HOLMES: A most entertaining individual, our Mr Borat.
WATSON: What did he want?
HOLMES: To educate, to enquire, to postulate, to pontificate, to tease, to squeeze, to please, to release, to be.
WATSON: Good Lord, he sounds terribly invigorating.
HOLMES: Oh, he is. He is. Now tell me, Watson, where exactly is Pubistan situated?
WATSON: Pubistan? Er, um, well, it’s er… on the border of Kazakhstan, Kirghizstan and Outer Mongolia what what what. Isn't it?
HOLMES: I think you’ll find that’s China, old boy. No, you can guess as much as you like, but you won’t find it, I’ve looked.
WATSON: But that’s preposterous, Holmes. How can anyone visit it if they can’t find it?
HOLMES: Precisely my point, you burnt-out old Quack.
WATSON: But but but the rabbits’ scrotums, the tanks, the fan belts for washing machines...
HOLMES: All real, but all this time, in fact since this blog first began, no-one has managed to establish where this veritable republic of tranquillity actually is.
WATSON: I say, perhaps it’s… but that’s impossible.
HOLMES: Go on, Watson. I can feel an intellectual thrust at last.
WATSON: Well, perhaps it’s a state of mind what what what.
HOLMES: By jove, you veritable dunderhead, I think you’ve got it!
WATSON: I have? I mean, I HAVE, of course I have. Anything else you’d like me to sort out for you, old chap?
HOLMES: Just one thing: how we’re going to rescue that hapless artificial anus Arty.
WATSON: But Holmes, if it’s a state of mind, it’s impenetrable. Once you’re there, there’s no coming back.
HOLMES: Alas, Watson, you are once again right on the Sterling.
WATSON: So Arty’s done for, then?
HOLMES: As dead as a dodo.
WATSON: Crikey. Seems rather a harsh fate for a chap who was only trying to plug a gap in a bunghole.
HOLMES: It’s a cruel world out there, Watson. At least Arty won’t be making an arse of himself any longer.
WATSON: Oh, yes. Quite. Oh, very good, Holmes. I say, what about that Castrato fellow?
HOLMES: If the truth be told, with or without an anus he’s still a big arsehole.
WATSON: No, stop it, Holmes, I’ll soil my boxer shorts.
HOLMES: Never mind that, Watson. We’ve got to get to Pubistan before Professor Moriarty does.
WATSON: What’s that you say?
HOLMES: That fiendish troubladite is planning a coup in the last remaining state of the mind and it’s up to us to stop him.
WATSON: Good gracious! How exciting!
HOLMES: Ready that filthy blood hound, the journey shall be a long and arduous one, my friend, but mark my words, one day we shall look back on this and see it for the foolhardy adventure that it really is.
WATSON: Tally ho, Toby! Onwards and upwards to our glorious conclusion!
HOLMES: Steady with the smelling salts, old bean, I need you in one piece at the other end, if you get my meaning. Mrs Hudson!
MRS HUDSON: Yes, Mr Sherlock?
HOLMES: Pack our rucksacks with a round of cheese sandwiches and salami squares. We may be gone some time.
MRS HUDSON: Right you are, sir.
HOLMES: The game is afoot!
(TOBY BARKS ENTHUSIASTICALLY, DROPS PLOP, THEN WAGS TAIL PROFUSELY BEFORE HURLING HIMSELF THROUGH DOOR, WATSON IN TOW)