AN OFFICE.

Mr Gummidge - a fat man with a suit, straw hat and grass in his mouth - is at his desk humming "I've got a Brand New Combine Harvester."

Enter Mr. Smythe, a shy man in a suit.

GUMMIDGE: Ah, Mr. Smythe.

SMYTHE: G-good morning, Mr. Gummidge.

GUMMIDGE: Come in, sit down... I believe you wish to apply as our new village idiot. The last one died in a combine harvester accident.

SMYTHE: Yes, I'd like to shake his hand.

GUMMIDGE: It's in a bag over here... That was a joke.

SMYTHE: Yes.

GUMMIDGE: So what makes you such an ideal candidate?

SMYTHE: Well, I'm rather whacky. Really I am. Watch...

Smythe gets up.

SMYTHE: Briefcases.

Long pause.

GUMMIDGE: Is that it?

SMYTHE: No - look I have a crazy mannerism. (coughs politely)

GUMMIDGE: I'm sorry but you're really not mad enough.

SMYTHE: No, please - I have a joke. My dog's got no nose.

GUMMIDGE (groans): How does it smell?

SMYTHE: It can't, it has no nose.

GUMMIDGE: Mr. Smythe, you have one last chance. Please say this sentence in your best bumpkin voice: "I buried my wife in a glass coffin because she used to like looking out of the window."

SMYTHE: I buried my wife in...

GUMMIDGE: I was thinking something more along the lines of (crazy bumpkin accent): "I buried my wife in a glass coffin..." Slightly different, don't you feel?

SMYTHE: Please... You don't know what it's been like. I have a wife and two children and a job in the city and...

GUMMIDGE: It's no good playing that one. You're just not loony enough to be the village idiot.

SMYTHE: All right... But you haven't heard the last of this. I'll make a very nasty speech about you at the Young Conservatives May Ball.

GUMMIDGE: You... You attend the...?

SMYTHE: Of course. I'm a founding member of the Young Conservatives and very proud of that, I am too.

GUMMIDGE: Wait here a minute, I'll get your contract.