I think that’s in very bad taste.
It’s only wafer-thin
Hello, I saw your advertisement for flying lessons and I’d like to make an appointment.
It’s not a lifeboat. It’s this lady’s house.
Well there’ll certainly be some car door slamming in the streets of Kensington tonight.
Anything goes in
Anything goes out!
Fish, bananas, old pajamas,
Mutton! Beef! and Trout!
Well, never mind, I’ll just take the Lord Lieutenant in Nylons then, and these two copies of Piggie Parade. Thank you.
Fresh fruit not good enough for you eh? Well I’ll tell you something my lad. When you’re walking home tonight and some great homicidal maniac comes after you with a bunch of loganberries, don’t come crying to me!
There now follows a Party Political Broadcast on behalf of the Wood Party.
Well here at Luton it’s a three-cornered contest between, from left to right, Alan Jones (Sensible Party), Tarquin Fin-tim-lim-bim-lim-bin- bim-bin-bim bus stop F’tang F’tang Olé Biscuit barrel (Silly Party), and Kevin Phillips Bong, who is running on the Slightly Silly ticket. And here’s the result.
Every morning, he jogs the forty-seven miles from his two-bedroomed, eight-bathroom, six-up-two-down, three-to-go-house in Reigate, to the Government’s Pesticide Research Centre at Shoreham. Nobody knows why.
Look. I think we’d better call it a day.
For this is Whicker Island. An island inhabited entirely by ex-international interviewers in pursuit of the impossible dream.
Back to your bed!
All right. This is a raid! My name is Superintendent Gaskell and this is Sergeant Maddox.
You Americans, all you do is talk, and talk, and say ‘let me tell you something’ and ‘I just wanna say.’ Well, you’re dead now, so shut up!
Ah! Sir Philip Sidney. 'Tis good to see thee on these shores again.
I’d like the blow on the head.
It’s Christmas in heaven and there’s great shows on the TV “The Sound of Music” twice an hour and Jaws 1, 2 and 3
There will now be a short intermission.