Good Friday. GnomeWATCH news studio, 2pm. Two technicians are tiptoeing around, dismantling equipment in the semi-darkness. Sleeping bodies are slumped in chairs and lying on couches in varying states of undress. Derek Tree is sprawled under a table littered with empty bottles. Short, gangling man with buckteeth, horn-rimmed glasses, dressed in a shabby, tweed suit bursts into the studio.
Man: "What the hell is going on here? That's my bloody gnome you've got there. Hand him over!"
Technician: "Shhh. You'll wake them up."
"Man: "It's two-o-clock in the afternoon. What the hell is going on here?"
Technician: "Well...there was a bit of a party last night. On account of that gnome (points at Gerald lying asleep in Gabrielle's arms).
Man: "MY gnome, you mean!"
Technician: "I don't think so. (Beckons to colleague). "ere, Bob, bloke 'ere says we've got 'is gnome."
Bob: "Tell him we aint, Phil."
Phil: "Sorry, mate, we ain't."
Man: "I have a certificate personally signed by Chairman Tenji!"
Phil: "Bloke says 'e has a certificate personally signed by Chairman Tenji"
Bob: "No 'e aint."
Phil: "No you ain't."
Man: "Yes I have, look! (Brandishes florid certificate personally signed by Chairman Tenji)
Phil: (peers at certificate). "Oh yeah... You this 'Gnome Liberation Movement' then?"
Man: (drawing himself up to his full height of five feet three inches) "I am Barclay Goldsworthy, the Honorary Secretary of the Gnome Liberation Movement, yes."
Phil: "Not a proper secretary, then?"
Barclay: "Look, are you going to hand over the gnome or not? I have a certificate personally signed by Chairman Tenji which officially transfers ownership of Gerald P Floyd to my organisation."
Phil: (peering over Bob's shoulder at the certificate) "No it don't."
Barclay: "I beg your pardon?"
Phil: "No it don't. It says 'the enclosed gnome, bearing my signature on its worthless, festering plastic base, is the self-styled Gerald P Floyd, leader of a radical gnomish sect.'
Nothing about ownership, mate."
Barclay: "What about this bit?"
Phil: "What bit?"
Barclay: "The bit where it says 'this gnome was ransomed from vigilante Satirists by the Gnome Liberation Movement. That's me. I am the Gnome Liberation Movement."
Bob: "I thought you said you were a secretary?"
Barclay: (losing patience) "Look—the gnome is mine. Hand him over!"
Bob: "Tenji was arrested at nine-o-clock this morning. That makes this certificate invalid, right Phil?"
Phil: "Right, Bob—invalid."
Bob: "It's not worth the paper it's written on mate."
Phil: "Don't you watch telly?"
Barclay: "Er...no, we don't have one."
Phil: "Looks like you're stuffed then, mate.
Barclay: (pleadingly) "But I have a certificate personally signed by Chairman Tenji!"
Bob: "You could try B&Q round the corner."
Bob: "B & Q, mate. Missus says they have gnomes.
Barclay: (fuming) "Look, you stupid man. I don't want any gnome. I want THIS gnome. Gerald P Floyd, as described in this (waves certificate under Phil's nose) bloody certificate personally signed by Chairman Tenji!"
Bob: "No need to get shirty, mate. Phil was just tryin' to elp. Look, you've gone and woken up the whole bleedin' studio now."
Neve Milgo hurriedly disengages her thighs from the black-shirted satirist she is lying under, snatches up her skirt and dashes out of the studio followed by an equally embarrassed Oleg Vimen in his underpants. The satirist doesn't stir. Tree and Gabrielle rise sleepily and stagger toward Goldsworthy with Gerald in tow.
Barclay: "Ah...Mr Tree, isn't it? I believe you know my daughter? Perhaps you can sort this mess out. I'm here for the gnome—for Gerald—I have a certificate personally signed—"
Bob: "Will you give over about that bleedin' certificate!"
Tree: (desperately trying to collect his wits): "Daughter? Bugger. Little blond cracker in a white microskirt? Er...look, I'll make it all right...Best possible medical care...generous annual allowance..."
Barclay: "Samantha Goldsworthy—of the Gnome Rights Alliance—the NRA. She interviewed you about the gnome on—"
Bob: "—Shouldn't that be 'GRA.' mate? Gnome 'as a G in it."
Phil: "Did when I last looked, Bob."
Bob: "You want to get that changed, mate. People ain't going to take your daughter very seriously if she can't even spell the name of her own organisation."
Barclay: (glaring at the technicians) "Look! It's what the initials stand for that matters!"
Bob: "National Rifle Association?"
Phil: "National Rifle Association in the States, mate. Nothing to do with gnomes. Nome maybe..."
Bob: "People could think your daughter was from Alaska, mate. Nome's in Alaska ain't it, Phil?"
Phil: Was when I last looked, Bob."
Barclay: (elbowing the technicians aside to confront Tree) "Mr Tree, my daughter Samantha—"
Tree: "Sixteen-year-old blonde cracker in a white microskirt?"
Barclay: "No. Thirty-two; plain, glasses, teeth brace. She interviewed you on Newsnight."
Tree: "Newsnight? (Visibly relieved) Ah...oh...Ms Goldfinch—er, Goldworth...um Gold..."
Tree: "Right. Well, the gnome's yours then. Off you go, Gerald and good luck to you."
Bob: "ang on a minute. That certificate only confirms the gnomenicity of the geezer. Legally 'e belongs to that American bird since she's paid for 'im and you 'aven't."
Barclay: "Yes I have!"
Bob: "ow much?"
Barclay: "£275 and two pence."
Bob: "You were done, mate. Missus says you can pick up a gnome for a fiver at B&Q."
Gaby: "But I paid two thousand bucks for him!"
Phil: "bleedin' ell!"
Gerald the Gnome: "I want to go with Gaby."
Gaby: "Awww...Gerald." (Kisses him fondly on his shiny, red helmet)
Bob: "Tell you what, why don't you toss for him?"
Barclay: (catching proper sight of Gerald for the first time) "Just a minute! I was led to believe that this gnome was 36 inches tall! This—this sorry-looking specimen doesn't come up to my knee. I've been duped!"
Bob: "Shrinkage, mate. Probably happened in transit."
Barclay: "18 inches?"
Tree: "Well, the cellar was a bit damp..."
Barclay: "I beg your pardon?"
Tree: "Er...I meant the bag. The Tesco's bag I brought him in."
Gaby: "And those sick fucks starved him."
Phil: "Seems to me the young lady should have him seeing as he wants to go with her."
Gaby: "And I paid two thousand bucks. You paid 275 pounds. That's like, only about fifty bucks, right? Well then, he's mine. Come on Gerald, let's go home."
Gerald the gnome: (brightening with anticipation) "Elsass Lothringen?"
Gaby: (patting him on the head) "No, Michigan, but you'll love it."
(Chief Inspector Slipper of New Scotland Yard bursts in with a dishevelled looking Neve Milgo)
Slipper: "I'm afraid not, miss. Legally the gnome belongs to Mr Goodbody."
Gaby: (screams) "Eeek!"
Slipper: I'm sorry, miss. Your money went straight into Chairman—ex chairman, I should say, Tenji's pocket. I understand he planned to murder the little sh—er...Mr Floyd when you lot were all pissed out of—er, asleep. My officers found traces of Rohypnol in the punch."
Gabrielle: "The scheming fu—sorry, bastard,"
Bob: "It's all right, miss, you can say 'fuck.' We're not on air."
Slipper: "Fortunately, the eBay police spiked his plans when they burst into the studio last night.
Gaby: "So he duped me."
Slipper: "I'm afraid we've all been duped, miss. But thanks to Ms Milgo's public-spirited enterprise in providing us with photographic evidence of Tenji's criminal activities, we were able to arrest him this morning."
Neve: "It was the least I could do, Chief Inspector. Has anyone seen a red pair of knickers?"
Phil: "Sheer silk?"
Neve: (blushing) "Um...yes."
Phil: "The producer was wearing them on his head."
Bob: "No, that was Neve's bra, mate."
Neve: (clutching at her chest) "Oh shit!"
Phil: "I remember now…that satirist bloke was sniffin' them...no—hang on a minute, that was a black thong with gold pixies embroidered on the gusset."
Gaby: (screams) "Eeek!"
Barclay: (stamping his foot) "What about MY bloody gnome! I have a certificate!"
Tree: "Give it here, man!" (Snatches certificate, crosses out Tenji's name and titles and signs it).
Barclay: "Er...thank you...(adjusts his glasses to peer at certificate) um...Chairman Tree."
Tree: "Don't mention it. Now sod off, I have a party to run."
Gaby: (brightening) "Party?"
Tree: "Who do you think has been running the National Satirist Party of England? That jumped-up fish salesman, Tenji? Good Heavens woman, you have a lot to learn about British politics. Now—can I interest you in this tin of potted shrimp as a small memento of your visit to our country? No? Well...if you're sure..."
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