by John Cleese
Taylor (calling to him): A bottle of the Beaujolais, please.
Basil: Ah, certainly. (he goes back into the kitchen)
In the kitchen.
Carnegie: And the washhand basin?
Sybil: We ordered it yesterday. Here’s the acknowledgement of the order.
Basil comes in and takes a bottle of wine from a rack in the corner.
Carnegie: Well, it would now appear that this kitchen is now in a satisfactory condition. I shall be writing to confirm the . . .
Basil sees the box of rat poison on top of the fridge. He grabs at it, dropping the bottle, which smashes.
Basil: Sorry. It slipped. (he hides the poison behind his back)
Carnegie: . . . outstanding points and someone will be dropping in to carry out a future random inspection to make sure these standards are being maintained . . .
Sybil: Thank you.
Basil: Marvellous. Marvellous. (he puts the poison out of the back door and gets another bottle of wine)
Carnegie: It’s ten to one, I’d like to take lunch here if I may.
Sybil: Oh, certainly, Mr. Carnegie.
Carnegie: I couldn’t help noticing you had some veal over here.
Basil (dropping the bottle): Veal?
Sybil: Yes, it’s Dutch.
Basil: It’s not Dutch, actually. It’s Norwegian.
Sybil: Norwegian?
Basil: Yes—not the absolute apex quite honestly.
Sybil: Terry, the veal is Dutch, isn’t it?
Terry: Norwegian, Mrs. Fawlty.
Carnegie: I’ve been in this business twenty years, I’ve never heard of Norwegian veal.
Basil: No, they’ve only just branched into it, you know. I don’t think it’s a winner, frankly—more of a veal substitute. It’s got a lot of air pockets in it, that sort of thing. The lamb is Dutch.
Carnegie: Dutch?
Basil: Well, English. I mean, we call it Dutch because it’s as good as the Dutch veal. It’s better, quite honestly.
Carnegie: I’d prefer the veal.
Basil: Yes . . . how about the lobster? Would you prefer lobster? A couple of lobsters? Oh, it’s frightfully good at the moment, and it’s not expensive this week, we’ve got so much we’re having a lobster sale at the moment to try and shift it all. 75p each. You can’t say better than that, can you?
Carnegie: Just the veal. (he moves to the lobby door)
Basil (following him): Well, if you like the veal, perhaps you’d prefer the chicken.
Sybil (getting in front of Basil): Basil, he wants the veal.
Carnegie: Could I make a phone call?
Sybil: Yes, of course. Through here. (they go out)
Polly (coming in from the dining room): What’s all this about rat poison on the veal?
Terry: He’s put rat poison on one, they’ve got mixed up and nobody knows which is which now. What happened to the one the cat had?
Polly: The cat?! (rushes out of back door)
Basil: That’s no good. That might have poison on it, too.
Terry: Well, where is it?
Basil: What?
Terry: Where’s the cat’s slice?
Basil (gets it): Up there.
Terry: Right now, how’s the cat?
Basil: . . . How’s the cat. How’s the cat? We’re just about to take the life of a Public Health Inspector and you want to know ‘how’s the cat’. It’s gone to London to see the Queen. What are we going to do?
Polly (bringing the cat in): He’s all right.
Terry: Great!
Basil (leaping about in mock joy): Hooray! Hooray! The cat lives! The cat lives! Long live the cat! What are we going to do?
Terry: Mr. Fawlty. If the cat is all right . . . that means that slice is all right.
Polly: Well . . . how long would it take to work?
Terry: That stuff, two minutes. He had this ten minutes ago at least.
They all peer at the veal.
Polly: It’s a bit chewed there.
Terry: I’ll give it a trim. (he does so)
In the dining room, Mr. Carnegie is just sitting down. Sybil is standing by him.
Sybil: So you’re driving over to Babbacombe this afternoon?
Carnegie: Yes, we’re . . . (he realizes he has sat down on something; he gets up slowly holding a plate of veal) What is a plate of veal doing there?
Sybil: I’ll just relieve you of it, shall I? (she takes it and brushes off Mr. Carnegie’s jacket)
Basil (coming in from the kitchen): Do sit down, Mr. Carnegie.
Sybil: He just has, Basil.
Carnegie: On a plate of veal.
Basil: Has it put you off?
Carnegie: What?
Basil: Has it put you off the veal at all?
Carnegie: Well, I’m not eating that one if that’s what you mean. (goes to sit at another chair at the same table)
Basil: Stop! Halt! Sorry . . . I think there might be another one there. Excuse me . . . (he collects it) Ah, yes. Lucky guess.
Carnegie: Well, who’s responsible for putting them there?
Basil: Er . . . Manuel, our Spanish waiter. (turns to Manuel, who is just behind him, gives him the plates and slaps his head; to Mr. Carnegie) Now would you like to sit over here . . . please . . . ?
Carnegie: Well, does he do it often?
Sybil: Oh, no, no.
Basil: No, no, no, it’s the first time, but he sometimes looks as though he’s going to, but we always catch him of course. (Polly enters carrying the veal) Ah.
Polly: Here’s your veal, Mr. Carnegie. And one green salad.
Carnegie: Thank you.
Basil: Ah, good, bon appétit. (he goes into the kitchen) Well done, Terry.
He goes to the back door, opens it, and takes a deep relaxing breath. Then he sees the cat; it is throwing up. He turns and rushes back into the dining room and snatches the plate away from under Mr. Carnegie’s nose as Polly adds the vegetables.
Basil: Sorry. Not hot enough. (the plate burns him) Aaaagh! Not big enough. Sorry!
Carnegie: What . . .
Basil: Not big enough. Sorry . . . excuse me. Really, Polly! (he hurries out with it; Polly, Sybil and Mr. Carnegie stare after him)
In the kitchen, Terry is already putting another veal in the pan. Basil throws his in the bin.
Basil: What are you doing?
Terry: Well, if that’s the one these are OK.
Basil: What?
Terry: If that’s the poisoned one, these are all right.
Basil: . . . Brilliant. Great. Right. OK.
Polly and Sybil come in.
Sybil: Basil, what is going on?
Basil: That was the poisoned one. The cat had it.
Polly: The cat! . . . Oh! (she dashes off towards the backyard)
Sybil: Poisoned?
Basil: Yes . . . so that one must be OK. (goes into dining room)
Sybil (confused): Basil . . .
In the dining room, Basil approaches Mr. Carnegie.
Basil: Sorry, just getting you a proper sized one.
Carnegie: It was big enough. It was all I wanted.
Basil: Well, it could have been a bit hotter . . . Well, not much . . . but . . .
Carnegie: Look . . . (he looks at his watch)
Manuel comes into the room.
Basil: Yes, yes, just coming . . . won’t be a sec . . . (a young upper-class couple, Ronald and Quentina, have entered) Ah, Manuel . . . would you . . . thank you. (he exits to the kitchen; Manuel shows them to their table)
In the kitchen, Basil comes in to find Polly holding the cat.
Basil: What?
Polly: Well, he’s all right! Look!
Basil: He can’t be!
Polly: Well, he is.
Terry (holding out a plate of veal): Here you are, Poll.
Polly: Oh. (she hands the cat to Basil and takes the plate)
Basil: He can’t be!
Sybil: What do you mean?
Basil: Well, he was vom
iting.
Sybil: Vomiting? (Basil demonstrates) That’s just fur balls, Basil.
Polly takes the plate into the dining room.
Basil: . . . What?
Sybil: That’s just fur balls. He does that all the time in the summer. (she takes the cat out through the back door)
Basil: But . . . if he’s all right . . . that one might . . . (he realizes the plate has gone and flies after Polly)
In the dining room, Polly is approaching Mr. Carnegie with his veal. Basil comes in just as Polly puts the veal down on the table.
Basil: Polly . . . too much.
Carnegie: What?
Basil: Too much. (he waves her back) Too much of a good thing always leaves one wanting less, I always find.
Polly: Ohh! (exits to kitchen with the veal)
Carnegie: What is wrong now?
Basil: Well, we wouldn’t want you to think that because you were one of Her Majesty’s Civil Servants, that we were showing you any excess favouritism. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that.
The Major (who is on the table behind, standing up): Oh! So you’re the rat inspector. (Mr. Carnegie stares at him; Basil cringes) Sorry! Sorry Fawlty! Starling Inspector.
Carnegie: Starling Inspector?
Basil indicates the Major is mad. Basil exits and Manuel returns to the young couple’s table with the menus. As he waits for them to choose he suddenly sees the rat nosing about by Quentina’s feet. He freezes and stares. Ronald sees him and gives him a hard look, thinking Manuel is staring at Quentina’s legs.
Ronald: Do you mind?
Manuel: Qué?
Ronald: We’ll have one Windsor soup, one pâté, please. (Manuel doesn’t move) One Windsor soup . . .
Manuel: Shh! (he starts backing away slowly; Ronald is amazed)
In the kitchen, Basil, Sybil, Polly and Terry are standing round the table considering the plate of veal.
Basil: No, no, if the cat’s slice is all right, that might be the poisoned one.
Sybil: No, no.
Polly: Yes! Yes, he’s right.
Terry: And if the cat’s one is all right . . .
Polly: Which it is.
Terry: We can give him that, can’t we. (he goes to the bin and takes the cat’s veal out)
Basil: Right!
Manuel (coming in): Mr. Fawlty!
Basil: Shut up!!
Sybil: But Terry, that’s got things on it.
Terry: Oh, that’s all right, Mrs. Fawlty. What the eye doesn’t see the chef gets away with.
Manuel: Mr. Fawlty.
Basil: What is it?
Manuel: Table seven!!
Basil: What?
Manuel: Basil! (he pushes Basil through the door into the dining room)
In the dining room, Ronald is getting annoyed. Basil and Manuel come in.
Basil (to Mr. Carnegie): Sorry, it’s just coming.
Ronald: Excuse me.
Basil (going over to him): Of course. Good afternoon, sir. Good afternoon, madam.
Ronald: Look, I was just trying to give an order to your waiter and he walked away while I was doing it.
Basil (looking down subtly): Hmmm?
Ronald: Well, he wasn’t paying attention at all.
Basil: I’m so sorry? What were you saying?
Ronald: . . . Your waiter wasn’t listening when I was giving him our order. He seemed more interested in my fiancée’s legs.
Basil: Really? May I? (he has a look) No, I don’t think so. In fact I think there’s a bread roll down there.
Ronald: May I give my order?
Basil: Oh please, of course.
Ronald: We’d like one Windsor soup and one pâté, and then . . .
Polly comes in. Basil is kneeling, pretending to do up his shoe lace.
Basil: Just doing my shoe lace up.
Ronald: Are you going to take my order?
Basil: Er, yes . . . Polly, would you take the order here please, on this table . . .
Ronald: . . . We’d like one Windsor soup.
Polly: One Windsor.
Ronald: One pâté . . .
Basil: He’s there. S’there.
Ronald: What?
Basil: There, there.
Ronald: What do you mean, ‘There, there’?
Basil: It’s all there. There, there, there and there. All there for your enjoyment.
Polly: And one pâté?
Basil: Manuel, would you get the bread roll, please . . . no, no, no, get the box. (Ronald stares) We have a box, a bread-box . . . for any bread that has gone past its prime.
Polly: And you’d both like the . . .
Ronald: The veal.
Polly: Oh! The veal’s off, I’m afraid.
Ronald: How can it be? You’ve only just started.
Basil: Ssh. Ssh, sssh.
Ronald: Don’t shush me.
Basil: I’m sorry. But the veal is in fact off, well it was never really on, quite honestly, that’s a misprint.
Ronald: A misprint?
Basil: Yes, it should say . . . um . . . ‘eel’.
Ronald: Eel escalope? (to Manuel, who has gone under the table) Stop it, will you. Just leave it. Wait till after the meal.
Basil: No, no, we have to get it now, I’m afraid. Health regulations. Before it moulds.
Ronald: Well, I’ll get it, then. (he starts looking down)
Basil (restraining him): No, no, no, no, please, please, allow us, please, all part of the service.
Polly: So that’s one pâté and one Windsor . . . (sees the rat in Quentina’s handbag on the floor) . . . soup!!! (to Manuel) Psst!
Sybil comes out of the kitchen carrying Mr. Carnegie’s latest veal.
Sybil: Here’s your veal, Mr. Carnegie. Sorry for the delay.
Ronald: He’s been given veal!
Basil: Er, no, that’s veal substitute.
Ronald: Veal substitute?
Basil: Yes, it’s not very good, it got held up on the boat on the way over from . . .
Polly: Japan . . .
Basil: . . . Norway. It’s a sort of Jappo-Scandinavian imitation veal substitute, but I’m afraid that’s the last slice anyway.
Ronald (standing up): We’re leaving.
Basil: OK. If you insist.
Ronald: What?
Basil: By all means. Be my guest, thank you.
Ronald: I want a taxi.
Basil: Polly—would you arrange a taxi, please.
Ronald and Quentina go into the lobby.
Polly (to Basil): It’s in the bag.
Basil (nods, puts his finger at the side of his nose and winks, then, to Mr. Carnegie): Is your veal, er . . .
Polly: In her bag. (she goes into the lobby)
Basil (to Mr. Carnegie): In her bag?
Carnegie: What?
Basil: Excuse me. (he exits rapidly into the lobby)
In the lobby, Ronald and Quentina are standing at reception.
Polly (hurrying up to them): Do you know where you’re going?
Ronald: Can you recommend a restaurant?
Polly (dialling): Yes, of course, what sort of a . . .
They both look at Basil who has come up behind them stealthily and is standing just behind Quentina’s shoulder looking into the bag.
Basil: Yes, where is somewhere that serves really good veal, Polly? Somewhere in the . . .
Polly (energetically): Oh, veal, yes! Of course. A really good restaurant . . . just a minute, because I do remember a place where I had some really good veal once . . . I just can’t think of the name of it . . . it was . . . er . . . oh . . . (does her Diane Keaton impression) Lah de dah . . . did you see Annie Hall? . . . ‘Lah de dah’ . . .
Basil is groping very carefully in Quentina’s bag.
Ronald: Annie who?
Quentina turns and sees Basil with his hand in her bag.
Quentina: What are you doing?
Basil: What . . . ?
Quentina (to Ronald): He had his hand in my bag.
Ron
ald (stepping towards Basil): What?
Basil: Er . . . no . . .
Ronald: You know something! You’re getting my gander up, you grotty little man. You’re asking for a bunch of fives!
Polly: Bomb scare!
Ronald: What?
Polly: There’s been a bomb scare.
Ronald: A bomb scare?
Basil: Yes.
Polly: Yes—that’s why he was searching in your bag—he didn’t want to alarm you.
Basil: May I?
Quentina: Well, I don’t . . .
Basil: Just one moment . . . thank you. (he takes the bag and moves to the other end of the reception desk and rummages in it)
Polly: We had a call, you see.
Ronald: Well, shouldn’t you get everybody out?
Polly: Well, that’s why we were looking under your table . . . we just didn’t want to draw attention . . .
Basil lets out a howl and pulls his hand out of the bag very fast. He drops the bag, and the rat streaks across the lobby, into the dining room, past Manuel, who sees it, and under a table. Manuel looks round and disappears unnoticed under the table. A moment or two later he emerges, evidently holding the rat in his hands.
Carnegie: Waiter. (Manuel freezes) Waiter.
Manuel: One momentito. (he moves quickly to the sweet trolley and puts the rat into the biscuit tin, then returns to Mr. Carnegie) Si . . . ?
The Major leans across and takes the tin off the trolley. He opens it and takes a biscuit out without noticing its inhabitant.
Carnegie: Some cheese and biscuits and a coffee, please.
Manuel: Si, si.
He hurries back to the trolley, but is amazed to find the tin missing. He looks round the room without noticing it on the Major’s table, then disappears into the kitchen. Basil comes in with his hand wrapped in a handkerchief.
Basil (to Mr. Carnegie): Anything to follow?
Carnegie: I’ve ordered some cheese and a coffee.
Basil: Certainly. (Sybil comes in from the kitchen) Coffee please, Sybil.
Basil (bringing the trolley to Mr. Carnegie): Here we are, Mr. Carnegie. (Polly comes in from the lobby) Polly, would you get the biscuits, please.
The Major: Here they are, Fawlty! (he hands the tin to Polly)
Basil: Cheddar, Danish Blue, Edam . . . ?
Carnegie: A little Danish Blue, please.
Basil: Certainly. Edam?
Carnegie: No, thank you.
Basil: Biscuits?
Basil puts the cheese in front of Mr. Carnegie. Sybil comes over with the coffee pot. Polly takes the lid off the biscuit tin and offers it to Mr. Carnegie without looking. In the tin sits the rat. Mr. Carnegie looks at the rat; the rat looks at Mr. Carnegie. Basil notices this first, then Polly and Sybil. They stare at Basil. Mr. Carnegie is stunned and continues to stare at the rat.