Man: A strong hive of bees contains approximately 75,000
bees. Each honey bee must make 154 trips to collect one teaspoon of
honey. Hello, sir.
Dad: What do you want?
Man: Would you like to buy some of our honey, sir?
Mother: What you doing in here?
Man: Which would you like, the Californian Orange Blossom,
the Mexican, the New Zealand, or the Scottish Heather?
Mother: He can't eat honey. It makes him go plop plops.
Man: Come on, please try some.
Dad: All right I'll have some Icelandic Honey.
Man: No, there is no such thing.
Dad: You mean you don't make any honey at all?
Man: No, no, we must import it all. Every bally drop. We
are a gloomy people. It's so crikey cold and dark up there, and only
fish to eat. Fish and imported honey. Oh strewth!
Mother: Well why do you have a week?
Man: Listen Buster! In Reykyavik it is dark for eight
months of the year, and it's cold enough to freeze your wrists off
and there's only golly fish to eat. Administrative errors are bound
to occur in enormous quantifies. Look at this - it's all a mistake.
It's a real pain in the sphincter! Icelandic Honey Week? My Life!
Mother: Well why do you come in here trying to flog the
Man: Listen Cowboy. I got a job to do. It's a stupid,
pointless job but at least it keeps me away from Iceland, all right?
The leg of the worker bee has...
(They slam the door on him. Someone rather like Jeremy Thorpe
looks round the door and waves as they do so.)