I’ll tell you what’s wrong with you: your head’s addled with novels and poems! You come home reeking of Chateau La Tour! And look what you’ve done to Mother! She’s worn out from meeting film stars, attending premieres and giving gala luncheons!
You English all are buggerfolk!
Your mothers all are ruggerfolk!
Your army is a bloody joke!
You couldn’t beat an artichoke!
It’s a Brazilian dagger. Ooops!
Ow, bugger!
Oh, It’s for charity, sir. People are awfully good about it, you know.
I didn’t expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.
No one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition!
And now for ten seconds of sex.
I can’t tell the difference between Whizzo butter and this dead crab.
Don’t come here with that posh talk, you nasty, stuck-up twit.
No. 1. The Larch.
Poke her with the Soft Cushions!
Confess! Confess! Confess!
The BBC wishes to deny rumors that it is going into liquidation. Mrs. Kelly, who owns the flat where they live, has said that they can stay on till the end of the month … and we’ve just heard that Hugh Weldon’s watch has been accepted by the London Electricity Board and transmissions for this evening can be continued as planned.
Not guilty. Case not proven. Court adjourned.
Wewelease Bwian!
Finland! Finland! Finland! That’s the country for me!
Well now, the result of last week’s competition when we asked you to find a derogatory term for the Belgians.
Burma!
Enough of this gay banter.