Good evening. It's very nice to be with you again, isn't it, Ronnie? Yes, it is.
Very nice indeed.
And in a packed programme tonight, we'll hear from a Florida fruit farmer who
crossed a grapefruit with an aphrodisiac and got a gropefruit.
We'll also have a chemist who crossed a budgie with a laxative and got a chirrup
of figs.
But first, the news.
This evening, a female streaker...
disturbed patrons at the Albert Hall, but she was caught by the bouncers and
ejected.
And there's news of a plumber who earlier today swallowed an immersion
and a ball cock.
He's now said to be comfortable, apart from occasional hot flushes.
A mother of three today filed a paternity suit against a cricketer.
Asked on what grounds, she replied, Trent Bridge, the Oval, and behind the
screen at Battersea Park.
News has just come in about what MPs ate for their Christmas dinners. Harold
Wilson had the usual turkey, whilst Mr Heath bought a new one.
The Farmer of the Year is Mr Clarence Larkin of Stroud.
He won the title on three counts.
Initiative. He drove a steamroller over his fields, hoping to achieve instant
mashed potato.
Imagination. He has developed a revolutionary new insecticide for the
of Agriculture. It kills all the crops and the insects starve to death.
And C, consideration.
He put a silencer on his shotgun because his daughter wanted a quiet wedding.
But we've just heard that Raquel Welsh has recovered from her nasty accident in
a revolving door.
Raquel Welsh is now appearing in The Odd Couple.
Sport. In an exclusive interview last night, Britain's best -known show
husband, Captain Philip Dugdale...
told our reporter that his first year of marriage had been almost perfect. His
bride, Anthea Scott -Jones, had only six faults, he said, and two of those were
refusals.
Next year, he was hoping for a clear round.
A hen belonging to the Maris of Bingley in Buckinghamshire, which was given
cement instead of oatmeal, laid three concrete eggs and conked out.
Paris, however, who also ate a considerable quantity of the cement,
effects and later went on to lay a foundation stone.
In the sketch that follows, I'll be playing a man whose wife has left him
the dustman.
And I shall be playing the dustman who refused to take him.
begin the test. Can you read the licence number plate of that vehicle parked 25
yards down the road, please?
Well, uh, perhaps I can, perhaps I can't, know what I mean?
Follow my reasoning, John?
No, I'm afraid I'll be easy.
Ooh,
look at that. Fancy that.
Well, it's a £10 note. You just threw it down there.
Never. Yes, you did. I saw you.
Fancy you spotting that, John.
Boy, I told you you are lucky. Course, tone of crows, I'll do envy you.
Handsome and lucky. Well, finders keepers, losers weepers, I suppose,
what, are we up the West End knocking out your little windfall, eh?
I'm not going anywhere.
I'm just about to test your proficiency as a driver.
Furthermore, this does not belong to me, thank you very much.
Now then, is this the car? Yeah.
Would you occupy the driver's seat, please?
I mean, John, temporary.
Now, just a minute, please.
I expect you'll be wanting to have a butcher's, John, at my provisional
licence. There we are, John.
We, uh... What is this?
20 quid!
Well, I never... That's fantastic, John.
Of course, we are seeing some lucky fellas in my time, John. But you are
definitely the golden boy, John.
Well, I expect you want to tick the office pass, don't you, now? Get up the
End, have a few beers with the mates and all that. Just sit still, will you,
please, and shut up.
All right, John.
Only I thought I heard you say a pass. No, no.
My name is not John.
My name is Mr.
Mountford. I'm a qualified driving examiner, and I'm about to test your
proficiency as a driver. Is that clear?
Double clear, John.
No more ridiculous attempts to bribe me, if you please.
A nod with me, John, is as good as a wink to a blind horse, John. And less
familiarity.
Time and a place for everything, John.
Right. Let us start with a clean sheet, then.
John, you have in turn been fair with me, and I in turn intend to be fair with
you, John Boyce. Thank you very much. Thank you very much. Now then, the
code. What would you say was the permitted speed allowed in a built -up
30?
Excellent. In ones, all right, down the sky, the way you...
Let us talk speed limits, since you're obviously bent on it.
Bent's the word, John.
What would you say, for instance, is the speed permitted in a motorway?
Oh, John, that is a dead -bleed liberty. You are not copying 70 sheets out of
me, John.
Would you say 60, then, was permitted in a built -up area? Oh, no, 40. 40, John.
Top whack, 40. I mean, you know, am I going to get the green light? Are you
going to let me filter through? I would say you were on the skids, if you were
to ask me. What would your braking distance be, then, in feet?
45, not one foot more.
Wouldn't it be more like 55?
On a muddy road, mud sticks, you know. You put me in a very sticky position.
right, 50, top whack, 50. 50, down, down. Right, in crinklies. You're off,
you're off. Right, here we are. Car, car.
Yeah, certainly. Peel five pens off the top for Mr. Manford, will you? Never
mind, Mr. Manford. Call me John now. Come on, check your indicator.
Switch on.
Clutch up slowly. Put the gas in. Jack, indicate right. Look in your mirror.
Good
evening.
Here is the news.
Excuse me.
Yes? Yes.
Oh, right.
I see. Thank you. Yes.
Sorry about that.
It appears that we've had a slight problem with the news. Our new
typewriter has developed a minor fault.
It's been typing O's instead of E's.
I hope you'll bear with us.
Good evening.
Horro is the now's a ton.
At the Primo Minister's country house -o, Charles,
there was a mooting of all true party loaders
to discuss this country's optionally serioso economic scono.
The confronco was followed by an appetising mole of roast booth,
and jolly and chrome.
Afterwards,
Afterwards, the dollar gatos heard a spooch by the ex -foreign secretary, Sir
Alok Douglas Homo.
In the short address, Mr. Mr.
Onok Pole said Sir Alok had his coon support.
to unboil a memorial to Sovereign Great English Mon of Lottes and Poots,
including Anthony Trollopeau, H .G. Walls, and Hilaro Bollock.
It says.
It says that. It says that.
In cow gardens today, a lady was frightened by a Scotsman with a wooden
who jumped out from behind some trues.
He told the polico he was stung on the news by a swarm of boos after the bolt
had broken on his trousers.
After his arrost, Ho stated Ho was turning over a no -loaf and undergoing a
change of socks.
In Worcester today, Mr. Wodgewood Bond spoke of his plan.
to nationalise the stool industry.
And Mr Donis Holey discussed his plans for a further tax on bots and botting
shops.
He said, it's no good boating about the bush, I must lay it on the lino.
It will cost the punter only a couple of ponds.
And now the wother.
Tomorrow's wother will be what?
Oh.
Will be what? Will be what? With a touch of sloot.
Well, that's all from Moe.
Tomorrow, the nose will be robbed and rued by Roggy Bosonquat.
Now, I'm going to croup away to my little bod.
And said the lot of you. Good night.
Piggy Malone, the fat, little -known detective.
And Charlie Farley, his little, little -known assistant.
once again found themselves involved in a strange world of intrigue and secrecy.
Whilst quietly fishing in the canal at Watford, they are approached by a
frogman and told to report immediately to MI6.
And like the courageous, patriotic, foolhardy idiots that they are, they
Have you found that file yet, Miss Willow? No, I haven't. When you've got a
minute, I wouldn't mind you going through these drawers.
I don't know where to look.
Neither do I.
It says here in my stars that I'm going to meet a short, dark stranger and a
fat, grey stranger.
That's a bit specific.
Sounds like those men we located at Watford, sir. Does it indeed?
I think you'd better get our chaps investigating this Stargate. The bloke
getting a bit too accurate.
I don't want my private doings flashed across the newspapers.
Certainly not before I've done them.
Oh, hello, Elsie.
Yes. Are they?
Right -o, Elsie. Send them in, yes.
Bye, Elsie.
That was Major Cartwright, sir.
Mr. Malone and Mr. Farley have got out of their wet clothes and are ready to
you, sir. Oh, good.
They have got into some other clothes, have they? Oh, yes. We lent them some
uniforms. They're quite decent.
Oh, well, that's fine. We don't want someone coming here and corrupting you
first week here, do we?
Oh, no.
Not before I've had a go, anyway.
Four inches from the curb, no yellow lines, not across anyone's entrance. You
jumped up, little Hitler's come barging in here.
Mr Malone and Mr Farley see you, sir. What?
I'm so sorry, of course.
The clothes.
How do you do?
How do you do? How do you do? Do park yourself somewhere, won't you?
Would you mind very much...
Telling us what all this is about. Certainly, but first, what can I offer
drink?
I'll have a martini, please.
Shaken or stirred?
Both, please.
Ginger beer shandy, please. A half pint? Yes.
Oh,
no, a pint I do, thanks.
Would you see to that, Miss Willard?
I'll just have some tea.
Pint? Just a half pint.
Straight to the point.
Drugs.
Drugs and world domination. Now, I'm not talking about your ordinary dope
pushers. This is a special drug developed, we think, in Marseille.
At any rate, we're certain that the headquarters of the drug smuggling ring
centered in that area.
Excuse me, um, are you M?
Hmm? M?
You know, the head of MI6, M.
Ah, no, no. M is retired. No, it's M now. But he's on holiday. And O, he's
second in command.
He's on compassionate leave.
His mother's got a bit of back trouble.
I see. So you must be... I'm P.
Yes.
Well, tell me now, this special drug, P, what's before?
Ah, now, this is the whole crux.
Excuse the word.
Of the man.
A certain organisation is endeavouring to undermine authority all over the
by administering to important people a certain drug which has the effect of
making them clumsy. Clumsy? Did you say clumsy? Clumsy.
Clumsy. Oh, you mean they appear foolish and so lose respect in the eyes of the
public? Exactly. And you can see it happening. You only have to watch
television.
I noticed it first, some time ago, in the case of Tommy Cooper.
Now, Tommy Cooper used to be a wonderfully smooth performer, but just
he's been getting decidedly clumsy.
I've noticed that.
Getting everything wrong, I've noticed that. Oh, come on, he was the first man
to knock down Muhammad Ali, wasn't he?
Henry Cooper?
Anyway, there's certainly no doubt that this thumbs -in is spreading.
I'd like you to watch this film. It's been compiled by our Colonel Millichoke
the research department.
Nice this is, you know. All the usual attributes of walnut stock.
See the silver trigger guard.
And the beautiful silver... Well, of course, you can't see.
Great night. Ten o 'clock. Goodbye now.
I see what you mean.
Stupid, isn't it, eh?
Stupid.
We've got to stop it.
Not half. I mean, think what would happen if something like Opportunity
the dignity.
I mean, just imagine people sniggering at Huey Green.
It could happen, I suppose.
But what would you do if she beats the royal family?
Oh, yeah.
The Queen's speech at Christmas would be a fiasco, wouldn't it, eh?
One long laugh from start to finish.
So, gentlemen, our aim.
to locate the spice ring in Marseilles and render them inoperative.
Wipe them out, you mean?
Oh, we don't do a lot of violent work. Not Mr Malone and myself. I mean, we're
mainly really more civil cases, really. Like divorce and breach of promise.
Yeah. A lot of ladder work, you know. Peering into people's windows, that sort
of thing.
We're more sneaks, really.
That's exactly why you've been chosen.
Now, we've got a heavy mob that'll come up and clear up after you.
All you have to do is to get the formula. The formula?
So that our chemists can research an antidote.
That's the important thing. We've got to get that formula. Now, what do you say,
Chet?
Supposing we say no?
What if we refuse?
I'll have you shot.
Okay, by me, then. Yes.
And so our two heroes take the first step on the road to murder and mayhem.
But already they are marked men.
In some ill -lit corner of a cafe in Marseilles, two of the underworld's arch
-villains are even now completing the first stage of their plan to conquer the
world. And the evil tentacles of their organization are already reaching out to
Whitehall. Ah, all is proceeding according to plan.
Well done, odd knob.
Grails must have green trails.
How? How awful have I to tell you all that my name is not Odd Knob.
I'm called Bob Job.
This name was given to me by my rate -remembered master before he
rushed his wife in a London nightclub.
Please call me Bob Job.
Nothing but Bob Job.
And if you don't like it, then you must bloody well romp it.
Later, bring me some Turkish coffee.
Do you realise, Bob Job, that in London now, it's just about time for afternoon
tea?
Well,
here we are. Do help yourselves.
Thank you, Miss Willow. You've saved our lives.
Just thinking to myself, if I don't get that cup of tea soon, I shall die.
He's dead.
Poisoned. Oh, my God.
I'd better get the next in line.
What a terrible thing to happen. It's a terrible thing to happen to anybody,
isn't it?
You sure he's dead?
He's dead, all right.
Will it be all right if I have the other sandwich, then?
Well, I don't want it yet, all right.
Did he say she'd gone out to get the next in line? Yeah.
That must be, uh... Q.
Q.
Are you Q?
Yes. Are you?
And so, as Charlie comforts a weeping Miss Willow, questions seethe round in
Piggy Malone's thick skull.
Who holds the secret of the clumsy drug?
Is this man really Q, or is he just playing at it?
Who got the tea and poisoned pee?
Don't miss next week.
Into the web.
Like a snowball down a mountain, like a carousel turning
around, like a clock who stands for sweet, and the
world is like an apple burning silently in space.
Thank you.
Thank
you.
Thank you.
Never ending or beginning
Dr. Atkinson speaking, yes.
What? Oh, all right. All right.
I'll come at once.
Oh, not another one.
Don't go, John.
I've got to go, haven't I?
I'm on call.
It's all part of a doctor's life, I suppose.
Now, listen.
You carry on taking those tablets every four hours. I'll come and see you later.
Good evening.
My name is Professor... And tonight we have a
Swedish lesson for you, but with a difference.
It is in Norwegian.
Now, I expect some of you are wondering why I am dressed as a waiter.
It is because tonight our lesson is entitled In the Restaurant.
Or as we say in Sweden, in the restaurant.
But before we go over to the scene, let me explain that as we act out our little
drama for you, there will be on the screen subtitles, which, as you know,
used in Swedish films and which are necessary to explain to the English
what is going on in the bedroom scenes.
But to make it easier, we spell it out for you. We use only one letter for each
word. Now, this also helps with the pronunciation. Instead of putting thus,
hello, we put thus, L -O.
You see? And similarly, here we have here, P -T. You see? P
-T.
And here...
We have sea tea.
Sea tea.
And here
we have another picture for you.
Now come with me and we will begin the lesson.
I've sold my new house.
Well, I haven't actually sold it. I mean, there is a little legal hold -up,
you know. A chap came along and had a look and said he wants to buy it, and
family are trying to get him certified.
I know the house is settled with a little bit of a tilt, hardly noticeable,
they came at an awkward time when the kids were playing sliding down the
I honestly think they're getting a bargain, you know, because the house is
near the shops and actually getting nearer all the time.
Now, at the present rate, in about 25 years, it should be passing
the chemists and well on its way to fine fare.
And there is actually a great community spirit, you know, about the area.
I mean, we've been to about eight parties. in the last six weeks.
My God, we've got some Tupperware.
Then there's the... Then there's the local ex -serviceman's dramatic society.
They've been doing Lorna Doon.
And the case comes up on Thursday.
We shall, however, when we move, we shall miss the village pub, the jolly
stockbrokers.
It's such an interesting place, you know, real old original plastic beams
genuine Elizabethan jukebox and lovely big open hearth with its picture
of a log fire.
And up above the bar, there's a glass containing a stuffed farmer.
Now, it's whispered, it's whispered that upstairs in this pub is the actual room
where Michael Parkinson hid from Muhammad Ali.
Or was it Muhammad Ali who hid from Michael Parkinson? And then there's
Host, the landlord, always ready with a jolly anecdote about his war service in
the SS.
And his wife, Flora Dora.
who may seem a bit of a grasper, but it is rumoured that once a year she quietly
selects a customer who's a bit down on his luck and gives him the right change.
I recall an old tramp came into the bar once and he said, I haven't eaten for a
whole week. And she said, well, you must force yourself, dear.
The pub is actually right opposite the cemetery.
So they rely an awful lot on the late -night funeral trade.
And the local vicar, he gets in there quite a lot, you know, sort of
with his flock, you know.
Although I sometimes think he carries the integration a bit too far, you know.
Last night, just about closing time, he was giving us all absolution and he fell
off the counter.
Then he got a bit hysterical and excommunicated the landlord's dog.
Then he spake unto me, and he said, he said, I don't know why you're laughing,
he said, you still haven't paid for your grandmother's funeral.
And he said, if we don't get the cash tomorrow, up she comes.
Now, that, that, that upset me a bit.
I must be honest, because it did remind me of the moment, you know, reminded me
for a moment, rather than of the moment, reminded me for a moment of my old
Uncle Angus.
My old Uncle Angus.
Reminded me of her as well.
It reminded me of my old Uncle Angus. You may remember... I don't know if you
remember, he met his death when he was drowned in a vat of whiskey in a
distillery.
Very, very quick end.
Mind you, it would have been quicker if he hadn't got out twice to go to the
loo.
Now, when they had him cremated and his ashes, now his ashes, when they had him
cremated, were placed in an urn and kept on the mantelpiece in the golf club.
Now, some members, not knowing any better...
were using the urn as an ashtray.
And the secretary picked it up one day and he said, bloody marvellous, he said,
he's been dead for three years and I do believe he's putting on weight.
Fortunately, it reminds me of the story I was going to tell you in the first
place. It's about this chap who phones up the police very late one night, you
know, he says, he phones up and he goes, he says, hello, is there...
Is that the police station, he said.
He said, well, I thought I ought to tell you, he said, I've had a little bit of
a mishap, he said. He said, I've been driving along the wrong side of the
motorway, and he said, I've done a very, very naughty little thing.
He said, I've never done such a naughty little thing. He said, I've knocked over
a lot of your little bollards, he said.
And he said, I've demolished a row of fairy lights.
He said, I've been awfully naughty, really. He said, and I've written off a
workman's hut.
Smashed it, he said, all over the road.
And the policeman at the other end said, where exactly are you, sir?
The fellow at the other end says, wouldn't you like to know?
Now performing Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker Suite, our special guest tonight,
members of the Imperial Ballet School.
Oh, hurry up, Jess, where have you been?
You should have been here at 6 .15.
I've been to Leonard's for a rinse. Next week I'm with the student prince. I
hope you'll both be happy.
Oh, shut up, you silly queen.
Here's Batman and Robin, arms in time.
Her bosom is throbbing, ain't love blind?
He's old enough to be her mum, but she adores his sugarplum. He's got a room in
Euston and she's got a flat behind.
Where'd you get to last
night, Beverly?
Me and Dave had a rave in a rather low...
Little wine bar drinking, heavily sitting on a little post.
Anyone I know.
Look at her, Jess, don't she look a mess.
Tatted dress, no finesse, shaking it about.
Shoes by Dulcis, when she waltzes.
Watch her falses, fall out.
He's a bloody fruit and nut cake.
I just can't abide him. Oh, he's really vile. Yes, he'd just ignore him. Though
the birds adore him, most of him is padded. Yes, it's sticking out a mile.
Oh, God.
Don't you shush me, Gladys Wainwright.
She's been on the Guinness, you can always tell.
Look at Casanova, feeling glad all over.
He's on his points, look.
And hers as well. Get out, you dirty...
that I flush with rage.
Well, Geoffrey, you're at a funny age.
Last week, I danced with Moody Peg, the bird who's got a wooden leg. I did six
pirouettes with her and screwed her to the stage.
With Cynthia Fairfax, I got stuck.
She's got a physique like Donald Duck. Oh, she's so bandy -legged, dear, that
when we took her home... I'll ask you. We hung her up above the door to bring
bleeding luck.
Excuse me, dear.
Oh, my feet are chronic, covered in blisters. Oh, for gin and tonic, round
your sisters. Oh, I'll get completely Oliver Twist as soon as I've hung up
me truss. Oh, these here nights just bore me to the skies.
These here tides bring water to me eyes.
find new positions. They say Lionel Blair started holding auditions for
at Leon C.
And if he can't fill us, it's back to the tillers and not to the number.
God's sweet.
Well, that's all for this week. Next week, I'll be reviewing a book that has
just become a bestseller in Scotland, entitled Indoor Games for Flag Days.
Then we shall have some hints on course fishing, followed by lewd hockey,
suggestive cricket and obscene golf.
But here's the late news. We have just heard that two pandas at London Zoo have
begun to mate.
The winner meets Bobby Fischer in the final.
The courts. In the Central Divorce Court today, a traffic light manufacturer was
granted a divorce on the grounds that his wife only ever wore three night
dresses. A red one, which meant stop, you can't go.
A green one, which meant you may go unless there are any pedestrians about.
And an amber one, which meant you may only go if you've started or you're so
close to the line that the stop suddenly might cause an accident.
Encouraging news on the industrial front.
A 63 -year -old Liverpool docker claimed that he had never had a day's illness
in his life. He always managed to make it last a week.
And Sir Hartley Horsfall, the eminent plastic surgeon, is being sued by one of
his lady clients because of shoddy workmanship and high prices.
She stated, I realise what a bad job he had done on me when someone took me on
one side and said, a word in your nose, you're paying through the ear for
everything.
Well, that's all we have time for tonight, so it's goodnight from me. And
goodnight from him. Goodnight. Goodnight. Goodnight.