"Um..." "Oh!" "Oh!" "No, that's revolting." "Oh!" "It's Welsh, is it?" "It's, um..." "It's blended, is it?" "(MUMBLING)" "Roy Hattersley?" "Chanel?" "We'd like to announce that we'll be holding a competition during tonight's show." "What's basically gonna happen is this..." "We'll be performing a series of sketches and, obviously, we'll be wearing different costumes for each one." "Except that tonight, we're actually going to be wearing the wrong trousers... for every sketch." "–That's right." "What's happened is, we've mixed up the trousers at random." "And what you have to do is to use your skill and judgement... to find out which trousers go with which sketch." "That's right." "So, for example, if you think the trousers that I wear in sketch A should have been worn by Stephen in sketch G, for example, then just write it down." "When you've got them all, send us a card, also saying, in not more than ten words, why you think trousers are important." "And the first correct entry opened will receive this... rather magnificent pair of trousers." "They're pretty stunning, I think you'll agree, as well as a guided tour around the trouser department here at A Bit Of Fry  Laurie." "A tour led by the ever-popular Cliff Michelmore." "–So, good luck." "–And good trouser-spotting." "(KNOCKING ON DOOR)" "Come." "Ah, Terry, come in, come in, come in." "Now, do you know why I sent for you?" "–Not really, sir." "No." "Not really, not really." "No." "Well, um..." "First of all, let me congratulate you on winning the school poetry prize." "Oh, thank you, sir." "Mr Drip tells me that it's one of the most mature and exciting poems he's ever received from a pupil." "Don't suck your thumb, boy." "Well, I'm not, sir." "No, it was just a piece of general advice for the future." "Now, Terry." "Terry." "Terry." "Terence." "Terenche." "It's about this poem, really." "I've read it, Terry." "I can't pretend to be much of a judge of poetry," "I'm an English teacher, not a homosexual." "I have to say that it worried me." "–Oh?" "–Yes, worried me." "I have it in front of me." "Now..." ""Inked Ravens of Despair" ""Claw Holes in the Arse of the World's Mind."" "I mean, what kind of a title for a poem is that?" "–It's my title, sir." "–"Arse of the World's Mind"?" "I mean, what does that mean?" "Are you unhappy about something?" "I think that's what the poem explores." "Explores?" "Oh, it explores, does it?" "I see." "Well, let's have a look at what it explores, shall we?" ""Scrotal threats..." ""unhorse a question of flowers."" "I mean, what's the matter with you?" "Are you sickening for something?" "Or is it a girl?" "Is that the root of the problem?" "It's not something I can explain, sir." "It's all in the poem." "It most certainly is "all in the poem."" "Now, "I asked for answers and got a head full of heroin in return."" "Terry, look at me." "Who's been giving you heroin?" "This is a very serious matter." "We must do something about it." "–No one, sir." "–No, no, Terry, I must insist." "It's in the poem. "I asked for answers and got a head full of heroin."" "This is a police matter." "You must tell me who's been giving you heroin." "Sir, no one has given me heroin." "So this poem is a fiction, is it?" "A fantasy?" "A lie?" "What's happening?" "No, it's all true." "It's autobiographical." "Well then, Terry, I must insist you tell me who has been giving you heroin." "Is it another boy?" "Well, sir." "You have." "I have?" "What are you talking about, you diseased boy?" "This is rank standing impertinence." "I've never given anyone heroin in my life." "–No, it's a metaphor." "–Metaphor?" "How metaphor?" "It means, I came to school to learn, but all I got was junk instead of answers." "Junk?" "What are you talk— The GCSE syllabus is most rigidly adhered—" "–Well, you know, it's just an opinion." "–Oh, is it?" "And is this just an opinion, too?" ""When time fell wanking to the floor, I kicked his teeth."" ""Time fell..." I mean, is it just put in to shock?" "Or is there something personal you want to discuss with me?" ""Time fell wanking to the floor."" "I mean, what does it mean?" "–It's a quotation." "Quotation?" "Quotation?" "Who from?" "It's not Milton and I'm pretty sure it can't be Wordsworth." "–Bowie." "–Bowie?" "Bowie?" "–David Bowie." "–Oh." "And is this David Bowie, too, hm?" ""My body disgusts, damp grease" ""wafts sweat balls from sweat balls and thigh fungus."" "I mean, do you wash?" "–Of course I wash." "Well, then, why does your body disgust you?" "It looks perfectly all right to me." "Why can't you write about meadows or something" "Never seen a meadow." "Well, what do you think the imagination is for?" ""A girl strips in my mind" ""squeezes my last pumping drop of hope" ""and rolls me over to sleep alone." You're 15 years old, Terry." "What's going on inside you?" "–I think that's what the poem—" "What the poem explores." "Don't tell me, don't tell me." "I cannot understand anymore." "I cannot understand." "Well, sir." "You were young once." "Hm?" "Well, yes." "In a sense, I suppose." "Well, didn't you ever feel like that?" "You mean, did I want to "Fireball the dead cities of the mind" ""and watch the skin peel and warp?" Then, thankfully, no, I did not." "I may have been unhappy from time to time if I lost my stamp album or broke a penknife." "I certainly didn't write it all down and show it to people." "–Perhaps it might have been better if you had." "–Oh, might it, young Terry?" "Might it?" "I suppose I am one of the "unhappy bubbles of anal wind..." ""popping and winking in the mortal bath." Am I?" "Oh, your silence tells me everything." "I am!" "I am an unhappy bubble of anal wind." "Well, that's just how I see it." "That's valid." "Valid?" "Valid?" "You're not talking about a bank note." "You are calling your headmaster "an unhappy bubble of anal wind."" "I'm one, too." "Oh, as long as we're all unhappy bubbles of anal wind popping and winking in the mortal bath, then there's no problem, but I don't propose to advertise the fact to parents." "If this is poetry, then every lavatory wall in England is an anthology." "What's happened to The Oxford Book of English Verse?" "Where's that disappeared to in all this, hm?" "Perhaps that's the lavatory paper." "–Is that clever?" "–I don't know." "I suppose it's another quotation from Derek Bowie, is it?" "I can't understand anymore." "I cannot understand." "It's not surprising, sir." "Perhaps you're frustrated." "After all, it's a lonely job." "I am frustrated." "It is a lonely job." "I'm assailed by doubt and wracked by fear." "Well, then write it down." "Write it down, get it out your system." ""Assailed by doubts, wracked by fear."" "You think?" "Yes." "Assailed by doubts, wracked by fear." "Tossed in a wrecked mucus foam... of... of..." "–Hatred?" "Good, good." "What about "steamed loathing"?" "Better." "You're a natural." "Wrecked mucus foam of steamed loathing." "Snot trails of dust perforate the bowels of my intent." "Put on your red shoes, Major Tom..." "What I always say to myself in that situation is... what would Lester Piggott have done in the same position?" "Oh, God!" "Oh, what is that?" "That is awful!" "–Sir?" "–What is that smell?" "Oh, that is..." "Blurgh!" "What is it?" "–What smell, sir?" "That smell." "Can't you smell it?" "I can smell it." "Oh, it's terrible." "–Um, do you mean the onions, sir?" "No, I don't mean the onions." "I know what onions smell like." "No, that other smell." "God!" "I'm sorry, sir." "I can't actually smell anything." "Well, it doesn't matter." "You can't smell it, I can smell it, but never mind." "Right." "Oh, no!" "Oh, that is awful." "God!" "–Is it still troubling you, sir?" "–Yes, it is, God." "Oh, it smells like gangrene." "Um, yes..." "Someone's got gangrene in here." "Who is it?" "Um, yes, would you like to move to another table, sir?" "Well, that's not going to stop the gangrene, is it?" "Once gangrene takes hold..." "you move tables as often as you like, that's it." "Oh, no, that's..." "Excuse me!" "Has one of you got gangrene 'cause it's really bugging me over here." "It's awful." "I can open a window, sir, if you'd like." "No, never mind." "Obviously we'll all just have to put up with it." "That's all right." "Now get." "Go, go!" "Unless it's fettuccini." "Sir?" "Fettuccini and gangrene, they smell pretty similar." "Well, table 14 is having fettuccine, sir." "Oh, well." "That'll be it, then." "It's all right." "It's not gangrene, it's your fettuccine." "Right, sir." "If there's nothing else, thank you." "Oh, no!" "Oh, no!" "–Sir?" "–Oh." "Oh, God!" "–Sir, what is it this time, sir?" "–Somebody's got bubonic plague." "–I beg your pardon, sir?" "–It's awful." "God!" "(AUDIENCE MEMBER YELLING)" "I bloody wrote that!" "You can't bloody well steal something I've written." "Don't tell me to be quiet!" "I bloody wrote that." "I bloody wrote it and you just stole it!" "Is there a problem?" "Problem?" "I'll say there's a bloody problem all right." "That's my sketch and you bloody nicked it." "Well, sir." "When?" "When did... –When?" "When when what?" "–When did you write it?" "Well, I don't know, I don't know." "Years ago." "Years ago." "Yes, well, I mean, can you prove it?" "Prove it?" "Of course I can't bloody prove it." "I mean, what do you think I am, for God's sake?" "Look, I'm telling you, I'm telling you, that's my sketch." "You know, I mean, it's based on a personal experience I had, for God..." "I'm not going to let you two just take it and pretend it's yours." "If you can't prove that you wrote it, it's rather hard for us to believe." "I don't care if you bloody well believe me or not." "I'm telling you, it's my sketch." "I wrote it." "And what's more, you two, you're breaking the law by doing it now." "It's a very serious allegation." "You should have thought of that before you started doing it, shouldn't you?" "Well, I'm sorry about this, ladies and gentlemen." "Obviously we can't go on doing this sketch now." "We'll have to get it sorted out and hopefully we'll be able to come back to this later on." "I'm really sorry about this." "–This is your solicitor's name and address?" "–Yeah, that's right." "Yeah." "–Yours is?" "–Samson Delaney." "Yeah, well, I've actually applied to join the plainclothes branch, but as you can see, I'm on probation at the moment." "With a bit of luck, uh... you know, next month, maybe I'll..." "I'll be issued with the proper bomber jacket and it's goodbye to this." "Thanks." "Every day in Britain, more than 10 million people are mad." "That's the disturbing conclusion in a report just published called" "Is Britain Turning into a Nation of Mad People?" "Dr Mijory Marjorie is with me now." "Dr Marjorie... just how serious is this problem?" "–It's very serious." "–Wait a minute, I haven't finished yet." "–Sorry." "–...in real terms." "–Okay?" "–Yes, go on." "Yes." "It's very serious indeed." "In 1957, when records began, we were, I think, the sixth maddest country in Europe." "Whereas last year's figures show that now Britain, I'm afraid, leads the European community— –It is a community, isn't it?" "Yes." "Britain now leads Europe in terms of being mad." "–Well, that's a worrying trend, certainly." "–You're very kind." "Right." "Right." "Now, for those viewers who may just have switched on this minute, would you mind having this conversation with me all over again?" "–Fine with me." "–Right." "Is Britain turning into a nation of mad people?" "Dr Mijory Marjorie is with me now." "Dr Marjorie, just how serious is this problem in real terms?" "Not particularly." "–Not particularly what?" "–Serious." "–Isn't it?" "–No, no, no." "Right, when we talk about" "Britain's increasing madness, what sort of madness are we really discussing?" "–Well, all sorts really." "From the kind of madness that makes people want to put on a hat when they get into a car, to the really extreme madness that prompts people to go to the theatre." "Right." "So that's quite a broad basket of madness, really, isn't it?" "–Well, we've tried to be pretty thorough." "–Right, right." "Now, for those people who've just tuned in right now." "Could I suggest that you invest in a copy of Radio Times?" "That way you can plan your viewing properly and stop butting into programmes five minutes after they've begun." "I mean, you wouldn't after all start a novel at chapter 5, would you?" "Well, you would if the first four chapters were rubbish." "Oh, be quiet." "Um, now..." "Dr Marjorie... examining the causes beneath and behind and, to some extent, to one side of Britain's underlying and increasing madness, what exactly are they?" "–Well, we examined— –Sorry, sorry, who's "we"?" "My mother and I." "And a woman called Alice." "–Fine, fine." "And we came up with some pretty interesting results." "You see, essentially, madness is like charity." "It begins at home." "Oh, that's interesting." "Darryl." "Corporal punishment, you think?" "I was beaten as a..." "I was beaten as a... as a child." "Didn't do me any harm." "Good morning, sir." "Can I help you at all?" "Yes, I'm looking for a three-door hatchback." "Probably... round about a C-reg, low mileage if possible." "I should think three, three and a half mark, probably." "–A three-door hatchback?" "–Yeah." "A Fiesta or a Polo, something like that." "Anything cheap and reliable basically." "Well, we have got this Queen Anne dressing table." "Very nice condition." "The drawers aren't original, hence the price of £1,250." "–Right, right." "No, that's very nice." "–It's a nice piece." "Yeah, there isn't much room in it, though, is there?" "I'm just thinking about the shopping." "Whether there's enough room for the shopping." "I don't want anything huge, like a Volvo or anything." "AUDIENCE MEMBER:" "I don't believe it." "They've done it again." "They've stolen this one again, I don't believe it." "–FRY:" "Oh, Christ." "Daylight bloody robbery, this is." "Oh, Jesus wept!" "What?" "I mean, you wrote this one as well?" "Yes, I bloody well did." "Don't you come all sarcastic on me." "You know perfectly well you never wrote this." "Just not our lucky night, I'm afraid." "Man buying car in an antique shop." "That's it." "That's it." "I wrote that years ago." "Well, it's solid, you see." "That's what I like about it." "It's solid... without being smutty." "Not nearly smutty enough." "Well, ask a stupid person and you get a stupid answer." "Morning, Control." "Hello, Tony." "Come on in." "Thank you." "I will come in." "Just for the now." "I expect you will have heard the news, then." "Well, the place is in a bit of an uproar, but you know what rumours are." "Oh, yes, I don't know." "I sometimes think that if I believed everything I heard in rumours," "I'd be believing some things that aren't true at all." "Anyway, you'll forgive me if I yawn a bit during today, but what with one thing and another, I didn't get too much sleep last night." "Oh, poor you." "You must be exhausted, or very tired at least." "Or is that wrong?" "No, that's quite right." "I am tired, Tony." "Well, perhaps you'd like to tell me what happened, Control." "Unless you're too tired." "No, I think it would be best if I filled you in." "That way, you won't have to rely on departmental rumours, will you?" "Yes, and that would be a great convenience." "Hmm." "I expect it would." "Well, we picked up Costain last night." "Yes, I gathered as much from the rumours, but I wasn't sure whether it was absolutely true so it's good to have it confirmed by you." "I can imagine." "Costain came quite quietly." "I think he'd guessed that we'd suspected him of being a traitor for some time now." "Which we had, hadn't we?" "Yes, that's quite true." "We had." "When was it we first came to suspect him, do you think?" "Well, I can't remember exactly, but it was certainly some time ago." "–Before last spring, would you say?" "–Well, around there, definitely." "Yes." "Certainly no later than the 14th of May." "Because that was my birthday and I remember thinking at the time that having Costain arrested and put behind bars would be the best birthday present anyone could ever hope for." "I remember you saying those exact words, Tony." "–So, any old way, you managed to arrest him?" "–Yes." "He was taken to the ninth floor and I had the job of interrogating him." "That's never a very pleasant task, is it, Control?" "No, it's one of the things I least enjoy having to do, as a matter of fact, Tony." "It's very difficult when someone doesn't want to tell you anything and you have to think up ways of making them tell you." "Yes, that can call on all your know-how, can't it?" "That's right." "Yes." "Costain, I'm afraid, didn't want to tell us anything." "But I thought it would be much better if he did because if he's been working for the Russians all this time, then we ought to know what he's been up to, oughtn't we?" "Yes." "That way, we know which of our secrets have been given away and which are safe." "That's exactly right." "So, was the Minister pleased that we caught him at last?" "Well, on the one hand, Tony, he's delighted that Costain has been put behind bars at last." "On the other hand, he's very anxious to minimize publicity." "And, of course, on the other hand— –Oh, hold on." "You've got three hands there, Control." "Oh, yes, I wasn't counting very carefully, was I?" "Well, let's just say he's also rather cross that we allowed a Soviet agent to go undetected amongst our rank for so long." "So, a mixed reception, then." "I think that's a very fair way of putting it actually, Tony." "Yes." "So, all in all, and what with one thing and another, it's been a pretty tiring 48 hours." "Well, 44 hours to be exact." "But it feels like 48, I can tell you." "Well, 46 or 47 at least." "So being as how you're so tired, Control, perhaps a cup of coffee might perk you up." "Oh, I say, that's ever such a super thought, Tony." "I'd just love one." "–Coming right up." "–You're a lifesaver, Tony, and that's a fact." "–Oh, and Control?" "–Mmm?" "Under the circumstances, I'm going to make sure it's a good and strong one." "–Bye-bye." "–Bye." "So, do you like heavy metal?" "I quite like heavy metal, but I prefer something that wasn't quite so heavy." "–What?" "A bit lighter?" "–Yes." "Lighter metal would be nicer." "Only, unfortunately, light metal doesn't exist." "–Ah, well, that's where you're wrong." "Because Genital Records have just issued a new compilation album." "–Really?" "–Yes." "It's called Light Metal." "–Is it a completely new concept?" "–Apparently." "Oh." "–And what's it called?" "–Light metal." "Goodness." "So, it's like heavy metal, but... –Without the weight." "–Right." "Do you know any examples of light metal?" "Well, the main bitch-sex monsters of the whole scene at the moment... –Yes?" "–...are called The Bishop and The Warlord." "Wow." "♫ I'm very much on the lookout for action at the moment, baby" "♫ There isn't a single moment to lose" "♫ I'm heading on for good times Whichever way I choose" "♫ I'm going to pull back with my right hand Get that front wheel off the ground" "♫ And don't try and stop me 'cause I'm not going to be around" "♫ I'm a hard-headed woman" "♫ I'm a bitch on heat" "♫ I've got a sophisticated body and easy-action hips" "♫ I've got long, straight legs and red, red ruby lips" "♫ I'm looking for good loving, baby That's what I aim to find" "♫ 'Cause I'm a good time sister You can touch me" "♫ I don't mind" "♫ I'm a hard-headed woman" "♫ I'm a bitch on heat ♫" "(BARKING)" "Woofety, woofety, woofety." "Sex and violence, really." "We're a small company, but we're expanding all the time." "I prefer the quieter ones, really." "Well, basically, you do need something to moisten the bread." "You can just run it under the tap." "–Mr Lully, is it?" "–That's correct." "Yes." "Glad you could see me at such short notice." "–Not at all." "Do sit down." "–Thanks very much." "–Can I offer you a coffee?" "–Oh, that would be very nice." "Yes, thanks." "Right." "How do you like it?" "Decaffeinated, jug method, low-mineral-content spring water not quite brought to the boil, with semi-skimmed milk with one NutraSweet." "Unstirred." "Right." "–Mark?" "–Yes." "–Do we still have that chemistry set in the office?" "–Afraid not." "–Well, then." "Just one coffee, please." "–Okay." "Right." "Now, Mr Lully, you're after a loan, is that right?" "That's about the size of it." "Yeah." "You say in your letter that you're starting up a new business and you'd like to take advantage of our new Gredo start-up package." "That's absolutely correct." "Yes." "You don't actually say what the product is that you're hoping to market." "As it happens, I've actually brought along a couple of samples with me." "Excellent." "We haven't actually settled on brand names yet, but basically... the blue sachet is cocaine and the red is heroin." "Sorry?" "The market research we've done so far has indicated that cocaine is thought of as a brighter, fresher product, therefore the blue." "And heroin is warmer, more passionate, hence the red." "If you disagree, I'll certainly value your input." "–You're planning to sell and distribute drugs?" "–On the button." "Yup." "The market's there, I'm ready to go, and let's face it, Europe's open for business." "–Yes..." "–Problem?" "–Possibly, possibly." "–Well, I think I know what you're going to say." "Certainly up until now this is an area which has been hedged about with a lot of rules and regulations and, to be quite honest, when I first looked at this market I thought to myself," ""Hey, I'd be better off manufacturing red tape."" "Red tape." "Yes." "But, thankfully, those times are changing now." "Whole new markets are opening up and I'm ready to play them." "–Yes, but— –The demand is there." "No question." "–Is it?" "Well— –One of the most exciting things for me is that it's such a young market." "–Young?" "–Oh, yes." "Immensely young." "Yes, consumer profiling indicates the 12 to 15-year-old segment and, you know, if we can instil brand loyalty into them at that age, well, that's got to be good news." "–But— –Ah, but, but, but." "Yes." "You're thinking, 12 to 15-year olds, do they have the income?" "What I always say to that is this... if the product's right, they'll find the income, you know." "Their mothers' handbags, car stereos, old-age pensioners, wherever it is." "Yes..." "I hesitate to use a word like this, a bit old-fashioned, but do you think this is strictly moral?" "I beg your pardon?" "Moral." "Do you think it's moral?" "–Moral." "–Yes." "I'm not sure if I've actually got any precise figures on that." "Susie said she'd do me a bar chart..." "–No, no." "Is it moral to do this at all?" "You know, with children and so on." "Well, let me just say this." "Would you rather we stood idly by and let the Germans, the Dutch, South Americans take over our market share?" "Where's your precious morality then?" "–Well, I..." "Up a gum tree without a paddle, that's where it is." "The question is this, either you believe in market forces or you don't." "Ah, well, I can help you there, because I don't." "–You don't?" "–No, no, I don't believe in market forces." "I used to, of course, when I was a child, but like everybody else, when I grew older, I discovered it was all made up." "–Made up?" "–Yes." "I can still remember the exact day I found out, actually, it was a Christmas Eve." "And I couldn't sleep and I crept downstairs and I heard my, you know, parents, they were talking and arguing and laughing about market forces, and saying how they were going to have to break it to me one day." "Came as a bit of a blow, as you can imagine." "Two years later, I discovered that Father Christmas didn't exist either." "Didn't exist?" "You're kidding." "–Oh, did you still— –Yes, I did actually." "–Yes." "–I am sorry." "Growing up, hey?" "Ladies and gentlemen, I think we've got to know each other well enough over the weeks now for me to make a little confession." "I don't want you to be embarrassed by this, I'm not." "And it's I whose breast is being cleaned, not yours." "The fact is, I'm not quite as I seem." "You see before you what I've been kind enough to call a rather lovely figure of a super and that's by and breastly as it should be." "However, and this is where I'm going to have to ask you to be excitingly pretty," "I do have a peculiarity which I feel I must in all softness be rather heavenly about, just for a divine." "Like an increasing number of people today," "I have a pair of nipples attached to my chest." "Here and to a lesser extent, there." "But, and this is where I'm forced to be a little more delicious than usual, while this one here, Neville, is rosy and healthy and everything one could want, this one, Sheila, is bright blue and something of a young disappointment." "Well, there, in a smooth-limbed, golden-thighed way, we are." "You've been patient, you've been glossy, you've been surprisingly supple." "I've enjoyed being fabulous with you." "Thank you." "See that?" "Just there." "It's a miracle, that." "Another inch and that would have been just there." "(DOORBELL RINGING)" "Good evening, Chief Inspector Venice, Burnham CID." "May I come in?" "Well, of course you can, dear." "It's your house." "Go on, then." "Go on." "Go on, help yourself, then." "You know, see if I care." "Go on, take the lot." "I don't care." "Come on, Cindy, we're going." "Go on." "Just help yourself, all right?" "Anything you like, take the lot." "Solid, no?" "How many times have you walked out in front of a bus, been knocked over and killed?" "It's pretty frustrating, isn't it?" "Now there's an answer to that problem because a company down in Truro in Cornwall has come up with these lightweight travelling hats." "Which can be folded very tightly indeed but which, when unpacked, can be thrown away almost immediately." "Which hopefully should eliminate that bus problem at a stroke." "Dick."