Uh…
Well…
-Good morning. -Good morning.
-Right. Can I help you?
Yes, your face, my arse.
No, I said, “Can I help you?”
Oh, I see. Yes, I'd like some information, please.
-Yes. -Well?
-Well what? -I'd like some information, please.
-Yes, but what sort of information would you like? -Well, what sorts have you got?
-I beg your pardon? -What sorts of information have you got?
-Well, we have all sorts. -Such as?
Such as the average weight of an adult rabbit.
Blimey, I never knew that.
-You never knew what? -I never knew rabbits had an average weight.
-Oh, yes, they do. -You got any other information?
Yes, but you have to ask me questions, you see.
-Oh, and then you'll tell me the answers? -That's right.
If I ask the questions. Right.
-Right. What's the name… -Yes?
What's the name of the man who taught me English at school?
-I'm afraid that really isn't the kind of thing… -Ah! Ah! Yeah, here you are.
All right, his name was Colin Drip.
That's right.
Drippy you used to call him.
Drippy. God, that takes me back a bit.
Oh, now, yeah, there was a bloke in our class, what was his name… Uh…
Adams, Attersham, Bennet, Connor, Fredericks, Hodson…
Oh, Hodson! That's it, Ned Hodson.
Cor blimey, he used to drive old Drippy up the wall.
-Do you know what he used to do? -Yes.
I wonder what happened to him.
He married a girl called Susan Trite and they now live in Fenton, near Worcester.
-I don't think I ever met her. -Yes, you did.
July 4th, 1972, on top of a number 29 bus going down the Garboldisham Road.
She told you about the Bay City Rollers
and you were in love with her until the following Wednesday.
You've got quite a lot of information, then?
We do try to provide a service. Anything else?
Yes. Um, ahem…
-can you tell me… -Yes?
Can you tell me how to be happy?
-How to be happy? -How to be happy.
I'm afraid that information is restricted.
-But you do have it? -Oh, yes.
-But it's restricted? -That's right.
-Contented? -Yes, thank you.
No, have you got any information on how to be contented?
Oh, I see. Yes, we do have information on that.
-Well, can I have it, please? -I'm afraid it is a secret.
-Oh, go on. -All right.
The secret of contentment is…
Yes?
Not to ask any questions.
Oh, well…
I, um… I haven't actually met her, of course.
It's one of my, one of my biggest regrets in many ways, matter of fact.
Oh, one of those news ones that gets black and white.
Um, but I was away on business when we got married
and, um, we've both been so frantically busy since then.
It doesn't have to be like this, you know.
I know what she looks like, of course.
-And the vehicle does belong to you, does it, sir? -Yes.
-Were you driving it at the time? -Uh, yes, I was, yes.
All right. If I could just have your name, please, sir.
Right. Hold on a second.
-Ready? -Yes.
My name is Derek…
What are you doing?
That's my name.
-What is? -This. Derek…
What?
Derek…
is your name?
Yes.
What kind of name is that?
Well, it's my name.
Bit unusual, isn't it, Mr…?
If I had a pound for every time someone had said that to me…
Um, how do you spell…
Mr…?
It's as it sounds.
-Yeah, but if you wouldn't mind spelling it for me. -I mean, can't you…
I would be very grateful if you would spell it for me.
All right, then.
N-I-P-P
L hyphen E.
Nipple.
-Beg your pardon? -Nipple.
Nipple? Where? What are you talking about?
N-I-P-P-L-E…
-Hyphen E. -Hyphen E.
In my book spells “nipple”. It does not spell…
Have you gone mad? What are you talking about?
I thought the modern policeman
was supposed to be a highly-trained law enforcement unit.
You can't even spell.
All right, Mr Nipple, if I can have your address, please.
Address, please?
-Are you talking to me? -Yes.
-You wanna know my address? -Yes.
Or do you want to know Mr Nipple's address?
Your address, please.
My address, right. My address is number 22…
King's Lynn.
-Watch it. -What?
-Just watch it. -Watch what, for heaven's sake?
You do realise that assaulting a police officer is a very serious offence.
Yes, I imagine it probably is. Very Serious.
But giving your address to a policeman, on the other hand, isn't so serious.
Or is it? Perhaps the law's changed since I last looked.
Perhaps the Home Secretary has had to take stern measures against the rising tide
of people giving their address to policemen whenever they're asked.
All right. All right.
Let's just check this with you, shall we, Mr…?
Yes?
Your address is 22…
King's Lynn?
Oh, no, no. What's the matter with you?
It's 22…
King's Lynn.
Oh, I'm sorry. I thought it was 22…
-King's Lynn. -Well, it isn't.
-I can't read my own handwriting. -Well, get a typewriter.
Well, if only we could afford a typewriter, sir.
Do you know, it's funny, from some angles, it looks like 22…
King's Lynn.
That was too…
Yeah, well, like you say, sir, we should get a typewriter.
That was too hard.
Well, you must admit, difficult address to get the hang of, isn't it?
Never mind the frigging sketch! That was too hard. That really hurt.
Aw, diddums.
He's just a child, really.
From another angle, it might easily look like a liquid.
Until you drink it.
So let's talk instead about flexibility of language. Linguistic elasticity, if you like.
Yes. I think I said earlier that our language, English…
-As spoken by us. -As we speak it, yes, certainly. Defines it.
Um, we are defined by our language, if you will.
Hello, we're talking about language.
Um, perhaps I can illustrate my point. Let me at least try.
Um, here's a question.
Um…
-Oh, what is it? -Ah! Well, my question is this.
Is our language, English, capable…
Is English capable of sustaining demagoguery?
-Demagoguery? -Demagoguery.
And by demagoguery you mean…?
-By demagoguery, I mean demagoguery. -I thought so.
I mean, um,
highly charged oratory, persuasive, whipping-up rhetoric.
Listen to me, listen to me.
If Hitler had been British,
would we, under similar circumstances, have been moved, charged up, fired up
by his inflammatory speeches, or would we simply have laughed?
Is English too ironic to sustain Hitlerian styles?
Would his language simply have rung false in our ears?
We're talking about things ringing false in our ears.
Um, may I compartmentalise? I hate to, but may I? May I?
Is our language a function
of our British cynicism, tolerance, resistance to false emotion, humour and so on,
or do those qualities come extrinsically,
extrinsically,
from the language itself? It's a chicken and egg problem.
We're talking about chickens, we're talking about eggs.
Um, let me start a leveret here.
There's language and there's speech.
Um, there's… There's chess,
and there's a game of chess.
Mark the difference for me, mark it, please.
We've moved on to chess.
Imagine a piano keyboard, um,
88 keys, only 88, and yet, and yet,
hundreds of new melodies, new tunes, new harmonies are being composed
upon hundreds of different keyboards everyday in Dorset alone.
Now, our language, tiger, our language,
hundreds of thousands of available words,
frillions of legitimate new ideas,
so that I can say the following sentence and be utterly sure that nobody
has ever said it before in the history of human communication,
“Hold the newsreader's nose squarely, waiter,
“or friendly milk will countermand my trousers.”
Perfectly ordinary words,
but never before put in that precise order.
A unique child delivered of a unique mother.
And yet, oh, and yet,
we all of us spend all our days
saying to each other the same things time after weary time.
“I love you”, “Don't go in there”, “Get out”, “You have no right to say that”,
“Stop it”, “Why should I?”, “That hurt”, “Help”, “Marjorie is dead”.
Hmm?
That surely is a thought to take out for a cream tea on a rainy Sunday afternoon.
So, to you, language is more than just a means of communication?
Oh, of course it is, of course it is, of course it is, of course it is.
Um, language is my mother, my father, my husband, my brother, my sister,
my whore, my mistress, my check-out girl.
Language is a complimentary moist lemon-scented cleansing square
or handy freshen-up wipette.
Um, language is the breath of God.
Language is the dew on a fresh apple.
It's the soft rain of dust that falls into a shaft of morning light
as you pluck from an old bookshelf a half-forgotten book of erotic memoirs.
Um…
Language is the creak on a stair, it's a spluttering match held to a frosted pane,
it's a half-remembered childhood birthday party.
It's the warm, wet, trusting touch of a leaking nappy.
Uh, the hulk of a charred panzer,
the underside of a granite boulder,
the first downy growth on the upper lip of a Mediterranean girl.
Uh, it's cobwebs long since overrun by an old Wellington boot.
Night-night.
♫ America
♫ America, America, America, America
♫ America
♫ America, America, America, America
♫ The States
♫ America
♫ America ♫
Well, thank you. That was the Unmistakable Sound.
All right, now, uh,
my next guest wrote his first novel way back in 1972,
uh, the year of flares, Suzi Quatro, the Glitter Band, all that stuff.
He's been writing ever since, got a new one coming out now.
He's a bit of a cult dude with the Sapporo and sashimi set.
So let's now say a big hi to Richard Morley.
Richard, hi. Sit down.
Uh, take the weight off your paragraphs.
Uh, now, this novel, uh, what's it called?
Um, well, the novel I've just written is called The Emperor of Disgust.
Emperor of Disgust? Well, that sounds pretty heavy.
-Heavy? -Um, so, what's it about?
Well, haven't you read it?
Well, I mean, for the viewers at home. Obviously, they haven't read it.
Well, how can they have done? It isn't published till tomorrow, is it, eh?
Well, it's not very easy to describe the plot exactly 'cause it's quite complicated.
Yeah, high-brow stuff, I'll bet. So, where's it set?
Set? Well, ahem…
It's in a number of, you know, different countries over several centuries.
Yeah, yeah.
-Basically… -Tell me, do you use a word processor?
It's something I've always wanted to know about writers.
You know, do you use a pencil, pen, typewriter, what?
-I do use a word processor, yes. -Yeah, yeah.
I used to use a typewriter but I discovered that…
Yeah, how many novels have you had, in fact, actually published?
Well, The Emperor of Disgust will be my seventh novel.
Seventh? So you take it pretty seriously, then?
-Well, yes, I do. Yes, I take it very seriously. -Yeah.
-It's my living, you see. It's my job. -Yeah.
Where do you get your characters from? Real life?
Well, I suppose, it's sort of an amalgam, in a ways.
You gonna put me in one of your books, are you?
Well, I think might, actually, yes.
-Yeah? -Yes.
I have to say, I think you're one of the most repellent
and flatulent-minded people I've ever met.
In many respects, ideal fodder for a novelist.
I don't know what you're laughing at. I find you vapid, irrelevant and a waste.
Yeah, now, seriously, Richard…
I am being serious. I am being serious, you repulsive ball of spittle.
And who told you you could call me Richard, hm?
You know, I mean, you're rotting in hell and you haven't the first idea about it, have you?
-Now, uh, your last book… -My last book?
You don't know anything about any of the books I've written,
except what that daffy researcher you sent round tells you.
Your head is so filled of pappy drivel
and greasy bigotry and, you know, crash-brash ignorance,
there's not room in it left for a single idea, is there?
This is brilliant.
Oh, it's brilliant, is it? I suppose, it's good television, is it?
I suppose it shows you at the cutting edge of dangerous broadcasting.
Well, let me tell you, I find you about as dangerous as a chocolate Hob Nob.
Look at you, sitting there like a fat, smug…
Fat smug… Oh, I forgot the next bit now.
-How… -No, no.
Um, look, Vince, we go live on air in 10 minutes.
-He's supposed to know this, come on. -I'm sorry…
-Let's have the script, script. Come on. -I'm sorry.
Ten minutes, come on.
-Oh, yes. -“The fat, smug git…”
-“Who's just won a BAFTA.” -Who's just won a BAFTA, right.
Look at you sitting there like a fat, smug git who's just won a BAFTA.
-Yeah. Have you any idea. -Have you any idea
how degrading and demeaning to the human spirit
-people like you are? -People like you really are.
All right, I'll ask you, you know, where the book's on sale, how much it costs.
Er… then we'll play you out. After that's a bit of chat, blah-di-blah-di-blah.
Then what's next?
Hello, Control.
Oh, hello, Tony.
How are you today?
Very well, thank you, as it happens, Control.
Good.
Yes.
So, what can I do you for?
Well, this just came through Flash from Berlin, sir.
I thought perhaps you might like to take a look at it.
Flash from Berlin, eh? Yes, perhaps I better had.
We've got quite a few important agents in Berlin, haven't we?
-So it might be something quite urgent, I expect. -Yes.
I see Valerie has decoded it for me. That's very kind of her.
Saves me quite a lot of work. I must remember to thank her.
That would certainly be a nice gesture, sir.
Well, I don't know if you had a chance to glance at this
before thoughtfully bringing it in to me, Tony.
But, uh,
it's quite an urgent communication from Firefly, our network chief in Berlin.
Yes, I did just have time to glance at the code name.
Firefly is under deep cover.
Has something quite important happened to make him break it?
Yes, I'm afraid it has.
It seems as if the entire network has been penetrated by an enemy agent.
Oh, no.
I'm afraid so.
It seems that Glow-worm was shot trying to escape into the West.
Firefly himself is holed up in a safe house somewhere towards the east of that city.
-So the whole network's been blown? -I'm afraid so.
It's a thundering nuisance.
It really is. Thundering.
Yes, I'm severely vexed, I don't mind telling you.
I expect a coffee would come in welcome, then.
-Well, it couldn't hurt, could it? -No, not one.
I'll get Valerie onto it.
That's ever so kind of you, Tony.
Let's hope it's not gonna be another one of those days, eh, Control?
Like Thursday.
Oh, that's all we need. I don't know.
-See you then, Tony. -Bye.
I wouldn't suck it.
What are you doing?
What on earth are you doing?
-What do you mean? -What is that cloth cap there for?
-Well, it's for the money. -Money?
What money? What are you talking about? What are you doing?
Well, I'm busking, ain't I?
Busking? Busking? What busking? Busking what?
Well, I play the mouth organ and people give me money.
They give you money?
People give you money?
For playing the mouth organ like that?
They actually give you money? They pay you?
Well, some of them do. There's no harm in that.
No harm in that?
“No harm in that,” he says.
You sit there sprawled against a paving stone,
blowing through spittle,
and people actually pay you? It's unbelievable.
Oh, look, if you don't like it, you don't have to listen or give me anything, you know.
Not like it? How could I like it? It's the most pathetic noise I've ever heard.
And people give you money for it?
Well, it's kindness as well, isn't it? They're just being kind.
Just being kind? Just being kind? What do you mean, just being kind?
If they were just being kind, they'd put a bullet through your head, wouldn't they?
That's what I'd call being kind. Put you out of your misery.
You're very insulting, you know.
Yes, I know. Of course I'm insulting.
I'm very insulting indeed.
Especially to smelly, squalid poor people who can't play the harmonica properly.
We share the same planet. Why can't you let me be?
Share the same planet?
Have you gone mad? Share the same planet?
What are you talking about?
The planet I inhabit is full of fast cars,
restaurants, holidays in Barbados and fine wines.
Your planet is full of bottles of meths,
howling harmonicas and grimy doss houses.
It's not the same planet at all. How dare you suggest otherwise?
Well, you may not think it's the same planet, but it is. You couldn't have one without the other.
Couldn't have one without the other? What are you talking about?
-Are you saying I depend upon you? -Of course you do.
All your wealth is entirely propped up on a rotting hulk of my poverty.
And one day, it will give way and you'll come crashing down with it.
Rotting hulk?
Rotting hulk? Have you gone mad? Rotting hulk!
Is this communist talk?
Are you a communist? Do you want me to call a policeman?
It's not a crime to be a communist. Anyway, I'm not.
Not a crime to be a communist?
Of course it's a crime to be a communist. This is 1989.
Communists are the enemies of democracy.
They should be locked away.
-Well, what's so good about democracy? -What's so good about democracy?
What's so good about democracy, ladies and gentlemen?
Democracy is freedom of thought and belief and speech.
That's what's so good about it, you degraded heap of smelliness.
Get out of my way before I set fire to you.
Get yourself a job, clean yourself up.
It's demeaning to have the harmonica played at one by a heap of litter.
Here, hold on, hold on.
Hold on? Hold on? What do you mean, hold on?
You ever seen a television programme called On The Streets with Bibby?
On The Streets with Bibby? On The Streets with Bibby?
Oh. Oh, you mean the one with hidden cameras?
-That's the one, yeah. -Oh!
Oh, yeah. You're not Bibby Peavis, are you?
Oh, are you really Bibby Peavis?
No.
But I might have been.
Today, we're going to be concentrating on the hands.
Now, we use our hands so often in our everyday lives
that it's all too easy to take them for granted and just forget about them altogether,
and that can obviously be fairly dangerous.
So first of all, as always, make sure you're absolutely comfortable.
Now this is very important otherwise you may find it rather uncomfortable so…
Be comfortable.
Very relaxed.
Now just watch me this time, and then we'll try and do it together.
We start with the right hand on the knee
and we move the hand like this.
And rest.
Now you'll have noticed that I did the exercise twice.
It's very important that you don't try to do it twice in one go.
You should always aim to build up the routine gradually.
Never overdo it.
Now try it with me this time.
And rest.
Now be very careful when you put your hand back on your knee
because you could so easily bruise yourself.
It's not a bad idea to cover the knee
with a few sheets of cotton wool so as to avoid internal hemorrhaging.
And if you don't have any cotton wool, a continental duvet will do almost as well.
But do please make sure it's a soft one.
Now if you have any doubts about your ability to perform this exercise,
do please consult your GP.
But make sure he's a gentle GP.
Tomorrow we'll concentrate on the left hand.
I'm sorry, I do not speak English.
Calm down, John. We're not gonna get anywhere…
Don't tell me to calm down!
Damn it, Peter, I want answers and I want them fast.
Answers? A bit late for all that, don't you think?
What the hell's happened to you, Peter?
You know as well as I do there's no such word as, “A bit late for all that, don't you think?”
-Agreed. -So, shoot. What have we got?
Marjorie wants control of Derwent Enterprises
and from where I'm sitting, she's gonna get it.
Marjorie? Jesus, Peter, Marjorie's just a kid.
Yeah, tell that to the Board.
You watch me. I might just do that.
Well, good luck to you.
Meaning?
Meaning they'll laugh in your face, John, like they did me.
Marjorie's got them eating out of her hand.
Then I'll go to old man Derwent himself.
Oh, come off it, John.
No one's even spoken to old man Derwent in years. The man's a recluse.
It's over, I tell you. Marjorie's won and she hasn't even fired a shot.
Listen to me, Peter.
Marjorie may have won the war, but she hasn't won the battle.
Damn it, John, you're up to something. I've seen that look before.
You're damn right I'm up to something.
-Damn it. -What?
-What are you up to? -Something. I'm up to something.
-I thought so. -I want you on my side for this, Peter.
-I'm yours, John, you know that. -I haven't finished yet.
It's absolutely mandatory that you buy into my way of working.
Things could get a little hairy over the next 48.
You know me, John, hairy is as hairy does.
Good to hear.
Now, call O'Neill. Get him to postpone the meeting.
What shall I tell him?
Tell him any damn thing you like. Just buy me some time.
It's good to have you back, John.
Save the pretty speeches till later on, Peter. We've got a long night ahead of us.
-Just like old times, eh? -Sure, Peter, sure.
You know, it's funny. I drove through High Wycombe just the other day.
Yeah, it's Peter here. Get me O'Neill.
-And fast. -And fast.
Say again.
-Damn it. -What?
O'Neill's out of town. Can't be reached.
-Damn it to hell and back. -Damn blast and double damn.
Damn.
-Want me to try Amsterdam? -No.
-But, I mean… -Come on, Peter, you're not thinking straight.
Amsterdam is too obvious. Marjorie was never obvious.
That's why I loved her.
By God, here's a turn up. I never thought I'd hear an old warhorse like you talk about love.
Love's nothing to be afraid of, Peter.
You don't need a Harvard MBA to know that the boardroom and the bedroom
are just two sides of the same agenda.
I wonder…
Try me. Shoot.
Put it together.
If we were to act fast,
a block of part-paid ordinaries funnelled through Geneva…
a carefully staged pre-release of IDL preference stock through the back door,
underpinned by a notional rights issue,
who the hell would be wincing then?
Damn it, John, it's starting to add up.
You want me to try Sydney?
Stay awake, Peter. He'll be in Australia by now.
Damn it!
But wait a minute. Won't they trace it back to us?
A ploy like that? No. It'll have Seagrove's handwriting all over it.
And back again.
-But that still leaves us with Marjorie. -Yeah.
Marjorie.
What's she after?
I gave up trying to understand Marjorie years ago, Peter.
Yeah, women.
Marjorie is not women, Peter.
No, of course not, John. I beg your pardon, I meant no offence.
Something I've always been meaning to ask you.
How did you manage to keep Nancy for so long?
I've never been nancy, John.
Your wife, Peter.
Oh, Nancy. Oh, you know,
you take the rough with the smooth, you do your best,
you cover all the angles, you never have enough time.
You keep on grafting long hours, you think you know, but of course you don't.
They talk about stress, I tell them I'm married to it.
You have a daughter, I believe.
Yeah. Yeah, Henrietta.
Did he? Did he? I'm sorry to hear that.
That…
That must have hurt. That must've hurt like hell on a Jet Ski.
You never had kids of your own, I believe.
You're wrong, Peter. You're so damn wrong.
-Oh, I beg your pardon. -You're standing in my children right now.
I think I may have misheard that, John.
-The company, Peter. -Oh, the company, yeah.
I gave this company everything I've got.
Damn it! New York should have rung by now.
Relax, John, it's still early.
Yeah, but it's not gonna stay early for long.
New York will come through, John. I know they will.
I hope so, I hope so.
There is six million people out there.
Really? What do they want?
Who knows?
Peter.
-Yeah? -I say we go with it.
Damn it, I agree.
-If New York rings, tell them affirmative. -Right.
I'll get on to Susan.
Now, let's get the hell out of here.
-Are you sure? -Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I don't think even we two can maintain
a level of intense work without coming down for a space.
-Damn it, you're right. -Besides…
Ah! I could use a drink.
Yeah.