Friday Night Comedy from BBC Radio 4 - Dead Ringers - Christmas Specials 2021 - Episode 2

Episode Date: December 17, 2021

For the first time broadcast live, from the BBC Radio Theatre, London on Friday. This live show will feature Professor Sir Chris Whitty as you’ve never seen him before, Boris Johnson seeks the help of The Repair Shop, there's guidance on how to have fun without the office party and the epic quest to get a booster jab.With, Lewis Macleod, Jan Ravens, Debra Stephenson and Duncan Wisbey.Written by: Nev Fountain & Tom Jamieson, Laurence Howarth, Ed Amsden & Tom Coles, Edward Tew, Sophie Dickson, Rob Darke, Cody Dahler and Rachel Ethorn.Producer: Bill Dare Production Coordinator: Caroline Barlow A BBC Studios Production for Radio 4.

This is the BBC. This podcast is supported by advertising outside the UK. BBC Sounds. Music, radio, podcasts. Hello! Yes, we are live and we are in front of a small but perfectly formed socially distanced audience all wearing masks. Hello! Hello! audience all wearing masks. Hello! Hello! Sadly, sadly,

John Culshaw can't join us as he's had to self-isolate, but he's listening at home. Cheers, John! So, as I can't do Tom Baker, here's Thora Heard. It's dead ringers! Fingers. People of Britain, this is your Prime Minister, unless you're listening to the repeat.

We've seen the reports from North Shropshire of Liberal Democrat winning by a massive margin, a swing that, if repeated at the next election, would mean my party's only hope of governing would be to form a coalition with Count Binface. If these reports are true, it's a defeat so crushing it means I finally have to face the consequences of a life lived thinking that rules don't apply to me, which is why

it's such a relief to tell you that the by-election never happened. Huzzah! And just as that lockdown-busting Christmas party didn't happen, neither did this. And if it did happen, which it didn't, it stayed within the rules of being a safe Tory seat and stayed Conservative. Phew! What a bloody

relief. You had Bozza worried there. You're listening to Today with me, Justin Webb. And me, Martha Carney. The headlines. Thousands of people across Britain were woken last night by what they described as a sonic boom. But it turned out to be the sound of Theresa May laughing at Boris Johnson's by-election debate.

You got a sense of just how momentous this victory was when BBC News cut from the returning officer announcing that result to scenes of Ewoks dancing in celebration on the moon of Endor. For the very latest from Westminster, we can speak now to Laura Koonsberg. Oh, my God, Justin, this is humongous! For political junkies, this is like being 11 on Christmas morning and discovering Santa's brought you a real racing car and a PlayStation. I haven't been to bed for 39 hours.

I can smell colours. I just hallucinated Sir John Major standing on the roof of Downing Street screaming, top of the world, ma! Oh, oh, no, hang on, that's actually happening. Oh, please, please, never let this feeling stop. Justin, I love my life. Who wants to invade Belarus with me? Laura Koonsberg there.

We can now speak to the Liberal Democrat leader, Ed Davey. Hey. Oh, hello. Thought you were one of those spam callers. Sorry, Liberal Democrat... What? Liberal Democrat leader, the leader of the Liberal Democrats. What? Me? Seriously? You know, I wondered about all those Liberal Democrat

pamphlets and posters around the house, but you know, you don't like to ask. Could get a bit awkward, can't it? Liberal Democrat leader, eh? Well, that makes a lot of sense. So, um... How am I doing, then? Well, you've just pulled off one of the biggest wins in British political history. What do you say to that?

Er, I resign. Sorry, force of habit. So, does this by-election defeat mean a leadership challenge is inevitable? We can now speak to one of the favourites to succeed Boris Johnson, Liz Truss. Hello, Justin. What a terrible night for the Tories. O-M-chuffing-G. Nightmare. What are we like? You don't sound particularly devastated. Only because I'm still

wrapping my bonks around the idea that this dudette right here, i.e. me, the Trustmeister General, could be the next PM. I know! How bonkers is that on a scale of one to a box of frogs? How bonkers is that on a scale of one to a box of frogs? I've only just got used to being the actual foreign secretary of an actual real country. Not just the National Trust, but the International Trust. Am I right? I'm not just living my best life, I'm living everyone else's too. I know!

Yes. But despite this historic defeat, which leaves him looking powerless and weak, Conservative Central Office insist Boris Johnson won't do what he always does when the proverbial hits the fan and try to distract us all. Look, everyone, another new baby. Born just last night. Everyone, look at my new baby. Amazing. Mr Johnson, Mr Johnson, your wife has only just given birth to your last baby.

There's no way she can give birth again so soon. She didn't give birth to it. I did. Foie, it's a Christmas miracle. An angel came to me in the night in the form of the chairman of the 1922 committee and told me by next Easter they were going to crucify me. And then

Foie, he gave me this baby. Although now I've opened it swaddling clothes, it does look more like a bottle of whiskey and a revolver. Oh well, time for another lockdown, I think, and this one's retrospective. It started midnight on Wednesday,

no one allowed to leave the house for any reason which makes any blasted by-election results in the last 24 hours null and void. Sorry Lib Dems, and you were so close. Fwaa! This Christmas, give your child endless fun with the cuddliest, cutest doll ever. Next slide, please.

Wow! My very own Professor Chris Whitty-Dahl. Press his tummy and he'll speak to you. There is a new variant of COVID-19 which is highly infectious and spreading fast. Whoa! It's like he's really here. Start cancelling interactions with unnecessary contacts, starting with your parents. Oh, you're my best friend. So this Christmas, give your child

the gift they really want. A clear and reasoned assessment of the threat of Omicron. Night-night, Professor Chris Whitty. How can you sleep when Omicron is moving at an absolutely phenomenal pace? The Professor Chris Whitty doll.

Order today and get this Chris Whitty slide projector absolutely free. Ah, you're listening to The Jeremy Vine Show. And that was Toto with Rosanna. Lost my virginity to that one in a tennis court, midnight. Wow. You never can have too much information on this show. So Boris is on the ropes, his backbenchers are in uproar, and he's been trashed in a by-election.

I'm joined on the line by one of the rebels, Andrea Leadsom. Andrea, is it all over for the B-man? Well, Jeremy, after much consideration and with a heavy heart, we do think we should find a new leader to take over from Boris Johnson. Sweet. The Christmas party business was the final straw. Unfortunately, it turns out almost every single Conservative MP also attended an illegal Christmas party. Well, apart from... Oh, who? Don't keep us in suspense. Who is it? Hello.

I am delighted to be nominated as the next leader of the Conservative Party. Wow. Theresa May. Did you miss me? So you haven't attended any rule-breaking parties? No, I didn't attend a party during lockdown, but then I haven't attended any party ever. There was one, it was my fifth birthday party, where no one came, and due to a miscommunication at the bakery, the cake was made of bath sponges, and the message on top read happy birthday trousers. But I'm sure it was a happy event. Oh yes. Yes, apart from the party balloons being accidentally filled with hydrogen and blowing up like the Hindenburg, incinerating my pet hamster scuffles and my imaginary friend.

But apart from that and the magician accidentally hanging himself, it was very jolly. So I bet you're surprised to be back in the frame for the leadership. No, because I am inevitable. I am entropy, the kraken at the end of the world. Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for me. OK, Theresa May, thank you. Right you are.

Well, here's Shawadawadi. And who put the bump in the bump-a-bump-bump? How much further must we travel, Gandalf? My legs are weak and I'm hungry. Frodo, young hobbit. I'm afraid our journey has just begun. We must sneak through the cursed forest, slay the trolls at Erebor,

evade the foul broodlings of Melkor hiding in the hill caves, bribe some wizened dwarves to cross the grassy plains of Rohan, and finally scale Mount Doom itself. Then we must wait for many moons to wax and wane, and only then will we be in with a chance of getting our booster jabs. Surely, surely we could just make an appointment on the app. No way, Treacle. I spent four hours on it this morning.

I couldn't get it to work, and I'm literally a wizard. Four bloody hours! Even Peter Jackson would say that's a bit long. LAUGHTER This Christmas, the all-star cast of the best exotic Marigold Hotel are checking in again, starring Dame Judi Dench. What do you mean you don't know how long I'm going to be in here? Bill Nighy. Five and a half grand for a ten-night stay. And Dame Maggie Smith. I'm sorry, so I have to clean my own bog.

That's right, it's the best exotic Marigold quarantine hotel. And for our octogenarian friends, the stay in the hotel isn't exactly what they expected. I thought my holiday entertainment would be watching Death of a Salesman at the Almeida. Now I'm stuck watching premium-rate porn and trying to make bath wine out of shampoo and asbestos I scratched off the skirting board. Eight nights stuck in here now and I can't even nip out for a fag.

I'm so bored I might see what all the fuss is about with auto-erotic asphyxiation. Hello? Hello, room service. What's your special this evening? Some mouldy chicken nuggets delivered by a pervy security guard? Perhaps I'll just have some Pringles.

So join us at the best exotic Marigold quarantine hotel, released today. As long as you test negative and have enough money for the train fare after you maxed out on your credit cards. Welcome... ..to The Repair Shop, a laxative for your tear ducts. First in, particularly challenging case for the team.

All right. What have you brought for us today, then? Well, I've brought this in. It's totally ruined. I just need it working again and pronto. OK, well, let's take a look at it, shall we? Oh, God, it's so knackered, I can barely see what it is. What is it?

It's my authority. I'm afraid it's totally shredded. What have you been doing to it? Well, I may have been slightly misusing it a tad. I dropped it down the toilet during quiz night. I think the decorators might have knocked it on the floor when they were putting up my hideously expensive wallpaper. Why?

Have you tried repairing it yourself? You just need a bit of honesty, integrity and competence. Well, no chance then. Throw it in a skip. It's just gone 6.45 and you're listening to Dead Ringers on Radio 4 coming live from the Radio Theatre London. CHEERING AND APPLAUSE Welcome to The World at One. I'm Sarah Montagu. So we're being told to go to parties but avoid crowded spaces,

to have a normal Christmas but don't do the things you normally do at Christmas. Confusion reigns. To get some clarity, we're joined now by the fifth Ninja Turtle, Professor Chris Whitty. Sarah, I've been very clear. We need to prioritise social contacts during the festive period. OK, the PM might take a slightly different view. Well, because he's enthralled his swivel-eyed backbenchers and he has some weird fetish about being the saviour of Christmas.

I really don't know what you mean. It's quite all right, Professor Whitty. You can speak your mind. I don't know what you mean. It's quite all right, Professor Whitty. You can speak your mind. Sarah, the Prime Minister and I work very well together. Really? Look, I can assure you that he... Oh, God, you're right. He's a nightmare.

I can't do this anymore. Professor! Oh, this feels good. You want to know what it's like standing there at that podium, month after month, next to that walking bin fire we laughably call Prime Minister, as he merrily leads us into the abyss, just because he has about as much control of his party as a chimp flying a 747? Do tell us.

Right, I will. Here goes. Next slide, please. Oh, wow, you've got a little projector. I never leave home without one. Right, here we are. This is my blood pressure last Thursday when I was trying to make him take the Omicron variant seriously as he laughed at me while playing beer pong with his Downing Street staff.

Gosh, your blood pressure is doubling every two days. The exponential growth is terrifying, Sarah blood pressure is doubling every two days. The exponential growth is terrifying, Sarah. I can't take it anymore. I'm going to explode at this rate. Please, you have to listen to me. We're all going to die. We're all going to die!

I bet that feels better, doesn't it, Professor? Oh, dear. Oh, good heavens. Well, I wonder who's going to be Boris's next Chief Medical Officer, Paul Dacre or Toby Young? Good afternoon. Welcome to Newsnight, I'm Kirsty Wark. Dabba dabba dum dum, dabba dabba dum dum, dum dabba dabba dum, dabba dabba dum. More on that story later. Joining me to discuss the threat of Omicron is Labour leader, Sakhir Starmer.

Look, Kirsty, I wouldn't want to go overboard and actually criticise the government, but we think that they could be doing a little bit better. So how would Labour tackle Omicron? Well, that's a good question. And what we'd do is we would unleash a very powerful weapon, more powerful than any lockdown or any cure or any vaccine or even the booster jab.

Well, what is it? Come on! Who wants some? It's Angela Rayner. There's a bit of Covid. Right, you asked for it. That'll teach you, you virus bastard. You see, you see, I told you, Omicron will be no match for Angela's natural passion and aggression. My promise to the good people of this country,

and by good people, I mean Northerners, is that I will headbutt the living crap out of Covid. Doof, doof, doof. Do you mean you're going to physically fight a microscopic virus? Too right. I'm mad as hell. Secure... I know, I know, I know. Don't worry. Don't worry. I fully support Angela's physical reign of terror.

In fact, she cured me of Covid repeatedly and rather painfully this morning after we disagreed about tax thresholds. Yeah! Oh, not again! Sir Keir Starmer, thank you and stay safe. Oh! Has your work Christmas party been cancelled?

Are you wondering how to celebrate the true meaning of Christmas without the office piss-up? Then Penelope Wilton has the answer. OK, so you can't drink with your colleagues, but you can still get absolutely battered on your own and then be sick in your own handbag. Yes, in this special downloadable audio guide, Penelope shows you how to have a lovely office Christmas party at home.

Here's a nice thought. Instead of losing your bra in the stationary cupboard, why not hide it in that box of gym equipment you never use? Penelope has all sorts of top tips. If you haven't got a photocopier, can I suggest you draw a picture of your bottom and show it to the dog? How to have an office Christmas party at home with Penelope Wilton.

And if you want to make it extra special, you could walk round the kitchen in high heels till your feet bleed, then burst into tears and fall over in the utility room. Happy Christmas. Hello. And before you think it, I'm not the latest puppet from Sesame Street. I'm actually what's left of a human being. Joining me on Countdown are two new contestants, Dominic and Diane. Dominic, what do you do? Oh, wait a minute.

I've got it written on my sleeve. Here it is. I am Dominic Raab. And I am a just sticky secretary. Whatever that is, I don't really know. Yes, all right. And are you good at numbers, Dominic? Oh, yes, yes, yes. I'm full of numbers, yes.

Yes, yes. And when someone on the telly asked you how many people are in hospital with Omicron, you spewed them all out at random. So, Diane, what do you do? Well, Anne, I am but a humble acolyte of Jeremy. I wash his heavenly feet and follow him upon his saintly travels upon the earth.

Well, I hope it pays well. Let's do the numbers round. Dominic, your selection. But I can't see the numbers. Can you turn them over? Oh, God. OK, Rachel, can you just pick the numbers for him before he starts licking the set? So, all right, we have 5, 10, 1, 100, 25

and 75, and the target is 130. Right, you have 30 seconds. Off you go. Right, 130. Now, I'm bored now. It's too easy. What have you got, Dominic? Well, OK, I can't be 100% certain, but I think, is it the countdown theme?

This isn't Name That Tune. Have you made 130? No, but I have made a hat from the little notepad that you gave me. Look, I'm a sea captain. Diane, I think you may be pleasantly surprised. I've got 934. So that's 83,002 away Dear God, I hate to say this, Diane but you've actually won the numbers round Hurrah, hurrah there's someone finally who's worse at adding up than me

Three cheers for me Hip hip hooray, hip hip hooray I think that's three cheers. You've reached the voicemail of Nick Clegg. Please don't tell Zuckerberg you called. He says I'm only allowed friends in the metaverse. Hi, Nick. It's Ed Davey. Lib Dem leader, apparently. Who knew?

After our shock Lib Dem by-election win in North Shropshire, I thought I'd give you a quick call to say you can stick your Cleggmania up your proverbial. It's Davey Delirium time. Let's go ruddy mental. Let's go ruddy mental. La, la, la, hey. Oh, yes, it's the era of Davy Delirium, baby.

People will name their kids after me. Women will throw their pants on stage at the Lib Dem convention. My groupies will have the words cautious cautious fiscal responsibility, tattooed onto their butt cheeks. I can smell the power, Cleggie. Just 355 more shocked by election wins and we'll be back at the big time.

Sorry, Mr Davie, we've just had a request from the Conservative Party asking if you want to join a coalition. Sorry, Nick, going to want to join a coalition. Um... Sorry, Nick. Gonna have to call you back. And now, the Queen's Christmas message. Hello and Merry Christmas to all my surviving subjects.

You're doing great. Hang in there. Queenie still needs people to rule over, otherwise it's no fun. This year, I'm going to use my address to tell you that I know what you're planning to get me for Christmas this year, so don't try to deny it. It's going to be another Prime Minister, isn't it? Every other year, it's the same. Open the parcel and there's another bloody Prime Minister grinning at me. Would it kill the British public to get me socks or a nice cardi from Marx for a change? Oh well, maybe this time will be different. Let's have a look. Prime Minister Liz Truss.

I think I'll wrap that one right back up and re-gift it to Charles. Queenie out! You're back with Today with Justin Webb and Martha Carney. People in Wales are facing the toughest Covid restrictions in Britain. And Mark Drakeford joins me on the line now. First Minister, you seem to be leading the fight back. Oh, no, no, no. The term fight back is so aggressive. I want to take a gentler approach,

which is to speak to Omicron directly and appeal to its softer side. Just because it's a deadly mutant virus doesn't mean it has no conscience. If I talk to it nicely enough, I might even win it over and convince it to team up with us to fight the Delta variant.

So I'll be meeting the Omicron variant in person, socially distant, of course. I'm going to have to interrupt you there, actually, now, Mr Mr Drakeford, because we have a newsflash just coming in, which is that there have been extraordinary developments

on the NASA Parker Solar Probe. If you recall, it is the first man-made object to enter the sun's atmosphere, and we've just heard there is someone on board. How extraordinary, Martha. Surely that's not possible. Well, it appears there is some sort of stowaway. Clearly someone who plays scant regard to personal safety, and we actually have them on the line.

Hello, can you hear me? Salutations, Martha. Tis I, Jacob. Mr Rees-Mogg, aren't you about to burn up? Nonsense, Martha. The dangers of touching the sun are entirely exaggerated. I won't be frightened into staying cooped up on a tiny little planet like Earth. I stowed away simply to assert my freedom to make my own choices. But Mr. Rees-Mogg, temperatures are over 5,000 degrees. Aren't you taking any mitigating measures to cool down,

like ventilation? Well, I suppose one could open a window. No, no, no, don't do that. No, you can't. It seems that Jacob Rees-Mogg has been fried, sizzled, then vaporised out of existence. Well, it's always nice to end on a good news story. Happy Christmas! Happy Christmas! Happy Christmas! Dead Ringers was performed by Lewis MacLeod, Jan Ravens, Deborah Stevenson and Duncan Wisby.

The writers were Nev Fountain and Tom Jameson, Lawrence Howarth, Ed Amston and Tom Coles, Edward Tew, Sophie Dixon, Rob Dark, Cody Darla and Rachel E. Thorne. It was a BBC Studios production and the producer and creator was Bill Dare.