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Various Cutaways of Rat

Published 10th December 2025

TV Comedy

(You’ll need to have read this piece on the Fawlty Towers episode “Basil the Rat” and its two-day recording schedule, along with this short follow-up, in order to get anything out of this post. Also, fair warning: we get deep into the weeds with this one.)

Somebody recently emailed me with a reasonable enough question: where do I get all the old television scripts I use in my writing here on Dirty Feed?

You may perhaps expect me to be hanging around various libraries and archives, but for boring practical reasons, that isn’t usually the case.1 Instead, I have various other sources. Some of them are already published in books, like the Absolutely Fabulous pilot.2 Some of them are just sitting online if you know where to search, such as the pilot for Mary Tyler Moore. Some of them I simply get sent by friendly people every now and again. (Yes, I will write about that Love Thy Neighbour script one day, promise.)

Then there’s auction houses. And while I occasionally buy scripts from eBay and the like, I can’t afford to do that too often.3 But just occasionally, you get lucky. As I was when it came to Fawlty Towers, and – you’ve guessed it – “Basil the Rat”, or just “Rat”.

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  1. Oh, you want a longer explanation? Fine. I believe I’m very careful here on Dirty Feed when it comes to copyright and fair dealing. I only use extracts of copyrighted works for the purposes of criticism or review – and the stuff I do here definitely counts as that.

    However, archives are generally a bit stricter than this when you’re actually quoting material they hold, and demand that you get permission from the copyright holder. It’s a) a faff, b) you might not get permission, and c) I seriously want to make sure I don’t upset anyone and make myself persona non grata by disobeying the rules. So with a lot of my stuff, it’s ironically easier to avoid official avenues. ↩

  2. Though you have to be careful to figure out you’re not working from transcripts, or scripts which have been edited to take all the fun stuff out of them. ↩

  3. I recently had to stop myself from buying the script for an episode of long-lost Bob Monkhouse sitcom The Big Noise. I still slightly regret controlling myself. ↩

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“I Don’t Own a Television Machine”

Published 29th November 2025

TV Comedy

Every so often, when struggling to analyse what I love about a TV show, I reach for the phrase “a complete comedy”. It’s a bit of a shitty, half-arsed idea. Let me at least try to explain what the hell I mean.

Some shows are built to do very specific things. Fawlty Towers is one of the best sitcoms ever made, but it’s essentially a wind-up engine for producing farce. Something like The Young Ones might look wild and anarchic and like it could do anything… but watch how the show immediately has to retreat once it brings up the death of Rick’s parents in “Summer Holiday”. There are some places the programme simply can’t go.

Then you have shows like Hi-de-Hi!, where it feels like they can go anywhere, and do anything. One episode might be a sadistic parody of light entertainment with Ted which would make Filthy, Rich & Catflap blush, the next could be another chapter in the touching Gladys/Jeffrey near-romance, then we’re headlong into a farcial plot about illicitly screening mucky movies.

An even better example is Frasier, a show which would seemingly mould and bend itself to take any kind of comedy the writers felt like doing. Oh, you want to do Mr. Bean this week, but with Niles? No problem.

Of course, it’s not a perfect categorisation. With any show, you’ll eventually bump into its boundaries and limitations; it’s just a question of how far you can wander first. It’s also not meant to be a criticism of shows which are more limited in scope; slagging off Fawlty Towers for not being something it’s not even trying to be would be completely ludicrous.

And yet I have to admit a certain fondness for those shows where you simply don’t know what kind of comedy you’ll be getting this time round. And The Dick Van Dyke Show, which aired on CBS between 1961-66, falls squarely into this category of a “complete comedy”.

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Poor Old Jackie Rae

Published 24th November 2025

TV Gameshows

The Golden Shot logo

Researching a programme like The Golden Shot (1967-75) is a nightmare. As I pointed out last time, for a show which ran for hundreds of editions, vanishingly few of them actually survive. Even fewer are generally available to view. You’re left scrabbling for what you can find in old newspapers and magazines… and the odd autobiography.

Such as Bob Monkhouse’s incredible Crying With Laughter (Century, 1993), often regarded as the gold standard in celebrity memoirs. And one of the most arresting sequences in the whole book is the section where he details his thrilling takeover of The Golden Shot from first host, Jackie Rae.

“Having concluded that I was lucky not to be presenting this calamity and so suffering condemnation by press and public alike, I was puzzled when Peter1 phoned to say I was wanted as the guest star for the tenth week. The fee was insignificant and the inconvenience considerable as it meant travelling from Liverpool to Elstree and back again for my midnight jobs at Jack Murphy’s Cabaret Club in Duke Street. And who was watching ‘The Golden Shot’ now anyway? Its Saturday ratings had plunged. ‘I know, love, but it’s a chance for you to show ’em a thing or two on that set.’

I got the message.

Having made sure the set was standing, I drove out to the studio and looked it over. The guest had to fire the bow using a joystick in a glass booth. The booth looked like the one featured in a frequently seen soap commercial of the day where a man went into a phone kiosk which turned into a bathroom shower. I sought out my pals in special effects and had the booth rigged to do the same. Next, I consulted the props men and they agreed to build what I’d drawn.”

According to Bob, his guest performance went spectacularly well.

“Half an hour of the usual stuff, tedious as ever, with no audience reaction other than cued applause where required. Then I was announced and my first appearance brought a crack of laughter that registered on the Richter scale. I was dressed as a big target, the golden bullseye over my middle. The absurdity of anyone showing up at an archery contest in such an idiotic costume delighted the previously bored crowd. A fusillade of gags followed as I removed my outer costume to reveal a Tyrolean outfit in the style of William Tell, put an apple on my head and did some comic business with a curved crossbow that could shoot round corners. Then I announced that I had my own private armourer, ‘Heinz the dolt!’ A four-foot tin of Heinz Potted Shrimp was wheeled on and tiny Johnny Vyvyan climbed out, dressed as a stormtrooper with a spiked Prussian helmet and carrying a gigantic door bolt. We plunged into a fast and crazy routine in which I fired at various objects he was holding up, each of them rigged to explode when hit and shower the stone-faced little man with their contents. The laughter was just as explosive, roars of hysterical mirth and applause bursting from two hundred and fifty people who had been spending an evening starved of any semblance of fun.

When I started stuffing Johnny feet first into a large cannon, Jackie Rae must have been wondering what had hit him. Unrehearsed, he was rooted to the spot by his need to read his lines off idiot boards.

I ran into the glass booth to fire the cannon and rattled off a few funny lines while Johnny was secretly replaced by a dummy. On a signal that Johnny was out and clear, I pressed the firing button. There was a hell of a bang with confetti and red smoke, the dummy soared fifteen feet in the air and its spiked helmet stuck firmly in the bullseye.

The crowd went wild and Jack Parnell, watching the show on the screen of a TV monitor in the bandroom, waited for the din to diminish before giving his orchestra the downbeat. Precious seconds were ticking by.

Then the music from the then famous soap advert filled the air and, just as in the familiar commercial, the lighting changed to make a silhouette of me as my firing booth became a shower stall. A cascade of water hit me from above and I washed myself, working up a lather with the detergent already in my clothing.2 If an audience ever howled with laughter any longer and louder, it could only have been in comedy heaven.”

The inevitable then happened:

“On the Thursday of that week Lew [Grade] sent for Peter. ATV’s light entertainment booker Alec Fine joined the meeting and Lew told them to do a deal for me to take over as host on ‘The Golden Shot’ as soon as possible.”

All very nice. The question is: how much of it is true?

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  1. Peter Prichard, Bob’s agent. ↩

  2. With many thanks to Simon McLean, the advert Bob is referencing here must be this one for Lifebuoy soap, or a similar one in the same series. ↩

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That Which Survives

Published 10th November 2025

TV Gameshows

If history is written by the winners, then television history is written by the survivors. Survivors of magnetic tape or celluloid, that is. And The Golden Shot, which originally ran on ITV between 1967-75, has a frankly pitiful rate of survival.

Which means that sometimes, the only record of something you really, really want to see can be found in contemporary newspaper reports. Such as the following, published in the Daily Mirror on the 18th September 1972, under the headline “Golden Gatecrasher – Building worker takes over TV show for demo”:

“A building worker took over a top TV show yesterday.

He staged a one-man protest spectacular on ATVs “Golden Shot” while it was going out live from Birmingham.

He seized the microphone from compere Norman Vaughan just as the comedian was introducing the programme’s first contestant to the viewers.

Then the small, dark-haired gatecrasher, aged about twenty-four, shouted slogans and urged other building workers to continue their strike.

Cameras swung away from the scene, and screens were blacked out for about fifteen seconds as studio staff dashed out to hustle the unknown invader away.

Compere Vaughan quickly tried to laugh off the incident.

While the leather-jacketed protester was being led away, Vaughan joked that it must have been Jimmy Tarbuck or Charlie Drake.1

The protest is believed to have been linked to the hard line being taken by Midlands building workers opposing last Thursday’s pay settlement after the official national strike.

The gatecrasher made his entrance just two days after 100 Birmingham building workers seized control of the building employers’ headquarters in the city and occupied it for nearly two hours.

When they were finally persuaded to leave by police, the protesters promised that they had some more spectacular demonstrations planned to draw public attention to their grievances over the national pay settlement.

ATV’s general manager, Mr. Leonard Matthews, was in the studio audience yesterday.

Angrily, he ordered an investigation into how the building worker managed to get into the studio.”

One thing the above report misses out is exactly what the protester manages to say before he was taken off air; The Birmingham Post reported that he said something akin to: “Support the building workers. No work on Monday.”

The 1972 Building Workers’ Strike is far too complicated to get into here, but it’s worth pointing out that this is the strike that landed Ricky Tomlinson in jail for two years… a conviction for which he was eventually cleared in 2021. In a parallel universe, this clip from The Golden Shot is used as the introduction to every single retrospective documentary or news report about the case.

In ours, it merely exists as smudged ink, and pixellated representations of that smudged ink. And there are a million such moments.

  1. I know Vaughan gets slated for his time on The Golden Shot, with Monkhouse memorably saying in his autobiography that he took to the show “like a cat to water”, but this sounds very funny. ↩

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“What Can They Do, Fire Me?”

Published 8th November 2025

TV Gameshows

If you’re the kind of person who reads this site, it’s very likely that you have childhood memories of Bob Monkhouse. Mine? Definitely his Central game shows of the 1990s, such as The $64,000 Question and the revival of Celebrity Squares.1 Oh, and my Mum ringing up the BBC after an appearance on Have I Got News For You, to complain he had been racist against the French.

As I got older, I followed the general trend of many comedy fans, in my reassessment of Bob from “that nice man on the telly”, to “one of the funniest men who ever lived”. And once you heard about his vast film and television archive and realise he was one of us into the bargain – except also doing that better and more comprehensively than virtually anybody else as well – that’s when the awe really began to set in. I choose to believe he might even have enjoyed reading Dirty Feed, and you can’t prove otherwise, leave me alone.

It was apparent years before if you were paying attention, but I can trace my realisation of Bob as an archive fiend to the documentary The Secret Life of Bob Monkhouse, first broadcast on BBC Four on 3rd January 2011. And one of the most fascinating parts of that documentary was the section on Bob’s sacking from The Golden Shot in 1972, including clips of his final show2, from a copy taken from Bob’s archive. I could watch it endlessly.

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  1. Years which were unfairly and pointlessly maligned in the 2015 Gold documentary Bob Monkhouse: Million Joke Man. ↩

  2. Before his return in 1974, of course. ↩

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Zodiac and Co.

Published 26th October 2025

Other TV / TV Comedy

This week, I have watched two things from 1977. One was The Spy Who Loved Me. The other was a mostly-forgotten BBC South West regional programme called Zodiac and Co. You will be unsurprised to hear I have more to say about one of those things than the other.

Zodiac and Co., best described as an astrological What’s My Line?, was presented by Jan Leeming. Her fantastic autobiography1, Addicted to Love (Robson Books, 2003) gives a good account of the series:

“I’d been approached by Bryan Skilton, a colleague from my BBC Bristol days, and asked to front a new series of programmes to be recorded in Plymouth. Zodiac and Co.2 had an interesting format. Very often with a new idea, a series will have a local showing. Then, if it is successful, it might go nationwide. This was the hope with Zodiac. However, to begin with, it was only for transmission in the West Country and our guests had to either live in the area or have an association with it.

The programme comprised a team of an astrologer, a graphologist, and a palmist. Julia Parker, whom I knew well from Women Only, was our astrologist. In advance of the programme, she would be given the guest’s birth date, time and place; Albert Hughes, the graphologist, would receive a sample of handwriting, and Lori Reid, our palmist, got a palm print. The three team members would have to reduce their deductions to one and a half minutes on camera, in which they delivered their findings about the guest. The guest would remain in a room hidden away from the panel, but a camera would record their reactions, which were shown to the audience at home. After the prognostications, the guest would join me and the team to discuss the findings.”

All very interesting. Not least because Jan Leeming has just taught me the word “prognostications”.

But there’s a particular reason why the show is of interest to us here, and it’s related to the one complete edition of the programme available on YouTube. For those of you who want to experience the complete programme as you might have done back in 1977, I’ll only give away the identity of the guest in the second half of the show after the cut.

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  1. It really is worth reading, by the way. Anecdotes like this are typical, regarding her attack by strangers at TV Centre in 1987:

    “There was a lot of discussion about security at the BBC. Actually in my opinion it was a joke. At the front of Television Centre it is like Fort Knox… but at the back of the building it was a leaky sieve. All my assailants had to do was shin over the iron railings and get in through the scene dock, or the Outside Broadcast Bay, where the cars were constantly coming and going.” ↩

  2. You will be unsurprised to hear that this programme has many permutations when it comes to the title. Despite the logo of the programme itself not including the full stop, I’ve decided to go with the format that Jan herself uses here, which was also mostly used in contemporary publications. ↩

Basil the Rat Redux

Published 11th October 2025

TV Comedy

Last time, we talked about how “Basil the Rat” was unique among Fawlty Towers episodes, in that it had two days in the studio. But there is another thing which makes it unique: the episode was also shot in front of two separate studio audiences.

Both of these audience sessions were on the second day of recording: the 20th May 1979. A matinee, followed by the evening performance. Bob Spiers gives full details on the DVD commentary:

“I think we were able to actually get it together by something like 4 o’clock on the second day, and consequently we showed this I think to two audiences, which gave the actors to really play two separate performances, which they were delighted to do. So I think mainly this is the second performance, but again we used bits of both performances.

I don’t think any actor would turn that down. They know the first performance is like a proper dress rehearsal with an audience, so they can sense the timing and can sense where the laughs are coming.”

Note that the above is different to the famous example of dinnerladies, which was also recorded in front of two separate audiences. But dinnerladies had one audience recording on the first day in the studio, and then the other audience recording on the second day, which gave Victoria Wood a chance to rewrite parts of the script based on the audience reaction of the first recording. “Basil the Rat” did both one after the other. Well, with a dinner break in-between.

It’s a point which is worth hammering home: “Basil the Rat” having two days in the studio had many advantages, rather than simply being useful for recording live rodents. The gang got both extra time for rehearsing the main show, and two bites of the cherry into the bargain.

*   *   *

Bob states above that while most of the episode was taken from the second recording, a few moments were taken from the first. The obvious question is: which ones?

Oh, how I’d love to write that article. I’m sorry to disappoint you. Details of that are lost to the mists of time, and I doubt even the darkest depths of Caversham could shed light on it. If I had a time machine, I’d spend most of my life going through Bob Spiers’ bins.

Also lost to the mists of time are the studio tapes of both performances. Very little unbroadcast footage of Fawlty Towers is known to exist; the bloopers ripped from the Christmas tapes are about your lot. Sure, in an ideal world, the BBC would have been aware that they were making something so special, that they should save every last scrap of material recorded for the series for posterity. But my brain is corrupted by years of DVD extras, and it’s unreasonable to expect the Beeb in 1979 to share my stupid brain. They were too busy making the next piece of great television.

But just imagine. “Basil the Rat” is one of the best half-hours of sitcom ever made. And for an indeterminate period of time, there existed two complete versions of the episode… just played in a slightly different way. All the same lines, all the same beats. Like a version of the episode which slipped in through a wormhole from a parallel universe. I’m imagining the DVD menu. “Basil the Rat: Alternative Version”.

Tell you what, though: considering the raw footage dragged up for the Gold documentary in 2018, I bet you could do it for dinnerladies. And that would have the added interest of seeing all of Victoria’s rewrites. Someone commission me, quick.

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TC8, 19th May 1979

Published 10th October 2025

TV Comedy

What is special about the Fawlty Towers episode known variously as “Rat”, “Rats”, and nowadays as “Basil the Rat”?1

Most obviously: the episode was delayed due to strike action at the BBC. Originally intended for broadcast on the 26th March 1979, it finally made it to air on the 25th October 1979, billed in the Radio Times as a “Fawlty Towers Special”. This is all an interesting topic in its own right, and something I’ll write about properly at some point.

Today’s subject matter is slightly more oblique. The delay the strike caused in recording the episode was much appreciated by director Bob Spiers, for a very particular reason. He talks about it on the DVD commentary for the show; I will quote it at length, because it’s all relevant.2

“As it turned out, it worked brilliantly to our advantage. because after we had read through, and I’d analysed just what was involved in this episode in terms of special effects and rats running around all over the place and just the number of scenes we had to do, it had finally become in my opinion totally and completely impossible to do this show with one day in the studio.

So I think we had to finally say the game was up, this was just too complex to achieve in one hit, and we needed to pre-record certain bits with the rat, and with other bits and pieces. Just given the amount of work that we had to do camera-rehearsing the show in general. It just would never, ever have worked.

So luckily at the last minute, with this little delay, I went cap in hand to the powers that be, and just finally had to admit defeat, really, and just say: listen, boys, this just ain’t gonna be possible. So very grudgingly, they agreed to allow me two days in the studio, and some pre-record time to do the special effects pieces. So this is an episode that had two days in the studio.

In other words: while every single other episode of Fawlty Towers had one day in the studio, “Basil the Rat” had two.3 A few years later, certain complicated sitcoms such as The Young Ones would have two days in the studio as a matter of course. But in 1979, it was not a common occurrence.

Those two recording days for “Basil the Rat” were the 19th and 20th May 19794, in Studio 8 at Television Centre. On the 19th, they pre-recorded various scenes without an audience; on the 20th the rest of the episode was recorded with an audience present. Of course, the inserts recorded on the 19th would also be played into the audience sessions on the 20th5, in order for the audience to follow the story, and to record their reaction to the pre-recorded scenes.

So far, so good, and the story usually ends there. But, to quote a particularly troublesome guest at the hotel: “I’m not satisfied.” It’s all very well to hand-wave the pre-recorded sections as “certain bits with the rat, and with other bits and pieces”. I want to know exactly which bits they deemed complicated enough to need pre-recording. Of course, we can make some guesses from watching the episode, but that’s not good enough, is it?

What is good enough, is – waves vaguely – a scrap of paper I have here, which lists every single section of the show pre-recorded on the 19th May. And while it doesn’t give time codes for each pre-recorded section, it does list the actors involved, and the exact duration of each insert, which makes it all relatively easy to work out. And some scenes which turn out to have been pre-recorded are ones you really wouldn’t expect… at least, at first glance.

Let’s take a look. For each pre-recorded section, I’ve made a video which labels exactly when the audience recording transitions into the pre-recorded section, and then back to the audience material.

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  1. The history of Fawlty Towers episode titles is too complex to go into here. Suffice to say that the episode titles as we now know them are not the ones used when the series was in production. ↩

  2. Many people don’t like the Bob Spiers Fawlty Towers commentary, because he talks about boring things such as a pillar being removed from the upstairs landing set. I really enjoy the Bob Spiers Fawlty Towers commentary, because he talks about boring things such as a pillar being removed from the upstairs landing set. ↩

  3. Not including reshoots made to the pilot, which is a special case, and not the kind of thing we’re talking about here. ↩

  4. As per Andrew Pixley’s article on Series 2 of Fawlty Towers in TV Zone #152, and confirmed by an independent look at the production paperwork for the series. ↩

  5. There were two audience sessions on the 20th, not one, but that’s a different article. ↩

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The Stories on the Lips of the Nation

Published 24th September 2025

TV Comedy

One problem I’ve always had with Dirty Feed is my desire to move onto the next big thing.

That may sound a tad ridiculous, when the next big thing appears to be Fawlty Towers. Or, indeed, Love Thy Neighbour. What I mean is: I’m always pushing on to write about the next thing which captures my interest, and I’m incredibly bad at updating old articles to reflect new information gleaned from various sources. (Unless somebody corrects an absolutely outrageous error.)

So let’s take a moment to revisit this piece I wrote in 2018, about the unbroadcast pilot of Drop the Dead Donkey. It’s an article I remember very fondly, because it felt like a real step towards writing about things in the way I do now. Dirty Feed launched in 2010, but it took me years to figure out what I really wanted this place to be like. That article is as good a waypoint as any.

But there was one big mystery still remaining about that unbroadcast pilot, expressed in the comments of the original piece, from Iain Hepburn:

“One question (one I suspect you won’t be able to answer but I’ll try anyway) that’s always bugged me: just how untransmitted the pilot was.

I know the full thing wasn’t available until the DVD release, and admittedly I was 12 when the first episode aired, but I could swear I’d seen the Ridley joke and the crop circles joke before the first episode. I’m not sure if it was a trailer or some preview clip on something, but I’ve a very strong (and probably erroneous) feeling that at least one clip of the pilot was shown before the actual first episode, and it was a standout joke at that.”

My reply was:

“It wouldn’t surprise me at all if clips from the pilot were used to represent the series in some kind of early publicity for the show. As the show was recorded the day before transmission, if they wanted to trail the series in any way, unless it was some kind of specially shot trail, they’d *have* to use clips from the pilot. And surely they trailed the series, didn’t they?

So if anybody reading this has any Channel 4 continuity from around August 1990, now is the time to look…”

And there that little question sat for seven years. Until Will Tudor pointed me towards, erm, some Channel 4 continuity from around August 1990. Specifically, from the 9th August 1990, the day the first (proper) episode of Drop the Dead Donkey was broadcast.1

From 4:14 in:

And so now we can see that Iain was entirely correct – the promo did indeed contain both the Ridley joke and the crop circles joke, both using from footage taken from the otherwise-unbroadcast pilot! I always go on about people’s faulty memories with this kind of thing – including my own – so it’s nice to see one which was absolutely bang on.

Of course, the reason for using clips from the pilot is obvious: the episode itself would only have been recorded on the 8th August 1990, the day before the above promo aired. And not only is that not really enough time to include clips in a carefully-planned promo broadcast the next day, but we can also assume that versions of this promo were broadcast in the week leading up to transmission. These clips probably aired before the “real” first episode of the series was even recorded.

So now we now for sure: clips from the pilot of Drop the Dead Donkey really were broadcast on Channel 4 all those years ago. Brilliant. One article updated, only 658 to go.

  1. Incidentally, it’s well worth browsing all the videos uploaded by ‘Sticky tape ‘n’ rust’, the brilliant YouTube channel responsible for this. ↩

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Add Real Value

Published 23rd September 2025

Internet

I received an email the other day. It was sent to my Substack email address, and was titled “last post thoughts”. It read as follows:

“hi John,

gotta say, enjoyed the last post. the mix of archive nitpicking and
personal notes was kinda brilliant and felt very real.
I dont have a formal pitch, just curious.

would you ever profile a relevant expert in a future piece?

if yes, id love to point you toward someone who’d fit the tone and add
real value. fwiw, cheers — [name removed]”1

I mean, you might think I’m oversuspicious. But I detect just a smidge of AI writing in the above post, I don’t know about you.

Not that we need it, but there is proof. This email was sent by someone – or something – using an email address @podpitchplus.com. And what is PodPitch, exactly?

“Stop wasting time with one-off emails to podcasts. PodPitch is the first and only software that finds, writes, and sends pitches to podcast hosts from your actual email address. Whether or not you’re already pitching podcasts, PodPitch will make sure you get podcast bookings – guaranteed.”

Brilliant work, well done. I mean, I don’t run a podcast, sure, but maybe a “relevant expert” could be profiled in my newsletter, yeah?

Well, except that PodPitch couldn’t figure out August’s newsletter was the last one. But that’s a detail.

  1. Yes, I removed the name. Yes, I’m too nice. ↩