'Well it just sounds tedious.'
'Pooh, I think you've misheard the title--'
'Six hours of folk running up and down between decks
belaying and mizzening and yelling Hardyhardyhardaport.'
'Pooh, it's actually called--'
'Is this what I avoid paying a licence-fee for?'
'Pooh--'
''Course, we should have known. What's that new Director-General called?'
'I think it's Tim--'
'Tim Blackjack Davy. You can just picture him swaggering round Broadcasting House telling everyone to swab and haul and pitch and putt.'
'Pooh--'
'Chomping on Old Jamaica chocolate.'
'I don't think they make that any more.'
'Not for the likes of us, maybe, but he's doubtless got a stash salted away off the coast of Hispaniohavanagila.'
'I think his background is a bit diff--'
'So all of their programmes will change. Easterlyenders. Who's A Peaky Blinder, Then?'
'Pooh--'
'Normal Lubbers.'
'Pooh!! That programme's called Line of Duty!'
'Are you sure?'
'Completely.'
'Ah…not Liner, then.'
'Never was.'
'Hmm…well…you just keep an eye on Blackjack Davy. I still say he's got nauticalistic plans.'
'Well, let's leave it for--'
'Happy Galley.'
'Pooh, I said let's--'
'Pretty Polldark.'
'It's a lovely evening.'
'It is now, maybe, but there's a squall a-comin' out of the Nornornorornor, yew mark moi words ye foine young porcinerator.'
'Just let it, Pooh. Just let it.'
