The Rise and Rise of Michael Rimmer Page #2

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(FORCED NERVOUS LAUGHTER)

What are you laughing at, Ferret?

Nothing really.

Just trying to break the ice.

(EMPHATICALLY) You're fired!

Well. Better be off, then.

One moment, Ferret!

Seventy-five thousand pounds, sir.

Seventy-five thousand pounds...

Seventy-five thousand pounds!

(FERRET) That is a lot.

You owe me a lot of money, Ferret,

and you will remain with this firm,

working very hard

in a menial capacity, for a pittance

until such time as I've decided

that you have worked off your debt!

Otherwise, it is

P... R... I... S... O... N!

P... R... I...? Prison?

Good thinking.

I'm sorry about all that unpleasantness.

Why don't you take the afternoon off?

(RIMMER, INTO DICTAPHONE) Oh, and

you'd better send off some money

to Oxfam, as well.

(TANYA) Mr Fromage and Mr Waring

to see you, Mr Rimmer.

Good morning, Mr Fromage.

Good morning, Mr Waring.

(BOTH) Good morning.

(RIMMER) Very nice to see you again.

Please sit down.

(RIMMER) Well, our new survey

shows the reasons

for the declining sales

of The Olde English Humbug.

You can be quite frank with us,

Mr Rimmer. What does it say?

Basically, the consumer strongly dislikes

the taste of your product.

Furthermore, its extreme hardness

makes it almost impossible to eat.

- Very true.

- Nobody knows this better

than us, Mr Rimmer.

I don't think there's any cause

for worry, though.

With the right sort of campaign

we can make a virtue

out of these defects.

(# STYLISH 'JET-SET' MUSIC)

(SMOOTH MASCULINE VOICEOVER)

What's keeping him?

Why doesn't he come?

Suddenly she remembers

her tube of Scorpios.

(# FEMALE CHORUS

Scorpio... Scorpio...)

(# Scorpio... Scorpio...)

The refreshing hardness

tingles on her tongue.

(# Scorpio... Scorpio...)

She doesn't need him any more.

Enjoy yourself

with a Scorpio.

(# Scorpio!)

Good God! Is that our old humbug?

(FERRET) Here's the coffee

you asked for, sir.

(RIMMER) It was tea, Ferret.

Ah. Tea, was it?

Well, I think there may be

some tea in it.

(TANYA) Good morning, Mr Rimmer.

(RIMMER) Morning, Tanya.

- Morning.

- Morning, Mr Rimmer.

(PUMER) What are your plans

for this week, sir?

(RIMMER) Please call me Michael.

- Oh. Thank you, Michael.

This week, I thought we'd

concentrate on sex.

- Oh. Good idea.

- Yes!

I'd like to suggest

an all-embracing probe

into British sexual habits.

Isn't that rather close

to the wind?

(RIMMER) Well, I don't know about

your personal sexual habits, Mr Crodder

but there is wide

public interest in the subject.

(CRODDER) My sexual habits?

- I don't want anyone enquiring in...

(RIMMER) In yours, and everybody else's.

I think an honest and extremely

detailed investigation of this kind

is the quickest way

of getting us onto the front pages.

Hear, hear!

(CRODDER) Excuse me. We're

conducting a poll

into the sexual habits

of the British.

Oooh! Come on in...

(BUBBLING)

(PUMER) Hello. I wonder

if you could help me?

We're doing this sex survey...

(FACTORY HOOTER OBSCURES

EMPHATIC REPLY)

How many times a week?

You're joking!

The last time was Tuesday...

June the 3rd, 1953.

It was the Coronation

that got her going.

Oh, it's quite enjoyable work.

But it's not really my profession,

you know.

No, I regard it more as a sort

of stepping-stone to show business.

(MUFFLED GROAN FROM CLOSET)

Oh, Mr Mandeville.

I'd forgotten all about you!

(FRUITILY) It's a pleasure!

(CRODDER) Five times an hour!

(FEDERMANN) Why are they always in Latin?

(PUMER) I thought this one

was a cough linctus.

(RIMMER) Keep it up.

(MRS FERRET) If you spent a little less time

reading about sex

and a little more time

doing something about it!

I do.

Err, err, I mean I don't.

I'm reading about the Pound.

On the floor again.

- Well, I must be off to work.

- Have you been fired?

Fired? (LAUGHS)

Oh, dear. Fired!

(LAUGHTER DIES AWAY)

Then why is the car for sale?

(FERRET) Oh, that? No, that's a mistake.

That's one of Rimmer's cock-ups.

That should read FORS ALE.

It's a new beer we're advertising.

'Fors Ale...'

'Keeps you hearty and hale.'

- I've never heard of it.

- No, you may never.

Very hush-hush.

(MAN ON MONITOR) And then the moon climbs,

a great copper ball, until she tops

the long, dark line of the elms,

and laces the countryside silver

for then you'll hear a nightingale sing

(IMITATES NIGHTINGALE)

(APPLAUSE)

(HENCH) Thank you very much, Percy.

Do grocers indulge in sexual intercourse

twice as often as butchers?

Is Doncaster the wife-swapping capital

of Great Britain?

Do money and sexual inventiveness

go hand-in-hand?

A sensational poll published this morning

purports to give the answers.

I have with me Michael Rimmer,

of Fairburn Polls

and Peter Niss, of the rival

International Opinion Polls.

- Mr Rimmer, I have the feeling...

- Congratulations!

(AUDIENCE LAUGHTER)

I get the impression that you

conducted this survey

because you felt that this kind of

scientifically-disguised smut

would give your firm maximum publicity.

Could you tell me why you

asked me on the programme?

To find out your real motives

in publishing the poll.

And to talk about sex.

Do let's try not to be frivolous.

Well, sex may be frivolous to you, Mr Niss,

but it's not to me, and the vast majority

of the people in this country.

Yes, but do we really want to know

how many times a week

and how satisfactory the results?

- Yes, I do.

- Oh.

I think everybody's interested.

Well, it's not the sort of poll

we could conduct at IOP.

Well, I think that's a pity because I think

the more we know what people

really want and feel, the better.

I think polls are just beginning.

In fact, it's the only way we can adapt

our society to fit its real needs.

Well, now let's see how our

cross-section of society

feels about your particular sex poll.

You, sir

What do you think about publicising

people's personal sexual habits?

I think you seem to disapprove...

I wonder if your wife agrees?

I'm not his wife. Go away, please.

Anybody else here from Doncaster?

(AUDIENCE LAUGHTER)

(NISS, LAUGHING) and you knew

they weren't married, all the time?

(HENCH) Yes. Poor sods.

(NISS) What you might call a moment

of real television. (LAUGHS)

(HENCH) Well, I'd better go

and look after Percy.

He gets a bit broody.

(RIMMER) Peter, I was just jotting down

a few reasons why

you might like to leave IOP

and come over to us

at the Fairburn Organisation.

(NISS) Ah, yes. Yes, I see

that's very well put.

Yes, I particularly like the noughts.

(RIMMER) Thanks to you, Peter,

IOP have built up

a fantastic reputation for accuracy.

(NISS) How very kind.

Scotch, please.

(RIMMER) I suppose if their next poll

turned out to be wildly inaccurate

it might divert a little custom our way?

(NISS) Yes.

(RIMMER) What was the normal sample

you took there?

(NISS) We usually asked about a thousand.

That's all one normally needs.

(RIMMER) Only a thousand?

- Yes.

(RIMMER) So if we knew

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