Passport to Pimlico

5

'You've been listening

to a programme of lunchtime music

'by Les Norman

and his Bethnal Green Bambinos.'

- You gonna be at that meeting tonight?

- Afraid so.

- Try and keep it short, Dad.

- Hm.

I I don't want to set the world on fire

J I just want to start...

- Pair of kippers to wait for Mrs White.

- Okey-doke.

See any difference?

- What's the matter? Gone off?

- No, in me.

- What's all that oily muck?

- The shiny look, they call it.

- Do you like it?

- Not much.

- No wonder we're short of fat.

- Frank!

Frank, Mum wants to know

if you've got any cod fillets.

I've got something better. Fancy a

nice bit of bream for your supper?

- Mm, yes.

- Ah, it's a treat to see it again.

My old dad used to say that this one

was the most human fish of 'em all.

If I was a bream, I'd resent that.

Oh, I'll tell you a most

remarkable thing about the bream.

When he's courting,

he grows a little white wart just here.

Just like you, or I might buy a new hat.

Well, I must be going now.

I'm ten minutes late already.

I'll fetch it over

with a nice big piece of ice.

All right.

Some people get jam on it-.

Wrap this up and put it in the fridge.

- Hello, Benny.

- Hello.

Phew! 94 degrees on Air Ministry roof.

Right, I'll keep off it.

- Any more about us there?

- Yeah.

"It is now believed that Pamela, the

last unexploded bomb in the London area,

"will be removed from Miramont Place,

Pimlico, on Tuesday next."

- We hope.

- Oh, it's gotta be, mate.

They want it for the exhibition

on local arts and culture.

You can pack it up, boys.

Art and culture's had it.

We're not defusing after all.

- Not, sir?

- We've got to blow her up.

- What, in her state of health?

- We've got to.

They've discovered another last bomb

so Pamela goes up tomorrow.

The police are sending a chap

round now to warn the population.

What are you talking about?

Two bob to win on Silver Street

at 13 to 8. That's 5 and 3.

Any to Come Equator, you had.

Heard about the bomb, Fred?

Setting her off tomorrow.

- Oh, they're setting her off, are they?

- Have to change your pitch.

Bit of bad, Gold Cup Day.

This one's me, all right.

Think it'll go with my taffeta?

That check skirt I got up west?

Lovely. Three guineas, dear.

- Oh.

- Make it pounds. I'm easy.

Ta, Edie.

I've got three coupons somewhere.

- Four, dear. Same as Bond Street.

- Oh, go on, be a pal.

I want it for Miss Pimlico night

at the Palais.

Oh, that. Proper old fiddle. Always was.

OK, I'll put it by.

Oh, no.

Look, I tell you what.

Oh, all right.

- Well, and what have I been up to?

- Huh! Make me blush to guess.

Well, it's no good you settling down

for a mike. It's time I had a wet.

I've come here to save your life.

They're blowing up that bomb tomorrow.

- They're blowing it up?

- You'll have to take a walk.

I suppose they couldn't make it

early closing day.

- Wouldn't upset trade enough.

- You can't pick and choose with bombs.

- Governor in, Bert?

- If it's about the bomb, he knows.

- Bert! You going to be all night?

- Coming, Governor.

A trifling matter like that, sir, I...

I didn't want to bother Head Office.

Trifling?

We regard it as a serious matter

that a man in your position should make

these decisions without our authority.

Excuse me, sir.

Sorry, sir.

A sense of responsibility

is a very excellent thing, Wix.

We quite appreciate that.

But if we start giving a free hand

to the manager of a minor branch,

we'd find ourselves in Queer Street.

Head Office don't consider you a second

Montagu Norman yet, you know,

and they like to have some idea

Rate this script:(0.00 / 0 votes)