All language subtitles for The.Love.Box.In.Your.Living.Room

This programme contains
strong language.

A hundred years ago,
the people of Britain

were living in a very different era.

This era was called the olden days,

and Britain was a very different
place.

Every woman in this era was called
Vera or Lynn.

One woman was even called both.

She was soon to sing about bluebirds
over the White Cliffs of Dover.

But this was a fallacy. There were
no Bluebirds in Vera's Britain.

And although the cliffs of Dover
looked white,

they were in fact
Farrow & Ball Slightly Munge.

The British were living in the
shadows of the First World War.

Their generals lived in chalets
at the back

and asked their soldiers at the
front to kill millions of Germans,

by calling them on the telephone
after breakfast.

Patch in the L-2-5-1, please.

But frequently, their telephone
lines were cut by shells.

Hello?

Which meant the soldiers had
no idea at all...

Had me blood test.

..whether to kill millions of
Germans after breakfast.

And then something happened.

A man called Marconi invented
a device

that used short-wave radio signals

to transmit voices without the need
for wires.

Hello? MAN: Hello.

And the generals realised that if
they had these devices

they would no longer need telephones
to ask their men

to kill millions of Germans...

..after breakfast.

But someone else was excited by
Marconi's wireless.

His name was John Reith.

Despite being Scottish, John Reith
had an optimistic view of life...

..and no interest in killing Germans
after breakfast.

He'd observed British soldiers
returning from the war

to their cottages with pianos
in the kitchen parlour.

Here they could listen to their
children making music.

# Yip, yap, yuppie
And butters our bread

# I scrubbered me a foreigner
And now he's dead. #

But their music was primitive,

their accents indecipherable.

Ee, by gum, the black face,
you bugger.

Shut up, woman.

And their dancing unrefined.

Reith realised that if he could
place Marconi's wireless

in their homes, they could hear
refined classical music

and words spoken by their betters.

He would teach the working classes
to say "napkin"

instead of "serviette."

RUMBLING
And "lavatory" instead of "toilet."

And instead of clobbering
foreigners...

..they'd learn to love them.

Reith dreamt of a Britain where
every home would have a lovebox.

BOTH: # We like to watch the BBC
The lovely BBC

# We like to watch the BBC
When we come home for tea

# The One Show is sublime

# And Crimewatch with its crime

# We like to watch the BBC

# And listen to Radio 3. #

You can't sing that, Candice Marie.
Why not, Keith?

Well, it doesn't scan. Come along.

MAN: Are you ready for the music?

It's different today.

ORGAN MUSIC PLAYS

It began a hundred years ago, and
by the time of the Second World War,

it had already become
the voice of Britain.

A father figure, and a listen
with mother.

A beating heart of British culture,
and a cornerstone of our democracy.

A Great British institution.

UPBEAT PERCUSSION

This made the politicians and
newspapermen puke.

They weren't as popular as the BBC,

so they claimed it was no longer
in tune with the people.

It didn't scan.

And because Great British
institutions

are no longer held in respect
by young people...

..they don't give much of a toss.

WOMAN: Did you like that tune?

WOMAN: Have you seen my napkin?

MAN: You took it with you to
the lavatory.

Perhaps you left it in the lavatory.

I shall go and look in the lavatory

and see if my napkin is there.

And I shall play Schubert
on the pianoforte.

PIANO MUSIC PLAYS

DOG BARKS

Hush, Napkin.

CAT MEOWS

Quiet, Lavatory.

John Reith also broadcast news
and weather.

MAN: Here's the news. The weather
is going to be bad.

And the King.

MAN: I am the King.

And instead of killing Germans
after breakfast,

the Generals killed pheasants,

and left the BBC alone.

But then, everyone in Britain
went on strike.

Except for the Generals,
who didn't go on strike,

even though the General Strike
was named after them.

Now Prime Minister Stanley Baldrick
spoke on the BBC.

This is one of my little
fireside chats.

This going-on-strike business
is a silly business.

But Prime Minister Baldrick refused
to allow

Labour Party leader Ronald McDonald

to speak on the BBC in support of
the strike.

ROCK MUSIC PLAYS

Now John Reith made up his mind.

He wanted autonomy, so he wrote a
song about it by the Buzzcocks.

# Autonomy... #

Then he gave the
British Broadcasting Company

a swanky new name...

..and made himself Director General.

MAN: Jackanory, Jackanory.

On the other side of the world,
a small boy had been abandoned

and raised by dingoes in an
abandoned house.

And in the abandoned lavatory,

Raised By Dingoes discovered
an abandoned wireless.

Now he heard human voices
for the first time.

They were loud and violent.

What he didn't know
was that these voices

were just Australians
speaking normally.

MAN IN AUSTRALIAN ACCENT: If music
be the food of love, play on!

And he called his wireless the
Crapbox In The Crapper.

Sometimes these voices
told the truth.

But Raised By Dingoes found
the truth boring.

Mainly, they talked any old
bollocks,

and this made him feel better
about himself.

Now he saw his future.

He would gain acceptance in
the world of humans by giving them

any old bollocks that made them feel
better about themselves.

Jackanory.

John Reith now met another Scottish
John.

His name was John Yogi Bear.

He had invented a wireless
with pictures.

# All the lassies say hello

# Donald, where's your troosers? #

Inspired by John Yogi Bear's
invention,

Reith declared that the future was
the wireless with pictures.

In November 1936, the BBC broadcast
its first television programme.

OPERA SINGING

But this programme was only seen by
400 households,

because the workers couldn't afford
televisions.

So the workers became depressed.

And this became known as
The Great Depression.

Now nobody had anything to do
except listen to the King abdicate.

I am the King.

But I've fallen in love with a
wicked American floozy.

But then something happened.

It was time for a Second World War.

Therefore I must tell you, that when
you've finished your kippers

or your kedgeree,

you must kill all the Germans.

ALL: Hooray!

This was to be a people's war,

so the Conservatives were now
replaced by a

government of national unity.

John Reith's mission to inform,
educate and entertain

was now abandoned and Reith
resigned.

The airwaves now belonged to
cheeky chappies.

# Yip, yap, yuppie
And butters our bread

# I scrubbered me a Jerry
And now he's dead

# I cut out his liver and I cut off
his head

# I chucked them in the river
Now the river runs red. #

The BBC had scrapped television for
the duration of the war.

It now used its wireless programmes
to send coded messages

to agents in occupied Europe.

At nine o'clock this evening,

you must take your napkin
to the lavatory.

Then it came up with a programme
that was broadcast to Germany itself

that was so boring that millions of
Germans instantly became dead.

Das Archers!

After hearing Das Archers himself,

Hitler committed suicide.

GUNSHOT

And even though they'd been human
and dancer,

they were killers.

And Britain was glad they were dead.

# Are we human

# Or are we dancer? #

The BBC was now established.

Unlike any other broadcaster
in the world,

it was cheap, cheerful,
and not particularly cool.

But because it was fuelled by
information,

it gave people the freedom to
think about things

they'd never thought about before,

such as the danger of drugs.

Hello, Muffin. What's that package
on your back?

Heroin? Silly me.
You're a drug mule.

You bring drugs into the country
for bad people.

And did the boy who was going to
buy your drugs

try to swizzle you out of
ten shillings and sixpence?

Did that led to a fight in which
you trampled the boy to death?

What a naughty drug mule you are.

PIANO PLAYS

# Let's hang Muffin

# Muffin the Mule

# Let's hang Muffin

# Muffin the Mule

# Let's hang Muffin

# Muffin the Mule

# Let's hang Muffin the Mule. #

# I like to be a busy, busy bee

# Being just as busy as a bee
can be... #

Britain now needed a boom in babies.

But because such things
weren't talked about,

few people knew how babies
were made.

How are babies made? Go to bed!

So the government asked the BBC

if it had any information
on the subject.

And the BBC remembered it had
a twin called David Attenborough.

He'd been born on the same day
as the BBC himself,

because he must be 100 by now.

And he was fascinated
by living creatures having sex.

So he showed the British people
how to create a baby boom.

This spinster has dedicated herself
to a life of learning

here at Cambridge University.

But now she's ready to mate.

And she's looking for a
suitable partner.

Making a display of her
brightly coloured things,

she immediately draws the attention
of some fusty professors.

Mmm. Mmm.

But neither of these confirmed
bachelors seem to cut the mustard.

She's found her match at last.

GRUNTING

It's all over for the other two.

They'll have to wait for
another day.

Or perhaps continue their life
as confirmed bachelors.

But for the happy couple,
it's time to copulate

and produce a child that
combines their love

of brightly coloured things
and splendid vacuum cleaners.

But few could afford
splendid vacuum cleaners,

because post-war Britain was poor.

And the once-great Britons
were now a bit crap.

The BBC reflected these times
by inspiring people

to make their once-great homes
a bit crap.

I don't know whether you've got
a problem like this,

a rather ugly old panel door.

It's one that can be solved
quite simply.

You can make it look like this.

No-one was more inspired
than a young boy.

His name was Anthony Wedgwood Blair.

As he watched Barry Bucknell,
he realised something.

He could take something great
and make it crap,

but more in tune with the times.

He now Barry Bucknelled his name
to Tony Blair

and transformed himself into
a regular guy with no soul,

like a plywood door panel,

and began to dream that one day he'd
do the same to the Labour Party

and to Britain.

What he didn't dream was that he'd
also become

best pals with Raised By Dingoes.

Jackanory, Jackanory.

In the abandoned house in
the Outback,

young Raised By Dingoes
had found some letters.

They spoke of love and morality
and self-improvement.

Raised By Dingoes now realised
something profound.

He could use these letters
to wipe his arse.

The authors of these letters
were Jason and Kylie.

They'd once lived in the
house of dingoes,

and one day they spotted
a backpacker.

He was from England on his gap year.

The young man now took a wireless
from his backpack

and told them he was going to
explain the world's problems

on the BBC.

And when he finally shut the
fuck up, they asked him his name.

It was Richard Dimbleby.

It looks as though we've got about
six places neck and neck.

Nobody knows who's going to be
first,

but we're watching them with
eagle eyes.

And here is our first result, it
comes from Finchley in North London,

where the seat has been taken for
the Conservatives by a lady.

Erm, a rather attractive lady
by the look of it, called Thatch.

Where there is bread,
may we bring butter.

Where there is mutton,
may we bring Jeff.

Where there is tuppence,
may we bring ha'penny.

And we have trapped Mr Jeremy Thorpe
who won North Devon for the Liberals

and Polly Elwes is sitting with him
in Exeter. Let us go over to them.

Now, let's look rather more at your
own campaign, your own victory.

You're a bachelor and I'm told you
have conducted a very gay campaign.

Erm, I think that people in Devon
enjoy a little bit of gaiety,

but I think they feel that they
have to know you first

before they'll stand much of it.

Now everyone in Britain could enjoy
a bit of gaiety.

The new ITV seemed gayer
than the BBC.

It financed its programmes with
advertisements

for things people didn't need.

Why does he reject me?
Because your bosoms smell!

But now there's a way to keep
chest whiff at bay.

Smear your bra once a day with new
Bravellous.

ITV made popular working-class
programmes.

But the BBC didn't know anyone
working class

because it was like a giant
public school.

You should've been filming Z-Cars
yesterday afternoon.

Why weren't you?

Sir, the cameraman, Mr Pilkington,
said he would be away then, sir.

But he wasn't away, was he?
He was on set all day. Yes, he was.

You're quite sure that you, erm,
didn't miss it intentionally?

Because the BBC didn't know anyone
working class,

it looked to the theatre, where a
group called the Angry Young Men

had started to write plays about
working-class life.

But the Angry Young Men weren't
actually working class.

They just pretended to be.

And the liberal middle classes

didn't actually like the
working class.

They just pretended to,

and bought expensive theatre tickets
to watch them from a safe distance

and empathise with their
ghastly lives.

Just as they do today.

The BBC now asked the
Angry Young Men

to write Plays For Today.

Would you like one?

A cup, I mean, of tea.

I would.

I'll put it on, then.

The kettle, on the hob.

You don't... What?

..have to make one.
A cup, I mean, of tea.

It's no trouble.

But what then?

The teapot.

Shall I...? Would you like me to?

I'll get it myself,
when I put it on.

The kettle, I mean.

On the hob.

For the tea.

For the tea.

Middle-class viewers thought
Play For Today was frightfully good.

But it had been aimed at the
working classes,

and they found it boring
and turned over to ITV.

Fancy a cuppa?
Aye, put t'kettle on, eh?

Pass us t'teapot, love.

Now everybody had a cup of tea.

And even though the government said
they'd never had it so good,

they were still poor.

So the BBC gave children Blue Peter,

and taught them to make their
very own crap toys.

But Blue Peter wasn't blue.

Val and Chris, and then John Noakes,
were forbidden to swear.

So they couldn't say "Sellotape",

which in the '60s was a very
bad word

and only tolerated post-watershed.

MAN ON TV: I'd like to kiss you and
hug you until the end of time.

What would you like to do to me,
Albert?

I'd like to Sellotape your
mouth shut. Oh!

The watershed was nine o'clock.

It had been invented by
BBC executive Ted Watershed,

which is why it's called the
watershed and not just nine o'clock.

Ted Watershed insisted children
should never hear the word

"Sellotape." So on Blue Peter, when
Val and Chris, and then John Noakes,

made crap things,
they said "sticky-backed plastic."

Sticky-backed plastic.
Sticky-backed plastic.

Sticky-backed plastic.
Sticky-backed plastic.

Sticky-backed plastic to go
round the...

Sticky-backed plastic.

But children didn't know what
sticky-backed plastic was,

and their Blue Peter toys
fell apart.

Now Britain itself was
falling apart.

And in 1964, there was a coup
and the Beatles assumed power

and appointed Harold Wilson
as Prime Minister.

And the BBC noticed that children
were copying

the mop-topped musical junta

by growing their hair long and
behaving like animals.

To frighten children into being
good,

the BBC invented Doctor Who

and exposed them to really scary
fluffy creatures

and terrifying slightly green
painted man-eating bubble wrap.

Keep close, Suki.

This must be the way.

Doctor, watch out!

Exterminate!

Cut! DALEK VOICE: Have I got time to
pop out for a fag?

Of course, yes.

BOY: I find it frightening.

I hide behind the sofa. So do I.

But at the time, most houses in
Britain were small,

and sofas had to be positioned
against a wall,

so were impossible to hide behind.

Which is how the BBC knew
these children were lying.

They were taken to the Blue Peter
garden

and exterminated.
Exterminate! Exterminate!

In 1968, Europe was consumed
by revolutions,

and the BBC now consumed itself
and embraced Beatleism.

Exterminate!

All you squares out there, turn off
now to avoid heart palpitations,

for this is Whizz Bang Pop.

What's your name, young lady,
and who are you here to dig?

My name's Camilla Parker Bowles
and I'm here to dig The Smooths.

Do you have a question for the boys?
Yes, I do.

Why did you call yourself
The Smooths?

Well, everyone drink a cup of tea,

we digs drinking a cup of
cappuccino coffee

like an exotic foreigner and that's
what makes us smooth, you dig?

SCREAMING

Take it away, guys.

# You got to take the rough
with the smooth

# Baby, can you feel the groove?

# You got to take the rough
with the smooth

# Come on, honey, do your move

# It's all right... #

Now Beatleism Britain was the
envy of the world.

But there was a problem. Everyone
in Britain wanted to be the Beatles,

but only four people could.

And this caused massive
industrial unrest.

We demand to be the Beatles!

The strike spread from workers'
legitimate demands to be the Beatles

to other grievances.

Now the might of the trade unions
dominated every workplace,

including the BBC. And this nearly
scuppered the recording

of the greatest tune ever written.

ORCHESTRA TUNING

The Greatest Tune Ever Written,
take one.

Everybody out!

We can't have women playing on
The Greatest Tune Ever Written.

Women are a menace.
A bloody menace. I quite agree.

We give in to your trade union
demands.

The Greatest Tune Ever Written,
take two.

MATCH OF THE DAY THEME PLAYS

At the time, there was only
one woman

believed to be working at the BBC -
Joan Bakewell.

And they called her
thinking man's crumpet.

Val from Blue Peter was also
a woman,

but they didn't think of her as one.

They thought of her as a normal
person and left her alone.

A decade later, they were joined by
Sue Lawley.

This was still a traumatic event,

so they bet she went like
the clappers in the sack.

Ten years later, they were joined by
Lenny Henry's wife

and Adrian Edmondson's wife.

By then, the BBC was swarming
with so many women

you could count them on the fingers
of Moira Stuart's hand.

To congratulate itself on being
so progressive,

the BBC gave them their own
lavatory.

In the late '60s, the Beatles
decided to replace

violence and strife
with peace and love.

The solution lay in drugs.

So the BBC produced radical
new dramas

which viewers could only endure
if they were on drugs.

RINGING

Hello? You've got the wrong number.

This is haberdashery. You want
cabinets on the third floor.

Excuse me, you're in my way.

This is my line, you see?

I'm sorry. Fee-fi-fo-fum.

I gobbled up a kipper and the war
got won.

I'm Beelzebub.

And I'm Satan.

Here he is. Devils?

Silly Tarquin. They're just pretty
names here in Gooplania.

Now even Doctor Who was on drugs.

Fuck it.

There was one man who preferred
sailing to drugs.

His name was Ted Heath.

In 1970, he disbanded the Beatles
on Disney+

and formed a Conservative government
with Rod Stewart.

And then went sailing.

# I am sailing... #

And as he sailed towards France,

he thought of a new
government policy.

Evening, all.

Now, it's not everyday you can
say to yourself

a politician's got it right
for a change.

But yesterday was one of them.

That's a very fine car you're
driving.

I build them, Officer.

At Ford in Dagenham.

My shift starts in half an hour,
so...

Well, hold your horses, sonny boy.

There's a new government policy.

And us coppers have been charged
with issuing fellas like you

a voucher for your local
sailing club.

Mr Heath wants fellas like you

off the reefers and out into the
fresh air of the high seas.

Think I may be sailing round
the world.

As long as I don't get stopped by
the Royal Navy every five minutes.

HE LAUGHS

When Ted Heath arrived in France,

he asked a pretty young Frenchman
at the bar

what the song was on the jukebox.

The pretty young Frenchman told
Ted Heath it was Puppet On A String,

a song chosen by the BBC which had
won the Eurovision Song Contest.

Ted Heath now learned that Britain
was known as the sick man of Europe.

But now it had won the
Eurovision Song Contest,

it was great again.

Ted Heath now sailed back to
Britain deep in thought.

And as he reached the Farrow & Ball
Slightly Munge Cliffs of Dover,

he made up his mind.

Britain would join the
European Union

and dominate it, as it dominated the
Eurovision Song Contest.

Britain entered Europe in triumph,

and saved all its kisses for the
Brotherhood Of Man.

# Bye-bye, baby... #

But then something happened.

SCREAMING

The United Kingdom lost to
the Netherlands.

# Bingy boingy boo

# Say hello
Say good morning

# Say how do you do

# Bingy boingy, bingy boingy

# Because I love you... #

Enraged, the miners went on strike.

And sitcoms featuring beating up
Europeans

became hugely popular.

Ted Heath was now replaced
by Labour.

# Bingy boingy, bingy boingy

# Because I love you. #

But British workers were still
furious,

and refused to stop making
Austin Allegros.

The BBC now reflected the nation's
determination

to make poor-quality products

by spending several fivers on a
production of a Star Trek rival.

Warning! Votron attack detected
and communications intercepted.

Orders are to destroy our galaxy.

Hmm, if the Votrons succeed, this
will mean the end of life on Earth.

We should probably do something
about this.

Bucknell. Commandress.

Destroy the Votron attack force
immediately.

Votron attack force destroyed.

That was a close shave.

# Wake up, Maggie, I think I've got
something to say to you. #

One afternoon in the late '70s,

Thatch was walking home to
Finchley from Parliament

because her Austin Allegro
was fucked again.

As she reached the road to
Damascus Gardens,

she saw, as if in a vision,

that Great Britain had become
Little Britain.

"You're the thick man of Europe,"
said Lou with an amusing lisp.

Thatch now told Little Britain
it didn't have to be so negative.

It could have lovely thoughts.

And if it watched the BBC,

it would learn that it didn't matter
if you were in a wheelchair.

Or quite large.

If your raincoat was filthy,

or you suffered from
wrap-around cardigan syndrome.

You could be heroes.

"Don't want Allegros," said Andy.

"Want Nissan Bluebirds."

Where there is discord,
may we bring harmony.

Where there is Marks,
may we bring Spencer.

Where there is prawn,
may we bring cocktails.

Phwoar.

Now Japanese carmakers
flocked of seagulls to Britain

to make cars glued together
with big boy's glue -

Nissan Bluebirds.

And Bluebird Britain gave a
fucks bizz about Europe.

It had made its mind up.

# For making your mind up... #

The BBC reflected Britain's
new place in the sun

by making dramas even more
glamorous than Dallas.

I thought I might find you here,
Jan.

You're back earlier than expected.

The Jag ate up the M3.

I think I might have overtaken
Jackie Stewart.

Never were a feminist, were you,
Maurice?

And I don't intend to become one
now.

How was your shopping trip
to Harrods?

Calvin Klein's £60 richer,
I'm afraid.

You're in a good mood.
Penny for your thoughts?

I think you mean £5,000.

Go one. That's the investment
I'll make in the boat yard

when I win the race on Saturday.

It's always when, never if,
with you.

Which is why you married me in
June 1972 and not Roger de Beaufort.

And now I'll be able to build bigger
boats in my boat yard

than Roger can in his.

Champagne from France?

It seemed the BBC could do
no wrong. But it could.

We all retain one piece of knowledge
from high school days.

Whilst most of our teachers
were swell,

there were some who lurked in our
classrooms

who must be described thus.
They are...

I find the big wide world
a frightening place.

May I crawl back inside your womb,
Mother?

My darling boy.

You can't call back inside my womb.

But you can go back to school

and take out your inadequate
wankiness on children.

Oh!

What wanker teachers don't realise

is that while they're belittling
one child,

the other children are
gobbing on their backs.

Because it was like a giant
public school,

some wanker teachers ended up
at the BBC by mistake.

Chelsea-Arsenal for
Match Of The Day.

You should've been filming it
yesterday.

Yes, but I got the wrong division.

How do you mean you got the
wrong division?

I filmed the Second Division, sir.
Hull v Blackpool.

Yes, I see.

These wanker teachers now became
political interviewers.

Do you know, since you raised
interest rates,

other members of the Cabinet
consider you to be royalty.

I don't know what you mean, Robin.

They call you the Cock-up King.

But ITV had a nice teacher.

You're widely considered to be the
most intelligent member

of the government. I suppose I am.

And with that intelligence
comes a humility.

Yes, I am very humble.

Would a man of your intelligence
and humility admit

that rising interest rates was the
wrong thing to do? Yes, he would.

And has cost Britain thousands
of jobs? Yes, it has.

And this decision was made by
one man and one man alone? Me.

And even though the BBC had broadly
reflected the Thatch project

of turning ghastliness...

Oi, I want a word with you.
Can't it wait? No, it can't.

What's that supposed to mean?

..into sunshine...

AUSTRALIAN ACCENT: Can I have a word
with you, mate?

Oh, it can't wait, can it?

No, I'm afraid it can't. No worries.
Come in, I'll get us a tinny.

..Thatch herself was not immune from
the wanker teachers.

How would you answer those in
Number Ten

who say that you are immune to
Domestos?

Where there is confusion,
may we hear clarity.

Domestos gets rid of bad smells
that linger,

and yet you're still here.

Thatch misinterpreted the rudeness
of BBC wanker interviewers

as political bias, and began a
process that continues to this day

of gobbing on the BBC's back.
..Cabinet members who are so...

The BBC caved in, stripped the
wanker teachers of their bow ties

and beat them to death.

And replaced them with
David and Jonathan,

The Dimbleby Brothers.

# ..reasonable

# So reasonable

# An argument has always got
two sides... #

But the powerful forces of the
establishment

now smelt the BBC's blood.

They thought the BBC was worthy
and superior.

They wanted to replace the
freedom to think

with the freedom to choose,

and to choose not to think.

But to turn over to other channels
that were less worthy,

and zone out.

# We're reasonable... #

They now began to undermine the BBC,

hoping to confine it to the
rubbish tip of history.

# As reasonable as can be. #

Raised By Dingoes had bought some
newspapers in Britain

which gave people a truth that was
often bollocks

but made them feel better about
themselves.

Now he turned to television,

and giving people so much bollocks

they wouldn't have to do anything
with their days

except watch bollocks.

He was ready to launch his crapbox.

You see that, Grandad?
That there is the future.

Your state-of-the-art
extra-terrestrial set-top telly box.

Oh. Complete with satellite dish
extreme

picking up all the alien channels
from outer space

what up until now has only rumoured
to have existed.

And all inclusive and included
for only 250 nicker.

That's a lot more than the BBC,
Del Boy.

And the BBC lob in your wireless
for nothing.

Oh, I should've pulled the plug out
of your wireless years ago,

you dipstick.

Look at all them history channels.

They improve your bonce, Grandad.

I don't want to know about
Hitler's dog.

Well, that is because you are
determined to remain ignorant.

You're like that Phyllis Stein bird.

Ooh, I like that film.

Oh, got to pay extra for that.

Oh, look. West Ham-Spurs.

Oh, you've got to pay extra
for that, an' all.

You know what happens to plonkers
like you, Grandad,

what stand in the way
of scientific advancement?

No, what, Del?

Ooh, satellite tele. Lovely, Del.

With crapbox competition,
the BBC needed to remind people

of its founder John Reith's
great mission.

# Like a virgin

# Touched for the very
first time... #

It now turned to a post-teenage
thirtysomething

called Richard Curtis.

He had written a funny sketch show
called Not The Ted Watershed News,

and a funny sitcom starring former
Prime Minister Sir Stanley Baldrick.

Baldrick, what are you doing
out there?

Don't worry, Mr B.
I have a cunning plan.

Richard Curtis was sad emoji because
of all the poverty in the world.

Now he heard the voice of
John Reith.

He would help alleviate this poverty
on the BBC

by creating an exciting new day
for children.

THEY LAUGH

With Comic Relief's help,
Save The Children and Oxfam

raised enough to buy
a large fleet of trucks.

# Today is going to be the day

# That they're going to throw it
back to you... #

I've always wanted to walk
more like Liam Gallagher.

Move your fucking arms, Sir Tony,
you fucking twat!

He's always telling me I mustn't
give a toss.

I don't give a toss, I don't give
a toss... Come on, Tony.

You don't care, that's it.
I don't give a toss. Yes, Tony!

# You got to take your time
You got to say what you say... #

You see, I'm doing it!

Bruno Tonioli. Ten!

The BBC was living the
Reithian dream.

The total is 4 million...

It had found its great mission.

Seizing the moment, it decided to
get rid of communism.

The Berlin Wall had been built by
the East German secret police.

For years, they'd been bugging
the BBC

and had learnt how to make walls
from Blue Peter

with sticky-backed plastic.

And in 1989, the wall collapsed.

But now a tidal wave of
East European pop groups

overwhelmed Eurovision.

ELECTRO POP MUSIC PLAYS

# Rapping, chatting, rapping,
chatting

# We don't sing the songs

# Rapping, chatting, rapping,
chatting

# This is not so wrongs. #

Thatch was furious.

Where there is yes,

may we bring no.

But Eurovision defied her.

And next year, Britain was defeated
by Bulgaria.

# I love to pogo
Ha, ha, ha

# Such funny jumping
Ha, ha, ha

# Picky pucky picky pucky
Because I hate you

# Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

# Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

# Ha, ha, ha... #

Thatch was forced out of
Downing Street in tears.

They were tears that cried her
a river.

Three little fishes swam and swam
right over the dam.

The new Prime Minister,
Syd Little lookalike John Major,

set his specs on the BBC

and appointed a new man,
Syd Little lookalike John Birt,

to make the BBC as efficient as
Britain's newly privatised railways.

The BBC was still run like a
giant public school.

May I borrow your pencil,
Whitehouse?

Of course, Hector. Topping.

Syd Little lookalike John Birt
now split the BBC

into lots of little pretend private
segments

so it could pretend it was part of
a market economy.

Can I borrow your pencil,
Mr Whitehouse?

You can't borrow it, Mr Enfield,

but you can lease it from my
department, BBC Chuckles,

upon signing the appropriate form.
Mr Greenall?

You'll also need a form from
BBC Pencils. Miss Cavaliero?

And finally, one from
BBC Borrowing Things. Mr Fisher?

May I borrow your pen?
You can't borrow it...

The politicians now used the
BBC reforms

as a model for everything,

which is why all our public services
are now so great.

PANICKED BREATHING

Ah!

DOG BARKING

Hi.

MAN SCREAMS

But then something happened.

After 18 years, the Labour Party
was back in power.

Tony Blair had given Labour
a makeover.

And now, Blair told the BBC

that everyone and everything
should have a makeover.

He's always the kind of
soft gangster.

But a moustache on a big man
like him

should be incinerated
and then shredded.

My God, is she getting it wrong now.

And look at you. You know, he's
quite sexy. Yeah, he is.

Now he's sort of...

He's sort of catwalking.

We've put something back in
their marriage.

Then Tony Blair gave the BBC
a makeover itself.

Inspired by Barry Bucknell's
plywood door panel,

he made the BBC move from
London's glamourpuss West End

to Salford near Manchester,

where it became bored shitless

because it kept on having to go on
morning television.

With the BBC safely out of the way
and bored shitless,

Tony Blair entered into a marriage
of convenience

with Raised By Dingoes.

And this union was so confusing
that everyone now decided

they didn't give much of a shit
about anything much.

Things that looked a bit shit might
be supposed to look a bit shit.

And you might look a bit shit
if you didn't know that.

And most importantly, people who
really did give a shit

were completely shit.

No-one encapsulated this
giving-a-shit shittiness

more than Richard Curtis.

Now his film Love Actually was
declared shit actually.

And love was actually declared shit.

Curtis' age of optimism was now
replaced

with the age of coke hedonism,
or post-modernism,

and Ricky The Great. Obviously.

For the previous two decades,

blue-collar workers had aspired
to being white-collar workers

so they could look more like
Spandau Ballet.

# Gold
Gold

# Always believe in your soul... #

But in
White-Collar Workers Are A Bit Shit,

Ricky The Great exposed white-collar
workers as a bit shit.

And White-Collar Workers
Are A Bit Shit

was so funny that now everyone
wanted to be a bit shit,

even dead famous celebrities.

So Ricky The Great made
a new sitcom called

Dead Famous Celebrities
Are A Bit Shit.

Ricky, I've just done a poo-poo
in my panties, uh-huh.

Disgusting.

FARTING

Because Ricky The Great
was so great,

Tony Blair got jealous and decided
he had to something great himself.

So he made Afghanistan and Iraq
a bit shit.

Are you a criminal? No.

You duped the United Nations,
doesn't that make you a criminal?

No, you BLEEP.

Was it correct to go to war

when there was no evidence at all
to support your claim?

Well, I, er...
The Tony Blair I know,

the deeply moral, deeply charismatic
and sexually attractive Tony Blair,

would only have one answer.
You're right, Brian. I'm a BLEEP.

War had damaged Britain's
international reputation,

but the BBC's reputation was still
intact.

It was admired around the world
for its news reporting

and it's period dramas.

Mr Darcy, how lovely to see you.

Well, I wish I could return the
compliment, Miss Bennett.

But your father's a cretin,
your mother a prattling windbag,

your sisters are daft
and your bosoms smell.

Good day to you.

Don't worry about him.

He's just shy.

But now the BBC was to embark on
its own war with ITV,

which had come up with
a period drama

with a modern, sensitive twist.

HE CHUCKLES

Oh, I do love Oscar Wilde, Carson.

Such a shame he was sent to prison.

I don't know why we don't just
leave homosexuals alone.

Perhaps one day they'll be able
to hold hands in public

after arranging to meet on portable
telephones

with bespoke applications
for same-sex couples.

If I may be so bold, your Lordship,

that's remarkably forward thinking
of you.

Though what business your daughters
had marching with Mrs Pankhurst,

I do not know.

You're quite an opinionated little
servant, aren't you, Carson?

The BBC now fought back
with violence.

GUNSHOT

We're Brummies with guns.

And haircuts.

We've come for your ratings.

Our ratings are enormous.

Why, this episode alone peaked at
14 million viewers.

The peaky blinder and we're taking
the lot, because we've got guns.

And haircuts!

Scrummies with guns. And haircuts!

I don't like you, do I?

But we do like you, doe eyes.

Before modern medicine, leeches
were attached to the human body

to suck the illness out of the blood
of the floundering patient.

The modern leech is called
a PR monkey.

It attaches itself to the host

which immediately begins to
feel better about itself

and becomes soppy.

What the host doesn't know is that
the PR monkey

is sucking at its heart.

The BBC claimed to have filmed
the Queen

storming out of a photoshoot with
Annie Leibovitz.

But even though Buckingham Palace
has 775 rooms,

it doesn't have a photoshoot room.

So you have to storm about a bit

before you bump into
Annie Leibovitz.

And this is what the Queen
was doing.

Now Raised By Dingoes suddenly
forgot all the bollocks

he'd printed about the Royal family
in his newspapers

and realised that the Queen was
human and dancer,

and what the BBC had done was a
Phoebe Waller-Bridge too far.

# Or are we dancer?

# My sign is vital

# My hands are cold

# And I'm on my knees

# Looking for the answer... #

The BBC now panicked.

It exterminated its boss,
Peter Flinchless.

And sucked up to the new
Prime Minister Dave

by renaming its popular
comedy channel Dave.

# Down on Jollity Farm... #

Prime Minister Dave was a
hug-a-hoodie PR monkey.

You're a political pipsqueak,
aren't you, Dave?

Dave now wondered if the BBC was
less trustworthy and relevant

than Raised By Dingoes' news.

Ooh.

So he asked some trendy PR monkeys

to look into whether the BBC
was still relevant.

"What do we think about great
institutions?", asked Windy Windbag.

"They're not relevant, are they?",
said Shoreditch.

"Unlike us."

"The BBC should be as relevant
as us."

"Yah."

So they told the BBC to become
more relevant.

To stop being a great actor...

..and become one of the guys.

Hiya. Hiya. Hiya. Hiya.

To replace meaning...

..with a state of nothingness.

Hiya. Hiya.

To make the interesting inclusive.

It was just down to luck that I
survived and Marie died.

Paul Conroy, who very nearly
lost his life in Syria.

Have you very nearly lost your life?

Or anything, for that matter?

Perhaps your car keys, or your
toothbrush before an important date.

Email us here at Saturday li...

"What about diversity?",
said Windbag.

"Yeah, where are all the people of
colour?", said Shoreditch in a huff.

"Oh, goodness me, yes,"
worried Windbag,

looking around the office.

"On the BBC?", said Shoreditch.

"Oh, yeah," said Windbag.

"Yeah!"

So they told the BBC it was time to
reflect the lives

of people of colour on programmes
that weren't just EastEnders.

I want a word with you.
Can't it wait?

No, it can't.
What's that supposed to mean?

Isn't it amazing, sir, that someone
from your heritage

should rise to command one of
Britain's nuclear submarines

despite the pervasive underlying
racism in British society.

Not at all, Lieutenant. As a young
Ford Dagenham factory worker,

the pervasive underlying racism
in British society

led to me learning to sail.

But then on the high seas I kept
getting pulled over

by the Royal Navy
and one thing led to another.

You're an inspiration, Commander.
So are you, Lieutenant.

We're role models to the youth.

One day they'll live in a world
like this

without prejudice of class, creed,
sexuality or race.

Sir, we have confirmed reports

that we are being followed by our
enemies.

The lousy Chinese or the mad
North Koreans?

Commander? Mm. A message has just
come in from the BBC.

A mixed message, sir.

Up periscope.

There's been another murder.

Which is why I've been sent from
Great Britain.

I quite fancy him.

And even though I have an amusing
obsessive-compulsive disorder...

Ah!

I'm scared of mangoes.

THEY LAUGH

I do fancy him.

I'll solve this murder because I'm
not a jolly simple

little island plonker like you lot.

THEY LAUGH

I hope my part gets more substantial
in season 13.

The more inclusive the BBC
now became,

the more it worried it wasn't being
inclusive enough.

It had seen what had happened to
JK Rowling

when she had opinionated on
transitioning,

and didn't want to get it wrong.

So it put RuPaul's Drag Race on the
front page of the iPlayer,

and hoped that everyone would think
it thought whatever it was

that was right to think.

Then it considered exterminating
Richard Curtis.

It worried his
Vicar Of Wibbly Wobbly

wasn't actually a woman,

but Mrs Brown, who wasn't actually
a woman.

I've wet me knickers,
ha, ha, he, he!

But as usual, when Richard Curtis is
involved, there was a happy ending.

I'm not your mum.

And I love your pretty dress.

But then something happened.

Britain got a new Prime Minister
and his name was Porridge Johnson.

Porridge Johnson had begun his
career as Ian Richardson

in House Of Cards.

We haven't won Eurovision since
Katrina And The Waves.

Do I think it's time to leave
Europe?

I couldn't possibly comment.

Oh, Porridge. Maddie.

I'm so worried, Porridge.

The editor of the newspaper I work
for has got wind of your plans

to trash Eurovision and leave
Europe.

But he says he'll spike the story
if you come clean

about having an affair with me.
What shall we do?

Oh, Maddie.

Maddie, Maddie, Maddie.

Come here, Maddie.

I love you, Porridge.

And I love you, Maddie.

Porridge?

Porridge?! Ah!

THUD

Hattie.

Hattie, Hattie, Hattie.

Come here, Hattie.

I rather like this new look,
don't you?

Because he was easily bored,

Porridge Johnson had stopped being
Ian Richardson from House Of Cards

and become Prime Minister. Ah!

Prime Minister, did you just
murder the tea lady?

I-I think it's vital that, er,
we move on

from this amo, amas, amat, amamus,
amatis, amanty murdery ballyhoo

a-a-and really focus on doing
something important.

Say that and see if it sticks.

I don't condone murder, but your
charming use of Latin and "ballyhoo"

has left me nostalgic for the
whimsical class divisions

of PG Wodehouse.

And I'd forgotten your homicidal
idiosyncrasies already.

Bingo. Yes, Prime Minister.

Let's do something important.

Nadine was important,

so Porridge Johnson put her in
charge of the BBC.

Nadine now told the BBC that because
she'd eaten an ostrich's anus

on I'm A Celebrity
Get Me Out Of Here

and been buried in maggots,
she was more important than it.

She now told the BBC that it must
reinvent itself

as a greater marvellous
British minnow.

And just before he resigned,

Porridge Johnson forgot to tell
Parliament

that he'd sold the BBC in what he
said was a great deal for Britain.

It's new owner rebranded the BBC
and put it on its streaming service,

if you scrolled down far enough.

Then Raised By Dingoes gobbled up
the streaming service

and shat the BBC out, because he'd
never liked it in the first place.

And that was the end of the BBC.

Now the British were free to watch
any old bollocks

that made them feel better about
themselves.

Oh, Britain's Fattest Families.

Celebrity Morons On Water Skis.

And most people returning from
holiday that summer felt sad,

because there wasn't much
in Britain left to believe in.

In life, loved ones can be
annoying, irritating,

occasionally exasperating.

But after they die,

and grand things have been said
about them at funerals,

it's the little things we miss.

Mr Mainwaring?

Mr Mainwaring? I'm meeting a young
lady from Mancunia, Mr Mainwaring.

Now look here, Pike. There's no
such place as Mancunia.

Do you understand?

That's strange, she told me she was
Mancunian.

Hello! Stupid boy.

I've got you these.

They're flowers.

HE WHISTLES

Ah!

MASTERMIND THEME PLAYS

MAN: In March 2022, what was the
average weekly total of people

who came to BBC News?

Five million. No, 438 million.

And at the end of the round,
Mr Mainwaring,

you have scored no points.

Oh, we love tipping the hat.
Super light, wonderful!

What a lovely day for the park

and pretending you like other
people's weird-looking dogs.

Who's this lovely fellow?

He's called Munge. Munge!

Like the White Cliffs of Dover.

Oh, no, Michael.
The White Cliffs of Dover are

Slightly Munge.

Oh, Christ.
I've pissed off Dame Judi.

Ladies and gentlemen,
Sir Michael Caine.

Hello, Sir Michael.
Hello, Sir Michael.

Did you know, that the other day
I went fishing

with them two bleeding jokers,
Mortimer and Whitehouse.

And what will you fishing for?
Don't tell him.

Pike!

BOTH: # We used to watch the BBC
The lovely BBC

# We used to watch the BBC
When we came home for tea

# The one show was sublime
And Crimewatch with its crime

# We used to watch the BBC
And the listen to Radio 3. #

Come along, Candice Marie.

# And did those feet in ancient time

# Walk upon England's mountains
green?

# And was the holy Lamb of God

# On England's pleasant pastures
seen?

# And did the Countenance Divine

# Shine forth upon our clouded
hills?

# And was Jerusalem builded here

# Amongst those dark
Satanic mills? #

Who are you? My name is
Adam Adamant. Adam Adamant?