TWELVE
untitled
First Man: Hey, did you see that?
Second Man: Uhm?
First Man: Did you see somebody go past the window?
Second Man: What?
First Man: Somebody just went past the window. That way. (indicates down)
Second Man: (flatly) Oh. Oh.
(Second Man returns to his work. First Man looks for a little. As he starts to work again another body goes hunling past the window.)
First Man: Another one.
Second Man: Huh?
First Man: Another one just went past downwards.
Second Man: What?
First Man: Two people have just fallen out of that window to their almost certain death.
Second Man: Fine, fine. Fine.
First Man: Look! Two people (another falls) three people have just fallen past that window.
Second Man: Must be a board meeting.
First Man: Oh yeah. (another falls past) Hey. That was Wilkins of finance.
Second Man: Oh, no, that was Robertson.
First Man: Wilkins.
Second Man: Robertson.
First Man: Wilkins.
Second Man: Robertson.
(Another falls.)
First Man: That was Wilkins.
Second Man: That was Wilkins. He was a good, good, er, golfer, Wilkins.
First Man: Very good golfer. Very good golfer. Rotten at finance. It'll be Parkinson next.
Second Man: Bet you it won't.
First Man: How much.
Second Man: What?
First Man: How much do you bet it won't? Fiver?
Second Man: All right.
First Man: Done.
Second Man: You're on.
First Man: Fine. (shakes; they look at the window) Come on Parky.
Second Man: Don't do it Parky.
First Man: Come on Parky. Jump Parky. Jump.
Second Man: Come on now be sensible Parky.
(Cut to letter.)
Voice Over: Dear Sir, I am writing to complain about that sketch about people failing out of a high building. I have worked all my life in such a building and have never once.
(Cut to film of man falling out of window. Cut back to set. First Man has hands in the air jubilantly.)
First Man: Parkinson!
Second Man: Johnson!
Presenter: Good evening. Tonight 'Spectrum' looks at one of the major problems in the world today - that old vexed question of what is going on. Is there still time to confront it, let alone solve it, or is it too late? What are the figures, what are the facts, what do people mean when they talk about things? Alexander Hardacre of the Economic Affairs Bureau.
(Cut to equally intense pundit in front of a graph with three different coloured columns with percentages at the top. He talks with great authority)
Hardacre: In this graph, this column represents 23% of the population. This column represents 28% of the population, and this column represents 43% of the population.
(Cut back to presenter.)
Presenter: Telling figures indeed, but what do they mean to you, what do they mean to me, what do they mean to the average man in the street? With me now is Professor Tiddles of Leeds University...
(Pull out to reveal bearded professor sitting next to presenter.)
Presenter: ... Professor, you've spent many years researching into things, what do you think?
Professor: I think it's too early to tell.
(Cut to presenter, he talks even faster now.)
Presenter: 'Too early to tell' ... too early to say... it means the same thing. The word 'say' is the same as the word 'tell'. They're not spelt the same, but they mean the same. It's an identical situation, we have with 'ship' and 'boat' (holds up signs saying 'ship' and 'boat') but not the same as we have with 'bow' and 'bough' (holds up signs), they're spelt differently, mean different things but sound the same. (he holds up signs saying 'so there') But the real question remains. What is the solution, if any, to this problem? What can we do? What am I saying? Why am I sitting in this chair? Why am I on this programme? And what am I going to say next? Here to answer this is a professional cricketer.
(Cut to cricketer.)
Cricketer: (ERIC) I can say nothing at this point.
(Cut back to presenter.)
Presenter: Well, you were wrong... Professor?
(Pull out to reveal professor still next to him.)
Professor: Hello.
(Cut to close-up of presenter.)
Presenter: Hello. So... where do we stand? Where do we stand? Where do we sit? Where do we come? Where do we go? What do we do? What do we say? What do we eat? What do we drink? What do we think? What do we do?
(Mix to stock film of London-Brighton train journey in two minutes. After a few seconds the train goes into a tunnel. Blackness. Loud crash. Cut to signalbox as before.)
Signalman: (calling out of window) Sorry!
(He goes back to wrestling with bear.)
Landlady: Hello, Mr and Mrs Johnson? Mr Johnson: Yes, that's right. Yes.
Landlady: Oh, come on in. Excuse me not shaking hands, I've just been putting a bit of lard on the cat's boils. (Door closes)
Johnson: Thank you.
Landlady: Oh, you must be tired. It's a long way from Coventry, isn't it?
Johnson: Well, we usually reckon on five and a half hours and it took us six hours and 53 minutes, with the 25 minute stop at Frampton Cottrell to stretch our legs; and we had to wait half an hour to get onto the M5 at Droitwich.
Landlady: Really?
Johnson: Then there was a three mile queue just before Bridgewater on the A38. We usually come round on the B3339, you see, just before Bridgewater.
Landlady: Yeah. Really?
Johnson: We decided to risk it 'cause they always say they're going to widen it there. Yes, well just by the intersection there where the A372 joins up. There's plenty of room to widen it there, there's only grass verges. They could get another six feet, knock down that hospital. Then we took the coast road through Williton - we got all the Taunton traffic on the A358 from Crowcombe and Stogumber.
Landlady: Well you must be dying for a cup of tea.
Johnson: Well, wouldn't say no, long as it's warm and wet.
Landlady: Well come on in the lounge, I'm just going to serve afternoon tea.
Johnson: Very nice.
Landlady: Come on in, Mr and Mrs Johnson and meet Mr and Mrs Phillips.
Mr Phillips: Good afternoon.
Johnson: Good afternoon.
Landlady: It's their third time here; we can't keep you away, can we? And over there is Mr Hitler.
(In the corner are three German generals in full Nazi uniform, poring over a map.)
Hitler: Ach. Ha! Gut time, er, gut afternoon.
Landlady: Oho, planning a little excursion, eh, Mr Hitler?
Hitler: Ja, ja, ve haff a little... (to Himmler) was ist Abweise bewegen?
Himmler: Hiking.
Hitler: Ah yes, ve make a little *hike* for Bideford.
Johnson: Ah yes. Well, you'll want the A39. Oh, no, you've got the wrong map there. This is Stalingrad. You want the Ilfracombe and Barnstaple section.
Hitler: Ah! Stalingrad! Ha ha ha, Heinri...Reginald, you have the wrong map here you silly old leg-before-vicket English person.
Himmler: I'm sorry mein Fuhrer, mein (cough) mein Dickie old chum.
Landlady: Oh, lucky Mr Johnson pointed that out. You wouldn't have had much fun in Stalingrad, would you? Ha ha. (stony silence) I said, you wouldn't have had much fun in Stalingrad, would you?
Hitler: Not much fun in Stalingrad, no.
Landlady: Oh I'm sorry. I didn't introduce you. This is Von. Von Ribbentrop.
Johnson: Oh, not Von Ribbentrop, eh?
Ribbentrop: Nein! Nein! Oh. Ha ha. Different other chap. I in Somerset am being born. Von Ribbentrop is born Gotterdammerstrasse 46, Dusseldorf Vest 8.....so they say!
Landlady: And this is the quiet one, Heinrich Himmler.
Himmler: Pleased to meet you, squire. I also am not of Minehead being born but I in your Peterborough Lincolnshire was given birth to. But am staying in Peterborough Lincolnshire house all time during vor, due to jolly old running sores, and vos unable to go in the streets or to go visit football matches or go to Nuremburg. Ha ha. Am retired vindow cleaner and pacifist, without doing war crimes. Oh...and am glad England vin Vorld Cup. Bobby Charlton. Martin Peters. And eating I am lots of chips and fish and hole in the toads and Dundee cakes on Piccadilly Line, don't you know old chap, vot! And I vos head of Gestapo for ten years.(Hitler elbows him in the ribs) Ah! Five years! (Hitler elbows him again, harder) Nein! No! Oh. NOT head of Gestapo AT ALL! I was not, I make joke! (laughs)
Landlady: Oh, Mr Himmler. You do have us on! (Telephone rings) Oh excuse me. I'd better get that.
Johnson: How long are you down here for, Mr Hitler, just the fortnight?
Hitler: Vot you ask that for, are you a spy? Get on against the wall, Britischer Pig, you are going to die!
Himmler: Take it easy, Dickie old chum!
Ribbentrop: He's a bit on edge, Mr Johnson, he hasn't slept since 1945.
Hitler: Shut your cake-hole, you Nazi!
Ribbentrop: Cool it, Fuhrer cat!
Himmler: Ha ha, the fun we have!
Johnson: Haven't I seen you on the television?
Hitler, Vibbentrop, & Himmler: (hastily) Nicht. Nein. No.
Johnson: Simon Dee show, or was it Frosty?
Hitler, Vibbentrop, & Himmler: Nein. No.
Landlady: Telephone, Mr Hitler. It's Mr McGoering from the Bell and Compasses. He says he's found a place where you can hire bombers by the hour...?
Hitler: If he opens his big mouth again, it's Lapschig time!
Himmler: Shut up! Ha ha, hire bombers! He's a joker, that Scottish person.
Ribbentrop: Good old Norman!
Landlady: (to Johnson) He's on the phone the whole time now.
Johnson: In business, is he?
Himmler: Soon, baby!
Landlady: Of course it's his big day Thursday. They've been planning it for months.
Johnson: What's happening Thursday then?
Landlady: Well it's the North Minehead bye-election. Mr Hitler's standing as the National Bocialist. He's got wonderful plans for Minehead!
Johnson: Like what?
Landlady: Well, for a start he wants to annex Poland.
Johnson: North Minehead's Conservative, isn't it?
Landlady: Well, yes, he gets a lot of people at his rallies.
(Short scene cut: huge crowds outside going "Sieg Heil. Sieg Heil. Sieg Heil.")
Hitler: I am not a racialist, but...and dis is a big but...the National Bocialist party says that das (stream of German).
Himmler: Mr Hitler (Hitler slaps him) ...Hitler says historically Taunton is a part of Minehead already!
Hitler: Und der Minehead ist nicht die letze (stream of German)...in die Welt!
Crowd: Sieg Heil.
( Cut to interviews on the street: )
Yokel: Oi don't loike the sound of these 'ere Boncentration Bamps.
Woman: Well, I gave him my baby to kiss, and he bit it in the head!
Upper class: Well, I think he'd do a lot of good to the Stock Exchange.
Gumby: I THINK HE'S GOT BEAUTIFUL LEGS!
Conservative: (droning) Well... well... as the Conservative candidate I just drone on and on and on and on without letting anyone else get a word in edgeways, until I start to froth at the mouth and fall over backwards. Ooo-aaahhh. (THUD)
First Sergeant: (behind station counter into camera) Goodnight.
(Camera pulls back to show a man standing in front of the counter.)
Man: Good evening, I wish to report a burglary.
First Sergeant: Speak up please, sir.
Man: I wish to report a burglary.
First Sergeant: I can't hear you, sir.
Man: (bellowing) I wish to report a burglary!
First Sergeant: That's a little bit too loud. Can you say it just a little less loud than that?
Man: (a little 1ouder than normal) I wish to report a burglary.
First Sergeant: No... I'm still not getting anything... Er, could you try it in a higher register?
Man: What do you mean in a higher register?
First Sergeant: What?
Man: (in a high-pitched voice) I wish to report a burglary.
First Sergeant: Ahl That's it, hang on a moment. (gets out pencil and paper) Now a little bit Iouder.
Man: (louder and more.. high pitched) I wish to report a burglary.
First Sergeant: Report a what?
Man: (by now a ridiculously high-pitched squeak) Burglary!
First Sergeant: That's the exact frequency... now keep it there.
(Another sergeant enters and goes round to back of counter.)
Second Sergeant: (in high-pitched voice) Hello, sarge!
First Sergeant: (in very deep voice) Evening Charlie.
(The second sergeant is taking his coat off, and the first one begins to pack up his papers. The man carries on with his tale of woe, but still in a high-pitched shriek.)
Man: I was sitting at home with a friend of mine from Camber Sands, when we heard a noise in the bedroom. We went to investigate and found �5,000 stolen.
First Sergeant: WeB, I'm afraid I'm going off duty now sir. Er, could you tell
First Sergeant: Foster ....
(He leaves counter first Sergeant Foster comes firward with a helpful smile)
Man: (continues in high-pitched shriek) I was sitting at home with a friend of mine.
Second Sergeant: Excuse me sir, but, eri why the funny voice?
Man: (normal voice) Oh, terribly sorry. I'd just got used to talking like that to the other sergeant.
Second Sergeant: I'm terribly sorry... I can't hear you, sir, could you try speaking in a lower register?
Man: What! Oh (in a very deep voice) I wish to report the loss of �5,000.
Second Sergeant: �5,000.? That's serious, you'd better speak to the detective inspector.
(At that moment, via the miracle of cueing, the detective inspector comes out of his office.)
Inspector: (in very slow deep voice) What's the trouble, sergeant?
Second Sergeant: (speaking at fantastic speed) Well-this-gentleman-sir-has- just-come-in-to-report-that-he-was-sitting-at-home-with-a-friend-when -he -heard -a-noise -in-the-backroom- went-round -to - investigate-and-found-that-�5,000-in-savings-had-been-stolen.
Inspector: (deep voice) I see. (turns to man and addresses him in normal voice) Where do you live sir?
Man: (normal voice) 121, Halliwell Road, Dulwich, SE21
(The detective inspector has been straining to hear but has failed. The second sergeant comes in helpfu1ly)
Second Sergeant: (fast) 121, Halliwell-Road-Dulwich-SE21
Inspector: (squeak) Another Halliwell Road job eh, sergeant?
First Sergeant: (fast) Yes-I-can't-believe-it-I-thought-the-bloke-who'd- done -that-was-put-inside -last-year.
Second Sergeant: (squeak) Yes, in Parkhurst.
First Sergeant: (deep) Well it must have been somebody else.
Inspector: (very deep) Thank you, sergeant. (normal voice to man) We'll get things moving right away, sir. (he picks up phone and dials, at the same time he shrieks in high voice to the tint sergeant) You take over here, sergeant (very deep voice to the second sergeant) Alert all squad cars in the area. (ridiculous sing-song voice into phone) Ha-allo Dar-ling, I'm afra-ID I sh-A-ll BE L-ate H-O-me this evening.
(Meanwhile the second sergeant has a radio-controlled microphone and is singing down it in fine operatic tenor.)
Second Sergeant: (singing) Calling all squad cars in the area...
(Cut to vox pops.)
Lovely Girl: (in deep male voice, dubbed on) I think that's in very bad taste.
Pig: (miaows)
Giraffe: (barks)
President Nixon: (superimposed sheep bleating)
Upperclass Twit: Some people do talk in the most extraordinary way.
Commentator (John Cleese): Good afternoon and welcome to Hurlingham Park. You join us just as the competitors are running out onto the field on this lovely winter's afternoon here, with the going firmunderfoot and very litde sign of rain. Well it certainly looks as though we're in for a splendid afternoon's sport in this the I27th Upperclass Twit of the Year Show. Well the competitors will be off' in a moment so let me just identify for you. (camera zooms in on the competitors) Vivian Smith-Smythe-Smith has an O-level in chemo-hygiene. Simon-Zinc-Trumpet-Harris, married to a very attractive table lamp. Nigel Incubator-Jones, his best friend is a tree, and in his spare time he's a stockbroker. Gervaise Brook-Hampster is in the Guards, and his father uses him as a wastepaper basket� And finally Oliver St John-Mollusc, Harrow and the Guards, thought by many to be this year's outstanding twit. Now they're moving up to the starting line, there's a jolly good crowd here today. Now they're under starter's orders ... and they're off (the starter fires the gun, but nobody moves) Ah no, they're not. No they didn't realize they were supposed to start. Never mind, we'll soon sort that out, the judge is explaining it to them now. I think Nigel and Gervaise have got the idea. All set to go. (starter fires gun again and the twits move offer in different directions) Oh, and they're off and it's a fast start this year. Oliver St John-Mollusc running a bit wide there and now they're coming into their first test, the straight line. (All the Twits run erratically along five white lines) They've got to walk along this straight line without failing over and Oliver's over at the back there, er, Simon's coming through quite fast on theoutside, I think Simon and Nigel, both of them coming through very fast. There's Nigel there. No. Three, I'm sorry, and on theoutside there's Gervaise coming through just out of shot and now, the position... (the twits approach a line of matchboxes piled three high) Simon and Vivian at the front coming to the matchbox jump.. three layers of matchboxes to clear... and Simon's over and Vivian's over beautifully, oh and the jump of a lifetime - if only his father could understand. Here's Nigel ... and now Gervaise is over he's, er, Nigel is over, and it's Gervaise, Gervaise is going to jump it, is it, no he's jumped the wrong way, there.he goes, Nigel's over, beautifully. Now it's only Oliver. Oliver ... and Gervaise... oh bad luck. And now it's Kicking the Beggar. (the twits are kicking a beggar with a tray) Simon's there and he's putting the boot in, and not terribly hard, but he's going down and Simon can move on. Now Vivian's there. Vivian is there and waiting for a chance. Here tie comes, oh a piledriver, a real piledriver, and now Simon's on No. l, Vivian a, Nigel 3, Gervaise on 4 and Oliver bringing up the rear. Ah there's Oliver (Oliver is still trying to jump the matchboxes), there's Oliver now, he's at the back. I think he's having a little trouble with his old brain injury, he's going to have a go, no, no, bad luck, he's up, he doesn't know when he's beaten, this boy, lie doesn't know when he's winning either. He doesn't have any sort of sensory apparatus. Oh there's Gervaise (He is still kicking the beggar) and he's putting the boot in there and he's got the beggar down and the steward's giving him a little bit of advice, yes, he can move on now, he can move on to the Hunt Photograph. He's off, Gervaise is there and Oliver's still at the back having trouble with the matchboxes. (the twits approach a table with two attractive girls and a photographer) Now here's the Hunt Ball Photograph and the first here's Simon, he's going to enjoy a joke with Lady Arabella Plunkett. She hopes to go into films, and Vivian's through there and, er, Nigel's there enjoying a joke with Lady Sarah Pencil Farthing Vivian Streamroller Adams Pie Biscuit Aftershave Gore Stringbottom Smith. (shot of twit in a sports car reversing into cut-out of old woman) And there's, there's Simon now in the sports car, he's reversed into the old woman, he's caught her absolutely beautifully. Now he's going to accelerate forward there to wake up the neighbour. There's Vivian I think, no Vivian's lost his keys, no there's Vivian, he's got the old woman, slowly but surely right in the midriff, and here he is. Here he is to wake up the neighbournow. (a man in bed in the middle of the pitch. The twit slams car door repeatedly) Simon right in the lead, comfortably in the lead, but he can't get this neighbour woken up. He's slamming away there as best he can. He's getting absolutely no reaction at all. There, he's woken him up and Simon's through. Here comes Vivian, Vivian to slam the door, and there we are back at the Hunt Ball, I think that's Gervaise there, that's Gervaise going through there, and here, here comes Oliver, brave Oliver. Is he going to make it to the table, no I don't think he is, yes he is, (twit falls over the table) he did it, ohh. And the crowd are rising to him there, and there I can see, who is that there, yes that's Nigel, Nigel has woken the neighbour - my God this is exciting. Nigel's got very excited and he's going through and here comes Gervaise. Gervaise, oh no this is, er, out in the front there is Simon who is supposed to insult the waiter and he's forgotten. (Simon runs past a waiter standing with a tray) And Oliver has run himself over, (Oliver lying in front of car) what a great twit! And now here comes Vivian, Vivian to insult the waiter, and he is heaping abuse on him, and he is humiliating him, there and he's gone into the lead. Simon's not with him, no Vivian's in front of him at the bar. (the twits each have several goes at getting under a bar of wood five feet off the ground) Simon's got to get under this bar and this is extremely difficult as it requires absolutely expert co-ordination between mind and body. No Vivian isn't there. Here we go again and Simon's fallen backwards. Here's Nigel, he's tripped, Nigel has tripped, and he's under and Simon fails again, er, here is Gervaise, and Simon is through by accident. Here's Gervaise to be the last one over, there we are, hero's Nigel right at the head of the field, (the twits approach five rabbits staked out on the Found; they fire at them with shotguns) and now he's going to shoot the rabbit, and these rabbits have been tied to the ground, and they're going to be a bit frisky, and this is only a one-day event. And they're blazing away there. They're not getting quite the results that they might, Gervaise is in there trying to bash it to death with the butt of his rifle, and I think Nigel's in there with his bare hands, but they're not getting the results that they might, but it is a little bit misty today and they must be shooting from a range of at least one foot. But they've had a couple of hits there I think, yes, they've had a couple of hits, and the whole field is up again and here they are. (they approach a line of shopwindow dummies each wearing only a bra) They're coming up to the debs, Gervaise first, Vivian second, Simon third. And now they've got to take the bras off from the front, this is really difficult, this is really the most, the most difficult part of the entire competition, and they're having a bit of trouble in there I think, they're really trying now and the crowd is getting excited, and I think some of the twits are getting rather excited too. (the twits are wreaking havoc on the dummies) Vivian is there, Vivian is coming through, Simon's in second place, and, no there's Oliver, he's not necessarily out of it. There goes Nigel, no he's lost something, and Gervaise running through to this final obstacle. (they approach a table with five revolvers laid out on it) Now all they have to do here to win the title is to shoot themselves. Simon has a shot. Bad luck, he misses. Nigel misses. Now there's Gervaise, and Gervaise has shot himself- Gervaise is Upperclass Twit of the Year. There's Nigel, he's shot Simon by mistake, Simon is back up and there's Nigel, Nigel's shot himself: Nigel is third in this fine and most exciting Upperclass Twit of the Year Show I've ever seen. Nigel's clubbed himself into fourth place. (three coffins on stand with medals) And so the final result:
Father: Now I understand that you want to marry my daughter?
(Pull out to reveal that he is addressing a ghastly thing.' a grubby, smelly, brown mackintoshed shambles, unshaven with a continuous hacking cough, and an obscene leer. He sits on the sofa in this beautiful elegant lounge.)
Shabby: (sniffing and coughing) That's right ... yeah... yeah...
Father: Yes, you realize of course that Rosaround is still rather young?
Rosamund: Daddy you make me feel like a child. (she gazes at Shabby fondly)
Shabby: (lasciviously) Oh yeah ... you know... get 'em when they're young eh... eh! OOOOH! Know what I mean eh, oooh! (makes obscene gesture involving elbow)
Father: Well I'm sure you know what I mean, Mr ... er... Mr... er .. er?
Shabby: Shabby... Ken Shabby...
Father: Mr Shabby... I just want to make sure that you'll be able to look after my daughter...
Shabby: Oh yeah, yeah. I'll be able to look after 'er all fight sport, eh, know what I mean, eh emggh!
Father: And, er, what job do you do?
Shabby: I clean out pubhc lavatories.
Father: Is there promotion involved?
Shabby: Oh yeah, yeah. (produces handkerchief and clean throat horribly into it) After five years they give me a brush ... eurggha eurgh ... I'm sorry squire, I've gobbed on your carpet...
Father: And, ah, where are you going to live?
Shabby: Well round at my gran's... she trains polecats, but most of them have suffocated so there should be a bit of spare room in the attic, eh. Know what I mean. Oooh!
Father: And when do you expect to get married?
Shabby: Oh, fight away sport. Right away... you know... I haven't had it for weeks...
Father: Well look I'll phone the bishop and see if we can get the Abbey...
Shabby: Oh, diarrhoea. (coughing fit)
(Cut to strange photo caption sequence to be worked out with Terry 'the sap' Gilljam)
Voice Over: The story so far: Rosamund's father has become ensnared by Mr Shabby's extraordinary personal magnetism. Bob and Janet have eaten Mr Farquar's goldfish during an Oxfam lunch, and Mrs Elsmore's marriage is threatened by Doug's insistence that he is on a different level of consciousness. Louise's hernia has been confirmed, and Jim, Bob's brother, has run over the editor of the 'Lancet' on his way to see Jenny, a freelance Pagoda designer. On the other side of the continent Napoleon still broods over the smouldering remains of a city he had crossed half the earth to conquer...
Voice Over: ... whilst Mary, Roger's half-sister, settles down to watch television...
(On the screen comes the start of a Party Political Broadcast, complete with caption: 'A PARTY POLITICAL BROADCAST ON BEHALF OF THE WOOD PARTY')
Voice Over: There now follows a Party Political Broadcast on behalf of the Wood Party.
(Cut to a traditional grey-suited man at desk looking straight into camera. Superimposed caption: 'THE RT. HON. LAMBERT WARBECK')
Minister: Good evening. We in the Wood Party feel very strongly that the present weak drafting of the Local Government Bill leaves a lot to be desired, and we intend to fight.
(He thumps on the desk and he falls through the floor. As he falls he emits a long scream, fading away slowly. Another man comes and looks down into the pit.)
Man: Hello Helllllllllloooooooooo! (to camera) Er I, I'm afraid the minister's fallen through the Earth's crust. Er... excuse me a moment. (goes and looks at Pit) Helloooo.
Minister: (unseen, a long way down) Helloooooo.
Man:. Are you all fight minister?
Minister: I appear to have landed on this kind of ledge thing.
Man: Shall we lower down one of the BBC ropes?
Minister: If you'd be so kind.
Man: What length of BBC rope will we be likely to need?
Minister: I should use the longest BBC rope. That would be a good idea I would imagine.
Man: Okey doke chief. Er, Tex get the longest BBC rope, and bring it here pronto.
Minister: (still a long way down) In the meantime, since I am on all channels, perhaps I'd better carry on with this broadcast by shouting about our housing plans from down here as best I can. Could someone throw me down a script. (man drops the script down and Tex appears with enormous cod of rope) The script would appear to have landed on a different ledge somewhat out of my grasp, don't you know.
Man: Er, well perhaps when the rope reaches you minister you could kind of swing over to the ledge and grab it.
Minister: Good idea.
(Cut to minister swinging on rope. Caption on screen: 'THE RT. HON. LAMBERT WARBECK')
Minister: Well I'm going to carry on, if I can read the script. He swings over to a ledge opposite with a script on it. As he gets near he peers and starts reading.
Minister: Good evening. We in the Wood Party (he swings away and then back) feel very strongly about (swings away and back) the present weak drafting of the Local Government Bill and no, no - it's no good, it's not working.., I think I'll have to try and make a grab for it. Ah. There we are. ('he swings over and grabs the script with one hand; he tn'es to turn to camera and continues) Good evening. We in the Wood Party feel very strongly about the present (he makes a vigorous gesture and in so doing lets go of rope and slips so that he is now hanging upside down) ugh, ugh. Oh dear. Hello!
Man: (out of vision) Hello.
Minister: Look, look, I must look a bit of a chump hanging upside down like this.
Man: (out of vision) Don't worry minister. (cut to man looking off-camera) I think love if we turn the picture upside down we should help the minister, then.
Cut to minister. The picture is now the other way up. The minister now appears to be the might way up)
Minister: Oh good. Look, er, I'm sorry about this, but there seem to be a few gremlins about... I think I'd better start from the beginning. Er, good evening, we in the Wood Party feel very strongly about, oh ... (he drops script) Bloody heck. Oh, oh dear, er terribly sorry about this, about saying bloody heck on all channels, but, er...
Man: (out of vision) There's another script on the way down minister.
Minister: Oh good, good. Well ... er... er... um... Good evening. Er ... well... er... how are you? Er... Oh yes look, I don't want you to think of the Wood Party as a load of old men that like hanging around on ropes only I ... er ... oh ... oh.
(Meanwhile a man, the right way up, has been lowered down to the minister. As the picture is reversed, he appears to be moving straight up towards him. The minister sea him.)
Minister: Ah. Thank you. (taking script; the man on the rope starts to climb back up) Good evening, we in the Wood Party feel very strongly about the present weak drafting... (man falls past with a scream) Look. I think we'd better call it a day.
(Cut to two men at a desk in a discussion set.)
First Robert: Is this the furthest distance that a minister has fallen? Robert.
(Cut to Robert.)
Second Robert: Well surprisingly not. The Canadian Minister for External Affairs fell nearly seven miles during a Liberal Conference in Ottawa about six years ago, and then quite recently the Kenyan Minister for Agric. and Fish fell nearly twelve miles during a Nairobi debate in Parliament, although this hasn't been ratified yet.
First Robert: Er, how far did the Filipino cabinet fall last March?
Second Robert: Er, well they fell nearly thirty-nine miles but it's not really so remarkable as that was due to their combined weight, of course. Robert.
First Robert: Thank you, Robert. Well now what's your reaction to all this, Robert?
(Cut to third Robert who is staring intently into camera. He is wearing a fright wig and has a left eyebrow four inches above his right one.)
Third Robert: Well, well Robert the main thing is that it's terribly exciting. You see the minister is quite dearly lodged between rocks we know terribly little of. Terribly little. Of course the main thing is we're getting colour pictures of an extraordinarily high quality. The important thing is, the really exciting thing is the minister will (as he gets more excited he starts to emit smoke) be bringing back samples of the Earth's core which will give us a tremendous, really tremendous tremendous tremendous clue about the origins of the Earth and what God himself is made of. (he bursts into fire and someone has to throw a buckets of water over him) Oh, oh I needed that.
(Cut back to first Robert.)
First Robert: Thank you Robert. Well that seems to be about all we have time for tonight. Unless anyone has anything else to say. Has anyone anything else to say?
(Various 'noes' plus one 'bloody fairy' and more noes, from a very rapid montage of all the possible characters in this week's show saying 'no'. The last one we come to is the Spearurn presenter. He says more than no.)
Presenter: What do we mean by no, what do we mean by yes, what do we mean by no, no, no. Tonight Spectrum looks at the whole question of what is no.
(The sixteen-ton weight falls on him.)