Left Right and Centre (1959)

[bunniefuu]

Westminster.

The House of Commons.

Every nation they say,

gets the government it deserves.

But if that isn't a sobering thought.

Beneath that noble roof, my friends,

sit 600 MPs made up for the most part

of Conservatives and Socialists.

I might sum up the enormous difference

between the two by saying that,

whereas the Conservative philosophy

is the exploitation of man by man,

with the Socialists,

it is exactly the other way around.

Behind those dedicated 600,

stand the voters who put them there.

And heavy indeed

is the responsibility that they bear.

Let's take a look at them for a change.

Up in the typical

parliamentary borough of Earndale,

they're having a by-election next month,

and I can assure you,

that you will find

the electors of Earndale,

as intelligent as any in the country.

Accustomed as they are

to exercising their keen judgement,

on matters of national importance.

Alert as they are

to the social problems of the day.

Impartial and full of

the spirit of British fair play.

Call yourself a referee?

Get out of here!

Mature, serious minded,

intelligent citizens as you'd expect.

For are they not the inheritors of

3,000 years of civilization and culture?

Oh yes.

The eyes of the country

are on Earndale, alright.

And Earndale, I am sure,

has but one thought in mind.

Ladies and gentlemen,

tonight we bring you this week's

edition of our popular panel game,

"What on Earth Was That?"

Good evening. Here we are again

with a brand new set of sound effects

to challenge the panel

who are as usual your good friends,

Gilbert Harding...

How do you do?

Josephine Douglas...

Hello.

Carol Carr...

Good evening.

And Robert Wilcot.

Good evening ladies and gentlemen.

Well, I'm sorry

to tell you that Bob Wilcot

is making his last appearance

with the panel until further notice,

for the very interesting reason

that he's just been adopted

as Conservative candidate for Earndale.

Bob, we shall miss you very much.

Yes indeed.

They're always asking me.

Thank you Eamonn,

thank you Gilbert. Thank you.

You've been with us a long time now Bob.

Over a year Eamonn.

Do you remember

your first TV appearance?

Oh, I certainly do.

Well before we begin,

we have a little surprise for you.

Hold tight Bob.

You'd just come back

from the combined universities

Antarctic research expedition, remember?

But he doesn't

always wear a beard.

You're the naturalist of the party,

I believe Mr. Wilcot.

Er, yes. That is correct.

Well now,

what was it like down there?

Erm. What was it like? Cold.

What was your job?

Erm. Well, I concentrated on

various forms of Antarctic life you know,

erm, of Antarctic life.

In fact... I...

Various forms of life in the Antarctic.

Including penguins?

Oh yes, yes.

Penguins are very much my cup of tea.

Oh purely

scientifically speaking, of course.

If one can have a scientific cup of tea,

which I don't suppose one can really.

But if you could then I would.

- What was the question again?

- What?

Well you've come

a long way since that day Bob.

- I was only a beginner then Eamonn.

- Well you all know the rest.

The following week,

he appeared on Tonight,

the week after that, he joined

the panel of What On Earth was That?

And now he's plunging into politics.

I think if it is felt, in inviting one,

that one has something to offer,

then one should offer that something,

whatever that something may happen to be.

Yes... Well I'm sure

you all appreciate Bob's sincerity.

Well now we really must get on.

You all know the rules.

All against all. Highest score wins.

What on earth was that?

Oh some improbable rubbish.

Greyhound derby. Summit conference.

Erm. Fox terriers perhaps?

Dog foxes.

Well Bob. What was that?

Yes. Well that was the

branta leucopsis or barnacle goose.

It breeds in Greenland and Spitsbergen,

and visits

the Inner and Outer Hebrides in winter.

Absolutely correct. First...

Ah ha. Well my boy, you certainly

signed off with a bang tonight didn't you?

The luck was on my side Gilbert.

- Here you are.

- No thank you.

- When are you going to Earndale?

- Tomorrow morning.

- Straight fight against Labor isn't it?

- That's right.

Ah. And who's your opponent?

- A Miss Stoker.

- Miss Stoker.

- She ever appeared on television?

- Not that I know of.

Well that fixes her,

doesn't it? See? You'll win in a canter.

I always say the party

who'll win the next election,

is the one that nails

its flag to the television mast.

What's she like this Miss Stoker?

Oh one of those

bluestocking battle-axes I gather.

- Thank you.

- One at a time girls. Please.

There you go.

- Lovely fresh haddock. Best quality.

- How much?

- Fifteen bob.

- Charge me 12.

- Do me a favor will you.

- I'll give you 13.

Now look the price is

15 bob, you fellas, not a penny less.

- I'll give you 14 for five.

- They're yours. That's five away to you.

- Dad!

- Stella!

- Dad!

- Hello Stella girl.

- Leaving?

- That's right Jim.

I'm just gonna say goodbye to Dad.

Stella's going now Alf.

- Jim. Take over for a minute will you?

- Okay.

Try to get rid of them yellow cod.

I'll take half a quid.

- So you're off to Earndale?

- Bill's driving me to the station.

I wish I could

pop down there with you Stella,

but I look like

being in trouble for the next week or two.

- I'll manage.

- Yes I'll bet you will.

Not that I ever thought any daughter

of mine would put up for Parliament!

We've always been

such a respectable family.

Well. Goodbye Stella love.

And win or lose, I'm proud of you.

Speech! Speech!

I don't have the time.

Well. I can't promise you I'll win,

because well, after all it is my first

try. But I will promise you one thing

and that is that I'll

put up a jolly good fight.

You'll win Stella!

See you in the House of Commons.

And don't forget

to take a tenner off the beer!

Bye.

- Oh Bill we'll never get out.

- Oh that's alright.

What time did you say your train was?

- Half past.

- Oh we'll do it easy.

- Alright?

- Mm-hmm.

Telegraph and Mail, please.

Bobby!

Darling!

What are you doing here?

You don't think I'd let you go

without seeing you off?

Are you taking breakfast

in the diner, sir?

- Yes, that's right.

- I'll go and get you a seat.

Righty-o.

Darling, I'm thrilled to the absolute

marrow you've been chosen to be an MP.

I'm not an MP yet, Annabel, dear,

just a candidate.

But you're bound to get in, Bobby.

You're so frightfully attractive.

Especially to me.

Now, Annabel,

you must not start all that over again.

It's not the real me

you feel that way about,

you're just mesmerized

by the public figure.

Oh, Mr. Wilcot,

may we just have a picture, sir?

Oh, you think anybody's interested?

If the two of you just does up.

Is Miss Brentwood going down

to Earndale with you, Mr. Wilcot?

Well, I'd simply love to.

No, no, no, she's far too busy modeling.

- Two, sir?

- No, just one, please.

- This way, sir.

- Thank you.

Oh, there's a nice seat, still. Sit down

and I'll go and get you something to read.

Oh, the new ... please, Bill.

Okay. He's putting

your bags down at the end.

I won't be a minute.

Are you two expecting

to make any announcement?

- What of?

- Oh, Bobby, really.

Any announcement would be premature.

Well, just the teeniest bit premature.

- We are merely good friends.

- Dear friends.

I've reserved you a seat, sir.

Number five in the diner.

Oh, thank you, Porter.

- Well, thank you very much, Mr. Wilcot.

- Right-o!

- There we are.

- Thank you, sir.

Well... Time I got on the train.

Bye-bye, Annabel.

Oh, it's alright, darling.

I've got a platform ticket.

Here you are, Stell.

The train's due to leave in a minute.

Anything else I can get you?

I don't think so.

It was sweet of you to see me off.

What on earth's this? Women's Dream?

Well... I thought you'd might like it.

There's an article on page 10

about infant welfare.

You know, in my opinion, you'd do well

to settle down and raise a family.

- With your cooperation, I suppose.

- Well, that's the general idea.

Oh, well, think it over anyway.

I have, Bill. You know that.

Why won't you let me come up, Robert?

I'm madly keen to help the Liberals.

Annabel,

I have mentioned this before, dear,

I'm not a Liberal, I'm a Conservative.

Oh.

- Oh well.

- Oh well. There I go, I'm afraid.

Bye-bye, Annabel.

Mm.

I wish you luck, anyway and... Well,

I'm always here to turn to. You know that.

Bye, Stell.

Bye.

Good luck.

Oh, sorry.

- That's alright.

- Au revoir, Robert.

Tremendously good luck.

- Good morning.

- Good morning.

Breakfast, madam, sir?

Yes.

Together or separate?

- Separate.

- Separate.

Taking the set breakfast?

- Only toast and tea, please.

- Just tea and toast, please.

Tea and toast for two, please.

We seem to have the same ideas.

Yes, don't we?

I never have a cooked breakfast myself.

Neither do I.

I had to get used to the simple life

in the...

rather remote parts of the world

at one time or another.

You've traveled a lot?

Oh, here and there, you know.

Say nothing of everywhere.

You don't watch TV?

Not since Dad threw the set

out of the window.

Ah, thank you.

- Bilge!

- Hmm?

Oh, I beg your pardon.

- What? Is something wrong?

- No, it's...

It's just that it infuriates me, the trash

people write for women's magazines.

What?

"Love at Second Sight."

Listen to this.

"When Melisande..." Melisande, I ask you.

"When Melisande saw Bertrand

for the second time,

a strange thing happened.

It was as if all the natural sounds

of the day faded utterly away,

and in their place, she distinctly heard

a gentle tintinnabulation

as if distant musical glasses."

I must say, that's a bit much.

When women are given slush like that

to drool over,

how can they ever take their proper place

in the world?

Tintinnabulation?

Well, it's not only slush,

it's unsound biologically.

Love at first or even second sight

is a romantic fiction.

I couldn't agree more.

Man's selection of a mate and the...

display of ritual that goes with it

has much in common

with the same manifestations in birdlife

as I know from my researches.

Into birdlife?

Quite. Take penguins, for instance.

Sometimes, weeks go by

before they even pair off.

Yes, but that's on ice.

Yes...

Um, you seem to know a lot about it.

Oh, natural history's my subject.

Or rather it was

until the one-eyed monster got me.

One-eyed monster?

- Television.

- Oh.

- Television?

- That's right.

And... penguins.

- Then you must be...

- Ah, guilty.

Yes. I'm Robert Wilcot, I'm afraid.

It's extraordinary how I'm recognized

wherever I go these days.

One of the penalties of, um...

fame, one supposes.

And you're going to Earndale

for the by-election?

Oh, I see you've heard about it.

- Oh, yes.

- Here, that's me there, in the middle.

Yes, underneath the main headline.

Of course, I wouldn't exactly call myself

a political expert.

Oh, wouldn't you?

Ah, Peterson,

- You came to stake here?

- Yes, in his Lordship's car.

- And the press laid on?

- -They'll soon be here, Mr. Harding-

- Pratt.

It's Bert Glimmer, your opposite number.

Very opposite, I fervently hope.

What's he doing here?

Old Pompous Percy, eh?

I wonder what he's up to.

Top of the morning to you, old sport!

Good day, Glimmer! How are you? Quite.

I hope our candidate

is going to be up to snuff.

He's smashing on the telly.

That's not necessarily a sign

of political genius.

And do you expect to win this election,

Mr. Wilcot?

I seem to think I have a good chance.

Of course, there's an old family

connection with the seat there, you know.

- Really?

- Mm. My uncle lives at Wilcot Priory.

In fact, I rather fancy the old rascal

put my name up in the first place.

The old rascal would be...

- Lord Wilcot.

- That's right.

Why my ancestors used to fix the elections

there when Earndale was a rotten borough.

- Really?

- Not that I intend to bring that out.

I don't blame you.

Mind you, I don't know the first thing

about Earndale myself.

In fact, between you and me, I haven't

been to Earndale since I was eight.

Not that you intend

to bring that out either.

No point in playing into the hands

of the opposition, is there?

Oh, of course not.

By the way, should you be talking

like this to a complete stranger?

If you don't mind my saying so,

you're so awfully easy to talk to.

Thank you. Talking of the opposition...

Hmm?

- What about your opponent?

- Oh, the battle-ax?

- What?

- Ah!

Apparently,

she's one of those bluestockings

from the London School of Economics.

I don't know why there should be

always something slightly comic

about the London School of Economics.

- Neither do I. Mr. Wilcot.

- Hmm?

Isn't it just possible that the electors

might prefer a battle-ax

who knows her business

to a TV type who doesn't?

I say, that's a bit hard.

I'm willing to learn, you know. And...

after all, my name is familiar

in every home.

You could say the same

for almost any detergent.

We're just coming

into Earndale now, sir.

Oh, are we?

Oh... I'm afraid I've talked an awful lot.

- I do hope I haven't bored you.

- No, not at all.

You have no idea

how fascinating this has been.

- Are you getting off here too?

- Yes.

Oh, good!

Are you going to be in Earndale long?

- About three weeks.

- Oh? Same here.

Oh, we might meet again, then.

We're bound to... run across each other.

- Where are you staying?

- The Castle and Ball.

I'm at The Bear. Well, at least tonight.

I'm staying with my uncle.

Oh, I say, The Castle and Ball.

Now, let me.

- No, it's quite alright.

- No, really, I insist.

Here she is.

There he is.

What? It can't be.

He's with the Labor candidate.

- She's with the Tory.

- What?

He's carrying her bags!

- Just a minute, sir.

- Oh.

I'm sorry about this.

It's always happening.

Would you look at the lady, sir?

Do you mind?

Here, wait a minute!

And now one of the lady alone.

- What?

- Hold it.

Mr. Wilcot, what are you doing?

Thank you, Miss Stoker.

- Stoker?

- She's the Socialist.

Socialist?

Well done, Stella, old girl.

What an entrance, eh?

Very nice of you

to carry her bags, old man.

Very thoughtful.

Mr. Wilcot.

I did warn you.

But she might have told me who she was.

Why? This is warfare, Wilcot.

You must learn to look on Earndale

as a jungle.

And that fellow Glimmer

gibbering up the nearest tree.

Blast this guy. He's going to

make hay of this in the papers tomorrow.

I'm awfully sorry.

Oh well. As long as you learn

from your first whiff of grapeshot.

I hope you didn't say anything indiscreet.

Um...

- No, no, no. Nothing, sir.

- Good.

We're coming up to the Priory now.

Remember it?

Oh, very well. The lake, deer park,

the Queen Elizabeth room,

so many historical associations.

Hmm, yes, hmm.

Your uncle's a very remarkable man.

I won't come in. I must get back.

I've got a lot to do.

Press conference

first thing tomorrow morning.

Here's the program for the first week.

They'll collect you about 8:30.

I'll see you then.

Right. Thanks for everything.

One complimentary. His Lordship's orders.

- You'll find his Lordship pottering about.

- Right, thank you very much.

Leave that thing alone, Jimmy!

- Aquin-

- Tennon's Tugboat parties, please!

What party are you in?

Conservative.

Anymore

- from the Aquin-

- Tennon's Tugboat parties?

This way. Pass along, please. This way.

This way.

Excuse me. Could you tell me

where I could find Lord Wilcot?

In the kitchen, I expect.

- Aquin-

- Tennon's Tugboat parties, this way, please!

Um, Lord Wilcot?

- What?

- Lord Wilcot.

Hello.

Oh! You must be Robert.

Oh, come in, come in, come in.

Make yourself really comfortable.

How are you, sir?

- So you're my nephew and heir.

- That's right, sir.

Let me see. When did we last meet?

- When I was eight, sir.

- Really?

You changed.

I expect so.

Well, now, let me see.

Bacon and eggs suit you?

I've been trying to fix

these darned fruit machines.

They're playing out far too many jackpots.

- Won't do at all. Two eggs?

- Um, no, just one. Thank you, sir.

Haven't you got a cook, Uncle?

A cook?

My dear boy, my staff is fully occupied

with Wilcot Entertainment Limited.

I expect to have bumper season

thanks to you.

Thanks to me?

Yes. Recommending you as a candidate

was my biggest brainwave.

I don't quite follow you, sir.

Well, with famous TV personality

Bobby Wilcot as a candidate,

Wilcot Priory is bound to get

a tremendous boost.

Oh, there are endless possibilities.

I intend to revive the old-fashioned

hustings here on the grounds.

We could charge at least a shilling a time

for your autograph.

Tenner to me, tenner to you.

Uncle!

Do you mean to say that you recommended me

to the party for sordid financial reasons?

Why sordid?

But surely, Uncle, but as a conservative...

Oh, but I'm not anymore.

No, I'm neutral.

Got to be with 50 coachloads a year

from the co-op, hmm?

Uncle,

I am finding this acutely embarrassing.

My dear boy, you can't make an omelet

without breaking eggs.

With respect, sir,

I did not come up here

to fight this election

purely to advertise your country seat.

Anything that benefits me

must benefit the election,

so what on earth are you worrying about?

- Uncle...

- There, there, I understand, my boy.

You want to serve your country

and so you shall.

This is all so disillusioning.

Fuse.

Hello, my boy. What can I do for you, hmm?

The fuse has gone in my room, Uncle.

No, that's no fuse.

It needs another shilling in the meter.

- Meter?

- Mm, they're in all the bedrooms now.

Do you need a shilling? Here you are.

Thank you.

- Uncle?

- Uh-huh.

What are my chances in the election,

really?

Oh, touch and go, I'd say.

- I see. Thank you very much, Uncle.

- Robert.

Robert, we're all governed by dead ideas,

but when it comes to party programs,

an idea is not merely to be dead

but to have lost all meaning before

there's any chance of being adopted.

Not real enthusiasm.

Remember that, my boy.

It'll get you absolutely nowhere.

A hundred and four pounds,

two and eight pence for today's total.

Well above average

for this time of year, hmm?

Well, sleep well, my boy.

You can pay me back in the morning.

- Good night, Uncle.

- Good night, Robert.

Part of the show, sir.

Couple of Americans

in the Queen Elizabeth room tonight, sir.

So we're laying on all the trimmings.

Bringing a cup of tea at 7:30.

Good night, Mr. Robert.

"Carry your bag, ma'am?"

This is how the Earndale Express,

which is the local left-wing paper,

features the little incident

earlier in the week.

"TV galahad comes to Earndale."

Needless to say, the Earndale Advertiser

is the right-wing paper

which takes an exactly opposite view.

Well, viewers, as I said,

today's nomination day

in the Earndale by-election,

and at any moment now,

the candidates will be handing in

their papers together with their deposits

and...

Oh, and there's a car coming here now.

Yes, it's Bob Wilcot, the Tory candidate.

How does it feel to be a Tory candidate,

Mr. Wilcot?

Absolutely splendid.

I expect you find all this very different

from the panel game, eh, sir?

Oh, well, yes, I do, but...

Well, I'm sure

I shall find the right answers here too.

I see your opponent, Miss Stoker,

has just arrived.

See if you can get her, Jack.

Would you care to say anything about

the little incident earlier in the week?

Would you like to say a few words,

Miss Stoker.

I would just like to say this.

A rather clumsy attempt has been made

to take advantage of a perfectly

ordinary piece of good manners,

but I bear no malice whatsoever.

I intend to fight this election

without mudslinging

in a true sporting spirit of fair play.

- Bravo, bravo.

- Bravo!

That's the idea. Put them in the wrong.

- Have you any comment, Miss Stoker?

- I certainly have.

What is a true sporting spirit?

I don't know and neither does he.

It's simply a meaningless catchphrase,

a piece of... immature political goo.

As for mudslinging...

Mud can only be slung where there's any

to sling, and where there's mud to sling,

I assure Mr. Wilcot that I intend

to sling it in no uncertain manner.

And I hope some of it sticks.

I may be young, I may be inexperienced,

I may be a woman,

but let me tell you, I am a professional.

...Earndale was a walking burrow

controlled by Wilcot.

Now, we have the last of the line here

pretending to be a local man when...

Let me tell you, he hasn't seen Earndale

since he was eight.

No, Mr. Wilcot, this is not cricket

but w*r to the knife.

- Hear, hear!

- Bravo, bravo!

Come along, Wilcot.

- Well, come along!

- Hmm?

- The nomination, you know.

- Yes.

- [Harding-

- Pratt] If she wants w*r to the knife,

she shall have w*r to the knife.

That and all. Carry the attack

to her. Don't you agree, Mr. Wilcot?

Don't you agree, Mr. Wilcot?

Hmm?

Oh, yes. Yes, yes, rather, rather.

If she wants the gloves off,

she shall have the gloves off.

Here's to mud in our eye.

Dig up all the information you can

about the girl, Peterson.

Very well, HP.

She was London School of Economics,

wasn't she?

That's always good for a crack,

why, I can't think.

Neither can I.

How about fish?

- Fish?

- Her father is a fish merchant.

If Mr. Wilcot could work in

something about crying, stinking fish,

it would go down rather well, I feel.

Well, I mean, fish is always funny.

Why? We all eat fish, don't we?

How's this for a slogan, HP?

"The Labor Party is frying tonight."

I think we should reserve that

for election day.

Meanwhile, I'm sure you all agree

that we have a fine candidate

even if we haven't made

one of the most fortunate of starts.

Now, on to business. Peterson, will you

read out the rest of the week's program?

Tomorrow,

at ten o'clock, press conference.

Eleven o'clock, visit Warham House,

Mr. Wilcot will speak

to old-age pensioners.

Television cameras will be laid on.

12:30, lunch at Young Farmer's club.

2:30 to four,

canvassing in South Street ward.

Five o'clock, Smith

and Hendrix Factory. Six o'clock...

return to base.

...start of orders.

Round the start of orders now.

...line... and they're off!

Good afternoon, everybody.

In a moment, Robert Wilcot,

your Conservative candidate,

will be walking down the street

to show himself to you

and... many of you

who would like to meet him. Thank you.

Our canvases have marked

the likely names and addresses.

Put down a C if they'll vote for you,

S for Socialist, and D for doubtful.

C for me, S for her.

D for doubtful.

I'll drift along behind and winkle them

out with the old voice box,

- alright?

- Alright.

Your candidate Bob Wilcot of TV fame

is now walking down this street

to call on you.

Vote for Wilcot.

The man who knows exactly what he's doing.

- Mr. Reeves?

- Why don't you fit a blasted suppressor?

Vote for Wilcot,

the man who will stop at nothing

to defend your interest.

Come on, here, on the side.

There, how about that, eh? How...

Vote for Wilcot,

the housewife's choice.

Oh, Mrs. Maggs?

Oh!

Oh, I know you, don't I?

- I know who you are.

- Oh, do you?

- You're Bobby Wilcot.

- That's right.

- Now...

- Oh, I am pleased to see you.

You look just like you do on the telly.

- Do I?

- Yes.

We turn you on every week.

Regular like clockwork.

We wouldn't miss you for the world.

We say you're just like one of the family.

Oh, then I'm sure I can rely on your vote.

Oh, no, I couldn't do that.

- What?

- Oh no, I couldn't do anything like that.

Mrs. Maggs!

- Mrs. Maggs!

- I couldn't do a thing like that.

Oh, Mr. Smithson?

May I introduce myself?

I am your Conservative candidate.

Yes, I'm Robert Wilcot.

I see.

Just showing myself to my supports,

you know.

I see.

Well, thank you very much.

- [Harding-

- Pratt] Mr. Wilcot!

You know we're due at the factory

in a couple of minutes.

Yes.

- Getting any results?

- Oh yes.

Definitely.

I've been working on one or two thoughts.

How's this for a point?

"My fair opponent may have learned

at the London School of Economics

how many red herrings make five.

That seems no reason for introducing

Billingsgate methods into this contest."

- Pretty good, hmm?

- Yes, but...

How do we have to be so personal?

Well, she started it, didn't she?

I feel "how many red herrings make five"

is a particularly happy touch.

We'll reserve it for your uncle's

hustings. Oh, here we are.

Hello, everybody.

Here is your Conservative candidate

Robert Wilcot to speak to you.

Well, here we are.

You speak from the Land Rover.

- Thank you, Mr. Egerton.

- Good day, Mrs. Samson.

- Good day, Mr. Harding-

- Pratt.

Autographs after the meeting.

Thank you, madam.

Now don't get everybody nervous. You just

relax, imagine you're on television.

- My friends.

- Hello, Bobby boy!

My friends,

I feel I can call you that because...

after all, I have appeared

in so many of your homes.

In fact, when I leave here, I hope that

nobody will turn to his neighbor and say,

"What on earth was that?"

Well, I have come here

so that I can see you and...

so that you can see

what sort of a fellow I am.

Now, what is the policy that I stand for?

Vote Labor!

Gather round, lads and lassies,

and listen to your Labor candidate.

What you mean by trespassing

on our territory?

Trespassing, old dear? This is our pitch.

- It's in our program. Time and place.

- Free country, isn't it?

Do you realize that without some sort of

elementary give and take,

the whole thing will become

an absolute shambles!

Oh, that's right, clog.

You give way, we take your place.

We're not shifting an inch!

Please yourself, old darling,

please yourself.

Hello, everybody. This is Stella Stoker,

your only professional candidate.

I don't know what you can think of me because...

I've never been on a TV program.

I've never been to the...

- [Harding-

- Pratt] Carry on, Wilcot. Don't falter!

- And I've only seen a penguin at the zoo.

- What is the policy that I stand for?

I stand for free enterprise

and I am not ashamed to having been

to the Antarctic.

You, the electorate,

are therefore faced with a clear choice

between my neighbor opponent and myself.

Fair play!

Free speech!

The eyes of the country

are upon Earndale at this moment.

- Be British!

- ...problems of the working people...

- The Conservative party...

- As for myself...

- tradition...

- I would no doubt...

I am determined to make myself heard,

and nothing is going to stop me!

Stop me!

Carry on, Wilcot. It's all yours.

What is the policy I stand for?

Don't ask them, tell them!

Look at this, my friends!

Sabotage! Are we gonna stand for sabotage?

No!

Does he think he can shout us down?

No!

Loudspeaker or no loudspeaker, if this...

Vote Labor! Vote Labor!

Freedom of speech!

Silence!

Thank you.

To resume.

What is the policy that I stand for?

The issues are therefore clear cut

as these two parties face each other.

You, the electorate, are faced

with a clear choice

between my Labor opponent and myself.

Stella...

"I'm not saying that Mr. Wilcot

couldn't manage to guess the right answer

in some daft panel game

or cure a penguin of a sick headache,

but will that pay the rent

for a single old-age pensioner?"

How is that, Stell?

Do we have to go on

being personal all the time?

Well, that's the whole idea of hustings.

Slanging match.

"Cure a penguin of a sick headache."

One of my best bombos,

although I say it myself.

It is now my pleasure

to present to you Miss Stella Stoker,

the Labor candidate.

Mr. Wilcot may be able

to cure a sick penguin...

Anyway, I'm sure he'd try and...

we all know

what brilliant guesses he makes on TV.

But will this help

a single old-age pensioner?

Oh, I know he wants to help them,

but I mean, well... will it?

My fair opponent may have learned

how many red herrings make five

at the London School of Economics

and all credit to her

for having made her way there

entirely through her own efforts.

Hey?

But that is no reason

for resorting to Billingsgate methods.

Though I am sure they are being forced

upon her by others less scrupulous.

Well, now, it's time we came

to the question of policy.

What my party intends to do.

What I intend to do if I'm elected.

Uh, I beg your pardon. I mean...

when I am elected.

Psst!

Thank you! Thank you. Thank you.

- Latest figures, my Lord.

- Yes, Hardy.

Car park, 25 pounds ten,

coaches, 67 pounds,

bicycles, 12 pounds 15.

That's an all-time record to date,

my Lord.

Good man, Hardy. Keep me posted.

To resume, it is my sincere belief

that our program cannot be approached

by that of any other political party.

And when I have outlined

that program to you,

I feel confident

that you will agree with me.

Item one, housing.

Here, here. Housing.

Thank you, my boy. Thank you indeed.

A top old speech.

Now, ladies and gentlemen,

question time will come later.

In the meantime, there will be an interval

for the splendid self-service teas

in the Priory cellars.

And don't forget that both candidates

at 4:50 precisely

will be visiting the magnificent sideshows

provided for your entertainment.

That's all. Off you go. Enjoy yourselves.

Item one... housing!

Alright, then. Item two...

Come along now.

Roll up, roll up.

Here's your chance to silence The Speaker

or puncture

the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

Splendid sh**ting, my boy.

He's winged the Prime Minister.

Have another bob.

It's only a shilling a time.

Come along now.

Demolish your political opponent.

Three ba*ls for sixpence

but seven for a shilling.

Oh, bad luck, Miss Stoker!

Come along now, Robert. You have a go.

This is an absolute rap, Uncle.

Yes, isn't it wonderful?

Down with the Tories!

Walk up, walk up, and solve

the mystery of the Westminster Maze.

All you have to do is test your

political know-how by finding your way in

and then finding your way out again.

That's all. Robert, my boy. Forward.

- Have you no shame at all, Uncle?

- Hmm?

Not... Not enough to notice.

But seriously, Robert,

you ought to have a go.

It's a remarkably ingenious bit

of designing.

It was built by my great grandfather

as a refuge.

From my great-grandmother.

And it worked too.

I want to get back onto the platform!

Robert, Robert, the filly is approaching

the starting gate.

Are you going to stay in the paddock?

She'd waste it in politics, that girl.

Oh, if I were only... let me see now,

45 years younger.

I better go in with him. I'm seriously

concerned about his fighting spirit.

You stay with his Lordship

and heaven's sake,

keep the old boy off the parsnip wine.

- Wilcot! Are you feeling tired?

- No.

A little below par perhaps?

I thought it showed in your speech.

You know, you did my piece

about the five red herrings

rather less than justice, if I may say so.

After all, the campaign had...

Wilcot! Wilcot!

Wilcot!

But I'm worried about you, Stella.

I tell you, I'm perfectly alright.

Well, you ruined that bit

about the penguin with a sick headache.

I wish you'd stop carping

and try to find a way out.

But it is my job to--

Stella! Wait a minute!

Stella!

- Lost?

- Certainly not.

Oh, in that case, you can tell me

which is the right way.

- I have no idea.

- Oh, then you must be lost.

- I'm nothing of the kind.

- You are, obviously.

Perhaps if we sort of

work this thing out together.

You know perfectly well

I can't talk to you.

Anyway, I don't want to,

so please don't follow me.

No intention of doing anything

of the kind.

- -[Harding-

- Pratt] Wilcot!

- Oh, shut up.

Wilcot!

Must you dog my footsteps?

I'm not dogging anybody.

Just trying to find my way

out of this blasted place.

Why can't you be civil?

Oh, Miss Stoker.

I think you're absolutely

bloody marvelous.

I can't think of anything else but you.

I know I shouldn't say it but...

well, there you are, I've said it.

- You must be mad.

- Oh, I am.

I know it doesn't

make any sense politically.

In fact, carried through

to its logical conclusions,

this sort of thing would make

party divisions utterly meaningless.

But the fact of the matter is

I am completely besotted with you,

and it's unhinging my whole campaign.

Oh, and I can't stay here.

- I can't.

- I know you won't believe this, but...

well, it's just like it said

in your magazine.

Everything sort of stopped.

I heard a gentle tintinnabulation.

- You too?

- Hmm. Oh, must have been a delusion, of...

What?

Stella. Oh, Stella.

Stella!

Mr. Wilcot, what have you done?

And I'm the one who's gonna do it.

I'll teach the Tories

to nominate a sex maniac

for a respectable seat like Earndale.

No wonder they had to send him

to the Antarctic.

Heaven knows what he'd be like

in a heatwave.

He won't dare to show his face

in decent society after this.

He won't even be able

to show it on television.

- No, Bert.

- What?

I don't want anything said or done.

I just want to forget about it.

- I mean it, Bert.

- Stella, my girl.

Are you trying to tell me--

I just said I wanted to forget about it.

Course turn the crows.

Then I did see what I thought I saw.

Well, this is horrible.

Not only horrible, I...

don't think it's ever happened before.

If we was all to behave like this, what

would happen to parliamentary government?

- That's what he said.

- I don't care what he said!

I don't want to know!

I'm not at all sure you haven't destroyed

my faith in human nature.

I understand how you feel, Bert.

I'm shaken rigid, that's the truth.

I know I gave way to a stupid impulse

but... only for a moment.

I promise it won't happen again, ever.

I want to fight this election

as if nothing had happened

and we'll win it, Bert, you'll see!

You mean it's w*r to the knife again?

w*r to the knife.

And no holds barred? No quarter?

- No quarter.

- You sure about that?

Well, of course, I'm sure.

What do you take me for?

- Well, I mean...

- Do you think

I have

no sense of responsibility?

- Well, don't get excited.

- You think I'm not shamed?

- Alright.

- Do you think I can't control myself?

...part from my darling ♪

Wilcot!

Just a minute!

I dream of her everywhere ♪

- Sing.

- The sound of her voice ♪

♪ Is about me

The spell of her presence is there ♪

- [Harding-

- Pratt] Oh, not another!

Will follow me 'til I die ♪

Hello, my dear chap, Where have you been?

Someone had to invent some reason

why neither candidate returned

to the platform.

And then I find you singing in your bath.

Actually singing!

I'm terribly sorry,

but it just slipped out.

Singing!

After behavior better suited to the...

shadier streets of Naples?

Oh, don't you realize? This might

lead to the most ghastly scandal.

That girl is as clever

as a wagonload of monkeys.

I must ask you to be very careful indeed

how you speak of Miss Stoker.

Oh, really! What about the party?

When is it?

What about the electors? What about me?

Well, I suppose it's only natural

- that you should flap a bit, Harding-

- Pratt,

not knowing the sort of fellow

I really am.

- What?

- I admit that my feelings

got the better of me this afternoon.

But I can assure you

that it will not occur again.

I thought the matter over very carefully

and I have decided,

in the interest of the party,

that I shall not see Miss Stoker again

until immediately after I am elected.

- You really mean that?

- I do.

- And you won't go back on it?

- Never.

And you really will put your heart

and soul into this campaign?

Definitely.

Wilcot, you've taken an enormous weight

off my mind.

Come in.

I'm sorry, sir. The lady sent them back.

Wouldn't take them in.

Oh, well, um... Never mind.

- Thank you very much.

- Thank you, sir.

Wilcot, you didn't

send those flowers to her!

Well, only anonymously.

Only anonymously! She knew

where to send them back, didn't she?

Sending flowers to your opponent?

This is callow, this want riot.

What next, I ask myself. What next?

And what's that doing there?

Well... Montgomery had a photograph

of Rommel in his caravan, didn't he?

Wilcot, I'm overcome with a feeling

of almost ludicrous inadequacy.

I have given you my word...

Hello?

- Hello--

- It's probably the press.

We must appear absolutely nonchalant.

Hello. Yes, speaking. Who?

It's that fellow Glimmer.

Blackmail, no doubt.

I better go straight over to the attack.

Hey, Glimmer. Well, I take it

you're calling me with an apology.

What do you mean, "Come off it?"

Oh. Oh, you think so, do you?

Well, I... I might. It depends.

What time?

Where?

Wait for me, will you?

A Scotch, please.

- Well?

- This is a very nasty business.

I hope you told your candidate so.

What do you mean? Yours assaulted mine.

I have no wish to be indelicate,

but I distinctly saw yours

returning the pressure.

Look, suppose that we drop this,

old sport? We're both in a spot.

I agree with you, just this once.

The truth is, there's no room for a ruddy

Romeo and Juliet in the by-election.

Quite. If this obscene canker spreads,

it'll make a mockery

of the House of Commons.

- That's what he said.

- Who?

- Yours.

- Mine?

Well, he's a fine one to talk.

Mine's gone completely broody.

In my opinion,

women and politics simply don't mix.

Well, I fear just the same about amateurs.

After all, we're the pros, old man.

We're the ones who get them in.

Not that we're ever appreciated.

They just don't know, HP, they don't know.

You don't mind if I call you HP?

No, of course not, um... Bert.

HP, this flaming romance

has got to be nipped in the bud.

Yes, but how?

Turn them against each other?

That'll take some doing. Sickening couple.

We could do with an old flame.

The old infernal triangle,

if you'll pardon the clitch.

Or better still, a quadrangle.

By gosh, you're right!

- What?

- I just remembered something. Bert,

you and I have got to go into partnership.

Steady on, old man.

There's a nasty turn coming out

with a thing like that.

"Arriving this afternoon,

2:45 p.m. train.

Wildly excited, darling. Annabel."

Annabel? I say, HP, we can't have this.

We must stop her at once!

- [Harding-

- Pratt] Too late.

I still think someone else

should meet Annabel

and push her right back again

on the first train to London.

From what you've told me yourself,

she's a well-known model

and the rebuff might attract

the worst kind of publicity.

I don't want to see Annabel at all,

especially wildly excited.

Bobby!

- Darling!

- Oh.

You got here, then, Annabel.

Of course. I came the minute I heard.

Heard?

How do you do, Miss Brentwood?

- I am Christopher Harding-

- Pratt.

So pleased.

Well, darling, are you collecting

a lovely lot of delicious votes?

I thought you said

the press want to be told.

Peterson, Peterson!

How on earth did this happen?

I did my best, HP.

I'm sure you did.

This way, Miss Brentwood.

Sir!

Would you care to say a few words

on this romantic occasion?

This what?

Romantic occasion.

How did you ever guess?

What's going on here?

- Shh! We're transmitting.

- We're what?

Oh, are we really?

Are you pleased to see Miss Brentwood,

Mr. Wilcot?

- Am I pleased?

- Is he pleased!

And how does it feel, Miss Brentwood,

to stand by his side

in this exciting contest?

I was thrilled to the absolute core

when he sent for me.

Sent for you?

Are you staying long?

- No, just...

- Oh, yes, definitely.

And are you expecting

an arduous campaign?

Oh yes, very odd, yes.

I see what you mean.

So your visit is not entirely political,

Miss Brentwood?

Oh, no.

May we say definitely there is a romance?

What do you say, darling?

Well...

Oh, Bobby, darling.

- Stella.

- I'm sure that will be

of great interest of yours.

How'd the meeting go?

First class. I think I was pretty good

as a matter of fact.

There was a bit of heckling, but I might...

Oh, Bobby, darling.

May we expect an early announcement, sir?

Announcement?

Wedding bells.

Shall we wait until after the election

with a victory behind

these two young people,

who knows?

And now, after that charming

and romantic little surprise item,

it's time to say "au revoir"

from Earndale.

Well, who put the idea into Annabel's head

if you didn't?

Oh, dear chap,

how can you suggest such a thing?

You told me yourself

you always called her the "eager beaver".

So how did the television cameras

get there then?

Somebody must have tipped them off.

I'm gonna send her packing.

She hasn't finished unpacking yet.

All that nonsense about wedding bells.

There isn't any romance!

I'm gonna say so publicly.

If you do that, you will destroy

your chances in the election.

The blazes with the election!

I prefer to close my ears to that remark.

I must warn you, Wilcot,

publicly jilt that helpless trusting girl

and you become a social outcast.

Never able to appear

on a panel game again.

The car's waiting.

We're already an hour behind

with your program.

- You'll pay for this, Harding-

- Pratt.

I doubt it.

- Hello, Castle and Ball?

- Yes?

Is Miss Stoker there, please?

I must talk to her.

Who's this?

Bert Glimmer.

And make it snappy, will you, ducks?

Oh, I'll try her room, Mr. Glimmer.

Yes?

- I want to talk to Miss Stoker.

- Who is that?

Bert Glimmer.

What?

Look, put her on the line,

will you, old man?

Scarp's the word, quick's the action,

don't muck about.

The wee lass

is having a wee bit of rest

in her room, Mr. Glimmer.

Can I take a message?

Um... Who's that?

McAllister.

Ye can old Archie McAllister.

Oh, yes. Hello, Archie.

Can I take a message?

Um...

Surely,

you can trust your old friend Archie.

Alright, Archie. Well, listen carefully.

Tell Miss Stoker not to believe

all she hears about the other party.

He's been framed. It's a put-up job.

Uh-huh.

- Hello, Stella.

- Bill!

I can't tell you how glad I am to see you.

Hello?

Well, why didn't you tell me

you were coming?

Well, it was...

it was sort of short notice.

Hello?

What's going on. Did you get that, Archie?

Yeah, I got it alright.

I'll take you down to reception.

They'll fix something.

Come on, Bill.

We've just time for a cup of tea.

Now you get this.

You'll be surprised to hear

the young lady's very heavily engaged

just now

with her old childhood sweetheart.

In fact, between you and I,

I'm feeling a bit detromped meself.

But don't worry,

your secret's safe with me.

Silent is the gravest...

Cheery blimey, old c*ck sparrer.

You simply

must vote for Wilcot, everybody.

Do vote for Bobby, I mean, Wilcot.

Wilcot is too wonderful.

Wilcot is absolutely devers.

Are you going to vote

for a TV glamor boy, a panel puppet?

No, no!

Take it from me,

you can't trust a man like that an inch.

Mine's chock full of fighting spirit, HP.

How's yours?

Savage is the only word for him, Bert.

The boy's really getting mean.

I will not descend to the cheaper forms

of Billingsgate abuse

with which Miss Stoker seems

to be so very much at home,

but I warn her.

Billingsgate will boomerang.

Yay!

With polling day only three days away,

things are really heating up.

The rival candidates seem to be fighting

it out in a spirit of bitter hostility.

Over now to Ronald Basings,

stoked at Earndale,

a town caught in the grip

of election fever

as the political temperature

rises to blood heat.

Would you like to tell the viewers what

you think of this exciting election, sir?

A bit of a lark, innit?

And who do you think will get in?

Don't make no odds either way, do it?

Thank you, Mr. Hornsbet.

Hornsby.

Thank you, Mr. Hornsby.

Vote Conservative. Remember,

a vote for the Socialists

is a vote for legalized robbery,

extortion, national extinction,

and reduced profits.

A vote for Labor

is a vote for prosperity.

Vote for Stoker. She's the girl for you.

Tory means unemployment.

It means poverty!

It means destitution! It means starvation!

It means despair!

Vote for Wilcot and keep out Stoker!

Vote for Stoker and keep out Wilcot!

Whoever you vote for,

celebrate the result at my grand

Declaration of Poll party tomorrow night.

Mammoth firework display,

dancing on the greensward

to Alf Farthingale and his hot six.

Stella's doing fine, brother.

Turned out to be a first-class candidate

once I ironed out the headaches for her.

Don't worry,

we'll put down the red carpet for him.

Bye for now. Porton.

Lay on the cards, pick up

tonight's speaker off the 7:30 train.

Take him straight down

to St. Luke's School for the meeting.

Okay.

- Oh.

- Can I have a word, Mr. Glimmer?

Well, a little later.

I got an appointment now...

- Yeah, yeah, but I'm worried about Stella.

- Why?

- Well... I don't know how to put it, but...

- Well, come on.

Yeah. Well, she seems to be...

acting all the time.

Well, of course she is.

She's fighting an election, isn't she?

Hello, Bert. I thought you weren't coming.

Sorry. Got held up. I say!

Well, in view of all our trials and tribs,

I thought champs was indicated.

Well, I'm all for a spot of inflation.

Just a little gesture

on the eve of pearling day.

Well, very nice too.

Pop goes old Romeo and Juliet.

And a very good thing too.

Here, I'll give you a toast.

A plague on both their houses.

With brass trimmings.

Not bad, hmm?

- It is as good as the 47, in my opinion.

- May the best man win.

Woman.

Well, we're not gonna go on

about genders, old man.

Well, I second that, old pal.

Now, alas, I must worm my way to

the Corn Exchange for our final meeting.

We've got one of the party intellectuals

coming down from Whitehall.

Same here. Big pop from Transport House.

I think we better leave separately, Bert.

Cheerio. See you after the poll.

Cheerio, old boy.

Good night.

What do you mean by following me?

Well, I've been thinking again,

Mr. Glimmer.

Well, I'm not satisfied.

I've known Stella since we were kids.

And I think there's something preying

on her mind and I want to know what it is.

Come over here.

I know I should've said something

to you before.

You don't know

the sleepless nights I've had.

Being such a delicate matter, I don't

know how I'm gonna tell you at all.

You don't mean to tell me

that Stella's got herself into trouble?

Good gracious, no.

Well, I'm surprised at you.

I am, really.

I'm sorry, Mr. Glimmer.

However,

she did have a very nasty experience.

- It's over and done with now.

- What is?

Well, not to put too fine a point on it,

Wilcot forced his attentions on her

- in his Lordship's maze.

- Aye?

They got lost and his animal passions

got the better of him.

But he must be 65.

Not Lord Wilcot, Robert!

- No!

- Yes.

Fortunately, we got there in time

and hushed it up.

Hushed it up, why?

Well, we wouldn't want to win

an election that way, would we?

Wouldn't we? Why wouldn't we?

No precedent for it.

Oh, I see.

Well, she ought to

have given the swine in charge.

She put the election first.

And I hope you'll do the same, my son.

I know you won't say anything

until it's all over.

Not even to Stella.

It's a sordid story, I grant you, but...

so is a great deal of Shakespeare.

Alright. See you later,

young fellow, my lad.

You don't know the part that you played

in our hour of trial.

- Good evening.

- Good evening, sir.

- Very good attendance.

- Oh, yes.

I'll be in the anteroom if you want me.

- Good evening.

- Good evening.

- Good evening.

- Good evening.

Good evening, Peterson.

Looks like a full house.

Standing room only.

I shouldn't be surprised.

And so, gentlemen,

by this means, we may well hope

to reduce the cost of living.

Very well, Wilcot. Word perfect.

I'll have you know that

I definitely intend to win this election.

That is welcome news indeed.

And after that,

I hope I never set eyes on that smug,

self-satisfied, hypocritical, treacherous,

lying double face of yours again.

Where was I?

"Turning now to the international scone..."

Turning... the what?

Oh, no, Annabel. Not scone, scene, scene.

This isn't a cookery contest.

7:10, Peterson. I think you'd better

get on to the station

and collect Grimsby Armfield.

I don't see how I can, HP.

I've got to receive the press.

Well, somebody.

Send Annabel. A good idea.

Oh yes, please.

I mean,

meeting cabinet ministers and things

would be such good practice

for afterwards.

Oh, mind.

Peterson, get someone to take

Miss Brentwood down to the station.

- Alright.

- Oh, thanks frightfully.

Curious accent that girl has.

Darn few consonants, no vowels at all.

Car, please, to meet the 7:30.

Car wanted. Mr. Savers, wait, please.

Oh, excuse me. Could you tell me

where I could find Mr. Wilcot, please?

Oh, he's inside,

in the little room by the platform.

Oh. Thanks very much.

It's a pleasure.

A steady application

of sound economic measures.

And now, my friends,

turning to the international scone...

Oh, blast!

I want a word with you.

- Me?

- Yes.

Boo!

Absolutely packed to the rafters.

I'm sure it's going to be...

Mr. Wilcot!

- Oh, did you see Mr. Wilcot?

- That's right.

- You've cut your lip.

- Oh, have I?

Ready, Miss Brentwood.

Oh, now you've smeared it

all over your chin.

Do you mind if I just dab it a little?

Oh, you mustn't do that.

You'll spoil it.

Miss Brentwood, we'll be late!

I... I said, is it alright now?

It's perfectly lovely.

Miss Brentwood, please!

They... They're calling you.

Oh, yes, yes, I... I must go now.

- Thanks very much.

- Thank you.

Give him air.

Loosen his collar or something.

He's unconscious.

The candidate's unconscious.

He might have waited

until he'd taken a seat in the House.

HP.

It's 7:40. They're getting a bit restless.

- Where's Grimsby Armfield?

- Not here yet.

The train must be late.

Well, go outside

and see if somebody's coming.

- Alright.

- Oh look, don't bother with that now.

Look, get up on the platform

and keep the flag flying.

I said we'd miss the train.

Over there!

Are you the speaker for our meeting?

Yes, I am.

Frightfully sorry we are late.

Absolutely devastated. Do jump in.

Thank you very much.

I think his eyelids flickered.

Where the blazes is Grimsby Armfield?

- He's here!

- Oh, thank heavens.

The speaker's here.

What? You're not Grimsby Armfield.

Of course I'm not.

I'm Bray, from Labor HQ.

- You are, you?

- Labor?

You cretin! You've met the wrong man!

- But isn't this St. Luke's?

- No! Here, take me to the station.

- Oh, there's nobody there.

- Well, of course there is. Unless...

Unless Grimsby Armfield

has gone to the wrong meeting.

Oh no, not that!

St. Luke's School, quick!

Wait for me!

Oh dear.

St. Luke's School, quick,

the Labor meeting!

Here, get in. Oh, come along, old man.

Faster! Can't you go any faster?

- Stop!

- Here we are.

Our policy, my friends, is your policy.

A Britain where social justice prevails,

where each has his opportunity,

and the old-age pensioners

are not forgotten.

- It's Armfield...

- Speaking.

I tell you, my friends,

if we keep these aims in mind...

He can't have joined

the Labor party in that time.

Fool!

Come on, Egerton.

Rescue party.

...our promised land.

- He's spoken.

- Car, car!

He's finished.

- Well, that was a splendid speech, sir.

- Thank you.

I'm sorry you got to push off,

but thanks very much for coming down.

- -It's been a pleasure, Mr. Harding-

- Pratt.

- I... What?

- [Harding-

- Pratt] Back to the Corn Exchange, hurry!

A Britain where social justice prevails,

where each has his opportunity,

and the old-age pensioners

are not forgotten.

I tell you, my friends,

if we keep these aims in mind,

under providence, we shall never doubt it

gain our haven, our harborage,

our promised land.

Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Armfield.

Thank you

for a brilliant, thought-provoking,

and highly original speech.

And now, ladies and gentlemen,

I call upon your candidate,

that fine, dynamic,

upstanding young personality,

Robert Wilcot!

This way, gentlemen, please.

Take Mr. Wilcot up to his room, alright?

What's the trouble exactly?

Well, nothing serious. Just a slight

recurrence of his old Antarctic sickness.

- Antarctic sickness?

- Yes.

Same sort of thing as snow blindness

but it affects the middle ear.

He'll be as right as rain in the morning.

I hope...

Hello, everybody.

This is Stella Stoker,

your Labor candidate

making a last appeal for your votes.

Don't stay home tomorrow.

Come out in your thousands

and vote for me,

the only professional candidate.

Vote for Stoker.

Stella.

And keep out the Tory.

Well, I shall have to tell her about us.

I don't know how I shall tell Robert.

He'll be utterly shattered.

But well, we must.

I mean, it's only right.

Oh, Bill.

- Well. Here... Here goes.

- Hello, everybody. This is Stella Stoker,

your professional parliamentary candidate

making a last appeal for your votes.

- Don't stay at home.

- Stella!

- Come out and vote.

- Stella!

Stella.

Where have you been all this time?

Look, I've got something to tell you.

Well, I'm busy, can't you see?

Look, you've got to listen. Please listen.

When I got the truth out of old Glimmer,

well, I... I sort of saw red, see.

What are you talking about?

Well, I'm just trying to tell you

how we met.

- I went round to knock his block off and--

- Who's block?

Well, the Tory bloke,

what's his name, Wilcot.

- And then when I was coming out after...

- After what?

Well, after I clocked him.

And there she was, Stella...

You hit him?

Yeah, I knocked him cold.

- But did you hurt him?

- But Stella, what I'm trying to...

Well, who cares! Look, Stella,

- I was coming out of the...

- Where is he now?

I don't know, Stella.

They carried him back to his hotel.

Carried him? How dare you!

Who told you to interfere, you thug?

You might've k*lled him!

Oh, you're just a great big ape!

Stella!

Stella!

Quite comfy, Bobby dear?

- You sure you're alright?

- Yes, I'm alright.

- Here, knock this back.

- Oh.

I'll just have a word with HP.

See if the press is gone.

I've got something to tell you,

Bobby dear.

I'm afraid it's going to be

an absolutely frightful blow.

I do hope

you won't do something too desperate.

Desperate? Why? What's the matter?

I've met someone else.

No!

His name's Bill Hemingway

and he's a muscle builder.

You know, you cut him on the lip.

What, him?

Yes, we were both absolutely bowled over.

Annabel,

does he feel the same way about you?

Oh yes, utterly.

Annabel!

I must go.

Stella! Stella!

Stella.

Stella.

I thought you said

he was seriously injured!

Stella! Stella!

What are you doing here? Get out!

- Wilcot!

- Stella!

Blimey, he's kidnapped her!

But she admits she loves me.

Well, don't think I'm proud of it.

I'm disgusted with myself

and I'm determined to trample

the beastly thing underfoot.

Anybody would think I was a monster.

No, only a Tory.

Oh, Stella, darling, listen, please!

Tonight, this whole thing will be over

no matter which one of us wins.

Well, if you win,

do you think I'd dream

of marrying a Conservative MP?

I know it is not very likely

but supposing you won?

Well, of course, I'll win.

Then what the devil

have you been arguing about all night?

The point is, if I win, I intend

to devote myself entirely to politics.

Pshaw and tally little.

Oh, Stella.

I couldn't bear to think of you

wasting yourself day after day on 600 MPs.

Don't worry. Most of them won't be there.

You'd have to find some cause

to devote yourself to, I mean...

- a really worthwhile one.

- But I have.

Stella Stoker.

But she's a red menace.

Your chairman said so.

No, she's not,

she's my favorite shade of parlor pink.

It doesn't go with Tory blue, Robert.

Look, before you go through

all the colors of the spectrum, may I say

that I find this conversation

frankly nauseating.

Well... Goodbye, Robert.

I'll always remember you.

I don't want to be remembered. I want

to spend the rest of my life with you!

Better let her leave first. Besides,

you can't go back in that dressing gown.

British virtue will never go

for that no accord stuff.

But I'll never be able

to get her out of my mind, Uncle.

Oh, don't give up entirely, my boy.

She wavered. She distinctly wavered.

And looking on the bright side,

you may not win the election.

Nothing in life is certain.

And providence sometimes uses

the most unexpected devices

to achieve her ends.

Well, one thing is certain,

if I win... I lose.

Stella!

Thank goodness. Where have you been?

What's happened?

We've been searching all around the--

I didn't expect to find you asleep

on pearling day, Glimmer.

There must be a hundred things to do.

Isn't it time

you started to do some of it?

Sixteen, please.

Wilcot, so you're back!

- Where the devil have you been?

- Fishing.

We've been scouring the countryside

all night. I haven't slept a wink.

That is the best bit of news I've heard

for years.

Not bad, Hardy. Nature obviously

intended me for a sign writer.

Oh, no. Halt! Up with it, Hardy!

Up, up, up!

- Look out, sir.

- Splint...

Are you alright, sir?

No.

No, blast it, I'm not.

No, no, no. Better not move me.

I think this is a case for the vet.

Call Dr. Rushall.

Voting in the by-election

is in full swing at Earndale.

At midnight, the result will be declared

from the Earndale townhall.

Which of them will win?

- How's it going?

- Neck and neck, I think.

I'm afraid you can't smoke in here.

- Evening, Wilcot.

- Good evening, Mr. Pottle.

We have a majority of 24

on the first counts.

Splendid!

They'll be frying tonight!

- [Harding-

- Pratt] They've asked for a recount, of course.

Oh yes, of course.

Oh good.

Oh, really?

Well done!

Well, it's not over yet, you know.

There's always the recount.

Don't forget the recount.

- Mr. Glimmer. Mr. Harding-

- Pratt.

- We'd like a recount.

- Yes, sir.

I'm afraid it's gone the other way

this time. Majority of 10 in her favor.

- Oh dear.

- That's bad.

I asked for a recount, of course.

Oh, is that absolutely necessary?

Of course!

I, John Bates, being the returning officer

at the election

for the constituency of Earndale,

hereby declare the number

of votes recorded for each candidate

after no fewer than four recounts.

Wilcot, 10,323.

Stoker, 10,301.

Majority, 22.

Electors of Earndale, I present to you

your new member, Robert Wilcot.

Congratulations, Mr. Wilcot.

Tell them they made you a very happy man.

What?

Yes, um...

You have made me a very happy man.

And I would just like to thank

all my helpers and my supporters

for putting me where I am tonight.

My success was entirely due to them.

He's right there.

Well, it's all over now, Bert.

Pity one side had to get the chopper.

Oh, no hard feelings, old pal.

And now, the gallant loser.

Well... I've lost.

As it was, well, someone had to win,

and I sincerely congratulate

my Conservative opponent.

Well, now it's all over, Bert.

How about a drink?

- I can hardly wait, old pal.

- Come on, old man. Here we go.

Congratulations, Mr. Wilcot.

- I'm sorry it had to end like this.

- So am I.

Because I haven't won, really. I've lost.

Darling Robert.

Stella. Oh, Stella, my dear.

- -Mr. Harding-

- Pratt, sir.

- Yes?

I've got some terrible news, sir.

I know, we're watching it.

- I must tell Mr. Robert, sir.

- Hmm?

His uncle has passed away.

Oh, no, he hasn't!

I've come to inform Mr. Robert

that he's been Lord Wilcot since 10:48.

Glimmer, do you realize what this means?

He'll never be able to take his seat.

He'll go straight to the House of Lords.

The election's no-go.

We'll have to fight

the whole blasted campaign all over again.

And I thought we fixed them.

Oh, we fixed them alright.

Pity we didn't leave them alone.

Well, it was your idea, old man.

Who telephoned me in the first place?

Are you trying to pin the blame on me?

Glimmer,

are you trying to wriggle out of this?

Oh, now listen, just because you mucked

the whole thing up like a proper Charlie.

You appalling little squirt!

Take the old potato out of your mouth.

Try and talk like a normal human being.

I've always thought of you

as a flashy little counterjumper

and by God, I was right.

You're crude, Glimmer,

helplessly, painfully crude!

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah!

- Harding-

- Pratt? Whoa, what a name, what a face!

- You oaf!

- You old drip!

- You... lout!

- Oh! Go on...

- Don't speak to me like that!

- By gosh, wait a minute, son.

No, hey, don't.

Ah, here, won't...

Get out!