THE SCENE: Captain Mainwaring's office at St Aldhelm's Church Hall, Walmington on Sea. Captain Mainwaring & Sergeant Wilson. Enter Lance Corporal Jones. L/CPL JONES: Mr Mainwaring! Mr Mainwaring! CAPT MAINWARING: What is it, Corporal? L/CPL JONES: There's a senior officer to see you, Sir. Says he's come from GHQ to inspect us. And, Oooh, sir! CAPT MAINWARING: What are you dithering about? Spit it out, man. L/CPL JONES: He's really scary, Sir. CAPT MAINWARING: Well, you'd better show him in. And tell Godfrey to put the kettle on. The best china, mind, and some of the Vicar's Garibaldis. COL OLDGIT: (entering briskly and rapping Capt Mainwaring's desk with his swagger stick): You can forget all that fatheaded flummery. I know what you're about. Buttering me up just to muddy the waters and draw a veil over your squalid incompetence. SGT WILSON: I say, what an amusingly mixed metaphor! COL OLDGIT: Ah, I suspected it as soon as I saw the floppy haircut. A nancy-boy. How did you get your warrant? Polishing the boss's bottom, I have no doubt. You public school types disgust me. CAPT MAINWARING: Excuse me! COL OLDGIT: What for? Did you fart or something? Predictably ladylike if you did, because I didn't hear it and I have ears like a hawk. L/CPL JONES: Shouldn't that be... COL OLDGIT: And eyes like a bat. L/CPL JONES: Permission to speak, Sir. COL OLDGIT: If you must. Spit it out. L/CPL JONES: Well, Sir, I'd like to say that I admire my Commanding Officer and it distresses me to hear him spoken to like what you just done. COL OLDGIT: Like what I just done? I see. Incoherent as well as incompetent. And how did you get that stripe, eh? It bet it was for more than bringing in the biscuits. All you jumped-up young tarts have to do is flutter your eyelashes and show a bit of lisle stocking and there you are, Queens of the ATS. CAPT MAINWARING: Lance Corporal Jones is seventy if he's a day and the Auxiliary Territorial Service is an all female organisation. COL OLDGIT: I know that, Gladys. What do you take me for, a fool? The sensible shoes and the moustache don't fool me, you know. What are you in civvy street? CAPT MAINWARING: A bank manager. COL OLDGIT: Don't be silly. Nobody's mad enough to appoint a girl to a job like that. Next thing you'll be telling me that Nancy here is your Chief Clerk. CAPT MAINWARING: She is. I mean, he is. COL OLDGIT: Mein Jew, if you were a feller I can easily see how you COULD be a bank thingummy. My theory is that there's a cycle of self-perpetuating incompetence which takes eejits to the top of every profession. CAPT MAINWARING: Is that how you got to be a colonel, Sir? COL OLDGIT (dissolving into floods of tears): Gladys, you absolute b1tch! That's so typical of you SMT sadists. You love to bully us people with wide experience and long careers of obvious achievement and competence because we are reminders of how things could and should be done. CAPT MAINWARING (aside): This man is barking mad. Wilson, just sidle out quietly and tell the Vicar to ring for help. (Aloud): There, there, Colonel. We all love you here. Please calm down and have another cup of char. COL OLDGIT: Can I have another Garibaldi too, please? CAPT MAINWARING: Of course you may. Well, Sergeant? SGT WILSON (confidentially): It's all right, Sir. They reckon he's not dangerous. It seems that he works for a highly secret unit counter-intelligence unit called OFSTED and it's all become too much for him. The yellow van should arrive any moment now.