We could do with somebody like you to feed the pantomime horse.
How much do you hate the Romans?
Hello, Last week on ‘Party Hints’ I showed you how to make a small plate of goulash go round twenty-six people, how to get the best out of your canapés, and how to unblock your loo. This week I’m going to tell you what to do if there is an armed communist uprising near your home when you’re having a party. Well obviously it’ll depend how far you’ve got with your party when the signal for Red Revolt is raised. If you’re just having preliminary aperitifs - Dubonnet, a sherry or a sparkling white wine - then the guests will obviously be in a fairly formal mood and it will be difficult to tell which are the communist agitators. So the thing to do is to get some cloth and some bits of old paper, put it down on the floor and shoot everybody. This will deal with the Red Menace on your own doorstep. If you’re having canapés, as I showed you last week, or an outdoor barbecue, then the thing to do is to set fire to all houses in the street. This will stir up anti-communist hatred and your neighbours will be right with you as you organize counter-revolutionary terror. So you see, if you act promptly enough, any left-wing uprising can be dealt with by the end of the party. Bye…
You probably noticed that I didn’t say ‘and now for something completely different’ just now. This is simply because I am unable to appear in the show this week. Sorry to interrupt you.
…and the aptly named Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Film.
I’ve got an idea. Suppose you agree that he can’t actually have babies, not having a womb, which is nobody’s fault, not even the Romans’, but that he can have the RIGHT to have babies.
As towns and villages are torn apart the helpless survivors seek refuge behind the walls of the great city.
If they’re bigger than a mouse, you can strangle them with it, and if they’re smaller than, you flog them to death with it!
Sorry, Mr. 'Arrison. Come at me with that banana. Hold it like that, that’s it. Now attack me with it. Come on! Come on! Come at me! Come at me then! (Shoots him.)
Yes, well, let’s see now … there’s the rear window. There’s the man looking out of the window. He sees the murder. The murderer’s come into the room to kill him, but he’s outwitted him and he’s all right. The End. I mean, Alfred Hitchcock, who’s supposed to be so bloody wonderful, padded that out to one and a half hours … lost all the tension … just because he had bloody Grace Kelly he made £3 million more than I did. Mind you, at least she can act a bit, I could have done with her in ‘Finian’s Rainbow’ … The man from the off-licence was terrible … a real failure that was - ten seconds of solid boredom.
Please, please! This is supposed to be a happy occasion! Let’s not bicker and argue about who killed who.
We done passionfruit.
Ethel the Aardvark was hopping down the river valley one lovely morning, trottety-trottety-trottety, when she met a nice little quantity surveyor…
Ooh, planning a little excursion are we, Mr. Hilter?
It’s my belief that these sheep are laborin’ under the misapprehension that they’re birds. Observe their be’avior. Take for a start the sheeps’ tendency to 'op about the field on their 'ind legs. Now witness their attempts to fly from tree to tree. Notice that they do not so much fly as… plummet.
And here is the final score: Pigs 9 - British Bipeds 4. The Pigs go on to meet Vicki Carr in the final.
It’s taken five years to prepare and it’s bound to have an enormous impact on the future of industrial relations in this country. In the studio tonight Lord Porlman, Chairman of the Committee, Sir Charles Avery, Employers’ Reorganization Council, and Ray Millichope, leader of the Allied Technicians’ Union. And they’re going to make a human pyramid.
Brian. The babe they called ‘Brian,’
He grew… grew, grew, and grew–
Grew up to be-- grew up to be
A boy called ‘Brian’–
A boy called ‘Brian.’
He had arms… and legs… and hands… and feet,
This boy… whose name was ‘Brian,’
And he grew,… grew, grew, and grew–
Grew up to be–
Yes, he grew up to be
A teenager called ‘Brian’–
A teenager called ‘Brian,’
And his face became spotty.
If we took the bones out, it wouldn’t be crunchy, would it?
Well I think television’s killed real entertainment. In the old days we used to make our own fun. At Christmas parties I used to strike myself on the head repeatedly with blunt instruments while crooning.