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Ariane DeVere
Cabin Pressure Transcript: 2.2 Gdansk 
18th-Jan-2019 09:24 am
CP - Gdansk
Cabin Pressure Transcript: 2.2 Gdansk

Script by John Finnemore
Transcript by Ariane DeVere

A link back to this page would be kind if you are cutting and pasting extracts from this transcript to post on your own blog, Tumblr etc.


(Flight deck door opens.)
MARTIN: Hello, Carolyn.
CAROLYN: Listen to this! This chamber orchestra we’re picking up – listen to what their conductor’s put under ‘Any Special Requirements’: “The first violins will not sit together; the second violins will not sit apart. The harpist will ignore you unless your aura is orange; there is nothing you can do to make your aura more orange. The tubist must on no account be given alcohol; the conductor must at all times be given alcohol. He will also require the toilet to himself for an hour before landing. And, most importantly, the bassoonist, Madame Szyszko-Bohusz, will be working under the presumption that you are trying to kill her unless proved otherwise, so avoid approaching her with blunt instruments, sharp knives or hot liquids.” Terrific! How am I supposed to serve her dinner?
DOUGLAS: Carefully.

This week: Gdansk!

MARTIN: Amsterdam, Golf Tango India. With you flight level three-three-zero.
AMSTERDAM ATC: Golf Tango India, radar identified. Continue as cleared.
ARTHUR: Okay, here’s another list. Uh, everyone ready? Get set: the Seven Deadly Sins.
MARTIN: Yes! I know these! I know them!
(Sound of frantic scribbling.)
DOUGLAS: Ah, the deadly sin of Pride.
MARTIN: Stop it, Douglas! You’re making it easier for Carolyn!
DOUGLAS: Ah, the deadly sin of Envy.
MARTIN: Douglas, stop it now.
DOUGLAS: Ah, the deadly sin of Anger!
MARTIN: Stop it!
CAROLYN: Done!
MARTIN (making an angry noise): Douglas was distracting me!
DOUGLAS: And done.
MARTIN: Oh!
ARTHUR: Okay, let’s see. Um, yeah, Douglas got ’em all.
MARTIN: (exasperated sigh)
ARTHUR: Uh, Mum’s got ... oh. Sorry, Mum, there’s no Wrath. (He pronounces it ‘rath’.)
CAROLYN: You mean Wrath. (She pronounces it ‘roth’.) Of course there is.
ARTHUR: No, I’m sorry. According to this book there’s no Rath or Roth. And you’ve missed out Anger.
CAROLYN: That is Wrath, you idiot child! Have you never heard of Wrath?
DOUGLAS: You’ve certainly witnessed it often enough.
MARTIN: Sorry, Carolyn, we have to go by the book, I’m afraid, so I come second.
ARTHUR: Yeah, looks like it, Skip. Uh, let me just check ... Oh, bad luck. You’ve got Lust down twice.
MARTIN: Oh, for ...
DOUGLAS: Naughty Captain Crieff! Which one did he miss out?
ARTHUR: Uh, Pride.
DOUGLAS: Irony upon ironies.
MARTIN: Let’s do another. I’m gonna win this one.
DOUGLAS: Are you now? Then perhaps we should make it a little more interesting.
MARTIN: I’m not betting, Douglas. I’ve told you.
DOUGLAS: Why not?
MARTIN: Because I always ... B-Because it’s beneath my dignity as a captain.
ARTHUR: I’ll bet with you, Douglas.
CAROLYN: No you won’t.
ARTHUR: Oh, but Mum ...!
CAROLYN: Don’t “Oh, but Mum” me. Who owns your car?
ARTHUR: Douglas does.
CAROLYN: Well, then?
ARTHUR: He still lets me drive it.
DOUGLAS: And at a very competitive hourly rate.
MARTIN: All right, no-one’s betting anyone anything. Arthur, what is it?
ARTHUR (rifling through his book): Um .... okay, here’s one. On your marks, get set: the Seven Dwarves.
(Sounds of scribbling.)
DOUGLAS: Martin, don’t forget Lusty.
MARTIN (through gritted teeth): Shut up!
CAROLYN: Done!
MARTIN: Oh, he distracted me again!
DOUGLAS: Done.
MARTIN: Oh ... okay, this is unfair.
ARTHUR: Yeah, Douglas got ’em all.
MARTIN: (exasperated noise)
ARTHUR: And Mum’s got ... oh, Mum! There’s no Loopy!
CAROLYN: Isn’t there? What’s his name, then, the stupid one?
ARTHUR: Well, I-I can’t tell you until Martin’s handed his in.
MARTIN: Oh, yes! I could still win!
DOUGLAS: I think you’ll find I won.
MARTIN: I could still come second!
DOUGLAS: Second from last.
MARTIN: I could still not lose.
CAROLYN: How many have you got?
MARTIN: Six.
CAROLYN: Ah, same as me. Have you got the stupid one?
MARTIN: Yes.
CAROLYN: What is it?
MARTIN: It’s ... (He stops himself and laughs.) No! (He chuckles.)
CAROLYN: Well, it was worth a try. Um, Silly? Dummy? Dizzy? Ditzy? Arthur?
ARTHUR (indignantly): Mum!
(Someone’s service bell bongs three times.)
CAROLYN (exasperated): Oh, for God’s sake!
(The bell bongs again three times.)
CAROLYN: If those jumped-up buskers can’t learn to leave the service bell alone, I swear I’ll cut off their thumbs!
DOUGLAS: Come fly the friendly skies.
CAROLYN: I’d better go. What was it, then, Arthur, the last Dwarf?
MARTIN: No, don’t tell her. I’m gonna remember my last one before you remember yours.
CAROLYN: Oh, for goodness’ sake, Martin, how childish. Don’t you dare help him, Douglas.
DOUGLAS: Scout’s honour.
CAROLYN: Right, let’s see what the loonies want now. Ooh, Loony!
ARTHUR: No.



(The bell bongs again three times.)
CAROLYN: Madam. What seems to be the problem?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ (European accent – your guess is as good as mine what nationality she’s supposed to be): Someone has tampered with my arm-rests. Who is responsible?
CAROLYN: Ah-ha. And you must be the bassoonist, Madame Szyszko ... (She struggles with the pronunciation)
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Szyszko-Bohusz.
CAROLYN: Gesundheit.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: And how do you know I’m bassoonist? Have you been spying on me?
CAROLYN: No, madam, but your conductor described you rather vividly. And I won’t pretend it didn’t help that you’re sitting next to a bassoon.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Never am I separated from my bassoon.
CAROLYN: Oh, the clingy type, is it? Now, then, what’s wrong with your arm-rests?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: You tell me what is wrong with arm-rests.
CAROLYN: With great pleasure. In a word: nothing. In six words: nothing is wrong with your arm-rests.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: That’s seven words.
CAROLYN: “Arm-rests” is hyphenated. Well, I’m glad we’ve had this chat. I’ll see you later.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Mine are higher than the others!
CAROLYN: I think not.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: But somebody’s tampered with them!
CAROLYN: May I ask who and why – or, if you prefer, whom and whym?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Listen. I am one of world’s leading bassoonists and, believe me, there are many bassoonists who’d be very pleased to see me come to no good.
CAROLYN: And doubtless one or two cabin crew.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: So, what are you going to do?
CAROLYN: What am I going to do about your theory that, before take-off, a bassoonist or bassoonists unknown broke into the aircraft, selected this seat, fractionally elevated the arm-rests and slunk off to await the – to me – obscure but – to them – presumably inevitable and deadly consequences?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: ... Yes.
CAROLYN: I am going to suggest you swap seats with your bassoon.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Ah.



MARTIN: Come on, Douglas.
DOUGLAS: No.
MARTIN: Please?
DOUGLAS: Sorry.
MARTIN: Just tell me! I’ve gotta get my last Dwarf before Carolyn gets hers.
DOUGLAS: There’s a phrase you don’t hear so much since the dwarf-hunting ban.
MARTIN: You don’t have to say anything. Just show me your list.
DOUGLAS: I couldn’t possibly. I gave Carolyn Scout’s honour.
MARTIN: You’re not a Scout!
DOUGLAS: You know what they say: once a Scout, always a Scout.
MARTIN: You were never a Scout.
DOUGLAS: You know what they say: never a Scout, always a Scout.
MARTIN: Come on, Douglas! I just want to win something for once!
DOUGLAS: Ah, well, if that’s what you want ...
MARTIN: No.
DOUGLAS: ... let’s see: twenty quid says ...
MARTIN: No.
DOUGLAS: ... the ATC at Warsaw is female.
MARTIN: Douglas, I told you, I’m not betting ... Female?
DOUGLAS: Yep.
MARTIN: But they’re nearly all male.
DOUGLAS: Well, then, you’ll probably win, won’t you?
MARTIN: You must know something. You must somehow know who’s on duty.
DOUGLAS: How could I possibly know a thing like that? So, are we on?
MARTIN: Not for money.
DOUGLAS (sighing): Have it your way. I bet you the cheese tray.
MARTIN: Not the whole tray. The Emmental.
DOUGLAS: The Brie.
MARTIN: Fine. I bet you the Brie that Warsaw Control ... is female.
DOUGLAS: No, I said I bet she’s female.
MARTIN: I know you did, but since you don’t know either way, you won’t mind taking the more likely bet, will you?
DOUGLAS: No. No, I won’t.
MARTIN: Good! Then I bet you she’s female.
DOUGLAS: You’re on.
MARTIN (into radio): Warsaw Control, Golf Tango India. Could we have the latest Gdansk weather, please?
WARSAW ATC (male): Golf Tango India ...
MARTIN: Oh!
WARSAW ATC: Wind shifting twelve, three quarters visibility, scattered thunderclouds.
MARTIN (furious): Bloody hell!
WARSAW ATC: Well, I’m sorry. They’re quite little thunderclouds.
MARTIN: Roger, Warsaw.
(Radio off.)
MARTIN: I thought you knew it was a woman.
DOUGLAS: No. I just relied on you assuming I did. Never mind, Martin. You lose some ...
(He pauses for a long moment.)
DOUGLAS: ... don’t you?
MARTIN: The expression is, “You win some, you lose some.”
DOUGLAS: That’s the expression, yes.
MARTIN: Come on, I win things sometimes.
DOUGLAS: Do you, Captain?
MARTIN: Y-Yes I do, First Officer. Don’t forget that, hmm? If I’m such a loser, how come I’m the one with four stripes on my arm?
DOUGLAS: Ah, there you have me.
MARTIN: Well, I am, and that’s when I’m at work, mind you, not just round the house to impress my wife.
DOUGLAS (furious): How dare you bring that up?
MARTIN (embarrassed): Douglas ...
DOUGLAS: I revealed something deeply personal and private to you in a moment of vulnerability and you use it as a cheap shot.
MARTIN: I’m really sorry, Douglas. I didn’t mean to ... No, wait a minute, that’s not what happened. You didn’t reveal anything to me. I caught you out by accident after you’d done everything you could to hide it.
DOUGLAS: Nevertheless ...
MARTIN: No, there’s no “nevertheless.” That makes it fair game. How’s it any different from all the things you constantly tease me about, like my height, or the number of goes I took to get my C.P.L., or the time I landed with the brakes on?
DOUGLAS: They’re all funny.
MARTIN: Well, it’s funny you pretending to your wife you’re a captain. It doesn’t stop it being funny just because it’s about you.
DOUGLAS: Yes it does.
MARTIN: No it doesn’t!



(Service bell bongs five times.)
CAROLYN: Ms Szyszko-Bohusz, we meet again. Don’t be shy about ringing that service bell, by the way. I don’t want you to be worried about annoying me.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: I’m not.
CAROLYN: Now that’s a weight off my mind. Now then, how can I help?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: What is this on my cashew nuts?
CAROLYN: Are you ... can you be pointing at the salt?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: This does not look like the salt I know!
CAROLYN: And what does it look like? Tiny transparent hand grenades?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: It looks like broken glass!
CAROLYN: It’s salt!
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Salt does not look this way! Salt is little round balls. These are big jagged ...
CAROLYN: Oh, for pity’s sake!
(Sound of Carolyn snatching up a cashew and, presumably, putting it in her mouth.)
CAROLYN: Satisfied?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: You have eaten my cashews.
CAROLYN: I have eaten one of your cashews.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: There were only five in the packet.
CAROLYN: Now there are only four.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Can I have more cashews?
CAROLYN: My pleasure. With salt or broken glass?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Salt. With salt. Only with salt!
CAROLYN: I will make a note of it.



AMSTERDAM ATC: Golf Tango India, contact Maastricht on frequency one-two-six decimal five.
(Silence.)
AMSTERDAM ATC: Golf Tango India, this is Amsterdam, do you read me?
(Silence.)
AMSTERDAM ATC: Golf Tango India, this is Amsterdam. I say again, do you read me?
(Sound of Martin violently and noisily exhaling. He gasps a couple of times.)
MARTIN (breathless): Golf Tango India. Apologies, Amsterdam. Microphone intermittent. Roger Maastricht on one-two-six decimal five.
(He groans as he catches his breath. Douglas exhales noisily.)
DOUGLAS: Oh, bad luck, Captain.
MARTIN: Look, that doesn’t count. I was answering ATC.
DOUGLAS: Sorry, Martin. The bet was just who could hold their breath longest. So that’s the Brie, Roquefort and the squidgy one in the foil packet to me.
(Martin groans plaintively.)
DOUGLAS: Just the Emmental and the crackers still in play.
(Flight deck door opens.)
ARTHUR: Coffee, gents? And, uh, message from Mum: have you forgotten to turn the seatbelt signs off, you pair of ... Have you forgotten to turn the seatbelt signs off?
DOUGLAS: No, no, not forgotten, no.
ARTHUR: Oh! Passenger Derby?!
DOUGLAS: We thought so, yes.
ARTHUR: Great! Can I do the commentary?
DOUGLAS: If you’d be so kind.
ARTHUR: Brilliant! Hang on.
(Flight deck door closes. Beep from the intercom.)
ARTHUR (over intercom): Okay, chaps, ready.
MARTIN: So this is for the Emmental?
DOUGLAS: Well ... Arthur? What are the puddings today?
ARTHUR: Oh, um, strudel and cheesecake.
DOUGLAS: Perfect. Martin, I see your Emmental and I raise you my cheesecake.
MARTIN: I see your cheesecake with my strudel.
DOUGLAS: Excellent! All right, Arthur, take us through the runners and riders.
ARTHUR: Thank you, Douglas! Well, welcome to the five thirty-five from ... up in the air. The conditions are perfect, the seatbelt sign’s been on for over forty minutes, I’ve been round with the drinks trolley twice, and they’re really squirming for the off. The favourites, of course, are the runners in Row A – today the trombone player who looks like Winston Churchill and the little clarinettist with the head that’s too big for him. Who do you want, Skip?
MARTIN: Who looks keenest?
ARTHUR: Well, they’re both pretty wriggly. Uh, but the trombonist is making little meowing noises.
MARTIN: I’ll take him.
ARTHUR: Uh, Douglas?
DOUGLAS: Where’s the older lady in the Harry Potter glasses?
ARTHUR: Uh, Row C.
DOUGLAS: Okay, I’ll take her. I happened to watch her claiming overhead luggage space and it was a very promising display. Some really useful elbow work.
MARTIN: Ah, well, it’s not fair if you’ve already ...
DOUGLAS: Too late.
(‘Bing’ as he turns off the seatbelt sign.)
ARTHUR: And they’re off! And it’s Trombone Churchill taking an early lead. He had his seatbelt undone behind his paper. Classic manoeuvre there. But he’s slow out of the chair and it’s Little Bighead who’s up in the aisle first. Little Bighead looking strong but, oh! He’s tangled with a stray cellist! And now Trombone Churchill’s making up ground! But who’s this streaking up on the outside? It’s Harry Potter’s Granny! She’s past Little Bighead, she’s past Wandering Cellist! And in the final straight it’s neck and neck between Trombone Churchill and Potter’s Gran! Potter’s Gran and Trombone Churchill as they reach the door and oh! Trombone Churchill takes an elbow to the gut and it’s Potter’s Gran! She’s in and she’s safe!
DOUGLAS: Yes!
MARTIN: Nooo!
ARTHUR: Bad luck, Skip. Not your day.
MARTIN (miserably): Not my life.



ARTHUR: Good evening, madam. Beef or trout?
FEMALE PASSENGER: Beef, please.
ARTHUR: And for you, madam? Beef or trout?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Who are you?
ARTHUR: Arthur. Oh, I mean, um, my name is Arthur, I’m privileged to be serving yourself as part of your onboard team onboard today onboard.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: No. No, this is no good. Where is the old woman?
ARTHUR: ... Right. I don’t know who you mean by that, madam, but I wouldn’t call her an old woman.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ (calling out): Old woman!
ARTHUR: Oh dear.
(The service bell dings repeatedly.)
CAROLYN: Yes, yes, yes, ring out wild bells in the wild sky.
(The bell continues dinging.)
CAROLYN: And who, I wonder, is the wild bell ringer? Who could it possibly be?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: It’s me, it’s me! See, my light is on!
CAROLYN: And yet nobody’s home. My dear Ms Szyszko-Bohusz, how can I help you?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: This boy. Who is this boy? I have not seen this boy before.
CAROLYN: And your theory, no doubt, is that the Bassoonist Black-Hand Gang, having been cruelly foiled in the matter of the arm-rests and the cashew nuts, have sent him to serve you a poisoned trout.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Do you not believe I have enemies?
CAROLYN: On the contrary, I find that astonishingly easy to believe. This, however, is not one of them. This is my son Arthur, and I promise you he couldn’t hurt a fly.
ARTHUR: Thanks, Mum!
CAROLYN: Because the fly would outwit him. If you will excuse me, I have a violinist fight to arbitrate. Ooh, and Arthur, Goofy?
ARTHUR: What?
CAROLYN: The thing we were talking about earlier in the flight deck. The last one of seven. It’s Goofy, isn’t it?
ARTHUR: Oh! No, Mum. Goofy! (He laughs.)
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: What was that? What’s going on?
CAROLYN: Oh, nothing, nothing, doesn’t matter.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: It’s a code, isn’t it? What does it mean? What’s happening?
CAROLYN: No, really, nothing.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Do you think I don’t know about these codes? I know all about them. Inspector Sands: fire in the theatre. Mr. Westman: bomb on a train. What’s Goofy?
CAROLYN: It was just a private remark ...
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: What does it mean? You must tell me now.
CAROLYN: Yes, you’re quite right. That’s what we do. We alert crew to emergencies, not with the convenient intercom in the galley but by furtively whispering the names of Disney characters at each other. “Donald Duck” means ‘lethal bird strike’; “Dumbo” means ‘pilot’s dropped his magic feather’; “Shere Khan” means ‘tiger in the flight deck’ ... You happy now?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: No. What is Goofy?
CAROLYN: Goofy is a cartoon cow.
ARTHUR: Mum! He’s a dog!



(Flight deck door opens.)
ARTHUR: Here we are, gents. Uh, cheesecake for you, Douglas, and strudel for you ... Douglas.
DOUGLAS: Thank you, Arthur, and thank you, Martin.
MARTIN (sulkily): Enjoy it. I didn’t want it anyway.
DOUGLAS: Isn’t that lucky?
MARTIN: I mean it. Strudel’s horrible. No-one likes strudel.
DOUGLAS: I refute your argument thus: strudel’s terrific. Everyone likes strudel.
MARTIN: All right, then. I bet you more of the passengers choose cheesecake than strudel.
DOUGLAS: Very well. I bet you twenty quid more of the punters pick strudel than cheesecake.
ARTHUR: There you go, Skip, your luck’s changing. You can’t lose this one. Cheesecake’s always more popular.
MARTIN: Oh no. Must be a trick. He must know something.
DOUGLAS: What could I possibly know?
MARTIN: Well, I dunno. The orchestra’s sponsored by the Anglo-Polish Strudel Appreciation Society, or the International League Against Cheesecake.
DOUGLAS: Well, you can take strudel if you like.
MARTIN: Yes, I’ll take strudel.
DOUGLAS: Fine.
MARTIN: No, hang on, this is how you diddled me with the female Air Traffic Controllers.
ARTHUR: Crikey!
MARTIN: You made me pick the bad bet. You want me to pick strudel. I want cheesecake.
DOUGLAS: Fine. It’s yours.
MARTIN: Hang on! That was too easy! You knew I’d work that out! I want strudel.
DOUGLAS: Are you sure?
MARTIN: Yes. No! Yes! So therefore ... no. No. Yes! Strudel?
DOUGLAS: Strudel? All right, then, you’re on.
MARTIN (despairingly): Oh God! I’ve ended up with strudel! No-one likes strudel!
DOUGLAS: Seems an odd choice, certainly. I’d have picked cheesecake.
MARTIN: (frustrated sound)
ARTHUR: Cheer up, Skipper. You never know your luck.
MARTIN: I always know my luck.
ARTHUR: Well, I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Skip.
MARTIN: Yes. Arthur, what are you doing with your face?
ARTHUR: I’m winking.
MARTIN: You’re only supposed to use one eye.
ARTHUR: I know, but I can only do that if I hold the other one open with my finger, and I thought Douglas would notice.
DOUGLAS: You’re making the mistake of thinking Douglas cares.



ARTHUR: Cheesecake or strudel, madam? And may I especially recommend the strudel? It’s a lovely strudel.
FEMALE PASSENGER: Yes, all right, the strudel.
ARTHUR: Good choice! And-and for you, madam? There’s our splendid strudel – tender delicious slices of piping hot apple with a rich golden-brown crust; or a bit of old cheesecake.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: What’s the cheesecake like?
ARTHUR: Well, you know, cheesecakey. They’re all much of a muchness, cheesecakes, aren’t they?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: What flavour is it?
ARTHUR: I don’t know. I’m not sure it even has a flavour. Cheesecake flavour. The strudel is apple.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: It must have a flavour.
ARTHUR: Uh, let’s see. “Rasp-berry.” Eugh. Sounds awful.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: “Raspberry.”
ARTHUR: Oh, yeah. Still. Boring!
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: I’ll have the cheesecake, please.
ARTHUR (whispering): Don’t have the cheesecake.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: What? Why not?
ARTHUR (whispering): I can’t tell you why, but don’t!
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ (binging her service bell repeatedly): Everybody! Stop eating the cheesecake! It’s poisoned! The cheesecake is poisoned!
(Murmurs of concern from the passengers.)
CAROLYN: Uh, ladies-ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention for a moment. I must apologise for my junior cabin attendant’s slightly over-zealous promotion of the strudel today. What can I say? The boy loves a strudel, and the strudel is certainly excellent – as, however, is the cheesecake. They are both delicious and non-poisonous choices. Thank you.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: You eat some, then.
CAROLYN: I beg your pardon?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: If it’s so safe, let’s see you eat a slice. Now!
(Sounds of agreement from the passengers.)
MALE PASSENGER: You eat it!
CAROLYN: Arthur, eat some cheesecake.
ARTHUR: Best order ever!
(He tucks in.)
CAROLYN: You see? A revolting display but, I hope, a reassuring one.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Look, everyone! She won’t eat it! That must be what “Goofy” means. It’s airline code for poison in the cheesecake!
CAROLYN: It’s not poisoned!
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Well, eat it, then.
MALE PASSENGER: Yes, go on!
CAROLYN: I don’t want to.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Ha!
MALE PASSENGER: Why not?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Yes, why not?
CAROLYN: Because it’s horrible, all right? It’s not poisoned, it’s just revolting. Tastes like the pink stuff you bite into at the dentist, laid on a bed of fish tank gravel. And if it was ever even shown a picture of a raspberry, it wasn’t looking. But it is not poisoned.



DOUGLAS: A little underhand, wasn’t it, Martin – asking Arthur to cheat for you?
MARTIN: I didn’t ask him to. It was all his idea. I won fair and square.
DOUGLAS: Did you?
(Intercom on.)
DOUGLAS: Arthur, how many people went for the strudel in the end?
ARTHUR (over intercom): Uh, five.
DOUGLAS: And the cheesecake?
ARTHUR: Eight.
MARTIN: What?! Even though they thought it was poisoned?!
ARTHUR: Sorry, Skip. Everyone hates strudel.
(Martin groans.)
DOUGLAS: That’ll be twenty quid, please, Captain.
MARTIN: Right. Double or quits. I bet you ... I bet you I can land in Gdansk on time.
DOUGLAS: No, that was the last bet. Rien ne va plus.
MARTIN: Y-you can’t stop now.
DOUGLAS: Sorry. Bored of betting, and I need to devote my attention to consuming this mountain of tiny cheeses.
MARTIN: Fifty quid! A hundred!
DOUGLAS: Sorry, Martin, nothing doing.
MARTIN: Afraid of losing, are you?
DOUGLAS: Looking back on our time together today, Martin, do you think that’s what I’m afraid of?
MARTIN: Well, I’m sure we can find something of mine you want. How about my spare captain’s epaulets? Helena must be wondering why yours are so worn out.
DOUGLAS (angrily): All right, Sonny Jim. A month’s salary.
MARTIN: What?
DOUGLAS: You heard. You wanna bet? We’ll bet. A month’s salary says you don’t land on time.
MARTIN: I didn’t mean ... A month’s salary’s a bit ...
DOUGLAS: You’re right. We might as well do it properly. Three months’ salary.
MARTIN: No! I didn’t mean ...
DOUGLAS: I thought you wanted to bet. I thought you wanted to win at something.
MARTIN: Your salary or mine?
DOUGLAS: Yours if you lose; mine if I lose. Are we on?
MARTIN: You’ll just radio an emergency or something.
DOUGLAS: No, no tricks. I’m quite happy to rely on your natural bad luck and incompetence. Are we on?
MARTIN: We’re on.
ATC (over radio): Golf Tango India, for your information, Speed Bird zero-zero-seven has reported thundercloud build-up on your route fifty miles ahead. Advise your intentions.
MARTIN (wearily): Golf Tango India, will advise.
(Radio off.)
MARTIN: Douglas, how did you make there be a thunderstorm?
DOUGLAS: I fear you may be confusing me with Thor. Though of course I do seem to remember when you asked Warsaw for the weather earlier something about scattered thunderclouds. But, because I’m wonderful, I tell you what I’ll do: I’ll offer you a different stake.
MARTIN: Go on.
DOUGLAS: Instead of three months’ salary, you may bet me all rights in perpetuity to the story of me letting Helena believe I’m a captain.
MARTIN: What do you mean?
DOUGLAS: I mean if you lose, you never ever get to tell, mention, allude to or hint at that story, so long as we both shall live. Understand?
MARTIN: Yes.
DOUGLAS: I take it we’re on?
MARTIN: No.
DOUGLAS: What?
MARTIN: I need that story. I have to have something, and now I’ve tasted having something, I can’t go back.
DOUGLAS: And you’ll pay three months’ salary for the privilege?
MARTIN: Or I’ll fly through the thunderstorm. I haven’t decided yet.



CAROLYN: So, Madame S-B ...
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: My name is Szyszko-Bohusz.
CAROLYN: Believe me, I shall remember it as long as I live. Now then, I have eaten the cheesecake, Arthur has eaten the cheesecake.
ARTHUR: Four slices.
CAROLYN: And we remain both hale and hearty – Arthur disgustingly so.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Yes, I’m-I’m sorry. Sometimes I get a little, uh, what is the word? Deranged?
CAROLYN: I suspect not the one you mean, but a good one nevertheless. Listen to me: I am in charge of your safety. I am a terrifically wise and capable woman with many years’ flying experience, and I personally guarantee that all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well, all right?
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Yes, all right. Except ... my service bell, it seems to have stopped working.
CAROLYN: Imagine that!
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: But still, in an emergency ...
CAROLYN: In an emergency, madam, you can tootle your bassoon.



MARTIN (over cabin address): Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, Captain Crieff here speaking. We should be landing in Gdansk in just under twenty minutes. I apologise for our ... delayed arrival. We had to divert around a thunderstorm en route. Cabin crew: twenty minutes to landing.
DOUGLAS: Bad luck, Captain.
MARTIN: I had to go round it.
DOUGLAS: Fine.
MARTIN: It would have been reckless not to.
DOUGLAS: You don’t have to justify it to me.
MARTIN: You accept the bet’s off, then?
DOUGLAS: No.
MARTIN: But, Douglas, it was a thunderstorm!
DOUGLAS: God moves in mysterious ways in order to do lovely things for Douglas Richardson. But, because I am even more wonderful than previously stated, my earlier offer still stands. Promise never to mention my wife’s mis-apprehension ever again and we’re all square.
MARTIN: No.
DOUGLAS: Really? You’d rather pay me three months’ salary?
MARTIN: Yes, I would. In fact, I’ll give it to you now.
DOUGLAS: Well, you can’t ...
MARTIN: Nothing plus nothing is nothing; add another nothing and that’s ... a grand total of bugger-all.
DOUGLAS: What are you talking about?
MARTIN: I don’t have a salary. (He sighs.) Look, when I had my interview with Carolyn, it wasn’t to be captain, it was to be first officer, and by the end I ... (he groans) ... I could see I wasn’t gonna get it, so I said ... last-ditch try ... I said I’d work for half of whatever she gave the last guy, and this funny light came into her eyes and she said, “A third,” and I said, “No,” and there were some pretty heavy negotiations and ... we agreed on a quarter, only then when I was leaving she said, “How little would you take to be captain?” and after some more ... negotiation, we decided I would be captain and ... she wouldn’t pay me at all. My salary is nothing. And three times nothing is nothing. So ... so, so! I’ve tricked you! Ha! Yeah! Now you’re the loser!
DOUGLAS: Yes. The point of that story certainly is that I’m the loser. Bad luck, Martin.
MARTIN (plaintively): Why can’t I ever win something – ever?! Being someone who doesn’t win often – I could take that.
DOUGLAS: Well, obviously I can’t help you with that but, changing the subject entirely, are you feeling quite well?
MARTIN: Yeah, just miserable.
DOUGLAS: ’Cause you look rather poorly.
MARTIN: No, no, I’m fine.
DOUGLAS: I don’t know, Martin. You’re looking very pale – positively snow white.
MARTIN: What?
DOUGLAS: I was wondering if you had that nasty bug that’s going around – the one with the seven symptoms.
MARTIN (finally catching on): I ... might have that, yes. I’ve, uh, I’ve definitely got some of them.
DOUGLAS: I thought so. For instance, you might have been feeling rather ... lethargic?
MARTIN: Yes, I’ve got that one ... that symptom.
DOUGLAS: Right. Lethargic, perhaps, to the point of feeling groggy, slow-witted, as if drugged?
MARTIN (chuckling): Yes, I’ve got that too.
DOUGLAS: Then there’s the mood swings. One minute you’re euphoric; the next you’re oddly irritable.
MARTIN (laughing): Yes, both of them. That’s four.
DOUGLAS: Right. Er, there are physical symptoms too: inflammation of the nasal passages leading to bouts of ...
MARTIN: Yeah, got him ... that.
DOUGLAS: And, of course, that can make you feel self-conscious.
MARTIN: What?
DOUGLAS: Shy.
MARTIN: Oh! Yeah, got that one.
DOUGLAS: Right. So my advice to you is that you seek out a health care professional.
MARTIN: Douglas, if you’re just tormenting me ...
DOUGLAS: No, Martin, listen. If you have those six symptoms, I strongly recommend you seek out a medic.
MARTIN: Just tell me!
DOUGLAS: I can’t tell you, Martin. I promised, Scout’s honour. The person who can tell you is a G.P! A quack! A sawbones!
MARTIN: What?!
DOUGLAS: Someone who can tell you, in the immortal words of Bugs Bunny, “What’s up?”
MARTIN: Ohhhhh!



(The orchestra’s Conductor flushes and comes out of the toilet.)
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Ah, Maestro, a pleasant hour?
CONDUCTOR: Ah, most satisfactory, thank you. You are feeling calmer, madam? I gather you had a troubled flight.
MADAME SZYSZKO-BOHUSZ: Oh, Maestro, you have no idea, with the arm-rests and the big salt and the Disney code and the cheesecake! But the old woman – she’s rude and ill-favoured but somehow I trust her. All is well. There is nothing to worry about.
CONDUCTOR: Uh, good.
(Bing-bong.)
MARTIN (over cabin address): This is Captain Crieff with an urgent message for the cabin crew. Sleepy, Dopey, Happy, Grumpy, Sneezy, Bashful, Doc. Thank you!
(Madame Szyszko-Bohusz draws in a huge breath and begins blowing her bassoon frantically.)

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