Don’t worry, sir, you’re among friends now, sir…Mr Bradford, Mr Crawley… These are our fitters, sir…We’ve had a lot of experience in this field and we do pride ourselves, we offer the best and most discreet service available. I don’t know whether you’ll believe this sir, but one of us is actually wearing a toupee at this moment…
Through that door, turn left, one cross each.
We can bury her or burn her?
Well they’re both nasty. If we burn her, she gets stuffed in the flames, crackle, crackle, crackle, which is a bit of a shock if she’s not quite dead. But quick. And then we give you a handful of the ashes, which you can pretend were hers.
Or, if we bury her she gets eaten up lots of weevils and nasty maggots, which as I said before is a bit of a shock if she’s not quite dead.
Well, she’s definitely dead.
Mmm…she looks quite young.
Fred?
I think we got an eater.
Right, I’ll put the oven on.
There’s sure to be a lot of car door-slamming in Kensington tonight!
Look. I’d had a lovely supper, and all I said to my wife was, “That piece of halibut was good enough for Jehovah!”
I don’t know … I don’t know … all I know is that these people are streaming north of the border at the rate of thousands every hour. If we don’t act fast, Scotland will be choked with Scotsmen…
They mean to win Wimbledon!
Regards,
Shodan
We would like to apologize for the way in which politicians are represented in this programme. It was never our intention to imply that politicians are weak-kneed, political time-servers who are more concerned with their personal vendettas and private power struggles than the problems of government. Nor to suggest at any point that they sacrifice their credibility by denying free debate on vital matters in the mistaken impression that party unity comes before the well-being of the people they supposedly represent. Nor to imply at any stage that they are squabbling little toadies without an ounce of concern for the vital social problems of today. Nor indeed do we intend that viewers should consider them as crabby, ulcerous, little self-seeking vermin with furry legs and an excessive addiction to alcohol and certain explicit sexual practices which some people might find offensive. We are sorry if this impression has come across.
Oh see my brother’s clumsy Colonel, and when he gets unhappy he breaks things. Like say, he don’t feel the army’s playing fair by him, he may start breaking things, Colonel.
In Reykjavik it is dark for eight months of the year, and it’s cold enough to freeze your wrists off and there’s only golly fish to eat. Administrative errors are bound to occur in enormous quantities. Look at this — it’s all a mistake. It’s a real pain in the sphincter! Icelandic Honey Week? My life!
Who, a year ago, had heard of Mr and Mrs Brian Norris of 37, Gledhill Gardens, Parsons Green? And yet their epic journey in EBW 343 has set them alongside Thor Heyerdahl and Sir Edmund Hillary. Starting only with a theory, Mr Norris set out to prove that the inhabitants of Hounslow could have been descendants of the people of Surbiton who had made the great trek north. No newcomer to this field, Mr Norris’s ‘A Short History of Motor Traffic Between Purley and Esher’ had become a best-selling minor classic in the car-swapping belt. But why would the people of Surbiton go to Hounslow? Mr Norris had noticed three things - Firstly, the similarity of the houses. Secondly, the similarity of the costume between Hounslow and Surbiton, and thirdly, the similarity of speech.
Mrs. Nigger-Baiter’s exploded!
I am not a looney! Why should I be tied with the epithet looney merely because I have a pet halibut? I’ve heard tell that Sir Gerald Nabardo has a pet prawn called Simon and you wouldn’t call him a looney; furthermore, Dawn Pailthorpe, the lady show-jumper, had a clam, called Stafford, after the late Chancellor, Allan Bullock has two pikes, both called Chris, and Marcel Proust had an haddock! So, if you’re calling the author of ‘A la recherche du temps perdu’ a looney, I shall have to ask you to step outside!
Mr Neutron: I want you to be my helpmate. As Tarzan had his Jane, as Napoleon had his Josephine, as Frankie Laine had whoever he had. I want you to help me in my plan to dominate the world!
Mrs Scum: Oh, Mr. N! That I should be so lucky!
Mr Neutron: You’re not Jewish, are you?
Are they too Jewish? I made Judas the most Jewish.
And this is the quiet one, Mr Bimmler - Heimlich Bimmler.
How do you do there squire, also I am not Minehead lad but I in Peterborough, Lincolnshire was given birth to, but stay in Peterborough Lincolnshire house all during war, owing to nasty running sores, and was unable to go in the streets play football or go to Nürnberg. I am retired vindow cleaner and pacifist, without doing war crimes (hurriedly corrects himself) tch tch tch, and am glad England win World Cup - Bobby Charlton, Martin Peters - and eating lots of chips and fish and hole in the toads, and Dundee cakes on Piccadilly line. Don’t you know old chap I was head of Gestapo for ten years. Five years! No, no, nein, I was not head of Gestapo at all…I make joke…
Nowadays the really blithering idiot can make anything up to 10,000 pounds a year if he’s the head of some big industrial combine. But of course the more old fashion idiot still refuses to take money. He takes bits of string, wood, dead budgerigars, sparrows, anything. But it does make the cashier’s job very difficult.
Shut up. Now then, this sort of extra-curricular capitalist expansion has got to stop. I made it quite clear when Potter tried to go public last term, that these massive stock exchange deals must not happen in Big School. Is that clear, Balderston?