Um, well, we met at university, so we've been together 20 years.
And in that time I don't think we've spent a single night apart.
I've got absolutely no idea who she is. Sorry.
No-one suits white jeans. Yup.
Pigs can be toilet trained. Right you are.
Mick Hucknall feels under-appreciated.
Send him over a house plant.
China's a bit of a worry. Well, try not to think about it.
You've just stepped in dog shit. Good.
You don't need to keep melons in the fridge. OK.
IN GERMAN:
Wooden floors are coming back. I can't hear what you're saying.
Charisma is everything. I am what I am, Sheila.
You're two minutes off your personal best.
Yaarrrrrgh!
You join me at the Plantin Press Museum in Antwerp
to view an extraordinary invention.
An invention that changed the world.
The printing press.
It seems simple enough,
but by rearranging the individual pieces of type,
it became possible to print en masse
and thus disseminate any idea that could be framed by man.
The blocks themselves, each one a priceless artefact in its own right,
were delicately and intricately hand-carved in reverse,
from the finest ebony.
Fortunately, given their almost inestimable value,
they remain preserved all around us.
Now, the machine we see here is nearly 450 years old
but I'm told it still works today
and I am privileged indeed
to have been granted permission to print myself a page of text.
It looks so easy to work. Well, it is easy to work.
One simply places the paper...
...like so.
Inserts the fascia under the print head.
Then, um, one takes this arm...
and...one takes this arm and pulls as hard as one can.
Yes, I was told very hard, though one wants to be careful not to, er...
Yes, these machines are deceptively robust,
built by craftsmen to a standard rather than a price.
The, er, the trick is to pull...
To pull.
Give it a firm yank.
A jolt, maybe? A vigorous jolt to free the mechanism.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
(GEORDIE ACCENTS) Fierce!
Tonight we're camping out and living off the land.
That's right, dude!
Now, we were planning to roast a rabbit over an open fire,
but we haven't been able to light the fire.
Plus, we haven't caught a rabbit and Rory's feeling a bit tired.
Plus, my feet are getting a bit wet.
But then I remembered that my mam owns a holiday cottage near here.
It doesn't even matter if she's not in
because the next-door neighbour's got a key.
Mine's a slice of Victoria sponge with a doily
and a glass of Crabbie's ginger wine!
Let's make it happen, bro! Come on!
Ah, good evening ladies and gentlemen.
Now, I'm sure Fyffe here would forgive me if I told you that
he is an expert at dreaming up "get rich quick" schemes. Is that fair, Fyffe?
Absolutely spot-on.
And what manner of goose is currently laying your prospective golden eggs?
Well, it's a form of legal high that's proving very popular in the clubs.
Oh. Sounds intriguing.
And if it slips under the legislative radar for another year,
I shall be a millionaire!
And as far as the revenue is concerned, he's just a horticulturalist
who gets through a hell of a lot of rooting powder. Hmm.
Which, funnily enough, is becoming its nickname on the club scene.
Well, what they don't know... Keep up!
What they don't know won't hurt 'em.
And that, funnily enough, is what this next song is all about.
# I woke the other morning from a nightmare
# In which I swore on my own life I'd never lie
# But I knew before I'd folded up my nightwear
# That if I took on such an oath I'd surely die
# I don't believe I'm more than averagely mendacious
# It's just the truth exists in several shades of grey
# If I wish to remain popular and gracious, there must be
# A gulf twixt what I mean and what I say
# You see, I say I'm doing this when I'm really doing that
# He leaves home every morning in his suit and bowler hat
# When in fact my morning meeting's with my homeboys at the track
# 'Cause it's three years next November since the day he got the sack
# I did a course in wine tasting
# He swallows, never spits
# I read National Geographic
# Looks at tribal women's bits
# Checking e-mails Online poker
# Fresh air A crafty fag
# And the lav is just a bolt hole where I read the daily rag... #
He's had a colostomy bag for years. Mrs F has no idea.
# I say I'm doing that when I'm really doing this
# His evening class in French was simply cover for a tryst
# I smoke herbal cigarettes... # A crack pipe.
# And I never miss a chance to walk the dog
# Well, I'm sure you get the gist
# The gym... ...is euphemistic
# Client meetings... Never that
# If he says he's doing yoga... I'll be standing at the back
# And if he says he's in the attic putting lagging round the tank
# I'm merely shinning up the ladder for a surreptitious... #
(CONTINUOUS TONE)
That was a fantastic swim. Now, quick as you can, let's get dressed
then straight up to the restaurant for lunch.
Can we have burgers and chips? Tell you what,
you help Mike get dressed, you can have anything you like.
And please dry your hair, I don't want anyone catching a cold.
Oh, what the...? Shit! What?
All our clothes have gone. Someone's stolen our stuff!
Are you sure it's ours? Well, that's your shoe, isn't it?
Oh, great!
It's my phone, my credit card, my wallet, I had 200 quid in cash in there!
Not to mention our clothes!
What are we going to do? Well, I don't know, do I?!
Oh, look, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, guys. It's just... Agh!
This isn't funny, but it did actually happen to a friend of mine, so...
No, Debs, no. You tell him from me that if he can't work it out for himself,
I will come over there and, by God, I will rip him a new one!
Problem?
My godson, he's having trouble transferring a CD into iTunes.
What the Keith Sweat is happening here?
I had to sleep in the shop last night.
In your suit? No, no. These are me PJs.
Yeah, Cheryl Three kicked me out,
says she's going to the bloody lawyer for a divorce.
Ah, shittlesticks!
Apparently we don't communicate any more.
I mean, for God's sake, I'm always communicating at her.
But a lot of the time where women say all this stuff about communication,
underneath it all they're not happy about the carpet situation in the hall,
or maybe on the landing.
It can be very hard for couples to discuss the flooring situation
when there's so many strong emotions flying around.
I don't think so, Ken.
Sensitive subject, so please tell me to forget me toothbrush,
but how are things in the bedroom department?
Good. Turning a nice profit. We've got some great mark-ups
on these little...pocket-sprung queen sizes.
What about sex with Cheryl?
I'm not sure I wanna go there, Ken. Ah, come on Phil.
Sex is the battlefield of any relationship.
I was reading one of Shoneesha's magazines the other day
and do you know what it told me was the most erotic part of the body?
I think I know this one, Ken. It's the tits.
No, Phil, it's the brain.
What? That is disgusting.
I would never, ever have relations with a woman's brain.
What do I know? I'm just the messenger.
No, maybe I'll be better off on my own, you know,
maybe that's me lot, three Cheryls and out.
I'm only 63.
That still means I can go out with women who are what? 29? 30?
Sure, yeah, 28, 29.
Yeah, 27, 28, that's about right, isn't it?
Yeah. 25, 26, 27.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. 19? Why not?
Why not? Mind you, if Shoneesha told me she was leaving me,
it'd be like someone taking away 12 to 13 per cent of me carpet stock.
Wow, Ken, I've never heard you talk like this before.
Well, that's how much she means to me. What you've got to work out
is what percentage of beds, undiscounted mind you,
you'd put as a value on Cheryl Three,
because that's what you're going to lose.
Before tax.
You're right, Ken. I can't afford to lose another Cheryl.
No. I'm gonna find her,
grab her by the shoulders, tell her to shut up and cut the crap.
And then I'll ask her to do me the honour
of getting VAT registered together.
That's it. Help me off with my PJs, Ken.
There's a zip round the back.
Ah, yeah, got it.
Scritti Politti! You're like a multi-fibre flat weave back here!
(ON TV) 'And in other news today, a plane crash near Heathrow has meant
'that 3,000 people cannot get to their required destinations on time.
'It may take up to three weeks...' PHONE RINGS
'...to get all the necessary flights available
'to the other on-going destinations. In sport...'
Arrh?
Who?
Black Tom Teach? No. No, no.
No, there's no-one here of that name.
He sails no more, I tell you. Now, don't call back.
Who was that? No-one.
It better be no-one.
If I hear you've been pirating again, Tom Teach,
there gonna be big trouble. Big trouble, you hear me?
Yes, dear.
'And this just in.
'The M27 has been closed near Portsmouth
'after a lorry has overturned,
'spilling a consignment of rare Spanish doubloons
'across two lanes of the eastbound carriageway.
'The coins are believed to date back to the 14th century
'and their value has been estimated at a sum of £8 million.'
MUSIC: "Colonel Bogey March"
PLUMMY ACCENTS
Have you got all, like, sand up your crack and this, that and the other?
Yeah, man, it's mega scratchy on all my region and business.
You know what I mean, it's harsh.
You know something, blud? What is it, me military bredren?
I reckon that Welsh guy was really cross with us.
You mean Japanese guy.
Whatever.
Yeah, but anyway, that Japanese guy was well vexed-up with us
when we said we wouldn't build his bridge, or whatever it is.
Yeah, because he did all shouting.
And then he buried us. Like a potato, or that other vegetable you get.
Super Noodles? Yeah.
He needs to get over himself, man.
We can't build no bridge or escalator or whatever it is,
cos it's against health and safety.
You know what I mean?
That building site's contravening so many kinds of legislation and shit
and I'm not even lying.
Yeah, man, bamboo stepladders are retarded.
You know what?
I is gonna go up council, yeah? The Burma borough council?
I'm going to see whoever the guy is there, the safety bitch,
and then the Japanese army is going to get, like, a really substantial fine.
Like, really substantial.
Like it, nice one, sorted, nang, cool, bless, grimey.
So you know dinner time, yeah?
The time you have all your dinner or tea or some shit like that?
Dinner time? Right?
You know that, yeah, that time? Time for your dinner?
Dinner time? Yeah?
So when it's, like, dinner time, right, how's that gonna work?
Is some geezer going to feed us with a spoon,
like they have to with your nan in the home and all this?
I don't think we're getting no dinner, blud.
Seriously, though, what happens at dinner time?
No, man, we don't get no dinner. They leave us out here
in the scorching sun to starve and burn and dehydrate.
That is massively unfair.
Massively.
So shall we say we're gonna build their bridge, then?
No way.
We is gonna take the burning sun, man, cos our cause is just.
Well said, me fam.
And also... Yeah?
We is gonna save so much money at the tanning salon, isn't it?
Isn't it, though? Isn't it?
Orangey.
FRENCH ACCORDION MUSIC
Ah! Greetings, unbetrothed available young lady.
Allow me to introduce myself to myself, Simpkins of the France.
Yes, I wish very much to practise my English.
I am living here in the Paris since the six months
and my mother's tongue has completely dried up.
I'm sorry, I'm actually waiting for someone.
Again one time? I'm waiting for someone.
Sorry, it's just sort of sounds. Sorry.
I'm waiting for my boyfriend.
Bleb, bleb, bleb, bleb, bleb bleb, no idea.
I think I'm just going to head off.
But yes, of course. Let's ourselves go to ourselves.
I shall show you the real Paris.
SPEAKS FRENCH:
Pleased to meet you to myself. I am Simpkins of the France.
Hey, Man from Del Monte!
Why don't you take your primary school satchel
and your big, fat, unwashed English arse
and piss off back
to the shit TEFL backstreet school you undoubtedly came from?
Can you lend me 20 euros?
Yes, so there is a part of me that wonders
quite how I've ended up in this situation, um,
running an organic soup company with the bloke who killed my mum.
We also make porridge.
Come on, ladies, smile with your hips,
smile with them.
Ah!
The blood-lust rises, Horschstadt, it cries out to be sated.
Fear not, Pharius.
I was assured this would be the perfect venue for seduction.
Where did you read such exaggerations?
Bella.
Oh!
Did you know that there are as many calories in a navel orange
as there are in two fingers of Kit Kat?
But what spoke it of this soiree?
I was told of glamorous women, enervated by Latin abandon,
blood heated to the point of delirium.
It painted it to be some kind of modern-day bacchanal orgy.
WHOOPING
Hmm.
Do you recall the masked ball at Versailles?
Ah, le grand fete of 1748.
I seduced the Duchesse de Besancon and her sister,
and her niece, if I remember rightly, which I do.
To think that I, Pharius the Dread, have just attempted a cha-cha-cha
with Joan whose cousin was once on Going For Gold.
Well, a glimmer of hope?
She owns something called "a static caravan".
It doesn't even move.
'Ere y'are you two, don't be such wallflowers!
You have skin like the finest alabaster,
pure, immutable...
exquisite.
Polish?
You 'ere for the fruit picking?
Madam, would you do me the great honour of a turn around the floor?
Go on, then, but we'll have to be quick, 'cause my bus leaves in ten minutes.
Well, then, perhaps after we have danced, I could accompany you
through the settling darkness on the lonely walk to the bus shelter.
Via the kebab van?
Twist me arm. Go on, then.
WIND WHISTLES
Arreeeba!
Arses! Forgot the bins!
I say!
Look... Oh! Bastard!
Oh! Brilliant!
Oh, he is lovely, he is so lovely! How much you say this one is?
He's £35, madam, a French Lop.
And you can keep him indoors?
Fine to keep him indoors, yes.
They actually prefer a centrally-heated environment.
Oh, I love this one, he's lovely, absolutely lovely. I love him already.
Little cuddly rabbit. Don't you agree, Tom?
Tom!
Well, today is shaping up to be one of the more controversial days
in the Queen's reign.
She is honouring the invitation
to despotic African leader, Maxwell Bugana,
to attend a state dinner at Buckingham Palace.
Now, we can't make contact
with our Chief Political Correspondent in Zapoto at the moment,
but to discuss this very thorny issue is our Royal Correspondent, Terry Devlin.
Um, a lot of people very angry at the Queen's decision.
Do you think she'll be aware of the implications
of having a leader of a murderous regime at the Royal table?
NORTHERN IRISH ACCENT: Well, I'm in no doubt
that Her Majesty the Queen Elizabeth
of the United Kingdom, of these Home Nations,
Queen Regnant of the Commonwealth Realms, of course,
will be aware of the magnitude of the implications, either fully,
partially, wholly, fractionally, totally, or perhaps if you like, not at all.
Hmm, yeah, er...
Let's move on to the banquet. Ordinarily,
Royal protocol would demand a minimum of seven courses,
but there have been rumours of a reduced menu,
which could be interpreted as a...
well, shall we say a slight towards Mr Bugana. What's your view?
Oh, well, a reduced menu could mean any number of things, Jeremy.
It could mean anything from the full traditional seven courses,
all the way down to six, five, four, possibly three,
I'm not going to rule out two and, gone to me head, one.
If I were a betting man, though, I'd say anything from three to six.
Or seven, not including rolls.
No, no, no, see, what I'm trying to ascertain is
whether it'll be, if you like, the full state banquet,
or a more token affair reflecting the dubious status of Mr Bugana.
You know, what will it entail?
Oh, well, that's of course a very, very complex issue, Jeremy,
and very hard to know for sure.
A crescent of crisps may well be laid out.
Dips, dips, very a la mode nowadays.
But regarding the menu,
I think it's fair to assume that chicken will play a role there.
Although whether that be in a Coronation or a mini Kiev capacity,
I'd be loath to commit.
I'd also imagine that over the years
the Royal banquets have featured beasts of the field.
I'm talking beef, I'm talking lamb, I'm talking pork.
Or am I? Is that applicable here? Or goat, of course.
Venison, maybe. And naturally the sausage, maybe in the guise of a salami,
or just the good old honest, straight up and down banger
that you and I and so many countless thousands are familiar with ourselves.
Yeah, yeah, I...
I'm sorry to interrupt you, I'm just hearing that our link is back up
and we can go over live to our Chief Political Correspondent,
who's just managed to get across the border into Zapoto
and is waiting to speak to us on the satellite phone.
Or cheese or bread, I mean, no limit there.
Mr Bugana could quite literally keep coming back for more, couldn't he?
Cheese or bread. Paul, I understand
you've just experienced some guerrilla fire?
Petit fours!
Time for another coffee?
Hmm. You're not going to be late?
Oh!
Where's Ben?
Cutting it fine, as usual.
Afternoon!
Have a lovely day, sweetheart.
There's some lasagne in the fridge if I'm not back in time for tea.
Yeah, I'd better get going as well. Wait.
Call me.
No, wait!
Sit down.
What is it?
I need to talk to you
and nobody ever has time to talk about anything in this house.
OK. Yeah.
We're listening. What's on your mind?
I need to... I just...
What, Ben?
What is it, sweetie? You're scaring us.
I'm gay.
And I need you to know, because...
it's who I am and you're my parents
and I need you to be involved in my life.
Oh, Ben, my poor baby.
I love you, Mum.
I love you too. I love you so much.
I don't believe it.
Dad?
I forgot to put the bins out.
Bollocks!
Right, so...
that's a vodka and pineapple juice for Inez.
Oh, thank you, thank you, Jamie, you are so kind.
And that's a rum for Tom.
Arrh!
Right, who's going to write? Tom?
Oh, no, no, no, you don't want Tom to write, he cannot write neatly.
A monkey could do it better, truly.
Oh, go on, Tom. I'm sure you can manage.
Right, well, Jamie's good on sport, I can do literature and telly.
She's better at the telly.
It's nice to all come out together, isn't it, Tom?
HE GRUNTS We do well as team, I think?
Question one. Which novelty hit kept Ultravox's Vienna
from the number one spot in 1981?
LOUD BANG
Oh, you'd better take the plastic off so it's just paper in there.
Yeah, but then leaflets and stuff will fall out and blow everywhere.
I mean, you know, it's just thin plastic, it'll be fine.
Stop!
Putting your supplement in the paper recycling
without removing the plastic sleeve is a criminal offence.
We're putting a lid on recycling box crime.
We're watching you with our cameras, our vans, our helicopters,
our satellites and our network of informants.
We're closing in, because if you put supplements in the paper recycling
without removing the plastic sleeve...
POLICE SIREN Excuse me, sir.
The next sleeve you see could be on a prison uniform.
Recycling. Think inside the box.
GRUNTING:
Argh.