Scene: The Lobby of Fawlty Towers
(Basil Fawlty is at the front desk, barely suppressing his irritation as a confused guest fumbles with their room key. Sybil is in the background, chatting on the phone about her friend Audrey’s latest crisis. Manuel is dusting the moose head, and Polly is sketching in her notebook. The atmosphere is, as usual, teetering on the brink of chaos.)
SFX: Sudden WHIRRING, CRACKLING NOISE.
FLASH!
(A squadron of Daleks materialises in the middle of the lobby, their eyestalks swivelling in confusion.)
Dalek Leader: “WE. HAVE. MATERIALISED. IN. A. BRITISH. HUMOUR. SKETCH! AGAIN!”
Dalek 2: “THIS. IS. NOT. THE. ANDROMEDA. GALAXY.”
Dalek 3: “WHERE. IS. THE. EMPIRE. WE. WERE. TO. CONQUER?”
(Basil, rubbing his temples, sighs and slams the guest register shut.)
Basil: “Right. That’s it. I’ve had enough. First the guests, now this—I am not running a hotel for genocidal tin cans. This is not the Cyberdyne Systems Holiday Inn, you know!”
Dalek Leader: “WE. REQUIRE. ACCOMMODATION. PROVIDE. ROOMS. IMMEDIATELY.”
Basil (mocking tone): “Oh, do you really? I suppose you’ll be needing breakfast as well? A full English, perhaps? Eggs, bacon, extermination sausages?”
Dalek Leader: “WE. REQUIRE. NOURISHMENT.”
Basil: “Oh, well, you’ve come to the perfect place, then! Our chef, Terry, produces meals so terrifying they could conquer entire galaxies! In fact, I’d say one plate of his ‘soup of the day’ could wipe out the Thal homeworld in about five seconds flat.”
(Sybil finally looks up from her phone call, takes one glance at the Daleks, sighs, and continues talking as if nothing is unusual.)
Sybil: “Oh, it’s just Basil being difficult with the guests again.”
(Meanwhile, Manuel approaches the Daleks, eyes wide with excitement.)
Manuel: “Ah! You are… how you say… metal guests! You need bag carried?”
Dalek Leader: “WE. HAVE. NO. LUGGAGE.”
Manuel (brightly): “Ah, yes! Is good! Less work for Manuel!”
(Polly leans over to Basil.)
Polly: “Maybe we should just check them in. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Basil (hissing): “The worst? The worst, Polly, is that one of them gets stuck in the lift, explodes in frustration, and takes half the building with it. Not that that would be a bad thing, mind you.”
(At that moment, the Major wanders in, blinks at the Daleks, and shakes his head.)
Major: “Oh dear, oh dear… still letting the wrong sort in, Fawlty?”
Dalek Leader: “YOU. WILL. RESPECT. DIVERSITY. OR. BE. EXTERMINATED.”
Basil (grinning sarcastically): “Well, you see, Major? Even the homicidal pepper pots have standards.”
(The Daleks’ eye stalks twitch as their patience wears thin.)
Dalek 2: “THIS. ESTABLISHMENT. IS. INEFFICIENT. WHERE. IS. THE. MANAGER?”
Basil (raising his hand): “Right here. Basil Fawlty. And before you ask—yes, I do regret my entire life’s decisions.”
Dalek Leader: “YOUR. HOSPITALITY. SKILLS. ARE. INADEQUATE.”
Basil (mocking): “Oh, I do apologise, Your Imperial Dalekness. Would you like me to fluff your plunger while I’m at it?”
(The Daleks start vibrating angrily. Just then, Terry the chef storms in, carrying a tray of something unidentifiable and fuming.)
Terry: “Oi, Basil! Who’s makin’ all this noise? I’m trying to cook!”
(The Daleks scan the tray and immediately start reversing.)
Dalek Leader: “WARNING. WARNING. UNKNOWN. BIOLOGICAL. ENTITY. DETECTED.”
Dalek 2: “TOXIC. READINGS. AT. DANGEROUS. LEVELS.”
Dalek 3: “THIS. IS. WORSE. THAN. THE. DOCTOR.”
Dalek Leader: “INITIATE. EMERGENCY. RETREAT!”
(The Daleks start screeching and spinning in circles as Terry advances with his bubbling concoction.)
Terry: “Oh, come on! It’s just my special stew!”
Daleks (panicking): “EX-TER-MIN-ATE… THIS… ESTABLISHMENT! EX-TER-MIN-ATE… THE… CHEF!”
(The Daleks fire their weapons at random, missing everything important but somehow vaporising a chandelier and setting the moose head on fire.)
Basil (waving his arms wildly): “Right! That’s it! I want all of you maniacs—Daleks included—OUT of my hotel! This is not a battleground! This is a civilised, refined place of hospitality! IT IS NOT A WARZONE! IT—”
(A stray Dalek blast finally hits the front desk, reducing it to ash.)
Basil (blinking at the destruction, then turning to Sybil): “You know what, dear? I think I’ll take up your suggestion… and go for that lie-down after all.”
(As the Daleks vanish in another teleportation mishap, Basil collapses into a chair, staring blankly ahead. The Major pats him on the back, nodding sagely.)
Major: “There, there, Fawlty. At least it wasn’t the Germans this time.”
FADE TO BLACK.