Episode 3
Up Your Pavement
(A
high street. Musical theme played on a banjo a la 'Steptoe and Son' opening.
Cut to a tracking shot of two tramps walking jauntily along. They are very
arch, over-the-top jolly fellows. They nod at the occasional passer-by and do
mock bows to a city gent.)
CAPTION:
Up Your Pavement
CAPTION:
By the Rev. and Mrs A. G. Phipps
CAPTION:
From an idea by Lord Carrington
(They
come to a litter bin, root in it, and one of them produces a newspaper. He
hands it to the other, looks in again and brings out a pork pie. He looks in
again, his eyes light up, and he produces a bottle of champagne. He passes it
to his mate. He looks in again and finds two highly polished glasses. Meanwhile
over all this and as they set off down the road together we hear:)
Voice
Over: (Michael) Taking life as it comes, sharing the good things and the bad
things, finding laughter and fun wherever they go -- it is with these two
happy-go-lucky rogues that our story begins. (by this time the tramps have
walked out of shot; cut to a shot of a sports car up on the pavement with the
legs of the two tramps sticking out from underneath; the music turns more
urgent and transatlantic) For it is they who were run over by Alex Diamond ...
(appropriate music; a James Bond character climbs out of the car and looks down
at the dead tramps) international crime fighter ... (shot of him rushing into a
film premiere past photographers with flashing bulbs) and playboy ... (cut to
him on yacht) fast-moving ... tough-talking ... (still of him with Henry
Kissenger; cut to him striding down a street) and just one of the many hundreds
of famous people who suffer from lumbago, the epidemic disease about which no
one knows more than this man ... (we see him go into a doorway; cut to a low
angle close up of Dr Koning donning gloves prior to the operation; the music
changes to the Kildare theme) Dr Emile Koning ... doctor ... surgeon ...
proctologist ... and selfless fighter against human suffering, whose doorbell
(cut to a doorbell and pan down) was the one above the hero of our story
tonight ... (pan down to find the doorbell and name) Rear-Admiral Humphrey De
Vere! (the door opens and the rear-admiral comes striding out; naval music; he
walks up the road) Yes! This is the story of Rear-Admiral Humphrey De Vere ...
or rather, the story of his daughter ... (cut to a still of a young inspired
and devoted nurse; the music instantly changes to the heroic) For it was her
courage, foresight and understanding that enabled us to probe beneath the sophisticated
veneer of ... (mix to impressive college grounds) the Royal Arsenal Women's
College, Bagshot ... (zoom in across lawns towards the college building) and
learn the true story of this man ... (the camera suddenly veers off away from
college and homes in on a solitary bush from which appears a seedy fellow in a
terrible lightweight suit of several years ago that has got all stained and
creased around the crutch) Len Hanky! Chiropodist, voyeur, hen-teaser. The man
of whom the chairman of Fiat once said...
Chairman:
(Eric) Che cosa e lo succiacatori do polli?
CAPTION:
What is a hen-teaser? (The phone rings. He answers it dynamically and we zoom
in on his tense, alert, executive face.)
Voice
Over: Yes! Tonight we examine the career of Gino Agnelli! The man who started
from nothing to build up one of the greatest firms in Europe. (mix through to
stock film of a big car-producing plant) And whose telescope was bought from
the shop part-owned by a man who, at the age of eight, stole a penknife from the
son of this man's brother's housekeeper's dental hygienist's uncle. (as each of
these things is mentioned we see a momentary flash of a still of each) The
Reverend Charlie `Drooper' Hyper-Squawk Smith (at this point the freeze frame
starts moving as the chaplain lifts himself out of the cockpit and jumps down
beside his Spitfire) the cleft-palated RAF chaplain, who single-handed shot
down over five hundred German chaplains. (smiling cheerfully he crosses off
another emblem of a vicar in a German helmet on the side of the plane. Beside
this is written 'Here we come Kraut' Luke 17, verse 3) This is the story of the
men who flew with him ... it really is!
RAF Banter
(Scene:
a wartime RAF station)
Jones:
Morning, Squadron Leader.
Idle:
What-ho, Squiffy.
Jones:
How was it?
Idle:
Top-hole. Bally Jerry, pranged his kite right in the how's-your-father; hairy
blighter, dicky-birded, feathered back on his sammy, took a waspy, flipped over
on his Betty Harpers and caught his can in the Bertie.
Jones:
Er, I'm afraid I don't quite follow you, Squadron Leader.
Idle:
It's perfectly ordinary banter, Squiffy. Bally Jerry, pranged his kite right in
the how's-your-father; hairy blighter, dicky-birded, feathered back on his
sammy, took a waspy, flipped over on his Betty Harpers and caught his can in
the Bertie.
Jones:
No, I'm just not understanding banter at all well today. Give us it slower.
Idle:
Banter's not the same if you say it slower, Squiffy.
Jones:
Hold on then... Wingco! Bend an ear to the Squadron Leader's banter for a sec,
would you?
Chapman:
Can do.
Jones:
Jolly good. Fire away.
Idle:
Bally Jerry, Bally Jerry, pranged his kite right in the how's-your-father;
hairy blighter, dicky-birded, feathered back on his sammy, took a waspy,
flipped over on his Betty Harpers and caught his can in the Bertie.
Chapman:
No, I don't understand that banter at all.
Idle:
Something up with my banter, chaps?
GRAMS:
AIR RAID SIRENS
(Enter
Palin, out of breath)
Palin:
Bunch of monkeys on the ceiling, sir! Grab your egg-and-fours and let's get the
bacon delivered!
Chapman
(to Idle): Do *you* understand that?
Idle:
No, I didn't get a word of it.
Chapman:
Sorry, old man, we don't understand your banter.
Palin:
You know, bally tenpenny ones dropping in the custard!
(no
reaction)
Palin:
Um... Charlie choppers chucking a handful!
Chapman:
No no, sorry.
Jones:
Say it slower, old chap.
Palin:
Slower *banter*, sir?
Chapman:
Ra-ther.
Palin:
Um... sausage squad up the blue end?
Idle:
No, still don't get it.
Palin:
Um... cabbage crates coming over the briny?
The
others: No, no.
(Film
of air-raid)
Idle
(voice-over): But by then it was too late. The first cabbage crates hit London
on July the 7th. That was just the beginning.
(Chapman
seen sitting at desk, on telephone)
Chapman:
Five shillings a dozen? That's ordinary cabbages, is it? And what about the
bombs? Good Lord, they are expensive.
Trivializing the War
(Cut
to a Whitehall war office conference room. A general is on the phone. Four
other generals sit there.)
General:
(Graham) Five shillings a dozen? That's ordinary cabbages, is it? And what
about the bombs? Good Lord, they are expensive!
(A
corporal rushes in.)
Corporal:
(Eric) Sir!
General:
Yes, what is it?
Corporal:
News from the Western Front, sir.
General:
Yes ... ?
Corporal:
Big enemy attack at dawn, sir ...
General:
Yes ... ?
Corporal:
Well, the enemy were all wearing little silver halos, sir ... and ... they had
fairy wands with big stars on the end ... and ...
General:
They what ... ?
Corporal:
.. and ... they had spiders in matchboxes, sir.
General:
(in disbelief) Good God! How did our chaps react?
Corporal:
Well, they were jolly interested, sir. Some of them ... I think it was the 4th
Armoured Brigade, sir, they ... well, they went and had a look at the spiders,
sir.
General:
Oh my God! All right, thank you, Shirley.
(A
girl emerges from under the table. She is a blonde WAAF.)
Corporal:
Sir!
General:
(to a sergeant) Get me the Prime Minister. (the sergeant opens the door,
Churchill stands outside) Not that quickly! (the sergeant shuts the door)
Gentlemen, it's now quite apparent that the enemy are not only fighting this
war on the cheap, but they're also not taking it seriously.
Ageing
General: (Terry G.) Bastards ...
General:
First they drop cabbages instead of decent bombs ...
Corporal:
The crates were probably quite expensive, sir.
General:
Quiet, critic! And now they're doing very silly things in one of the most vital
areas of the war!
Ageing
General: What are we going to do, Shirley?
General:
Well, we've got to act fast before it saps morale. We're going to show these
Chinese ...
Captain:
Germans, sir.
General:
These Germans ... we're going to show them that no British soldier will descend
to their level. Anyone found trivialising this war will face the supreme
penalty that military law can provide. (he holds a heroic pose; there is a
pause during we expect to cut; we don't; suddenly he breaks out of the pose
into informality) That was all right, I think?
Captain:
(getting out drinks) Seemed to go quite well.
Court-martial/Basingstroke
in Westphalia
(Cut
to a courtroom in the 1940s. A courtmartial is in progress. An elderly general
presides, with two others on either side of him. There is a defense counsel, a
prosecutor, a clerk of court, and two men guarding the prisoner.)
Presiding
General (Terry J.): Sapper Walters, you stand before this court accused of
carrying on the war by other than warlike means -- to wit, that you did on
April 16th, 1942, dress up as a bag of dainties, flick wet towels at the enemy
during an important offensive ...
Walters
(Eric): Well, sir ...
Presiding
General: Shut up! Colonel Fawcett for the prosecution ...
Fawcett
(Michael): Sir, we all know ...
Presiding
General: Shut up!
Fawcett:
I'm sorry?
Presiding
General: Carry on.
Fawcett:
Sir, we all know the facts of this case; that Sapper Walters, being in
possession of expensive military equipment, to wit one Lee Enfield .303 rifle
and 72 rounds of ammunition, valued at a hundred and forty pounds three
shillings and sixpence, chose instead to use wet towels to take an enemy
command post in the area of Basingstoke ...
Presiding
General: Basingstoke? Basingstoke in Hampshire?
Fawcett:
No, no, no, sir, no.
Presiding
General: I see, carry on.
Fawcett:
The result of his action was that the enemy ...
Presiding
General: Basingstoke where?
Fawcett:
Basingstoke in Westphalia, sir.
Presiding
General: Oh I see. Carry on.
Fawcett:
The result of Sapper Walters's action was that the enemy received wet patches
upon their trousers and in some cases small red strawberry marks upon their
thighs ...
Presiding
General: I didn't know there was a Basingstoke in Westphalia.
Fawcett:
(slightly irritated) It's on the map, sir.
Presiding
General: What map?
Fawcett:
(more irritably) The map of Westphalia as used by the army, sir.
Presiding
General: Well, I've certainly never heard of Basingstoke in Westphalia.
Fawcett:
(patiently) It's a municipal borough sir, twenty-seven miles north-north east
of Southhampton. Its chief manufactures ...
Presiding
General: What ... Southhampton in Westphalia?
Fawcett:
Yes sir ... bricks ... clothing. Nearby are remains of Basing House, burned
down by Cromwell's cavalry in 1645 ...
Presiding
General: Who compiled this map?
Fawcett:
Cole Porter, sir.
Presiding
General: (incredulously) Cole Porter ... who wrote `Kiss Me Kate'?
Fawcett:
No, alas not, sir ... this was Cole Porter who wrote `Anything Goes'. Sir, I
shall seek to prove that the man before this court ...
Presiding
General: That's the same one! (he sings) `In olden days a glimpse of stocking
...'
Fawcett:
I beg your pardon, sir?
Presiding
General: (singing) `In olden days a glimpse of stocking, was looked on as
something shocking, now heaven knows, anything goes ...'
Fawcett:
No, this one's different, sir.
Presiding
General: How does it go?
Fawcett:
What, sir?
Presiding
General: How does your `Anything Goes' go?
Walters:
Can I go home now?
Presiding
General: Shut up! (to Fawcett) Come on!
Fawcett:
Sir, really, this is rather ...
Presiding
General: Come on, how does your `Anything Goes' go?
Fawcett:
(clearing his throat and going into an extraordinary tuneless and very loud
song)
Anything
goes in.
Anything
goes out!
Fish,
bananas, old pyjamas,
Mutton!
Beef! and Trout!
Anything
goes in ...
Presiding
General: No, that's not it ... carry on.
Fawcett:
With respect sir, I shall seek to prove that the man before you in the dock
being in the possession of the following: one pair of army boots, value three
pounds seven and six, one pair of serge trousers, value two pounds three and
six, one pair of gaiters value sixty-eight pounds ten shillings, one ...
Presiding
General: Sixty-eight pounds ten shillings for a pair of gaiters?
Fawcett:
(dismissively) They were special gaiters, sir.
Presiding
General: Special gaiters?
Fawcett:
Yes, sir, they were made in France. One beret costing fourteen shillings, one
pair of ...
Presiding
General: What was special about them?
Fawcett:
Oh ... (as if he can hardly be bothered to reply) they were made of a special
fabric, sir. The buckles were made of empire silver instead of brass. The total
value of the uniform was there ...
Presiding
General: Why was the accused wearing special gaiters?
Fawcett:
(irritably) They were a presentation pair sir, from the regiment. The total
value of the uniform ...
Presiding
General: Why did they present him with a special pair of gaiters?
Fawcett:
Sir, it seems to me totally irrelevant to the case whether the gaiters were
presented to him or not, sir.
Presiding
General: I think the court will be able to judge that for themselves. I want to
know why the regiment presented the accused with a special pair of gaiters.
Fawcett:
(stifling his impatience) He ... used to do things for them. The total value
...
Presiding
General: What things?
Fawcett:
(exasperated) He .. he used to oblige them, sir. The total value ...
Presiding
General: Oblige them?
Fawcett:
Yes, sir. The total value of the uniform ...
Presiding
General: How did he oblige them?
Fawcett:
What sir?
Presiding
General: How did he oblige them?
Fawcett:
(more and more irritated) He ... um ... used to make them happy in little ways,
sir. The total value of the uniform could therefore not have been less than ...
Presiding
General: Did he touch them at all?
Fawcett:
Sir! I submit that this is totally irrelevant.
Presiding
General: I want to know how he made them happy.
Fawcett:
(losing his temper) He used to ram things up their ...
Presiding
General: (quickly) All right! All right! No need to spell it out! What er ...
what has the accused to say?
Walters:
(taken off guard) What, me?
Presiding
General: Yes. What have you got to say?
Walters:
What can I say? I mean, how can I encapsulate in mere words my scorn for any
military solution? The fultility of modern warfare? And the hypocrisy by which
contemporary government applies one standard to violence within the community
and another to violence perpetrated by one community upon another?
Defense
Counsel (Terry G.): I'm sorry, but my client has become pretentious. I will say
in his defense that he has suffered ...
Fawcett:
Sir! We haven't finished the prosecution!
Presiding
General: Shut up! I'm in charge of this court. (to the court) Stand up!
(everyone stands up) Sit down! (everyone sits down) Go moo! (everyone goes moo;
the presiding general turns to Fawcett) See? Right, now, on with the pixie
hats! (everyone puts on pixie hats with large pointed ears) And order in the
skating vicar. (a skating vicar and everyone bursts into song)
Everyone:
Anything
goes in. Anything goes out!
Fish,
bananas, old bananas,
Mutton!
Beef! and Trout!
Anything
goes in. Anything goes out. etc.
Film
Trailer
(Cut
to the coast of Norway. Night. Tense music. Shots of big coastal guns,
cliff-top fortifications.)
CAPTION:
Drama!
CAPTION:
Action!
(Build
up for abut ten seconds. Cut to a cliff top looking out to sea. A grappling
hook comes over and sticks in, then another, and another. Whispered voices,
music, the tension rises as the rope is tightened. Then over the top comes a
German, head blackened and camouflaged. Then others climb over; they are
wearing haloes, pink tutus, jackboots, wands. They charge over. Stock film of
guns blazing.)
Voice
Over (Michael): Yes! Coming to this cinema soon! (cut to stock film of a
destroyer in the midst of a pitched sea-battle; victory-at-sea music) The
tender compassionate story of one man's love for another man in drag. (cut to a
sailor on a ship in rough sea; he calls to the captain who is in an evening
gown) THRILL! to the excitement of a night emission over Germany.
CAPTION:
Thrill!
(Cut
to stock shots of bombers on a night raid. Cut to interior of a bomber. Various
shots of pilot and navigator. There is flak outside and explosions occasionally
light up the cabin.)
Voice
Over: When the pilot, Jennifer (shot of the pilot) has to choose between his
secret love for Louis, (shot of the navigator) the hot-bloodedly bi-sexual
navigator and Andy, (shot of the rear gunner) the rear gunner, who, though
quite assertive with girls, tends to take the submissive role in his
relationships with men. (cut to close up of gritty pipe-smoking RAF top brass)
And sensational Mexican starlet, Rosetta Nixon, plays the head of bomber
command, (insert of WAAF) whose passion for sea-birds ends in tragedy. (cut to
montage of war footage, explosions, guns firing, etc.) With Ginger, as the
half-man, half-woman, parrot whose unnatural instincts brought forbidden love
in the aviary. And Roger as Pip, the half-parrot, half-man, half-woman, three-quarter
badger, ex-bigamist negro preacher, for whom banjo-playing was very difficult,
and he never mastered it although he took several courses and went to banjo
college ... er ... and everything ... don't miss it!
(During
this last lot are superimposed in quick succession the following captions:
`Drama' `Suspense' `Thrills' `Marquetry' `Adventures' `Don't miss it' `Coming
to your cinema soon')
Voice
Over: Coming to your cinema soon! (cut to an Indian restaurant) Only five
minutes from this restaurant! But now! (Cut to the nude organist and `It's' man
)
It's
Man: (Michael) It's ...
Opening
titles
(At the end of the title cut to tramps exactly as at the beginning of the show.)
The Public are Idiots
(Cut to two twin-set-and-pearls ladies, Mrs Elizabeth III and Mrs Mock Tudor. They are in a sitting room with vulgar furnishings. By the TV, which they are watching, stands a small Arab boy. He has electrodes fixed to him and wires stretching from a control box held by Mrs Elizabeth III. They are watching the tramps.)
Mrs
Mock Tudor: (Graham) Bloody repeats!
(She
presses the switch. The arab boy flinches with pain and turns and switches of
the TV set.)
Mrs
Elizabeth III: (Terry J.) Yes, repeats or war films. It really makes you want
to micturate.
Mrs
Mock Tudor: People on television treat the general public like idiots.
Mrs
Elizabeth III: Well we are idiots.
Mrs
Mock Tudor: Oh no we are not!
Mrs
Elizabeth III: Well I am.
Mrs
Mock Tudor: How do you know you're an idiot?
Mrs
Elizabeth III: Oh, I can show you!
Mrs
Mock Tudor: How?
Mrs
Elizabeth III: Look!
(Cut
to Mrs Elizabeth III coming out of the front door in a fairly well-to-do mock
Tudor detached house in its own grounds. She runs headlong into a tree opposite
the front door. Repeat a few times. Then she rushes into a field, digs a hole
three feet deep and stands in it. Cut to her standing beside a letter box. She
straps on a long false nose and pokes it through the letter box. She drinks a
delicate cup of tea at a posh café and eats the whole cup. Cut to her nailing
something to a lorry. The lorry starts off to reveal that she had been nailing
herself to the lorry. She is dragged away. Cut to TV planners at a window,
watching Mrs Elizabeth III doing silly things in a car park below them. She has
a cream bun hanging from a long stick which comes out of her hat. She walks
along strangely.)
Programme
Titles Conference
Chief
Executive (Terry J.): You see the public are idiots ... (he has a conference
tag on his lapel which reads `Chief TV Planner'; he turns from the window to a
conference table, piled with drinks) Yes ... you might just as well show them
the last five miles of the M2 ... they'd watch it, eh?
(Cut
to Mrs Mock Tudor and Mrs Elizabeth III watching TV. There is a film of the
motorway on it, filmed from the bank beside a bridge.)
Mrs
Mock Tudor (Graham): At last they done been put on something interesting.
Mrs
Elizabeth III (Terry J.): Oh, most interesting.
(Cut
back to the programme planners conference.)
First
Planner (Eric): (reading figures) ... and our figures show that the motorways
are extremely popular. I mean, last time we showed a repeat of the Leicester
bypass our ratings gave us 97,300,912, and ITV nought. So I do feel we ought to
give B roads their own series.
Chief
Executive: I'm sorry ... we just can't give you a bigger budget.
Second
Planner (Michael): Budgie?
First
Planner: (to the second planner) No, he's left I think. (to the senior
executive) Why not?
Chief
Executive: We're not the only slice of the cake, you know.
Third
Planner (Graham): Wouldn't mind a slice of cake. Nice chocolate cake ...
delicious ...
Second
Planner: I had a budgie once you know, amusing little chap, used to stick his
head in a bell ... what was his name, now ... Joey? ... Xerxes? ...
First
Planner: We could repeat them ...
Third
Planner: Re-heat them?
First
Planner: No, repeat them ...
Third
Planner: You don't re-heat cakes. Not chocolate cakes.
Chief
Executive: What, repeat the cakes?
Second
Planner: Mr Heath, that was the name of the budgie.
Chief
Executive: (looking at his watch) Good Lord, the bar's open! (they all scramble
madly to their feet) Oh no it isn't, I was looking at the little hand that goes
round very fast ...
First
Planner, Second Planner and Third Planner: Damn. Blast.
(They
sit down again reluctantly. There is a short pause.)
First
Planner: I've got it. We can retitle the repeats.
Second
Planner: What ... give them different names?
Chief
Executive: Wouldn't that mean retitling them?
Third
Planner: Brilliant!
Chief
Executive: Right -- all we need is new titles. And they must be damned new!
Second
Planner: How about `Dad's Navy'?
Chief
Executive: Mm, good, good.
First
Planner: `Up Your Mother Next Door.'
Chief
Executive: Even better ...
Third
Planner: `Doctor At Bee'!
Chief
Executive, First Planner and Second Planner: What?
(There
is a knock at the door.)
First
Planner: Someone's knocking at the door.
Chief
Executive: Quite like it -- bit long, though, I think.
Third
Planner: Far too long.
Second
Planner: `I Married Lucy.'
Chief
Executive: Hasn't that been done?
Second
Planner: Oh, yes, a long time ago, though, they'd never remember it.
Third
Planner: `Doctor at Three'!
Chief
Executive: What?
(There
is a knock at the door.)
First
Planner: I think someone's knocking at the door.
Chief
Executive: That's even longer!
Second
Planner: `I Married A Tree.'
Chief
Executive: `And Mother Makes Tree.'
Third
Planner: `Doctor At Cake'!
(Continuous
knocking on the door.)
First
Planner: Look! I'm not absolutely certain, but, well I do rather get the
impression that there is someone actually knocking on the door at this very
moment.
Chief
Executive: That's ridiculous. Half the programme gone. Stop lengthening it!
Third
Planner: (desperate) `I Married A Cake'?
Second
Planner: (over excited) `I Married Three Rabbit Jelly Moulds'!
Third
Planner: Prefer a cake ... specially chocky cake ...
(There
is by now a constant hammering.)
Security
Man (Terry G.): (yells from outside door) Open the sodding door!
Chief
Executive: No, no. You can't say `sodding' on the television.
(All
shake their heads. The door is broken in. Enter a neo-fascist-looking security
man in a wheelchair with an oriental sword through his head.)
Chief
Executive: You're supposed to knock!
Security
Man: Sorry, sir, but there's trouble at studio five!
Second
Planner: You're in security, aren't you?
Security
Man: Yes, sir.
Second
Planner: (triumphantly) Well, you're not allowed to suggest programme titles.
(he smiles victoriously at others)
Security
Man: Sir! It's the World War series in studio five -- they're not taking it
seriously any more.
First
Planner: You're not allowed to suggest programme titles!
Security
Man: (switching on a TV set) Look!
(They
rush to the monitor. One of them brushes the oriental sword which is through
his head.)
Security
Man: Ow! Mind me war wound!
Chief
Executive, First Planner, Second Planner and Third Planner: That's it! Very
good title!
(On
the screen we see the court martial in progress as we saw it earlier in the
show, with the whole court singing.)
Everyone:
Anything
goes in. Anything goes out!
Fish,
bananas, old pyjamas,
Mutton,
beef and trout!
Anything
goes in. Anything goes out! etc.
Woody and the Tinny Words
Scene:
a 1920s-style drawing room
Chapman:
I say!
Cleveland:
Yes, Daddy?
Chapman:
Croquet hoops look damn pretty this afternoon.
Cleveland:
Frightfully damn pretty.
Idle
(as her mother): They're coming along *awfully* well this year.
Chapman:
Yes, better than your Aunt Lavinia's croquet hoops.
Cleveland:
Ugh! Dreadful tin things.
Idle:
I did tell her to stick to wood.
Chapman:
Yes, you can't beat wood. Gorn.
Idle:
What's gone, dear?
Chapman:
Nothing, nothing -- just like the word, it gives me confidence. Gorn. Gorn --
it's got a sort of *woody* quality about it. Gorn. Go-o-orn. Much better than
'newspaper' or 'litter bin'.
Cleveland:
Ugh! Frightful words!
Idle:
Perfectly dreadful!
Chapman:
'Newspaper' -- 'litter bin' -- 'litter bin' -- dreadful *tinny* sort of word.
(Cleveland
screams)
Chapman:
Tin, tin, tin.
Idle:
Oh, don't say 'tin' to Rebecca, you know how it upsets her.
Chapman:
Sorry, old horse.
Idle:
'Sausage.'
Chapman:
'Sausage'! There's a good woody sort of word, 'sausage'. 'Gorn.'
Cleveland:
'Antelope!'
Chapman:
Where? On the lawn?
Cleveland:
No, no, Daddy. Just the word.
Chapman:
Don't want antelope nibbling the hoops.
Cleveland:
No, no -- 'ant-e-lope'. Sort of nice and woody type of thing.
Idle:
Don't think so, Becky old chap.
Chapman:
No, no -- 'antelope' - 'antelope', *tinny* sort of word.
(Cleveland
screams)
Chapman:
Oh, sorry old man.
Idle:
Really, Mansfield.
Chapman:
Well, she's got to come to terms with these things. 'Seemly.' 'Prodding.'
'Vac-u-um.' 'Leap.'
Cleveland:
Oh -- hate 'leap'.
Idle:
Perfectly dreadful.
Cleveland:
Sort of PVC sort of word, don't you know.
Idle:
Lower middle.
Chapman:
'Bound!'
Idle:
Now you're talking!
Chapman:
'Bound.' 'Vole!' 'Recidivist!'
Idle:
Bit *tinny*...
(Cleveland
screams and rushes out sobbing)
Idle:
Oh, sorry, Becky old beast.
Chapman:
Oh dear, I suppose she'll be gorn for a few days now.
Idle:
Caribou.
Chapman:
Splendid word!
Idle:
No, dear, nibbling the hoops.
(Chapman
fires a shotgun)
Chapman
(with satisfaction): Caribou -- gorn... 'Intercourse.'
Idle:
Later, dear.
Chapman:
No, no -- the word, 'intercourse'. Good and woody. 'Inter-course.' 'Pert,'
'pert,' 'thighs,' 'botty,' 'botty,' 'botty' (getting excited), 'erogenous
zo-o-one'. Ha ha ha ha -- oh, 'concubine', 'erogenous zo-o-one', 'loose woman',
'erogenous zone'...
(Idle
calmly empties a bucket of water over Chapman)
Chapman:
Oh, thank you, dear. There's a funny thing, dear -- all the naughty words sound
woody.
Idle:
Really, dear -- how about 'tit'?
Chapman:
Oh dear, I hadn't thought about that. 'Tit.' 'Tit.' Oh, that's very tinny,
isn't it? 'Tit.' 'Tit.' Tinny, tinny.
(Cleveland,
who has just come in, screams and rushes out again)
Chapman:
Oh dear. 'Ocelot.' 'Was-p.' 'Yowling.' Oh dear, I'm bored. Better go and have a
bath, I suppose.
Idle:
Oh really, must you, dear -- you've had nine today.
Chapman:
All right -- I'll sack one of the servants. Simpkins! Nasty tinny sort of name.
SIMPKINS!
(Enter
Palin, in RAF uniform)
Palin:
I say, mater, cabbage crates coming over the briny.
Idle:
Sorry dear, don't understand.
Palin:
Er -- cow-catchers creeping up on the conning towers?
Idle:
No, sorry old sport.
Palin:
Um -- caribou nibbling at the croquet hoops.
Idle:
Yes, Mansfield shot one in the antlers.
Palin:
Oh, jolly good show. Is 'Becca about?
Idle:
No, she's gorn off.
Palin:
What a super woody sort of phrase. `Gorn orff'.
Idle:
Yes, she's gorn orff because Mansfield said `tin' to her.
Palin:
Oh, what rotten luck ... oh well ... whole afternoon to kill ... better have a
bath I suppose.
Idle:
Oh, Gervaise do sing me a song ...
Palin:
Oh, OK.
Idle:
Something woody. (The pilot launches into a quite enormously loud rendering of
`She's going to marry Yum Yum'. The impact of this on the mother causes her to
have a heart attack. She dies and the song ends.)
Palin:
For ... she's going to marry Yum Yum ... oh crikey. The old song finished her
orff.
Chapman:
(entering) What's urp?
Palin:
I'm afraid Mrs Vermin Jones appears to have passed orn.
Chapman:
Dead, is she?
Palin:
'Fraid so.
Chapman:
What a blow for her.
Show
jumping/Newsflash
(Cut
to the scene on a TV screen and pull out from the TV to Mrs Mock Tudor and Mrs
Elizabeth III in their sitting room watching it.)
Mrs
Mock Tudor: (Graham) What I want to know Mrs Elizabeth III, is why they give us
crap like that, when there's bits of the Leicester by-pass what have never been
shown. Biskwit? Mrs Elizabeth III: (Terry J.) (takes biskwit from plate) Oh,
thank yew ...
(Mrs
Mock Tudor switches her TV switch. The Arab boy winces in great pain and moves
over to the set. He changes channels. Up comes a picture of the motorway again.
Roller caption superimposed over the motorway. Appropriate 'Crossroads' type
theme music.)
Voice
Over: (Eric) (reading the roller caption) Appearing on the M2 were 4,281
Vauxhall Vivas, 2,117 Vauxhall Vivas de luxe, 153 Vauxhall Vivas with ...
(Mrs
Elizabeth III throws the switch and the Arab boy winces with real pain and
turns the knob of the television set which changes channels. On the TV set we
see the same two ladies watching their set as before with the tramps on it.
They continue watching until the two ladies on the set speak.)
Mrs
Mock Tudor: (on the TV set) Bloody repeats.
Mrs
Mock Tudor: (not on the TV set) Bloody repeats.
(As
before she switches switch. The Arab boy winces in pain and changes channels.)
Mrs
Elizabeth III (on the TV set) Yes, repeats or war films ... makes you want to
...
(She
throws the switch. The Arab boy winces in pain and turns over. The White City
as for show-jumping. Close up of a mounted female rider waiting to start. Voice
over of Dorian Williams.)
Dorian
Williams: (Eric) Hello and welcome to Show-Jumping from White City ...
Mrs
Mock Tudor: Oh, moto-cross!
Dorian
Williams: ... and it's Anneli Drummond-Hay on Mr Softee just about to go into
jump-off against the clock. The short pause is for the stewards who are
repairing the Sound of Music. (cut to shot of stewards who are organizing eight
nuns, Von Trapp in Tyrolean gear, Julie Andrews, and the six Von Trapp children
into a group forming a fence; cut back to Anneli) ... Captain Phillips on
'Streuth' just caught one of the nuns at the very start of what would have been
a fine clear round. It's a formidable obstacle this Sound of Music -- eight
nuns high but they're ready now, and singing. (the group start singing 'The
Hills are Alive'; the bell goes for the start of the round and the lady rider
sets of towards the group) And there's the bell. She's got 1.07 seconds to
beat, but she needs a clear round to win. As she comes towards the Sound of
Music and ...
(Cut
away to the two ladies watching their TV. Shot from an angle so we can't see
the screen.)
Mrs
Elizabeth III: Quite exciting.
(Cut
back to White City to see the lady rider has just cleared the obstacle. A cheer
from the crowd. The music changes to 'Oklahoma'. Follow her round to see a
similar group dressed as for 'Oklahoma'. Ten hayseeds and six wenches with a
hay wagon. Most have primitive pitch forks and are sucking on straws.)
Dorian
Williams: ... beautifully taken, and now she needs to pick up speed for
Oklahoma, but not too much. This is where Alan Jones knocked down poor Judd,
but ... And ... she's taken it superbly!
Mrs
Mock Tudor: You notice how we never actually see the horses jump.
(Cheer
from TV. Cut back to White City. The horse is coming away from Oklahoma. Cut to
run up to Black and White Minstrels.)
Mrs
Mock Tudor: Wait for it ...
(Cut
back to White City.)
Dorian
Williams: And! She's taken it ... (cheer; we actually see the lady jumper jump
over the chorus of mistrels) She's over the Minstrels. She just flicked Leslie
Crowther with her tail, but the time's good, and now she turns before coming
into the final jump ... this is a tough one ... It's Ben-Hur -- forty-six
chariots ... 6,000 spectators ... 400 slaves, lion-handlers, the Emperor Nero
and the entire Coliseum. 198 feet high. 400 years across!
(The
lady jumper is now coming right towards the camera. Cut back to the ladies
watching.)
Mrs
Mock Tudor: I bet we don't see this one.
(Cut
back to horse actually jumping towards the camera. Cut to newsreader Peter
Woods in a news studio.)
Peter
Woods: (Peter Woods) We interrupt show jumping to bring you a news flash. The
Second World War has now entered a sentimental stage. The morning on the
Ardennes Front, the Germans started spooning at dawn, but the British Fifth
Army responded by gazing deep in their eyes, and the Germans are reported to
have gone 'all coy'.
‘When Does a Dream Begin?’
(Music
comes in underneath: 'When Does a Dream Begin'. Mix to a young airman on an
airfield gazing into a WAAF's eyes. Black and white, soft focus and scratched
film to look like a not very good print of a 40's film. Airman sings.)
Airman:
(Neil Innes)
When
does a dream begin?
Does
it start with a goodnight kiss?
Is
it conceived or simply achieved
When
does a dream begin?
Is
it born in a moment of bliss?
Or
is it begun when two hearts are one
When
does a dream exist?
The
vision of you appears somehow
Impossible
to resist
But
I'm not imagining seeing you
For
who could have dreamed of this?
When
does a dream begin?
When
reality is dismissed?
Or
does it commence when we lose all pretence
When
does a dream begin?
(Mix
sound to end of signiture tune.Halfway through the song the credits roll
superimposed. They read)
Monty
Python (social class 9)
was
performed by
Graham
Chapman
Terry
Gilliam
Eric
Idle
Terry
Jones
Michael
Palin (social class 2, Arsenal 0)
Conceived
and written by
Graham
Chapman
John
Cleese
Terry
Gilliam
Eric
Idle
Neil
Innes
Terry
Jones
Michael
Palin (social class Derry and Toms)
Also
appearing
Carol
Cleveland
Bob
R. Raymond
Marion
Mould (social class 47 actors)
`When
Does a Dream Begin' by Neil Innes (social class 137 musicians)
Variations
on the theme by Bill McGuffie (social class 137a other musicians)
Make-up
Maggie
Weston (social class 5 till midnight)
Costumes
Andrew
Rose (social class 35 28 34)
Film
Cameraman
Stan
Speel (social class f8 at 25th sec.)
Sound
Recordist
Ron
Blight (social class unrecordable)
Film
Editor
Bob
Dearberg (social class Lower 6th) (Mr Potter's)
Sound
Mike
Jones (social class slightly above the Queen)
Lighting
Jimmy
Purdie (social class a bottle of Bell's)
Visual
Effects
John
Horton (social class ant)
Production
Assistant
Brian
Jones (social but no class)
Designer
Robert
Berk (no social class at all)
Produced
by
Ian
MacNaughton (social class 238-470 Scotsman)
BBC Colour (by permission of Sir K. Joseph)