What the Butler swore ...

THE SKETCH: WELCOME M’LORD

an old lord (ronnie Corbett) and his lady are having dinner in their ancestral home, served by a truculent butler (ronnie Barker).

LORD: Where’s the food? We’ve been sitting here ages. That new butler is very erratic. Wait for ages, then he brings all the food at once. What’s more, he’s damned impudent.

LADY: Oh, do you think so? He’s always very polite to me.

LORD: Well, he’s not to me. Impudent bounder. (enter butler, puts plate in front of lady.)

BUTLER: Your game, Milady. (Gives her a leer and starts to go.)

LORD: I say, Blenkinsop, hurry up with my roast pork. Make sure it’s a nice fatty bit! (Butler appears to ignore him, and exits.) LORD: There you are — ignores me.

LADY: Don’t make such a fuss. He’s very efficient.

LORD: Damned rude, I call it. (Butler enters with another plate. Places it in front of the lord.)

BUTLER: Your fat, Milord. (he exits.)

LORD: How dare he! I’m going to have to sack him.

LADY: Steady on — we have enough servant trouble as it is. The handyman’s about to leave us, and the plumbing is in a terrible state.

LORD: Oh, that reminds me, the lavatories . . . (Butler enters with dessert — he places it in front of lady.)

BUTLER: Your sweet, Milady. (he leers again.)

LADY: Oh, thank you, Blenkinsop. (he goes to sideboard, brings dish to lord.)

BUTLER: Your nuts, Milord. (turns away.)

LORD: Cheeky swine! (Calls to him) How am I supposed to break these open — with my teeth? (Butler returns to table.)

BUTLER: Your crackers, Milord. (hands him nutcrackers and exits.)

LORD: That does it! Staff shortage or no staff shortage — he goes!

LADY: Well, you know best, dear. What were you saying about the lavatories? (Butler enters, pushing a large trolley.)

LORD: They’re broken. Out of order. Up the spout and down the drain.

LADY: What? And we’ve sacked the handyman! How are we going to manage? (Butler, at table by the trolley, takes cover off a bucket, hands it to lady.)

BUTLER: Your pale, Milady. (takes cover off another object.)

BUTLER: Your potty, Milord.