The Guardian newspaper is currently reprinting as booklets "great speeches of the 20th century"; Winston Churchill, Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela, that kind of thing. As important as all these speeches have been, the Guardian has made a real howler, egg on faces all round because they have failed to include Reggie Perrin's legendary Bilberry Hall speech.
For those of you who don't know, shame on you, Reggie Perrin was the central character in the 1970s BBC sit com The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin. The comedy follows the main character's fall into total alienation from the middle-class grind of his surburban life and middle-management job - culminating in his fake suicide on the beach. Already utterly disenchanted Reggie is asked to make a key note speech at British Fruit Association seminar:
Thank you. Thank you very much indeed. Thank you,
Mister... whatever your name is. When my boss said to me "Reginald Iolanthe
Perrin, you are a senior sales earwig at Sunshine Desserts, and they are
holding a seminar on instant puddings at Bilberry Hall and I want you to
talk on 'Are We Getting Our Just Desserts?'", my first thought was: 'What
a pathetic title for a talk!' (C.J. scowls). But then I thought
again (C.J. loses his scowl). My second thought was: 'What a pathetic
title for a talk!' (C.J. finds his scowl again). But I come here
anyway because I have something very important to say to you all. We are
told that we need more growth: 6% per year. More chemicals to cure more
pollution, caused by more chemicals. More car parks for more tourists who
want to get away from more car parks. More food, to make us more fat, to
make us use more slimming aids, to make us take more pills, to make us
ill, to make us take more pills, to make more profit. More boring speakers,
making more boring speeches, at more boring conferences.
Dr. Hump
(mutters to Mr. Watkins): This is rubbish.
(Reggie overhears).
Reggie:
More rubbish, that's a very good point, thank you
Hump. But what has all this growth done for me? Well, I'll tell you. One
day I'll die, and on my grave it will say: "Here lies Reginald Iolanthe
Perrin. He didn't know the names of the trees and the flowers, but he knew
the rhubarb crumble sales figures for Schleswig Holstein." Look outside
at those trees - beautiful. But soon they will all be cut down to make
more underground par carks (sic). But I have got good news for you,
because half the parking meters in London have got Dutch Parking Meter
disease.
C.J.:
(to Elizabeth) I wish he'd stick to the
point! I didn't get where I am today talking about Dutch Parking Meter
Disease.
Reggie:
In the audience, my boss C.J. Let's have a big
hand for C.J. (there is scattered applause as C.J. half-rises in acknowledgement).
OK, that's enough. Ladies and gentlemen. You see, we become what we do.
You show me a hero who makes fondue tongs, and I'll show you a happy man
who earns his living perforating lavatory paper. "But what do YOU believe
in?" I hear you ask. Do I hear you ask? Well I'll tell you anyway: I know
that I don't know. I believe in not believing. You see, for every man who
believes something, there's somebody who believes the opposite. What's
the point? How many wars would have been fought, how many people would
have been tortured if nobody ever believed in anything? Have you ever heard
of 'The Wars of the Apathetic'? Or 'the persecution of the apathetic by
the bone idle'?
Dr. Hump:
(Mutters to Mr. Watkins) I think we've heard
enough of this!
Reggie:
But if we try and complain about it, we're told
we're standing in the way of 'progress'. Progress! There's a word that
begs the pardon. I beg your parsnips. I'm sorry, it doesn't beg the parsnips,
it begs the question.
Dr. Hump:
I think he's drunk.
Reggie:
That's funny, so do I. [Doc Morrissey stands
up and leaves the room].
Oh, there he goes, Doc Morrissey, 'the wizard
of the aspirin'. Off to the bog 'cause he's frightened of C.J.'s fishing
contest. He's gone to practice his flies!
Dr. Hump:
Get rid of him Watkins!
Reggie:
Old 'baldy Hump' here. You know why he's bald,
don't you? Made a right cock-up. Put pesticide on his hair, hair restorer
on his plums. Now he's as bald as a coot, got a garden full of hairy plums!
Anybody here from Canada? Anybody here from Australia? Tarporley? Anybody
here from Tarporley? Stand up, all those from Tarporley and shake hands
with the person on your right.
C.J.:
Come on, Perrin! I didn't get where I am today
shaking hands with the person on my right!
Reggie:
Oh C.J., I want to help you! What use has life
if it isn't for the people who have to live it?
[Several people rise
to remove Reggie from the podium, including Dr. Hump] Oh, here he comes,
old 'baldy Hump'. 'Lecturer in Applied Manure at the University of Steeple
Bumstead'! [Reggie is removed, and Mr. Watkins tries to restore order.]
Get
your hands off me! Oh God, he's got me right in the balls!
Mr. Watkins:
(At the podium, trying to divert attention from
Reggie's removal) Thank you, thank you for a most stimulating address.
(To Dr. Hump) Oh, fair do's!
Dr. Hump:
He didn't call you 'baldy'!
Mr. Watkins:
I'm not bald!
Elizabeth drives Reggie home, stopping for him on
the way at a public lavatory in the town. Reggie leaves by another exit,
catches a taxi to Sunshine Desserts, where he borrows a lorry of loganberry
essence and drives it to C.J.'s country estate. After a threatening letter
to C.J. promising that 'blood will flow', he releases the loganberry juice
into the river from which C.J. and his guests are all fishing. Having completed
his last 'snook' at society and the people who have made it hell for him,
he drives to the Dorset coast and dons a new disguise, leaving Reggie's
old clothes on the beach.
We look forward to the Guardian correcting this stunning omission!
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