The Go-Getter Blandings

Clarence!

Clarence...

Oh, for heaven's sakes!

OBJECT LANDS IN GLASS Ha, ha, capital!

Connie, who's my head gardener?

Red hair - stops me doing everything?

McAllister. He's on holiday.

Well, in the absence of McAllister, I think you'll find he's on holiday,

I'm going to spread muck all over the roses.

I shall be copious.

Brother, dear, is this something you intend to achieve personally?

Oh, Lord, no, no. I have a supplier. Horse, mostly.

-Mmm.

-Did you, er...?

-I have a present for you.

-Oh?

-A new broom.

-Ah.

-I expect it imminently.

As well as your feeble-minded son.

CAR HORN HONKS

I say, are you all right?

Cor...

Yes. Er...

Tree had me fooled.

It's been put there only recently, you see.

It'll have to go back to its original posish.

Lovely Labrador.

Thank you. It's a special type of Labrador called a cocker spaniel.

Fine old boy, your cocker.

She's a puppy and she's not mine. I walk her.

Can't she walk herself?

Seems to be furnished with a full complement of legs.

It's very important to me that a person appreciates dogs.

Oh, I appreciate the hell out of dogs.

Dogs! Can't get enough of 'em. Love 'em.

You have a dog?

No, but I tell you what.

I'm going to go straight out and get one.

Obviously, I can't just at the moment, because I'm skint,

but it is my greatest ambition in life to own a dog.

Erm. What's yours?

In the short term, to finish my walk. Goodbye. Come on, Zulu.

Come on.

Miss Jennings has returned, your ladyship, with Zulu.

Ah. Show them to the drawing room.

A Zulu? Connie, how singular.

Do you think he might like to see my assegai?

Ah, Zulu.

Oh, it's a dog.

Veronica Schoonmaker, a very dear childhood friend, is coming

to visit us with her millionaire husband and her five dogs.

Veronica.

Is that the brute-faced girl who laced your cocoa with laxative?

You spent the whole day locked in.

Don't be absurd. Dear Veronica will expect me to have a dog.

So Pandora has produced one. She's not given birth to it.

My brother spends protracted periods with his mouth open.

One gets used to it.

Who is that unusual man?

Oh, that is Frederick Threepwood. He is regrettably Lord Emsworth's son.

Frederick, I want you to meet my god-daughter, Pandora Jennings.

Coo!

Believe me, monosyllabic ejaculation

is preferable to the usual course of his utterances.

Why does the dog shout?

She finds your nephew alarming.

It is the consensus. Take the animal away.

Aunt Constance?

No.

That is your "I-want-to-borrow-money" voice,

and the answer, as I say, is no.

The name's Baxter. Rupert Baxter.

Representatives generally find it more convenient

to call at the back door.

I am not here to sell you dusters, Beach.

Lady Constance summoned me.

Her ladyship is in the drawing...

I have memorised the floor plans of the castle.

I know my way.

Aha! Is this the muck man?

Mr Baxter does not sell manure. He is your new secretary.

Oh. Did I have an old one?

No, you've never had a secretary and that is why your life is a shambles.

He is your new broom.

-He comes highly recommended by the Marquis of Tring.

-Spongebelly?

I have regularised Lord Tring's domestic affairs

to our mutual satisfaction. I now require a fresh challenge.

So you're not the muck man?

I am not, Lord Emsworth.

I know you're not Lord Emsworth. I'm Lord Emsworth.

Well...if you see him,

my dear fellow, direct him to the roses, will you?

I cannot pretend the task will be simple, Lady Constance.

But I promise you, I will regularise your brother.

Ever had a personal secretary, Wellbeloved?

Never had much call for one, m'lord, in my line of work.

Ah, Guv'nor, are you here?

Erm, yes.

Good. Wondering if I could have a word?

Concerns a small wager I had with Catsmeat at the Pink Pussy.

I shan't bore you with the detail.

It involved an item of corsetry and a couple of ferrets.

Anyway, in short, Catsmeat's beast romped the course

and the blighter's taken the next six months of my allowance.

You have been relieved of your allowance by a ferret?

Six ruddy months' worth. You will appreciate the problem.

No use coming to me, alas.

Money. I always left that to your mother.

Did you ever meet your mother? Charming woman.

Cyril, how are you?

What sort of salary are you on these days?

No, Mr Frederick.

A tenner, come on. A teeny one.

My dear fellow, I'm so sorry. I was looking for my study.

This IS your study, Lord Emsworth.

As you can see,

I have reclassified your collection of marbles,

the taxonomic principle being size, left to right,

the second principle of order being colour, spectrum right to left.

Good, Zulu. Now, listen to me. I want you to sit...

No, I want you to sit... I'll try another one.

I want you to go over there...

Zulu, I want you to go over there... Go... O...

It's plainly deaf.

Pandora, dear, this business of Veronica and Gerry Schoonmaker.

Apparently he suffers from being American,

so one never quite knows what to expect, but Veronica

is a very dear friend. I do so want her to feel comfortable...

Hours, you were locked in. Hours.

Was that a spasm or are you addressing someone in this room?

You. In the bathroom. Half a bottle of "syrup of figs"...

Moreover, Connie, erm, about this Baxter of yours.

The point of YOUR Baxter is to sort things out.

He's sorted things out in my study and I can't find a damn thing.

By tomorrow morning, Blanding's Castle must be shipshape

for the arrival of Veronica.

I know perfectly well this is beyond your abilities to arrange,

ergo Baxter.

You haven't the faintest idea what I'm talking about, have you?

Of course I have. You've got your gusset in a bind

about this cocoa-poisoner Angelica Snorkelbender,

her five husbands and her millionaire dog.

Did he say millionaire?

Frederick, no! Out... Go! Away! I want you to go over there. Away!

Miss Jennings is corking, but she thinks I'm an idiot.

I am an idiot, can't change that. But how to impress her?

"Cultivate a shared interest", I hear you cry.

Do you suppose she enjoys drinking to excess

and watching girls in tiny skirts do the shimmy?

More likely, sir, that she's interested in matters canine.

Not sure I can dicky up an interest in dentistry, Beach.

I meant dogs, Mr Frederick.

Oh, no, no.

I've told her I think dogs are hotsy-totsy, the bees' patellas.

Trouble is, I ain't got one.

Cook has a dog, sir. Bottles. I'm sure you could borrow him.

And what make of dog is Bottles?

Ah. His parentage is questionable, sir,

but he has character.

Good stuff.

But it doesn't solve the fact that I'm stony as Chesil Beach, Beach.

Any minute now there's going to be a millionaire on the loose

and I haven't the faintest idea how to put the moves on him.

Hold the line, what's this? Dog food rep!

That'll dazzle Miss Jennings.

Woofo!

Ah...muck!

My roses will be rapturous.

My dear fellow, we cannot prance around like delirious fairies.

There is muck to be spread.

It is Lady Constance's desire, Lord Emsworth,

that you remain in your study

while the castle is being prepared for guests.

I am at your service and accordingly, I will arrange

the distribution of your lordship's waste product.

Are you manure?

No, mate, I'm dog food. Where do you want it?

Says on the docket, "Free Dick Threepwood".

If he chooses to eat dog food, then let him do so.

Take it round the back.

Ask the footman to make the delivery to Mr Threepwood's room.

Capital.

"Remain in your study"... Blasted impertinence.

Oh, oh, dear.

Beach!

There is mess. Here. Mucky mess.

I cannot abide mucky mess.

Filthy mucky mess, west hall floor, 1500 hours.

See that it is cleared by 1503.

Who is responsible for this abomination?

A horse, sir, by the aroma.

Don't get gay with me, Beach.

Everything in order, Mr Baxter?

Oh.

CLATTERING FROM CUPBOARD

Ah, Connie, oh, good.

I've been looking closely at these shoes, you see.

In the dark?

Not in the dark, Connie, the electric light is illuminated

and I'm greatly concerned by the state of them.

I mean, look at this... dirty great hole.

Oh, that's where his foot goes in. Anyway, how's, er...

everything going? Arrangements and that for Japonica Poonsmacker?

Please sign, my lord, where indicated with a red cross. Pen.

What... Erm... Err... Very well.

Red cross affair, in reddish ink...

Yes, Lord Emsworth, that is a red cross. Here, here, and here.

"Matters domestic, reordering of..."

And here.

Now we can all get on.

Hello!

Phew!

Miss Jennings, this is Bottles.

What is he? A lurcher?

He does walk oddly.

It's all the knotty muscle he's developed from eating

Donaldson's Dog Joy.

He dines on nothing else. Look at him. What's he doing?

Well, it is a muscle, I suppose...

Bottles! Stop doing that to that little dog.

Any rate, corking bit of luck, biffing into you like this. Oh!

No! No! No!

Do you think you could now remove him from my leg?

Bottles, you cad! Miss Jennings, I cannot...

Enough "dog joy" for this afternoon, I think.

No, wait. Donaldson's is a product like no other.

I sell it, you see. I'm going to flog these five-dog Schoonmakers

a hundredweight of the stuff just for kick-off.

You see, the biscuit is so supremely delicious, you can eat it yourself.

Item three, appendix nine:

unsightly hair in the nose and ears.

These orifices are to be purged

before the arrival of her ladyship's guest, Mrs Schoonmaker.

Good heavens. Erm, Beach.

Everything tickety-boo?

Everything is quite in order here, Lord Emsworth.

May I be of further assistance to you?

No. Thank you. Good heavens, no.

No, no, no, no.

Item three, appendix ten: following breakfast, servants up to

and including the rank of footman

will have a maximum of three minutes

to avail themselves in the water closet.

Sheets of paper for this purpose: two.

-Did you snort?

-Lordship won't stand for this.

His lordship endorses my every reform, Beach. It's all in here.

The enemy's within, Beach. Gnawing at the vitals.

Feel your vitals being gnawed at?

To the bone, my lord.

Fellow rubs us up the wrong way.

There is mutiny fomenting behind the green baize door, my lord.

I fear it.

However, her ladyship looks favourably upon this gentleman.

Step aside, Beach.

First one mixes the product with saliva, preferably one's own.

Freddie, please.

Then one masticates the biscuit, thus.

Now, look here, this Baxter really will have to go.

He's interfered with my bumboes, my knocksies and my keepsies

and now he's upsetting the servants, and I won't have it.

The servants have had it far too good for far too long.

Have you seen the blossoms on Beach's nose?

He's cost you a fortune in port.

But Beach likes port. I only get it for him.

Freddie, is it entirely necessary

for you to make that revolting noise?

Choking...to death...

Well, do it elsewhere, please. You're frightening the dog.

Pandora, don't do that, he's just showing off. Freddie?

Let me make this clear.

If you exhibit yourself as a dog food salesman

in front of my dear friend Veronica,

I shall choke you myself, not with the food, but with the entire dog.

Thank you, all of you. That will be all.

Thank you.

Snootered, Guv'nor.

I haven't a hope in hell of flogging the junk to Verruca

and Johnny Spoonlager, and I've two tons of it to shift.

It's all stacked up in my bedroom.

I can't move for the stuff.

I've been seeking you, Lord Emsworth.

I did not expect to find a ninth Earl

frittering his leisure time in the company of swine.

Never mind you seeking me, Baxter, I have a mind, sir, to seek you.

The servants are in commotion, my dear fellow,

there is disgruntlement and wailing

where once there was revelry and song.

In my opinion, Lord Emsworth,

there has been far too much "revelry and song".

My dear fellow, this is blasphemy!

What's that?

You surprised me, er...

Frederick, a brief working definition of blasphemy?

No, no. What's that hideous scratching sound? What is it?

Oh, er...that's nothing. That's just normal life in the rafters.

-Rats, or I don't know...

-Rats?

-I don't suppose, Guv'nor,

if you happen to know if Bottles is a great ratter?

Who is Bottles?

I'll bet he is. He has a suitably deranged look about him.

Aha... I feel a demonstration coming on.

It is perverse of me, Freddie, I know, but I have no desire

to "pole down to the sty to watch Bottles massacring rats".

But he's a killer, Aunt C.

It's cos he eats Donaldson's Dog Joy, he's so full of beans.

Freddie? Will you sit?

No-one wishes to see you disgorging kippers like Donaldson's Dog Joy.

Hah! You remember the name.

And if I hear it again, I shall peel off your face with a spoon.

I'll do you a discount.

No! Sit.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom,

she pulled up your frock over your face, and you went...

Clarence! When my dear friend Veronica arrives,

I shall expect you to be dressed correctly.

Oh, Lord. On top of that infernal reptile Baxter

spreading despair all over, I now have to wear a stiff collar.

-I am present, Lord Emsworth.

-Eh?

Oh, no, no, no, no, no, my dear fellow, I wasn't referring to you.

I was talking about that horrible secretary of mine. What's his name?

Clarence. May I recommend that you do not speak while eating?

Miss Jennings, are my eyes alight with missionary zeal?

I see Donaldson's Dog Joy in every good grocer's

from Manhattan to Lisbon.

Is Lisbon in America?

Not especially.

So much the better. Start with America, end with the world!

Baxter! That's the fellow. Oh, I can't stand the man.

Odious little fellow.

Shakespeare said it, Beach.

There is a flood in the affairs of men, and it's taken its ruddy time.

But dash it, here it is. Look at my ruddy wardrobe!

It's been Baxtered! Oh, he shall rue his interference here.

What is that repulsive object?

It is Mr Baxter's ledger, my lord.

He appears to have misplaced it.

Give it to me.

Blighter's about to misplace it a whole lot more.

Veronica, so lovely to have you back again.

Full marks, Constance. I like a young bitch about the place.

I'm so pleased you approve.

I mean, a castle isn't really possible without a dog.

Don't you think so, Mr Schoonmaker?

I'm American, Lady Constance. Ronnie doesn't allow me an opinion.

Of course, the stern is feathered, which in the pure breed

is totally unacceptable.

But of course, dear,

you always did prefer the look of things about you to be...

not quite right.

Ronnie, dear, will you excuse me?

I've just remembered something.

Vengeance is mine, Ronnie, dear.

BAG SQUEAKS

Wrong side of the slope,

but I think you'll be amused by its impertinence.

That dog stinks.

Rich from you, Cyril.

Bottles? Curtain up.

Who's a beautiful boy, then?

Fresh cup?

Mmm.

Is there something the matter with the tea?

Unusual notes of fruit.

Typical of me to choose a blend that's "not quite right".

Clarence! Where on Earth have you been?

Gardening.

Good afternoon. You must be Gordy Bushwhacker.

Near enough. My wife Ron, who I believe you know.

Where is my ledger?

Somebody has taken my ledger.

I left it on the shelf outside the north corridor water closet.

-It is gone.

-Perhaps you should have taken it in with you, Sir.

It might have come in handy.

Given restrictions on usage of paper.

You will regret that, Beach.

Possibly, sir. Will that be all?

Where is Lord Emsworth?

Ah, yes, sir, I'm obliged to you for reminding me.

His lordship wished me

to apprise you that you may have dropped your ledger.

Among the roses.

Ah. Mr and Mrs Schoonmaker, welcome to Blandings Castle.

If I might have a moment of your time, I shall divert you

with a life-changing demonstration

of a doggy comestible I am honoured to sell.

-Frederick.

-Aunt Constance.

-Desist!

GURGLING

Can anybody else hear that? Sort of...creaking.

STOMACH GURGLES

Oh, it's you. Aha! Mystery solved.

Now, allow me to present... Bottles!

Presently making friends rather vigorously with that...

thing like a sporran.

This paragon of British doghood is about to demonstrate the zip,

vim and sheer joie de vivre that cannot help

but surge from an animal reared exclusively on Donaldson's Dog Joy!

I have in this sack a handful of simple rats.

-If you will kindly step out onto the lawn...

-Beach !

-Did he say bats?

-Rats.

-Oh, good, fair enough.

You wouldn't want to keep bats in a bag, would you?

Dispose of this receptacle immediately.

CREAKING

-Was that you again?

-No!

I definitely hear a sort of creaking.

CREAKING OVERHEAD

SCREAMING

DOG BARKS

From escape to capture and despatch - six seconds!

Did you ever see such a turn of speed?

He's got them all. What a lad!

Donaldson's Dog Joy, Mr Schoonmaker! I can do you a special price!

Good heavens! Mr Baxter!

Might I have a moment, Lord Emsworth?

No, my dear fellow, you may not.

This ridiculous exhibition is the end.

That product has cost me a lot of money

and I do not expect to see it distributed around my drawing room.

LOUD CREAKING OVERHEAD

It's coming from there.

Your butler abducted my ledger whilst I was at stool!

Beach! Come here.

Do you deny that you took the ledger whilst I was...

SCREAMING

And the most remarkable thing is,

the biscuit is entirely fit for human consumption.

Young man? How much Dog Joy just came through the roof?

Two tons, sir.

Put it all on my tab. It's worth every penny.

SHE BREAKS WIND

Poor Veronica.

I do wish I could persuade you to stay longer.

Such a nasty upset stomach, with everybody watching.

Thank you, Constance.

Thank you, Veronica.

STOMACH RUMBLES

A little something for the journey. Just in case.

If I may permit myself the vulgarity...gotcha!

These are for you.

How lovely. Stalks.

Damn. I wrapped the wrong end.

Look, Miss Jennings,

I just wanted to say that you're splendid.

I mean, I'm rather...erm...

Fond of you.

Are you going to give me the stalks, or not?

Oh. Yes. Here. You'll need an upside-down vase.

I can't imagine where...

I'm rather fond of you too, Mr Threepwood.

Do you think you could possibly remove Bottles from my leg, please?

Oh! Yes, of course.

Ha ha! The jingling tray.

Will you join me, Beach?

You take the glass.

A fellow in your position cannot be seen drinking from a mug.

Imagine if one of the maids came in and saw.

-Here. Chin chin.

-Chin chin, my lord.

Oh, I say, isn't that, erm, Baxter?

I believe it is, my lord.

Motorcycle not working?

It would appear not, my lord.

Oh. Taxi not available?

The taxi declined to convey Mr Baxter

-on account of the terrible pong.

-Pong?

Mr Baxter's over-acquaintance with your lordship's manure.

Not mine, Horse, mostly.

Oh, poor Baxter.

Ruddy goggle-faced weasel.

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