Topsy-Turvy Page #2

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They say jump... you jump.

- Good night, my dear. | - Good night.

Lady Colin is endeavouring | to persuade us to take up smoking.

The Saturday Review.

She proposes that nicotine | is a gift from the gods...

...and if men may benefit | from its soothing qualities...

...why, then, may women not also?

My poor daughter now believes that...

...smoking is an extension | of the communion...

...between a woman and her husband.

- Will she smoke on her wedding day?

Heaven forfend!

Lady Colin is... irresistible.

She cannot conceive | why the Irish are starving...

...when there's | "lots of good fish in the sea".

She most probably has a point.

- Oh, there's good news from Dublin. | - Mmm?

The Churchills "are" to return to London.

Forgiven, but not forgotten.

I do hope so.

Jenny says Winston is 11, | covered in freckles...

...and has a total disdain for authority.

Mmm.

I shall miss this fragrance.

Sicilian lemons.

Have you chosen your Beethoven | for the Philharmonic Society?

As a matter of fact, I have.

Yes.

- No.2? | - The Seventh.

- Ah. | - More dramatic.

And that is to be your work | whilst you're away?

That... and only that.

Will there be room for Mr Gilbert | in your baggage?

Certainly not. He's far too large.

Food for thought.

Ce n'est pas moi de dire.

Indeed not.

Which train will you catch?

The tidal train.

Up at seven.

Arriver Paris 3:
30?

peu prs.

How will you spend | your first night of liberty?

I shall take some exercise.

Hmm!

La poupe de Paris, alors!

# Les oiseaux

# Dans la charmille

C'est mouvant!

Whoo!

Allez, battez!

C'est mes cuisses!

Plus de cuisses!

Whoo!

Comment vous appelez-vous?

Voil Mademoiselle Fromage, monsieur.

Oui, c'est vrai.

Quelle sorte de fromage?

Peut-tre un fromage suisse?

Oui, oui!

Avec des petits trous?

Si je peux vous embrasser...

Et vous aussi.

# This helmet I suppose

# Was meant to ward off blows

# It's very hot and weighs a lot

# As many a guardsman knows

# As many a guardsman knows

# As many a guardsman knows

# As many a guardsman knows

# So off

# So off that helmet goes

# Yes, yes, yes!

# So off that helmet goes

# This tight-fitting cuirass

# Is but a useless mass

# It's made of steel and weighs a deal

# This tight-fitting cuirass

# Is but a useless mass

# A man is but an ass

# Who fights in a cuirass

# So off

# So off goes that cuirass

# Yes, yes, yes

# So off goes that cuirass

# Behold!

My voice. | My voice - I've strained my voice.

I've been trying too hard.

The smaller the house, | the greater the effort.

I'm very cross with myself. | I should know better.

One's knocking one's pipes out | in a vain attempt to elicit a response...

...from three colonial bishops, two elderly | ladies and an intoxicated costermonger!

They're roasting in their own lard, | like the Christmas goose.

And the costermonger left at the interval.

- Did he? | - Mm.

Ha! A man of infinite taste. Clearly!

Will you take a wee gargle | of my salt water?

No, thank you. | It would put me in mind of my boyhood.

Mm. Do forgive me.

Not at all.

I fear that dear Mr Gilbert | has run out of ideas.

- No. | - He doesn't know what to do with me!

Ponder this.

He thrusts me into | tight-fitting pots and pails...

...and poaches me | like a f***ing haddock!

Forgive my Anglo-Saxon, Mr Butt. | Have a biscuit.

Thank you, sir. | I'll take one 'ome with me for me supper.

Dickie, it's just this heat.

It addles the noodles. | It happened to me in Milan frequently.

Ah, Milano. Bellissimo.

The heat less hellish.

I am humiliated.

One might as well be in the chorus.

Away wi' you, you wee monkey!

Alas, no!

The reign of the Emperor Gilbert | is all but at an end.

I consider this to be his best piece so far.

With all due respect, Durward, | your romantic opinion may be informed...

...by the fact that you take a rather good | role, in which you are "trs splendide".

- Prego.

But I consider "Princess Ida" | to be their worst.

- Do you? | - I do.

Where is the panache of "Pirates"?

The wit of the "Pinafore"?

From such a face and form as mine...

...the noblest sentiments...

...sound like the black utterances...

...of a depraved imagination.

It was very good, you know.

- Yes, Dickie. | - Do forgive me, dear boy.

I don't wish to be the prophet of doom.

But one has the distinct feeling...

...that the sword of Damocles hovers | ominously over the Savoy Theatre.

How was Temple?

Oh. Rather disgruntled, I fear.

As though he wasn't | quite enjoying himself.

His heart wasn't in it.

No. One can usually rely | on Mr Temple, can't one?

Mmm.

And the ladies' chorus look as though | they could all do with a hearty meal.

It's this infernal heat.

One still has to feed oneself, Willie, | whatever the weather.

And the audience | were fanning themselves...

...with their programmes and libretti.

Most distracting when one is striving | to concentrate on the performance...

...to have in the corner of one's eye | this confounded flapping!

Makes one want to stand up and shout!

- I trust you restrained yourself. | - Of course I did, Willie.

- More tea, ma'am? | - No, thank you, Pidgeon.

- Coffee, sir? | - Yes.

Pidgeon. Did my father say anything else?

Nothing I should care to repeat, sir.

There were more people | on the stage than in the audience.

Did you count them?

- No, of course I didn't. | - Then how do you know?

I was speaking metaphorically.

You were exaggerating.

- Anything else, sir? | - No, thank you.

Oh, horror!

Horror!

Horror!

Willie.

- Come in.

- Good morning, my dear. | - Good morning, Richard.

- Another scorcher. | - The everlasting bonfire.

- Good morning, guv'nor. | - Morning, Barker.

Thank you.

- Shocking. | - Most alarming.

A mediocre evening.

- Three fainters. | - In the audience?

I fear so. All women.

- Any absentees? | - Four chorus members.

- With doctors' notes? | - Yes.

And... how are the returns?

- Oh, good grief! | - It's an improvement on Monday.

Seven dead horses | in the Strand this morning...

Well, one down by Trafalgar Square.

How can you sit there | in your hat and coat, Barker?

I'm too hot to remove them, Mr Carte.

- This is developing into a crisis. | - Indeed it is.

- A man has a family to support. | - I fear we shall all have to "pray" for rain.

If it's any consolation, | every theatre in town is afflicted.

Even the Gaiety, graced as it is with...

...Madame Bernhardt's | execrable Lady Macbeth. 38 per cent.

- Who told you that, Barker? | - Hollingshead.

I played a game of cricket | with him this morning at Coram's Fields.

- In this heat? | - Er, yes, madam, but not in this attire.

Good.

- Mr Hollingshead told you a fib, Barker. | - Indeed?

He's only playing to 29 per cent.

Mr Hollingshead has no need | to lie to "me", Mr Carte.

Mr Hollingshead has much need | to lie to everybody, Mr Barker.

- Especially you. | - Gentlemen...!

Are you there?

Yes.

8505.

Hello!

- Is that you, Mr Gilbert? | - Hello!

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