evening. Iím Joan Collins.
Now before we go any further, that is completely untrue.
Iím not really Joan Collins at all. Be honest though, I had many of you
fooled there for a moment, didnít I? That is because, in my job, I am specially
trained in the art of telling lies. No, madam, itís not another party political
Well, what Iím about to tell you tonight is, of course, incredibly secret. Ever so secret, so you must listen very carefully, and when Iíve said it, memorize it completely. And then forget it. And then eat the television set.
In the secret organization I work for, all identities, for security purposes, have to be kept strictly confidential. For instance, I havenít the faintest idea who I am, nor do I know what my job is. When I drive myself home from work, I have to wear a blindfold so I donít find out where I live.
Even in the bedroom at night, my wife and I have to observe strict security precautions. First of all, we switch out the lights, then I get undressed and approach the bed and my wife will challenge me with the words ďWho goes there?Ē. I then reply with a secret password, which is ďA cockeyed, cack-handed Canadian from Connecticut, collecting coffee colored cream cracker crumbs in a crude cracked cocoa cupĒ. If I get that wrong, I have to sleep on the landing with the cat, a short, white Caucasian cat called Corky with a chronic cough and croup. And if I get that wrong, the cat puts me out all night.
Now this all-pervading secrecy over names could, of course, be very harmful to the normal smooth running of whatever it is we do in our department, so, in order that we have something to call each other, we simply stick pins at random into a phone book. And my name is Slumberland Quilts. But thatís just a cover.
Now, when I joined the highly secret organization to which I now belong, I had to, first of all, sign the official secrets act. This means that I agreed to be bound by the articles, which is much worse than being bound by the hands and feet.
Now, what is the best way to bug a telephone? Well, ring it and run away. That really bugs Ďem.
And, of course, there are also devices for countering
bugs. In Britain today, we have now developed a foolproof system for jamming
virtually any telephone calls anywhere in the country. Itís known as The
Now, this scrambling device works in much the same way as the one you put on a phone when you donít want anyone listening to understand what youíre saying. Except with this one, you can use it when youíre actually speaking to someone face to face. All you do is insert it up your nostril like this, you see. Then you can go on hearing to your tentís contort so that nobody can underspline a word of stand you are whatting. And if youíve had a dong lay at work, you can club out you wiffles to the poor without having leak out any worry or seats on the pork finch. Works perfectly.
Now, cover. Now I know several men who are undersecretaries of the home office, and indeed vice versa, come to think of it. Always a good cover, that.
Now, disguise too is important. A colleague of mine, Sir Catford Public Library, is an absolute wizard in the art of disguise; in fact, Iíd like to introduce him to you now. Uncanny, Heís wonderful at impersonating fruit. You should see his banana.
Well, there you have it in a nutshell. Oh, thatís something else he can do. Now, whatever you do, donít breathe a word of what Iíve said tonight to anyone, will you.
Like I said last night when the boss asked me what I made of his new secretary, ďMumís the word.Ē