Series 1, episode 1.
Beets, turnips and Swedes.
January 1419. Lower Puddleston Quite near the Swamp. Somewhere in Kent.
A man is sitting at a bare table in a bare room. Spiderwebs festoon the corners, a small, pathetic fire burns in the fireplace. The man looks with distaste at a plate full of disgusting brownish goop. He carefully moves his spoon through the disgusting mass. It goes gloop. The smell is apparently so bad that his face distorts in a grimace of disgust. A fly is stunned by the sheer malevolence of the smell and manages to fly straight into a spider’s web.
“COOK!!! WHERE IS MY COOK!?”
There is a stumbling sound. Some muttering. A man enters, he is filthy, disgusting and has a short, matted beard. His eyes are runny and his hair long and disgusting.
“I am here sir!”
“You’re not my cook! My cook is fat and grumpy and looks like a ball of lard mixed. You look merely disgusting.”
“The cook left sir! He was offered a better job as a war insurance salesman in Germany.”
“I see. And why did not the steward hire a new cook? Or, at least, a better cook? One who might have been able to prepare something that does not kill flies in mid air?”
“Sir, the Steward thought he might be more gainfully employed as a poacher in the duchy of Northumbria.”
“Ah. Has this anything to do with the fact I have not paid any wages or provided livery in the last two years?”
“Yes, sir! “
“Tssskk. That’s loyalty these days. You starve and deprive your servants and bondsmen for a few years and all of a sudden they leave. I wonder what the world is coming to. What is you name, cook who can’t cook?”
“Baldrick, sir! “
“Well Baldrick, first, you can address me as my lord. Secondly, don’t breathe on me, thirdly, never ever cook for me again. Just out of curiosity, what is this?”
“Beetroot mash, my lord! Made from an old family recipe that has been passed down my family from father to son!”
“I see. It was not, by any chance, initially developed as a deterrent against the Mongol invasion? Or possibly as a rat extermination substance?”
“No my lord! It clearly states it was once considered the food of kings!”
“Well, either the king in question was very insane or he was dead soon after.”
“You are not pleased with your dinner then my lord?”
“Baldrick, I could not be less pleased with dinner if the steak I was eating was suddenly to come alive and preach to the masses that it was the Lord returned in the shape of a steak and had the faithful burn me as a heretic.
“Ah. I shall make you the turnip surprise tomorrow then.”
“Baldrick, since I seem to have no servants or bondsmen other than you, I have formulated a cunning plan to increase my wealth.
Go pack my bags, We are going to London to increase my fortune by sponging of the monarchy.”
“Yes, My lord! I can give you four pence! That would save you the trouble!”
The man at the table places his head in his hands. “Yes, well. I was hoping on a slightly greater increase than that. But no doubt it will come in handy, put it on the other side of the table, I will disinfect it later.”
Baldrick hauls out a very dirty pouch from his trousers and removes from it four bits of badly corroded metal, which, before their encounter with Baldrick, might indeed have been coins.
“Right. Now, how much does that put the treasury at?”
“Four pence, my lord!”
“Oh. Bugger.”
Pictures of the empire as it stands to follow...
Beets, turnips and Swedes.
January 1419. Lower Puddleston Quite near the Swamp. Somewhere in Kent.
A man is sitting at a bare table in a bare room. Spiderwebs festoon the corners, a small, pathetic fire burns in the fireplace. The man looks with distaste at a plate full of disgusting brownish goop. He carefully moves his spoon through the disgusting mass. It goes gloop. The smell is apparently so bad that his face distorts in a grimace of disgust. A fly is stunned by the sheer malevolence of the smell and manages to fly straight into a spider’s web.
“COOK!!! WHERE IS MY COOK!?”
There is a stumbling sound. Some muttering. A man enters, he is filthy, disgusting and has a short, matted beard. His eyes are runny and his hair long and disgusting.
“I am here sir!”
“You’re not my cook! My cook is fat and grumpy and looks like a ball of lard mixed. You look merely disgusting.”
“The cook left sir! He was offered a better job as a war insurance salesman in Germany.”
“I see. And why did not the steward hire a new cook? Or, at least, a better cook? One who might have been able to prepare something that does not kill flies in mid air?”
“Sir, the Steward thought he might be more gainfully employed as a poacher in the duchy of Northumbria.”
“Ah. Has this anything to do with the fact I have not paid any wages or provided livery in the last two years?”
“Yes, sir! “
“Tssskk. That’s loyalty these days. You starve and deprive your servants and bondsmen for a few years and all of a sudden they leave. I wonder what the world is coming to. What is you name, cook who can’t cook?”
“Baldrick, sir! “
“Well Baldrick, first, you can address me as my lord. Secondly, don’t breathe on me, thirdly, never ever cook for me again. Just out of curiosity, what is this?”
“Beetroot mash, my lord! Made from an old family recipe that has been passed down my family from father to son!”
“I see. It was not, by any chance, initially developed as a deterrent against the Mongol invasion? Or possibly as a rat extermination substance?”
“No my lord! It clearly states it was once considered the food of kings!”
“Well, either the king in question was very insane or he was dead soon after.”
“You are not pleased with your dinner then my lord?”
“Baldrick, I could not be less pleased with dinner if the steak I was eating was suddenly to come alive and preach to the masses that it was the Lord returned in the shape of a steak and had the faithful burn me as a heretic.
“Ah. I shall make you the turnip surprise tomorrow then.”
“Baldrick, since I seem to have no servants or bondsmen other than you, I have formulated a cunning plan to increase my wealth.
Go pack my bags, We are going to London to increase my fortune by sponging of the monarchy.”
“Yes, My lord! I can give you four pence! That would save you the trouble!”
The man at the table places his head in his hands. “Yes, well. I was hoping on a slightly greater increase than that. But no doubt it will come in handy, put it on the other side of the table, I will disinfect it later.”
Baldrick hauls out a very dirty pouch from his trousers and removes from it four bits of badly corroded metal, which, before their encounter with Baldrick, might indeed have been coins.
“Right. Now, how much does that put the treasury at?”
“Four pence, my lord!”
“Oh. Bugger.”
Pictures of the empire as it stands to follow...
