No, not that moment. Although that moment is not coming, in a moment. The moment I’m talking about is the moment when we present the award for the cast with the most awards award, and this year is no exception. Ladies and gentlemen will you join me and welcome please, the winners of this year’s Mountbatten trophy, Showbusiness’s highest accolade, the cast of the Dirty Vicar sketch.
Venezuelan beaver cheese?
No, the stars in the paper, you cloth-eared heap of anteater’s catarrh, the zodiacal signs, the horoscopic fates, the astrological portents, the omens, the genethliac prognostications, the mantalogical harbingers, the vaticinal utterances, the fatidical premonitory uttering of the mantalogical omens - what do the bleeding stars in the paper predict, forecast, prophesy, foretell, prognosticate, forebode, bode, augur, spell, foretoken, (the audience joins in) presage, portend, foreshow, foreshadow, forerun, herald, point to, betoken, indicate!
I don’t much like the tone of your voice.
In the debate, a spokesman accused the goverment of being silly and doing not at all good things. The member accepted this in the spirit of healthy criticism, but denied that he had ever been naughty with a choir boy. Angry shouts of ‘What about the Watermelon then?’ were ordered then by the speaker to be stricken from the record and put into a brown paper bag in the lavvy. Any further interruptions would be cut up and distributed amongst the poor. For the Government, a front-bench spokesman said the Agricultural Tariff would have to be raised, and he fancied a bit. Futhermore, he argued, this would give a large boost to farmers, him, his friends, and Miss Moist of Knightsbridge. From the back benches there were opposition shouts of ‘Postcards for sale’ and a healthy cry of ‘Who likes a sailor then?’ from the minister without portfolio. Replying, the Shadow Minister said he could no longer deny the rumors, but he and the Dachshund were very happy. And in any case he argued Rhubarb was cheap, and what was the harm in a sauna bath?
Come at me with that raspberry. Come on - be as vicious as you like with it!
You wouldn’t rather just have it combed, would you sir?
Ni!
Five minutes overdue. You fool! You fool! All right … we’ve no time to lose. Ken - shave all your hair off, get your passport and meet me at this address in Rio de Janeiro Tuesday night. Vic - go to East Africa, have plastic surgery and meet me there. Reg - go to Canada and work your way south to Nicaragua by July. Larry - you stay here as front man. Give us fifteen minutes then blow the building up. All right, make it fast.
Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Chairman, friends of the society, your dummy Royal Highness. Once again, the year has come full circle, and for me there can be no greater privilege, and honour, than to that to which it is my lot to have befallen this evening. There can be no finer honour than to welcome into our midst tonight a guest who has not only done only more than not anyone for our Society, but nontheless has only done more. He started in the film industry in 1924, he started again in 1946, and finally in 1963. He has been dead for four years, but he has not let that prevent him from coming here this evening. (he gets out an onion and holds it to his eyes; tears pour out) Ladies and gentlemen, no welcome could be more heartfelt than that which I have no doubt you will all want to join with me in giving this great showbiz stiff. Ladies and gentlemen, to read the nominations for the Light Entertainment Award, the remains of the late Sir Alan Waddle.
Oh, a gahp. A gahp in one’s hhhhhoop. Pardon me, but I’m off to play the grand piano.
There are some who call me…Brian.
(Well, it is supposed to be a non-sequitur, innit?)
We’ve been mentioned on telly!
****Molluscs!! Gastropods! Lamellibranchs! Cephalopods! ****
Well, it’s a difficult decision. But in accordance with our traditional principles of free enterprise and healthy competition, I’m going to ask the two of you to fight to the death for it.
It is the middle of the Dark Ages.
Ages darker than anyone had ever expected.
An horrendous monster casts a dreadful pall of fear over a once happy land.
As towns and villages are torn apart the helpless survivors seek refuge behind the walls of the great city.
But out in the forest in isolated pockets still untouched by the ravages of the monster life and business goes on as usual.
A Corpse-Haakon Production.
Now, off you go. You’re not even a proper woman!
Wait for it…
And now…a letter…a hotel registration book…and a series of photographs…which could add up to divorce, premature retirement, and possible criminal proceedings for a company director in Bromsgrove. He’s a freemason, and prospective Tory MP… that’s Mr S. of Bromsgrove…£3,000 to stop us from revealing your name, the name of the three other people involved, the youth organization to which they belong, and the shop where you bought the equipment.