Bullshooter: sorting out the problems of British business

Fat, long-haired man wearing ridiculous tie tucks in to huge plate of eggs, chips, haddock, sausages, mushrooms, fried bread, baked beans, fried potatoes, ham, kippers, bacon, liver, devilled kidneys, grilled tomatoes, toast and cereal in otherwise deserted Pullman dining car of InterCity train heading out of London. Super caption: Bullshooter - with Sir Jim Hartley-Hare.

VOICEOVER: Sir Jim Hartley-Hare is on another mercy-mission to an ailing British company. This time it's a giant chemical firm which prefers not to be named.
Manager in white hat and overalls shows Sir Jim around squalid Victorian factory.

HARTLEY-HARE: So you mean all this work is still done by hand?
MANAGER: Er, yes, Sir Jim.
HARTLEY-HARE: That's ridiculous. I mean, in this day and age.
Cut to plush executive dining-room. Sir Jim is tucking in to enormous plate of steak, chips, onions, sprouts, cabbage, runner-beans, mange-tout peas, artichoke-hearts, roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, dumplings, turnips and swedes followed by bread and butter pudding, jam roly-poly and spotted dick with custard, cheese and biscuits, coffee and mints, liqueurs, port, brandy and cigars.

HARTLEY-HARE: I mean, how do you think you got into this situation? Would you say there was a single factor which caused this mess?
MANAGER: Well, Sir Jim, until recently we did have a rather old-fashioned chief executive.
HARTLEY-HARE: I might have known.
MANAGER: Yes. He wouldn't innovate or delegate. He would break out into terrible rages and shout at people. In fact, the only time he seemed to settle down was when he was eating some enormous meal.
HARTLEY-HARE: Terrible. Terrible. I do sympathize. You know, this sort of thing goes on throughout British industry. What was the fellow's name?
MANAGER: Well, actually, Sir Jim, it was you.
HARTLEY-HARE: Ah.
Closing shot of London-bound first class restaurant car pulling out of provincial station.