GOTCHA!

My son Jeff playing one of the characters in this turbid yet rancid sketch.

“Gotcha!”
“Unhand me at once, sir! How dare you manhandle my person?”
“Oh Lord! Sorry, I thought you were Bert, we’re playing Gotcha!”
“You unutterable scoundrel. Look what you’ve done to my lapel, it’ll never be the same again.”
“I’m ever so sorry, I really am. I’ll buy you a new one. However I’m interested in your previous remark , the one about me being an unutterable scoundrel. I didn’t quite understand it.”
“What is there not to understand? Your behavior was that of an unutterable scoundrel. There, it is simple.”
“Except for one tiny point: you did utter it and therefore I put it to you, gentlemen of the jury, that at that precise moment it stopped being unutterable.”
“Have you said farewell to your sanity? I am alone, there is no jury here.”
“Sorry about that, I’ve just lost a case in the crown court for lewd behavior towards a nun and it slipped out. Well that was my defence anyway. However, as the French say “let us return to our sheep.” but that's your frog all over, only got one thing on his mind.
If you had said, for reasons of verisimilitude, (I take after my Father bless his heart, he was a real stickler for accuracy was my old Dad) if you had said, “You Utterable scoundrel” then all would have been well and I would have had no reason to question you.
In fact if my dear old Dad had been here I’ve no doubt that he would have joined me in congratulating you. But alas that cannot be, as tragically, he has been defunct for the past forty years. The innocent victim of a crazed steam roller driver who suddenly, without let or hindrance, chased him down Mornington Crescent to his doom. He was buried in fifteen coffins, in the flat season”.
“I cannot help musing that your father must have been a pretty useless runner to have been run over by a steamroller.”
“If you must know," sob " he was jogging backwards for Charity.
He was the 1907 Reversothon Champion for North Finchley.”