Odd that penguin bein’ there, innit?
Just one bottle. Just one jot. Just one tittle. That’s the lot.
Cut, cut, cut, blood, spurt, artery, murder, Hitchcock, Psycho… right sir … well … I’ll just get everything ready. In the meanwhile perhaps you could fill in one of these.
I will marry you, sir, but please make up your mind. Please don’t trifle with my affections.
I would not appear in a frontal nude scene unless it was valid.
Well, it all started about five years ago when we started going on holiday to Brighton together. Deirdre, that’s my wife, has always been a very good companion to me and I never particularly anticipated any marital strife - indeed, the very idea of consulting a professional marital adviser has always been of the greatest repugnance to me, although far be it from me to impugn the nature of your trade or profession.
A simple country girl who took a vow of eternal brutality.
We interrupt this programme to annoy you and make things generally irritating for you.
Telling figures indeed, but what do they mean to you, what do they mean to me, what do they mean to the average man in the street? With me now is Professor Tiddles of Leeds University…
Yes, yes, yes. You can move a little bit. Yes. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so dogmatic when I came in. Obviously you can all move a little within reason. There are certain involuntary muscular movements which no amount of self-control can prevent. And obviously any assertion of authority on my part, I’ve got to take that into account.
Oh indeed - if only for the composition alone. The strength of those foreground figures … the firmness of the line…
It’s…
Homage? You’re all drunk. It’s disgusting. Out! The lot, out!
Terrific race, the Romans. Terrific.
Tonight’s show comes live from the tiny village of Rabid in Buckinghamshire, and our first question tonight is from a Mrs Elizabeth Scrint who says she is going on a Mediterranean cruise next week and can’t find anything wrong with the Syrians. Well, Mrs Scrint, apart from being totally unprincipled left-wing troublemakers, the Syrians are also born skivers, they’re dirty, smelly and untrustworthy, and, of course, they’re friends of the awful gippos. (applause) There you are, Mrs Scrint, I hope that answers some of your problems - have a nice trip. (more applause) Well now, the result of last week’s competition when we asked you to find a derogatory term for the Belgians. Well, the response was enormous and we took quite a long time sorting out the winners. There were some very clever entries. Mrs Hatred of Leicester said ‘let’s not call them anything, let’s just ignore them’ (applause starts vigorously, but he holds his hands up for silence) and a Mr St John of Huntingdon said he couldn’t think of anything more derogatory than ‘Belgians’. (cheers and applause; a girl in showgirl costume comes on and holds up placards through next bit) But in the end we settled on three choices: number three… the Sprouts (placard 'The Sprouts’), sent in by Mrs Vicious of Hastings… very nice ; number two… the Phlegms (placard) from Mrs Childmolester of Worthing; but the winner was undoubtedly from Mrs No-Supper-For-You from Norwood in Lancashire… Miserable Fat Belgian Bastards. (placard; roar of applause) Very good - thank you, Carol. (Carol exits) But as you know on this programme we’re not just prejudiced against race or color, we’re also prejudiced against - yes, you’ve guessed, stinking homosexuals! (applause) So before the streets start emptying in Chelsea tonight, Let’s go straight over to our popular prejudiced panel game and invite you once again to - Shoot The Poof! And could our first contestant sign in please.
(ok maybe not their most p.c. offering…darn 70’s!)
(It was obviously mocking prejudice and bigotry, so it’s fine).
Sandwiches?
Yes I realise it’s obvious - I guess I should have said that you won’t see quite that type of over-the-top satire anymore. (certainly no examples of that particular type come to kind)
D’you think so, Mrs Nigger-Baiter?
(I am so ashamed of myself. Well, not a lot actually but still …)
Splunge!
The kooky oddball laugh-a-minute fun-a-plenty world of unnatural sexual practices. (the first man spanks the judge with a string of sausages) Week three brings a change of pace with a new comedy schedule. With Reg Cuttleworth, Trevor Quantas, and Cindy Rommel as Bob, in ‘On the Dad’s Liver Bachelors at Large’, keeping the buses running from typical bedsit land in pre-war Liverpool. That’s followed by ‘The Ratings Game’ - the loony life of a BBC programme planner with the accent on repeats.