At Mrs. Miggins’ home
E: Well, Mrs. Miggins, at last we can return to sanity. The hustings are
over, the bunting is down, the mad hysteria is at an end. After the
chaos of a general election, we can return to normal.
M: Oh, has there been a general election, then, Mr. BlackAdder?
E: Indeed there has, Mrs. Miggins.
M: Oh, well, I never heard about it.
E: Well of course you didn’t; you’re not eligible to vote.
M: Well, why not?
E: Because virtually no-one is: women, peasants, (looks at Baldrick)
chimpanzees (Baldrick looks behind himself, trying to see the animal),
lunatics, Lords…
B: That’s not true — Lord Nelson’s got a vote!
E: He’s got a boat, Baldrick. Marvelous thing, democracy. Look at
Manchester: population, 60,000; electoral roll, 3.
M: Well, I may have the brain the size of a sultana…
E: Correct…
M: …but it hardly seems fair to me.
E: Of course it’s not fair — and a damn good thing too. Give the like of
Baldrick the vote and we’ll be back to cavorting druids, death by
stoning, and dung for dinner.
B: Oh, I’m having dung for dinner tonight.
M: So, who are they electing when they have these elections?
E: Ah, the same old shower: fat tory landowners who get made MPs when
they reach a certain weight; raving revolutionaries who think that just
because they do a day’s work that somehow gives them the right to get
paid… Basically, it’s a right old mess. Toffs at the top, plebs at the
bottom, and me in the middle making a fat pile of cash out of both of them.
M: Oh, you’d better watch out, Mr. BlackAdder; things are bound to change.
E: Not while Pitt the Elder’s Prime Minister they aren’t. He’s about as
effective as a catflap in an elephant house. As long as his feet are warm
and he gets a nice cup of milky tea in the sun before his morning nap,
he doesn’t bother anyone until his potty needs emptying.
