Episode 5 SKETCHY with Diarmuid Corr

This programme contains some strong language

Ah, the foyer!

The gateway between the world out there

and the greased-up sanctity of a private residence.

Will this welcome area greet you with a touch of elegance,

whether limping home from a long day at the divorce courts

or red-raw after a weekend with sports underling

Stephen "Bubbles" Watson

at the paintball range?

Yes, these high, classy ceilings and modern lighting features

really do seem to say, "Come in,

"I've got the camomile lotion, drop trouser.

"I'm Stuart Prentice. The wee Watson got you."

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Thank you. Do we have any Diarmuids in the audience?

No! We never do!

I hated my name whenever I was growing up. I really hated it.

It was so hard to spell and so hard to pronounce. But now I absolutely love it.

It's got meaning and history.

It means "free of envy" and it comes from ancient Irish mythology,

where apparently Diarmuid was irresistible to women.

Hm. Yeah.

You see, apparently, he was the son of Aengus, the god of love.

Now, whenever I heard about this guy,

I initially pictured this great specimen of a man, this godly figure

dressed in godly robes, surrounded by a harem of beautiful women,

lying on a chaise longue, eating bunches of...

potatoes, because grapes don't grow here.

He'd jump off that chaise longue and he would jump onto his chariot

that was made of gold, drawn by donkeys with flames coming from their hooves,

and he would take any one of those beautiful women and he would bring her up to the highest peak,

and there he would proclaim, "I shall make love to you."

And then I realised he was Irish, so he probably just said,

"I suppose a ride's out of the question."

APPLAUSE

JAUNTY KEYBOARD MUSIC PLAYS

Hello there, and welcome to Willie.

You may remember this fine old house behind me.

It belongs to my old friend Nipsy.

I haven't seen her since we played hide-and-go-a-whomping last year.

That's right, Willie. I remember it well.

At about this time on a Sunday morning,

most of the locals gather around at Nipsy's to play hide-and-go-a-whomping.

One person goes a-hiding, and then the others go a-seeking.

And when they find them, they go a-whomping with their cudgel.

Oh, Nipsy, I hear you're going to introduce me to some friends.

Aye, Willie, but first, the cows need a-milking.

-Ah, Nipsy, have you forgot your stool?

-Not at all, Willie.

Sure I can milk Betsy here without even touching her.

Watch.

COW MOOS

Very impressive, Nipsy!

-Are you hungry, Willie?

-A little bit.

Se you later on for more A Wander Wi' Willie.

As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I take a look at my life and realise there's nothing left.

ELECTRONIC MUSIC PLAYS

Excuse me. Are you running this service?

Brian Everest, yes. I trust everything's going well?

To be honest, I'm a bit concerned about the grave.

-Oh?

-It doesn't seem deep enough.

Well, I'm afraid there's not much I can do about that, sir.

What are you talking about? You're the funeral director, aren't you?

I am, yes, but before he died, your uncle signed up for our dig-your-own-hole scheme.

He what?

Yes, he was a bit strapped, as they say, before he died, and unfortunately,

the old guy popped his clogs before he'd finished digging it.

Though I'm sure all his hard work had nothing to do with his eventual demise.

My lawyers agree.

But he's gonna have a shallow grave.

If you like, I can offer you a discount on shovel rental.

Or maybe sir would like a baggie?

After the service, we can tip him into one of these soft coffins.

That should give your Uncle Joe more headroom.

..in spending most our lives living in a gangster's paradise.

These people live off personal injury claims.

By playing out real claim set-ups 100% for real,

we'll show you the inside tricks of the trade,

so you don't make the same mistake.

This is The Real Claim, so it is.

Today, the target is the Belfast sight-seeing tours.

Sometimes, making a claim is as easy as falling off a bus.

We're all in position. Distracting the driver is my main objective.

That's a beauty I squeezed out this morning.

Fat Alan is up top in a clever disguise.

Gentleman Jim takes the dive, but it's Pam who will make the claim.

As I baffle the bus driver, Gentleman Jim prepares his part.

Holy crap!

HOOTS HORN

Whiplash claims all round.

Jim shatters his pelvis, and it's a classic double-dunter,

as the jolt from the bus throws Pam from the top tier.

Fat Alan innocently tries to help, but it's no use.

Well, there you have it. We all got a whiplash claim in.

Gentleman Jim smashed his pelvis,

but Pam hit the jackpot with a dislocated shoulder,

broken hip and got a bonus ball payout

for the trauma of having her dress ripped off by Fat Alan

on a busy shopping street as she was flung from the bus.

You're a jammy bitch, Pam.

Felicity, my eldest, has decided to take a gap year to go travelling.

Since she failed to get a part-time job this year,

it looks like I'll be footing the bill.

Flights, accommodation, spending money and a hip new wardrobe.

It's not going to be cheap.

So I've started manning the phones on a late-night interactive sex channel.

Three nights a week, with up to 90 calls a night, premium rates...

Well...

You do the math!

I'm actually worried about losing my hearing.

My dad has progressively got deaf, you know,

only he refused to get hearing aids

because he reckoned it made him look old and senile.

But him shouting, "WHAT?" in the middle of a supermarket doesn't, like?

And the final straw came whenever he came down to Belfast

and he said to me, "Diarmuid, I have to go to a funeral tomorrow,

"I need to go and get myself some new shorts."

Which is how they pronounce "shirts" in Tyrone.

So I brought him to TK Maxx. I thought, that's going to be as good a place as any.

And do you know in TK Maxx, there's this kind of area that sells odds and ends and bits and pieces,

it's kind of like a jumble sale.

Well, he wandered off over there and he picks up this box,

and he looks at it, and he calls me over, he says, "Diarmuid!

"C'mere!"

And I walk the three steps over to him.

Mortified.

And he said to me, "What sort of a fishing rod is this?"

And I looked at it, and it didn't look like a fishing rod at all.

It looked like one of those miniature vacuum cleaner things, like a Handy Vac.

I went, "Yeah, that's a bit strange,"

and then I noticed that on the top corner, it said, Nintendo Wii on it.

So I said, "That's for a Nintendo Wii" and he said, "What?"

And I said, "Nintendo Wii."

And he said, "I don't give a shite what you intend to do."

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

So we said to him, "Get this sorted out."

I was doing a bit of gardening at my mum's house

and he came up to me, and he says,

"Diarmuid, I went to the doctor and he gimme...he gimme the aids.

"I can hear the bucking grass girl."

Around 6,000 years ago, the Tuatha de Danann

were forced down into the underworld to live for ever.

And that's where the fairy folk come from.

-Also known as...?

-Leprechauns.

-Leprechauns! That's right.

-Has anyone any questions?

-I have question about your fairy folk.

-Yes?

-I have very much a problem with all of this.

The mass movement of an entire race of little peoples?

Population 1.5 million.

Down a rabbit hole? Think of the queues!

Well, leprechauns are very small.

Be nice to them, or they won't grant your three wishes.

Small, yes. Insect, no. The pots of gold would not fit.

And as for wishes, I wish for end to this crazy blarney bollocks.

And how can you live for ever underground? You need sun for...

-Vitamin D.

-Vitamin D, that's right. Without Vitamin D, you will...

-Die.

-Die!

And rabbit hole as entrance? How do rabbits feel about mass immigration?

Is their society fully integrated?

Or did leprechaun use rabbit as horse?

Look, it's just a bit of fun.

Fun? Tell that to the 1.5 million leprechauns dying from no Vitamin D!

Hello!

Hello, little peoples.

Nothing. See? Bullshit.

-COUGHS:

-Bullshit.

-What is next on tour?

When are we going to Drumanahoe?

'This is the Stephen Nolan Show, where the people have the power.'

Nonsense!

Let the man speak, Granny!

Good morning, Ed. AS GIRAFFE: Good morning.

Again, we have too many voices clouding the issue.

As GIRAFFE: No question, we're clearly living in a nanny state.

No more sugar, love. You'll not get him to nap later.

Ed, I can't believe what I'm hearing!

AS GIRAFFE: They take people's pockets to prop up their own agendas.

Hippopotamus, don't tell me you're going to defend this?

AS HIPPO: It may hit hard now, but we'll see it coming back to us

in the form of increased levels of ice cream after dinner.

AS GIRAFFE: Juice-sipping North Down liberals like Hippopotamus

don't know what it's like in the real world.

I'm afraid we're going to have to leave it there.

But for any thoughts on this hot topic, follow our Twitter feed.

40 characters or less.

Oh, look at the colour of you!

-Here you go, Bobby, a bottle of the local wine.

-Oh, lovely.

My niece went on holiday and all I got was cirrhosis.

# Happiness, happiness, the greatest gift that I possess... #

Tea?

-You should have seen the beach, Val.

-Oh, stunning, wasn't it?

He spent most of his time in the water.

Rip tides, sea urchins, stingrays, pollution.

I thought he'd get gills!

-Or Hepatitis C!

-Listen to your man, speaking Greece!

-So, what were the people like?

-Really nice.

A local couple had us round for dinner.

-You're lucky she wasn't sold into the vice ring, son.

-That's lovely.

We stayed over, Brian had a few too many.

-They could have been drug dealers.

-Guess what they did?

Knock you out? Stuff you with drugs?

-Booked to come over on Paddy's Day.

-Now you're a drugs mule!

Oh, that'll be lovely.

That's the way these people do business, Val.

Find out where you live, open you up, and dump your body on waste ground!

-We're taking the caravan to Newcastle. If God spares us.

-Och!

Family last year, touring caravan, gust of wind... Wham!

Should be good. Looking forward to it.

You can always spot someone from here on holidays, can't you?

We stick out like a sore thumb. And I'm one of the worst.

Amongst all those beautiful tanned bodies, there's me.

With my pasty white back, giving off a sheen that would blind a guide dog!

The last time I was on a beach holiday with my missus,

I saw her staring at a local muscley hunk.

She wasn't staring at him, she was practically ovulating!

Let's call him Juan. Cos I wanted to tell him, "G'wan! G'wan!"

Juan take a run up your own arse!

It's pretty unsettling, seeing your missus drooling at a Juan.

And then I noticed something really funny. He was wearing a Speedo.

But it wasn't his Speedos that was funny.

It was the, um...

..tiny ray of hope...

..nestled in his...budgie smugglers.

LAUGHTER

Now, I don't want to spell this out.

I'm not going to spell it out. But you know a flump, right?

Not one of those in the packet, I'm talking about a 10p-mix flump here!

I don't want to be unnecessarily harsh on Juan.

He'd just got out of the water, but you know a monkey nut, right?

You know an AAA battery? You know a baby's foot, you know their big toe?

You know when you steal someone's nose? "I've got your nose!"

A cotton bud. A duckling's head.

The black key of a piano tie.

You know whenever a petite woman sticks her thumb through a hedge...?

You know whenever your missus

sees you staring at another man's crotch for a long period of time?

You know when she says, "What are you doin'?"

And you answer with the only thing that you can think of. "Juan-nil!"

LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE

-Get in the bin.

-The bin's no place for a pair of balls to be!

You like that, don't you?!

Barry?

My office! Now!

I just don't understand it.

-You've always been the grey man in the office.

-I know, sir.

Like walking wallpaper. And loos.

And now, from out of nowhere, you challenge ME with a bin on the head?

-Who the hell are you?

-I'm the Arse Goblin.

The Balls Fairy's at the dentist.

Who am I indeed?

There was a time that I could have just punched you to the ground

and we'd call it quits.

I'm here cos you need to get your arse in gear. Unless you'd prefer the Muff Gruffler?

But a move like that would be exactly what they want me to do.

-What does that even mean?

-It means, boy,

that I consider you a pawn.

A patsy.

The Lee Harvey Oswald of office pranks.

-Think fast or your arse is heading for the sack.

-Leave my arse alone!

Now...nobody said anything about your tushy.

-I didn't, um...

-Whoa! Don't arse it up.

Dammit! Always leave the door open!

Now I can't accuse you of anything.

I just want to keep my job, sir.

You've got me over a barrel, boy. Get out!

God, I hate you!

But I admire your balls.

-Until next time. And watch your arse.

-Nice one, Arse Goblin.

There's no need for cruel names! You've already won!

Do I fancy a pint with Julie? You bet your sweet balls I do!

-Want to go for a dance?

-I'm sorry, I'm not much of a dancer.

Great balls of fire, son! Have I taught you nothing?

Balls to it!

My boy Zachary's psychiatrist has suggested he needs a hobby.

So he's decided to take up ice hockey.

Good news for his anger issues,

but the cost could put the freeze on our caravanning holiday.

So I've decided to blow up the family home.

All it takes is a scented candle in the music room

and some carelessness with the stove.

Then sit back and wait for the insurance payout.

GAS HISSES

My wife Caroline's got the front door keys. The back door's locked.

And I can't seem to stop this gas flow!

You do the math.

EXPLOSION

What are you doing eating sandwiches? This isn't a picnic!

Get out there and work the room.

I just think he would have loved this. It was such a lovely funeral.

I was just saying to David what a lovely funeral it was, Mr Everest.

And so unusual.

I've never seen a cardboard coffin before.

Yeah. Shame it rained.

Indeed. Listen, I hope you don't mind me asking,

but were either of you two made beneficiaries in old Joe's will?

-No.

-No. I'm afraid not.

In that case, would you be interested in a big cash prize?

Kitchen appliances, spa weekend, ash-scattering trip to Fiji.

You can have all of these wonderful things for just £1!

Sorry. I think I've won a holiday.

A winner already! We're just giving it away!

Three urns. You need three urns and a wreath for a holiday.

But you have won a copy of Morning Horn!

Attention, everyone. We have a winner!

Give him a big round! Lots of prizes up for grabs,

bereave it or not!

Have you ever gone into a public toilet cubicle, right,

and someone goes into the cubicle right next door

at the exact same time?

It's pretty awkward.

You go in, you get yourself ready, you sit down...

and then it's like you're both in a race that neither of you started.

You're sitting there and it's all going well,

as well as can be expected.

All of a sudden, the lights go out because of the automatic sensor lights.

You know, the ones that switch off whenever there's no movement?

Well, apparently, bowel movement doesn't seem to trigger them!

You're in there, taking your time and all of a sudden, total darkness!

It's like a surprise party in reverse!

Only you've arrived with your trousers down.

The guy next to you, who you're racing against, he screams.

You panic and start waving your hand, trying to trigger the thing

but you trigger the automatic flush behind you! It goes off...

Why is there an automatic flush in the first place?! What's wrong with a chain or a handle?

It can't be anything to do with hygiene

cos you end up touching everything in the cubicle looking for the sensor.

You eventually find the sensor

and you don't know what to make of it! You just stand there,

staring at it, like a gorilla's just seen its reflection for the very first time.

You poke at it, you prod at it, you try to enter your pin number.

The guy beside you's lost it completely.

He's trying to whisper his mother's maiden name into it

in case it needs a password!

You burst out of the cubicle at the exact same time as your opponent and the lights come on!

You want to give him a hug and tell him everything's going to be OK!

But you can't! You don't want to be seen hugging

a complete stranger in a public toilet! Again!

LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE

# O Danny boy, O Danny boy

# I love you so-o. #

Excuse me! I have question about your Londonderry-stroke-Derry Air.

-Right.

-It is not homosexual singer

loving his Danny Boy that I question.

-I am liberal tourist.

-Hold on a minute...

But you cannot sing of homosexual love for Danny Boy,

-then go from Glen to Glen and down mountain side.

-Slut!

Easy, dear. Who are these Glens? Are they homosexual?

This is turning into orgy.

Crack-fuelled orgy!

My lady is right.

You sing of pipes calling Danny Boy.

There is only one type of pipe that could really, really call

-to man in love rectangle with some Glens.

-Crack pipe!

Yes. Ulster people love that crack.

Crack dependency plus crazy singer

and romance with at least two Glens does not add up to love life.

It adds up to short life span.

Perhaps that is why the word stroke is in Derry-stroke-Londonderry.

It is lilting melody,

but your Londonderry-stroke-Derry Air is clearly bollocks!

Bollocks!

Now moving on, if this is good for you,

then why is my poo black this morning?

Ah. The master bedroom.

A place to unwind and prepare for morning.

For sanctuary.

To lick the wounds of a tricky day and top up the old energy levels.

With the 21-year-old wife of a golf pro. And her lardy but lithe friend.

And a furious, but nonetheless very lovely Noel Thompson.

And Winnie Mandela.

And a golf pro.

And big Jackie Fullerton.

Yes. This master bedroom really is just the ticket for a jimjam party.

Marvellous.

Here I am with my old friend Nipsy going for a wee wander

to meet some of our friends.

Welcome back to A Wander Wi' Willie!

Here they are.

What lovely hairdos.

Aye, Willie, this is the world's first hairdresser quartet.

I put them together myself.

Would you like to hear a song?

I sure would! I've always wanted to fiddle wi' a male chorus!

All right, fellas!

OUT OF TUNE DRONING

THEY FALL SILENT

All right, fellas!

THEY SING IN UNISON AND IN KEY

# Hello, loneliness

# I think I'm going to cry

# Bye-bye love

# Bye-bye sweet caress

# Hello emptiness

# I feel like I could die

# Bye-bye love

# Bye-bye sweet caress

# Hello emptiness

# I feel like I could die! #

Well, there you have it.

I'm away to meet a man in Lisnaskea who lost his thumb fiddling with another man's wife.

Thanks very much, everybody! My name's been Diarmuid Corr!

You've been fantastic! Good night!

Bear!

Live, Willie! Live!

HE SOBS

Hiya!

Where did it all go wrong, George?!

No-o-o-o-o...

Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd

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