Good evening. It's very nice to be with you again, isn't it, Ronnie? Yes, it is
indeed. And in a packed programme tonight, we talk to a man who's crossed
Rhode Island red with a waitress and got a chicken that lays tables.
And we'll discuss the latest business merger.
Mothercare have joined British Leyland to produce a car with a built -in
Then we'll discuss the bread shortage with a woman who's been throwing IOUs to
the ducks.
But first, the news.
National health doctors staged a protest march down Harley Street today, waving
big placards which they'd written out themselves.
Unfortunately, it was a failure as no one could read them.
Except one chemist who happened to be passing.
He told them to come back in ten minutes.
service state today that they're getting so behind hand that for the pregnancy
testing service there is now a ten month waiting list.
And a lady family planning officer who had triplets this week has been sacked
for failing to report an accident.
Which brings us to sport.
From Japan we hear that Mr Watanabe Akimoto, the winner of the slow
bicycle race in the 1972 Olympics, has just completed his lap of honour.
And in the Tokyo trade fair, the winning design is British.
It's a pocket television set that fits inside a matchbox and weighs only one
ounce. It's the last word in lightweight miniaturisation and runs off only three
car batteries.
Mr. George Strakes, the building contractor who was jailed last year for
supplying millions of pounds worth of defective building materials to the
government, escaped from Wormwood Scrubs today when the front fell off.
And now, from Deser Connor's latest album, here are a few postage stamps.
Lovely party.
Lots of lovely girls.
Dirty little devil.
Pardon? Is that all you ever think about, sex?
What do you mean? All I said was, um, lots of lovely girls.
Not what I call lovely. Not really lovely.
I've known girls in my time that were really lovely.
I don't think this looks lovely.
Well, no, perhaps not really lovely. You know, not really lovely, but I mean,
they're all right.
Not like the champagne. That really is lovely.
Muck.
What?
Barely drinkable.
Not if you're used to drinking vintage champagne.
Oh, no, no, not if you're used to drinking vintage champagne. No, of
No, no. I mean, vintage champagne, that is a different kettle of fish.
I'm not talking about fish, I'm talking about champagne.
Oh, yes, I realise that, but be fair.
you know, most people would not know the difference.
You might not. I certainly wouldn't.
And as you brought the fish up, I nearly did.
It was salmon.
Tinned.
Oh, that's as may be. I mean, you know, I mean, you realize it's tinned, and I
realize it's tinned.
I mean, we realize, don't we, that the salmon was not indeed fresh.
But most people wouldn't know the difference. I mean, there aren't many
about today who can afford either. I mean, really. I mean, there aren't many
rich people about today, are there?
I'm rich.
I could tell,
looking at you, that you were indeed very rich. I'm not very rich. Oh?
I'm terribly rich.
I'm not terribly rich, but I've got a few, Bob.
Yes, I bet you have, yes. A few bob, yes.
I've got millions.
Millions of pounds.
Still, money isn't everything.
That's what I always say. Money isn't everything. I always say that.
Education, that's what counts.
Isn't it strange? It could be me talking. It really could.
I always say, I always say that education is most important. Yeah.
Where were you eaten?
No, not actually, no.
Harrow. Very near.
Wembley. Wembley isn't a public school.
Oh, it's fairly public.
I expect you went to Eton. Yes.
And Harrow.
Oh, you can always tell men of distinction, can't you? You can indeed.
why you realise that salmon was not fresh, and that the champagne was not
vintage, and that all the girls at this party are terribly ordinary.
You're a crawler. Pardon?
And a troublemaker as well. Oh. I hate crawlers and troublemakers. Oh, now,
here. And a sex maniac to boot. Oh, I say, steady on. People go to the trouble
of giving a beautiful party so that little snobs like you can scrounge an
evening out.
Why, flogging's too good for you. If you don't like the party, why the hell
don't you leave it? But you said... Get out, get out, get out.
Oh, Sir John, I do hope you don't think I've been neglecting you. I'm your
hostess. Marvellous party. Oh, thank you. You know, your wife and I have only
spoken on the phone, but I feel I know you already.
Wonderful, wonderful party. Beautiful food and marvellous champagne and lovely
ladies. Thank you. My husband will be so pleased. He really arranged all of
this, you know. Did he, did he, did he? He's married to you, by the way. I have
no idea.
Oh, well, you were just talking to him.
Last year, we visited the abode of Dr. William Spooner, the Oxford Don, who, a
hundred years ago, was confusing all and sundry with his unique habit of
transposing the first letters of two adjacent words, hereafter to be known as
Spoonerisms.
It was he who had proposed a toast to the queer old dean instead of the dear
queen.
It was also he who shocked the wife of a new birther to the college. What he
meant to say was that, coming into contact with so many high -spirited
geniuses, she would soon be mad as a hatter, of course.
Instead of which, he said, she would soon be had as a matter of course.
And so, in a special reconstruction, we return once again to the peaceful
confines of Dr. Spooner's house near Oxford.
William. Good ray, Dorothy. I mean, good day, Rosie.
You were up early, dear. Where have you been?
Oh, I've been rolling in the stroes bushes.
Rolling in the rose bushes.
They love so smelly this morning.
You do adore your garden, don't you? Oh, in do I deed.
I mean, in do'd I deed.
Yes, there's nothing makes me gaffier than a spot of hardening.
Good night, dear.
I fear there's so much to do at this time of year, I'm neglecting it.
It's the rutting season for tea roses, you know.
The rutting season for tea roses?
No, no, no, the cutting season for tea roses, dear.
I declare you're getting as mad as me.
Is that what you intend to do today, my dear? No, no, no, the roses must wait.
The first thing I must do is to spray my flies against green beans.
While I'm at it, I think I'll black my doobers as well.
I need some vegetables for dinner.
Would you mind me a farrow?
Me a farrow? What's she got to do with it?
I mean, could you find me a marrow?
Oh, I see, a mere tip of the slung, I see.
No, I fear I cannot, because the garden gate was left unlocked all night.
Someone has niptoed in and tipped my barrow in the mud.
Tiptoed in and nipped your marrow in the bud?
I couldn't have bet he'd put her myself.
I swear it was that villainous landlord of the Wigan Pistol.
Little Billy Humphreys. What?
Little Billy Humphreys. Yes, little hilly bumphreys, exactly.
He's always been jealous of my prowess in the shower flow.
My name is Rose, dear. No, no, no, no. The shower flow, the annual shower flow.
Ah, of course.
Don't you remember last year he tried to sabotage my peas?
He covered them in creosote and left the sore little pods to die.
Exactly. William, are you sure it was he?
Perhaps it was the bees.
Bees cannot open a garden gate, dear. Well, how did you know the garden gate
open? Because I saw next door's dog looing things on the door.
Is that Poodle? Yes, they're Poodle Petal.
Is he Polly? Yes, Prilly Potty.
The villain, he'll pay for this. I have a good mind to go over there and put
Dirtilizer on his failures.
Don't upset yourself, sir.
I'll help you with the gardening as soon as I have time. But at the moment, we
have other duties.
Our students, remember? Good heavens!
Good heavens!
Tyke at the loom. I mean, like at the tomb.
A toque at the lime is what I'm trying to say.
I've hissed a mystery lecture.
I have a divinity class waiting. Let us hurry, dear William, and not keep them
waiting any longer. Oh, dear.
You are my William, the sweetest sweet William that ever grew.
Ah, and you are my Rose, the ricest nose I ever picked.
Ah, but you are much too gash -nut to be a pardner.
And you're much too titty to be a preacher.
Hickey Malone and Charlie Farley, our pair of private eyes who were renowned
making a spectacle of themselves, were on the trail of the sinister drug which
was causing embarrassment to leading public figures all over the world.
The clumsy drug.
Having traced the gang to Marseille, our potty hero and his underweight
assistant had come up against a brick wall in the shape of Madame Cocotte, the
manager of the Hotel Metropole.
And if you've ever come up against a brick wall shaped like Madame Cocotte,
you'll know what I mean.
But suddenly, Madame Cocotte herself had become clumsy.
What strange spell was she under?
Was she herself a victim of the dreaded drug?
As soon as she had left the room, Charlie Farley was on the scent.
It's a note, Chief.
Either she dropped it or it was in the vase.
What does it say?
I must be careful what I write, but the following message may be of interest to
you in locating the whereabouts of what you seek.
That must mean where the formula's hidden.
Read the message.
A sketch map you have to find.
Enough time you must give yourself.
Room thoroughly to search every lady's bed.
Under where you will find it.
Print it on.
Every lady's bed. You mean it's printed under the bed, this map, is it?
There's more to this note than meets the eye, Chief.
Puzzle? Yeah.
Well, I shouldn't puzzle it out down here. If I were you, you'd get crap.
Oh, Chief, I think I'm getting it. There, I told you. Get up, point your
No, no, I mean the message on the note.
Where's the bit of paper? Well, it might be over here.
Here, listen, I fancy something to eat. I'm going to phone down for something.
Do you want anything?
No, no, I'm all right. Can't think of two things at once.
OK.
Hello? Room service, please.
Oh, yes.
I fancy a nibble of something. Could you send me up a waitress, please?
Room 13, thank you.
Keith, come and look at this.
Well, you've just written it out again. That's all, so what?
No, wait a minute.
Now read it.
You have to find a sketch map.
You must give yourself enough time to search every lady's bedroom thoroughly.
You will find it printed on...
Underwear.
You'll find it printed on underwear.
Oh, you will find it printed on underwear.
That's brilliant. That is Charlie brilliant.
And so the search was on.
flag, monsieur?
It has its own special box.
Ah, oui, monsieur.
Merci. Our glorious tricolour must not be absent from our flagpole a moment
than necessary.
Three cheers for the blue, white, and red, n 'est -ce pas?
But still the search went on.
And Piggy especially was tireless in his efforts to uncover the truth.
Sure, baby.
I work here.
Here. In the hotel.
Sure.
I've just checked.
Well, what news?
None whatsoever.
They told me, were they?
No.
Well, what?
I've just told you, none whatsoever.
You mean, none whatsoever?
I think.
No luck there.
Where is Madame La Mangerette?
Madame Cocotte, where is she?
I really don't have any idea, sir.
The flag, it has disappeared.
Oh. There's been no terrible mix -up.
Look out of the window.
Oh, my sainted abs.
You mean you recognize them?
No. It's just an expression, Monsieur Philippe. Something must be done,
The situation.
Cannot be allowed to continue.
Excuse me, madame, not now. I'm busy. I've other things to do. I must get to
bottom of this.
Miss Gidsburg, get those knickers down at once.
There we are.
Down they come.
We must remove them from the rope.
so that we can search inside for a label in order to ascertain whose loins they
formerly girded.
I'm looking.
Oh, here's one. Here's one label.
And it is saying saint something.
Saint something?
Probably some religious personage.
Religious personage? Like a nun or something? No, they don't wear frilly
No, too frilly. Wait.
Does it say St. Michael?
St. Michael? St. Michael was a very famous British saint who was often to be
found inside people's underwear.
I can see it now.
It's St.
Christopher Hong Kong.
That's a filthy foreign imitation.
St. Christopher is the saint who watches over people when they're traveling.
But not, I hope, when they're traveling up flat. folds in their underwear.
Ah, no, no, no.
That would be stretching things a little too far.
let's do it
Ah, champagne.
Japanese, too.
Well, my dear, did our friends find what we wanted them to find?
Yes, they have taken my briefs. They are gone.
They wanted a map carefully drawn on this.
A map which they think will lead them to the clumsy drug formula, but will only
lead them to our vera and their eventual death.
A -ringering a -rosome death.
They will remember for the rest of their lives.
But which we three know is merely the removal of a couple of stupid obstacles
that light our path.
A path that leads to world domination.
Ah, Monsieur Greensleeves, you put everything so beautifully.
Once again, our two dull -witted heroes have been tricked.
Will they discover they have been incorrectly briefed?
Will Kiki embark on another wild goose chase?
Or will Charlie persuade him to keep his hands to himself?
Find out in next week's episode, Hawk Wright or Disaster?
Of course, the first thing we've got to get right is the sleeping arrangements.
You know what I mean?
I mean, we've got two fellas here, and one, if you'll forgive the expression,
Popsie.
What do you think we should do about it, like?
Well, don't worry about me, dearie. Oh.
Sometimes my head hits the pillow, I fall asleep like a baby. Oh, that's all
right, isn't it?
Oh, yes, that's fine.
Excuse me a minute.
Funny old dude, isn't it, eh?
Being shipwrecked on a desert island with a beautiful girl.
Funny, isn't it, eh?
Cigarette?
No, thanks. I'll stick to my pipe.
Look, I didn't mean to hurt you just now when I walked away.
I wouldn't have paid you for the word, you know that, then.
You know, when I told the producer the joke I'm going to tell you tonight, he
got rather excited.
In fact, he let go of the barman's hand and he looked me straight in the eye and
he tried to speak to me.
But whether he likes it or not, I'm going to tell it for sentimental
really, as a tribute to a member of my family. By the way, I must give my
kiddies a little wave tonight.
They'll be glued to the television about now.
I've told them that this programme was going to be about industrial chemistry.
My wife won't be watching.
She'll be at her evening classes.
She goes about four times a week, you know. She's learning metalwork and
plumbing.
Very full of herself yesterday.
She got a gold star for drain clearance.
Two gold stars and she gets a night out with the sanitary inspector.
She might, she might even claim the title.
Miss Diner Rod of 1975.
Now, unfortunately, her metalwork is not so hot.
We have now got a corrugated iron sideboard marked, can do better if she
Actually, it's all part of the treatment prescribed by our psychiatrist.
Now, there is a chap who has got on.
50 guineas a time, three couches, no waiting.
Good heavens, when I first knew him, you could give him a couple of bob and you
had to sit on his lap.
Rumour has it that he started out as a Father Christmas in the co -op.
You see, you see, she's got a nice idea.
You see, she's got this insomnia. My wife, that is. She's got this insomnia.
That's not right.
She's got this insomnia.
She's got that insomnia.
But anyway.
Well, she's got a bit of insomnia, you know.
Well, it doesn't make much difference, does it?
Anyway,
she's got insomnia. Got this insomnia. All that insomnia.
Can't bloody sleep.
Anyway, she's got... I must be... I must...
I must be more grammatical, you know. If they start economising round here,
it'll be us bad talkers what will go first.
So, you see, she can't sleep.
And the latest idea is the playing card therapy.
It's called that, the playing card therapy.
She sits up all night, you know, playing five -card brag.
Now, the first night, I took a hand just to keep her company, you know. Then I
fell asleep, and I got a dig in the ribs at three o 'clock in the morning, and a
voice said, you're 28 pounds down, but I think your luck is changing.
Do you want to settle up? She said, I'll carry on.
Anyway, back to the joke.
which I would like to dedicate to my grandfather, who I'm afraid we have just
lost.
My wife left him outside Tesco's, and when she came out, he was gone.
Now, we gave the police a full description of him, and they decided he
worth looking for.
He was very well known in the district for his local voluntary work in ladies'
massage parlours.
And, of course, for his very, very exciting biography of his fighting in
Boer War, entitled I Busted a Gut for General Smut.
What I'm actually coming to, and you're going to find this very hard to believe
in this incredible saga of poor boy who grew up to become poor man, he left this
letter. This letter.
This is what it says. It says, Dear Ron, if anything ever happens to me, Could
you... Now, by the way, if anybody thinks that this is a phony excuse to
old joke, I must point out that this letter has been examined by the entire
studio audience.
Hasn't it? Yes!
We'll see anything for a glass of stout and a funny hat.
Dear Ron, if anything ever happens to me, could you please tell the old joke
about the boxer?
Signed, Grandad. So there we are.
So for Grandad's sake, there is this old boxer, you see, who rings up Harry
Levine, the promoter, and he says, Mr.
Levine, he says, what about my next fight?
And Mr. Levine says, I'm sorry, boy, you've had too many fights already, he
said. Take my advice, he said.
Hang your gloves up, he said, and forget it.
And the boxer says, Harry, what are you talking about?
I've never been better.
Very good, this is.
He said, I've never been better, he said.
Don't make me laugh, or I can't do it.
I've never been better, he said.
I've had a ten -year lay -off, he said. I'm getting Harry Levine and the boxer
mixed up now.
He said, I've had a ten -year lay -off.
He says, damn it, the world of good. He said, I want to fight Slasher Delaney.
I'm ready for him. I'll take him in the third.
Sting like a butterfly, float like a bee, Slasher Delaney will go in too.
Out of the question, says the promoter. He says, what, do you think I'm over the
hill or something? He said, go on, he said. Tell me straight from the
man to man. Give it to me, he said. Why can't I fight Slasher Delaney?
And Harry Levine says, you are Slasher Delaney.
From the company that brought me such tremendous double acts as Paul and Flora
Robeson.
Julie and Eamon Andrews.
Enoch and Sandy Powell.
Kenneth and Shirley Williams.
Roy and Megs Jenkins.
Frankie and Trevor Howard.
Now comes the greatest and the newest showbiz act that ever hit the small
screen. John and Mrs. Mills.
ladies and gentlemen our own jam roly -poly the succulent the never truculent
please welcome
because you're the jelly that I love to take. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, you beautiful
plant.
Oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny, how you can love.
Oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny, heavens above, you make our glass heart jump with joy.
When you're around me, I can't see what you're up to, Johnny. I'd like to say
that you love me a bit.
Excuse me, so.
I'm so angry because I don't know which bit it was.
Oh, Johnny -o, Johnny -o.
If you were the only
girl in the world And you were the only boy
What a lot of trouble we'd be in today.
I would love to love you, but there ain't no way.
The Garden of Eden, yet made for two, leaves no room for me
at all.
Don't let the waiter go home.
I'm awake and I want to go to bed.
I had the funny feeling about an hour ago and it wasn't in my head.
No matter where I row, on land or sea or foam,
I should never find a sailor on a night like this. So don't let the waiter go
home.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
When you're around, dear, I feel so good.
Cool in the summer, warm in the winter.
Providing shade for the whole neighborhood.
The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamt that you...
Just as well, dear, that you're not my bride.
Still, keep the home part burning. I shall sit
here yearning in my flannel underwear till
the boys come home.
But I can't help whining.
It's this itchy line.
Underneath the piano. Gotta keep the strength up. There's golden in the
Drink up, don't talk. Give me a bunk up. Drink up, Mrs. Mills.
The show is over.
When you come home once more.
I'll take a cab to Crockford.
I've got to scrub this floor.
Back in my rooms in Belgrade. There the champagne
will flow.
I'll curl up inside the...
The show is over.
Hope you have had some fun.
Earrings of gold and oldies.
Favourite everyone.
Now is the time to leave you.
Now we have got to go.
Well, that's all for this week. Next week, we shall see Fanny Craddock
in her new play, Lady Windermere's Flan.
And an Indian boil and carbuncle specialist
will read from his book, Lives of a Bengal Lancer.
A Welsh lady who used to grow grass on her chest will present How Green Was My
Valley.
And a man who lives next to a sewage work will read from his journal, The
at Pooh Corner.
And we'll also have the famous colour -blind poet, Mr Reginald Smithers.
Here is a quick preview of one of his poems.
Roses are green, violets are brown, the sky is bright yellow and so is the
ground.
Meanwhile... The Ministry of Agriculture have advice for all of you who are
troubled by flies in your kitchen.
Put a load of manure in your living room.
News from the courts.
Lord Chief Justice Harris today laid down the maximum penalty for bigamy.
Two mothers -in -law.
The latest news. The Prime Minister discussed women's lib again today. If
want equality, they can have it, he said, in a short address outside 10
Street. Mr Wedgwood Ben... Mr Wedgwood Ben agreed with him. He was also wearing
a shorter dress with matching handbags.
We've just heard that there's been an accident on the South Circular Road. It
seems a milk tanker collided with a lorry load of Rice Krispies.
The drivers were not hurt, but 123 people are suffering from shell shock.
In another incident, West Kensington police today questioned a man with a
leg who was hopping down the high street while pouring a tin of treacle over his
bald head.
The man later explained that he was going to a fancy dress ball as a toffee
apple.
But that's all we've got time for, so it's goodnight from me.
And it's goodnight from him. Goodnight.