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(Chiming)

Evening news! The Standard!

Evening news - Standard!

Early edition! Evening news - Standard! All the runners and riders. Paper!

- Evening news is here! - (Squealing tyres)

Ha!

OK, Fred.

- Hello, Mum. - So you've done it again.

Look! I've had a reply from your grandfather's lawyer.

Oh, Mum!

You haven't been writing to Grandad again to get me another job!

Why not? It's time he took responsibility for his own grandson.

But, Mum...

he's the Prime Minister of Great Britain.

- (Tuts) - He can't do anything for me.

- Don't be silly! - Oh!

He gets me all the wrong jobs!

Banker, accountant... (Haughtily) Stockbroker...

I haven't been educated for that stuff!

You have an appointment with him at 10.30.

Now come home and put on your best suit.

You mustn't be late, whatever happens!

(Groaning) Oh!

(Squealing tyres)

They've been waiting an hour and ten minutes!

- I couldn't help it. - (Both) "The traffic was terrible."

Ah-ay-ay!

Hello? Norman Shields here.

Are you receiving me? Over.

Wait. Over.

As Attorney General, Prime Minister, I have for years beseeched you

to accept responsibility for your grandson.

(Mutters) Mm. Erm...

Mm-mm... Damnation, Mr Ballard.

You know full well... mm...

that I cut my daughter off without a penny

when... when she married that, mm, that... that lout.

I know, I know. But he is still your grandson, Sir Wilfred.

Times have changed. These are modern days.

Er, er... Modern days. Bah! Er... give me the good old days.

Now, when I was on the threshold of life...

(Tuts) Oh, dear. Not again.

I-I-lt seems... but yesterday...

mm-mm... that... that I was an undergraduate...

at... at, mm, erm, Oxford.

And... And a fine upstanding young fellow I was too.

That year... I met Isobel.

'I dreamt of the day when I could hold her in my arms.

'But the fulfilment of those dreams...

'came as rather a surprise.'

Oh, Wilfred, you're magnificent!

Such control. Such grace.

Oh, I say! Do you really think so?

Oh, absolutely! Such determination. Such... power.

- (Crack) - Such strength.

Oh!

(Squeals) Oh, Wilfred! Help! Save me!

Water!

Oh!

Oh, it's all right, darling. It's only shallow here.

I'll save you.

Isobel!

Wilfred!

Oh!

Aah!

Oh, my darling Isobel!

I adore you!

Daddy!

And so... a marriage was arranged.

Events took their natural course and a daughter was born.

Little Emily grew up and blossomed into a true English rose.

But alas, the beautiful rose became a thorn in my side.

'Women... staged, mm, demonstrations

'demanding... equality.

'Emily became... a suffragette

'and, chaining herself to the railings of this historic old building,

'she actually shouted:'

Votes for women! Votes for women!

We demand sex equality! We want our rights!

(All, chanting) We want votes! We want to be

Recognised by all as the head of the family!

We want equality, we demand our rights!

We love Emily because of the way she fights!

Chain me to the railings, starve me, let me die

- Why can't women vote like men? - (All) Why, why, why?

We want votes! We want to be

Recognised by all as the head of the family!

Why don't you leave off? A woman's place is in the kitchen.

Let's have a bit of peace and quiet.

We want votes!

'Fate chose this precise moment to intervene.'

- (Thunder) - 'The rains came.'

- Wanna come down here? - Votes for women! Votes for women!

- Votes for... - (Thunder)

Help! Help!

(Thunder)

(Sighs)

'Thus the blue-blooded dignity of our family

'was shattered.'

And so the wedding took place between my daughter, Emily,

and... and

(Mumbles crossly)

Bert... Shields.

A... A... sewer man.

A union blessed by the birth of a son.

My grandson.

Norman.

(Clears throat)

Morning, Mr Ballard. You were expecting me.

Yes.

One hour and ten minutes ago.

This way.

Say hello.

Hello...

er, Grandad.

Do-Don't you call me G-Grandad!

Really, Prime Minister. After all, he is your grandson.

And you can't blame me.

Hold your tongue and sit down.

So... what kind of job are we going to get him this time, Ballard?

But I've already got a job, ain't I?

Yesterday, I stumbled on what may be a solution.

Major Bartlett, one of your Conservatives, owns a newspaper.

Hmph. Er... Miss Thompson?

See if you can find Major Bartlett in the House.

'He's already here, Sir.'

(Clears throat) I took the liberty.

Hmph.

Mm, yes, mm. Journalism... eh?

Well, that's what I'm doing already.

- You know, in a way. - In a way?

I sell newspapers outside Westminster tube station, don't I?

A... A newsboy?

(Mumbles) In Westminster?

Oh... oh...

You... You... You knew about this, Ballard?

Yes, Prime Minister. That's why I thought a change would be a good idea.

Show Major... Major...

Show Major, er... erm, in.

(Clock chimes)

Er, er... Major, er...

erm, erm... Burrows.

- Bartlett, sir. Major Rupert Erwin Bartlett. - Yes, quite so.

- You've considered my application? - The junior ministerial vacancy.

Ah, yes. Ah, ah...

Junior Minister.

Oh! I don't think I've had the pleasure.

- You remind me of someone. - Er, mm...

My grandson. Shields.

Delighted to meet you.

- You're not up for the junior minister? - No, I'm only a...

Newspaper man!

- What a coincidence! So am I. - The major owns the Tinmouth Times

in his constituency - little town in the West Country.

- Over 200 miles away. - 200 miles?

That's a nice long way.

Well, I... My grandson was just telling me

how much he would like to work on a provincial newspaper.

Prime Minister, I have a splendid idea!

Good, that's settled, then. He can start tomorrow morning.

Thank you, Major. I won't take up any more of your time.

But the ministerial vacancy, could you give me a decision?

Now, don't worry, Barclay, I've got your name well in mind.

You sort out the travel arrangements, Ballard. Hm? Erm...

A one-way ticket to Tinmouth.

- It's already done, Prime Minister. - Oh, oh.

Oh, Ballard. 200 miles!

(Both laugh)

200 miles!

- Ballard! Ballard! - Oh, sir!

Oh, oh, oh... Thank you, Ballard.

Now, sir. We're wanted in the House.

Miss Thompson will take care of you, Mr Shields.

Goodbye.

200 miles! Ha!

- Ballard! - Sir David!

(Crash)

Tinmouth! Tinmouth.

Tinmouth!

(Whistle)

Young man! Young man!

You've got my bag!

This is yours!

Please give me my bag!

Give me my bag!

You've got yours! Give... me... my... bag!

- (Fading) Give it to me! - Look after that.

- (Laughs) You got back, then? - She got her bag though, that lady.

- Oh, yeah? Where? - Penzance.

- Can I have mine, please? - Yeah.

Thank you.

- Not bad. - Not at all bad.

- Ah, Shields! - Bartlett.

Actually, you were due here at nine.

Still, I suppose, first morning.

- Bit of a rush I expect. - Mm-hm.

I dare say you'd like to meet your colleagues.

Here's Mr Norman Shields, our new reporter.

Mr Ross, the editor.

Miss Lampton.

I hope you'll be very happy with us.

All right, come with me.

(Typing)

Shields, I expect a capacity for work and punctuality.

I regret to note that you appear to lack the latter quality. Understand?

Right, Chief.

You do shorthand, of course?

I'm afraid not.

You type?

Mr Shields, do you think you could cover this?

Right, Chief. What is it?

- A jumble sale. - (Shouts) Jumble sale?!

"To be opened by the Mayor, New Congregational...

Mr Shields, I've read it!

(Subdued) Right, Chief.

Now, here is a map.

You will find the Congregational Hall marked on this map.

- Right, Chief. - Don't call me Chief all the time.

Notebook?

Pencil?

Yellow.

Got a bicycle?

You'll have to buy one.

In the meantime, you can borrow one from Pearson.

Right, Chief.

(Siren bells ringing)

Where's the New Congregational Hall?

That was it over there.

Fred.

"Fire... Hydrant."

And I had this all...

Press! Press! Press, Press, Press, Press, Press!

Tinmouth Times!

Make way for the Press!

Excuse me.

Er, are you the Mayor?

Oh!

I've, erm... I've been sent to cover the jumble sale.

- Press, you know. - It's been postponed.

Ah! Post... poned.

- Cos of the fire? - This gentleman's responsible.

What, for the fire? Oh-hoo-hoo!

- No, for the jumble sale. - Oh, I beg your pardon!

- I seem to have come too late. - You can't be too late. I told you.

(Spitting) It's been postponed!

Yeah, well, thanks very much.

You see a bike?

Oi! My bike!

That's mine! You thieving...

Here! Hey! This isn't a stop, you know.

- Not right. Unfair to the others. - That man's pinched my bike!

Has he now? That's not right. No, no.

- Faster, faster! - Faster.

Faster!

Follow that bike!

- Tell him to go faster! - Go faster.

Put your foot down. Watch where you're going!

You gotta catch him, that's my bike!

We'll call for that queue on the way back. Shall I tell 'em or you?

- You. - All right.

(Rings bell)

Won't be long! We won't be long!

I told 'em we won't be long.

Very kind of you, Tubby.

Don't let him gain on us, Tubby. Tell him!

Don't let him gain on us!

Get a move on! He's only got a bike. You've got a blooming great bus!

(Tyres squealing)

Hurry up and catch him or go round the other way.

You're closing on him. That's it! Go on!

Go on! You're dropping behind.

Good boy!

He's got my bike and I'm determined to have him.

(Frantic hooting)

(Crashing)

Oh, you've let him get away!

Keep going and we'll head him off.

He's behind! I told ya, we got him!

It's no use-we got ya! You can't beat a bus!

- Slow down! I'll get him! - Slow down!

- He's gone right! Take the next turning! - Turn right!

(lnaudible)

Erm, excuse me.

I say, I'm really most awfully sorry,

but that wasn't my bike after all!

- Can I help you? - Oh, thank you very much.

- You are going in here, ain't you? - Yes. Thank you very much.

Thank you very much.

Young man, this isn't my...

You again!

Well! If it isn't our new ace reporter.

A funny thing happened to me on the way to the jumble sale.

Oh, come on, cheer up. Have a drink.

I don't really, erm...

Oh, come on! Be a devil.

You're a reporter now.

Eddie?

- Same again, Miss Lampton? - Yes, but make it two.

Well... Good reporting.

And you. Er...

Er, it's quite nice.

(Bubbling)

(Retches)

It's not bad. I think I'll have some of this.

Same again...

Eddie.

- (Bubbling) - (Groans)

Erm, I'm so glad I met you tonight.

Can't tell you how glad.

Well, I've got quite an evening ahead.

I've to cover the council meeting.

(Slurred) Eleanor, do you think I could come with you?

I've never been to... I've never been to a council meeting.

You must be mad, but if you want to, you're very welcome.

Marvellous!

Are you ready, then?

Er, see you.

Aha!

That's where the Lady Mayor, Alderman Mrs Corcoran, sits.

Labour, of course.

What, up there?

Doesn't she get dizzy?

The Lady Mayor is always dizzy.

So are her council.

I heard what you said about the council.

Let me inform you, the lady's remarks refer only to the Labour members.

- Not to us Conservatives. - Well, bully for you, Councillor Edge.

Ah! There's the Mayor's husband.

- Conservative? - No, Labour.

Alderman Corcoran, about this agenda, I have something to say.

You keep your ears open, mate, and you'll hear what I have to say.

Conservatives are on the right.

Labour are on the left. The Labour have the majority.

(Hiccups)

(Hiccups)

(Hiccups)

- Water. - No! Sh!

(Hiccups)

A glass of water.

(Norman hiccups)

(Whispers) A glass of water.

(Hiccuping continues)

(Loud hiccup)

Psst!

(Hiccups)

Hello, gorgeous.

It's a bit crowded in here tonight.

Harry Marshall, the County Chronicle.

Norman Shields, the Times' latest addition.

Herewith conveil this trial, 1953 by grace of our royal.

The agenda which, on the minutes of this,

is duly had in the housing committee of suburban development.

The housing committee, which had forgotten the civil low-down,

as duly made, with an asterisk which marks each one separately...

That's the town clerk, Mr Nottage.

Bit of a bore, but he's all right.

And the assistants which grade for this in this county council order, liaison...

Hold the fort for me. I'll be back for the speeches.

(Nottage) Other councils take heed, and a deep heed,

for this stands in their own chamber over their worship too

as a mutual agreed fine.

And this as far as the river's concerned, but this doesn't matter.

Now this, underlined and underhand this dale

and Hansard in the Houses of Parliament follows this,

supported by the industrial on either side.

Now I call upon Hawdrobe Cawl.

As chairman of the housing committee,

I can say without fear of contradiction,

- our housing record is second to none. - Hear, hear.

I speak for us all on this side of the chamber

when I say how proud we are of...

(Chairman) The building of phase one of our new...

The speeches are on!

We have met with opposition, particularly from certain members...

She's on...

- Hear, hear. ...petty restrictions and impediments,

with the single-minded determination that we have always displayed

in our undertakings for the people of this town.

She's on the phone.

Her boyfriend, I suppose.

- (Chairman) It is with great pride... - Boyfriend?

- Major Bartlett. - (Chairman)... members of this council...

- The Major? - Why not?

He owns a newspaper, he's an MP - she knows what she's doing.

During our term of office,

we have built 1,000 houses.

- I don't believe it! - Sh!

So, Councillor Edge doesn't believe it.

Councillor flaming Edge has the flaming nerve to call me a liar to my face!

I shall ask Councillor flaming Edge to apologise at once!

Point of order! Point of order!

Councillor Edge will feel the back of my hand if he's not careful!

- Mr Mayor, I protest... - Hooliganism!

Vulgar exhibitionism!

- (All shout at once) - Appeal to clause seven!

Someone should quell this, sir!

If I could appeal the House...

You're the cause of this! You're the...

He's right! I've got to explain.

- Mrs Mayor! - Shut up!

Alderman Whatshisname...

- (Nottage) They're pleading the rules... - Order, please!

- Your Worship, please... - Oh, dear.

Some must indicate the close of this thunderbowl!

Hey, gabblemouth! Shut up!

(Mumbles incoherently)

I have been insulted by a man unfit to clean my shoes!

- It wasn't me, it was that idiot reporter! - It was nothing of the kind!

Trying to wriggle out of it? Yellow-belly!

Point of order! Mr Nottage, do something, please!

I've got none of the civil of this chamber!

The whole crowd! I would not suppress this in my own house!

- There is a problem in this chamber. - Mrs Thingummy!

- Ladies and gentlemen! - Mr Macebearer.

Kindly remove this person.

Order! Order, please!

(Smashing crockery)

To start a fight like this is absolutely disgraceful!

- I've been stabbed! - You murderer!

- Traitor! - Rabble!

- Housewife! - (Gasps)

- You Tory butcher! - I'm dying. Meeting adjourned.

- Meeting adjourned. - (Crash)

- Meeting adjourned. - Oh, boy. What a story!

There. That is the last of the coffee.

Oh, no. I don't want any more coffee.

- I've had about a gallon already. - Come on!

(Gurgles)

- Now, what happened? - Oh.

Alderman Corcoran said...

He said he was gonna clump Councillor Edge round the earhole.

- (Cackles) - Well, go on!

(Sings drunkenly)

# Susannah's a wonderful soul (Spits and whistles)

# Fiddle-di-di Susannah's a wonderful soul #

- (Whistles) - Have some more coffee, please!

No!

(Chuckles)

(# Jaunty big-band tune)

- (Music stops) - Now.

Please. Go on with the story.

Ha-ha-ha! A lady hits a man on top of the head.

Who hit who on top of the head, you silly little man?

A lady hit a man on top of the head. Oh-ho-ho!

Erm...

- I dunno. - Try and think!

The meeting was adjourned. That's all.

Oh, take it off. I'll sponge it.

(Phone)

- Hello? - Hello, poppet.

I'm on my way over to you.

Darling, while I was talking to you, there was a riot at the meeting.

- 'Little Norman was...' - Oh, I see.

He had a couple of drinks and I had to get the story out of him somehow.

Eleanor? Could we twist the angle a bit?

Arrange it to suit ourselves?

Give it an anti-Labour slant.

It'll appear as Shields' article. And get rid of him.

'See you later. Bye, darling.'

Bye.

(Laughter)

Do you know where I could get a bed, please?

Not at this time of night.

Yes, well, I was just wondering if you could fix me up at your place?

- Police station? - Mm.

Haven't done anything wrong, have you?

Who me? No, no. No!

Then keep moving!

What, all night?

He did what?

No, Lady Mayor.

Er, yes, Lady Mayor.

I see, Lady Mayor.

Goodbye.

Apparently, we've distorted all the facts.

She says Shields started the whole thing.

Oh, no!

- What are we gonna do? - Sack him.

- Wait a minute. After all, he has got... - (Both) What?

(Sighs) Potentialities.

Potentialities? He hasn't come in yet!

(Snores)

Blimey, I've done it again!

Ah!

Ah. Mr Shields?

Could you spare a moment of your valuable time?

Major Bartlett would like to see you in his office.

- What for? - What for?!

We've got a right one here, haven't we?

You've only been on the staff a few days

and you've got the entire town council at each other's throats.

Do you know, Mr Shields, that because of you,

Councillor Quilter is in hospital with concussion, and needed five stitches,

that Councillor Edge, Major Bartlett's agent,

is in bed with nervous prostration,

and that Councillor Mrs Doe Connor has resigned from the council

and from public life?

And why do you think the Major wants to see you in his office?

- The sack? - Good boy!

Morning, Major.

Morning, Eleanor... er, Miss Lampton.

- You wanted to see me, sir? - Simply to congratulate you.

- Congratulate me? - On your splendid article.

Look, it wasn't really me...

it was Miss Lampton.

It was your story, Mr Shields.

Look, fair's fair.

- She... She wrote it. - From the facts you gave me, my dear.

- The credit is all yours. - (Sniggers) Well...

- If you say so. - Good.

So we're all agreed that it was entirely your article.

All agreed?

- Yeah. - Good.

Cos it's thoroughly upset the Council.

I suggest you go to the Mayor's house forthwith and apologise.

- On your way, Shields. - Do I have to?

Borrow Pearson's bicycle and this time don't lose it.

- Right, Chief. - And don't keep calling me Chief!

Well, roger and out, then.

You know something? Little Norman's got a thing about you.

- Who threw this? - I did.

- What you got in here, Mister? - (Rings bell)

- Give us a ride on your bike, Mister! - Oi, shorty!

(Laughter)

(Laughter)

Er, good morning. May I be permitted to speak to Her Worship, my Lady Mayor?

Won't you sit down?

(Child) Come on!

(Dog barking)

Good gracious!

Er, morning, Your Worship. I'm Shields of the Times.

Yes, I remember you.

Er, perhaps you'd like to put your bicycle in the kitchen?

Oh, careful!

(Clatter)

Oh, careful!

Oh, oh, oh!

Oh, oh, oh! Just a moment!

(Ripping)

(Ripping)

Take it! Take it.

Oh, my dear! This is Mr Shields of the Times.

Mr Shields, my daughter Liz.

- How do you do? - How do you do.

Shouldn't we let him down?

Oh, yes.

Put your glasses on, you silly girl!

(Squeals)

Thank you.

The kitchen.

Oh, dear, we'd better tidy up. Come along.

- What does he want? - That, my dear, I've yet to find out. Oh!

I-I'm sorry about that.

Still, never mind. It's nice to have a bit of peace and quiet, innit?

- (Clattering) - Damn and blast!

It's my husband.

Ernest, is that you, dear?

Who the hell did you think it was?

- What maniac left that bike in there? - Mr Shields of the Times.

- Daddy, do keep calm. - I will when I'm good and ready

and not before.

Put your glasses on, girl. You're blinking like a pedestrian crossing.

What do you want?

I came about last night's council meeting. You made a mistake.

Last night? Oh, I'll deal with this, dear.

- You two go and make a cup of coffee. - But I wanted to apologise...

- Come and have a drink, Shields. - Oh, no. I've packed it up.

Last night's council meeting, eh?

Yes. See, I was responsible cos it was me who said it, not Mr Edge.

Of course it was! I knew it all the time. (Guffaws)

Do you think I'm deaf, then?

(Both laugh)

It couldn't have been Edge, anyway.

- Why not? - Cos he hasn't got the guts!

Would you like an item of real interest for your paper?

Oh, yeah! Hold these, hold these. Hang on.

- Oh, dear. - Now then. Here we go.

There is only one man that matters in Tinmouth.

- Only one. - Only one. Alderman Ernie Corcoran.

You're...

And Major blasted Bartlett knows that too!

He won't even have the nerve to turn up on Saturday.

- Where? - The Keir Hardie Estate, fool!

- What's that? - The opening of the thousandth house!

Here. With an election just around the corner,

that will be worth 500 votes to me!

And when that time comes there'll be a new man on the train for Westminster!

- No Major blasted Bartlett. Oh, no! - Not him!

Yeah. Guess who?

I don't know. Guess who? Well, I mean...

It's right on the tip of my tongue.

Ernie Corcoran?

(Corcoran) That's right!

Here, off you go.

Don't forget, eh?

Oh, I couldn't forget. I got it all down.

Publish and be damned.

Publish... and be...

damned-oh!

Publish and be... I'll just put me shoes on!

- Won't you stay for some coffee? - I'd better not, thanks.

- Your bike! - Oh, yeah.

It must be awfully exciting.

It's all right going downhill, but uphill gets the back of your legs.

No, working on a newspaper.

- Oh. - The presses and everything.

Oh, that's exciting too. Pop in sometime, I'll show you round.

- Oh, I'd love to. Thank you very much. - All right.

Bye.

Don't you think it would be easier out the back way?

Well, safer.

(Giggles)

- Little Norman strikes again. - But it's the truth!

- Mr Corcoran word for word. - You have a lot to learn, sweetie.

Ah, Mr Shields. Would you be so kind as to pop along to the Major's office?

He would like a few words with you.

So, Alderman Corcoran is to be on the train to Westminster? Not me?

- So he said. - You expect me to publish that?

- "Publish and be damned", he told me. - Get out!

- Out? - Out of the office!

- (Phone) - Out of this town! Out of the country!

What? Who?

Can't you speak up? Oh, Mr Prime Minister!

Yes, sir. Yes, he's right here, sir.

He wants to speak to you.

Hello, Grandad.

No, it's no good. I don't...

I can't help it. I should be back at Westminster tomorrow.

(Enraged shouting)

- He's gone potty. - Mr Prime Minister?

He must have misunderstood.

No, he's a great asset to the newspaper. Yes.

Oh, no, sir. I've promoted him. Yes!

Er... to political and municipal correspondent.

Yes, he's a splendid fellow.

Chip off the old block.

Yes, sir. Right, Mr Prime Minister.

Political... and municipal! Golly!

What do you reckon will be my first assignment? Sir?

Keir Hardie Estate. Tomorrow.

- The thousandth house. - Oh, Corcoran mentioned that.

Said it'd be worth 500 votes to him.

Another thing he said... I shouldn't tell you really!

He reckons you'd be scared to go!

- He did, did he? - Yeah.

- Send Mr Ross in, please. - I'll tell him.

Ah, Mr Ross! Would you be so kind as to pop along to the Major's office?

He'd like a few words with you.

For heaven's sake!

I been promoted! The Major said "My dear lad, you are an asset to us."

So. We have a new political correspondent.

- Political... and municipal. - (Grimly) And municipal.

Rather a long-felt want, don't you think?

- Shouldn't you be at a baby show? - I'm on my way!

Eleanor! Eleanor!

Soon those babies will be adolescent!

Come out tonight. I must celebrate.

Let me take you out to dinner, eh?

- Come on. - Oh, all right. Just this once.

Victoria Hotel?

- Half-past seven? - Right.

(# Soft music)

I've always wanted to do that!

I'm supposed to be meeting a girlfriend.

But I'm early.

Oh. I'm supposed to be meeting someone too. (Laughs)

If we waited together, you could teach me to wiggle my fingers.

Will you order now, sir?

- What will you have, Miss Corcoran? - Oh, please call me Liz.

Erm, orange squash.

- I don't drink alcohol. - One orange. And?

Two orange... squashes.

Erm... Your dad's quite a character.

I'm glad you liked him. He liked you.

- Eh... - No, honestly!

He said "I think he'll be very useful."

Oh, did he? Well, all that stuff about the Keir Hardie Estate

and Ernest Corcoran being the only man who matters, Bartlett wouldn't publish.

I'm not surprised. It's a Tory newspaper.

Well, I am covering the house opening tomorrow

and they're gonna print what I say.

Oh, darling! I'm so glad you found a little friend

because I just can't make it tonight - I'm stuck with some dreadful office thing.

A press girl's life isn't her own.

Sweetie, I'm so sorry. Believe me.

- (Stutters) - I'll explain it all in the morning.

Now... have fun, you two.

She's got some lovely clothes.

I'm sorry, Norman.

- Liz? - Yes, Norman?

Put your hands together.

Now, press your fingers down.

No, only the two middle ones.

No. Now, put your glasses on again, eh?

Right. Now, finger exercises begin. Turn around.

No!

Hey! Bricks are for building, not throwing.

Ow!

(Car draws up)

Thank you.

- (Boing) - Ooh!

(Faint applause)

Sorry, sir. I didn't notice you was in there.

(Laughter)

Oh, I nearly did it again!

- (Thud) - Aah! Ooh!

Aah! Aah!

- Oh, no! - Shut your eyes and don't look down.

Help!

Are you all right, dear? Come along.

- We'll get a chair. - Oh, thank you.

(Whispering)

This great moment through this afternoon

for the launch of this 1,000th of houses

which culminate in the progress of this council.

We're graced with the august presence of Lady Mayor for the gathering

and Major Bartlett the self-made man

which made the newspaper beneficent for the whole humanity.

All the family, great for this house which gave them the slummery

and a pleasant prospect in the heart of it.

And now the mauve scroll for the duke, Major Mayor Bartlett.

Go on!

Your Worship, Mr Town Clerk, ladies and gentlemen.

Never mind the speeches, when do we get into our house?

Now, wait a minute, please.

As your Conservative MP,

I congratulate your Labour corporation

on reaching our target of 1,000 houses... at last.

Your target? Twaddle! You lot just talk. We build.

- Who planned the estate? - Who built it?

Never mind who did what! Cut the politics. When are we gonna get in?

No, no. Please, please. Ladies and gentlemen,

I'm delighted to be here this afternoon.

And now without more ado, I will formally open the 1,000th house

with this golden key.

Key. Key.

- Key? - Key?

The key!

Key?

(Crowd gasps)

Now, sit down, everyone, and don't panic.

I know where to find it. Keep talking, Mr Mayor.

Don't sit down, I'm taking the chair away. Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Er... ladies and gentlemen, I would be doing less than my duty,

were I not to thank all the people behind the scenes who have worked so hard

on the, er, plumbing.

And then of course we must thank...

- Oh! - (Laughter)

Aah!

I got it! The golden key.

I've got it. I've got the key. I've found it.

Everybody on your feet! Come on.

On your feet. It was under the platform.

The golden key.

Everybody into the house. All inside! Come on!

(Croaks) Erm... This is the hall,

and that is the lounge.

- Hall and... - Lounge.

Excuse me.

- Stop pushing at the back! - Stop pushing.

- Hold it! - The bedrooms are upstairs.

Ooh, my back!

This is the larger bedroom, or what I like to call the master bedroom.

Enough in there! Hold it!

This is the small bedroom but there isn't enough room for all of us.

Oh!

- The house is collapsing! - Everybody out!

Hurry! Hurry!

- Everybody out! - Hurry up!

Now look what you've done - you and your politics!

I've got to get back to the paper. Ta-ta.

Well done, Corcoran.

(Laughter)

Oh, darling. The Keir Hardie Estate article's on your desk.

- Just sign it, will you? - Sign it?

I haven't even written it yet!

I did it for you. On the Major's instructions.

Erm... I see.

Well... thank you.

- What's the hurry? - Darling, I have a date.

I have to bath, change and be out by eight.

- Where are you going? - Is that your business?

Yes, it is.

Who's this special man that you have got to have a bath for?

You've no right to question me!

Oh, yes, I have-because I love you!

I do love you, Eleanor.

Norman, you must get this nonsense out of your head.

We'll have a nice, long chat later this week, I promise you.

- It's Major Bartlett you're seeing, isn't it? - If you must know, yes, it is.

I thought so. Well... he is the boss, isn't he?

And my future husband.

Oh.

Oh, I thought it was...

I was just passing. You said to drop in if...

Did I?

Oh, yes. Erm... Yes.

If you're busy writing your article about this afternoon, I'll...

No, not really busy.

It's been written for me.

Major Bartlett's approval slip.

"The opening of the 1,000th house on the Keir Hardie Estate

"was a happy occasion for all concerned.

"Major Bartlett's witty speech... Golden key to happiness?!

"Delighted family take up residence?!"

It's a load of lies.

- Well, you know. - What are you going to do about it?

- What can I do? - Don't let them get away with it.

- Make them print the truth! - I can't!

- What about Major Bartlett? - Blast Major Bartlett and party politics!

- What about your father? - With all due respect, blast him too!

(Laughs) Oh, Liz!

Anyway, they'd never print it.

They would if you put on Major Bartlett's approval slip.

Erm...

Just a minute, erm... Disaster hits the Keir Hardie Estate.

House falls down.

- Morning, Rigby. - Morning, Major.

(Hums)

- What are you doing in my office? - Have you gone stark, staring mad?

- Cutting both our throats? - What are you talking about?

Look.

"Both political parties claim credit..."

- This isn't the article I authorised! - So who the hell wrote it?

- It could only be one person. - Shields.

Bartlett, you get rid of that little idiot reporter of yours

or some of your unsavoury behaviour

will be exposed at the forthcoming election.

So there's going to be mudslinging at the election, is there?

Anyway, what election?

Let's not kid ourselves. You know very well what election.

Take my advice-get rid of Shields!

This article-how did it get in?

- It had your approval slip on it. - Absolute disaster.

Take Shields off politics and put him out of harm's way-entertainments.

Yes.

- Good morning, Major. - Get out!

- (Stammers) About housing... - Get out, Miss Popkiss! Get out!

I must get rid of that woman.

Get out!

Not you, dear lad.

Once again, I must congratulate you. An excellent article.

Really?

Well, it isn't exactly good for you, is it?

- Or Mr Corcoran. - That's what I like about the article.

It's so entirely unprejudiced.

So in future you'll be covering entertainments.

- What, as well as politics? - Instead of.

But I like writing about politics.

It could give me a chance to help someone.

What better way to help the townspeople than making them happy?

Entertainments.

I like politics.

- I'll ask Grandad. - Oh, no, no!

If you can find a way of promoting entertainments,

this newspaper will back you all the way.

What, you mean I can arrange

and, erm, organise things?

Anything you like.

I didn't hear you ring.

- You're Willoughby. - I know who I am. Who are you?

- I'm Shields of the Times. - A reporter? How delicious!

- I'm in charge of entertainment. - There isn't any.

Except what we make ourselves.

What are your plans for holiday crowds this year?

Same as last year and, funnily enough, the year before that.

- None. - None?

But this is a holiday resort.

This is a last resort!

We've got a chocolate machine with no chocolate in it,

two speak-your-weight machines with the voices gone,

and we've got a distorting mirror that's cracked.

On Major Bartlett's authority, our paper will back you all the way.

Major Bartlett? That's interesting. All the way?

Er, Memo to Ross.

As my election campaign has now started,

you will virtually be in charge.

- (Knocking) - What do you want, Shields?

I have had the most marvellous idea! And Willoughby's going to help.

- Who's Willoughby? - The town's entertainments officer.

Oh. Well, type it in triplicate and submit it in the usual way.

I can't wait for all that. This is a beauty contest. With girls.

Not in keeping with the dignity of the newspaper.

Dignity of the... What do you reckon?

A beauty contest could be very dignified, Major. I could enter for it myself.

- All right, then. - Yes.

A dignified beauty contest.

- Busy, Major? - Oh, just organising a beauty contest.

Oh?

- How interesting. - It was Shields' idea.

Thank you, Miss Fairchild.

If you want me, Major, you've only to buzz.

So you're using the new girl now, instead of Miss Popkiss?

Yes, she's much faster.

That I can well believe.

- Now, darling... - Erm...

Er, shall I carry on with my beauty contest column?

- Yes, do, Shields. - I'll do about 500 words...

Beauty contest? Twaddle!

Then he has the gall to criticise the council for no summer shows.

Cracked distorting mirrors, chocolate machines with no chocolate!

It's a dirty, filthy libel!

- Dirty, filthy truth, Daddy. - Liz, dear!

It seems like that to me.

Holiday-makers don't come here. What's the use of a beauty contest?

- I think Norman's right. - Norman?

- Perishing little halfwit! - He might not sound clever to you,

and perhaps he doesn't put things well,

but he says something because he believes in it,

not to get something from it.

If I thought for one instant that you were getting interested in that midget reporter,

I'd have him out of this town so fast...

Careful. You'll have one of your attacks.

Hurry up. There's not much time.

That's all right. We're all ready now.

- Girls all here? - I'll count 'em. There should be seven.

(Screaming)

What happened?

Erm... only six.

- Liz! - I just came to wish you luck, Norman.

If there's anything I could do to help...

Hey, Liz, you can help.

Will you be a contestant?

One of the girls hasn't turned up.

- Do you think I dare? - Why not?

Come along now. don't let's talk rubbish.

You're a bit late! We were about to put a substitute in.

What, her?

Right, Liz. Get changed.

- But I haven't got any... - Well, borrow some!

Right, it's time.

Don't forget-you're in charge backstage because I'll be compering.

So good luck.

Chocolates? Cigarettes?

(Usherette) Cold drinks?

All those posters and nobody's interested.

Men not interested in girls - I can't believe it! It's unhealthy.

The... The judges.

Look after 'em.

Police! Police!

Over the road! There's girls walking about with hardly any clothes on!

Don't go over there! It's just like a harem.

They've all gone raving mad over there.

Right, stand by!

Everybody on stage!

- Well done, Norman! - Ready?

Give me a few seconds before curtain up.

Where's the pianist? No pianist!

- You'll have to play. - I'm the compere down there!

And the pianist, down there.

(Norman grunts)

(Groans)

(Audience laugh)

(Clanging piano strings)

(Laughter)

(Applause)

(Compere) Miss Elizabeth Rivers.

(Applause)

- Miss Penelope Squires. - (Applause)

And now... Miss Ruby Fairchild.

(Applause)

(Applause)

And now a young lady who, when you see her,

will take your breath away.

(Gasps) Like that.

Luscious, scrumptiously attractive and... beautiful.

Miss Liz Corcoran.

I can't!

You can.

(Applause)

Bring down the curtain.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, may I have your voting cards?

I think you'll find we're all agreed.

Norman!

(Laughter)

The winner.

- Ruby Fairchild. - It's rigged. The Major.

Don't worry, it's none of our business.

Ruby Fairchild.

Ladies and gentlemen, on this piece of paper

is the name of the Tinmouth beauty queen.

When the curtains part, you will see her on the throne.

(Booing)

(Jeering)

(Shrieks and sobs)

Please leave me alone.

(Angry shouting)

Now, er, gentlemen, if you'll just... Please! Gentlemen, if you...

- Er, gentlemen, please! - Ruby!

Ooh! Eleanor.

Ooh!

- What have you to say about this? - Keep out of this!

Gentlemen, I would like to say a few words.

Gentlemen, conduct yourselves

in the dignified manner to which this town is accustomed.

This demonstration is an example of Labour hooliganism

and it will not be tolerated.

That, Bartlett, is a remark that you will live to regret.

Our Labour stock has never stood higher.

This trumped-up beauty contest is nothing more than a Tory conspiracy.

You're sabotaging the years of sacrifice I've given this constituency.

Sacrifice? You've only ever spoken once in the House of Commons

and that was to ask for a window to be opened.

- Look, I'm going now. - Yes. You're fired.

That doesn't surprise me. But before I do go,

don't you two ever think of anybody but yourselves?

I mean, you're both intelligent men.

- I wish I had your brains. - Turn on the mike.

- (Click) - (Echoing) You're an MP.

- And I soon will be. - Who knows?

- Over my dead body! - Whoa! What's the matter with you?

'Why don't you leave off? All you do is bicker.'

Now let me have my say.

As I see it, you two are like...

captains of a sort of people's ship of life.

'And they rely on you two to steer them on a safe course.'

But because of your own selfishness, you keep on taking them into storms

with big waves.

And if you and all the other politicians and the leaders of the world

don't work together, you know, one of these days...

Open the curtains!

...you're gonna drown all the people.

Here. I been talking a lot, ain't I?

I have to get off me soapbox.

'(Laughs)'

Oh, well, I'm going back to me pater's town in Westminster.

Goodbye, sir.

(Cheering)

Well done, Norman. Go on, take a bow.

- Bye, Robin. - Bye-bye.

Give those to Liz for me.

Norman.

- I'm going, Liz. - Why?

- I don't think I've been successful here. - I do.

Daddy and Major Bartlett are having a drink at the hotel.

- That's a good start. - Yeah, a good start.

- Bye. - Norman!

- Couldn't I come with you? - What about your dad?

He'd lose a daughter but he'd gain a son.

- Yeah. - (Whistle)

Come on, we'll miss the train.

- We've missed it! - No, we haven't!

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