Nornornornornor...

 

'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.'