Hallo to All This Blandings

I'm getting rather anxious, Connie, about Stinker Parsloe.

-I wish you wouldn't call him that.

-Who?

-Stinker - I mean, Sir Gregory.

-Fat pig competition coming on, eh?

Bet your life the fellow's up to no good.

So, I've taken the precaution of inviting Galahad down from London.

-What?

-I knew you'd be pleased, he's so resourceful in a crisis.

I do not allow Galahad to visit Blandings.

Connie, Galahad's our little brother.

Every time he sets foot in the house something reprehensible occurs!

Poor Bishop Bostock,

drinking such a large glass of water and finding it was vodka.

Ah, well, yes.

Subsequently, we did have the pleasure of seeing Bostock

do the cancan!

I've always wondered what senior clergy wore under their raiment.

If Galahad causes me the slightest embarrassment,

I shall saw off your head

and drop kick it into the herbaceous border!

What, from here? No.

Seriously, though, Connie, porcine subterfuge from Stinker.

-We must be on our guard.

-Oh!

Come on, Your Majesty. Come on, Sweetheart.

Oh, Lovely Empress. Good girl.

'You are such a grotesquely bloated pig.

'Bloated. Bloated.'

You simply could not eat another thing...

..however tasty...

I have here, Binstead, a plate of the very finest sticky willies.

Do help yourself.

-No, thanks.

-Ha!

HE LAUGHS

-Morning!

-Morning, sir.

I say!

Fabulous! She goes like a bird.

But I think I'll wait for the supercharger.

-Gally!

-Freddie! Hello, my boy.

-I say, is that yours?

-Test drive.

-You're going to buy a Lagonda?

-Don't be silly. I needed a lift.

Will you find your way back all right? Good man.

Yes. Matter of fact, it suits me to be back in the old hovel.

I want some peace.

I need to squeeze my buxom muse till her pretty pips squeak.

-What do you need, my boy?

-Oh, erm, money.

Of course. May our innermost desires be granted.

-Beach, you hound!

-Mr Galahad.

Did you put your vest on Baby Bones to romp it at Kempton Park?

-I did, sir, thank you for the advice.

-Good man.

Your usual mid-morning refreshment, sir?

Oh, first of the day,

except for the one I had at breakfast. Cheers.

Right, young Freddie. Let's say "boo" to your old man, shall we?

Beach! Splendid.

-Galahad is here.

-I've been thinking about Galahad.

Capital! How clever of you to invite him down!

Galahad!

Dear old Clarence! Hello, sis.

Oh!

Little trick I picked up in the Cavalry.

-You were never in the cavalry.

-The club, not the regiment.

Galahad, what is your purpose?

On Earth, generally, to sprinkle joy and gladness.

At Blandings, to recollect the telling detail

that makes the simply sensational, gripping.

-What?

-I'm writing my memoirs.

Memoirs! What a marvellous idea! Have you got a title?

-Hallo To All This.

-Oh, very good.

Boko Bagshot, Dogface Weeks, Binky Bender, Fruity Biffen,

Fatty Coleman, Stiffy Halliday, Buffy Struggles!

All those reckless, roistering gay blades!

Young Parsloe, even.

Great Mayfair days, Freddie. They called me The Shadow.

For ever marauding, never captured.

At the Pink Pussy, you know, they call me Flat, Unfurnished!

It's a joke, apparently, about my head. I couldn't care less.

People say I'm ignorant, I don't even know the meaning of the word!

Ha! That's the spirit, my boy.

A fellow your age ought to be a beau sabreur about town.

Oh, oh, but Galahad, London. Frightful.

All sorts of ghastly people coagulate in London.

Once, quite incredible, I dined at the Senior Conservative

and the waiter served me up a rubber hot-water bottle

with chipped potatoes.

By no means incredible, Clarence.

For who was it, masquerading as a wrinkled retainer of your club?

Your neighbour, Stinker Parsloe.

Remember him, strutting about in front of Buckingham Palace,

with a soup tureen on his head

and a stick of celery down his breeches singing Call Me Whoopsy!

Ha!

-It's all in my book.

-Galahad...

Absolutely! Disgusting behaviour.

Not to mention the hideous incident of the prawns.

THEY LAUGH

-I remember that!

-No, you do not.

On that note, I must telephone the Mammoth Publishing Company.

Talk amongst yourselves. Toodle-oo.

I shall enjoy reading Galahad's book.

No, you won't.

If this book is published,

the entire family will be ostracised.

Everybody we know will be polluted by his regurgitation

of their youthful indiscretions!

It's your fault he's here, Clarence,

you shuddering jelly of imbecility.

He must be stopped.

-By you!

-Oh...

HE MUMBLES INCOHERENTLY

Excellent. Excellent.

-I shall surrender my manuscript to your courier. Name again?

-'Drabble.'

-Drabble. If Drabble could bring cash?

-'Certainly, sir.'

Splendid, splendid, thank you so much.

Bye-bye. Bye-bye.

-Erm...

-Connie has sent you here to tell me something.

She has, Galahad. She has indeed.

Yes. Now, look here...erm...

She fears the wrath of those hypocritical bounders

like young Parsloe when I blow the gaff

-on their juvenile high-jinkery, yes?

-Yes.

But are we intimidated by Connie?

-Yes.

-No, we are not.

She's chucking her weight about, Clarence, it's not be borne.

-You should have sat on her head in the nursery.

-Oh...

Now, Beach, is it time for a drink?

Cook wishes to know if you will be dining here this evening, sir?

Your eyelid's twitching. That's a tell. What are you concealing?

Sir Gregory Parsloe-Parsloe is also dining here this evening.

Oh, no!

Is he? Is he?

Clarence, do you think Cook could be persuaded to serve us prawns?

Oh!

HE CHUCKLES

-Beach?

-I shall see if it can be arranged, sir.

Excellent!

Just pointless! Just pointless.

Well, no, not really, actually, the gooey bit at the bottom...

Asking your father to do anything.

He couldn't influence his way out of a straw hat.

-What have you come here for?

-Erm...lunch.

I mean, to Blandings.

-You need money, don't you?

-No! No, no, no.

-How much?

-50 quid. Bit of a mix up at the Pink Pussy.

I shudder. I wish to hear no more.

I will settle this debt for you, Freddie.

On the condition...

that you find your uncle's filthy manuscript and bring it to me.

On no account must it be allowed to reach the publisher.

Mammoth could ruin Blandings.

I think, Freddie, I shall adjourn to my office.

-Office?

-Others know it as the conservatory.

Do you mind tootling down to the bus stop to scoop up a certain

Les Drabble, from my publishers?

-Rather important business.

-How will I know him?

He's a fetcher and carrier, so I imagine he'll have a soft hat,

a poorly-shaven chin and the glazed expression

of the paunched and bored.

Always carry a false bottom, Freddie. That's my advice.

Thin. Thin.

Your only desire is to be the thinnest pig in the world.

What's the matter with you, you stupid animal,

can't you understand English? Concentrate!

Now, food, urgh.

The very thought of it disgusts you...

Food...

Urgh...

Whatever are you doing?

I'm not doing anything. I was merely going out for a stroll.

Thought I'd take a look at your pig.

And, erm...

check her pulse.

Yes, I am researching...pig pulses.

Pig pulses?

Yes. I'll expand on the matter later this evening.

When I...

dine with you.

Well, I call this a rum business, Stinker.

And if you were still here,

you'd be very chastened to hear that.

I say, are you looking for somebody?

Oh, snap! I had to meet someone, but I missed him - the Mammoth.

-Oh. Have you got a name?

-Oh, Freddie Threepwood.

No, I mean for the Mammoth?

Oh...erm...can't remember.

A name befitting a soft man with a poorly-shaven hat

who used to be a glazier.

-With a paunch.

-Drabble?

That sort of thing. Ears like cauliflowers, probably a nose, too!

Mission was to whizz him up to Blandings to fetch a manuscript.

Also, to stop him getting it.

Family honour in peril, and so forth.

Well, never mind. I tried, that's the main thing.

Oh, look, there's a pub. Care for a drinky?

How very kind, but I rather have to get to Blandings Castle.

Aha! Well, there...I may be of service to you, Miss...?

-Just...call me Lesley.

-Oh, Lesley!

-People tend to forget my surname.

-Oh.

HE SNORES

Close, Connie, but no cigar.

If you publish this disgusting book, we shall never speak again!

And there are other benefits.

The name of our family will for ever be associated

with fearless exposure of the sordid truth.

Why do you affect this preposterous monocle?

To amuse you, my dear.

What?

Freddie, my boy!

Uncle Gally?

I'm afraid I missed your Drabble.

But look what I found instead. This is Lesley.

I say! My dear, you must imagine that

I'd leap up and bow to kiss your hand.

Are you Galahad Threepwood?

Large as life and twice as likely to escape arrest.

However do you tolerate being called Les?

I've been called worse.

(Your nephew's very charming. Please get rid of him.)

Yes.

Freddie, Lesley and I should like to have a moment alone.

Blimey. That is...

-Yes, of course.

-Goodbye.

My dear.

£500!

Another 500 on this date every year for as long as the book sells.

And, boy, is it going to sell!

Would it surprise you to learn that all my adult life I have been more

acquainted with the chink of coin than the rustle of paper?

Not at all. I am the same.

Why else would I work as bagman for a bunch of thugs like Mammoth?

-Miss Drabble, I don't suppose...?

-No.

Quite. Absolutely.

Would I were 20 minutes younger.

So, then...

..to business.

How's that?

Perfect, my lord.

Look here, Beach, tonight.

Parsloe on the premises.

Yes, my lord.

You and I both know Stinker plays a dirty game when it comes to pigs.

However, my sister is of the view that rather than punching

the blighter on the snout, I should be civil to him.

Neighbour, and so forth.

Indeed, my lord.

I have taken the liberty of seating Sir Gregory

next to Lady Constance, away from Your Lordship.

Sitting with you is a Miss Drabble.

Capital. Capital, capital.

Oh, capital! Who's she?

No, it doesn't matter, I shall look forward to her company. Oh, Beach...

..shall there be prawns for dinner?

I believe there shall, my lord.

Goody.

You haven't got it, have you?

Well...

in the strictest sense that it is not quite in my possession, no.

Freddie, if you fail me in this,

I shall take you to the zoological gardens

and feed you to the lizards in thin, bloody slices.

-The lizards?

-Have you ever seen lizards eating meat?

-Oh...

No, wait, I haven't finished.

Who is this young woman you've suddenly produced?

Oh, yes, she's rather jolly, isn't she? I met her at the bus stop.

The bus stop?

Freddie, if brains were dynamite,

you couldn't blow the fuzz off a peach.

-Erm...

-Don't speak. Get the book.

"How to Discourage Eating By Association With Nausea."

HIS STOMACH CHURNS

'Food...urgh...'

I understand that you walked here this evening, Sir Gregory.

HIS STOMACH CHURNS

You do not care for soup?

Please, don't say that word. It has an unpleasant resonance.

Something simpler, sir?

I could bring up a runny egg?

HIS STOMACH CHURNS

Should I...bring that up, sir?

For God's sake, man, go away.

Did you hear, Clarence? Sir Gregory walked here this evening.

What?

What is required of me, do you think?

Sympathy?

Oh... Lost your chauffeur, eh, Stinker?

You can't lord it over chauffeurs, you know.

Proud sort of people. Write him a letter of apology.

-Clarence...

-Pig pulses...

-I like to walk.

-Yes.

Time was, young Parsloe,

you used to like ride round on a slab of beef, hmm?

Remember when Puffy Benger hoisted half a cow

so it was suspended over those debs, and you took it upon yourself...

I remember no such thing.

It's just as well that I do then, isn't it?

-It's all in my book.

-What book?

-(My book now.

-Mmm, keep that under your chapeau.)

Such a prodigious memory!

I take my hat off to anybody who can remember anything at all.

Let alone the story of the prawns.

-What?

-Ah, yes. The strange case of the curiously-wedged crustaceans.

Deserving of an entire chapter! Ha-ha!

There you were the next morning rushing up and down Brook Street

-sprinkling fivers like confetti.

-Galahad!

I forbid you, sir, ever to mention that matter.

Should've given me a fiver, then, I might have forgotten about it.

Prawns! Capital!

HIS STOMACH CHURNS

Sir Gregory, I entreat you...

You cannot conceive the retribution society shall wreak

if that book of Threepwood's is published.

Damn it, Constance, you're a good woman,

but you are disgraced by your family.

I cannot associate with you until you have resolved this... Oh!

I wish you good evening.

THEY LAUGH

He thought he'd got away with it,

because he still had the pink, frilly knickers over his face!

But there it was - a little trail of shells, right across Mayfair!

THEY LAUGH

LAUGHTER PETERS OUT

That'll be all, thank you, Beach.

-My lady.

-Freddie, would you escort your guest...from the room?

Do not move.

Clarence...

if you fail to prevent the publication of this book,

you will have to spend the rest of your life in London,

grovelling to atone for your brother's atrocious behaviour -

trying to redeem the name of Emsworth.

London?

All your life.

And on the way to the station,

you might as well deliver your pig directly to Sir Gregory.

It might go some way to appeasing him for this evening,

but I doubt it.

In the meantime,

I am going to my room!

Your aunt's quite a power, Mr Threepwood.

You must forgive me, Miss Lesley, if I am a little preoccupied.

It was essential, you see,

-that I accosted this fetcher and carrier bloke.

-Don't despair.

You might still be able to do a bit of accosting.

SNAP! Ah! Ruddy thing.

Who's that?

Must be Drabble.

Ow! Where the ruddy hell am I?

Gotcha!

You shaven-paunched carrier!

Take that!

Now, where's the manuscript?

-Right. Well, that was exciting.

-Yes.

Oh!

But I don't want to spend the rest of my life in London.

I don't want to spend the rest of my life scrabbling for pennies.

Trains that go under the earth,

cars honking and belching.

Signs in parks that say, "Don't do this", "Don't do that."

Flowers one can't even touch and the air, Galahad!

-There's no air...

-Clarence. Stop it.

-What?

Staring into the abyss. Step back from it.

I shall not let this terrible thing happen to you.

I don't entirely follow.

I know you don't.

Stay here. Have another beaker of the blushful Hippocrene.

I'm off to settle Connie's hash.

Oh! Oh... Oh, Galahad.

-Right.

-How dare you?

I dare because I love my brother.

And even though it is my firm conviction, Connie,

that Clarence should have stuffed your face repeatedly

into the nursery carpet to stunt the growth

of your ridiculous pettiness and snobbery,

I love you, too.

Galahad, if you use the word "love" one more time,

it may be necessary for me to sink my teeth into your larynx!

I've decided that Hallo To All This is not for publication.

-Don't believe you.

-I don't blame you. But it's true.

Mammoth must forfeit their golden goose.

Give me the book.

You're not old enough to read it.

Give me the book.

Yes, erm, actually, that's not possible,

because I've already given it to the courier.

I just have to pop and get it back from her.

HE GROANS

Do you think he's dead?

People tend not to gurgle when they're dead.

Urgh! God!

Be tough with him.

Talk at him out of the side of your mouth.

Oh, erm...

Now, look here.

Hand it over and I won't get hurt.

Oh, no, no... I mean...

Hand what over? I haven't got any money.

Oh, well, that much we have in common. But I want the manuscript.

What manuscript? What does it look like?

Like this!

I can't see. I've got a ruddy sack on my head.

I tell you, if my hands weren't tied...

-Your hands are not tied.

-Huh?

Oh...

-You?!

-You?

-Him!

Me! Hello, everybody.

My God, Threepwood, you'll suffer for this!

-Well, which Threepwood will be doing the suffering?

-Neither.

He'll calm down in a minute when he hears what I have to say.

Miss Drabble, absolutely delightful to find you still here.

If you weren't so damned pretty, this would break my heart.

I return my fee.

All right by me if you lose it on the way home,

-you deserve a raise.

-What is all this?

The mark of a gentleman, Parsloe,

to recognise when a caper has become a liability that may cause harm.

Miss Drabble? Thank you.

I don't trust you, Threepwood. You'll print it privately.

Excellent idea, but no.

As for trust, cocky, behold -

the chapter of the prawns.

There we go, darling.

Now, young Parsloe, go home and have a bath.

We shall not speak of what has passed this night.

I'm afraid I said that with my fingers crossed.

-Now, Freddie, did Connie offer you a reward?

-Oh...

If she gives you any trouble,

go straight to the medicine cupboard in Beach's pantry.

Concealed therein is an account of your aunt sprinting round

the rose garden wearing a wicker basket and nothing else.

-Great snakes! Why, for a bet?

-A bet, of course,

but, fortunately, I was there to record the whole event.

Now, you young people will be wanting to kiss each other bonkers,

so I bid you good night.

Toodle-oo.

Is life always like this at Blandings?

-Lord, no. Sometimes it can get quite hectic.

-Oh...

Look, what he said...

I shouldn't want you to...

I sat next to the most charming girl tonight at dinner.

Can't remember her name.

-Lesley.

-No, don't think it was Lesley.

One of those names that fits both boys and girls.

Hamish, possibly.

Clarence, in your time, have you met many girls called Hamish?

My dear fellow, Hamish is a boy's name.

I thought so. Just checking.

Your thundering good health.

About your book, Galahad. Have you made arrangements for it?

I have, Clarence, yes.

-I have.

-Well...

Beach, I am so sorry to trespass upon you at this hour,

but the excitements of the evening have given me rather a headache.

Could I have one of your wonderful powders?

Yes, of course, your ladyship.

Oh... Erm...

What have you got there?

Nothing, my lady. Bit of rubbish.

Give it to me.

'Her modesty, what remained of it, defended by a small, wicker basket.'

Yes. Quite right, Beach. Utter preposterous rubbish.

-Shall I dispose of it?

-No, no, no. Thank you, Beach,

I have a perfectly adequate basket...

-HE STIFLES LAUGHTER

-..in my room.