AND YOU THINK, "SUNDAY, BLOODY SUNDAY!"

IN RECESSED LETTERING,
WHICH WOULD ALSO COLLECT CRUMBS.

BE CAREFUL. NO LIGHTS ON THE DUAL CARRIAGEWAY.

LOOK, ALAN, IT'S TOO LATE TO CANCEL... I'M SORRY.

UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOU, I AM
THE CHIEF COMMISSIONING EDITOR OF BBC TELEVISION.

I'M HAVING AN ATTACK OF THE OLD FLAKES AGAIN.
THIS MORNING, MY PILLOW LOOKED LIKE A FLAPJACK.

LYNN, LET ME TAKE THAT.

MIND YOUR HEAD. IT'S COMING DOWN.

SOD OFF!

I'D RATHER YOU DIDN'T.

YOU'VE LOCKED THE DOOR.
SOMETIMES YOU DON'T WANT TO.

- SEE?
- BUT YOU'VE DONE IT.

THAT'S A MILLION POUNDS!

- THAT SOUNDS DEPRESSING.
- JUST THE PETROL, THEN?

- NOT MY CUP OF TEA.
- WE COULD DO A BOND FILM.

ACTUALLY, I AM SPEECHLESS.

NO, IT'S NOT. IT'S KATE BUSH. WHAT AM I DOING?
SORRY. HUEY LEWIS, THERE WE GO.

ANYTHING YOU NEED, JUST LET ME KNOW.
OR YOU, MRS PARTRIDGE.