Good evening. Earlier tonight, "Show us your drawers, you old scrubber",
the episode of Magic Roundabout which hinted at some unnatural relationship
between Zebedee and Dougal, brought a flood of irate phone calls from viewers.
So tonight, Line-Up looks once again
at the vexed question of television censorship.
We have with us in the studio, the president
of the league of television decency, mr Whitefoot.
Good evening. - Good evening.
Beg your pardon.
I understand that the principal aim of your league is to clean up television.
Yes, that's right. We object most strongly
to some of the suggestive dialogue and innuendo in some BBC productions.
- Could you give me an example of this? - Yes, yes, most willingly.
The other night, in the Epilogue, a bishop said, and I quote,
wait a minute, I've got it written down...
- A bishop? - Yes, a bisshop said: "Look here."
- "Look here"? - Yes.
Yes, I may be obtuse, I fail to see anything particularly dirty in that.
It depends on how you look at it, doesn't it.
I mean, to me, to me the phrase "look here" suggests immediately,
"Look here through that keyhole
at the young female person taking her clothes off."
Well, I must admit, I hadn't thought of that.
Well that's what I thought of immediately.
I see, yes. Did you have any other examples?
Oh yes, yes indeed. Yes, yes indeed.
The other night in a play watched by millions, by millions of people,
a character picked up a telephone.
- A telephone? - A telephone.
Well don't you see the erotic imagery contained in that gesture?
- This is just an ordinary telephone? - An ordinary telephone, yes.
Of the kind used by certain sick people,
and they are sick, take my word for it, they are sick...
Sick! Sick people!
There are sick people who ring up young female persons
and breathe heavily down the phone at them.
And make remarks like "George is being unfaithful to you".
- George? - That's her husband.
I don't think that anything of that sort actually took place.
Oh no, what happened was far worse,
the character said, and I've got it written down, got it written down.
- I thought you might have. - He said, "Hello".
- "Hello"? - Yes.
Well, I mean, "hello", he said.
"Hello", I fail to understand the significance of "hello".
Well, I'm sure we all know what that means, don't we?
Well, no.
Hello, what have we got here through that keyhole?
Why it's a young female person taking her clothes off...
Firm young... white of her thighs... - Mr White... Mr White... Please!
- Mr Whitefoot! - I'm sorry, I have the headaches.
I appreciate that, but surely you'd agree that if by any chance
the BBC do offend, it is only a very small minority?
That is exactly my point!
The BBC are going out of their way to offend minorities.
I mean look at the titles of some of their shows, the suggestive titles.
"Watch with mother"
Watch what? Blue Peter?
The navy lark, I think we all know what that is, don't we?
I was in the catering corps myself...
Two family favourites...
- Three way family favourites. - That's even worse.
If the BBC do offend in this way, it is entirely up to the viewer to decide,
I mean, evil is basically in the eye of the beholder.
Oh yes indeed, evil is in the eye of the beholder.
But you've got to know what to look for.
Excuse me, but sir, weren't you at Eton?
No, that was my brother, I was at Charterhouse actually.
- Dreadfully sorry. - Don't worry.
FORTHCOMING OBITUARIES No. 1
Good evening. We regret to annouce the passing today,
December 13 of the year 2004, of Britain's greatest son,
at his London home, this morning.
Born, or as legend has it, immaculately conceived,
in a manger at Beckels in 1939.
The young Frost was soon to show signs of his abilities, when...
when at his christening, he blessed the priest.
The modest house where he was born is now of course a national shrine,
and three miraculous cures of shyness have been authentically recorded there.
In 1962 the television viewers got their first taste of the Frost personality
when he emerged on That was the week that was as the thinking man's Simon Dee.
Success followed. But it cannot be said
that success changed him or went to his head.
These things can definitely be said, the laws of libel being what they are.
However, his every exploit became news.
He entertained the famous on a lavish scale.
His breakfast parties became legendary.
And it is recorded that 14 cabinet ministers and 1 archbisshop
committed suicide when they were left off his invitation list.
Then, suddenly, he found his true genius in the Frost Program,
as the unmasker of evils, the righter of wrongs.
The phrase "trial by television" was banded about,
but Frost ignored these carpet criticisms,
and in 1969 interviewed the lord chief justice of England on television
and sentenced him to 20 years hard labour.
In 1976 the Wilson government redeemed its otherwise disastrous record
by placing the whole of British television under his care.
It was the turning point. Less then a month after Frost took over,
pope Paul flew to London to appear on the Frost Program.
Overwhelmed by Frost's majestic command of assertion and invective,
he fell to his knees on the studio floor,
and withdrew his prohibition on the use of contraceptives for Roman catholics.
Characteristically, Frost refused the offer of immediate sainthood,
with a well-rehearsed ad-lib written by Dick Vosburgh, John Cleese,
Graham Chapman, Barry Cryer, Antony Jay, and several others.
Equally characteristically he preached
at the mass wedding of cardinals in Rome next spring,
and even became godfather to the pope's first child, Paul Paradine.
In 1981 he took over the Royal Variety Show from Bernard Delfonte,
so that he could audition not only the performers,
but also the royalty who attended.
In 1983 he was brought somehow closer to the royal family
by his marriage to princess Anne.
In 1984, significantly, he reached the peak of his great career
when he became King David I of England.
We shall not look upon his like again, if we play our cards right.
His death occurred early today.
King David was standing in front of a gigantic mirror,
a present given to him by his admirers,
when it fell forward on top of him.
His last words to a grieving nation that give us all consolation
and a hint perhaps of the second coming, were:
"I'll be back in a thrice, meanwhile here's a song from Engelbert Humperdinck."
- 240 million... - Do you mind if I use your phone a minute?
I won't be a moment. I'm ever so sorry, it won't take a minute.
- Two... three... three... - What? What?
- Look, how much... - Shh.
Hello, Else? Oh, it's me, Millie.
- My dear young woman... - Shh.
No, it's nothing important, I just wanted to know if your Bob got that rabbit.
- What? - Oh, good. Oh, that's lovely.
- Look here... - Shh.
No, Wally's gone back to school, yeah. No, it was the nettle rash, yeah.
Are you going out tonight? Oh good. Shall we meet then?
At the Roxy? And then we can go and have a drink at the Gand afterwards.
Oh by the way Millie, how's Harry?
Hurry up, there's other people here want to use the phone you know.
I know you're sorry but I want to make a phone call.
Alright, I won't be a minute.
I should have exercised this.
My downfall, isn't it? Gravity.
Oh, these tights. Aoh! You don't need an offbind...
Hello, something split. I have to watch it when I take me calls.
Hello, hello here comes madam, about as graceful as a bull elephant.
Grumpy, grumpy.
What does she want now?
Oh, the walking about bit. Here we go, walk about.
What am I, a prop? Just here to hold her up?
Sort of an animated walking stick, that's all I am.
My god...And up we go again.
Hello, hello, got a touch of the wind again?
I shouldn't have had that last pot of stuff before the show.
Not that AND pickled onion, anyway.
I wonder if Snaggy won the 8:30 at Dagenham Dog Track.
He did well last time out, but he tends to run a bit wide on the bends.
Hello hello. Where's she gone? Where's she gone? Oh, it's me. It's me solo.
Thank god that's over.
No need to go potty, I'm not going to rig myself for this lot.
Hello, here come the sylphides.
Watch it, wacht it, watch it darling! Clumsy little scrubbers!
Now that sylphide third from the left, I could definately fancy her.
I'll hang about the rosin box before the matinee tomorrow and chat her up.
Tumtitum titum titum, and off we go again. Oh, it's a game, isn't it.
That's typical, isn't it. I do all the hard craft and she cops the applause.
What am I? Heloise's Abelard...
Well, it's a living I suppose. Better than hanging about race tracks flogging tips.
Hello, she's doing her dying bit now.
Look at her. Look, look, look!
Oh, she's making a meal of it, isn't she?
Go on darling, hurry up and die...
Oh, very artistic, yes...
Come on, hurry up love, all the pubs will be closed.
She's gone. Back again. She's gone.
Back again, oh god, some people got no consideration.
That's it, that's it, that's it. She's dead. Snuffed it.
Hahahaha! Now for me distracted bit...
That's it, I've done me lot.
Here come the supporters club, I owe it.
Come on, drag her out, get on with it.
Come on, cart her out, don't pad our part, darling. That's it.
Oh, that's nice applause, isn't it?
It's nice to know the public still appreciate a dedicated artiste.
SPORTSLIGHT with Loomis Tube
Good evening. Tonight, Sportslight takes a look at the face of success.
This week Eastham signed former Brentwich star Danny Gruntfuttock
for the all-time record fee of 250,000 pounds.
What makes a footballer worth this kind of money?
Well we have with us in the studio three men who have devoted their whole lives
to the most popular game in the world, and also to football.
First of all, Wally McCoarsetrouser, genial manager of Oxtylodgy Academicals,
also E.J. Birdstrangler, football columnist for the Sunday Tome,
and author of the book "Sado-masochism and its relation to the 4-2-4-system",
and a cardboard cut-out of Sir Alf Ramsey.
Wally, you first discovered Danny, what's your opinion of him?
Yes, well what happened between him and your sister
is hardly relevant to the conversation.
What's he like on the field? Oh dear.
Yes, well it can be treated in confidence these days.
What special ability singles him out from the other players?
Yes, I can see it keeps the lads amused in the dressing room,
but hardly worth 250 thousand pounds...
Yes. Thank you. And now turning to you professor...
Yes, thank you. Oh, my god...
And turning to you professor, what do you think of Danny Gruntfuttock?
Well, football is the game of physical contacts, and it is a man's game.
and I am attracted to men's games which involve physical contact.
And of course, Gruntfuttock is the epitomy of all this,
with his positively Proustian shoulders,
and thighs like something out of Baudelaire.
As Nobby Styles remarked me only the other day,
"Les mystères partout, cul comme des sève
dans les caneux étroides des colos puissant.
Do you know what I mean, whack?"
And one can but agree with him.
I think my fondest memory of dear Danny
is the superb goal he scored against Barnsley.
As he soared into the air, I thought of Michelangelo's nude figure of David.
But then I think of that all the time.
Sir Alf Ramsey?
Well, that's the sort of shrewd comment we've come to expect from sir Alf.
Well, that's Danny Gruntfuttock,
the epitomy of all that's good in English football.
Adored by the intellectuals, admired by his colleagues,
loved by the public, and ignored by sir Alf Ramsey.
But being a top flight footballer doesn't come easily.
Recently we took our camera's down to the Eastham ground
and I interviewed Danny in the dressing room during a training session.
Danny, what's it like having a 250 thousand pound price tag on you?
Oh, well, it don't make no difference to me, Loomis,
I mean, down here they treat me just like one of the chaps, don't they,
I mean, 'course, they're a common lot down here,
I mean they're as common as muck,
I mean, none of them cost a penny over 50 thousand quid, do they, for a start.
And that goalkeeper see he thinks he's the star of the thing, don't he?
Leaping about, posturing and all that.
I wouldn't cheapen myself.
Another thing, vain, vain? Vain?
He pads his calves, you know.
And between ourselves, that's not all he pads.
I've seen it, ballet dancers nothing in it with him???
Danny, is there any friction between you and the other players?
What do you mean, friction? I mean no.
No, I mean, when they sort of gather round me,
like when they kiss me after I scored a winning goal,
well, I mean, there's no warmth in it, there's no love, no affection or nothing,
I mean, not like when I was with Brentwich,
I mean, there when they kissed you it meant something, didn't it?
I remember once the referee had to throw
a bucket of water over me and the inside forward.
And that's what I call love, you see.
Well, I'm going to get into me training gear now. Just change out of me...
Well, Danny, that looks a very striking ensemble.
- Ah, you like it, do you? - Yes.
You don't think the shorts is too revealing, do you?
Only what I say is, if you got the thighs, show 'em, duckie.
At least that's what Bobby Moore always says to me, he says show 'em, that's what.
Yes. Danny, I can see the other chaps are going out
for heading practice, are you going to join them?
What, and ruin me backcombing, don't be a twit!
Danny Gruntfuttock, the man.
But to the ordinary chap on the terrace who has paid his half-crown
for 90 minutes toilet-rol throwing, biting, swearing and kicking,
Gruntfuttock is little short of a god,
as we can see from some of these edited highlights of a recent match of the day.
Well with twenty minutes of the first half gone and still no score,
Gruntfuttock has got the ball. And he's...
Oh, what a fantastic ballplayer this boy is!
He's completely mesmerized the opponent completely.
A fantastic achievement...
A clear goal has gone round a shot.
Fantastic!
He's scored!
And they're giving away a corner,
it's a corner and it's Gruntfuttock that takes it.
Gruntfuttock with the corner...
That's it! To Crab, to Staybaker...
...to Westabridge as well...
Wonderful goal! It's Gruntfuttock again,
he's waltzing, he's waltzing round the players... And...
And he's down! He's down! Oh! Oh no!
Here come the men from the hospital...
it's a beeline, attention, attention...
What could it be, he's down. Is it serious?
His mission is still there.
If he can just wait, the fullback is coming to apologise...
And a typical gesture from Gruntfuttock...
His special is the tickle.
What's the decision? It looks bad. Could it be...
He's taking nourishment, it could be a good sign, it has been a good sign in the past.
He smiles.
I think of the treatment.
And the referee is coming to see if he could help in any way.
All we can do is just pray.
Look, could it...? Could it...?
Yes! It's a miracle! He's alright! What a boy! What courage!
He's released!
And I bet he's going to take the penalty himself!
What a fantastic man!
Fantastic!
And it's Gruntfuttock again! He beats one man,
he beats another man, and he's there in front of the goal!
And he's ging to walk the ball in.
It's the famous Gruntfuttock walk.
And we're ready, we're alive!
It's a goal!
I don't know what to say, a hattrick!
A hattrick, that is Gruntfuttock's 49th hattrick this week,
and its still only Tuesday.
What a fantastic boy this is!
Well that film was taken two weeks ago,
when Gruntfuttock was only a 100,000 pound unknown.
Today, he's worth a quarter of a million pounds.
Well, Danny, congratulations, and we all look forward
to your first game with United on Saturday.
No, I won't be actually playing on Saturday.
Ah, they're saving you for next Wednesday's cup tie?
No, the manager don't reckon he ought to risk me in that either.
In fact he says he's not going to let me play football at all.
But Danny, United have paid a quarter of a million pounds for you.
If you're not going to play football, why did they buy you?
Ah, well, it's an investment for the future, isn't it?
He's putting me out to stud.
Mother's feeling fragile in the bathroom
Daddy's sleeping drunkenly upstairs
My eldest sister Anna Has been sick in the piana
Because she ate a pound of marzipan and six tinned pears
Six tinned pears.
Some fathead bought the youngest child a trumpet
And now he's blowing discords in my ear.
What I spent on my wife's presents Could have bought Mornington Crescents
Christmas is a joyous time of year.
Plastic berries on the mistletoe
Come fill my cup with warmed-up beer
Christmas is a joyous, such a joyous Christmas is a joyous time of year.
Elsie's started dancing on the table
Showing such a nasty pair of knees
My uncle Del from Leaf Has just taken out his teeth.
And any minute now He'll sing the dirty words to trees.
Dirty words to trees.
Granny's reading riddles out of crackers
Which are just about as funny as King Lear
I believe this festive season will cause my to lose my reason.
Christmas is a joyous time of year.
Plastic berries on the mistletoe
Come fill my cup with warmed-up beer
Christmas is a joyous, such a joyous Christmas is a joyous time of year.
On the first day of Christmas, my family gave to me,
Twelve pairs of cufflinks, eleven snowstorm paperweights,
ten pairs of underpants with vintage cars on,
nine pairs, nine pairs, with names of drinks on,
eight sets of hankies, seven pairs of slippers,
six imitation hairbrushes with leather bags,
and when you unzip them you find a metal comb and a mirror
and a vicious looking instrument whose function would appear to be doctoring cats.
Five knitted things.
Four sorted scarves, three grotty ties, two potted plants.
And Don Partridges latest LP.
There's a 1930s picture on the telly
The other channel's showing festive news.
Like rioting in Chelsea and flooding down in Selsea
No wonder half the population's drowned in booze.
Drowned in booze
As I sit amid the ruins of the parlour
Surrounded by this scene of yule tide cheer.
Believe I'll remember To drink lysol next November
Christmas is a joyous time of year.
Plastic berries on the mistletoe
Come fill my cup with warmed-up beer
Christmas is a joyous, such a joyous Christmas is a joyous time of year.