"Cloffing." "Prunk." "Shote." "Cucking." "Skank." "Fusk." "Pempslider." "No, we weren't going to use that one." "–Weren't we?" "–No, if you remember, that's, you know, that's a bit too much." "–What, pempslider?" "–Yes." "Sorry." "Right." "Lastly, pim-hole." "Ha!" "So, here it is, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our first sketch, crammed with these vicious swearwords." "Erm, now, then, Sergeant Henderson, perhaps you'd care to tell the court what the accused said at the moment of arrest." "Yes, sir." "May I consult my notes, my lord?" "Certainly, certainly, certainly." "By all means, yes." "I apprehended the accused and advised him of his rights." "He replied, "Why don't you ram it up your pim-hole?" ""You, fusking cloff-prunker."" "Now, forgive my ignorance, Mr Clarkson, but what exactly is a "cloff-prunker"?" "–Er, well, my lord, it's a..." "–Yes?" "–An illicit practice, whereby one person— –Well?" "Er, whereby one person... frangulates another's plimp, my lord." "Silence!" "He does what?" "He or she gratifies the other party by smuctating them avially." "Good God!" "How absolutely disgusting!" "Do people really do that sort of thing?" "I believe so, my lord." "–Very well." "Carry on." "–Thank you, my lord." "Erm, so, Sergeant Henderson, after you arrested the accused, you took him to the police station." "Do you have a transcript of the interrogation that ensued?" "I have, sir, yes." "I asked him if he could explain his whereabouts on the night in question." "He replied, "I was in all night, wasn't I, you pempslider?"" "–"Pempslider"?" "–Er, yes, my lord..." "No, thank you, Mr Clarkson." "I'm not entirely ignorant in these matters." "I beg your pardon, sir." "I did go to Winchester, you know." "Er, so, Sergeant?" "Um, he said, "Skank off, you cloffing cuck!" ""You're all a load of shote-bag fuskers," ""so prunk that up your prime-ministering pim-hole."" "And what did you say to that?" "Er, I told him to mind his —— language, my lord." "I should bloody well think so." "Well, I thought the whole thing was, erm, disgusting." "The whole thing was simply disgusting." "–Yes, did you— –And there was no warning given as to what was in store." "None whatsoever." "We have the producer with us—" "Now, for goodness sake, what if my children had been watching, hmm?" "I mean, no thought had been given to this at all." "–Did your children actually see the programme?" "–No, no, no, no." "No, they didn't." "They didn't see it, no." "But only thanks to the purest of good fortunes that they don't actually happen to have been born yet." "Otherwise, I dread to think what damage may have been caused." "It was simply disgusting." "–Yes, I think— –Simply disgusting." "Turning..." "Simply disgusting." "So, Colin Essdale, you're producer, do you feel, Colin, that you..." "–Mmm." "Mmm." "Mmm." "This is obviously a very difficult problem." "Perhaps, it might help if I explain that I don't give a flying toss about Mrs Barrett or her feeble views." "Well, erm..." "I beg your pardon?" "Now, I've only got an estimated, erm... 47 years left on this planet and I don't propose to waste any more of them in idle chatter with a confused old gasbag like you." "So, I'm off to talk to a friend about making another programme, which I fully expect and hope that will irritate you and your half-witted friends even more." "Goodbye." "So, Mrs Barrett, are you satisfied with what you've heard?" "–Well, not really, no." "–Tough." "Colin Essdale, a last word from you?" "Pim-hole." "I had shares in gas, water, electricity, the lot." "But then the government sold them all, unfortunately." "Yes, I've had sexual intercourse with her, yes, but only in the biblical sense." "Ah, good morning." "Sir, it is a good morning." "Sir is handsomely right to say so." "Yes, right." "Was sir aware, I'm in the business of wondering, that I made so bold as to remark to the youngest of my mothers earlier today on the goodness of the morning, as she wheeled me into an upright position?" "Was sir in an awareness of that?" "Er, no." "No, I had no idea." ""Here is a morning, mother of my bosom," I averred," ""as fine and crisp and gutty" ""as any since the days that Compton and Edrich opened for England" ""and the sun never went down on the British without asking permission first."" "–Did you?" "–Sir, I did." "I did, sir." "And if two broad-shouldered, long-fingered young men such as ourselves can come independently to the conclusion that the morning they are currently experiencing is one of a goodness, then one of a goodness it most assuredly is." "–Really?" "–Really, sir, and you can spank me quietly with a chamois leather if it isn't, sir." "–Aha." "Now— –But sir didn't come into this shop to trade insults with me on the state of the morning, unless I'm more vastly mistaken than a man who thinks that Hilaire Belloc is still alive." "No, no, I—" "Do sit down, sir." "Oh, thank you very much." "No, sir has brought his fine, handsomely-wrought young frame into this shop with the express purpose of going about the business of buying some jewellery." "Am I close to the mark?" "–Er, yes." "That's more or less right, yes." "Do you mind if we stand up, sir?" "I think perhaps your sitting down idea was a little ahead of its time." "Er, yes, now, the thing is, I'm getting engaged next week—" "Would you like an Opal Fruit?" "A nice strawberry Opal Fruit, or indeed any flavour?" "Oh, well, yes, that'll be very nice, thank you." "I won't be long." "Where are you going?" "–Where am I going?" "–Yes." "There is a sweetshop not two miles away from here and I happen to know that they sell Opal Fruits." "No, no, no." "Really, don't bother." "–Don't bother?" "–No, really." "Is sir in absolute possession of sureness in this regard?" "I just came in here for an engagement ring." "I merely thought that if you, you know, if you had an Opal Fruit on you..." "On me?" "Sir, I have no Opal Fruit on me." "I can and will go further, I have never had an Opal Fruit on me." "Perhaps sir would like to check the top of my head if he remains unconvinced." "No, look, can we just forget about the Opal Fruit?" "The Opal Fruit is irrelevant." "Can we just concentrate on the engagement ring?" "Sir, I am chastened and bowed." "Ever the man of affairs, sir has reminded us all, all of our duty." "An engagement ring for sir." "–That's right." "What flavour of engagement ring have you in mind?" "Flavour?" "What are you talking about?" "Just my little joke." "You'll humour a dying man." "We have a large range of engagement rings which I would ask sir to cast over with sir's eyes, which I cannot help but notice, are of a startling cobalt blue that would go very well with the wallpaper in one of my god-niece's back rooms." "–Right, I'm leaving." "–How about this one, sir?" "–What?" "–This one here, sir." "Er, well, yes, that's quite nice." "Sir, the issue of the "quite niceness" of this particular ring has been raised in Prime Minister's Question Time." "Well, how much is this one?" "I would be wrong to let it go for more than 40,000 of your Earth pounds." "£40,000?" "I would be equally at fault if I let it go for less than 90." "Right." "So, it's between £40,000 and £90." "Sir is as dogged in his pursuit of detail as Roy Walker, presenter of the never-popular Catchphrase, is dogged in his pursuit of a thick earlet." "Yes, perhaps you could, in preference to me walking out of here just after hitting you very hard in the face, just tell me the frigging price." "Since sir has been kind enough never to be Peter Sissons," "I can let him have it for 218 poundingtons." "£218?" "200 and 18 pounds that should be." "–That's what I said." "–That's what you said, I barely spoke at all." "Right." "Well, could you put it in a presentation box, please?" "There's no need, sir, I'll wear it straight away." "–I beg your pardon?" "–And I really think you should talk to Father." "He's upstairs in the cellar." "Right, now I really am leaving." "Leaving?" "But we're engaged." "Goodbye." "Men are such bastards." "I can still remember my first ever girlfriend." "Er, her name was Latifah." "And she was something like the chief engineer on a Syrian minesweeper." "I met her at a party in High Wycombe." "Nice girl." "A bit soppy, but nice." "Er, and then there was Judith." "Judith was amazing." "I met her..." "Let me see, at the semi-final of The Daily Telegraph crossword competition in..." "I can't remember when." "Peterborough, I think it must've been." "And she cheated, I'm afraid." "She had a dictionary hidden in her tights." "But then, so did I." "Erm, Judith..." "Judith worked for the Baader-Meinhof group." "Er, I don't know what as." "A secretary or something." "But she was the one who introduced me to Lola, who I eventually married." "Quite by accident, as it happens." "Lola was flying VC-10's for British Airways, or BOAC as it was then." "And, er," "I was onboard when she did this emergency landing in Helsinki." "Er, because of an undercarriage failure or something, and I went forward to congratulate her on this brilliant piece of flying." "And she didn't speak any English at all, and I only have a smattering of Hebrew." "So it wasn't until the next day that I realised that I'd actually mistakenly asked her to marry me." "Er, she died at the ceremony." "Which was very sad 'cause I really did love her." "Er, but she was in her eighties or early nineties, if I remember." "So it was a good innings, anyway." "And then after Lola there was, er..." "Felicity." "Who was, I suppose..." "I suppose you call her a piss artist." "I mean, she was really a piss artist." "She used to daub these enormous canvases with urine." "Not hers, I don't think, but I could be wrong." "Dora, who..." "I don't really remember much about Dora, except that she was immensely tall." "She was well over seven feet tall." "You know, really tall." "Oh, yes." "She used to have these sneezing fits whenever she went to the theatre." "It was only the theatre that did it, funnily enough." "'Cause I remember we, er, we had tickets to see the second night of Look Back in Anger, in Lisbon." "And..." "You know, almost before it had started, there she was just sneezing away." "We left." "Couldn't..." "Didn't see any of it." "Still haven't seen it, in fact." "Er, then after Dora, let me see, who came after that, hmm..." "It's weird, isn't it?" "I mean, where do they find these people?" "I know." "I mean, nobody has actually come out of a barbershop looking like that." "Oh, well, anyway." "Now, ladies and gentlemen, mystery objects." "I wonder, how many of you can guess what this is." "Er, any ideas, Stephen?" "–No, not really." "–No?" "Oh, unless..." "Ah, are we going back to 1974?" "1974, that's absolutely right." "Yes." "Erm, ladies and gentlemen, this was one of the stars of an episode of Doctor Who, way back in 1974." "This was one of the Wondarks from the Watei galaxy." "Well, it was the Wondark spaceship, wasn't it?" "'Cause..." "It was, yes, that's right, it was the spaceship." "I'm sorry." "The Wondarks were played by packets of Silk Cut." "That's right, yes, yes." "Anyway, I don't know if we can get a camera in really close here." "Can we have a look at this?" "I don't know if you can see that, but this is actually made out of an old Sqezy bottle." "Er, it's..." "I know it sort of gives away the illusion of it, but it's amazing to see what they can do, isn't it, really?" "–They can create an alien world." "–Yeah." "All for the price of a crap haircut." "–Hello." "–Morning." "–We're from the Westminster Society." "–The Society, yes." "And we wondered if we could come in and talk to you about our aims..." "Is there any chance of us coming in and talking to you?" "–...and the possibility of you joining us." "–Is there a possibility you may want to join us?" "–Well..." "–Oh, thanks ever so much." "Thanks very much." "Thank you." "I say, what a lovely front room." "–Yes, what a handsomely proportioned room, yes." "–It's a lovely front room." "Hmm." "–Very nice indeed, very nice front room." "Hmm." "My name is Mr Willis, by the way, and this is Mr Barracough." "Barracough is my name, yes." "–No relation, in case you're wondering." "–Sorry?" "–We're not related, in case you thought we were." "–You may have thought we were, but we're not." "–Why should you be?" "–We shouldn't be." "That's what I'm saying." "–He's saying we're not." "–I'm saying we shouldn't be related and we're not." "–Yes, that's right." "–Hence, the totally different names." "That's really why we've got completely different names." "So, what can I do for you?" "–Well, as I say..." "–The thing is... –...we're thinking of founding a society." "–...my colleague's really thinking of founding a society." "–And perhaps you'd like to join us." "–And you may be interested in joining us, who knows?" "What is the society for?" "–It's, well..." "–Well..." "That's obviously one of the things we've got to look at." "–Yes, we obviously have to look at this very carefully, indeed, yes." "Well, all right then." "What is the point of the society?" "I mean, you've got to have a point, otherwise there's no point." "–That's a good point." "–That's a very good point." "Yes, that's a good point, well-made." "Hmm." "I mean, are you going to collect postage stamps?" "–Yes." "–Yes, we are." "Yes, we are going to collect postage stamps, definitely, yes." "Or are you going to practise Highland Dancing?" "–Yes." "–Yes, we'll be doing that as well, yes." "Postage stamps and Highland Dancing are very high on the society's agenda." "Hardly anything higher on the agenda than those two." "But you don't know." "–Know what?" "–Know what, precisely?" "You don't know for certain what the society's going to be for." "–Well, we've made one or two notes." "–We have made one or two notes, yes." "–But unfortunately nothing to do with the society." "–No, on a completely different matter." "So, to answer your question in the spirit in which it was asked..." "That selfsame spirit... –We believe that the society should be run..." "–We believe, ideally it should be run... –...in the interest of its members." "–...in the interest of its members, really." "–But as we don't have any members..." "–You see, we haven't got any members." "–we don't really have any interests." "–So, our hands are tied." "So can you help us?" "Can I make a suggestion?" "–Oh, that's a good idea, suggestions." "–Now, eureka." "Suggestions, yes." "Tuesdays and Thursdays could be suggestion evenings." "The perfect evenings for suggestions would be Tuesdays and Thursdays." "No, can I make a suggestion now?" "And that is that you come back when you've decided what the society's going to be for." "I can't stand here talking all day." "–Now that is a good idea." "–Now, that, yes, you see... –A society for people who can't stand here..." "–They can't stand here... –...talking all day." "–...talking all day and all night." "I mean, when you think of the people who ring on your bell." "Knock on your bell, yes." "–That's right." "Jehovah's Witnesses." "–There are witnesses to the Jehovah's incident." "–Charity collectors, estate agents..." "–Charity collectors." "Estate agents, another group." "Small boys wanting their ball back." "Small boys whose ball's accidentally gone over your fence back." "Would you be interested in joining such a society?" "Erm, I'm going to have to ask you to leave now." "–Excellent and wonderful." "–Excellent, yes." "–Asking us to leave shows a definite..." "–Yes, quite right, too." "Marvellous." "–...and absolute commitment to the aims..." "–It does." "Absolutely." "–...of a society for people..." "–The goals of a society." "–...who just can't stand here talking all day." "–For that sort of society." "I'll open the door and I want you to go." "–Oh, this is wonderful, wonderful commitment." "–Now, you see, what a wonderful member." "I think I may have to ask you if won't mind being elected our treasurer." "Yes, I'll certainly vote for you." "–I'm going to shut the door now." "–Right." "–Well, that's one member of our society." "–Yes, one definite member for definite, yes." "–Shall we try next door?" "Hmm." "–Why don't we try next door?" "Well..." "Oh, Christ." "I've left the iron on." "Damn it, Peter." "Thanks, John." "This is, what can I say, this is good work." "Well, I kind of hoped we might be along the right lines there, you know." "Right lines?" "Damn it backwards into a narrow space, Peter." "This is set to change the face of Uttoxeter service and leisure industry forever." "Jill reckons that from there to full plans, 10 days at the most." "Which means we could have the whole thing up and running by the 29th." "–You mean..." "–Exactly, John." "The Derwent Enterprises Board meeting." "And with something like that nestling in your hip pocket, you could really kick some arse." "What's up, John?" "I was just thinking, Peter, can you imagine how Marjorie is going to react to this?" "Well, at a guess," "I'd say she's going to be wilder than a hungry hellcat in a tornado." "That's putting it mildly, Peter." "Is it?" "Yeah, Sarah, what is it?" "Hold on." "John, it's Marjorie." "Marjorie?" "Talk of the she-devil." "What the hell, I'll take the call." "It's not a call, John!" "She's outside, wants to see you." "–Marjorie, here?" "–Check." "Show her in, Sarah." "John, are you out of your goddamn mind?" "You don't know what it's about, Peter." "Oh, to hell with what it's about, John!" "Peter, we need to talk." "–Where and when?" "–Round the table, right now." "I'm on my way." "John, listen." "You and I, we've busted our hump building up this health club with Marjorie gunning for us every inch of the way." "Now, now, you're just going to let her swan in here?" "Now, listen to me, Peter..." "Oh, listen be damned, John." "Do I have to remind you that that hell-bitch fiend tried to break us in two, hmm?" "Peter..." "I'm not going to let you do it, John." "Hello, John." "Hello, Marjorie." "Peter." "–Marjorie." "–I hope I'm not interrupting anything." "Oh, we were, that is, I, that was, no, we just, I didn't..." "Are you all right, Peter?" "You look a little uncomfortable." "Yeah, maybe I'll..." "Maybe I'll go outside and get myself a bite of air." "The atmosphere in here seems to have got to my stomach." "You, er..." "You look well, Marjorie." "You look damn well." "New breasts?" "Swiss." "They suit you." "I like what you've done to your hair." "It looks much better there." "Thanks, John." "You look pretty fit yourself." "Fit?" "Yeah!" "That's one of the perks of running a health and leisure business I guess." "That is..." "If I do still run it." "The meeting will decide, John, you know that." "Yeah, but who will decide how the meeting goes, Marjorie?" "Damn it, old man Ashby's in your pocket, Dexter and O'Neill will do what you tell them and Tim will, well, I guess Tim will jump with the tide." "Do you still like it straight up?" "Ice, two lumps." "I do what I do for the boy, John, you know that." "Yeah, the boy." "Have you taught him to hate me, Marjorie?" "Hate you?" "Hate you?" "You'll never really know me, will you?" "Not if I live to be 300." "Peter resents me." "Seven damns and a fat blast, Marjorie!" "Haven't you given him cause enough?" "Haven't you kept shutting him out, making him feel an outsider?" "Do you need Peter?" "Do we need Peter?" "Damn it, Marjorie, what are you after?" "Yeah, what are you after?" "I just want you to know, that whatever happens at that meeting this afternoon, it wasn't personal." "Strictly business." "I still like you, John, a lot." "Come here, you, you, you Marjorie." "I'll see you round the boardroom table." "Yeah, round the boardroom table." "Oh, and, Marjorie..." "Yes?" "Damn you to hell, you're one hell of a woman." "I know." "Well, you know where to find me." "Marjorie, I..." "No, no, John, don't do it!" "Don't do it!" "Don't you see what she's trying to..." "Damn!" "I suppose they'll be saying Hitler was a racist next." "Er, Moira Stuart." "And Jill Gascoigne." "Neither of them wrote back." "Can you believe these people?" "I mean, how much trouble can it be to just bung a pair of stockings in the post?" "Er, letters." "Letters." "–More letters." "–More letters." "–Still more letters." "–Still more letters." "Sorry, we'll be with you in a moment." "Just got some filing to do." "Yes, but while you're waiting, why not sit back and relax to the sociable sound of Joe Loss and His Orchestra." "–Still more letters again." "–More letters again." "–Er, yet further letters." "–Yet further letters." "–Genital fungus." "–Genital fungus." "Oh." "–Oh, dear." "–Oh, dear." "–Now, that's a pity, isn't it?" "–Yes." "That's a great disappointment." "So, you know what this means, don't you?" "You know what this..." "It's going to mean letters." "Mmm." "We mentioned genital fungus and some of you laughed." "We're now going to get hundreds of thousands of letters accusing us of making fun of genital fungus?" "Which is something we never have and never would do." "Never, never." "Some..." "Obviously, some of you, quite a lot in fact, seem to find genital fungus, well, amusing in some way." "You know, you're tempted to laugh at other people's misfortunes." "My name is Stephen Fry and I'm an alcoholic." "–Here's one, there's one here." "–Oh, no." "This one, I told him that I was an alcoholic and he laughed." "Alcoholism is one of the most serious and destructive conditions prevalent in this country, and you find it funny!" "–Sicko." "–Creep." "My great-aunt Mutie died in 1944." "She was a good and decent woman!" "But her death to you is just a source of entertainment, isn't it?" "Oh." "Please fondle my botty, please?" "Thousands of people are dying every year because no one will fondle their bottoms, and you find that funny." "–Er." "–No, no." "You see, they're not." "–What?" "–Aren't they?" "–No, they are not." "No." "–Oh, I thought..." "–No, well, never mind what you thought." "But no one has ever actually died from not having their bottom fondled." "Well, I sometimes feel quite unwell." "Well, yes, that as may be, but you can't, you can't blame this woman for laughing at bottom fondling because no one genuinely suffers from it." "–Oh, highly amusing." "That is not even remotely funny." "I'm sorry." "–I'm suffering very badly as it goes." "Are you?" "I've been told that I'm going to die within six months, unless my bottom is fondled." "Satisfied, Hugh?" "Oh, bollocks." "Look, I'm sorry to hear about this desperate condition." "Do you need help?" "Well, yeah." "I mean, I'm at the end of my tether, mate." "–Yeah." "What sort of help do you need?" "–Well, you know, I need money." "–Money, yes, what for?" "–Well, to buy vital equipment." "Vital equipment." "Yeah." "Yeah, a CD player, in fact." "You know how expensive they are, you know, so." "Yeah." "I'll tell you what, if we all put our hands in our pockets here tonight." "Few pounds, £3 each, something like that." "I'm sure we can raise enough money..." "No, wait a minute." "Wait a minute." "What is going on here?" "We're having a whip-round to get this man a CD player." "No, no, no, I'm sorry." "No, you, sir, are exploiting the compassion and generosity of this audience... –Hugh." "Hugh." "–...frankly." "No, no, we're all sorry that nobody fondles your bottom." "You know, that's a damn shame, but you can't go using that just to get free hi-fi." "Hugh, you may not be aware of this, but the new Yamaha 600-RS CD player, has an electronic arm that comes out and fondles your bottom." "Oh, God." "Without it, this man will die." "God, I'm so sorry, I..." "Well, I mean, I..." "Well, what can I do?" "Well, you can fondle his bottom for starters." "Well, it's only fair."