Monday 10 March 2014

Act I Scene IV

[And on (and on, and on, and on) to Scene Four. Look out for a return appearance by Deviant Space Aliens and sundry moles. Also, three people (both called Jeff) will talk a lot about cricket. We didn't know anything about cricket when we wrote this, and still don't. Fascinatin' true fact for this week: the very same Lido mentioned here was heavily featured as a location in Ken Russell's film version of "Tommy"]
 
...And Ruth Creased The Yellow Curtain
ACT I SCENE IV

(The Lido: Mr Harvey, a psychology student from Norwich, clad in his customary schnorkel/flippers ensemble, is chained to some conveniently-placed and original railings)

MR HARVEY, A PSYCHOLOGY STUDENT FROM NORWICH: They're not takin' our bloody Lido! It offers fun for all the family, out in the fresh air... Last bastion of the bloody stickleback in that water... It's bloody diabolical, what the corporation's doin'... Puttin' JCBs through our heritage... There's always been a Lido here, right back to Saxon times!

VOICE OF NARTHOR: (off) How long have you been chained up here, Mr Harvey?

MR HARVEY, A PSYCHOLOGY STUDENT FROM NORWICH: Three months, two days, one hour and a few seconds.

VOICE OF NARTHOR: Why did you chain yourself up?

MR HARVEY, A PSYCHOLOGY STUDENT FROM NORWICH: I didn't! The hooligans did it! We always had hooligans 'round here... part of the Solent scene, they are! When I was a nipper, I used to urinate in the paddling pool!

VOICE OF NARTHOR: Why, Mr Harvey?

MR HARVEY, A PSYCHOLOGY STUDENT FROM NORWICH: I was a hooligan! First job I had after leavin' school... The Lido was bigger in them days... Plenty of work for hooligans! Save our Lido!

VOICE OF NARTHOR: But the Lido has been saved, Mr Harvey. They're not going to build on it!

MR HARVEY, A PSYCHOLOGY STUDENT FROM NORWICH: There you are then! I'm a bloody national hero! I ought to get the bloody Nobel bloody Peace Prize!

(Narthor now emerges from hiding, clad in similar scuba apparatus)

NARTHOR: (addresses audience) Funk in Diaghilev's encrusted hole of sorrow! Mother loves us well, Parker-Bloke... Knows us, Mutant Parkinson-Fatlight... Gleest Donor, men's or mast?... Wraps in Cheri d'Amour Jape or naked... Hmm! That's nice, Bleeker Throne! Litt!

MR HARVEY, A PSYCHOLOGY STUDENT FROM NORWICH: (to audience) Huge meal of little cake? Larmalarma two malarkies, by the banks of the Inseine, discussing where to close their clothing in a blue receptionist... Wrapped up in concrete paper clips and sounds from out of the ark. Tangled in my sky-lid is a bird of paradise with such bad breath... It crinkles all my rest-homes in centurie-sofa rockdream prize.

NARTHOR: (to Mr Harvey) Moan my law, sing my Odorono, Typeopath! Soak our tribal caning sparks in Pluto's furry darkness! Roll in a green tin of abyssmalisms, Rasso Digresso, Duke of Alpaca-Cum-Impacta.

MR HARVEY, A PSYCHOLOGY STUDENT FROM NORWICH: (addresses Lido) I regret my unrecorded smiles! The diary of a day becomes an encyclopaedia. The millipede's five-mile writing desk, the dingo's cutback diner... The antiquarian's antics, the elegant child's toy vomiting frog.

NARTHOR: (addresses envelope) Take me to your gleaner! Radiate giant peas into the void that is Oklahoma, where the wind rides side-saddle underneath a Vick-bomb.

MR HARVEY, A PSYCHOLOGY STUDENT FROM NORWICH: (to Narthor) This Christmas, get your little girl a Pedigree Hilda doll... She drinks! She throws up! She gets whooping cough!

NARTHOR: (to Mr Harvey) Dinnerflex - For those electric TV dinners!

MR HARVEY, A PSYCHOLOGY STUDENT FROM NORWICH: (breaking into 'song')
Oh! 'Ow's yer dawg, Mrs Elephant?
Did you know that he's a spaniel crossed with a rat?
So 'ow's yer dawg, Mrs Elephant?
Tesco's is the shop that I like best...
And I wear a vest!
Hee Hee Hoo!
Yes! 'Ow's yer dawg, Mrs Elephant?
Don't put Vim on his paws, if you move house!
That's right! I'm the Poosty's only son!
Mrs Elephant!
Now he's gone and left me number one,
Bing Bing Bong!
The trees are pink, Mrs Elephant
And they're wearing odd socks
And Chubb locks...
So 'ow's yer dawg, Mrs Elephant?
Keep yer hand on yer holiday money...

(Enter Henri 'Etta' Mimmling, the last of the Dissecto Brothers, to show off his unique Glove Poopettes. He brings with him the tattiest of miniature scenery sets, through which his feet are clearly visible, and two gloves on the end of a manky bit of rope. He does a low-budget sub-Punch & Judy Routine, ie: "You stole the sausages!", "Ouch!", "Where's the fish?" etc., then strolls off, dragging his 'show' with him. Mr Harvey kneels down and pretends to be The Seven Dwarf from the previous scene. There is a passing resemblance, I suppose...)

MR HARVEY, A PSYCHOLOGY STUDENT FROM NORWICH:
This is my poem,
For I am The Seven Dwarf.
I'm really quite an odd shape,
I look just like Mr Morph!
I'd like to introduce you
First of all, to Farty...
I'm the fittest one of me,
I always look hale and hearty!
But I'm not the only me,
So now, would you please greet Jimmy!
I'm quite a cool dude, actually,
You should see me shake and shimmy!
Now please meet Gary,
Now I really am quite silly!
I go nude up to the North Pole,
Then wonder why I'm oh so chilly!
Next comes Baldy,
I think I'm the cleverest one!
I like to boast and talk
About all the things I've said and done!
You cant miss the next one,
The one I all call Lumpy...
I like to eat and eat and eat,
That's why I look so dumpy!
There's only two more left of me
And one of those is Anarchy!
I'm quite a nervous chap, you know
And I'm always rather panicky!
And finally, last but not least,
I'm the one called Pumpholder
And when I all go off to work
I carry my pick upon my shoulder!
For we work very hard,
Down in the ice cream mines
I whistle as I work, you know
And on the ice cream, Lumpy dines!
So that is me
For bad or worse
And this is the end
Of my funny little verse!

(Pathetic Entry! Huge applause from audience, presumably 'cos it's over!)

NARTHOR: With a chicken and ham ice-lolly, I had the confidence to sell pummice...

MR HARVEY, A PSYCHOLOGY STUDENT FROM NORWICH: You make me wanna glean wheat! You make me wanna steak pineapple, Yogic Dysentery! The Letter-Bird goes "To Whom? To Whom?"

(Narthor unchains Mr Harvey from the railings. Both adjust their schnorkels and do a little dance of their own devising. Enter, in a spacy special-effects sort of way, Mrs McVitie and some Mole-like alien creatures, Thork, Bimbo and Starcupboard. Part of the stage now resembles the interior of a Saturday Morning kind of spaceship)

THORK: These Earthlings are so stupid, so bloody primitive, so sodding terrestrial, so arsing common...

BIMBO: Someone's let off! Look, we can't waste methane like that! What's our Screlcocoa reading, Mr Starcupboard?

STARCUPBOARD: Mong Bing Ting Ring Clash Baba Log Tin Ribs, Mr Bimbo!

OMNES: (and that includes you, Mr Harvey and Narthor!) Fiddley Tern! Waddley Poon! Fidley Tern! Waddley Poon!

BIMBO: There's a woman with a blue helmet following us, Mr Thork!

THORK: Shit! It's Mrs McVitie, AKA Lorraine McVest, the nicest, most helpful person on Earth! Fade!

OMNES: Fiddley Tern! Waddley Poon! Fiddley Tern! Waddley Poon!

MRS MCVITIE: Ha! In the guise of mild-mannered Lorraine McVest, I can destroy anything nasty by operating this dial on my Psycho-Zoom Corset!... Eeeuuurrrgghh! What's that smell? Oh my god! I've put my hand over the Deviants' modular toilet outlet! I can't see my Dimensional Evaluation Synchronometer for excrement!

THORK: Earthwoman! You cannot destroy us! We have chronic wind and enough diarrhoea-concentrate to flood your planet! Because (and I quote)...
(sings) A cocoa co-operation Asian,
Concrete, Reet Reet! O'Tyler man!
Concrete Reet Stave, Go knife a man!
Concrete Prose prose os Con's Aspros!
Conquer Concorde Con-Code Contact
Consume Consort, Consume you may not!
Not knot a note, no noble Nordic nose,
No strude,
No cantilever Santa Don canal,
No Sandalwood Kincade, no trial by toilet seat,
No owning ogres in the Outer Hebrides,
Our Tread-Trapeze, our ease of daze,
Our trees are trays, Tres Amusant!
In plywood fibre-optic tanks of shanks,
All hooks and holes are held by hints of hands,
Hands honing hoes, hands honing honeyed hoes for hope!

OMNES: Fiddley Tern! Waddley Poon! Fiddley Tern! Waddley Poon! Fade!

(Exit sundry aliens, moles and students. Enter three people called Jeff, clad in cricket flannelalia, discussing amongst themselves the merits of an alien creature known only as HOR TUN. It is an odd two-way discussion between three people. Think on that for a moment and marvel at its mathematical linguistic density. The spaceship part of the set turns into a comfy settee)

FIRST JEFF: Can he alter his body shape, Jeff?

SECOND JEFF: Have you seen him play cricket, Jeff?

THIRD JEFF: Yeah, I've seen him play cricket, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: He's a natural... He understands willow, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: Is he from the West Indies, Jeff?

THIRD JEFF: No, he's from Gosport, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: Hmm! Humble beginnings indeed, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: Humble beginnings indeed, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Humble beginnings indeed, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: He's a demon spinner, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: A great batsman, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Brilliant in the field, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: A great all-rounder, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: A God-Beast, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: One hell of a wicky, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: One hell of a wicky, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: One hell of a wicky, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: A child prodigy, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: He knows himself, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: He knows a lot of people, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: By their first names, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: He's a contented man, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: A contented cricketer, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: A wizard on the crease, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: A shrewd stump-jumper, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: An octopus, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: An octopus and a cricketer, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: A God-Beast, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: A contented cricketer, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Some say he's a Martian, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: They could be right, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: He does wear a hat, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Exactly, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: Some people say he eats lorries, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: Some people don't, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: What does "Horton" mean, Jeff?

FIRST JEFF: Well, literally "Headless disc-jockey", Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: How come he wears a hat then, Jeff?

THIRD JEFF: It shelters his chest from the sun, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: He's a great cricketer, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: One of the best, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Some people say he glows in the dark, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: He's a God-Beast, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: How come he can fly then, Jeff... Like a falcon, Jeff?

THIRD JEFF: He's got secret wings, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: How do you know, Jeff?

SECOND JEFF: I know everything, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: He's a God-Beast, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: Some people say his lead trousers are two metres thick, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: Understandably, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Is he a test-tube baby, Jeff?

FIRST JEFF: No, Jeff! He's a test-tube grown-up!

SECOND JEFF: He's a chemical reaction, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: He's a heavy water sailor, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: Some people say he's got an ejector brain, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: Yes! When the going gets tough, he can bail out, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Can he alter his body shape, Jeff?

FIRST JEFF: Remember that food mixer, Jeff?

SECOND JEFF: That was Mick Horton!

THIRD JEFF: I thought I'd seen that bike before, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: He's as mad as a tuppenny terrapin though, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: Madness and genius... Is there a difference, Jeff?

THIRD JEFF: Mark Knopfler's a genius, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: No! He's mad, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: What about Josiah Wedgewood, Jeff?

THIRD JEFF: Daft as a threadless wombat, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: Is he going to save the world, Jeff?

SECOND JEFF: What? Josiah Wedgewood, Jeff?

THIRD JEFF: No, Jeff! Mick Horton!

FIRST JEFF: Yes, according to The AA Book Of Revelations, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: Read Chapter Fourteen, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Now, Jeff?

FIRST JEFF: Yep! There's no time like the present, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: (stands and strikes Hamlet-soliloquy pose) And lo! It came to pass that a great flood submerged the Electric Plains of Tharnor and Gregson Avenue was plagued by poisonous tench... Where once buses roamed, now only naked presidents shewed themselves, thrice as style victims in a frosted lagoon... Fear and loathing were then as food and drink to the Lost Tribes of Elson, Forton and Rowner... And then Mick Horton turned up on an Iron Horse and shot the baddies and chased the sea back into the water...

THIRD JEFF: But that was thousands of years ago, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: Horton saved us then... and he's even stronger now, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: (sitting) He really is a top-notch God-Beast, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Yes! And a good cricketer, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: Did you ever hear Carnage, Jeff?

SECOND JEFF: No.

THIRD JEFF: He's a Martian, isn't he, Jeff?

FIRST JEFF: He is a Martian, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: From the Planet Bleebo, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Isn't "The Planet Bleebo" an anagram of "Stubbington", Jeff?

FIRST JEFF: Yes, Jeff! You're very astute!

SECOND JEFF: Did you know that you can buy a souvenir map of Mick Horton, Jeff?

THIRD JEFF: No, Jeff, and nor do you!

FIRST JEFF: He's one hell of a crazy dude, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: You don't mess with the Mick, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: People have tried and people have died, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: I'd rather fight a rhino than a God-Beast, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: (sung Gold-Lamé style) I'd rather be a mongoose than a snail, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Can he alter his body shape, Jeff?

FIRST JEFF: Yes! He can alter his body shape, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: He can alter his body shape, Jeff!

ALL THREE JEFFS TOGETHER: He can alter his body shape to suit his surroundings, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: In the bath, he becomes a plastic duck, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: In the lavatory, he becomes a toilet duck, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: On the wall, he becomes the Third Duck, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Can he only change to a duck, Jeff?

FIRST JEFF: No, Jeff! But he does prefer to...

SECOND JEFF: And Jeff...

THIRD JEFF: Yes, Jeff?

FIRST JEFF: He can alter the surroundings to suit himself!

SECOND JEFF: Wow! Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Phew! Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: He really is a God-Beast, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: A big one, Jeff!

THIRD JEFF: Enormous, Jeff!

FIRST JEFF: He's a way of life, Jeff!

SECOND JEFF: Turning to other subjects, I'll have to meet the Polythene Oatbowl with a determined station... right between the turntables!... in the feeling that you're using an incorrect slope-opera, so the washing-up won't even talk to me! I suppose you think you're an automatic quagmire now, don't you, Jeff?

THIRD JEFF: I agree with Jeff! Her eyes met mine across a crowded railway statistician...

FIRST JEFF: I concur! And we'll... ensyrup the girders, Molation of the Gattering Nameplate of Ballerinas, in a cryle with slates in...

SECOND JEFF: Chaharf! Chaharf! Sormegnon Cit Tarlus, Palefneirso Shigmaha Narcor Methperism... In other words, weasels grip my Auntie Megan!

THIRD JEFF: Don't Yolex the Collectagone over to Mole Extractors and the Dirty Picture Brigade at Scrabble. Gota Mega Three is the O'Literary Snoo, gotten skin in a grope factory?

FIRST JEFF: Otto Gimpfel received his "Accolade" pencil for winning the Ben Norris Excruciating Pain Award 1969... Science friction worked into the high-tension cables of my brain and all I could see was Yolande.

(Enter from Stage Left, The Pond)

THE POND: (morbidly) I don't belong here, I'm a pond!

(Exit The Pond, pursued by one or two stray Moles)

SECOND JEFF: Mile Hike Lub?

THIRD JEFF: Belate the pork, you pine forger!

FIRST JEFF: Half the delay resembles two flashy wallabies, more than so normal, or you're going to get the galleons!

SECOND JEFF: Neem, Jeff! What name annoys a narrator, Stacey?

THIRD JEFF: Neem! Wild Tilex the Haltering Connection, serene in a bowl of oatmanear, least southerly of the wet, rusty information.

FIRST JEFF: Neem! Stewart 'Grungier' Grainger wet his trunks, Sir!

SECOND JEFF: Yokohamii the wet pigeon and the sluggish wild whores wept. Neem!

THIRD JEFF: To see a ham-on-fission sand-widge in full flight is better than getting lost in a gunfight.

FIRST JEFF: Rayola? Cheese sprawled on the sailor's lap, giving that "come in" hint with his Number Ones.

SECOND JEFF: (in the style of Olivia Twist) Bite a lead pipe, sweat putrescently for charity in a metal beach-ball, like Alice! Tight trauma in the fowl flowers should scoot to the communal stone Margolex Eliminate!

THIRD JEFF: (emphatically) Neem!

FIRST JEFF: Pilar "The Killer" Subramanium clotutes less obsolescent for Stormy Puma to stunt his growth, only seconds too late.

SECOND JEFF: Anarchal Fortune Mammunes climb chains to the sun!

THIRD JEFF: Oh! Pull Fruits radiate jet spusms on the world ormanescopes!

FIRST JEFF: Is this the time for a terrapin? Learn how to fly through a decomposin' cream bun, against the lights of my life... Subquoross Doe Mucus Pucus Low Nova Isle Attractive Quottle of Droats?

SECOND JEFF: Super-calligraphicosis-expi-alligation-dole-queue-harboured-instru-ment!

THIRD JEFF: Halino-myxer-matosis-on-the-rocks-emu-sickening-volest of Donkeybeans in Tigerslit-U-Uppertreat!

FIRST JEFF: Woven ovens ride the trail, as members of Sherriff Clemson's posie. Chrome-Magnon Man has bought the last of the Black September Pudding, Enid!

SECOND JEFF: (quizzically) Neem?

FIRST JEFF: The Norwich Sub-Aquascutum Club are fighting rubber fish in the High Street... Xmas defamations hang from hereafters...

SECOND JEFF: (playing his Character Strengthening Card) Moleanson for lots of crates in batter, with goat's rind formally... but bitty make Storage Reindeerhaters! What ricketty policemen for a facemat! Blagdon, if you're a man, ride this giraffe!

THIRD JEFF: The rest is science, I suppose... Jeff!

(The Three People Called Jeff sit quietly and behave themselves for the rest of this scene. Enter The Narrator and The Composite Being from Scene Two)

THE NARRATOR: Boning like five winklepickers, Beethoven clocked into the factory... Tunes of music lay in the squalid reality of the Dreamyard...

THE COMPOSITE BEING: Billericay is as ill as Icky Billy's lyrics, eh?

THE NARRATOR: No! I dare...

THE COMPOSITE BEING: Laxatives are not safe, when used for kicks... Sign in tonight's Monstery Guest!

THE NARRATOR: Hey Carol! Are those Johnny's Zubes you're eating?

THE COMPOSITE BEING: Don't take that spiral! It belongs to Big Enid!

THE NARRATOR: Look cats! We've gotta get this right... Arpeggio the G-Larsen, like this!

(The Narrator blows a raspberry)

THE COMPOSITE BEING: Yeah! Gotcha Mitch! Gimme some more Coke, Logan!

(The Composite Being blows a raspberry identical to the Narrator's)

THE NARRATOR: Okay... "Boogie Chillun"... from the top... (sings accompanied by raspberries)
Here! Place your face
In this delicious acrobat
Of well-drilled crazy foam...
I'll catch your eaves
As they leap agilely
Towards the millionaire pillar-box...
I'm a turbot!
I'm a wrasse!

THE COMPOSITE BEING: The disco lights are fading... Jimmy James and The Bag O'Fronds are forcibly rejected... The waiter is clearing up the Thermos flax...

THE NARRATOR: ...And the unemployed Dubbin Provider has packed his suit and toast...

THE COMPOSITE BEING: Don't slip a well-earned hamster in to aid digestion... The "Q" stretched for miles, people crowded round the hospital jumble sale, hoping to pick up some ailments...

THE NARRATOR: Line up your collective pronouns!

THE COMPOSITE BEING: You have to give your kids a good clip on the ear, so you can follow their migration patterns...

THE NARRATOR: I can't find out where he lives... where does the countryside?

THE COMPOSITE BEING: Have you sharpened your pencil?

THE NARRATOR: Yes, up to a point...

THE COMPOSITE BEING: Meet me in igneous rock!

THE NARRATOR: At school, I often got the Mark of Cain on my bottom...

THE COMPOSITE BEING: Like a field of phone booths, ripening in the sun...

THE NARRATOR: I'm drinking wine... it's 30% proof and 70% speculation!

THE COMPOSITE BEING: Ah! I'm just beginning to feel nicely alienated!

THE NARRATOR: I want to hang 'round your neck in a locket... you know, independent!

THE COMPOSITE BEING: What does your chimney sweep do in the winter?

THE NARRATOR: Migrates!

THE COMPOSITE BEING: The British amateur bullfighter, Gordon Trampledon, needs a new car, 'cos his old one's an estate...

THE NARRATOR: Separately, the unified ducks swim backwards to yesterday's Beak-In...

THE COMPOSITE BEING: The Monarch of the Grin is filled with old pieces of stick and an abused car, from the days of unlimited "Come Parasol With Me, Pretty Destroyer Of Biographies".

THE NARRATOR: Slide down your own throat, into a world of infinitestinal beauty... Coloured fish speak softly to the custodian of granite and millstone grit...

THE COMPOSITE BEING: I want to insist on myself through a downhill light-fitting... after it had rained, I jumped into a poodle... I'm always logical... and even when I'm not, I am...

THE NARRATOR: Do you suffer from premature burial?

THE COMPOSITE BEING: Well, it's all been just another example of man's inanity to man...

(Exit numerous Jeffs and any Aliens, Moles, Members of the McVitie or McVest clans, Sub-Aquatic Psychologists from Norfolk, Narrators Called Narthor, and anyone else that am still on the stage... That is supposed to be the end of the scene... except... Uh Oh! Here comes Mr Cracknell, in his guise as Joseph, King of the Herrings - He gives a fascinating illustrated lecture about fish, holding up a series of informative cards as he does so)

MR CRACKNELL: Welcome to my underwater kingdom, Earth Walkers... Observe the wonders of the ocean... (holds up first card) See before you the majestic Swiss Army Haddock... This wolf of the sea will eat anything... Note the bottle opener and winkle-pin attachment... (holds up next card) ...and this is the Wallpaper Newt... Hmm! Note the Sea Whassame... a charming creature... Not bad, huh? I don't think you could find such a fascinating variety of beasts...

PLANT IN AUDIENCE: Oh yes we can! Look! Cast your limpid eyes on this!

MR CRACKNELL: What is it, Earth Walkers?

(Tenuous link - By way of a finale to this scene, The Clevedon Spontaneous Bodily Emissions Quintet offer us selections from Marinsky's "Phlegmish Suite", "Die Varterstrasse", "The Prophesneeze of Nostradamus", "Auf Scheissekrihk (Ohne Ruder)" or "Inssehen Gelichter". While they do so, a lovely scratchy old black & white silent film is projected on the wall of The Lido, depicting a former Gosport Borough Councillor demonstrating how to iron the wrinkles out of one's own scrotum.)



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