A little old lady living alone is seeking a small white dog to keep her company. A young married man gives up his old English sheepdog because he takes up too much room. Today, as always, the home is full - 450 dogs either lost or kicked out by their owners, waiting to be taken away from it all. "People ask how I can work in such a place," says one kennel maid. "But if I don't work here, who's going to care for them? Who's going to look after them until, hopefully, we find them a new home?"
They are the people we love to hate-traffic wardens. Also known as "Wasps", "Yellow Perils" and, even less politely, "Little Hitlers" This film reflects a typical day for the 100 Wardens who operate from a centre in the West End of London. In Soho a lorry driver is getting irate. "I'm just trying to do my job," he says. "So am I love," replies Joyce, slapping a ticket on his windscreen. Another warden gets sworn at. She swears back. That's not done. It could lead to an attack. Which is why wardens wear shatter-proof spectacles and clip-on ties which can't be used to throttle them. Back at headquarters, new wardens are being coached. "Always walk away from trouble," they are told. "But what if someone gets us down on the ground?" asks one trainee. "Get your prayer mat out," says the instructor. And everybody laughs. Nervously.
The scene: Selfridges, the biggest shop in the West End of London. The players: 3,000 employees who are briefed to "entertain the public, not just take their money". Maurice, the postman, is doing his Norman Wisdom act; Colin, the designer, is trying to get a camel to chew sideways, not up and down; and Karen is waylaying unsuspecting men to spray them with a product she has to promote. Prowling, around the store are Bron and Olive, who look like a couple of housewives on a day out: they're after shoplifters and Bron has a reputation for always getting her man or woman, unless they're bigger than me. Backstage, as always, is Stan; the goods liftman who says of customers: "They're all right. I mean we have to have them. It's as simple as that."
Walton-on-the-Naze in Essex is a traditional little seaside town. It's got a sandy beach and a pier and not much else. But despite the age of the jet and the cheap package tour, Walton's population still doubles during the season. This film reflects a typical day at the sea with the people who have been coming here for years and the people whose job it is, to entertain them and keep them happy. It begins early in the morning when Eileen Fowler, the 'First Lady of Keep Fit' can be found on the beach, still practising what she started preaching back in the 50s. She-first visited there as a child in 1921 and returned to retire. We meet the Punch and Judy man, the family who run a Wild West show at the back of the car park and Brian and Charlie, resident entertainers, who love doing the season "because we get just as much enjoyment here as we would at the Palladium or Las Vegas".
The motto of GOSH - London's Great Ormond Street Hospital - is "Children First and Always". Nearly all the children referred here are seriously ill. There is an underlying feeling of tension, but overall it's a happy place. A place for hope. Sunjeev is recovering from an operation. He thinks it's his 19th. Claire, who is 11, has just had a blockage removed. "Now I'll be able to grow," she says. "It'll cost my mum a lot of money in new clothes." Upstairs there's a party for Andrew who is one today; downstairs there's a party for Princess Michael of Kent who is opening a new ward this afternoon. As night draws in, the children are tucked up. Mothers sit with them until they fall asleep. Doctors start to go home. "But you can't just disappear and forget," says consultant surgeon Edward Kiely. "At least, I can't."
Every day a band of brave - some might say foolish - instructors set out in dual-control cars to teach people how to drive. Pupils like 69-year-old Mrs Patience Pumphrey. Her record to date: more than 100 lessons and two failed tests. "Trouble is I have good days and bad days", says Mrs P; "and sometimes they are very bad." Somewhere out there are actress Carolyn Allen, screaming whenever things go wrong; Vietnamese boat person Dip Nguyen who, fortunately, has now been persuaded to stop at pedestrian crossings, and instructor Diana Redmond, who smacks pupils when they make mistakes. And watch out - here comes Mrs Pumphrey to take yet another test...
Everything you always wanted to know about London's crooked square mile-but never dared to ask... Meet the King of Swing - Alfredo the doorman, who has sung with Frank Sinatra; and the Queen of Sound Effects Beryl, who is having problems unzipping a banana. Hear about naughty ladies and red stocking murders. Drink in the afternoon with Ian who knows all about hunting in Soho, and sympathise with old Frankie who says the girls just aren't what they used to be. He's right. Karen used to be a high-school teacher. Now she's a stripper. All in the best possible taste, of course...
The blue whale is undergoing cosmetic surgery, the dinosaur is being given a spring clean and the elephants and rhinoceroses are on the move. All this before the 7,500 visitors arrive for the day. Behind mahogany doors, away from the public, the scientists beaver away in their own little worlds. Dr David Wragg is trying to record the love call of the cricket. Peter Whitehead is messing about with sprats and Paul Hillyard is feeding his pet tarantulas. He actually likes spiders. "Nobody has ever been eaten by one," he says, "it's just that they have had a very bad press."
Every day in summer 75,000 people sail away from Dover across the Channel. Each ferry goes backwards and forwards three times. It can get very confusing to the crew - sometimes they have to ask passengers which way the boat is going. The passengers have their own problems. The Wallys, for instance, are trying to get to France. Trouble is, their car has broken down three times so far. When the ferry docks at Calais, Pru Lobbard isn't queueing to get off. She's only here for the duty free. "Well, they rip you off in France," she says, "and then there's all those dogs with muzzles..." Day trippers sing on in the bar, a nun buys her spirits allowance, and the chef fries the Dover sole that comes from Calais.
The Japanese are quiet. The French are a bit messy. The Germans are clean and friendly. And the English? "Arrogant, pushy and wanting all the attention," says Sandy O'Cunneff , who runs the ladies' loo at the Tower of London. Twelve thousand tourists "do" the Tower every day, guided by the Beefeaters - ex-soldiers who tell spine-chilling tales of blood and guts through the ages. Somewhere in all the chaos, a child is lost. And something that shouldn't be there is found in the Jewel House.
It is a golden autumn day in Richmond Park - a royal park, and a sanctuary of 2,500 peaceful acres on the doorstep of London. Pippa, Emma and Tufty, the squirrels, are being spoiled by Sally, a medical secretary. She feeds them expensive nuts. The Nutcracker is rehearsed by the boys of the Royal Ballet School. Two Japanese ladies hunt among the leaves for secret delicacies. Taxi drivers sneak into the park for a quick game of golf. Dogs are walked, pictures painted, model planes flown and bagpipes blown. And watching it all are the deer. Proud majestic creatures. It is, after all, their park...
They say that one of the worst things that can happen to ordinary people is moving house. Today Ronald Miller, 82, and his wife, Isabel, 75, are leaving the house in Dollis Hill that has been their home since their wedding day in 1930. Glynn and Carrie Boyd-Harte are moving into a 16-room mansion (with no heating) in London's West End. And in Clacton the Patels are worried about their temple being damaged in the move. For the removal men, of course, it's no big deal. There is a lot of huffing and puffing and the odd bit of cussing. But they are caring people. They care about tea-breaks, tips and, of course, their clients. "We have to be diplomats," says one man, "I mean, that's people's lives stuck on the back of our lorries."
It's spring in Albert Square. The daffs are out; the trees are in leaf and love is in the air. Actually it's early March; the daffs are plastic, the leaves are made of material and tied on with cotton, and Den and Angie and Dot and Ethel and the gang are shivering on the outside set at Elstree. Today Michelle and Lofty get engaged on a bench in the square. Lofty is frozen; Michelle is laughing. She's got her baby to keep her warm - a large vest padded with foam and muslin - "Jolly useful place to keep a hot water bottle or a hip flask" says Susan Tully who plays Michelle. It's not easy living in a fantasy world. People keep asking Susan where her baby is. "I tell them the truth - it's hanging up in the dressing room." As the day goes on, there's tragic news about Willy; Wendy Richard talks about her private life and Leslie Grantham explains why he's writing to the Guinness Book of Records. Oh, and June Brown - Dot - says she's not worried about people from the past selling her secrets. "My acquaintances were far too elegant," she says, "and anyway most of them are dead."
Heathrow is the world's busiest airport - 45,000 people work here and cater for 75,000 passengers a day. Here is Bernadette MacDonald, check-in girl, never without a smile on her face. "It comes on when I arrive and it gets peeled off like a mask when I leave." Up on the roof the plane-spotters are bugging the control tower for up-to-date information. In terminal three, the photographers are snatching the stars. Today, it's Shirley Bassey. There are tearful farewells and happy reunions. And, as evening draws in, 86-year-old Mrs Amelia Goodman from Clacton-on-Sea prepares to make her first flight. She's never been further than Margate. Today she is emigrating to Australia to be with her family. Flying in is another great-grandmother - HM The Queen Mother. For her, it's just another flight; for Amelia it's a big, brave new experience. "Have I got to go in that?" she asks her son, as the Jumbo stands waiting. But go she does - giving everybody a little wave from the steps. Just like somebody else we all know and love...
Nellie has got a sore throat, Bruce has an eye problem and keeps bumping into things, and Whiskey is coming round from an operation to stop him chasing the girls. Nellie is a 10 1/2-foot python, Bruce is a tortoise and Whiskey was a tom cat. Today they're all in the consulting rooms at the Blue Cross Hospital for Sick Animals which has been operating for 50 years just behind Victoria Station. It's for pet owners who can't afford vets, and all animal - and human - life is here. Yum-Yum, Mimi and Lai-Lai - Pekinese - are here for a check-up. "They're my children," explains their mistress, "I've got something to care for." There are happy endings - and sad incidents. Grace, a kitten who had to have a leg removed, is re-united with her owner, but an alsatian going blind has to be put to sleep. "Most people need assurance about it because they think they are killing their animal," says vet Janet Clift. "But if it's in the best interest of the animals, it has to be done." It costs £1 million a year to run Victoria. Money well spent? "Of course," says administrator Paul Hannon. "We not only help animals, we help owners, because for many people a pet is the most important thing in their life."
Next time your car breaks down or won't start, and the AA says there's a two-hour wait, here's a tip. Tell them you're a doctor or a nurse or a teacher. Say you're a plumber on an emergency call - and you'll get priority. "It's a good trick", says Sgt Johnny Towers , who is based at Stanmore, Britain's busiest AA Centre. "That way they get instant service." Today a doctor is locked out of his car. They rush to his rescue. He is a doctor. "Any patients waiting?", he's asked. "Well, no ... I'm a doctor of science." Nice one. A nun with a flat battery calls in - and a woman with two children has to be towed away. On the M4 a member who "breaks down all the time" waits patiently for help, along with hundreds of other casualties who haven't thought to tell a lie.
Round and round the dog track at Walthamstow goes 75-year-old Leo Olley , painting everything that doesn't move. He's there every day before the punters arrive, singing old wartime songs and making sure all is spick and span. "I've got a job for life", he says, "it's just like the Forth Bridge." Greyhound racing is Britain's second most popular sport. It's colourful and exciting and packed with a cross-section of larger than life characters. Johanna Beumer, schoolmistress by day, owner and punter by night, dresses from head to toe in either red, white or blue, depending on the colour her dog is wearing. Tonight it's red. Some you win, some you lose. But as trainer Louis Solomon explains, "If you took away the element of surprise, people would stop coming."
In April this year, nine KC 135 Stratotankers - flying petrol pumps - took off from Fairford to refuel the F-111s that bombed Libya. Yet an incident that made world headlines and caused an international crisis seems to have had little effect on the local people. The baker hardly notices the Americans. The water bailiff doesn't worry about their presence. Only a small warning voice is heard every so often. "If there is a war, Fairford is a bulls eye", says author Susie Vereker. "The whole of Gloucestershire is, in fact." In the meantime sheep are sheared, bells are rung and the harvest is safely gathered in.
