Morning has broken
Like the first mor-hor-hor-ning
I am still sexy
Thank God for me
Ahh, the morning, the morning.
How glad I am that I've always spurned regular lovers
because by sleeping alone I get me all to myself.
I always wake up with the most attractive person in the world.
- Morning, Richie. - Morning, Eddie.
- What are you doing in my bed? - Well, I was sleeping
but now I'm talking to a git.
Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.
- What's wrong with your bed? - It's covered in lager.
You mean you threw up on it?
There was a certain amount of unpleasantness, yes.
I've been very considerate,
I could have thrown up on your bed and slept in my own.
What is wrong with the lavatory?!
Richie, you know I hate sleeping in the lavatory,
you just can't get comfy.
If you ever sleep in my bed again I'm gonna hire a hit man to kill you.
Just give me the money - I'll drink myself to death.
Ohhh, don't talk to me about alcohol. Hah.
I was out with my showbiz chums last night.
And I was out and I had four sweet sherries!
Which is way over my limit, because I just get silly.
And now I've got a head like a...
Er...
Er, I've got a head like a, er...
Well, like a head, really.
Paints a vivid picture. I know exactly what you mean.
Thanks, Eddie. I ought to do my exercises.
Right, that's enough.
- Morning. - Morning.
Well, I'm not worried about my health.
I saw a doc the other day who said I looked fantastic.
Great, a blind doctor. Very inspiring.
What were you doing there? Having a lobotomy?
No, I have an unpleasant rash in my trousers.
What? But I slept with you last night!
In which case, I suggest you seek immediate medical advice.
I can't do that, it'll be all over the papers!
Better than all over your bottom.
- Oh, God! - Maybe you haven't got it.
Even germs have standards.
I'm sorry. Did I just detect an effort at humour?
Brilliantly disguised as offensive drivel, certainly,
but an effort nonetheless. Well done.
Look... You have a peek in my pants to see if my bot's got Black Death.
All right, me old china plate
but I don't promise to keep me breakfast down.
Right.
Well? See anything unpleasant?
Now that is a stupid question.
- Rash-wise! - Hang on a minute.
No, nothing could survive on that.
Oh, God! I only wanted a quick once-over
and I get an erotic cabaret!
Now do it properly!
Come on, up there! Damn you! Yes! Yes! Yes!
Morning, Mr Rich.
Morning, Milkie!
Er, look, Milkie, er, this is not what it seems.
It's none of my business, honestly, sir.
Yes, I know, I'm just explaining.
I know it looked sexy but, er...
what we were actually doing was... Eddie?
Yes. No, no, no! You're right, it is none of your business,
you dirty little pervert!
Who do you think you are?!
Barging in and making revolting, libellous insinuations!
You're a reporter, aren't you?
Eddie, it's the scum!
Get the disinfectant!
I can't believe it! A journalist in my house!
I'll have to seal it in concrete and dump it in the sea!
Journalists have a half-life of a thousand years.
Get this, Nina Myskow!
Look, I'm not a journalist, I'm a milkman.
He's right, he can't be a journo - he hasn't got a stiffie.
I'm gonna fight this!
I've got the light entertainment department of the BBC behind me!
I shall call Keith Harris and Orville as character witnesses.
I hope you like prison food.
The jury will melt as Orville takes the stand.
Your Honour,
Wichie Wich is innocent.
Richie, Orville is a nylon, green, Day-Glo duck in a nappy.
The jury will hang you!
Edward, children may be watching! Don't mention Father Christmas.
- No! - Hello, kiddies.
There is no Father Christmas.
He is a ploy to make low-income parents' lives a misery.
Imagine something-oh!
I want you to picture the simple, trusting face of a child
streaked with cruel tears because of what you just did.
Picture the tear-streaked face of its mother
because one week's dole won't pay for a Masters of the Universe battlecruiser!
She can get a job! Become a... a stripper or something!
Get on your bike and get your clothes off! Right, Mr Tebbit?
- I'll be off then, shall I? - Stay where you are, quisling!
What you know could put back the British game show 50 years!
- See you tomorrow. - I said wait here!
- Please, Mr Rich... - Different tone now, isn't it?!
Yeah!
Forget blackmail, now it's "Please, Mr Rich".
Well, it's too late, darling, you're dead.
D- A-E-D!
Dead!
You're right, he is.
- What, dead? - Completely.
Jeepers, what are we gonna do?
Well, it's not too bad,
the milk'll soak in and we can pick up the glass...
No, what are we gonna do about the corpse?
Bung it in the cupboard and blame someone else?
Brilliant!
Of course, the perfect alibi!
- Let's grab the stiff. - Oo-er!
Eddie, a man is dead and still you spout appalling double entendres!
You don't think perhaps as his poor immortal soul
hovers overhead, it would rather not be the butt of a knob gag?
I think he might prefer not to be dead at all
but he didn't have a choice
because certain people bonked him on the head!
Let's get the bod in the cub before it begins to whiff.
Right. Uh-ah-ha-ha-ha...
If that were our criteria for putting things in the "cub"
we'd have put you in on ages ago!
Because you're so whiffy.
Yeah, I got it, I just didn't think it was funny.
- At all. - Liar! You're just too thick.
- I'm not thick. - You are.
I am! I mean, I'm not.
- Put your head here. - All right, then.
He's right, you know. I am pretty stupid.
Right, now let's get the body in the cupboard.
Ooh, come on, Milkie. Ooh, sexy, sexy Milkie!
Right.
Ah-ha-ha!
Much as I respect Her Majesty's police force
they'll never find the body in the cupboard.
We're home and free.
Bloody hell, they're on to us already!
Get the Brazilian currency!
- Hang on! - What?
Maybe it's not the police, maybe we've... won the pools!
Yes, maybe that's it! Millions of pounds!
- A dream come true! - Wait!
- What? - We don't do the pools.
That's got to count against us.
Brazil!
- Wait! - What?!
Maybe they've made a mistake!
- Wait! - What?!
Maybe it's a producer with a wonderful part.
- Oo-er! - Wonderful part, not willy.
The link between trousers and the word "part" is tenuous.
Keep off that phone, if it's an important role for me,
I don't want it spoiled by your revolting phone manner. Ahem.
You have dialled telephone sex, gardening division.
- First, ram the turnip up... - Give me that!
It is Filthy Ralph, impresario, promoter, pornographer and common thief.
- I know who he is. - Yeah, but they don't.
Stop talking to the children!
Ahem.
Hello, Filthy Ralph, got me any work?!
I'm jaded with the shallow world of TV light entertainment,
I yearn to tread the boards! I fancy Shakespeare!
Which, as he's a bloke and dead, makes you a homosexual necrophiliac.
- Eddie, pass the pencil. - Hang on, Filthy.
Thanks.
What was that about getting me a wonderful Shakespearean role?
You're coming over? Wonderful!
Ciao!
Terrific! I knew today would be important.
Romeo And Juliet! Where's my Shakespeare book?
I know exactly where it is!
Here we are. Lucky we've only got through the pastorals.
Right.
Ah, here we are, Romes And Jules.
Now, Eddie, listen, concentrate.
I play Romeo and you play the fiery, warlike... Tybalt.
So it's a fight. Here goes.
It'll be better when I've got me tights on. Ahem.
Away to heaven, respective lenity,
And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!
Now, Tybalt...
What in the name of Satan's portion...!
I was acting! You said it was a fight.
You've got to let me finish my speech!
Funny sort of fight. "You can't hit me till after my speech. "
Which shows how much you know about acting in Shake!
How can I play a role riddled with glaring inconsistencies?
On the one hand I'm a fiery, warlike... Tybalt,
and on the other hand, "quiet, Tybs, while I do my poem. "
Eddie! This is Shakespeare!
And everybody knows what Shakespeare is.
- Crap. - Yes.
No! Well, yes, yes, he is...
Well, the thing about Shakespeare, you see, Edwin,
Shakespeare, being a genius,
is allowed more licence than us lesser mortals,
and hence is allowed...
...and hence is allowed...
It's probably the front door!
It'll be the car to take me to rehearsals!
Answer it, please, Eddie, poppet.
Richie! I hate being called "Eddie poppet".
Oh! Answer the door, please, Eddie-weddie woppedy-plops!
That's better!
Get a fag and a drink for a dying man, would you, Eddie?
- Hello Filthy Ralph! - Ralph Filthy!
For the last time, my name is Ralph Filthy, not Filthy Ralph.
Honestly, just cos I run a chain of discount brothels
everyone thinks I'm a dirty old man.
You've got to admit, there is a certain haphazard logic to it.
My leisure establishments are totally allowable.
And anyway I get the kids off Youth Training Schemes.
The Iron Lady looks after small businessmen like me.
Filthy!
Richie!
- Filthy... - Richie...
- Filthy! - Richie!
- Filthy... - Richie...
'Ere, Richie, I've never deceived you before, have I?
Well, that's not entirely true, is it, Ralph?
When? When have I ever deceived you? When?
When you kept back all my cash.
No, that's not deception, that's theft.
You promised me a snog with Princess Di.
All right, once. I've deceived you once.
Twice-you said you managed Laurence Olivier.
I do. Laurence Olivier, the one-armed turd impressionist.
There was an implication you meant the actor.
All right, daughter, I have lied to you through my teeth
throughout our professional association.
I don't call coming round and scrounging drinks
a professional association.
I've had a long day and I've only been up half an hour.
I'm no good before my second pack of snouts, you know that.
- Just let me spit it out. - Oo-er!
Eddie, please, this is my agent.
- Richie... - Yes.
You are in trouble.
Ooh!
Eh?
Troub?
- Big troub. - How big?!
Bigger than the biggest laugh Tarby ever got.
Not as big as the one about the sheep at the Falklands War Gala Evening
where everyone thought the cheeky chap went a bit too far?
- Including that one. - That's absolutely coloss!
If you were to take all the best bits of the world's true greats
and construct out of them the world's best comedian...
Bernard Manning's trousers!
Paul Daniels' catchphrase.
Ken Dodd's haircut!
Syd Little's... timing.
Eddie Large's... Eddie Large impression!
Jimmy Cricket's funny wellingtons.
Ah-ha-ha! Left, right, left, right!
If you were to take all those wonderful, wonderful elements
and give that comic the world's best gag.
Thatcher's '79 election promise to cut unemployment!
Ah-ha-ha-ha!
Then believe me, the laugh you would get
would still not be as big as the troub you are in.
Right!
Well?
Well what?
What is the troub my boy Richie is in?
Oh. He's had a paternity suit filed against him.
A 17-year-old girl is pregnant and says you're the father.
Ah-ha-ha-ha!
Naughty Richie.
We're talking about 20 years of spending all your money on a bastard.
Never mind Eddie, what about this baby?
I'm talking about the baby!
Tell me straight, this is Ralph here, your oldest acquaintance,
did you get laid nine months ago
by a rather young popsy who claimed to be a fan?
Well! That should have made you suspicious for a start!
Because if you did it's gonna cost us très mucho mazoola.
You didn't do it, did you?
And why not?!
I've sustained some considerable Belisha beacons in my time!
Yes, Richie, just put your disgusting libido
back in your underwear for a second here.
- If it's yours, you pay. - Ahh.
Now is it yours?
No.
I've never done it in my life.
So at last the truth is out!
Richie Rich has never done it in his life.
No, obviously I have done it once.
No, no-lots, lots!
I am very sexy.
I've probably had it off with everybody in the world by now.
Right, in that case you can't take the blood test.
If there's a chance that you'll fail we cannot risk it.
- We're talking about money! - What are we gonna do?!
That's probably the door.
It might be the stork with Richie's baby.
Shut up! Shut up! I haven't got a baby and I need all my cash for me.
It's a friend of yours,
a big white bird with a bundle!
It's the stork! It's the bloody stork!
- I'm gonna settle this once and for all. - They're a protected species!
Give me that!
Er, four pints of yoghurt and a strawberry gold top, Mr Rich.
Eddie, this is the most milkman-shaped stork I've ever seen.
I would go further and posit that it's not a stork at all
but a milkman.
Yes, it is.
I was... joking.
Edward, a man is dead!
I didn't think you'd believe me!
Everyone knows the baby stork doesn't exist!
Edward, please! Stop ruining childhoods!
Innocence is lost all too quickly.
You can talk, your agent runs a brothel.
Eddie, Eddie, please - stage school, stage school.
They're wonderful kids but never mind all that,
Richie, you have just killed a milkman.
Two milkmen, Filthy.
Oh, my God, how depressing.
This could be very bad publicity for us. Very bad indeed.
What? You think the papers will side with Milkie?
Bound to. I remember when I had Mike Read on my books.
Him and Chegwin got drunk one night and set fire to a nun.
Next series of Saturday Superstore was slated.
Filthy, a nun, all right - but it's only a couple of milkmen.
"Clank, whistle, morning, madam, aren't I sexy?
"Another fruit yoghurt, your gold top. "
Then they send you a bill! They deserve to die!
One milkman, maybe you could laugh it off -
friendly joke, went too far,
faults on both sides, but two?
It looks very Freddie Starr, doesn't it?
This is the sort of thing the press vipers love.
The crits will slaughter my next show!
I can see it now - Daily Telegraph.
"Bloody great news!
"Richie Rich goes to pris forever and ever! Hooray!"
I'm not going to pris!
I'll claim diminished responsibility!
Premenstrual tension!
Yes! Filthy! Get me a sex change!
Please stop shouting, Richie, nobody knows about it yet.
When the going gets tough
the tough have a fag, a drink and a ponder.
'Allo. Get me Body-Loser Gary, please. Yes, I can hold.
I said have a fag, a drink and a ponder!
A fag, a drink and a ponder...
'Allo, Filthy Ralph here.
Yeah. Body-Loser Gary?
- Yeah, right, yeah. - Ah, fags.
Yeah, I want you to lose a body.
Yeah.
Yeah, yeah.
- Right. - Well?
He doesn't feel like losing a body today.
We'll have to do it. The question is, how?
The question is, how?
- I've got an idea! - Well, we can ignore that!
I was only gonna say let's have a farting competition.
Well, Ralph, what do you think?
If I farted you'd soon know about it.
Listen, we're gonna have to cover for them on their round.
Get this bloke's clothes off, you're gonna have to do his job.
Hang on a minute!
That's a drastic solution, isn't it?
What you're suggesting is manual labour!
Listen to the tragedy queen!
Do you want to do hard labour for life?
Well, no, but how long do I have to keep it up -
living a double life as a milkman.
Am I expected to train his whippets?
Learn to clog dance?
Sleep with his wife?!
I'll be discovered. There she is, in her curlers,
thinking, "Oh, God, I'm so bored
"of having to sex that working-class oik I married. "
Then Richie Rich flashes a smile and something like
a nuclear submarine floats between the sheets.
And when she's flopped your beer belly back onto the floor
she can get out her binoculars and search for your action.
Why can't Eddie the git do it?
You seem to be forgetting, Richie,
we have two little problem-ettes here,
and we need Eddie for the other one - that paternity stuff.
You can't take that blood test in case it's positive.
And what's that got to do with me, Ralph?
'Allo. Get me two girls round at Richie's place fast.
- Great, a party! - Fantastic!
Let's forget all our problems and party!
- Make-up girls! - Oh.
We're gonna make Eddie look like Richie
so he can take the blood test and it won't match the baby.
Richie, wear Milkie's trousers. Eddie, wear Richie's.
- Who's gonna wear mine? - Someone criminally insane
who enjoys whiffing to high heaven and scaring old ladies!
Now, like all great actors I must think myself into the role.
Um...
Er... I'll give him a limp - that says "milkman" to me.
And a hunchback! Those milk crates must take their toll.
Right, here goes.
"Superb! He moves as if he was born a milkman,"
dribbled Bernard Levin in Der Stürmer.
Now what sort of accent should he have, hm?
Cockney, of course! Luckily I'm a master of dialect.
'Ee by gum, ecky thump!
There, the milkman, a creation to rank with Olivier's Othello,
Gielgud's Hamlet and Forsyth's brilliant Supermarket Manager.
Nothing can go wrong.
God!
Fate deals me blow after blow. Another two milkman bodies!
No, I must remain calm. Resourceful.
Subtle. Stick 'em in the rubbish.
Oi, oi, oi! What is going on 'ere?
You've just dumped a dead body in that rubbish.
Stop hallucinating, drug addict!
That is a dead body and I'm not gonna take it away.
Scatter it round the street then, that's what you normally do!
Oh, yes, very clever.
Do you have any idea how difficult waste disposal is?
Bloody, that is how difficult. What with privatisation...
Oh! People use these plots for any personal hobbyhorse
they feel like waffling on about!
Shut up and trash this bod or I'll tell on you to Thatch.
No, I am not taking it and that is final!
It is not in a bin liner, prat.
One day rubbish collection will be carried out by microchips
and you'll starve to death and I'm glad!
Richie Rich!
Wonderful characterisation, love. Very fetching.
Now, have you put Milko Dairies off the scent?
Er... Not quite.
No pub! No pics! No auts!
What kind of Tarby-brained halfwit would want an aut
off a failed old fat-bottomed drag queen
with zero talent like me?
In fact, I think I'm a complete prat.
Richie, they're breeding.
I won't even ask how you came by these two.
We shan't forget today in a hurry!
The first day in your life you look presentable!
However many milkmen you kill
it's still not going to become fashionable.
Don't worry about them.
We just get rid of four dead milkmen. No problem.
May I casually remind you, Richie,
that I am stood here dressed like a completely poncey git.
Can we get to the hospital and trash this paternity suit
before I get mistaken for a poodle?
Try not to kill any more milkmen on the way.
Don't kill any milkmen...
He shall pay for what he's done to my daughter,
the gigolo, the Casanova, the Don Juan, the Lothario,
the randy little bastard.
Come on, Mum...
Mrs Whitehouse, if the blood proves compatible
your daughter will be entitled to an enormous settlement.
He's nothing but a vile seducer! A vile seducer!
Oh, he wasn't that bad - I've had worse, certainly.
Lucky we got the drip in or he'd have delivered his last pint of milk.
Hello, hospital!
Must be some medical alcohol in one of these somewhere.
Richie, Richie - Richie! Pull your hat down over your eyes.
- 'Ere, wear these dark glasses. - Right.
Come on.
Everybody's got to think that Eddie is you
so don't give away who you are.
- I understand. - Right. Let's go.
No pictures! Please respect my privacy!
I'm an ordinary member of the public! Sorry...
- Who's Mr Rich? - I am!
Sorry, he is.
That's the one! Pay up, you philanderer, you! Pay up!
Please calm yourself. Is this man the father of your child?
Yeah, I think so.
Is that her? Is that the girl I'm supposed to have...?
Yes. If she was 20 years younger she might be quite attractive.
She's lovely. Lovely!
The sort of girl you wanna really, really... cherish.
I have never seen this girl before in my life!
You lying scoundrel!
Don't cry, little one.
He's ruined me!
Don't worry, it'll be all right, little lambkins, snuggly-wuggly.
Doctor, get me a bucket - I think I'm going to be horrendously sick.
- My life is over because of him! - Hang your head in shame, you cad,
for what you've done to this poor girl!
I've got a good mind to punch you in the face!
He's not making playing this part very easy.
Listen, daughter, shut up, it's you that did it, not Eddie.
We're trying to get you out of this.
Could we get on, please?
All right, bitch, aren't the NHS paying enough out of my wages?!
Filthy, when I agreed to this cruel deception
I never dreamt she would be so lovely.
Look at her-yummy, yummy, yummy.
She's lovely, lovely, with a lovely little baby, it's all...
Cootchie-cootchie...
- He likes me. - It's a girl. Leave her alone.
He looks like me. Obviously not as handsome...
- Look, can we get on? - Shut up, you old cow!
Don't fancy her for mum-in-law. Powdered glass in the cocoa job.
Sorry about this demented milkman we brought with us.
Just get on with the blood test, would you?
And could you get us 50 high-tar ciggies?
We have some of the baby's blood.
It just remains to get yours. Step this way.
OK, I don't mind the sight of blood as long as it isn't mine.
You should've thought of that before!
Are you going to breast-feed it?
- Not at the moment, no. - I think you should.
Go on, pop one out.
Please?
Shut up! This is a very emotional time for me.
If only you knew, my pretty young maid, if only you knew.
Perhaps today will be happier than you expect.
It'll be happy enough when that slimy rat in there pays up.
No doubt about it, it's positive.
This gentleman's blood is from the same family as the baby.
- Although diluted. - That's my blood-neat lager!
If you're finished, Doctor. Thank you.
Oh, no, oh, no, you filthy quack,
are you saying this man's blood is positive?
I knew it! I am the father!
What is this man talking about?
He's mad. Will we be able to sue for maintenance?
Certainly. I'll get the relevant test certificates.
Stay your hand, Doctor! The time has come for the truth!
- Now, Rich... - The baby's father
is not this sad impostor whose blood coincides
but none other than I... Richie Rich!
- Who? - Richie Rich, TVS links, 1972.
Maintenance? Forget it! I'm going to look after my baby.
Cindy, I'll give you a home and make you an honest woman.
I love you! And our baby! And I can't wait to start on another one.
Oh, darling, aren't you happy for us?
Somebody should make a film of me now!
This isn't what you said, Eddie.
No, I must say I'm surprised.
Right, that's it, the plan's off -
no money's worth being associated with him!
It's bad enough people thinking I slept with him.
But live with him? No way.
Sorry, Cousin Eddie, you lose your half. You do understand?
I certainly do. I live with the bastard already.
Well, bye-bye, Cousin Cindy.
Bye-bye, Auntie Myrtle.
Bye-bye, Doctor!
Please, will somebody explain to me exactly what is going on?
Bloody hell, are you thick? It was a plot!
My cousin and her boyfriend needed some cash for the kid
so if I took the test, being a relation, it would be positive.
We could have some of your cash.
- But it was Filthy's idea! - Yes, I was in for a cut.
If you hadn't got so sentimental it would've worked perfectly.
My own agent and my best bloody friend and minder
- tried to defraud me for my cash. - Yeah.
Right, that's it, you're sacked.
That's right, Sah-Eh-Cuh-Eh-Duh.
And that goes for you too, Auntie bloody Myrtle!
Richie, darling, you can't sack us, you need us.
You need us to sort out that other little problem.
What other little problem?
Drink a pint of milk a day.
Right, we push the bodies in the canal and we're home and dry.
£48.50.
We didn't think of that.
Right, er, better chuck him in the canal too.
Good!
Here's your tip, matey!
Push!
This time, no mistakes.
The fiendish master criminal removes all trace of his crime,
consigning the lifeless corpses to the icy depths.
You're nicked!
Unless... you sling your hook right now!
- Eh? - I've watched The Sweeney,
I think he means "go away".
That's right. You're very lucky boys,
cos we've got important police business to do here.
- So hop it! - Right!
All right, Dixon? Let's start chucking 'em in.
- Keep an eye open for lefties. - All right.
If the Home Secretary'd finance more cell space
- this wouldn't be necessary. - What'd be the fun of that?
Cheap knock at the police, but you try getting out of this plot.
- They are all bastards, anyway. - Yeah.
Enough left-wing soapbox rhetoric!
If you don't like the police
next time you get beaten up try calling an alternative comedian!