by Paul Merton
BOTH. [Sing] Christmas in Capri, plenty of money…
[Fade]
Effects. Door opens.
BLOODNOK. [Breathlessly] Juan! Pack everything. I’ve millions of moulah. I must leave before Neddie gets back…
RAY. You’d better take that President Fred Peron make up off.
BLOODNOK. Yes, there!
Effects. Door bursts open.
SEAGOON. Major Bloodnok! My mission’s completed. Here’s a photo of a four pound note.
BLOODNOK. Wait! This note in the photograph—it’s a forgery!
SEAGOON. Gad, I’ve been tricked! Bloodnok, I’ll go right back!
Effects. Door slams.
BLOODNOK. [Hums] Christmas in Capri—let’s count the moolah.
Effects. Door opens.
MORIARTY. Hands up!
BLOODNOK. Ah! Great thundering widgets of Kludge! Put down that double-action hydraulic-recoil eighteen-inch Howitzer.
MORIARTY. No. It belonged to my mother.
BLOODNOK. What do you want?
MORIARTY. Give me that sack of money.
BLOODNOK. Come, come, Moriarty. Old friends mustn’t fall out.
MORIARTY. Very well, we’ll settle this amicably.
BLOODNOK. How?
MORIARTY. Like this.
Effects. Shot.
BLOODNOK. Ah! Shot through me gaiters!
MORIARTY. Got him.
Effects. Door opens.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Is he dead?
MORIARTY. Yes.
Effects. Shot.
MORIARTY. Ooooh! Shot in the kringe!
Effects. Thud.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Got him!
Effects. Door opens.
SEAGOON. Grytpype!
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Hello, Neddie.
SEAGOON. What are these men lying on the floor for?
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. We haven’t got any carpets.
SEAGOON. Eccles told me that Bloodnok ran off with a red sack full of banknotes, believing them to be real.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. And—weren’t they?
SEAGOON. No. The real ones are with Eccles.
Effects. Whoosh. Door shuts. [Pause] Door opens.
ECCLES. Hullo. Has he gone?
SEAGOON. Yes.
ECCLES. Fine, fine, fine. You know, I’m not really colour-blind at all. I only said that to fool Bluebottle. That blue sack you’re holding is full of the real stuff.
SEAGOON. Blue? This is a red sack.
ECCLES. Ooooh! Then you got the wrong stuff. Bluebottle’s got the real stuff.
SEAGOON. Then I must find him and collect the Gas Board’s four pounds from President Fred’s treasure. Farewell.
Effects. Door shuts. [Pause]
Effects. Door opens.
BLUEBOTTLE. Has he gone, Eccles?
ECCLES. Yup, yup.
BLUEBOTTLE. And now we have both sacks—the red one and the blue one. Heehee! This is a good game. Eccles, which sack has the real money?
ECCLES. The blue one.
BLUEBOTTLE. Then we will split it fifty-fifty. You take the red one and I’ll take the blue one.
ECCLES. Fine, fine.
BLUEBOTTLE. And you’re sure you’re not colour-blind?
ECCLES. No, no.
BLUEBOTTLE. Well, goodbye Eccles.
Effects. Door shuts.
ECCLES. Goodbye, Redbottle.
BILL. Three weeks later, at the head office of the South Balham Gas Board.
Effects. Knock on door.
MANAGER. Come in.
Effects. Door opens.
Violin. ‘Hearts and Flowers’.
MANAGER. Seagoon, put that blasted violin down and get up off your knees. Here—I’ll hold that celluloid baby.
Music out.
SEAGOON. Please sir, I know I failed to collect that bill, but—couldn’t I have my old job back?
MANAGER. I’m sorry, it’s gone. Allow me to introduce our new gas meter inspector, Balham area—President Fred.
BLOODNOK. Ah! Pleased to meet you.
SEAGOON. Oh no!
Orchestra. Link.
BILL. Meantime, on the Isle of Capri…
Music accompaniment.
ECCLES. [Hums] “O Sole Mio” etc… [Calls] Hey, Manager! My bill!
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. Yes, sir. Let me see now, sir. Egg on toast and small pot of tea—that makes just fifty million pesos.
ECCLES. Oh, that’s okay. I’ve got it all here in this blue sack.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE. But that’s a red sack.
ECCLES. Oooh!
Orchestra. Signature tune: up and down for:—
BILL. Stop! Stop, please!
Music out.
BILL. If the cast will just gather round, the BBC cashier will pay them for the last overseas repeat in pesos from this blue sack.
HARRY. But that’s a red sack.
PETER. Blue.
SPIKE. It’s green.
Orchestra. Signature tune: up and down for:—
BILL. That was The Goon Show—a BBC recorded programme featuring Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe and Spike Milligan with the Ray Ellington Quartet and Max Geldray. The orchestra was conducted by Wally Stott. Script by Spike Milligan. Announcer Wallace Greenslade. The programme was produced by Peter Eton.
Orchestra. Signature tune up to end.
[Applause]
Max & Orchestra. ‘Crazy Rhythm’ playout.
THE ELEPHANT
Sławomir Mrożek
Sławomir Mrożek (1930–2013) was a Polish playwright and author noted for his subtle parody and stylized language. Working first as a journalist and cartoonist, writing short humorous articles full of word play, his celebrated short story collection, Elephant, was first published in 1957. Having condemned Poland’s role in the 1968 invasion of Czechoslovakia, his work was banned there and he left the country, living first in France and then in Mexico.
The director of the Zoological Gardens has shown himself to be an upstart. He regarded his animals simply as stepping stones on the road of his own career. He was indifferent to the educational importance of his establishment. In his Zoo the giraffe had a short neck, the badger had no burrow and the whistlers, having lost all interest, whistled rarely and with some reluctance. These shortcomings should not have been allowed, especially as the Zoo was often visited by parties of schoolchildren.
The Zoo was in a provincial town, and it was short of some of the most important animals, among them the elephant. Three thousand rabbits were a poor substitute for the noble giant. However, as our country developed, the gaps were being filled in a well-planned manner. On the occasion of the anniversary of the liberation, on 22nd July, the Zoo was notified that it had at long last been allocated an elephant. All the staff, who were devoted to their work, rejoiced at this news. All the greater was their surprise when they learnt that the director had sent a letter to Warsaw, renouncing the allocation and putting forward a plan for obtaining an elephant by more economic means.
“I, and all the staff,” he had written, “are fully aware how heavy a burden falls upon the shoulders of Polish miners and foundry men because of the elephant. Desirous of reducing our costs, I suggest that the elephant mentioned in your communication should be replaced by one of our own procurement. We can make an elephant out of rubber, of the correct size, fill it with air and place it behind railings. It will be carefully painted the correct colour and even on close inspection will be indistinguishable from the real animal. It is well known that the elephant is a sluggish animal and it does not run and jump about. In the notice on the railings we can state that this particular elephant is exceptionally sluggish. The money saved in this way can be turned to the purchase of a jet plane or the conservation of some church monument.
“Kindly note that both the idea and its execution are my modest contribution to the common task and struggle.
“I am, etc.”
This communication must have reached a soulless official, who regarded his duties in a purely bureaucratic manner and did not examin
e the heart of the matter but, following only the directive about reduction of expenditure, accepted the director’s plan. On hearing the Ministry’s approval, the director issued instructions for the making of the rubber elephant.
The carcase was to have been filled with air by two keepers blowing into it from opposite ends. To keep the operation secret the work was to be completed during the night because the people of the town, having heard that an elephant was joining the Zoo, were anxious to see it. The director insisted on haste also because he expected a bonus, should his idea turn out to be a success.
The two keepers locked themselves in a shed normally housing a workshop, and began to blow. After two hours of hard blowing they discovered that the rubber skin had risen only a few inches above the floor and its bulge in no way resembled an elephant. The night progressed. Outside, human voices were stilled and only the cry of the jackass interrupted the silence. Exhausted, the keepers stopped blowing and made sure that the air already inside the elephant should not escape. They were not young and were unaccustomed to this kind of work.
“If we go on at this rate,” said one of them, “we shan’t finish before the morning. And what am I to tell my Missus? She’ll never believe me if I say that I spent the night blowing up an elephant.”
“Quite right,” agreed the second keeper. “Blowing up an elephant is not an everyday job. And it’s all because our director is a leftist.”
They resumed their blowing, but after another half-an- hour they felt too tired to continue. The bulge on the floor was larger but still nothing like the shape of an elephant.
“It’s getting harder all the time,” said the first keeper.
“It’s an uphill job, all right,” agreed the second. “Let’s have a little rest.”
While they were resting, one of them noticed a gas pipe ending in a valve. Could they not fill the elephant with gas? He suggested it to his mate.
They decided to try. They connected the elephant to the gas pipe, turned the valve, and to their joy in a few minutes there was a full-sized beast standing in the shed. It looked real: the enormous body, legs like columns, huge ears and the inevitable trunk. Driven by ambition the director had made sure of having in his Zoo a very large elephant indeed.
“First class,” declared the keeper who had the idea of using gas. “Now we can go home.”
In the morning the elephant was moved to a special run in a central position, next to the monkey cage. Placed in front of a large real rock it looked fierce and magnificent. A big notice proclaimed: “Particularly sluggish. Hardly moves.”
Among the first visitors that morning was a party of children from the local school. The teacher in charge of them was planning to give them an object-lesson about the elephant. He halted the group in front of the animal and began:
“The elephant is a herbivorous mammal. By means of its trunk it pulls out young trees and eats their leaves.”
The children were looking at the elephant with enraptured admiration. They were waiting for it to pull out a young tree, but the beast stood still behind its railings.
“… The elephant is a direct descendant of the now extinct mammoth. It’s not surprising, therefore, that it’s the largest living land animal.”
The more conscientious pupils were making notes.
“… Only the whale is heavier than the elephant, but then the whale lives in the sea. We can safely say that on land the elephant reigns supreme.”
A slight breeze moved the branches of the trees in the Zoo. “… The weight of a fully grown elephant is between nine and thirteen thousand pounds.”
At that moment the elephant shuddered and rose in the air. For a few seconds it swayed just above the ground but a gust of wind blew it upwards until its mighty silhouette was against the sky. For a short while people on the ground could still see the four circles of its feet, its bulging belly and the trunk, but soon, propelled by the wind, the elephant sailed above the fence and disappeared above the tree-tops. Astonished monkeys in the cage continued staring into the sky.
They found the elephant in the neighbouring botanical gardens. It had landed on a cactus and punctured its rubber hide.
The schoolchildren who had witnessed the scene in the Zoo soon started neglecting their studies and turned into hooligans. It is reported that they drink liquor and break windows. And they no longer believe in elephants.
THE MAN WHO INVENTED THE CALENDAR
B.J. Novak
B.J. Novak (1979–) is an American writer and actor best known for his work on the Emmy Award-winning comedy series The Office as an actor, writer, director and executive producer. He is also known for his stand-up comedy performances. His first book of stories, One More Thing, from which this one is taken, was a New York Times bestseller.
January 1st—Ha, that feels fun to write! I’m excited. I’ve been thinking about doing this for so long, too—I went through all my old diaries, and it turns out I came up with this idea all the way back on Day After Day After Very Cloudy Day.
January 2nd—I’m still so excited about this calendar thing. It just makes so much sense! One thousand days a year, divided into 25 months, 40 days a month. Why didn’t anyone think of this before?
January 3rd—Getting so many compliments on the calendar. One guy came up to me today and said he’s going to organize his whole life around it—literally, someone said that!
January 4th—Best day ever (or at least so far in recorded history)! I was talking to Alice at the bonfire for such a long time— yes, that Alice. It seemed like she was into me, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous. Finally I asked if she wanted to come back to my place and hang out more. She winked at me and said, “I don’t know… I guess I’ll have to check my calendar” (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
January 30th—People really hate January and want it to be over right away. I tried to explain that it’s just the way we choose to label things and that it wouldn’t make any difference, but no one got it. Finally, I just told everyone that this would be the last day of January, and months would be just 30 days instead of 40. But there wasn’t enough time to get the word out. So to be safe, we have to make this month 31 days, and then we’ll make the rest 30. Not a big deal. Everyone is excited to see Febuary—including me!
February 1st—Another small fuck-up: I put an extra r in all the copies I handed out of the calendar, so it said “FebRuary,” even though I already told everyone the next month coming was called “FebUary.” I felt so stupid—but Alice came up with the best solution! She said: “Just tell everyone it’s spelled February but pronounced ‘Feb-u-ary.’ That way, they’ll feel stupid!” Alice is the best.
February 14th—Alice stuff weird. Tonight we were having a nice dinner at the same place we always go, but she was being unusually quiet. Finally I asked if anything was wrong, and she said, “Do you know what day today is?” I said, “Yes, of course I do, I invented the calendar. It’s February 14th. Why?” She smiled a really tense smile, said, “Yes. Yes, it is”—and then just walked away right in the middle of dinner! What’s that about?
February 15th—So cold.
February 28th—I hate this month. I just can’t take one more day of it. This month will just have to be shorter than the rest, and if people don’t like it, they can go fuck themselves.
March 1st—Feeling much better! I don’t know if it’s just symbolic, but I’m glad February is over. I have a really good feeling about March.
March 9th—There’s this new type of berry that looks soooo good, but somebody told me it’s poison. Oh well.
April 1st—A lot of shenanigans today, like pranks (which are lies-for-no-reason). People say it has something to do with the calendar, which I wasn’t crazy about hearing, because to be honest I think the whole thing is kind of lame. It’s just not my style. But I guess that’s good, when your invention takes on a life you never expected. That’s what the inventor of the scarf told me—it was originally supposed to be a weapon.
April 12th—S
omeone should invent a new type of clock. Really simple. No cuckoo, no sun business, just numbers.
April 30th—I think 31 days was a mistake. You can’t divide anything into 31, so you can’t make anything half a month or half a week or anything (because 7 is the same way). There should be a word for numbers like that. So: 30 days it is. Glad to be done with this decision.
May 2nd—Ahhh, now maybe I want months to be 31 days. (Why am I so obsessed with this?)
May 20th—Ran into Alice again, and I played it so cool! She congratulated me on the calendar stuff and asked if I ever thought of putting pictures on it—she could maybe pose for it or something. I said that I’d think about it but that it sounded kind of cheesy. She asked when I could hang out more and catch up, and I told her I was busy, but I’d let her know in August. “What’s August?” she said. “Oh, it’s a month I’ve been kicking around—you’re going to love it,” I said. I could not have played it better!
June 29th—Met this really cool girl Jane at a stoning. Will write more later!
October 9th—Can’t believe I haven’t written in so long! Summer was amazing. Harvest amazing! People keep asking if I can make the days longer during the harvest season, just by an hour or two. I told them that they should just wake up earlier if it was so important to them, but everyone was too drunk to understand, so eventually I just said, “Sure, maybe one hour, maybe someday,” and everyone cheered. “More sleep!” Huh? None of it made any sense.
October 21st—Things are still going strong with Jane. This year has been so amazing, and it’s only October! So much has already happened, and there’s still November, December, Latrember, Faunus, Rogibus, Neptember, Stonk…
October 26th—Got all excited about the clock thing last night and built an early prototype! I did it in a hurry, though, and I wrote too big and ran out of space for numbers halfway through. Jane tried to be supportive. “Maybe you can just have every number count twice,” she said. Then how will they know which “six o’clock” it is, for instance? I asked. “They… they’d just have to know, I guess. From context?” she suggested. I really liked how supportive she was trying to be, but I knew this was too lazy to be a real solution. Alice would have known what to say.
