This episode follows on from G.W. Ryan's Fawlty Towers: Going Postal 25th Anniversary Pt2
Fawlty Towers The Tax Man Cometh
Basil sat at his desk in the small office behind the reception desk, his gaze hadn't moved from the screen in front of him for at least 5 minutes. This computer was the latest instrument of torture that Sybil had inflicted on him, since the 25th Anniversary porn movie debacle. The little bar blinked incessantly as Basil struggled to type in something, his fingers hit the keyboard with all the dexterity of a man wearing boxing gloves.
"Work you vicious bastard".
Basil's memory flashed back to the time he had been driving back from Andre's restaurant with the duck for the Gourmet evening, and the car had once more conspired to make his life a misery by dying, how satisfying it was to take that tree branch and thrash the impudent vehicle.
"Oh My God why can't you just work, you are a computer aren't you?"
Basil could feel his blood pressure rising as his anger at the machine grew. Sybil interrupted him in mid-rant.
"Basil have you started the accounts yet?"
"Yes Dear"!
"Well could you leave them for now and take over in reception?"
"What now Dear?"
"No Basil, a week next Tuesday".
Stretching as he left the office, Basil was secretly glad to be away from that infernal computer.
"Where are you going my precious one, do you have to address the United Nations Assembly, it must be something important?"
"No Basil you know I have to see the Doctor"!
"Dr. Kissinger, I didn't know he was in town Sybil"!
Sybil slapped Basil's face leaving a hand print that was visible as his cheek quickly reddened.
"You really are an infuriating little man"
Sybil stormed off as Basil rubbed his hands together, the slap on the face was worth it, to irritate his spouse.
After grabbing her handbag and coat Sybil approached reception and adjusting the collar of her coat, began to give Basil his orders.
"I will only be gone for an hour at the most Basil, when I get back I expect you to have done the menus for lunch, and don't forget the fire drill at ten o'clock, and Basil…".
"Yes my sweet"!
"Don't give me, my sweet, you hyperactive stick insect. What I was going to say, BASIL, was, try not to attack any of the guests".
"I'll handle everything Dear".
"That Basil is what I'm afraid of, your idea of handling things usually ends up like the start of World War Three".
As Sybil was leaving the postman came in.
"Good morning Mr Fawlty, another sack of fan mail for you, and this special delivery letter".
"Thanks Reg".
Looking at the brown special delivery letter, Basil had a cold shiver run down his spine. The sender was the Inland Revenue. It's never good news when the Revenue send you letters Basil thought, nervously he opened the letter, read it and at the top of his lungs let out a shriek, "POLLY".
The underpaid, over worked and highly valuable Polly came running, thinking there had been a murder at the very least.
"Yes, Mr. Fawlty what is it, are you alright?"
"No Polly I am a dead man".
"Have you been upsetting Mrs. Fawlty again?"
"No Polly I haven't been upsetting Mrs. Fawlty again"!
"It's something much worse than the dragon queen, it's the Tax man, he's coming here".
"That doesn't sound good Mr. Fawlty, when is he coming?"
"Thank you for that statement of the bleeding obvious Polly, he's coming tomorrow morning and I have to have a copy of the up to date accounts ready for auditing".
"That shouldn't be a problem Mr. Fawlty you have all the details on the computer don't you?"
With a very shifty look Basil confessed.
"I have all the receipts, invoices and the computer, it's just that I haven't got the receipts and invoices on the computer".
"Mr. Fawlty for once I agree with you".
Smiling Basil enquired.
"You agree with me about what Polly?"
"I agree with what you said about being a dead man".
"Not if you help me out Polly, you are good with computers and numbers and things aren't you?"
"Not a chance Mr. Fawlty".
"Polly I'll make it worth your while".
"How worthwhile Mr. Fawlty?"
"Fifty pounds Polly".
"It will take more than that Mr. Fawlty".
"Ok Polly one hundred pounds".
"Make it two hundred and another two days paid holiday this year and we have a deal".
"Fine are you sure you don't want the shirt of my back as well Polly?"
With the fire drill completed, without incident, for once Basil stood at the reception desk sipping his cup of freshly brewed tea and nibbled on a chocolate digestive biscuit like a large contented hamster. This respite was short-lived as the latest guest approached the desk, a muscular man in his mid-thirties, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, hat with corks around the brim and Bermuda shorts,
(Basil had an almost pathological hate of men wearing shorts).
Basil steeled himself for the battle that he knew he was going to engage in, with this latest misfit.
"Yes, can I help you?"
Basil's tone was almost mocking.
"G-day mate, Mick Dunlevy, from Wannalongdonga"!
Thinking the man in front of him was taking a rise, Basil gave him an ice cold stare as he spoke.
"I'm sorry could you repeat that, I only speak English".
"I'm Mick Dunlevy from Wannalongdonga Aus, I booked the Willy's room for me and my Sheila, your Sheila took the booking".
"We don't have a Sheila working here sir".
"Well I spoke to your Sheila, Polly on the phone".
Looking at the guest register and seeing no booking the much harassed hotel owner said.
"I won't keep you a moment sir".
Basil retreated into the office, where Polly was busily working at the computer sorting out the disaster that passed for accounts.
"These accounts Mr. Fawlty…".
"Never mind that now girl, I have Crocodile Dundee at reception, he is under the impression that you booked him into The Willy's Room, tell me Polly does the sign outside say Basil Fawlty Knocking Shop PLC.?
"No Mr. Fawlty today it says Flowery Twats"!
"Don't be flippant girl".
"I gave the details of the booking to Mrs. Fawlty a couple of days ago".
"Bloody woman, why doesn't she ever tell me anything?"
Back at reception Sybil was handing over the keys of room 12 to Dunlevy and his girlfriend who had just arrived carrying two suitcases.
"Your back Sybil, I am just dealing with…"
"No Basil, you are going to help chef in the kitchen".
"What, Terry doesn't need any help in the kitchen". Basil insisted.
"Yes he does Basil".
Sybil stamped down hard on Basil's foot as she shouted for the Spanish waiter, Manuel".
The little Spaniard ran eagerly to the desk.
"Meeses Fawltee I here".
Basil limped off to the kitchen, thoughts of how he could murder his wife flashing through his mind. He was having more of these thoughts it seemed.
"Take these cases up to Room 12 Manuel".
"OK Meeses Fawlty".
Picking up the cases Manuel headed for the stairs and gesturing to the guests.
"You come please, we go Room 12, is no far please".
As the guests started up the stairs Basil came out of the kitchen nibbling on yet another chocolate digestive, and striding towards reception, as he shouted after the guests.
"Enjoy your stay with us and be sure to give our regards to Dorothy when you get back to Oz".
Sybil glowered at him.
"You can never get it right can You Basil?"
"I don't know what you mean beloved".
Basil said sarcastically as he gave his enraged spouse a peck on the cheek. Wiping her cheek she snapped.
"You just don't get it do you, you either fawn all over them or you treat them like something you stepped in, you really are a sorry excuse for a man Basil"!
Feigning a look of sorrow, Basil replied.
"Just having fun dear, you know that thing you banned after the first year or so of our marriage, along with, gambling, romantic candlelit dinners, and simple human contact".
Pretending to ignore his comment Sybil walked towards the dinning room as she got to the door she asked.
"Have you done anymore of the accounts Basil?"
"No dear Polly is handling them".
"I got you that computer, so you could deal with the accounts yourself, it is an IBM and supposed to save time on paper work Basil"!
Under his breath Basil said…
"Yes IBM and we know what those initials stand for Irritate Basil Machine, bloody computer".
Next morning.
Polly emerged from the office yawned and stretched it was six forty five according to the clock, she had been working on the accounts all night, but despite all the odds being against her she had managed to disentangle the mess, and the finished accounts should be good enough for the most strict tax inspector.
"Morning Polly your in early".
"I never left Mr. Fawlty".
"You mean you have been here all night Polly?"
"Yes all night Mr. Fawlty and the accounts are finished".
"Good girl, you have earned that hundred pounds bonus".
"That was two hundred pounds and two extra days paid holiday Mr. Fawlty"!
"Yes it was and you have earned it, if the tax man is satisfied with them then it will be worth every penny, now get some rest".
"Thanks I could do with a long nap Mr. Fawlty".
"Not too long Polly you are serving breakfast in a little over half an hour".
With disbelief on her face Polly made her way to the kitchen to grab a strong cup of coffee.
The grandfather clock struck the half hour it was ten thirty as the man from the Inland Revenue entered the hotel, tan briefcase and crumpled pinstripe suit, the uniform of one of the most feared civil servants in history.
"Good morning, I'm Paul Fiddler of Her Majesty's Inland Revenue, I'm here to see Mr. Basil Fawlty".
Basil looked at the man with a stunned expression as he thought, Fiddler, how appropriate, the bloody tax man has been fiddling me out of money for years, but not this time, they have no idea about my little nest egg.
"Good morning I am Basil Fawlty the proprietor of this humble establishment, can I get you anything before you start, tea, coffee or maybe something a little stronger?"
"No thank you I would like to start straight away, there is quite a lot to get through this is a more thorough than usual audit of your accounts due to your recent exponential increase in income".
Leading the way to the office, Basil laid the freshly printed out accounts Polly had so meticulously prepared in front of the Revenue official.
"Is this everything Mr. Fawlty?"
Thinking for less than a second before answering Basil confirmed that the tax man had it all.
The grandfather clock had just finished chiming the half hour, it was one thirty as Mr. Fiddler emerged from the office to announce the result of his rectal inspection of the hotel accounts, Basil had in mind the experience was similar to having a prostate examination, just as invasive, unpleasant and potentially laden with bad news.
"Well Mr. Fawlty I am pleased to tell you that your accounts are, amongst the best kept and well presented records I have ever inspected in over thirty years with the Inland Revenue, I will just collect my belongings and be on my way, it has been a joy to work on your accounts sir".
Basil smiled, he couldn't believe his luck, twenty four hours ago he thought he was a dead man and now he is getting praise from the tax man, he rubbed his hands together in pure delight.
The door opened and in walked a familiar face it was the director of the Die Harder porno movie. The man smiled as he walked over to the still smiling Basil.
"Mr. Fawlty how's it hanging my man".
"How's it hanging, how's it hanging, do you have any idea just how close you came to ruining my life with your disgusting little film".
"Don't be like that Mr. Fawlty, tell me, hasn't business picked up and aren't you making more money since the movie went out?"
"Well yes, but that is not the point".
"The point is Mr. Fawlty I have another movie planned Die Harder Two and I need your hotel for the location".
Pondering for a brief moment Basil began to see the pound signs in his mind.
"Ok and what is in it for me if I allow you to film here again?"
The director looked him squarely in the eye and said…
"Remember that little package I gave you in the brown paper bag, you called it your nest egg, well…"
The director placed a brown paper bag on the desk in front of Basil. Opening the neck of the bag Basil peered in to see a large amount of cash.
"Same deal as before, you keep the bag and I give you this receipt for your taxes and no one is any the wiser, you get a bigger nest egg and we get our movie everyone's a winner".
A cough came from behind Basil and a voice said.
"Mr. Fawlty forget what I said about your accounts. We need to talk".
Basil let out a scream…
"NOOOOO".