(Animation sketch links us to a butcher's shop. Harmless
looking city gent enters.)
Gent: Good morning, I'd care to purchase a chicken,
please.
Butcher: Don't come here with that posh talk you nasty,
stuck-up twit.
Gent: I beg your pardon?
Butcher: A chicken, sir. Certainly.
Gent: Thank you. And how much does that work out to per
pound, my good fellow?
Butcher: Per pound, you slimy Trollope, what kind of a
ponce are you?
Gent: I'm sorry?
Butcher: 4/6 a pound, sir, nice and ready for roasting.
Gent: I see, and I'd care to purchase some stuffing in
addition, please.
Butcher: Use your own, you great poofy poonagger!
Gent: What?
Butcher: Ah, certainly sir, some stuffing.
Gent: Oh, thank you.
Butcher: 'Oh, thank you' says the great queen like a
la-di-dah poofta.
Gent: I beg your pardon?
Butcher: That's all right, sir, call again.
Gent: Excuse me.
Butcher: What is it now, you great pillock?
Gent: Well, I can't help noticing that you insult me and
then you're polite to me alternately.
Butcher: I'm terribly sorry to hear that, sir.
Gent: That's all right. It doesn't really matter.
Butcher: Tough titty if it did, you nasty spotted prancer.