Father: Yes, you can't beat wood. Gorn! Mother: What's gone dear? Father: Nothing, nothing—I just like the word. It gives me confidence. Gorn. Gorn. It's got a sort of woody quality about it. Gorn. Go-o-orn. Much better than ‘newspaper’ or ‘litterbin’. Daughter: Frightful words. Mother: Perfectly dreadful. Father: Ugh! Newspaper! ... litterbin ... dreadful tinny sort of words. Tin, tin, tin. The daughter bursts into tears.
Considering that the same performance/record featured a song about the First and Second Laws of thermodynamics, a song largely taken up with variations of 'A camel is approaching', a monologue about festivals of bullfight-style olive-stuffing and a song about people who leave bedsteads about the countryside in the dead of night for aesthetic reasons, it's in good company.
This on the other hand is also quite odd, and if I hear rightly features the word gorn.