Masterpiece Theatre; Paradise Postponed; 105; The Wrongs of Man

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A rational explanation of the last will of Simeon Simcox. Simeon Simcox, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, The deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor,

the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, the deceased tractor, public television. Good evening. I'm Alistair Cook. We are now at the fifth episode of John Mortimer's Paradise Pusponed. For the moment, the rectus two sons are reconciled, Henry, the novelist film writer who stole Fred's girl, has married her in Hollywood. They're back in England now. The rectus has baptized their daughter Francesca. Fred is working for a medical degree. There's a hint of trouble ahead in Leslie Tittness's plans to represent the local conservatives. His wife Charlotte, as you know, is the daughter of Sir Nicholas, the county squire, who is also the chairman of the local conservatives on the face of it, an ideal wife for Leslie. But she has become increasingly involved in protest marches

and left-wing causes that embarrass him. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the last episode, we heard that the mysterious figure of Tom Nout, the poacher, whom the rectus dislikes for no discoverable reason, Tom Nout has been found in the woods shot in the chest. Paradise besponed episode five. Thomas Nout was a well-nourished man at 54 years of age.

He was in good health, perfectly good. The cause of death was a shotgun wound in the chest. There was a narrow area of dispersal which led me to believe that the gun had been fired at extremely close quarters. He was shot by his own gun. It was clearly an accident. I saw the body at the site. The path was rough and overgrown. Dead man's trousers were muddy as they had fallen to his knees. I think he may have been shooting in the dark. Shooting in the dark? I'm afraid so. So you believe it was accidental death while shooting in the dark? That was my conclusion. I went down to St James in Fermi. So my baby there stretched on a long white table.

So sweet, so cold, so bare. Let it go, let it go, God bless her. Wherever she is. Absolutely. Of course, he said it was an accident. The doctor would say that, wouldn't he? I can't see old tongs now. Shooting anything by accident, can you? Well done. I want you to dress me in. Oh, some people are in suits. Well, some people are in suits. So tongs are next. These kids don't be. There's no one I'd stand in. We're entitled to a place of our own.

Tom's old cottage is suit as nicely. I don't know so much. Smelt like the monkey asked the way that door and mouth used to keep it. Why can't you clean it, Mum? Honestly. And then there's the hat and a bit of woodland that goes with it. Tari can use that for its motorbike. I know them legs are tongled out. He'd use a bloody axed tongled out wood. And I'll give it a far they knew it was early. Let them suddenly please fall anywhere. And the wreck is going to see Mr. Strelv about letting us have Tom's place. Bing is one of the picked-in cottages. Oh, Mr. Strelv's bound to let you out for it. Bound him, huh? Well, you've been lookland and having walked out for six years. Well, we've all got to get up in the morning. And I only want you to use it for your bikes, Terry Fawcett.

Thank you very much. What? Tom's old hat in the woods. You know what they say about that place, don't you? No. Let you in, Natalie. We was never that close. Plain is. I'm looting up now, Plain is. I'm 26 years old. When is she going to stop treating me like a child? When we get Tom's notes cottage. I will. I saw obviously on the police but I meant such a lot to them.

Well, I'm so pleased. Would you mind not signing that one? I plan to read the dog moment standing about in the bookshop. Any good, is it? A brilliant and savage satire on Hollywood by Britain's funniest and angriest young man. Don't you ever read the Guardian? What are you knocking on a bit for an angry young man? I don't think so. 1706. Who got no money on you? Well, every penny. I assume you'll be coming over to the rectory for dinner. I'll tell the parents they'll kill the fatted car for something. Oh, Henry. Tom now's dead. That's never a photograph of you. I'm afraid so. Well, it isn't the least bit.

Thank you. It isn't the least. Like Henry, is it him, in? Looks like someone else. Who? Who? A very consummate man. What's it about? Not a who-done it, is it? I'd wish you'd write a who-done it. They do awfully well at the library. Nowadays, the library comes round in a van, like milk. It's a satirical comedy mother about how much Henry hates America. Do you hate it? Why'd you keep on going there then? It doesn't keep going. There it keeps coming back. Anyway, those ghastly film people, Agnes and I, were being bored by one at lunch. You know, the sort of lunches they have there, three stories, sandwiches, and lethal cocktails, and iced water. Ice water did make my teeth ache. Agnes and I looked each other in the middle of lunch, and we hit on the skin by a sort of telepathy. We both went to the Lou, and climbed out of the window to feed them.

There. We walked back to the hotel, laughing all the way. You just don't walk in Hollywood. No one walks in Hollywood. No. It's a sort of blasphemy. The poor man who was buying you lunch. The Benjamin K. Bugloss isn't poor at all. It draws the most enormous expenses. Did you ever speak to you again? The next morning. He said it was a fun lunch. He sounds so sort of saint, your Mr. Bugloss. Well, just have to do with us. Well, well, well, well. Good night, boss. The girls, same time. A good thing I brought, no, and whiskey, don't. The drink here flows like cement. Do you think our father and the breadwin' mother

were getting at me slightly? You're very perceptive. They get at me a lot more. Huh? Why is that? Well, perhaps because I'm here a lot more. Cheers. Oh, father's an extraordinary being. Would you ever get the feeling that he's not connected with us at all? Tom now shot himself by accident, apparently. He was a poacher, wasn't he? No one seems to have met knowing him very well, or his hut in the woods. No, no, but I'm angry, I have no one wants to meet knowing him. Well, Dr. Salter doesn't, or mother. I had an idea. I'll try not to. You're not used to it. I had a strange thought that maybe she and Dr. Salter went there together once. Years ago, perhaps. Ah! God, they accuse me of inventing. Me, writers don't invent.

You think sun sets an invention? I tell you, it's all exactly like that, only more so. Writers. We are the only reliable witnesses. We know about the world, young Frederick. We've got our feet firmly on the ground. But people like you, doctors, lawyers, middle class, professional men, you go about in a sort of a dream. You live in a world of fantasy. Is it because your lives are so dull? You have to invent some mysterious secret about our family. I don't suppose we'll ever know now. Now? Now old Tom's dead. We need a fair bit spent on it. The nut seems to have lived in a kind of world slum. Our hearts, commender prizes, will be responsible for all and necessary renovations and repairs. And pay the strove estate, four grand for the property. Including the five acres of woodland, at least, to Tom now, with the cottage. There's the hazard details.

Oh, there's only one difficult in. What's that, Father? Well, I've had a note from the rats. The big war goes, marrying young foresight. They've been walking out together for years. Family, they've been praying for a cottage to recover available. Ah! Ah! Ah! With all due respect to the rats, I wonder if he's really thought this one through. Ah! Ah! Of course, sir. Linus Bigwell is a remarkably attractive girl. What do you mean, Leslie? Well, I mean, if you did that sort of favor for one particular village, you're writing to start up old stories again. Old stories? I think what Leslie's trying to say is, if I may speak for you, Leslie. Oh, do Magnus, please do. I think all Leslie's trying to say, Father, is that it would be much better if he went to someone outside the neighborhood.

But that's all you're trying to say, isn't it? That's all, Magnus. Absolutely nothing else. Right. I really hope you like it. Then get back in the car, he's trying to say you're going to be free. The door was open.

Yes. I opened it. You must have seen the advertisement. No. Well, we put a card up in that funny little cell everything shop in Skurfield. Oh, you know the one. Paraphing lamps all mixed up with butter and bacon and all fly papers. If you didn't see the advertisement, how on earth did you hear? Everyone knows about it. Now Tom's passed over. News travels fast in this little community. Well, we're delighted to see you. However you've got here. Oh, the recta fixed it up. The red recta of Raptor? We haven't touched base with him yet. We hear he's perfectly charming in spite of his funny politics. So he suggested you came along. Well, he wrote a letter to Mr. Strowle, and I think that'll be the trick. I must say it's extremely thoughtful of them all. Well, that's my husband, by the way. Everybody calls him Mallie.

I do hope you will, too. Why? Well, his name's Mallard Green, but everybody at the BBC calls him Mallie. We were hoping to have a picnic in the garden, but I think we'd better take it all inside. Oh. Oh, I suppose that's all right. Thank you. I mean, I shouldn't really be here myself. It's not all signs and sealed yet, but I couldn't resist coming in and making a bit of a start. It is most tremendously keen of you, and I know we'll get on like a house on fire. I saw your bicycle outside. How many hours do you think you'll be able to get up here? But I'm going to be here all the time. All the time? We weren't thinking of anyone living in. Living, of course, we're living in. Me and Terry, it's going to be our courtyard, isn't it? Mallie, come here.

I think there's been a tiny bit of a boulder. I did not come here to be told. I cannot do what I'd like with my own property. Well, of course you can't. Not? You can't turn it into a brothel, for instance, or a torture chamber, or use it as headquarters for armed robbery. A brothel? It is to be converted by a mister and Mrs. Maddard Green, and he works for the television. Oh, I hadn't thought of any uses of a model as that. Now, look at him cut. If I promised after baptized incense, or to preach in the harvest festival, if I take my Bible oath, never to visit the sick, would you do me a favor? Keep in those other politics. Is it politics to say blessed are the poor? What you mean is best is all the inhabitants of Ratton, for they shall be entitled to live forever on a control rent of two pounds a week. Excuse me, I'll check it out.

Excuse me, I'll check it out. I must understand, Mr. Strove is entitled to do as he likes with his property. From what I understand, it needs a hefty sum to make it habitable. Something you wouldn't be able to afford, I understand. I mean, wouldn't want to see you in a substand of the holiday, should we? In a few years there'll be the lovely new flats in Westfield. There is to go. Oh, shit, my records. My records. Mr. Fawcett. Terry? Terry? Sons. Bloody marble, isn't it? Why another six years, what sort of citizen bloody advice does that mean? Why didn't you let me buy you a drink? Simpock's best bitter.

Yeah, yeah. There's a problem about planning permission to extend the old cottage. That, absolutely not. It's quite different from building anything new. Mm-hmm. And we get a grant for the improvements. Say. They thank me, Magnes. I think we'll leave a government. Yeah, they get you there. Not again. You want sauce on them? I want sauce on them. Please serve them out properly. Why do you have to put them out on a puntsy little dish?

Yeah. Can't imagine what your mother would say if she is. All right, ma'am. Mummy would think we'd got to dreadfully come. Screw her. What? I said screw her. It's not a thing I'd undertake personally. What's the matter with you? Suddenly, you're starting to make jokes. I think it's time I told you a Charlotte. We're moving. We are? Where's the sort? Hearts come enter prizes in these a national base. I thought you might like London. It's absolutely teaming with social problems. I can't see how I can leave. There's a plan for new flats in Worsefield. They don't want Worsefield. They want Rapstone. They both grew up in the village. Why should they move to Bloody Worsefield? Upward mobility. Up a bloody tile-bottom near about ten years' time. Anyway, there's not much I can do about Terry Forset yet.

What do you mean yet? Well, for that sort of problem, he'd go to his local MP. Napkins. I've come to say goodbye. You know we're moving to London. We've become too small for you. For the moment. I'll be back. How's Charlotte? I believe she's devoted to doing good. She always entails a certain selfishness. The problem is, Rector. She's turned out a bit of a snob. Charlotte? A snob. Of course, she was deprived when she was young. Deprived. Of love. Not really deprived of fish and chips. Bottoms and soles.

No, it seems you can't resist them. Charlotte seems set on joining the working classes. And you seem set on leaving them. My father always came home from work at the same time. Always said the same thing. Is tea ready, dear? Bottle of sauce always on the table. When it was over, he said the same thing. Very tasty, dear. That was very tasty. A ritual. Like, don't bother the doctor. When you felt ill or it's a blessed release when anybody died. That was what I had to look forward to. Getting the house when they had their blessed release.

Taking over the prefect. Getting something tasty for my tea is a reward for being a clock in the brewery. Falling asleep in front of the fire at exactly half past nine. Waking up with the start at 10.30 saying, I'll lock up, dear. I'm not going back there. Ever. Look after her. She may not like it. Look after. All the same. Daddy. Daddy. They can have our cottage now. It's going to be empty.

Terry, force it and blend it. It's got the new feed. Yes, sir. Well, Terry. He's been charged with criminal damage to the filing system. It's all been done up. It's been far better than Tom now, it's really. Didn't you know? No, what? You bought that cottage. I did. Leslie bought it. I thought it might give you both a little security. You understand? He's selling it now. They've got a place for you in London. Now, not an easy feeling. He made a handsome profit. The sale was through an organization called Harbs, Commander Brothers. Really, Charlie? Doesn't your husband tell you anything? Come and feed the pigs. Because Daddy says it's an eye-saw. This is an eye-saw. Not only because it's an eye-saw, because this wood is meant for... Well, you know what it's meant for, don't you?

No. Wild life. Homes for the badgers. Woodcocks. Squirrels. And the worm. Look, worms. They're called naturally. And the wood lice. And the blue bells. What you don't need here is a horrible broken-down sort of bungalow, full of old crockery, big bean tins, and vented it. It is an eye-saw, Daddy. Hooray, let's fill in the eye-saw. Yeah, I agree. Um... Uh... Would you let me? I would rather like to. Thank you. Uh...

Ha, ha, ha, ha. Better. When you were younger, you felt almost in awe of your father. It's time went by. Well, you know how it is. I suppose I came to resent him. In a way, I began to feel that he was always getting at me. I almost got the feeling sometimes. I was a little nervous. I was always getting at me. I almost got the feeling sometimes that we were not related. Not related?

My brother Frederick once had this idea that my mother may have indulged in some sort of... Well, I really don't know what Frederick was driving at. Perhaps there was some sort of mystery about our birth, his or mine. But I would, I would, I don't know. We need not speculate Mr Henry Simcox about what your brother was driving at. No. Let others speculate if they feel so inclined. Because if by any chance you or your brother were not the legal children of the deceased director, we might get the one thing we do not require in this case. A rational explanation of the last will of Simian Simcox. That is the most terrible expression. I tell you what I do. I go around the hospital ward stripping off those frowsy bedclothes and tell the punters to guard and see what a decent day's hunting would do for them.

Bad rest, sick rooms, isolation wards, what is all that? Except the slow and tedious introduction to death. I tell your patients to keep upright at all costs. Now teach them to live on their feet. Anything they want to die? Get it over. In silence, die, standing up. Like a horse. No, it's not a lecture. No, it's a GP. God help his patients. There's another thing. Check ups. That's what you're taught to do nowadays. Take hold of the customer by the scuffle of the neck and subject him to a minute medical examination and the faint hope of finding some fatal disease. Oh, naturally. The poor victim feels embarrassed unless he can produce some sort of disease. Some sort of interesting complaint in order to entertain the doctor. No, no.

Let us drink to the damnation of bad rest and check ups. Let us raise our glasses, gentlemen. And ladies also, to good health, coupled with the name of doctor for rhetoric, Simcox, which will be the best part of solter and Simcox, which doctors emit some men of hospital in the county home. Brent, tide has gone down in my glass. Hang on. Did you say partners? No, if I could God save the coffee. What else do you have been waiting for all these long years? I thought you'd never part of that. Is there a doctor in the house? Oh. Could you do that, right? And did you want to hear? Your moment of triumph? You read? Agnes. Hello, father. My darling.

You better not drink. No, internally. Hello, friends. Is this really where you live? I, too, was intended for the medical profession. It was my mother's dream. Enjoy. That's very good of you. They're nothing other. You know Mrs. Wickstead, of course. Yes, we met. I'll open this. All right. I must say you were a wonderful view of the back of Battersea Power Station. Haven't I? Congratulations, friend. Thank you. Help yourself to a drink. But then touch that. It's solters. Really? Get out. I'll tell the doctor. I'll talk to her. Excuse me. Glad you came. I've got the told me, too. A warm light ale and soggy crisps. Absolutely my favorite. You brought buglos. I thought Henry insulted him in the wrong side of sunset boulevard. Oh, my dear. Buglos wants to buy it for the movies. Broodry tries to be. The more buglos seems to like it. It's very depressing for him.

Suppose I ought to have said congratulations. Well, solter and synpox. You really merged into him now, haven't you? What does your father say when he marries people? On flesh? That's absolutely rubbish. No, it's not. You'll do the same things. You'll know the same things. Both be strictly out of balance as far as I'm concerned. Adness! Adness! Dr. Simcax. Mr. Buglos. Look, uh, do me a favor, will you? I'll get your brother off my back. He writes about you. No, not about me, no. He writes about some Hollywood producer, some schmuck. Now, me, he blames now for the Vietnam War. She's a bit thick. Then he's not even American. You're not American? And he was born in Brixton.

Not Brixton. Mrs. Wickstead has been misinformed. I was born in the commercial road. You know the White Chapel area? Well, not intimately now. It has changed. It was once a deeply caring community. But you speak fluid, American. Well, I have to, dear boy, in our business, have to. However else would one get close to the vice president a charge of production at Galaxy International. I see. Excuse me. Champagne? Why not? You know, I really can't understand I can sometimes. Sometimes? She always chooses the most boring man in the room and spends the rest of the evening talking to him. Aren't you used to her doing that? No, I am not. Why do you think she does it? Don't you know her, Henry? She chooses the worst bar of the most horrible meal the most boring man at the party and then she can enjoy herself without the fear of being disappointed. Do you think you'll ever manage to do it? Do what?

Live up to her expectations. Very funny. What about some music? Come on, Fred. Where's the drums? I'm not used to Charlie Parker. All right. You do that rather well. Thank you. I've never tried a doctor. What did you say? No people, producers and all that. I've tried there. And you're something they want to have sitting next to impress the vice president. You'll make a smile and say that's a great idea, Jack. That's all you're meant to say. You get trips. But it's having to smile all the time. The muscles of your face begin to eat.

Do you think I could treat that? Medically? Bring me some time. If you want to. I'm not in the directory. 246, 80, 26. Pick up that. No. Seems you're going now. Let's go. Let's go. Here's Dray. Now we're in the cannotons here. And the whiskey fuels are off my brain. It's all my brain. Get the nightmares and hunt for my fat boys. And stop up the looter again. Good night. Good night. See you soon. Bye. Bye.

Get in the other side. What do you mean? I'm driving you home. Why? Because, Dr. Salter, you are pissed out of your mind. So early in your career, Dr. Simcox, and you have come to a completely accurate diagnosis. Bye. See you soon. 246, 806. That's not right. 246, 8062. 246, 8062. 246, 8062. 246, 8062. You're not at me, old.

246, 8062. Francesca! It's all right, Agnes. She's down here with me. And we welcome a new member to our team. Henry Simcox, novelist and philanthropist. Color. We won't bother, Granny. Will you? Back. Now, can we have our first question, please? This is Louise Faber. In the old days, when people were troubled about the world, they used to ask the priests for advice. Sophie Spacer. Thank you, Mrs. Faber. Should we do more to help our American allies in Vietnam? Henry Simcox, I'm sure. No, it seems they asked novelists. I think I'm just sincere about that. Of course. You think? Of course. You're a chance great importance to that, don't you, Agnes? Doesn't everyone?

St. Peter was sincere in his devotion to Christ, but he betrayed him three times. I'm not married to St. Peter. Ah! Francesca! If you were to make a thorough search of my pockets, you might possibly find something he owed around you. Oh, no, not before lunch. She shouldn't. Agnes, don't be such a puritan. How's icing? You've seen it, opposite the pub. The other one's further down the King's Road. Sam and Samantha's, boutiques. It's all the craze now. Don't tell me, novel. You're Sam. And Samantha, both. Markably talented. With all this money you're making with the movies, why don't I offer you a bit of an investment? I am an artist novel. What does that mean? It won't give me money, I don't hand it out. So you can get the next drink. Samantha. Large rum and black love and another pint.

I'll end idling. I'll have a sausage roll. Charlie. Henry Simcox. The whole of Ratsden, Mr. London. Is Leslie here? My old man. He's having a posh nosh at the Caprice, impressing a client. I'll stay away from all that. Aren't you studying something? Of course, at the LSE. We're on strike at the moment. It's great. You learn more from the strikes than what you do from the lectures. Hey, Charlie. Are you getting strength or what? I'm coming. I'm coming. Doing a bit of practical research, too. Pick a pardon? What'd you say? Oh. I suppose we're all searching for happiness. Are you happy, Charlie? We've got to be happy now. And you read about it. We're living in swinging London. True. And who was that slag you were talking to?

That slag novel was the daughter of Sir Nicholas Fanon, Lord of the Manor of Ratsden. Follow me. You don't think she'd be interested in investing in? Now, cheers, cheers. The chest feels terribly tightened and aching, and I get this awful feeling of doom. Are you taking anything for it? What do you suggest? I'm not sure I've diagnosed the trouble as yet. The trouble? Look out there. That's the trouble. It's green and quiet. And it's always bloody raining. Well, that's England. I'm afraid we haven't got a cure for that. At least up at six every morning and off to the station. It gets up to the television centre,

screwing his secretary most likely. He's exhausted enough when he comes home, so he picks at his bloody dinner. Well, he probably buys the entire sweet trolley at Bertor Alice. And then he obliges me by falling asleep in front of the television. Loneliness stops. I'm dying of creeping love. So, what the hell can you prescribe for that dear Doctor Simcox? Nothing, really. Well, that's a great help. It's the speciality of our practice, not prescribing anything at all. There is something I could tell you, though. Well, tell away.

I've got nobody else to listen to. Other people were after this cottage. Local people. They'd waited a long time to get married. I think they wanted it very badly. You're telling me I ought to be bloody grateful. Well, you know how that? Yeah, yeah. You bring the heavy stuff? Hey. Bring the heavy stuff. Yeah, yeah. Right? It's going to take about six trips, Glennies, to get all our lot over here. How long you've got the car for? How long you've got the car for? Till eight o'clock tonight. That's all right, come on. Show up the doors. No, leave here. Come on. Well, what floor are we on then? I don't know. 17. What the lifts working? I don't know if I can make it up all their mistakes. Well, of course it's small. Still, no reason why we can't make it cozy.

Once we get some curtains up. I expect they'll let you put the pram out there. It's a good place to put a pram out. When it's older, it can play down there. There's quite an area of grass down there, Terry. Well, it'd be quite safe playing down there, keeping an eye on it from up here, up by the kitchen window. Well, I don't suppose it'd take long to get down in the lift. If something happened. Well, so long as the lift wasn't stuck. It's a tea. Ha, ha, ha.

Lab test report. Oh, yes. Mrs. Shelley is in the clear. Oh, that's very good. Now, this weekend. Oh, yes, I was going to talk to you about this weekend. William? I've got... Well, a friend of mine's coming down from London. I'd rather think I shall have to go hunting this weekend. Oh, well, in that case. Yes, I feel all the time as cover for a brisk ride to house. Oh, don't worry, though, a cock. Young Hardison can look out the shop. Hello? Hello?

I'm so glad. What? I'm so glad you've come. Oh, sorry. Uh... Oh, sorry. Oh, sorry. Uh, what the car's this way? Hello. Thank you. It hasn't changed. Not really very much since I can remember. A lot of the cottages have been converted, of course. And the summers don't seem so hot. Skerfields have been in that direction.

We regard that as foreign country. It's full of rather glum, short people who keep chickens in clapped out Austin Sevens in their back gardens while you know the sort of thing. No, I do. What do you think? Cold. Let me show you the church. Thank you, Bridget. Thank you, Bridget. Morning, soldier.

Oh, good morning, St. Nicholas. Going far? Far as I can. Well, you've got a good day, folks. Oh, yes. See you at that midnight, everyone. Good morning, soldier. Good morning, soldier. Good morning, soldier. Good morning, soldier. Good morning, soldier. Good morning, soldier. Good morning, soldier. Good morning, soldier.

The font's still used for Christening. The carving dates back to 1475. The church was built basically in the mid-15th century. Of course, it's changed a lot over the years. When I was a child, I used to sit in here with my father, counting the wafers for communion. What's so funny? English men. Why? Once they start going to bed with you, they always take you to look at churches.

What's so funny? All right. All right. All right. All right. All right. All right. All right. All right. All right. All right.

All right. All right. It was me. I'm cold. All right. See what I can do. I can't do it, I can't do it. You may recall from the last episode that the local conservative party was listening to its member in Parliament, Mr. Strowve, the old county Tory, whom Leslie Titmuss is determined

to replace at the next election. There had been rumors of Strowve's scandalous behavior at a private party. Now, this remember was the time when the country was rocked and the Macmillan government nearly fell over the profumo affair. Profumo was a conservative MP who lied to the Prime Minister about his affair with a high-fashion call girl. It never would have come out if the security services had not pointed out that she'd also slept with a Soviet naval attache. So at that meeting, Leslie insisted that an MP's private life should be without spot or stain. You never mentioned the fact that he'd bulldozed his way into marriage with Senegalese's daughter by pretending she was pregnant. And in this scene from next week's episode, Leslie makes the interesting case that the choice conservatives are the humble working people he's sprang from. You know what they are. They're the true conservatives, and I can tell you this,

they're tired of being represented by people from the city or folks from up in the manner. They want one of themselves. You can forget the county families and the city gents and the riverside commuters. They'll vote for you anyway. What you need to win is my people. The people who know the value of money because they've never had it. The people who always say the same thing every night because it makes them feel safe. The people who've worked hard and don't want to see scroungers rewarded or laziness paying off. Put it this way, ladies and gentlemen, you need the voters I can bring you. They are the backbone of our country. They're not conservative because of privilege or money, but out of their simple faith in the way we've always managed things in England. Mr. Tittness, the committee hasn't had the pleasure of meeting your wife.

Really? She's your chairman's daughter. And what will the committee think of Charlotte, the defiant left-wing protest marcher, as the proper wife for a conservative candidate? We shall see. Alistair Cook, Masterpiece Theatre. Good night. Masterpiece Theatre is made possible by a grant from mobile corporation, which invites you to join

with them in supporting public television. Paradise Post-Pawn by John Mortimer is published by Viking Penguin and is available in bookstores and libraries nationwide.