Episode 2
Department Store
(Animated
titles.)
CAPTION:
'THE END'
(Roll
credits. Establishing shot of large Harrods-type store. Outside limousines and
taxis are disgorging very rich customers. Small doormen in enormously large
coats opening door of cars. A man with his nose bandaged comes out of the
store. One large car pulls softly up to the curb, and as small doorman opens
its door, an enormously opulent lady in furs gets out. The doorman holds the
door open. She knees him in the groin and walks on into the store. Chris Quinn
arrives on a bicycle. He parks the bicycle against the curb [the doorman flings
it into the road] and goes into the outer hall of the store. He passes a couple
leaving who also have noses bandaged. A gaggle of customers, mostly pepperpots,
rush out. A very eager pepperpot lady shopper, going the other way, rushes
between the two and bangs into a set of glass doors which have closed behind
the gaggle. She cries out with pain clutching her nose and is escorted away by
a large, coated attendant. Chris Quinn looks up at the list on the wall. It
reads:)
TENTH
FLOOR: FRESH AIR,
CLOUDS,OCCASIONAL PERIODS OFSUNSHINE.
NINTH
FLOOR: TELEVISION AERIALS.
EIGHTH
FLOOR: ROOF GARDEN
SEVENTH
FLOOR: LEATHER GOODS
SIXTH
FLOOR: COMPLAINTS
FIFTH
FLOOR: COMPLAINTS
FOURTH
FLOOR: GRANITE HALL -
ROCKSSHALES ALLUVIAL DEPOSITSFELSPAR CARPATHIANSANDES URALSMINING
REQUISITESATOM-SPLITTING SERVICE
THIRD
FLOOR: NASAL INJURIES
HALLOTHER THINGS.
SECOND
FLOOR: COSMETICSJEWELLERYELECTRICALSATIRE
FIRST
FLOOR: COMPLAINTS
MEZZANINE: TABLEWAREKITCHEN GOODSSOFT
FURNISHINGSHARD FURNISHINGSROCK-HARD FURNISHINGS.
GROUND
FLOOR: MENSWEAR
BOYSWEAREFFEMINATE GOODS HALLILL HEALTH FOODS.
BASEMENT: DANGEROUS GASESVIRUSESCONTAGIOUS
DISEASESRESTAURANT AND TOILETFIXINGS
(Quinn,
knowing that there are doors, goes forward more cautiously and enters. The
banging of noses on glass doors is a constant background theme. Cut to the gift
department. A large lady is standing by counter holding a large cylinder with a
rose attachment.)
Lady:
Yes this looks the sort of thing. May I just try it?
Assistant:
Certainly, madam.
(The
lady presses button and a sheet of flame shoots out across the hall)
Lady:
Oh! Sorry! So sorry! (she is happy though) Yes that's fine.
Assistant:
Is that on account, madam?
Lady:
Yes.
(Chris
walks by, watching with interest but not much concern, passing a customer whose
back is on fire but who has not noticed)
Buying An Ant
Chris
(Eric Idle): Hello? Hello?
(A
strange rubber-masked head appears from below the other side of the counter and
gesticulates at him making a strange noise. This soon stops.)
First
Assistant (Graham Chapman): Oh, I'm terribly sorry... (he takes off the mask to
reveal a straight forward assistant) I thought you were someone else.
Chris:
Oh I see, yes.
First
Assistant: I'm sorry sir, can I help you?
Chris:
Yes, yes, as a matter of fact you can, actually I was interested in the
possibility... of purchasing one of your ... can I ask who you thought I was?
First
Assistant: What?
Chris:
Who did you think I was... just then... when you thought I was somebody.
First
Assistant: Oh, it's no one you'd know, sir.
Chris:
Well I might know them.
First
Assistant: It's possible, obviously, but I think it's really unlikely.
Chris:
Well, I know quite a lot...
First
Assistant: I mean he's hardly likely to move in your circles, sir...
Chris:
Why, is he very rich?
First
Assistant: Oh, no, I didn't mean that, sir.
Chris:
Is he a lord or something?
First
Assistant: Oh, no, not at all.
Chris:
Well look, this is very easy to settle. What is his name?.
First
Assistant: What?
Chris:
What is his name?
First
Assistant: Well... er...
Chris:
Yes?
First
Assistant: Michael Ellis.
Chris:
Who?
First
Assistant: Michael Ellis.
Chris:
I see.
First
Assistant: Do you know him, sir?
Chris:
Er ... Michael Ellis. Michael Ellis...
First
Assistant: You don't
Chris:
Well, I don't remember the name.
First
Assistant: I think you would remember him, sir.
Chris:
Why do you say that?
First
Assistant: Well, would you remember a man six foot nine inches high, fortyish,
and he's got a long scar from here to here and absolutely no nose?
Chris:
... oh, I think I do remember somebody like that...
First
Assistant: Well, that's not Michael Ellis.
Chris:
What?
First
Assistant: He's a small man about this high with a high-pitched voice.
Chris:
Right, I'm not going to buy an ant from you now.
First
Assistant: (distressed) Oh, no, please.
Chris:
No. You've not been properly trained. I demand another assistant.
First
Assistant: Oh, no, come on... please...
Chris:
No, I want another assistant.
First
Assistant: All right! I'll get another assistant. (he disappears behind a
curtain)
Chris:
Thank you.
(The
same assistant reappears with a long mandarin-style Chinese moustache.)
First
Assistant: (high-pitched voice) Hello sir, can I help you, sir?
Chris:
No, I want a different assistant.
First
Assistant: I am sir, I'm Mr Abanazar, sir.
Chris:
Don't be silly.
First
Assistant: (normal voice) Oh no, please please please let me help you...
Chris:
No! I want another assistant.
First
Assistant: Oh, no, come on, please...
Chris:
If you don't give me another assistant.,.
First
Assistant: No, no, I'll be very good, sir, really. (he becomes exaggeratedly
polite) Good morning, sir... how are you, sir... bit parky outside today...
isn't it, sir... ? A very nice suit you've got there, sir... you had a very
close shave this morning, sir...
Chris:
Right I'm going.
First
Assistant: No, no, please... (he takes off his moustache) I'll get another
assistant... (he rings the bell on the counter.)
(After
a pause, very slowly indeed an identical mask to the first appears over the top
of the counter right next to the first assistant, making the same noise very
quietly. The first assistant sees him, starts and nudges him hard.)
Second
Assistant (Michael Palin): Woooooo ....ooooooo...
First
Assistant: It's not him!
(The
second assistant makes a disappointed noise and disappears below.)
Chris:
(pointing over the counter at the disappeared assistant) I don't want him!
First
Assistant: Oh please, give him a chance!
Chris:
No!
Second
Assistant: (appearing from below counter without a mask, looking immaculate)
Yes, sir, can I be of any assistance?
Chris:
Oh no, come on, don't try that!
Second
Assistant: I'm sorry, sir... try what?
Chris:
YoU know perfectly well what I mean.
Second
Assistant: I'm afraid I don't, sir.
Chris:
You were down behind there with a silly mask on going wooo-ooo...
Second
Assistant: I don't think I was, sir.
Chris:
All right, get the manager.
Second
Assistant: There seems to have been some sort of misunderstanding, sir.
Chris:
Manager!
First
Assistant: This is the manager, sir.
Chris:
What?
Second
Assistant: (in a silly voice) Yes, I'm the manager.
Chris:
Manager! (he keeps calling)
Second
Assistant: It's a smashing store this, I can't recommend it too highly,
well-lit, rat-free. It's a joy to manage. Oh yes, the freshest haddock in
London, second floor, third floor Ribena, ants here, television and flame throwers
over there, behind them our dinner-wagon exhibition closes at six...
First
Assistant: (nudging him) Quick!
(They
both disappear under the counter. The real manager arrives and presents himself
to Chris.)
Real
Manager (Terry Jones): Yes, sir? Can I help you, sir?
Chris:
(noticing the 'manager' badge on his lapel) Yes, I want to complain about the
assistants on this counter.
Real
Manager: I'm sorry to hear that, sir, which ones?
Chris:
Well, they're hiding now.
Real
Manager: Sir?
Chris:
They're hiding, down there behind the counter.
Real
Manager: I see, sir. (he goes round counter, looks, but obviously can't see
them; Chris goes round to join in the search)... well... there's nobody down
here, sir.
Chris:
They must have crawled through here, and made their escape through 'Soft Toys'.
(he points)
Real
Manager: Yes, of course.
Chris:
They were wearing masks and making silly noises and one of them pretended to be
the manager. He spoke like this.. (he does an impression)
Real
Manager: Ah! I think I've got it, sir, I think I've got it! It's rag week.
Chris:
Ragweek?
Real
Manager: Yes, you know, for charity, sir.
Chris:
Oh! I see. Some local college or university?
Real
Manager: No, no it's the store's rag week.
Chris:
The store's rag week?
Real
Manager: Yes. The senior staff don't join in much - it's for the trainees
really...
Chris:
It's not very good for business is it?
Real
Manager: Oh, It's for charity, sir. People are awfully good about it, you know.
(he rattles a collecting tin)
Chris:
Yes, yes, of course. (he puts a coin in)
Real
Manager: Right, sir, I'll get you a senior assistant - ants, was it?
Chris:
Yes, please.
Real
Manager: (calling) Mr Snetterton? (Mr Snetterton approaches immediately; he is
clearly the first assistant with very bad short crew-cut wig on) Could you look
after this gentleman, Mr Snetterton?
Chris:
I don't want him!
First
Assistant: Oh please! Give me a chance!
Chris:
No!
Real
Manager: All right - Mr Hartford!
Hartford
(Michael Palin): Yes - good morning, sir - can I help you?
Chris:
Yes, please, I'm interested in buying an ant.
Hartford:
Ah yes - and what price were you thinking of paying, sir?
Chris:
Oh, well, I hadn't actually got as far as that.
Hartford:
Well sir, they start about half a p. but they can go as high as three p. or
even three and a half p. for a champion - inflation I'm afraid...
Chris:
Well, I should think one about one and a half p., please.
Hartford:
Ah yes, well you should get a very serviceable little animal for that, sir.
Quite frankly the half pence ones are a bit on the mangy side ... What length
was sir thinking of?
Chris:
Oh ... medium?
Hartford:
Medium. Medium. Here we are, sir. (he tips some ants - which we can't see - out
into a special ring on counter) That one there is an Ayrshire, and that one
there is a King George bitch I think ... and that one killing the little
flitbat is an Afghan.
Chris:
That's a nice one.
Hartford:
Lees see how you get on with him, eh? (he puts it on Chris's hand) Ah yes, he
likes you. He's taken to you.
Chris:
What do you feed them on?
Hartford:
Blancmange.
Chris:
Blancmange?
Hartford:
I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. No, you don't feed them at all.
Chris:
Well, what do they live on?
Hartford:
They don't. They die.
Chris:
They die?
Hartford:
Well of course they do, if you don't feed them.
Chris:
I don't understand.
Hartford:
You let them die, then you buy another one. It's much cheaper than feeding them
and that way you have a constant variety of little companions.
Chris:
Oh, I see.
Hartford:
That's the advantage of owning an ant.
Chris:
Right, well I'll take this one. Oh dear, I've dropped it...
Hartford:
Never mind. Here's another one.
Chris:
Is there anything else I'll need?
Hartford:
Yes, sir - you'll need an ant house. (he produces a birdcage) This is the model
we recommend, sir.
Chris:
Won't it get out of there?
Hartford:
Yes.
Chris:
Well what's the point of having the cage?
Hartford:
Well, none at all really. And then some pieces of cage furniture which will
keep him entertained. (he produces microscopic things) Here's an ant-wheel,
ant-swing, and a very nice one here, a little ladder - he can run up there and
ring the bell at the top, that's a little trick he can learn.
Chris:
Will he live long enough?
Hartford:
Not really, no, but it's best to have one just in case, and here's a two-way
radio he can play with... and of course you'll need the book. (he produces an
expensive-looking book, thoughtlessly slams it down where the ants were, then
hurriedly brushes them away)
Chris:
The book?
Hartford:
Yes, the book on ants.
Chris:
(looking unsure) Yes...
Hartford:
So, sir, that is, if I may say so, one hundred and eighty-four pounds one and a
half p., sir.
Chris:
Will you take a cheque?
Hartford:
Yes, sir, if you don't mind leaving a blood-sample, and a piece of skin off the
back of the scalp just here, sir ... (indicates a point behind his ear) sorry
... it's just for identification .-. you can't be too careful. (he hands him a
little knife and some cotton wool)
Chris:
Oh, well I think I'll put it on account.
Hartford:
I should, sir... much less painful. Anyway sir, you know what they say about an
ant. A friend for life, eh? Well, a friend for its life anyway... (Hartford
loads the large cage, furniture, two-way radio and the book on ants into a huge
box; with some difficulty he finds the ant; he picks it up carefully) His name
is Marcus. (he drops him in the big box and pushes it across the counter; the
box has on one side, in large letters 'live ant: handle with care '; it has
breathing holes in it) If the little chap should go to an early grave, sir,
give us a ring and we'll stick a few in an envelope, all right?
Chris:
Thanks very much indeed.
Hartford:
Not at all, thank you, Mr Ellis.
(Chris
turns sharply. The first assistant comes quickly up to Hartford.)
First
Assistant: Sssssshh!
Chris:
What did you say?
Hartford:
I said thank you, Mr Ellis...
First
Assistant: It's not him.
Hartford:
Oh!
Chris:
Why did you say I was Mr Ellis?
Hartford:
(innocently) Who?
First
Assistant: No, he didn't say that.
Chris:
Yes he did. I heard him say 'Thank you, Mr Ellis'.
First
Assistant: Oh, no, no - he said 'I'm jealous'.
Chris:
What?
First
Assistant: I'm jealous of your ant. Goodbye. Goodbye. (waves pointedly)
Chris:
(leaving the counter) I don't care who Michael Ellis is!
(Chris
passes a shop area labelled 'The Paisley Counter' where two customers are
talking to mirrors in thick Irish accents. Chris moves on to lift. A little old
lady passes, oblivious to the fact that her shopping trolley is smouldering.
The lady passes and Chris is about to enter.)
PA
System: Will Mr Michael Ellis please go straight to the manager's office...
I'll repeat that... (Chris wheels round and listens) Will Mr Nigel Mellish
please go straight to the manager's office.
(Chris
narrows his eyes suspiciously and gets into the lift cautiously. Cut to Chris
Quinn's home...)
At
Home With the Ant and Other Pets
(Cut
to the kitchen in Chris Quinn's home. His mother is putting chopped meat into a
line af at least half a dozen feeding bowls with various animal names on them.
'Babboon', 'Dromedary', 'Gorilla', 'Trout', and 'Pangolin '. There is a tiger
in a cage in the middle of the kitchen, with a bowl marked 'Tiger' in front of
him. A large cobra is hanging from the clothes drier and a wolf is in a cage
below the sink. A monkey is on top of one of the cupboards. Chris enters with
the box.)
Mother:
What have you got now?
Chris:
I bought an ant, mother.
Mother:
What d'you want one of them for! I'm not going to clean it out. You said you'd
clean the tiger out, but do you? No, I suppose you've lost interest in it now.
Now it'll be ant ant ant for a couple of days, then all of a sudden, 'oh, mum,
I've bought a sloth' or some other odd-toed ungulate like a tapir.
Chris:
It's really different this time, mum. I'm really going to look after this ant.
Mother:
That's what you said about the sperm whale... now your papa's having to use it
as a garage.
Chris:
Well, you didn't feed it properly.
Mother:
Where are we going to get forty-four tons of plankton from every morning? Your
papa was dead vexed about that. They thought he was mad in the deli.
Chris:
Well at least he's got a free garage. (growl from the tiger)
Mother:
That's no good to him... his Hillman smells all fishy. (we hear a roar) Oh
blimey, that's the tiger. He'll want his mandies.
Chris:
Are you giving that tiger drugs?
Mother:
'Course I'm giving it drugs!
Chris:
It's illegal.
Mother:
You try telling that to the tiger.
Chris:
I think it's dangerous.
Mother:
Listen ... before he started fixing, he used to get through four Jehovah's
witnesses a day. And he used to eat all of them, except the pamphlets.
Chris:
Well he's not dim.
(A
very loud roar and rattling of cage.)
Mother:
All right!
(She
loads a syringe and starts to leave.)
Chris:
Well, I'm going to watch one of the televisions... come on Marcus.
(He
puts Marcus in cage and is just about to take it through to the next room.)
Mother:
Michael's been on the phone all day for you.
Chris:
Michel?
Mother:
You know, Michael... Michael. Michael Ellis. He's been on the phone all day ...
he came round twice.
Chris:
What did he look like?
Mother:
Oh, I didn't see him. The orange-rumped agouti answered the door. Only useful
animal you ever bought, that.
Chris:
Where is he now?
Mother:
He's upstairs forging prescriptions for the sodding tiger!
Chris:
No, no, where is Michael Ellis now?
Mother:
Oh, I don't know.., he said it wasn't important, anyway... all right, here I
come.
(She
goes to the tiger. Chris looks confused, then shrugs and goes into the sitting
room with Marcus. In the room there are about twenty old televisions on
shelves. Chris selects one of the televisions, puts it on the table, switches
it on and settles down to watch it with Marcus. He is about to watch a
'Documentary on Ants')
Documentary on Ants
(Sketch
continues from 'At home with the Ant and other pets' Chris quickly switches the
TV on.)
Announcer:
(waits for noises to stop) ... and of the announcement. And now back to
'University of the Air', and our series for advanced medical students,
'Elements of Surgical Homeopathic Practice'. Part 68 - 'Ants'.
Chris:
Ah! We're in luck again, Marcus.
(A
surgeon appears on television. He makes a few ant gestures.)
Surgeon:
Hello formicidophiles! Before the blood and guts that you're waiting to see,
let's have a look at the anatomy of the little ant.
(Cut
to a drawing of an ant.)
Ant
Expert's Voice: The body of the ant is divided into three sections. (arrow
indicates) The head, the thorax and the abdomen. They are enclosed in a hard
amour-like covering called the exoskeleton, which provides some protection from
other nasty little insects but unfortunately not from the dissector's scalpel.
(an animated hand with a knife slices bits off the ant) See, nothing to it,
he's not such a toughy. And his legs ... they help him carry hundreds of times
his own weight, but look at this ... (a hand pulls the legs off) you're not so
strong compared with me, four, five, six ... Ha!
Chris:
I didn't know ants had six legs, Marcus!
Ant
Expert: Well I can assure you they do, Mr Ellis.
Chris:
Hey! You've got two legs missing! And that's a false feeler Marcus! Blimey!
(He
leaps up, switches the TV off and hurls it into the comer onto a pile of used
TVs, and hurries out. The tiger is quiet now. Mother, bloody and torn, is
emptying a tin of 'Kit-E-Cobra' into a box marked 'Cobra'.)
Chris:
I'm taking this ant back, mother - he's got two legs missing.
Mother:
Hey! Mrs McWong's been on the phone! The polar bear's been in her garden again.
Chris:
Well I'll get it on the way back from the store.
Mother:
Well mind you do - his droppings are enormous. (Chris goes through the door,
mother shouts after him) Oh, and by the way, while you're out get us another
couple of tellies would you, here's 180 quid. (she tosses a wad out to him)
(Cut
to the garden outside. There are TVs heaped in the garden path. Chris catches
the wad of notes and leaves through the garden gate as a TV van is unloading
half a dozen TVs onto a trolley, prior to wheeling them into the home.)
(Cut
back to the store. Inside the lift. Chris stands there with his ant in his
hand. There are also two ladies in Geman national costume. The lift lady, who
has a wall-eye, a wooden leg, a tooth-brace, a hearing aid, a hilt-up shoe, a
neck-brace, and a hook is reciting.)
Lift
Woman: Second floor ... stationery, leather goods, tribal head injuries,
cricket bats, film stars, dolphinariums.
(The
lift stops with some difficulty. The German girls get out with their baggage.
In gets a man in Greek national costume holding an oar.)
Lift
Woman: Third floor ... cosmetics, books, Irish massage, tribal head-gear,
ants.. (Chris starts to get out) but not complaints about ants!
Chris:
Oh, where do I go to complain?
Lift
Woman: Straight on, then left, then right past the thing, then, up the little
stairs, then right by where it's gone all soft, then down the wobbly bit, left
past the nail, past the brown stain on the wall to your right and it's the door
marked exit straight ahead of you on the left.
Chris:
Thank you.
Lift
Woman: (the doors shut but we can just hear her voice) Fourth floor... kiddies'
vasectomies...
(The
ant counter. It is obviously the same place with a roughly made sign
'Complaints'. Chris is standing there with the original Assistant, who now has
a plate in his lip and an enormous false chin about eight inches long and six
inches across.)
Chris:
I don't want you.
First
Assistant: (speaking with difficulty) Oh, something wrong with your little ant
friend?
Chris:
No! I'm not going to tell you.
First
Assistant: Something missing in the leg department?
(The
Manager appears.)
Manager:
Can I help you, sir?
(Chris
looks down and sees that the Manager is half in a sack.)
Chris:
No! No! No! No!
Manager:
Oh, it's all right, sir, it's for the sack race later on.
Chris:
No, no, no, I want to speak to the General Manager, I want to complain.
Manager:
Oh, well you want the Toupee Hall in that case, sir.
Chris:
The what?
Manager:
The Toupee Hall, Mr Ellis. (he hops off)
(Chris
approaches a stocking counter where lady Assistant is serving two heavies who
are trying on nylons over their heads. Chris speaks to the Assistant.)
Chris:
(embarrassed) Excuse me - could you tell me the way to the Toupee Hall, please?
Assistant:
Sorry?
Chris:
The Toupee Hall.
Assistant:
The what?
Chris:
The Toupee Hall.
Assistant:
Oh, the Toupee Hall (loudly) Gladys, where are toupees now?
Gladys:
Toupees? (people start to look)
Assistant:
This gentleman wants one.
Gladys:
(even louder) A toupee?
Chris:
Well, no, actually...
Gladys:
I think they're in surgical appliances now.
Assistant:
That's right, yes, you go left at artificial limbs and hearing aids, right at
dentures and it's on your left just by glass eyes. It doesn't say toupees to
avoid embarrassing people, but you can smell 'em.
(People
by this time have formed a ring round to see who it is.)
Chris:
Thank you.
(As
he moves off people peer at his head.)
Woman:
(to friend) You can see the join.
(Chris
in order to avoid this embarrassment, dives into the nearest department. A sign
over the door reads 'Victorian poetry reading hall'.)
Poetry
Reading
(Cut
to a poetry reading. Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats and Tennyson are present. Chris
stands quietly in the comer hoping not to be noticed.)
Old
Lady: Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, it's so nice to see such a large
turnout this afternoon. And I'd like to start off by welcoming our guest
speakers for this afternoon, Mr Wadsworth...
Wordsworth:
Wordsworth!
Old
Lady: Sorry, Wordsworth... Mr John Koots, and Percy Bysshe.
Shelley:
Shelley!
Old
Lady: Just a little one, medium dry, (a dwarf assistant pours her a sherry) and
Alfred Lord.
Tennyson:
Tennyson.
Old
Lady: Tennis ball.
Tennyson:
Son, son.
Old
Lady: Sorry - Alfred Lord, who is evidently Lord Tennisball's son. And to start
off I'm going to ask Mr Wadsworth to recite his latest offering, a little pram
entitled 'I wandered lonely as a crab' and it's all about ants.
(Murmur
of exalted anticipation. Wordsworth rises rather gloomily.)
Wordsworth:
I
wandered lonely as a cloud
That
floats on high over vales and hills
When
all at once I saw a crowd
A
host of golden worker ants.
(Ripples
of applause.)
Old
Lady: Thank you, thank you, Mr Bradlaugh. Now, Mr Bysshe.
Shelley:
Shelley.
Old
Lady: Oh... (the dwarf refills her glass)... is going to read one of his latest
psalms, entitled 'Ode to a crab'.
Shelley:
(rising: and taking his place quietly) Well, it's not about crabs actually,
it's called 'Ozymandias'. It's not an ode.
I
met a traveller in an antique land
Who
said 'Six vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand
in the desert
And
on the pedestal these words appear
My
name is Ozymandias, King of Ants
(oohs
from his audience)
Look
on my feelers, termites, and despair
I
am the biggest ant you'll ever see
The
ants of old weren't half as bold and big
And
fierce as me'.
(Enormous
applause.)
Old
Lady: Thank you Mr Amontillado. I'd like to ask one or two of you at the back not
to soil the carpet, there is a restroom upstairs if you find the poems too
exciting (she falls over) Good afternoon, next, Mr Dennis Keat will recite his
latest problem 'Ode to a glass of sherry'. (she falls off the podium)
Keats:
My
heart aches and a drowsy numbness pains
My
senses, as though an anteater I'd seen
(panic
spreads and the audience half rise)
A
nasty long-nosed brute
(screams
from the audience)
With
furry legs and sticky darting tongue
I
seem to feel its cruel jaws
Crunch
crunch there go my legs
Snap
snap my thorax too
(various
screaming women faint)
My
head's in a twain, there goes my brain
Swallow,
swallow, swallow, slurp
(he
loses control)
Old
Lady: Mr Keats, Mr Keats, please leave immediately.
Keats:
It's true. Don't you see. It's true. It happens.
Old
Lady: (she bustles him out) Ladies and gentlemen, I do apologize for that
last... well I hesitate to call it a poe... but I had no idea ... and talking
of filth... I have asked you once about the carpet... Now, I do appreciate that
last poem was very frightening... but please! Now before we move on to tea and
pramwiches, I would like to ask Arthur Lord Tenniscourt to give us his latest
little plum entitled 'The Charge of the Ant Brigade'.
Tennyson:
Half an inch, half an inch...
(Enter
Queen Victoria with a fanfare, followed by Albert's coffin.)
All:
The Queen, the Queen. (they all bow and scrape)
Queen
Victoria: My loyal subjects, we are here today on a matter of national import.
My late husband and we are increasingly disturbed by recent developments in
literary style (developing a German accent) that have taken place here in
Germany ... er England. There seems to be an increasing tendency for ze ent...
the ent... the ant... to become the dominant ... was is der dentaches Entwiddungsbund...
Attendant:
Theme.
Queen
Victoria: Theme ... of modern poetry here in Germany. We are not ... amusiert?
(an attendant whispers) Entertained. From now on, ants is verboten. Instead
it's skylarks, daffodils, nightingales, light brigades and ... was ist das
schreckliche Gepong ... es schmecke wie ein Scheisshaus... und so weiter. Well,
we must away now or we shall be late for the races. God bless you alles.
(Chris
leaves. We cut to him outside a door with a sign saying 'Electric Kettles '.)
Voice:
Psst! Electric kettles over here, Sir.
(A
hand holding a sign saying 'Toupees' beckons him. He goes over to door and is
ushered through. There are pictures of famous bald world figures with toupees
on the walls....)
(Cut
to the other side of the door. Chris turns and double takes. It is the
manager's office. There is a long line of people sitting waiting to complain.
The manager looks up.)
Complaints
Manager (Michael Palin): (irritably) All right. Take a seat.
(Chris
shuts the door and takes a seat at the end of a line often people waiting to
complain: the German clothes prop man; the Icelandic honey week man; a Greek
with a motor tyre; a man with a lawn mower with a cat sticking out of it; a man
with a bandaged nose holding a dog with a bandaged nose; a lady with a bandaged
nose; a lady with a bandaged nose and a pram with a small column of smoke
rising from it; a rather butch lady with her head through a tennis racket; a
man with a cigar in his mouth that has obviously exploded - his face is
blackened and his collar awry; a man in a terrible suit with one arm twice as
long as a normal sleeve and trousers that finish at mid-thigh. A uniformed shop
attendant is sitting next to a rather well dressed lady in twin set and pearls,
and her equally distinguished looking husband. The attendant is occasionally
touching the lady's 'cheek and peering into her eyes. The lady and the husband
stare straight ahead. Next to them is Colonel Ewing. At the desk is the lady
with the flame thrower. Part of the manager's desk and the entire comer of the
office are blackened and smoking.)
Lady:
You see! There ought to be a safety catch on it, I mean ... ohhhh! (a spurt of
flame shoots out) I mean, what if this fell into the wrong hands?
Complaints
Manager: Yes, madam. I'll speak to the makers personally, all right?
Lady: Would you? It wou