Help you?
Did you write this?
Jane Eyre. No, that was Charlotte Brontë.
Right. Well, I'd like to speak to her then, please.
Well…
I'm afraid… I'm afraid she's no longer with us.
Oh. Well, I can't say I'm surprised.
Did she leave some kind of forwarding address? Where can I get in touch with her?
No. No, I meant no longer with us in the sense of dead.
-Dead? -Quite dead. Yes.
Oh, I see. And when did she die exactly?
Erm, 1855, I think I'm right in saying.
1855?
Oh, let me see, that's what, five minutes to seven, isn't it?
No, no.
No. 1855 in the sense of the year 1855.
-Oh. Oh. -Was there some problem?
Well, you'll have to do, I suppose, since you sold me the thing.
I want my money back.
-Well, do you mind me asking why? -I'll tell you why. Because it's balls, that's why.
It's complete balls!
I'm afraid I'm gonna have to disagree with you there.
Oh, are you? Well, just let me… Just listen to this.
Hm, hm… Er, er…
Oh, yes. Here, here. “I mounted into the window seat,
“gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk.”
I mean, it's just complete balls.
-Balls in what sense? -Balls in the sense of balls.
I mean, what window seat? This is the first page.
She's never mentioned a window seat before.
And what Turk? Have you ever seen a Turk mount a window seat?
It's complete balls.
Well, erm, I think you're supposed to imagine it.
Oh! Oh, really? All right, then. All right. Well… Then how about this bit here?
Oh, yes, here we are. Yes, chapter 38.
“Reader…
“Reader, I married him.” Hmm?
Well, if that isn't balls, kindly fax me an explanation of what is.
Hmm? What reader? Or, are you supposed to imagine this reader as well, are you?
No, no, that's you. It's addressed to you, the reader of the book.
Oh, balls!
She couldn't know me. You just told me the stupid tart died in 1855.
Well, not you specifically, but whoever happens to be reading the book at the time.
Jane Eyre is telling you that she's married Mr Rochester.
Jane Eyre's a made-up character!
-She doesn't even exist. -No, but she writes the story.
-She is the “I” of the story. -Oh, make your frigging mind up.
You just told me Charlotte Brontë wrote the blasted story.
Well… Well, yes, she did, but…
Well, you're obviously as confused as I am. The whole thing is just balls from start to finish
and I want my money back.
Hmm? Give me something, please, to read
that doesn't go on about window seats I've never heard of,
and doesn't have some dead bitch calling you “Reader” all the time.
All right. Erm…
Well, what about this? This is proving very popular.
Hmm? What is it?
This is The Invalid by Myra Penworthy Fennerweave.
-Any good? -Excellent.
Right. Hmm.
“Talbot entered the room in a feverish haste,
“bearing his precious cargo before him like a votive offering.
“Elizabeth lay back on her bed, her face pale and pinched.
“‘Richard, is that you?’ she moaned.”
Oh, this is just complete balls!
Bally baldy, baldy bally, bally, bally, balls, balls, balls!
It's not, actually. That is true. Every single word of that happened.
Oh, double balls and bollocks!
Richard, is that you?
-Darling Elizabeth. -Oh, Richard.
-I knew you would come. -I, too, Elizabeth.
I, too, knew that I would come.
Richard, I am far from well.
-Far, far from well. -Elizabeth, I bring soup.
I bring warm nourishing soup, fitter the better to make you more well with.
Richard, you are so kind, so very kind.
Let me help you to a little of this soup, Elizabeth.
I shall pour it so, into this small dish or saucer.
Can you, Elizabeth, can you bring this small dish or saucer of soup to your lips?
Richard, I am trying to bring this small dish or saucer of soup to my lips.
But the effort exhausts me.
Let me, Elizabeth, let me bring this small dish or saucer of soup
to your lips in this manner.
Cradling your neck thus and introducing the soup as gently as I may know how.
So kind, Richard.
-So! -Henry.
-Talbot? -Elizabeth.
As soon as news reached me that you were in a decline,
I drove from Hampshire like a man with a devil hot at his heels
to bring you some broth.
Broth? Huh! Cannot you see that this lady is ill, sir?
I am helping her to a small dish or saucer of soup.
She cannot be doing with broths.
Soup!
You dare to presume upon a sick girl with soup?
Elizabeth, I cannot recommend that you endanger your delicate constitution
with coarse, peasant broths.
Peasant? This broth is refined from purest lamb's liver.
Lamb's liver, is that all?
All? The devil fly away with your impudence. Of course, it is not all.
The brains of seven young guinea fowl are delicately sieved through muslin
and left to set on a jelly of ox blood.
Gentlemen, please.
Aye, and left to sit in too warm a kitchen, too, I'll warrant.
Thus curdling the whole into a mess unfit for an ailing lady.
By no means, left to set in a chilled larder.
The comminuted stock of fried bull's penis
is then folded in on a gentle heat
and thinned with pig's urine and goat sweat.
Imparting a delicacy of flavour and a rich sustaining body
that no thin, dandified soup could ever hope to attain.
“Thin dandified soup?” By God, you'll pay for that insolence before this day is out, Talbot.
This soup is reconstituted from a stock of boiled horse's rectum
and thickened with German vomit.
That is all very well, my fine young sir, but the proof of the soup is in the supping.
Then sup on this, Talbot, and weep.
If you can bear to be humbled, then taste the broth of paradise.
-Mmm. Excellent. -Not bad at all.
The recipe for both these dishes, Henry's broth and Richard's soup,
is available on Ceefax, page 627.
In the meantime, I'm going to have to decide which of these two to have sex with.
Goodbye.
-Bye. -Bye.
Oh, yes, my boyfriend's a real DIY enthusiast, DIY mad.
He's decorated the whole room and he's put up all these bookshelves,
and now he's writing all these books to put on them.
We used to have three bingo halls in this part of town.
They're all bloody cinemas now.
What is the world coming to?
Yeah, I like tricks.
I do a lot of tricks on the kids' birthdays.
I did this one last year. I made them all stand in the hall
and I went out, closed the door, and I haven't been back.
Yes, I think on balance, I probably am a bit unbalanced.
Ladies and gentlemen, I'm extremely lucky
to have been born physically healthy, physically whole.
You know, I've got… I've got two eyes, two arms, two legs, four nipples.
And, you know, I'm physically normal and I give thanks for that every single day.
But I do have a mental problem.
I suffer from what psychiatrists call a split personality.
No, I don't.
I've had this problem for some time now.
No, I haven't.
But, recently, it has got much worse.
How can it get worse, if it was never there?
My psychiatrist… God, what a fraud he is.
Suggested that I give my other personality a name, so I've called him Anthony.
Yes, what do you want?
Now, Anthony is… Anthony is not like me.
You can say that again.
Anthony likes, well, you know, different books, films, music.
He likes double pleats on his trousers, when I prefer single.
And if it were down to him, he would drive a Citroën GX.
They happen to be extremely stylish motorcars.
But possibly Anthony's biggest problem
is that he suffers from a split personality.
No, I bloody don't!
Anthony's other half, as it were, is called Nathaniel,
and he claims to be Welsh.
What do you mean claim? I bloody am Welsh.
I just don't happen to live there at the moment, that's all.
The game of Bushwallyta, or Dragon Foot,
is thought by many to have evolved from the earlier Kanwaniwani Games
of the central Himalayas.
To the casual observer, this may actually seem
like an ordinary Kanwaniwani stalemate position.
But Bushwallyta has many important differences.
Rantors are used instead of bitomys and the scoring system is also quite different.
What you're seeing now is a third round replay between two of the giants of modern Bushwallyta.
To the left of us, the Hungry Wolf, undefeated this season,
and opposite him, Katwan the Optimistic.
At this point, the score is still nine all.
And as they ready to brace themselves for a full bintwendo,
Hungry Wolf really does ask a lot of questions of his opponents.
Only one more respoty-spot allowed before a double fifth is declared.
Looking very mean, very concentrated.
Extraordinary tactical player, the Hungry Wolf. Very hard to predict.
Not giving anything away.
Beryayina!
And we have a full beryayina.
And, as you can see, the object of the game is to see which player
can make a workable picnic chair out of whatever materials are available.
In this case, of course, with grass.
Looks as if the Hungry Wolf has done it. Yes.
Extraordinary speed. He's managed, and is ready to sit.
Yes. And again…
Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Katwan the Optimistic managing…
…not even a steam iron, only a flat iron on this occasion.
So once more, the Hungry Wolf, victorious.
Hard to imagine who could defeat him this season.
As he takes the styling comb, and generous applause.
A remarkable champion.
And next week we'll be in Chile for the Afwafada Spithade Games.
I gotta ask you something.
Go ahead.
-Are you sleeping with my wife? -What?
-I said, are you…? -I heard what you said.
-So, you gonna… -What the hell kind of a question is that?
Are you sleeping with my wife? You gonna answer?
Hell, no.
-Hell, no? -Hell, no. It's a dumb question.
“Are you sleeping with my wife?” is a dumb question?
You're damn right.
-So? -So what?
-So, are you sleeping with my…? -Don't ask me that.
Don't ask me that dumb question.
-That means yes. -What the hell means yes?
“Don't ask me that dumb question” means yes? What the hell's the matter with you?
You haven't answered my question. I asked you a question, you haven't answered it.
For Christ's sake, I'm sitting here, I'm eating my dinner.
I'm eating my dinner, and you start with these dumb questions.
-If you're sleeping with my wife… -What?
-I'll kill you. -What the hell you gonna do? You'll kill me.
-Yeah, I'll kill you. -You'll kill your own brother?
-Yeah, I'll kill my own brother. -Yeah, well, relax. I ain't sleeping with your wife.
-You prove that? -Prove what?
Can you prove you're not sleeping with my wife?
How the hell am I… How the hell am I gonna prove that to you, huh?
What would be nice, maybe, is if you believe me when I tell you something,
instead of starting with all these dumb questions.
-Okay. -Okay what?
-Okay, I believe you. -You believe me?
-Yeah. -Well, thank you. I can eat my dinner now?
-Sure. -Okay.
Are you sleeping with my sister?
-What? -I said, are you sleeping with…?
No, no, wait a minute, wait a minute.
-You're my brother, right? -Right.
-So, your sister is my sister. -What do you mean?
What do you mean, “What do you mean?”
You're my brother, right? So your sister is also my sister.
We have the same sister, you and me.
So what?
So? So, Jesus, you're asking me if I'm sleeping with my own sister?
-Are you? -What?
What the hell kind of a question is that?
Are you sleeping with your sister?
What am I doing? What am I doing sitting here, listening to all this bullshit, huh?
-You're eating spaghetti. -Spaghetti bullshit.
-Bolognese. -I come here… I come here to eat my dinner,
-and I get all this bullshit, for what? -Well, for…
You shut your mouth. Shut your mouth, all right?
Sleeping with my own sister, Jesus.
-Are you sleeping with my mother? -That's it. One more word out of you…
-And what? -You know what.
You and your dumb bullshit questions.
Whose dumb bullshit questions? I ask a question, that's all.
Hey, Mama. Come on, you hear this, huh?
-You hear all this bullshit he's giving me? -What bullshit?
I ask a question is all.
Both of my boys, they just adore new Ragazzo Sauce.
Are you sleeping with my brother?
Well, I'm completely mad. Utterly insane.
There's a whole gang of us. The other day we went to the cinema.
Mad.
My nickname at school used to derive from the fact that I play with myself a lot.
Yeah, we… I remember we had this teacher at school.
She had… She had very large breasts.
And we used to call her, I'll never forget this,
we used to call her Mrs Wilson.
We used to hope that our eldest son would become an engineer.
But sadly, he became Minister for the Environment.
The pamphlet, which was about the crisis in faith in the inner cities,
was distributed at last year's synod.
It was called, if I remember rightly, “Sit on my Faith.”
Well, my next guest is a most unusual musician.
He describes himself as an aromusician.
To find out what that means, let's meet the self-styled professor of fragrance,
Ottoman Nodge.
Thank you. Thank you very much.
Good evening, Professor.
It's fantastic to be here.
Now, you have a version of Mozart's Overture to The Marriage Of Figaro,
which you are going to perform for us, I believe.
Yes, quite right. Yes, this brilliant, fantastic piece,
that's so popular for many, many years,
has been heard in many versions.
But never has before been transposed for fragrances.
I see. Now, let me get this straight.
You're going to do a version in which smells replace musical notes.
You are shatting right that is what I am going to do, yes.
My principle generally is this,
that I take the vetivers and the wood barks
and the darker, woodier tones for the minor key,
and the richer, fruitier essences represent the major key.
Well, that's enough talk. First of all, let's hear a snatch of the original.
-Snatch? -Snatch.
-You're sure, snatch? -Quite sure, thank you.
Let's hear a snatch of the original.
Well, thank you, Mozart.
Now for my version.
Of course, the great disadvantage of my technique
is that I can only ever perform to an audience of one.
So, this performance is just for me.
That's right. I'm working, however, however, however,
on the technique to overcome this.
Now, we are in common time. So, three, four.
Thank you. I now choose to revive him
with my version of Take me Home, Country Roads.
You're very kind. Thank you.
Right. So, right. And right.
So, er, Simon, I think… Erm, right.
It's your choice, I think.
A consonant please, Carol.
Right, that's a “B”.
Vowel.
“O”.
Another consonant please, Carol.
That's “L”.
And another consonant.
Another “L”.
Vowel, please.
“O.”
A consonant please, Carol.
“C”.
Another consonant, please.
All right, that's an “S”.
And another consonant please, Carol.
And that's a “K”.
All right, right. So… Right.
Right, your countdown starts now.
Right, so, Simon.
-How did you get on? -Just four, I'm afraid.
Four, just four. Right, so, four.
And our champion, Liz, how about you?
Four, as well.
Right. Four, too. So, four each there.
Good “four” each of you.
Right. So, good. That's very interesting. So, four each.
-What's your four? Simon first. -“Lobs”.
Lobs. So, lobs. Right.
Meaning lobs, I suppose.
Right, right. Well, let me lob it over to you, eh, Liz.
Can I ask what you got for your four?
“Look”.
Look, look, look. Right, look.
I think we can allow that. No need to look that one up in the dictionary.
So, what about our guardian of the dictionary,
did you find anything better?
Well, now, as a celebrity, rather than a member of the public,
I naturally did rather better, and came up with “books” for five,
or “blocks” for six,
or there is an eight, actually.
An eight, eight. So, eight.
Well, that's a… Eight. That's very exciting. Eight.
So, well, what's your eight?
“Sloblock”.
Sloblock. So, sloblock. Right.
Sloblock.
And what does “sloblock” mean, exactly?
Basically, a sloblock means balls,
the things we keep in our scrotums,
or by extension, something that is rubbish
or a pile of nonsense.
“Oh, that's a load of sloblock,” you might say.
I see, right. Well, let's hope no one calls this programme
a load of sloblock.
What's the difference…
All right, what's the difference between a man and a woman?
No? Oh.
Excuse me, what's the difference between a man and a woman?
No, me neither.
Yeah, we… We may be slow.
You know, but we're steady. We get there in the end.
Oh, excuse me, madam. Does the name Jack the Ripper mean anything to you?
“Well, there's no point going at it half-cock,” I said.
“Mind you,” I said, “In your case, there's not much point going at it full-cock.”
Good heavens, Jack. Good Lord, you gave me such a fright there.
Oh, there I was mending the bloody old lawnmower.
And, well, in actual fact it's…
It's not an old lawnmower, it's quite a new lawnmower.
That's why it's so bloody for having gone wrong.
-Hello, Neddy. -Well, hello, Jack. Hello, Jack.
Sorry. I was wittering there just now. Yeah, so… Well, you know, lawnmower's bust and…
Well, how are you, Jack?
I am well, thank you, Neddy.
Well? Oh, that is good news. Good, good. Because, you know, here I was,
thinking the world was a pretty bloody sort of a place,
you know, you could pay good money for a lawnmower that doesn't even work.
And then, you know, you tell me that you're well,
and suddenly things don't seem to be so bad after all.
Sort of puts everything in perspective.
-Neddy? -Oh, Jack.
-I have a question to put to you. -Oh, good.
I would be very grateful if you could furnish me with an honest answer.
Furnish you, Jack? Yes, yes, of course, I'll furnish you.
Yes, you ask away, and leave the furnishing to me.
Good.
Yes, clever little toy, that, isn't it, Jack? Yes.
It's called a Stanley knife. It's…
It's a sort of knife made by a fellow called Stanley.
First or second name, I'm not sure, Jack. I could find out.
If you're interested, you know, make some inquiries, as it were.
-Ingenious. -Do you like it?
-Well, for goodness' sake, you keep it, old sport. -That's very kind of you, Neddy.
Oh, don't mention it, Jack. Yes, plenty more where that came from.
-Neddy? -Still here, Jack. Yes.
How would you like to be Prime Minister?
-Well? -Sort of a trick question, is it, Jack?
-Not at all, Neddy. -“Not at all, Neddy”.
Yeah, well, how would I like to be Prime Minister?
Well, Jack, do you fancy a cup of tea?
I could just pop in…
When you've furnished me with an answer, Neddy, a cup of tea would be most agreeable, thank you.
Well, Prime Minister. Yes. Well, yes, I expect it would be very enjoyable,
to be Prime Minister, Jack, yes.
You know, riding around in big motorcars, policemen saluting you and all that.
Yes, I expect it would be very interesting work.
You'd like to be Prime Minister?
Well, I expect there are worse jobs.
And what about your wife?
No, I wouldn't like to be my wife, Jack. No, no. That would be, well…
I mean, how would your wife take to you being Prime Minister?
Well, I tell you what, Jack, why don't I pop in and ask her.
I want your opinion, if you don't mind, Neddy.
As you know, I represent a group of people.
Yes, yes, I do know that, Jack. Yes. Very fine people, too. I have no doubt.
A group of people who are becoming increasingly concerned
at the direction in which this country is going.
Right. Right, yes.
We feel that the current Prime Minister won't do.
-Won't do? -Won't do.
-Won't do what, Jack? -Won't do, Neddy.
-Oh, I get you. -Do you?
No.
We feel that a change is needed if disaster is to be averted.
We want you to be the next Prime Minister.
Crikey.
Well, Neddy, will you do this for us?
Oh, Jack.
Well, first of all, let me say that I am deeply touched,
deeply touched.
You know, but, Jack, there is just… There is just one thing.
Can I tell you something, Jack?
-By all means, Neddy. -Right, well, Jack.
You know, when I was at school, I used to play cricket for the third eleven.
No bloody good, of course.
Used to go in at number eight.
Well, no, I went in at number seven once when Proby had his appendix out.
But otherwise, you know, well down the order.
Is this strictly necessary and relevant?
Well, I think it is necessary and relevant, Jack. Yes, yes, I think it is.
Well, you see, the point is that we used to play this match,
this one match every year against Trenton House.
A bit of a sort of needle match, Jack, to be honest with you.
You know what boys are like. Well, anyway…
This one year, they turned up without an umpire.
And the captain told me to get out there and call the shots.
And, well, the thing is, Jack, you know, I couldn't do it.
What do you mean, you couldn't do it?
Well, you know, Jack, the responsibility, the decisions, you know.
“Howzat?” they would scream in my face, you know.
And I just used to go into the most dreadful funk.
Gave one chap out before he'd even left the pavilion.
Well, what I'm really saying, Jack, is that, you know, I'm a follower.
Not a leader, if you know what I mean.
-Precisely, Neddy. -Precisely, Jack, yes.
You are precisely the person we need.
Oh, Lor.
So, will you do this small thing for us?
Well, of course I'll do it, Jack. Yes, good Lord, yes. Anything for my old pal, Jack. Yes.
Excellent. Congratulations, Neddy. I know the country is in safe hands.
The House of Commons sat in stunned silence today
as the Prime Minister, Mr John Major, announced his intention to resign,
saying he wanted to spend more time with his collection of miniature fire engines.
His successor, a Mr Neddy Muldoon of Orchard Lane, St Neots,
has been elected unopposed by the Parliamentary Conservative Party.
I say, Jack. Not a bad turnout, is it?
Mr Muldoon!
Yes, over here. I'm Muldoon.
Mr Muldoon, what is your position on Europe? Do you see yourself as a federalist?
Er, crikey.
Well, you know, federalist is as federalist does. That's always been my watchword.
Does that mean you'll be advocating the German model
in future discussions?
Er, Jack, a boy from Trenton House is screaming “howzat” in my face.
I believe very strongly in the notion of peace through strength.
-Yes. So do I. -You do what?
I believe in what Jack just said. Yes, peace through strength. Very important. Yes.
And if it should become necessary…
And if it should, at any time, become necessary…
…to protect the interests of this country…
…to protect, in a manner of speaking, the interests, as it were, of this country…
…we will not hesitate to invade Poland.
…we will not hesitate to invade… Excuse me.
Er, Jack, you don't you think that's pitching it a bit strong, do you?
-It's what we agreed. -We?
Your supporters, Neddy. We agreed.
But, Jack… Oh, hello, you've still got that knife I gave you.
It's doing all right, is it? Useful?
Very useful. Thank you, Neddy.
Mr Muldoon, did you say that you were prepared to invade somewhere?
Oh, no, no, no. Just a silly misunderstanding, no.
What I always suggest in situations like this is that you sit round the table…
Well, it doesn't have to be a round table, you could sit along the side of a long table.
And just have a bit of an old chat and a head scratch.
-Oh, Jack. -Yes, Neddy?
-Someone's just gone and stuck a knife in me. -Officer!
The police are after them now, Neddy.
Are you all right?
-Jack. -Yes, Neddy?
I want you to have my lawnmower.
Well, that seems to be about it for this week.
That's right. Sadly, there isn't even enough time left…
For you to finish that sentence.
-So, it's good night from me. -And it's good night from me.
-And it's good night from me.
And it's good night from me.
We're going to leave you with tonight's cocktail recipe.
And tonight, it's beef goulash.
For this, you will need a microwave oven
and a frozen packet of beef goulash.
Please, Mr Music, will you play.
Dinner is served.
-Soupy twist. -Soupy twist.