Carry on at Your Convenience Page #8

Synopsis: This is the tale of industrial strife at WC Boggs' Lavatory factory. Vic Spanner is the union representative who calls a strike at the drop of a hat; eventually everyone has to get fed up with him. This is also the ideal opportunity for lots of lavatorial jokes...
Genre: Comedy
Director(s): Gerald Thomas
Production: J. Arthur Rank Productions
 
IMDB:
6.1
NOT RATED
Year:
1971
90 min
812 Views


Yeah, come on.

Hey, Bernie! We're going on the helter-skelter.

Come along, now. You've had enough.

You've got to have something to eat.

Now, one moment!

There was a young fellow called Reg,

who went with a girl in a hedge.

When along came his wife,

with a big carving knife,

and cut off his meat and two veg.

Yahoo!

Whoo!

Yahoo!

Whoo!

Oh, Vic, darling,

I've not had so much fun in all my life.

Thanks.

Ah! Whoo!

We are the champions!

Oh, what was that digging in me?

It was only my camera.

Mr Boggs, I've found a fortune-teller.

Shall we try it?

Fortune-teller, certainly not!

Waste of money! Fakes, that's all they are!

- Sitting, looking at their crystal... whatsitsname?

- Balls.

I quite agree. Absolutely ridiculous.

I don't mind having a go. I love them.

You do? Come on, then. Let's have a bash.

Never mind, Miss Withering.

Have a cockle. Much better for you.

Oh, do you think I ought to?

I mean, I've heard that shellfish

do very strange things... in a sex way, I mean.

Really? Ooh, let's watch 'em for a bit, then.

Anybody home?

Look. Gone to lunch, back in the near future.

The foreseeable future, I hope. Ha-ha!

- We'll come back later.

- Wait a minute.

I've got an idea. Hang on.

But I don't want my fortune told!

I already told you! I don't believe in it!

You will, this one, Mr Boggs.

She's marvellous. Go on. Be a sport.

- Oh, all right, then.

- Go on, then. In you go.

Oh!

Excuse me, dear. Customers.

- I know. I saw you coming.

- I beg your pardon?

In the ball. Ah, yes. You are indeed

in need of help. Please be seated.

Oh, thank you. Come along, dear.

Now, then, do you wish me to prognosticate?

Oh, please do. We'll wait. Ha-ha-ha!

Please, I must have absolute silence

to establish contact.

Shh.

Ah. The mists are clearing.

I see a picture forming.

All around you are strange-looking objects.

White and shining.

Tell me, do lavatories play a big part in your life?

What? Why... yes.

They do, as a matter of fact.

I thought so. You are a cloakroom attendant.

Certainly not. I manufacture them.

I have a factory.

I see a picture appearing.

The factory is about to stop and fall into ruin.

- Oh, no!

- Unless...

Unless what?

There is a woman who loves you.

Her name begins with...

...W.

Is it Widdling?

Withering. Miss Withering.

Withering. That's it.

Your affinities will be closely entwined.

Don't be disgusting.

I see...

a marriage.

And one, two, three... 14 children.

Oh, no!

Oh, no!

- No!

- William. Come back.

William!

Not bad.

- Do you want to do me now?

- Not half. Let me get these things off first.

Ooh!

William!

William, come back!

William!

Excuse me.

Hey! Switch it off! Switch it off! My girl's in there!

Let me go!

No. Not until you listen to what I've got to say.

Oh!

- Now, do you see this?

- No, I don't.

What is it, anyway?

It's a special marriage licence.

What?

A special marriage licence, my darling.

Now, do we use it or do I tear it up?

Oh.

Lewis.

Darling.

Here. You leave her alone.

Do you hear?

Put her down!

Oh, no. Excuse me a minute, darling.

Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!

Blimey, they're supposed to be here at 6:30.

Where do you think they've got to?

Search me.

What do you suppose happened to old Myrtle?

I don't know and what's more, I don't care.

Ooh! What's this coming, then?

Oh, naughty.

Come on, then, ladies. Off you come.

Come on!

Looks like Fred's not home yet. No car.

No, he said he probably wouldn't be home

till tomorrow night.

Oh. It's a shame, innit?

Looks like Beattie's asleep.

- Good.

- Eh?

I mean, erm... good for her.

Chloe. Oh, blimey, Chloe.

Yes, Sid?

Nothing.

I think we ought to go to bed. Our beds, I mean.

Yeah, I suppose so.

I would have liked to ask you in for a cup of tea.

- You would?

- But you know how the neighbours talk.

Yes, that's true.

And I suppose you couldn't come in with

me at this time without someone seeing us.

I suppose not.

Not that we'd be... doing

what they might think we'd be doing.

Oh, no. No. Of course not.

But, of course, if Fred did get to hear about it...

Yes, that's quite right.

Not worth it, really. Not just for a cup of tea.

Oh, well.

Good night, Sid.

Night. Sleep tight.

Tight is the word.

Bloody neighbours.

Mr Boggs. Tea.

WC. Tea.

Thank you.

Very nice...

Miss Withering. What are you doing here?

This is my room, Mr Boggs.

Oh, I see.

What?

Then what am I doing here?

Well, I'm afraid you were in no fit state

to look after yourself,

- so I had two of the men bring you up here.

- Oh, well.

That was very thoughtful...

Oh. I beg your pardon.

I didn't realise they'd undressed me as well.

They didn't.

You mean you...

Don't worry.

I know what a man looks like, you know.

And you're not all that much different.

Miss Withering, erm...

Yes?

Did we get off... Did I get off?

Straight to sleep, I mean.

Don't you remember, William?

No, I don't.

Then that is something

we shall always be wondering about.

Isn't it?

Charles!

Charles!

Oh, hello.

Get up and come inside at once.

You've been drinking, haven't you?

Well, you see, Agatha,

I had some rather bad news.

I don't give a damn,

and I may as well tell you, Charles Coote,

that I married one drunk

and I'm damned if I'm going to marry another.

That was the bad news, Agatha.

You see, I'm afraid we won't be able

to get married now.

What do you mean?

What are you talking about?

Because Mr Boggs is going to close down

the works and that means I shall be out of a job.

Close down the works, why?

Because of the strike.

I knew it.

It's that little sod Victor's fault.

He's at the back of all this.

But I'll tell you something.

I'm not going to let that little swine

mess up my bloody life.

All right, brothers,

we have got to keep a full picket line today.

Cos I have heard that some of the men

want to come back to work.

- Oh, do they?

- If they want to, how are we going to stop 'em?

Force!

Whatever happens, we have got to stand firm!

Can I have the cricket bat?

I don't know how to play tennis.

All right, William, I'll take it.

Thank you, Miss Withering.

- Now, William.

- Oh, I beg your pardon. Hortense.

That's better.

Boggs & Son.

Mr Boggs' personal secretary speaking.

Oh, it's you, Mr Lewis. Yes, he's here.

Hello, Lewis, my boy.

I apologise for not getting home last night.

Yes, I got laid up... erm held up.

That's funny. I was going to say the same to you.

No, no. There's nothing wrong. Far from it.

The fact is, I got married.

Married?

Yes, that's right. To Myrtle. Myrtle Plummer.

Does her father know? That'll be a surprise.

I know it's a surprise, but I had to marry her.

No, no, no. I mean it was the only way.

No, we booked into a hotel. We've been driving

all night, you see, and we want to get to bed.

At long last he said, under his breath.

You can say that again.

No, not you, Dad. I was speaking to Myrtle.

Do you mind if I don't come back to work

for a few days?

Not at all, my boy. Take all the time you want.

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Talbot Rothwell

Talbot Nelson Conn Rothwell, OBE (12 November 1916 – 28 February 1981) was an English screenwriter. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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