MARRIAGE GUIDANCE COUNSELLOR
Cut to a man holding up cards saying 'Marriage Counsellor'. The counsellor sits behind a desk. He puts down the card and says:
Counsellor (E.I.): Next!
A little man enters, with a beautiful blond buxom wench, in the full bloom of her young womanhood (C.C.)
Arthur (M.P.): Are you the marriage guidance counsellor?
Counsellor: Yes. Good morning
Arthur: Good morning, sir
Counsellor: (stares at the wife, fascinated) And good morning to you madam (pauses, he shrugs himself out of it, says to man...) Name?
Arthur: Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Pewtey, Pewtey.
Counsellor: (writes without looking down, just stares at the wife) And what is the name of your ravishing wife? (holds up hand) Wait. Don't tell me - it's something to do with moonlight - it goes with her eyes - it's soft and gentle, warm and yielding, deeply lyrical and yet tender and frightened like a tiny white rabbit
Arthur: It's Deirdre
Counsellor: Deirdre. What a beautiful name. What a beautiful, beautiful name (leans across and lightly brushes his hand across the wife's cheek) And what seems to be the trouble with your marriage Mr. Pewtey?
Arthur: Well, it all started about five years ago when we started going on holiday to Brighton together. Deirdre, that's my wife, has always been a jolly good companion to me and I never particularly anticipated any marital strife - indeed the very idea of consulting a professional marital adviser has always been of the greatest repugnance to me although far be it from me to impugn the nature of your trade or profession
The counsellor and wife are not listening, but are instead staring deep into each others eyes.
Counsellor: (realising Pewtey has stopped) Do go on.
Arthur: Well, as I say, we've always been good friends, sharing the interests, the gardening and so on, the model airplanes, the sixpenny bottle for the holiday money, and indeed twice a month settling down in the evenings doing the accounts, something which, er, Deirdre, Deirdre that's my wife, er, particularly looked forward to on account of her feet (the counsellor has his face fantastically close to the wife's, as close that they could get without kissing) I should probably have said at the outset that I'm noted for having something of a sense of humour, although I have kept myself very much to myself over the last two years notwithstanding, as it were, and it's only as comparatively recently that I began to realize - well, er perhaps realize is not the correct word, er, imagine, imagine, that I was not the only thing in her life.
Counsellor: (who is practically in a clinch with her) You suspected your wife?
Arthur: Well yes - at first, frankly yes (the counsellor points the wife to a screen; she goes behind it) Her behaviour did seem at the time to me, who after all was there to see, to be a little odd.
Arthur: Yes well, I mean to a certain extent yes. I'm not by nature a suspicious person - far from it - though in fact I have something of a reputation as an after-dinner speaker, if you take my meaning....
A piece of his wife's clothing comes over the top of the screen.
Counsellor: Yes I certainly do
The wife's bra and knickers come over the screen.
Arthur: Anyway in the area where I'm known people in fact know me extremely well....
Counsellor: (taking his jacket off) Oh yes. Would you hold this.
Arthur: Certainly yes (takes the jacket; the counsellor continues to undress) Anyway, as I said, I decided to face up to the facts and stop beating about the bush or I'd never look myself in the bathroom mirror again.
Counsellor: (down to his underpants) Er, look would you mind running along for ten minutes? Make it half an hour.
Arthur: No, no, right-ho, fine. Yes I'll wait outside shall I?...(the counsellor has already gone behind the screen) Yes, well that's perhaps the best things. Yes. You've certainly put my mind at rest on one or two points, there.
Exits through door. He is stopped in the corridor by a cowboy with a deep southern American voice.
Southerner (J.C.): Now wait there stranger. A man can run and run for year after year until he realizes that what he's running from...is hisself
Southerner: A man's got to do what a man's got to do, and there ain't no sense in runnin'. Now you gotta turn, and you gotta fight, and you gotta hold your head up high.
Southerner: Now you go back in there my son and be a man. Walk tall. (he exits)
Arthur: Yes, I will. I will. I've been pushed around long enough. This is it. This is your moment Arthur Pewtey - this is it Arthur Pewtey. At last you're a man! (open the door very determinedly) All right, Deirdre, come out of there
Counsellor: Go away
Arthur: Right. Right.
He is hit on the head with a chicken by a man in a suit of armour.
Caption and Voice Over: 'SO MUCH FOR PATHOS'