The Cunning Plan

HOSPITAL WALK-IN STORE CUPBOARD. DR BLACKADDER is sitting at a desk on which lie a facemask and a strip of paracetamol.

BLACKADDER: Eeny, meeny, miny, mo…

Enter Hospital Porter BALDRICK, wearing a bin-bag with eye-holes cut in it.

BLACKADDER: (sniffing) I take it that’s you under there, Baldrick.

BALDRICK: Yes, Doctor.

BLACKADDER: Can I ask why you are hiding under a bin-bag? Not that I’m complaining; it’s a marked improvement on your usual appearance. It’s almost as good as you not being here at all, except that I can still smell you.

BALDRICK: It’s my PPE, Doctor.

BLACKADDER: I see. Talking of your smell, Baldrick, which I do with more reluctance than the man tasked with retrieving the red-hot poker from Edward the Second’s bottom, am I right in thinking that it’s even more pungent than usual?

BALDRICK:  Yes, Doctor. This was my last bin-bag, you see. So before I could put it on, I had to take out all the things that were in it.

BLACKADDER: All the rubbish, you mean.

BALDRICK: Yes Doctor.

BLACKADDER: So, no change for the bin-bag.

BALDRICK: No, Doctor. But at least now I won’t catch the virus.

BLACKADDER: You wouldn’t have caught it anyway, Baldrick. Wherever you go, virus molecules scatter in panic, crying ‘Help, it’s Baldrick, run away before you get infected’.

BALDRICK: Oh, thank you very much, Doctor.

Enter Junior Doctor GEORGE.

GEORGE: Tally ho and pip-pip! I say, Blackadder, you’re looking a bit glum.

BLACKADDER: That’s because we’re tackling a deadly virus with no idea who’s infectious and who isn’t and with equipment that wouldn’t protect us from Tinkerbell the fairy .

GEORGE: Oh, tosh and piffle! We have fantastic testing systems and fantastic surveillance of the spread of the disease!

BLACKADDER: Have you been listening to the Health Secretary again? Field-Marshal Vague?

GEORGE: No, by jingo – that was the Prime Minster himself!

BLACKADDER: Oh well, in that case it must be true.

GEORGE: Absolutely. I say, is that a facemask?

BLACKADDER: Well spotted, George. It is in fact the only facemask left in the entire hospital. Tracking this down was like rummaging through all the detritus inside Baldrick’s head in search of his one remaining brain cell. The good news is that I’ve just completed the official procedure for ensuring this facemask is shared out fairly between you and me. The bad news – for you, George – is that you lost. Here’s your consolation prize. (Holds out the strip of paracetamol).

GEORGE: Golly, thanks! And never mind the mask – Johnny Coronavirus doesn’t scare me!

BLACKADDER: Well he terrifies me. By the way, Baldrick, did you come here just to smell, or did you have something to say? Perhaps you have a cunning plan? A plan more cunning than Dominic Cunning’s plan to let half the population die so there’ll be more gilets and woolly hats left for him?

BALDRICK: No, Doctor. It’s far too late for a cunning plan.

© C P Jenkinson 11/04/2020. With apologies to Richard Curtis and Ben Elton.

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