The Complete Fawlty Towers Read online

  Basil: What?

  Virginia: I was just trying to examine her, she lashed out . . .

  Basil (hitting Polly): Don’t. Don’t hit our friends. I know you’re not feeling a hundred per cent, but control yourself! (to Virginia) I’m sorry. She’s not herself today. Don’t worry, the doctor’ll be over here soon. I’ll give you a call, tell you what he says. So . . . um . . . anyone care for another drink, or . . . ?

  All: No, no thank you Basil, we ought to be going . . .

  Outside in the forecourt, Sybil and Audrey are sitting in the car. Sybil, genuinely upset, is crying. Audrey is comforting her.

  Audrey: They’re all the same, dear. They’re all the same, believe me.

  Sybil: Oh, I know, I know.

  Audrey: Now, you forget all about it. We’re going to have a nice game of golf and go out to dinner. (Sybil puts the car into gear) Did you get your clubs?

  In the lobby, the gang are coming down the stairs. They are the walking wounded. Reg limps with support from Arthur, Kitty walks unsteadily, and Virginia, still holding her eye, is being helped by Alice. Basil follows them.

  Basil: Well, awfully nice to have seen you all. Thanks for coming over.

  Roger: No, not at all. We must do this more often. You know, when they’re fit again.

  Basil: Yes, yes, I’m sorry about all the injuries . . . still, perhaps when Sybil’s a bit better . . . you know, perhaps we can all get together and have a . . .

  Sybil has come in behind him. The guests are staring past him at her; he turns and sees her. She looks at them, then at him. There is a long moment.

  Basil (to Sybil): How extraordinary. We were just talking about you. (offers his hand) Basil Fawlty. We met once . . . at a fête. (she stares at him; he starts to lead her into the kitchen) Let me show you where it is. How’s the North, then? Have you been up there at all recently?

  The kitchen. Basil leads Sybil, who is too stunned to resist, in. Manuel and Terry are fighting on the floor. He ignores this, steers her past them, opens a cupboard and puts her inside.

  Basil: I’ll explain everything in a moment, dear. (he closes the door and locks it)

  He goes back, stepping over the fight. In the lobby, the whole gang are utterly stunned. Basil comes back out of the kitchen, from which the noises of the fight continues.

  Basil: What a coincidence—she’s thinking of buying one of our fridges. Well—lovely to have seen you all . . . and sorry about the ankle . . . keep the head right back . . .

  The gang, speechless, move off out of the main door, ushered by Basil. Roger is the last to go.

  Roger: Great fun.

  He hands Basil his glass and leaves. Polly has come down the stairs.

  Basil (to Polly): Piece of cake. (he braces himself and makes for the kitchen) Now comes the tricky bit.

  BASIL THE RAT

  Sybil Fawlty ..... Prunella Scales

  Basil Fawlty ..... John Cleese

  Mr. Carnegie ..... John Quarmby

  Polly ..... Connie Booth

  Terry ..... Brian Hall

  Manuel ..... Andrew Sachs

  Miss Tibbs ..... Gilly Flower

  Miss Gatsby ..... Renée Roberts

  Guest ..... Stuart Sherwin

  Major Gowen ..... Ballard Berkeley

  Mr. Taylor ..... James Taylor

  Mrs. Taylor ..... Melody Lang

  Ronald ..... David Neville

  Quentina ..... Sabina Franklyn

  Sixth of second series, first broadcast on 25, October 1979, BBC2.

  The hotel forecourt. The Fawltys’ car drives up. Basil and Sybil get out and walk towards the hotel.

  Sybil: You said you’d go.

  Basil: I didn’t say I’d go, I said I might. I’ve got to do the accounts tonight.

  Sybil: You don’t have to do the accounts tonight.

  Basil: I do.

  Sybil: It’s always the same. Whenever I want to go out, you’ve always got some excuse.

  Basil: It’s not an excuse. It’s just that tonight . . .

  Sybil: It’s not just tonight, it’s any night I want to go out with any of my friends, anyone at all, any other members of the human race.

  Basil: Yes, well, I wouldn’t call the Sherrins members of the human race, dear.

  They enter the lobby.

  Sybil: I’m cooped up in this hotel all day long, you never take me out, the only bit of life I get is when I get away with some of my friends.

  Basil: Well, you must get away more often, dear.

  Sybil: . . . They all think you’re peculiar, you know that, don’t you. They’ve all said at one time or another, how on earth did the two of us ever get together. Black magic, my mother says. (she stalks off into the office)

  Basil: Well, she’d know, wouldn’t she. Her and that cat. (he goes into the kitchen)

  In the kitchen, Basil comes in and sees a man kneeling down by the fridge peering at a plate of meat. It is Mr. Carnegie, a stranger to Basil.

  Basil: Shall I get you the wine list?

  Carnegie: Mr. Fawlty?

  Basil: Mister? Oh, please, call me waiter. Look, I’ll go and get a chair and then you can really tuck in—there’s some stuff in the bin you might like, you know, potato peelings, cold rice pudding, that sort of thing—not exactly haute cuisine but it’ll certainly help to fill you up. (Sybil comes in) Ah, Sybil, may I introduce you to the gentleman who’s just opened the self-service department here . . . Mr. . . . ?

  Carnegie: Carnegie.

  Basil: Mr. Carnegie the scavenger gourmet from . . . ?

  Carnegie: The Public Health Department. (he puts the meat back in the fridge and stands up)

  Basil: Yes, but where were you born, Scavenger or down here in the West Country . . .

  Sybil: Public Health Department?

  Polly (entering with an invoice): Oh . . . here’s the invoice for the meat, Mr. Carnegie . . . (to Sybil) It’s the six-monthly check-up.

  Sybil: Oh yes, the meat was delivered on Wednesday . . .

  Carnegie (having examined the invoice): Yes . . . that would appear to be satisfactory.

  Basil: Oh, good. Hope you didn’t mind my little joke just now. Thank God we English can laugh at each other, eh?

  Mr. Carnegie makes a note on his clipboard. Terry walks in, stops, and looks at Polly.

  Polly (to Terry, mouthing silently): Public Health Department.

  Terry leaves. Carnegie sees him.

  Basil: That’s our new chef just left . . . just popped out for a quick prayer, I expect, ha ha ha.

  Carnegie (ignoring this sally): Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil (waving): Hallo.

  Carnegie: These premises do not come up to the standard required by this authority. Unless appropriate steps are taken instantly, I shall have no alternative but to prosecute or recommend closure to the appropriate committee of the Council. Specifically, lack of proper cleaning routines, dirty and greasy filters, greasy and encrusted deep fat fryer, dirty cracked and stained food preparation surfaces, dirty cracked and missing wall and floor tiles, dirty marked and stained utensils, dirty and greasy interior surfaces of the ventilator hoods.

  Basil: Yes, about the fat fryer . . .

  Carnegie: Inadequate temperature control and storage of dangerous foodstuffs, storage of cooked and raw meat in same trays, storage of raw meat above confectionery with consequent dripping of meat juices on to cream products, refrigerator seals loose and cracked, icebox undefrosted and refrigerator overstocked.

  Basil: Yes, say no more . . .

  Carnegie: Food handling routine suspect, evidence of smoking in food preparation area, dirty and grubby food-handling overalls, lack of washhand basin which you gave us a verbal assurance you’d have installed on our last visit six months ago, and two dead pigeons in the water tank.

  Basil: . . . Otherwise OK?

  Carnegie: As I said, I shall refrain from serving a food hygiene notice today, but I shall return tomorrow. If the items on this list have not been rectified I shall
take immediate action. I have not had time to inspect the bedrooms and common passageways but I shall be doing so tomorrow.

  Sybil (ushering him out): Yes, of course.

  Carnegie (as he leaves, to Basil): The only gourmets you’ll find scavenging in this kitchen will be kamikaze ones. (he and Sybil exit)

  Terry (opening the back door at which he has been listening): I thought we was in trouble there for a minute.

  Basil: . . . We are in trouble.

  Terry (glancing at the list): Piece of cake.

  Basil: Have you read this piece of cake?

  Terry: Oh, they got to do that, ain’t they, it’s part of their job.

  Basil: Terry, this kitchen is filthy.

  Terry: Filthy Towers, eh?

  Basil: Now, look . . .

  Terry: Look, all kitchens are filthy, Mr. Fawlty—in fact the better the kitchen the filthier it is. Have you ever read George Orwell’s experiences at Maxim’s in Paris?

  Basil: No, do you have a copy? I’ll read it out in court!

  Sybil (coming back in): Don’t just stand there gossiping. Go upstairs . . .

  Basil: I am not gossiping, I am trying to point out to our alleged chef . . .

  Sybil: Go upstairs and get Manuel, and check the bathrooms for soap and paper and get those pigeons out of the water tank.

  Basil: Yes, my little commandant.

  Sybil: And see how many fire extinguishers are missing. Come on, Polly, we’ll start in here.

  She leaves. Polly spots the cat.

  Polly: Not in here, puss. (she puts the cat out of the back door)

  Basil makes his way upstairs. Singing and vague guitar strumming are emerging from Manuel’s room. Basil goes in; Manuel is sitting on his bed strumming and singing.

  Basil: Manuel, I’m sorry, this is an emergency. Important, si? The Health Inspector’s just been, things wrong with hotel. We put them right by tomorrow, all right? Now, Manuel, go up to the roof . . .

  Manuel: The roof? Si . . . (makes to go)

  Basil: No, no, come back—I haven’t told you yet! Now, go to the water tank . . .

  Manuel: Water?

  Basil: Water tank. Water on roof in tank, yes?

  Manuel: Si, si.

  Basil: Two dead pigeons in tank. Take out. (Manuel stares suspiciously) It’s not difficult, Manuel. This is not a proposition from Wittgenstein. Listen. Two dead pigeons . . . water tank . . . (Manuel begins to break up) What’s funny?

  Manuel: . . . How they get up there?

  Basil: How . . . they flew up there! (Manuel gets slightly hysterical and flaps his arms) That’s right. That’s right.

  Manuel (collapsing with laughter on the bed): Oink, oink? Oink, oink!

  Basil: Will you stop . . . will you just pull yourself together . . . Not pigs! Pigeons!

  Manuel: Qué?

  Basil (grabbing a Spanish-English dictionary off the shelf): Pigeon! Pigeon! . . . Like your English! (he shows Manuel the entry)

  Manuel: Pig . . . gy . . . on.

  Basil (noticing a cage containing a rodent, on the bedside cabinet): What is that?

  Manuel: Is my hamster. ‘Piggy-on’.

  Basil: . . . Hamster?

  Manuel: Si. Si. No. pidge-on.

  Basil: Manuel, that’s a rat.

  Manuel: Pidgin.

  Basil: It’s a rat!

  Manuel: No, no, is hamster.

  Basil: Well, of course it’s a rat! You have rats in Spain, don’t you?—or did Franco have them all shot?

  Manuel: No, is hamster.

  Basil: Is rat.

  Manuel: No, I think so too.

  Basil: What?

  Manuel: I say to man in shop, ‘Is rat.’ He say, ‘No, no, is special kind of hamster. Is Filigree Siberian hamster.’ Only one in shop. He make special price, only five pound.

  Basil (calmly): Have you ever heard of the bubonic plague, Manuel? It was very popular here at one time. A lot of pedigree hamsters came over on ships from Siberia . . . (he takes the cage)

  Manuel: What are you doing?

  Basil: I’m sorry, Manuel, this is a rat.

  Manuel: No, no, is hamster.

  Basil: Is not hamster. Hamsters are small and cuddly. Cuddle this, you’d never play the guitar again.

  He walks out of the room with the cage. In the corridor, Manuel comes after him in pursuit.

  Manuel: Qué? Where you go? Where you go? Where you take him?

  Basil: I’m sorry, Manuel, he’s got to go.

  Manuel: Go? No!

  Basil: Yes.

  Manuel: No, no, he mine. He stay with me.

  Basil: Now, look! This is a hotel! The Health Inspector comes tomorrow. If he finds this, I . . . closed down . . . no warning . . . closed down. Finito. You, out of work. Back to Barcelona.

  Manuel: He do no hurt. He in cage, he safe, please . . .

  He hangs on to Basil’s leg. Miss Tibbs and Miss Gatsby appear at the top of the stairs.

  Basil: Good morning, ladies.

  Miss Gatsby: What’s the matter?

  Manuel: He take my hamster. Please, no, Mr. Fawlty.

  Miss Tibbs (reproachfully): Mr. Fawlty!!

  Manuel: I love him, I love him.

  Miss Tibbs: How could you.

  Basil: Excuse me.

  Manuel: He take it from my room.

  Miss Tibbs (comforting Manuel): Ah, there there . . .

  Miss Gatsby: Never mind, it’ll be all right.

  Miss Tibbs: You can keep it in our room.

  Miss Gatsby: Yes. (to Basil) That’s right—we’ll keep it in our room, Mr. Fawlty. We’ll look after it.

  Basil holds the cage out at them. They scream.

  Misses Tibbs & Gatsby: Aaah! A rat! A rat! A rat!! (they scurry off)

  Manuel: No, is Siberian hamster . . . filigree . . . (but Basil has disappeared downstairs)

  The lobby. Basil comes down the stairs with the cage. A couple approaching the stairs see the cage and the woman starts back.

  Basil: It’s all right—it’s only a Siberian hamster, just getting rid of it.

  He goes into the kitchen. Manuel comes downstairs and sees Polly, dithers, and runs to her at reception.

  Manuel: Polly, Polly—he take my hamster.

  Polly: What?

  Manuel: Mr. Fawlty take my hamster. He crazy—he thinks is rat.

  Polly: . . . Manuel . . . prepare yourself for a shock . . .

  In the kitchen, the cage is on the table. Basil and Sybil are discussing it.

  Sybil: Well, why didn’t you check?

  Basil: What?

  Sybil: Well, you mean he’s had it a whole year and you’ve only just found out?

  Basil: Yes.

  Sybil: Well, supposing the Health Inspector had seen it.

  Basil: I know.

  Sybil: He could have closed us down . . . Well, what are you going to do with it, Basil? You can’t keep it here.

  Basil: I know.

  Sybil: And don’t let it loose in the garden, he’ll come back in the house.

  Basil: Can’t we get you on ‘Mastermind’, Sybil? Next contestant Sybil Fawlty from Torquay, special subject the bleeding obvious. I wasn’t going to let it go in the garden.

  Sybil: Well, what are you going to do with it?

  Basil: I don’t know. I’ll take it away, let it go. Give it its freedom.

  Sybil: You can’t do that, Basil—he wouldn’t be able to defend himself.

  Basil: He’s a rat, isn’t he?

  Sybil: He’s domesticated (to the rat), aren’t you.

  Basil: Well, you’re domesticated. You do all right. Look, he’s not going to get mugged by a gang of field-mice, is he?

  Sybil: Basil, he’s Manuel’s pet. We have a duty to it . . . perhaps we could find a home for him.

  Basil: All right! I’ll put an ad in the papers! Wanted, kind home for enormous savage rodent. Answers to the name of Sybil. Look, I’ll take it out into the country, let him go . . .

  Sybil: No! I cannot abide cruelty to l
iving creatures.

  Basil: Well, I’m a creature, you can abide it to me.

  Sybil: You’re not living. (Manuel comes in) Look Manuel, we were just wondering what we ought to do . . .

  Manuel: Mrs. Fawlty, please understand. If he go, I go.

  Basil (putting out his hand): Well, goodbye.

  Sybil (to Manuel): Please listen. You know we really can’t keep him here. The Health Inspector wouldn’t . . .

  Manuel: Mrs. Fawlty. He here one year. He do no harm.

  Sybil: But, Manuel, listen . . . if they see your rat they could close the hotel down. (to Basil) Perhaps it would be simplest to have him put to S-L-E-E-P.

  Basil: Who, him or the rat? We might get a discount if we had ’em both done.

  Manuel: ‘Spleep’?

  Polly (coming in): Manuel, I’ve rung my friend—it’s all right—she’ll take him.

  Manuel: Qué?

  Polly: She has lots of animals, and it’s not far away. You can go and see him whenever you want. So come on, we’ll take him over there now.

  Manuel: But he forget me.

  Basil (giving him the cage): Well, rats are like that, Manuel. Don’t get involved with ’em.

  Polly: Come on, Manuel.

  Sybil: I think it’s the best solution, Manuel.

  Polly: Oh, he’ll be happy, you’ll see. (she and Manuel leave the kitchen with the cage)

  Sybil: Sad, isn’t it.

  Basil: Well . . . look at it from the point of view of the rat.

  Sybil: What?

  Basil: Would you want to spend the rest of your life with Manuel waiting on you?

  Outside, Polly and Manuel walk down the drive with the cage between them.

  The kitchen. General bustling. Terry is at the hoods over the stove, Polly is wiping the walls, Sybil is moving round checking. The cat is in the corner.

  Sybil: Now, we’ve been through the cupboards, you’re doing the walls, Terry the filters, checked the fridges . . . oh . . . (she sees the cat) Come here . . . (she puts it out of the back door)

  Basil (coming in from the lobby): Right, that’s done. Now, Sybil, everything done here?

  Sybil: Have you put the lid on the tank, Basil?

  Basil: That’s why I’ve been on the roof the last forty minutes, dear, yes.

  Sybil: And you took the pigeons out?

  Basil: No, I left them in, they’re nearly done. Now, the walls . . .