Blandings (2013) s01e04 Episode Script

1 Bagged anything err, George? Not yet.
Drop your shoulder and swing through.
OK, Big Boy.
And don't call me Big Boy.
Ah, m'grandson.
Isn't it? Hmm? Nothing half so much worth doing as simply messing about with guns.
Strewth! You certainly know my size, dear, don't you? I generally park here.
Ha-ha! Julia has written to me.
Our sister.
She asks if I approve of the decision she outlined in the previous letter.
Ah, do you? I have no idea.
I have received no previous letter.
She sent it care of you.
Precisely.
It is now God-knows-where in this demented shambles of a desk of yours.
You'll simply have to find it.
Whose work is this? Is it George, your grandson? Is it? It's not an awfully good likeness.
Fellow's in a dress.
Find the letter.
For all we know, Julia could be grievously ill.
If Mr Baxter were here I wouldn't give Baxter a poke in the eye with a burnt stick, let alone have him back in the house.
And if you were still in the room you would appreciate the vehemence with which I say that.
Ah, Beach! This is Miss Georgia Sparks.
I say, you've gone puce.
Ah, knew he'd rumble you.
He's a connoisseur of the dancing pages.
Indeed, Mr Frederick, I recognised the young lady instantly.
Yeah, the sultana of shimmy.
Give over, Freddie, you're embarrassing the poor man.
Beach has been elevated to a state where embarrassment is medically impossible.
He's seen it all.
Back in a tick.
Do you dance, Mr B? Not as such, Miss.
We'll soon fix that.
I'll have you wiggling like a jelly before I'm done with you.
Who is that extraordinary person and why is she inciting my butler to wiggle like a jelly? Not bad.
Of course, Aunt Connie's chin is even pointier.
My room? Show me anything you like, dear.
Oh it's perfectly simple.
She's a hoofer at The Pussy.
But Georgia is not the issue.
How does my grandson fit into this? He doesn't.
Do try to keep up, guv'nor.
That's Georgia out there, teaching Beach how to shake his substantial can.
The problem is her brother, Nobby.
Nobby? He's a charming bloke.
Interesting collection of facial scars.
I met him at The Dogs at Mile End.
I owe him a bit of money, and he's being a little standoffish about it.
So, I told him I'd tool down to Blandings and tickle up the smackers.
He said, in that case, his little sister might just tool along too, in a sightseeing sort of way, she'd never been west of Shepherd's Bush.
I have to return her, plus loot in full, on Monday morning.
So how about it, guv'nor? If I don't cough the lolly, I am skewered.
Coughing the lolly? You lost me on hoofing the pussy.
I'm asking you, man to man - will you sub me the necessary rhino? Oh, you certainly don't mind where you put things, do you, dear!? Ha! Missed.
Can I've a go now, Uncle Freddie? No.
Bigger one, please.
You have to allow for the crosswind.
Missed! My turn.
No.
One more.
And also the curvature of the earth.
Oh, er, ooh.
Mr Baxter.
How may I be of? Lady Constance sent for me.
At 11:14 on a Friday, she will be writing letters in the drawing room.
I know my way.
Don't forget to swing through.
OK, Big Boy.
And don't call me Big Boy.
We do not machine-gun our elders.
If we are machine-gunned, we do not limit our disciplinary remarks to, "Don't call me Big Boy.
" Jeepers.
Who is this blister? George! I am your tutor, young man.
Tutor? In the summer holidays? Crikey, that ponks.
Clarence, have you no authority over this child? Well, it does ponk! An end to uncouth slang, I think.
Yes, from now on, things are going to be rather different.
I believe you are in possession of a gun.
Bring it to me.
Fellow lays a finger on my desk, I'll blow his ruddy bonce off.
Julia might be so ill she is preparing to take her own life.
Dear old Nobby, ha-ha.
The thing about Nobby is well, that he hates my guts and he wants to kill me.
Ha-ha.
Oh, Nobby hates everybody.
It's a sort of a style thing.
But he's never actually killed a person.
Oh, good! There was that one man who had to go to hospital to have a megaphone removed, which can't have been nice, but he owed Nobby money.
How silly of him.
Hello, sheepy! That is a sheep, innit? Cause and effect.
Your father is Lord Emsworth's eldest son, Lord Bosham.
Where is Lord Bosham? In France.
Doing what? Having a holiday without a tutor.
He has left you here without a structured timetable.
His delinquency is the cause.
Your insolence is the effect.
Do you eat lunch, Mr Baxter? Never.
It bloats the bowel and dulls the mind, time frittered that could be spent rigorously card-indexing.
Why? My brother eats lunch.
It is the one time you can be confident he will not be at his desk.
I know who it is you remind me of.
My first proper boyfriend.
Big-boned, he was.
Lovely mover.
What the deuce? The sentiment you are groping for so unattractively, Clarence, runs as follows, "How kind of you, Mr Baxter, "for doing all this on your own initiative.
"I shall give serious thought to reinstating you as my secretary.
" Clarence, you look like an ostrich goggling a brass doorknob.
Speak.
Dear God! My brother is delighted.
One has done what one can in the time available.
Now, if you'll excuse me, it's the appointed hour for geometry.
Ah, ha-ha, yes.
Oh! You don't know what geometry is, do you, Clarence? Of course I do, it's a type of camel.
I also know why you're doing this.
You're trying to find that damned letter of Julia's.
Eh? Have you found it? No.
And unless you intend to invent a questionable new fashion of neckwear, I suggest you disembarrass yourself of the table napery.
I shall not have that secretary as my blasted Baxter! Dash it, I mean it! I am on the point of becoming atrocious.
Bah! I have some unfinished business to attend to concerning Lord Emsworth's study.
When I return, I expect you to know your isosceles from your scalene.
What are you doing, man? Ijust dropped my ledger.
And it fell up the drainpipe? Fellow's as potty as a parrot.
Ah! Gah! Insupportable, Beach.
I cannot even find me damned whiffle.
Care Of The Pig is currently in your hand, my lord.
Oh, good heavens.
How the devil was I expected to find that? Beach, you're armed.
Are we under threat? Not presently, my lord.
I used to have one like that.
Quite, quite handy with it, as a matter of fact.
Oh! Good heavens, why have you given me this instrument, Beach? Clarence! Your grandson has shot Mr Baxter.
Was Baxter on the gravel or up a drainpipe? What? Well, the former is not a sporting shot.
Tutors are not ground game.
Oh Do you remember when we were children, when Julia shot that big governess when she was going up the nursery steps? What was her name? Beach? The incident unfortunately occurred before my arrival, my lord.
There was no incident.
There jolly well was.
Fortunately, she was wearing a bustle.
That's the governess, not Julia.
Beach, that will be all.
Clarence, are you a complete drooling halfwit? Or are you on some private crusade to render this family utterly ridiculous? No, no, no, Connie, Julia definitely bagged the big governess.
She did it because you took a pot-shot at the woman and missed.
Ruddy great target, slow-moving, padded.
What was her name? Right, Clarence, I am sending you your grandson to be disciplined.
Oh! And until Julia's letter is unearthed, this house is under martial law.
Baxter is in command Well, that's as may be, Connie, but I'm about to go and consult the only female in this establishment that talks sense.
Great, big woman.
Backside the size of Durham Cathedral.
Curiously, the same sort of shape.
How Connie managed to miss her, I don't Hello, Grandpapa.
Hello, my boy.
Great Aunt Connie said you wanted to see me.
What? Eh? Ah Oh, yes.
What's all this shooting Baxter, all that sort of thing? You could've had his eye out.
Unlikely.
He was bending over.
Just a minute.
Did you pot Baxter in the seat of the trousers? I mean, disgraceful.
I expect he jumped? Like billy-o.
Did he, indeed? Your Great Aunt Julia once bagged a governess under similar conditions.
Coo! Did she jump? Like the dickens! Yes, and she squealed.
Now, look here, my dear fellow, all this business of shooting tutors' back in, you know, it really just isn't on, you know.
OK, Big Boy.
Now, George! Would you care to give The Empress a slice of potato? This place would make a cracking nightclub.
Just take up all this stuff What is it? Grass.
Yeah.
Get rid of that, whack a decent bit of patio down, you could dance all night.
Oh, Beachypoo, I do love a challenge.
Built for comfort and speed.
I'll have you firing on all cylinders.
What's this? It's your hand.
Look.
I know this cannot help but complicate the situation.
But I do think you're rather jolly.
Oh, Freddie, I say! Baxter, what are you doing, creeping up like that? I did not creep.
I manifested silently.
As you ask, I'm considering my position.
The tendency for larkiness in this place is deplorable.
But I warn you, Mr Threepwood, it is a very grave error to get gay with me.
The other thing is you could do is move some of them big floppy things.
Trees.
Barley's Compendium Of Pig Constipation Ah, bingo! Ah! Top shooting, guv'nor.
.
That gun is not in my possession.
It has not been in my possession for the last half hour, do you follow? Very well, my lord.
Will you excuse me a second? Why, what you done? I just have to blackmail my father.
On the contrary, I chastised the child thoroughly.
Very disagreeable it was for him, too.
I said to him, "Now, look here George.
"You know how to load that thing and I don't.
" Was that the full extent of the chastisement? What does it matter what I said? Because the infernal child shot me again.
I expect you imagined it.
Could have been a wasp.
A wasp? You probably sat on it.
Ah! How did you know I was once again stricken on the buttocks? Begging your pardon, Lady Constance.
If not a wasp, then a rash.
I am not an authority on your buttocks, Baxter, but it is clear that life in the countryside does not agree with you.
Would you excuse us, Mr Baxter? It was you.
What was me? How dare you say, "It was you" in that sepulchral tone? Are you accusing me of shooting Baxter? The gun was in Pant's beachtry.
I've no idea how to load the ruddy thing! Clarence, that doesn't even qualify as a lie.
That is just noise leaking out of your face.
You can consider your study commandeered.
Now get out.
There is a point beyond which one should not go, and you've just gone it.
I take my leave of you, Connie, for fear that I shall become brusque.
What ho, guv'nor.
Frederick.
Lovely day.
Yes, excessively lovely.
Perfect visibility.
Day like this, you could pot a medium-size tutor over a distance of ten yards? 15.
As you say.
No, I observed you take aim with a hideous look of low cunning, plug Baxter in the jacksie and coolly withdraw.
It was beautiful to watch.
Alas, the popular press may fail to share my view.
"Barking Toff Mows Down Hapless Servant" is more likely to be their line.
Frederick.
"Blazers Emsworth," they'll say.
Frederick, Frederick, no.
Well, I'm sorry.
But my doctor insists I must not have megaphones inserted into my person.
Oh! And that's what's going to happen if I don't pay Scarf ace Nobby first thing Monday morning.
This is despicable.
Despicable's a little rich from a man who leans casually from his window and riddles his staff with hot lead.
No, this is one family shame I cannot consent to hide.
How much? 600 quid.
If I were still your secretary I would wonder how such a large quantity of cash should be accounted.
I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.
Absolutely.
Which is why I'd have to ask Lady Constance for her analysis of the expenditure.
£600 is not an amount that can simply mislaid.
That would be criminally negligent.
Baxter.
My dear Baxter.
Do, please, consider resuming your previous position here as my secretary.
Permanently.
For life.
Very well.
Once the servant Beach has brought in my valise and the money has been returned to me for safekeeping, I shall continue purging your study of disfiguring clutter.
"Commandeered.
" Ruddy cheek.
Ah! Beach! I rang for you.
Stop acting the giddy goat and take this message to Lord Emsworth.
I shall not linger in this nest of vipers! What the devil is the fellow trying to say now? Mr Baxter is tendering his resignation, my lord.
In what sense? In the sense that he wishes to be relieved of employment at Blandings, in any capacity, as from your receipt of his note.
Good God, how quickly can I receive it? It's in your hand, my lord.
Oh.
Good God.
And I must add on my behalf, that I wish to submit my month's notice.
Yes, yes, yes, by all means, Beach.
As I, too, shall be leaving your employment.
Yes, to be sure, yes, have a whole bottle.
Very good, my lord.
"Immediate resignation" "Baxter.
" Have you spoken with Beach? He tendered his resignation, and you accepted it.
No, no, no.
Baxter resigned.
Beach brought me the I have been speaking with Beach.
Ah, now, look, look, look there, you see, that's where you're mixing this up.
You are you and I am Oh Did you say Beach has handed in his notice? It's all this terrible business with Julia's letter, it has left me demented.
Good God, Connie, what have you been doing to the man? I shot him.
I went to speak with Beach in his pantry and he wasn't there, but the wretched gun was, and through the window I saw him puffing across the lawn, and all of a sudden I couldn't resist it.
What sort of range? What? Good heavens, Clarence, I have no idea.
20 yards? What can it possibly matter? You couldn't hit a moving butler at 20 yards, don't be absurd.
If you couldn't pot Doris Mapleton's titanic, snail-paced rump at Oh! Did you see, I just remembered both her names? Ha-ha! Clarence, Beach has resigned.
Remain, sir, in that semi-recumbent posture.
What's all this dashed nonsense? Leaving me? Better to tender my resignation, my lord, than to be dismissed.
Dismissed? You're talking through your hat, Beach.
I was the cause of Mr Baxter's precipitate departure.
In a moment of uncontrollable impulse, my Lord, I shot him.
Ah! What? I thought you were leaving because my sister plugged you.
Her ladyship did not shoot me, my lord.
The weapon went off in her hand accidentally, but the projectile passed me by, harmlessly.
I thought it correct that I did not mention the matter.
What distance was her ladyship when this unfortunate discharge occurred? Quite adjacent, about ten feet away.
20 yards What sort of range, m'dear fellow, would you say? Eh? A good 20 yards.
Ah! A very pretty shot, my lord.
Plenty more where that came from, you you blister! Georgia.
That bloke who had to have the megaphone removed, how much did he owe your brother? Oh, tons.
At least £50.
Oh.
Nobby's just a big pussycat.
He does whatever I say.
Wrapped round this, is our Nobby.
But tit for tat, eh? I'll get my big brother to play nice, you get Beach bunnikins to dance with me.
Wait, hold the line a minute.
You're saying that if Beach bunnikins shakes it up with you, right here, right now, the threat of violent death that is making me slightly distrait will just evaporate? Poof! I hear you've instructed Beach to serve champagne.
Have I? How sensible of me.
Am I to understand, therefore, that you have persuaded him to remain? Was he off somewhere? Shall we go down together? Did you ever find that original letter of Julia's? Just when I think you have not one single functioning brain cell, you surprise me.
No, Clarence I have not yet found it.
Found what? Have you lost something? Oh.
Oh, I say Hello.
My lord.
Your ladyship.
Forgive me, I am about to have a modest heart attack.
Oh! Oh, bless my soul.
I do believe this is, um Julia's letter.
She wants your opinion on a flower arrangement that she's doing for the Women's Institute.
"African violets, yes or no?'" Not much use asking you now, though, is it? Silly woman sent the letter weeks ago.
African violets, are they life-threatening? I say, Connie, it appears we're having champagne.
Capital!