TV Our Friend Victoria

She was one of the top, top, top comedians of the last 50 years.

I wouldn't be an adolescent again, if you bumped my pocket money up to

three and six.

I've never met or worked with anyone that's remotely like Victoria.

He fell about laughing like this.

I could see all the cheese and onion crisps in his fillings.

Vic was inspirational. There was no-one like her.

Only the thought of her macaroons have kept me going.

Funny, genius, unique.

-Are you all right, Bren? Did you get any?

-Any sex?

No, I had to go to the launderette.

She was one of us.

And we wanted to have her as a friend.

I cut my leg last month on a mantrap that someone had left out.

It's a beautifully crafted piece of farm machinery.

If you ever get the chance, pop your leg in one.

Will there ever be another?

Doubt it.

-Hello, I'm Reece Shearsmith.

-I'm Steve Pemberton.

And I'm Mark Gatiss.

One of the first things that bonded us when we were students

in Yorkshire was our shared love of Victoria Wood.

We first met Vic at the Television Festival in Montreux,

where she was picking up an award for Dinnerladies.

And I remember immediately going up to her and saying,

"Hi, how are you?" as if we were old friends.

Of course, none of us had ever met her before,

but that was part of her appeal. We felt like she was our friend,

even though we'd only ever seen her on TV.

And so, we're delighted to get together to present this programme.

A celebration of the finest work of our friend.

Victoria.

Vic was a proper telly addict.

She'd watch anything and everything.

In fact, the worse the programmes were, the more she enjoyed them.

She laughed at the sheer nonsense of it all.

So tonight, we're looking at Vic's take on television.

I mean, look at television. Well, you ARE looking. Never mind.

What I mean is, years ago, we used to be watching big, solid programmes

like The Forsyte Saga and Life On Earth.

Now the only things people like are the adverts and the soap operas.

I mean, it's coming to something when the whole nation tunes in

to see whether the boy from the Oxo commercial has passed his exams.

And video.

I mean, years ago, if your favourite programme was on and you had

to go out, you missed it. Now you can preset your date,

your time and your channel, go out, come back,

and watch half a Czechoslovakian cartoon and a recipe.

And remote control. I mean, it's so easy to change channels.

You can do it without even noticing.

I leant on mine once and thought Gorbachev had won the 3-2-1 holiday.

She realised how powerful television was.

Cos it was powerful for her, so she knew...

It's in your home. You know, it's there, accessible, all the time.

And people are addicted to it.

Well, especially before social media,

they REALLY were addicted to it.

So it was very powerful and important

as a form of entertainment.

If this show is all about telly and laughing at it,

then why don't we tune in to a typical day of telly

from Vic's unique perspective? Let's start with a cup of tea,

a slice of toast and a bit of breakfast TV.

Good morning. Welcome to day one of our regional breakfast time

experiment. I don't know what sort of morning YOU are having,

but I got up at 3:30am and travelled to work in a bus full of

chain-smoking navvies. It's now 6:35am.

I can't take my rollers out before seven o'clock.

But, of course, my loyalty to the company means I will wholeheartedly

co-operate with this innovative and, in my opinion, loopy scheme.

Good morning.

She cannibalised TV to then...

..do her sketches.

And that is part and parcel of how she was,

I think, why she was so successful,

because you recognised all the people that she was...skewering.

-Good morning.

-Hi, there.

-I'm Sally Cumbernauld.

This is Martin Crosthwaite.

-How are you?

-Oh, chipping in already!

No, I love him. Don't be fooled by the names - we are married.

We certainly are. And welcome to the start of a brand-new programme.

BBC One's All Day Breakfast.

Yes, we'll be on air right from breakfast time...

-..all through the day.

-Oh, bedtime at least.

So you'd better get used to our ugly mugs, cos you're going to see

-a lot of us.

-Oh! Speak for yourself!

No, I love him.

Well, we have tonnes of stuff lined up for you.

I'll be talking to Lulu about how a revolutionary new treatment has

brought hope to literally thousands

of sufferers from split ends.

And I'll be discussing with no embarrassment at all,

female problems, such as wonky wombs and faulty fallopians. Can't wait.

We did do, yeah, spoof chat shows or morning television.

Loosely based on Richard and Judy and things like that.

Do you know, I used to do that just as well as I possibly could.

I wasn't acting. It was really just trying to do it.

I thought, "I might have a little job here when I finish here."

And so I did it my very best!

We'll be keeping you up-to-date on the weather and the stock market.

And Mavis Nicholson will be phoning in from those Welsh borders

with all the latest calorie values.

-So stick around.

-So that's coming up.

Meanwhile, it's exercise time with our very own Jolly Polly.

And something a bit new from the BBC - hope you like it, we do -

a commercial break.

Because you are a woman.

Because you wear beautiful things.

Because you like to feel safe, whatever you're wearing.

Because even pretty girls have...cycles.

Bicycle clips for women.

Hello. Want to wear a bra, but you don't want to wear a woman's bra?

Just For Men acts like a woman's bra,

but feels and looks totally masculine.

New wide-apart straps keep clear of collar and tie,

and snap-proof banding means it won't ride up

during competitive sport or locker-room horseplay.

Just For Men. The bra that's wasted on women.

We asked you what you wanted in a detergent.

I'd like it to get clothes REALLY clean without fading today's

-snazzy colours.

-I'd like it to digest repellent fat stains,

even at low, low temperatures.

I'd like it to remove sweaty stenches that embarrass me

-when I'm ironing.

-Anything else?

Yes. Because we care about the environment...

-Yes?

-We'd like it to be in a green box.

If you are lucky enough to be at home all day,

then why not watch daytime TV?

Daytime TV is a bit like an out-of-town shopping centre,

packed full of things that you think you might need, but actually,

-you don't really want.

-Nevertheless,

it provided Vic with a rich seam from which to mine her comedy.

We'll have more needlework hints next week,

when Philippa will be showing us how to stitch up the mouth

of a talkative friend or relative. And now, as usual, on Fridays,

it's over to Marjorie to see what sort of week SHE'S been having.

Hello, Marjorie. What sort of week have you been having?

Well, hello, Joan. I've been having a VERY hectic time.

On Monday, my husband and I tiled the bathroom. More of that later.

And on Tuesday, we filed for divorce.

So, do you think you might follow the trend, Marjorie,

of the rather worn-out, middle-aged woman

shacking up with the much-younger man?

Well, it's certainly worth looking into, Joan.

One of the things I do like about young men

is that they tend not to wear pyjamas.

By pyjamas, you mean nightwear generally?

Yes, and striped garments in particular.

Yes, because I know from our postbag, Marjorie,

a lot of our viewers find folding pyjamas quite an arduous task.

That's right, Joan. Often leading to lower back pain, depression,

dependence on tranquillising drugs

and sadly, alas, to suicide.

Gosh.

It's the hidden depths of it.

Yes, the layers underneath that are so cleverly written into it,

that they really hate one another, that's right.

And it's gorgeous, isn't it?

You're waiting for it to come out.

"Please will you move away? Your breath smells."

You've also been looking at double glazing, haven't you, Marjorie?

CHEAP double glazing, Joan.

With the emphasis on the cheap, rather than the glazing.

-Absolutely.

-So, in effect, we don't have to spend £3,000,

£4,000 or £5,000 keeping our homes draught-free.

-No. So...

-So, how do we go about it?

I'm sorry. Could you just move away? Your breath smells. Thanks.

Awful, patronising and middle-class, basically.

The sort of women she would loathe.

Marjorie and I are heading for the three-star Clifftop Hotel,

where single people of all sexes are hoping for

sun, fun and a little bit of mountaineering.

Well, a bumpy five-hour drive on badly tarmacked B roads

wouldn't suit everybody, but we're both raring to pick up our bags

and get going.

The blue Samsonite, please.

No, that's the lot. Sorry.

Well, after a few of the hotel's speciality cocktails,

the ice is well and truly broken.

Everyone's having a marvellous time!

Over to you, Marjorie. Cheers.

You don't need to phone your wife.

Come on!

42 in April and no bra. Not bad, eh?

And I might try that later in the week.

Now it's off to bed because, believe you me,

tomorrow is to be a VERY full day.

Well, this is the highlight of the holiday, as far as I'm concerned.

A two-day course in simple mountaineering.

It is a marvellous way for single people to get to know one another,

because in a life-and-death situation like this,

you are totally dependent on your climbing partner.

Marjorie? I'm coming up.

OK.

If Marjorie were to let her concentration lapse

for just one second, I could literally...

Well...

That's it. Happy holidays.

Bye!

When are they taking the pins out?

-They're not.

-Bad luck.

And so, now to our early-evening TV viewings.

You've just come in from work, tea is on the go,

so why not put your feet up and relax?

Indulge yourself in the glut of soap operas that are on offer -

or, as they call them nowadays, continuing dramas.

And now it's time for our serial, Acorn Antiques.

And or those of you living outside the London area,

who probably aren't very intelligent and can't remember the plot,

let me just remind you that last week

Babs received a mysterious visitor,

Mrs Overall came out of hospital,

and Mr Kenneth went on a secret trip into Manchesterford.

Oh, I beg your pardon. That was the previous week.

The fact is, Mrs O,

my life seems completely grey, bleak and pointless.

Well, yes. Sometimes that's God's way

of getting you to enjoy Gardeners' World.

You're smiling - things can't be all that bad.

Oh, bloody Nora!

Oh, no you're not. Oh, Mr Clifford, what shocking news.

Well...

I finally winkled it out of him, Miss Babs.

And it took some winkling.

Don't say any more, Mrs O. The baby alarm was on

in the antiques packing department.

Berta and I heard the whole darn thing.

DRAMATIC MUSIC

With Acorn Antiques,

everyone knows that it was based on a certain soap opera called

Crossroads. The moving scenery, the slightly bad cues,

everybody getting it slightly wrong, the camera shots,

the boom mic in shot.

And having been in that particular soap opera myself for real,

in the early '80s, I think Victoria loved that.

And she used to love my stories about Crossroads.

Hello, Mrs O. I thought I'd bring my OWN coffee cup down today.

You know, it still tastes a little bit odd.

What sort of little bit odd?

Oh, I don't know. Almost as if someone was trying to kill me.

Oh! You are an old silly Billy.

-(Get back!)

-Well, you see, I am a majority shareholder

in Acorn Antiques since Berta's amnesia. If I were to die,

that would certainly suit cousin Jerez.

There's been a new development over Berta's father's will.

A new one has been found, dated the day he died.

Who's the sole beneficiary now?

That's the problem.

It's a little redhead he met in the blackout in 1943.

They had one night of passion and he never saw her again.

Excuse me, Miss Babs and Miss Berta, can I have a word?

Well, if it's to ask me for another job for your untrustworthy cousin,

then the answer is no.

His last little escapade cost me £32 in French polish,

not to mention apologising to every Asian grocer between here and

-Manchesterford.

-No, it's not that.

It's your father, Miss Berta.

He's been seen in the Post Office.

My father's dead.

It was done quite seriously.

The secret was we never, ever did it in front of an audience.

So maybe we didn't know

quite how funny it was.

Certainly the cameramen didn't know,

because they were mystified

as to why we were banging into the furniture,

and I was putting the phone down and it was still ringing.

I must be Miss Berta's twin brother, then, Miss Babs.

Yes, run along and tell her, Derek!

Oh, it's been a...

Both talking at the same time there, Mrs O.

-BABS CLEARS HER THROAT

-Oh, I was just going to say

somebody better answer that phone.

-PHONE STARTS RINGING

-I suppose I better answer it.

YOU answer it and I'll get you a nice cup of...hot cup of coffee.

You don't have to.

After all, you are the sole proprietor of Acorn Antiques now.

Hello?

There's definitely nobody I know

who didn't find Acorn Antiques funny.

And you go, "Well, what was it?"

And it was just the chemistry of all of those characters, I think,

you know? And because it was again, you know, a mick take of, you know,

the Crossroads type programme, daytime soaps, you know,

with wobbly furniture and, you know, bad acting,

but it was just pitch perfect.

APPLAUSE

And sadly I've given up on Crossroads, I'm afraid,

since Miss Diane died.

That was very upsetting.

She lost the will to live, apparently.

Mind you, if I'd been in Crossroads for 20 years,

I'd have lost the will to live!

And I got very confused when people from The Archers

started turning up in Crossroads. And I thought,

would it be a good idea if everybody from Crossroads

turned up in EastEnders?

No, not everybody - just Benny.

That would be good.

But he wouldn't have to say anything,

he could just sit in Pat Beale's cleavage with his hat on, smiling.

I've got a friend who watches television all day,

right from Wincey Willis via That's My Dog,

down to the Open University things about germs.

And I said to her, "Do you think television has killed

"the art of conversation?"

She said, "Erm..."

Talk about killing the art of conversation -

look at those two, watching catch-up TV on their Smartphones.

But there was one more soap filled with chatter that Vic loved,

and she couldn't help having a laugh at that, either.

MUSIC: Theme from Coronation Street

Oh, thank you, Ena. And good health, everybody.

I'll give you good health, Minnie Caldwell.

Ooh, Ena, I'm sure I never meant...

You never do mean, Minnie Caldwell, so think on and look sharp.

Sup up and shut up.

I've heard enough skriking in this bug hutch to last me

from Weatherfield Viaduct to Whit-week Walk.

It's a lovely milk stout, Ena.

By the thump, Minnie Caldwell, you take the barm cake, you do!

Oh, leave her be, Ena Sharples, you've a chip on your shoulder

that big, Jackson's Chippy couldn't come up with t'vinegar.

Put a pikelet in it, Martha Longhurst,

and you might hear something to your own advantage.

Happen I might, Ena Sharples.

-What's to do?

-Oh, yes, Ena, what's to do?

Well, I keep my trap shut and my lug 'oles open - unlike some folk

I could mention, and you can pick up some very interesting conversations

if you keep your hairnet jammed up against t'vestry wall.

By 'eck, Ena Sharples,

you weren't behind t'mangle when they handed out stair rods.

Ooh, Ena. What have you heard?

That stuck-up Ida Barlow, who's no better than she should be,

it'll be not too long before she falls under a bus.

Harry Hewitt'll likely get crushed under the axle of his own van,

and as for Valerie Barlow, and if this isn't the judgment for setting

herself up in her own front parlour as a so-called hair stylist,

then my name's not Ena Sharples. From what I hear, it's two clogs to

a thrupenny bit she'll electrocute herself with her own hairdryer.

But what about the poor little twins, Ena?

Their Peter and their Susan?

Off up to Scotland. Coming back after 20 years,

without so much as a Scottish accent.

Oh, that is nice. I must tell my Bobby.

Is that all?

All, Martha Longhurst? I should think it is all.

I can't stand round listening to gossip all day like some folk.

I've clinkers to riddle and pots to scythe.

Did you not hear nowt about me?

Happen I did, Martha Longhurst,

and happen I didn't. But I tell you one thing,

you won't be wanting this.

It's late evening now. Shall we stay up and watch a bit of reality TV?

A documentary? That's what Victoria obviously did,

because she made the most perfect pastiches of those programmes too.

How are you feeling? Very mixed, basically.

A little bit schizoid.

Do you think this talent show is crucial?

Never mind crucial - it's bloody important.

-Make or break?

-Make or break, spot-on.

Win or lose, double or quits,

que sera sera, Three Coins In A Fountain,

Bachelor Boy, this is it.

Do you WANT to be a star?

I've got the perm, I've got the suit.

I've got the same vinyl flooring as Felicity Kendal.

Why should some other bastard pick up 40 grand

for advertising microwave ovens?

What she managed to do with pastiche

is to talk about something that IS about being in the world of telly,

being successful, being rich and famous,

but still keeping something that is universal about it,

and that ordinary people can connect to.

So that you felt it was authentic and genuine and funny and sad.

Are you VERY nervous?

Yeah.

It's a bit like drowning.

They're all passing before my eyes.

What are?

All my previous hairstyles.

Just a reminder about our postal votes...

So what went wrong?

It was the lights.

They're just so bloody hot, you know.

After a couple of minutes in that heat, I knew I was losing it.

-I could feel it going.

-What was going?

The delivery? The rapport with the audience?

No, the bloody perm.

It's heartbreaking.

So who DID win Star Search, and have you found your star?

Oh, I think so. I've just been telling her.

She'll have to shave her legs!

They were really well done, those mini documentaries,

and I can't think of anyone who did that before her.

May I ask what you're doing here?

We've come about the test-tube babies and that.

We want a test tube baby.

Why - are there problems?

We've only got a maisonette so a little tiny test-tube...

No, they grow to a normal size - they're conceived in the test-tube.

We'll never both fit in.

-How you getting on?

-We've been having tests.

-Fertility?

-For something - I don't know if it was tility.

I had to go in a bathroom with a sexy sort of magazine.

-How did you get on?

-I could read MOST of it.

-What happened in the end?

-We didn't get one.

-You didn't get what?

-A baby.

They said we had to wait nine months or something.

The things they wanted us to do...

Sections of intercost or something.

-It was horrible.

-Well, everybody does it, you know.

They don't! Come on.

Go on, get out of it, you woolly article.

You've only got to look at things like The Office,

and people now, big series were made out of them,

but she was doing those right, right at the beginning,

those sort of reality...

You know, they were sort of mock, fly-on-the-wall things that she did,

that now, you know, we've unfortunately got channels

stuffed full of them now, haven't we?

And now BBC Braindead continues with more of Stacey Leanne's exploits

on that luxury liner.

Oh, I can't believe it's the last night of the cruise tonight.

I'm filling up now, just thinking about it.

-KNOCK AT DOOR

-Are you decent?

Oh, you're ten years too late. Whacky sense of humour.

-You're rushing. Take your time.

-I know what it is.

-Come on.

-So here we go.

Are you ready? OK, so it goes, announcement, spotlight, on I come.

# La-da-da-daaa. #

No, it's spotlight, announcement, on you come.

What am I like? It is only 2.00 in the afternoon

and I'm already doolally, she cried. Let me just check,

-you're wearing your gold...

-My white DJ, yes.

You're going to look gorgeous. No, he looks gorgeous anyway, don't he?

No, I love him, she lied. No, I'm only kidding.

Come in, Paul.

Seen it all before anyway. We had a bit of a drunken fumble, didn't we,

Boxing night? Anyway, the baps are back in the bread bin now.

Not coming out till New Year - promises, promises.

Ooh, is that the gel in my full spot?

-Yes.

-I don't like it, Paul, I'm sorry, but I don't.

I think Pete's gone on his break now.

Do you want me to go up and change it?

Oh, would you? Ain't he gorgeous?

In fact, could you just nip up and change the whole thing, do you mind?

-No.

-Could you just make it more razzmatazzy?

-Yes.

-More showbiz-y.

-Fine.

-Warmer, more northern.

Oh, bless him.

Just tell you, I'm sure he won't mind me mentioning this, she added,

he took an overdose the other week. It was really upsetting,

cos it was one of those days when you weren't here.

There's me walking him round the deck in stilettos,

nobody filming it. Are you there? Can you just start with the one

on the end? Can you reach it?

CRASH!

I'll just wait till he gets back up.

Look. Have a look at these. Look. £3.99 Keighley Market.

-Can you see? Look, treble clef, cos I'm musical.

-Half an hour, Stacey.

Oh, are you all right?

You know, he fell off the lighting rig this afternoon.

There's me trying to get the lighting right, he's screaming

in agony, apparently. I never even noticed, I'm so professional.

I'm sorry, but I am.

He won't mind me telling you, hurt his testicles apparently. Not nice.

I wouldn't know, not being a man -

yet, she added madly.

-Have a good show.

-Oh, what a lovely thing to say,

I'm filling up again now.

No, carry on filming.

ALL: So there you have it, that was our friend Victoria

and her take on TV.

-Should we end on a song?

-We end on a song.

-We end on a song!

-All right.

-Cos I looked away.

-Again.

-So there you have it.

That was our friend Victoria and her take on TV.

Shall we end on a song?

Well, yes, I think we should.

Not us. Victoria.

APPLAUSE

# We're off in a charrie from Ratcliffe

-# Marie and...

-Clary...

# And Min

# Out for a day at the seaside, where do we begin?

# Ian McCaskill the weatherman had said it would be fine

# It started out quite cloudy, then the sun began to shine

-# So I had a cornet...

-And I had a wafer...

# And I had a 99

# And I think I've dropped some Flake behind me vest

# Oh, Min!

# We went around the waxworks, we should have saved our brass

# One of the dummies was label-less

# We pushed her through the glass

# It could have been Bishop Makarios

# It could have been Alfie Bass

# But now we're doing what we like the best

# Which is sitting on the prom, showing a lot of bum

# And giving the passers-by a fine display

# Of knicker lace and winceyette

# As the sun begins to set

# At the end of a lovely day

# We've paddled and been on the donkeys, Marie and Clary and Min

# We passed a type of booth thing

# Fortunes told within

# Gypsy Petulengro

# Genuine gypsy born

# She had an enormous photograph of her with Frankie Vaughan

-# So I had some cockles...

-And I had some mussels

# And I had a giant prawn

# But I had to throw five eighths of it away

# Oh, Min!

# The band were playing Star Wars and bits of The King and I

# And that terrible South Pacific

# Heaven alone knows why

# And they all got sick to the dentures

# Of Valley blinkin' High

# But now we've got the best bit of the day

# We're oft here on the front

# Showing, to be blunt

# The bits that don't so often get the air

# Bloomer legs well apart

# Supporters from Exchange & Mart

# And some cellular thermal wear

# We've been in all the gift shops

-# Marie and...

-Clary...

# And Min

# We're totally, totally loopy for gifts for kith and kin

# But first we had our dinner

# We should have stuck to hake

# We went into one of those burger dos

# And that was a big mistake

-# I had a burger...

-And I had a burger

# And I had a chocolate shake

# And I sucked me froth up with me straw

# Oh, Min!

# We bought some quite nice coasters to match me three-piece suite

# And a plate with Lady Di on for serving potted meat

# And a tiny tin of laxatives, shaped like a... #

-Min!

-# Seat

# But now we're doing what we came here for

# We've really got it made

# On the esplanade

# Showing everything we've got, it's true

# Stocking tops, suspender belts

# Loads of gusset and bags of whelks

# Cos there's bob-all else to do. #

APPLAUSE

And later on, we have the British premiere

of the rarely performed Spanish opera by Leopoldo Gutierrez.

Miseria En Una Lavanderia.

I'm wasted here, really, aren't I?