"'With the ants expelled from the pavlova 'and the fridgesswitched back on at the wall," "'Max turns his attention to the menu.'" "Right, first thing to say about this menu is that it is far too long!" "All right?" "You need food with balls." "So, fresh local fish..." "Do fish have balls?" "Shut up!" "Have you got balls?" "Have you got hair on your balls?" "Sorry, but, yes, I do have hairy balls." "Shut up, you hairy-balled prick!" "Right!" "So I've got some local salmon, I'm just chopping up some dill, quick squeeze of lemon, let it marinate for a bit, sear it in a hot pan..." "Dollop of creme fraiche." "Bingo!" "Done." "Easy." "Right, now you try." "What..." "What did you say after dill?" "'But Max's menu ideas seem to be causing problems.'" "Are you pulling my balls?" "This is how I showed you to do it!" "What the hell is that?" "Well, I..." "I just..." "What?" "!" "I just feel..." "What, mate?" "What?" "You are much better at this than me." "What?" "You are much better at cooking." "That's obvious." "That's why you've got a TV show and I've got a failing restaurant." "Well..." "It doesn't help me for you to show people that." "I can't cook that." "And there's loads of things in there that you didn't even mention, like that thing with the potato that might as well be magic as far as I'm concerned." "It's just local ingredients, simply cooked." "By you!" "King Lear is just English words put in order." "The only way any of this will help my restaurant is if you stay for ever." "Can you stay for ever?" "If you can't cook a simple piece of salmon, you shouldn't have a restaurant in the first place, mate." "Well, soon I won't, thanks to the fantastic advert this programme's giving me." "They'll be queuing round the block when they hear all about the ants and that I can't cook." "Oh, don't be silly!" "You've got 50 covers out there." "Because you're in the kitchen." "All you've done is boast and demonstrate the fact that any fool knew already that you're better at cookery than me." "OK." "But will you keep it up?" "Keep it up?" "I haven't got it up, as I'm surprised you weren't the first to say." "OK, it's been tough." "Give me a hug." "You despise me." "OK." "GEORDIE ACCENT:" "Coming up next on Channel 4," "Linford Christie's Sprinting Nightmares." "OVER TANNOY:" "Keep up, slow coach!" "Why aren't you running as fast as me?" "Anything you want, mate, anything at all, we'll make your last three months..." "No, sorry..." "The next three months, the best three months of your life." "Thanks." "Thanks, mate." "That means a lot." "So, what do you want to do?" "Disneyland?" "Disneyland?" "I'm 36." "Good point." "Run with the bulls?" "Watch the sun go down over the shoals of the Pacific?" "The sun going down, the end of the day, the dying of the light." "Right, right." "Er, swim with dolphins?" "Ooh..." "Oh!" "Oh, what is it, mate?" "Anything!" "Tell me, I will make it happen." "Well, I've really always wanted to go snowboarding..." "Great!" "...among the penguins of the Antarctic." "Right..." "Only..." "Right, I know that sounds like swimming with dolphins, but I can sort of imagine that being a bit harder to organise." "Oh." "Well, if it's too much bother." "HE COUGHS" "No, I just..." "I don't think it'll be a Thomas Cook job, that's all." "HE COUGHS FEEBLY" "Well, I've got to say, mate," "I don't think anything on Earth can compare with these ice fields." "These mountains, these incredible penguins." "Yeah..." "They're all a bit samey." "It's not really as good as I thought it'd be." "I've done seven fun runs!" "I've hardly seen my wife." "I spent three and a half days in a bath of beans." "Oh, did you?" "!" "Probably preferred it if I just died!" "Cos that would have saved you the effort." "That's a horrible thing to say." "I can't believe you said that." "SQUAWKING" "We hope you enjoyed that pre-event advertisement." "Maybe, one day, we'll discover what it was for." "You're watching the British Emergency Broadcasting System and once again it's time for The Quiz Broadcast." "APPLAUSE" "Welcome to the show and welcome back to our contestants, Peter and Sheila." "Peter, I've been meaning to ask, you're blind, like most people, were you blinded by the Event?" "No, I was blinded post-Event by raiders." "Well, that certainly is a funny story." "And, of course, Sheila, you're dressed like that for religious regions." "That's right." "After all, we don't want the Event happening again, do we?" "We certainly don't!" "God, imagine the Event happening again!" "No!" "Do not imagine the Event happening again!" "It will cause distress!" "The Event is in the past!" "So, now the Conveyor Belt Round." "Sheila, ready?" "Think so." "And, of course, we no longer know how to work the conveyor belt, so let's take a look at the prizes." "Food objects!" "Fuel!" "Tablets!" "Holy tablets!" "Frightening animal!" "Someone's head!" "We don't know, but they're everywhere!" "A stone!" "A stone!" "A stone!" "A stone!" "We don't know, but they're everywhere!" "Frightening animal!" "Sheila, what can you remember?" "Oh, I can remember sunshine, colours, smiling faces and then darkness, fear..." "No, no." "Not the Event, the objects." "Oh, right." "Um..." "BUZZER A raid!" "A raid!" "Whoops!" "Well, Sheila, you certainly won't leave empty-handed, because we're gonna let you take away someone's head and a stone as talisman for your sector." "APPLAUSE" "We'll certainly worship them." "I'm sure you will." "WHIRRING AND SPARKING" "Ah!" "Well, I'm afraid that's all we've got power for this week." "Don't forget to send your stories to us, here... wherever we've been for the past two and a half years." "Well, with any luck some of us will be here next week for another Quiz Broadcast, so until then, goodbye and remain indoors!" "WHIRRING AND SPARKING" "What have we got?" "RTA, broken arm, suspected internal injuries, severe contusions to the head." "Need to move fast." "Prep me a solution of Arnica Montana, stat." "Strength?" "One part in a million." "Are you sure?" "It looks serious." "You're right." "We need to strengthen the dose, one part in ten million." "On it, doctor." "Looks like a tricky one." "Nothing we can't handle." "Get me some wolfsbane, also known as monkshood, in here!" "And a tray of flower remedies!" "Oh, his chakras are fading." "We're gonna need some crystals." "Nurse, fetch me some purple-tinted quartz." "Dammit, you're right." "Make that aquamarine quartz!" "Good call." "OK, he's stabilising." "Now does anybody know what sort of car hit him?" "Blue Ford Mondeo." "Right, get me a bit of blue Ford Mondeo, put it in water, shake it, dilute it, shake it again, dilute it again, shake, dilute, and then put three drops on his tongue." "If that doesn't cure him, I don't know what will." "I think you should look at this, Simon.What is it?" "I don't think this poor chap's got long to live." "Why not?" "His lifeline, very short." "And his horoscope's not too clever either." ""Sagittarius, brace yourself for a surprise," ""things are about to change for you."" "They certainly are." "Unless..." "Wait!" "What?" "We could try drawing a bit more lifeline on with Biro." "It'll never work!" "Have you got a better idea?" "Let's see what happens." "Uhh..." "Damn it!" "Time of death, 3.34... ..ish." "Tough day, eh?" "I just can't stand losing them." "It happens." "I don't know." "Sometimes I think a trace solution of deadly nightshade or a statistically negligible quantity of arsenic just isn't enough." "That's crazy talk, Simon." "OK, so you kill the odd patient with cancer or heart disease, or bronchitis, flu, chicken pox or measles, but when someone comes in with a vague sense of unease, or a touch of the nerves," "oreven just more money than sense, we'll be there for them, bottle of basically just water in one hand, and a huge invoice in the other." "I suppose you're right." "Now, another drink?" "I need one." "Excuse me, two more homeopathic lagers, please." "Whoa!" "That's strong stuff." "Everyone, this is Ben and Lizzy, who just moved into number 14." "Oh, hello there." "Oh, my God!" "Oh, golly..." "Sorry, is everything all right?" "Um, there's been a misunderstanding." "We're not swingers." "We don't have sex with other couples." "What, you think we're all...?" "I'm not judging." "It's just, um..." "It's not really our thing." "We like to keep that side of things private." "We're just shy." "Yeah, that's it." "We're just shy." "Call it our weird fetish." "Yeah, it's almost like, in this room, WE'RE the perverts." "Good one." "Look, we're not swingers either." "I don't want to have sex with your wife." "Yeah, right(!" ")" "Honestly." "With the best will in the world, John, yes, you do." "I really..." "I've seen your wife, she's sitting there with a slack jaw, staring at my groin, like she's in some kind of erotic coma." "That's all well and good and I'm sure Barbara's a very nice lady, but that doesn't mean I want to rim her." "Now, if you'll excuse us, Lizzy and I are acutely conscious that you've been mentally undressing us the whole time we've been standing here." "You're all thinking about Lizzy's splendid, untroubled, almost French-looking breasts and my cute, peachy arse." "And if that thought helps this imminent orgy go with a bit more kapow, then, er, that's just our gift to you." "Yeah, we'll leave the wine as well." "Yeah, we'll leave the wine as well, because, frankly, no offence, but you're gonna need it." "Good luck." "Well, I found this whole thing quite arousing." "Yeah, that makes two of us, sweetheart." "Notice, two of us, not eight of us." "Bye, then." "Cheerio." "I want an orgy now." "Barbara!" "Anyway, I'll tell you what," "I was wrong about the penguins." "I know what I want to do now." "Brilliant, mate." "Just name it." "I don't wanna put you to too much trouble." "Come on!" "Anything, mate." "I will make it happen." "Well, we could get a crew of mercenaries together, take over the skyscraper HQ of a multinational corporation, wrong-foot the authorities by posing as terrorists with a political agenda, whilst actually clearing out the building's underground vault" "of bombs and bullion?" "OK, that's..." "That's Die Hard, isn't it?" "Yeah." "I want to do Die Hard." "Right..." "That might be a bit tricky." "HE COUGHS" "MUSIC:" "Symphony Number Nine by Beethoven" "Everybody down!" "If anyone moves, I will have no hesitation in shooting you up with this gun." "Are we all clear on that?" "ALL:" "Yes." "Sergei, are you through to the vault yet?" "Yes!" "Only one security code to go and we're home free, Martin." "This is brilliant!" "What a rush!" "SCREAMING" "I said stay down!" "Now let that be a lesson to all of you." "You've got to keep an eye on them, Martin." "What is it?" "What's the matter?" "Mmm..." "This isn't..." "It's not as good as I thought it'd be." "What?" "But..." "But it's what you wanted!" "Yeah..." "Do you know how hard this was to set up?" "False passports, learning to be a computer hacker, so I could break into the mainframe, and ex-Russian military don't come cheap!" "I've done five marathons dressed as a horse!" "Oh, I'm sorry(!" ")Has my dying inconvenienced you(?" ")" "No." "Now come on, that's not fair." "I didn't say that." "But it has taken up a lot of my time and Cheryl's been really understanding, but even so." "I mean, I'm the one who's gonna be dead in two months." "It's important I say what I feel." "Of course!" "Of course." "Why don't we do the yippee kay-ay thing again?" "Yippee kay-ay, mother..." "Is she all right?" "Have you seen it, Hennimore?" "Have I seen what, sir?" "The giant wasp that's been circling the building." "It's after the enormous pot of jam that we're sending to the King of Moldova to try and build trade relations." "I don't mind telling you, Hennimore, it's been a disastrous year for all of us here at Dreadnought Lids and this Moldovan contract is our last chance." "King Fredlib loves jam and this was the last giant pot Fortnum's had or are ever planning to make.Blimey!" "Now, it's nearly four and I've got a meeting, so I need you to stand here, and if that giant wasp comes back, you set about it with the old Gunn and Moore." "Right you are, sir." "On an unrelated note, my wife will be popping in later." "I said she can wait here for a couple of hours before heading off to the Flora and Fauna Ball in the revolving restaurant at the top of the Father Christmas Hotel in central London." "She's going as a wasp." "Right, sir." "So she'll be popping in in her wasp costume." "She always gets held up by reception, so I've told her to use the fire escape and come in the window." "Don't be surprised if something that looks like a giant wasp comes in." "And just to reiterate, if a giant wasp comes in through the window, smash it to bits with the bat." "Got it, sir." "SHRIEKING" "BUZZING" "Go away, nasty wasp..." "SLURPING" "What the devil!" "BOTH:" "Hennimore!" "Sorry, David, can you read these texts for me?" "I haven't got my glasses." "Oh, yeah, all right." "Um, the first one's from Martin." "He writes," ""Hi, Rob." "Hope you're well." "Are you still on for a drink tonight?" ""How about eight o'clock at the Crown?"" "And there's just a letter X." "David, it's not an X, it's a kiss." "A kiss?" "How can it be a kiss?" "A kiss is a thing you do, that's just a letter." "No, but they're ending the message with a kiss, like on a birthday card." "Oh, is that what that means?" "I always thought that people just thought" "I was either 10, 20 or 30 years old." "Usually ten." "Ah, who's the next one from?" "Oh, it's your wife." "Are you sure you want me to read it?" "Yeah, it's fine.OK." ""Sorry, running ten minutes late." "Two kisses."" "That's a bit distant." "Shouldn't she have put like a sex or something?" "I mean, she is your wife." "Is there a letter for that?" "Maybe an S." "That would be a bit more loving." ""Sorry, I'm running late." "Sex."" "Look, don't you put kisses on things?" "On texts and e-mails?" "No, not even to people who I kiss or have kissed." "I do all my kissing live." "Is that wrong?" "No, it's not wrong." "It's just..." "Not very affectionate." "Oh, God!" "I'm not very affectionate?" "!" "Is that what everyone thinks?" "That I hate kissing, just because I don't put a random letter at the end of my e-mails?" "No, it's fine!" "You've got that whole cold, repressed, emotionless thing going on." "People like it." "You're the guy people like to feel uncomfortable around." "Oh, God!" "Really?" "Really." "Do you want a kiss?" "No." "You wanted to see me." "Ah, Quintilius, my most trusted soothsayer." "These are dark days for Pompeii, smoke in the sky, the earth twitching like a bucking animal." "You're telling me." "It's a proper shambles." "Guide me, O wise man." "What does the future hold for our fair city?" "Well, as far as portents go, it's not good." "You know that big mountain that's suddenly on fire?" "Yes." "That's definitely a bad sign." "Double checked with the goats' entrails and they all say within a week, phht, that's us done for, consumed by brimstone, reduced to ash, all curled up in flaky balls with tourists poking about, tutting and shaking their heads." "And this is your sincere forecast?" "Sorry." "I wish I could say scattered showers, but we're way beyond that." "Smell that sulphur?" "That is one angry atmosphere out there." "Then we must make a humble offering to appease the gods." "Exactly." "I've been having a bit of a think about this, and I reckon I've got it." "Cockerels?" "Pigs?" "No." "We sort our rubbish into separate bins." "Sorry?" "Green glass, brown glass, mosaic, papyrus, all in separate bins." "Sort of a devotional thing, once a week, before going to bed on a Monday night, I reckon." "Is that it?" ""It"?" "Look at the sky!" "It looks like a smashed cake." "The gods are hopping bonkers." "We need to dedicate some of our precious time to a futile, time-consuming ritual." "You know gods, they love all that shit." "But surely that's..." "I don't know...pissing in the wind?" "It's very pissing in the wind, but the sky's on fire and it's the best I could come up with." "Hey!" "I've just noticed, you've been eating crisps all morning." "Aren't you afraid you'll get fat?" "No." "I can eat as many of these as I like." "I can't believe you're stuffing your face with crisps again." "You'll only get fat, and then I'll have to have another affair." "No, don't worry." "These won't make me fat." "Why not?" "Are you bulimic?" "No, it's because these aren't crisps, they're Cressps." "Peekers Crisps takes ordinary cress, the healthiest food in the world, and that's been confirmed, and then deep-fry it in crisp fat so all the health is retained, which means I can eat as many Cressps as I like and just get healthier." "Wow!" "I'll have some Cressps." "I think I'll pass, actually." "'Cressps, once you Cressp, you just can't splessp.'" "That doesn't make any sense." "Oh, God!" "They're horrid!" "Ah, breakfast in bed again." "You are a treasure, my dear butler." "You do so spoil me." "Thank you." "And what do we have here?" "A rose, Butler?" "Ah, you remembered." "Remembered, sir?" "Our anniversary. 40 years today." "I hadn't forgotten." "Hop in." "Very good, sir." "Who would have thought all those years ago that that chance encounter would have led to such happiness?" "How did we meet, Butler?" "Can you remember?" "Well, you advertised for a butler and I..." "Ah, of course!" "It was the day I was to have interviewed prospective butlers." "To think that such mundane domestic matters were distracting me when our eyes first met." "And I never did hire a butler after all." "What?" "Well, I've never needed one, what with all the loving kindnesses you perform for me daily." "You really are too good to me, Butler." "I hope you know I appreciate it." "What do you mean, sir?" "Ah, "sir"." "Such a simple pet name, yet so affectionate." "Sorry...what do you think's going on?" "Our anniversary, my dear Butler." "40 years since we both cast aside convention for love." "Right." "Oh, no!" "Sir, the thing is... you do know I'm your butler?" "Yes, my Butler, my dear Butler, now and for ever." "Butler, Buttles, Butty-Pops, Buttlington Boots." "No, butler's my job." "My name's Steve." "I don't understand." "I'm a butler." "I'm YOUR butler." "I have been for 40 years." "You're my butler, Butler?" "Steve." "You're my Steve Butler." "Butler Steve." "You're Steve Butler." "I'm Steve Griffiths." "I'm your butler." "Oh." "But... ..I thought we were going out." "We're...we're not." "Oh, right." "But...what about the breakfast in bed every day?" "That...that was so romantic." "Yeah." "Also, sir, if you think about it, exactly what a servant might do, like all the cooking, tidying, polishing, shopping, cleaning and answering the phone." "I mean, as a butler, I'd say you were relatively easy to work for, but if you thought this was a relationship, you were nowhere near doing your bit." "Oh." "But...if you're my butler, why have I got my arm round you in bed?" "You told me to, sir." "Now, will that be all?" "Right... well...this is awkward." "And while we're on the subject of domestic chores, while this breakfast would have been a lovely gesture from a man I thought had been in love with me for 40 years, coming from a professional servant, it tastes like shit." "You're almost as bad as that housemaid." "Housemaid?" "Yeah, you know the one, the stroppy one, sits next to me in the drawing room without so much as a by-your-leave, looks at me with needy, betrayed eyes, developed a drink problem 15 years ago." "No, sir." "Oh, you don't mean to say..." "That's right, sir." "She's no housemaid." "That's Lady Sybil, your wife." "Blimey!" "Bunch of flowers in order there, I think." "Very good, sir." "Oh, of course, I've got a butler." "Good-oh." "Helen!" "Get in here!" "Oh, my..." "Finally, after all these years of doubt, proof!" "Atheists from around the world are converging here and queuing for hours, just for a glimpse of the miraculous fruit section." "Let's see if we can talk to one of them." "Can you tell us what you've seen?" "Oh, what can I say?" "My faith's been completely destroyed." "Oh, right." "So you WERE a believer?" "Oh, yeah." "I've got this tomato." "You can just see the initials "JC"." "Oh, it looks like there's a B there, as well." "It says "JCB"." "Oh, yeah." "Well, that doesn't matter now, does it?" "This melon blows my tomato out of the water." "I mean, it's a full sentence." "There's punctuation and everything." "That's good enough for me." "Like the fruit says, there is no God." "So what will you do now?" "Er... call a prostitute, I suppose." "And joining us now is Reverend Steven Murray." "So, Reverend, what's the Church's take on this?" "Is God done for?" "No." "Obviously there is a God, and he's fine." "This is just typical silly atheists getting carried away." "They look at a random pattern in a piece of fruit and think they've found some message in it." "So it's meaningless?" "Absolutely." "There are a million atheists who've cut open pieces of fruit today and found no such message, just the tasty flesh and seeds that God put there for them to enjoy." "This particular atheist happens to have found a piece of fruit that happens to resemble writing and he's projected his own meaning onto it." "It's ridiculous." "You could equally look at all the horrible suffering in the world and say that that proves there's no God." "That's a good point." "So how do you explain the message?" "Well, it's probably just some random mutation in the watermelon's genetics." "Oh, no, wait." "Not that!" "That's good, that, isn't it?" "What is?" "The way... you know, when you're in the shower and the water's all sort of running down you, and it gets to your cock, and the topside, or, like, over-carriage of your cock forms a sort of natural aqueduct" "and channels the water so it runs off the end and it looks like you're doing a wee." "Do I really have to be here for this?" "And then, if you need a wee and go ahead and have a wee, then the wee sort of combines with the water and it looks like you're doing a super wee." "I wouldn't know." "It's like when you're walking along those flat escalators they have at airports, your natural walking plus the assistance, you basically feel like a superhero." "So what you're trying to tell me is that having a piss in the shower makes you feel like a superhero." "Yes." "Well, as I say, I wouldn't know." "What wouldn't you know?" "I wouldn't know about pissing in the shower." "It's not something that I..." "You've never had a piss in the shower?" "Of course not." "Why not?" "What do you mean, why not?" "Why am I suddenly the weird one just because I choose not to..." "What, so you're in the shower and you need a wee, so you get out and go all the way over to the sink..." "Sink?" "!" "All right, loo, whatever, just so..." "There is such a thing as having standards, even when there's no-one watching." "What's the problem?" "You're in the shower, there's a lot of rinsing going on." "It comes out sterile anyway." "That's not the point.As long as it doesn't go on the curtain." "Oh, please!" "What?" "I'm saying don't get it on the curtain." "I'm not saying aim at the curtain, David." "I'm not a complete barbarian!" "I didn't say you were a complete..." "You're not perfect." "You shit in the bath." "That's different." "I know what I want now." "All right." "I want... to have sex..." "Oh, fine!" "Oh, great." "That's great." "I can sort that out, no problem." "..with your wife." "Oh." "And then I can die happy." "Right." "I..." "I just feel that..." "I don't know, that's crossing a sort of line." "All right." "Sorry, sorry, forget it, forget it." "No, no, you're my best friend, and I suppose it would just be the one time." "No, I'd want to do it lots of times, all over your house, with role-play." "I've drawn up a list." "TOGETHER:" "Oh!" "Oh!" "Oh!" "Oh!" "THEY PANT" "GRUDGINGLY:" "Mmm...yeah..."