Original subtitles

Morning, Benjamin.

How are you today?

Okay. My name is Martha Parrish, personal secretary to Lady Teresa

Cutler. And on her behalf, may I welcome you all today to Sakata Park.

The house is over 400 years old.

and is still the principal residence of Lady Teresa and her family.

Her husband, Sylvester Lafley, you may know, of course, as the famous theatre

critic and cultural affairs columnist on the Sunday Telegraph.

Friday the 10th, Arts Desk, FAO, Derek Chinnery.

Edgar Brint's latest effort at the Cottesloe upload-download was billed

as a hilarious new...

comedy.

Of these four words, only the first is accurate. While neither hilarious, new,

or comic, it is most certainly an indefinite article.

The fact that it drew maniacal laughter from the brainless hyenas around me

merely confirms my long-held belief that quality theatre is too precious to be

wasted on audiences.

Of course, sweetheart.

Not just this second, though.

No more for me, darling.

I thought you might be home.

You read my mind.

The doors in this part of the house are of particular interest.

They're of hand-curved Spanish Moorish design dating back to the 1900s.

when the 15th Marquess had them specially imported from his villa in

Aragon. You demented harpy!

What, I can't even have a simple massage now?

Simple massage?

When she had her arm up, you saw. You are insane.

I can't just tie my shoelace now. It's an act of infidelity.

What have you done to my tongue?

I can't speak.

So go suck a dockley.

the Flemish Gallery, housing works by several well-known Dutch genre painters.

Everything in this room has been in the house at least 100 years, apart from

Eric, of course, who's been here 150.

So we come to the jewel of Cicada Park, El Greco's Kiss of Judas, which we keep

in a room on its own, where, as you'll see, the temperature, humidity, and

light levels are carefully maintained to prevent... discoloration, or cracking.

Because of this, and for reasons of space, we can allow only eight people

inside at a time.

So, who's going to be my first group?

This?

Okay.

As I say, the ambient light is controlled by the special tinting in the

glass above you.

And if I could ask you just to close the door while we're in here, please.

See, that's my rule.

They're all laid down by the insurance.

Because the picture that you see before you is conservatively valued at one and

a half million pounds.

Okay, when the rest of you are ready.

Who's this?

Ah, yes, that guy I came to call outside.

He was a pupil of Brown's house.

Right, let's have the next group, please.

Okay. As I was saying to your friends, the reason we have to be extra careful

is... What?

This can't be happening.

Eric?

Oh. Oh, Eric said... The El Greco. Someone's just... I don't know. Perhaps

we're all dreaming or... It was there. Thirty seconds before.

And then it wasn't. And the room was empty, I swear.

Call the police.

Hello?

Yes, this is Martha Parrish ringing from Cicada Park. Are you

all right?

Something heavy.

I think I heard someone running off.

Darling. Teresa.

If anything like this, when we get to Hyde Park, we're going to have a lot of

fun and games.

Never mind crowd attendance.

We're going to need a team of synchronized swimmers. Will you shut up

and keep the knots dry? I'm attempting a state of osteomuscular recontraction.

Enough of you.

Help! The lady's over here.

You people wait in that corner.

Are you all set in there?

And we start the clock.

Wrap your optic nerve around those two, Jonathan.

Give me a waterbed and three snorkels, I could be in paradise.

Oh, how absolutely, immensely satisfying.

You see this?

Our all-time favourite reviewer, Sylvester Leflay.

Remember? With Adam Klaus performing miracles Jesus has nothing to worry

about.

Him and his knobby wife just had a priceless painting nicked.

Yesterday lunchtime, broad daylight.

Well, ha, ha, ha. Suck on that, you smarmy bastard.

Where are you going?

Well, they're nervous, Jonathan.

They need someone to hold their hand.

They're nervous because you're inside the coffin, remember?

I knew it was too easy.

So, I don't know.

Everything's such a mess with me at the moment. I don't know where to start.

Have you had any more erotic dreams?

About? You know who?

Last night, actually.

We were making love together like, I don't know, Olympic gymnasts.

I think I got down to a size ten at one point. It was incredible.

Except for some reason we were on stage at the Royal Opera House, Comet Garden,

and the audience were all booing and shouting, bring back the juggler.

Which I remember put aside gladly because... All right, I think that'll

do, won't it? If you'd like to come with me, please.

I beg your pardon? Detective Inspector Roy Gregson. I'm afraid, as of now, this

consultation's over.

For what reason? For the reason, Miss Wolferton, that you're no more a

psychoanalyst than I am.

You are? I'm sorry about this.

It's a condition called obsessive delusion.

The sufferer basically acts out a fantasy role to satisfy some unfulfilled

desire in their life.

In this case, listening to people's intimate sexual neuroses.

But I'm afraid the party's over now, isn't it, young lady?

All right, Mr Gregson.

Leave her be, please.

Mr Gregson.

I'm sorry about this. It's a psychotic condition in which he believes himself

to be a police inspector.

Whereas you actually work for the North Thames Gas Board, Mr Gregson.

Remember? Do forgive the intrusion.

I'll try and keep my door locked in future.

unsettling when that happens, isn't it?

Now, you were talking about some general sense of confusion in your

personal life.

Sorry?

Yes, well, there's this ongoing business with Jonathan, obviously, but

the other day something else cropped up as well, which...

You know that thing?

Where a ghost from your past suddenly comes back to haunt you?

Listen, Jonathan, great to put a faith to the name at last.

I'm sorry, due to a cock-up in the diary, I seem to have two lunches today,

and I'm already late for both of them.

Oh, incidentally, Mad, did you hear any more about, you know, that other?

Yeah, he rang me again last night, actually.

And? Yes, Thursday morning.

I'm going to see it through, Barry. I, um...

I talked it over with my therapist and she reckons it'll be good for me, so...

OK, shall we went?

Well, I suppose I'd better get back to... Oh, come on.

Would you say I take you somewhere really smart for lunch?

Not that it's OTT or anything.

Just stick with me on this one.

Miss McGowan.

Mr Creek.

How do you do? Martha Parrish. You like to follow me, please?

It's not much further. It's just through here.

I didn't want anything fussy. Just a cheese omelette. Oh, are you okay?

Jonathan, unfortunately, is borderline asthmatic.

You couldn't give it a second?

Oh, yes, of course.

I'll just go see if I can find Mr LaFleur for you.

Mr La... All right, there's the mirror.

Just want to remind myself what a gullible prat looks like. Right.

All right.

I'll level with you. They don't do omelettes.

Oh, come on, it's one hell of a puzzle, this. You've read the reports.

A painting that's there one minute and gone the next.

I'll take you somewhere smart for lunch. Will I never learn?

Jonathan! Just because this bloke's given your show a few iffy reviews...

Death notices. ...is no reason to pass up a challenge.

But I hear what you're saying.

It is clearly so impossible.

Why even try?

One of those weird mysteries that'll just never be explained.

the room down there.

The window's made of some kind of reinforced special glass.

It was never designed to be open.

Except, where else could they have got in?

Are you two married?

What ever gave you that idea?

I saw you arguing.

That's right.

But in our case, we're just arguing in sin.

Always shouting at each other. Sometimes they shout at me and I don't even...

What have you been told about talking to strange men and women?

It's another habit we've picked up from Melissa, isn't it?

His last name, I'm afraid, was a terribly bad influence. We can't tell

him after two months abroad and find him fraternising with a car mechanic.

I mean, the consequences are unthinkable.

Never trust a man with actual grease on his fingers.

Well, exactly.

As for this horror, the police are up a gumtree.

So as far as I'm concerned, the 50,000 is there for the taking to anyone who

can come up with a positive lead.

Oh, yeah.

That was the other thing.

They are offering a small reward for the painting's return, which can't be bad.

I don't see it.

This is where I'm sitting, here.

Not over there, not over there, but here, where I've got a direct line

through that door, eating my lunch, which on Friday comprised a bottle of

Lucozade and a Spam sandwich.

When Mrs. Parrish came out with those girls, it was there, on the wall, in its

frame. Half a minute later, when they opened the door, gone.

And if you're thinking that someone else might have stepped in or out in between

time without my noticing, well, when that painting was stolen, there was no

one inside that room.

So, you've come out of the Flemish gallery and you're standing, what,

looking that way out of the window when someone attacked you from behind with a

sharp instrument?

As I seem to have told everyone a hundred times.

And then I fell to the ground.

Where?

Pardon me?

You couldn't show us.

On the floor, where you fell?

Exactly.

And that's when you heard whoever it was running away?

presumably into the library, because that's where they found a set of

footprints in the dust, which do not correspond to any shoes worn by members

of this household.

Not worth a shifty.

Interesting. Two riddles in one.

How's that?

Setting aside the problem of how our invisible thief managed to get past

everyone in that gallery with the painting,

it's a safe bet to be in a hurry to get out of the house.

So this just doesn't tally for a second, does it?

What do you mean?

Oh, come on.

A child of five could work it out.

I can work it out.

Why didn't he go across the carpet?

Exactly. He's heading for the window.

So why does he go round the outside of the room?

Riddle number one.

Riddle number two.

Why was he walking?

These aren't the footprints of a running man, Mr Laflay.

Whoever was in this room, it wasn't the person who attacked you in the hall.

Who did you say these people were? I seem to have lost track.

Miss McGowan is. Have I got this right?

An investigative crime writer.

And Mr. Creek is... Creative consultant Adam Clance.

You came to see one of our shows on this, I'm sure you remember.

It was a ragbag of charmless chicanery ill-conceived by witness tricksters who

seemed to confuse mystery with misery.

Turned a phrase he's got, hasn't he?

So, anyway... I make no secret of my aversion to your particular art form,

Mr. Creek.

However, I can see its relevance to the problems in hand.

If you have any insights to offer, we should be pleased to hear them.

A little stumper.

No question.

I'm afraid I can't help.

So this has all been a complete waste of our time. It's defeated everyone else.

Lord knows why we expected these two to fare any better.

Oh, I didn't think that defeated me.

I know exactly how your painting disappeared, Mr. Laflay.

I'm just not going to tell you.

Time you're moving.

50,000 green ones, Jonathan.

So, you've clocked it all, basically.

Worked out how the whole thing was done, but you just want to make him suffer.

Correct.

Don't you think that's being amazingly petty?

Still, I suppose no-one can blame you.

The man's a grade-A tossbag, I can't deny.

Yes.

Why don't we make him stew?

Why should we let him know what we know?

What, um...

Do we know exactly?

Obviously you can tell me.

Dream on.

Witless trickster.

Not far off the mark for you, really, is it?

Now, sweetheart, no-one's denying your invaluable contribution to the show or

the unique place you occupy in my affections.

I just have to be careful when it comes to meeting...

Her Majesty, about who I bring along.

Oh, which I don't want you to take as any kind of slight, because I know she

would absolutely adore you.

Lovely.

It's been a big help. Thanks a lot.

You're very welcome.

Look, it's nice work, you know.

I'll work it out myself.

I've seen everything you've seen.

I'm not a complete nutter moron.

Yeah?

I ain't never said anything.

Look, just give me a leg up to get me started.

Please.

One tiny clue.

Look to Eric Spann's sandwich.

It contains the key to the whole affair.

Sorry about the time.

Guess where I've just come from.

Mr Poison Pen, Sylvester Laflay's.

Which is one of the weirdest set-ups I've ever come across.

Yes, yes, you can tell me all about that later. Now, did you talk to Larry about

more play on the dolls in the coffin?

He's going to see what he can do. We can't make him too loose or we'll blow

it for the audience, Inspector.

Just enough so I don't break my spine getting out. Box office is through the

roof, by the way, both performances.

Biggest open-air magic show in this country for 70 years.

Now, Thursday week, Buckingham Palace.

Have you come up with anything?

What's to come up with?

You're being presented to the Queen, Adam.

You just shake a hand, cop your MBE, and then off. No, no, no, no. It needs a

little something to leaven it.

I was toying with a billiard ball from the ear or an egg from the mouth.

Or, what about this?

A stamp on her tongue.

A stamp on her tongue? Are you insane?

Oh, come on, it's perfect.

I get her to stick it out.

What's this, Your Majesty?

I know this face. Maybe you could sign this for me.

Big laugh.

Come on, what do you think?

How could we do that?

Are you winning?

Oh, right.

I've got to gloat now, I suppose, on my ineptitude.

Oh, come on.

You were the one who duped me into going round there in the first place.

Because you knew there was no way on earth I'd agree to help Sylvester

Leflay, reward or no reward.

So what are you doing back here today?

Figured just to load me lunch.

Go on, then.

We'll give that Italian round the corner a try.

Just, um, give me a minute.

Make a couple of calls, put Faith on.

I'll be with you.

Well, there is another school of thought that you know jack shit about any of it.

This is all an elaborate bluff to make me feel like a total dust, while you get

to act all smug and superior, which, according to my analyst, is the further

evidence of your latent insecurity complex.

My insecurity complex?

You want me to tell you how the crime was committed?

Yes. How someone managed to magically make that painting disappear from that

room? Yes. So you can go and tell him and collect the reward?

Yes. No.

All right, then, yes.

Oh, Jonathan, can't we just forget this stupid vendetta and pocket the dosh?

We've got a chance to make some serious money here.

The pair of them are desperate.

I know for a fact the insurance company are being sticky about the claim.

I'll bet if I picked up that phone now, I could get him to double that reward.

Easily.

£100,000, Jonathan.

You reckon?

I'm sure of it.

So instead of saying, stuff your 50 grand, I could say, stuff your 100

grand.

Even more satisfying.

I surrender.

All right.

As that was a particularly fine linguine you just bought me, let's have a quick

canter through it.

The first load of schoolgirls come out with his secretary.

The painting's there in full view of everyone present.

In the space of 30-odd seconds, it's been cut out of its frame and removed

from the room. There's no conceivable place it could have been hidden.

All this by a thief who somehow managed to spirit himself through the gallery

without being seen by anyone and knock our beloved Mr Play to the floor

outside.

The overhead window doesn't open.

Police said there was no sign it had been tampered with.

I don't know.

I've been working on every conceivable possibility.

Did it ever occur to you that someone could have cut it without actually being

in the room, using a high-powered laser through the glass in the ceiling?

You are kidding me.

Of course I am.

The idea's ridiculous.

In fact, the way this trip was worked is so sublimely simple, when I tell you,

you'll wonder why you didn't get it in five seconds flat.

For goodness sake, put me out of my misery.

What was the significance of a sodding spam sandwich?

Ah, absolutely.

And, for that matter, what's the significance of the scented room?

Which puts another spin on it altogether.

The scented room?

You clocked it the same as I did. The second we stepped through that door, a

heavy fragrance of something sweet and floral in that drawing room.

That's right.

That was coming from the bowl of potpourri on the table.

What, you mean potpourri?

One of the biggest cons of the 20th century.

People pick it up in a shop. What's the first thing they always do?

Mmm, smell this one. That's sensational.

Oh, I'll have some of that.

Of course it is if you shove your face in it. Put some in a bowl in the middle

of the room, you can't smell a bloody thing.

Should be a label on the packet. Only effective when inserted up nostril.

Is there a point to this?

The... Point is that the smell in that room wasn't coming from the potpourri.

I'm not with you.

What are you saying?

That it was someone's perfume?

Who was involved in the robbery?

Perfumes don't hang around like that for two whole days.

Well... What, then?

All right.

Mr Creek, is it Detective Inspector Roy Gregson? I'm afraid you've got one or

two serious questions to answer.

Yes, actually, Inspector, it may be that your services aren't required after all.

As it turns out... Just let me handle this, please.

Are you aware it's an offence to withhold important information about a

crime? You can either save yourself a lot of grief by telling me here and now

everything you know about the theft of Lady Teresa Cutler's painting, or we can

play hardball.

Why has your ID got North Thames Gas Board on it?

Now, don't get clever with me, laddie, or you'll regret it.

Failure to disclose evidence is a serious matter.

Close in person, lady, please, officer.

I'll try.

But I have to be going. I'll see you in court.

Oh, Jonathan!

I had to have a contingency plan. You can't blame me for that.

OK, now you can open them.

What do you think?

You did say you wanted a treehouse.

What's that on the floor?

A lift.

So you don't get all scratched and tear your clothes climbing up branches.

Come on. As if we haven't got enough problems at the moment.

Sylvester Leflay.

Hmm?

What?

They are joking, surely to God.

Will you get him back on the phone and tell everyone not to speak to him now?

Your blasted insurance company out buying the disappearance of the

painting. They say there still isn't enough evidence. A crime was committed.

If that Creek character does know something about this, he is bloody well

going to tell us.

It's going to be this time. A row of flags coming out the Duke of Edinburgh's

flies. Jonathan Creek!

Jonathan, I have a query for you.

To speed things along, we'll make it a multiple-choice question.

If you could choose the manner of your own death, would it be A, peacefully in

your sleep, B, breathlessly with Nicole Kidman, or C, being dismembered by a

homophobic illusion?

If it's C, simply hang up now.

If not, I want you to get your backside dine at the Carter Park tomorrow and

explain to Sylvester and Tweety Pie exactly what happened to their cherished

El Greco.

I'm sorry, I'm not with any of this.

Then let me keep it simple for you.

Lady Theresa Cutler is chairperson of the local conservative association.

Lady Theresa Cutler wields immense influence upon Westminster Council.

Westminster Council have the power of life or death over our concert in the

park on Saturday.

Our concert?

has been refused a permit on discretionary grounds that purport to

concern public safety, but in reality concern a member of my staff who naively

thinks he cannot be bought with money.

Wrong, Jonathan.

Money can buy anything and anyone.

This is a battle we cannot win.

So here's what you do.

Surrender your pride and save the show.

By tomorrow lunchtime, Jonathan, I expect to hear good news.

Okey-dokey, my sweet.

Email? What's that?

I can barely remember my postcode.

Will do, then. Sure.

Cheerio. Bye.

Jonathan! To what do we owe?

You're looking lost.

This stolen painting.

Something's come up. I've got to move on it.

Of course, I can't track her nibs down this morning for love nor money.

I didn't expect to. I know it's today he's coming down this golden hill.

I just thought if you had maybe a contact number, if she can put her love

life on hold for 24 hours.

How much has she told you about all this?

About what?

You've known Madeline how long?

A matter of months?

You'll not have scratched her surface yet, so to speak.

You do.

you will find a lot of protective layers.

Like, she makes it look very easy, but it hasn't been.

You never knew her father.

Neither did she.

Her mother was a wreck who lived on her nerves.

One day, she was stopped in a store, accused of stealing a packet of bacon.

She said it was all a mistake. Supermarket took her to court.

Next day...

She pulled the wire from an electric iron and put it in her mouth.

Maddie came home from work.

She was 17.

Ran away after that to try and put the pain behind her, except it never goes.

It just sits there, waiting for the day when you'll come back and confront

it.

For Maddie, today is that day.

So, who's Gordon Hill?

Lunch break. We've timed it well.

It shouldn't take too long. Just one last piece of the jigsaw and we're all

set.

I was told to expect you.

You have some news for us, I believe.

Benjamin, you all right?

Don't you want to learn another trick?

So, on a scale of one to ten, Mr. Laflaye, just how baffling exactly would

you say this robbery was?

If this is another feeble attempt to antagonize me... Ten, twenty, a hundred.

Haven't we all driven ourselves utterly demented trying to figure it out?

All right.

Just so we're clear, no one here is in any doubt the painting did actually

vanish from this room.

I think that's the one factor in this whole blasted business we can be certain

of. Why?

Because it's going to make what happens next totally impossible.

If everyone could just leave now, except for Benjamin.

Benjamin? What?

Indulge him. He usually pays off.

About 30 seconds, I think he said.

Doors closed?

Yeah. You want to put your watch on, eh?

Okay.

Now, remember, Ben, first law of magic, never tell them how it was done.

The, um, sordid matter of the reward, Lady Teresa.

What?

Oh, yes, I've heard. It's obviously something you'll have to take up with

your son.

I don't know.

Perhaps he can use it to buy him something he really needs, like a life.

I don't know.

All that stuff about it could be really cathartic.

It's absolutely bollocks in the end.

The only way I could ever get through all the horror in life is to try and

forget about it.

I think I might just have slept in front of that digger.

If he hadn't showed up at that point.

To put the seal on that business of the stolen picture.

Do you remember me telling you about... Talk about the last person I'd have ever

suspected.

How did you find out?

Through a boring process of watertight logic.

The same logic that told me how you did it.

There couldn't be any question it was one of you.

What we're still a bit hazy on is why.

You'll have to speak to Melissa, my sister.

She'll be round at Jeff's.

So suddenly I'm thinking, Melissa, Melissa.

That was the name that cropped up earlier.

But it took me a minute to remember where.

That's another habit we've picked up from Melissa, isn't it?

It's last nanny, I'm afraid. It's a terribly bad influence.

Well, was that a tale and a half when it actually came out in the wash?

For God's sake, Judith, what have you said to them?

Do you want to get us put away?

No-one's going to rat on you, Melissa. That's not the object of the exercise.

You know you didn't exactly hit it off with your former employers, and that's

why you set all this up, to get your own back.

For which I'm sure Jonathan would love to give you a big wet kiss.

I've got no problem with giving Sylvester the flay a hard time.

I'm just curious which of his many charming qualities drove you to it.

I had no idea about that child.

No idea why they didn't care.

They were too into themselves and their ritzy lifestyle gadding round the globe.

Aspen one day, Samaritz the next.

They'd never given Benji any time, any quality time. It was like anything he

wanted he could have.

Except the one thing he really needed, a mother and a father who were prepared to

make the effort.

And when they were around, she'd often be on this knife edge, giving her

husband hell over absolutely nothing.

Sometimes she'd get quite violent.

Talk about volatile.

Of course, my approach didn't find favour at all.

I indulged him.

Of course I did, I worshipped him.

When they gave me a fortnight's notice, well, there weren't enough tears to cry.

I just thought, if there was any way I could put them through it, deprive them

of something they really loved.

Something like a million-pound painting.

To take it away from them without actually stealing it.

I can't say it was a nice one.

Everyone could see it had vanished, but where to?

Floor and walls didn't offer any clue.

It had to be the window and the ceiling. But how the hell did you get up there?

And how do you open a window that doesn't open?

Answer, you didn't.

The window had nothing to do with it.

And once you cross that one off, you're down to only one possibility, which is

so gloriously unlikely.

It never occurred to anyone.

The contrasting grain on each side told the whole story.

The way the original Spanish builders had secured the hand-carved panels to

the frame, it ended up with a door that was technically hollow.

It was Jeff who first saw the possibility.

One day when he was over there helping me clear out my stuff.

Blip that.

Finding an hour when Eric and Martha were out of the way was easier than

you'd think.

Then it was just a question of opening a slit at the bottom.

A couple of nails that could be swivelled across.

We rehung it.

Everything was safe.

And Judith thought of the idea of the school outing.

It wouldn't be hard to engineer, and who's going to suspect a bunch of 12

-year-old girls?

So what happened?

Six of you went in, but only five came out.

Who's counting schoolgirls?

Half a minute's just about enough. Your pals are outside keeping Martha busy

with a few questions.

So when the next group goes in, and everyone's glued to the empty frame, you

merge in with them.

For my money, a world-class trick.

With a delicious irony that all the time he's freaking out, it's just sitting

there, a few yards away between two panels of wood.

Like a slice of spam in a sandwich.

The rest of it we have to guess.

But I don't suppose it's wide of the mark to imagine that Teresa's outside

during all of this, getting ballistic with her husband.

He dashes inside.

Major panic.

Not only is one of their most valuable art treasures gone, there's not a shred

of evidence that anyone was in there.

That's not going to look good when he makes his insurance claim. The loss

adjuster will need more evidence than that.

So what does he come up with?

An imaginary whack from behind by the unseen intruder.

he got the head wound courtesy of his wife it's a gift

just to round it out they come up with another idea before

the police arrive a set of footprints in the dust on the floor to show where the

thief had left the building slight drawback there wasn't any dust in the

floor it had just been cleaned that's not a problem they just create their own

Hence the overpowering smell of freezers or whatever it was that hit us inside

the room.

But you see what I'm saying?

It'd be a brilliant read.

There was only way I could actually use it.

But that's going to drop the ex-nanny and her sister in it.

And we did give our word to keep shtum.

Well, you've got to, haven't you?

Respect a confidence like that. So, sorry.

Where was I?

You will stop me if I start rambling.

You can't believe, really, a couple like that would ever stay together,

considering there's actually no communication between them of any kind.

What I can't understand is his complete lack of any embarrassment about it.

To turn up at Buckingham Palace with a dozen cage birds concealed about your

person has got to be a major error, wouldn't you say?

Because that's the death of any relationship, don't you reckon, when

people stop listening to each other?

I mean, since when has the royal family been noted for its puckish sense of

humour? Especially when there's a child involved, there's no excuse.

You just know one of them's going to escape and you know exactly where it's

going to go.

That's why if we ever had a son, I know it'd work out. We'd make sure it did.

And now it's going to be the first time in living memory the Queen's presented

an MBE with a live canary up her skirt.

Somehow, I don't think it'll be topping the bill at the Royal Command this year.

Never thought about that, Jonathan. Paul?

Sorry? Having a family.

Settling down and all that.

Right.

Very probably.

What can I smell in here?

It's a talcum powder.