Cabin Pressure Transcript: 3x04 Ottery St Mary
Script by John Finnemore
Transcript by Ariane DeVere
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Please do not link to this transcript from the cabin_pressurecommunity, as they have their own transcribers and I in no way wish to invade their work. Thanks. This week, Ottery St Mary!
(Flight Deck door opens)
ARTHUR: Here we are, chaps ... er, chap. Coffee for you, Douglas, and coffee for you ... to maybe have a bit later on, Douglas.
DOUGLAS: Did you by any chance forget Martin wasn’t flying today, Arthur?
ARTHUR: No, I didn’t, actually. It’s just, I only know the amounts to make coffee for two people.
DOUGLAS: You could just have made half what you usually make.
ARTHUR: Well, I couldn’t because I’d only know what to make half of once I’d made it, and once I’d made it, I’d made it.
DOUGLAS: Oh well, fair enough, then. I didn’t realise you’d addressed the problem scientifically.
(The sat comm bleeps)
DOUGLAS: Hello? Starbucks, Irish Sea.
MARTIN (over sat comm): Douglas, it’s Martin.
DOUGLAS: Hullo there. Enjoying your day off?
MARTIN: No. Douglas, how long ’til you land?
DOUGLAS: About half an hour. Why?
MARTIN: Great. Is Arthur there?
DOUGLAS: Well, not all there.
ARTHUR: Hello, Skip! This is weird, isn’t it? ’Cause normally when I’m here listening to someone on sat comm, you’re here too listening to them, only now you’re there where they are and I’m here where you usually are and where I usually am and am now, talking to you!
DOUGLAS: You find Arthur in philosophical mood, Captain.
MARTIN: Arthur, I need you to help me.
ARTHUR: Brilliant! I love helping.
MARTIN: Well, this is a big help – a very big help.
ARTHUR: No problem, Skip. I am a very big helper.
MARTIN: Well, Arthur ... Um, Douglas, are you still listening?
DOUGLAS: I don’t have an enormous amount of choice, Martin.
MARTIN: Can’t you put your fingers in your ears?
DOUGLAS: Well, heaven knows I’m not generally a stickler for safety procedures, but I’m not certain that’s a good idea whilst flying an aeroplane.
MARTIN (tetchily): Fine. (He sighs.) Arthur, I’m at Fitton Hospital.
ARTHUR: Oh no! Are you all right?
MARTIN: No. I’ve sprained my ankle.
DOUGLAS: Oh dear. How did you do that?
MARTIN: I was ... it doesn’t matter how.
MARTIN (defensively): Look, it’s a perfectly valid tool when teaching best safety practice to demonstrate the wrong way as well as the right way.
DOUGLAS: You twisted your ankle whilst teaching someone how not to twist their ankle?
MARTIN: ... Anyway. Arthur, you know how – although I’m mostly a pilot – I’m also a bit of a man with a van?
MARTIN: Well, today – right now, actually – I’m supposed to be picking up a piano in Fitton and delivering it to a pub in Devon.
ARTHUR: Wouldn’t have thought you could do that with a sprained ankle.
MARTIN: No, Arthur, I can’t. This is where the ‘you helping me’ part comes in. My van is at the airfield and the addresses and the spare van keys are in my pigeonhole.
DOUGLAS: Spare Van Keys – didn’t we fly him to Amsterdam once?
MARTIN: Douglas, shush. Arthur, when you land, do you think that you could ... (he hesitates momentarily) ... cou-cou-could you pick them up, find my van, pick me up at the hospital, drive me to Fitton, load a piano and then ... (he takes a long breath) ... drive me to Ottery St Mary?
ARTHUR (nonchalantly): Yeah, no problem. All right, bye.
DOUGLAS: Really, Martin? Arthur? Is this wise?
ARTHUR (indignantly): Hey!
MARTIN: I-I know, I know! But I don’t have a choice.
ARTHUR: Double hey! I can do it!
DOUGLAS: Would it be worse for you to cancel the job, or to rely on Arthur – Arthur – to pick up and drive a piano – a piano – two hundred miles in a van – a van?
ARTHUR: Why shouldn’t I?
DOUGLAS: Because, Arthur, you’re a clot.
ARTHUR (indignantly): I’m not a clot! ... What’s a clot?
DOUGLAS: Well, you know the way that you are and the things that you do?
DOUGLAS: Those are the ways of a clot.
MARTIN: Douglas, you’re forgetting: I’ll be there with him the while time, supervising.
DOUGLAS: Oh, then, what can possibly go wrong?(!)
MARTIN: Yeah, but there’s no-one else to ask!
(Douglas clears his throat pointedly.)
MARTIN: Really?! Would you?
DOUGLAS: Well, I’ve nothing else to do today and it’s always useful to have someone owe you a colossal favour.
ARTHUR: But I can still come, right?
DOUGLAS: Of course!
MARTIN: Er, really, Douglas?
DOUGLAS: Oh yes! I see my role as very much a managerial one with perhaps a little light driving. If you want actual piano-shoving done, we’ll need a piano-shover.
(MJN’s portacabin door opens.)
CAROLYN: Ah, yes? Oh, hello, you two.
ARTHUR: Hi, Mum. Er, Gerti’s all hoovered and locked up, so can I go to Devon?
ARTHUR: Yeah. Er, Martin and Douglas are taking a piano to somewhere called ... er, what was it ... um ... Weasels King Henry? Hedgehog O’Brien?
DOUGLAS: Ottery St Mary.
ARTHUR: Yeah ... and they’ve said I can come too. Can I go, Mum?
CAROLYN: Arthur, you are twenty-nine years old. You don’t need my permission to go to Devon.
ARTHUR: ... Is that a yes?
ARTHUR: You won’t be bored all day without me?
CAROLYN: I’ll struggle through.
DOUGLAS: Excellent! All right, then, Arthur – you get the keys and addresses; I’ll seek out the van.
(They leave the portacabin. Carolyn picks up the phone and dials.)
HERC (answering at the other end): Hello? Herc Shipwright.
CAROLYN: Ah, Herc. It’s Carolyn Knapp-Shappey here. Are you still free today?
HERC: Oh, hello. Yes, I am.
CAROLYN: Yes, well, to my great disappointment, various better offers have fallen through and I am, in fact, reluctantly available for that lunch and dog walk you were nagging me about.
MARTIN: Yes, this is it – The Laurels.
(The doorbell is rung.)
MARTIN: Now let me do the talking, all right?
DOUGLAS: Of course.
(The door is opened.)
DOUGLAS: Good morning, madam. I am Doug, this is Mart and Arth. We are your Man with a Van – or, rather, Men with a Ven.
MARTIN: Hello. I-I’m sorry, ignore him. I’m Martin Crieff. We’re from Icarus Removals.
LADY: Oh, right, you’re here for the piano.
MARTIN: Yes, that’s right.
DOUGLAS: You do know what happened to Icarus, don’t you?
LADY: It’s in here. Wipe your feet.
MARTIN: Thank you very much. (Hissing to Douglas) Of course I do!
(The door shuts behind them as they go in.)
DOUGLAS: So you’ve deliberately named your company after the first bad pilot in history?
MARTIN (through gritted teeth): Shut up!
LADY: Here it is.
(He plays a dramatic flourish on the piano.)
DOUGLAS: Ah, not bad. She’ll be wasted in a pub.
ARTHUR: Wow! Douglas, that’s amazing! Ooh, now do Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines!
DOUGLAS: Absolutely not.
ARTHUR: Oh, but it’s my favourite!
DOUGLAS: Anyway, I don’t know how it goes.
ARTHUR: Yeah, you must do! Umm ... (He sings tunelessly) ♪ Up, down, flying around! Looping the loop and defying ... (he snatches a breath) ... the ground! ♪
DOUGLAS: If anything, I now know how it goes even less. But I can do you a little Chopin.
(He begins to play a perfect rendition of Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2)
MARTIN: Yes, thank you, Douglas. This lady wants us to move it, not show off on it.
LADY: Oh, I don’t mind. Isn’t he good?
DOUGLAS (continuing to play): You’re too kind.
MARTIN: Actually, we’re on rather a tight schedule.
DOUGLAS: Yes. Seven hours to drive two hundred miles. Every second counts.
MARTIN: Douglas, please.
DOUGLAS: Certainly, Icarus.
(He deliberately plays a mis-chord, then stops.)
DOUGLAS: All right, Arthur, snap to it. Arthur provides the brawn of our little operation, madam. I – you may not be entirely surprised to learn – am the brains.
LADY: He doesn’t look very brawny.
DOUGLAS: True, but that’s nothing compared to how much he’s not brainy.
LADY: And what’s he for?
DOUGLAS: Martin? Ah, Martin here has perhaps the most important thing of all.
LADY: What’s that?
DOUGLAS: A van.
(A doorbell rings, then the door is opened)
HERC: Hello, Carolyn.
CAROLYN: Oh, there you are. You’re late.
HERC: We didn’t set a time.
CAROLYN: You’re later than I imagined you’d be.
HERC: Then you clearly don’t have a very vivid imagination.
(Carolyn’s dog starts yapping.)
CAROLYN (crooning): Hello, darling. Did you hear the silly late man?
HERC: Oh, hello. What a ridiculous dog.
CAROLYN: I’m sorry?
HERC: I said you have a ridiculous dog.
CAROLYN: My dog is not ridiculous.
HERC: Then whose dog is this? (To the dog) Hello there. (To Carolyn) What is she?
CAROLYN: She is a cockerpoo.
HERC: Oh! A cockerpoo. Obviously I’d never have called her ‘ridiculous’ had I known she was a cockerpoo(!)
CAROLYN: It is a cross between a poodle and a ...
HERC: ... cockatoo?
CAROLYN: A cocker spaniel. And she’s not ridiculous. She happens to be a noble and faithful hound.
HERC: Mmm-hmm. What’s she called?
CAROLYN: ... Doesn’t matter.
CAROLYN: Her name is not important. Right – I thought we’d have lunch first, then walk after.
HERC: Oh. I’d rather walk first, work up an appetite.
CAROLYN: Fine. I’ll see you when you finally get to the pub then. I’ll be the one looking full.
DOUGLAS (closing the van door): All right. Are we ready to go?
DOUGLAS: Jolly good. Pre-driving to Devon checklist, Captain? Doors?
(Martin opens a bag of jellybabies.)
MARTIN: Jellybabies to manual.
DOUGLAS: Excellent! Then off we go.
(He starts the van and pulls away.)
MARTIN: I, um, I-I would have helped with the loading, you know, but it’s only ... this, this ankle is ...
DOUGLAS: It’s quite all right. We managed.
MARTIN: I’m impressed you got the owner to do so much of the lifting.
DOUGLAS: Yes, she had a sort of wiry strength for her age.
ARTHUR: I didn’t know you could play the piano, Douglas.
DOUGLAS: Well, you remember that time when there was that thing you didn’t know whether or not I could do, and then it turned out that I couldn’t?
DOUGLAS: No, nor do I.
(They drive on for a moment, then Martin hisses in a panicked breath through his teeth and whimpers.)
MARTIN: Er, nothing. It’s just, uh, a bit close to that Volvo.
DOUGLAS (reprovingly): Martin!
MARTIN: No, no, no, don’t bite my head off but the van’s probably wider than you’re used to driving.
DOUGLAS: I am used to driving an aeroplane.
MARTIN: Not on the A46.
ARTHUR: Yellow car.
ARTHUR: Nothing. Just ‘yellow car’.
MARTIN: Why did you say ‘yellow car’?
ARTHUR: There was a yellow car.
MARTIN: But why did you say ‘yellow car’?
ARTHUR: You’ve got to say ‘yellow car’ when there’s a yellow car.
ARTHUR: That’s how you play Yellow Car.
MARTIN: I’m not playing Yellow Car.
ARTHUR: You’re always playing Yellow Car.
DOUGLAS: And how – though I fear I can guess – does one play Yellow Car?
ARTHUR: Right, well, imagine you’re driving along ...
MARTIN: We are driving along.
ARTHUR: Oh yeah. OK, so now you look at the cars as they come along in the other direction and they’re all different colours, so, for instance, now, er, that one’s white; that one’s blue; that one’s a sort of metally-grey ...
DOUGLAS: ... and when you see a yellow car, you say, “Yellow car.”
ARTHUR (indignantly): How did you know?!
DOUGLAS: A wild stab in the dark.
MARTIN: And then what?
ARTHUR: You start again.
DOUGLAS: So how does it end, this game?
ARTHUR: It never ends.
DOUGLAS: That’s very much what I feared.
WAITRESS: Are you ready to order?
HERC: Yes, I think so. I’ll, um, I’ll have the mushroom and aubergine risotto.
HERC: What do you mean, “Eugh”?
CAROLYN: Well, you’ve seen they have proper food here as well.
HERC: Nevertheless ...
WAITRESS: Any starter?
HERC: Greek salad, please.
CAROLYN: Oh, don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian?
HERC: I will tell you that because I am one.
WAITRESS: And for you, madam?
CAROLYN: That’s very disappointing. Why on Earth?
HERC: Carolyn, all through human history, we’ve been wrong about equality and we thought we were right. “All men are equal, except slaves, obviously.” “Oh, no, wait – all men are equal except black ones, obviously.” “No! No, wait – all people are equal except women, obviously.” Look, are you not at all curious about what we’re still getting wrong? And don’t you think there’s a good chance it’s “All lives are equal except animals, obviously”?
CAROLYN: That’s an eloquent argument.
HERC: Thank you.
CAROLYN: I mean, it’s childish, specious, and the bit where you compare animal rights with universal suffrage is frankly offensive, but it’s superficially eloquent.
WAITRESS: Shall I come back?
CAROLYN: No-no-no. No, I’m ready. I’ll have the rack of lamb.
WAITRESS: And to start?
CAROLYN: The whitebait.
CAROLYN: Um, out of interest, about how many whitebait do you get in a serving?
WAITRESS: About thirty, madam.
CAROLYN: Gosh, imagine that: thirty little lives on a plate. Yum yum.
MARTIN: OK: so as long as we average at least eleven miles an hour, we should get to Ottery St Mary by six.
DOUGLAS: Well, it’s a punishing pace but I think I’m up to it.
ARTHUR: Why’s it called that, then, Skip?
ARTHUR: Ottery St Mary.
MARTIN: I’ve no idea.
ARTHUR: Do you know, Douglas?
MARTIN: Do you?
DOUGLAS: Certainly I do. You see, St Mary is the patron saint of Devon and she, of course, was famously martyred by being eaten alive by otters.
DOUGLAS: Oh yes – rabid otters. So she’s always portrayed in pictures absolutely covered in otters.
ARTHUR: What, eating her?
DOUGLAS: Sometimes, in the more fire and brimstone churches. Elsewhere, the assumption is they’re all in heaven now and have made up, so they’re just shown milling about her, nuzzling her affectionately and offering her ottery kisses and gifts of haddock.
MARTIN: Douglas ...
ARTHUR: Why would the otters go to heaven if they ate a saint?
DOUGLAS: You’ve put your finger, Arthur, as is so often your way, on the crux of a thorny theological problem. So far, our best guess is simply that St Peter’s got a real soft spot for otters. He looks into those whiskery faces and goes, (in an affectionate voice) “You guys! I can’t stay mad at you!” and lets them into heaven.
ARTHUR: So heaven is full of otters!
DOUGLAS: More than you can possibly imagine.
MARTIN: So, in your case, Arthur, probably be about twelve.
ARTHUR: Hey, I can imagine loads of otters!
DOUGLAS: Really? How many?
ARTHUR: A million!
DOUGLAS: You see, I don’t think you can. I don’t think anyone can.
ARTHUR: I can. I’m doing it now! (Long pause) Wow!
DOUGLAS: No, you’re just imagining a lot of otters and then saying that’s a million. I don’t think anyone can actually genuinely imagine more than about twenty otters at a time.
MARTIN: Oh, come on. I mean, I can definitely imagine a hundred otters.
ARTHUR: Mmm, me too, yellow car.
DOUGLAS: All right. How much space do they take up?
MARTIN: Er ...
DOUGLAS: Could you, for instance, get a hundred otters on board Gerti?
MARTIN: Yes, I reckon you could.
DOUGLAS: And is it a jam-packed RSPCA-nightmare of a plane, or are the otters lounging in relative comfort?
MARTIN: Well, OK, there’s, er, there’s sixteen seats, so, say, two to a seat.
DOUGLAS: They’re good friends, these otters?
MARTIN: Let’s hope so. Then one in each overhead compartment ...
DOUGLAS: Always remembering to open them with care because otters may have shifted during the flight.
ARTHUR: And, er, one under each seat?
DOUGLAS: Yes! Good thinking.
MARTIN: But that’s where the lifejackets are.
DOUGLAS: That’s all right – otters can swim. Now, how many in the galley?
MARTIN: Er, four on the floor, two on the worktops? Well, it depends – are we carrying Carolyn and Arthur?
DOUGLAS: To wait on the otters? I think that would be an indulgence, frankly. I think we’d be better off replacing them with more otters.
MARTIN: Might be better off replacing Arthur with an otter anyway!
ARTHUR (indignantly): Hey!
DOUGLAS: So, thirty-two in the seats, sixteen in the overhead lockers, sixteen under the seats, six in the galley ...
MARTIN: ... fifteen in the hold?
DOUGLAS: Oh, twenty easily; and six or seven in the aisle.
MARTIN: Call it seven.
DOUGLAS: That’s, what, ninety-seven; and three in the flight deck. A hundred!
MARTIN: No. Not in the flight deck.
DOUGLAS: Hypothetically, though ...
MARTIN: I don’t care how hypothetical it is, I’m not flying with a live otter in the flight deck.
DOUGLAS: I don’t see why not. Historically, very few hijackings have been carried out by otters.
MARTIN: Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t think the Civil Aviation Authority would be too keen on the idea.
DOUGLAS: To be quite honest with you, Captain, I don’t think there’s a whole lot about this plane full of unsupervised otters the CAA is going to love.
CAROLYN: Come on! You’re lagging again!
HERC (breathlessly): I’m not lagging. I’m walking about twice the normal human pace.
CAROLYN: This is why you need protein, you see – otherwise you lag.
HERC: Look, I’ll tell you who isn’t lagging – your ridiculous dog.
CAROLYN: What? Oh ... (calling to the dog) ... come back. Here! Here!
HERC: Why don’t you call her?
CAROLYN: I am calling her. (Calling to the dog) Bad girl! Come here!
HERC: Why don’t you call her by name?
CAROLYN (calling to the dog): Here!
HERC: I hope that little girl likes dogs.
CAROLYN (calling to the dog): Come here now!
HERC: Oh dear, I don’t think she does.
(The dog yaps.)
HERC: Well, not any more, anyway.
CAROLYN (calling to the dog): Snoopadoop, here!
(The dog yaps as she returns)
CAROLYN (to the dog):Good girl! (To Herc) Shut up.
HERC (amused): This is better than I dared hope.
CAROLYN: Arthur named her.
HERC: Snoopadoop the cockerpoo, noblest of hounds.
MARTIN: Couldn’t you fit a couple in the loo?
DOUGLAS: Ah, yes.
ARTHUR: Brilliant, Skip! So, er, how many’s that?
ARTHUR: Oh, we’ve got to get to a hundred! Ooh, Services! Can we stop?
MARTIN: Arthur, surely you can’t need to go again?
ARTHUR: No, I don’t. I just really like motorway Services. It’s like a little gang of shops that have gone on holiday together.
MARTIN: No, we can’t.
ARTHUR: Why not? We’ve got hours and hours to spare!
MARTIN: Not ‘to spare’, to be safe. We’re not stopping.
DOUGLAS: I know. Life is tough. Now, make yourself useful.
ARTHUR (serenely): I’m already useful.
DOUGLAS: Make yourself even useful-er. There’s a map thingy on my phone – type in the address.
ARTHUR: Which address?
DOUGLAS: The Gettysburg Address, Arthur. Which one do you think? The address we’re delivering this piano to!
ARTHUR: Oh, right, yes. What is it?
DOUGLAS: Give me strength. The address on the envelope you picked up from Martin’s pigeonhole at the airfield.
ARTHUR: ... Right. Now ... I know how you’re going to be, but remember you also asked me to pick up the van keys.
MARTIN: Arthur ...
ARTHUR: Half the job was picking up the van keys, and that part I did brilliantly!
MARTIN: Oh God.
DOUGLAS: Arthur, you clot.
MARTIN: Douglas, why did you get him to pick it up? You know he’s a clot!
ARTHUR (hurt): I’m not a clot.
DOUGLAS: I didn’t know he was that much of a clot! I mean, he more or less manages to feed and dress himself. I assumed he could pick up a piece of paper ten seconds after being told to.
MARTIN: Well, you were wrong!
ARTHUR: Look, look, it’s all right. We can phone them and get their address!
DOUGLAS: On which number should we phone them?
ARTHUR: We can get the number from Directory Enquiries.
DOUGLAS: And what shall we give Directory Enquiries to get the number?
ARTHUR: Well, the addr... (He trails off, groaning plaintively.)
DOUGLAS (exasperated): Right. Back to the airfield.
HERC: Carolyn, it’s this way.
CAROLYN: No, it’s this way.
HERC: It is not, Carolyn. I have a pilot’s excellent sense of direction; I have a map; I have GPS on my phone; and I am standing by a signpost – and all of us agree that it’s this way!
CAROLYN: And you’re all wrong. This is a short cut. Come on.
HERC: No. I don’t want to.
CAROLYN: Why not?
HERC: Well, it’s-it’s muddy and ... hilly and ... there’s sheep everywhere.
HERC: I don’t like sheep.
CAROLYN: Well, you don’t have to like them. You just have to walk past them.
HERC (tightly): I don’t want to walk past them.
CAROLYN: Hercules, are you frightened of sheep?
HERC: No. No I’m not, no.
HERC: Stop it.
CAROLYN: You are! You’re frightened of sheep! You’re frightened of little woolly baa-lambs!
HERC: No, no, I am not! Little baa-lambs I can take in my stride. It’s big, mean, hooved, horned beasts that I don’t like.
(Carolyn bleats again.)
HERC: Stop it! It’s not funny!
CAROLYN: If I can just pick you up on a small point there, Herc ... (She starts giggling) It is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!
HERC: It’s not, actually. Why do people always react like this?
CAROLYN: Yes. Though, of course, now ... now I understand the vegetarianism. You fear reprisals. The midnight raid on your house; twelve balaclava’d ewes with a thirst for revenge, a jar of mint sauce and a murderously sharp sprig of rosemary.
HERC (hurrying away): I’ll see you back at the car!
MARTIN: OK, it’s fine. Er, this is what the built-in time was built in for. So, suppose we get back to the airfield at, what, five? Turn straight around – yellow car – back on the M5 by ...
DOUGLAS: Martin, Martin, are you playing Yellow Car?
MARTIN: ... No.
DOUGLAS: Why did you say, “Yellow car”?
MARTIN: I just happened to see one.
DOUGLAS: Why did you say, “Yellow car”?
MARTIN: I’m not playing it. I just wanted to say it before Arthur.
DOUGLAS: That is what playing it is.
MARTIN: Fine! Then I’m playing it! And I won! Yellow car! Yellow car! Yellow car!
ARTHUR: Wow, Skip, you’re really good! I missed all of those.
(They pull up at the airfield.)
MARTIN: All right, now you two stay here. I’ll go in and get it.
(He gets out of the van.)
DOUGLAS: Hmm. Whose is that green Mercedes?
ARTHUR: I don’t know. It’s nice, isn’t it?
DOUGLAS: Let’s have a look.
(He gets out and walks towards the car.)
DOUGLAS: There’s someone in it.
(The car’s electric window winds down.)
HERC: Hello, Douglas.
DOUGLAS: Herc! What on Earth are you doing here?
HERC: I’m dropping Carolyn home, but she wanted to pick something up from the office on the way. She’s inside now if you want to speak to her.
DOUGLAS: What do you mean, “dropping her home”? Is she all right?
HERC: She’s fine.
DOUGLAS: Home from where?
HERC: We’ve been for a walk.
DOUGLAS: A walk?
HERC: That’s right.
DOUGLAS: You came all the way here to go for a walk with Carolyn?
HERC: Well, and lunch.
DOUGLAS: Oh, good Lord! And what have you done with your wife?
HERC: I’m not married.
DOUGLAS: Divorced, I take it?
HERC: Of course.
DOUGLAS: How many times?
HERC: Four. You?
DOUGLAS: Just the three.
HERC: Oh, you old romantic.
DOUGLAS: Right, well, I’ll leave you to it. Goodbye.
(Douglas hurries back to the van and opens the door.)
DOUGLAS: Arthur, quick. Help me get the piano out of the van.
DOUGLAS: Just do it.
(The portacabin door opens.)
CAROLYN (calling out): All right, Herc, I’ve found it. Let’s go.
(Douglas plays a dramatic flourish on the piano and then accompanies himself as he sings.)
DOUGLAS: ♪ When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amoré ... ♪
CAROLYN: Douglas ...
DOUGLAS: ♪ When the moon seems to shine like you've had too much wine, that’s amoré ... ♪
CAROLYN: Why am I constantly beset by pilots who think they’re funny?
DOUGLAS (stopping playing): Oh, hello Carolyn, fancy seeing you here.
CAROLYN: I’m ignoring you. You are being ignored. I am getting in the car.
(Douglas starts playing again as she gets into Herc’s car.)
DOUGLAS: ♪ Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling ... ♪
(The car engine starts up)
CAROLYN (calling from the car as it drives away): You are being ignored!
DOUGLAS: ♪ ... and you'll sing ‘Vita bella’ ... ♪
ARTHUR (applauding): That was brilliant, Douglas!
DOUGLAS: ♪ Hearts will fall ... ♪
(He stops playing)
ARTHUR: Now, now do Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines!
(He slams the piano lid down.)
ARTHUR (disappointed): Oh!
(Martin comes out of the portacabin)
MARTIN: Right, I’ve given him a call. He says he’ll be there ’til seven so we can just make it as long as ... Douglas, why have you got the piano out?
DOUGLAS: Just giving it an airing.
MARTIN: Well, get it back in the van!
DOUGLAS: All right, all right. Come on, Arthur.
ARTHUR: OK, OK!
(He tugs on the van’s door handle.)
ARTHUR: Can I have the keys?
DOUGLAS: You already have the keys.
ARTHUR: No I don’t. I gave them back to you.
DOUGLAS: No, Arthur, you didn’t. You have the keys.
ARTHUR (tugging more urgently on the door handle): I don’t! I don’t!
DOUGLAS: Then you’ve locked them in the van.
ARTHUR: No! I absolutely definitely gave them to you!
DOUGLAS: Except that I don’t remember taking them, and I don’t have them, so one of us has made an incredibly stupid mistake. Which one of us does that sound more like?
ARTHUR (plaintively): That sounds more like me.
DOUGLAS: Because you’re a what?
ARTHUR: A clod.
DOUGLAS: A clot.
ARTHUR: A clot.
DOUGLAS: And a clod.
MARTIN (frantically): So what are we gonna do? It’s five already. If we call a locksmith, we’ll never make it. Douglas, d’you know a trick?
DOUGLAS: I’m afraid breaking into Transit vans is a little outside my sphere.
MARTIN: Well, think of something.
DOUGLAS: Well ... we may no longer be men with a van, but we are at the airfield and therefore we are – as usual – men with a plane.
DOUGLAS (into radio): Bristol: Golf Tango India. Request permission for passage through your airspace for three men and a flying piano.
BRISTOL ATC: Golf Tango India, please state intended next waypoint and key signature.
DOUGLAS: Exmoor in F sharp.
BRISTOL ATC: Accepted.
(Flight Deck door opens)
ARTHUR: Coffee, chaps, and I’ve had a brilliant idea.
ARTHUR: The fridge in the galley. I was just looking at it. I reckon if you turned it off and took the shelves out, you could get an otter in it!
DOUGLAS: Do you know what? I think you’re right! Gentlemen, we have hit our otter target!
DOUGLAS: Martin, you were quite right: you can imagine a hundred otters.
MARTIN (smugly): Thank you.
ARTHUR: Oh, er, by the way, chaps ...
ARTHUR: Sorry, it’s probably obvious, because I’m a clot, but, um, when we land, how are we getting the piano from the airfield to the pub?
DOUGLAS: ... Ah.
(Grunting, and the sound of the piano’s wheels squeaking as it rumbles along the road)
MARTIN: You’re doing really well, chaps. Nearly halfway there.
DOUGLAS (grunting): Terrific(!)
MARTIN: I really wish I could push too. It’s just this stupid ankle, but I’m really, really grateful for all of your help.
DOUGLAS (grunting): You’re welcome.
ARTHUR (panting): Yeah. You’re welcome.
DOUGLAS: He didn’t mean you.
ARTHUR: What? I helped!
DOUGLAS: You lost the address and locked the keys in the van! In what way, precisely, did you help?
ARTHUR: Well, you wouldn’t be able to push the piano without me!
DOUGLAS (breathless and angry): We wouldn’t have to push the piano without you!
ARTHUR: Oh. Well, I was the one who thought of putting an otter in the fridge!
DOUGLAS: True. In that respect, you were invaluable.
MARTIN: Chaps, we do only have ten minutes left, so if you can go any faster at all ...
(Douglas and Arthur groan as they try to speed up. A car goes past.)
ARTHUR: Yellow car.
DOUGLAS and MARTIN (simultaneously): Shut up!
CAROLYN: And in racing green, Herc. Honestly. I’d have more respect for you if you’d gone for bright red. At least then you’re saying, “Yes, I’m having a mid-life crisis. Who wants to make something of it?” Racing green fools no-one.
HERC: If I may just interrupt the flow of ignorant bile for a moment, which house is it?
CAROLYN: Oh, here, by the tree.
(The car pulls to a halt.)
CAROLYN: Well, thank you for today, anyway.
HERC: My pleasure.
CAROLYN: Sorry if I was a bit ...
HERC: No, no, you weren’t at all ...
CAROLYN: ... soppy.
HERC: Oh. No, you weren’t at all.
CAROLYN: But I-I didn’t always have an entirely awful time.
HERC: Good – I think. Nor did I.
CAROLYN: Right. We’ll ... do this again, then?
HERC: Oh, good Lord, no! No, next time, opera!
CAROLYN (instantly): No. Absolutely not.
HERC: Yes, absolutely yes. I endured your ridiculous dog and the gruesome sight of you inhaling a shoal of fish. Now it’s your turn to endure some of the most sublime music ever created by man.
CAROLYN: I won’t like it.
HERC: I’m not remotely interested in whether you’ll like it. Also, you will like it.
CAROLYN: Well ... I’ll let you know.
(Douglas and Arthur gasp breathlessly as a doorbell rings. The door opens.)
MR HARDY: Yes?
MARTIN: Mr. Hardy, Icarus Removals.
MR HARDY: Ah, just in time! I was about to go! Bloody hell – what happened to those two?
DOUGLAS (gasping): We ... have been pushing ... your piano.
MR HARDY: What?! That’s no way to treat it! Where have you been pushing it?
MARTIN (hurriedly): Only from our van.
MR HARDY: Where is your van?
MARTIN: We parked it round the corner.
MR HARDY: Why did you ...?
MARTIN (talking over him): So if you’d care to sign here, sir ...
MR HARDY: Hold your horses. Let’s take a look at it.
MARTIN: Of course.
MR HARDY (walking around the piano): Uh-huh. Yeah. Yep, that’s fine. Let’s just check in here.
(He lifts the lid and hits a few random keys.)
MR HARDY: Ooh.
MARTIN: Everything all right?
MR HARDY: Well, yes, but what are these doing on the keys?
(There’s the jingling of car keys as Mr. Hardy picks them up.)
ARTHUR: Oh. Douglas. The van keys!
DOUGLAS: Ah yes. Well, that’s good.
ARTHUR: You must have closed the lid on them, Douglas, when you finished playing to Mum.
DOUGLAS: So it seems. Still ...
MARTIN: After Arthur gave them back to you.
ARTHUR: Like I said I gave them back to you.
DOUGLAS: ... Yes.
ARTHUR: Oh, Douglas. You CLOT!
End credits, to the tune of Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines, followed by:
DOUGLAS: Up, down, flying around! ♪ Looping the loop and defying the ground. They’re all ... ♪ Arthur!
ARTHUR: ♪ ... frightfully keen! ♪
DOUGLAS: ♪ Those magnificent men ... ♪
DOUGLAS and MARTIN: ♪ Those magnificent men ... ♪
DOUGLAS, MARTIN and ARTHUR: ♪ Those magnificent men in their flying machines! ♪