The Fast Lady

Oh, bugger off!

Oh, you stupid old buzzard, you!

Oh!

Mr. Troon?!

Whoa!

Gert!

The Hon. Sec.'s dead!

Ooh, just look at all the blood!

Blood?!

Where?!

Oh!

Send for a doctor!

Get an ambulance!

Oh, Mr. Troon, you poor man, you badly hurt?

Fairly badly, Miss Timpkins, but I'll manage.

Oh.

Shan't be a moment, Jackie, baby.

You want me to look with it, don't you, eh?

Oh, you sexy beast.

Oh, will you be late tonight, Mr. Fox, as usual?

Shouldn't be at all surprised, Mrs. S.

Going to an orgy in Golders Green.

Don't wait up.

I've no intention of doing so.

Kindly do not forget to bolt the door.

And I'll thank you not to make as much noise

as you did last night.

Ah, yes, well, I won't bring her in tonight,

I'll deal with her outside.

And, Mr. Fox, I haven't had last week's rent yet.

Yes, well, things are a bit dicky

in the car trade at the moment.

But not to worry, Mrs. S.

Come on, give us a wee kiss.

Come on, Freddy!

My sister.

Why don't you turn that game in?

I refuse to be driven off the roads by you motorists.

Buy yourself a decent car.

Get yourself a girl.

This one's for sale.

Possibly a bit on the fast side,

but she's on very modern lines.

Smashing upholstery.

She's a real bargain.

What a suggestion.

Other sales points include an ample rear boot,

loose covers, and automatic clutch,

leaving plenty of room for fancy knee work.

Dirty beast.

Oh, you poor thing.

You've hurt your leg.

Ooh, aye.

Who was that?

Hm, oh, that's our fellow lodger.

Works for the town council.

Fancy a ride on his handlebars?

No thanks.

He can ring his own bell.

Oh.

You know, Jackie,

you're one of the loveliest girls I've ever met.

I don't know why it is,

but I've always been mad about redheads.

And do you mean to say he didn't even stop?

He did not!

For all he cared, I might have been splattered

all over the road.

Oh, you poor thing.

Anyway, it's not bleeding.

What?

'Tis so.

Oh, then we must put some iodine on it.

I hope you're not going to let him get away with it.

Oh, certainly not.

I'll trace him through his number.

I don't work in the council offices for nothing.

And then you'll make him buy you a new bicycle?

Aye, and a new plastic picnic pack.

Bulmer!

Now what does he want?

Don't let it happen again.

Ferncliff.

Ferncliff.

Where is the blasted place?

Don't you bloody cyclists ever give hand signals?!

Away, and learn to drive!

Oh, no.

Bulmer!

Lose it, Bulmer!

Is it your contraption?

Aye, it was.

Look at the hole you've made in my lawn!

Look what you've done to my roadster.

And, if I'm not mistaken, this is the second time

you've buckled one of my wheels.

I have never set eyes on you in my life before!

Ooh.

This house is called Ferncliff?

It is.

And your name is Chingford?

Commander Chingford.

Quite.

And I'd be right in assuming

that you are the owner of car 200 DY0?

What is all this about?

I happen to be the cyclist

you tried to murder last Sunday afternoon.

I don't know what you're moaning about.

But since I only see only the backsides

of cyclists when I'm driving,

I can hardly be expected to recognise their faces.

I've got 22 witnesses

and unless you're prepared to settle this account,

I intend to summons you for contravening

the Motor Vehicles and Road Traffic Acts of 1930 and 1934.

There's the bill. - Don't you quote

the Road Traffic Act at me!

I remember the incident perfectly.

You deliberately obstructed me.

That's not what my 22 witnesses will say.

I have no intention of affording your fellow pedal-pushers

the pleasure of committing perjury at my expense.

This is blackmail.

I shall consult my lawyers.

Follow me.

Good for you!

The old man's always bossing people around.

Aye, but I don't like the sound of those lawyers.

Don't you worry.

They'll make him pay up.

They always do.

I'm Claire Chingford.

Come and have a drink.

Well, I wouldn't say no

on a hot day like this, Miss Chingford.

My name's Troon.

Murdoch Troon.

Are you Scotch?

Scottish, yes.

You have a kilt?

Well, as a matter of fact, I do.

And do you ever wear it?

Well, not as much down here among the Sassenach,

except on extra special occasions, of course.

Tell me, do you wear anything underneath?

I most certainly do.

Come on.

Not there, not on my prize Sam McCready!

Blithering idiot.

No, of course I wasn't talking to you.

Don't be such a fool.

Help yourself!

Oh, thanks.

Thank you.

Well, here it comes.

Down Sauchiehall Street,

or whatever you say on these occasions.

My, that's an awfully powerful fruit cup, isn't it?

Well, hardly a fruit cup.

It's a mixture of vodka and curacao,

usually taken in smaller glasses.

But, of course, you being a Scot...

Ah, Miss Chingford, a right good williewaught

never did a Scot any harm.

Willie who?

Williewaught.

"Here's a hand my trusty fiere and gie's a hand o'thine

"and we'll tak a right guid williewaught

"for auld lang syne.

"We twa hae run about the braes and pu'd to gowans fine,

"but we've wandered mony a weary foot sin auld lang syne."

Miss Chingford, may I replenish your glass?

To save trouble, and as your account comes to four pounds,

17, and sixpence, here's a fiver.

And kindly stop quoting Burns to my daughter.

Aye, what about that front wheel

that got broken this afternoon?

As you haven't 22 witnesses,

you won't be able to blackmail me into paying for that!

And now, get off my property!

Murdoch can't go yet,

he hasn't finished his williewaught.

Do you think we'd better?

Go on.

- Sure it'll be all right? - Go on.

Don't worry.

Down Sauchiehall Street.

"And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp

"and surely I'll be mine,

"and we'll tak a cup o'kindness yet

"for auld lang syne."

Goodbye, Miss Chingford.

It's been a rare privilege and a great pleasure knowing you.

Oh!

Clumsy oaf!

Now look what he's done!

Murdoch, are you all right?

Perfectly all right, thank you, Miss Chingford.

Oh.