The Last of the Blonde Bombshells Page #2

...did me the favor of leaving it to me.

Thank you.

I would be deeply honored

if you would step across the threshold...

...and let my woodworm see you.

- Hi, Patrick.

- Hello, darling.

Didn't know you had a secret.

How's the masterpiece?

Bloody arm came off.

Who exactly is "darling"?

Carol. Lodger. Art student.

Tomorrow, 4:
00, Hereford, Billie's Bounce.

- Shirt.

- Noted.

Ma'am.

A true artist.

Ex-jockey. Tipster in residence.

Known as "the wee man" and banned

from every race course in the country.

But...

...the real glory is found downstairs

in my personal crypt.

There's something

very special I want to show you.

What a surprise.

Don't be silly.

I never go all the way on the first date.

- The same kit?

- Yes.

Of course, I remember the roses.

- Do you still play?

- Only when nobody listens.

You were really pretty.

So were you.

Why did you do this?

Working with The Blonde Bombshells

was the happiest time of my life.

Life's been that bad?

I've been to prison once.

Married twice. Bankrupt three times.

- Ain't you got fun?

- Yeah, lots of fun.

But those were the days.

Best days.

I'll bet you a dollar

to a donut you think so, too.

If I admit that, it's like admitting

I've wasted most of my life.

Well, go ahead, admit it.

I've wasted mine

and enjoyed every minute of it.

Well, I can't tell a lie.

I was showing off to my granddaughter

about being on the wireless.

That was your fault

for being beautiful and talented.

Yes, I remember.

Excuse me.

- You do play awfully well.

- Thank you.

Is this bastard bothering you?

I'm from BBC.

Beg your pardon. I took you for a civilian.

Back to your place, sweetheart.

I wonder whether you and your orchestra

would be interested in broadcasting.

I have to say that girl plays beautifully.

- She's better than many a chap.

- And a lot prettier.

And it would be a joy and a delight

to do business with you.

Give me 30 seconds to wind them up

and set them going.

The next dance will be a quickstep.

Take it away, girls.

A one, a two, a one, two, three, four.

Come to the dressing room.

We'll compare our arrangements.

"Take it away, girls."

Nobody ever says that now.

Long time since we were girls.

I suppose technically speaking,

I never was.

You know, I've been thinking about it

more and more since the funeral.

We were heroic for a while.

Nobody told us.

When shall we two meet again,

Sunday lunch?

I'm taking my granddaughter

to the zoo on Sunday.

Are you still sexually active?

- What?

- I love zoos.

- You were the only man in the band?

- Yep.

One guy and all those chicks.

Do you mind?

I'm not and never have been a chick.

How did you get the job?

Well, they couldn't find a girl

to play the drums.

So a quiet word

with Betty the band leader...

...two pairs of nylon stockings,

and the job was mine.

Also, he was on the run.

Also, I was on the run.

Friends of yours.

I'll be in the pub.

Doesn't it strike you that what

you're doing is just a little bit humiliating?

Well, you try it.

Last week we had a request from a tourist

for the Japanese national anthem.

That's humiliating.

We played One Fine Day

from Madam Butterfly...

...and a joke about Pearl Harbor.

It implies that you're broke and

we're not taking care of you.

I'm not doing it for the money.

Paul keeps the money.

It's art.

For art's sake.

You do play very nicely.

Why don't you play as a hobby?

Whereabouts?

The old folks home after bingo?

What do we tell people?

Tell them the truth.

Tell 'em I've gone gaga

or to screw themselves.

- Mother, for god sake!

- For god sake what?

Shut up!

Believe me, we do understand.

We know how you feel.

You can't understand

because I don't understand, myself.

I remember about feelings.

I remember playing in the band

in the Metropole Ballroom.

Mares Eat Oats and Does Eat Oats

and knowing that at any minute...

...a large bomb could fall on my head

and blow us all to hell and back.

House rules said:

"You had to finish the tune

before you went to the air raid shelter."

That, my children,

is how you learn about real feelings.

I was more alive at that time

than before or since.

That's an alarming thing

to discover at my age.

I don't understand it. I don't expect you to.

Here's my lift.

Mum!

Who's he?

My fancy man.

There appears to be a man in her life.

Sorry to interrupt.

That man with the flowers, who is he?

Some old transvestite, I think.

- Do you know where you're going?

- Of course I do.

I don't remember this tunnel.

Oh, well.

So, the Metropole Ballroom...

...scene of our youthful happiness,

is now a carpet warehouse.

"A kid'll eat ivy, too

"If the words sound queer

And funny to your ear

"A little bit jumbled and jivey

"Sing mares eat oats

"And does eat oats

"And little lambs eat ivy

"Mares eat oats and does eat oats

And little lambs eat ivy

"A kid'll eat ivy, too

Wouldn't you?

"A kid'll eat ivy, too

Wouldn't you?"

I lied to my children.

Good. How else can they learn?

I told them we kept playing

even when the bombs were falling.

No, we didn't.

We ran like buggery to the air raid shelter.

"Mares eat oats and does eat oats

And little lambs eat ivy

"A kid'll eat ivy, too

Wouldn't you?

"A kid'll eat ivy, too

Wouldn't you?"

Do you know what would be lovely?

What?

To see them all again.

Don't be silly.

Maybe even to play together.

You should be put in a darkened room.

Come on.

It's brilliant and it's all the rage.

- What are you talking about?

- Reunion bands.

I mean, you've got The Stones,

The Who, Status Quo.

All those wrinklies from the 60's.

Always having reunion concerts...

...and going on world tours.

So, why not The Blonde Bombshells?

Where shall we play? The Albert Hall,

Shea Stadium, Hollywood Bowl?

Play at our next school dance.

I'm on the committee.

Let's assume

for the sake of argument that we...

...track down the survivors of the band

and prop 'em up in a line...

...and play some fragments

of ancient music.

Who would listen?

I would.

This is the BBC General Forces Program.

The BBC is proud to present

the most glamorous band...

...in all the land:

The Blonde Bombshells.

One, two, three, four.

Take it away!

How many cars do you own?

As many as I can borrow.

- Do we have to do this?

- Yes, we do.

Then we're going to need lots of flowers.

We can use the money

you lost at the dogs.

Vera?

Vera.

Do you remember me? Elizabeth.

And Patrick, you remember him.

The Blonde Bombshells, in the war?

Adolph Hitler,

Winston Churchill, Tommy Handley.

You played the alto sax, remember?

We sang like The Andrews Sisters.

- Don't Fence Me In.

- Mares Eat Oats And Does Eat Oats.

Pardon me, boy

Is that the Chattanooga choo-choo?

Vera.

Alas, poor Vera.

Alas, poor Joan.

Oh, the roses.

They're lovely.

At least you remembered us, Evelyn.

I remember you.

You were always pretty.

I remember him, he was always flash.

What are you in for?

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