He says do we want a documentary on molluscs.
Don’t argue, Battersby.
I bet you’re gay.
Quiet! I order you to be quiet!
Say no more!
You don’t have to tell me, son.
I am not wearing a toupee! They just told me to come in here to find the manager’s office, to complain about my ant!
Rotten. Rotten. You’re no bloody use at all. You’re an utter bloody wash-out. You make me sick, you weed!
Allo allo! What’s going on here?
Oh, well so far Peter, up to the present moment, I’ve spotted nearly, ooh, nearly one.
Silence! What is all this insolence? You will find yourself in
gladiator school vewwy quickly with wotten behaviour like that.
Skip a bit, brother.
I’m going upstairs, I can’t bear it.
The text, vic! Don’t say the text!
So, we have all these possibilities before we stampede towards the clitoris, Watson.
We interrupt Show Jumping to bring you a news flash. The Second World War has now entered a sentimental stage. The morning on the Ardennes Front, the Germans started spooning at dawn, but the British Fifth Army responded by gazing deep in their eyes, and the Germans are reported to have gone ‘all coy’.
That rabbit’s dynamite!
How about the lamellibranchs?
In contrast to the site in Bristol, it’s progress here on Britain’s first eighteen-level motorway interchange being built by characters from Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost’.
The next sketch starts after some silly noises.