FORTY ONE

Michael Ellis

(Animated titles.)

CAPTION: 'THE END'

(Roll credits.
Establishing shot of large Harrods-type store. Outside limousines and taxis are disgorging very rich customers. Small doormen in enormously large coats opening doom of cars. A man with his nose bandaged comes out of the store. One large car pulls softly up to the kerb, and as small doorman opens its door, an enormously opulent lady in furs gets out. The doorman holds the door open. She knees him in the groin and walks on into the store. Chris Quinn arrives on a bicycle. He parks the bicycle against the kerb (the doorman flings it into the road) and goes into the outer hall of the store. He passes a couple leaving who also have noses bandaged. A gaggle of customers, mostly pepperpots, rush out. A very eager pepperpot lady shopper, going the other way, rushes between the two and bangs into a set of glass doors which have closed behind the gaggle. She cries out with pain clutching her nose and is escorted away by a large, coated attendant. Chris Quinn looks up at the list on the wall. It reads:)

BASEMENT: DANGEROUS GASES, VIRUSES, CONTAGIOUS DISEASES,
RESTAURANT AND TOILET FIXINGS.
GROUND FLOOR: MENSWEAR, BOYSWEAR, EFFEMINATE GOODS
HALL, ILL HEALTH FOODS.
MEZZANINE: TABLEWARE, KITCHEN GOODS, SOFT FURNISHINGS,
HARD FURNISHINGS, ROCK-HARD FURNISHINGS.
FIRST FLOOR: COMPLAINTS.
SECOND FLOOR: COSMETICS, JEWELLERY, ELECTRICAL, SATIRE.
THIRD FLOOR: NASAL INJURIES HALL, OTHER THINGS.
FOURTH FLOOR: GRANITE HALL - ROCKS, SHALES, ALLUVIAL
DEPOSITS, FELSPAR, CARPATHIANS, ANDES, URALS, MINING
REQUISITES, ATOM-SPLITTING SERVICE.
FIFTH FLOOR: COMPLAINTS.
SIXTH FLOOR: COMPLAINTS.
SEVENTH FLOOR: COMPLAINTS.
EIGHTH FLOOR: ROOF GARDEN.
NINTH FLOOR: TELEVISION AERIALS.
TENTH FLOOR: FRESH AIR, CLOUDS, OCCASIONAL PERIODS OF SUNSHINE.

(Quinn, knowing that there are doors, goes forward more cautiously and enters. The banging of noses on glass doors is a constant background theme. Cut to the gift department. A large lady is standing by counter holding a large cylinder, with a rose attachment.)

Lady: Yes this looks the sort of thing. May I iust try it?

Assistant: Certainly, madam.

(The lady presses button and a sheet of flame shoots out across the hall)

Lady: Oh! Sorry! So sorry! (she is happy though) Yes that's fine.

Assistant: Is that on account, madam?

Lady: Yes.

(Chris walks by, watching with interest but not much concern, passing a customer whose back is on fire but who has not noticed)

(continued...)

(Sketch continues from 'Department Store' He approaches a counter with a sign saying 'Ant Counter'. He stands by the apparently empty counter for one moment, then rings a bell.)

Chris: Hello? Hello?

(A strange rubber-masked head appears from below the other side of the counter and gesticulates at him making a strange noise. This soon stops.)

First Assistant: Oh, I'm terribly sorry... (he takes off the mask to reveal a straight forward assistant) I thought you were someone else.

Chris: Oh I see, yes.

First Assistant: I'm sorry sir, can I help you?

Chris: Yes, yes, as a matter of fact you can, actually I was interested in . the possibility... of purchasing one of your ... can I ask who you thought I was?

First Assistant: What?

Chris: Who did you think I was... just then... when you thought I was somebody.

First Assistant: Oh, it's no one you'd know, sir.

Chris: Well I might know them.

First Assistant: It's possible, obviously, but I think it's really unlikely.

Chris: Well, I know quite a lot...

First Assistant: I mean he's hardly likely to move in your circles, sir...

Chris: Why, is he very rich?

First Assistant: Oh, no, I didn't mean that, sir.

Chris: Is he a lord or something?

First Assistant: Oh, no, not at all.

Chris: Well look, this is very easy to settle. What is his name?.

First Assistant: What?

Chris: What is his name?

First Assistant: Well... er...

Chris: Yes?

First Assistant: Michael Ellis.

Chris: Who?

First Assistant: Michael Ellis.

Chris: I see.

First Assistant: Do you know him, sir?

Chris: Er ... Michael Ellis. Michael Ellis...

First Assistant: You don't

Chris: Well, I don't remember the name.

First Assistant: I think you would remember him, sir.

Chris: Why do you say that?

First Assistant: Well, would you remember a man six foot nine inches high, forty-sh, and he's got a long scar from here to here and absolutely no nose?

Chris: ... oh, I think I do remember somebody like that...

First Assistant: Well, that's not Michael Ellis.

Chris: What?

First Assistant: He's a small man about this high with a high-pitched voice.

Chris: Right, I'm not going to buy an ant from you now.

First Assistant: (distressed) Oh, no, please.

Chris: No. You've not been properly trained. I demand another assistant.

First Assistant: Oh, no, come on... please...

Chris: No, I want another assistant.

First Assistant: All right! I'll get another assistant. (he disappeansbehind a curtain)

Chris: Thank you.

(The same assistant reappears with a long mandarin-style Chinese moustache.)

First Assistant: (high-pitched voice) Hello sir, can I help you, sir?

Chris: No, I want a different assistant.

First Assistant: I am sir, I'm Mr Abanazar, sir.

Chris: Don't be silly.

First Assistant: (normal voice) Oh no, please please please let me help you...

Chris: No! I want another assistant.

First Assistant: Oh, no, come on, please...

Chris: If you don't give me another assistant.,.

First Assistant: No, no, I'll be very good, sir, really. (he becomes exaggerateally polite) Good morning, sir... how are you, sir... bit parky outside today... isn't it, sir... ? A very nice suit you've got there, sir... you had a very close shave this morning, sir...

Chris: Right I'm goingl

First Assistant: No, no, please... (he takes off his moustache) I'll get another assistant... (he rings the bell on the counter.)

(After a pause, very slowly indeed an identical mask to the first appears over the top of the counter right next to the first assistant, making the same noise very quietly. The first assistant sees him, starts and nudges him hard.)

Second Assistant: Woooooo ....ooooooo...

First Assistant: It's not him!

(The second assistant makes a disappointed noise and disappears below.)

Chris: (pointing over the counter at the disappeared assistant) I don't want him!

First Assistant: Oh please, give him a chance!

Chris: No!

Second Assistant: (appearing from below counter without a mask, looking immaculate) Yes, sir, can I be of any assistance?

Chris: Oh no, come on, don't try that!

Second Assistant: I'm sorry, sir... try what?

Chris: YoU know perfectly well what I mean.

Second Assistant: I'm afraid I don't, sir.

Chris: You were down behind there with a silly mask on going wooo-ooo...

Second Assistant: I don't think I was, sir.

Chris: All right, get the manager.

Second Assistant: There seems to have been some sort of misunderstanding, sir.

Chris: Manager!

First Assistant: This is the manager, sir.

Chris: What?

Second Assistant: (in a silly voice) Yes, I'm the manager.

Chris: Manager! (he keeps calling)

Second Assistant: It's a smashing store this, I can't recommend it too highly, well-lit, rat-free. It's a joy to manage. Oh yes, the freshest haddock in London, second floor, third floor Ribena, ants here, television and flame throwers over there, behind them our dinner-wagon exhibition closes at six...

First Assistant: (nudging him) Quick!

(They both disappear under the counter. The real manager arrives and presents himself to Chris.)

Real Manager: Yes, sir? Can I help you, sir?

Chris: (noticing the 'manager' badge on his lapel) Yes, I want to complain about the assistants on this counter.

Real Manager: I'm sorry to hear that, sir, which ones?

Chris: Well, they're hiding now.

Real Manager: Sir?

Chris: They're hiding, down there behind the counter.

Real Manager: I see, sir. (he goes round counter, looks, but obviously can't see them; Chris goes round to join in the search)... well... there's nobody down here, sir.

Chris: They must have crawled through here, and made their escape through 'Soft Toys'. (he points)

Real Manager: Yes, of course.

Chris: They were wearing masks and making silly noises and one of them pretended to be the manager. He spoke like this.. (he does an impression)

Real Manager: Ah! I think I've got it, sir, I think I've got it! I'ts rag week.

Chris: Ragweek?

Real Manager: Yes, you know, for charity, sir.

Chris: Oh! I see. Some local college or university?

Real Manager: No, no it's the store's rag week.

Chris: The store's rag week?

Real Manager: Yes. The senior staff don't join in much - it's for the trainees really...

Chris: It's not very good for business is it?

Real Manager: Oh, It's for charity, sir. People are awfully good about it, you know. (he rattles a collecting tin)

Chris: Yes, yes, of course. (he puts a coin in)

Real Manager: Right, sir, I'll get you a senior assistant - ants, was it?

Chris: Yes, please.

Real Manager: (calling) Mr Snetterton? (Mr Snetterton approaches immediatebt; he is clearly the first assistant with very bad short crew-cut wig on) Could you look after this gendeman, Mr Snetterton?

Chris: I don't want him!

First Assistant: Oh please! Give me a chance!

Chris: No!

Real Manager: All right - Mr Hartford!

Hartford: Yes - good morning, sir - can I help you?

Chris: Yes, please, I'm interested in buying an ant.

Hartford: Ah yes - and what price were you thinking of paying, sir?

Chris: Oh, well, I hadn't actually got as far as that.

Hartford: Well sir, they start about half a p. but they can go as high as three p. or even three and a half p. for a champion - inflation I'm afraid...

Chris: Well, I should think one about one and a half p., please.

Hartford: Ah yes, well you should get a very serviceable little animal for that, sir. Quite frankly the half pence ones are a bit on the mangy side ... What length was sir thinking of?.

Chris: Oh ... medium?

Hartford: Medium. Medium. Here we are, sir. (he tips some ants - which we can't see - out into a special ring on counter) That one there is an Ayrshire, and that one there is a King George bitch I think ... and that one killing the little flitbat is an Afghan.

Chris: That's a nice one.

Hartford: Lees see how you get on with him, eh? (he puts it on Chris's hand) Ah yes, he likes you. He's taken to you.

Chris: What do you feed them on?

Hartford: Blancmange.

Chris: Blancmange?

Hartford: I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. No, you don't feed them at all.

Chris: Well, what do they live on?

Hartford: They don't. They die.

Chris: They die?

Hartford: Well of course they do, if you don't feed them.

Chris: I don't understand.

Hartford: You let them die, then you buy another one. It's much cheaper than feeding them and that way you have a constant variety of little companions.

Chris: Oh, I see.

Hartford: That's the advantage of owning an ant.

Chris: Right, well I'll take this one. Oh dear, I've dropped it...

Hartford: Never mind. Here's another one.

Chris: Is there anything else I'll need?

Hartford: Yes, sir - you'll need an ant house. (he produces a birdcage) This is the model we recommend, sir.

Chris: Won't it get out of there?

Hartford: Yes.

Chris: Well what's the point of having the cage?

Hartford: Well, none at all really. And then some pieces of cage furniture which will keep him entertained. (he produces microscopic things) Here's an ant-wheel, ant-swing, and a very nice one here, a little ladder - he can run up there and ring the bell at the top, that's a little trick he can learn.

Chris: Will he live long enough?

Hartford: Not really, no, but it's best to have one just in case, and here's a two-way radio he can play with... and of course you'll need the book. (he produces an apenaive-looking book, thoughtlessly slam it dowm where the ants were, then hurriedly brushes them away)

Chris: The book?

Hartford: Yes, the book on ants.

Chris: (looking unsure) Yes...

Hartford: So, sir, that is, if I may say so, one hundred and eighty-four pounds one and a half p., sir.

Chris: Will you take a cheque?

Hartford: Yes, sir, if you don't mind leaving a blood-sample, and a piece of skin off the back of the scalp just here, sir ... (indicates a point behind his ear) sorry ... it's just for identification .-. you can't be too careful. (he hands him a little knife and some cotton wool)

Chris: Oh, well I think I'll put it on account.

Hartford: I should, sir... much less painful Anyway sir, you know what they say about an ant. A friend for life, eh? Well, a friend for its life anyway... (Hartford loads the large cage, furniture, two-way radio and the book on ants into a huge box; with some difficulty he finds the ant; he picks it up carefully) His name is Marcus. (he drops him in the big box and pushes it across the counter; the box has on one side, in large letters 'live ant: handle with care '; it has breathing holes in it) If the little chap should go to an early grave, sir, give us a ring and we'll stick a few in an envelope, all right?

Chris: Thanks very much indeed.

Hartford: Not at all, thank you, Mr Ellis.

(Chris turns sharply. The first assistant comes quickly up to Hartford.)

First Assistant: Sssssshh!

Chris: What did you say?

Hartford: I said thank you, Mr Ellis...

First Assistant: It's not him.

Hartford: Oh!

Chris: Why did you say I was Mr Ellis?

Hartford: (innocently) Who?

First Assistant: No, he didn't say that.

Chris: Yes he did. I heard him say 'Thank you, Mr Ellis'.

First Assistant: Oh, no, no - he said 'I'm jealous'.

Chris: What?

First Assistant: I'm jealous of your ant. Goodbye. Goodbye. (waves pointedly)

Chris: (leaving the counter) I don't care who Michael Ellis is!

(Chris passes a shop area labelled 'The Paisley Counter' where two customers are talking to mirrors in thick Irish accents. Chris moves on to lift. A little old lady passes, oblivious to the fact that her shopping trolley is smouldering. The lady passes and Chris is about to enter.)

PA System: Will Mr Michael Ellis please go straight to the manager's office... I'll repeat that... (Chris wheels round and listens) Will Mr Nigel Mellish please go straight to the manager's office.

(Chris narrows his eyes suspiciously and gets into the lift cautiously. Cut to Chris Quinn's home...)

(Cut to the kitchen in Chris Quinn's home. His mother is putting chopped meat into a line af at least half a dozen feeding bowls with various animal names on them. 'Baboon', 'Dromedaly', 'Gorilla', 'Trout', and 'Pangolin '. There is a tiger in a cage in the middle of the kitchen, with a bowl marked 'Tiger' in front of him. A large cobra is hanging from the clothes drier and a wolf is in a cage below the sink. A monkey is on top of one of the cupboards. Chris enters with the box.)

Mother: What have you got now?

Chris: I bought an ant, mother.

Mother: What d'you want one of them for! I'm not going to clean it out. You said you'd clean the tiger out, but do you? No, I suppose you've lost interest in it now. Now it'll be ant ant ant for a couple of days, then all of a sudden, 'oh, mum, I've bought a sloth' or some other odd-toed ungulate like a tapir.

Chris: It's really different this time, mum. I'm really going to look after this ant.

Mother: That's what you said about the sperm whale... now your papa's having to use it as a garage.

Chris: Well, you didn't feed it properly.

Mother: Where are we going to get forty-four tons of plankton from every morning? Your papa was dead vexed about that. They thought he was mad in the dell.

Chris: Well at least he's got a free garage. (growl from the tiger)

Mother: That's no good to him... his Hillman smells all fishy. (we hear a roar) Oh blimey, that's the tiger. He'll want his mandies.

Chris: Are you giving that tiger drugs?

Mother: 'Course I'm giving it drugs!

Chris: It's illegal.

Mother: You try telling that to the tiger.

Chris: I think it's dangerous.

Mother: Listen ... before he started fixing, he used to get through four Jehovah's wimesses a day. And he used to eat all of them, except the pamphlets.

Chris: Well he's not dim.

(A very loud roar and rattling of cage.)

Mother: All right!

(She loads a syringe and starts to leave.)

Chris: Well, I'm going to watch one of the televisions... come on Marcus.

(He puts Marcus in cage and is just about to take it through to the next room.)

Mother: Michael's been on the phone all day for you.

Chris: Michel?

Mother: You know, Michael... Michael. Michael Ellis. He's been on the phone all day ... he came round twice.

Chris: What did he look like?

Mother: Oh, I didn't see him. The orange-rumped agouti answered the door. Only useful animal you ever bought, that.

Chris: Where is he now?

Mother: He's upstairs forging prescriptions for the sodding tiger!

Chris: No, no, where is Michael Ellis now?

Mother: Oh, I don't know.., he said it wasn't important, anyway... all right, here I come.

(She goes to the tiger. Chris looks confused, then shrugs and goes into the sitting room with Marcus. In the room there are about twenty old televisions on shelves. Chris selects one of the televisions, puts it on the table, switches it on and settles down to watch it with Marcus. He is about to watch a 'Documentary on Ants')

(Sketch continues from 'At home with the Ant and other pets' Chris quickly switches the TV on.)

Announcer: (waits for noises to stop) ... and of the announcement. And now back to 'University of the Air', and our series for advanced medical students, 'Elements of Surgical Homeopathic Practice'. Part 68 - 'Ants'.

Chris: Ah! We're in luck again, Marcus.

(A surgeon appears on television. He makes a few ant gestures.)

Surgeon: Hello formicidophiles! Before the blood and guts that you're waiting to see, let's have a look at the anatomy of the little ant.

(Cut to a drawing of an ant.)

Ant Expert's Voice: The body of the ant is divided into three sections. (arrow indicates) The head, the thorax and the abdomen. They are enclosed in a hard amour-like covering canned the exoskeleton, which provides some protection from other nasty little insects but unfortunately not from the dissector's scalpel. (an animated hand with a knife slices hits off the ant) See, nothing to it, he's not such a toughy. And his legs ... they help him carry hundreds of times his own weight, but look at this ... (a handpulls the legs off) you're not so strong compared with me, four, five, six ... Ha!

Chris: I didn't know ants had six legs, Marcus!

Ant Expert: Well I can assure you they do, Mr Ellis.

Chris: Hey! You've got two legs missing! And that's a false feeler Marcus! Blimey!

(He leaps up, switches the TV off and hurls it into the comer onto a pile of used TYs, and hurries out. The tiger is quiet now. Mother, bloody and tom, is emp!ying a tin of 'Kit-E-Cobra' into a box marked 'Cobra'.)

Chris: I'm taking this ant back, mother - he's got two legs missing.

Mother: Hey! Mrs McWong's been on the phone! The polar bear's been in her garden again.

Chris: Well I'll get it on the way back from the store.

Mother: Well mind you do - his droppings are enormous. (Chris goes through the door, mother shouts after him) Oh, and by the way, while you're out get us another couple of tellies would you, here's 180 quid. (she tosses a wad out to him)

(Cut to the garden outside. There are TVs heaped in the garden path. Chris catches the wad of notes and leaves through the garden gate as a TV van is unloading half a dozen TVs onto a trolley, prior to wheeling them into the home.)

(Continues from 'Doumentary on Ants' Cut back to the store. Inside the lift. Chris: stands there with his ant in his hand. There are also two ladies in Geman national costume. The lift lady, who has a wall-eye, a wooden leg, a tooth-brace, a hearing aid, a hilt-up shoe, a neck-brace, and a hook is reciting.)

Lift Woman: Second floor ... stationery, leather goods, tribal head injuries, cricket bats, film stars, dolphinafiums.

(The lift stops with some difficulty. The German girls get out with their baggage. In gets a man in Greek national costume holding an oar.)

Lift Woman: Third floor ... cosmetics, books, Irish massage, tribal head'. gear, ants.. (Chris starts to get out) but not complaints about ants!

Chris: Oh, where do I go to complain?

Lift Woman: Straight on, then left, then fight past the thing, then, up the little stairs, then right by where it's gone all soft, then down the wobbly bit, past the nail, past the brown stain on the wall to your fight and it's the door marked exit straight ahead of you on the left.

Chris: Thank you.

Lift Woman: (the doors shut but we can just hear her voice) Fourth floor... kiddies' vasectomies...

(The ant counter. It is obviously the same place with a roughly made sign 'Complaints '. Chrir is standing there with the original Assistant, who now has a plate in his lip and an enormous false chin about eight inches long and six inches across.)

Chris: I don't want you.

First Assistant: (speaking with difficulty) Oh, something wrong with your little ant friend... ?

Chris: No! I'm not going to tell you.

First Assistant: Something missing in the leg department?

(The Manager appears.)

Manager: Can I help you, sir?

(Chris looks down and sees that the Manager is half in a sack.)

Chris: No! No! No! No!

Manager: Oh, it's all right, sir, it's for the sack race later on.

Chris: No, no, no, I want to speak to the General Manager, I want to complain.

Manager: Oh, well you want the Toupee Hall in that case, sir.

Chris: The what?

Manager: The Toupee Hall, Mr Ellis. (he hops off)

(Chris approaches a stocking counter where lady Assistant is sewing two heavies who are trying on nylons over their heads. Chris speaks to the Assistant.)

Chris: (embarrassed) Excuse me - could you tell me the way to the Toupee Hall, please?

Assistant: Sorry?

Chris: The Toupee Hall.

Assistant: The what?

Chris: The Toupee Hall.

Assistant: Oh, the Toupee Hall (loudly) Gladys, where are toupees now?

Gladys: Toupees? (people start to look)

Assistant: This gentleman wants one.

Gladys: (even louder) A toupee?

Chris: Well, no, actually...

Gladys: I think they're in surgical appliances now.

Assistant: That's fight, yes, you go left at artificial limbs and hearing aids, right at dentures and it's on your left just by glass eyes. It doesn't say toupees to avoid embarrassing people, but you can smell 'em.

(People by this time have formed a ring round to see who it is.)

Chris: Thank you.

(As he moves off people peer at his head.)

Woman: (to friend) You can see the join.

(Chris in order to avoid this embarrassment, dives into the nearest department. A sign over the door reads 'Victorian poetry reading hall'.)

(Cut to a poetry reading. Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats and Tennyson are present. Chris stands quietly in the comer hoping not to be noticed.)

Old Lady: Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, it's so nice to see such a large turnout this afternoon. And I'd like to start off by welcoming our guest speakers for this afternoon,... Mr Wadsworth...

Wordsworth: Wordsworth!

Old Lady: Sorry, Wordsworth... Mr John Koots, and Percy Bysshe.

Shelley: Shelley!

Old Lady: Just a little one, medium dry, (a dwarf assistant pours her a sherry) and Alfred Lorde.

Tennyson: Tennyson.

Old Lady: Tennis ball.

Tennyson: Son, son.

Old Lady: Sorry - Alfred Lord, who is evidently Lord Tennisball's son. And to start off I'm going to ask Mr Wadsworth to read his latest offering, a little pram entitled 'I wandered lonely as a crab' and it's all about ants.

(Murmur of exalted anticipation. Wordsworth rises rather gloomily.)

Wordsworth:

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high over vales and hills

When all at once I saw a crowd

A host of golden worker ants.

(Ripples of applause.)

Old Lady: Thank you, thank you, Mr Bradlaugh. Now, 'Mr Bysshe.

Shelley: Shelley.

Old Lady: Oh... (the dwarf refills her glass)... is going to read one of his latest psalms, entitled 'Ode to a crab'.

Shelley: (rising: and taking his place quietly) Well, it's not about crabs actually, it's called 'Ozymandias'. It's not an ode.

I met a travellet from an antique land

Who said 'Six vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert

And on the pedestal these words appear

My name is Ozymandias, King of &nts

(oohs from his audience)

Look on my feelers, termites, and despair

I am the biggest ant you'll ever see

The ants of old weren't half as bold and big

And fierce as me'.

(Enormous applause.)

Old Lady: Thank you Mr Amontillado. I'd like to ask one or two of you at the back not to soil the carpet, there is a restroom upstairs if you find the poems too exciting (she falls over) Good afternoon, next, Mr Dennis Keat will recite his latest problem 'Ode to a glass of sherry'. (she falls off the podium)

Keats: