Wide shot of enormous high block of flats. The camera seems to be searching. Suddenly it zooms in on one window. It is a bedroom...a busty girl is looking out the window. She stretches languorously and mouths.


Girl: (C.C.) (dubbed on very badly) My, isn't it hot in here.


She starts to undress. She gets down to bra and panties, unhitches her bra and is about to slip it off her shoulders exposing her heavy bosoms when...the announcer rises up in front of the window on window cleaner's hoist. 


Announcer: (J.C.) And now for something completely different.


Cut to an orchard or a woodland clearing, in which are a group of stuffed animals; a lion, a tiger, a cow, an elk, a leopard, two small ferrets and an owl on an overhanging branch. Sound of birdsong. The elk explodes.


Cut back to John still in front of the window. We can just see Carol behind him in the bedroom casting her panties to one side - that is we just see her arm.


Announcer: And now for something more completely different...


Cut to 'It's' man


It's Man: (M.P.) It's...


Animated titles.

Cut back to the same group of animals minus the elk. Birdsong etc. The elk's remains are smouldering. The owl explodes, Pan away from the woodland clearing to an open field in which at a distance a bishop in full mitre and robes is pacing up and down holding a script. Mr. Chigger in a suit approaches the bishop and we zoom in to hear their conversation.


Bishop: (M.P.) 'Oh Mr. Belpit your legs are so swollen' ... swollen .. 'Oh Mr. Belpit - oh Mr. Belpit your legs are so swollen'. (tries a different voice) 'Oh Mr. Belpit., .'


Mr. Chigger: (T.J.) Excuse me, excuse me. I saw your advertisement for flying lessons and I'd like to make an application.


Bishop: Nothing to do with me. I'm not in this show.


Mr. Chigger: Oh I see. D'you ... d'you., . do you know about the flying lessons?


Bishop: Nothing to do with me. I'm not in this show. This is show five - I'm not in until show eight.


Mr. Chigger: Oh I see.


Bishop: I'm just learning my lines, you know. 'Oh Mr. Belpit, your legs...'


Mr. Chigger: Bit awkward, I'm a bit stuck.


Bishop: Yes, well. Try over there.


Bishop points to a secretary some yards away sitting at a desk typing. She wears glasses and is very typically a secretary.


Mr. Chigger: Oh yes, thanks. Thanks a lot.


Bishop: 'Oh Mr. Belpit' - not at all - 'your legs are so swollen'. (He continues rehearsing as Mr. Chigger moves over to the secretary)


Mr. Chigger: Excuse me, I saw your advertisement for flying lessons and I'd like to make an application.


Secretary: (C.C.) Appointment?


Mr. Chigger: Yes, yes.


Secretary: Certainly. Would you come this way, please.


She gets up, clutching a file and trips off in a typical efficient secretary's walk. Mr. Chigger follows. Cut to a river. She goes straight in without looking to right or left, as if she does this routine as a matter of course. Mr. Chigger follows. Halfway across the river they pass a couple of business executives hurrying in the opposite direction.


Secretary: Morning, Mr. Jones, Mr. Barnes.


Cut to a forest. They come past towards camera, passing a tea trolley on the way with a tea lady and a couple of men around it.


Secretary: Morning Mrs. Wills.


Mrs. Wills: (M.P.) Morning, luv.


Arty shot. Skyline of a short sharp hill, as in Bergman's 'Seventh Seal'. They come in frame right and up and over, passing two men and exchanging 'Good mornings'. Cut to seashore. Tripping along, they pass another executive.


Executive: Take this to Marketing, would you.


They disappear into a cave. We hear footsteps and a heavy door opening.


Secretary's voice: Just follow me.


Mr. Chigger's voice: Oh thank you.


Cut to a shopping street. Camera pans in close-up across road surface.


Secretary's voice: Oh, be careful.


Mr. Chigger's voice: Yes, nearly tripped.


Secretary's voice: Be there soon.


Mr. Chigger's voice: Good. It's a long way, isn't it?


Secretary's voice: Oh, get hold of that - watch it.


Voice: Morning.


Secretary's voice: Morning. Upstairs. Be careful, it's very steep. Almost there.


Camera reaches a GPO tent in middle of road.


Voice: Morning.


Secretary: Morning. (they emerge from the tent) Will you come this way, please. (cut to interior office, another identical secretary at the desk) In here, please.


Mr. Chigger: Thank you. (he enters and first secretary trips off he approaches the second secretary) Hello, I saw your advertisement for flying lessons and I'd like to make an appointment.


Second Secretary: (also C.C.) Well, Mr. Anemone's on the phone at the moment, but I'm sure he won't mind if you go on in. Through here.


Mr. Chigger: Thank you.


He goes through door. Mr. Anemone is suspended by a wire about nine feet off the ground. He is on the telephone. Flying Lessons


Mr. Anemone: (G.C.) Ah, won't be a moment. Make yourself at home. (into phone) No, no, well look, you can ask Mr. Maudling but I'm sure he'll never agree. Not for fifty shillings ... no... no. Bye-bye Gordon. Bye-bye. Oh dear. Bye-bye. (he throws receiver at telephone but misses) Missed. Now Mr. er...


Mr. Chigger: Chigger.


Mr. Anemone: Mr. Chigger. So, you want to learn to fly?


Mr. Chigger: Yes.


Mr. Anemone: Right, well, up on the table, arms out, fingers together, knees bent...


Mr. Chigger: No, no, no.


Mr. Anemone: (very loudly) Up on the table! (Mr. Chigger gets on the table) Arms out, fingers together, knees bent, now, head well forward. Now, flap your arms. Go on, flap, faster... faster... faster... faster, faster, faster, faster - now jump! (Mr. Chigger jumps and lands on the floor) Rotten. Rotten. You're no bloody use at all. You're an utter bloody wash-out. You make me sick, you weed!


Mr. Chigger: Now look here...


Mr. Anemone: All right, all right. I'll give you one more chance, get on the table...


Mr. Chigger: Look, I came here to learn how to fly an aeroplane.


Mr. Anemone: A what?


Mr. Chigger: I came here to learn how to fly an aeroplane.


Mr. Anemone: (sarcastically) Oh, 'an aeroplane'. Oh, I say, we are grand, aren't we? (imitation posh accent) 'Oh, oh, no more buttered scones for me, Mater. I'm off to play the grand piano'. 'Pardon me while I fly my aeroplane.' Now get on the table!


Mr. Chigger: Look. No one in the history of the world has ever been able to fly like that.


Mr. Anemone: Oh, I suppose Mater told you that while you were out riding. Well, if people can't fly what am I doing up here?


Mr. Chigger: You're on a wire.


Mr. Anemone: Oh, a wire. I'm on a wire, am I?


Mr. Chigger: Of course you're on a bloody wire.


Mr. Anemone: I am not on a wire. I am flying.


Mr. Chigger: You're on a wire.


Mr. Anemone: I am flying.


Mr. Chigger: You're on a wire.


Mr. Anemone: I'll show you whether I'm on a wire or not. Give me the 'oop.


Mr. Chigger: What?


Mr. Anemone: Oh, I don't suppose we know what an 'oop is. I suppose Pater thought they were a bit common, except on the bleedin' croquet lawn.


Mr. Chigger: Oh, a hoop.


Mr. Anemone: 'Oh an hoop.' (taking hoop) Thank you, your bleeding Highness. Now. Look. (he waves hoop over head and feet)


Mr. Chigger: Go on, right the way along.


Mr. Anemone: All right, all right, all right. (he moves hoop all the way along himself allowing the wire to pass through obvious gap in hoop's circumference). Now, where's the bleeding wire, then?


Mr. Chigger: That hoop's got a hole in.


Mr. Anemone: Oh Eton and Magdalene. The hoop has an hole in. Of course it's got a hole in, it wouldn't be a hoop otherwise, would it, mush!


Mr. Chigger: No, there's a gap in the middle, there.


Mr. Anemone: Oh, a gahp. A gahp in one's hhhhhoop. Pardon me, but I'm off to play the grand piano.


Mr. Chigger: Look, I can see you're on a wire - look, there it is.


Mr. Anemone: Look, I told you, you bastard, I'm not on a wire.


Mr. Chigger: You are. There is.


Mr. Anemone: There isn't.


Mr. Chigger: Is.


Mr. Anemone: Isn't!


Mr. Chigger: Is!


Mr. Anemone: Isn't!


Mr. Chigger: Is!


Mr. Anemone: Isn't!


Mr. Chigger: Is!


Mr. Anemone: Isn't!!


Mr. Chigger: Is!!!


Voice Over: (J.C.) Anyway, this rather pointless bickering went on for some time until...




Interior cockpit of airliner. Mr. Chigger (pilot) and a second pilot sitting at controls.


Mr. Chigger: Gosh, I am glad I'm a fully qualified airline pilot.


Cut to BALPA spokesman sitting at a desk. He is in Captain's uniform and has a name plate in front of him on the desk saying 'BALPA Spokesman'.


BALPA Man: (E.I.) The British Airline Pilots Association would like to point out that it takes a chap six years to become a fully qualified airline pilot, and not two.




Interior cockpit. For three seconds. Then cut back to BALPA spokesman.


BALPA Man: Thank you. I didn't want to seem a bit of an old fusspot just now you know, but it's just as easy to get these things right as they are easily found in the BALPA handbook. Oh, one other thing, in the Sherlock Holmes last week Tommy Cooper told a joke about a charter flight, omitting to point out that one must be a member of any organization that charters a plane for at least six months beforehand, before being able to take advantage of it. Did rather spoil the joke for me, I'm afraid. (phone ring) Yes, ah yes - yes. (puts phone down) My wife just reminded me that on a recent 'High Chaparral' Kathy Kirby was singing glibly about 'Fly me to the Stars' when of course there are no scheduled flights of this kind, or even chartered, available to the general public at the present moment, although of course, when they are BALPA will be in the vanguard. Or the Trident. Little joke for the chaps up at BALPA House. And one other small point. Why is it that these new lurex dancing tights go baggy at the knees after only a couple of evenings' fun? Bring back the old canvas ones I say. It is incredible, isn't it, that in these days when man can walk on the moon and work out the most complicated hire purchase agreements, I still get these terrible headaches. Well . .. I seem to have wandered a bit, but still, no harm done. Jolly good luck.






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