Blandings (2013–2014): Season 1, Episode 2 - The Go Getter - full transcript

Connie engages an officious secretary,Baxter, to organize Clarence but his aloof manner quickly offends Clarence and the staff so Clarence and butler Beach hide his precious ledger in the manure heap. At the same time Freddie hopes to impress new girlfriend Pandora by buying a lorry-load of dog food and selling it to Connie's canine loving friend Veronica. He stores the tins in the bedroom but their weight causes the ceiling to collapse - onto the freshly-manured Baxter,who departs in a huff. Veronica's American husband Jimmy,however,is so amused by events that he buys all the dog food.



Oh, for heaven's sakes!

Ha, ha, capital!

Connie, who's my head gardener?

Red hair - stops me
doing everything?

McAllister. He's on holiday.

Well, in the absence of McAllister,
I think you'll find he's on holiday,

I'm going to spread muck
all over the roses.

I shall be copious.

Brother, dear, is this something
you intend to achieve personally?

Oh, Lord, no, no. I have a supplier.
Horse, mostly.

Mmm. Did you, er...? I have
a present for you. Oh?

A new broom. Ah.
I expect it imminently.

As well as your feeble-minded son.

I say, are you all right?


Yes. Er...

Tree had me fooled.

It's been put there only recently,
you see.

It'll have to go back
to its original posish.

Lovely Labrador.

Thank you. It's a special type
of Labrador called a cocker spaniel.

Fine old boy, your cocker.

She's a puppy and she's not mine.
I walk her.

Can't she walk herself?

Seems to be furnished with a full
complement of legs.

It's very important to me
that a person appreciates dogs.

Oh, I appreciate the hell
out of dogs.

Dogs! Can't get enough of 'em.
Love 'em.

You have a dog?

No, but I tell you what.

I'm going to go straight out
and get one.

Obviously, I can't just at
the moment, because I'm skint,

but it is my greatest
ambition in life to own a dog.

Erm. What's yours?

In the short term, to finish
my walk. Goodbye. Come on, Zulu.

Come on.

Miss Jennings has returned,
your ladyship, with Zulu.

Ah. Show them to the drawing room.

A Zulu? Connie, how singular.

Do you think
he might like to see my assegai?

Ah, Zulu.

Oh, it's a dog.

Veronica Schoonmaker, a very dear
childhood friend, is coming

to visit us with her millionaire
husband and her five dogs.


Is that the brute-faced girl who
laced your cocoa with laxative?

You spent the whole day locked in.

Don't be absurd. Dear Veronica
will expect me to have a dog.

So Pandora has produced one.
She's not given birth to it.

My brother spends protracted periods
with his mouth open.

One gets used to it.

Who is that unusual man?

Oh, that is Frederick Threepwood. He
is regrettably Lord Emsworth's son.

Frederick, I want you to meet
my god-daughter, Pandora Jennings.


Believe me, monosyllabic ejaculation

is preferable to the usual
course of his utterances.

Why does the dog shout?

She finds your nephew alarming.

It is the consensus.
Take the animal away.

Aunt Constance?


That is your
"I-want-to-borrow-money" voice,

and the answer, as I say, is no.

The name's Baxter. Rupert Baxter.

Representatives generally find it
more convenient

to call at the back door.

I am not here to sell you dusters,

Lady Constance summoned me.

Her ladyship is in the drawing...

I have memorised the floor plans
of the castle.

I know my way.

Aha! Is this the muck man?

Mr Baxter does not sell manure.
He is your new secretary.

Oh. Did I have an old one?

No, you've never had a secretary and
that is why your life is a shambles.

He is your new broom.

He comes highly recommended by
the Marquis of Tring. Spongebelly?

I have regularised Lord Tring's
domestic affairs

to our mutual satisfaction.
I now require a fresh challenge.

So you're not the muck man?

I am not, Lord Emsworth.

I know you're not Lord Emsworth.
I'm Lord Emsworth.

Well... if you see him,

my dear fellow, direct him
to the roses, will you?

I cannot pretend the task
will be simple, Lady Constance.

But I promise you,
I will regularise your brother.

Ever had a personal secretary,

Never had much call for one,
m'lord, in my line of work.

Ah, Guv'nor, are you here?

Erm, yes.

Good. Wondering
if I could have a word?

Concerns a small wager I had
with Catsmeat at the Pink Pussy.

I shan't bore you with the detail.

It involved an item of corsetry
and a couple of ferrets.

Anyway, in short,
Catsmeat's beast romped the course

and the blighter's taken the next
six months of my allowance.

You have been relieved
of your allowance by a ferret?

Six ruddy months' worth.
You will appreciate the problem.

No use coming to me, alas.

I always left that to your mother.

Did you ever meet your mother?
Charming woman.

Cyril, how are you?

What sort of salary
are you on these days?

No, Mr Frederick.

A tenner, come on. A teeny one.

My dear fellow, I'm so sorry.
I was looking for my study.

This IS your study, Lord Emsworth.

As you can see,

I have reclassified
your collection of marbles,

the taxonomic principle being size,
left to right,

the second principle of order being
colour, spectrum right to left.

Good, Zulu. Now, listen to me.
I want you to sit...

No, I want you to sit...
I'll try another one.

I want you to go over there...

Zulu, I want you to go over there...
Go... O...

It's plainly deaf.

Pandora, dear, this business
of Veronica and Gerry Schoonmaker.

he suffers from being American,

so one never quite knows what
to expect, but Veronica

is a very dear friend. I do
so want her to feel comfortable...

Hours, you were locked in. Hours.

Was that a spasm or are you
addressing someone in this room?

You. In the bathroom.
Half a bottle of "syrup of figs"...

Moreover, Connie, erm,
about this Baxter of yours.

The point of YOUR Baxter
is to sort things out.

He's sorted things out in my study
and I can't find a damn thing.

By tomorrow morning,
Blanding's Castle must be shipshape

for the arrival of Veronica.

I know perfectly well this
is beyond your abilities to arrange,

ergo Baxter.

You haven't the faintest idea
what I'm talking about, have you?

Of course I have.
You've got your gusset in a bind

about this cocoa-poisoner
Angelica Snorkelbender,

her five husbands
and her millionaire dog.

Did he say millionaire?

Frederick, no! Out... Go! Away!
I want you to go over there. Away!

Miss Jennings is corking,
but she thinks I'm an idiot.

I am an idiot, can't change that.
But how to impress her?

"Cultivate a shared interest",
I hear you cry.

Do you suppose
she enjoys drinking to excess

and watching girls in tiny skirts
do the shimmy?

More likely, sir, that she's
interested in matters canine.

Not sure I can dicky up
an interest in dentistry, Beach.

I meant dogs, Mr Frederick.

Oh, no, no.

I've told her I think dogs
are hotsy-totsy, the bees' patellas.

Trouble is, I ain't got one.

Cook has a dog, sir. Bottles.
I'm sure you could borrow him.

And what make of dog is Bottles?

Ah. His parentage is questionable,

but he has character.

Good stuff.

But it doesn't solve the fact that
I'm stony as Chesil Beach, Beach.

Any minute now there's going to be
a millionaire on the loose

and I haven't the faintest idea
how to put the moves on him.

Hold the line, what's this?
Dog food rep!

That'll dazzle Miss Jennings.


Ah... muck!

My roses will be rapturous.

My dear fellow, we cannot prance
around like delirious fairies.

There is muck to be spread.

It is Lady Constance's desire,
Lord Emsworth,

that you remain in your study

while the castle is being prepared
for guests.

I am at your service
and accordingly, I will arrange

the distribution of your lordship's
waste product.

Are you manure?

No, mate, I'm dog food.
Where do you want it?

Says on the docket,
"Free Dick Threepwood".

If he chooses to eat dog food,
then let him do so.

Take it round the back.

Ask the footman to make the delivery
to Mr Threepwood's room.


"Remain in your study"...
Blasted impertinence.

Oh, oh, dear.


There is mess.
Here. Mucky mess.

I cannot abide mucky mess.

Filthy mucky mess, west hall floor,
1500 hours.

See that it is cleared by 1503.

Who is responsible for this

A horse, sir, by the aroma.

Don't get gay with me, Beach.

Everything in order, Mr Baxter?


Ah, Connie, oh, good.

I've been looking closely
at these shoes, you see.

In the dark?

Not in the dark, Connie,
the electric light is illuminated

and I'm greatly concerned
by the state of them.

I mean, look at this...
dirty great hole.

Oh, that's where his foot goes in.
Anyway, how's, er...

everything going? Arrangements
and that for Japonica Poonsmacker?

Please sign, my lord, where
indicated with a red cross. Pen.

What... Erm... Err... Very well.

Red cross affair, in reddish ink...

Yes, Lord Emsworth, that is
a red cross. Here, here, and here.

"Matters domestic, reordering of..."

And here.

Now we can all get on.



Miss Jennings, this is Bottles.

What is he? A lurcher?

He does walk oddly.

It's all the knotty muscle
he's developed from eating

Donaldson's Dog Joy.

He dines on nothing else.
Look at him. What's he doing?

Well, it is a muscle, I suppose...

Stop doing that to that little dog.

Any rate, corking bit of luck,
biffing into you like this. Oh!

No! No! No!

Do you think you could now
remove him from my leg?

Bottles, you cad!
Miss Jennings, I cannot...

Enough "dog joy"
for this afternoon, I think.

No, wait. Donaldson's is
a product like no other.

I sell it, you see. I'm going to
flog these five-dog Schoonmakers

a hundredweight of the stuff
just for kick-off.

You see, the biscuit is so supremely
delicious, you can eat it yourself.

Item three, appendix nine:

unsightly hair in the nose and ears.

These orifices are to be purged

before the arrival of her ladyship's
guest, Mrs Schoonmaker.

Good heavens. Erm, Beach.

Everything tickety-boo?

Everything is quite in order here,
Lord Emsworth.

May I be of further
assistance to you?

No. Thank you. Good heavens, no.

No, no, no, no.

Item three, appendix ten:
following breakfast, servants up to

and including the rank of footman

will have a maximum of three

to avail themselves
in the water closet.

Sheets of paper for this purpose:

Did you snort?
Lordship won't stand for this.

His lordship endorses my every
reform, Beach. It's all in here.

The enemy's within, Beach.
Gnawing at the vitals.

Feel your vitals being gnawed at?

To the bone, my lord.

Fellow rubs us up the wrong way.

There is mutiny fomenting behind
the green baize door, my lord.

I fear it.

However, her ladyship looks
favourably upon this gentleman.

Step aside, Beach.

First one mixes the product with
saliva, preferably one's own.

Freddie, please.

Then one masticates the biscuit,

Now, look here, this Baxter
really will have to go.

He's interfered with my bumboes,
my knocksies and my keepsies

and now he's upsetting the servants,
and I won't have it.

The servants have had it
far too good for far too long.

Have you seen the blossoms
on Beach's nose?

He's cost you a fortune in port.

But Beach likes port.
I only get it for him.

Freddie, is it entirely

for you to make that
revolting noise?

Choking... to death...

Well, do it elsewhere, please.
You're frightening the dog.

Pandora, don't do that,
he's just showing off. Freddie?

Let me make this clear.

If you exhibit yourself
as a dog food salesman

in front of my dear friend Veronica,

I shall choke you myself, not with
the food, but with the entire dog.

Thank you, all of you.
That will be all.

Thank you.

Snootered, Guv'nor.

I haven't a hope in hell of flogging
the junk to Verruca

and Johnny Spoonlager,
and I've two tons of it to shift.

It's all stacked up in my bedroom.

I can't move for the stuff.

I've been seeking you,
Lord Emsworth.

I did not expect to find
a ninth Earl

frittering his leisure time
in the company of swine.

Never mind you seeking me, Baxter,
I have a mind, sir, to seek you.

The servants are in commotion,
my dear fellow,

there is disgruntlement and wailing

where once there was revelry
and song.

In my opinion, Lord Emsworth,

there has been far too much
"revelry and song".

My dear fellow, this is blasphemy!

What's that?

You surprised me, er...

Frederick, a brief working
definition of blasphemy?

No, no. What's that hideous
scratching sound? What is it?

Oh, er... that's nothing. That's
just normal life in the rafters.

Rats, or I don't know... Rats?
I don't suppose, Guv'nor,

if you happen to know if Bottles
is a great ratter?

Who is Bottles?

I'll bet he is. He has a suitably
deranged look about him.

I feel a demonstration coming on.

It is perverse of me, Freddie,
I know, but I have no desire

to "pole down to the sty to watch
Bottles massacring rats".

But he's a killer, Aunt C.

It's cos he eats Donaldson's Dog
Joy, he's so full of beans.

Freddie? Will you sit?

No-one wishes to see you disgorging
kippers like Donaldson's Dog Joy.

Hah! You remember the name.

And if I hear it again, I shall
peel off your face with a spoon.

I'll do you a discount.

No! Sit.

When you finally emerged
from the bathroom,

she pulled up your frock
over your face, and you went...

Clarence! When my dear friend
Veronica arrives,

I shall expect you
to be dressed correctly.

Oh, Lord. On top of that infernal
reptile Baxter

spreading despair all over,
I now have to wear a stiff collar.

I am present, Lord Emsworth.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no, my dear
fellow, I wasn't referring to you.

I was talking about that horrible
secretary of mine. What's his name?

Clarence. May I recommend that
you do not speak while eating?

Miss Jennings, are my eyes alight
with missionary zeal?

I see Donaldson's Dog Joy in every
good grocer's

from Manhattan to Lisbon.

Is Lisbon in America?

Not especially.

So much the better. Start with
America, end with the world!

Baxter! That's the fellow.
Oh, I can't stand the man.

Odious little fellow.

Shakespeare said it, Beach.

There is a flood in the affairs of
men, and it's taken its ruddy time.

But dash it, here it is.
Look at my ruddy wardrobe!

It's been Baxtered! Oh,
he shall rue his interference here.

What is that repulsive object?

It is Mr Baxter's ledger, my lord.

He appears to have misplaced it.

Give it to me.

Blighter's about to misplace it
a whole lot more.

so lovely to have you back again.

Full marks, Constance. I like
a young bitch about the place.

I'm so pleased you approve.

I mean, a castle isn't really
possible without a dog.

Don't you think so,
Mr Schoonmaker?

I'm American, Lady Constance.
Ronnie doesn't allow me an opinion.

Of course, the stern is feathered,
which in the pure breed

is totally unacceptable.

But of course, dear,

you always did prefer the look
of things about you to be...

not quite right.

Ronnie, dear, will you excuse me?

I've just remembered something.

Vengeance is mine, Ronnie, dear.

Wrong side of the slope,

but I think you'll be amused
by its impertinence.

That dog stinks.

Rich from you, Cyril.

Bottles? Curtain up.

Who's a beautiful boy, then?

Fresh cup?


Is there something
the matter with the tea?

Unusual notes of fruit.

Typical of me to choose a blend
that's "not quite right".

Where on Earth have you been?


Good afternoon.
You must be Gordy Bushwhacker.

Near enough. My wife Ron,
who I believe you know.

Where is my ledger?

Somebody has taken my ledger.

I left it on the shelf outside
the north corridor water closet.

It is gone. Perhaps you should have
taken it in with you, Sir.

It might have come in handy.

Given restrictions
on usage of paper.

You will regret that, Beach.

Possibly, sir. Will that be all?

Where is Lord Emsworth?

Ah, yes, sir,
I'm obliged to you for reminding me.

His lordship wished me

to apprise you that you may have
dropped your ledger.

Among the roses.

Ah. Mr and Mrs Schoonmaker,
welcome to Blandings Castle.

If I might have a moment of your
time, I shall divert you

with a life-changing demonstration

of a doggy comestible
I am honoured to sell.

Frederick. Aunt Constance. Desist!

Can anybody else hear that?
Sort of... creaking.

Oh, it's you. Aha! Mystery solved.

Now, allow me to present...

Presently making friends
rather vigorously with that...

thing like a sporran.

This paragon of British doghood
is about to demonstrate the zip,

vim and sheer joie de vivre
that cannot help

but surge from an animal reared
exclusively on Donaldson's Dog Joy!

I have in this sack
a handful of simple rats.

If you will kindly step
out onto the lawn... Beach!

Did he say bats? Rats.
Oh, good, fair enough.

You wouldn't want to keep
bats in a bag, would you?

Dispose of this receptacle

Was that you again? No!

I definitely hear a sort of creaking.

From escape to capture
and despatch - six seconds!

Did you ever see such
a turn of speed?

He's got them all. What a lad!

Donaldson's Dog Joy, Mr Schoonmaker!
I can do you a special price!

Good heavens! Mr Baxter!

Might I have a moment,
Lord Emsworth?

No, my dear fellow, you may not.

This ridiculous exhibition
is the end.

That product has cost me
a lot of money

and I do not expect to see it
distributed around my drawing room.

It's coming from there.

Your butler abducted my ledger
whilst I was at stool!

Beach! Come here.

Do you deny that you took
the ledger whilst I was...

And the most remarkable thing is,

the biscuit is entirely fit
for human consumption.

Young man? How much Dog Joy
just came through the roof?

Two tons, sir.

Put it all on my tab.
It's worth every penny.

Poor Veronica.

I do wish I could persuade you
to stay longer.

Such a nasty upset stomach,
with everybody watching.

Thank you, Constance.

Thank you, Veronica.

A little something for the journey.
Just in case.

If I may permit myself
the vulgarity... gotcha!

These are for you.

How lovely. Stalks.

Damn. I wrapped the wrong end.

Look, Miss Jennings,

I just wanted to say
that you're splendid.

I mean, I'm rather... erm...

Fond of you.

Are you going to give me
the stalks, or not?

Oh. Yes. Here.
You'll need an upside-down vase.

I can't imagine where...

I'm rather fond of you too,
Mr Threepwood.

Do you think you could possibly
remove Bottles from my leg, please?

Oh! Yes, of course.

Ha ha! The jingling tray.

Will you join me, Beach?

You take the glass.

A fellow in your position cannot
be seen drinking from a mug.

if one of the maids came in and saw.

Here. Chin chin.
Chin chin, my lord.

Oh, I say, isn't that, erm, Baxter?

I believe it is, my lord.

Motorcycle not working?

It would appear not, my lord.

Oh. Taxi not available?

The taxi declined to convey
Mr Baxter

on account of the terrible pong.

Mr Baxter's over-acquaintance
with your lordship's manure.

Not mine, Horse, mostly.

Oh, poor Baxter.

Ruddy goggle-faced weasel.