Monty Python: The Latest Ripoff

Linkman: The place is England. The year is 787. Voice: A.D.? Linkman: Of course it's A.D. You don't have to say it's A.D. I mean, they didn't have A.D. written on Letts Schoolboy's Diary, I mean no one is going to say on new years eve "Welcome to 1988 A.D." It's 787. Voice: An aeroplane? Linkman: No, it's not an aeroplane, it's 787, the year! Voice: B.C. then? Linkman: No, it's not likely to be B.C. anyway. Nothing happened in 787 B.C. Well, not in England. Ah, all right, in Egypt... Voice: In Sumeria, then? Linkman: ...in Sumeria, yes absolutely, but I didn't say "The place is Sumeria. The year is.." Hang on, hang on, wait, look, we gotta sort this out. This is background, it's important material, and it's new, it's a totally new link, they won't understand a word of it, you know, if you fade me out now. (fade)

...her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water signifying by Divine Providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. [singing stops] That is why I am your king! Dennis: Listen. Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony. Arthur: Be quiet! Dennis: Well, but you can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you! Arthur: Shut up! Dennis: I mean, if I went 'round saying I was an emperor just because some moistened bint had lobbed a scimitar at me, they'd put me away! Arthur: Shut up, will you? Shut up! Dennis: Ah, now we see the violence inherent in the system. Arthur: Shut up! Dennis: Oh! Come and see the violence inherent in the system! Help! Help! I'm being repressed! Arthur: Bloody peasant! Dennis: Oh, what a give-away. Did you hear that? Did you hear that, eh? That's what I'm on about. Did you see him repressing me? You saw it, didn't you?

Fish License

Praline:

(John) Hello, I would like to buy a fish license, please. Man:

(Michael) A what? Praline: A license for my pet fish, Eric. Man: How did you know my name was Eric? Praline: No no no, my fish's name is Eric, Eric the fish. He's an halibut. Man: What? Praline: He is...an...halibut. Man: You've got a pet halibut? Praline: Yes. I chose him out of thousands. I didn't like the others, they were all too flat. Man: You must be a looney. Praline: I am not a looney! Why should I be attired with the epithet looney merely because I have a pet halibut? I've heard tell that Sir Gerald Nabardo has a pet prawn called Simon - you wouldn't call him a looney - furthermore, Dawn Pailthorpe, the lady show-jumper, had a clam, called Stafford, after the late Chancellor, Allan Bullock has two pikes, both called Chris, and Marcel Proust had an haddock! So, if you're calling the author of 'A la recherche du temps perdu' a looney, I shall have to ask you to step outside! Man: Alright, alright, alright. A license. Praline: Yes. Man: For a fish. Praline: Yes. Man: You are a looney. Praline: Look, it's a bleeding pet, isn't it? I've got a license for me pet dog Eric, and I've got a license for me pet cat Eric... Man: You don't need a license for your cat. Praline: I bleeding well do and I got one. He can't be called Eric without it-- Man: There's no such thing as a bloody cat license. Praline: Yes there is! Man: Isn't! Praline: Is! Man: Isn't! Praline: I bleeding got one, look! What's that then? Man: This is a dog license with the word 'dog' crossed out and 'cat' written in, in crayon. Praline: The man didn't have the right form. Man: What man? Praline: The man from the cat detector van. Man: The looney detector van, you mean. Praline: Look, it's people like you what cause unrest. Man: What cat detector van? Praline: The cat detector van from the Ministry of Housinge. Man: Housinge? Praline: It was spelt like that on the van. I'm very observant! I never seen so many bleeding aerials. The man said that their equipment could pinpoint a purr at four hundred yards! And Eric, being such a happy cat, was a piece of cake. Man: How much did you pay for this? Praline: Sixty quid, and eight for the fruit-bat. Man: What fruit-bat? Praline: Eric the fruit-bat. Man: Are all your pets called Eric? Praline: There's nothing so odd about that: Kemal Ataturk had an entire menagerie called Abdul! Man: No he didn't! Praline: Did! Man: Didn't! Praline: Did, did, did, did, did and did! Man: Oh, all right. Praline: Spoken like a gentleman, sir. Now, are you going to give me a fish license? Man: I promise you that there is no such thing: you don't need one. Praline: In that case, give me a bee license. Man: A license for your pet bee? Praline: Correct. Man: Called Eric? Eric the Bee? Praline: No. Man: No? Praline: No, Eric the Half-Bee. He had an accident. Man: You're off your chump. Praline: Look, if you intend by that utilization of an obscure colloquiallism to imply that my sanity is not up to scratch, or indeed to deny the semi-existence of my little chum Eric the Half-Bee, I shall have to ask you to listen to this! Take it away, Eric the orchestra leader!.......

Finland Song

Finland, Finland, Finland.

The country where I want to be,

Pony trekking or camping,

Or just watching TV.

Finland, Finland, Finland,

It's the country for me.

You're so near to Russia,

So far from Japan.

Quite a long way from Cairo,

Lots of miles from Vietnam.

Finland, Finland, Finland.

The country where I want to be,

Eating breakfast or dinner,

Or snack lunch in the hall.

Finland, Finland, Finland,

Finland has it all.

You're so sadly neglected,

And often ignored,

A poor second to Belgium,

When going abroad.

Finland, Finland, Finland.

The country where I quite want to be,

Your mountains so lofty,

Your treetops so tall.

Finland, Finland, Finland,

Finland has it all.

Finland, Finland, Finland.

The country where I quite want to be,

Your mountains so lofty,

Your treetops so tall.

Finland, Finland, Finland,

Finland has it all.

Finland has it all...

If you've enjoyed hearing this song, and would like to know more about Finland, why not ring Mr. Griffith of Hammel Hampstead. He and his charming wife Edna will be glad to answer any of your questions, and who knows, may show you some of their unrivalled collection of Scandinavian credit cards.

Travel Agent

Announcer: And now, here is a magnificent recording made in the Wide Valley, of an ordinary travel agents office. Note the huge-breasted typist in the background. Smoketoomuch: Good morning. Secretary: Oh, good morning. (sexily) Uhm, do you want to come upstairs? Smoketoomuch: Beg your pardon? Secretary: (sexily) Do you want to come upstairs? (brightly) Oh, or have you come to arrange a holiday? Smoketoomuch: Uuh..to...to arrange a holiday. Secretary: Oh, sorry. Smoketoomuch: What's all this about coming upstairs? Secretary: Oh, nothing, nothing. Now, where were you thinking of going? Smoketoomuch: India. Secretary: Ah, one of our adventure holidays. Smoketoomuch: Yes. Secretary: Well, you'd better see Mr. Bounder about that. Uh, Mr. Bounder, this gentleman is interested in the "India Overland". Bounder: Morning, I'm Bounder of Adventure. Smoketoomuch: Hello, I'm Smoketoomuch. Bounder: Well, you'd better cut down a little then. Smoketoomuch: I'm sorry? Bounder: You'd better cut down a little then. Smoketoomuch: Oh, I see! Smoke too much so I'd better cut down a little then! Bounder: Yes, ha ha... I expect you get people making jokes about your name all the time, eh? Smoketoomuch: No, I never noticed it before. Bounder: So, you are interested in one of our adventure holidays, are you? Smoketoomuch: Yes, I saw your advert in the bolour supplement. Bounder: The what? Smoketoomuch: The bolour supplement. Bounder: The colour supplement. Smoketoomuch: Yes, I'm sorry, I can't say the letter 'B'. Bounder: C? Smoketoomuch: Yes, that's right. It's all due to a trauma I suffered when I was a sboolboy. I was attacked by a bat. Bounder: A cat? Smoketoomuch: No, a bat. Bounder: Oh...can you say the letter 'K'? Smoketoomuch: Oh, yes. Khaki, kind, kettle, Kipling, kipper, Kuwait, Keble Bollege Oxford. Bounder: Yes, yes but why don't you use the letter 'K' instead of the letter 'C'? Smoketoomuch: What, spell bolour with a 'K'? Bounder: Yes! Smoketoomuch: Kolour!

Oh, thank you! I never thought of that. What a silly bunt. Bounder: Anyway, about the holiday... Smoketoomuch: Well, yes, I've been on package tours many times, so your advert really bought my eye. Bounder: Ah good. Smoketoomuch: Yes, you're quite right, I'm fed up with being treated like a sheep, I mean what's the point of going abroad if you're just another tourist carted round in buses, surrounded by sweaty mindless oafs from Kettering and Boventry... Bounder: Absolutel.. Smoketoomuch: ...in their cloth caps and their cardigans and their transistor radios and their 'Sunday Mirrors', complaining about the tea, 'Oh they don't make it properly here do they not like at home' stopping at Majorcan bodegas, selling fish and chips and Watney's Red Barrel and calamares and two veg... Bounder: Yes. Smoketoomuch: ...and sitting in their cotton sun frocks squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy raw swollen purulent flesh... Bounder: Yes. Smoketoomuch: ...cos they 'overdid it on the first day'! And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellevueses and Bontinentals... Bounder: Yes, yes... Smoketoomuch: ...with their modern international luxury roomettes and draft Red Barrel and swimmingpools... Bounder: Yes. Smoketoomuch: ...full of fat German businessmen pretending they're acrobats, forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging in the queues and if you're not at your table spot on seven you miss the bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup,... Bounder: Shut up. Smoketoomuch: ...the first item on the menu of International Cuisine,... Bounder: Shut up, please! Smoketoomuch: ...and every Thursday night the hotel is a bloody cabaret in the bar featuring a tiny emaciated dago... Bounder: Please, will you shut up. Smoketoomuch: ...with nine-inch hips and some bloated fat tart with her hair Brylcreemed down and a big arse presenting Flamenco for Foreigners. Bounder: Shut up! Smoketoomuch: And adenoidal typists from Birmingham with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying to pick up hairy... Bounder: Please.. Smoketoomuch: ...bandy-legged wop waiters called Manuel,... Bounder: ..shut up! Smoketoomuch: ...and once a week there's an excursion to the local Roman ruins to buy cherryade and melted ice cream... Bounder: I can't bear it! Smoketoomuch: ...and bleedin' Watney's Red Barrel, and one evening you visit the so-called typical restaurant with local colour... Bounder: Shaddap! Smoketoomuch: ...and atmosphere and you sit next to a party of people from Rhyl who keeps singing 'Torremolinos, Torremolinos', and complaining about the food, 'It's so greasy here isn't it!' and you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic and Dr Scholl sandals and Tuesday's 'Daily Express' and he drones on and on and on about how Mr Smith should be running this country and how many... Bounder: Stop it, please. Smoketoomuch: ...languages Enoch Powell can speak and then he throws up all over the Cuba Libres. Bounder: Will you be quiet please. Smoketoomuch: And sending tinted postcards of places they don't realise they haven't even visited, 'to all... Bounder: Shut up Smoketoomuch: ...at number 22, weather wonderful... Bounder: PLEASE, SHUT UP! Smoketoomuch: ...our room is marked with an "X". Food very greasy but we found a charming... Bounder: Take it off! TAKE IT OFF! Smoketoomuch: ...little place hidden away in the back streets, where they serve Watney's Red Barrel and cheese and onion... Bounder: For God's sake, take it off. TAKE IT OFF!!! Smoketoomuch: ...crisps and the accordionist plays "Maybe its because I'm a Londoner"'...

(Sound of pick-up skating across record)

Are You Embarrassed Easily?

Announcer: Are you embarrassed easily? I am. But it's nothing to worry about. It's all part of growing up and being British. This course is designed to eliminate embarrassment, to enable you to talk freely about rude objects, to look at akward and embarrassing things, and to point at people's privates. The course has been designed by Dr. Karl Gruber of the Institute of Going A Bit Red in Helsinki. Here, he himself introduces the course. Dr. Karl Gruber: Hello, my name is Karl Gruber. Thank you for inviting me into your home. My method is the result of six years work here at the institute, in which subjects were exposed to simulated embarrassment predicaments, over a prolonged fart - period! time! (fart) ...Sorry. Lesson 1: Words. Do any of these words embarass you? Voice over: Shoe. Megaphone. Grunties. Dr. Karl Gruber: Now let's go on to something ruder: Voice over: Wankel rotary engine. Dr. Karl Gruber: Now lesson 2: Noises. Noises are a major embarrassment source. Even words like "tits", "winkle" and "vibraphone" can not rival the embarrassment potential of sound. Listen to this, if you can:

(embarrassing sound)

How do you rate your embarrassment response?

A) High.

Hello!

C) Good evening!

If C, you are loosening up, and will soon be ready for this:

(more embarrassing sounds)

Well! How did you rate?

A) Embarrassed.

Hello!

C) Good evening!

Now lesson 3, in which these rude and dirty sounds are combined with smutty visual suggestions into a embarrassment simulation situation. You are the waiter at this table: Lady: Charles, I've got something to show you... (zipper, thud, thud) Dr. Karl Gruber Score 5 for no embarrassment, score 3 for slight embarrassment, and 1 for...

Argument

Man: Eh, I'd like to have an argument, please. Receptionist: Certainly, sir. Have you been here before? Man: No, I haven't, this is my first time. Receptionist: I see. Well, do you want to have just one argument, or were you thinking of taking a course? Man: Well, what is the cost? Receptionist: Well, it's one pound for a five-minute argument, but only eight pounds for a course of ten. Man: Well, I think it would be best if I perhaps started of with just the one, and then see how it goes. Receptionist: Fine. Well, I'll see who's free at the moment. Mr. Du-Bakey's free, but he's a little bit concilliatory. Ah, yes, try Mr. Barnard, room 12. Man: Thank you. He enters room 12. Mr. Barnard: WHADDAYOU WANT? Man: Well, I was told outside that... Mr. Barnard: DON'T GIVE ME THAT, YOU SNOTTY-FACED HEAP OF PARROT DROPPINGS! Man: What? Mr. Barnard: SHUT YOUR FESTERING GOB, YOU TIT! YOUR TYPE REALLY MAKES ME PUKE! YOU VACUOUS TOFFEE-NOSED MALODOROUS PERVERT!!! Man: Look, I came here for an argument! I'm not just going to stand here... Mr. Barnard: OH! Oh! I'm sorry! This is abuse! Man: Oh I see! Well, that explains it... Mr. Barnard: Aha! No, you want room 12A, just along the corridor. Man: Oh...Thank you very much...Sorry... Mr. Barnard: Not at all! Man: Thank you. (Leaves) Mr. Barnard: (under his breath) Stupid git. The man knocks at the door to room 12A. Mr. Vibrating: Come in. Man: Is this the right room for an argument? Mr. Vibrating: I've told you once. Man: No you haven't! Mr. Vibrating: Yes I have. Man: When? Mr. Vibrating: Just now. Man: No you didn't! Mr. Vibrating: I did! Man: Didn't! Mr. Vibrating: Did! Man: Didn't! Mr. Vibrating: I'm telling you, I did! Man: You did not! Mr. Vibrating: Oh I'm sorry, just one moment. Is this a five minute argument, or the full half hour? Man: Ah! Just the five minutes. Mr. Vibrating: Ah, thank you.

Anyway, I did. Man: You most certainly did not! Mr. Vibrating: Look, let's get this thing clear: I quite definitely told you! Man: No you did not! Mr. Vibrating: Yes I did! Man: No you didn't! Mr. Vibrating: Yes I did! Man: No you didn't! Mr. Vibrating: Yes I did! Man: No you didn't! Mr. Vibrating: Yes I did! Man: You didn't! Mr. Vibrating: Did! Man: Oh look, this isn't an argument! Mr. Vibrating: Yes it is! Man: No it isn't! It's just contradiction! Mr. Vibrating: No it isn't! Man: It IS! Mr. Vibrating: It is NOT! Man: Look, you just contradicted me! Mr. Vibrating: I did not! Man: Oh, you DID! Mr. Vibrating: No no no! Man: You did just then! Mr. Vibrating: Nonsense! Man: (exasperated) Oh, this is futile!! Mr. Vibrating: No it isn't! Man: I came here for a good argument! Mr. Vibrating: No you didn't, no, you came here for an argument! Man: An argument isn't just contradiction. Mr. Vibrating: CAN be! Man: No it can't! An argument is a connected series of statements intended to establish a proposition. Mr. Vibrating: No it isn't! Man: Yes it is! 'tisn't just contradiction. Mr. Vibrating: Look, if I argue with you, I must take up a contrary position! Man: Yes but that's not just saying "no it isn't". Mr. Vibrating: Yes it is! Man: No it isn't! Argument is an intellectual process. Contradiction is just the automatic gainsaying of any statement the other person makes. Mr. Vibrating: No it isn't. Man: Yes it is! Mr. Vibrating: Not at all! Man: Now look... Mr. Vibrating: (Hits a bell on his desk) [DING] Good morning! Man: (stunned) What? Mr. Vibrating: That's it. Good morning. Man: But I was just getting interested! Mr. Vibrating: I'm sorry, the five minutes is up. Man: That was never five minutes!! Mr. Vibrating: I'm afraid it was. Man: It wasn't... Mr. Vibrating: I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue any more. Man: WHAT?? Mr. Vibrating: If you want me to go on arguing, you'll have to pay for another five minutes. Man: Yes, but that was never five minutes just now! Oh Come on! Mr. Vibrating: (Hums to himself.) Man: Look this is ridiculous! Mr. Vibrating: I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue unless you've paid! Man: Oh all right. (Pays.) Mr. Vibrating: Thank you. Man: Well... Mr. Vibrating: Well WHAT? Man: That wasn't really five minutes just now. Mr. Vibrating: I told you, I'm not allowed to argue unless you've paid! Man: Well I just paid! Mr. Vibrating: No you didn't! Man: I DID!!! Mr. Vibrating: No you didn't! Man: Look, I don't want to argue about that! Mr. Vibrating: Well, you didn't pay! Man: Ah HAH!! If I didn't pay, why are you arguing??? I've got you. Mr. Vibrating: No you haven't! Man: Yes I have! If you're arguing, I must have paid. Mr. Vibrating: Not necessarily. I could be arguing in my spare time. Man: Oh, I have had enough of this. Mr. Vibrating: No, you haven't. Man: Oh, shut up! (He leaves and sees a door marked complaints; he goes in) Man: I want to complain. Man in Charge: YOU want to complain...look at these shoes...I've only had them three weeks and the heels are worn right through. Man: No, I want to complain about... Man in Charge: If you complain nothing happens...you might as well not bother. My back hurts and the middel of such a fine day and I'm sick and tired of this office... (The man exits, walks down the corridor and enters a room) Man: Hello, I want to (smack) OHHH! Spreaders: No, no, no, hold your head like this, then go 'waaagh'! Try it again. Man: Woogh! Spreaders: Better. Better. But 'waaaaagh'! 'Waaaagh'! Put your hand there... Man: No! Spreaders: Now. (Hits him) Man: Waagh! Spreaders: Good, good, that's it! Man: Stop hitting me. Spreaders: What? Man: Stop hitting me. Spreaders: Stop hitting you? Man: Yes. Spreaders: Why do you come in here, then? Man: I wanted to complain. Spreaders: Oh, no, that's next door. It's being hit on the head lessons in here. Man: What a stupid concept.

Good morning! Man: (stunned) What? Mr. Vibrating: That's it. Good morning. Man: But I was just getting interested! Mr. Vibrating: I'm sorry, the five minutes is up. Man: That was never five minutes!! Mr. Vibrating: I'm afraid it was. Man: It wasn't... Mr. Vibrating: I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue any more. Man: WHAT?? Mr. Vibrating: If you want me to go on arguing, you'll have to pay for another five minutes. Man: Yes, but that was never five minutes just now! Oh Come on! Mr. Vibrating: (Hums to himself.) Man: Look this is ridiculous! Mr. Vibrating: I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue unless you've paid! Man: Oh all right. (Pays.) Mr. Vibrating: Thank you. Man: Well... Mr. Vibrating: Well WHAT? Man: That wasn't really five minutes just now. Mr. Vibrating: I told you, I'm not allowed to argue unless you've paid! Man: Well I just paid! Mr. Vibrating: No you didn't! Man: I DID!!! Mr. Vibrating: No you didn't! Man: Look, I don't want to argue about that! Mr. Vibrating: Well, you didn't pay! Man: Ah HAH!! If I didn't pay, why are you arguing??? I've got you. Mr. Vibrating: No you haven't! Man: Yes I have! If you're arguing, I must have paid. Mr. Vibrating: Not necessarily. I could be arguing in my spare time. Man: Oh, I have had enough of this. Mr. Vibrating: No, you haven't. Man: Oh, shut up! (He leaves and sees a door marked complaints; he goes in) Man: I want to complain. Man in Charge: YOU want to complain...look at these shoes...I've only had them three weeks and the heels are worn right through. Man: No, I want to complain about... Man in Charge: If you complain nothing happens...you might as well not bother. My back hurts and the middel of such a fine day and I'm sick and tired of this office... (The man exits, walks down the corridor and enters a room) Man: Hello, I want to (smack) OHHH! Spreaders: No, no, no, hold your head like this, then go 'waaagh'! Try it again. Man: Woogh! Spreaders: Better. Better. But 'waaaaagh'! 'Waaaagh'! Put your hand there... Man: No! Spreaders: Now. (Hits him) Man: Waagh! Spreaders: Good, good, that's it! Man: Stop hitting me. Spreaders: What? Man: Stop hitting me. Spreaders: Stop hitting you? Man: Yes. Spreaders: Why do you come in here, then? Man: I wanted to complain. Spreaders: Oh, no, that's next door. It's being hit on the head lessons in here. Man: What a stupid concept.

What's the news? Shopkeeper: I've had a look 'round the back of the shop, and uh, we're right out of parrots. Praline: I see. I see. I get the picture. Shopkeeper: (pause) I got a slug. (pause) Praline: Does it talk? Shopkeeper: Yep. Praline: Well, I'll have that one then.

Novel Writing (Live From Wessex)

Anouncer: And now it's time for Novel Writing, which today come from the west country on Dorset. Commentator: Hello, and welcome to Dorchester, where a very good crowd has turned out to watch local boy Thomas Hardy write his new novel "The Return Of The Native", on this very pleasant July morning. This will be his eleventh novel and the fifth of the very popular Wessex novels, and here he comes! Here comes Hardy, walking out towards his desk. He looks confident, he looks relaxed, very much the man in form, as he acknowledges this very good natured bank holliday crowd. And the crowd goes quiet now, as Hardy settles himself down at the desk, body straight, shoulders relaxed, pen held lightly but firmly in the right hand. He dips the pen...in the ink, and he's off! It's the first word, but it's not a word - oh, no! - it's a doodle. Way up on the top of the lefthand margin is a piece of meaningless scribble - and he's signed his name underneath it! Oh dear, what a disapointing start. But his off again - and here he goes - the first word of Thomas Hardy's new novel, at ten thirtyfive on this very lovely morning, it's three letters, it's the definite article, and it's "The". Dennis. Dennis: Well, this is true to form, no surprises there. He started five of his eleven novels to date with the definite article. We had two of them with "It", there's been one "But", two "At"s, one "On" and a "Dolores", but that of course was never published. Commentator: I'm sorry to interrupt you there, Dennis, but he's crossed it out. Thomas Hardy, here on the first day of his new novel, has crossed out the only word he has written so far, and he's gazing off into space. Oh, ohh, there he signed his name again. Dennis: It looks like "Tess of the D'Urbervilles" all over again. Commentator: But he's...no, he's down again and writting, Dennis, he's written "B" again, he's crossed it out again, and he has written "A" - and there is a second word coming up straight away, and it's "Sat" - "A Sat" - doesn't make sense - "A Satur" - "A Saturday" - it's "A Saturday", and the crowd are loving it, they are really enjoying this novel. And it's "afternoon", it's "Saturday afternoon", a comfortable beginning, and he's straight on to the next word - it's "in" - "A Saturday afternoon in" - "in" - "in" "in Nov" - "November" - November is spelled wrong, he's left out the second "E", but he's not going back, it looks like he's going for the sentence, and it's the first verb coming up - it's the first verb of the novel, and it's "was", and the crowd are going wild! "A Saturday afternoon in November was", and a long word here - "appro" - "appro" - is it a "approving"? - no, it's "approaching" - "approaching" - "A Saturday afternoon in November was approaching" - and he's done the definite article "but" again. And he's writing fluently, easily with flurring strokes of the pen, as he comes up to the middle of this first sentence. And with this eleventh novel well underway, and the prospects of a good days writing ahead, back to the studio.

Liner Notes

This record has been skillfully crafted by British comedians using ancient, wellworn, classical, handtooled jokes. It has been specially designed to sit at the back of your record collection, amongst the old Frank Sinatra albums, to be brought out and split up, when you get divorced. Any complaints about the humourous quality of this album, should be addressed to: British Airways, Ingrams Drive, Reddich.

Bells

Man: I wish those bloody bells would stop. Wife: Oh, it's quite nice dear, it's Sunday, it's the church. Man: What about us atheists? Why should we 'ave to listen to that sectarian turmoil? Wife: You're a lapsed atheist, dear. Man: The principle's the same. Bleeding C-of-E. The Mohmedans don't come 'round here wavin' bells at us! We don't get Buddhists playing bagpipes in our bathroom! Or Hindus harmonizing in the hall! The Shintuists don't come here shattering sheet glass in the shithouse, shouting slogans... Wife: All right, don't practice your alliteration on me. Man: Anyway, when I get my membership card and blazer badge back from the League of Agnostics, I shall urge the executive to lodge a protest against that religious racket! Pass the butter knife! Wife: WHAT?? Man: PASS THE BUTTER KNIFE!! THANK YOU! IF ONLY WE HAD SOME KIND OF MISSILE! Wife: 'OLD ON, I'LL CLOSE THE window. (Sound: Window closing, bells get faint, but are still there) Man: If only we had some kind of missile, we could take the steam out of those bells. Wife: Well, you could always use the number 14-St. Joseph-the-somewhat- divine-on-the-hill ballistic missile. It's in the attic. Man: What ballistic missile would this be, then? (Sound: Bells begin to get increasingly louder) Wife: I made it for you, it's your birthday present! Man: Just what I wanted, 'ow nice of you to remember, my pet. 'EAR! Wife: WHAT? Man: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER! Wife: WHAT? Man: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!! Wife: THE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER! OOOH, LOOK! Man: WHAT? Wife: THE CHURCH, IT'S GETTING CLOSER! ITS COMING DOWN THE 'ILL! Man: WHAT A LIBERTY! Wife: IT'S TURNING INTO OUR LANE! Man: STRAIGHT THROUGH THE LIGHTS, OF COURSE. Wife: TYPICAL, YOU BETTER GO PUT IT OUT OF IT'S MISERY. Man: WHERE'S THIS MISSILE, THEN? Wife: IT'S IN THE AIRING CUPBOARD. PRESS THE BUTTON MARKED CHURCH! Man: 'OW DO I AIM IT? Wife: IT AUTOMATICALLY HOMES IN ON THE NEAREST PLACE OF WORSHIP! Man: THAT'S ST. MARKS! Wife: IT ISN'T NOW, LOOK!! OH, ITS OP'NING THE GATE. Man: WHAT? USE THE MEGAPHONE! Wife: IT'S OP'NING THE GATE!! Man: I'LL POP UP THE AIRING CUPBOARD. Wife: 'HURRY UP, ITS TRAMPLING OVER THE AZALIAS! (Sound: Missle launch, explosion, bells diminish) Man: Did I 'it it? Wife: Yes, right up the aisle. Man: Well I've always said, There's nothing an agnostic can't do if he really doesn't know whether he believes in anything or not.

Traffic Lights

I like traffic lights,

No matter where they've been.

I like traffic lights,

But only when they're green.

He likes traffic lights,

No matter where they've been.

He likes traffic lights,

But only when they're green.

I like traffic lights,

That is what I said.

I like traffic lights,

But not when they are red.

He likes traffic lights,

That is what he said.

He likes traffic lights,

But not when they are red.

I like traffic lights,

Although my name's not Bamber.

I like traffic lights,

I...Oh God!

Cocktail Bar

John: ...except for a half sister, who was obsessed with Vanadium. Rigged the market, made a cool forty million, paid off the Lord Mayor, and put the lot into diesel powered nuns. Terry J: Which is where it went wrong, eh... Michael: Exactly! Terry J: Pass the beernuts. John: Oh he hasn't killed himself yet. Terry J: He hasn't? John: Oh no, waiting to April the 5th. Michael: Some sort of tax dodge. Graham: Good evening, sir. John: Evening, Tom. Terry J: Evening, Harry. Michael: Evening, Maurice. Graham: Well, what's it to be, sir? John: A mark. Terry J: Oh, one of your specials please, Harry. John: One special please, sir. Graham: One special coming up. John: So see what's in page eight. Nixon's had an arsehole transplant. Michael: Well, have you've...eh...you've seen the stop press though? The arsehole's rejected him. Graham: Ehm...would you like a twist of lemming, sir? Terry J: Uh, yes please, Harry. (squeak, squeak, squeak) Graham: Bit more, sir? Terry J: Oh, just a squeeze. (SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQUEAK) Graham: There you are, sir Terry J: Thank you. John: Alex, what'll you have? Michael: Oh, aaaaaah, Mallard Fizz for me, please, Maurice. Graham: Ok, sir, one Mallard Fizz coming up. Michael: Jolly good. Terry J: How about old Cohen Barkley? John: Eh? Terry J: [???? ???? ????. ??? ??? ?????? switched the wood preservertives into vinaigre. Sold the bottles right next to [???]. (QUAAACK, QUAAACK, QUAAACK) Terry J: Smart fellow's always gonna do well. Nice bloke, said I [?????????] Michael: Funny looking chap, you know. Buttocks bent the wrong way. [??????????] every time he sat down he fell over. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha. Don't make me laugh. Terry J: Well, cheers then. Graham: Cheers, sir (Retching) John: Eh, for me...ehm...a Harlem Stinger, please, Tom. Graham: Okay, sir. Rastus! Rastus: Here, boss. Graham: One Harlem Stinger. Rastus: One stinger coming raaaahhhhht up.

(Gurgling, retching) Michael: Cheers, old boy. Everyone: Cheers, all the best. (Running to the lavatory) John: Eh, how much is that then, Tom? Graham: One pound and forty p, sir. John: Would you care to join us? Graham: Oh, no, thank you, sir. John: There we are, keep the change. Graham: Thank you, sir. John: Good health. Graham: Cheers. (Drinking. Running to the lavatory, regurgitating) Terry J: Same again, please, Harry.

Go easy on the lemming, Harry. Graham: Okay, sir. There you are, sir. Eh...same again for you, sir? Michael: Just a small one, Maurice. Graham: Okay, sir. Michael: Maurice? Graham: Yes, sir? Michael: You haven't got something a little less...eh...ducky, have you? Graham: What do you mean, something without the mallard, sir? How about a Dog Turd and Tonic? Michael: Uurgh!

Election Special

Linkman: Hello, good evening and welcome to Election Night Special. There's tremendous excitement here at the moment and we should be getting the first results through any moment now. We're not sure where it will be from, it might be Leicester or from West Byfleet, the polling's been quite heavy in both areas. Ah, I'm just getting... I'm just getting... a buzzing noise in my left ear. Urgh, argh! (removes insect and stamps on it). And now let's go straight over to Leicester. Norman: And it's a straight fight here at Leicester and we're expecting the result any moment now. There with the Returning Officer is Arthur Smith the sensible candidate and next to him is Jethro Q. Walrustitty the silly candidate with his agent and his silly wife. Officer: Here is the result for Leicester. Arthur J. Smith... Linkman: (Sensible Party) Officer: ...30,612. (applause)

Jethro Q. Bunn Whackett Buzzard Stubble and Boot Walrustitty... Linkman: (Silly Party) Officer: ...33,108. (applause) Linkman: Well there we have the first result of the election and the Silly party has held Leicester. Norman. Norman: Well pretty much as I predicted, except that the Silly party won. Er, I think this is largely due to the number of votes cast. Gerald. Gerald: Well there's a big swing here to the Silly Party, but how big a swing I'm not going to tell you. Norman: I think one should point out that in this constituency since the last election a lot of very silly people have moved into new housing estates with the result that a lot of sensible voters have moved further down the road the other side of number er, 29. Linkman: Well I can't add anything to that. Colin? Colin: Can I just say that this is the first time I've been on television? Linkman: No I'm sorry, there isn't time, we're just going straight over to Luton. Gerald: Well here at Luton it's a three-cornered contest between, from left to right, Alan Jones (Sensible Party), Tarquin Fin-tim-lin-bin-lim-bim-bim-bim-bim-bus-stop-F'tang-F'tang-Olé-Biscuitbarrel (Silly Party), and Kevin Phillips-Bong, who is running on the Slightly Silly ticket. And here's the result. Woman: Alan Jones... Linkman: (Sensible) Woman: ...9,112.

Kevin Phillips-Bong... Linkman: (Slightly Silly) Woman: Nought.

Tarquin Fin-tim-lin-bin-whin-bim-lin-bim-bus-stop-F'tang-F'tang-Olé-Biscuitbarrel... Linkman: (Silly) Woman: 12,441. (applause) Linkman: Well there you have it, the first result of the election as the Silly Party take Luton. Norman. Norman: Well this is a very significant result. Luton, normally a very sensible constituency with a high proportion of people who aren't a bit silly, has gone completely ga-ga. Linkman: And we've just heard that James Gilbert has with him the winning Silly candidate at Luton. James: Tarquin, are you pleased with this result? Tarquin: Ho yus, me old beauty, I should say so. (Silly noises including a goat bleating). Linkman: And do we have the swing at Luton? Gerald: Er... no. (pause) Linkman: Right, well I can't add anything to that. Colin? Colin: Can I just say that this is the second time I've been on television? Linkman: No, I'm sorry there isn't time, we're just about to get another result. Norman: And this one is from Harpenden Southeast. A very interesting constituency this: in addition to the official Silly candidate there is an unofficial Very Silly candidate, in the slab of concrete, and he could well split the silly vote here at Harpenden Southeast. Voice over: Mrs Elsie Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... Linkman: (Silly) Voice over: 26,317 (applause).

Jeanette Walker... Linkman: (Sensible) Voice over: 26,318... Linkman: That was very close! Voice over: Malcolm Peter Brian Telescope Adrian Blackpool Rock Stoatgobbler John Raw Vegetable Brrroooo Norman Michael (rings bell) (blows whistle) Edward (sounds car horn) (does train impersonation) (sounds buzzer) Thomas Moo... (sings) "We'll keep a welcome in the..." (fires gun) William (makes silly noise) "Raindrops keep falling on my" (weird noise) "Don't sleep in the subway" (cuckoo cuckoo) Naaoooo... Smith... Linkman: (Very Silly) Voice over: ...two. Linkman: Well there you have it, a Sensible gain at Harpenden with the Silly vote being split. Norman: And we've just heard from Luton that Tony Stratton-Smith has with him there the unsuccessful Slightly Silly candidate, Kevin Phillips-Bong. Tony: Kevin Phillips-Bong. You polled no votes at all. Not a sausage. Bugger all. Are you at all disappointed with this performance? Phillips-Bong: Not at all. As I always say:

Climb every mountain

Ford every stream,

Follow every by-way,

Till you find your dream.

(Sings:)

A dream that will last

All the love you can give

Every day of your life

For as long as you live.

All together now!

Climb every mountain

Ford every stream... Linkman: A very brave Kevin Phillips-Bong there. Norman. Norman: And I've just heard from Luton that my aunt is ill. Possibly gastro-enteritis, possibly just catarrh. Gerald. Linkman: Right. Er, Colin? Colin: Can I just say that I'll never appear on television again? Linkman: No I'm sorry, there isn't time, we have to pick up a few results you may have missed. A little pink pussy-cat has taken Barrow-in-Furness -- that's a gain from the Liberals there. Rastus Odinga Odinga has taken Wolverhampton Southwest, that's Enoch Powell's old constituency -- an important gain there for Darkie Power. Arthur Negus has held Bristols -- that's not a result, that's just a bit of gossip. Sir Alec Douglas Hume has taken Oldham for the Stone Dead party. A small piece of putty about that big, a cheese mechanic from Dunbar and two frogs -- one called Kipper the other one not -- have all gone "Ni ni ni ni ni ni ni!" in Blackpool Central. And so it's beginning to look like a Silly landslide, and with the prospect of five more years' Silly government facing us we... Oh I don't want to do this any more, I'm bored! Norman: He's right you know, it is a bloody waste of time. Gerald: Absolute waste of time. Norman: I wanted to be a gynaecologist...

Lumberjack Song

I...I never wanted to do this for a living. I...I...I always...wanted to be...a LUMBERJACK. Leaping from tree to tree as they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia. The giant larch, the redwood, the mighty scots pine. With my best girl by my side, we'd sing...sing... sing

Oh, I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay,

I sleep all night and I work all day.

Chorus: He's a lumberjack and he's okay,

He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I cut down trees, I eat my lunch,

I go to the lavatory.

On Wednesdays I go shopping

And have buttered scones for tea.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch,

He goes to the lavatory.

On Wednesdays he goes shopping

And has buttered scones for tea.

Chorus: He's a lumberjack and he's okay,

He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I cut down trees, I skip and jump,

I like to press wild flowers.

I put on women's clothing,

And hang around in bars.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he skips and jumps,

He likes to press wild flowers.

He puts on women's clothing,

And hangs around in bars?

Chorus: He's a lumberjack and he's okay,

He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I cut down trees, I wear high heels,

Suspenders and a bra.

I wish I'd been a girlie,

Just like my dear pappa.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he wears high heels?

Suspendies...and a bra?

...he's a lumberjack and he's okay,

He sleeps all night and he works all day.

...he's a lumberjack and he's OKAAAAAAAAAAYYY.

He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I Like Chinese

The world today seems absolutely crackers.

With nuclear bombs to blow us all sky high.

There are fools and idiots sitting on the trigger.

It's depressing, and it's senseless, and that's why...

I like Chinese,

They only come up to your knees,

Yet they're always friendly and they're ready to please.

I like Chinese,

There's nine hundred million of them in the world today,

You'd better learn to like them, that's what I say.

I like Chinese,

They come from a long way overseas,

But they're cute and they're cuddly, and they're ready to please.

I like chinese food,

The waiters never are rude,

Think of the many things they've done to impress,

There's Maoism, Taoism, I Ching and chess.

So I like Chinese,

I like Chinese,

I like their tiny little trees,

Their Zen, their ping-pong, their

yin and yang-ese.

I like Chinese thought,

The wisdom that Confucious taught,

If Darwin is anything to shout about,

The Chinese will survive us all without any doubt.

So I like Chinese,

I like Chinese,

They only come up to your knees,

Yet they're wise and they're witty, and they're ready to please.

(Verse in Chinese)

I like Chinese,

Their food is guaranteed to please,

A fourteen, a seven, a nine and lychees.

I like Chinese,

I like their tiny little trees,

Their Zen, their ping-pong, their yin and yang-ese.

I like Chinese,

They only come up to your knees,

Yet they're wise and they're witty, and they're ready to please.(Fade)

(The door flies open and Cardinal Ximinez of Spain enters, flanked by two junior cardinals. Cardinal Biggles has goggles pushed over his forehead. Cardinal Fang is just Cardinal Fang) Ximinez:

(Michael) NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our weapon is suprise...surprise and fear...fear and surprise.... Our two weapons are fear and surprise...and ruthless efficiency.... Our three weapons are fear, and surprise, and the ruthless efficiency...and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope.... Amongst our weapons...are fear, surprise, ruth... Amongst our weaponry...are such elements as fear... I'll come in again. (Exit and exeunt) Reg: I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition. [JARRING CHORD]

(The cardinals burst in) Ximinez: NOOOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition! Amongst our weaponry are such diverse elements as: fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope, and a night out with the neighbour - Oh erh! It's no good, I'm sorry. Cardinal Biggles - you'll have to say it. Biggles:

(Terry J) What? Ximinez: You'll have to say the bit about 'Our chief weapons are ...' Biggles: I couldn't say that... (Ximinez bundles the cardinals outside again) Reg: I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition. [JARRING CHORD]

(The cardinals enter) Biggles: Er.... Nobody...um.... Ximinez: Expects... Biggles: Expects... Nobody expects the...um...Spanish...um... Ximinez: Inquisition. Biggles: Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. In fact, those who do expect - Ximinez: Our chief weapons is... Biggles: Our chief weapons is...um...er... Ximinez: Surprise... Biggles: Surprise and -- Ximinez: Stop. Stop. Stop there - All right! All right! ...our chief weapon is surprise...blah blah blah blah blah. Now, Cardinal Fang, read the charges. Fang:

(Terry G) One pound for a full sketch, 24 p for a quickie. Ximinez: What will you have? Lady Mountback: Sketch, please.

Cheese Shop

Mousebender:

(John) Good Morning. Wensleydale:

(Michael) Good morning, sir. Welcome to the National Cheese Emporium! Mousebender: Ah, thank you, my good man. Wensleydale: What can I do for you, sir? Mousebender: Well, I was, uh, sitting in the public library on Thurmon Street just now, skimming through "Rogue Herrys" by Hugh Walpole, and I suddenly came over all peckish. Wensleydale: Peckish, sir? Mousebender: Esuriant. Wensleydale: Eh? Mousebender: 'Ee, Ah wor 'ungry-loike! Wensleydale: Ah, hungry! Mousebender: In a nutshell. And I thought to myself, "a little fermented curd will do the trick," so, I curtailed my Walpoling activites, sallied forth, and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some cheesy comestibles! Wensleydale: Come again? Mousebender: I want to buy some cheese. Wensleydale: Oh, I thought you were complaining about the bazouki player! Mousebender: Oh, heaven forbid: I am one who delights in all manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse! Wensleydale: Sorry? Mousebender: 'Ooo, Ah lahk a nice tuune, 'yer forced too! Wensleydale: So he can go on playing, can he? Mousebender: Most certainly! Now then, some cheese please, my good man. Wensleydale: (lustily) Certainly, sir. What would you like? Mousebender: Well, eh, how about a little Red Leicester. Wensleydale: I'm, a-fraid we're fresh out of Red Leicester, sir. Mousebender: Oh, never mind, how are you on Tilsit? Wensleydale: I'm afraid we never have that at the end of the week, sir, we get it fresh on Monday. Mousebender: Tish tish. No matter. Well, stout yeoman, four ounces of Caerphilly, if you please. Wensleydale: Ah! It's beeeen on order, sir, for two weeks. Was expecting it this morning. Mousebender: 'T's Not my lucky day, is it? Aah, Bel Paese? Wensleydale: Sorry, sir. Mousebender: Red Windsor? Wensleydale: Normally, sir, yes. Today the van broke down. Mousebender: Ah. Stilton? Wensleydale: Sorry. Mousebender: Ementhal? Gruyere? Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: Any Norweigan Jarlsburg, per chance. Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: Liptauer? Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: Lancashire? Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: White Stilton? Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: Danish Blue? Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: Double Gloucester? Wensleydale: (pause) No. Mousebender: Cheshire? Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: Dorset Blue Vinney? Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: Brie, Rocquefort, Pont-l'Évêgue le Veq, Port Salut, Savoyard, Saint-Paulin, Carre-de-L'Ést, Bresse Bleue, Bruson? Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: Camenbert, perhaps? Wensleydale: Ah! We have Camenbert, yessir. Mousebender: (suprised) You do! Excellent. Wensleydale: Yessir. It's..ah,.....it's a bit runny... Mousebender: Oh, I like it runny. Wensleydale: Well,.. It's very runny, actually, sir. Mousebender: No matter. Fetch hither the fromage de la Belle France! Mmmwah! Wensleydale: I...think it's a bit runnier than you'll like it, sir. Mousebender: I don't care how fucking runny it is. Hand it over with all speed. Wensleydale: Oooooooooohhh........! (pause) Mousebender: What now? Wensleydale: The cat's eaten it. Mousebender: (pause) Has he. Wensleydale: She, sir. (pause) Mousebender: Gouda? Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: Edam? Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: Caithness? Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: Smoked Austrian? Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: Japanese Sage Derby? Wensleydale: No, sir. Mousebender: You...do have some cheese, don't you? Wensleydale: (brightly) Of course, sir. It's a cheese shop, sir. We've got-- Mousebender: No no... don't tell me. I'm keen to guess. Wensleydale: Fair enough. Mousebender: Uuuuuh, Wensleydale. Wensleydale: Yes? Mousebender: Ah, well, I'll have some of that! Wensleydale: Oh! I thought you were talking to me, sir. Mister Wensleydale, that's my name. (pause) Mousebender: Greek Feta? Wensleydale: Uh, not as such. Mousebender: Uuh, Gorgonzola? Wensleydale: No Mousebender: Parmesan? Wensleydale: No Mousebender: Mozzarella? Wensleydale: No Mousebender: Pippo Crème? Wensleydale: No Mousebender: Danish Fynbo? Wensleydale: No Mousebender: Czech sheep's milk? Wensleydale: No Mousebender: Venezuelan Beaver Cheese? Wensleydale: Not today, sir, no. (pause) Mousebender: Aah, how about Cheddar? Wensleydale: Well, we don't get much call for it around here, sir. Mousebender: Not much ca--It's the single most popular cheese in the world! Wensleydale: Not 'round here, sir. Mousebender: (slight pause) and what IS the most popular cheese 'round hyah? Wensleydale: Ilchester, sir. Mousebender: IS it. Wensleydale: Oh, yes, it's staggeringly popular in this manor, squire. Mousebender: Is it. Wensleydale: It's our number one best seller, sir! Mousebender: I see. Uuh...Ilchester, eh? Wensleydale: Right, sir. Mousebender: All right. Okay. 'Have you got any?' he asked, expecting the answer 'no'. Wensleydale: I'll have a look, sir... nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnno. Mousebender: It's not much of a cheese shop, is it? Wensleydale: Finest in the district, sir! Mousebender: Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please. Wensleydale: Well, it's so clean, sir! Mousebender: It's certainly uncontaminated by cheese.... Wensleydale: (brightly) You haven't asked me about Limburger, sir. Mousebender: Would it be worth it? Wensleydale: Could be.... Mousebender: Have you --SHUT THAT BLOODY BAZOUKI UP! Wensleydale: Told you, sir.... Mousebender: (slowly) Have you got any Limburger? Wensleydale: No. Mousebender: Figures. Predictable, really I suppose. It was an act of purest optimism to have posed the question in the first place. Tell me: Wensleydale: Yessir? Mousebender: (deliberately) Have you in fact got any cheese here at all. Wensleydale: Yes,sir. Mousebender: Really? (pause) Wensleydale: No. Not really, sir. Mousebender: You haven't. Wensleydale: Nosir. Not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time,sir. Mousebender: Well I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to shoot you. Wensleydale: Right-0, sir. (Mousebender pulls out a gun and shoots Wensleydale) Mousebender: What a senseless waste of human life.

Architect's Sketch

Mr. Tid

(Graham): Now, gentlemen, we have two basic suggestions for the architectural design of this residential block, and I thought it better that the architects themselves demonstrate the particular advantages of their designs. Ah! That's probably the first architect now. Erm, Mr. Wiggin of Ironside and Malone. Mr. Wiggin

(John): Good morning, gentlemen. This is a model of a 12-storey block combining classical neo-Georgian features with the efficiencies of modern techniques. The tenants arrive here in the entrance hall, are carried along the corridor on a conveyor belt in extreme comfort, past murals depicting Mediterranean scenes, towards the rotating knives. The last twenty feet of the corridor are heavily soundproofed. The blood pours down these chutes and the mangled flesh slurps into these large.... First City Gent: Excuse me. Mr. Wiggin: Yes? First City Gent: Did you say 'knives'? Mr. Wiggin: Rotating knives, yes. Second City Gent: Are you proposing to slaughter our tenants? Mr. Wiggin: Does that not fit in with your plans? First City Gent: Ah, no, no it does not. We asked for a simple block of flats. Mr. Wiggin: Ahhh. I hadn't fully divined your attitude towards the tenants. You see I mainly design slaughter houses.

Pity.

Mind you, this is a real beaut. None of your blood caked on the walls and flesh flying out of the windows incommoding the passers-by with this one. My life has been leading up to this. Second City Gent: Yes, and well done, but we wanted an apartment block. Mr. Wiggin: May I ask you to reconsider. You wouldn't regret this. Think of the tourist trade. First City Gent: I'm sorry, but we want a block of flats, and not an abattoir. Mr. Wiggin: Yes! Well, that's the sort of blinkered philistine pig ignorance I've come to expect from you non-creative garbage. You sit there on your loathsome spotty behinds squeezing blackheads, not caring a tinker's cuss for the struggling artist, you excrement. You whining hypocritical toadies with your colour TV sets and your Tony Jacklin golf clubs and your bleeding masonic secret handshakes. You wouldn't let me join, would you, you blackballing bastards. Well I wouldn't become a Freemason now if you went down on your lousy stinking knees and begged me. Second City Gent: We're sorry you feel that way but we did want a block of flats, nice though the abattoir is. Mr. Wiggin: Oh sod the abattoir, it's not important. (He dashes forward and kneels in front of them.) But if any of you could put in a word for me I'd love to be a mason. Masonry opens doors. I'd be very quiet, I was a bit on edge just now but if I were a mason I'd sit at the back and not get in anyone's way. First City Gent: (politely) Thank you. Mr. Wiggin: I've got a second-hand apron. Second City Gent: Thank you. Mr. Wiggin: I nearly got in at Hendon. First City Gent: Thank you. Second City Gent: Is there anyone else to see? Mr.Tid: Yes, there's the Spanish Inquisition. Second City Gent: I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition.

Ximinez: NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition. Our chief weapon is surprise, that's all, just surprise. Fang: What about fear? Ximenez: Oh, yes yes, all right. Surprise and fear. Fang: And a fanatical... Ximenez: Shut up!

Right.

You are accused of heresy on three counts -- heresy by thought, heresy by word, heresy by deed, and heresy by action -- four, four counts. Now, you have one last chance. Confess the heinous sin of heresy, reject the works of the ungodly -- two last chances. And you shall be free -- three last chances. You have three last chances, and unrighteous creature. How do you plead? HA HA HA HA!

(pause)

Where has everybody gone?

Cardinal Fang? Car-di-nal Fang!

(Door opening. Cafeteria sounds.) Fang: Sorry, my lord. We were just having a cup of tea with these architects.. Ximenez: Shut up! (fade)

Architect's Sketch

Mr. Tid

(Graham): Now, gentlemen, we have two basic suggestions for the architectural design of this residential block, and I thought it better that the architects themselves demonstrate the particular advantages of their designs. Ah! That's probably the first architect now. Erm, Mr. Wiggin of Ironside and Malone. Mr. Wiggin

(John): Good morning, gentlemen. This is a model of a 12-storey block combining classical neo-Georgian features with the efficiencies of modern techniques. The tenants arrive here in the entrance hall, are carried along the corridor on a conveyor belt in extreme comfort, past murals depicting Mediterranean scenes, towards the rotating knives. The last twenty feet of the corridor are heavily soundproofed. The blood pours down these chutes and the mangled flesh slurps into these large.... First City Gent: Excuse me. Mr. Wiggin: Yes? First City Gent: Did you say 'knives'? Mr. Wiggin: Rotating knives, yes. Second City Gent: Are you proposing to slaughter our tenants? Mr. Wiggin: Does that not fit in with your plans? First City Gent: Ah, no, no it does not. We asked for a simple block of flats. Mr. Wiggin: Ahhh. I hadn't fully divined your attitude towards the tenants. You see I mainly design slaughter houses.

Pity.

Mind you, this is a real beaut. None of your blood caked on the walls and flesh flying out of the windows incommoding the passers-by with this one. My life has been leading up to this. Second City Gent: Yes, and well done, but we wanted an apartment block. Mr. Wiggin: May I ask you to reconsider. You wouldn't regret this. Think of the tourist trade. First City Gent: I'm sorry, but we want a block of flats, and not an abattoir. Mr. Wiggin: Yes! Well, that's the sort of blinkered philistine pig ignorance I've come to expect from you non-creative garbage. You sit there on your loathsome spotty behinds squeezing blackheads, not caring a tinker's cuss for the struggling artist, you excrement. You whining hypocritical toadies with your colour TV sets and your Tony Jacklin golf clubs and your bleeding masonic secret handshakes. You wouldn't let me join, would you, you blackballing bastards. Well I wouldn't become a Freemason now if you went down on your lousy stinking knees and begged me. Second City Gent: We're sorry you feel that way but we did want a block of flats, nice though the abattoir is. Mr. Wiggin: Oh sod the abattoir, it's not important. (He dashes forward and kneels in front of them.) But if any of you could put in a word for me I'd love to be a mason. Masonry opens doors. I'd be very quiet, I was a bit on edge just now but if I were a mason I'd sit at the back and not get in anyone's way. First City Gent: (politely) Thank you. Mr. Wiggin: I've got a second-hand apron. Second City Gent: Thank you. Mr. Wiggin: I nearly got in at Hendon. First City Gent: Thank you. Second City Gent: Is there anyone else to see? Mr.Tid: Yes, there's the Spanish Inquisition. Second City Gent: I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition.

Ximinez: NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition. Our chief weapon is surprise, that's all, just surprise. Fang: What about fear? Ximenez: Oh, yes yes, all right. Surprise and fear. Fang: And a fanatical... Ximenez: Shut up!

Right.

You are accused of heresy on three counts -- heresy by thought, heresy by word, heresy by deed, and heresy by action -- four, four counts. Now, you have one last chance. Confess the heinous sin of heresy, reject the works of the ungodly -- two last chances. And you shall be free -- three last chances. You have three last chances, and unrighteous creature. How do you plead? HA HA HA HA!

(pause)

Where has everybody gone?

Cardinal Fang? Car-di-nal Fang!

(Door opening. Cafeteria sounds.) Fang: Sorry, my lord. We were just having a cup of tea with these architects.. Ximenez: Shut up! (fade)

Spam

Mr. Bun:

(Eric) Morning! Waitress:

(Terry J) Morning! Mr. Bun: Well, what've you got? Waitress: Well, there's egg and bacon; egg sausage and bacon; egg and spam; egg bacon and spam; egg bacon sausage and spam; spam bacon sausage and spam; spam egg spam spam bacon and spam; spam sausage spam spam spam bacon spam tomato and spam; Vikings: (starting to chant) Spam spam spam spam... Waitress: ...spam spam spam egg and spam; spam spam spam spam spam spam baked beans spam spam spam... Vikings: (singing) Spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Waitress: ...or Lobster Thermidor a Crevette with a mornay sauce served in a Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with truffle paté, brandy and with a fried egg on top and spam. Mrs. Bun:

(Graham) Have you got anything without spam? Waitress: Well, there's spam egg sausage and spam, that's not got much spam in it. Mrs. Bun: I don't want ANY spam! Mr. Bun: Why can't she have egg bacon spam and sausage? Mrs. Bun: THAT'S got spam in it! Mr. Bun: Hasn't got as much spam in it as spam egg sausage and spam, has it? Vikings: Spam spam spam spam (crescendo through next few lines) Mrs. Bun: Could you do the egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam then? Waitress: Urgghh! Mrs. Bun: What do you mean 'Urgghh'? I don't like spam! Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! Waitress: Shut up! Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! Waitress: Shut up! (Vikings stop) Bloody Vikings! You can't have egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam. Mrs. Bun: I DON'T LIKE SPAM! Mr. Bun: Sshh, dear, don't cause a fuss. I'll have your spam. I love it. I'm having spam spam spam spam spam spam spam beaked beans spam spam spam and spam! Vikings: (singing) Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! Waitress: Shut up!! Baked beans are off. Mr. Bun: Well could I have her spam instead of the baked beans then? Waitress: You mean spam spam spam spam spam spam spam spam spam spam spam and spam! Vikings: (singing) Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! Spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam. Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Spam spam spam spam!

Various voices: The comfy chair? The comfy chair! THE COMFY CHAIR. The comfy chair! The comfy chair! THE COMFY CHAIR. The comfy chair! THE COMFY CHAIR! The comfy chair! The comfy chair! THE COMFY CHAIR.

really know what is happening to the chaps in France, and is Belinda such good (buzz) as everyone says? Don't miss next weeks exiting episode.

Spanish Inquisition Revisited

Voice over: If you've enjoyed listening to this record, you will enjoy "Folksongs Of The Spanish Inquisition" [JARRING CHORD] Cardinals: (singing)

Knees up Mother Brown

Knees up, knees up,

Don't get your knees up[?]

Knees up Mother Brown.

I Bet You They Won't Play This Song On The Radio

I bet they won't play this song on the radio

I bet you they won't play this new (bleep) song

It's not that it's (bleep) or (bleep) controversial

Just that the (bleep)ing words are 'awfully strong

You can't say (bleep) on the radio

Or (bleep) or (bleep) or (bleep)

You can't even say I'd like to (bleep) you one day

Unless your're a doctor with a very large (bleep)

So I bet you they won't play this song on the radio

I bet you they daren't (bleep) well programme it

I bet you their (bleep)ing old Programme Directors

Will think it's a load of horse (bleep)

Bookshop

Customer: Good morning. Owner

(John): Good morning, sir. Can I help you? Customer: Er, yes. Do you have a copy of "Thirty Days in the Samarkind Desert with the Duchess of Kent" by A. E. J. Eliott, O.B.E.? Owner: Ah, well, I don't know the book, sir.... Customer: Er, never mind, never mind. How about "A Hundred and One Ways to Start a Fight"? Owner: ...By? Customer: An Irish gentleman whose name eludes me for the moment. Owner: Ah, no, well we haven't got it in stock, sir.... Customer: Oh, well, not to worry, not to worry. Can you help me with "David Coperfield"? Owner: Ah, yes, Dickens. Customer: No.... Owner: I beg your pardon? Customer: No, Edmund Wells. Owner: I... think you'll find Charles Dickens wrote "David Copperfield", sir.... Customer: No, no, Dickens wrote "David Copperfield" with two Ps. This is "David Coperfield" with one P by Edmund Wells. Owner: "David Coperfield" with one P? Customer: Yes, I should have said. Owner: Yes, well in that case we don't have it. Customer: Funny, you've got a lot of books here.... Owner: Yes, we do, but we don't have "David Coperfield" with one P by Edmund Wells. Customer: Are you quite sure? Owner: Quite. Customer: Not worth just looking? Owner: Definitely not. Customer: Oh...how 'bout "Grate Expectations"? Owner: Yes, well we have that.... Customer: That's "G-R-A-T-E Expectations," also by Edmund Wells. Owner: Yes, well in that case we don't have it. We don't have anything by Edmund Wells, actually: he's not very popular. Customer: Not "Knickerless Knickleby"? That's K-N-I-C-K-E-R-L-E-S-S. Owner: No. Customer: "Khristmas Karol" with a K? Owner: No.... Customer: Er, how about "A Sale of Two Titties"? Owner: DEFINITELY NOT. Customer: Sorry to trouble you.... Owner: Not at all.... Customer: Good morning. Owner: Good morning. Customer: Oh! Owner: Yesss? Customer: I wonder if you might have a copy of "Rarnaby Budge"? Owner: No, as I say, we're right out of Edmund Wells! Customer: No, not Edmund Wells - Charles Dikkens. Owner: Charles Dickens?? Customer: Yes. Owner: You mean "Barnaby Rudge"! Customer: No, "Rarnaby Budge" by Charles Dikkens. That's Dikkens with two Ks, the well-known Dutch author. Owner: No, well we don't have "Rarnaby Budge" by Charles Dikkens with two Ks, the well-known Dutch author, and perhaps to save time I should add that we don't have "Karnaby Fudge" by Darles Chickens, or "Farmer of Sludge" by Marles Pickens, or even "Stickwick Stapers" by Farles Wickens with four M's and a silent Q!!!!! Why don't you try W. H. Smith's? Customer: I did, They sent me here. Owner: DID they. Customer: Oh, I wonder... Owner: Oh, do go on, please. Customer: Yes...I wonder if you might have "The Amazing Adventures of Captain Gladys Stoutpamphlet and her Intrepid Spaniel Stig Amongst the Giant Pygmies of Beckles"...volume eight. Owner: No, we don't have that...funny, we've got a lot of books here...well, I musn't keep you standing here...thank you,-- Customer: Oh, well do, do you have-- Owner: No, we haven't. No, we haven't. Customer: B-b-b-but-- Owner: Sorry, no, it's one o'clock now, we're closing for lunch-- Customer: Ah, I--I saw it-- Owner: I'm sorry-- Customer: I saw it over there! I saw it... Owner: What? What? WHAT?!? Customer: I saw it over there: "Olsen's Standard Book of British Birds". Owner: "Olsen's Standard Book of British Birds"? Customer: Yes... Owner: O-L-S-E-N? Customer: Yes.... Owner: B-I-R-D-S?? Customer: Yes..... Owner: Yes, well, we do have that, as a matter of fact.... Customer: The expurgated version.... Owner: I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that...? Customer: The expurgated version. Owner: The EXPURGATED version of "Olsen's Standard Book of British Birds"?!?! Customer: The one without the gannet! Owner: The one without the gannet!!! They've ALL got the gannet!! It's a Standard British Bird, the gannet, it's in all the books!!! Customer: Well, I don't like them...they wet their nests. Owner: All right! I'll remove it!! (rrriiiiip!) Any other birds you don't like?! Customer: I don't like the robin... Owner: The robin! Right! The robin! (rrriiiiip!) There you are, any others you don't like, any others? Customer: The nuthatch? Owner: Right! The nuthatch, the nuthatch, the nuthatch, 'ere we are! (rrriiip!) There you are! NO gannets, NO robins, NO nuthatches, THERE's your book! Customer: I can't buy that! It's torn!

Ah, I wonder if you have... Owner: God, ask me anything!! We got lots of books here, you know, it's a bookshop!! Customer: Er, how 'bout "Biggles Combs his Hair"? Owner: No, no, we don't have that one, funny! Customer: "The Gospel According to Charley Drake"? Owner: No, no, no, try me again! Customer: Ah...oh, I know! "Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying". Owner: No, no, no, no, no,...What? WHAT?????? Customer: "Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying". Owner: "Ethel the Aar.." YES!!!YES!!! WE'VE GOT IT!! I-I've seen it somewhere!!! I know it!!! Hee hee hee hee hee!!! Ha ha hoo ho---WAIT!! WAIT!! Is it?? Is it??? YES!!!!!! Here we are, "Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying"!!!!! There's your book!! Now, BUY IT!!! Customer: I don't have enough money. Owner: I'll take a deposit! Customer: I don't have ANY money! Owner: I'll take a check!! Customer: I don't have a checkbook! Owner: I'll take a blank one!! Customer: I don't have a bank account!! Owner: RIGHT!!!! I'll buy it FOR you! There we are, there's your change, there's some money for a taxi on the way home, there's your book, now, now.. Customer: Wait, wait, wait! Owner: What? What?!? WHAT?!? WHAT???!! Customer: I can't read!!! Owner: You can't...read. RIGHT!!! Sit down!! Sit!! Sit!! Sit down!! Are you sitting comfortably??? Right!!! "Ethel the Aardvark was hopping down the river valley one lovely morning..." (fade out)

Do Wot John

Do what John?

Come again do what?

Do what John?

Do what? Do what? Do what?

Do where John?

With what, with whom and when?

T'riffic, really t'riffic!

Pardon? Come again?

Do what John?

Come again do what?

Do what John?

Do what? Do what? Do what?

Do where John?

With what, with whom and when?

T'riffic, really t'riffic!

Pardon? Come again?

Rock Notes

Newscaster: Rex Stardust, lead electric triangle with Toad the Wet Sprocket has had to have an elbow removed following their recent successful worldwide tour of Finland. Flamboyant ambidextrous Rex apparently fell off the back of a motorcycle. "Fell off the back of a motorcyclist, most likely," quipped ace drummer Jumbo McCluney upon hearing of the accident. Plans are already afoot for a major tour of Iceland.

Divorced after only eight minutes, popular television singing star, Charisma, changed her mind on the way out of the registry office, when she realized she had married one of the Donkeys by mistake. The evening before in LA's glittering nightspot, the Abattoir, she had proposed to drummer Reg Abbot of Blind Drunk, after a whirlwind romance and a knee-trembler. But when the hangover lifted, it was Keith Sly of the Donkeys who was on her arm in the registry office. Keith, who was too ill to notice, remained unsteady during the short ceremony and when asked to exchange vows, began to recite names and addresses of people who also used the stuff. Charisma spotted the error as Keith was being carried into the wedding ambulance and became emotionally upset. However, the mistake was soon cleared up, and she stayed long enough to consummate their divorce.

Dead Monkeys are to split up again, according to their manager, Lefty Goldblatt. They've been in the business now ten years, nine as other groups. Originally the Dead Salmon, they became for a while, Trout. Then Fried Trout, then Poached Trout In A White Wine Sauce, and finally, Herring. Splitting up for nearly a month, the re-formed as Red Herring, which became Dead Herring for a while, and then Dead Loss, which reflected the current state of the group. Splitting up again to get their heads together, they reformed a fortnight later as Heads Together, a tight little name which lasted them through a difficult period when their drummer was suspected of suffering from death. It turned out to be only a rumor and they became Dead Together, then Dead Gear, which lead to Dead Donkeys, Lead Donkeys, and the inevitable split up. After nearly ten days, they reformed again as Sole Manier, then Dead Sole, Rock Cod, Turbot, Haddock, White Baith, the Places, Fish, Bream, Mackerel, Salmon, Poached Salmon, Poached Salmon In A White Wine Sauce, Salmon-monia, and Helen Shapiro. This last name, their favorite, had to be dropped following an injunction and they split up again. When they reformed after a recordbreaking two days, they ditched the fishy references and became Dead Monkeys, a name which they stuck with for the rest of their careers. Now, a fortnight later, they've finally split up. (telephone ringing) Newscaster: Ah ahh, Hello. Voice in phone: Hello. Newscaster: Yes? Voice in phone: What do you think of Dead Duck? Newscaster: What do I think of Dead Duck? Voice in phone: or Lobster? Newscaster: Lobster?...

Crocodile

Newscaster: And right now it's time for athletics, and over to Brian Goebells in Paris. Goebells: Hello, well you join us here in Paris just a few minutes before the start of today's big event: the final of the Men's Being-Eaten- By-A-Crocodile event. I'm standing now by the crocodile pit where... AAAAAAHHHHH! (Crocodiles eating, French exclamations and sirens) Newscaster: Ah. Well I'm afraid that we've lost Brian Goebells, so while they're sorting that out, we have a report from Barry Loothesom in Lughtborrow on the British preparations for this most important event. Loothesom: Here at Lughtborrow are the five young men chosen last week to be eaten by a crocodile for Britain this summer. Obviously, the most important part of the event is the opening 60 yard sprint towards the crocs. And twenty-two year old Nottingham schoolteacher Gavin Watterlow is rated by some pundits not only the fastest but also the tastiest British morsel since Barry Gordon got a bronze at Helsinki. In charge of the team is Sergeant Major Harold Duke. Duke: Aww, well, you not only got to get in that pit first, you gotta get EATEN first. When you land in front of your croc, and 'e opens his mouth, I wanna see you right in there. Rub your 'ead up against 'is taste buds. And when those teeth bite into your flesh, use the perches to thrust yourself DOWN his throat... Loothesom: Duke's trained with every British team since 1928, and it's his blend of gymnastic knowhow, reptilian expertise and culinary skill that's turned many an un-appetizing novice into a crocodilic banquet. Duke: Well, our chefs have been experimenting for many years to find a sauce most likely to tempt the crocodile. In the past, we've concentrated on a fish based [??] sauce, but this year, we are reverting to a simple bernaise. Loothesom: The British team are worried because Olympic regulations allow only the competitor's heads to be sauced. Gavin Morolowe... Morolowe: Yes, well, I mean, (clears throat) you know, four years ago, everyone knew the Italians were coating the insides of their legs with bolinaise, the Russians have been marinating themselves, One of the Germans, Biolek, was actually caught actually putting, uh, remoulade down his shorts. And the Finns were using tomato flavoured running shoes. Uh, I think there should either be unrestricted garnishing, or a single, Olympic standard mayonnaise. Loothesom: Gavin, does it ever worry you that you're actually going to be chewed up by a bloody, great crocodile. Morolowe: The only thing that worries me, Jim, is being the first one down that gully. Loothesom: Well, the way things are going here at Lughtborrow, it looks as though Britain could easily pick up a place in the first seven hundred. But nothing's predictable in this tough, harsh, highly competitive world where today's champion is tomorrow's crocodile shit. And back to you, in the studio, Norman.

Linkman: Oh, err, thank you, Sheila.

Amm, well, er, what exiting activity there, a lot of people being...eh...eaten to death in...a...in Lughtborrow.

I now I return you to Sumeria. 7 - 8 - 7.

Hallo! [pause] Hallo! French guard: Allo! Who is eet? Arthur: It is King Arthur, and these are my Knights of the Round Table. Whose castle is this? French guard: This is the castle of my master, Guy de Loimbard. Arthur: Go and tell your master that we have been charged by God with a sacred quest. If he will give us food and shelter for the night, he can join us in our quest for the Holy Grail. French guard: Well, I'll ask him, but I don't think he'll be very keen. Uh, he's already got one, you see. Arthur: What? Galahad: He says they've already got one! Arthur: Are you sure he's got one? French guard: Oh, yes. It's very nice-a. (I told him we already got one.) French guards: [chuckling] Arthur: Well, u-- um, can we come up and have a look? French guard: Of course not! You are English types-a! Arthur: Well, what are you, then? French guard: I'm French! Why do think I have this outrageous accent, you silly king-a?! Galahad: What are you doing in England? French guard: Mind your own business! Arthur: If you will not show us the Grail, we shall take your castle by force! French guard: You don't frighten us, English pig-dogs! Go and boil your bottom, sons of a silly person. I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur King, you and all your silly English k-nnnnniggets. Thpppppt! Thppt! Thppt! Galahad: What a strange person. Arthur: Now look here, my good man-- French guard: I don't wanna talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper! I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries! Galahad: Is there someone else up there we could talk to? French guard: No. Now, go away, or I shall taunt you a second time-a! [trail-off]

Linkman: Ah, well, unfortunately our projector here at the BBC has broken down, and the other one is still in the shop, so while we get Sheila to nip round, to see if it is ready, here is a recording of a projector didn't break down.

Crocodile

Newscaster: And right now it's time for athletics, and over to Brian Goebells in Paris. Goebells: Hello, well you join us here in Paris just a few minutes before the start of today's big event: the final of the Men's Being-Eaten- By-A-Crocodile event. I'm standing now by the crocodile pit where... AAAAAAHHHHH! (Crocodiles eating, French exclamations and sirens) Newscaster: Ah. Well I'm afraid that we've lost Brian Goebells, so while they're sorting that out, we have a report from Barry Loothesom in Lughtborrow on the British preparations for this most important event. Loothesom: Here at Lughtborrow are the five young men chosen last week to be eaten by a crocodile for Britain this summer. Obviously, the most important part of the event is the opening 60 yard sprint towards the crocs. And twenty-two year old Nottingham schoolteacher Gavin Watterlow is rated by some pundits not only the fastest but also the tastiest British morsel since Barry Gordon got a bronze at Helsinki. In charge of the team is Sergeant Major Harold Duke. Duke: Aww, well, you not only got to get in that pit first, you gotta get EATEN first. When you land in front of your croc, and 'e opens his mouth, I wanna see you right in there. Rub your 'ead up against 'is taste buds. And when those teeth bite into your flesh, use the perches to thrust yourself DOWN his throat... Loothesom: Duke's trained with every British team since 1928, and it's his blend of gymnastic knowhow, reptilian expertise and culinary skill that's turned many an un-appetizing novice into a crocodilic banquet. Duke: Well, our chefs have been experimenting for many years to find a sauce most likely to tempt the crocodile. In the past, we've concentrated on a fish based [??] sauce, but this year, we are reverting to a simple bernaise. Loothesom: The British team are worried because Olympic regulations allow only the competitor's heads to be sauced. Gavin Morolowe... Morolowe: Yes, well, I mean, (clears throat) you know, four years ago, everyone knew the Italians were coating the insides of their legs with bolinaise, the Russians have been marinating themselves, One of the Germans, Biolek, was actually caught actually putting, uh, remoulade down his shorts. And the Finns were using tomato flavoured running shoes. Uh, I think there should either be unrestricted garnishing, or a single, Olympic standard mayonnaise. Loothesom: Gavin, does it ever worry you that you're actually going to be chewed up by a bloody, great crocodile. Morolowe: The only thing that worries me, Jim, is being the first one down that gully. Loothesom: Well, the way things are going here at Lughtborrow, it looks as though Britain could easily pick up a place in the first seven hundred. But nothing's predictable in this tough, harsh, highly competitive world where today's champion is tomorrow's crocodile shit. And back to you, in the studio, Norman.

Linkman: Oh, err, thank you, Sheila.

Amm, well, er, what exiting activity there, a lot of people being...eh...eaten to death in...a...in Lughtborrow.

I now I return you to Sumeria. 7 - 8 - 7.

Hallo! [pause] Hallo! French guard: Allo! Who is eet? Arthur: It is King Arthur, and these are my Knights of the Round Table. Whose castle is this? French guard: This is the castle of my master, Guy de Loimbard. Arthur: Go and tell your master that we have been charged by God with a sacred quest. If he will give us food and shelter for the night, he can join us in our quest for the Holy Grail. French guard: Well, I'll ask him, but I don't think he'll be very keen. Uh, he's already got one, you see. Arthur: What? Galahad: He says they've already got one! Arthur: Are you sure he's got one? French guard: Oh, yes. It's very nice-a. (I told him we already got one.) French guards: [chuckling] Arthur: Well, u-- um, can we come up and have a look? French guard: Of course not! You are English types-a! Arthur: Well, what are you, then? French guard: I'm French! Why do think I have this outrageous accent, you silly king-a?! Galahad: What are you doing in England? French guard: Mind your own business! Arthur: If you will not show us the Grail, we shall take your castle by force! French guard: You don't frighten us, English pig-dogs! Go and boil your bottom, sons of a silly person. I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur King, you and all your silly English k-nnnnniggets. Thpppppt! Thppt! Thppt! Galahad: What a strange person. Arthur: Now look here, my good man-- French guard: I don't wanna talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper! I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries! Galahad: Is there someone else up there we could talk to? French guard: No. Now, go away, or I shall taunt you a second time-a! [trail-off]

Linkman: Ah, well, unfortunately our projector here at the BBC has broken down, and the other one is still in the shop, so while we get Sheila to nip round, to see if it is ready, here is a recording of a projector didn't break down.

Marilyn Monroe

Man: You crawl back. You always come back when you crawl, well this time you crawled too far. Woman: Oh, Geoff, Geoff, why do you do it, you could have destroyed the tapes, and none of us left... Interviewer: An excerpt from Carl French's latest film. Carl, we are all a little mystified by your claim that your new film stars Marilyn Monroe... French: It does, yes. Interviewer: ...who died over ten years ago. French: That's correct. Interviewer: Are you lying? French: No, no, it's just that she is very much in the public eye, at the moment. Interviewer: Does she have a big part? French: She is the star of the film. Interviewer: And dead. French: Well, we...we dug her up, and gave her a screen test - a mere formality, in her case - and..eh.. Interviewer: Can she still act? French: Well, well, she..she still has this...this enourmous..eh..kind of..eh..indefineable...eh. No. Interviewer: Was..eh..decomposition a problem? French: We did have to put her in the fridge between takes. Interviewer: What sort of things does she do in the film? French: Well, we...we had her lying on beds, lying on floors, falling out off cupboards, scaring the children... Interviewer: But surely miss Monroe was cremated. French: Well...eh...we had to use a stand-in for some of the more visible shots. Interviewer: Ah, another actress. French: Dead actress. But Monroe was in shot the whole time. Interviewer: How? French: Oh, in..eh..in the ashtray, in the firegrate, in the vacuum cleaner... Interviewer: So Marylin does not appear in the film? French: Not as such. Interviewer: Mr. French, you are one of the film worlds most arrogant queens, I mean not just homosexual or gay or anything. I mean you are a raving queen. French: Well, yes. Interviewer: I mean, a real screamer, a real "Whoops, get 'er, don't mind me, dear" limp-wristed caricature. French: Is that not in order? Interviewer: No, no that's fine, and I understand that you married the beautiful black heiress Hewena Tannoy, partly for the publicity, but mostly to cover up the fact that you prefer going out with little boys. French: Look, really! Interviewer: Carl, you are an efeminate little poof, a mincing gay-bar loiterer, a [vinnet?] covered walking perfume shop, an evil perverter of innocent little boys. French: What? Really! Is this part of the interview? Interviewer: No, no, I just wanted a few contacts. French: Well, shouldn't we be talking about the film. Interviewer: We have been off the air for ages, now where do you find them? French: Look, I think we are still on the air. Interviewer: Oh, sud the fucking air! I still just get locked up for that sort of thing. French: What about the film? Interviewer: Just a few addresses, please. French: Look, we got James Dean in it, in a box. Interviewer: I can tell you.....(fade)

Linkman: Oh, err, and Sheila has just..eh... come back now with our projector from the shop, and some bacon, too. Thank you, Sheila. So now, back to our feature film, and, uh, some things for the week-end, thank you. Now back to our feature film, set in a Boeing 787. - A.D.

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Swamp Castle

Father: One day, lad, all this will be yours! Prince Herbert: What, the curtains? Father: No. Not the curtains, lad. All that you can see, stretched out over the hills and valleys of this land! This'll be your kingdom, lad. Herbert: But Mother-- Father: Father, lad. Father. Herbert: B-- b-- but Father, I don't want any of that. Father: Listen, lad. I built this kingdom up from nothing. When I started here, all there was was swamp. Other kings said I was daft to build a castle on a swamp, but I built it all the same, just to show 'em. It sank into the swamp. So, I built a second one. That sank into the swamp. So, I built a third one. That burned down, fell over, then sank into the swamp, but the fourth one... stayed up! And that's what you're gonna get, lad: the strongest castle in these islands. Herbert: But I don't want any of that. I'd rather-- Father: Rather what?! Herbert: I'd rather... [music] ...just... sing! Father: Stop that! Stop that! You're not going into a song while I'm here. Now listen, lad. In twenty minutes, you're getting married to a girl whose father owns the biggest tracts of open land in Britain. Herbert: B-- but I don't want land. Father: Listen, Alice,-- Herbert: Herbert. Father: 'Erbert. We live in a bloody swamp. We need all the land we can get. Herbert: But-- but I don't like her. Father: Don't like her?! What's wrong with her?! She's beautiful. She's rich. She's got huge... tracts o' land! Herbert: I know, but I want the-- the girl that I marry to have... [music] ...a certain,... special... something! Father: Cut that out! Cut that out! Look, you're marrying Princess Lucky, so you'd better get used to the idea! [smack] Guards! Make sure the Prince doesn't leave this room until I come and get him. Guard #1: Not to leave the room even if you come and get him. Guard #2: Hic! Father: No, no. Until I come and get him. Guard #1: Until you come and get him, we're not to enter the room. Father: No, no. No. You stay in the room and make sure he doesn't leave. Guard #1: And you'll come and get him. Guard #2: Hic! Father: Right. Guard #1: We don't need to do anything apart from just stop him entering the room. Father: No, no. Leaving the room. Guard #1: Leaving the room. Yes. [sniff] Father: All right? Guard #1: Right. Guard #2: Hic! Father: Right. Guard #1: Oh, if-- if-- if, uhh-- if-- if-- w-- ehh-- i-- if-- if we-- Father: Yes? What is it? Guard #1: Oh, i-- if-- i-- oh-- Father: Look, it's quite simple. Guard #1: Uh... Father: You just stay here and make sure 'e doesn't leave the room. All right? Guard #2: Hic! Father: Right. Guard #1: Oh, I remember. Uhh, can he leave the room with us? Father: N-- no, no. No. You just keep him in here and make sure he-- Guard #1: Oh, yes. We'll keep him in here, obviously, but if he had to leave and we were with him-- Father: No, no, no, no. Just keep him in here-- Guard #1: Until you or anyone else-- Father: No, not anyone else. Just me. Guard #1: Just you. Guard #2: Hic! Father: Get back. Guard #1: Get back. Father: All right? Guard #1: Right. We'll stay here until you get back. Guard #2: Hic! Father: And, uh, make sure he doesn't leave. Guard #1: What? Father: Make sure 'e doesn't leave. Guard #1: The Prince? Father: Yes. Make sure 'e doesn't leave. Guard #1: Oh, yes, of course. Guard #2: Hic! Guard #1: Ah. I thought you meant him. You know, it seemed a bit daft me havin' to guard him when he's a guard. Father: Is that clear? Guard #2: Hic! Guard #1: Oh, quite clear. No problems. Father: Right. Where are you going? Guard #1: We're coming with you.

Father: No, no. I want you to stay here and make sure 'e doesn't leave. Guard #1: Oh, I see. Right. Herbert: But Father! Father: Shut your noise, you! And get that suit on! [music] And no singing! Guard #2: Hic! Father: Oh, go get a glass of water.

French Taunter Part 2

Arthur: The Castle Aaaagh. Our quest is at an end! God be praised! Almighty God, we thank Thee that Thou hast vouchsafed to us the most holy-- [twong] [baaaa] Jesus Christ! French guard: Allo, dappy English k-niggets and Monsieur Arthur King, who has the brain of a duck, you know. So, we French fellows outwit you a second time! Arthur: How dare you profane this place with your presence! I command you, in the name of the Knights of Camelot, to open the doors of this sacred castle, to which God Himself has guided us! French guard: How you English say, 'I one more time, mac, unclog my nose in your direction', sons of a window-dresser! So, you think you could out-clever us French folk with your silly knees-bent running about advancing behavior?! I wave my private parts at your aunties, you cheesy lot of second hand electric donkey-bottom biters. Arthur: In the name of the Lord, we demand entrance to this sacred castle! French guard: No chance, English bed-wetting types. I burst my pimples at you and call your door-opening request a silly thing, you tiny-brained wipers of other people's bottoms! Arthur: If you do not open this door, we shall take this castle by force! [splat] In the name of God and the glory of our-- [splat] French guards: [laughing] Arthur: Agh. Right! That settles it! French guard: Yes, depart a lot at this time and cut the approaching any more, or we fire arrows at the tops of your heads and make castanets out of your testicles already! Ha ha haaa ha! Arthur: Walk away. Just ignore them. French guard: And now, remain gone, illegitimate-faced bugger-folk! And, if you think you got a nasty taunting this time, you ain't heard nothing yet, dappy English k-nnniggets! Thpppt! French guards: [taunting]

Last Word

Linkman: Well, that's about it, really. The film ends mainly visually.

www.ibras.dk/montypython/finalripoff.htm

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