Original subtitles

Good evening, everybody.

Never judge a book by its cover,

particularly if that cover quotes an obscure journal

claiming it to be the best book ever written.

I made that mistake recently

and found myself reading a book about drugs and sex,

which are scarcely suitable subjects for fiction.

If I hadn't been on a stopping train to Aberystwyth,

I should have cast the thing aside unread.

Appearances, as we shall see,

are like bus timetables...

often highly misleading.

Raymond, there's something I need to discuss with you.

I see. And are you addressing me as your commanding officer,

- or as your boyfriend? - Does it make a difference?

Certainly it makes a difference. The public pays me to be your commanding officer,

it does not pay me to be your boyfriend.

If you were to ask me a boyfriend question like,

"I think I've left the gas on at home, what shall I do?"

I should feel unable to answer until lunchtime.

By which time our house would have exploded.

Making it a police matter with which I would feel justified

in dealing on police time.

I see.

Well, I suppose this is a matter of advice.

And I would like you to answer partly as my commander,

and partly as my boyfriend.

Good, well that seems simple enough.

I shall give you my police answer now,

for which of course, the public will be paying me,

and I shall give you my personal answer over lunch,

for which I will expect no reimbursement,

other than the satisfaction of being your helpmeet.

Right. Well, here's my problem.

If you know something is wrong,

but the method by which you know it is wrong is also wrong,

is it right to right the wrong? Or wrong to do right?

Because the real wrong is that it was not right to know the wrong,

and so righting the wrong cannot be right.

Yes, I see.

Well, speaking as your commanding officer,

I'm afraid I don't quite follow.

Sir, the town hall's on the line.

The mayoress wants to come see you this lunchtime.

- Dame Christabel Wickham! - I'll take this.

Dame Christabel, you're a stuck-up tart

why don't you bog off and die.

Dame Christabel, there is a female lunatic in my office.

Get off, you female lunatic. How dare you insult

Gasforth's most distinguished public servant?

Restrain her, somebody... Ohh!

It's for your own good, madam.

Give me back that phone, I said give me back that phone.

Constable, constable...

Yes, sir? Remove her to a caring institution

where she can receive the treatment she so clearly needs.

That I will do, sir.

She's gone.

Hello? Oh my god, she's rung off!

No, sir, she was never on.

I haven't put her through yet.

Oh, I see.

Haaaaa.

Oh well-oh in that case uh, just tell her

I should be delighted to receive her, Habib.

- Most delighted. - I'll try and strike the right tone, sir.

Now if you could kindly haul your mind

back from your fantasies of tight little skirts

and first-class degrees from Oxbridge...

- Mmm? - We were discussing my problem.

Yes. Look, Patricia, would it be all right

if I ignored you completely?

Not at all, Raymond, I'll just pretend we were in bed.

You see, the mayoress is coming

in only three and a half hours and I must be prepared.

Oh damn, diddle and doo-dah!

This would be the week when my nose-hair clippers

are being resharpened at the ironmongers.

Raymond, this is serious.

I've been studying the weekend tapes

of the town center closed-circuit TV cameras.

There's something I'm very worried about. Now will you please concentrate?

Yes. Yes. Of course, of course.

Do you think this is time to get my haircut?

In that flat, the window above the shop-

Patricia, that is a private dwelling. We have no right-

I know, but look. The figure in the skirt and the man-

He's raising his hand above his head, look!

He's hitting her with some kind of weapon.

Great trumpeting trousers, so he is!

The unutterable swine, the cowardly, custardy cad!

That man must be brought to book.

But we only know about the woman's problems

through intrusive electronic surveillance.

- We're in a very difficult position. - Yes, that's true.

Ooh, you've put me on the horns of a dilemma.

One horn is personal inclination,

the other horn is stern duty.

Well I'm quite pleased, really.

It's a long time since I put you on any sort of horn at all.

Don't be so saucy, Patricia.

Besides which, it's just not true.

I find you enormously exciting.

But then I find bread and butter pudding exciting.

And I wouldn't want a portion every night, would I?

Becasue, then it wouldn't be special.

Now, let us return to this horn you've put me on.

Oh! I'm sorry sir. I'll come back later.

Don't worry Maggie.

Inspector Fowler and I were just looking at some disgraceful illicit videos

Yes, we were just discussing a very difficult position.

Perhaps you would like to join in.

Well, it's a lovely thought sir. But you know...

Two's a company and I'd rather die.

I only came in to say the mayoress will be here at 1.

One?

But it's 9:15 already. I've got polish my buttons, I've got to polish my buttons.

Constable Boyle-

Would you mind if I held your hand for a while?

- Eh? - Give me your hand, I want to hold it.

And tease it with me forefinger.

Steady, sir.

It's the secret handshake I'm practicing.

Oh, I see, you're joining the masons?

No, they knocked me back last year.

Said me knees were too knobbly.

Bloody masons- look after their own, promote their own,

cover up for their own...

Well, you can see why I wanted to join.

Anyway, stuff the masons, I'm going one better.

I'm joining the Todgers.

The secret, most noble, medieval order

of the masonic lodge Todgers.

- Better costumes, better ceremonies- - Better nepotism.

Exactly. I'm not gonna fanny about in Gasforth forever.

And if putting on a dress once a week

and occasionally kissing a dead turkey's bottom

is the price I have to pay, then so be it.

Well you make sure it's properly plucked, sir.

In my experience turkey bristle can be very coarse.

Your ex-girlfriend's here.

You know, I think she waxes her upper-lip.

For the final time, Patricia, the mayoress was never my girlfriend.

We just went to the same grammar school.

It's no use lying to me, Raymond

I can tell when you fancy someone, your nose twitches.

Oh, don't be ridiculous, Patricia.

Can't wait around all day, Raymond, I've got a town to run.

Yes, of course, dame Chrissy.

Please, take a seat.

I do apologize for my sergeant's tardiness.

Was there something, sergeant?

Tea, sergeant, close the door behind you.

I'll come straight to the point, Raymond- serious situation.

My cute little derriere is in your hands.

Gasforth is harboring an illegal asylum seeker.

His time runs out at the end of the week

and you'll be required to arrest him for deportation.

Yes, hardly a pleaseant job your worshipful mayoressiness.

But, duty is my master.

The problem is that there is an observer

from the European parliament in town as well.

Well that's no concern of mine. I serve her majesty,

not some soggy Brussels sprout.

Shut up! Raymond. I am talking.

My sources tell me that this Europe swine is

an insufferably soapy bleeding-heart liberal.

- Eh. These continental- - I said, shut up! Raymond.

I have a good mind to discipline you.

God! I hate them.

These garlic gourging snail suckers.

But, Gasforth is expecting a huge regional grant from the EC.

And this illegal immigrant business could make us look very bad.

The sight of gangs of rolses hurling weeping refugees into vans offends some people.

God knows why.

I can assure you that my men will be as gentle as a

bottle of lemon-scented fabric conditioiner.

Shut up! Raymond. I won't tell you again.

The point is that there have been so many reports recently

about thuggery and racism in the police,

that P.R.-Wise, we're vulnerable.

You have to work on your image.

Do you have any anti-racism initiatives underway in the station?

Briefings, discussion groups, that kind of thing?

Can I speak? Yes!

No, we haven't.

Well, get some.

And when you've done racism, get on to all the other 'ism's:

sexism, pufterism, lesoism...

When you nick this sniveling alien,

I want to be able to show that greasy euro-bastard

just how tolerant and balanced we are.

So-racism, sexism,

homoeroticaphobia...

...Ism, and the police.

- Who would like to start the discussion? - I would, sir.

You astonish me, constable Habib.

I could not be more surprised if my hat had turned into a giant hedgehog.

I'd like to talk about sir Paul Condon's report

about policing and race, sir.

Ah, well that sounds like a good idea.

Which part of the report would you like to discuss?

The digusting fascist racist bits, sir.

Strangely that part of the report seems to have been omitted from my copy, Habib.

I'm talking about his decision to make public

the statistic that street crime and mugging in the capital

are disproportionately committed by young black men.

And you disapprove of this statement?

Yes, I think he's being a-

- Yes, Habib? - Well I always try to be nice, sir.

So I'll just say, it rhymes with trucking tanker.

Kindly restrain your poetry, Habib.

I notice he didn't add that young black blokes

find it much more difficult to get a job.

Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

- I know, I know. - You do, Goody?

- So what is the answer? - Because it wanted to get to the other side.

Be quiet, Goody!

The chief constable can only report facts, Habib.

It is not his duty to enter into socio-political analysis

as to why those facts have come about.

- Give a dog a bad name... - We gave our dog a bad name-

Colin.

Terrible name.

You have no idea how many people are called Colin.

We'd go to the park, I'd shout, "come here, Colin,"

And 15 people would turn round.

And big people too, sir.

I mean, for some reason, it's the big lads that get called Colin.

I mean, I'd shout, "Colin, you're a bad boy.

I just saw you do a kaka

and now I'm going to rub your nose in it."

The next thing I knew, I'd wake up in an ambulance.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, excuse me, sir,

but aren't we wandering from the point?

Yes indeed we are. Well done, Goody.

Yes, because we were talking about chickens, not dogs.

No the point is-oh-ah...

What was the point?

Paul Condon demonizing the children of immigrants.

Exactly-no, no it is not.

Sir Paul Condon was in possession of certain facts.

Is he to withhold those facts because he doesn't like them?

He withholds plenty, sir.

I expect he's got an idea how many bent coppers there are in the met,

how many freemasons, but he doesn't think the public need to know about that.

We are discussing the problems of race, Habib.

The fact that the metropolitan force

seems to consist almost entirely of swaggering ill-mannered louts

who thinks that every officer stationed outside the M-25 has manuver on his trousers.

Rides a penny farthing and says "Who are my flower" instead of "Hello"

is irrelavant.

Sir Paul Condon can not-

Why are you sniggering, boy?

- I'm not sniggering, sir. - You are sniggering.

Well, I mean come on, sir. The bloke's name is Condon.

I don't see anything remotely amusing about that, Goody.

Oh come now, sir, I think you do.

No I don't, Goody.

But sir, it sounds exactly like "condom."

You can see them on the news, sir-

"the metropolitan police chief, sir Paul Condon..."

And you know that newsreader's thinking,

"I hope I don't say 'condom' I hope I don't say 'condom'..."

Be quiet, you imbecile.

- We are discussing racism. - Ooh, I know all about racism, sir.

My mother prepared me for it.

Ah, she explained to you the sad truth of irrational hatred.

No, she beat me and called me names.

Yes, thank you for sharing that with us, Gladstone.

Listen to 'em.

It gets right on my raving titties.

I mean I'm no racist, I don't mind people coming over here,

but when they do, they should be like us.

People don't want a load of weird customs and funny clothes.

Right, I put the hood on, see.

And I kiss the turkey with my head between my legs.

I'll show you, I'll squat on the desk to make it easier.

Now, I need a hood. I'll use the bag I brought the bird in.

It's a frozen one from Tina's freezer.

Okay...

You line up the fowl...

Well, I wouldn't kiss it if I were you, sir.

It's still a bit chilly, your lips might stick to its bum.

Well, breathe on it first.

What are you lot staring at?

We were just celebrating the rich diversity

of culture in our station.

I confess I had not expected to see it

quite so graphically illustrated.

Oh yeah, well I don't like culture.

- I beg your pardon? - Bleedin' ballet and opera,

especially when they spend lottery money on it.

Wasting the working man's bet

on fat screeching old bags from Italy

singing like they got piles,

or some bunch of scrawny bints in tutus

called Darcy and Tilda,

flashing their gussets at a lot of horny perverts.

Art? Culture? Staring at posh birds' knickers,

that's all "swan bleeding lake" boils down to.

They should use all the money

for kiddies with incurable diseases.

When me and my Tina buy our lottery ticket

out of the goodness of our heart-

And in the hope of winning £20 million.

Yes, and we want to know that by winning £20 million

we will be helping little kiddies.

Not haughty, hoity- stick-it-up-your-toity,

high-and-mighty, tight-nosed,

toffee-arsed, sun-dried-tomato-eating,

la-di-da-di la-di-dahs.

Yes, well let us hope that some of the lottery money

goes to aiding the incurably insane.

In which case you'll get your money back.

Habib is right about one thing-

The police cannot fight racism if we are racist ourselves.

It would be very much a matter of the pot calling the kettle...

Um...

Uh...

African-American.

So-how racist are we?

Well, in order to find out, I propose to be a Martian.

Imagine that I've just beamed down in my space podule and joined the police.

Excuse me, sir... If you just beamed down in your podule,

you wouldn't be joining anything

you'd be detained under the immigration act, and stuck in a transit camp.

I have applied for asylum.

There are 65,000 in front of you, and only one in 25 stand a chance.

What are your grounds?

I am a martian dissident, Habib,

who has incurred the displeasure of the martian authorities,

by protesting against the Americans

taking any more fuzzy photographs of our gaseous emissions.

If I return to Mars I will be murdered.

The home office will expect you to prove you'll be murdered, sir.

The normal method is to send you back

and if you get murdered, they'll admit you were telling the truth.

Yes, alright. Habib.

Great simmering sausages.

It's like sharing a police station with Lion Trodsky.

All right, I have beamed down in my podule,

applied for asylum,

been refused, taken refuge in a church,

and become the focus of a major protest campaign

funded by a charity concert performed by unpleasant comedians

who think it's clever to swear.

I have appealed against deportation and lost,

both in the high court and in the house of lords,

but won at the court of justice in the Hague.

I have married a sweet girl from Solihull

who did not object to my three enormous pulsating heads

with sticky out veins all over them,

I have settled in Gasforth, done my A-levels at night school,

bought a secondhand Datsun cherry and joined the police force.

Satisfied?

Well, it's not up to me, sir. It's up to the home office.

Well they are delighted.

Now, perhaps we can move on.

Try if you would, to picture your new colleague.

Martians, as we all know,

are green and called Zog.

I've already mentioned the three enormous heads,

add to this 15-inch long pulsating fingers,

multiple legs and a flashing belly button.

It's my first day in the service

and I'm about to enter the briefing room.

You'll have to imagine the multiple heads and the legs

and the flashing belly button.

Hello.

My name is constable Zog.

I'm patrolling the beat with you today.

I hope we shall be friends.

All right, Goody, what would be your reaction?

- I'm just trying to imagine it now. - Good, good.

These three heads-

Do you have a helmet on each one?

Yes, yes, if you like. Just greet me, boy, greet me.

Hello, hello, hello.

And so my point is illustrated.

Goody can only consider my shape.

Ah-not so, sir.

I'm also thinking about how green you are.

And that is not acceptable either. You must be color-blind.

You may call me a dirty swine.

But you may not call me a dirty green swine

why thank you, sir. You are a dirty swine.

Don't be cheeky, boy.

That is eady for you to say, Zog, you have six cheeks.

And I have't even started counting your bottom yet.

Look, look. You are considering only appearance.

Concentrating on the fact that I'm different from you.

Dustin. Yes, sir.

Could you forget about the fact that I'm green and have three heads?

I don't think I could, sir.

But, does that make me a racist?

Sir, I think you should be celebrating your greenness,

- not hoping that we'll ignore it. - Yes, you're right, Habib.

I must be more assertive. Right, here we go.

Hello, I'm Zog, I'm from Mars.

Get used to it.

Hello, hello, I'm Kevin from just outside Basingstoke,

and give me five, no give me 10, no 15, 20-

Yes all right, just sit down, Goody.

Sit down.

Now Goody...

Now Goody, this is my first day at work.

- I'm your new colleague- - welcome, welcome, welcome.

Thank you. You've got a cup of tea...

- Yes. - ...I've got three cups of cocoa.

Now, what friendly tips could you pass on to me?

- Absolutely honestly? - Yes.

Right, I'd say this-

Watch out for inspector Fowler, he's a grumpy old git

and given half a chance he'll whip your Curly Wurly.

Look, we are deviating from the point.

I'm simply trying to establish that all men,

be they Martian, Mauritian, or Mancunian,

- are born equal. - All men?

Huh! So this Martian is a sexist, is he?

Surprise, surprise.

Look, we are not talking about anybody's sex, Habib.

Sex with a Martian, sounds great to me.

Not to me. Three head saying,

"I've got a headache, I've got a headache, I've got a headache."

Mind you, those pulsating fingers sound all right.

This Martian is asexual, Habib.

A sexual machine if you ask me.

You said so yourself, sir, you've got veins popping out all over your head.

What have you got lurking between those multiple legs, sir?

Look, look, we are not discussing sex or sexism.

I merely stated that all men are created equal,

and by men, Habib, I mean of course,

men and persons of the opposite sex.

Opposite sex? I'm sorry, sir,

but defining one sex in terms of its position to the other

is sexism, on Earth, Mars, Saturn, or any other planet.

I've got a hilarious joke about Uranus.

No you don't, Goody. You know a pathetic pun about my anus.

I mean your anus.

I mean the planet with the rude name. Oh really, Habib,

look how you've confused the boy.

Sexism is sexism, sir.

Right.

Patricia, I require your support.

Constable Habib and I are discussing sexual positions.

And I want you to assure her that I know only one.

Well, there is no need to tell the whole world.

- And that is the upright one. - What?

In which men and women are interchangeable.

Raymond, what are you talking about?

Sexual discrimination, which is a scourge.

And I hope sergeant, that having lived with me for 11 years,

you can vouch for the fact that when it comes to women,

I'm not remotely discriminating.

Fowler, can you keep your fannying about down?

Police work is about villains, not isms.

And what ism ever mugged an old lady?

What ism ever robbed a bank?

What ism ever held a gun to someone's head?

Terrorism.

Yeah, all right.

And what ism ever threatened the security of the state?

Marxism.

What ism ever hurt anybody?

- Sadism. - Boyle!

Do you think they do a uniform in your size?

Isms are a very important part of police work, inspector Grim.

People of all races and sexual orientations

must feel at home at Gasforth police station.

White people, black people,

- heterosexuals... - Well of course, we're not bigots.

- ...Homosexualists- - steady on.

Yes. Gay sexuals should be able to serve her majesty

without fear of harassment.

Only if they are quite about it.

No, not if they are quite about it.

I believe that sexual relations are a diverse and many splendid thing.

Can't say I've noticed.

What is more, inoder that we might all become better educated and more tolerant,

I've arranged for an officer of the persuation under discussion

to come and speak to us.

- You haven't! - Yes, I have.

Well, I'm not talking to him. Why should I?

It's all part of this creeping, crawling,

poncey, namby, stick-it-up-your-pansy...

Pardon me for being a fascist,

but I don't happen to have time to discuss

interior design, quiche recipes

and Kylie Minogue hits with constable Whoopsie.

I have important police work.

The lodge master of my Todgers is coming to check me out

before my initiation test.

Yes, well I strongly disapprove of secret societies, Grim.

If a man cannot be proud of his allegiances,

and state them openly, then I fear they must be of questionable value.

You do not find me concealing my membership

of Gasforth amateur dramatic society

behind silly movements and trousers at half-mast.

Except of course, when we do "brigadoon."

Yeah, well when I'm a chief superintendent

at Scotland Yard, you'll be sorry.

If that day should ever dawn, inspector Grim,

we'll all be sorry.

Hello?

I'm Quinton. Detective Segeant Quinton Garvasier.

I think I'm expected.

Oh yes, of course. Ah ha, Welcome!

Welcome, welcome, welcome. Welcome, welcome, welcome.

And, don't think twice about being a homosexual.

Are you? Not that I've noticed.

Not that I care.

I do wish people would shut up about it. Shut up! Shut up!

I believe there is somebody around here that wishes to become one of us.

- Right, that's it. I'm off. - Stay where you are, inspector Grim.

Inspector Grim!

Ah, that's right.

Married, kids, "Penthouse" magazine in my briefcase.

Hello.

Little bird.

I am not your little bird!

There appears to be some sort of misunderstaging around here.

I was under the impression, that you wish to become a Todger, inspector Grim.

Raymond.

The anti-discrimination officer has just called. He is stuck in traffic.

No, wait! Sergeant, I didn't realize.

I've brought my own turkey. Everything.

Oh dear. He's dropped his jiblets.

Well, there we have a perfect illustration of everything I've been talking about.

Never judge people by appearances.

I'm not looking forward to nicking this illegal alien today.

I mean my parents are immigrants.

I understand your feelings, constable,

but your parents were legal, that's the point.

- And they are now British. - I'm British, sir.

But I've been told to go home many times.

"Britain for the British," people have said.

But I mean what is British?

Everyone's the child of an immigrant at some point...

- And most of them illegal. - Are they?

Well, yes, I mean if you go back far enough.

The Normans were illegal immigrants, weren't they?

Yes I suppose they were.

Do think they kept their wedding tackle inside their chain-mail?

No chance. William the conqueror?

More like William the bunkerer.

Yes, yes.

Do you know I've often wondered why

king William was called William.

What?

Well, everyone else in his army was called Norman.

Constable Gladstone made a good point.

The appalling truth is, I've got a bit of frenchman in me.

Well, if we're talking about illegal immigrants,

what about the Vikings? It wasn't just their helmets that were horny.

And before them there was the Romans.

Those latin lovers were here for 300 years.

How do you think they passed the time?

Latin declension?

Have it off, have it up, have it often.

Be quiet, Habib.

Really, you girls today, you're worse than the lads.

This country's always been absorbing different cultures, different tribes.

- Immigration is nothing new. - Yes, that's true.

Although invaders have tended to steer clear of the Scots.

Nobody wanted to go there, I suppose.

Boiled oats and sheep stomach

are scarcely likely to appeal to the French or Italians, are they?

And they're certainly hard fighters.

If you live in a country where the thistles are waist-high

an nobody's invented trousers, you're going to toughen up a bit, aren't you?

Oh well, like it or not, sir,

Britain is a melting pot.

My mother says I have a bit of Spanish in me

because of my lovely hair and long lashes.

And also she had a rather interesting holiday in Tormelinos in 1973

yes, well none of this relieves us

of a very difficult duty. Come on, everybody.

Ha, the police. So, you have come.

I'm sorry, sir, you'll have to come with us.

What are you doing? You can't do this.

- Hey- - Stay where you are, sir.

I'm sorry, I have my duty.

- Habib and Goody, put him in the van. - Yes, sir.

- But this is an outrage! - Come along, sir.

Uh, the arrest was carried out swiftly

and without resort to force.

The most demanding of civil libertarians

could not have failed to be satisfied.

Well done, Raymond, an excellent piece of work.

You know, I think we need to schedule

some private meetings to discuss your future.

After all,

we haven't had a private meeting since school.

Do you think your hands will have warmed up by now...

Feely?

Sir, I'm afraid this gentlemen wants to have a word.

Ah, here he is.

This is our illegal asylum seeker.

I don't think so, inspector.

Our man's white, he's from Chechnya.

Who's this?

My name is Mustafa Dalcroix,

european commissioner for human rights

and a French national.

A Frenchman?

In my station?

You - you British, uh?

No wonder we all hate you.

Your chocolate isn't chocolatey enough,

your bananas are too long and bendy,

you insist on eating prawn cocktail crisps

despite the fact that we have told you not to.

And now it turns out that your policemen

think all black people are illegal immigrants.

Whoops.

I intend to lodge a full report

on this appalling display of bigotry and ignorance.

- Au revoir. - - Monsieur Dalcroix-

We have a grant application.

This appalling racist will be fully disciplined.

Oh, what a dreadful error.

We all make mistakes, sir.

Nothing I could do could make amends for a day like this.

There's always my horny dilemma.

You could have a stab at that.

Yes, you're right, Patricia.

I don't care how we came by this information,

our duty is to protect the public,

and great thundering thyroids, that's what we're going to do.

Let's get the swine.

Fly, turkey, fly!

Approach the fowl.

- Raymond! - Inspector Grim,

this is supposed to be a secret initiation,

you can't invite your friends.

Close the turkey's legs,

it's bottom shall not be kissed tonight.

Oh, what a strange and dispiriting day.

I got everything wrong.

The homesexual officer turned out to be a Todger.

The illegal alien turned out to be the European Commisioner for Human Rights.

And the battered wife, turned out to be Grim.

You did you best, Raymond, that's all you can do.

Oh, but my best isn't good enough.

I can't seem to get anything right.

Well see how you go with this one-

Between me and the mayoress,

who do you find most exciting?

Why Patricia, what an absurd question.

You of course. How could it be otherwise?

What about between me and a plate of bread and butter pudding?

Hmmm.

Would that be with custard, or without custard?

Well I'll cover myself in custard if you like,

but you've got to promise to take your bed socks off.