Friday Night Comedy from BBC Radio 4 - Dead Ringers - 1st July

Episode Date: July 29, 2022

Topical satire show, featuring characters drawn from the worlds of celebrity and politics.

This is the BBC. This podcast is supported by advertising outside the UK. Dead ringers. This is Today with Martha Carney. And Nick Robinson. A parliamentary committee has said babies should be banned from the Commons Chamber, as they can be distracting. Boris Johnson approved of the move. Adieu, adieu, foie.

How am I meant to concentrate when I'm worrying the whole time that it could be another one of mine? Mr Johnson revealed that he wanted to build a £150,000 treehouse in the grounds of Chequers. Who says he's doing nothing to tackle the housing crisis among the young? On Monday, a government plane carrying Boris Johnson and his wife Carrie touched down in Rwanda. We knew those by-election losses were bad, but we didn't realise the Tories were quite that mad at him.

Also in Rwanda at the Commonwealth Conference was Prince Charles, deputising for the Queen. It's a sensible move, as at one's age I find lifting suitcases stuffed with a million smackers far too arduous.

Number 10 Express disbelief it reports Prince Charles accepted a suitcase filled with cash, saying, doesn't he realise how many bottles of booze he could have got in there? At a second meeting, Sheikh Hamad handed Charles another million in cash. It was all quite legitimate. All that cash was just to buy three packs of Dutchie original ginger biscuits. And an organic tea off of me. The million barely covered it.

Still much cheaper than Waitrose. Wimbledon now, and Andy Murray has crashed out of the second round of the tournament. Sue Barker joins us now. What are the implications? Well, profound implications indeed, especially for the man next to me, Nick. Hello.

This is Graham. He's the one who awkwardly shouts out come on to any British player just when they're about to serve. That's right, Sue. With Andy and Emma gone, I'll have no big names to irritate and put off their game. So,

what will you do now? Oh, I don't know, Sue. I guess I'll have to improvise. Good for you. So, let's, I don't know, Sue. I guess I'll have to improvise. Good for you. So let's go back... Come on, Sue! To the rest of the place. Come on, Sue! Just stop that now.

Come on, Sue! A bit of a today exclusive now, as I'm going to talk to the only politician in the world who hasn't gone to Ukraine to hug President Zelensky. Can you guess who it is? Felicitations to you. Let me explain myself. I was about to put a meeting with Mr Zelensky

into my Dickensian diary, but sadly I'm already scheduled for a quick meet and greet with the Duke of Wellington, fresh from his triumph at Waterloo. a quick meet and greet with the Duke of Wellington, fresh from his triumph at Waterloo. In Scotland, Nicola Sturgeon announced plans for a referendum in 2023. The ballot paper will be simpler than the one voters saw in 2014. This time round, Scots will simply place a tick in one of two boxes, one of which states, yes, I want Scotland to become a proud, thriving, independent nation,

or the other, which has a photo of Dominic Raab winking. In America, the January 6th insurrection hearings heard testimony that when President Trump flew into a rage, an aide, dubbed the Music Man, would be summoned to calm him down by playing Broadway show tunes. That any of us are alive now is a truly remarkable thing. Shut up, it's the Donald talking now. You in the front, the loser who isn't me.

Is it true you needed to be calmed down by songs from Cats the Musical? I love cats. They can lick their own butts, which I've always wanted to do. You know, while purring, it's amazing. But I've tried and I can't, so I have to let Rudy Giuliani do it for me. And I love Cats the Musical, too. I love all musicals by that little English guy

who looks like a marmoset. He did Phantom of the Opera. Crazy ugly guy kidnaps a beautiful lady and keeps her against her will. I don't know where he gets his ideas. And as for that bigly fake nonsense about me trying to grab the steering wheel from my Secret Service agents in the presidential limo, I mean, come on, why would the Donald do that when the whole time I had my own Fisher-Price steering wheel attached to the back seat? Meanwhile, in the White House, there was a swift response

to decisions made in the Supreme Court. Hi, folks. It's your old pal Joe Biden here. Like you, I have been horrified by the Supreme Court overruling Roe v. Wade. You know, someone ought to stop these hoodlums. If only I had some kind of powerful job where I could do something about it.

A charity commission inquiry into the Captain Tom Moore fund has begun after officials accused the trustees of leading them up the garden path and then forcing them to walk round that garden 100 times. The government withdrew plans to ban gambling companies advertising on Premier League football shirts and was accused of caving in to special interests. A new government adviser made this statement.

Bet in play now. What are the odds this government will stand up to the gambling lobby? We'll give in committee odds of 7 to 1, it never happens, and an incredible 10 to 1 of it never making it to a first reading. Bet more, bet now, bet always. Welcome to Wimbledon. I'm Claire Balding.

That set of crockery you originally bought for special occasions but you now use all the time. Now, our commentator can't join us in person, but the BBC signed a four-year contract with him, so he joins us live via Zoom. Hi, Claire. Good to be with you. It's a beautiful day here in H Block. The sun is shining through the bars of my window.

I've seen some fantastic rallies today, with Mick the Fist delivering a huge backhand to Big Tony for stealing his snout. Oh, I'm afraid I'm going to have to go now, Claire, because Charlie the Chisel is looking very angry. Fat Freddy told him I stole his stash of weed, as if I would do anything dishonest. He's holding some sort of improvised racket, I think.

A chair leg or something. And I've heard he has a very powerful overarm. Looks like this is going to be a very one-sided match. Oh, new balls, please. Welcome to Sunday Morning. I'm Sophie Raworth. All the girls at school who rejected you rolled into one. There are rumours in Westminster that a number of Tory MPs are planning to defect to Labour. I'm joined by Labour's deputy leader, Angela Rayner. All right, Soph. You seriously want to talk politics at nine in the morning on a Sunday?

Give your head a wobble, will you? Would you welcome these Tories into your party, given in the past you've called Conservatives scum? Listen, love, where I'm from, scum is a term of affection. Plus, this time I've negotiated an MP swap. We'll take one of theirs and they can have one of ours. So which MP have you decided to exchange from your side? Well, it had to be one that doesn't do much, not eye profile and who's a bit of a closet Tory already, so... Angela, Angela

are you sure it should be me? Course I am, you useless lump. You'll be loads happier on the other benches. They're all soft, sudden wussies like you. But I am the Labour leader. Yeah but you're also

pretty much the only MP left in Parliament who doesn't criticise Boris Johnson. And what about the Tory MP who's joining Labour? Will your colleagues be able to trust someone like that? Yeah, no worries. Just because someone switches parties, that doesn't automatically mean they're a slimy two-faced snake in the grass, right? Yes, it's me, Goofy, Goofy, Goofy.

It's true, I've decided to start batting for the other side. Other side of the political divide, I mean, before anybody gets any ideas. Cheeky. Yes, I'm Labour through and through now. We'll keep the red flag flying high cos Michael Goo will never die. Literally true in my case, I'm a sort of undead cockroach. Mwah. never die. Literally true in my case. I'm a sort of undead cockroach.

BBC Radio 4. Tomorrow you can hear Moneybox live and Paul Lewis would like to hear from anyone who still has any money. But now it's time for PM. Hello there, I'm Evan Davis. I could take all your money and burn your house down and you'd probably think I've behaved quite reasonably.

The anti-Brexit shouting protester Steve Bray now faces prosecution after police have been given new powers to crack down on noisy protests. Joining us on the line now is the latest victim of the new law. Gordian's alive! Hello, Evan. Mr Blessed, what was it you were actually protesting about? Protesting? I was just walking past the Houses of Parliament,

minding my own business, talking in my normal voice like this, and the police swooped down on me like the Scarsy. Goodness, that's appalling. I know, Edward! All right, Mr. Blessed, you'd better come quietly. Come quietly? Never! This is worse than life under Ming the Merciless!

Welcome to Wimbledon with me, Sue Barker. Alongside me today is Tim Henman. How are you, Tim, you tedious little turd? Um, yeah, I'm fine, Sue. Sorry, I'm a bit thrown by that rather rude introduction. Well, this is my last Wimbledon for the BBC, so I can finally speak my mind. Coming up, all the usual Wimbledon for the BBC so I can finally speak my mind. Coming up, all the usual Wimbledon fare,

hopeless Brits getting thrashed by random Estonians, lump and rotary club members trying to be line judges and assorted bell-ends in the crowd dressed as Bjorn Borg or Scooby-Doo or something equally shit. Sue, should we move on to the tennis team? Well, why not? Because first up on centre court is Novak Djokovic. And he'll be desperate to win here, won't he, Tim,

after missing the Australian Open due to being a new-age half-wit who doesn't believe in vaccines. Well, that's your opinion, obviously. Do you see Novak as the favourite here, Tim, or are you leaning towards Rafa Nadal if he ever stops fishing his shorts out of his bum crack? I'm sorry,

Sue, I don't think you should speak like this. You don't want to disappoint British tennis fans. You can talk, you loser. Ten years we had of watching you getting your arse handed to you on a plate by Pete Sampras. Anyway, time for some live action now. So let's head out to Court 14 for a spot of mixed doubles.

Or as I call it, tennis for pricks. Hello and welcome to the Andrew Neil Show. Now on Sundays at tea time opposite Countryfile. Don't talk to me about nature. I've been rewilding my hair since 1996. The country is in the grip of crisis and the government seems rudderless. Priti Patel joins me now. What, Andrew? I don't like your tone. I think you're implying that we, the government,

who are governing the country as the government, are to blame in some way for bad things that are happening. Oh, come on. Rail strike misery, the Met police going under special measures, the Irish protocol chaos. Who's responsible for that but the government? Well, hang on just a minute. I have to spin the Tories' big wheel of blame.

The Irish crisis is actually the fault of... ..Greg Wallace. Really? What about half of Scotland wanting to leave the union? Ah, that would be the fault of... Barry from EastEnders. Home Secretary, whoever dreamt up this monstrous wheel of blame concept is treating the public with total and utter contempt. Is that a bad thing?

Yes. Well, in that case, it would be the fault of, er... Super Ted. Super Ted? Well, I was shocked too. I mean, what the hell was Super Ted thinking? You've reached Michael Eavis, the world's only octogenarian dairy farmer,

with Kendrick Lamar in his phone book. Leave a message after the moo. No, no, no, let me speak. Big night here. I just caught up with the highlights of Gladstone. And I have to say, it gets more lefty by the year. Poetry tents, liberal polemics, black women with public platform. Where will it end? I'm actually surprised that you're such a lefty by the year. Poetry tents, liberal polemics, black women with public platform, where will it end?

I'm actually surprised that you're such a lefty, Mikey boy, as I read that people get more right-wing as they get older. But my eighties, I'm aiming for the sweet spot between Joseph Goebbels and Lord Voldemort. I'm actually calling to suggest another festival that balances things out a bit, a right-wing Glastonbury. It'll be an absolute lad' beano of a weekend.

We'll have Eric Clapton on the pyramid stage singing the greatest hits of Roy Chubby Brown. We'll replace all the craft ale and falafel stalls with a slurry pipe full of London Pride and Offal. The only giant flag being waved will be Morris' one that says, Free Tommy Robinson. And the only drugs will be the sedatives

Van Morrison takes when he comes across somebody vaccinated. I've even got the dance troupe diversity. Not the Britain's Got Talent ones, mind. The ones from my local British Legion. They're very diverse, though. It's four white blokes called Ian, plus one white bloke who's not called Ian. You can't get

more diverse than that. Actually, he's called Ryan. Ian's his middle name. If you're up for it, I'll charter the diesel minibuses, and yes, the crowd will probably be exclusively white. But I watched all of your Glastonbury, so it's no change on that front. Banging theme tune, buff and shredded on-screen talent. Are you sure this isn't Love Island?

On tonight's programme, war, famine, inflation, political chaos, earthquakes, cancer, possible nuclear strikes and climate catastrophe. First, though... Now, you hold your horses, Hughie. Alex Jones, how did you get in here? I've been having a chinwag with the bosses at the Beeb and we've decided enough is enough.

All this bleak news you're doling out night after night, it's not good for the national morale. And what the blithering heck has that got to do with you? Well, from now on, we're going to counter the harrowing hellscape you paint every night by giving you a cuddly, snuggly sidekick, say moi, to make the news feel less like an Edgar Allan Poe fever dream

and more like a lovely warm hug from your nana. No. This is the news, Alex, not the bleeding one show. We can't sugarcoat reality. Oh, just give it a try. Go on, do one of your horrid little headlines. OK, well, how about this? The US Supreme Court has overturned Roe v. Wade

in what's been described as a landmark blow to women's rights. And speaking of women, we sent Angela Rippon to Basingstoke to meet Britain's friendliest lollipop lady. Cue VT. No, no, don't cue bloody VT. This is not going to work. Living costs are soaring.

Northern Ireland is in turmoil. You can't make all that go away with a two-minute video segment where Phil Tufnell meets Cheltenham's hairiest masseuse. Oh, so you're eating my autocue now, are you? I am sorry, Alex. You can sit there if you like, but we are not doing a stupid VT unless

the headline is so bleak it's unbearable. Okay? Fine. I'll bet you away. In politics now, Prime Minister Boris Johnson has told reporters he's ready to stay in power until well into the 2030s. And speaking of things

that go on too long, we sent Giles to Norfolk to meet Britain's oldest door mouse. By Brandreth, I think he's got it. You've reached Justice Samuel Alito. If you're a man, leave a message. If you're a woman, get back in the kitchen. Justice Alito, battle angel.

Just wanted to say how proud. So proud, so proud. I am of you for abolishing Row, Row, Row Your Country back gently down the stream versus Wade. I never actually saw Row versus Wade when it first came out, but I'm guessing it's like Alien versus Predator kind of thing.

Love those movies. The Predator was so relatable. Now that you and the other justices I nominated have taken away a woman's right to choose, I was wondering if you could just go a little further and maybe give that right directly to me. I think it makes sense for the Donald to be in charge of that stuff, you know. When I do bunkie with the lady, I don't want to fear having another Eric on my hands. So maybe just make them legal again, but only in totally special cases, like when it matters

to the man. Let's make women's bodies men's again. Oh, Robert, you look pained, boo-boo-pee-doo. Where is my breakfast? Mama, did you eat my sausages? No, Robert, I did not. Since my demi is in the last movie,

my physician has put me on a health diet. I'm on Belvita breakfast biscuits, though I do sneak the occasional Pop-Tart as you only live once. Or twice, in my case. Carson, my breakfast hasn't materialised. Explain yourself. Lord Grantham, I'm afraid I'm on strike. I beg your pardon?

Myself and the staff have come out in sympathy with the workers at the local railway station. They don't agree with the new technology being foisted on them. What new technology? I believe they're called trains, Lord Grantham. Mama, Mrs Patmore is on the lawn with the rest of the servants, waving placards, describing us as blood-sucking parasites. You know, I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about me.

Carson, I demand you get me my sausages. Alas, I am unable to provide you with sausages, Lord Grantham, but Cook has kindly assembled this cold collation. It seems to be a severed head of a horse accompanied by a note reading, Your next fascist. I will not tolerate this insubordination. On that very topic, Lord Grantham,

there's a gentleman here to see you, a Mr Mick Lynch from the RMT. I've got something to say to you, Lord Grantham. Oh, goodness. He's like the world's angriest gerbil. Let me guess that I'm a symbol of everything that's wrong with Britain, whose wealth has been created from the toil of the ordinary working man. No, none of that silly bollocks. I'm here to tell you I'm in love.

We're in love. Papa, Mick and I have been secretly married. What? Lady Mary's everything I ever wanted in a woman. She's cold, nasty and cruel, like the burden of the working man. And Mick's everything I've always wanted in a man. Bald and angry and vaguely smelling of chip fat. Goodbye, father.

We're honeymooning down pit. How unlike Lady Mary to shack up with someone unsuitable. Looks like Julian Fellows has run out of ideas again. Anyway, time for my breakfast. Someone pass me a fish knife. Oh, my goodness. Social pass me a fish knife. Oh my goodness. Socialism is destroying this country and now you're eating a horse's head with a fish knife. Frankly, I'm glad I died in the last movie. Might die in the next one too. You've reached the voicemail of Joe Biden.

Leave a message, and after six months of wrangling with the Senate and Congress, I still won't be able to get back to you. Biders, it's Bozza. Look, it's about this whole Roe versus Wade business. I have to say, what with that and your crazy gun laws and rioters storming the Capitol, you seem to be reeling from one regressive self-inflicted disaster to another. The USA has completely lost its marbles, so

I wanted to say, on behalf of the whole of the UK, welcome to the club. Au revoir. We went off our collective rocker a few years ago, and it's been a bit lonely, to be honest. Basically, just us, North Korea, and Mordor. But now we can hang out, eat soil together

and show our bums to Canada. Foie! The diary of Liz Truss, Foreign Secretary. IDST, if destroyed, still true. Tuesday, 28th June. What a day! I am totes smashing it as a global player. 9am, so important to keep up with current affairs, now I'm a big cheese. So I checked through the papers in the Foreign Office.

I said to my PA, Westlife aren't ageing well. She said, that's the G7. Which, as Foreign Secretary, came as a shock. I thought they split up after the X Factor. 11am, some absolute nerd asked me why I was wrecking the UK's reputation and risking a trade war by reneging on the Northern Irish Protocol. I knew it was a question about one of those obscure subjects designed to trip me up,

so I just grinned like a lobotomised chihuahua. It never fails. They literally had no comeback. fails, they literally had no comeback. They just looked completely horrified. Result! So, forget Foreign Secretary. I've basically become Boudicca if she was also a cool-working mum who liked Taylor Swift.

You can come out of the shadows. Come out and face me, Obi-Wan. Ah, it's not Obi-Wan, actually. It's me, Mr. Vader. You remember me. I'm Nimbipimby. Nimbipimby, I've never met you before in my life. Yes, you have. You remember. I was in the Jedi Temple in the pre-requels.

I had a pointy head and rabbit ears, and I never stood up because I was a puppet. Why do you face me now, Nimbie Pimbie? Well, you see, the thing is, Obi-Wan's story is sort of done, but Disney Plus have to keep pumping out these star-shows to stop people unsubscribe-ing. But you only appeared for two seconds behind Samuel L. Jackson's head.

But I'm a fan favorite. That's all that matters. They got ten episodes out of The Mandalorian, remember? Draw your lightsaber. I will not fight you, Nimby Pimby. It's embarrassing. Oh, right. Walk away, you big scaredy cat. Too frightened to face Nimby Pimby.

Woo-hoo! Oh! I've been killed off. I would have thought my series would have had more episodes. Farewell, Nimbipimby. Your story is at an end. Not so fast, Darth. What?

I am Blue Bimhole, a character who is in Return of the Jedi for three seconds. There's ten more episodes of this, you know. Bloody Disney. And I thought the Empire was evil. Later this evening on BBC One, it's tennis. But if you don't like tennis, you can switch over to BBC Two for slightly different tennis.

But first, hurrah! Line of Duty is back. Excellent work bringing her in, Kate. Steve? Thanks, boss. And I see, Steve, you're still drawing a wee beard on your face in fat-tipped pen. So as to not look 13. Good work. Thanks, boss. I try to be a big boy. Anyway, this is a big arrest.

This woman is the linchpin responsible for some seriously bad coppers. Let's get her in here and see if we can't get to the truth. For the tape questioning commenced Thursday, June 30th. Could you state your name and occupation? Priti Patel, Home Secretary. It was appalling how I was brought in here. Are you accusing my officers of roughing you up? No, I'm accusing them of not roughing me up.

I wasn't dragged from my bed and humiliated in public. These Keystone cops wouldn't last five minutes in the Met. Embarrassing. So you admit to turning a blind eye to the Met behaving like a bunch of two-bit thugs, do you? All right. I admit maybe the Met lost its way a bit, beaten up women in peace rallies

and strip-searching innocent black schoolgirls. But I have lined up a new Met commissioner to soften their image. Dimash for that. Who is it? Robocop. He's an unthinking, unfeeling, brutal crime-fighting machine. All right, well, that sounds a distinct improvement on Cressida Dick. Dead Ringers was performed by John Coulshaw,

Lewis MacLeod, Jan Ravens, Deborah Stevenson and Duncan Wisby. The writers were Nev Fountain and Tom Jameson, Lawrence Howard, Ed Amson and Tom Coles, Cody Darla, Robert Dark and Edward Chew. It was a BBC Studios production and the producer and creator was Bill Dare.