The Mirror Crack'd Page #3

Perhaps you'd care

to join the egg-and-spoon race.

It's just about to start.

- You had a nasty fall.

- Nonsense! I'm not even shaken.

In fact, I'm amazed nothing's broken.

You got away with just a sprain.

I never did discover

the secret of your bone structure.

Long brisk walks as a young woman,

I expect.

Well, you're not walking anywhere

for a few days.

I'll run you back in my car. That's it.

I'll fill you in on all the gossip

you'll miss up at the hall

- when I call round to see you tomorrow.

- Gossip?

I prefer to call it

a healthy interest in human nature.

- Cherry.

- Yes, Mr Bates.

See to that lot upstairs, will you?

They're doing their best

to drink us dry.

I'm afraid, Miss Gregg,

that it would seem that our committee

have always felt

that your films are a little,

how shall I say,

risqu for our monthly soire

in the village hall.

- How sweet of you.

- Your lemonade, Vicar.

Oh, thank you. Most kind.

Marina honey, the mayor is upstairs.

I think you should...

- Oh, yeah, yeah. Do excuse me.

- Yes.

Excuse me.

Is this your first visit to

the United Kingdom, Mr Rudd?

Why, no, I've been...

Oh, what a divine necklace!

Well done, Mr Rudd.

First-rate show.

Ah, Mrs Babcock.

Mrs Babcock is our untiring secretary.

The Women's Institute

would be quite lost without her.

I'm sure she's been wonderful.

Now, Miss Giles. How about your cat?

- I keep forgetting its name.

- Matthew.

- That's right!

- Your dear wife had a cat.

Yes, but it always

suffered from eczema.

Carrots. Mashed carrots

and a little warm milk works wonders.

Marina? Mrs Babcock, Miss Gregg.

Miss Gregg, Mrs Babcock.

- Mrs Babcock, lovely to see you.

- Oh, Miss Gregg.

I know this is very silly,

and I'm sure you don't remember,

not with all the millions of people

you meet...

No, no, no, of course not,

How could you? It was ages ago.

It was during the war.

I was in Plymouth in the Wrens

and you came over to entertain

all those marvellous Gls.

Oh, I remember it so well,

just like it was yesterday.

I told you I lost my borage,

last year in the frost?

I'm sorry about that.

You know what to do, don't you?

Cut it right down to the ground

in the...

Oh, Mr Rudd, I understand

that you are a film producer.

- No, sir. A director.

- ls there any difference?

Yes, sir. The producer supplies

all the money, the director spends it.

Then the producer yells at the director

for spending too much money,

the director doesn't pay attention

and goes on spending.

The director gets the credit,

the producer gets an ulcer.

It's all very simple. Excuse me.

- It's Lola Brewster!

- It is?

Yes!

It is!

Miss Brewster!

Uh-oh. Mary Queen of Sluts

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