Dear Sir, I object strongly to the letters on your program.
It’s not particularly silly, is it. I mean the right leg isn’t silly at all, and the left leg merely does a forward aerial half-turn every alternate step.
You’re fired! Get out!
The BBC would like to apologize for the constant repetition in this show.
Well I’m afraid we’re having a little trouble getting this very exciting Icelandic saga started. If any of you at home have any ideas about how to get this exciting saga started again here’s the address to write to:
HELP THE EXCITING ICELANDIC SAGA
C/O MATCH OF THE DAY
BBC TIt
THE LARCHES
26 WESTBROOK AVENUE
FAVERSHAM
KENT
Oh! Right, what’s all this, then?
Number thirteen: the naughty bits of a horse.
Dead Indian.
It is a silly place.
Silly?? SILLY!! Silly! … I suppose it is, a bit.
Well I think TV’s killed real entertainment. In the old days we used to make our own fun. At Christmas parties I used to strike myself on the head repeatedly with blunt instruments while crooning.
Oh, I’m sorry! That’s next door. It’s being hit on the head lessons in here.
We are but eight score young blondes and brunettes, all between sixteen and nineteen-and-a-half, cut off in this castle with no one to protect us.
I bet you’re gay.
Good thinking, sir. I’ll get the horse.
Stay here! I will send help as soon as I have accomplished a daring and heroic rescue in my own particular… um… ah…
… Idiom, sir?
Idiom!
I distinctly heard a Mexican rhythm combo.
He says… he has to go walkies!
Ugh. Me heap dizzy.
Shh. I can hear something. 'Ang about, we may still get in this show as a link.