(A large country house. A number of sportin' gentlemen dressed
in huntin' tweed and carrying shotguns come out, casually firing the
guns at random. They climb into a land-rover and drive off. Cut to huntin'
country. A line of beaters moves towards the camera; as they do so several
young couples leap up out of the undergrowth and run away. Shots of
hunters stalking their prey and shooting. One of them breaks his gun
into two pieces. Another fires into the air. An egg lands on his head.
Cut to two duellists (with pistols) and a referee standing between them.
They fire; the referee falls dead. A huntin'gentleman fires into the
air, falls over backwards; a young couple get up from close behind him
and run away. Another huntin' gentleman is arguing defensively with
a pilot who has just landed by parachute. A hunter fires into some bushes;
a Red Indian pops up and runs away in alarm. They all return to the
house, legs and arms variously in plaster or bandaged. Two of them carry
a pole between them from which is slung a very small bird. The picture
of the outside of the house freezes and we pull back to reveal that
it is a photo on a stand, by which stands the knight in armour, expectantly
flexing his raw chicken. The floor manager comes up to him.)
Floor Manager: I'm sorry, we don't need you this week.
(Knight looks dejected, droops and slinks off, still holding chicken.
He walks past a hen house from wherein we hear a voice.)
Voice: And now for something completely different.
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