I wonder if you might have “The Amazing Adventures of Captain Gladys Stoutpamphlet and her Intrepid Spaniel Stig Amongst the Giant Pygmies of Beckles”…volume eight?
Hello? Ah, Mr Victim, I’m glad to say that I’ve got the go-ahead to lend you the money you require. Yes, of course we will want as security the deeds of your house, of your aunt’s house, of your second cousin’s house, of your wife’s parents’ house, and of your grannie’s bungalow, and we will in addition need a controlling interest in your new company, unrestricted access to your private bank account, the deposit in our vaults of your three children as hostages and a full legal indemnity against any acts of embezzlement carried out against you by any members of our staff during the normal course of their duties… no, I’m afraid we couldn’t accept your dog instead of your youngest child, we would like to suggest a brand new scheme of ours under which 51% of both your dog and your wife pass to us in the event of your suffering a serious accident. Fine. No, not at all, nice to do business with you.
*Assistant: *Your suit is fair and goodly cut. Was’t from Antwerp?
*Gaskell: *Shut up. It’s a disguise. Right! Confiscate the smutty books, Maddox.
Larks’ tongues. Wrens’ livers. Chaffinch brains. Jaguars’ earlobes. Wolf nipple chips. Get 'em while they’re hot. They’re lovely. Dromedary pretzels, only half a denar. Tuscany fried bats.
Listen, I can prove to you I’m a policeman. I can give the names of all the men down in ‘F’ division at Acton: Inspector Arthur Perry, Superintendent Charles Frodwell, my best friend, police dogs Butch, Wolf, Panther, Maudling. How would I know those names if I was Sir Philip Sidney?
“That was an excerpt from the latest West End hit ‘It all happened on the 11.20 from Hainault to Redhill via Horsham and Reigate, calling at Carshalton Beeches, Malmesbury, Tooting Bec, and Croydon West’. The author is Mr. Neville Shunt.”
It’s German television, they’re filming an award-winning documentary about me!
Romani est domum!
“People called the Romans they go the house?”
This is the last time - I’m warning you! I’m not Sir Philip Bleeding Sidney. I am Superintendent Harold Gaskell and this is a raid!
…and Sir Robin the Not-quite-so-brave-as-Sir-Launcelot who had nearly fought the Dragon of Agnor, who had nearly stood up to the vicious Chicken of Bristol, and who had personally wet himself at the Battle of Badon Hill…
Hello and welcome to the University of the Air. And first this afternoon, part seventeen in our series of lectures on animal communications. This afternoon we look at recent discoveries in the field of intraspecific signalling codes in the family formicidea.
*Girl: *(turning to Gaskell with bated breath) You are Sir Philip Sidney?
Gaskell: (warily) Possibly… but I may be Superintendent Gaskell of the Vice Squad.
Just a reminder that on ‘Match of the Day’ tonight you can see highlights of two of this afternoon’s big games. Mrs Robinson v Manchester United and Southampton v Mr Rogers, a rather unusual game that. And here’s a late result…Convetry nil, Mr Johnson’s Una three - Coventry going down at home, there. Just a little reminder that the next sport you can see on BBS 1 will be 9.20 on Wednesday night, when ‘Wife Swapping with Coleman’ comes live from my place. Till then, goodnight.
Gaskell: “Toledo Tit Parade”? What sort of play’s that?
Spaniard: It’s very visual, Senor.
The stuff of history is indeed woven in the woof. Pearl Harbour. There are pages in history’s book which are written on the grand scale. Events so momentous that they dwarf man and time alike. And such is the Battle of Pearl Harbour, re-enacted for us now by the women of Barley Townswomen’s Guild.
Hello. Hello people, and welcome to ‘It’s a Tree’. We have some really exiting guests for you this evening. A fabulous spruce, back from a tour of Holland, three gum trees making their first appearance in this country, scots pine and the conifers, and Elm Tree Bole - there you go, can’t be bad - an exiting new American plank, a rainforest and a bucket of sawdust giving their views on teenage violence, and an unusual guest for this programme, a piece of laminated plastic.
And so, early next morning, single-handed, armed only with 40p, Prince Walter set out for the tobaccanist’s. Yard after yard he walked. Minute after minute ticked by. His body breathed in, and breathed out. Until…
Boy: Couldn’t you have your balls cut off…?
Dad: It’s not as simple as that Nigel… God knows all… He would
see through such a cheap trick. What we do to ourselves, we do
to Him…
Shut up. It’s about your advertising campaign for Conquistador Coffee. Now, I’ve had the managing director of Conquistador to see me this morning and he’s very unhappy with your campaign. Very unhappy. In fact, he’s shot himself.