Idle and Palin
Second Reader: "The sunset was dying over the hills of Solway Firth. The lone piper on the battlements of Edinburgh Casde was silhouetted against the crim ... crim ... crimisy .., crimson! against the crimson strays ... stree ..," Third Reader: "Streaked!"
"He has been dead for four years, but he has not let that prevent him from coming here this evening."
"off we go, then with the Barley Townswomen's Guild re-enactment of the first heart transplant ... The two groups of ladies rush at each other. They end up in the sea, rolling about splashing, and thumping each other with handbags."
"Sport: capital punishment is to be re-introduced in the first and second division. Any player found tackling from behind or controlling the ball with the lower part of the arm will be hanged. But the electric chair remains the standard punishment for threatening the goalie."
"I believe you're working on an anagram version of Shakespeare? â€¦ Ta the mnemot I'm wroking on 'The Mating of the Wersh'."
" Er, my first is in Glasgow but not in Spain, my second is in steamer but not in train, my whole is in the luggage compartment on the plane... (opens eyes) I'll tell you where the bomb is for a pound."
"A brigadier in full military uniform just to below the chest, then a patch of bare midriff, with belly button showing, then a lavender tutu, incredibly hairy leg, thick army socks and high heels, is dictating."
"open the door, let me in please. Woman: If I let you in you'll sell me encyclopaedias. Man: I won't, madam. I just want to come in and ransack the flat. Honestly." Woman: Promise. No encyclopaedias?"
Who's got a boil on the bum... boil on the botty. (throws bottle to the only man standing up) Who's got the chest rash? (a woman with a large bosom puts up hand) Have to get a bigger bottle.
Don't forget the Hercules Hold-'em-in, the all.purpose concrete truss for the man with the family hernia.
Good evening, last week we learned how to saw a lady in half. This week we're going to learn how to saw a lady into three bits and dispose of the body...
Second Cricketer: "... the symbol of man's regeneration through radical Marxism ... fair enough ... but, but we never once get a chance to see him turn his off-breaks on that Brisbane sticky." Third Cricketer: "Aye, and what were all that dancing through Ray Illingworth's innings? Forty-seven not out and the bird comes up and feeds him some grapes!"
Announcer: "And now for more news of the momentous artistic event in which Pablo Picasso is doing a specially commissioned painting for us whilst riding a bicycle. Pablo Picasso - the founder of modern art - without doubt the greatest abstract painter ever... for the first time painting in motion. But first of all let's have a look at the route he'll be taking...."
Policeman: "Mind you I didn't join the police force just to wear the helmets you know. That just happens to be one of the little perks. There are plenty of jobs where I could have worn a helmet, but not such a nice helmet. This helmet, I think, beats even some of the more elaborate helmets worn by the Tsar's private army, the so-called Axi red warriors. You know about them?"
First Judge, very camp: "Oh, I've had such a morning in the High Court. I could stamp my little feet the way those QC's carry on." Second Judge, just as camp: "Don't I know it, love."
Indian: "When moon high over prairie ... when wolf howl over mountain, when mighty wind roar through Yellow Valley, we go Leatherhead Rep - block booking, upper circle - whole tribe get it on 3/6d each."
Woman: "It's so....sunny." Lionel: "Yes isn't it? I say anyone for tennis?" Julian: "Oh super!" Charles: "What fun." Julian: "I say, Lionel, catch." (he throws the tennis ball to Lionel. It hits Lionel on the head. Lionel claps one hand to his forehead. He roars in pain as blood seeps through his fingers) Lionel: "Oh gosh!"
American Voice (very resonant): "The Universe consists of a billion, billion galaxies... 77,000,000,000 miles across, and every galaxy is made up of a billion, zillion stars and around these stars circle a billion planets, and of all of these planets the greenest and the pleasantest is the planet Earth, in the system of Sol, in the Galaxy known as the Milky Way ... And it was to this world that creatures of an alien planet came ... to conquer and destroy the very heart of civilization... " (mix into close-up of railway station sign: 'New Pudsey')
Presenter: "Professor, you've spent many years researching into things, what do you think?" Professor: "I think it's too early to tell."
Cricket Commentator Jim: "And now it's Bo Wildeburg running in again to bowl to Cowdrey, he runs in. He bowls to Cowdrey - and no shot at all, a superb display of inertia there... And that's the end of the over, and drinks!" Cricket Commentator Peter: "Gin and tonic please!"
1st Voice Over: "In the second quarter of the fifth century, the Huns became a byword for merciless savagery. Their Khan was the mighty warrior Attila. With his devastating armies he swept across Central Europe." (cut to American-living-room-type set. Doorbell rings. Attila the Hun enters the door) Attila: "Oh darling, I'm home."
Mr Vernon: "Hello, madam... "(comes in) Mrs Long Name: "Ah hello... you must have come about..." Mr Vernon: "Finishing the sentences, yes." Mrs Long Name: "Oh... well... perhaps you'd like to..." Mr Vernon: "Come through this way... certainly."
Gent: "Good morning, I'd care to purchase a chicken, please." Butcher: "Don't come here with that posh talk you nasty, stuck-up twit!" Gent: "I beg your pardon?" Butcher: "A chicken, sir? Certainly."
PRESENTER: "Good evening, and welcome to The Money Programme. Tonight on The Money Programme, we're going to look at money. Lots of it. On film, and in the studio. Some of it in nice piles, others in lovely clanky bits of loose change. Some of it neatly counted into fat little hundreds, delicate fivers stuffed into bulging wallets, nice crisp clean checks, pert pieces of copper coinage thrust deep into trouser pockets, romantic foreign money rolling against the thigh with rough familiarity, beautiful wayward curlicued banknotes, filigreed copper plating cheek by jowl with tumbly ( ? ) rubbing gently against the terse leather of beautifully balanced bank books!"
Interviewer: "The Magna Carta - was it a document signed at Runnymede in 1215 by King John pledging independence to the English barons, or was it a piece of chewing gum on a bedspread in Dorset? The latter idea is the brainchild of a man new to the field of historical research. Mr Badger, why - why are you on this programme?" (Pull back to show Mr Badger. He wears a flat cap and has a Scots accent) Badger: "Well, I think I can answer this question most successfully in mime." (mimes incomprehensibly) Interviewer: "But why Dorset?" Badger: "Well, I have for a long time been suffering from a species of brain injury which I incurred during the rigours of childbirth, and I'd like to conclude by putting my finger up my nose." Interviewer: "Mr Badger, I think you're the silliest person we've ever had on this programme, and so I'm going to ask you to have dinner with me."
Officer: "Have you read this, sir?" (holds up notice) Man: "No! Oh, yes, yes - yes." Officer: "Anything to declare?" Man: "Yes ... no! No! No! No! Nothing to declare, no, nothing in my suitcase no..." Officer: "No watches, cameras, radio sets?" Man: "Oh yes ... four watches ... no, no, no. No. One... one watch...No, no. Not even one watch. No, no watches at all. No, no watches at all. No precision watches, no." Officer: Which country have you been visiting, sir? Man: "Switzerland ... er ... no ... no ... not Switzerland ... er ... not Switzerland, it began with S but it wasn't Switzerland... oh what could it be? Terribly bad memory for names. What's the name of that country where they don't make watches at all?" Officer: "Spain?" Man: "Spain! That's it. Spain, yes, mm." Officer: "The label says 'Zurich', sir."
Opening shot: A high street. Musical theme played on a banjo Ã la `Steptoe and Son' opening. Cut to a tracking shot of two tramps walking jauntily along. They are very arch, over-the-top jolly fellows. They nod at the occasional passer-by and do mock bows to a city gent....Voice Over: "Taking life as it comes, sharing the good things and the bad things, finding laughter and fun wherever they go -- it is with these two happy-go-lucky rogues that our story begins. (by this time the tramps have walked out of shot; cut to a shot of a sports car up on the pavement with the legs of the two tramps sticking out from underneath; the music turns more urgent and transatlantic) For it is they who were run over by Alex Diamond ..."
Tourist: "Yes I quite agree I mean what's the point of being treated like sheep. What's the point of going abroad if you're just another tourist carted around in buses surrounded by sweaty mindless oafs from Kettering and Coventry in their cloth caps and their cardigans and their transistor radios and their Sunday Mirrors, complaining about the tea - 'Oh they don't make it properly here, do they, not like at home' - and stopping at Majorcan bodegas selling fish and chips and Watney's Red Barrel and calamares and two veg and sitting in their cotton frocks squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy raw swollen purulent flesh 'cos they 'overdid it on the first day'."
Mrs Trepidatious: "What? Dr Morrison? He's killed more patients than I've had severe boils." Mrs O: "What do the stars say?" Mrs Trepidatious: "Well, Petula Clark says burst them early, but David Frost... " Mrs O: "No, the stars in the paper, you cloth-eared heap of anteater's catarrh, the zodiacal signs, the horoscopic fates, the astrological portents, the omens, the genethliac prognostications, the mantalogical harbingers, the vaticinal utterances, the ffatidica! premonitory uttering of the mantalogical omens - what do the bleeding stars in the paper predict, forecast, prophesy, foretell, prognosticate... ?"
Father: "Yes, you can't beat wood ... Gorn!" Mother: "What's gorn dear?" Father: "Nothing, nothing, I just like the word. It gives me confidence. Gorn ... gorn. It's got a sort of woody quality about it. Gorn. Gorn. Much better than `newspaper' or `litterbin'." Daughter: "Frightful words!" Mother: "Perfectly dreadful!" Father: "Ugh! Newspaper! ... litterbin ... dreadful tinny sort of words. Tin, tin, tin." (daughter bursts into tears)
Major: "Right now, the man who gets the shortest strain knows what to do." Sergeant: "Looks like you, sir." Major: "Is it? What did we say, the longest straw was it?" Sergeant: "No, shortest, sir." Major: "Well we'd better do it again, there's obviously been a bit of a muddle."
â€œWell tonight, we are going to talk about... well that is... I am going to talk about... well actually I am talking about it now... I know I'm pausing occasionally, ... but the pauses are part of the whole process of talking ... the real point of what I'm saying is that when I appear not to be talking don't go nipping out to the kitchen, putting the kettle on ... buttering scones...â€
We established base salon here, and climbed quite steadily up to Mario's here. From here using crampons and cutting ice steps as we went, we moved steadily up the Lhotse Face to the North Ridge, establishing camp three where we could get a hot meal, a manicure, and a shampoo and set.
We kick off tonight with Cardinal Richelieu and his impersonation of Petula Clark ... And now W. G. Grace as a music box.
All our patients here are suffering from severe over-acting.
It's also the first major housing project in Britain to be built entirely by characters from nineteenth-century English literature.
Do you really need twelve gallons?
Mm. I love the Scottish Assizes. I know what they mean by a really well-hung jury.
May I recommend the alligator purees.
Dear Sir, I object strongly to the obvious athletic turn this show has now taken. Why can't we hear more about the human body? There is nothing embarrassing or nasty about the human body except for the intestines and bits of the bottom.
â€œBuilders haven't been then â€¦ Mrs Potter: 'Ere, there's Alfred Lord Tennyson in the bathroom. Mr Potter: Well, at least the poet's been installed, then.â€
Counsellor, staring at woman, fascinated: "And good morning to you madam (pauses, shrugs himself out of staring and says to Arthur) Name?" Arthur: "Mr and Mrs Arthur Pewty." Counsellor writing without looking down, just staring at Arthur's wife: "And what is the name of your ravishing wife? (holds her hand) Wait. Don't tell me - it's something to do with moonlight - it goes with her eyes - it's soft and gentle, warm and yielding, deeply lyrical and yet tender and frightened like a tiny whit rabbit." Arthur: "It's Deidre."
Commander: "...We'll try and out-smart this Neutron guy. Yes, there's one man who could nail him." Carpenter: "One guy? That won't frighten anyone, sir." Commander: "He's the most brilliant man I ever met. We were in the CIA together. He's retired now. He breeds rabbits up in the Yukon..." Carpenter: "What's his name, sir?" Commander: "His name is Teddy Salad." Carpenter: "Salad as in... ?" Commander: "Lettuces, cucumber, radishes....yeah, yeah, yeah."
Mrs Premise: "How's the old man, then?" Mrs Sartre: "Oh, don't ask. He's in one of his bleeding moods. 'The bourgeoisie this is the bourgeoisie that' - he's like a little child sometimes. I was only telling the Rainiers the other day - course he's always rude to them, only classy friends we've got - I was saying solidarity with the masses I said... pie in the sky! Oooh! You're not a Marxist are you Mrs Conclusion?" Mrs Conclusion: "No, I'm a Revisionist." Mrs Sartre: "Oh good. I mean, look at this place! I'm at my wits end. Revolutionary leaflets everywhere. One of these days I'll revolutionary leaflets him. If it wasn't for the goat you couldn't get in here for propaganda."