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The blurb on the back:

'I want to buy one of these for my fiancee,' said the young man. And he put his hand in his pocket and produced an enormous bra.
Mrs Slocumbe (sic) took the garment and gazed at it with pursed lips.
'She's a big girl, isn't she?'
'Blimey,' said Miss Brahms, 'storm in a B cup.'
'That will do,' said Mrs Slocumbe (sic), 'get out the forties, will you? The Kilimanjaro range.'

God, it's awful. The TV series was hardly characterised by the subtlety of its wit, but when everything has to spelt out - every arched eyebrow, every husky voice, every hissed whisper - it's like being hit repeatedly over the head with an inflatable hammer by a clown at a five-year-old's birthday party.

Just for the record - there's no plot, no laughs, no point. Recommended only for those who want to be reminded of some of the minor characters. Remember Mr Mash?

Course, if you're a big fan of Capt Peacock, Mr Humphries and the rest, you won't want to miss it either.