"No." "Hello, how do you do?" "Oh, my... my wife wears the trousers." "No question, no question." "But we're hoping to get a second pair sometime later, you see." "My ideal woman." "Really, in a TR4." "Lavatories." "Love them or loathe them, they're here to stay." "We use them, we lavish our affection on them." "We clean them, polish them." "Some of us spend up to half our lives in them." "We read specialist lavatory magazines, spend money on the latest models with air conditioning, stereos and two-speed wipers." "Some of us even race them." "–No, no, no, no." "–What?" "–Cars." "–Hmm?" "You mean cars, not lavatories." "Oh, yes." "Sorry." "Cars." "How much do we know about them?" "We sit in them once a day and trust them to carry our effluent away safely, cleanly, efficiently." "Whether they're porcelain, plastic or fibreglass, lever or button flush..." "No, no, no, no, no." "–Hmm?" "–No, you..." "Lavatories." "You mean lavatories." "Oh, yes." "The beginnings of the modern lavatory were humble enough." "In 1793, Johannes Krell of Leipzig constructed the first simple metal cabinet using inert gases condensing to chill the cabinet to three degrees centigrade." "The first dew bin or salad crisper started to appear..." "No, no, no, no, no." "Fridges." "–Huh?" "You mean fridges now." "You're talking about fridges." "Fridges, like them or loathe them, you can't ignore them." "Everyone's talking about fridges." "Whether you're buying or selling a property, sooner or later you'll come in contact with a fridge." "Their commission is an important part of your house buying... –No, no, no, no, no." "–(STUTTERING) What?" "Estate agents." "You're talking about estate agents." "Estate agents." "You can't live with them, you can't live with them." "With their jangling keys, nasty suits, revolting beards, moustaches and tinted spectacles, estate agents roam the land causing perturbation and despair." "If you try and kill them, you're put in prison." "If you try and talk to them, you vomit." "There's only one thing worse than an estate agent, but that at least can be safely lanced, drained and surgically dressed." "Estate agents." "Love them or loathe them, you'd be mad not to loathe them." "Is that right?" "–Yes, fine, fine." "Simon Flituris, you saw that sketch." "I assume you were disappointed." "Yes, I thought it was predictable, really." "–You predicted it, did you?" "–Yes, I predicted it." "It's pretty predictable." "Uh, I thought the choice of targets was predictable." "–Yeah, estate agents?" "–Where?" "–The target of that last sketch was estate agents." "–Was it?" "I didn't really notice." "I thought the choice of language was also predictable." "Yes, I think English was a sadly predictable language to have chosen." "–Which is a shame." "–It is a shame, especially if you don't speak it." "A bigger shame if you do." "But I suppose we predicted it." "I suppose so." "Can you predict what the next sketch will be?" "Oh, a parody of Treasure Island, bound to be." "So, Miss Talliot, you are seriously asking the court to believe that on the 14th of November last year, the very night, I would remind the court, on which the crime that my client is accused of committing took place," "you just happened to be walking in the park." "–That is correct." "–That is what?" "–Correct." "–Oh, it is correct, is it?" "I see." "I wonder, Miss Talliot, whether you were aware that the American novelist Gertrude Stein was a self-confessed lesbian." "Well, I believe so." "You believe so." "Miss Talliot..." "Gertrude Stein remains one of the most celebrated novelists of the 20th century." "Her lesbotic tendencies are a matter of public record." "–Yes." "–Yes." "But you only believe that she is a lesbian." "Well, I've never really thought about it." "I've never read any of her works." "–Oh, come, come, Miss Talliot." "There is, not two streets away from your flat, a bookshop where the works of Gertrude Stein are openly on display." "–Oh." "–Yes, oh." "And you are asking this jury to believe that on the numerous occasions upon which you must, during the course of your duties as a woman, have passed this shop while shopping, for example, you have never entered its premises" "and bought a single volume by this openly lesbicious writer?" "Mr Foley, I'm afraid I really fail to see where this line of questioning is leading us." "Well, with Your Lordship's permission, I am trying to establish that this witness has been guilty of weaving a transparent tissue of farragoes, a catalogue of litanies, and that far from being the respectable president of a children's charity" "and ambassador's daughter that my learned friend, the council for the prosecution would have us believe, she is, in fact, an active, promiscuous and voracious lesbite." "I see, well, carry on." "But, Mr Foley, I must warn you that if you attempt to ballyrag or bulldoze this witness, I shall take a very dim view of it." "Your Lordship is most pretty." "Very well, then." "You may proceed." "Are you aware, Miss Talliot—" "It's Mrs, actually." "Oh, oh, I do beg your pardon." "Oh, well, if you wish to make such a meal of it," "I, for one, shall certainly not stand in your way, Mrs Talliot, if that is how you prefer to be known." "Well, it's how my husband prefers me to be known." "Ah, yes, your husband." "Your husband, the well-known bishop." "–Yes." "Yes, a bishop in the religion, the Church of England, I believe it calls itself, which owns land." "Much land." "Land on which houses have been built." "Houses in which it is statistically probable that private acts of lesboid love have been committed." "Mr Foley, I feel that once again I must rein you in." "I myself am a member of this selfsame church." "Are we to imply from the tenor of your thrusts that I am a lesbian?" "–No, no, Your Lordship misunderstands me." "–Well, I hope so." "I hope the day is very far distant on which I could ever be accused of making love to a woman." "I absolutely adore Your Lordship." "Attraction to women, however repellent as it may be to persons of sensibility, is not in itself a crime." "No, I long to nestle between Your Lordship's thighs." "We must therefore remember, Mr Foley, in our enthusiasm to get to this bottom, that Miss Talliot is not on trial." "She is a witness." "However depraved and wicked her acts of lust, they, in all their disgusting and depraved bestiality, are not in themselves the subject of this assize." "Your Lordship is adorable, m'lord." "Very well." "Proceed." "Thank you, m'love." "Now, I do not propose, Miss Talliot, to burden the jury with any more details of your sordid and disreputable erotic career than is necessary." "I merely wish to know, for my own private elucidation, how it is that you expect a British jury to believe the testimony of a monstrous bull-dyke of your standing against that of a respectable businessman." "I am merely reporting what I saw." "What you saw?" "What you saw through eyes dimmed with lust." "What you saw maddened by the noxious juices of your notorious practices." "What I saw on my way back from the parish council meeting." "Is it not a fact, Miss Toilet, that the words "parish council" are an infamous anagram of the words "lispian crouch"?" "–Oh..." "–You hesitate, Miss Talliot." "–Well, I— –You stand condemned out of your own soiled and contaminated mind." "–I—" "–No further questions." "–Well—" "No further questions." "Thank you, Mrs Talliot." "You may stand down, Mr Lesbian." "Oh." "Will you be in for tea tonight, Jeremy?" "Certainly, Mother." "Call Sir Anthony Known-Bender." "Simon Flituris, you saw that sketch." "What did you think was going on there?" "Well, you know, again I thought this was a very trite, rather predictable." "I don't know what the word is you'd use to describe it really." "–Squib?" "–Sort of, yes." "Spoof, guying, take-off, pastiche, parody." "What did you think of the two central performances?" "I'd have welcomed them." "I liked the clever and original use of words." "–Thank you." "–Not at all." "Your clever and original use of words have recently been gathered in a book form, I understand." "–That's right." "–Yes." "Well received?" "You know how critics are." "I mean, what do they know about the work we do?" "Quite so." "Quietly so, quietly so-ington." "Yes." "Now, to return to this spoof called squib, pastiche, parody, guying of conventions, my main worry was that it didn't tell us anything about the relationship between the two main characters." "I think that's very neatly put indeed." "I mean, where were the truths about relationships in England today, this afternoon, here, now, today, this evening, now?" "–You couldn't see them from where I was lying." "–No, I hated it." "–So, 2 out of 10 for trying, then." "–That's right." "–Yeah, it just wasn't your cup of tea." "–No, no, that's my cup of tea." "–No, that's mine, actually." "–Oh." "Where's mine?" "He used to come round on the first January of every month, and then just pass out again, straight away." "Rumbelows of the Bailey." "Trigonometry was my favourite, especially the blonde one." "No, actually, I shouldn't really be wearing these 'cause these are my eating glasses." "Sorry I'm late, sorry." "Uh, I've kept you waiting." "That's rude of me, sorry." "Okay." "Right, now, let's get cracking." "Who's had a chance to look at Romeo and Juliet since last week?" "Anybody?" "No, uh, well, I know you've all been busy, difficult to make time." "But anybody at all?" "No, okay, good, right, so you're all coming to it fresh." "That's probably better in fact." "In fact, well done, good." "Right, first of all this is Mr Lewis." "He's just popped in to see how we're all getting on." "Just ignore him." "Well, don't ignore him but, you know." "Well, here's an interesting one." "I wonder who can tell me what ignore means?" "Anyone tell me what ignore means?" "Nobody, right, okay." "Ignore means not to pay too much attention to something." "Not to be all that..." "Tony, wake up." "Thanks." "Not to be all that bothered by something." "If you like, Tony was ignoring me just then, okay, so that's ignore." "Who'd like me to right it down?" "Should we write it down?" "Hands up, who'd like me to write it down?" "Ignore." "No one." "Okay, so we're happy with ignore." "Good, all right then." "Oh!" "Yeah." "Uh, Rosie, it's B-A-S-T-A-R-D" "Yeah?" "Otherwise, good." "Right, now, Romeo and Juliet." "What do you think?" "Should we talk about it first and then read it or..." "I mean, hands up, who'd like to talk about it first?" "No one, okay, well, I agree." "Let's just get straight in and read it, for heaven's sake." "Always like to get them involved as soon as possible." "Okay, so Romeo and Juliet." "Do we have a Juliet?" "Who'd like to read Juliet?" "Anybody?" "Anybody like to..." "What about a Romeo?" "We've got to have a Romeo, yeah?" "Couple of Romeos." "(STUTTERING) Maybe one Romeo, eh?" "No." "Okay, fine." "I'll read them both 'cause then you can get a chance to..." "This is Juliet speaking, right." ""Wilt thou be gone?" "it is not yet near day:" ""It was the nightingale, not the lark," ""That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;" ""Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:" ""Believe me, love, it was the nightingale."" "This is Romeo now." ""It was the lark that heralded the morn, No nightingale:" "look, love, what envious streaks" ""Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east."" "Okay, now." "Phew." "Right, having heard that, from what you just heard, ςhat relevance do you think Romeo and Juliet has to today's Britain?" "Who thinks its got any relevance at all?" "No one." "Okay, right." "So we think it's irrelevant, do we?" "Ah!" "Interesting, right, so nobody..." "We don't think it's relevant." "We don't think it's irrelevant either, yeah?" "It's sort of in between, yeah?" "It's in a kind of grey area." "Now, that's interesting." "Good." "Well done." "So why do you think Shakespeare wrote something that was in a grey area?" "What did he mean by it?" "Did he mean anything by it?" "Maybe he was just being stupid." "Who thinks that?" "Hands up those people who think Shakespeare was being stupid?" "No, so, all right." "That was stupid, no..." "I was being stupid." "So we don't think Shakespeare was stupid, but he was writing in a grey area." "Why?" "All right, while you all think about that one, I'm just going to come out with an opinion." "And it is just an opinion, so you can all shout me down as usual." "And that is that Romeo and Juliet  is about love." "We have love, we do love in today's Britain, so Romeo and Juliet therefore isn't, wasn't, irrelevant." "Well, what do you think about that?" "Anybody agree with that?" "Right, no, so nobody agrees with it, but did anyone find it helpful at all?" "Nobody." "Right, no, you're right." "I was being unhelpful there." "That's stupid of me, I shouldn't..." "I've just got..." "I've just clouded the whole issue now." "I'm sorry." "I'm sorry." "I'm just holding you back." "Well, who'd like me to stay?" "I mean, hands up those people who'd like me to stay." "Would you like me to..." "No one." "Right, I..." "No, I agree." "I agree." "You're right." "I'm sorry." "You know, until you've been there, you haven't got any idea what it's like." "I should think." "I don't know." "I've never been there." "Jack Lemmon and Walter Mitty, I like them." "Oh, I can remember exactly what I was doing when I heard the news." "I was listening to the news." "Well, I mean, you've been through enough, haven't you?" "–I know." "–Well, that's right." "Mind you, my life hasn't been easy either." "–No, not easy, no, no." "I hate it when things go wrong, don't you?" "–Oh, I hate it." "–I know." "I hate it." "Mind you, of course, sometimes things go right, don't they?" "And I like that." "–I like that." "Yes, it's better than when things go wrong." "Well, I mean, of course it is, of course it is." "–Yeah, still." "–I know." "–Well, I mean, you can't give up." "–No." "You can't eat money, I always say." "I say that!" "I always say that." "–I know, me, too." "–Still, still." "–Well, I mean, I know." "–That's it." "Well, I mean, for goodness sake, of course it is." "Well, I mean, it's absolutely bound and certain to be." "–That's it." "I know." "–As if it could be anything else other than it." "That's it." "That's completely and dreadfully the whole point." "–You're right." "–I know." "–So right." "–Oh, God, I know." "I know, I know." "Oh, well, of course you do." "I mean, of course you know." "Well, that's right, isn't it?" "–Of course it is, of course it is." "–Yes, yes, oh, yes, that's it." "–Oh, yes!" "–Yes, still, eh, mind you." "–Well, I mean, anyway." "–Well, of course you mean anyway." "–I mean, what." "–I mean, of course you do." "Well, there you go, you see?" "–Well, of course I go there." "Where else would I go?" "–Well, that's it, I mean, where else?" "–Yes, but, I mean, where?" "I mean, shut up, that's it!" "I mean, sod right off, for God's sake, I'm sure it's it!" "Go and slice little bits off yourself and eat them." "Of course you're right." "That's it!" "Then just quite simply shut up and never speak again." "Of course I am!" "–That's it, you see!" "–I know, I know!" "–That's it!" "–Oh, please, please be quiet!" "Oh, drink sick." "You are so, so right!" "(SCREAMING)" "–I'm right!" "–You are so, so, so right!" "–I know!" "–God, I hate you, you are so right!" "Well, I mean, of course you do!" "Of course you hate me!" "–You make me retch!" "–I know I do!" "Well, that's it, you see." "The sight of you makes my skin fall off!" "Yes, yes, that's it!" "You've got it!" "–God, I want to kill you!" "–I know, I know!" "–Still." "–Still." "–Eh." "–I mean, eh." "–Anyway." "–I know." "–Well, there you are, you see." "–Well, that's it." "–I know, yeah." "–Eh?" "Well, Mr Everard, thanks for agreeing to be with us today." "Pleasant journey down, I hope." "–Uh, not pleasant exactly, no, no." "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." "What—" "Sorry, sorry, I just want to say, this sketch that we are doing now is my absolute favourite one of all time." "I just love this one." "Now, watch what Stephen does in this 'cause it's fantastic." "He is brilliant in it." "Sorry, anyway, sorry, carry on." "Um, so not a pleasant journey down?" "Uh, no, no." "Not pleasant at all." "Now..." "Now, just... watch the way he does this next bit 'cause it's brilliant, it's just brilliant." "Go on, it's fantastic." "Oh, dear." ""Oh, dear."" "Well, I can't do it as well as he can do it, but it's just fantastic." ""Oh, dear." I just love it." "Brilliant." "Sorry." "–So was it the weather or the traffic or something?" "–Er... no." "–No?" "–No, now, now, ah, this, this..." "Yes, this..." "This next line coming up is my favourite line in the whole thing." "This is brilliant." "Just watch the way he does this, this is fantastic." "This coming up." "No, no, I was murdered at a petrol station on the A1." "Now, listen, listen, listen to this." "Listen." "I beg your pardon?" "Sorry, it's the next one, it's the next line." "It's not that one." "Uh, yes, yes, I was murdered." "Murdered?" "Who by?" "No, no, it's not that one either." "It's coming up, it's coming up, honestly." "(STUTTERING) Yes, I was stabbed through the heart by a civil servant." "Stabbed through—" "Killed me stone dead." "–Then what are you doing— –This is it, this is what..." "Listen, listen." "Then what are you doing sitting here in my office?" "Then what are you doing..." "That is..." "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." "Actually, he didn't do it very well that time." "He has done it better than that, honestly." "But it's great, though, isn't it?" "Fantastic." "Martin, limp thoughts?" "–None whatsoever." "–I thought not." "Care to make some up for me?" "–Well, this chair is soft, certainly." "–Very soft?" "No, no, it falls short of being very soft." "But, of course, if you look underneath we find... –The floor." "–The floor, precisely." "Does the floor work for you?" "No, it doesn't work, it doesn't work." "The floor doesn't work for me, no, no." "–No." "–Is it a fatal floor?" "–Well, precisely." "You see, the reason the floor doesn't work is 'cause it's all on one level." "And, of course, it also falls into the trap of being essentially self-referential." "By self-referential, you mean..." "I mean to make myself sound like an interesting and impressive person." "That ties in rather neatly." "Well, exactly." "You see, I was wondering is there a sense in which you are not completely squalid and pointless?" "I don't think there's a sense, no, no." "I've looked hard for one, but at the end of it I've come up senseless." "I thought so." "And I was wondering by the same token, is there a critical standpoint yet devised by which you are any distance at all from being hideously repellent?" "–None whatsoever." "None whatsoever." "–Now, you see, that's interesting." "–Oh dear, wasn't meant to be." "–Well, nobody's perfect." "After all, we can't all be critics, can we?" "My wife and I were thinking of going to Ireland personally to see what all the fuss is about." "But we couldn't face having all the injections." "Did you actually know Richard Burton?" "Oh, yes, yes, I knew him, yes." "Well, in as much as anyone ever really knew Burton." "Yes, I was very fond of the Burt." "Amazing character, amazing character." "–Now, Elizabeth Taylor, of course..." "–Well, now, Liz, you see, was a joy, a dream, a treasure, marvellous." "If you could've seen them together." "–Did you ever?" "–Oh, good Lord, yes." "Yes, as a matter of fact I was..." "I was best man at their wedding." "Really?" "Which one?" "All of them." "–Now, Gielgud and Richardson..." "–Yes, they never married, of course." "No." "Did you know them?" "Oh, good Lord, yes, yes, I knew..." "Oh, amazing characters, yes." "The Giel and the Rich used to ask me for advice constantly." "They used to call me their guru." "Now, around this time you must have met—" "Well, just about everyone, really." "Yes, I knew everyone and everyone knew me." "–You knew everyone?" "–I knew absolutely everyone, yes." "–And everyone knew you?" "–Absolutely everyone knew me, yes, yes." "What did you think of Simon Condywust?" "–Simon?" "–Condywust." "Didn't you know him?" "Oh, yes, yes, I knew him." "Oh, yes, yes, well, everyone knew the Condy." "Yes, he was an amazing character, amazing." "What about Maureen Limpwhippypippydodo?" "Well, now, yes, she was a fascinating woman." "Fascinated, I was fascinated by Maureen for many, many years, yeah." "Was she an amazing character?" "Well, no, she was a woman." "The men were amazing characters, the women were fascinating." "Colin Fenchmosleythinkihave?" "Oh, Lord, yes." "What a character..." "Yes, well, the Fench?" "Yes, yes." "Knew him terribly well, terribly well." "What did you think of Fenella Hahahahahaspuit?" "Fascinating woman, fascinating, yeah." "And what about Peter Weeeeee?" "Oh, yes, well, you see..." "They broke the mould after they made Peter." "And Evelyn Brokethemouldaftertheymadepeter?" "Delightful... woman?" "Angela Delightfulwoman?" "Splendid chap." "Dick van Dyke?" "You just made that up." "Rupert Jeremy James, I baptise thee in the name of the Father..." "No, no, no, hold on, hold on." "–What's the problem?" "–No, you're absolutely right." "Nicholas is better." "–Yeah." "Nicholas Thomas Geoffrey." "–Nicholas Thomas Geoffrey?" "Oh, darling, you can't have Nicholas Thomas, that's a very ugly rhyme." "Yeah, you're right." "What was that other one we liked?" "–Timothy Nicholas Peter." "–Oh, Nicholas Timothy Peter." "–Nicholas Timothy Peter?" "–Yes." "Right." "Nicholas Timothy Peter, I baptise... –It's a shame to lose the Jeremy, though, isn't it?" "–I still like Duncan." "Jeremy Nicholas Duncan or Duncan Nicholas Jeremy?" "Um, I have got a wedding in 10 minutes." "You're being paid, aren't you?" "–No." "–Uh, now..." "Nick's idea was Peregrine." "Oh, darling, you can't call a baby Peregrine." "Peregrine Jeremy Nicholas?" "I know it sounds silly, but I've always loved Dick." "Um..." "Now, Dirk's due for a revival." "–Duncan Dirk Dick." "–Well, it's rather fetching." "Duncan Dirk Dick, I baptise thee in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost." "Amen." "–There's too many D's in it." "–Yes." "–What about Tweeble?" "–Oh, darling, we can't call a baby Tweeble." "Well, it's our nickname for the little blighter, so why not?" "–What about Tweeble Timothy James?" "–Perfect." "–Amen." "–Tweeble Timothy James." "I'm sorry it's Duncan Dirk Dick, I've just done it." "Well, undo it." "Undo it?" "This is a holy sacrament of the Church, not a bleeding hotel reservation." "I can't just undo it." "You're beginning to annoy me, buster." "Look at this." "What does this say, hmm?" "–Christening service." "–Yes, service, notice." "Doesn't say rudeness, doesn't say christening rudeness, does it?" "–I wasn't being rude." "–Just bear in mind that there are plenty of other religions." "Some of them, I may say, offering much greater range and value." "Not to mention the carpets." "Look at this." "–So, come on, hand him over." "–Hand him over?" "Yes, we'll have a look at the mosque on Arlington Road, if it's all the same with you." "But I haven't finished the service yet." "The rudeness, you mean?" "Well, you should have thought of that before." "You can't just walk out in the middle of a service." "I mean, think of the child." "Oh, screw the child." "Haven't you heard the news?" "There's a revolution going on." "Enterprise, initiative." "Those who can't trim the fat go to the wall." "–What wall?" "You just don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" "I'm talking about the way you're running this whole operation." "I mean, take this building." "Look at it." "All this equity tied up for what?" "Couple of weddings a week." "It's pathetic." "–It may be pathetic to you, but I assure— –God, what I could do with a place like this." "What do you think, darling?" "We could have some luxury flats up top there." "We could have the shopping arcade along the back, a fountain in the middle." "We'd have a brasserie here in no time." "It's really just a criminal waste." "Look, matey, this is a church, not a dealing room." "I'm not interested in your creepy theories about enterprise and initiative." "This place is founded on ideas a little bit more permanent than the Dow Jones index." "–Oh, yeah?" "–Yeah." "Something a tad classier than buy long, sell short and get into gilt." "–Oh, really?" "–Yes, really." "This church is going to be here long after your little brat has grown up, ripped a few people off and died unloved in his Spanish retirement villa." "Portuguese, actually." "There's no need to be so beastly." "Well, I'm sorry, but people like you really piss me off." "All right then, mister, so what's your pitch?" "What's your scam?" "What's your angle?" "Well, look at you people, eh?" "You spend all your days trying to scrape together enough money just so you can end your life just wobbling your fat bottoms up and down some Iberian beach playing crazy golf." "But what thought..." "what thought have you ever given for making provision for after your retirement, hmm?" "After my retirement?" "I'm talking about heaven." "Heaven." "Isn't that where the Gilroys went, darling?" "–Devon." "–Oh, Devon, yeah." "After a hard life, don't you think you deserve something in the way of long-term security?" "Heaven implies comfort, status, lifestyle and peace of mind." "–Don't listen to him, pudding." "–No, no, no, give me space, give me space." "No, no, she's right, pudding, she's right." "Think about it yourself and you should seek out an independent spiritual adviser." "He may have something, you know." "Well, I mean, if you don't do it for yourselves, think of Duncan Dirk Dick here." "Give him a chance to get in on the ground floor." "Look, darling, and no disrespect to you, Vicar, but, darling, what I was thinking is this." "What about a mixed portfolio, right, whereby we spread him through Judaism, Islam, Hindu and so on, while maintaining our core investment within the Church of England." "What do you think?" "–Well, it certainly does sound safer." "–Exactly." "Right, so, Duncan Dirk Dick, I baptise you—" "But in that case, shouldn't it be something more like Duncan Isaac Sanjay?" "Duncan Abraham Sanjay would be nice." "–Duncan Abraham Naresh?" "–That's perfect, you see." "Right, baby, prayer book, font." "Do it yourselves, I'm off for a slash." "Feet?" "Yeah, they're all right." "You know, if you just want to get from A to B." "Hi, or if you prefer, hello." "This week, as I'm sure most of you have been aware, has been Swiss week on BBC2." "We've had a rip-snorting season of Swiss films on show as well as some very exciting Swiss opera." "I know for a fact that all of you enjoyed Floyd on Fondu last night and David Icke's interview with the Swiss ambassador was never very far from being interesting." "But one thing that we feel has been rather lacking from the season has been a celebration of Swiss comedy." "Well, Hugh and I would like to put that right before the week closes and present to you our very own version of the classic Swiss sketch," ""Heidi and Johann Smell Just Right.""