Episode 1

Not edited... Not formatted.

TWENTY TWO

untitled

Voice Over (John Cleese): How to recognize different parts of the body.
(Hold long enough to read this new title before the foot comes down, stays in shot long enough for voice aver to say:)
Voice Over: Number one. The foot.
(A little arrow points to the foot simultaneously. Cut to picture of Venus de Milo (top half). Superimposed little white arrow pointing to shoulder.)
Voice Over: Number two. The shoulder.
(Cut to picture of a foot cut off at the ankle. Cigarettes are parked in the top Superimposed arrow.)
Voice Over: And number three. The other foot.
(Cut to profile picture of strange person (Terry Gilliam) Superimposed arrow pointing to bridge of nose.)
Voice Over: Number four. The bridge of the nose.
(Cut to picture, full length, of man wearing polka-dotted Bermuda shorts. arrow superimposed points to shorts.)
Voice Over: Number five. The naughty bits.
(Cut to picture of crooked elbow. Superimposed arrow pointing just above the elbow.)
Voice Over: Number six. Just above the elbow.
(Cut to closer picture of different person in identical Bermuda shorts. Superimposed arrow pointing to top of groin.)
Voice Over: Number seven. Two inches to the right of a very naughty bit indeed.
(Cut to close-up of a real knee. Arrow superimposed painting to knee.)
Voice Over: Number eight. The kneecap.
(Pull back to reveal the knee belongs to 'Bruce', an Australian in full Australian outback gear.)

Second Bruce: G'day, Bruce!
First Bruce: Oh, Hello Bruce!
Third Bruce: How are you Bruce?
First Bruce: A bit crook, Bruce.
Second Bruce: Where's Bruce?
First Bruce: He's not 'ere, Bruce.
Third Bruce: Blimey, it's hot in here, Bruce.
First Bruce: Hot enough to boil a monkey's bum!

Second Bruce: That's a strange expression, Bruce.
First Bruce: Well Bruce, I heard the Prime Minister use it. "It's hot enough to boil a monkey's bum in here, your Majesty," he said and she smiled quietly to herself.
Third Bruce: She's a good Sheila Bruce, and not at all stuck up.
Second Bruce: Here! Here's the boss-fellow now! - how are you bruce?
(Enter fourth Bruce with English person, Michael)
Fourth Bruce: 'Ow are you, Bruce?
First Bruce: G'day Bruce!
Fourth Bruce: Bruce.
Second Bruce: Hello Bruce.
Fourth Bruce: Bruce.
Third Bruce: How are you, Bruce?
Fourth Bruce: G'day Bruce.
Fourth Bruce: Gentleman, I'd like to introduce man from Pommeyland who is joinin' us this year in the philosophy department at the University of Walamaloo.
Everybruce: G'day!
Michael: Hello.
Fourth Bruce: Michael Baldwin, Bruce. Michael Baldwin, Bruce. Michael Baldwin, Bruce.
First Bruce: Is your name not Bruce?
Michael: No, it's Michael.
Second Bruce: That's going to cause a little confusion.
Third Bruce: Mind if we call you "Bruce" to keep it clear?

Fourth Bruce: Gentlemen, I think we better start the faculty meeting. Before we start, though, I'd like to ask the padre for a prayer.
First Bruce: Oh Lord, we beseech Thee, Amen!!
Everybruce: Amen!
Fourth Bruce: Crack tubes! (Sound of cans opening) Now I call upon Bruce to officially welcome Mr. Baldwin to the philosophy faculty.
Second Bruce: I'd like to welcome the pommey bastard to God's own Earth, and remind him that we don't like stuck-up sticky-beaks here.
Everybruce: Hear, hear! Well spoken, Bruce!
Fourth Bruce: Bruce here teaches classical philosophy, Bruce there teaches Haegelian philosophy, and Bruce here teaches logical positivism. And is also in charge of the sheep dip.
Third Bruce: What's New-Bruce going to teach?

Fourth Bruce: New-Bruce will be teaching political science, Machiavelli, Bentham, Locke, Hobbes, Sutcliffe, Bradman, Lindwall, Miller, Hassett, and Benaud.
Second Bruce: Those are all cricketers!
Fourth Bruce: Aww, spit!
Third Bruce: Hails of derisive laughter, Bruce!
Everybruce: Australia, Australia, Australia, Australia, we love you amen!

Fourth Bruce:Bruce: Crack tube! (Sound of cans opening) Any questions?
Second Bruce: New-Bruce, are you a Poofter?
Fourth Bruce: Are you a Poofter?
Michael: No!
Fourth Bruce: No. Right, I just want to remind you of the faculty rules: Rule One!
Everybruce: No Poofters!
Fourth Bruce: Rule Two, no member of the faculty is to maltreat the Abbos in any way at all -- if there's anybody watching. Rule Three?
Everybruce: No Poofters!!
Fourth Bruce: Rule Four, now this term, I don't want to catch anybody not drinking. Rule Five,
Everybruce: No Poofters!
Fourth Bruce: Rule Six, there is NO ... Rule Six. Rule Seven,
Everybruce: No Poofters!!
Fourth Bruce: Right, that concludes the readin' of the rules, Bruce.
First Bruce: This here's the wattle, the emblem of our land. You can stick it in a bottle, you can hold it in your hand.

Everybruce: Amen!

(NB: The Album versions continue with the Philosopher's song The TV version contines below....)
First Bruce: Right, let's get some Sheilas.
(An Aborigine bunts in with an enormous tray full of enormous steaks.)
Fourth Bruce: OK.
Second Bruce: Ah, elevenses.
Third Bruce: This should tide us over 'til lunchtime.
Second Bruce: Reckon so, Bruce.
First Bruce: Sydney Nolan! What's that! (points)
(Cut to dramatic close-up of Fourth Bruce's ear. Hold close-up. The superimposed arrow pointing to the ear.)
Voice Over: Number nine. The ear.
*****Album Version Continued******
(And now all four Bruces launch into the Philosopher's song)
Immanuel Kant was a real piss-ant who was very rarely stable.
Heideggar, Heideggar was a boozy beggar who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume Wilhelm Freidrich Hegel.
And Whittgenstein was a beery swine who was just as sloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nieizsche couldn't teach 'ya 'bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.
John Stewart Mill, of his own free will, after half a pint of shanty was particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away, half a crate of whiskey every day!
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
And Hobbes was fond of his Dram.
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart:
"I drink, therefore I am."
Yes, Socrates himself is particularly missed;
A lovely little thinker, but a bugger when he's pissed.

(Cut to picture of big toe. Superimposed arrow.)
Voice Over (John Cleese): Number ten. The big toe.
(Cut to picture of another man in Bermuda shorts. Superimposed arrow pointing at shorts.)
Voice Over: Number eleven. More naughty bits.
(Cut to full length shot of lady in Bermuda shorts and Bermuda bra. Superimposed arrow on each side of her body. One points to the bra, one to the Bermuda shorts.)
Voice Over: Number twelve. The naughty bits of a lady,
(Cut to picture of a horse wearing Bermuda shorts. Superimposed arrow.)
Voice Over: Number thirteen. The naughty bits of a horse,
(Cut to picture of an ant. In the very corner of a blank area. It is very tiny. Superimposed enormous arrow.)
Voice Over: Number fourteen. The naughty bits of an ant.
(Cut to picture of Reginald Maudling with Bermuda shorts, put on by Terry Gilliam, over his dark suit. Superimposed arrow pointing to shorts.)

Voice Over: Number fifteen. The naughty bits of Reginald Maudling.
(Cut to close-up of false hand sticking out of a sleeve. Superimposed arrow.)
Voice Over: Number sixteen. The hand.
(Pull back to reveal that the hand appears to belong to a standard interviewer in two shot. Chair set up with standard interviewee. The interviewer suddenly pulls the hand off, revealing that he has a hook. He throws the hand away and starts the interview.)

Host: With me now is Norman St. John Polevaulter, who for the last few years has been contradicting people. St. John Polevaulter, why do you contradict people?
Polevaulter : I don't!
Host: But you... you told me that you did.
Polevaulter: I most certainly did not!
Host: Oh. I see. I'll start again.
Polevaulter: No you won't!
Host: Ssh! I understand you don't contradict people.
Polevaulter: Yes I do!
Host: And when didn't you start contradicting them?
Polevaulter: I did! In 1952!
Host: 1952.
Polevaulter: 1947!
Host: 23 years ago.
Polevaulter: No!
(GONG!)

(Cut to profile of Raymond Luxury Yacht from next sketch who has an enormous false polystyrene nose. Superimposed arrow pointing at nose.)

Voice Over: Number nineteen. The nose.
(A man sitting behind a desk in a Harley Street consulting room. Close-up of the name plate on desk in front of him. Although the camera does not reveal this for a moment, this name plate, about two inches high, continues all along the desk, off the side of it at the same height and halfway round the room. We start to track along this name plate on which is written: 'Professor Sir Adrian Furrows F.R.S. F.R.C.S. F.R.C.P. M.D.M.S. (Oxon), Mall Ph.D., M. Se. (Cantab), Ph.D. (Syd), ER.G.S., F.R.C.O.G., F. FM.R.C.S., M.S. (Birm), M.S. (Liv), M.S. (Guadalahara), M.S. (Karach), M.S. (Edin), B.A. (Chic), B. Litt. (Phil), D. Litt (Phil), D. Litt (Arthur and Lucy), D. Litt (Ottawa), D. Litt (All other places in Canada except Medicine Hat, B. Sc. 9 Brussels, Liege, Antwerp, Asse, (and Grower) '. There is a knock on the door.)
Specialist: Come in.
(The door opens and Raymond Luxury Yacht enters. He cannot walk straight to the desk as his passage is barred by the strip of wood carrying the degrees, but he discovers the special hinged part of it that opens like a door. Mr Luxury Yacht has his enormous polystyrene nose. It is a foot long.)
Specialist: Ah! Mr Luxury Yacht. Do sit down, please.
Mr Luxury Yacht: Ah, no, no. My name is spelt 'Luxury Yacht' but it's pronounced Throatwobbler Mangrove.
Specialist: Well, do sit down then Mr Throatwobbler Mangrove.
Mr Luxury Yacht: Thank you.
Specialist: Now, what seems to be the trouble?
Mr Luxury Yacht: Um, I'd like you to perform some plastic surgery on me.
Specialist: I see. And which particular feature of your anatomy is causing you distress?
Mr Luxury Yacht: Well, well for a long time now, in fact, even when I was a child ... I ... you know, whenever I left home to ... catch a bus, or... to catch a train... and even my tennis has suffered actually...
Specialist: Yes. To be absolutely blunt you're worried about your enormous hooter.
Mr Luxury Yacht: No!
Specialist: No?
Mr Luxury Yacht: Yes.
Specialist: Yes, and you want me to hack a bit off.
Mr Luxury Yacht: Please.
Specialist: Fine. It is a startler, isn't it. Er, do you mind if I... er.
Mr Luxury Yacht: What?
Specialist: Oh, no nothing, then, well, I'll just examine your nose. (he does so; as he examines it the nose comes off in his hand) Mr Luxury Yacht, this nose of yours is false. It's made of polystyrene and your own hooter's a beaut. No pruning necessary.
Mr Luxury Yacht: I'd still like the operation.
Specialist: Well, you've had the operation, you strange person.
Mr Luxury Yacht: Please do an operation.
Specialist: Well, all right, all right, but only ... if you come on a camping holiday with me.
Mr Luxury Yacht: He asked me! He asked me!
(Cut to lyrical film of Luxury Yacht and specialist, frolicking in countryside in slow motion.)

(Cut to interviewer at desk.)
Interviewer: Next week we'll be showing you how to pick up an architect, how to pull a prime minister, and how to have fun with a wholesale poulterer. But now the men of the Derbyshire Light Infantry entertain us with a precision display of bad temper.
Voice Over: Attention
(Eight soldiers in two ranks of four, They halt, and start to chant with precision.)
Soldiers: bly goodness me, I am in a bad temper today all right, two, three, damn, damn, two, three, I am vexed and ratty. (shake fists) Two, three, and hopping mad. (stamp feet)
(Cut to interviewer.)
Interviewer: And next the men of the Second Armoured Division regale us with their famous close order swanning about.
(Cut to sergeant with eight soldiers.)
Sergeant: Squad. Camp it ... up!
Soldiers: (mincing in unison) Oooh get her! Whoops! I've got your number ducky. You couldn't afford me, dear. Two three. I'd scratch your eyes out. Don't come the brigadier bit with us, dear, we all know where you've been, you military fairy. Whoops, don't look now girls the major's just minced in with that dolly colour sergeant, two, 'three, ooh-ho!

(Cut to interviewer.)
Interviewer: And finally...
(ANIMATION: dancing generals, then the story of the killer cars.)

(Cut to air terminal. Pan along official air-terminal-type signs saying BEA, TWA, Air India, BOAC, the Verrifast Plaine Company Ltd. Pan down to reveal a checking-in desk. A man with porter's cap comes in, carrying two bags. He is followed by Mr and Mrs Irrelevant. He puts their cases down, hangs around and gets a tip. He goes behind the counter, takes off his porter's hat, puts on an airline-pilot-type cap, and puts on a moustache. There is a vicar standing next to him with an eye patch.)
Man: Morning sir, can I help you?
Mr Irrelevant: Er, yes, we've booked on your flight for America.
Man: Oh, we don't fly to America ... (vicar nudges him) Oh, the American flight... Er, on the plane ... oh yes, oh we do that, all right. Safe as houses, no need to panic.
Mrs Irrelevant: Is it really 37/6d?
Man: Thirty bob. I'm robbing myself.
Mr Irrelevant: Thirty bob!
Man: Twenty-five. Two quid the pair of yer. Er, that's without insurance.
Mr Irrelevant: Well, how much is it with insurance?
Man: Hundred and two quid. That's including the flight.
Mr Irrelevant: Do we really need insurance?
Man: No. (vicar nudges him) Yes, essential.
Mr Irrelevant: Well, we'll have it with insurance please.
Man: Right - do you want it with the body and one relative flown back, or you can have both bodies flown back and no relatives, or four relatives, no bodies, and the ashes sent by parcel post.
Mr Irrelevant: How long will it take?
Man: Er, let me put it this way - no idea.
Vicar: Six hours.
Mr Irrelevant: Six?
Man: Five, ten for the pair of you.
Mrs Irrelevant: Oh, is it a jet?
Man: Well, no ... It's not so much of a jet, it's more your, er, Triumph Herald engine with wings.
Mr Irrelevant: When are you taking off?.
Man: 3300 hours.
Mr Irrelevant: What?
Man: 2600 hours for the pair of you.
Mrs Irrelevant: What?
Man: Have the injections, you won't care.
Mr Irrelevant: What injections?
Man: Barley sugar injections. Calm you down. They're compulsory - Board of Trade. Promise. (he holds up his crossed fingers)
Mrs Irrelevant: Oh, I don't like the sound of injections.
Man: (making a ringing sound) Brrp, brrp. (picks up phone) Hello, yes right. (puts phone down) You've got to make your mind up straight away if you're coming or not.
Mr and Mrs Irrelevant: Yes.
Man: Right, you can't change your mind. I'll ring the departure lounge. (picks up phone) Hello? Two more on their way, Mrs Turpin.
(Cut to Mrs Turpin sitting in a suburban lounge. A big sign saying 'Intercontinental Arrivals ', in airport writing, hangs from the ceiling. Mr and Mrs Irrelevant arrive and sit down.)
Mrs Turpin: Now, the duty-free trolley is over there ... there's some lovely drop scones and there's duty-free broccoli and there's fresh eccles cakes. You're allowed two hundred each on the plane. (she picks up teacup and speaks into it) The Verrifast Plane Company announce the departure of flight one to over the hills and far away. Will passengers for flight one, please assemble at gate one. Passengers are advised that there is still plenty of time to buy eccles cakes.
(Man and vicar enter carrying a large wing.)
Man: Nearly ready.
(They take the wing through. Hammering is heard.)
Mrs Turpin: (speaking into cup) All passengers please get ready for their barley sugar injections.
(Japanese pilot comes in.)
Kamikaze: Today we all take vow. Today we smash the enemy fleet... we smash, smash.
(Man and vicar grab him and take him back.)
Mrs Turpin: That's Mr Kamikaze, the pilot, he's very nice really, but make sure he stays clear of battleships.
(Cut to stock film of battleships, steaming on the seas. Stirring music plays over.)
Voice Over: There have been many stirring tales told of the sea and also some fairly uninteresting ones only marginally connected with it, like this one. Sorry, this isn't a very good announcement. Sorry.

(Cut to quirk clip of the Battle of Pearl Harbor from show eleven, first series. Beginning with Eric blowing the whistle and the two sides rushing at each other. Cut back to announcer.)
Announcer: That was last year's re-enactment of the Battle of Pearl Harbor performed by the BatIcy Townswomen's Guild. It was written, directed and produced by Mrs Rita Fairbanks.
(Cut to Rita Fairbanks on the beach.)
Rita: Hello again.
Voice Over: And what are your ladies going to do for us this year.
Rita: Well, this year we decided to re-enact something with a more modern flavour. We had considered a version of Michael Stewart's speech on Nigeria and there were several votes on the Committee for a staging of Herr Willi Brandt's visit to East Germany, but we've settled instead for a dramatization of the first heart transplant. Incidentally my sister Madge will be playing the plucky little springbok pioneer Christian Barnard.
Voice Over: Well off we go, then with the Barley Townswomen's Guild re-enactment of the first heart transplant.
(Rita Fairbanks blows her whistle. The two groups of ladies rush at each other. They end up in the sea, rolling about splashing, and thumping each other with handbags.)

Announcer: (his desk now surrounded by sea) The first heart transplant. But this is not the only open-air production here that has used the sea. Theatrical managers in this area have not been slow to appreciate the sea's tremendous dramatic value. And somewhere, out in this bay, is the first underwater production of 'Measure for Measure'.
(Expanse of sea water, nothing eke at air Dubbed over this is muffled, watery Shakespearian blank verse. We zoom in. Two Shakespearian actors leap up. They take a deep breath and go under again. The dialogue carries on mutted. Pull out to seee a rowing boat. Shakesperian characters are sitting there waiting for their cue. One of the two characters leaps up and shouts:)
2nd Shakespearian Actor: Servant ho!
(He then goes underwater again. The servant in the boat steps into the water and goes under. Cut to announcer, now up to his waist in sea.)
Announcer: The underwater version of 'Measure for Measure', and further out to sea 'Hello Dolly' is also doing good business.
(We see a buoy, on the top of which is a stiff piece of card which reads 'Hello Dolly, Tonight 7.3o '� There is a muffled watery snatch of Hello Dolly. Swing round to a patch of open sea.)
Announcer: � � � and over there on the oyster beds Formula 2 car racing.
(underwater noises of Fomula 2 cars. ANIMATION; a racing car moves over a naked lady, going past a sign saying 'Pit Stop'.)

Voice over: Number ninety-seven: a radio.
Radio Announcer: And now the BBC is proud to present a brand new radio drama series, "The Death of Mary, Queen of Scots." Part One: The Beginning.
(music)
Man's voice: Yoo arrr Mary, Queen of Scots?
Woman's voice: I am!
(sound of violent blows being dealt, things being smashed, awful crunching noises, bones being broken, and other bodily harm being inflicted. All of this accompanied by screaming from the woman.)
(music fades up and out)
Announcer: Stay tuned for part two of the Radio Four Production of "The Death of Mary, Queen of Scots", coming up...almost immediately.
(music then sound of saw cutting, and other violent sounds as before, with the woman screaming. Suddenly it is silent.)
Man's voice: I think she's dead.
Woman's voice: No I'm not!
(sounds of physical harm and screaming start again. then music fades up and out)
Announcer: that was episode two of "The Death of Mary, Queen of Scots", specially adapted for radio by Gracie Fields and Joe Frazier. And now, Radio Four will explode.
(music an then the radio explodes.)

Two old women are sitting on the couch listening to the radio when it explodes. One looks at the other
First Pepperpot (Graham Chapman): We'll have to watch the Telly-vision!
Second Pepperpot (John Cleese): Aaaaw. (sound of agreement)
(they turn the couch so it's facing the television. One turns the television on, and they sit down. There is a small penguin sitting on top of the television set.)
Both Pepperpots: (singing, mumbled) hhmhmhmhmh... mhmmhmh mhmhm hhmhmmhm mhmhmmhmhmh
First Pepperpot: What's that on top of the telly-vision set?
(pause)
Second Pepperpot: (matter-of-factly) Looks like a penguin.
(pause)
Second Pepperpot: It's been a long time there, now, has it?
First Pepperpot: What's it doin' there?
Second Pepperpot: Standin'!
First Pepperpot: I can see that!
(pause)
First Pepperpot: If it laid an egg, it would roll down the back of the telly-vision set.
Second Pepperpot: Ummmm. I hadn't thought of that.
First Pepperpot: Unless it's a male.
Second Pepperpot: Yes. It looks fairly butch.
(pause)
First Pepperpot: Per'aps it's from next door.
Second Pepperpot: (yelling) NEXT DOOR?!? Penguins don't come from NEXT DOOR! They come from the Antarctic!
First Pepperpot: (yet louder) BURMA!!!
(they both stop short, looking around)
Second Pepperpot: Why'd'j say that?
First Pepperpot: I panicked.
Second Pepperpot: Oh.
First Pepperpot: Per'aps it's from the zoo.
Second Pepperpot: Which zoo?
First Pepperpot: (angrily) 'ow should I know which zoo it's from?!? I'm not Doctor bloody Bernofsky!!
Second Pepperpot: 'Oo's Doctor bloody Bernofsky?
First Pepperpot: He knows everything.
Second Pepperpot: Oooh, I wouldn't like that, that'd take all the mystery out of life.
(pause)
Second Pepperpot: Besides, if it were from the zoo, it'd have "property of the zoo" stamped on it.
First Pepperpot: They don't stamp animals "property of the zoo"!! You can't stamp a huge lion "property of the zoo"!!
Second Pepperpot: (confidently) They stamp them when they're small.
First Pepperpot: (snapping back) What happens when they moult?
Second Pepperpot: Lions don't moult.
First Pepperpot: No, but penguins do. THERE! I've run rings around you logically.
Second Pepperpot: (looks at the camera) OOOOH! INTERCOURSE THE PENGUIN!!!
(The television warms up: a man is sitting behind a news desk)

Man: Hello! Well, it's just after eight o'clock, and time for the penguin on top of your television set to explode.
(the penguin explodes)
First Pepperpot: 'Ow did 'e know that was going to happen?!
Man: It was an inspired guess. And now...

(Cut to room, with doctor, mother, and son.)
Doctor: That's not a part of the body.
Mother: NO, it's a link though.
Son: I didn't think it was very good.
Doctor: No, it's the end of the series, they must be running out of ideas.
(Inspector Muffin the Mule bursts through the door.)
Muffin: All fight, don't anybody move, there's been a murder.
Mother: A murder?
Muffin: No... no ... not a murder... no what's like a murder only begins with B?
Son: Birmingham.
Muffin: No ... no ... no ... no ... no...
Doctor: BurnIey?
Muffin: Burnley - that's right! Burnley in Lancashire. There's been a Burnley.
Son: Burglary.
Muffin: Burglary. Yes, good man. Burglary - that's it, of course. There's been a burglary. Doctor: Where?
Muffin: In the back, just below the rib.
Doctor: No - that's murder.
Muffin: Oh... er no... in the band... In the bat... Barclays bat.
Son: Barclays Bank?
Muffin: Yes. Nasty business - got away with �23,000.
Son: Any clues?
Muffin: Any what?
Son: Any evidence as to who did it?
Muffin: (sarcastically) Any clues, eh? Oh, we don't half talk posh, don't we? I suppose you say 'ehnvelope' and 'larngerie' and 'sarndwiches on the settee'! Well this is a murder investigation, young man, and murder is a very serious business.
Doctor: I thought you said it was a burglary.
Muffin: Burglary is almost as serious a business as murder. Some burglaries are more serious than murder. A burglary in which someone gets stabbled is murder! So don't come these petty distinctions with me. You're as bad as a judge. Right, now! The first thing to do in the event of a breach of the peace of any kind, is to... go... (pause) and ... oh, sorry, sorry, I was miles away.
Doctor: Ring the police?
Muffin: Ring the police. Yes, that's a good idea. Get them over here fast ... no, on second thoughts, get them over here slowly, so they don't drop anything.
Mother: Shall I make us all a cup of tea?
Muffin: Make what you like, Boskovitch - it won't help you in court.
Mother: I beg your pardon?
Muffin: I'm sorry, sorry. That's the trouble with being on two cases at once. I keep thinking I've got Boskovitch cornered and in fact I'm investigating a Burnley.
Son: Burglary.
Muffin: Burglary! Yes - good man.
(Sound of police siren and sound of ears drawing up outside.)
Doctor: Who's Boskovitch?
Muffin: Hah! Boskovitch is a Russian scientist who is passing information to the Russians.
Son: Classified information?
Muffin: Oh, there he goes again! 'Classified information'! Oh, sitting on the 'settee' with our 'scones' and our 'classified information'!
(The door opens and a plainclothes detective plus ten PCs (the Fred Tomlinson Singers) enter.)

Bing tiddle tiddle bang; Bing tiddle fiddle bing; Bing fiddle fiddle tiddle tiddle; Bing fiddle tiddle tiddle BONG!

(Credits over. Zatapathique finishes and bends over exhausted. An arrow indicates his rear)

Voice Over: Number thirty-one. The end.