Basil | I don’t know. Government. Couldn’t organise a drinks party in a brewery. Coalition, demolition more like... |
Sybil | Are you alright Basil, muttering to yourself like that, you’ll frighten the guests. |
Basil | Guests? I wouldn’t call them that. I mean, have you seen them? All these people here for this ridiculous census. And at Christmas time. I ask you. Where’s the sense in that? Whole country comes to a standstill at the merest hint of snow and the Government decides now is a good time to call a census. I mean... |
Major | Conscription. That’s what you need. Didn’t have problems with snow in my day. All these yobbo’s and foreigners. Soon clear the snow if we gave them all shovels. What, Fawlty? |
Basil | Well, quite Major. I’m not sure that’s exactly what... |
Major | Your wife. |
Basil | Sorry, Major, my wife? |
Major | Yes, Fawlty your wife. Damn fine woman... |
Basil | Oh, I wouldn’t say that.... |
Major | Well, no, nor would I, but you could put her in charge of the conscripts. She’d sort them out alright..... |
Basil | I wish she’d sort you out... |
Sybil | Sorry to interrupt your intellectual conversation, but you might have noticed that there is quite a queue forming – and I’m on the phone to Audrey. Her husband’s left her again, it always happens at Christmas. Typical man, no consideration at all, he hadn’t even put up the decorations.... |
Basil | Oh dear, poor Audrey – I know where I’d put the decorations up... |
Sybil | What did you say!!? |
Basil | Nothing dear, just offering to go and help put the decorations up... |
Polly | Mr Fawlty, Mr Fawlty... there’s this couple... |
Basil | Yes, well, I am rather busy at the moment, can’t you see there’s a queue? We’re not good at much in this country any more, but at least we can do queues! |
Polly | But Mr Fawlty, they’ve been travelling for days... |
Basil | Well that’s the government for you isn’t it – pay all our taxes, income tax, VAT, fuel duty, death tax, inheritance tax. None of it gets spent on the roads does it. I mean, took me three days to get to the post office to pay my road tax last year. I mean, it’s not hard is it, it’s just a road. I’m not asking to get to the moon, just the local post office.... |
Polly | And she’s pregnant! She’s almost due! |
Basil | Well, I can’t help that can I? What are they doing travelling all that way if she’s that pregnant? |
Sybil | Basil, at the rate you’re dealing with people, she probably wasn’t pregnant when they started queuing... |
Basil | Alright, Alright. What’s your name? |
Joseph | Joseph Barjacob and this is Mary |
Basil | Joseph & Mary Barjacob... |
Mary | No. |
Basil | I’m sorry? |
Mary | No. I’m not Mary Barjacob. We’re not married yet. |
Basil | Oh, I see. I see your game now. Well let me tell you something sonny. That sort of behaviour might be acceptable where you are from, but we’re a respectable British hotel. You think you can come here, take our jobs, flout our customs, use our NHS... |
Sybil | Give them a room Basil. |
Basil | But they’re not married! |
Sybil | Give them a room |
Basil | I’m dealing with it dear |
Sybil | Give them a room!!! |
Basil | Oh, alright – ‘Manuel’ |
Manuel | Si |
Basil | Take this couple to room 24 |
Manuel | Que? |
Basil | Room 24 |
Manuel | But we no have room 24... |
Basil | We do now, it’s what I’ve renamed the bike shed. Off you go then, I do hope you enjoy your stay.... |
Sybil | Have you given them a room yet? |
Basil | Oh yes, all sorted dear. Who’s next? |
Happy Christmas from Catherine & David
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