Blandings (2013–2014): Season 1, Episode 1 - Pig-Hoo-o-o-o-ey - full transcript

Vindictive magistrate Sir Gregory Parsloe jails drunken Cyril Wellbeloved for a week,knowing that Cyril is the only person who can prepare the Empress of Blandings,prize sow of eccentric Clarence,Lord Emsworth,in time for the Shropshire Show. And if the Empress is not on top form Parsloe will win with his pig Her Majesty. Clarence's feckless son Freddie has money riding on the Empress's victory and is anxious to help whilst Parsloe's odious son Heacham is pursuing Clarence's daughter Angela,who is really in love with penniless Jimmy Belford. Jimmy is jailed thanks to Clarence's domineering sister Connie but fortunately Freddie has a plan which will win the Empress the title and Jimmy the hand of Angela.

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I do apologise, Wellbeloved!
It was the Empress, m'lord.

Oh, there you are! Sound digestion
and a clear conscience.

'Clarence?'

How the deuce did you do that?

Sounds like my sister Connie!

Angela is in tears. Again.

Erm...? Your niece.

Two weeks to go till the Fat Pig
Show, Connie, and look at her!

Are we pleased with you?
Yes, we are...

oh, yes, we are!



When you have finished
irradiating that pig

with your imbecilic conversation,
I would like a word.

Ahh... Mm.

Sir Gregory Parsloe, Parsloe's pig,
what's her name? The Queen?

She's not, in your opinion...

fatter...?

Gah, Empress'll be the winner,
you'll see.

Same as last year,
and the year before that.

Lord, bless my soul, my dear fellow!
You're dressed for church!

I am going to worship, sir.

At the Church of The Goat
and Feathers.

Ah! Well, say a prayer for me.

Thank you, sir.

None of your little recitations,
mind.



Trousers on legs and billowy
portions, Cyril Wellbeloved.

Not the head.

♪ Oh, my little sister Lily
is a tart in Piccadilly

♪ My mother, she's another,
worse the luck

♪ My granny hawks her arse
all round the Elephant and Castle

♪ There's nothing she won't do
to get a... ♪
That'll suffice!

A disgusting display
of public drunkenness!

Clerk, what's the maximum sentence
the court will permit me to impose?

Seven days. Fourteen days? Sold.

Oh, bliddy Nora.

Plus another day for profanity.

But it's the Shropshire Show,
Sir Gregory, sir, your enormity.

His Lordship needs me
to keep Empress good and fat...

Too ruddy bad for His Lordship.
Take him down!

Here you are. Eat up.

A repast fit for a Queen.

Sweetie pie. I entreat you...
Just a little spoonful here...

But it's banana...

Darling, it's banana.

Cyril Wellbeloved swears by banana...

Dash it! Where is Wellbeloved?

Been unavoidably detained, my lord.

He hasn't got himself
locked up, has he?

This is no time for Wellbeloved
to be slacking about in custody!

We need him!

Sir Gregory's pig BALLOONS in volume
even as we speak. Beach,

this is an emergency.

You have my permission to panic
and run about screaming.

Very good, my lord.

Oh, Lord Heacham!

I cannot understand the difficulty
you are having... Don't touch me!

If you touch me I shall scream.
..grasping the fact

that I am not going to marry you.

You're a silly little nonsense,
aren't you?

Now, come here and kiss me.

Poor little scrap.

Put her in the Shropshire Show,
calling her fat, people will laugh.

'Clarence...

'Clarence!

'Clarence, I am looking for you!

'Where are you?

'I want to talk to you!'

'Clarence?'

Ah, Connie, splendid!
Erm... Heard you calling.

Wasn't able to find you, so I
thought, what a capital idea to...

Fling the servants' shoes around?

Clarence. I NEED to talk to you!

Keep lips shut!
It stops the drivel coming out!

What are you going to do
about Angela

breaking off her engagement
to Lord Heacham?

Heacham! Sir Gregory's nephew! Oh!

It's an eminently suitable match.

But instead, SHE professes love for
the unpalatable "Jimmy" Belford.

Oh, I like him!

But they can't get married.
It's out of the question.

He's in Africa. Australia.

America. Yes.

He found employment as a "cowboy" -
whatever that is -

but he is now back in England.

Belford is without prospects!

The marriage to him is not possible!

Connie, I've got so many nieces.
Can't you sort it out?

Well, of course I could!
But for primogeniture,

I could sort out the entire family.
But it is YOU who were born a man,

or a vague approximation of one.
You have to do it.

Where are you going?

If I'm to defeat Sir Gregory,
I need to inflate the Empress.

And it's no good pointing
that chin at me, either.

Forget the pig.
Administrate the family.

Oh, and to top it all,
Freddie is on his way.

Erm..

Your son. Oh.

♪ La, la, la, la... ♪

Oh! Ha, ha!

The tree was travelling
far too fast.

And on the wrong side of the road!

Guv'nor!
..calorific bonus of the turnip...

All well?
Two weeks, Frederick.

Then it's all over.

Whiffle is the recognised authority,
but he has no answer.

I've tried slops. Rotting pears.

She loves the fruit
that has seen the maggot.

We're talking now about the Empress.
Of course!

M'pig's ill! She won't eat!

Oh, God!

That's terrible.

Eh? Since when did you take
an interest in her appetite?

Since I bet 50 quid
on her being fattest pig!

Look, Guv'nor, fact is,
I find myself in Queer Street.

I put a bit of crinkle into a show
at The Pink Pussy Club -

the star being a lady I regard
rather highly -

and the damn thing closed!

Frederick, are you penniless again?

Ha ha... Anyway, I thought, how to
extricate Frederick from this one?

The Guv'nor's porker romping it
as fattest pig!

So I touched Oofy for 50 smackers,

banged 'em on at six to one
and here I am.

Yes. In Queer Street. Quite.

'Angela!

'Angela!'

I'm trying to give the slip to that
loathsome blister Heacham!

Curious behaviour, is it not, re.
The betrothed and beloved?

Heacham is NOT my beloved!

He is a prig and a bore and he has
this hideous little moustache,

like a maggot crawled onto his lip
and died!

Who is that?
Angela. Hiding from Heacham.

Who's that? My father.
Hiding generally.

Ah. Now. I want a word with him.
'Angela!'

No, no, no! Ah! You haven't seen
your cousin, have you, Threepwood?

Angela. Blonde hair framing
a fat-headed head.

Bladder on a stick affair.

What? I did not speak.

Nor does this drawing room seem
over-stocked with Angelas.

If I were you, Heacham,
I'd go about my business.

So. Tinkety-tonk.

'Angela!'

Who wants a toot?

Throw Her Majesty a few of these
jammy dodgers.

Very fattening for a pig
who needs to be fat.

Blandings Castle. Are they all
completely round the bend?

Aah, they're absolutely potty.
The whole ruddy crew.

Psst! Cyril!

What's to be done?

We have to get the Empress
sluicing back the calories.

If she doesn't win, then
I shan't be able to pay back Oofy,

then he'll have me assassinated,
then I'll be dead

and Felicity won't want to dance
with me any more!

Felicity's the girl at the Pink
Pussy. God, I'm rather gone on her!

So, what's the matter with the pig?

She's pining for me.

She won't be fed by anybody else.
Not even His Lordship.

Cyril?

Take your clothes off.

Ah, there she is!

Come on, Empress.
Cyril, Cyril...

Pure fat...

Come on, yum, yum, yum, yum...

Every last crumb...

Broccoli! Broccoli!

Have a good blow, Paleface.

Jimmy!

I knew you'd come for me!

Oh, you're so stubbly!

Well, I don't presently
have a razor.

Oh, I don't care, it's adorable!

Why not? Where are you staying?
Around.

I've ridden the range, pa-tooty-pie,
with the hogs and the buffalo

and the dang mules.

Oh, darling!

What are dang mules?

Erm... they're mules.

They're, just a bit,
you know... DANG.

Good.

Now, listen to me.

ALL of you.

I have reason to believe...

we can expect an intruder.

A certain undesirable person,
Jimmy Belford, who is a cowboy,

may seek to make contact with
a member of the family.

If you see anybody acting
suspiciously...

Sorry!

Oh it's you... Hello, Aunt.

Frederick. When it comes to drooling
idiocy, you take the cake.

If there's very much more
of this cretinous behaviour,

do you know what I shall do? Oh.

I shall go to my room.

I say, is there anything I can
do about this fearful business?

Uncommonly kind of you, my dear
fellow, but things look very black.

According to Whiffle, she should be
consuming daily nourishment

amounting to 57,800 calories.

Very specific, is he, on that?
Rigorous.

As it is, she eats nothing at all.

She just lolls around on her bed,
flapping her palsied trotters.

I'm giving very strong consideration
to inserting a rubber pipe.

Emsworth, I give you fair warning.

If you insert a rubber pipe into
Angela I shall take a very dim view.

Now, why is she not eating?

Angela?

Angela eats like a ruddy
horse! Boisterous appetite.

Yes, yes...
You're Heacham, aren't you?

Well, the problem is very simple
to grasp there,

she's in love with somebody else.
What?

You see, she's going to marry him
instead. Any rate,

Whiffle speaks very
highly of linseed. Worth a shot?

Linseed? My pig's very life
may be in the balance.

Curse all pigs! Damn
and blast every pig in existence!

Forgive me, my lord. I have been
entertaining the magistrates' clerk
in my pantry.

I have been lubricating
the gentleman with sherry.

Beach, your social life is your own
affair. Seize the day.

He has vouchsafed to me
the name of the Justice

who gave Wellbeloved
a custodial sentence.

It was Sir Gregory, my lord.

Sir Gregory Parsloe...

Parsloe?

I see it all, Beach. It is treachery.

Godless treachery. Do you see it?

It is observed below stairs,
my lord, that Sir Gregory's
that crooked

"he could hide behind
a spiral staircase."

Damn it all!

Parsloe has made a grievous howler.

My dander is up. It is up, Beach!

Do you hear? Up!
I shall inform the staff, sir.

And bring me a contraption...
Chain... Ding-ding...

Rubber things go round and round...
Bicycle!

I'm rather in the mood
for a sticky willy...

Now, look here, Parsloe...

There's been raw dealings
with my pigman.

Damned raw.

Your pigman, sir, is a drunkard,

and a shameful exhibitioner
of his own undergarments.

Is there some law against
exhibiting undergarments?

Of course there is, you fool!
Oh. Nevertheless...

this is a rum do, Stinker,
a rum do... Enough!

I will not
have my magisterial office insulted!

I'm not insulting your office,
my dear fellow, I'm insulting you.

Emsworth, you are dangerously
cuckoo.

I have a mind to summon
the assistance of Lord Heacham.

He boxed for Harrow. Harrow!

Yes, I guessed he'd known
corruption in his youth.

Bad form, Parsloe.

Bad form.

Which way is, er...?

Times like this, Frederick, I wish
your mother was still alive.

She was so persuasive.

She once put forth such a forceful
case for beetroot,

I actually put some into my mouth.

Ho! Ho! Is there someone there?
Someone there?

Who's that with whatsername?

Uncle Clarence, please!
You're blinding him!

Oh, my dear fellow, I do apologise.

That's all right, sir. Look here,
Angela tells me about your pig.

Apparently she spurns the trough.
Why's that?

Well, my pigman's been incarcerated
and she's got a broken heart.

I know how she feels.

Because you're Lord Heacham.

No, sir. I'm not Heacham.
I'm the other bloke. Belford.

Oh, you're the one I like. Well,
you will like me a whole lot more

when I get your pig
back on the grub!

What, you think
you can make her eat...?

Oh, I can do better than that...

I can teach YOU how to make her eat.

Angela, this Mr Belford of yours,
is... I know!

What a wonderful, INDISPENSABLE
sort of person he must be.

Tell him, Jimmy.

It's called the Universal Hog-Call.

Yes, yes, yes, of course...
Of course.

I've no idea what you're
talking about.

No pig will eat
unless summoned by her pigman.

His call is peculiar to him.
Nothing else will do. However...

there is, in extremis,
a master-word

that can be used by anybody
that will rouse her like... that.

I understand this, Belford.
I beg you, tell me the word.

Pig-hoo-o-o-o-ey!

Pig-hooo-o-o-o-ey?

No, no, no, not like that.
Like this:

Pig-hooo-o-o-o-ey!

Pig-hooo-eeeey!
..PIGWHOOOOOOOAYY...

Give a little more body
to the "hoo".

PIGWHOOOOOOOAYY...

Throw your head back. The second
syllable rises to a shrill falsetto

and give it some gas!

PIG-HOOO-O-O-O-EY!

Shush, shush, the Empress is asleep,
we'll wake her up.

Oh, Beach! Still up?

Lady Constance would like to see
you, my lord.

At your convenience.

Convenience be damned. AGH!

Belford! Beach, call the police!

On what premise, Your Ladyship?

Trespass! Burglary!

Loitering with intent to commit
ravishment! Oh, good heavens!

Lady Constance, if you'll permit
me... Oh! Assault and battery!

Clarence!
Will you make Beach call the police?

Err... Beach, be a good fellow and
make yourself call the police.

Very well, my lord.

Clarence?

Oh, no, no, Connie.
Please, please, I beg of you.

Don't say those awful words...

I am going... She's going to say it.
Yes.

To my room. Oh, dear...

So. This thug attempted to lay
violent hands on Lady Constance.

I did no such thing.
Silence!

He did no such thing. Are you
calling your Aunt Constance a liar?

Ah... Look, Stinker.

I mean, Sir Gregory, erm, err...

Man to man.

Fat pig-wise, Jimmy's the only
chance the Guv'nor has

to square up to you in a fair fight.

Have a heart.

In you go...

Room for a little 'un?

Ah! Beach.
Sorry to beard you in your lair,

but there's been the most colossal
ding-dong

and I cannot find the Guv'nor.

Let him in, Beach.

Oh!

Behold your father, Frederick.
The toad beneath the harrow.

Oh, Guv'nor...

Aunt Connie is pretty
batey just now, but...

I've completely forgotten it,
you see. The universal summons.

Right. Err... Well, I can't
remember it either.

We need to rally the family
synapses, sharpish.

What's our first move?

A small sherry, Mr Frederick?
Oh, God, yes, essential,

thank you. And Beach, damn it.
Less of the "small".

Very well, sir.
Come on, Guv'nor. On your feet.

Give it your best shot.

Right, erm...

PIGWAAARRGHHH... Oh!

For God's sake, Emsworth,
get a grip!

PIGWHEEEEEEEZZ!

Oh, it's futile!

Oh, Beach, your pantry is obviously
the spot for a mid-morning orgy!

Angela! The universal call...

Oh, it's no use asking me.

I am but a feeble pawn
in your desperate game.

Beach! You do it.
I do not summon pigs, my lord.

Wait a tick. I think I've got it!

PIGABALABABABBA!

Jimmy Belford's in prison,
you're useless, I'm useless,

you're a desperate prawn,
Beach does not summon pigs.

Very well.

Let us consult the Empress.

The perfidious Parsloe shall not
rob me of this triumph, Freddie.

Never mind your ruddy triumph,
what about my 50 quid?

Clarence. I am come down.

This imbecility regarding
Jimmy Belford must stop!

Hoy! Don't you "hoy" me!

You're a gull and an oaf
and a nincompoop!

Nevertheless, I want to see m'pig!

Belford drooling over Angela right
under your nose -

it's impossible!

The man was born
to an unsuitable station in life

and the sooner he's reconciled
to it, the better.

That's all there is to be said.
Well, I hate to disagree...

Then don't! You know, if you two
actually succeed

in scuppering my marriage to Jimmy,

I will hurl myself
from the battlements!

Splat!

Thwarted niece,
all over the begonias.

Just for once, do something to
deserve the name of Emsworth.

I say!

Why don't I have a bit of a chinwag
with Constable Evans?

No?

But Constable, it's a ten-year-old
malt from the Isle of Scrawnsporran!

Scrawnsporran?

Well, I never!

Ah!

Night-night.

Jimmy Belford. Shush!

Jimmy Belford.

If I release you,
do you give me your word

you'll return yourself to custard
within the hour?

Can I spend some of that hour
kissing Angela?

Oh, rather!

But you must also talk to
the Guv'nor about his...

pig. Shush!

Wiggy wiggy wig.

PIG-HOO-O-O-0-EAUURGHHH!

PIG-HOO-O-O-0-EAUURGHHH!

PIG-HOO-O-O-0-EAUURGHHH!

No! No! No! Definitely taking the
scenic route on the arpeggio.

Your call, Uncle Clarence.

It couldn't summon the skin
off a rice pudding. Look and learn.

PIG-HOO-O-O-O-EY!

My dear, dear fellow. Belford.

Be my guest. Erm... Marry erm...
this one.

Congratulations, my dear.

Capital...

Right. Right. Good.
Well, enjoyed our little chat.

All prisoners present and correct?
Splendid.

Did I, erm... suggest a plan
of action that actually worked...?

'Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.
Welcome to the Shropshire Show...'

You may smirk, Sir Gregory.

You may snigger
up your perjured sleeve.

But you will rue your shabby
conduct, soon enough.

Ah!

Ah, ha! Ready. That surprised you.

Ready for what? A gypsy funeral?
A carnival of grotesques?

A convocation of imbibers
of turpentine and methylated spirit?

Don't entirely catch your drift.

I shall continue snowing.
If you wear that hat

to the Shropshire Show,
I shall eviscerate you

with a small, blunt spoon,
ill-adapted for the purpose.

Is there any point to what
you're going to say?

Hat. Patrician bearing
and chop, chop!

So, how's your pig, Emsworth?

In the pink, Sir Gregory...

'Next, we have our Middle White,

'the Empress of Blandings...'

'The winner of the Fattest Pig is...
the Empress!'

Oh, hello, Connie. Hello, erm...
Heacham. I'm Lord Heacham.

Good for you, sir.
Is everything being accomplished

to my satisfaction
and to the family's honour?

I think so, my dear.
Would you say so, Clarence?

I would, my dear.

Then how do you account for this?

A fellow can't be held accountable

for another fellow's
ill-advised moustache, y'know...

I come to give you formal notice,
Emsworth,

that I am breaking off my engagement
to your niece.

Which one? I've several, y'know.
Oh!

Angela. The fat-headed one.

Oh, well, that's all right!

You can break off with Angela
till the cows come home!

She's marrying somebody else,
that's fine and dandy.

Lord! Is that Wellbeloved?

Wellbeloved! Are you out
of prison? Hurrah!

The Guv'nor really is incorrigible!

I don't know what that means,
but he's it.

Anyway, his pig saved my bacon.

I may still be in with a shout
with Felicity from the Pussy.

There's a lad running a book on
which one of those goaty things

is going to be the first to drop
a you-know-what.

I fancy the spotty one. Been
eating a heck of a lot of cabbage.

I'm in for a tenner.
Do you feel lucky, Aunt C?

Oh! Angela! Come back here.

Oh, I know just how you feel.

She's in showroom condition, m'lord.
You took care of her.

Grand of you to have me back.

Nonsense. Mind you, Wellbeloved...

what have you learned
from this period of absence?

When I see a pint of beer, I'm going
to say, get thee behind me.

Wouldn't that make it rather tricky
to get hold of the glass? Hmmm.

Yeah. You have a point. Hmmm.

What have you learned, m'lord?
What have I learned?

PIG-HOO-O-O-O-EY!

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