This one with a little help from the Stott...
INT. MISTER GREEN'S HOUSE – DAY
A PINSTRIPED OFFICIAL FROM THE M.O.D. KNOCKS ON A FRONT DOOR, WHICH IS OPENED BY MISTER GREEN.
MISTER GREEN:
Hello?
OFFICIAL:
Hello, sir. I'm from the M.O.D. I'll cut right to it and say there's been a bit of a blunder.
MISTER GREEN:
Oh really?
OFFICIAL:
I'm afraid so. I'm embarrassed to say it but we're just going to have to put up our hand and say "whoopsie" on this one. You see, it seems that certain… miscalculations have occurred within our sub-orbital ballistics division.
MISTER GREEN:
That's… missiles, isn't it?
OFFICIAL:
Yes, sir. Apparently there's been a bit of an error in the old targeting department.
MISTER GREEN:
So, a missile is going where it's not supposed to?
OFFICIAL:
Spot on again, sir. The thing is, it's, er, sort of locked onto you.
MISTER GREEN:
I see and… wait, did you say onto me? Onto my house?
OFFICIAL:
(CHUCKLING) If only it were that simple. No, it's locked onto you. You personally in fact.
MISTER GREEN:
That can't be right!
OFFICIAL:
I'm sorry but that's what the science boys are saying and they've checked their remainders and everything this time.
MISTER GREEN:
Then stop it! Turn it off!
OFFICIAL:
That's the thing though, there's really nothing we can do to undo it. I guess that's why they call it a lock.
MISTER GREEN:
I don't believe this! What am I meant to do?
OFFICIAL:
Well, we believe we have a solution if you come with me - though it might be an idea for you to inform your colleagues at the surgery that you might not be available for a while.
MISTER GREEN:
Surgery? But I'm not a doctor!
OFFICIAL:
(BEAT) You are Mister Festival of Six Carter Avenue?
MISTER GREEN:
No, he lives across the-
A MISSILE SOARS OVER HEAD AND CRASHES INTO A HOUSE OPPOSITE, EXPLODING IN A HUGE MUSHROOM CLOUD.
OFFICIAL:
This really is turning into one of those days…
END SKETCH
