The Unbelievable Truth - 10x02 Wine, Queen Elizabeth II, Bathtubs, Wind

Episode Date: December 22, 2021

10x02 7 January 2013 Lloyd Langford, Henning Wehn, Celia Pacquola, Rhod Gilbert Wine, Queen Elizabeth II, Bathtubs, Wind

We present The Unbelievable Truth, the panel game built on truth and lies. In the chair, please welcome David Mitchell. Hello. Built on truth and lies. In the chair, please welcome David Mitchell. Hello and welcome to The Unbelievable Truth. This is the show that presents the most fanciful, made-up nonsense as if it were factually true. So a kind of radio equivalent of Mel Gibson's Braveheart.

Today we're coming to you from the festival fringe in Edinburgh, the so-called Athens of the North, but with more money. And heroin. I'm joined by four comedians, all of whom are delighted to be here, as the fee fractionally reduces the debts from their fringe shows. Please welcome Rod Gilbert, Lloyd Langford, Celia Pakola and Henning Vein. The rules are as follows. Each panellist will present a short lecture that should be entirely false,

save for five pieces of true information, which they should attempt to smuggle past their opponents, cunningly concealed amongst the lies. Points are scored by truths that go unnoticed, while other panellists can win points if they spot a truth or lose points if they mistake a lie for a truth. We'll begin with Lloyd Langford. Lloyd comes from Wales,

a nation that Anne Robinson has controversially ridiculed as irritating and far too full of themselves. The kind of lazy stereotyping that's typical of red-headed old women. Lloyd is a regular on Ask Rod Gilbert, Rod Gilbert's bulging barrel of laughs, and Rod Gilbert's leaving clan bulb. He also shares a flat with Rod Gilbert. So tonight should make a welcome break from working with Rod. Lloyd, your subject is wine, described by my dictionary as an alcoholic beverage made by the fermenting of grapes and other fruit. Off you go, Lloyd.

Fingers on buzzers, the rest of you. According to the Bible, Noah invented wine and was also the first person to do an underwater handstand, ride a bike with no hands, and convince a child he'd stolen his nose. The concept of table wine was invented by Monsieur Perrault, the proprietor of the original Café du Ratatze in Montmartre in late 19th century Paris. original Café du Ratatze in Montmartre in late 19th century Paris. He realised that wine spilt by clumsy patrons could be extracted using pipettes and bottled up for the next unsuspecting customer. Rod?

The pipettes thing is right. I think that he did, he used to suck it up. Pipettes is an odd word. He used to suck it up, did he, Monsieur Perrault? In the face of adversity, he'd just suck it up. Well, I don't know what you do with a pipette. You do suck it up. Right, right. Monsieur Perrault? In the face of adversity, he'd just suck it up. Well, I don't know what you do with a pipette. You do suck it up. Right, right.

Monsieur Perrault didn't, though. What, you made up the word pipette? He neither... No, a pipette exists. I don't mean you made up the word. I mean, off your own back, you wrote a line about a pipette. Off my own back, I wrote down the word pipette. I've lived you for eight years, I've never heard you use that word.

I know every single word in your vocabulary. It's sometimes nice in a relationship to see someone in a different context, isn't it? It is. It can reawaken it. But I'm afraid, no, nothing in that whole paragraph. Henning. But did that Monsieur Poirot own a pub in Montmartre?

I don't know whether this man even existed. I made up the man, and the Café de Ratatouille is a café found in train stations all over the United Kingdom. Cabernet Sauvignon translates as sausage cabinet because of how the bottles look when placed in a rack. L'Ipre-Milch means milk of the Virgin Mary. Henning. That is true. It is true, and I feel somewhat short-changed. And I didn't know Henning was going to be on the show.

and I didn't know Henning was going to be on the show. Surely Henning shouldn't get a point for that. Just translate in his own language. No, but Lloyd pronounced it very, very well. Yeah, that's why you knew it was true. Yeah. I think Henning deserves a point for there on the basis that everything we say is like Liebfrau-Milch is to him,

if you say to me. I realise he's at a massive disadvantage. Quite. In life. Well, who owns Europe? Yeah, but it went wrong the last time he drank. No, I mean, it has to be... Well, sir, time lucky.

It has to be said, this time it looks like a much better thought-through scheme. Muscatel means wine with flies in it, and Riesling means... Celia. Muscatel means wine with flies in it. It isn't true, no. Or not true, the other one.

A lot of people think that's true because it was in a book by Bill Bryson. But Bill Bryson didn't check whether it was true before asserting the fact in his book. But anyway, now he's going to translate Riesling and I've got a very good feeling. Okay. And Riesling means they didn't have anything else in the shop. A wine from Japan is made from mashed-up snakes, and a 2008 study found that drinking just two large glasses of South African wine can make you up to 15% more racist.

Right. I think the Japanese probably do make wine from snakes. Yeah, same here, I believe. You can't just go, same here. You're absolutely right, Rod. And Henning. Give half a point to Henning, I would, yeah. Well, that's very good. If you're all right, I'll give half a point to Henning.

Very kind. Thank you very much. I think it's only fair. In 1985, renowned wine critic Raymond Barker took out structural and contents insurance on his nose for $1 million. Ah! Rod. I reckon he did.

Ah! Me too. Well, I'm afraid you're both wrong. Why? And I think you should both... Well, I think that should be half a point off. I think that's fair. You both share the losses there.

There is no wine critic called Raymond Barker. And why would you take out content insurance on a nose? The indentation at the bottom of some wine bottles is called the punt, and the neck of a bottle of wine is more accurately called the denis. I just would like to get one right. I'm going for the bottom of a wine bottle called a punt. You're absolutely right it is.

The name derives from the pontil or punt mark left by the glass blowing process. When bottles were hand blown, makers pushed the punt mark in to stop it scratching furniture. All 50 American states have a winery, though supermarkets in Alaska only have a chilled section. Nobody knows why wine with a label in a language you can't understand

tastes better than wine with a label in your own language. But it does, especially if your language is Welsh. I reckon that could be true. I know it's not, but still. No, it isn't true. I realise as soon as Henning didn't back me up, I realised could be true. I know it's not, but still. No, it isn't true. Right. I realise as soon as Henning didn't back me up, I realised it wasn't true. But that's the end of your lecture, Lloyd.

And at the end of that lecture, you've managed to smuggle two truths past everyone else, which are that, according to the Bible, specifically Genesis chapter 9, which are that, according to the Bible, specifically Genesis chapter 9, Noah invented wine, or is the first person to have planted a vineyard, made wine, and got pissed. And then the second truth

is that all 50 American states have a winery, even Alaska, where it's too cold to grow grapes outside or commercially, so they import grape concentrates to produce the wine. And that means, Lloyd, you've scored two points. OK, we turn now to Henning Vein. Before he starts, I must apologise to Henning for the misprint

in this show's listing in the Radio Times. It should, of course, have been that he hails from Germany, not hiles. Your subject, Henning, is Queen Elizabeth II, the United Kingdom's hereditary monarch and head of the 54-member Commonwealth of Nations. Off you go, Henning. Royalists and flag-and-bunting manufacturers claim she was invented by Jesus.

Everybody else knows she was invented in 1897 in Garmisch-Partenkirchen by Mercedes Benz. Her German ancestry still shines through on big occasions. Lloyd. She does have German ancestry, but I'm aware that he hasn't got to the end of this sentence. All he said is a noun, essentially, her German ancestry.

She could have said her hand. She has got her hand. It's a noun, essentially, her German ancestry. She could have said her hand. She has got her hand. So you could say her German ancestry means she can hover three feet above the ground. That wouldn't be true. So you've got to let the man finish. But her German ancestry still shines through on big occasions,

such as state dinners, where she installs traffic lights at each end of the table to tell servants when to serve and when to clear plates, and she takes great pleasure in personally issuing penalty notices to whoever starts walking before the lights go green. If she hangs her hand back over her arm, it's a signal to staff she's

bored with the person she's... A very emphatic buzz from Lloyd. That's definitely true. Are you saying you've evidence of having bored... You've bored the Queen, haven't you? No, no, she puts it on her arm and that signals to her ladies-in-waiting

that she's tired of the conversation she's in. She wants to... Where does she normally carry it? Does she have it in a plastic bag and then get it out? That is actually true, Lloyd, and I worry... I worry that... I worry that you've got experience of this, of the Queen being rude and brusque and not wanting to hear the end of your anecdote.

Well, it was when she told me to jog on, I thought I should probably... What does she do with her hand like normally, then? How does she differentiate between just having it... She's got it on her left arm, usually, and then she puts it on her right arm, and that means she's had enough of this boring person. And what happens to them then? Does somebody just shoot them?

They get killed. She carries her hand around her left arm, means everything is fine. She places the bag on the dining table. It signifies she wishes the event to finish within the next five minutes. The Queen went into a McDonald's and put her handbag down on a table. The place will close.

Yeah, all that code isn't much good if everyone discusses this on national radio. It was really awkward when she went to visit the children's hospital and accidentally put the bag on the table. All the machines were turned off. They just cut the power. If she hangs her hand back over her arm, it's a signal to staff she's bored with the person she's talking to. If she hangs herself, it's a signal to staff she's bored with life.

If she hangs herself, it's a signal to staff she's bored with life. Not surprisingly, seeing she's never went to school, she learned all she had to know at Open University. Queen's studies included modules in small talk, waving and tax evasion. Can I go for, I think they might have had a class about waving. Something like that. At the Open Universe? No. I took it. It was expensive, but worth it. I dare say someone taught

the Queen how to wave at some point. You say someone taught the Queen how to wave, but she doesn't actually know how to wave. Basically, the old royal wave used to be a sort of weird, essentially just straight arm in the air, rotated from the elbow oddness, like they're waving to themselves.

And you can see that's what George VI did, that's what the Queen did, all this kind of weird thing, like sort of stirring in reverse gravity, stirring something. But I thought, in a diamond jubilee, she did the normal human wave. Anyway, I noticed that, and I was quite touched. You're not allowed to touch the Queen. You know, I was speaking metaphorically.

She's allowed to touch me. You make that sound a bit less sexually aggressive. I'm just saying. She is my sovereign. She can do what she likes. She's allowed to touch you, but you're not allowed to touch her. That's why you should never play her

in a game of tag. I think presumably if she touches me, I am touching her without being able to help it. You're not allowed to be the touch instigator. Okay. You've never sounded more romantic.

Presumably she just runs on to her dentist, does she? Yes, he just keeps the instrument still. She just slams her face into it. I'm now going to drill my own mouth. You hold the drill steady.

Even though education wasn't for her, she did send her two daughters, Princess Anne and Princess Edward, to tough training camps run by ex-members of the SAS. And I might well be wrong about the A. The legends of what she did after not going to school are even more confusing. She's simultaneously

rumoured to have invented the internet and sending emails as far back as 1976, but equally she's rumoured... Lloyd. I think she sent an email in 1976. Oh, do you know what? You're right, she did, Lloyd, yeah. Yeah.

You are absolutely right. She sent an email in 1976. She became the first monarch to send an email during a visit to an army base. Yeah, well, who knows if that's true, isn't it, with that army base? Because equally she's rumoured to have bragged to Bill Gates about never having touched a computer

and why doesn't stick it all up his fat American... Rod. I reckon she probably did say to Bill Gates that she'd never used a computer. She absolutely did. She said that to him when awarding him an honorary knighthood in 2005. That was a really good technique of putting two truths next to each other. Yeah, but they both got found out.

Not so successful. Thank you, Henning. And at the end of that round, Henning, you've managed to smuggle two truths past the rest of the panel, which are that the Queen has a special traffic light system in Buckingham Palace's ballroom, and at state banquets, the steward behind her operates the red and green lights to tell the staff when to come in and deliver the next course or clear the previous one.

Does she ever just have a normal conversation with anyone, or is it a constant system of levers and pulleys? clean the previous one. Does she ever have a normal conversation with anyone, or is it a constant system of levers and pulleys? And the second truth is that neither the Queen nor Princess Margaret went to school, but were both educated at home under the supervision of the

Queen Mother and their governess, Marion Crawford. And that means, Henning, you've scored two points. Well. Next up is Celia Pakola. Celia recently moved from Australia to London. In her current show, she talks intimately about the collapse of her most recent relationship. So, any single men in the audience, do let her know if you fancy starring in her show next year.

Yes! Please, I need the material. Your subject, Celia, is the bath or bathtub. A long plastic, metal or ceramic container which is filled with water so that a person can sit or lie in it to wash their whole body. In 17th century France, Chevalier Jacques Cousy, known throughout the land as Jacques the Severely Flatulent, had a bath one day with five middle-aged women after a curry eating competition and seven years later invented the shower cap. a curry eating competition and seven years later invented the shower cap. No one had ever been hurt in or near a bath until 1999 when baths got fed up of being urinated in and fought back. That year there were over 30,000 bathtub related injuries reported.

Lloyd. I think in 1999 there were 30,000 bathtub related injuries. You're absolutely right, there were. Yeah. were 30,000 bathtub-related injuries. You're absolutely right, there were. I was really vigorously washing my face in the shower once and on the upstroke accidentally rammed my finger all the way up my nose. This is what I have to live with.

Injuries recorded in the UK including accidentally swallowing a tap, an exploding bath bomb, or dying of shock at how revolting your body appears underwater. What is a bath bomb? It's like made of bath salts and you put it in the water and it fizzes and apparently that does something relaxing.

I don't know. It's like a giant bath paracetamol. If we'd have dropped those on Dresden, it would have been an entirely different outcome. We're making light of war crimes now. You're right, it would have been a very different... On a serious note, it would have been a very different outcome and considerably less severe.

It would have come out smelling of roses. Yeah. Smelling of roses. In Arizona, the 4th of May is known as Have a Bath with a Donkey Day, and every citizen who owns a donkey is required by law to put it in a bath and sit on it. But the owners have to keep their donkeys awake, because if it fell asleep in the tub, it would be breaking the law. Luke Johansson was the creator of the Hold tap A hot and cold tap together in one Luke's invention led to Luke's name being immortalised In the term we use to this day for water that is neither hot nor cold

Johansson warm Is it too late to go back to that donkey fact? I think it is too late to go back to the donkey fact Can I just say now, for the record, just so I can claim some kind of moral victory at the end, I think it is against the law to let your donkey fall asleep in the bath.

That's interesting. It is. We'll see whether you were right later. We certainly will. Even the absence of points, I don't care. It's still exciting. So bad was the last great Australian hosepipe ban of 1997 that my brother's sisters and I had to share each other's dirty bathwater.

We each got one glass. Lloyd. I think there was a really bad 1997... Hosepipe ban. Hosepipe ban. It's a bit off topic from bath, isn't it? Yeah, but maybe the truth that you and your sister, that you had to share the bathwater. Yeah, but maybe the truth that you and your sister, that you had to share

the bath water. Yeah, I'm busted. Hey, hang on, there's a clue for me. It would be pretty interesting. I just think you've got a sister. I've not got this mark down the street. Maybe there was a hosepipe van in 1997. Not to my knowledge.

Not to Celia's knowledge. Have you got a sister, though? I've got two. Am I allowed to just think about you sharing a bath for a minute? Thank you. If you want to ensure

your birds are at their happiest in the bath, make sure you put no more than two and a half inches of water in it. According to experiments, that's the perfect depth. Every year, the patent office receives more ideas for bath products than any other area. Such ideas...

Lloyd. Yeah, I agree with that. You think, in this age of the internet, you get a few ideas for computer programs, but mainly it's bath-based ideas. That's what all the big corporate intellectual property cases are about, aren't they? Who's got the right for that sort of rack that you can put a book on? No, I'm afraid that's not true, Lloyd. Such ideas include a bath helmet made of tin, a latex ladder to help spiders get out of the bath.

Lloyd. That spider ladder sounds believable. You're absolutely right. I mean, you're right that it exists. I don't think you're right in saying that it sounds believable. In 1996, Edward Doney was granted a UK patent for a thin latex spider ladder held by a suction pad to the top of the bath.

Her Majesty the Queen has an inflatable waterproof crown that she wears in the bath. Her rubber duck also wears one. Penny. Now, that I know for a fact that the Queen's got a rubber duck with a crown on. You're absolutely right. Just kidding.

That's the end of Celia's lecture. Thank you. And at the end of that round, Celia, you've also managed to smuggle two truths past the rest of the family. You did. One of which Rod did guess later, but too late, I'm afraid,

and that's that in Arizona, it's not permitted for donkeys to sleep in bathtubs. Can I get half a point? No. No, you wanted this moral victory, and now you're trying to sell it. That's sort of disgusting. I realise it wasn't as satisfying as I anticipated. Yeah.

Who thinks I should have half a point? Yay! Well, how interesting to hear. And... Well, how interesting to hear. The other truth is that, according to the Audubon Society of America, the optimum depth for a birdbath is 2.5 inches. And that means, Celia, you've scored two points. A blutophobia is the fear of bathing. And the French for a blutophobia is normalité.

Now it's the turn of Rod Gilbert. Your subject, Rod, is wind. The movement of gases or air from an area of high pressure to an area of low pressure, sometimes carrying odour or sound. In 1951, a man outside a cinema in Idaho was carried 200 yards by a tornado. The film showing at the time was Gone With The Wind. In November 1988, a mischievous gust of wind set out from London and hit cinemas everywhere for over ten years.

It struck in the well-known Jewish suburb of Golders Green, blowing off the last letter of the advertised film, so it read, Who Framed Roger Rabbi? It then struck a cinema in Leicester Square, where they were showing The Count of Monte Cristo. On lookers gasped as the letter O hit the ground, leaving The Count of Monte Crist. It's illegal to flick snot into the wind in Alabama

or to spit into the wind in South Dakota. One of those is definitely right. Spitting into the wind in South Dakota. Wrong. 98% of people start the day by breaking wind and animals are the same. Kangaroos are the world's most vigorous bottom bellowers. Lloyd.

I think that's true. Kangaroos are the most flatulent animals. No. In fact, kangaroos are very unflatulent. Yeah, I could have told you that. Aboriginal legend has it that a mischievous kangaroo once upset the wind god Lugabuga. As revenge, the enraged spirit cursed the kangaroo's bush habitat

and it now suffers strange dusty winds, variously called the titty-tits, the bummy-bums and the willy-willies. An episode of Skippy the Bush Kangaroo referenced this myth when Skippy, whacked up on eucalyptus leaves and fosters, refused to help a little boy trap down a well. Instead, he covered the well with a tarpaulin and cut a small hole in the middle and repeatedly broke wind through it,

shouting, can you tell what it is yet? Just because I want so much for that to be true. I'm afraid to say that that brilliant episode synopsis never got into production. Oh, no. I mentioned that all animals start the day with a stage door guffaw, but not termites. They're physically incapable of floating air biscuits.

Despite this, intrepid guff hunter Dr P. Eggleton sets off on the Natural History Museum for Africa every day in search of termite quack. Nicknamed Harrison Fart, the maverick doctor's belt is laden with empty jars ready to bring the elusive termite guff home. Lloyd. I think termites don't fart.

I don't think the rest of that was true. No, termites do fart. I'm having a nightmare this this is what I'm saying. You just haven't spent enough time working out which animals fart and how much. You've wasted your life. Ask for a monk's burp in a Belgian bakery and you'll get a chocolate eclair.

Ask for a nun's fart and you'll get a cinnamon Danish. Ask the verger to release the invisible suntan prisoner from cell block O and you'll get a panoraison. Thank you, Rod. Well, Rod, at the end of that round, you've scored five points. You've smuggled all of your truths past. They are that in 1988, a gust of wind blew off the last letter of the advertised film

at the Canon Ionic Cinema on Finchley Road in Golders Green, so it read, Who Framed Roger Rabbi? The second truth is that it's illegal to flick snot into the wind in Alabama. That was the one that was true. This is thought to date from a cholera epidemic in 1873. The third truth is that willy-willies is the name for short-lived whirling columns

of dusty wind in the Australian bush. Also known as 30-second cyclones, they can be powerful enough to cause minor damage to property. Terrifying. That's a terrifying superpower. It has the power to cause minor damage to property. Come in and push over a bin and snap a pencil. Even a normal willy can cause minor damage to property, come in and push over a bin and snap a pencil. Even a normal willy can cause minor damage to property.

This is not the place. Yes, point, and I'll be taking that off your rent. Yeah. The fourth truth is that a Dr Paul Eggleton of London's Natural History Museum regularly makes trips to Africa to capture the termites' prolific output of wind. So they're very farty. He transports his jars of termite farts through customs using the label Forest Air.

Termite wind is a major ecological problem, with 20% of methane production coming from termites. And the fifth truth is that if you ask for a nun's fart in a Belgian bakery, you'll get a cinnamon Danish. Pet de non, or nun's farts, are deep-fried choux puff pastries often sprinkled in sugar and cinnamon. And that means, Rod, you've scored five points.

Which brings us to the final scores. In joint last place, with minus two points each, we have Henning Veen and Celia Pakola. In second place, with minus one point, it's Lloyd Langford. And in first place, with an unassailable nought point, it's this week's winner, Rod Gilbert. That's about it for this week from the Festival Fringe in Edinburgh. All that remains is for me to thank our guests.

Goodbye. The Unbelievable Truth was devised by John Naismith and Graham Garden and featured David Mitchell in the chair with panellists Celia pacola lloyd langford henny vane and rod gilbert the chairman's script was written by dan gaster and colin swash and the producer was john naysmith it was a random production for bbc radio 4