Funny Ha, Ha

by Paul Merton

  BILL. This is the BBC Home Service. And candidly, I’m fed up with it.

  HARRY. Have a care there, Wallace, otherwise I’ll be forced to speak to John Snagge.

  BILL. My dear fellow, everybody has to be forced to speak to John Snagge.

  HARRY. Come, curb those biting cynicisms and permit me to present the highly esteemed Goon Show.

  Grams. Aeolian clarinet (or old dance music record).

  SPIKE. Stop that sinful music! Secombe? Take off those carbon-paper plus fours and listen to the story entitled—‘In Honour Bound’.

  Orchestra. Traditional English hero theme.

  SEAGOON. My name is Neddie Seagoon. I was a gas meter inspector. It all began the day of the annual general board meeting of the South Balham Gas Board.

  Effects. Murmurs – gavel.

  CRUN. Gentlemen—I have here the books for the—mnk—financial year—mnk—just ended—mnk—mnk—and by the look of them gas is here to stay. I am glad to say that the South Balham Gas Colossus has made a gross profit of no less than three pounds twelve shillings and nine.

  Grams. Clapping.

  CRUN. It proves that hard work pays. Now, I’ll read the vital balance sheet. Credits—sales of gas, eighteen pounds. Expenses—one bag of coke, eight and sixpence; electric fire for office heating, two pounds, eleven and fourpence; replacing light bulbs in Gas Board’s premises, thirteen shillings and tenpence; saxophone lessons for Chairman’s wife, three pounds, eight shillings and ninepence…

  MINNIE. [Off] Do we have to pay for saxophone lessons, buddy?

  CRUN. Ah—yes—you never know when it comes in useful—mnk—mnk—next we have the—oh!—ah!—oh! I overlooked an entry here—an outstanding debt of four pounds, nineteen shillings and sixpence!

  GRAMS. Sensation.

  CRUN. Don’t worry! I shall set this right at once. [Calls] Ned Seagoon?

  Effects. Door opens.

  SEAGOON. Gas meter inspector Seagoon reporting for duty, sir.

  CRUN. Seagoon, go to this address and—mnk—serve them a seven-day final notice.

  SEAGOON. Yes sir. What’s this? President Fred, Casa Rosa, Avenida Varest, Buenos Aires, Argentina? Argentina? That’s South America.

  CRUN. Ohhoho—is it? Then you’d better borrow the Gas Board’s bicycle.

  SEAGOON. But sir, it’s overseas.

  CRUN. [Angry] What’s our bicycle doing overseas?

  SEAGOON. No, no. I mean Argentina is overseas. How can I get there on a bicycle?

  CRUN. Well, you must have it waterproofed.

  SEAGOON. Oh, thank you, sir. I hadn’t thought of that. Goodbye, sir.

  OMNES. Goodbye—Ta ta.

  BILL. Dear listeners, you doubtless are wondering how it is that the South Balham Gas Board supplies gas to Argentina. It was thanks to the enterprise of a British Major who, in 1939, shipped a cylinder of gas there.

  SEAGOON. Yes, on arrival in Argentina it was this man I contacted.

  Orchestra. Bloodnok theme.

  Grams. Record of Flamenco guitar.

  BLOODNOK. Ah! Oh! The heat! Gladys?

  RAY. Si, señor?

  BLOODNOK. Turn off one of those women and put some more ice on the fire—ah!

  Effects. Knock on door.

  BLOODNOK. [Suspicious] Who’s there?

  SEAGOON. [Off] Ned Seagoon, South Balham Gas Board.

  BLOODNOK. Quick! Burn the books. Tear up those revolting postcards. Chase those women out of my room. Take all those ‘For Sale’ signs off the furniture and help me get the floor back under this carpet. [Makes huge effort] Come in!

  Effects. Door opens.

  SEAGOON. Good morning.

  BLOODNOK. I’m sorry your journey’s all been wasted. I posted the account books back to Balham this morning. Goodbye.

  Effects. Door slams. Loud knocking.

  BLOODNOK. You can’t come in. I’m in the bath.

  SEAGOON. [Off] What are you doing in the bath?

  BLOODNOK. I’m—I’m watching television.

  SEAGOON. [Off] What’s showing?

  BLOODNOK. My dear fellow—nothing. I’ve got a towel round me.

  Effects. Door opens.

  SEAGOON. Look here. Major, enough of this tomfoolery.

  BLOODNOK. Do you play the saxophone?

  SEAGOON. No. I’m here to deliver a final demand notice to a President Fred—how do I contact him?

  BLOODNOK. Come to the window, lad...

  Effects. Window raised. Distant shots and sounds of warfare.

  BLOODNOK. That white house in the square is President Fred’s headquarters.

  SEAGOON. But how can I get through that hail of bullets?

  BLOODNOK. Be outside the back door at midnight. I shall send a man to guide you.

  SEAGOON. Very well. But remember—if I’m not back within seven days, don’t hesitate to cut off their gas supply. Farewell!

  Effects. Door slams. Phone up.

  BLOODNOK. Hello, Moriarty?

  MORIARTY. Yes.

  BLOODNOK. Listen, there’s a Charlie from Balham coming over to collect a gas bill from President Fred. It’s only three pounds, twelve shillings and ninepence.

  MORIARTY. Bloodnok, that money was paid to you last month.

  BLOODNOK. I know, but I don’t want any trouble with the South Balham Gas fellows. Be a good feller and settle it up.

  MORIARTY. Sapristi galamnackos! How can we pay him? President Fred has vanished with all the money. I think you’d better come over here at once.

  BLOODNOK. Very well. I’ll pause only for Max Geldray.

  Max & Orchestra. ‘Have You Ever Been Lonely’.

  [Applause]

  SEAGOON. That night at midnight I waited in a specially darkened doorway for the coming of the stranger who was to guide me on my perilous mission. I was so heavily disguised that not even my own mother would have recognised me.

  MOTHER. Good evening, Neddie.

  SEAGOON. Good evening, Mum. [Embarrassed cough] But wait! Who is this approaching, wearing an anthracite tie, lead waistcoat, with an electric guitar plugged into the tram lines?

  ECCLES. Ahem—psst!

  SEAGOON. Are you pssting at me?

  ECCLES. Yeah. You Neddie Seagoon?

  SEAGOON. I am.

  ECCLES. Been waiting long?

  SEAGOON. Yes.

  ECCLES. Who for?

  SEAGOON. You, you idiot. Now, how do I get through the firing line to President Fred’s headquarters?

  ECCLES. Go straight up that road there.

  SEAGOON. But they’re shooting down it.

  ECCLES. Oh. Don’t go that way. Take this road here. They’re not shooting down that.

  SEAGOON. That road doesn’t lead to it.

  ECCLES. No, don’t take that one.

  [Pause]

  SEAGOON. Any other ideas?

  ECCLES. Do you play the saxophone?

  SEAGOON. No.

  ECCLES. Well—I’d better be getting along now.

  SEAGOON. Don’t go. The sewers! That’s how we’ll get there. Quick. Down this manhole.

  Effects. Manhole cover. Two splashes. Wading [continues].

  SEAGOON. [Proud] Now—I’m going to roll up my trousers.

  ECCLES. Why?

  SEAGOON. I’ve got nice legs. Wait! What’s that ahead?

  ECCLES. It’s a head.

  SEAGOON. Yes, but whose it is?

  BLUEBOTTLE. It is mine, my capting.

  SEAGOON. Who are you, little cardboard-clad frogman?

  BLUEBOTTLE. I will give you a musical clue. Close your eyes. Moves right, picks up flannel zither. [Sings] Plunka-plunka-plunka-plunk … etc. [‘Harry Lime’]

  ECCLES. I know. The Man from Laramie.

  BLUEBOTTLE. [Heartbroken] You rotten swine, you. I’m not the Laramie man. I’m the Harry Lime-type man. Goes into second chorus. [Sing as before]

  SEAGOON. Save that lovely voice, little widget. Tonight is not the Harry Lime game Tonight is the South American President Fred game.


  BLUEBOTTLE. Oh! Do not go. Wait for me. Quickly throws away silly zither, makes brown paper lariat, reverses Mum’s old bloomers to make cowboy trousers and picks up hair and fibre banjo. Olé! Am ready for new game. Ride, vaquero, ride!

  SEAGOON. Well done, little thrice-adolescent hybrid. Lead me to President Fred’s headquarters and this quarter of liquorice all-sorts is yours.

  BLUEBOTTLE. Oooh! Licorish! Thinks. I must be careful how many of these I eat. Right, Captain, quick—jump into this cardboard bootbox. Hurriedly wraps up captain in brown paper parcel labelled “Explosives” and stuffs him through headquarters letter box. Jumps on to passing dustcart and exits left to buy bowler before price goes up. Thinks—that wasn’t a very big part for Bluebottle.

  BILL. By the magic of inconsequence the scene now changes to the Suspicious Parcels Testing Chamber in President Fred’s headquarters.

  MORIARTY. Grytpype, this mysterious parcel has just arrived by mysterious parcel post—mysteriously.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Right, Moriarty. Steam the stamp off and cash it.

  MORIARTY. Sapristi Muchos! I don’t like the expression on this parcel’s label. I wonder what’s in it.

  Effects. Phone rings. Receiver up.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Hello?

  SEAGOON. [Distort] I’ll tell you what’s in the parcel. It’s me, gas meter Inspector Neddie Seagoon, South Balham Gas Board. You have seven days to pay a gas bill of three pounds, twelve and nine.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Um! Do you play the saxophone?

  SEAGOON. [Distort] No. Now listen, you have seven days to pay. You can post your cheque to me care of this parcel.

  Effects. Phone down.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Mmm! Moriarty, hand me that forty-ton steam hammer.

  Effects. Psst! Thud! Phone rings and receiver up.

  SEAGOON. [Distort] Ow!

  Effects. Receiver down.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Yes—Moriarty, make a hole in the parcel, insert the nozzle of this hose and turn it on—so!

  Effects. Running water. Phone rings and receiver up.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Hello?

  SEAGOON. [Through water] Bobbleobbleobbleobble—plumber!

  Effects. Phone down.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. That’ll do, Moriarty. I think he’s had enough. Open it.

  Effects. Paper torn.

  SEAGOON. Thank heaven you’ve arrived. The roof was leaking. Now then—what about this gas bill? President Fred owes the South Balham Gas Board three pounds, twelve shillings and ninepence.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Oh—I tell you what. Go down to the basement and read the meter and make sure.

  SEAGOON. Right. Come, Eccles—

  Effects. Door shuts.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Good. That gives us a breathing space. I say, how empty the room is without him.

  Effects. Background shooting.

  MORIARTY. Sapristi—the counter-revolutionaries with tanks are attacking.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. We’ve got to evacuate.

  MORIARTY. Why?

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. The rent’s too high here. Pack the floor. We’re leaving.

  Effects. Door shuts. Door broken down. Shots.

  OMNES. [Shouts]

  GENERAL ASTON VILLA. Well, the cowardly swines have run away. They are frightened of Il Heneral Aston Villa. Run up my personal flag. Ssh! Someone’s coming upstairs.

  Effects. Door opens.

  SEAGOON. Right, gentlemen, I’ve checked the meter, and the bill is exactly four pounds.

  GENERAL ASTON VILLA. What are you talking about, you miserable English creep?

  SEAGOON. Come, come, Mr. Grytpype, you can’t fool the South Balham Gas Board with those childish disguises and silly changes of voice. Four pounds, please.

  GENERAL ASTON VILLA. There is some mistake, señor. We have just taken possession here this very minute. We only just lit the gas.

  SEAGOON. Good heavens, I’m dreadfully sorry. In that case you couldn’t have used more than a therm or two. I’ll go down and read the meter again. Excuse me…

  Effects. Door closes.

  GENERAL ASTON VILLA. Now—when he comes up—pay the bill—then keel heem.

  Effects. Burst of firing.

  OBREGON. Queeck! The President Fredists are attacking.

  GENERAL ASTON VILLA. Everybody retreat.

  Effects. General stampede out and door closes.

  [Pause]

  Effects. Door opens.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Well done, Moriarty. What a beautiful counter-attack. We couldn’t have continued to hold their headquarters anyway. Three pounds, ten shillings a week? Impossible!

  Effects. Door opens.

  SEAGOON. Well, gentlemen, I’ve read the meter. And you were quite right. You’d only put on one more therm—one and six please.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Right. Here’s a photograph of two shillings.

  SEAGOON. Thank you. And here’s a photograph of sixpence—change.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Can’t you do it in coppers?

  SEAGOON. By all means—here’s a photograph of sixpence in coppers.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Thank you.

  SEAGOON. No—wait! It’s you back again! You’ve cheated me. You’re the people who owe the three pounds, twelve shillings and ninepence.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. That’s President Fred’s responsibility. Go and see him. Room 509.

  SEAGOON. I will. But wait! Who is this approaching, riding a kilted monkey and carrying a mackintosh sackbut? It’s Ray Ellington!

  Quartet. ‘Birth of The Blues’.

  [Applause]

  BILL. Here for idiots is a resumé. The revolution so far.

  Effects. Shooting.

  BILL. Thank you. Chapter Two.

  Effects. Knocking on the door.

  BLOODNOK. Heavens-o! El knocko on the door-o. Come in-o.

  Effects. Door opens.

  SEAGOON. Good morning, President Fred Peron. I’ve come to collect—wait a minute. You don’t look like President Fred Peron.

  BLOODNOK. What a coincidence! Neither do you!

  SEAGOON. But I’m not supposed to be him.

  BLOODNOK. Oh! So that’s your excuse, is it? By the way, do you play the saxophone?

  SEAGOON. No.

  BLOODNOK. I’ll give you a lesson.

  Saxophone. Solo—‘Valse Vanité’.

  SEAGOON. Stop that! I’m convinced you’re not President Fred. You’re Major Bloodnok.

  BLOODNOK. Nonsense. And you can soon find out. Phone him on the telefonico at this number-o: three-o nine-o.

  SEAGOON. By gad, I will…

  Effects. Receiver up. Dialling.

  SEAGOON. [Over] I’ll soon call this cunning bluff.

  Effects. Phone rings.

  SEAGOON. Excuse me a moment.

  Effects. Phone up.

  BLOODNOK. Hello. Three-o nine-o here.

  SEAGOON. Who’s that speaking?

  BLOODNOK. Major Denis Bloodnok.

  SEAGOON. Oh! I’m sorry. There’s a man here whom I’ve accused of being you.

  BLOODNOK. Why?

  SEAGOON. He’s your living image. He even sounds like you.

  BLOODNOK. Nonsense—goodbye—

  Effects. Phone down.

  BLOODNOK. [To Seagoon] Well, you doubter? You see?

  SEAGOON. I’m sorry. But if you’re President Fred, there’s a gas bill here which now stands at four pounds.

  BLOODNOK. Oh! Right, I’ll pay you. Here’s a photograph of a four pound note.

  SEAGOON. Thank you. Now I can report back to Major Bloodnok, ‘Mission completed. Gas bill paid in full’.

  Effects. Door slams.

  BLOODNOK. Good, he’s gone.

  [Pause]

  Effects. Door opens.

  MORIARTY. Ah! Bloodnok! You got rid of him, then. Splendid. And we for our part we’ve got rid of President Fred Peron.

  BLOODNOK. You mean…?

  MORIARTY. Yes. He gave us all his money to smuggle him out of the country.

  BLOODNOK. Well done. Now
to divide his fifty million.

  MORIARTY. Yes. I have it here in this red sack.

  BLOODNOK. Good. We’ll split evenly. I’ll take the money and you take the sack.

  MORIARTY. No. Why should I get the lion’s share? You have the sack and I’ll take the money.

  BLOODNOK. Listen, Moriarty. Let us settle this thing amicably.

  Effects. Shot.

  MORIARTY. Oh, Sapristi Nuckos! Dead!

  Effects. Thud.

  BLOODNOK. Good heavens! That pistol was loaded. Poor Moriarty. I wonder if he played the saxophone. Taxi!

  Effects. Taxi drives off.

  [Pause]

  Effects. Door opens.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Has he gone?

  MORIARTY. Yes. He swallowed the bait, hook, line and sinker. I gave him a pistol with a blank cartridge and he took the red sack full of the forged banknotes.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Splendid. I’ve got the genuine money here in this blue sack. Now, you go to the airport, Moriarty, and buy two air tickets.

  MORIARTY. Right.

  Effects. Whoosh. Door shuts.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Fifty million, eh? [Sings softly] Christmas in Capri, millions of moulah…

  Effects. Door opens.

  ECCLES. Hello, Mr. Grytpype. I see you got that old red sack full of those forged notes ready to fool old Bloodnok, then. That was a good idea of yours having me pack those two sacks. Where’s the blue sack with the real stuff.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. This is the blue one.

  ECCLES. Oh! That man was right then.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. What man?

  ECCLES. That oculist fellow who said I was colour-blind.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. You mean Bloodnok has the real money?

  ECCLES. Yeah.

  GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Moriarty! Quick!

  Effects. Whoosh! Whoosh!

  ECCLES. [Sings] I talk to der trees—dat’s why… [etc.]

  Effects. Door opens.

  BLUEBOTTLE. Has Mr. Grytpype gone, Eccles?

  ECCLES. Yup. Yup. [Sings]

  BLUEBOTTLE. And left us the blue sack with all the real money?

  ECCLES. Yup. [Sings]

  ECCLES & BLUEBOTTLE. Ha. Ha. Ha.

  BLUEBOTTLE. Oh, I like this game, don’t you, Eccles?

  ECCLES. Yup, it’s fine—fine.