Lord Emsworth and the Girl Friend Blandings

Ah! That's enough of that.

I only took up smoking, so I could give it up.

I've given up everything in fact. Reformed man.

Yup! No more rum, bum and concertina for Frederick.

Ah!

HE GROANS

Now, Clarence, concentrate.

The London Fresh Air Children arrive tomorrow.

It comforts these children to see the civilized classes,

which, in this unusual case, includes you,

comporting themselves gracefully.

Freddie! What have you done to your head?

This is my reformed hair. It symbolizes my repudiation of vice.

"What vice?", I hear you cry?

Sins of the track and bookie, mainly,

-but you name it, I'll repudiate it.

-Enough!

Now hear this. The reputation of the family is at stake.

We must excel.

And, Clarence, if you say to me, "Do I have to wear a top hat?"

I shall stab you through the heart and have your mutilated corpse

dragged around Blandings by a donkey.

Naked.

Me or the donkey?

Oh, no, the donkey shall be clothed to amplify your total degradation.

Better than wearing a top hat...

How can I help? This is the new me, you see?

Ever ready to help an old lady get a horse's hoof

out of a boy scout, sort of thing.

Oh, Freddie, you're an imbecile!

Aunt C on cracking form.

London Fresh Air...Children?

Ah-ha.

So, what's the solution to this repulsive sogginess?

Gravel!

Proper stuff, y'ken, nae heathen stoor the size of peas.

Braw great clinkers.

Then yir dainty feet'll hae traction.

Awa' wi' all this filthy moss.

-I shall speak to His Lordship.

-He'll nae like it.

He's a great one for the squilchy filth.

Gravel it shall be, McAllister.

I'm on awa' to the idol o' erotic joy and trim wir bloated flaybers.

(Bloated flaybers?)

Beach, um, my hat -

you know, the boater affair bit of ribbon round it -

seem to have lost track of it.

Is it the one Your Lordship is presently wearing?

Oh...

Good heavens! Bless my soul.

Thank you, Beach!

Ah, Connie. Had a pleasant turn around the ground?

As you raise the subject of McAllister,

he wishes to spread gravel across that hideous infestation

of moss in the lime tree walk.

No, no, no, no.

I am aware that McAllister seeks to desecrate my lovely moss

and I shall not countenance it.

Oh, they're rather splendid.

My Lord, is that entirely wise?

SNUFFLING AND GRUNTING

No!

The gardener, McAllister, My Lord.

Oh...

Thank you, Beach.

Ah, McAllister! I expect you're wondering why I sent...

The posteriors of the goddess have been ravaged by yir pug!

My pug?

My dear fellow, I don't possess a pug.

And wi' the morn dairkening the horizon, it is a savage disgrace!

Did ye pick they delphiniums?

HE GROWLS

Moss. That's what I wanted to talk to you about.

McAllister! Unhand my moss!

HE GROWLS

CAR HORN BLASTS

Why is McAllister getting into a taxi?

Eh? Is he? I have no idea.

He must be, er...on the...um...

He's given in his notice.

What?

Why?

What have you done?

Well, that's impossible!

His presence is ESSENTIAL tomorrow!

You haven't the faintest idea what I'm talking about!

It's the Blandings Fete! The most important day of our year!

Oh, good Lord!

Oh, oh, can't you have a word?

No, I can't!

You and I know both know you are a withered homunculus

rather than a conventional specimen of adult manhood,

but you are the titular Master of Blandings!

You must reclaim your gardener!

Halt!

Now, look here, McAllister,

we need to get one thing absolutely clear...

(I'll double your salary.)

HE GROWLS

-When I say double I quite possibly mean treble?

-Hm!

Oh, my dear fellow, please don't go.

Think of tomorrow.

HE GROWLS

Oh, I beg of you, McAllister!

What else do I have to offer you?

Ah.

The gravel path.

Yes, of course, McAllister,

of course, with my blessing.

You'll no' pick another flooer withoot my say-so?

Mmm.

And there'll be nae mair nibblin' on the dirty dumplin's o' the deity?

Whatever that is, no, never.

The incident is closed.

McAllister, out you hop.

Come, come.

Such a pretty thing, under all the D-I-R-T.

Can it, you lot! Reverend Gandle here is trying to speak.

Thank you, Miss Younghusband.

Now, I merely wish to say...

CHILDREN LAUGHING Good heavens...

Welcome to Market Blandings...

I have here the roster of your accommodation.

Ah-ha!

What do you want, Frederick? Is it money?

Oh, dear old prune, not in the least. I am a man transfigured.

My only desire is to be of service to my peers,

you being the peer available.

I have no sympathetic ear for your desires, m'boy.

Tomorrow I have to endure the torment of a stick-up collar and a top hat.

Oh, grinding rectal ache!

And, of course, you have to make a speech.

Oh! You'd forgotten about the speech.

-Err...

-I tell you what!

How about I get you out of that?

-Eh?

-Seriously.

All I want now is to give succour to the suffering.

And if ever there was a suffering sucker, Guv'nor, you're it.

Aw this moss must be raked up!

Fir the gravel.

I hae commanded its delivery.

Well! Rake up the moss? But it's rather jolly!

Guv'nor, you love this...

Raked up it shall be!

With a canny great, God-fearin' rake!

A muckle pile o' gravel shall come raining doon on the path!

Whar there was squilch, mon,

there shall be a Godly crunch.

The thing to remember is,

many of these London children are very like ordinary kids.

Except that some of them are armed.

I say!

Good afternoon, gentlemen. I'm here to deliver you two children.

Oh, er, excellent. And what would you like us to do with them?

Just accommodate them.

Reverend Gandle has allocated them to the castle.

Right. Guv'nor, I shall attend to this.

Frederick, I'm a little confused...

Undoubtedly, but I needs must waft this lady round the family shack.

"Needs must waft"?

I do wish you wouldn't refer to the place as "the family shack".

Miss Younglegs and I are stepping this way to inspect the fixtures.

Regale our guests with your scintillating conversation.

Er, Frederick, erm... Ah...

Ah. Yes.

-Lovely day.

-Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

Popped down from London, what?

"Pop dine?" Speak English, mister.

Can it, fish-face!

-Can it what?

-From London, sir. Yes, sir.

Mm.

Been out much this season?

Our house does have a door, mate.

Oh, that is good news.

Erm, name, m'dear?

Gladys, sir. And this is me brother, Ern.

Ern is wearin' a straw hat that he found in a ditch.

Good heavens. What a handsome article.

LAUGHS WEAKLY

PIG GRUNTS

That doesn't look too good.

I know. I wanted a yellow one.

Well, next time I get lucky on the ponies, eh?

-Are you a gambling man, Mr Threepwood?

-Er, no. I never gamble.

-SHE CHUCKLES

-Don't know what you're missing.

Oh. Are you a gambling husband, Miss Younglovely? No, I mean...

Oh, I know what you meant. I have been known to flutter.

Golly, I'd be hardly be taken seriously in Bow

if I didn't stick the odd oncer on a horse.

-The odd oncer...

-A fiver on occasion.

Ah, um, I'm sorry, but I think you're going to have to marry me.

Want to bet?

Yes.

What colour is your handkerchief? Get it right and I'll marry you.

Er...

Er, lemon!

It's purple. Hard cheese.

Ohhh...

Oh...

That is one royally cool cucumber.

PIG GRUNTS

PIG GRUNTS MORE LOUDLY

HE GROWLS

No, no, my dear fellow, I insist.

Five guineas is an acceptable fee for the restitution of the hat.

Clarence!

You appear to be issuing this small boy with a cheque.

No, no, no, no, no... Yes.

Well, he found my hat, you see.

Nonsense.

Dear little fellow.

Here's sixpence.

Run along, now.

-Woof-woof!

-HE PANTS

What is the child doing?

Er, he's being a dog.

When someone gives Ern money, he does his turn as a playful dog.

Most amusing! Connie, these young persons are staying with us.

What?!

Proof, mon!

Proof! Yir pug has been devouring

the shameful portions o' the goddess!

You persist in this erroneous belief that I possess a pug.

I think he means "pig", sir.

Pig? Pig - ah! Thank you.

Are you quite mad?

Mad? Ye cry me mad when I beheld the unclean beast wi' my ain een?

The filthy, trottery abomination! I ought to turn it into bacons!

-Oh.

-It may prove a condition o' my remaining in yir employ, mon.

-ERN:

-Woof-woof-woof!

Oh.

He's very lifelike, ain't he?

You, boy!

You are forbidden entrance to the Blandings Fete.

Woof-woof-woof!

HE GROWLS

-HE LAUGHS

-Stop him!

-SHE GASPS

-Bleedin' hell on sticks.

-Wow.

His Lordship was very insistent that you should be comfortable.

Is His Lordship the great shaggy Herbert

what shouted at the geezer in the knackered old coat?

No. The shaggy Herbert is the gardener.

His Lordship is the gentleman in the coat.

And this is his knackered old hat.

So, the old biddy our Ern took a gnash at -

that's Mrs Lordship?

No, that is his sister.

Sister? She talks at him like she's married to him.

So, who are you? Are you a Lord, an' all?

I'm His Lordship's butler. My name is Beach.

My job is to look after Lord Emsworth,

his family and his guests.

And you...are his guests.

THEY MOUTH

-SHE CLEARS THROAT

-Mr Beach?

I told Ern this was a man's job,

but he won't do it cos he's embarrassed.

Please take this for your trouble, sir.

Very kind of you, miss,

but I'm afraid

that if I were discovered receiving gifts from guests,

I would have to be shot.

-THEY GASP

-His Lordship's very strict about that.

'Oh, what?'

What can I do for you, my dear?

'Clarence!

'It is YOU who stands in the corridor outside MY room,

'having just knocked on MY door.'

Why did I do that, do you suppose?

'You've come to beg me to be civil to that fantastically disgusting

'brace of children.'

Thank you, Connie. Will you be doing that sort of thing, do you think?

'No. Boil your head!'

Oh.

Lord Emsworth...

I trust, will say a few words.

He is delighted...

-Freddie! Frederick!

-..to welcome you all to Blandings.

(Speech!)

Oh, don't give it another thought.

..to take pleasure in the grounds.

MICROPHONE WHINES

YOU are supposed to be confined!

Lord Emsworth.

I wanted to say how very much the children

are looking forward to your speech.

-ERN:

-Bull's-eye!

PARTY HORN BLASTS

Ah, my dear lady.

There we are.

PARTY HORN BLASTS

That lady - Mrs Thingummy, runs a grocer's shop.

What's her name...? Erm, Rossiter.

Puce of face and squeaking.

How would she like it if I went round to her place,

dressed in this fatuous rig, went puce and squeaked?

The fuss you make about for once in your life being dressed

like a reasonable English gentleman and not like an incontinent tramp!

Have you prepared your speech?

We cannot have a repeat of last year's debacle.

There was no debacle. I just...

A couple of names eluded me.

Mine. Your own.

The King's. The name of the castle.

Now, be quiet. Prepare your speech.

YOU! Girl!

Touch not they flooers!

Argh! Yer...

I'll hae yir reekin' tripes and bowels,

ye rankin', slooty jezebel!

SHE GASPS

Thief!

McAllister.

HE GROWLS

Ah.

Ern, is it not?

If I were a gambling man, Ern,

I'd wager you were doing something that you didn't ought.

You have a nefarious and frankly desperate look about you.

I like that in a man.

I think we can do business.

PIG GRUNTS

Oh! You haven't got a little bit of a cold coming on, have you?

SOBBING

God bless my soul. What are you doing in here?

Please, sir, I was put.

Er, how do you mean "put"? Why?

For pinching things, sir.

Pinching things? How extraordinary. What did you, er, pinch?

Flowers. I thought they'd cheer up our Ern.

Oh, is Ern in desperate need of cheering up with...

-COCKNEY ACCENT: .."flahrs"?

-Yes, sir.

I fought I'd pick him a few flowers, them long, blue ones.

But that great hairy man shouted and come runnin',

so I copped him on the shin with a stone.

Then I go - crash - straight into the lady, don't I?

And all the other stuff I pinched for Ern dropped out me frock.

Two sandwiches, slice-a-cake...

-CRYING:

-So that's why I was put here by the lady.

Cos I belong with the pigs.

SHE SOBS

Confound the "loidy"!

CHATTERING

Mrs Rossiter, please.

Your father has deserted us. We require a speech, from you.

Ah!

You find that amusing?

No, no, I just made some intricate arrangements

that are no longer necessary. Lead on, old scream.

A little bit about the weather.

No vulgarity.

You're not in your club now.

We don't want a repeat of the debacle of Lady Maud's funeral.

HE SIGHS CONTENTEDLY

KNOCKING

HE GROANS

Beach.

This young lady would like some tea.

Buns. Fruit.

COCKNEY ACCENT: Jam sandwiches.

Er, slice-a-cake.

Very good, Your Lordship.

Oh, and her brother, Beach. He'd like some stuff, too.

-Ern - would he like a little chicken?

-Ah, coo!

-Beg your pardon?

-Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

He doesn't suffer from gout, does he?

Capital.

Beach, a bottle of that new port,

from that lot they sent us down for us to try.

It's nothing special, but it's drinkable.

I'd like your brother's opinion of it.

Coo!

So, here we all are...

..banged up in this stinking-hot tent.

THEY MURMUR AGREEMENT

And the guv'nor - very sensibly in my opinion - has done a bunk.

He's probably cuddled up to his pig.

LAUGHTER

Personally, I'd rather be closeted somewhere breezy with a pint

of gin and tonic, and somebody slim and authoritative with a whistle.

You would see some cuddling then, eh?

-LAUGHTER AND MURMURS OF APPROVAL

-Eh? Eh? Would you?

Rule number one - get 'em laughing.

You know, all this reminds me

of a story I heard backstage at The Pink Pussy Club.

ALL: Ooh!

How's that?

LAUGHTER

Um, yes, well, there was a Frenchman and an Irishman

and a Rabbi - stop me if you know it.

No, no, tell a lie, could have been a Hindu.

Anyway, they're all on a train, going to Rangoon.

Er, except the Spanish bloke. It turns out he doesn't have a ticket!

HE CHUCKLES

No, no, that comes later. Where are they going?

-CHILD SHOUTS:

-Kowloon!

-Kowloon.

'Thank you. So time goes on, they get a bit peckish...'

Are you enjoying that?

No face so lovely that it cannot be improved by the application

of a little jam, eh, Beach?

Oh. What do you have there?

Ern's comestibles, as discussed, my Lord.

I have ventured to add some toffee and a packet of sultanas,

and Cook has contributed a bag of what she calls "gobstoppers".

I think our guest says "coo".

Is there anything else we can get you, my dear? Don't be shy.

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

I'd love get Ern a bunch of them flowers.

I know he's a lad, but he's partial. He likes the colour.

Back home, we don't have colour.

I say, damn it, Beach!

If this lady desires "flahrs" for her little brother,

she can jolly well have them.

Will you be requiring me to do the cutting, my Lord?

Scissors, Beach.

We are now going outside to cut..."flahrs".

We may be some time.

'So, Paddy says him... Oh, no, no.'

I said Frenchman - I meant Chinese.

-ALL: Oh!

-And he's blind.

Yeah, be definite with gags. That's also rule number one.

So, Paddy says to him... Oh, no, no. Hang on,

I forgot to tell you about the very tall waitress.

Go back a bit. Well, she's called Maureen.

Or possibly Hamish. Anyway,

the important thing about her is that she has to get to Brighton.

Which of course is nowhere near Africa,

and she has this aunt...

Oh...

My dear, I shouldn't want you to think my hand is trembling

because I am in any way apprehensive about

cutting my own flowers.

No, it is because I drink.

The colossal amount of alcohol I ingest every day

has turned my nervous system to jelly.

Haud yir hand!

Well, McAllister?

When you speak Scotch, you are unintelligible,

and I cannot permit you to raise your voice in my garden.

So speak again, McAllister. What do you want?

This young lady, whose name escapes me, but that is not material,

has my full permission to take as many flowers

as she wants from my garden.

Note the possessive adjective, McAllister,

and if you do not like it, you know what you to do.

HE CLEARS THROAT

Moreover, if you wish to remain at Blandings,

you will surrender every shred of your demented ambition

to disfigure my moss with a disgusting gravel path.

There you have it, McAllister.

What do you say?

Good.

And the lady's name is Gladys, as you ask.

SCREAMING

Stone the crows! The 'ole bloomin' tent's on the wobble!

Hang on, you'll love this...

No! Hold your fire, Aunt C!

I understand what's happened here, and I am in control..

I have you now, Aunt Constance

They don't come much darker than you, Mr Threepwood.

Oh, God, Miss Youngsqueeze, let me explain!

Oh!

Oh, Mrs Rossiter!

Oh, yes! Keep doing that!

You are so very lovely when you smile.

Frederick!

I am going...

..to my room.

PIG GRUNTING

Ern asked me to give you this, sir.

Oh!

Oh, please tell Ern that I embrace him as a gentleman

and am for ever in his service. Oh!

Would you care to scratch the Empress?

Yes, sir, thank you, sir.

Corton, '02.

From the vines of Charlemagne himself.

Regum mensis arisque deorum.

"For the tables of kings and altars of gods."

Cheeky little minx.

HE SLURPS

Quite right. Past its best.

Guv'nor? I was wondering,

now that the speech business has been successfully finessed,

could you find it in your heart

to settle my account at the Pink Pussy Club?

-You see, when I said...

-Yes.

..that I didn't need money, I was using the word "need"

in a purely private sense to mean...

What?

Yes. I'll write you a cheque.

Good God. Are you quite well?

Tickety-boo, my boy. Tip-top.

You do know that Aunt Constance has gone to her room?

Best place for her.

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