Blandings

Ah! That's enough of that.

I only took up smoking, so I could give it up.

I've given up everything in fact. Reformed man.

Yup! No more rum, bum and concertina for Frederick.

Ah!

Now, Clarence, concentrate.

The London Fresh Air Children arrive tomorrow.

It comforts these children to see the civilized classes,

which, in this unusual case, includes you,

comporting themselves gracefully.

Freddie! What have you done to your head?

This is my reformed hair. It symbolizes my repudiation of vice.

"What vice?", I hear you cry?

Sins of the track and bookie, mainly,

but you name it, I'll repudiate it. Enough!

Now hear this. The reputation of the family is at stake.

We must excel.

And, Clarence, if you say to me, "Do I have to wear a top hat?"

I shall stab you through the heart and have your mutilated corpse

dragged around Blandings by a donkey.

Naked.

Me or the donkey?

Oh, no, the donkey shall be clothed to amplify your total degradation.

Better than wearing a top hat...

How can I help? This is the new me, you see?

Ever ready to help an old lady get a horse's hoof

out of a boy scout, sort of thing.

Oh, Freddie, you're an imbecile!

Aunt C on cracking form.

London Fresh Air...Children?

Ah-ha.

So, what's the solution to this repulsive sogginess?

Gravel!

Proper stuff, y'ken, nae heathen stoor the size of peas.

Braw great clinkers.

Then yir dainty feet'll hae traction.

Awa' wi' all this filthy moss.

I shall speak to His Lordship. He'll nae like it.

He's a great one for the squilchy filth.

Gravel it shall be, McAllister.

I'm on awa' to the idol o' erotic joy and trim wir bloated flaybers.

Beach, um, my hat -

you know, the boater affair bit of ribbon round it -

seem to have lost track of it.

Is it the one Your Lordship is presently wearing?

Oh...

Good heavens! Bless my soul.

Thank you, Beach!

Ah, Connie. Had a pleasant turn around the ground?

As you raise the subject of McAllister,

he wishes to spread gravel across that hideous infestation

of moss in the lime tree walk.

No, no, no, no.

I am aware that McAllister seeks to desecrate my lovely moss

and I shall not countenance it.

Oh, they're rather splendid.

My Lord, is that entirely wise?

No!

The gardener, McAllister, My Lord.

Oh...

Thank you, Beach.

Ah, McAllister! I expect you're wondering why I sent...

The posteriors of the goddess have been ravaged by yir pug!

My pug?

My dear fellow, I don't possess a pug.

And wi' the morn dairkening the horizon, it is a savage disgrace!

Did ye pick they delphiniums?

Moss. That's what I wanted to talk to you about.

McAllister! Unhand my moss!

Why is McAllister getting into a taxi?

Eh? Is he? I have no idea.

He must be, er...on the...um...

He's given in his notice.

What?

Why?

What have you done?

Well, that's impossible!

His presence is ESSENTIAL tomorrow!

You haven't the faintest idea what I'm talking about!

It's the Blandings Fete! The most important day of our year!

Oh, good Lord!

Oh, oh, can't you have a word?

No, I can't!

You and I know both know you are a withered homunculus

rather than a conventional specimen of adult manhood,

but you are the titular Master of Blandings!

You must reclaim your gardener!

Halt!

Now, look here, McAllister,

we need to get one thing absolutely clear...

When I say double I quite possibly mean treble? Hm!

Oh, my dear fellow, please don't go.

Think of tomorrow.

Oh, I beg of you, McAllister!

What else do I have to offer you?

Ah.

The gravel path.

Yes, of course, McAllister,

of course, with my blessing.

You'll no' pick another flooer withoot my say-so?

Mmm.

And there'll be nae mair nibblin' on the dirty dumplin's o' the deity?

Whatever that is, no, never.

The incident is closed.

McAllister, out you hop.

Come, come.

Such a pretty thing, under all the D-I-R-T.

Can it, you lot! Reverend Gandle here is trying to speak.

Thank you, Miss Younghusband.

Now, I merely wish to say...

Good heavens...

Welcome to Market Blandings...

I have here the roster of your accommodation.

Ah-ha!

What do you want, Frederick? Is it money?

Oh, dear old prune, not in the least. I am a man transfigured.

My only desire is to be of service to my peers,

you being the peer available.

I have no sympathetic ear for your desires, m'boy.

Tomorrow I have to endure the torment of a stick-up collar and a top hat.

Oh, grinding rectal ache!

And, of course, you have to make a speech.

Oh! You'd forgotten about the speech.

Err... I tell you what!

How about I get you out of that?

Eh? Seriously.

All I want now is to give succour to the suffering.

And if ever there was a suffering sucker, Guv'nor, you're it.

Aw this moss must be raked up!

Fir the gravel.

I hae commanded its delivery.

Well! Rake up the moss? But it's rather jolly!

Guv'nor, you love this...

Raked up it shall be!

With a canny great, God-fearin' rake!

A muckle pile o' gravel shall come raining doon on the path!

Whar there was squilch, mon,

there shall be a Godly crunch.

The thing to remember is,

many of these London children are very like ordinary kids.

Except that some of them are armed.

I say!

Good afternoon, gentlemen. I'm here to deliver you two children.

Oh, er, excellent. And what would you like us to do with them?

Just accommodate them.

Reverend Gandle has allocated them to the castle.

Right. Guv'nor, I shall attend to this.

Frederick, I'm a little confused...

Undoubtedly, but I needs must waft this lady round the family shack.

"Needs must waft"?

I do wish you wouldn't refer to the place as "the family shack".

Miss Younglegs and I are stepping this way to inspect the fixtures.

Regale our guests with your scintillating conversation.

Er, Frederick, erm... Ah...

Ah. Yes.

Lovely day. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

Popped down from London, what?

"Pop dine?" Speak English, mister.

Can it, fish-face!

Can it what? From London, sir. Yes, sir.

Mm.

Been out much this season?

Our house does have a door, mate.

Oh, that is good news.

Erm, name, m'dear?

Gladys, sir. And this is me brother, Ern.

Ern is wearin' a straw hat that he found in a ditch.

Good heavens. What a handsome article.

That doesn't look too good.

I know. I wanted a yellow one.

Well, next time I get lucky on the ponies, eh?

Are you a gambling man, Mr Threepwood? Er, no. I never gamble.

Don't know what you're missing.

Oh. Are you a gambling husband, Miss Younglovely? No, I mean...

Oh, I know what you meant. I have been known to flutter.

Golly, I'd be hardly be taken seriously in Bow

if I didn't stick the odd oncer on a horse.

The odd oncer... A fiver on occasion.

Ah, um, I'm sorry, but I think you're going to have to marry me.

Want to bet?

Yes.

What colour is your handkerchief? Get it right and I'll marry you.

Er...

Er, lemon!

It's purple. Hard cheese.

Ohhh...

Oh...

That is one royally cool cucumber.

No, no, my dear fellow, I insist.

Five guineas is an acceptable fee for the restitution of the hat.

Clarence!

You appear to be issuing this small boy with a cheque.

No, no, no, no, no... Yes.

Well, he found my hat, you see.

Nonsense.

Dear little fellow.

Here's sixpence.

Run along, now.

Woof-woof!

Er, he's being a dog.