The World of Beachcomber (1968–1969): Season 2, Episode 5 - Episode #2.5 - full transcript
THE WORLD OF BEACHCOMBER
STARRING SPIKE MILLIGAN
Good evening to you all, except Mrs.
Hilda Gronk, 3 Ironside Crescent Skunkom.
Welcome to BBC2, the organisation
that kills 99% of all known comics.
Historical note. In 1789 a French
treasure ship went down with 600 Franks,
...206 Jims, 16 Erics, and one Fred.
Now, do you know what goes 99 bonk?
It's Mrs. Crackle of Ballum.
She says it all the time, 99...
I often say it myself, 99 bonk.
Perhaps you'd like to say it with me?
Together!
Ninety-nine bonk.
That was only 76 bonk,
but we'll continue.
Now, a few conundrums.
What goes clip?
A one legged horse.
It takes time, it takes time.
What goes boing, scrub? A spring cleaner.
And what goes tick wooh?
A watchdog.
And finally, what goes uagh, uagh?
It's Mrs. Hilda Gronk,
of 3 Ironside Crescent Skunk.
And now, for the favourite view,
here is a glimp of highlights.
- Madam?
- Yes, what is it, Motspawn?
It's your back, madam, there's
something on it. Writing, madam.
Really? And what does it say?
And says, and I quote,
"I love Sir George".
How preposterous!
I scarcely know the man!
And now, here is the latest
intelligence test. Question one:
If you had four legs, and two
and a half pairs of trousers,
which trouser leg
would you leave empty?
Question two. How would you arrange sixty
three and a half match sticks in pairs?
Question four. If your match... If your
watch says 6.21 at 4:18 PM on June the 6th,
what will it say at midnight
on December the 3rd,
if you put it back one hour and
six minutes every other day?
Question twelve.
Where would you wear your braces,
if you shirt was
outside your waistcoat?
Right, with one side of your brain only,
and send your answers not to me,
but to Mrs. Hilda Gronk, Number 3...
A new biography of the great composer
Wagner comes out this week.
It got time off for good behaviour.
In the book are many hitherto unrecorded
anecdotes of Wagner and his circle.
For instance this:
- Wagner?
You know, Les, I feel
I must go somewhere
where I'll be completely
cut off from the world.
Try a telephone box.
What a lovely couple they are.
And here now, for do it yourself lovers,
is something that can
be easily knocked up
by any keep fiftier professor
emeritus of electronics.
It is as you will see a triangular eggcup,
which lights up the egg internally.
Yes. And now, our
ballet critic, Eric Badger.
I thought that Thumbelina's miming
in last night's production of Vertigrous,
the new ballet at Covent Garden,
was almost painful in its perfection.
She was ably supported by Chuckusafiver,
very convincing as an aging queen,
search trousers in
an old trouser arena,
the couple who had us all
guessing for so many years,
and English ballerina
Molly Sausage,
the girl who skipped to fame
in l'apres midi dolce pollata.
The souplesse of Thumbelina's
attitude is an epithome blend
of cosmic fluence and suavety,
with a soupçon of delicatesse.
Choreography and kakofony
adequately raffiné.
Unfortunately, the lead foiled costumes
by Danish designer Skant Dressing
were a severe challenge
to everybody's elevation.
However, Verdigrous is
a ballet to set besides
Lupus' exquisite Lamine
we don't cantaloupe,
And here, to wet your appetites,
is a soupçon of the pas de deux.
How exquisite.
Whenever I see Tumbleover dance,
I'm reminded of a poem I
once wrote in my heavy youth.
To Hilda. When Hilda does the Highland
reels,s he steals my heart away.
No dancing bear is so genteel,
or half so dig I say.
I received this letter the
other morning: "Dear Sir,
The other day on a bus, I found the
only vacant seat occupied by a male dog.
My own female dog, Prunella,
had to stand the whole way, because
the owner of the male dog was too churlish
to offer her dog's seat to Prunella.
No wonder the English are a byword for bad
manners. Signed, Disgusted Busconductor.
And now, here is a piece of old iron:
Excuse me mister, could I be
asked to speak with himself?
My master, Abdul Abdul,
fortune teller to the crowned heads
of Europe, Asia, Africa,
and America, cannot be disturbed.
His mystical highness is communing with
the spirits of earth, air, fire, and water.
Oh. Well, when he's
done, would you tell him
that his married sister
from Connemara is here?
It may be that some
strange and rare accident
was responsible for the
appearance of life on the earth.
An accident such as that may not occur
twice in the history of the whole universe.
And neither will that item
like the last one.
It's trying to tell me something.
Ah! "The traditional roasting of the ox,
during the pity St Vitus carnival,
will be continued this year
with a slight modification.
Instead of roasting an ox,
the villager will be opening
a tin of dressed Russian crab..."
Wagner?
How is your second marriage working out?
Wonderful! My second wife is so musical,
last week she went for
a walk in the country,
she came to a five party, she stopped,
and she sang all the spots in her veil.
And don't forget: Wagner's Ring
of the Niblungen can be yours
for only two pounds down and three
thousand easy payments of 14 and 6.
Sick? Not nearly as sick
as you will be in a minute,
because it's time for a return visit
to our own resident physician,
counsellor and quack, doctor Rhubarb.
- Well?
- I think I'm turning into a seal.
- I sliver, my skin is quite wet
and I'm quite bald. What should I do?
Get your wife to throw a fish accross the
room and try to catch it in your mouth.
If you do, you are.
By the way, can you play the
national anthem on motorhorns?
Oh, I was only asking. Next!
My husband thinks it's funny to terrify
my grandmother by making faces at her
through the ventilator in his bowler hat.
The house is an inferno. What should I do?
Block up the ventilator while he's asleep.
Or alternatively, throw
his bowler into the dustbin.
It's a matter of complete
indifference to me. Next!
Is it possible to draw the cork from
a bottle of wine with a bicyle pump?
Yes, if you attach a corkscew
to the pump. Next!
Whenever I go into the garden, I seem
to hear a buzzing in my ears. Am I ill?
No, you nincompoop, it's bees!
My niece, who is an aquarium
attendant, has nightmares.
She dreams that the Bolivian
turbot has escaped from its tank
and got in amongst the bass.
Is there any cure?
Well, why should there be, it's rather fun!
Which is more than listening
to this pivolice, anyway. Next!
Doctor, I am suffering...
Not so much as I am.
The shelter is closing. Goodnight!
Of a hero a maiden is dreaming,
n her Transylvanian mans',
When, low and behold, and the window,
't is Dracula! Goodbye, romance.
But why does the maiden scorn him,
and bid him, Get back in your box?
Well, nobody gives a farthing,
for a vampire with droopy socks!
For ghouls and boys alike, the surest
way to stake a claim to her heart
is by wearing threadgold's,
they're supernaturally strong!
Threadgold's thoroughgrip,
threadgold's thoroughgrip,
threadgold's
thoroughgrip garterettes!
And now, an adventure in visual biography,
as we wing through the pages of time,
for a glimpse of life at 14 Simdwellers.
Oh dear.
Oh dear oh dear oh dear.
For many years I have worked for
Lord Shotkick as an aquarium attendant.
Lord Shotkick is very very,
very fond of fish.
That's why the place
is full of the blasted things.
I've got seven under me, you know.
Seven. Not fish, keepers.
Not keepers, keeping.
And every night, we have
to count all these fish.
I have tonight's tally with me here.
Thirteen thousand eight hundred
and seventy four.
It's always thirteen thousand
eight hundred and seventy four.
If one of the fishes dies, we have
to quickly put one back in there,
so that the tally will be thirteen
thousand eight hundred and seventy four.
Once I made a mistake,
and I counted them
and they came to thirteen thousand
eight hundred and seventy five.
And he made me count them all again.
And the tally came to thirteen thousand
eight hundred and seventy four.
He keeps saying to me,
they're escaping, oh, escaping they.
They're very slippery customers.
They're very strange things, fish.
You can't trust them.
He's barmy. Barmy!
- Trevors!
- I'm coming, sir.
- You get a tally?
- Yes sir.
- What was it? - Thirteen thousand
eight hundred and seventy four.
Not bad, that's a good round sum that.
Are they all well?
- They're as well as can be.
- Did you change the water?
- I changed the water.
- And they're all quite well, are they?
- As well as can be expected, my lord.
I want you to watch that pike
in Lady Muriel's room, will you?
He's making revolting noises lately.
Her ladyship thinks it is me.
But it snores, you know.
So if you see it asleep,
give it a prod, will you?
We can't have a snoring pike.
- Very good, my lord.
- And Trevors?
- Yes sir?
What about eh, what about old Jelloby II?
Pardon my lord?
What about old Jelloby II?
You know, that sucking great goldish
in the bowl, in the minstrel galleries.
He got the best of the show
last year at Olympia.
That's him.
- Him? Oh, bad news sir.
I'm afraid he passed away.
He got a touch of the fin and gill.
And we had to put him down.
Oh, poor Jelloby.
Poor old devil.
He's dead?
- Dead.
Oh, get me a brandy, quickly.
Brandy, hurry up.
Brandy. Brandy, sir.
- Oh, poor old Jelloby.
However, I suppose he had quite a
good life. Had an interesting life.
It's a terrible thing to think
I shall never see him again.
Travers, what's for dinner?
- Fish.
Thirteen thousand eight hundred
and seventy three.
Look at this, Mrs. Sveeshots,
I can write in dust on this piano!
Oh, it's a wonderful thing to
be so educated Mr. Wagner...
I've just been handed a piece of paper.
Next!
Now you see, Teddy, that's what happens
to people what bite their nails!
It was nice to hear it again
even though you hadn't.
By request, here is the last game
I described last year of this season.
You lay down six matches so. And you
announce, "a street in TypTypholis by day".
Then light a seventh match
and hold it perpendicularly, so,
and announce,
"a street in Typholis by night."
And now the ineffable Roland Milk.
Two musical poems. A highbrow musical
lady gave a highbrow musical tea.
What's good enough for them,
she said, is good enough for me.
I would rather be hunted by bloodhounds,
than go to the concert tonight.
The world famous Schwarzharp is playing.
And his Bach is far worse than their bite.
Which reminds me of
my own musical youth,
when as a cinema organist
I penned the following.
Seated one day at the organ,
with an audience ill at ease,
I pulled the stop marked birdsong,
and the other one marked autumn breeze.
I switched on the rosy lighting,
and was almost ready to start,
I added a touch of thunder,
and the damned thing fell apart.
But now, back to Wagner. Wagner!
The camel is not the only creature
which can go eight days without water.
I should say not, Fransy!
The same story is told of Back,
Beethoven, Handel, Hayden, Irving,
Berlin, Brahms...
and Mrs. Hilda Gronk, number 3 Ironside.
Doctor Strabismus, whom god preserve,
of Utrecht, is with us again.
His probing mind having solved the problem
of preventing rust in horses' bladders,
he's turned his attention to
another field of scientific inquiry.
Teach, really bumps,
silent P is never overlooked...
Oh, good evening. Tonight,
or if you live on the other side
of the international date
line, yesterday night,
we start a series of experiments
into the veracity of old proverbs.
So here to begin with is number fifteen.
When one door shuts,
another door opens.
Hurry men, hurry up,
we haven't got all day.
- That one here...
- Wait wait wait...
That's a good angle for
the shot, good lighting...
OK, I want you to cover me
over here then folks...
This door will be open a bit,
Shoot me up there. Not over
here too much, over there.
Get on with it, will you.
That big, all like that.
Put it up.
- Further up.
Hallo hallo!
Right, and then when you are in.
Right, ready? Now!
When one door shuts,
another one opens, take one!
Action!
Cut!
Gott im Himmel!
Eine kleine Nachtmusik!
Oh dear!
We'll have to go again.
Oh no! Was the sound alright?
Sound was alright.
Make for the second clapperboard.
When one door shuts,
another one opens, take two!
Action!
Cut!
That in the experiment
is to prove conclusively
the saying "When one door closes
another one opens" is simply not true.
A watched kettle never stops.
No boils. A watched kettle never boils.
- Was the sound alright?
- The sound was alright!
And so to our new feature, "Come into
the kitchen", with Mrs. Welkstuffer,
author of forty days
with an old beakhood.
Good evening. Tonight, boiled egg.
Recipe number 264 from my radio
booklet, Delicacies for the big one.
Now, take an egg.
Oh. Take another egg, boil it...
...serve piping hot
in an egg cup. Eat it.
Goodnight, and many thanks!
Hello again!
Don't be snobbish about imported wine.
Try the home made variety.
Trying Clos de Snibbo.
Made in our own laboratories,
by our own chemists,
from specially canned British grapes.
The Swedes say "Skol", but I say, Snibbo!
You know, the chemists of Snibbo
limited have at least succeeded
in manufacturing a number of British wines,
with all the colour, breeding and bouquet
of the best continental wines.
Plus, the health giving
qualities of Snibbo.
There is even Snib champaign.
Let us eavesdrop on two
well-known London clubmen.
Well, I used to be snobbish enough
to prefer French wines.
Me too. But now I am Snibbish enough
to prefer my 8 penny bottle
of chateau Snibchild '69.
Yes, gout is now in reach of
every man, thanks to Snibbo!
Use Snibbo...!
I have just returned from a mysterious and
little known part of Africa, Ahahaha land.
I trust my observations will
not be entirely uninteresting,
or the slides of my trip
be without their interest.
What do they know of Ahaha-land,
that only Ahaha-land know,
is a saying to be found on
the lips of missionaries.
There is no answer to that.
The Ahahas are a primitive tribe,
and here is a snap of one of them.
Their shields, boots, hats and cooking
utensils are made of rhinoceros hide.
They hunt the rhino by
sending out the young new men
of the Ahaha village
with the baby buffalo.
The buffaloes pick up the scent
of the rhinos and start in pursuit.
As the rhinos run faster than the
buffaloes, and both run faster
than the young Ahaha men,
they never catch any.
That is why so few of the Ahahas have any
boots, hats, shields, or cooking utensils.
An Ahaha woodchopper.
I told him to stay in the car!
The witch doctor is the most important
man in the tribe, after the chief.
When a warrior is ill, the witch doctor
ties two crobbery arteries together,
and sticks them in the ground.
He then boils a potion from jungle weeds,
which the warrior's favourite wife drinks.
This makes her violently sick.
The females of the tribe
then start yelling and dancing.
This wakes the majority of the
males, who join in, crying:
The sick man is unable to enjoy
the din, and goes off into the jungle.
The witch doctor then pronounces
himself cured, and dies.
There is a feast lasting four days.
Stampedes of wild elephants
are common in Ahaha-land.
To foil this, the Ahahas make
a lot of mud elephants
and place them around the village.
The theory is that when
the real elephants see
the mud elephants,
they will stop to fraternize.
It has never happened yet,
so of course the villagers
have been flattened,
and the Ahahas have died out.
Hence the saying, what happened
to the Ahahas? Answer: Ahaha...
Serves them right! Good night!
Who is he?
Woods are full of them.
It is related of Bronzini,
that a lady brought her daughter to him.
as he had promised to hear her sing.
The girl's voice was aloud and strong.
Said the mother, "Is it difficult
to know, whether she will develop
into a soprano, or a contralto?
What do you think will she become?"
"An auctioneer.", replied Rossini.
Goodnight.
STARRING SPIKE MILLIGAN
Good evening to you all, except Mrs.
Hilda Gronk, 3 Ironside Crescent Skunkom.
Welcome to BBC2, the organisation
that kills 99% of all known comics.
Historical note. In 1789 a French
treasure ship went down with 600 Franks,
...206 Jims, 16 Erics, and one Fred.
Now, do you know what goes 99 bonk?
It's Mrs. Crackle of Ballum.
She says it all the time, 99...
I often say it myself, 99 bonk.
Perhaps you'd like to say it with me?
Together!
Ninety-nine bonk.
That was only 76 bonk,
but we'll continue.
Now, a few conundrums.
What goes clip?
A one legged horse.
It takes time, it takes time.
What goes boing, scrub? A spring cleaner.
And what goes tick wooh?
A watchdog.
And finally, what goes uagh, uagh?
It's Mrs. Hilda Gronk,
of 3 Ironside Crescent Skunk.
And now, for the favourite view,
here is a glimp of highlights.
- Madam?
- Yes, what is it, Motspawn?
It's your back, madam, there's
something on it. Writing, madam.
Really? And what does it say?
And says, and I quote,
"I love Sir George".
How preposterous!
I scarcely know the man!
And now, here is the latest
intelligence test. Question one:
If you had four legs, and two
and a half pairs of trousers,
which trouser leg
would you leave empty?
Question two. How would you arrange sixty
three and a half match sticks in pairs?
Question four. If your match... If your
watch says 6.21 at 4:18 PM on June the 6th,
what will it say at midnight
on December the 3rd,
if you put it back one hour and
six minutes every other day?
Question twelve.
Where would you wear your braces,
if you shirt was
outside your waistcoat?
Right, with one side of your brain only,
and send your answers not to me,
but to Mrs. Hilda Gronk, Number 3...
A new biography of the great composer
Wagner comes out this week.
It got time off for good behaviour.
In the book are many hitherto unrecorded
anecdotes of Wagner and his circle.
For instance this:
- Wagner?
You know, Les, I feel
I must go somewhere
where I'll be completely
cut off from the world.
Try a telephone box.
What a lovely couple they are.
And here now, for do it yourself lovers,
is something that can
be easily knocked up
by any keep fiftier professor
emeritus of electronics.
It is as you will see a triangular eggcup,
which lights up the egg internally.
Yes. And now, our
ballet critic, Eric Badger.
I thought that Thumbelina's miming
in last night's production of Vertigrous,
the new ballet at Covent Garden,
was almost painful in its perfection.
She was ably supported by Chuckusafiver,
very convincing as an aging queen,
search trousers in
an old trouser arena,
the couple who had us all
guessing for so many years,
and English ballerina
Molly Sausage,
the girl who skipped to fame
in l'apres midi dolce pollata.
The souplesse of Thumbelina's
attitude is an epithome blend
of cosmic fluence and suavety,
with a soupçon of delicatesse.
Choreography and kakofony
adequately raffiné.
Unfortunately, the lead foiled costumes
by Danish designer Skant Dressing
were a severe challenge
to everybody's elevation.
However, Verdigrous is
a ballet to set besides
Lupus' exquisite Lamine
we don't cantaloupe,
And here, to wet your appetites,
is a soupçon of the pas de deux.
How exquisite.
Whenever I see Tumbleover dance,
I'm reminded of a poem I
once wrote in my heavy youth.
To Hilda. When Hilda does the Highland
reels,s he steals my heart away.
No dancing bear is so genteel,
or half so dig I say.
I received this letter the
other morning: "Dear Sir,
The other day on a bus, I found the
only vacant seat occupied by a male dog.
My own female dog, Prunella,
had to stand the whole way, because
the owner of the male dog was too churlish
to offer her dog's seat to Prunella.
No wonder the English are a byword for bad
manners. Signed, Disgusted Busconductor.
And now, here is a piece of old iron:
Excuse me mister, could I be
asked to speak with himself?
My master, Abdul Abdul,
fortune teller to the crowned heads
of Europe, Asia, Africa,
and America, cannot be disturbed.
His mystical highness is communing with
the spirits of earth, air, fire, and water.
Oh. Well, when he's
done, would you tell him
that his married sister
from Connemara is here?
It may be that some
strange and rare accident
was responsible for the
appearance of life on the earth.
An accident such as that may not occur
twice in the history of the whole universe.
And neither will that item
like the last one.
It's trying to tell me something.
Ah! "The traditional roasting of the ox,
during the pity St Vitus carnival,
will be continued this year
with a slight modification.
Instead of roasting an ox,
the villager will be opening
a tin of dressed Russian crab..."
Wagner?
How is your second marriage working out?
Wonderful! My second wife is so musical,
last week she went for
a walk in the country,
she came to a five party, she stopped,
and she sang all the spots in her veil.
And don't forget: Wagner's Ring
of the Niblungen can be yours
for only two pounds down and three
thousand easy payments of 14 and 6.
Sick? Not nearly as sick
as you will be in a minute,
because it's time for a return visit
to our own resident physician,
counsellor and quack, doctor Rhubarb.
- Well?
- I think I'm turning into a seal.
- I sliver, my skin is quite wet
and I'm quite bald. What should I do?
Get your wife to throw a fish accross the
room and try to catch it in your mouth.
If you do, you are.
By the way, can you play the
national anthem on motorhorns?
Oh, I was only asking. Next!
My husband thinks it's funny to terrify
my grandmother by making faces at her
through the ventilator in his bowler hat.
The house is an inferno. What should I do?
Block up the ventilator while he's asleep.
Or alternatively, throw
his bowler into the dustbin.
It's a matter of complete
indifference to me. Next!
Is it possible to draw the cork from
a bottle of wine with a bicyle pump?
Yes, if you attach a corkscew
to the pump. Next!
Whenever I go into the garden, I seem
to hear a buzzing in my ears. Am I ill?
No, you nincompoop, it's bees!
My niece, who is an aquarium
attendant, has nightmares.
She dreams that the Bolivian
turbot has escaped from its tank
and got in amongst the bass.
Is there any cure?
Well, why should there be, it's rather fun!
Which is more than listening
to this pivolice, anyway. Next!
Doctor, I am suffering...
Not so much as I am.
The shelter is closing. Goodnight!
Of a hero a maiden is dreaming,
n her Transylvanian mans',
When, low and behold, and the window,
't is Dracula! Goodbye, romance.
But why does the maiden scorn him,
and bid him, Get back in your box?
Well, nobody gives a farthing,
for a vampire with droopy socks!
For ghouls and boys alike, the surest
way to stake a claim to her heart
is by wearing threadgold's,
they're supernaturally strong!
Threadgold's thoroughgrip,
threadgold's thoroughgrip,
threadgold's
thoroughgrip garterettes!
And now, an adventure in visual biography,
as we wing through the pages of time,
for a glimpse of life at 14 Simdwellers.
Oh dear.
Oh dear oh dear oh dear.
For many years I have worked for
Lord Shotkick as an aquarium attendant.
Lord Shotkick is very very,
very fond of fish.
That's why the place
is full of the blasted things.
I've got seven under me, you know.
Seven. Not fish, keepers.
Not keepers, keeping.
And every night, we have
to count all these fish.
I have tonight's tally with me here.
Thirteen thousand eight hundred
and seventy four.
It's always thirteen thousand
eight hundred and seventy four.
If one of the fishes dies, we have
to quickly put one back in there,
so that the tally will be thirteen
thousand eight hundred and seventy four.
Once I made a mistake,
and I counted them
and they came to thirteen thousand
eight hundred and seventy five.
And he made me count them all again.
And the tally came to thirteen thousand
eight hundred and seventy four.
He keeps saying to me,
they're escaping, oh, escaping they.
They're very slippery customers.
They're very strange things, fish.
You can't trust them.
He's barmy. Barmy!
- Trevors!
- I'm coming, sir.
- You get a tally?
- Yes sir.
- What was it? - Thirteen thousand
eight hundred and seventy four.
Not bad, that's a good round sum that.
Are they all well?
- They're as well as can be.
- Did you change the water?
- I changed the water.
- And they're all quite well, are they?
- As well as can be expected, my lord.
I want you to watch that pike
in Lady Muriel's room, will you?
He's making revolting noises lately.
Her ladyship thinks it is me.
But it snores, you know.
So if you see it asleep,
give it a prod, will you?
We can't have a snoring pike.
- Very good, my lord.
- And Trevors?
- Yes sir?
What about eh, what about old Jelloby II?
Pardon my lord?
What about old Jelloby II?
You know, that sucking great goldish
in the bowl, in the minstrel galleries.
He got the best of the show
last year at Olympia.
That's him.
- Him? Oh, bad news sir.
I'm afraid he passed away.
He got a touch of the fin and gill.
And we had to put him down.
Oh, poor Jelloby.
Poor old devil.
He's dead?
- Dead.
Oh, get me a brandy, quickly.
Brandy, hurry up.
Brandy. Brandy, sir.
- Oh, poor old Jelloby.
However, I suppose he had quite a
good life. Had an interesting life.
It's a terrible thing to think
I shall never see him again.
Travers, what's for dinner?
- Fish.
Thirteen thousand eight hundred
and seventy three.
Look at this, Mrs. Sveeshots,
I can write in dust on this piano!
Oh, it's a wonderful thing to
be so educated Mr. Wagner...
I've just been handed a piece of paper.
Next!
Now you see, Teddy, that's what happens
to people what bite their nails!
It was nice to hear it again
even though you hadn't.
By request, here is the last game
I described last year of this season.
You lay down six matches so. And you
announce, "a street in TypTypholis by day".
Then light a seventh match
and hold it perpendicularly, so,
and announce,
"a street in Typholis by night."
And now the ineffable Roland Milk.
Two musical poems. A highbrow musical
lady gave a highbrow musical tea.
What's good enough for them,
she said, is good enough for me.
I would rather be hunted by bloodhounds,
than go to the concert tonight.
The world famous Schwarzharp is playing.
And his Bach is far worse than their bite.
Which reminds me of
my own musical youth,
when as a cinema organist
I penned the following.
Seated one day at the organ,
with an audience ill at ease,
I pulled the stop marked birdsong,
and the other one marked autumn breeze.
I switched on the rosy lighting,
and was almost ready to start,
I added a touch of thunder,
and the damned thing fell apart.
But now, back to Wagner. Wagner!
The camel is not the only creature
which can go eight days without water.
I should say not, Fransy!
The same story is told of Back,
Beethoven, Handel, Hayden, Irving,
Berlin, Brahms...
and Mrs. Hilda Gronk, number 3 Ironside.
Doctor Strabismus, whom god preserve,
of Utrecht, is with us again.
His probing mind having solved the problem
of preventing rust in horses' bladders,
he's turned his attention to
another field of scientific inquiry.
Teach, really bumps,
silent P is never overlooked...
Oh, good evening. Tonight,
or if you live on the other side
of the international date
line, yesterday night,
we start a series of experiments
into the veracity of old proverbs.
So here to begin with is number fifteen.
When one door shuts,
another door opens.
Hurry men, hurry up,
we haven't got all day.
- That one here...
- Wait wait wait...
That's a good angle for
the shot, good lighting...
OK, I want you to cover me
over here then folks...
This door will be open a bit,
Shoot me up there. Not over
here too much, over there.
Get on with it, will you.
That big, all like that.
Put it up.
- Further up.
Hallo hallo!
Right, and then when you are in.
Right, ready? Now!
When one door shuts,
another one opens, take one!
Action!
Cut!
Gott im Himmel!
Eine kleine Nachtmusik!
Oh dear!
We'll have to go again.
Oh no! Was the sound alright?
Sound was alright.
Make for the second clapperboard.
When one door shuts,
another one opens, take two!
Action!
Cut!
That in the experiment
is to prove conclusively
the saying "When one door closes
another one opens" is simply not true.
A watched kettle never stops.
No boils. A watched kettle never boils.
- Was the sound alright?
- The sound was alright!
And so to our new feature, "Come into
the kitchen", with Mrs. Welkstuffer,
author of forty days
with an old beakhood.
Good evening. Tonight, boiled egg.
Recipe number 264 from my radio
booklet, Delicacies for the big one.
Now, take an egg.
Oh. Take another egg, boil it...
...serve piping hot
in an egg cup. Eat it.
Goodnight, and many thanks!
Hello again!
Don't be snobbish about imported wine.
Try the home made variety.
Trying Clos de Snibbo.
Made in our own laboratories,
by our own chemists,
from specially canned British grapes.
The Swedes say "Skol", but I say, Snibbo!
You know, the chemists of Snibbo
limited have at least succeeded
in manufacturing a number of British wines,
with all the colour, breeding and bouquet
of the best continental wines.
Plus, the health giving
qualities of Snibbo.
There is even Snib champaign.
Let us eavesdrop on two
well-known London clubmen.
Well, I used to be snobbish enough
to prefer French wines.
Me too. But now I am Snibbish enough
to prefer my 8 penny bottle
of chateau Snibchild '69.
Yes, gout is now in reach of
every man, thanks to Snibbo!
Use Snibbo...!
I have just returned from a mysterious and
little known part of Africa, Ahahaha land.
I trust my observations will
not be entirely uninteresting,
or the slides of my trip
be without their interest.
What do they know of Ahaha-land,
that only Ahaha-land know,
is a saying to be found on
the lips of missionaries.
There is no answer to that.
The Ahahas are a primitive tribe,
and here is a snap of one of them.
Their shields, boots, hats and cooking
utensils are made of rhinoceros hide.
They hunt the rhino by
sending out the young new men
of the Ahaha village
with the baby buffalo.
The buffaloes pick up the scent
of the rhinos and start in pursuit.
As the rhinos run faster than the
buffaloes, and both run faster
than the young Ahaha men,
they never catch any.
That is why so few of the Ahahas have any
boots, hats, shields, or cooking utensils.
An Ahaha woodchopper.
I told him to stay in the car!
The witch doctor is the most important
man in the tribe, after the chief.
When a warrior is ill, the witch doctor
ties two crobbery arteries together,
and sticks them in the ground.
He then boils a potion from jungle weeds,
which the warrior's favourite wife drinks.
This makes her violently sick.
The females of the tribe
then start yelling and dancing.
This wakes the majority of the
males, who join in, crying:
The sick man is unable to enjoy
the din, and goes off into the jungle.
The witch doctor then pronounces
himself cured, and dies.
There is a feast lasting four days.
Stampedes of wild elephants
are common in Ahaha-land.
To foil this, the Ahahas make
a lot of mud elephants
and place them around the village.
The theory is that when
the real elephants see
the mud elephants,
they will stop to fraternize.
It has never happened yet,
so of course the villagers
have been flattened,
and the Ahahas have died out.
Hence the saying, what happened
to the Ahahas? Answer: Ahaha...
Serves them right! Good night!
Who is he?
Woods are full of them.
It is related of Bronzini,
that a lady brought her daughter to him.
as he had promised to hear her sing.
The girl's voice was aloud and strong.
Said the mother, "Is it difficult
to know, whether she will develop
into a soprano, or a contralto?
What do you think will she become?"
"An auctioneer.", replied Rossini.
Goodnight.