RESTAURANT SKETCH (DIRTY FORK)
A compère addresses the camera.
Compère (M.P.): Hello again, now here's a little sketch by two boys from London town. They've been writing for three years and they've called this little number - here it is, it's called - Restaurant sketch.
Film clip of Women's Institute applauding. A couple are seated at a table in a restaurant.
Wife (C.C.): It's nice here, isn't it?
Man (G.C.): Oh, very good restaurant, three stars you know.
Waiter (T.J.): Good evening, sir! Good evening, madam! And may I say what a pleasure it is to see you here again, sir!
Man: Oh thank you. Well there you are dear. Have a look there, anything you like. The boeuf en croute is fantastic.
Waiter: Oh if I may suggest, sir ... the pheasant à la reine, the sauce is one of the chefs most famous creations.
Man: Em... that sounds good. Anyway just have a look... take your time. Oh, er by the way - got a bit of a dirty fork, could you ... er.. get me another one?
Waiter: I beg your pardon.
Man: Oh it's nothing ... er, I've got a fork a little bit dirty. Could you get me another one? Thank you.
Waiter: Oh ... sir, I do apologize.
Man: Oh, no need to apologize, it doesn't worry me.
Waiter: Oh no, no, no, I do apologize. I will fetch the head waiter immediatement.
Man: Oh, there's no need to do that!
Waiter: Oh, no no... I'm sure the head waiter, he will want to apologize to you himself. I will fetch him at once.
Wife: Well, you certainly get good service here.
Man: They really look after you... yes.
Head Waiter (M.P.): Excuse me monsieur, madam. (examines the fork) It's filthy, Gaston ... find out who washed this up, and give them their cards immediately.
Man: Oh, no, no.
Head Waiter: Better still, we can't afford to take any chances, sack the entire washing-up staff.
Man: No, look I don't want to make any trouble.
Head Waiter: Oh, no please, no trouble. It's quite right that you should point these kind of things out. Gaston, tell the manager what has happened immediately!
The Waiter runs off
Man: Oh, no I don't want to cause any fuss.
Head Waiter: Please, it's no fuss. I quite simply wish to ensure that nothing interferes with your complete enjoyment of the meal.
Man: Oh I'm sure it won't, it was only a dirty fork.
Head Waiter: I know. And I'm sorry, bitterly sorry, but I know that... no apologies I can make can alter the fact that in our restaurant you have been given a dirty, filthy, smelly piece of cutlery...
Man: It wasn't smelly.
Head Waiter: It was smelly, and obscene and disgusting and I hate it, I hate it ,.. nasty, grubby, dirty, mingy, scrubby little fork. Oh ... oh . . . oh . . . (runs off in a passion as the manager comes to the table)
Manager (E.I.): Good evening, sir, good evening, madam. I am the manager. I've only just heard . .. may I sit down?
Man: Yes, of course.
Manager: I want to apologise, humbly, deeply, and sincerely about the fork.
Man: Oh please, it's only a tiny bit... I couldn't see it.
Manager: Ah you're good kind fine people, for saying that, but I can see it.., to me it's like a mountain, a vast bowl of pus.
Man: It's not as bad as that.
Manager: It gets me here. I can't give you any excuses for it - there are no excuses. I've been meaning to spend more time in the restaurant recently, but I haven't been too well... (emotionally) things aren't going very well back there. The poor cook's son has been put away again, and poor old Mrs. Dalrymple who does the washing up can hardly move her poor fingers, and then there's Gilberto's war wound - but they're good people, and they're kind people, and together we were beginning to get over this dark patch ... there was light at the end of the tunnel . .. now this . .. now this...
Man: Can I get you some water?
Manager: (in tears) It's the end of the road!!
The cook comes in; he is very big and he is holding a meat cleaver.
Cook: (J.C.) (shouting) You bastards! You vicious, heartless bastards!
Man and Wife let out a little nervous giggle.
Look what you've done to him! He's worked his fingers to the bone to make this place what it is, and you come in with your petty feeble quibbling and you grind him into the dirt, this fine, honourable man, whose boots you are not worthy to kiss. Oh... it makes me mad... mad! (slams cleaver into the table)
The head waiter comes in and tries to restrain him.
Head Waiter: Easy, Mungo, easy... Mungo... (clutches his head in agony) the war wound!... the wound... the wound...
Manager: This is the end! The end! Aaargh!! (stabs himself with the fork)
Cook: They've destroyed him! He's dead!! They killed him!!! (goes completely mad)
Head Waiter: (trying to restrain him) No Mungo... never kill a customer. (in pain) Oh . .. the wound! The wound!
The waiter comes running out from the back, tackles the cook and they fall over the table.
Voice over and caption: 'AND NOW THE PUNCH-LINE'
Man: Lucky we didn't say anything about the dirty knife.
Boos of disgust from off-screen. Cut back to seaside.
Compère: Well, there we are then, that was the restaurant sketch, a nice little number...a bit vicious in parts, but a lot of fun...but how about that punch line, eh?...Oh, you know what I mean - oh...oh...really.
The man from the sketch borrows the knight's chicken and hits Compère with it.