Episode 4 SKETCHY with Diarmuid Corr

Eoghan bloody Quigg has been giving me the runaround lately,

making me look stupid.

Nothing sends a career down the crapper like a front-page drugs shocker.

Kerry Katona, Brian Harvey,

Bungle off Rainbow.

Quigg may have 28,000 Facebook friends,

but this time, I've brought a few of my own.

Three...two... one...

MUSIC: "Witness (1 Hope)" by Roots Manuva

Now!

See you in the funny papers, Quiggles!

Bye-bye, mortgage!

MUSIC: "O Fortuna" by Carl Orff

I'll get you for this, Mozzy!

I'm Eoghan Quigg! Aaaah!

Belfast has really changed, hasn't it?

In fact, there's loads of new landmarks all over Northern Ireland.

Have you seen this one?

It's the new Titanic Museum in Belfast.

The architects designed this to give you that unique Titanic experience.

So each corner represents the hull of the Titanic.

But from the M3 flyover,

it actually looks like the iceberg the Titanic hit.

And then there's this. Now, I love this.

The Balls on the Falls.

They've built this on a major M1 roundabout,

and you know, it kind of reminds me of that bit in Star Wars,

where they'd only half finished the Death Star.

Obviously, the powers that be

thought this multi-lane, Krypton Factor, monster of a roundabout

wasn't dangerous enough,

and what it needed was a sculpture of a big massive pair of balls

right in the middle of it as an extra level of distraction.

FIDDLE MUSIC

# She fiddled with me up the stairs, the parlour and the hall

# And when her father came home he kicked me in the... #

Oh, hello there! And welcome here to A Wander Wi' Willie.

I'm running a wee touch late to meet Tam the (oh) sheep farmer,

so to save some time I'm going to sneak over this here 'lectric fence.

Oh! Oh.

Ordinarily I'd have wandered around this fine...

FENCE BUZZES

BANG!

-THUD!

-Oogh!

Sorry, Miss. Ah well, that wasn't too bad.

But I seem to have lost my boot.

MUSIC: "Insane In The Membrane" by Cypress Hill

MUSIC STOPS

This here's the sheep farm of Big Wee Tam (oh) Santer.

As it's lambing season, Tam sure is a busy man,

but he's kindly offered to give me a gander

at his very interesting (oh) hobby.

METAL DETECTOR WHINES

Thanks for interrupting your (oh) lambing, Tam. Is this all your land?

That it is, Willie.

I own the land from the...what do you call it? House down there,

-to that ping-pong table over yonder.

-BAA!

And what's this here, Tam?

This is a what-do-you-call-it metal detector, Willie.

I've found interesting bits and pieces all over this place.

BAA!

I found this not far from my house, Willie.

I believe it was some sort of what-do-you-call-it,

pot for cooking soup, stone age, like.

I like soup.

And what about this?

This was probably a what-do- you-call-it mediaeval sun hat.

And this would appear to be a Viking's boot,

left over from a time when they massacred 200 women and children,

feasting on the flesh of...

You found my boot! Thanks, Tam.

Well, I'd love to see more,

but I've got a hankering for a game of ping (oh) pong. Will you join me?

I won't say no, Willie.

Come back later for more Wander Wi' Willie.

We could simply blu-tac the lid on.

-What?

-OK, ladies and gents.

Hold it there, please.

-Who are we burying today?

-McCormack. Arthur McCormack.

McCormack... Yes, the McCormack burial is delayed ever so slightly.

The previous service is just finishing up now.

-But we booked this days ago.

-Yes, I apologise, but...

-That's right, sir,

but the Devitt party did pay for priority burial, so they went ahead.

OK, everyone, I see many of you

have brought flowers for the grave.

I must point out that it is one item per person,

and all bouquets must fit comfortably in that container.

If they do not, you must leave them outside.

And...we are down!

OK, everyone, if you could all have your mourning cards as you pass,

we'll have you graveside in no time. Sorry for your loss, thank you.

Thank you.

We realise you have a choice of funeral homes.

SHE SOBS

That's it, love, let it all out.

Thank you for choosing Everest and Son.

It's good to see development and investment in Northern Ireland.

But it's also sad whenever landmarks close down,

like Delaney's in Belfast.

I used to frequent this place whenever I was younger.

I really looked forward to going here when I went to Belfast.

And it was so exotic. Outside, it was like an American diner,

but the inside was a mishmash

of rustic wooden charm

and stuffed African animal heads.

You would walk in there on a rainy Belfast day,

and you would be transported to what felt like an African hunting lodge

with a pound shop next door.

And nothing says, "I'm in the big smoke" more than eating pavlova

beside the mounted head of a wildebeest.

But it's gone. It's gone, and that's it.

Things change.

But I can't help but wonder,

what happened to all the stuffed African animal heads?

And I like to think that there's some wee man round Belfast

with a gazelle's head hanging in his hallway.

And he's using it to hang his baseball hats on.

Trying to explain it to his friends.

"Right, OK, it's obviously some sort of horse.

"Right? Except it's got horns, as you can see.

"So that means it's either A - a unicorn,

"or B - a cow."

Luxury. Quality. Lifestyle.

Summertime, and a trouserless three-legged race,

with Irish Terry Wogan,

Martin "Four-Eyes" O'Neilly, and an inebriated

big Jackie Fullerton.

I've heard it said that home is where the heart is.

But grounds of this quality are good for the soul.

And looking around at this marvellous garden,

one can't help but dream

of British Bulldog, water bombs

and "polio, polio, who has the ball-io?"

When I was younger, I had polio.

Such was the poverty of the time.

Now I employ an army of Polish people

to tend the six-acre grounds of my house, and lend a hand

when we're a man short for What's The Time, Mr Wolf?

Yes. These grounds are marvellous.

And so, when the banshee cries,

it heralds the death of anyone whose surname begins with Mac or O.

Bollocks.

-Excuse me?

-I have question about your ban of shee.

You say that she can be old hag and young beauty at same time.

This could not happen. It is not law of nature, like gravity.

Sir Isaac Newton.

To be old and young at same time, you have to bend threads of time,

which is impossible. Not even the great magician Paul Daniels can do that.

-And he is good.

-You like it. But not a lot.

No, you've got it wrong.

The banshee can look like many things.

Some say she even appears in the form of a crow.

If banshee can be old hag, young beauty, and crow,

then banshee can be anything.

Is lamppost banshee?

Maybe milady's handbag is banshee.

And why she only one of impending death to the Os and Macs?

This banshee, is she a bigot?

Lots of family surnames begin with Mac and O. Please, sir, madam!

-Does yours?

-What? Yes.

Have you been killed by banshee?

-No.

-I am getting very sore head from all of this bullshittings.

Ah, thank you, dear.

What is next on tour?

I am very much looking forward to seeing Albert's crooked clock.

Can you say it for me? A!

Mummy, stop trying to put words into my mouth.

Hey, giraffe! Good morning!

"Good morning, Stephen."

A for apple, B is for ball, I mean,

can we believe the administration's assurances any more?

"Well, Stephen, I remain sceptical as ever.

"Their history of misinformation and spin

"leaves the people of this community feeling cynical and let down."

Missy Moo, welcome to the playroom!

"We've had the carrot of playtime dangled in front of us,

"only to have educational reform tacked on at the last minute."

"Don't skirt the issue, Missy Moo.

"The government are feeding us lies and doublespeak."

BABY CRIES

Typical pass-the-book attitude!

Santa! You're live on the air!

Happy birthday, sweetheart.

-I was up half the night, son.

-Giving Val a hand in the kitchen, were you?

Worried I might swallow my tongue.

# Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows

# Everything that's wonderful... #

That prawn cocktail was lovely.

-40% of all food poisoning fatalities, where from?

-Tesco's!

-Seafood.

-Is that right?

Well, the beef was gorgeous.

-I know where that cow was killed.

-I did it this morning.

And the man who fired the nail gun.

Wait till you see your cake, love.

They say that red meat clogs up your bowels.

I'm pretty backed up at the moment, as it goes.

Innards like a bag of angry snakes.

Chocolate sponge!

Jesus, Val, what have I told you about those sugary things?

Heart disease, teeth falling out, high cholesterol,

-morbid obesity...

-Bobby!

Enough, now.

Happy birthday, sweetheart.

Thanks.

Happy diabetes, Catherine.

A bit of relationship advice for you.

If you've just met someone you know,

and you think they're special, but you're not quite sure,

don't give it six months or move in together.

Just go to IKEA.

If you go in there looking for a table lamp,

and walk out 11 hours later with a flat-pack kitchen

and still talking to each other, she's the one.

Marry the woman there and then.

My wife's Swedish. I have to go to IKEA.

She gets homesick.

We're still together

because we've got a well-rehearsed and complex system.

She walks through the little gate area,

into living room and bedroom land,

and I'm observant and interested, not to mention upbeat,

and I support her.

From the canteen!

Because to me, that's the best place in IKEA. I love it! It's genius.

Those meatballs are genius.

And who would have thought that gravy and jam go so well together?

As soon as I know it's IKEA day, I'm up first thing in the morning,

brushing my teeth, putting on my best elasticated trousers,

because for her, it's IKEA day,

but for me, it's meatball day.

Meatballs!

The only hard part of meatball day is trying to figure out

how many meatballs to have. Five, ten, fifteen?

I think that's where those geniuses in IKEA

have made their one and only mistake.

Don't count the meatballs, guys.

Small portion, medium portion, large portion.

No-one wants to know how many meatballs they ate.

No-one wants to know how many anything they ate.

OK, Mr Corr, so far today you've had

2 eggs, 2 bacon, 2 sausage,

2 slices of toast, 2 soda,

12 mushrooms, 144 baked beans,

4 slices of bread, 2 slices of ham, 4 slices of cheese,

2 bits of lettuce, half a tomato,

3 wine gums, a fly,

15 meatballs, 111 fries, 120 ml of gravy,

2 spoonfuls of jam,

and an ironic 750 ml of Diet Coke.

And it's only 1:15 in the afternoon. Well done, Mr Corr!

I have just finished what I think was a meal,

at Mere Damange on Fountain Street in Belfast.

And I have to say, the whole thing was a ghastly nightmare.

On our arrival,

my senses were immediately pummelled by the weird decor.

Our waiter's over-friendliness and attentive care

made me think he was a homosexual,

which made Lorne accuse me of being homophobic,

which made me uneasy and confused.

No Maurice McDaid's for that.

The menu was too fancy and the spelling was inaccurate.

"Jus"?

Needing to call off, I went for a dump

but the toilet was well outside my 60-pace limit.

So I had to avail of a nearby fancy plant.

LAUGHTER

Feeling better, I decided to have a quick peek

at the facilities nonetheless.

My misery was compounded by their baffling bathroom.

The bog had motion sensors and I feared I'd be electrocuted.

TOILET FLUSHES

But probably most terrifying of all was the air-blade hand dryer.

But I couldn't help but wonder

what it might be like to dip Little Maurice in it.

When the food came, the portions were small

and devoid of spuds or mashed veg.

When confronted on this, our waiter tried to blame it on us,

claiming we had not asked for side orders -

whatever they might be.

I want you to hit me as hard as you can.

'The waiter declined my offer of a fight,

'confirming my theory on his sexuality.'

See?

'To recap, then:'

The tiny portions, the fancy decor, the baffling bathroom,

the whole thing was a wretched and confusing experience.

I hereby award Merde de Manger

of Fountain Street in Belfast

no Maurice McDaids out of five.

Bon appetit!

You are sweet.

(Balls.)

-Why are you talking to her?

-He is such an asshole, that guy.

Grow some man mushrooms, lad!

I was outside the cinema on me own.

-Oh, relax, we'll do it next week.

-It is so rude.

Not saying hello, David Dick-n-Dick?

Barry, you are such an asshole!

OK. Catch up with you later then?

-Something funny, Dickasaurus?

-No, Barry.

Get in the bin.

If I come past here later and you are not in the bin,

we are going back to the disabled bogs. All right?

(Balls.)

-Where were you?

-Where are your balls?

I guess they are in the bin.

Balls in the bin? The bin is no place for a pair of balls to be.

I've had enough of this.

That's it, lad.

Sprout out! Huh!

Take that, then, you ballbag!

King Kong Ding Dong!

You like that, don't you...

Barry?

But why?

My office, now!

Yes, sir.

(Balls!)

You challenge me with a bin on the head?

I just want to keep my job, sir.

God, I hate you!

But I admire your balls.

An ensuite bathroom can add thousands to the price of a home

and a nearby morning shower

can blast away any strange flashbacks

from last night's mixed foursomes.

It all starts with innocent keys in a bowl,

then Dutch blindfold,

Knocknagoney necktie...

..and reverse Billy Bingham.

Before you know it, it's the dreaded it Purdysburn pile driver,

the Enniskillen spud gun,

the Crossmaglen cut lunch.

And then the inevitable Ballywalter wall banger.

And at my age, it's prudent to have a latrine close to where you sleep.

I have a prostate the size of a rugby ball!

Yes, an ensuite bathroom really is a must for any modern homeowner.

This next song is called Carrickfergus.

# I wish I was

# In Carrickfergus... #

Bullshit!

-What?

-No-one wishes they were in Carrickfergus.

Not even Carrickfergusans.

Not even people from Carrickfergus wish they were in Carrickfergus.

It is not bad place but I cannot imagine

standing in Taj Mahal, Magaluf,

or Eiffel Tower gift shop thinking, if only I was in Carrickfergus.

The castle's nice.

It is a nice castle.

Yes. But my point is, have you,

has anyone in this room,

ever lain in the sweet embrace of a lover,

paddled in the oceans of the Adriatic, skipped shirtless

through a Basque olive grove on a spring morning and thought,

if only I was in Carrickfergus,

eating McDonald's and looking through window of clothes shop

for lady of certain age.

In fact, has anyone ever sat on toilet seat,

with terrible, terrible hangover,

cold and alone,

a little emotional from it all,

with splinter of wood in your eye, thinking,

why God? Why?

Take me away from all of this. Somewhere, anywhere.

Perhaps God will answer and say, "Yes, singer.

"Yes, tour guide. Yes, old barman,

"where would you like to go?"

And at that point of sweet deliverance,

have you ever thought,

# I wish I was in Carrickfergus? #

APPLAUSE

Fair enough.

I have an old neighbour, who is completely loaded

but he is so tight that he won't even wash his car.

"Sure, why would I waste money on that?

"Sure, doesn't it rain here all the time?"

So when one of those cheap car washes

opened down the road from him,

I decided to send him a text message.

I said, "Hi, John, new car wash open near you. Only £3."

And he sent me a text message back.

"Whore houses."

Now, I should explain,

he was the type of guy who had a conspiracy theory for everything.

"Whore houses."

He was also from that golden generation

that texts in capital letters, so it sounds like they are SHOUTING EVERYTHING.

"People upstairs, they are riding the bed out."

And I was thinking,

those car wash businesses operate out of a lorry container.

So I text back.

"There is nobody riding the bed out upstairs."

LAUGHTER

"There is no upstairs in a lorry container"

"That's what they want you to think."

LAUGHTER

"PS: Who is this?"

LAUGHTER

"It's Diarmuid."

"I've been to one of them car washes...Desmond."

LAUGHTER

"Did you get more than your car rubbed down, John? :-)"

"I was investigating, you cheeky bastard!"

Investigating, like, a car wash?

Who did he think he was? Colombo in wellies?

"Just one more thing, son.

"There was an old busted mattress round the back. Whore houses.

"Case closed."

"PS: you had better not be in the south,

"or you'll be getting a bill for these text messages...Desmond"

# Gerogie, Georgie,

# They call you the Belfast Boy

# Georgie, Georgie

# They call you the Belfast Boy

# Georgie, Georgie Keep your feet on the ground

# Georgie, Georgie Won't you listen to the sound?

# Georgie, Georgie With a light on your name

# Hey, hey, hey play the game... #

No, thanks.

# ..Play the game, boy

# Play the game... #

Hi, we Davey Healy.

There was a break-in, down at the jewellery shop.

Oh, referee!

The police are looking for a male Caucasian, six foot two,

brown eyes and a scar on his inner thigh.

Good work, Davey boy.

No, Pat. Own goal!

He's getting away!

Perhaps I can be of assistance.

Sacre bleu!

Ooh!

Formidable, Monsieur Best.

No, thanks, big Pat.

'The George Best mysteries will return next week, you know?'

My boy, Zachary's latest parent-teacher meeting

was a humiliating experience.

Now that we have to stump up for home tuition,

my wallet is learning a lesson too.

So I have decided to moonlight as a gimp.

LAUGHTER

At least I get paid for this ritual humiliation.

Sadomasochism sessions on a Saturday.

Bondage on a bank holiday.

At £80 a pop?

WHIP CRACKS

HE GROANS

HE MUMBLES THROUGH GAG:

So, Tom, what got you into the metal detecting?

My mother had a metal plate in her head after the massacre of '41

and, as a childer, I thought all women had plates in their head.

So I bought the detector to help me find a wife.

And did it work?

There are some fine (oh) women around these parts, I am told.

Unfortunately not, Willie. I wandered the land lonely

and what you call depressed for about 20 year

and then I realised I hadn't actually turned the damn thing on.

HE CRUSHES PING-PONG BALL

Oh, she's broken now. That's it.

Well, I have had a great time with Tom and so have (oh) you, I bet.

I have seen sheep, electric fences

and the crushing loneliness of a (oh) middle-aged bachelor.

TOM SOBS

Now I am away to meet a (oh) woman who only feels other women

but maybe she will make an exception for (oh) Willie.

My name has been Diarmuid Corr and you have been fantastic. Thank you very much. Good night!

CHEERS AND APPLAUSE

MOO! Dropped trouser.

I can offer you a discount on shovel rental.

BRAKES SQUEAL

This is turning into orgy.

Wham!

Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd

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