This is a very silly character who I like a lot. Because it's very silly. I don't mind if you hate it - as I say it is VERY silly.
FANNY CHUZZLEWICK, SKETCH 1
1. INT. VICTORIAN PUBLIC HOUSE. NIGHT.
FANNY SWEEPS INTO THE PUB THEATRICALLY AND APPROACHES THE BAR. THE LANDLORD, AN IMPRESSIVELY-MOUSTACHED MAN STANDS BEHIND THE BAR, BUFFING A GLASS WITH A CLOTH.
LANDLORD:
Good evening to you madam, how may I be of assistance?
FANNY:
Ah! A gracious and most altruistic welcome. But, I fancy, 'tis I who could assist you, friend.
LANDLORD:
Indeed? How so?
FANNY:
By way of a trade, sir.
LANDLORD:
(SUSPICIOUSLY) A trade?
FANNY:
Aye, a trade. (SHE LEANS IN, SECRETIVELY) If you will charge my tankard with a libation of my choice, I shall impart to you my latest - and indeed greatest - versification.
LANDLORD:
Versification? You are a poet, then?
FANNY:
That I am friend, or my name is not Fanny P. Chuzzlewick.
THE BUSTY BARMAID HAS BEEN LISTENING.
BUSTY BARMAID:
(WEST COUNTRY ACCENT) Oh go on, Mr Pomblecock. I hear these modern poets can be quite profound!
THERE'S NOW AN INTERESTED GATHERING.
CUSTOMER:
Aye, landlord. A drink seems a small price for an original piece of verbal artistry.
THE REST OF THE SMALL CROWD MURMUR IN AGREEMENT.
LANDLORD:
Oh…very well then. Pray continue, poet.
THE SMALL GATHERING APPLAUDE. FANNY BOWS FLORIDLY. SHE CLEARS HER THROAT AND STRIKES A DRAMATIC POSE
FANNY:
Milk, milk, lemonade
Round the corner, chocolate's made...
THE LANDLORD REACTS
FANNY:
…Freshly baked inside my bum,
Gas mark 5 and (DOES RASPBERRY) it's done!
A WOMAN SWOONS IN SHOCK.
LANDLORD:
What in damnation…
FANNY TRIUMPHANTLY SLAMS HER TANKARD DOWN ON THE BAR.
FANNY:
Mine's an Um Bongo!
END SKETCH
FANNY CHUZZLEWICK, SKETCH 2
1. INT. VICTORIAN PUBLIC HOUSE. NIGHT.
FANNY APPROACHES A YOUNG COUPLE (VICTOR AND MILLICENT) SITTING QUIETLY IN THE CORNER. SHE BOWS TO THEM WITH A GRAND FLOURISH.
FANNY:
Excuse me, friends. Would I be correct in the assumption that this chair at your table is currently unused?
VICTOR:
You would, madam. Please, take it with our compliments.
FANNY:
Thank you friend. That I shall.
SHE SITS DOWN AT THE TABLE. WITH THEM. VICTOR IS FLUSTERED.
VICTOR:
Ah, no, I didn't mean you could actually sit...you see my ladyfriend and I...
FANNY:
...are a most handsome coupling, 'tis true, although I could not help but notice that your loquacious banter had run a little…dry. Pray, allow me to re-hydrate your conversation with a vitalising verse of adventure, mystery, and intrigue.
MILLICENT:
You are a poet, madam?
FANNY:
Aye, that I am my lady, or my name is not Fanny P. Chuzzlewick. And all that I ask in return for this exclusive stanza, is that you fill my tankard with a tincture from the barman's shelf, for the life of a minstrel is a poor one indeed. Do you accept?
MILLICENT: (TO VICTOR)
It does seem a fair trade, Victor. And so exciting.
VICTOR:
(RELUCTANTLY) Very well then. But pray, make your verse engaging.
FANNY:
You can be sure of it, sir. (STRIKES A THEATRICAL POSE AND CLEARS THROAT DRAMATICALLY)
My friend Billy,
Had a ten foot willy,
And he showed it to the woman next door.
MILLICENT GASPS
FANNY:
....She thought it was a snake,
So she hit it with a rake,
And now it's only five foot four! The end.
MILLICENT SWOONS.
VICTOR:
God's teeth woman, have you taken leave of your senses?
FANNY SLAMS HER TANKARD DOWN ONTO THE TABLE.
FANNY:
Mine's an Um Bongo!
END SKETCH
FANNY CHUZZLEWICK SKETCH 3
1. INT. VICTORIAN PUBLIC HOUSE. NIGHT.
FANNY IS SAT ALONE AT A TABLE, LOST IN HER WORK, WRITING IN A BOOK. A HANDSOME, WELL-DRESSED FELLOW (THOMAS) APPROACHES HER. HE CLEARS HIS THROAT TO GET HER ATTENTION. SHE LOOKS UP.
THOMAS:
My apologies for disturbing you madam…but may I make so bold as to take this table with you?
FANNY:
(LOOKING AROUND) There are other tables available, sir.
THOMAS:
True, yet none so finely ornamented.
FANNY:
Oh!
SHE BLUSHES AND LOOKS AWAY.
THOMAS:
Forgive me…I go too far…
FANNY:
No…it is just that…we have not been properly introduced…
THOMAS:
Thomas Frellington-Jizzlemop. At your eternal service.
HE TAKES HER HAND AND KISSES IT.
FANNY:
(COYLY) Fanny. Fanny Chuzzlewick.
THOMAS:
A beautiful name for a beautiful lady. Pray…may I be candid?
FANNY:
You may.
THOMAS:
I am a rich man, Miss Chuzzlewick. I own several cotton factories in the North, and I am awash with the privileges and trappings of success.
QUICK SHOT OF A VERY IMPRESSED FANNY.
THOMAS:
But, alas, I have learned that money cannot buy a man happiness, and without someone to share my wealth and high-living, it is all for nought. And then, I saw you, so delicate, so ladylike, and instantly I thought perhaps…I'm sorry…I am getting ahead of myself…may I purchase you a drink?
FANNY:
Well…perhaps we could trade.
THOMAS:
Trade?
FANNY:
Yes. I am poet, you see. Shall we say one of my verses for a beverage of my choosing?
THOMAS:
My lady, it would be a singular honour.
FANNY ADOPTS A THEATRICAL POSE.
FANNY:
Tarzan in the jungle, had a belly-ache
Couldn't find a toilet, (SHE RASPBERRIES) too late!
THOMAS REACTS
FANNY:
Plops were on the ceiling, plops were on the floor,
Splattered on the window-pane and halfway up the door!
THOMAS STARES, OPEN-MOUTHED IN SILENT HORROR. FANNY SLAMS HER TANKARD DOWN ON THE TABLE.
FANNY:
Mine's an Um Bongo!
END SKETCH
Um Bongo is pretty silly.
