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Eurgh.
Let me see, let me see.
Ah, the groaning board,
the teeming table,
the endless variety of God's bounty.
Cheffing is a truly perfect art,
far above mere painting or sculpture.
You can't eat a sheet of canvas
or a lump of rock.
I don't know.
You could if you were
drunk and had enough ketchup.
- Morning, Richie.
- Do my senses deceive me?
Has Eddie Catflap emerged
from the arms of Morpheus
or perhaps an elephant has blown off?
No.
Right first time.
It is I, smelly Eddie.
To whiff him is to love him.
Ready for anything,
as long as it's alcoholic.
- Morning, Richie.
- Where's my shopping list?
Gas mask.
Now then,
shall we have seven courses or eight?
Don't want do look ostentatious.
But don't want to look like
a bloody pauper.
Better make it 12.
We could be like the Romans
and throw up between courses.
Why should they get the credit
for that idea?
I've been doing it for years.
Morning, Richie.
Twelve gas masks,
clothes peg for nose, smelling salts
and a ticket to Australia
to get away from Eddie's whiff.
- I said, morning, Richie!
- Ah!
I got you, then, didn't I? I got you.
Morning, Eddie.
I trust you slept well?
Fantastic.
A truly great sleep.
On the scale of one to five -
Sleeping face down in the toilet
is conducive to restful slumber?
And why shouldn't I sleep
in the lavatory? You wet the bed.
Once.
I had a nightmare
that I was ordinary and untalented
and there was
a momentary aberration.
It's a sign of
an extra-vivid subconscious.
It's a sign of an extra-drippy tiddler.
Eddie, I was having a nightmare
that I was a pleb.
It was a horrifying experience.
I remember the night so well.
I awoke to hear Richie screaming
into the middle of the night.
"Ah.
" His heart-rending sobs
echoing round the house.
Why, you wept like a soul in torment.
I rushed in
to find poor, frightened Richie
shivering, terrified, white,
sitting in a puddle.
- Yes, and what did you do?
- I don't remember.
You switched on my electric blanket.
Only to take your mind off the nightmare.
You completely electrocuted
my love truncheon.
Love truncheon?
Love pencil, more like.
Well, love pin, actually.
Eddie, what's this?
- I don't know.
- It's one of my scary looks.
Is it really?
My intimidating frown.
So you just watch out.
Has the hair grown back yet?
Your love blobs looked like
Yul Brynner snogging Kojak.
I'm not prepared to rise to it.
Your spite and venom offends me not.
- Baldy blobs.
- Right, that's it.
That is it.
I hope you've got a good lawyer,
because I am suing and you're
going to prison forever.
Hello, Filthy?
Yeah, it's Richie here.
I wanna sue Eddie.
Richie Rich.
Your client.
I'm five foot ten, brown hair
Look, it's not important.
My minder, Edward, says that I've got
bald love blobs and I want to sue.
Have I? Well, they're not
so much bald as receding.
I'd put a wig on them for the trial.
Bloodsucker, what do I pay you for?
I know I don't, it was a rhetorical
question.
Goodbye forever!
He was furious.
But I persuaded him
to give you a chance.
Shut up and tell me
why you are wearing a hat
that makes you look like you've got
a toilet roll on your head.
Because, Eddie, I have taken up
the skillet and the frying pan.
I've been studying cookery all morning
and I am now a master chef.
- That's why I'm wearing this great hat.
- You look like a chicken drumstick.
Ha ha! Wrong again because,
actually, I look great.
- We are having a dinner party.
- Oh-hoo.
Eight for 8:30.
The food, the fine wine, the
the little chocolatey, minty thingies.
- Who's coming?
- Some close personal friends.
Oh, dear.
The man from
the dirty mag shop and wino Bill.
Again.
You really are insanely jealous,
aren't you, Edward?
I keep forgetting you're not
in the biz, are you?
The huge galaxy of showbiz stars
are all brothers and sisters to me.
Tarby, for instance, is bound to accept.
Especially after the brilliant
invitations I sent out.
"The years and the tears.
"Celebrate Richie Rich's
ten fabulous years of success.
"
How sad.
From third dummy
on Are You Being Served?
To his very own carpet ad.
I am not sitting at the same table
as Tarby and that's that.
No, Eddie, no, no.
We're talking about Jimmy Tarbuck.
The cheeky chap from the 'pool.
Everybody's pal.
The gap-toothed Scouser
with a twinkle and a smile
for every Englishman.
Look, if there's one thing I hate
in British entertainment more than you,
it's that vast army of ex-stand-up comics
who did one half-funny gag on
Sunday Night At The London Palladium
and have made a fortune doing
game shows ever since.
"Oh, good evening,
and your name is Cynthia
"and you'd like me
to patronise and humiliate you
"on the off chance
of winning a teasmade.
"
Cheeky chappies? Complete
and utter ***, if you ask me.
Well, I don't think anyone
will be asking you, will they?
Tarby is just a simple jester.
An honest broker
from the bank of smiles.
I was only saying so to Marti Caine,
before her last trip to South Africa.
So keep your embittered,
communistic treason to yourself
during tonight's intercourse
with Tarby and friends.
I am not having intercourse
with Tarby and that's final.
What a surprise!
Four minutes into the episode
and he delivers
the most tortuous double entendre ever.
It was a great gag.
- Social intercourse, Eddie, social.
- Oh, phew.
We shall talk about subjects
far above your head.
Poetry,
fine art,
golf.
That reminds me, I must bone up
on Tarby's book of golfing anecdotes.
They are the greatest work
of Eng lit since ***.
- Oo-er.
- ***-ens, Eddie.
***-ens.
Oo-er.
There's only one thing I hate more
than golfing anecdotes and it's this.
It's a close run thing, though.
Ha ha ha ha ha!
This is brilliant stuff,
it's classic, classic, classic.
Well done, Tarby.
Oh.
Oh, listen to this one.
Listen, listen, listen.
Shut up.
"Lynchy and I had taken time off
and flown to Spain
"with Greavsie and Parky
and Tom O'Connory
- "to play golf with Lesie.
"
- Lesie?
- Yeah.
- Playing golf with lesbians.
Fantastic.
Do you think
Tarbuck's a feminist, then?
Lesie Crowthery, Eddie, Lesie Crowthery.
Just another one of the great guys
that make up my showbiz gang
that I belong to and you don't.
Now, shut up, I'm telling you
the great anecdote.
- "Lynchy lined up to tee off.
"
- I wish you'd tee off
and let me smoke my *** in peace.
"Lynchy lined up to tee off
and said to me,
"'Gosh, Tarbo,
we swigged so much pop last night,
"'being great guys together
and such great big showbiz mates,
"'that I bet I miss this next shot.
'
"And blow me down but he did.
He missed it.
"
Oh, oh, oh.
Ha ha ha ha.
Oh, ha ha!
Oh, touch�, Tarby.
Oh, that was brilliant.
No, the same thing has happened
to me fumfty times.
We-hell.
I can see it's gonna
be a scintillating evening
with everyone cracking
brillo gags like that one.
Yeah.
Hey.
Maybe there's a series in it.
Dinner At Richie's.
An ultra-sophis chat show.
Good evening.
This is the BBC.
Tonight, Sir Richie Rich
will be talking to the Queen, the Pope
and, of course, the Tarby.
It'd be a disaster.
You'd get drunk
and make a pass at the Pope
for wearing a dress.
Bloody good telly though.
So, what incredible 12 courses
will you cook
for your fantastically amiable
showbiz chums?
Well, we must play to our strengths,
must not overreach ourselves.
- Right.
- Er
How does 12 boiled eggs sound?
Er, usually like this
Nice gag, Eddie, and totally unexpected.
Perhaps a little sophisticated
for BBC2, though.
I can just see it now.
"How's the golf going, Tarbs?"
"Oh, really?"
"Do you wanna hear a stupid joke
about an Irishman being stupid?"
- Can't wait.
- What do you suggest, then?
You're supposed to be my friend,
you freeloading parasite.
Smelly Eddie to the rescue.
When I was watching TV-am
in the lav this morning,
I saw this fantast ad
for a new mag called Poncy Cooking.
And when you buy part one,
you get part two completely free.
That sounds like a marvellous offer
and one not to be missed.
Actually, it's a clumsy setup
for a gag later on.
- Oh, what a shame.
- Yes.
- Let's go to the newsagent's.
- Okey-dokey, diddly squat.
Over we go.
Don't ever say I'm not there
when I'm not needed.
You're not there when you're not needed.
Thank you.
- Ready, Eddie?
- Ready-weddy.
- Let's go.
- Right, then.
Blimey, the newsagent's is closer
now we're in a smaller studio.
Shut up.
You're spoiling the magic
for everyone.
Oh.
Oh, look, the newsagent.
Hello, me old darling.
Yep, it's me, Richie Rich.
Don't faint.
Treasure the moment.
Here's a pic.
Put it in your box
of precious things.
I don't understand
what you're talking about.
Oh, yes.
Oh, yes, I'm sure.
One of the cool type, are we?
Gonna boast to your friends?
"I met Richie Rich and pretended
not to recognise him.
Hee hee.
"
What a sad little life you must lead.
Are you mad?
- Perhaps a little zany, yes.
- Excuse me.
Do you have part one
of Poncy Cooking with part two free?
- Certainly.
One pound, please.
- Aha.
I'm afraid I have no money
so I'll just take part two for nothing,
shall I?
- You stupid slag! Come on, Richie.
- One pound, please.
Er, hurr I'll give you
a mensh on me next programme.
- I shall call the police.
- No, cos your part's over.
The end of your scene.
Back to the dole for you.
Five lines, thank you and good night.
Well, I must say,
this looks very interesting.
She's crying, you know.
That, Eddie, is the biz.
It's a tough life.
It's a tough life, dearie.
I mean, look at Arthur Mullard.
She used to be quite attractive.
- I still quite fancy her.
- Yeah, hur-uhh.
Well, I must say.
This is very interesting.
Must learn to read sometime.
Right.
Sod all this health food.
When I eat, I like to dice
with a heart attack.
Let's have a good English roast
and a coronary thrombosis.
- Right.
Let's make a shopping list.
- Yeah.
Four hundred pounds of oven chips.
Right, that seems simple enough.
Better check the larder.
Waste not, want not.
- Remember the poor children.
- Oh, the little poor children.
Yes.
With their cosy
little terrace dwellings.
- A roaring fire.
- Bread, cheese.
- Dripping.
- Add a little love, makes a
meal fit for a king.
I think they're happier being poor.
Yes, or perhaps not.
Oh, well, who gives a toss anyway?
Let's check what's in the larder.
Any food?
Erm, only a couple of dirty mags.
Huh? Oh, yeah.
I'm sure there's a reason
why we shouldn't be doing this
but I can't put my finger on it.
Don't overtax your tiny mind.
It's concentrating on breathing.
Shut up, the cheque's in the post.
Yeah, whose show is this anyway?
I'm the famous one, love.
Come, let us go to the supermarket.
Right.
What a rotten shop.
There's never anything you want to buy.
For example
"Cruizos.
Bite-sized cruise-missile
shaped lumps of potato flavoured snack.
"Warning-will give you cancer.
"
Everything gives you cancer these days.
You can't blow off
without being told it's carcinogenic.
- In my case, it probably is.
- Probably.
- Careful, you'll get grabbed by the ***.
- Oo-er.
We mean get arrested
by the store detective.
It was just a pun.
We have every intention
of paying for this item.
Ooh, Eddie, it'd be funny
if somebody knocked that lot down.
Not particularly, no.
I'm disappointed myself.
Come, Eddie, for fruit.
It is the absolute sophis thing
to offer fruit after the meal.
So refreshing and it comes in handy
for the sex games.
No, not this.
Look, ridiculous.
Oh, this is disgusting.
All this fruit is crushed and bruised.
I shall write to Esther Rantzen.
- Ah, the meat, Eddie.
- Ha.
Load up the trolley.
They'll have been playing golf
- so they'll be ready for hearty vitals.
- Look at this little lamb chop.
It was probably once a pig,
gambolling in the mountains.
Yeah.
Doingy, doingy, doing.
I could quite fancy myself as a farmer.
Well, it's a good job
you do fancy yourself
cos I can't see that anyone else
is going to do it.
Eddie, do you see this frozen chicken?
Er, yes.
Oh, urh.
Frozen tackle might teach you
not to cheek me.
Richie Rich, do you see
this frozen chicken?
- No.
- I think you do.
Ha ha.
Touch�, Eddie.
Come on, let's go and pay for the stuff.
I've remembered
why we shouldn't be here.
- We have no cash.
- Eddie, I am a celebrity.
Celebrities don't need money.
- Next.
- Ha ha ha.
Boo!
Hello, love.
It's me, Richie Rich.
A-ha!
It's just cancer crunch
and a trolley of meat.
I'll give you a mensh on my next prog.
�200, please.
My dear girl,
you don't seem to understand.
I, Richie Rich, am offering you, nobody,
a mensh on my next prog.
- Right.
This requires subtle handling.
- �200, please.
How does it feel to be a checkout girl
who's reached the peak of your
potential?
How does it feel to know that
you're a talentless git
who never even had any potential?
- I see.
- �200, please.
Uh.
Stitch that.
I think you're on there.
I know a come-on when I see it.
This is ridiculous.
Somebody here tell donkey face
who I am.
We don't know.
Who are you?
You jest.
You jape.
I am one of Britain's top comic talents.
- Say something funny, then.
- Yeah.
If you're so funny, why don't you say
something funny?
Go on, say something funny.
All right, then, I will, I will.
Erm
Plop.
- Oh, dear.
- Damn.
Mistimed it.
I'll have to get the manager.
Mr Forsyth!
Listen, ***, I was once
continuity link man on TVS.
I don't see why I should
have to pay for my food.
Listen, ***-no money, no food.
Ah.
Ooh.
You're the sort of girl
I could fall in love with.
However, no time, because Richie?
- Yes?
- Run!
- I meant through the door.
- Oh, sorry.
I thought they'd never give up.
Mr Forsyth had some stamina.
Safe and sound now and time to get on
with my wonderful dinner party.
That's what you think.
But I have been thinking.
Well, well, well,
wonders will never cease.
Eddie Catflap's been thinking.
Put out some bunting.
Organise a street party.
Let off some fireworks.
Telephone the Queen.
Give everyone a week's holiday.
The man with no brain's been thinking.
Everybody go to the lavatory
in amazement.
You don't know how you wound,
Richie, you really don't.
However, no matter,
because you will soon be in pris.
- Pris?
- Pris-on.
You have aided and abetted a robbery
in front of Mr Forsyth
and 50 mad checkout girls.
I am all right.
I was just
the mysteriously handsome bloke
in the huge trousers
who vanished without a trace.
But you're Richie Rich.
And you'll be going to pris.
You're not all right, darling,
cos I shall squeal.
Yeah, I shall sing and and blab
Then I might even spill a little bit.
And I shall buy a lighter sentence
with the names of my accomplices -
to wit, Edward Catflap.
Then I'll have a face-lift
so you can't exact your revenge.
You'd need a fork-lift truck
to lift your face, matey.
At least I've got a face,
not a collage of bogeys and sick.
Just cos you never get any girlfriends,
you think you can take it out on me.
Me, never get any girlfriends?
That's rich, you never get any girlfriends.
I was out with a girl last Wednesday.
Eddie, that was your mother.
I still got a snog.
- Snog?
- More of a fight.
She beat me senseless.
That must have taken
at least ten seconds.
We're about to be sent to Devil's Island,
Tarby's coming
for an important dinner party
and you're babbling on
about your insane mother.
We're up plop creek with no loo brush.
- I'll telephone my agent.
- Good idea, let's blame him.
Yeah.
Hey, what if he won't take the rap?
Say we'll go to the papes
about his "children's catalogue".
Nice thinking.
Hello, Filthy? God bless,
look after Mum, drive safely.
Listen, you filthy, evil *** merchant,
me and Eddie are in trouble.
Unless you take the blame,
we'll tell the world the truth
about your "stage school".
Please, daughter, please.
Please.
Listen, I am not a well man.
This morning, I coughed so hard
I sucked my trousers up my backside.
Now, listen, Richie.
Nobody needs to take the rap for this.
What you have got to get yourself
is an alibi.
Don't shout, daughter.
There's only so much an agent can take
after only one bottle of aspirin.
Now, look, alibis are easy.
You're a comic, right?
Well, loosely speaking, of course.
Yeah.
You were doing a show.
No, no, that's easy.
All we have to do is to get you
a real show tonight,
then Eddie can crawl
around surreptitiously,
change the audience's watches back
to the time you blagged the store.
Yes, yes, I know just the venue.
'Tr�s chic.
Tr�s bona.
'Yeah, only the nicest
young ladies need apply.
'
A peepshow, Filthy?
What if Tarby finds out?
I'll be thrown out of the Royal Order
of the Charitable Self-Publicising
Showbiz Bog Otters.
Don't worry about the Bog Otters.
They were in here themselves
half an hour ago.
They had to leave
cos they run out of 50p's.
How's my boy Richie doing?
That audience are getting
a bit restive at the moment,
trying to see if bouncers
really do bounce.
Don't mither the act.
He's got enough to concern him,
what with being crap.
You were supposed to be changing
the audience's watches
while they ogled the girlies.
I was trying to but the hands
are moving too quickly.
Get on with it.
Right, that's it.
Richie, you're on.
God, I'm not ready.
How do I look, darling?
Not good, daughter.
Tr�s, tr�s ***.
- He's absolutely bloody right.
- Philistines.
I'd better do my superstitions.
What are you doing?
Titch "Oo-er, madam, don't start me off"
Juicy always did this before a show.
- But he was notoriously awful.
- God, you're right.
Boys and girls, lads and lasses,
please welcome to the stage
a very funny man indeed,
the world famous Mr, er Richie Rich.
Ooh-hoo-hoo!
- Here we go.
Break a leg.
- OK.
Get off, you maniac.
Hello, hello.
Shut up.
Hi, God bless and if you can't be good,
be careful.
Ho ho ho.
Right.
It's full up in here, as the vicar
said with his hand up Sam Fox's blouse.
Show us your ***.
But seriously, folks.
The Good Lord
gave us the gift of laughter.
- Get off!
- Ha ha ha.
Thank God the likes of Tony Benn
can't take that away from us,
although he'd like to.
Tell us a joke, then, you fat ***.
I hear Arthur Scargill's
blind stick lost his hairdresser.
- You have to laugh, don't you?
- Not at you.
Two, three, four
Happiness
Happiness
Thank you.
God bless you, one and all.
- Get off!
- The greatest thing
That I possess
The smile of a child, a beautiful woman,
just simply being British.
Crap!
I thank the Lord
that I've been blessed
Let's thank the mums.
Hello, mums.
Here to keep an eye on Dad, are you?
Richie, it's not going very well, is it?
than my share
of ha ppiness
Ha ha ha.
Thank you, one and all.
Happy hunting
and if you can't be good, be careful.
I've done that one.
Er
And if you're in a car, please drive safely.
Thank you and good night, one and all.
I love you all.
Well, tough crowd but I think
I got the measure of 'em.
Ooh.
They probably couldn't afford flowers.
This will do for our dinner party.
Richie, I've got some
rather bad news for you.
- You're under arrest.
- That's the bad news.
I wasn't that bad.
I stumbled
on a couple of punch lines.
It was our alibi-it collapsed.
Mr Forsyth, he followed us here.
It's pris for us.
- Are you coming quietly, sir?
- No, it's just the way I walk.
Note that down.
I want all to know
I was still cracking woofers.
Woofers or ancient double entendre
that everybody else gave up
in the playground?
Oh, what a clever thing to say.
How brainy you are.
Got a degree? Just cos you earn
four times as much as a nurse,
you think you can cheek Richie Rich,
do you?
Now, that's what I like to see.
A good, old-fashioned bobby.
Don't worry, Richie.
These days,
prison food is quite acceptable.
Mind you, it's not so nice
when they nail you to the table
and shove it up your backside.
Well, Eddie,
the long and winding road is over.
The great god, public, claims
another weary showbiz victim.
Huh.
Oscar Wilde, playwright,
arrested for his beliefs.
Lenny Bruce, comedian,
arrested for his beliefs.
Richie Rich, celebrity, arrested
For going nicking down the local shop.
Huh! Lt'll be the trial of the century.
I shall be tried in majestic splendour
by a jury of my peers.
Parky, Tarby, Lynchy, Sue Lawley.
- Annie Diamondy.
- Debbie Greenwoody.
Selina Scotty, Maggie Philbiny.
Bloody hell, what a fantastic jury.
We might be on for a sex sesh
after the trial.
Too right except you won't be there,
cos you'll be in pris.
I'll be all right.
I'm gonna plead insanity.
Damn.
Let's face it.
You've got the evidence.
Let me out! I need a lawyer!
I want my lawyer!
- Oh.
- Don't shout, Richie.
It oscillates the atmos
and rattles my phlegm.
- I've found you a lawyer.
- Oh.
Met him outside.
Known him for years.
Spurty.
- Pervy Sir Peter Spurty, QC.
- Mm.
Bit of luck him being here, really.
He'll get anyone off
if you buy him a dirty mag.
Remember when
the Tory cabinet were found
in that brothel discussing
declining moral values?
Clear as a bell.
Pervy Sir Peter Spurty got them off.
Right.
He's the man for us.
Bring us our lawyer!
We demand Pervy Sir Pete.
- In there, Spurty.
- Blimey, that was quick.
Well done the police, say I.
Why do left-wingers
keep sniping at them?
If you don't wanna get beaten up,
you shouldn't be poor.
Richie, shut up.
Watcha, Spurty.
Me and my mate are in a bit of a fix
and are gonna do five to ten
in the slammer
unless you can stitch the jury,
rig the judge
and buy off the pigs with a kickback.
Eddie.
Please, please, please.
This is England, Eddie.
England.
Not Birmingham.
The British bobby cannot be bought.
- You, shut your face.
- Sorry.
- What are you offering?
- Nothing.
You must speak to my lawyer.
What, old pervy Spurty?
Ho-ho-ho! Ha-ha-ha!
Right now, everything seems
to be in order here.
I would stand by you, Richie,
but lost causes depress me.
Toodly-woodly.
Right, Spurty, do your stuff.
Your Honour,
I wandered into a garden,
under the impression it was my garden.
On seeing items
of women's laundry hanged on the line,
I naturally assumed
that my wife had done some washing
and I began to get it in for her.
The fact that I live in a high-rise flat
and am not married
is circumstantial evidence
and, hence, inadmissible.
Right.
Well, we'd better escape.
Against Leon Brittan's
law and order initiative? Never!
No choice.
The meat is in my trousers,
Tarby is coming round
to hear his golfing anecdote
and you're banged up in the slammer.
Don't be disgusting.
I've never been
banged up the slammer.
You're right.
We've gotta escape.
I have a plan.
What we have to do is
set up a complicated system of stooges
to find out exactly
what the guards are up to.
Then, we dig three tunnels
and hide the dirt in our trousers.
We forge some German documents
and make the clothes of French
peasant workers out of these blankets.
It's a great night for dying!
Then we wheel the wooden horse
into the exercise yard,
we build a glider
and we pole vault over the fence.
- What do you think?
- Pathetic.
- Let's do it, then.
- Yeah.
I'm sorry I doubted you.
Your plan worked brilliantly.
Yes.
Shame about old Spurty
getting shot by the Gestapo.
No, the SPG, Eddie, the SPG.
Not the Gestapo.
They're completely different things.
The Gestapo, er
- speak German.
- Ah, yes.
We're all right.
That's what matters.
Of course, Eddie.
Safe and sound at home.
Perhaps now I can prepare
for my fantastic dinner party.
Empty the big trousers.
Okey-dokey,
me old spunky *** sparrow.
Now then, I've invited
Tarby, Lynchy, Parky, Brucie,
Tommy O'Connory and you and me.
Have we sufficient comestibles?
Oo-er! I don't know about that
but here's the grub.
Good Lord, how did you get
so much meat in your trousers?
That's what all the girls say.
*** is the last recourse
of the emotional cripple, Eddie.
It's a psychological truism -
people talk about what they can't do.
Is that why you always talk
about acting, plop pants?
Perhaps there is a land
beyond the oblivion of brain death
where your observations
would be understood,
but to us earthlings,
they are mashed potatoes.
So keep them to yourself!
Richie, it's your choice.
I can either stuff the meat into the oven,
you into the oven or the oven into you.
Which is to be?
The former.
Which one was that?
- That was where the oven
- Meat
It doesn't matter.
Tarby'll be here in ten minutes
and we haven't cooked a thing.
Get this stuff in the oven.
- I'll never get it all in.
- Oo-er, sounds a bit rude.
Gonna need something to lever it in with.
Oo-er, sounds a bit ruder.
No matter how much I stuff in,
there's more to be pushed in.
Oo-er.
It sounds even ruder
than it was before.
Thank you for these observations.
Every culinary exchange
should be accompanied
by the rantings of a braindead vegetable.
There we are, it's alight.
Ooh, it's Tarby.
Oh, God, Tarby's here.
Oh, God, it's Parky,
it's Tarby, it's Lynchy.
The whole gang's here.
For God's sake, don't do anything rude.
Hope I'm not late, loobies.
I bought you a bottle of wine
but I drunk it in the taxi.
Oh, God, I'd forgotten
I'd invited you, Filthy.
You won't impress my showbiz friends.
I'd be impressed if you had any friends.
Right, that's it.
Your invitation's withdrawn.
Go away.
Oh, go on, daughter, do me a favour.
Where's your sense of humour?
- Only a bijou jokette.
- Oh, joke, oh.
Of course I'll impress your friends.
We'll make a bona little team.
The financial artiste.
The theatrical artiste.
And the *** artist.
It's going to be a truly magical evening.
Blimey, those candles burned down fast.
Oh, keep it to yourself, Eddie.
Much time has passed.
I'm swathed in melancholic pathos.
- Oo-er.
- Shut up, Eddie.
I think you've been stood up, Richie.
Oo-er.
Oh, shut up, Eddie.
After all I've done.
A show in a peepshow,
robbed a supermarket, been to prison
and the rotters haven't even turned up.
Fate deals me blow after blow.
Oo-er.
What time did you
put on the invites, love?
Eight o'clock.
Look, I've got 'em here.
Tarby's, Brucie's, Lynchy's and
I forgot to post the invites.
Dinner is served.