In the office ARTHUR (singing to the tune of Happy Birthday to You): Happy Birling Day to us! Happy Birling Day to us! (He strains to reach the high note on the next line.) Happy Birling Day, dear Martin and Douglas and Arrrrr-thur ... MARTIN: All right, Arthur, that’ll do! ARTHUR (finishing off the song rapidly): Happy Birling Day to us! MARTIN: Arthur! ARTHUR: Sorry! I just love Birling Day, don’t you? MARTIN: No, I don’t. I didn’t become a pilot so that I could bow and scrape to some horrible dotty old man just because he gives massive tips. DOUGLAS: Well don’t do it, then. MARTIN: Yes – unfortunately I also didn’t become a pilot who earns enough to afford not to. (Carolyn comes in.) CAROLYN: Ah, Douglas. Nice and early for Birling Day, I see. DOUGLAS: Ah, Carolyn. Likewise. CAROLYN: You are not going to win this time, Douglas. DOUGLAS: An interesting theory. Let me propose an alternative one: I am going to win this time. CAROLYN: Ah, but ... DOUGLAS: And this is a theory I have built up from the following postulates: one – I win every time; two – this is a time; three – I will win this time. ARTHUR: Ooh, is this about the whisky? CAROLYN: Yes, Arthur, this is about this two hundred pound bottle of twenty-five years old single malt Talisker whisky which I am providing at the request of and for the sole benefit of Mr Birling – and of which Douglas here is not going to get so much as a single solitary sip. DOUGLAS: Well, that’s true. I’m not going to drink it – I’m going to sell it. CAROLYN: You are not going to do anything with it, Raffles, and I’ll tell you why not: this Birling Day, the whisky is going to be under constant and vigilant watch. DOUGLAS: Oh, are you coming with us for once? That, I admit, does make it a little more interesting. CAROLYN: No, I’m not. I do not trust myself to spend any more than twenty minutes with Mr Birling without thumping him in the cravat. No, I am referring to my newly-appointed eyes and ears in the air, Detective Inspector Martin Crieff. DOUGLAS: Oh, really?! MARTIN: Yes. Sorry, Douglas, but she offered me a hundred pounds if I stop you from stealing it. DOUGLAS: And let me guess: If I do steal it, you pay her? MARTIN: ... Yes. DOUGLAS: Oh, Martin, you didn’t fall for that, did you? Can’t you see she’s just trying to sell her debt on? She knows I’ll steal it because I always do. She just wants to recoup some of her loss off you. MARTIN: Yes, but what if I stop you stealing it? DOUGLAS: Yes. That would certainly work out very well for you. There are just two small but – I fear – insurmountable problems with the scheme: I am me; and you are you. And I can outwit you with my wits tied behind my back. MARTIN: Oh, is that so? DOUGLAS: It is so. MARTIN: Well I’m not so sure. DOUGLAS: I am so sure. MARTIN: Stop doing that! DOUGLAS: But I will steal it, and when I do and you come to me moaning about how you have to pay Carolyn a hundred pounds and you can’t afford it, my reply will rhyme with, “I bold you go.” MR BIRLING (from outside): Well? Do I have to open the door for myself? CAROLYN (opening the door): Mr Birling. I do apologise. We didn’t hear you knock. MR BIRLING: Didn’t knock. Shouted. Hello. MARTIN (grovelling): Mr Birling. How nice to see you. DOUGLAS: Welcome back, sir. MR BIRLING: Ah, my dear boys, there you are. Ready once more to help me slip the surly bounds of Earth, put out my hand and punch the face of God? DOUGLAS: I think it’s “touch the face of God.” MR BIRLING: No, no, I didn’t like the sound of that at all. Icky. CAROLYN: Well, I don’t suppose God would be overjoyed at the prospect, either. MR BIRLING: Oh, are you still here? I didn’t see you last time. I thought perhaps you’d died. CAROLYN: No. I am still here. MR BIRLING: Fancy that. (Mrs Birling comes into the office.) MRS BIRLING: Birling! You can’t just park with my door jammed against a wall and leave me there! MR BIRLING: Can. Did. Elizabeth, these are the joke pilots I was telling you about. Captain, First Mate, Cabin Boy. MARTIN (laughing awkwardly): Um, actually I’m the captain. MR BIRLING: He always says that. I don’t know why. Pilots, this is Elizabeth, my awful wife. She’s come to see me off. MARTIN: Oh, hello. Um, I’m sure she’s not awful. MR BIRLING: Well, I’ll tell you what, my dear boy: you marry her for thirty years and then we’ll compare notes. MRS BIRLING: Hello, yes. Nice to meet you and so forth etcetera. Anyway, here’s fifty pounds each. DOUGLAS: Oh, thank you! I must say, the early evidence is weighing heavily in favour of your not being awful. MRS BIRLING: Those are your tips. You’re having them now, and that’s all you’re getting. Mr Birling and I have talked about those extravagant tips he used to give and we’ve mutually decided they should stop, haven’t we, Birling? MR BIRLING: No. MRS BIRLING: Do you want to see your stupid rugby in stupid Paris? MR BIRLING: Rugby isn’t stupid. Paris, I grant you, is moronic. MRS BIRLING: What have we decided, then? MR BIRLING (sulkily): No tips. MRS BIRLING: That’s right. MR BIRLING: She’s an awful woman, she really is. I hate her more than I can say. MRS BIRLING: Right, off you go, then, Birling, and have a mildly pleasant time. Any more than that and you’re in trouble. MR BIRLING: Goodbye, dear. Take care while I’m gone. Don’t jump into any mineshafts. ******** ARTHUR: This way, Mr Birling. MR BIRLING: What, into the aeroplane through the door of the aeroplane? You astonish me. ARTHUR: Ask me another one! MR BIRLING: Who won the Triple Crown in ’77? ARTHUR: Ah, trick question. I don’t know. CAROLYN: Umm, drivers? Before you get on board, if you’d care to step this way. DOUGLAS: Yes, Carolyn? CAROLYN: Phil from the fire crew is standing by for the traditional Birling Day frisking of the first officer. PHIL (patting Douglas down): Sorry, Douglas. DOUGLAS: Is this really necessary, Carolyn, now you have Crieff of the Yard dogging my every move? CAROLYN: No sense in taking chances. All right, Phil, what have we got? PHIL: Er, on his person, nothing. In his flight bag, one large plastic bottle of apple juice. CAROLYN: Oh, Douglas. Is this the best you can do? DOUGLAS: What? I like apple juice. CAROLYN: Well, you’re going to have to do without it this time. Phil, throw it away. (Phil tosses the bottle in the bin.) DOUGLAS: I need that! CAROLYN: Anything else, Phil? PHIL (opening zipped pockets in the bag): Um, one small bottle of nail varnish. CAROLYN: What, again? Ah, that’s sweet. Did you really think I’d let you pull the same trick twice? You see, Douglas likes to use a dab of nail varnish to re-seal the caps of the bottles he’s tampered with. Well, much good it may do you, Douglas, because this time there is just one bottle and I am opening it now. (There’s the ‘crack’ of the bottle lid being opened and then unscrewed.) CAROLYN: Now, let’s see. (She takes a sip.) CAROLYN: Ooh. Mmmm! That is good stuff! Thank you, Phil. Dismissed. Oh, Martin: I am now placing the whisky in your hands – both literally and metaphorically. Stop Douglas getting hold of it for the next six hours and you’ve won a hundred quid. MARTIN: All right. Douglas, don’t come anywhere near me. Get into the plane and go into the flight deck. DOUGLAS: You really don’t have to hug the bottle like that, Martin. MARTIN: Just do it, please. DOUGLAS: All right. Goodbye, Carolyn. CAROLYN: Goodbye, Douglas. Good luck, Martin – and may God have mercy on your soul. ******** MARTIN: All right. Now, into the flight deck. DOUGLAS: I’m going, I’m going. MARTIN: Close the door. (Flight deck door closes.) MARTIN: Good. Arthur! ARTHUR: Hello, Skip! MARTIN: Here is Mr Birling’s special whisky. Now, I am not going to let Douglas out of the flight deck between now and Paris but, if he should escape somehow, he is not allowed to touch, hold, borrow, taste, look at or-or do anything at all with this whisky, have you got that? ARTHUR: Got it. MARTIN: So, what isn’t Douglas allowed to go near? ARTHUR: The whisky. MARTIN: Who isn’t allowed to go near the whisky? ARTHUR: Douglas. MARTIN: What isn’t Douglas allowed to do to the whisky? ARTHUR: Anything. MARTIN: You really have got it! ARTHUR: I’ve got it! I’m not stupid! MARTIN: Who isn’t allowed to do what to what? ARTHUR: I’m not allowed to drive Mum’s car. MARTIN: What?! ARTHUR: Sorry, Skip, that’s an earlier one. Um, Douglas isn’t allowed to go near the whisky. MARTIN: Good. Here it is. ******** DOUGLAS: Post take-off checks complete. MARTIN: Thank you. DOUGLAS: So. You’ve left the whisky with Arthur, have you? MARTIN: None of your business. DOUGLAS: Bit risky, isn’t it? I’ve have thought you’d have wanted to hang on to it yourself. MARTIN: No, actually. If it was here, you could manufacture some emergency to distract me while you swiped it and I’d have to deal with it, but whatever happens, I can make absolutely certain you don’t leave the flight deck ’til we land again. DOUGLAS: Mmm! Well played! MARTIN: Thank you. DOUGLAS: Well, I’m just going to the loo. MARTIN: Oh no you’re not! DOUGLAS: I rather think I am. MARTIN: No! I forbid it! DOUGLAS: You forbid it? MARTIN: Yes. DOUGLAS: Sorry, er, just to be clear: you are forbidding me from using the toilet, Captain? MARTIN: You don’t need to go! DOUGLAS: I do! MARTIN: Well, you’ll just have to hold it in for an hour, won’t you? DOUGLAS: Can’t do that. Terribly bad for you. MARTIN: Right, fine. (Into intercom) Arthur, could you bring the Talisker to the flight deck, please? ARTHUR (over intercom): OK! MARTIN: Douglas, put your hands on your head. DOUGLAS: Put my what on my what?! MARTIN: Oh, you heard me! DOUGLAS: I’m not putting my hands on my head! MARTIN: You put your...
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