A Bit of Fry and Laurie (1987–1995): Season 1, Episode 6 - Episode #1.6 - full transcript

- A what?
- Beg your pardon?

Pardon?

What?

- Beg your pardon?
- Come again?

I like the way it starts.

Quite fat.

Thin, really.

Thomas, I'm afraid I
have some bad news.

Just a moment, John. I promised
Marjorie I'd mend this clock for her.

- I wonder if you'd mind giving me a hand.
- Big hand?

Little hand.



Anyway, listen to me,
Thomas. I have some bad news.

- Bad news?
- It's Marjorie.

- Marjorie?
- She's had a fall.

- Marjorie's had a fall?
- I'm afraid so.

She was out riding this
morning on Thunderbolt

and she hadn't returned by the
time Mrs Mempwaster arrived.

It turns out she's had a fall.

Now, just a moment,
John, calm down.

Marjorie's had a fall, you say?

- Yes.
- Off a horse?

Well, of course off a horse.

I don't see there's any "of
course off a horse" about it.

Girls nowadays are likely to fall off
anything. Doesn't have to be a horse.

No, but in this case it was.



Could have been a chair, a
table, a pianoforte, anything.

Yes, except in this case, she was
riding a horse when it happened.

- When she fell off?
- Yes.

So you reason to yourself
Marjorie has fallen off a horse?

That's right. Thunderbolt.

- Thunderbolt, you say?
- Yes.

- Well, Thunderbolt's a horse all right.
- Exactly.

- Any damage?
- Well, too soon to say.

Cavendish is examining her now.

That old fool. What does
he know about horses?

No, Cavendish is
examining Marjorie.

- Marjorie? Is she ill?
- No, she fell off a horse.

- Well, you better fetch Cavendish.
- I have. He's in the drawing room.

- Horses are pretty big, John.
- I know they are.

You fall off one of them,
anything can happen.

Well, quite.

- Well, not anything.
- No, not anything.

I mean, this clock isn't
going to become Prime Minister

just because someone's
fallen off a horse.

- Of course not.
- I didn't mean anything in that sense.

Well, absolutely, no. Anyway, Thomas,
Cavendish is examining her now.

- You said he was in the drawing room.
- He is. Examining Marjorie.

- And where's Marjorie?
- She's also in the drawing room.

- So they're both in the drawing room?
- Yes.

Perhaps he's not such an old
fool after all. How is she?

Well, too soon to say.
Sounds like a hell of a fall.

- Off the horse?
- Yes.

- Thunderbolt?
- Yes.

What the devil was Marjorie
doing falling off Thunderbolt?

Oh, you know how Marjorie
loves to ride, Thomas.

Marjorie was riding Thomas?

No.

- I'm Thomas, John.
- I know that.

Marjorie wasn't riding me. Your story's
a bit twisted there, old fellow.

- You said she was riding Thunderbolt.
- She was.

- She was?
- Yes.

- But she's not any longer?
- No, she fell off.

- Good God.
- I know.

- Where is she?
- She's in the drawing room.

Marjorie was riding Thunderbolt
in the drawing room?

No, no, no, no. She fell off at Stratton
Brook, where the path separates.

That young fellow Cottrell found her
and carried her to the drawing room.

Stables would have been better,
I'd have thought.

What?

- Drawing room's no place for Thunderbolt.
- No, Marjorie.

- What do you mean?
- Marjorie's in the drawing room.

- With Thunderbolt?
- No, Thunderbolt's in the stables.

Oh, well, that's
all right, then.

It's not all right, Thomas. I
tell you, she's had a bad fall.

Is she hurt?

Well, it's too soon to say.
Cavendish is with her now.

- Cavendish? He's a doctor, isn't he?
- Yes.

I wonder if he knows
anything about clocks.

If my murderer's watching
this, he'll kill me.

This puppy, Snipper,

is in most desperate
need of help.

Four weeks ago
Snipper's mother died

and only three days later her father
was killed by a hit-and-run driver.

Barely eight weeks
old and an orphan,

Snipper was also faced
with the embarrassing

and painful affliction
of incontinence.

It's a condition that we in
the West don't talk about much.

Shame keeps millions
of sufferers silent,

but Snipper's incontinence was a
source of great distress to her

and rather than come to terms
with it, she ran away to London.

It was on the way to London
that Snipper was assaulted

and abused by an older dog.

You can imagine the
effect that this would

have on an innocent
puppy bitch like Snipper.

She was totally confused,
bewildered and hurt.

We think that it is around that time that
she was struck with traumatic amnesia,

a total loss of memory.

This, apart from anything else, made it
very difficult for her to know who she was

and where she was going.

She drifted into a life of
scavenging and prostitution,

selling her soft, furry young
body just in order to stay alive.

That was the life that she was
living when we at the ASTL found her.

We were able to give her food,
warmth, and more than that, love,

the one thing that has been denied her
in her short and tragically unhappy life.

Snipper is really
taking an interest now.

Her memory is slowly returning,

which is how we've been able to piece
together the details of her existence,

and with luck she will be able to lead
a normal, happy and fulfilled life.

But, you know, there are
thousands of Snippers in Britain

and we desperately need your help
to carry on the work we're doing.

We are an entirely independent charity,
we receive no government funding,

and rely on public
generosity to keep us going.

If you're the kind of person who
would like to help a Snipper,

then why not send your
donation, however large, to...

straight to me, Stephen Fry,
care of the BBC, instead.

Thank you.

Well, Bryan Robson's
definitely got one,

but he's the captain, I
suppose he'd have to have one.

To set an example,
I don't know really.

I joined up very early, very
early. Too early, I think.

I should have waited till
they had a proper photocopier.

Looks like the Arsenal
might do it then.

- The Arsenal?
- Yeah.

Oh, leave it out.

- Leave it out?
- Oh, leave it out. Just leave it out.

No, why should I?
Just turn it up.

- What, turn it up?
- Turn it up.

- Oh, switch it off.
- Move it under.

- Oh, send it round.
- Knock it through.

- Rinse it out.
- Park it sideways.

Oh, support it laterally.

Indicate left.

- Oh, finance it underneath.
- Destabilise it casually.

- Oh, slide it up.
- Remove it gently.

- Oh, clean it thoroughly.
- Put it on the shelf.

- Fax it over.
- Give it some mortgage.

- Oh, drive it round.
- Sell it for a small profit.

Oh, comb it thoroughly
before putting it back.

- Smell it gently.
- Oh, leave it out.

- Leave it out?
- Leave it out.

Oh.

Who told you you were naked?

I beg your pardon?

I was thinking, "Who told
you that you were naked?"

I think you may have
lost me there, Arnold.

Well, do you remember
that passage in Genesis

where Adam explains to God

why he and Eve have
covered themselves.

Yes, yes. If I remember
that story right,

Adam says, "We were naked
and we were ashamed."

- And God says...
- "Who told you that you were naked?"

Glenn and I are
having a conversation

about a passage in Genesis which
has been intriguing me rather.

Yes, it is
fascinating, isn't it?

Anyway, tell me about the size
of your girlfriend's breasts.

Well, first of all, Glenn,

let's clear up this
problem of why God

gave such a complex response
to what is, on the surface,

a relatively simple question.

Not as simple though as, "Are
they very big, or only quite big?"

No, perhaps not that simple,
but still relatively simple.

Yes, yes. Simpler certainly than,
"Is she very exciting in bed?"

I think, Glenn,

that what God was saying is,

"How can nakedness
mean anything to you?"

"How can that concept
have any significance

"unless you have eaten the fruit of the
tree whereof I said thou shouldst not eat?"

Yes. My bet is that they really
are quite substantially large.

Well, one thing
at a time, Glenn.

Yes, yes, all right. Let's
take the left one first.

How enormous would
you say that is?

Glenn is having a little difficulty
concentrating on our Bible study readings

because he has something of an obsession
with the size of my girlfriend's breasts.

Well, I like to put it this way.

Arnold is having trouble
concentrating on our discussion

about the size of his
girlfriend's breasts

because he is a little too interested
in analysing passages from The Bible.

We'll sort it out,
don't you worry.

- I think God...
- So would you say a 48-cup, or bigger still?

Oh, I think the Queen should give
one to Esther Rantzen. Definitely.

Stand a bit further to the left.

A good smack in the
face, she deserves it.

Hello, Control. Something up?

Well, it's the oddest
thing, Murchison,

but I've been told that
if I want to stay fit,

I have to walk at
least 10 miles a day.

- 10 miles?
- Hmm.

But you've always been as fit as a
flea, Control. Or a fiddlet, anyway.

"One of the fittest men in the service"
you've been occasionally referred to as.

- Have a look at this, then, Tony.
- What is it?

Well, that's what I asked myself
when the doctor gave it to me,

and then I asked the doctor,

and he said it's a pedometer.

- A pedometer?
- Yes.

It measures how many
miles I walk. Come on.

Mrs Control is jolly careful to make
sure I put it on everyday, worse luck.

Still, I suppose she only has
your best interests at heart.

That's true. I shouldn't
grumble. After all, Tony...

Control?

...she's only being so quite
firm about it for my own good.

Mmm.

Any golly way, I think that's
enough for one morning.

And you didn't come here
to listen to my woes.

Oh, I don't know, they're
quite interesting woes.

What does bring you to
the seventh floor, Tony?

Well, Control, do you remember the
Minister asking us to jolly well hurry up

and find out who was
behind these bombs

that have been going off in
government departments of lately?

Yes, indeed I do remember.

An urgent, A-1, top priority investigation
was called for as I remember.

There was to be telephone
tapping, surveillance, everything,

and no limit on the budget.

The Minister said, "I want you to pull
all the stops out on this one, Control,

"if you'd be so kind."

Yes, it was quite a to-do.

Mmm.

As I recall, Tony, I put you in
charge of that investigation.

Is that right?

- Yes, you splendidly did.
- Mmm.

Well, have you come up with something
that might be regarded as a clue,

or better still, concrete evidence
that might lead to some arrests?

Yes. Well, that's really the reason I popped
in and surprised you at your walking, Control.

Because I've just had a report from
Commander Henderson of Special Branch.

That's the Scotland Yard branch that
was set up specifically to deal with

subversion and counter-insurgency
earlier this century.

- That's the exact one.
- Oh.

I imagined quite
strongly it might be.

Yes. Well, they say that with some of our
agents working undercover alongside them,

they've managed to arrest a cell of men
and women who they think they can prove

are responsible for the whole sorry wave of
unfortunate and exasperating bomb attacks.

- It was a sorry wave, wasn't it?
- Yes, it certainly was.

Well, this is good
news, I must say.

I thought you'd be pleased.

I am. Most pleased.

Well done, Tony. Full marks.

Calls for a coffee,
wouldn't you say?

It most certainly does.

I'll fetch you one.

No,
Tony. I'll fetch you one. It's my turn.

Well, goodness,
Control, thank you.

No, thank you, Tony.

White, no sugar, I think it is.

That's exactly right.

This really is excessively
kind of you, Control.

Not at all, Tony, and besides...

the extra walk will
impress Mrs Control.

- Oh, you.
- Back in a mo.

Bye.

There's a riot down
at Bletching Common

so they had to use all
the trousers for that one.

So you see, hence the...

Hopefully, when it's...

You know, when it's all sorted,
we'll get our trousers back

and things will
be back to normal.

Actually, I hadn't
thought of that.

Yes, well, yes, I got one
but before I had that one,

I used to have to go down to
the laundrette every week,

but now I've had one put in my kitchen
and the laundrette comes to me every week.

It's marvellous, really.

Violence. It's a theme
we've touched on before now

in this fortnightly look
back on the past three days.

And I daresay it's one we'll touch on
again, and we don't apologise for that.

Violence is not something that's
gonna lie down and go away.

Hmm. Well put.

Ah, but the point is, surely,
what are we going to do about it?

Well, I suppose the phrase that
best sums up our approach is,

Responsibility Television.

Now, what does Responsibility
Television mean?

Well, it means that we
are immensely concerned

that nothing we do has a bad
influence on our viewers.

Thus, when I hit
Hugh, like so...

we have to consider what the
effect on the viewer might be.

Yes.

Is a vulnerable, easily
led section of our audience

going to start imitating
this kind of behaviour?

Well, so far in this series I've hit Hugh
on no less than a startling five occasions.

You might think we
had no thought at all

as to how the young might be influenced by
this kind of senseless, horrific violence.

Would they start to
imitate it? Hugh.

Well, the interesting and inescapable
that we've come up with is, yes.

Because since the series has
started to be transmitted,

I've found,
walking along the street,

that I have been hit on
no less than 12 occasions

by complete strangers.

So it looks as if the
suggestible out there

are actually imitating my violent
behaviour patterns and striking you?

That's right. Yes. Yes.

- Is that a worrying development?
- Well, it's not unworrying.

Right. So it may be that the Milton
Schulmans and Mary Whitehouses of this worid

aren't as incredibly stupid as they
appear at first, second and 34th glance?

Are we unwittingly helping to
make Britain a more violent place?

Well, it's beginning to
look horribly like it, yes.

Right. Well, let's stop now and let's see
if we can't reverse this whole process.

Now, would all those out
there who are stupid enough

to go out on the streets and hit Hugh,

just because they've
seen me do it on television,

would they now kindly watch very
carefully as I now smile at Hugh,

hand him a ?5 note, and say,

"There you are, old chap,
there's a fiver for you.

"Have a really super time.

"Oh, look, here's another one.

- "And another."
- Oh, well.

"There you go. Bless you."

Well, thank you very much, if
you don't mind me saying so.

Indeed, I certainly don't mind you saying
so. In fact, it's quite kind of you.

Here's a fiver.

Well, thank you, I'm sure.

Good. Well, I hope now, Hugh, you're going to
monitor the public's behaviour very closely

and if you find people are
approaching you now with ?5 notes

instead of clenched fists, you'll come
back on the programme and let us know?

- I certainly will, yup.
- Thanks so much.

- There's a fiver.
- Oh, thanks.

All right, then.

Just time now to go over to Devizes and to
catch up with Chris and that giant sauna.

Chris.

Well, it's a dying
art. That's my view.

House prices, I don't know.

You practically need to take out
a mortgage to buy one nowadays.

The last decent
pencil I bought was

Malaysian,
beautiful thing. Beautiful thing.

Must be worth quite
a bit now, I think.

So, he gets all misty-eyed and
he puffs himself up and he says,

"I do it for my country,"

and he stabs himself in the head
with a pair of scissors. Right?

So the Irishman says...

Are you ready for
your main courses now?

- Er, yes, thank you.
- Excellent.

- Umm, can I ask just you something?
- Certainly, sir.

- How do you do it?
- Do what, sir?

How can you hear from the
other end of the restaurant

the exact moment when I get
to the punch line of my jokes?

That is the fourth time you've
done it since I came in.

Well, now, that's actually
a very good question, sir.

There's actually
a tiny microphone

- hidden underneath your ashtray.
- Ah, I see.

And we have a receiver in the
kitchen. So it's very simple, really.

- Yes, I'd always wondered. Thank you.
- Now, who was having the lamb?

- Here we go, madam.
- Right, so...

the Englishman had said... er...

"I do it for the Queen," and
jumped out of the window.

Right, yes. And the Scotsman says,
"I do it for my country," and he...

Stabbed himself in the head
with a pair of scissors.

Right. Exactly.

And so then Irishman says...

- And you're having the chicken, sir?
- What?

Chicken lacroix
prepared at your table.

- Yes, thank you.
- Right, right.

So, the Irishman says...

Oh, my God!

- What?
- Chicken lacroix.

What are you doing?

- What am I doing?
- Yes.

Well, sir, I have to make sure
the knife is properly sharp.

Yes, but... The chicken,
it's still alive!

Ha. Not for much longer, sir.

I think I'm going to be sick.

- Something wrong with the lamb, madam?
- Oh, no.

You're not going to kill
a live chicken in here?

Well, certainly, sir. This is
chicken lacroix, as you ordered.

"Fresh, plump, baby chicken
prepared at your table."

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Don't kill that chicken.

- Don't kill it?
- No.

What,
you'd rather eat it while it's still alive?

- No.
- Well, I have to...

No, no. I'm telling you,
actually. Don't kill it.

- Well, why not, sir?
- Well...

You know, it's not worth it.
Think of the letters we'll get.

- Letters? Who from?
- Well, I don't know. Mad people.

Mad people?

You know the sort of thing, "Why, oh, why,
oh, why was my five-year-old grandmother

"forced to watch a live
chicken being hacked to

death in the name of
so-called entertainment?"

That kind of thing.

Well, it's no worse than being hacked
to death in the name of so-called lunch.

- Well, I know that.
- I think it is, actually.

- I beg your pardon?
- I think it is worse.

- Oh, do you?
- Yes, I do.

Well, that's just her point of
view, that's perfectly fair.

All right, well, let's
ask the chicken, shall we?

Would you rather die as part of
a sketch on national television

or would you rather go straight into a
Tesco sandwich, unmourned and unnoticed?

Look, I'm sorry, Hugh. It's
just the way I feel, okay?

What's the matter with
you? It's had a great time.

We showed it the Blue Peter studio,
didn't we?

It sat next to Desmond Lynam in the
canteen, what more could it want?

Look, I know we agreed that we should
actually kill the chicken on air

but I think... I'd be
happy now if you didn't.

Happy? What's happiness
got to do with it?

Look,
basically the whole joke of this is

supposed to be that I
can't get out my Irish joke

and if you sort of add this...
I mean, really, it's not...

- I think we've gone off it.
- I agree, yes. Absolutely.

Well, yeah, okay, if everyone's just
going to go squeamish at the last minute,

yes, all right, we'll call
it off, then. Yes, fine.

- Excuse me.
- All right.

So I'll just have a green salad,
please, waiter.

A green salad?
Yes. Coming right up.

Thank you. Excellent.

Now, where was I? Yes, the
Englishman said, "I do it..." er...

"for my count... for my Queen,"
and jumped out the window,

and the Scotsman said,
"I do it for my country,"

and stabbed himself in the
head with a pair of scissors,

and the Irishman says...

Now what are you doing?

Never heard a lettuce
scream before?

- What?
- Frightening, isn't it?

Never occurred to you that a lettuce might
have dreams, hopes, ambitions, a family?

Look, bugger the lettuce, will
you let me finish my joke?

Oh, I'm sorry.

Right, so,

the Irishman says...

I wouldn't suck it.

Except in...

non-member states where you're
obliged to eat your own.

- All right, Mr Simnock?
- Eh?

I say, are you all
right, Mr Simnock?

Where's smimble cocoa?

Yes, your cocoa's
coming in a minute.

Eh?

I say, your cocoa is
coming in a minute.

I'll draw the curtains, shall I?

Be cosier then,
you'll be more cosy.

Draw the curtains,
yeah, it'll be cosy, that.

Yes.

- Cocoa.
- Yes, your cocoa is coming in minute.

- All right?
- Curtain.

Yes, I'll draw them for you.

There we are.

That's a bit cosier, isn't it?

Nights are getting chillier
all the time, aren't they?

Only seems like yesterday it
was Christmas, I don't know.

Oh, look, you've dropped your magazines.
Look, I'll pick them up for you.

Didn't like them.
Rubbish they were.

Well, let's see what they are.

There we are, look.

Oh. Oh, now.

There was no call to go doing
that, was there, Mr Simnock?

Where's me cocoa?

Your cocoa's coming in a minute.

I'm not so sure you
deserve it now, though.

Acting up like I
shouldn't wonder.

I'll tuck you in, look.

92 years old.

That's right. 93 come November.

92 years old and I've
never had oral sex.

Well...

I should think not, indeed.

Oral sex! The idea.

Never ridden a camel.

You're just babbling
now, Mr Simnock.

Never watched a woman urinate.

I shall get very cross with you
in a minute. I shall, really.

Never killed a man.

Well, there's a certain man I shall
be killing if he's not very careful.

Never been inside an opera
house. Never eaten a hamburger.

You're a stupid silly old man and
I won't have any more nonsense.

I'm fed up, me. I've
never done anything.

Well, you're a bit chilly, I shouldn't
wonder. Your cocoa'll be along in a minute.

Don't want any stupid cocoa.

Well, there's no call to be
getting contrary, now, is there?

You love your cocoa.
You know you do.

I hate cocoa. Gets a skin on it.

Not if you keep stirring it.

Makes me want to kek that.
Makes we want to cat up.

I want to drink milk from the
breasts of a Burmese maiden.

I don't know what's got into you
today, Mr Simnock. I don't, really.

I think we're going to have to
give you some extra vitamin E.

Burmese maidens! In Todmorden?

You've got bad breath, you have.

Well, there's no call to be
getting personal, I hope.

Like rotting cabbages.

I'm very angry with
you today, Mr Simnock.

You're a great nancy.

I'm not a great nancy, Mr Simnock,
and you're wicked to say so.

You're a great Mary Ann, bum-boy
nancer. I bet you've never even done it.

I'm not going to take anymore of this
from you, Mr Simnock. I'm not, really.

You shouldn't be in a place
like this at your time of life.

Well, someone's got to do it. Dedication.
Though why I bother, I do not know.

You should be out
there having oral sex

and killing people and watching
women urinate in opera houses

and eating hamburgers
in opera houses

and drinking milk from the
breasts of Nepalese maidens.

It was Burmese last time.

Well, Nepalese, I've
changed me mind.

Instead you're stuck here taking
rude talk from an old man.

You're a great
bog-breathed nancy.

You've really upset me today,
Mr Simnock, you have, really.

I'm going out to hurry
along your cocoa.

When I get back I don't
want any more nonsense.

Honestly.

You're a screaming great
Bertie and you pong.

92 years old and I've never
watched a woman urinate.

Tragic waste that.

Now here you are, Mr Simnock.

I managed to intercept Mrs
Gideon in the hall with the tray.

So don't say you're not a lucky man
to get your cocoa before the others.

- Hooray!
- Yes, that's better, isn't it?

- Cocoa.
- That's right.

But a certain naughty boy said
a few naughty things, didn't he?

I'm sorry, Brian. Right sorry.

Well, I'm not so sure
you should have it now.

Soon as you see your cocoa you
mend your manners, don't you?

Oh, please, Brian.

All right, there you are.

That's better, isn't it?

Oh, it's a lovely
drop of cocoa that.

That's Berent's.
That's the best.

Good old Berent's
cocoa. Always there.

Original or New Berent's,

specially prepared for the
mature citizens in your life,

with nature's added store of
powerful barbiturates and heroin.

The shorter one's got
a different accent,

but they both smell
of Noel Edmonds to me.

...in line with inflation.

The rate of tax on beer

will be increased by
two pence in the pint,

cigarettes by four pence in the pint, which
is in advance to the rate of inflation,

in line with the government's current
thinking on smoking and health.

Petrol and diesel and Derv fuels will be
increased by three pence in the litre.

Aye, and what of the people?

I'm sorry?

You bleed the people so that you
may stuff your own fat pockets.

Erm, yes.

The vehicle licence
tax will be increased

from ?100, its present
rate, to ?120...

Yes, so that your own bathroom may be
lined with venison and fine delicacies.

Erm...

Captured in foreign wars
fought by the poor people.

Be quiet.

I'll not be quiet!

The poor of England have
been quiet too long.

While I have breath in my
body and blood in my veins,

I'll fight for the
poor people of England.

Bold words indeed.

Aye, bold, but true.

And what is your name, sir,
that you must shroud yourself

under a lightweight
travelling hat?

My name, sir,

and I bid you mark it well,

is Tony of Plymouth.

- Tony of Plymouth.
- None other.

By God, then, Tony of Plymouth,

this time you have stumbled
into the lion's den.

Guards, seize him!

I fear, sir, that the guards will
never save you from the people.

Why, you mangy swine!

Cur, dog, mongrel, fish!

I'll see you swing from the
nearest gibbet for this.

- Is that so?
- Aye, that is so.

Then have a care, sir,
that the rope does not fasten itself

around your own soft throat.

You're no match for
a real swordsman.

On the contrary, sir, the blade of a
tyrant is dull and fat, like its owner.

Dull and fat, am
I? We shall see.

Stand and fight, coward.

As you wish, dull, fat tyrant.

So, the worm has claws.

- Aye, and more.
- More?

This worm will not be
means-tested by a bully.

Means-tested?

Is that... Guards!

I wouldn't suck it.

Do you return the greeting?

Farewell, Chancellor, I am leaving now, but
the people will return to take my place.

Alternatively, of course, you
could just write to your MP.