The Frost Report (1966) s02e02 Episode Script

Thank you, good evening.
Tonight, our subject is women.
They're the ones who dance backwards.
Less now than they used to.
But a woman is one thing to all men.
But usually, all things to one man.
She has the expertise of mrs.
Beaten, the warmth of mrs.
Thursday, the curiosity of mrs.
Dale, the energy of mrs.
Braddock and the ruthlessness of mrs.
Borgia.
She is one man's mate and another man's poison.
In the words of Edmund Betrand, women are like medicine, they should be shaken, bottled, and taken twice a day before meals.
You got to hand it to women, they're capable of the most tremendous efforts, in the most trying, in fact, of circumstances.
Ah, you must be the new au pair girl.
A woman is an animal that can accidentally open a letter while boiling a kettle.
Women are Women are not always intrepid though, not a bit of it.
Going to the dentist for instance they can sometimes be quite nervous.
Oh, oh, I'm so nervous, I'd almost rather be having a baby.
Well make up your mind dear, I shall have to adjust the chair.
There are scores of proverbs about women in the English language, they don't call it the mother tongue for nothing.
Women's work is never done, woman is as old as she looks, a bird in the hand, and so on.
And of course, you can adapt to almost any English proverb to make it applicable to women.
See a woman and pick her up, all the day you'll have good luck.
A woman saved is a woman earned.
Familiarity breeds children, Different couples have their own ways of settling quarrels like one couple in Wembley.
They have three sons named Pax, Truce, and It Was My Fault.
One woman asked her doctor how she could keep her youth, and the doctor said, don't introduce him to all your friends.
Not that marriage is ever easy.
Every marriage has its moments of stress, its problems, its moments of trial.
Phyllis, how dare you! Honestly, Sydney, everything I do lately seems to annoy you.
Then of course there are the Then of course there are the burdens of parenthood, standing for seven minutes in front of an escalator waiting for a dropped lollipop to come round again.
Though even that isn't quite as bad as the case of the inefficient latin scholar who is not married.
When asked to conjugate, he declined.
Thanks for the dean scroop over there.
Mind you there are special bureaus everywhere which cater for people who need information.
Hello? British Hormone Company here.
Miss Tomkins speaking.
Of course of all the twenty seven million women in Britain there is probably not one, with the possible exception of Twiggy, who isn't trying to lose weight.
Now, if all those women lose only a couple of pounds a year, where does it all go to? Two pounds of each of twenty seven million women amounts to twenty five thousand tons of quivering fatty tissue.
Comparable in inches of human flesh to the population of Newcastle on Tyne.
Equivalent in weight to the aircraft carrier Hermes.
And all thanks to a few chocolates with less fattening senters.
The mind, as well as the weighing machine, boggles.
But mind you, men's minds often boggle at women.
My god she's beautiful.
Yes, she's like a gazelle, isn't she.
And look at that hair, dark like raven's wings.
And that neck, like a swan's.
Those eyes, soft and gentle.
It's like a doves, and that voice Charles, it's like a nightingale's on a summer evening.
Just look at her move, like a proud leopard in the jungle.
Yes, she's certainly going to make some lucky man a wonderful zoo.
And now here is a warning to motorists: Barbara Carson.
Women and motoring are inextricably linked, as one woman said to another in a car: We can park here and walk to the curve.
The attitude to women drivers though is typical of male attitudes.
Deep down they just hate any sort of female emancipation.
Fact of course bad women drivers tend to be nervous and slow, where bad men drivers tend to be agressive and dangerous.
So really, the snort of, there goes another damned man driver would be just as sensible.
But I suppose you must expect in all sort of situations men and women to have their different points of view.
Also, rather interesting is that fact that the crocodile, when put on its back, immediately goes into a comatose state of inert, unnatural apathy.
Sure you haven't got any crocodile blood? Or as one Irishman said Or as one Irishman said, I never knew what real misery was until my wife made me the happiest man on earth.
He was clearly inspired by the man in Redding whose wife perpetually reminded him she would dance on his grave.
He inserted a clause in his will that he was to be buried at sea.
Of course the average Englishman is always in bed by midnight.
His only taste of the bright lights being when his wife comes in at three o'clock.
Mind you, British men still make the best lovers in the world.
Though of course the Japanese make them cheaper and smaller.
But for most women you still can't beat romance.
Oh, that was a lovely honeymoon Arthur.
Yes, it was.
But I've got a confession to make.
The fact is, I've never told you this Arthur, but I usually wear glasses.
I've got a confession to make too: I'm Sid.
Let me explain that to you: She said Arthur, never.
That's That's the great thing about romance though, it's a contuinuing process of discovery.
Two people finding out new things about each other all the time.
These are to be signed, sir.
Ah thank you miss Criddle.
Do you mind if I try something? - No.
Why miss Criddle, you're you're beautiful.
It's funny how one forgets in the hurlyburly of work that one's secretary is also a woman, and a very beautiful one.
It's you who showed me that.
No, not anymore.
Thank you, mister Finch, thank you.
In industry of cours there are lots of women who make wonderful bosses.
Much to the annoyance of the wonderful bosses' wives.
But basically secretaries are not really emancipated but simply performing half of the functions of the wife.
Three quarters of the boss is lucky.
Emancipation is difficult.
A recent census on fidelity in Britain asked the question, are wives faithful? An arab sheik living in Surpiton replied, yes, fifty three percent, no, thirty eight percent, nine percent.
And a magistrate in Rochdale this week told a mother of eight, eight is far too young to be a mother.
Women Women are very concerned though about vital statistics.
A cricketer's wife in Yorkshire gave her statistics as thirty eight, twenty six, thirty eight, average tirty four point six six.
A lady cashier gave hers as twenty five and eleven, eighteen and six, and no sale.
And the lady who sets the crosswords for the Times gave hers as thirty four across, twenty two down, and an anagram.
Women though, women have to be hardy, there's no doubt about it.
Down through the years, they've had to put up with the time-honoured descriptions accorded them on the musical halls' stages of the world.
I won't say my wife's supicious, but: If she finds no blond, black or red hairs on my jacket, she accuses me of running around with bald headed women.
I won't say my wife is fat, but: When I carried her over the threshold, I had to make two trips.
I won't say my wife is anemic, but: The only way that she can get any colour into her face is by sticking her tongue out.
I won't say my wife is thin, but: You can hang your hat on her in five different places.
She has to pass the same place twice to cast a shadow.
She only has to swallow a gherkin and she starts a rumour.
I won't say my wife is ugly, but: At our wedding, everybody kissed the groom.
Her face isn't her fortune, it's her chaperone.
Last time I saw a face like that, Tarzan was feeding it bananas.
It suits him, doesn't it.
Let's have some more.
I won't say my wife is ugly, but: When she makes up, her lipstick backs into the tube.
When she comes into the room, the mice jump into the chair.
She's just cured three hundred peeping toms.
Women are not too badly off.
I mean, there's tremendous concern about unmarried mothers, but nobody worries about unmarried fathers.
We just heard that the old women who lived in a shoe has been offered a council boot.
One women in Surrey says that the birth control pill is ninety one procent effective: She's only got nine children.
Even the Chinese believe in family planning, it's just that they plan such very large families.
But there are some places where the arrival of the female can have a profoundly disturbing effect.
Now then boys, I suppose you all realise that as from next week, Groupwood is going to become coeducational.
Now, there won't be any major changes, except that in addition to my sports jacket and gown, I shall wear a summer frock and be addressed as madam during prayer.
Similarly, mister Bartlett is becoming madam Fifi, as you know, and the chaplain will be taking rugby and needlework.
And I shall insist that in future you wear some clothes.
Incidentally, the school motto has been adapted from Deeds, not words, to Words, not deeds.
And the school organist has been sacked.
Now, I want the staff, I want the staff and you boys to try really hard to make the girls feel at home.
Stop using foul language during class, and that applies to you too, boys, and don't point at the girls in the shower.
Now, we come now, we come now to the difficult problem of dormitories.
Now there's going to be a lot of overcrowding, I know.
So keep your fingers crossed.
And, one last thing, if anything does happen to any of the girls, and you know what I mean, I don't want anyone, repeat anyone, sniggering or pointing at me.
Now a lot of you have in fact been sniggering loudly throughout my talk.
Now I want all those boys who think this subject is so funny to go outside immediately and take a cold shower.
The rest of you stay in here.
The biology master wants to talk to you.
Last week we asked for your pet peeves about women, and indeed, this week we'd like to ask for your pet peeves about soldiers, the armed forces, the services and defense, for next week.
On women you had a great many.
Mister R.
Grimshaw's pet peeve about women: Mini skirts on maxy legs, and women who play cricket.
And mister Wally Huckle can't stand women who cook a meal and then put you off it by saying they don't facy it themselves.
Mister Jay Gad can't stand women who gaze uninterruptedly for ten minutes at playboy's playmate of the month, and then say, "It's a physical impossibility.
", and add mysteriously, "Aanyway, they use cellotape.
".
Arnold Wex objects to women who put mud all over their faces, he said, before they go to bed.
It's like sleeping with a commando.
Mister David Gregson can't stand women who get thirty six inch hips into a thirty four inch girdle, write a ten pound check on a five pound bank balance, thread cotton through the tiniest needle, but can't back a mini through a twenty four foot garage door.
Mister Garbard of Ebsom complains about the way lady editors of problem pages in women's magazines give maddeningly fascinating replies to reader's queries, with initials, and without printing what the question was.
And mrs.
J.
Marsh of 12 Hubbard's Cose, Riley, Essex, hates women who go on the beach clad in high heel shoes and stockings.
Well, if that's all they were on the beach in your part of the world mrs.
Marsh, Essex is in for its biggest tourist boom in years.
Next week your peeves on the subject of the forces.
Thank you for the thoughts on women.
Of course, though, women always follow the man they love.
There's a young man that I know, he just turned twenty one.
He comes from out in Southern Colorado.
He just got out of service and he's looking for some fun Someday soon, going with him, someday soon.
Now my parents they don't like him because he works the rodeo.
They say he's not your kind, he'll leave you crying.
But if he asks I'll follow him down the roughest road of all.
Someday soon, going with him, someday soon.
Now when he vists me my boy we got one good word to say.
I got a hunch he was as wild back in the early days.
Blow you oh bloom northern, blow him back to me He's probably driving out from California He loves the damned old rodeo as much as he loves me.
Someday soon, going with him, someday soon.
Someday soon, going with him, someday soon.
Julie Felix.
Soho in London is of course full of adverst for women, practicing the oldest profession, and subtly described under offers of advanced French lessons, massage and other seemingly innocent pursuits.
The worry is of course, that you start to get suspicious about the most upright and dignified establishments in Soho too.
Nowhere is safe.
What about the much respected Danish restaurant in Brewer Street, who offer "Danish hot speciality ground floor"? Or Cramers, the well known shoe emporium in Walker's Court, who advertise "another delivery of Italian models"? And worst of all, Coleman Cohen Limited, who have been selling cigars, pipes, and pipe tobacco on the corner of Frith and Old Compton street for years, and who offer "rejected virgins, ten and six".
In these enlightened times, of course, women can become traffic wardens, county court judges, ministers of transport, or shop butch champions in the USSR.
But they still can't become members of the stock exchange, television newsreaders, airline pilots, heavyweight champions of the world, unfrocked bishops, or female impersonators.
It could be a long time before we hear phrases like "women the boats" or "men and children first".
You don't hear of guardswomen, ombudswomen, or Portugese women of war.
If you work for a living as a women, you're saddled with the epithet "professional women", rather like professional footballers, as if you could be an amateur woman.
For the thing is, you see, that though women can become judges, doctors, or members of parliament, deep down, men think women are or should be serfs.
Tied not the soil as they once were but to the home.
That's not to say on the other hand that women are perfect at home.
Indeed they can be pretty maddening.
So we're not going out then? What? Doesn't matter.
No, what did you say? It doesn't matter.
So we're not going out then? Not going out? Did you want to go out? That doesn't come into it, does it? Doesn't come into it? You never said you wanted to go out.
I shouldn't have to, should I? You should know? Know? You only have to say if you want to go out.
I shouldn't have to say.
Why not? You should know.
No, no no, we've done that bit.
No, look.
Just tell me whether you want to go out.
Oh, you're asking me now are you? Yes.
Do you want to go out? Well I don't mind, if that's what you like.
No it's not just as I like.
I'd be perfectly happy to stay in, or I'd be perfectly happy to take you out.
Now do you want to go out? You want to stay in.
I don't, I'd be absolutely delighted to take you out.
You're only saying that.
Do you want to go out? Well it's not up to me, is it? Of course it's up to you, it's entirely up to you.
I'm just asking whether or not you want to go out.
You should know.
Know? God knows I've tried to find out, I really have.
Look, I shall go and get the cat, I shall wedge it in the writing desk, and I shall pull out its whiskers one by one until you tell me whether or not you want to go out.
And if it runs out of whiskers before I get a straight answer, I shall go and get a saw, and get hold of the cat, and make it into a table lamp.
I wish you wouldn't make such a drama out of it.
Well are we going out or aren't we? Yes, we are.
Out we go.
We're going out.
Don't worry everyone, we're coming out.
Alright cat, no dindins, we're going out, no dindins.
- Come on then, let's go out.
- It's a bit late now.
Late? What do you mean? It's three o'clock.
Come on, let's go out.
- Well we can't go out, it's too late.
- Come on, I'm going.
- Well, you're going on your own then.
- Alright, I'll go on me own then.
Just a minute, it's you who wanted to go out, I wanted to stay in.
Oh, so you did want to stay in.
Yes, I did want to stay in.
Yes, just to spite you.
I knew you wanted to go out.
It came to me in a dream.
So I thought, I shall stay in.
It was a deliberately calculated act of provocation.
You don't love me anymore.
No, I don't.
You are only saying that.
I knew it.
I knew it.
What are you doing dear? I'm shooting myself.
So we're not going out? That sketch was written by a man.
So that if there's any ladies at home who want to write us one about the men, please send them in.
Because that's women, really.
Let's conclude with a quote from one of you, from a viewer who write in with his peeces, a mr.
Ralph Eden from Cambridge, and who concluded his letter: "My old father used to say, that a women's place is in bed.
The only time she should be allowed to get up, is to get the coal in.
" Goodnight.