"Each of the casualties is fitted with a timer
showing how long they have before they die.
This lets you know how long you have before they must reach the hospital.
However...
However, each time they are jolted or bashed,
the timer will jump forwards ten seconds."
-How long's on the timers? -I don't know.
I presume depending on how wounded they are.
Oh, so, it'll be different.
So, we've got to choose one
-with the longest amount of time. -Yeah, exactly.
The race starts in three, two, one... now!
Right. I'm just going to get in.
Thirty seconds, waste of time.
Two minutes. Mate, I'm sorry.
He's got ten minutes. I'm having him.
Eight minutes 55. It's you. It's you.
You're in good shape, my man. I can look after you.
There you go, sir.
With the patients carefully loaded...
Get in!
Richard and I were on our way.
I may have collected a cone or two there, sorry.
We've never lost a patient from Theale on my watch.
Sure as hell not going to lose one now!
The roads to the state-of-the-art hospital on the other side
of town were littered with abandoned cars.
But Hammond and I had decided to get there as fast as possible,
even if it meant incurring a few ten-second penalties.
Don't you worry, sir! You just hang on tight!
Here we go.
Rams deployed.
The thing is, mate, you get a ten-second penalty
for every single little knock.
So, you may as well have big knocks.
Unsurprisingly, James had decided to adopt a policy of no knocks at all.
Hello, and welcome aboard the Ecnalubma.
Your recovery is our first priority.
We realise that you have a choice of ambulances,
and this is indeed the best one.
This patient is really annoying me now.
Oh, no, he's broken free!
Whoa! Dukes Of Hazzard, there it is!
Oh, I'm sorry, that's probably ten seconds off your life.
Meanwhile, in the next street...
James had encountered a Peugeot driver.
Sorry to disturb you, gentleman in the silver Peugeot,
but this is an ambulance and this is an emergency.
It really is a matter of great importance
that you make way for the ambulance, thank you.
Move, man!
Whoops-a-daisy.
No. Oh!
I've been reasonably polite about this so far,
I would like you to get out of the... [bleep] way.
Thanks to our exuberant driving,
my patient and Hammond's had lost a lot of life.
So, we decided to go even faster.
We're on our way to hospital.
Ramming!
I think my man is suffering. Reassuring tunes coming up.
Following my encounter with the infernal Peugeot,
I'd also thrown caution to the wind.
Hang on, fellow, we're making up the lost time!
Shortcut.
Watch this.
Cock.
Cocking Nora.
Well, I've lost a few seconds in that.
Oh, no, I've got a Porsche ambulance behind me.
Hammond, get out of my way!
I'm coming through in a Porsche Turbo!
Brakes are definitely fading.
This is the trouble with the privatised ambulance service
that we have created here.
It's a race, really.
Beautifully controlled...
Patient rested.
Hammond, move, move, move!
Right, nitrous.
Whoa!
He's gone! He's gone and he's gone badly wrong!
Hammond has stuffed it!
Nearly there! Sorry about the noise. You'll be fine!
Sorry. They couldn't get a lot done in ten seconds.
We're getting near the hospital now. Stay with me. Stay with me!
Oh, yes. First at the hospital.
That is a victory.
Oh, damn it! May is already there!
But my patient is still alive, okay.
Ready, boot opening.
Patient-delivery system engaged. Here we go!
I give you one alive patient, delivered to a hospital.
Where is yours?
Oh, he's... He got better.
-Did he? Did he? -Yeah.
I did say, did I not, at the beginning of this item:
"The process of recovery begins in the club class ambulance."
And in fact, it worked.
-James, where is he? -In the pub, I imagine.
-He can't be in the pub. He was wound... -Why not?
He was dying, got ten minutes to live!
Right, down here. This looks good.
Oh, wait a minute. Here he comes.
And now, coup de grâce.
Patient to hospital.
Hammond, you blithering idiot!