinner than
I imagined.

May I talk to you?

The woman is obviously a myopic idiot.
She's talking to the hat stand.

Try to conduct me to the scene of the
tragedy, Miss Pomfret.

Pomfret? As you wish.

Tell me, mademoiselle, did he always
sleep in this position?

He usually slept in the bed, Monsieur.

what have we here?

A cigarette that has singed a hole in
the sheet.

How careless some people can be.

Smoking in bed is a very dangerous
occupation. I knew a woman once. Or was

lots? But that's another story.

We were very lucky that the whole bed
did not simply burst into flames.

You are a silly man.

Interesting. And that, I presume, is a
teddy bear.

And the bullet is still here in his
chest.

Tell me, madame, is there a deep groove
across the bottom with a small round

hole in it?

What's wrong with that?

The bullet, madame, the bullet.

Yes, this was fired from the same gun.

There is devilry here, Miss Nippon.

My dear young man, I observe from this
toenail keeping a fund upon the carpet

that you are a rugby player, no?

Good Lord, how on earth could you
possibly deduce that?

It is nothing.

In fact, you are an all -around
sportsman, yes?

Well, I like to keep fit, monsieur.

Of course. Do you mind if I try,
monsieur Pomfret?

Pomfret? Gesundheit.

Mr. Pomfret, can you think of anyone at
all who might have wanted to murder your

father?

Well, there's myself, of course.

And Miss.

Cousin Sidney.

Auntie Gladys and Uncle Wilf. Mr. Widgen
from the post office.

Old Mrs. Cartwright.

Oh, yes, yes. I take it he was not a
popular man.

We must be going now.

Come on, Mr. Poirot. Drink total.

Everyone has their ups and downs.

Silence, please.

I wish to conduct a little experiment.

Madame Tremble, I want you to take this
gun and empty all the chambers into my

heart. Empty all the chambers? Are you
mad?

Like a terrible man.

Yes, Madame Twemble. Your aim was so bad
that at first you shoot the teddy bear

by mistake before callously killing your
own employer, Colonel Joshua Pomfret.

Pomfret? Yeah, him.

Why did you get out of the room and lock
the door from the inside?

And why did none of us hear any
gunshots?

There is a perfectly simple answer to
that.

If only I knew what it was.

I think I can help, Mr. Poirot.

Because I think...

I have worked out exactly how this
bizarre crime was committed.

Oh, I say this won't take too long, will
it? I've got two vaulting horses and a

trampoline being delivered at four.

Ladies and gentlemen, with your
indulgence, I should like to take you

to the night of the crime.

Having knocked the door and all the
windows, Colonel Pumphrey thought he was

safe. But he was wrong.

for the assassin was already in the
room, concealed in

a secret compartment underneath the bed.

The murderer waited until the time was
right and then fired the gun up through

the mattress so as to muffle the sound.

But what the murderer didn't know was
that the bullet had gone right through

victim's body and embedded itself in the
teddy bear.

It was then, that the murderer emerged
into the room.

Yes, Mr. Poirot, it was you.

You were the murderer.

You put the gun in Pumfret's hand to
make it look like suicide.

Then you lay the teddy bear over the
edge of the bed and placed the cigarette

end over the charred bullet hole so no
one would suspect what had happened.

Then you climbed back inside the bed and
remained hidden in the room until the

coast was clear the following morning.
But how did the secret compartment get

there? The man who sold you this bed,
did he look like this?

The white bearded salesman? Yes.

Mr. Poirot in one of his many uncanny
disguises.

Curse you, Mrs. Marbles.

Yes, it was I, me, moi.

I was so bored that I did it to prove I
could commit the perfect crime. Now I am

ruined. But you will never take me
alive.

You understand?

No one will ever take me alive!

Mr. Griffiths.

Mr.

Griffiths, we've left your new
trampoline outside in the yard. Is that

right?

Why, Mr. Poirot, as I said before,
everyone has their ups and downs.

Well, that seems to be about all we've
got time for tonight. But before we go,

few late items of news.

The England football squad were training
at Crystal Palace's ground again today,

where they practiced dribbling round
some dustbins.

The dustbins won 5 -0.

And three weeks after his untimely
death, Arthur Purvis, the only

to have his entire body covered in
writing, had his will read today.

The wife of snooker champion Tomato
Potts was granted a divorce today.

She told the court he would only make
love to her on the table, and he always

insisted on keeping one foot on the
floor.

Next week, next week I'll be talking to
a lady window dresser and asking her why

she doesn't pull the curtains.

And here in the studio will be the
world's greatest inverted snob. He

his head so he can look up his nose at
people.

And it's good night from me. And it's
good night from him. Good night.

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