Host (Er­ic Idle). Last week the Roy­al Fes­ti­val Hall saw the first per­for­mance of a new sym­pho­ny by one of the world’s lead­ing mod­ern com­posers, Arthur “Two Sheds” Jack­son.
Mr Jack­son.

Jack­son (Ter­ry Jones). Hel­lo.

Host. May I just side­track for one mo­ment. This⁠—​what shall I call it⁠—​nick­name of yours . . .

Jack­son. Ah yes.

Host. “Two Sheds”. How did you come by it?

Jack­son. Well, I don’t use it my­self, but some of my friends call me “Two Sheds”.

Host. And do you in fact have two sheds?

Jack­son. No, I’ve on­ly got one. I’ve had one for some time, but a few years ago I said I was think­ing of get­ting an­oth­er, and since then some peo­ple have called me “Two Sheds”.

Host. In spite of the fact that you on­ly have one.

Jack­son. Yes.

Host. And are you still in­tend­ing to pur­chase this sec­ond shed?

Jack­son. [im­pa­tient] No!

Host. . . . To bring you in line with your ep­i­thet?

Jack­son. No.

Host. I see, I see. Well, to re­turn to your sym­pho­ny.

Jack­son. Ah yes.

Host. Did you write this sym­pho­ny in the shed?

Jack­son. [sur­prised] No!

Host. Have you writ­ten any of your re­cent works in this shed of yours?

Jack­son. No, no, not at all. It’s just an or­di­nary gar­den shed.

Host. I see, I see. And you’re think­ing of buy­ing this sec­ond shed to write in!

Jack­son. No, no. Look. This shed busi­ness⁠—​it doesn’t re­al­ly mat­ter. The sheds aren’t im­por­tant. A few friends call me “Two Sheds” and that’s all there is to it. I wish you’d ask me about the mu­sic. Every­body talks about the sheds. They’ve got it out of pro­por­tion⁠—​I’m a com­pos­er. I’m go­ing to get rid of the shed. I’m fed up with it!

Host. Then you’ll be Arthur “No Sheds” Jack­son, eh?

Jack­son. Look, for­get about the sheds. They don’t mat­ter.

Host. [stern­ly] Mr. Jack­son, I think, with re­spect, we ought to re­turn to the sub­ject of your sym­pho­ny.

Jack­son. What?

Host. Ap­par­ent­ly your sym­pho­ny was writ­ten for tim­pani and or­gan . . .

[A pic­ture of a shed ap­pears on the screen be­hind them.]

Jack­son. [turn­ing around] What’s that!?!?!???

Host. [in­no­cent­ly] What’s what?

Jack­son. It’s a shed!! . . . get it off!! get it off!!

[The in­ter­view­er mo­tions to the pic­ture, and it is re­placed by a pic­ture of Jack­son him­self.]

Jack­son. [grudg­ing­ly] All right . . . That’s bet­ter . . .

Host. I un­der­stand that you used to be in­ter­est­ed in train‐​spot­ting.

Jack­son. What?

Host. I un­der­stand that, about thir­ty years ago, you were in­ter­est­ed in train‐​spot­ting.

Jack­son. Well what’s that got to do with my bloody mu­sic?

John Cleese. [en­ter­ing] Are you hav­ing any trou­ble with him?

Host. Yes, a lit­tle. Good Lord! You’re the man who in­ter­viewed Sir Ed­ward Ross ear­li­er.

Cleese. Ex­act­ly. Well we in­ter­view­ers are more than a match for the likes of you, “Two Sheds”.

Host. Yes, make your­self scarce, “Two Sheds”. This stu­dio isn’t big enough for the three of us! [They throw him out.]

Jack­son. Here, what are you do­ing? Stop it! [Crash.]

Cleese. Get your own Arts pro­gramme, you fairy!

Host. Arthur “Two Sheds” Jack­son . . . Nev­er mind, Tim­my.

Cleese. Oh Mike, you’re such a com­fort.