Mr Lepotter: (on the phone) Me, and my small wife Lynda Lepotter, own a small garden centre just outside Wimsley - and we were wondering if you'd like to come along and open it for us. You see, we can't get in...

Leonard Lepotter is readying himself for a big day. Wimsley Small Garden Centre is to open its gates to the public on Sunday. It's Saturday and preparations are well underway.

Mrs Lepotter: No, I don't like that wall, smash it down. (the wall tumbles) Yes!

Mr Lepotter: Erm... don't you think we've made enough structural changes at this late stage of the proceedings?

Mrs Lepotter: Could someone hire me some ribbon and an oaf? Place that hosepipe 'cross the path. Hey, you, there's a plant obscuring my view. (tree felling) Lovely. Now Leonard, didn't I say we didn't want any plants here?

Mr Lepotter: Yes dear - I had them all stolen. They may have missed a few...

Mrs Lepotter: Get the flamethrower.

Meanwhile, in the café annexe, tempers are flaming - a bit like a fire.

Chef: I insist that all customers be patient with the bonbons!

Waitress: That won't go down well round 'ere I'm telling you.

Chef: My reputation as a nice, quality chef will be in tatters if our distinguished guest is unable to experience the full extent of my culinary persuasion.

Waitress: I don't care if it's Pope I'm serving, there's no way I'm handling low-velocity bonbons. They smell sweetly.

Chef: You should be struck down for that.

Waitress: Thanks! (lightning bolt)

Meanwhile, Leonard speaks to the press in order to promote tomorrow's events.

Mr Lepotter: Yes, we'll be open... 7 days a week you know... but only 1 hour on Sundays... 4 to 5 am... we have an old man who comes in... well, in fact it's not a man, it's a dog in a man mask...

In the Pet Centre, Riggy the Pug is brushing up on customer relations.

Riggy: Avez-vous un cuppa?

Chef: Stop showing off Riggy. No-one speaks French these days.

Riggy: Do you want me to eat that for you?

Chef: No, mein mädchen pug, it's "heat", not "eat"...

Riggy: Do you want me to eat that for you?

Chef: Oh well, let's not worry our tiny heads about that one.

Riggy: No.

Chef: Chapter 4. What to say to awkward customers.

Riggy: Bottom.

Chef: That's good, but lacks face.

Riggy: Come on Barbie, let's go party.

Chef: For goodness sake Riggy; do I have to do it all for you? Give me your mouth.

Riggy: Nnngh... sau-sa-ges...

Chef: Good one.

Riggy: Sausages. Sausages... sausages.

The big day finally arrives. It's 3:55am and the celebrities are here.

Mrs Lepotter: Dance, Portillo, dance... I want those floorboards clean... as if new, or at least tuned...

Mr Lepotter: Chesney, I'd like you to meet our staff...

Chesney Hawkes: Hello sir.

Riggy: Arf!

Chesney Hawkes: Ooh!

Mr Lepotter: It's a man, I tell you...

Riggy: Buttocks.

Mrs Lepotter: Tell Mr President to keep his dingy mitts off that node!

Waitress: Gimme a plant.

Mrs Lepotter: We don't sell plants.

Mr Lepotter: What do we sell?

Riggy: A frontispiece. My punk lawn. Sausages. Rotary splines. The spider king. That nice clan. Sausages. Gerbils. Bonbons. Sausages. And you.

Waitress: I'll buy the lot.

Mr Lepotter: No! You wouldn't!

Mrs Lepotter: You shouldn't!

Waitress: I shall! Face it fools, I'm taking you over. From now on, this place sells nothing but eggs.

Mr Lepotter: Oh, well, that sounds rather jolly.

Mrs Lepotter: More popular than rotary splines these days I suppose...

Chef: (running in) Stop - I'll offer you 9000 facial inventions if you let me turn this place into Ainsley Harriot's Top Pop Bonbon Shop.

Riggy: Too late. I am Wimsley.

Waitress: But how?

Riggy: Conglomerates.

Chef: Such as?

Riggy: Sausages. (all laugh, then stop rather suddenly as the garden centre collapses) Hooray! Jo mumma still be lovin' ein pug tonight!