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The All-England Summarize Proust Competition

[PLAYS FANFARE]

-And now... -It's...

[♪♪♪]

ANNOUNCER: Monty Python's Flying Circuses.

MAN: Good evening and welcome to the Arthur Ludlow Memorial Baths, Newport,

for this year's finals of the All-England Summarize Proust Competition.

As you may remember, each contestant has to give a brief summary

of Proust's A La Recherche du Temps Perdu,

once in a swimsuit and once in evening dress.

The field has now narrowed to three finalists and your judges tonight are:

Alec and Eric Bedser, ex-Surrey cricketers,

Stewart Surridge, ex-captain of Surrey,

Omar Sharif,

Laurie Fishlock, ex-Surrey opening batsman,

Peter May, the former Surrey and England Captain,

and Yehudi Menuhin, the world-famous violinist

and the president of the Surrey Cricket Club.

And right now, it's time to meet your host for tonight, Arthur Mee!

-[♪♪♪] -Good evening and welcome, whereas Proust would say...

-[SPEAKS FRENCH] -[APPLAUSE]

Remember, each contestant this evening has a maximum of 15 seconds to summarize A La Recherche du Temps Perdu and on the Proustometer over here, you can see exactly how far he gets.

So, let's crack straight on with our first contestant tonight.

He's last year's semi-finalist from Luton, Mr. Harry Bagot.

[APPLAUSE]

Hello, Harry. Now there's the summarizing spot.

You're on the summarizing spot, 15 seconds from... now.

Proust's novel ostensibly tells of the irrevocability of time lost, the forfeiture of innocence through experience, the reinstallment of extra-temporal values of time regained.

Ultimately, the novel is both optimistic and set within the context of a humane religious experience, re-stating as it does the concept of intemporality.

-In the first volume, Swann, the family friend-- -[GONG]

Well tried, Harry.

MAN: A good attempt there but, unfortunately, he chose a general appraisal of the work,

before getting on to the story.

And, as you can see, he only got as far as page one of Swann's Way,

the first of the seven volumes.

A good try though and very nice posture.

Harry Bagot, you're from Luton?

Yes, Arthur, yeah.

Now Harry, what made you first want to try and start summarizing Proust?

Well, I first entered a seaside Summarizing Proust Competition when I was on holiday in Bournemouth, and my doctor encouraged me with it.

And Harry, what are your hobbies outside summarizing?

Well, strangling animals, golf and masturbating.

Oh, well! Thank you, Harry Bagot.

-MAN: Well, there he goes, Harry Bagot. -[APPLAUSE]

MAN: He must have let himself down a bit on the hobbies,

golf's not very popular around here,

but never mind, a good try.

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Rutherford from Leicester!

-Are you ready, Ronald? -Yeah.

Right. On the summarizing spot.

You have 15 seconds from... now.

[STAMMERING]

Swann, Swann! uh, Swann.

There's this house, there's this house, uh, and... it's in the morning, it's in the morning!

No, no! It's in the evening, in the evening!

Uh, and then there's a garden.

Uh, and this bloke comes in, bloke comes in--

What's his name? What's his-- Oh, God, just said it.

Big bloke... Swann! Swann!

[GONG]

[APPLAUSE]

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like you to welcome the last of our all-England finalists this evening, from Bingley, the Bolton Choral Society and their leader, Superintendent McGough.

-[APPLAUSE] -All right, Bingley, remember you've got 15 seconds to summarize Proust in his entirety starting from... now.

♪ Proust in his first book Wrote about, wrote about ♪

♪ Proust in his first book Wrote about ♪

♪ He wrote about he wrote about He wrote about he wrote about ♪

♪ He wrote about he wrote about He wrote about he wrote about ♪

♪ He wrote about He wrote about he wrote about ♪

♪ Proust in his first book In his first book ♪

♪ Wrote about the-- ♪

[GONG]

MAN: Very ambitious try there, but, in fact, the least successful of the evening,

they didn't even get as far as the first volume.

Well, ladies and gentlemen,

I don't think any of our contestants this evening have succeeded in encapsulating the intricacies of Proust's masterwork, so I'm going to award the first prize this evening to the girl with the biggest tits.

[LAUGHING]

[♪♪♪]

[THEME MUSIC PLAYS]

[♪♪♪]

MAN: Mount Everest.

Forbidding, aloof, terrifying.

The mountain with the biggest tits in the world.

[GONG]

MAN 2: Start again!

MAN 1: Mount Everest.

Forbidding, aloof, terrifying.

This year, this remote Himalayan mountain, this mystical temple,

surrounded by the most difficult terrain in the world,

repulsed yet another attempt to conquer it.

This time, by the International Hairdresser's Expedition.

In such freezing, adverse conditions,

man comes very close to breaking point.

What was the real cause of the disharmony which destroyed their chances of success?

Well, people keep taking your hairdryer on every turn.

There's a lot of bitching in the tents.

You couldn't get near the mirror.

MAN 1: The leader of the expedition was Colonel Sir John Teasy-Weasy Butler,

veteran K2, Annapurna, and Vidal.

His plan was to ignore the usual route around the South Col

and to make straight for the top.

JOHN: Well, 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.

MAN 1: Could it work?

Could this 18-year old hairdresser from Brixton

succeed where others had failed?

The situation was complicated by the imminent arrival of the monsoon storms.

Patrice takes up the story.

Well, we knew as well as anyone that the monsoons were due.

But the thing was, Ricky and I had just had a blow dry and rinse, and we couldn't go out for a couple of days.

MAN 1: After a blazing row, the Germans and Italians had turned back,

taking with them the last of the hairnets.

On the third day, a blizzard blew up.

Temperatures fell to minus-30 centigrade.

Inside the little tent, things were getting desperate.

Well, things have got so bad that we're forced to use the last of the heavy oxygen equipment just to keep the dryers going.

-WOMAN: Here, love. -Oh, she's a treasure.

Shhh!

MAN 1: But a new factor had entered the race.

A team of French chiropodists, working with brand-new corn plasters

and Dr. Scholl's Mountaineering Sandals, were covering ground fast.

The Glasgow Orpheus male voice choir were tackling the difficult north part.

Altogether, 14 expeditions were at the scene.

This was it. Ricky had to make a decision.

Well, we decided to open a salon.

MAN 1: It was a tremendous success.

MAN 2: Challenging Everest?

Why not drop in at Ricky Pule's,

only 24,000-feet from this cinema.

Ricky and Maurice offer a variety of styles for the well-groomed climber.

Why should Tenzing and Sir Edmond Hillary be number one on top,

when you're number one on top?

[♪♪♪]

ANNOUNCER: This cinema is proud to present

20th Century Frog's production:

A Magnificent Festering.

Oh, James!

Oh, Beatrice!

Oh... James!

Oh... oh, Beatrice!

Oh... oh, James,

I could make such a fool of myself over you.

Oh, Beatrice, do... do!

Oh, yes, James, yes!

[GIBBERISH]

-[♪♪♪] -[EXPLOSIONS]

[SCREAMS]

Oh, James!

[SHOUTING]

Beatrice!

[GRUNTING]

Oh... James!

Beatrice!

Oh... James, I could make such a fool of myself over you.

Oh, Beatrice, do... do!

[SHOUTING]

Oh, yes, James, yes!

[SCREAMS]

[GIBBERISH]

[♪♪♪]

Oh... James!

Oh... Beatrice!

[TELEPHONE RINGS]

Oh... James!

Oh... Beatrice!

[TELEPHONE RINGS]

-Oh, James... -Oh, shut up!

Hello, is that the fire brigade?

No, sorry, wrong number.

That phone's not stopped ringing all day.

What happens when you've mixed the batter, do you dice the ham with the coriander?

-[TELEPHONE RINGS] -No, no, you put them in separately

-when the vine leaves are ready. -Oh, no, not again.

Take it off the hook.

I can't get the fire brigade, Mervyn.

Here, let me try.

You go and play the cello.

Oh, it doesn't do any good, dear.

Look, do you want the little hamster to live or not?

-Yes, I do, Mervyn. -Well, go and play the cello!

Hello?

Hello, operator?

Yes, we're trying to get the fire brigade.

No, the fire brigade.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

What?

Size eight.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

No, of course not. Yes...

He's gone, dear.

What?

He's slipped away.

What?

The sodding hamster's dead!

Oh, no!

What were you playing?

Some Mozart concertos, dear.

[STAMMERS] How did he...

His eyes just closed, and he fell into the wastepaper basket.

I covered him with a copy of the Charlie George Football Book.

Right, you hang on. I must go and see him.

There was nothing we could do, Mervyn.

If we'd had the whole Philharmonic Orchestra in there, he'd still have gone.

I'm going upstairs, I can't bear it.

There isn't an upstairs, dear, it's a bungalow.

Damn.

Hello?

Oh, I'm sorry to keep you waiting, it's just that...

Size three.

Yes, it's just we've lost a dear one and my son was...

Yes, that's right, size eight, yes and...

Oh, I see...

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

Yes, I see--

Yes, yes, I, I...

Yes, yes.

No. No.

Yes, I see.

They can't get the fire brigade, Mervyn.

Will the Boys' Brigade do?

MERVYN: No! They'd be useless!

No, he doesn't want anyone at the moment, thank you.

No. Yes, yes.

No, thank you for trying.

Yes, yes.

No, Saxones.

Yes, yes, thank you, bye, bye.

Mummy!

Oh, Eammon. Oh!

Mervyn, look it's our Eammon.

Oh, let me look at you. Let me look at you.

Tell me, tell me how... how is it in Dublin?

Well, things is pretty bad there at the moment, but there does seem some hope of a constitutional settlement.

Oh, don't talk.

Let me just look at you.

Great to be home, Mummy. How are you?

Oh, I'm fine.

I must just go upstairs and get your room ready.

It's a bungalow, Mummy.

Oh, damn, yes.

Mervyn! Mervyn, look who's here, it's our Eammon come back to see us.

-Hello, Eammon. -Hello, Merv.

How was Dublin?

Well, as I was telling Mummy here, things is pretty bad there at the moment, but there does seem some hope of a constitutional settlement.

[TELEPHONE RINGS]

Hello?

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes-- What?

What?

Size seven.

Yes, yes.

Yes, yes, yes.

It's the fire brigade, they want to know if they can come round Thursday evening.

Oh, no, Thursday's the Industrial Relations Bill Dinner Dance.

Can't they make it another day?

Uh, hello?

No, Thursday's... right out!

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes...

And so it was that the fire brigade eventually came round on Friday night.

[BELL DINGING]

Oh, so glad you could come.

What would you like to drink?

Gin and tonic? Sherry?

ALL: A drop of sherry would be lovely.

We do like being called out to these little parties, they're much better than fires.

[TELEPHONE RINGS]

MAN: Yes, yes, yes.

ALL: Well, how was Dublin, Eammon?

Well, as I was telling Mummy and Mervyn earlier, things is pretty bad there at the moment but there does seem some hope of a constitutional...

Oh, look at them enjoying themselves.

[ALL CHATTERING]

You know, I used to dread parties until I watched Party Hints by Veronica.

I think it's on now...

[♪♪♪]

Hello. Last week on Party Hints

I showed you how to make a small plate of goulash go round 26 people, how to get the best out of your canapes, and how to unblock your loo.

This week, I'm going to tell you what to do if there is an armed communist uprising near your home when you're having a party.

Well, obviously, it'll depend how far you've got with your party when the signal for Red Revolt is raised.

If you're just having preliminary aperitifs:

Dubonnet, a sherry or a sparkling white wine, then your guests will obviously be in a fairly formal mood and it will be difficult to tell which are the communist agitators.

So, the thing to do is to get some cloth and some bits of old paper, put it down on the floor and shoot everybody.

This will deal with the Red Menace on your own doorstep.

If you're having canapes, as I showed you last week, or an outdoor barbecue, then the thing to do is to set fire to all the houses in the street.

This will stir up anti-communist hatred and your neighbors will be right with you as you organize counter-revolutionary terror.

So, you see, if you act promptly enough, any left-wing uprising can be dealt with by the end of the party.

Bye.

Ah! She's finally gone away.

Alright, comrades, time to go to work.

[ALL GRUNT]

[ALL GRUNT]

[DOORBELL RINGS]

MAN: Hello, we are selling communist revolutions.

Would you, by any chance, be interested?

Oh, yes. I'll take a dozen, please.

-MAN: Right. -Ahh!

-[CLANKING] -[WOMAN GRUNTING]

[MEN GRUNT]

MAN: One dozen communist revolutions coming up.

I get it! Communist revolution! Ha-ha!

That's a good one. Whoa!

You disgusting, little piece of filth!

God, I hate you!

You make me wanna puke my guts out!

Wasn't that cute?

Remember, you, too, can get your own Putrid Peter doll in time to pacify your next party.

But why stop there?

Why not get a Barry Bigot doll, too?

Just watch this.

[SHOUTS ANGRILY IN GERMAN]

Bleck people.

Bleck people.

Rrrhodesian. Kill the blecks. Kill the blecks.

Rrhodesian. Smith, Smith.

Kill the blecks within the five principles.

I'm afraid I cannot comment on that until it's been officially hushed up.

-This is our politicians booth. -While there is no undue cause for concern, there is certainly no room for complacency.

Ha, ha, ha.

Hee, hee, hee.

I'll go-- I'll go to the foot of our stairs.

Ee ecky thump put wood in 'ole, Muther.

-Yes? -Ee ecky thump.

Ee ecky thump.

Ee ecky thump!

-Ee ecky thump! -Excellent.

-Thank you, sir. -It's a really quick method of learning.

Can you smell gas or is it me?

Looks jolly good.

Hello, big boy. Oo varda the ome.

Mm, do you want a nice time?

-Very good. -Thank you very much, sir.

[HIGH-PITCHED SINGING]

-And we control everything from here. -Superb.

Well, what sort of thing were you looking for?

Well, uh, really something to make me a little less insignificant?

Oh, I see. Sort of...

"Now look here, you may be Chairman but your bloody pusillanimous behavior makes me vomit!"

-That sort of thing? -Oh, no, no, no, not really no.

Oh, I see, well, perhaps something a bit more sort of Clive Jenkins-ish?

Perhaps sort of... "Mr. Smarmy so-called Harold Wilson can call himself pragmatic until he's blue in the breasts."

Oh, no, not really.

I really want something that will make people be attracted to me like a magnet.

Oh, I see, well, you want our "Life and Soul of the Party" tape then, I think.

What's that?

Well, it's sort of "Hello, squire, haven't seen you for a bit.

Haven't seen you for a bit either, Beryl.

Two pints of wallop please, love.

Still driving the Jensen then?

Cheer up, Jack, it may never happen.

-What's your poison then?" -Fantastic, yes.

Right, well, I'll see if we've got the tape.

[♪♪♪]

[ALL SCATTING]

♪ Hello operator Is that the central line? ♪

♪ Give me the Piccadilly number Nine-one-oh-nine ♪

♪ Mr. Operator Now that number's wrong ♪

♪ So come on everybody Let's sing this song ♪

♪ Proust in his first book Wrote about, wrote about ♪

-[GONG] -MAN: Start again.

MAN 2: Mount Everest.

Forbidding, aloof, terrifying.

The highest place on earth.

No, I'm sorry. We don't go there. No.

Good morning.

Oh, good morning.

Do you want to go upstairs?

What?

Do you want to go upstairs?

Or have you come to arrange a holiday?

Uh, to arrange a holiday.

Oh, sorry.

What's all this about going upstairs?

Oh, nothing, nothing.

-Now, where were you thinking of going? -India.

-Ah! One of our adventure holidays. -Yes.

Well, you'd better speak to Mr. Bounder about that.

Uh, Mr. Bounder, this gentleman is interested in the India Overland.

Ah, good morning. I'm Bounder of Adventure.

Morning. My name is Smoke-too-much.

What?

Uh, my name is Smoke-too-much.

Mr. Smoke-too-much.

Well, you'd better cut down a bit then.

-What? -You'd better cut down a bit then.

Oh, I see!

-Cut down a bit for Smoke-too-much. -BOUNDER: Yes. Ha-ha.

I expect you get people making jokes about your name all the time, eh?

No, no.

Actually, it never struck me before.

Smoke... too... much.

[LAUGHS]

Anyway, you're interested in one of our adventure holidays, eh?

Yes, yes, I saw your advert in the bolor supplement.

The what?

The bolor supplement.

The color supplement?

Ah, yes. I'm sorry, I can't say the letter "B".

-"C"? -Yes, that's right.

It's all due to a trauma I suffered when I was a sboolboy.

I was attacked by a bat.

-A cat? -No, a bat.

Can you say the letter "K"?

Oh, yes! Khaki, king, kettle,

Kuwait, Keble Bollege Oxford.

Wait, why don't you say the letter "K" instead of the letter "C"?

What, you mean... spell bolor with a "K"?

-Yes. Yes. -Kolor.

Oh, that's very good. I never thought of that.

So, about this holiday...

Well, I saw your advert in the paper and I've been on package tours several times, you see,

-and I decided that this was for me. -BOUNDER: Ah, good.

Yes, I quite agree with you. What's the point of being treated like sheep?

I mean, I'm fed up with going abroad being treated like sheep.

What's the point of carted around in buses surrounded by sweaty, mindless oafs from Kettering and Boventry in their cloth caps and their cardigans and their transistor radios and their Sunday Mirrors, bomplaining about the tea.

"Oh, they don't make it properly here, do they? Not like at home."

Stopping at Majorcan bodegas selling fish and chips and Watney's Red Barrel and calamaris and two veg and sitting in cotton sun frocks squirting Timothy White's sun cream all over their puffy, raw, swollen, purulent flesh,

-'cause they overdid it on the first day. -Yes, absolutely.

-Yes, I quite agree... -And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellvueses and Bontinentales with their international, luxury modern roomettes and Watney's Red Barrel, and swimming pools full of fat German businessmen pretending they're acrobats forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging into the queues and if you're not at your table spot on seven, you miss your bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the first item on the menu of International Cuisine, and every Thursday night there's bloody cabaret in the bar, featuring a tiny, emaciated dago with nine-inch hips and some big, fat, bloated tart with her hair Brylcreemed down and a big ass presenting Flamenco for Foreigners.

Yes, yes, well--

And then surrounded by adenoidal typists from Birmingham with diarrhea, flabby, white legs and trying to pick up hairy, bandy-legged, wop waiters called Manuel.

And then, once a week, there's an excursion to the local Roman Ruins where you can buy cherryade and melted ice cream

-and bleeding Watney's Red Barrel. -Excuse me--

Then one night, they take you to a local restaurant with local color and rat coloring.

And they show you then, you sit next to a party of people from Rhyl who keep singing ♪ Torremolinos, Torremolinos ♪ and complaining about the food: "Oh, it's so greasy, isn't it?"

And then you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic and Dr. Scholl sandals and last Tuesday's Daily Express and he drones on and on and on about how Mr. Smith should be running this country, how many languages Enoch Powell can speak and then he throws up over the Cuba Libres.

-Will you be quiet, please? -Sending tinted postcards of places they don't know they haven't even visited to "All at number 22, weather wonderful,

-our room is marked with an 'X'." -Shut up.

Food very greasy but we have managed to find this marvellous little place hidden away in the back streets...

-Shut up. Shut up! -where they serve Watney's Red Barrel and cheese and onion.

-The accordionist plays "Maybe It's Because I'm A Londoner". -Shut your bloody gob!

-[CONTINUES INDISTINCT] -I'm gonna ring the police!

Nothing to eat but dried Watney sandwiches.

[TELEPHONE RINGS]

Oh, take it off the hook.

-SMOKES-TOO-MUCH: And there's nowhere to sleep and... -Hello, operator?

-Operator? Yes, I'm trying to get the police. -[SMOKES-TOO-MUCH CONTINUES]

Yes, yes... the police!

-Yes. What? -[TOURIST CONTINUES]

Nine-and-a-half.

Nine-and-a-half!

When you get to Malaga airport,

-everybody's swallowing-- -What?

[BOTH TALKING OVER ONE ANOTHER]

Sorry to keep you waiting. Will you come this way, please?

[CHATTER CONTINUES]

Here they are.

Right.

Just here will do fine.

Bye-bye.

Good evening.

[DRAMATIC MUSIC]

I have with me tonight Anne Elk, Mrs. Anne Elk.

Miss.

You have a new theory about the brontosaurus.

Can I just say here, Chris, for one moment, that I have a new theory about the brontosaurus?

Exactly.

What is it?

Where?

I meant your new theory.

-Oh, what is my theory! -Yes.

Oh, what is my theory, that it is.

Well, Chris, you may well ask me what is my theory.

-I am asking. -Good for you.

My word, yes.

Well, Chris, what is it that it is this theory of mine?

Well, this is what it is.

My theory that I have, that is to say, which is mine, is mine.

Yes, I know it's yours.

Uh, what is it?

Where?

Your theory.

Oh, what is my... This is it.

[COUGHING]

My theory, that belongs to me, is as follows.

[CLEARS THROAT]

[COUGHS]

This is how it goes.

[COUGHS]

The next thing I'm going to say is my theory.

-Ready? -Oh, yeah.

My theory, by A. Elk, brackets, miss, brackets.

This theory goes as follows and begins now:

All brontosauruses are thin at one end, much, much thicker in the middle, and then thin again at the far end.

That is my theory.

It is mine and belongs to me and I own it and what it is, too.

That's it, is it?

Spot on, Chris.

Well, Anne, this theory of yours appears to have hit the nail on the head.

-And it's mine. -CHRIS: Yes.

Yes, thank you very much for coming along to the studio.

-Thank you. -My pleasure, Chris.

-Next week, Britain's newest-- -It's been a lot of fun.

-Yes, thank you very much. -Saying what my theory is.

-Yes, thank you. -And whose it is.

Yes, thank you, that's all. Thank you.

I have another theory...

-Yes-- Thank you. -...called my second theory, or my theory number two,

-which I could expound without doubt. -[TELEPHONE RINGS]

-This second theory... -Yes?

-...which, with the one that I have said... -Yes.

-No, I'm trying... -...forms the present theories that I own and which are mine and which belong to me...

[INDISTINCT]

Nine-and-a-half, wide fitting.

Goes like this. [CLEARS THROAT]

Balleys of Bond Street.

-What? -[EXAGGERATED COUGH]

-No, sort of brogue. -This is what it is.

-Yes, this is what it is. -No, no.

[EXAGGERATED COUGH]

Oh, it's eight-and-a-half, I think.

Exactly.

This is it.

My second theory...

[CONTINUES COUGHING]

[LOUD CHATTERING]

Excuse me!

-[TELEPHONE RINGS] -Oh, excuse me.

Hello, yes? Yes?

SMOKES-TOO-MUCH: ...promises you that the raging cholera epidemic...

The fire brigade are here! They're coming!

[CHATTER CONTINUES]

Hello? No, no, I think they're all part of the British Shoe Corporation now.

Chris, this other theory of mine...

[ALL CHATTERING]

The second theory... [COUGHS]

My second theory states that fire brigade choirs seldom sing songs about Marcel Proust.

♪ Proust in his first book Wrote about, wrote about ♪

-♪ Proust in his first book-- ♪ -[GONG]

MAN: Start again.