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Salad Days

[APPLAUSE]

[♪♪♪]

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

ANNOUNCER: Monty Python's Flying Circuses.

NARRATOR: The Adventures of Biggles.

Part 1: Biggles Dictates a Letter.

Miss Bladder, take a letter.

Yes, Señor Biggles.

Don't call me "señor"! I'm not a Spanish person.

You must call me "Mr. Biggles", or "Group Captain Biggles" or "Mary Biggles", if I'm dressed as my wife.

But never "señor".

Sorry.

I've never even been to Spain.

You went to Ibiza last year.

That's still no grounds for calling me "señor", or "Don Biggles" for that matter.

Right. Dear King Haakon.

Of Norway, is that?

Just put down what I say.

Do I put that down?

Of course you don't put that down!

Well, what about that?

Look!

Don't put that down.

Just put down what I-- Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

Now, when I've got these antlers on... when I've got these antlers on, I am dictating.

And when I take them off,

I'm not dictating.

"I'm not dictating."

What?

Read that back.

"Dear King Haakon, I am not dictating. What?"

No, no, no, no, you loopy brothel inmate.

I've had enough of this.

I'm not a courtesan.

Oh, oh, "courtesan." Oh, aren't we grand?

"Harlot's" not good enough for us, eh?

"Paramour, concubine, fille de joie."

That's what we're not.

Well, listen to me, my fine fellow.

You are a bit of tail, that's what you are.

I am not, you demented fictional character.

Algy says you are.

He says you're no better than you should be.

And how would he know?

And just what do you mean by that?

Are you calling my old fictional comrade-in-arms a fairy?

"Fairy"!

"Poof's" not good enough for Algy, is it?

He's got to be a bleeding fairy.

Mincing old RAF queen.

Algy, I have to see you.

ALGY [ON INTERCOM]: Right-o.

What ho, everyone.

-[BIGGLES] Are you gay? -I should bally well say so, old fruit.

Ugh.

Dear King Haakon.

Oh. Dear, King Haakon.

Just a line to thank you for the eels.

Mary thought they were really scrummy, comma, so did I, full stop.

I've just heard that Algy was a poof, exclamation mark.

What would Captain W.E. Johns have said, question mark.

Sorry to mench, but if you've finished with the lawn edger, could you pop it in the post?

Love Biggles, Algy deceased, and Ginger.

-Ginger! -What?

Rhyming slang, ginger beer.

-Oh... -Ginger.

-GINGER [ON INTERCOM]: Hello, sweetie. -Uh, I have to see you.

Yes, Biggles?

Are you a poof?

I should say not.

Thank God for that. Good lad. Stout fellow.

Salt of the earth, backbone of England.

Funny, he looks like a poof.

Dear Princess Margaret.

Hello.

Get back in the cupboard, you pantomimetic royal person.

Lemon curry?

Dear real Princess Margaret, thank you for the eels, full stop.

They were absolutely delicious and unmistakably regal, full stop.

Sorry to mench, but if you've finished with the hair dryer, could you pop it in the post?

Yours fictionally, Biggles.

Oh, P.S., see you at the Saxe-Coburg's canasta evening.

That should puzzle her.

Si, Señor Biggles.

Silence, naughty lady of the night!

[♪♪♪]

NARRATOR: Next week, Part 2:

Biggles Flies Undone.

-Wheee! -Oooh!

[HELICOPTER ROTOR SOUNDS]

Baaah!

Whaaa!

Whaaaaaa!

[TIRES SCREECHING]

[CRASHING]

NARRATOR: Meanwhile, not very far away...

ANNOUNCER: Climbing. The world's loneliest sport,

where hardship and philosophy go hand in glove.

And here, another British expedition,

attempting to be the first man

to successfully climb

the north face of the Uxbridge Road.

This four-man rope has been climbing tremendously.

BBC cameras were there to film every inch.

The major assault on the Uxbridge Road

has been going on for about three weeks...

really, ever since they established base camp

here at the junction of Willesden Road.

From there, they climbed steadily to establish Camp Two,

outside Lewis's, and it's taken them another three days

to establish Camp Three, here outside the post office.

Well, they've spent a good night in there last night,

in preparation for the final assault today.

The leader of the expedition is 29-year-old Bert Tagg,

a local headmaster and mother of three.

Bert, uh, how's it going?

Oh, it's a-- It's a bit gripping, is this, Chris.

I've got to, uh, try and reach that bus stop in an hour or so and, eh, I'm doing it by-- Damn.

I'm doing it by-- by layback up this gutter.

So I'm kind of guttering and-- and laying back at the same time, and philosophizing.

Uh, Bert, some people say this is crazy.

Aye, well, they said Crippen was crazy, didn't they?

Well, Crippen was crazy.

Oh, well, there you are, then.

Eh, John, I'm sending you down this carabiner on white.

Lemon curry?

Now, see, he's putting in a peg down there because I'm quite a way up now and if I come unstuck here,

I go down quite a long way.

[LAUGHS]

Such quiet courage is typical of the way these brave chaps shrug off danger.

Like it or not, you've got to admire the skill that goes into it.

Ahhh!

[ALL SCREAMING]

[WIND HOWLING]

Oh, it's terrible up on deck.

Up on deck?

Yeah, on deck. It's diabolical weather.

Uh, what deck, dear?

The deck. The deck of the lifeboat.

This isn't a lifeboat, dear.

This is 24 Parker Street.

This is the Newhaven lifeboat.

No, it's not, dear.

[WIND HOWLING]

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

You're right.

This isn't a lifeboat at all.

No, I wouldn't live here if it was.

Do you mind if I sit down for a minute and collect my wits?

No, you do that. I'll make a nice cup of tea.

Thanks very much, thanks.

-[WIND HOWLING] -It's a wild night up top.

Your turn on deck soon, Charlie.

It's not a lifeboat, Frank.

-What? -What do you mean?

It's not a lifeboat. It's this lady's house.

[WIND HOWLING]

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

Captain!

Captain, ahoy, there!

-MAN 2: Ahoy, there! -MAN 1: Ahoy, there!

-MAN 2: Ahoy, there! -MAN 1: Captain?

Who's that shouting?

It's a man outside number 24.

Try it on the five-inch, Gladys.

I can't. I got that fixed on the Baileys at number 13.

Their new lodger moves in today.

Alright, hold 13 on the five-inch and transfer the Cartwrights to the digital scanner.

Okay.

Hold on, Mrs. Pettigrew's coming back from the doctor's.

Oh, bring her up on two.

What's the, uh-- What's the duration reading on the oscillator?

Forty-eight-point-four-seven.

Well, that's a long time for someone who's just had a routine checkup.

Yeah, her pulse rate's 146!

Zoom in on the 16 mil and hold her, Enid.

Roger, Gladys.

I'll try and get her on the 12-inch.

GLADYS: Move the curtain, Enid.

Thank you, love.

Yes, it's one of those new self-righting models.

Newhaven was about the first place in the country to get one.

What's the displacement on one of them jobs?

Oh, about 140-150 per square inch.

Uh, who's for fruitcake?

-ALL: Oh, yes, please, please. -Yes?

Right, uh, macaroons. That's two dozen fruitcakes, half a dozen macaroons.

Right, then. Won't be a jiffy, then.

[WIND HOWLING]

Yoo-hoo! Mrs. Edwards!

-Hello. -Hello, love.

I want two dozen fruitcakes, and half a dozen macaroons.

Oh, sorry, love, no macaroons.

How about some nice vanilla sponge?

Yeah, that'd be lovely.

-Right-o. -[HORN BLOWS]

Ooh! There's that nice herring trawler come for their cupcakes.

-Excuse me. -Right-o.

Hello, Captain Smith?

CAPTAIN SMITH [OVER MEGAPHONE]: Hello!

Cupcakes to starboard!

Coming!

For crying out loud.

Don't forget your fruitcake.

Oh, yes, throw 'em in.

I'll pay you at the end of the week.

Here you are. Okay, right-o.

-All right. -[HORN BLOWS]

[CHOIR SINGS]

Here! It's the Ark Royal, Doris.

Have you got their rock buns ready?

[HORN BLOWS]

Hang on!

Yes.

Here we are.

Uh, five for them and five for HMS Eagle.

-Right-o. -All right.

[GRUNTING]

Yes?

HMS Defiant.

Two set teas, please.

Two set teas, Doris.

That'll be 48 pence.

-There we are, thank you. -Yeah.

By the way, do you do lunches?

No, morning kippers and teas only.

Right-o, then.

[♪♪♪]

Good evening and welcome to another edition of Storage Jars.

On tonight's program, Mikos Antoniarkis, the Greek rebel leader who seized power in Athens this morning, tells us what he keeps in storage jars.

[FANFARE]

From strife-torn Bolivia,

Ronald Rodgers reports on storage jars there.

[FANFARE]

And, closer to home, the first dramatic pictures of the mass jailbreak near the storage-jar factory in Maidenhead.

All this and more in Storage Jars.

This is La Paz, Bolivia.

Behind me, you can hear the thud of mortars, and the high-pitched whine of rockets as the battle for control of this volatile republic shakes the foundations of this old city.

But whatever their political inclinations, these Bolivians are all keen users of storage jars.

Here, the largest size is used for rice and for mangos, a big local crop.

And unlike most revolutionary South American states, they've an intermediary size in between the two-pound and five-pound jars.

This gives this poor but proud people a useful jar for apricots, plums and stock cubes.

The smallest jar? This little two-ounce jar, for sweets, chocolates and even little shallots.

No longer used in the West, it remains here as an unspoken monument to the days when La Paz knew better times.

Ronald Rodgers, Storage Jars, La Paz.

MAN [ON TV]: In London, the prime minister met officials

from the Department of the Environment

to discuss the whole question of national parks.

[CONTINUES INDISTINCT]

A cassette-tape recorder is to replace the salon quartets and trios

which have played beside the potted palms at Manchester Town Hall reception

for nearly 100 years.

A shortage in money has caused a switch to taped music.

It will be relayed over a new public address system,

replacing one which relayed both music

and the clink of glasses to other reception halls.

Stock market prices hit record levels

in the last part of the year.

The Financial Times index rose 3.7 points to 476.5,

the highest increase from July.

[MECHANICAL WHIRRING]

[CONTINUES INDISTINCT]

The BBC has reported that radio-free Solent,

a pirate station, was marking the first birthday of the BBC--

Henry, turn that television off.

You know it's bad for your eyes.

Yes, dear.

Ah, that's better.

Henry, will you stop sitting around?

-Yes, dear. -There's an entire TV studio waiting around here to do the next link.

[OPENS, CLOSES DOOR]

And when you've got that done, I've got some more work for you.

Yes, dear.

Henry, do you hear me?!

Henry!

Henry, get a move on!

Now, you sod!

That's better.

Hup, two, hup, two, hup, two, hup, two, hup, two.

[PANTING]

CROWD [YELLING]: Hurray!

Hello. I'm the good fairy from Program Control, where we're all grateful for your work on this link.

So much so that I'm here to release you from the evil spell you've been under.

Huh?

Mwah!

Hmm. Well, it doesn't always work the first time.

Mwah. Mwah. Mwah.

Mwah!

[CROAKS]

Thank you, mind you.

No, no need to.

You see, it's all in a day's work for Program Control.

[♪♪♪]

MAN READS:

Hello, the, uh, show so far.

Well, it all started with the organist losing his clothes as he sat down at the organ.

And after this had happened, uh, and we had seen the titles of the show, we saw Biggles dictating a letter to his secretary who thought he was Spanish, and whom he referred to as a harlot and a woman of the night, although she preferred to be called a "courtesan".

[CHUCKLES]

Then we saw some people trying to climb a road in Uxbridge.

And then there were some cartoons, and then some lifeboatmen came into a woman's sitting room, and, uh, after a bit, the woman went out to buy some, uh, cakes on a-- a lifeboat.

And then a-- a naval officer jumped into the sea.

Uh, then we saw a man telling us about storage jars from Bolivia, and then there were some more cartoons, and then a man told us about what had happened on the show so far and a great hammer came and hit him on the head.

I don't remember that.

Lemon curry?

[FOLK MUSIC PLAYING]

[FOLK MUSIC CONTINUES]

Morning, sir.

Good morning, um...

I was, uh, sitting in the public library on Thurmon Street just now, skimming through Rogue Herries by Horace Walpole when I, um, suddenly came over all peckish.

Peckish, sir?

-Esurient. -Eh?

[IN SCOUSE ACCENT]: Eee, I were all hungry, like!

Oh, hungry.

[NORMAL VOICE]: In a nutshell. So I thought to myself, a little fermented curd will do the trick.

So I curtailed my Walpoling activities, sallied forth and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some cheesy comestibles.

MAN: Come again?

[IN SCOUSE ACCENT]: I want to buy some cheese.

Oh, I thought you were complaining about the music.

[NORMAL VOICE]: Oh, heaven forbid. I am one who delights in all manifestations

-of the terpsichorean muse. -MAN: Sorry?

[IN SCOUSE ACCENT]: I like a nice dance. You're forced to.

-Anyway. -Who said that?

Well, my good man, some cheese, please.

Yes, certainly, sir. What would you like?

Well, how about a little Red Leicester?

I'm afraid we're fresh out of Red Leicester, sir.

Never mind. How are you on, uh, Tilsit?

Never at the end of the week, sir. Always get it fresh first thing on Monday.

Tish-tish. No matter.

Umm...

Well, four ounces of Caerphilly, then, if you please, stout yeoman.

Ah. Well, it's been on order for two weeks, sir. I was expecting it this morning.

Yes, it's not my day, is it?

Ah, Bel Paese?

Sorry.

Red Windsor?

Normally, sir, yes.

-But today, the van broke down. -Ah.

Uh, Stilton?

Sorry.

-Gruyère? Emmental? -No.

-Any Norwegian Jarlsberg? -No.

-Liptauer? -No.

-Lancashire? -No.

-White Stilton? -No.

-Danish Blue? -No.

-Double Gloucester? -No.

-Cheshire? -No.

-Any Dorset Blue Vinney? -No.

Brie, Roquefort, Pont l'evêque,

Port Salut, Savoyard, Saint-Paulin,

Carre de l'est, Boursin,

Bresse Bleu, Perle de Champagne,

Camembert?

Ah. We do have some Camembert, sir.

You do, excellent.

It's a bit runny, sir.

Oh, I like it runny.

Well, as a matter of fact, it's very runny, sir.

No matter. No matter. Hand over...

[SPEAKS FRENCH]

I think it's runnier than you'd like it, sir.

I don't care how excrementally runny it is.

Hand it over with all speed.

Yes, sir. Ohhhh!

What?

The cat's eaten it.

-Has he? -She, sir.

-Gouda? -No.

-Edam? Caithness? -No. No.

-Smoked Austrian? -No.

-Sage Derby? -No, sir.

You do have some cheese?

Certainly, sir. It's a cheese shop, sir.

-We've got-- -No, no, no.

No, don't tell me. I'm keen to guess.

Fair enough.

-Wensleydale. -Yes, sir?

Splendid! Well, I'll have some of that, then, please.

Oh, I'm sorry, sir, I thought you were referring to me,

Mr. Wensleydale. Heh.

-Gorgonzola? -No.

-Parmesan? Mozzarella? -No. No.

-Pipo Crème? -No.

-Any Danish Fynbo? -No.

Czechoslovakian sheep's milk cheese?

No.

Venezuelan beaver cheese?

Not today, sir, no.

Well, let's keep it simple. Um, how about cheddar?

Well, I'm afraid we don't get much call for it around these parts, sir.

Not much call--? It's the single most popular cheese in the world.

Not round these parts, sir.

And pray, what is the most popular cheese round these parts?

Ilchester, sir.

I see.

Yes, sir. It's quite staggeringly popular in the manor, squire.

-Is it? -Yes, sir, it's our number one seller.

-Is it? -Yes, sir.

-Ilchester, eh? -Right.

Okay, I'm game.

"Have you got any?" he asked, expecting the answer "no".

I'll have a look, sir.

[HUMMING]

No.

It's not much of a cheese shop, really, is it?

Finest in the district, sir.

What leads you to that conclusion?

Well, it's so clean.

Well, it's certainly uncontaminated by cheese.

You haven't asked me about Limburger, sir.

Is it worth it?

Could be.

Okay.

Have you got--? Will you shut that bloody dancing up?!

Told you so.

[CLEARS THROAT]

Have you got any Limburger?

-No. -No, that figures.

It was pretty predictable, really.

It was an act of pure optimism to have posed the question in the first place.

Tell me something, do you have any cheese at all?

Yes, sir.

Now, I'm going to ask you that question once more.

And if you say no, I'm going to shoot you through the head.

Now, do you have any cheese at all?

No.

Uugh!

What a senseless waste of human life.

[♪♪♪]

Hugh Walpole's Rogue Cheddar, one of the first of the cheese Westerns. [SNIFFS]

To be later followed by Gunfight at Gruyère Corral,

Ilchester '73, and The Cheese Who Shot Liberty Valance.

While I'm on the subject of Westerns,

I want to take a closer look at one of my favorite film directors. [SNIFFS]

Sam Peckinpah, the expatriate from Fresno, California. [SNIFFS]

In his earliest films, Major Dundee...

[SNIFFING] ...The Wild Bunch, and Straw Dogs...

[SNIFFS] ...he showed his predilection for the utterly truthful, and very sexually arousing, portrayal of violence...

[SNIFFING] ...in its darkest form.

In his latest film, Peckinpah has moved into the calmer, and more lyrical waters... [SNIFFS]

...of Julian Slade's Salad Days.

[♪♪♪]

Hello, everybody.

ALL [IN UNISON]: Hello, Lionel.

I say, what a simply super day.

ALL [IN UNISON]: Gosh, yes.

It's so, you know, sunny.

Yes, isn't it?

I say, anyone for tennis?

Oh, super!

What fun.

I say, Lionel, catch.

[SCREAMS]

Oh, crikey.

[SCREAMS] Oh, crikey!

Damn it!

[♪♪♪]

[SCREAMING]

[BOTH SCREAMING]

[INJURED PEOPLE GROANING]

Pretty strong meat there, from... [SNIFFS] Sam Peckinpah.

[GUNSHOTS]

[GROANS]

[YELLS]

[♪♪♪]

MAN READS:

MAN 2 READS:

We've just heard that an explosion in the kitchens of the House of Lords, has resulted in the breakage of 17 storage jars.

Police rule out foul play.

Lemon curry?

[CLEARS THROAT]

Um, I'm sorry about the, uh... the, uh... pause.

Only, um, I'm afraid the show is a couple of minutes short this week.

Um, you know, sometimes, uh, the shows aren't really quite as--as, uh, as long as they ought to be.

Beautiful, isn't it?

Uh, look, there's not really a-a great deal of point in your sort of hanging on at your end, because I'm afraid there aren't any more, uh, jokes or anything.