Cut-Price Airline

 

(Cut to air terminal. Pan along official air-terminal-type signs saying BEA, TWA, Air India, BOAC, the Verrifast Plaine Company Ltd. Pan down to reveal a checking-in desk. A man with porter's cap comes in, carrying two bags. He is followed by Mr. and Mrs. Irrelevant. He puts their cases down, hangs around and gets a tip. He goes behind the counter, takes off his porter's hat, puts on an airline-pilot-type cap, and puts on a moustache. There is a vicar standing next to him with an eye patch.)

 

Man: Morning sir, can I help you?

 

Mr. Irrelevant: Er, yes, we've booked on your flight for America.

 

Man: Oh, we don't fly to America ... (vicar nudges him) Oh, the American flight... Er, on the plane ... oh yes, oh we do that, all right. Safe as houses, no need for panic.

 

Mrs. Irrelevant: Is it really 37 and 6?

 

Man: Thirty bob. I'm robbing myself.

 

Mr. Irrelevant: Thirty bob!

 

Man: Twenty-five. Two quid the pair of yer. Er, that's without insurance.

 

Mr. Irrelevant: Well, how much is it with insurance?

 

Man: Hundred and two quid. That's including the flight.

 

Mr. Irrelevant: Do we really need insurance?

 

Man: No. (vicar nudges him) Yes, essential.

 

Mr. Irrelevant: Well, we'll have it with insurance please.

 

Man: Right - do you want it with the body and one relative flown back, or you can have both bodies flown back and no relatives, or four relatives, no bodies, and the ashes sent by parcel post.

 

Mr. Irrelevant: How long will it take?

 

Man: Er, let me put it this way - no idea.

 

Vicar: Six hours.

 

Mr. Irrelevant: Six?

 

Man: Five, ten for the pair of you.

 

Mrs. Irrelevant: Oh, is it a jet?

 

Man: Well, no ... It's not so much of a jet, it's more your, er, Triumph Herald engine with wings.

 

Mr. Irrelevant: When are you taking off?.

 

Man: 3300 hours.

 

Mr. Irrelevant: What?

 

Man: 2600 hours for the pair of you.

 

Mrs. Irrelevant: What?

 

Man: Have the injections, you won't care.

 

Mr. Irrelevant: What injections?

 

Man: Barley sugar injections. Calm you down. They're compulsory - Board of Trade. Promise. (he holds up his crossed fingers)

 

Mrs. Irrelevant: Oh, I don't like the sound of injections.

 

Man: (making a ringing sound) Brrp, brrp. (picks up phone) Hello, yes right. (puts phone down) You've got to make your mind up straight away if you're coming or not.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Irrelevant: Yes.

 

Man: Right, you can't change your mind. I'll ring the departure lounge. (picks up phone) Hello? Two more on their way, Mrs. Turpin.

 

(Cut to Mrs. Turpin sitting in a suburban lounge. A big sign saying 'Intercontinental Arrivals', in airport writing, hangs from the ceiling. Mr. and Mrs. Irrelevant arrive and sit down.)

 

Mrs. Turpin: Now, the duty-free trolley is over there ... there's some lovely drop scones and there's duty-free broccoli and there's fresh eccles cakes. You're allowed two hundred each on the plane. (she picks up teacup and speaks into it) The Verrifast Plane Company announce the departure of flight one to over the hills and far away. Will passengers for flight one, please assemble at gate one. Passengers are advised that there is still plenty of time to buy eccles cakes.

 

(Man and vicar enter carrying a large wing.)

 

Man: Nearly ready. (They take the wing through. Hammering is heard.)

 

Mrs. Turpin: (speaking into cup) All passengers please get ready for their barley sugar injections.

 

(Japanese pilot comes in.)

 

Kamikaze: Today we all take vow. Today we smash the enemy fleet... we smash, smash. (Man and vicar grab him and take him back.)

 

Mrs. Turpin: That's Mr. Kamikaze, the pilot, he's very nice really, but make sure he stays clear of battleships.

 

(Cut to stock film of battleships, steaming on the seas. Stirring music plays over.)

 

Voice Over: There have been many stirring tales told of the sea and also some fairly uninteresting ones only marginally connected with it, like this one. Sorry, this isn't a very good announcement. Sorry.