Close up on a sign saying `Harley Street'. Stirring music. Mix through to interior of a smart, plush, ever so expensive Harley Street consultieg room. The music smells and fades. Knocking at door, a short pause, then T. F. Gumby enters, backwards.

T. F. Gumby (Michael.) - Doctor! Doctor! DOCTOR! (he goes up to the antique desk and bangs the bell violently; he smashes the intercom and generally breaks the desk up) Doctor! Doctor! DOCTOR! DOCTOR! Doctor! Doctor! Where is the Doctor?

A pause. Then another door opens and another Gumby appears.

Gumby Specialist - (John) Hello!

T. F. Gumby - Are you the brain specialist?

Specialist - Hello!

T. F. Gumby - Are you the brain specialist?

Specialist - No, no, I am not the brain specialist. No, no, I am not...Yes. Yes I am.

T. F. Gumby - My brain hurts!

Specialist - Well let's take a look at it, Mr Gumby. Gumby specialist starts to pull up Gumby's sweater.

T. F. Gumby - No, no, no, my brain in my head. (specialist thumps him on the head)

Specialist - It will have to come out.

T. F. Gumby - Out? Of my head?

Specialist - Yes! All the bits of it. Nurse! Nurse! (a nurse enters) Nurse, take Mr Gumby to a brain surgeon.