Caesar The Panto

Scene One

The Village Of Dungworth

Chorus of Villagers are onstage. Music cue 1: Chorus. After song ends…

MORAG: What an idyllic life we live, here in the beautiful village of Dungworth.

BERT: Let’s hope those rotten Romans never turn up and spoil it.

REG: If they ever come here, we’d soon show ‘em what we’re made of!

GERTIE: We certainly would – wouldn’t we Morag?

MORAG: Definitely – we’re used to sorting out soldiers Gertie.

REG: It’s time we drove them out. I mean, what have the Romans ever done for us?

BERT: They gave us sanitation, Reg.

GERTIE: And a good job too. I remember what Dungworth used to smell like.

MORAG: The clue is in the name.

REG: Okay, fine – sanitation is the one thing the Romans have done for us.

BERT: And they built all those nice straight roads.

REG: That goes without saying, Bert. But apart from sanitation and the roads. What have the Romans ever done for us?

GERTIE: Irrigation!

MORAG: Medicine!

BERT: Education!

REG: Yes, all right…

GERTIE: Law and order.

REG: Fair enough…

MORAG: Running water.

REG: All right, granted – credit where it’s due.

BERT: Don’t forget the wine. That’s something we’d really miss if the Romans left.

REG: That’s just the sort of comment I’d expect from a wino.

GERTIE: And what about the public baths?

REG: What about them?

GERTIE: Well, we didn’t have them before the Romans arrived.

REG: And?

GERTIE: And now we do.

REG: But apart from sanitation, roads, medicine, education, law and order, running water, wine and public baths. What have the Romans ever done for us?

BERT: They gave us Netflix, Reg!

GERTIE: And Amazon Prime!

MORAG: I couldn’t do without my boxsets.

REG: Now you’re all just being stupid! They didn’t have those in 55BC!

BERT: The Romans are very advanced for their time, Reg.

REG: I’ll advance my boot timely up your backside in a minute!

Enter Villager at a run (SL)

VILLAGER: The Romans are here! The Romans are here!

BERT: Run for your lives!

REG: What happened to showing them what we’re made of?

BERT: They’ll find that out after slicing us up with their great big swords.

REG: I say we stay and fight!

BERT: I’m not facing soldiers who wear short skirts and no underwear!

MORAG: (perks up) No underwear!?

BERT: Not so much as a thong – not even in winter.

GERTIE: I say we stay and surrender. What about you, Morag?

MORAG: Oh yes, I’m all for surrendering.

REG: I’ll bet you are. Well, I’ll not having it! (draws his sword)

BERT: You’re not thinking of taking them on by yourself, are you Reg?

REG: No – but I’m going to stop our women fraternising with them.

GERTIE: What’s fraternising?

REG: It’s – erm – I can’t put my finger on it right now. And neither are those rotten Romans. Now, let’s go before they get here.

BERT: Are we running away after all then, Reg?

REG: It’s called a strategic withdrawal! Then when the time is right, we’ll strike!

MORAG: And if there’s one thing we Brits are good at, it’s striking.

REG: Now move it! (marches them off at sword point SR)

Exit all (SR)

Music cue 2: Enter Roman Soldiers (SL)

SOLDIER 1: The whole village is deserted, commander.

SOLDIER 2: Like every other village we’ve visited.

GLUTEUS: The Brits always run away once they spot our brave Legionnaires.

SOLDIER 3: I think I’d run away, if lots of big hairy men wearing short skirts and no underwear suddenly turned up, waving their big weapons about.

GLUTEUS: That’s not what I’ve heard, soldier.

SOLDIER 3: Never listen to tittle tattle, commander.

SOLDIER 1: What strange people these Britons are. Right in the middle of that last battle, at precisely four o’clock. They suddenly stopped fighting and went and drank some hot brown water, with milk and two sugars.

SOLDIER 2: And they insist on driving their chariots, on the left.

GLUTEUS: Speaking of strange people. Where is my slave, Lurkio?

SOLDIER 3: I spotted him taking a comfort break behind a big bush, back there.

LURKIO: (screams off) Aaaah!

Enter Lurkio (SR) carrying a rolled-up umbrella and rubbing his bottom.

LURKIO: Flaming nettles! (to audience) Saluté!

GLUTEUS: There you are Lurkio!

LURKIO: (to Gluteus) Hail, GM!

GLUTEUS: Don’t call me GM! I am Gluteus Maximus, Commander of the British Roman Legions. Loathed and feared throughout the Roman Empire.

LURKIO: And booed by pantomime audiences everywhere. (elicit audience boos)

GLUTEUS: I’m a Roman VIP and must be spoken to with respect. Especially by a slave!

LURKIO: Sorry I spoke. (to audience) Isn’t he picky? I knew the producer shouldn’t have given him a main part. Talk about big-headed. But he’s right you know. I am his slave and must do as I’m told. As we’re in Britannicus master, may I call you by your British name?

GLUTEUS: And what’s the British name for Gluteus Maximus?

LURKIO: Big Bum!

GLUTEUS: I like it! Very well Lurkio, you may call me Big Bum. (pointing) What’s that strange thing you’re carrying?

LURKIO: It’s a combined weapon and essential British weather accessory.

GLUTEUS: What’s it called?

LURKIO: It’s called an umbrella. It keeps you dry when it rains and is very useful for fighting your way to the front of queues. (fences with it)

GLUTEUS: (to Soldiers) Search the local woods and see if the villagers are hiding there.

SOLDIER 1: Yes, commander.

Exit Soldiers (SR)

SFX: Thunder.

GLUTEUS: What’s that noise, Lurkio?

LURKIO: Thunder, Big Bum. Unless you’ve…

GLUTEUS: No, I haven’t!

SFX: Sound of rain.

GLUTEUS: Doesn’t the rain ever stop, in this sodden country?

LURKIO: Well, you have arrived in the rainy season. Or as we Brits call it – summer.

GLUTEUS: I’m surprised the inhabitants haven’t developed webbed feet by now.

LURKIO: Never fear, Big Bum. My umbrella will keep us dry. (opens umbrella – rain stops) What do you know, it’s stopped raining. (shuts umbrella – rain starts) I think I spoke too soon.

GLUTEUS: How very strange. Whenever you open the umbrella, it stops raining. And when you fold it down, it starts again. It must have strange magical properties.

LURKIO: We Brits call it, sods law.

Enter Britannicus Telecommus (SR)

B.T: Greetings, Romans!

GLUTEUS: Greetings, toothless old crone.

B.T: I’m not toothless! I have all my own teeth – look? (grins widely)

GLUTEUS: Please accept my apologies. Only most Britons we’ve met, have little or no teeth, due to the complete lack of NHS dentists.

LURKIO: (to audience) No change there then.

B.T: Maybe so, but I’m with BUPA.

GLUTEUS: What is your name, old woman?

B.T: Britannicus Telecommus! But you can call me, B.T. I am a great sage – and I know my onions an’ all.

LURKIO: And you know what us Brits do with sage and onion, don’t you?

GLUTEUS: What can we do for you, B.T?

B.T: I have a message for the Roman Commander, Big Bum.

GLUTEUS: I am Big Bum.

B.T: (glancing at his bum) I thought you might be.

GLUTEUS: What is your message?

B.T: I’ve been reading your runes, and have noticed that Uranus…

LURKIO: Stop! (goes to wing) Can she say that? She can! (to audience) Things have moved on in panto, haven’t they? (to B.T) Carry on Mrs.

B.T: As I was saying. Uranus is paired with the full moon. And as a result, you must beware the Ides of March. For they pose a grave threat to your Roman power.

GLUTEUS: What nonsense. Nothing can threaten the might of the Roman Empire.

B.T: (dances and shrieks) Beware the Ides of March! Beware the Ides of March!

LURKIO: (to BT) Have you ever thought of auditioning for Britannicus’s Got Talent?

GLUTEUS: Be gone, old crone!

B.T: Beg pardon?

LURKIO: On your bikus, dear!

B.T: All right, I’m going. But be warned. The end of Roman rule draws near. Beware the ides of March! Beware the ides of March! (exits SL)

LURKIO: They really shouldn’t let them out on their own you know.

Music cue 3: Enter Basildon Bond (SR) he moves around stage, with hands miming holding a gun two-handed style.

BASILDON: Hail, Gluteus Maximus!

GLUTEUS: Hail, rain, snow – the flaming lot! And it’s not even lunch time yet.

BASILDON: Allow me to introduce myself. The name’s Bond, Basildon Bond.
Secret agent and master of disguise.

LURKIO: Pardon me, but why are you holding your hands like that?

BASILDON: Because guns haven’t been invented yet.

GLUTEUS: So, we meet at last Mr Bond.

BASILDON: But we have already met, Commander.

GLUTEUS: Have we? I don’t recall.

BASILDON: That’s because I am a master of disguise.

LURKIO: Master of smells, more like. (holds nose)

BASILDON: Sorry about that. My last job entailed me disguising myself as a cesspit cleaner, and I really like to step into my role.

LURKIO: You’ve certainly stepped into something.

GLUTEUS: When did we meet, Mr Bond?

BASILDON: Remember the beautiful young servant girl from Bristol, you took a fancy too?

GLUTEUS: You mean, Bosoma?

BASILDON: That’s right.

GLUTEUS: What about her?

BASILDON: That was no servant girl – that was me.

GLUTEUS: I don’t believe you!

BASILDON: (girly voice) Please sir – I’m just an innocent young servant girl.

GLUTEUS: (aghast) Bosoma!?

LURKIO: Didn’t you take Bosoma to your villa, while your wife was away, Big Bum?

BASILDON: (girly voice) Oh sir, stop it! What kind of a girl do you take me for?

LURKIO: Not the kind he thought, that’s for sure.

GLUTEUS: Never mind all that, now! What have you to report, Bosoma – I mean, Bond?

BASILDON: I have conceived…

LURKIO: I don’t think that’s physically possible, is it?

BASILDON: A cunning plan to deliver Princess Britney into your hands, commander.

GLUTEUS: Tell me more.

BASILDON: Tomorrow morning, she, and her sister Princess Whitney, will be travelling to Bognus for a henus party. Ahead of Britney’s marriage, to Prince Ralph of Wessex. On the way, they will pass by a hostelry called Macdonaldus. Make your way there and hide nearby. I will arrange for their chariot to break down outside Macdonaldus, and you can ambush and kidnap her.

GLUTEUS: Brilliant, Bond! At what time should we get there?

BASILDON: Anytime between twelve and one would be best.

GLUTEUS: And why is that?

BASILDON: They do two for one offers at lunchtime.

GLUTEUS: I hate British food. They have everything with chips. Why can’t they have delicious Roman food? Like, lark’s tongues, with’a pasta, dormice in gravy, with’a pasta, sheep’s eyeballs in jelly, with’a pasta, and parrots in pesto, with’a pasta. Although that last one does repeat a bit.

LURKIO: (to audience) I’ll bet you can’t wait for them to open Roman takeaways.

GLUTEUS: Come Lurkio. We’ll make our way to Macdonaldus and wait for Princess Britney’s chariot to arrive.

BASILDON: I’ll catch you later, commander. Although you probably won’t recognise me because I’m a master of disguise. Goodbye! (exits SL)

LURKIO: Bye, Bosoma!

GLUTEUS: Hold your tongue, Lurkio!

LURKIO: (holding his tongue and trying to speak) Dye, Dosoma!

GLUTEUS: That’s it, Lurkio! (produces a yellow card) You’re on a yellow card!

LURKIO: A yellow card! What does that mean?

GLUTEUS: It’s a first warning. I picked up the idea after watching a strange British game called, football. For the first offence you get a yellow card, and for a second offence you get a red card and take an early bath.

LURKIO: That doesn’t sound much of a punishment – I enjoy a nice bath.

GLUTEUS: (snaps) Yes, but yours will be filled with hungry crocodiles!

LURKIO: All right, there’s no need to get snappy. (to audience) Snappy? Crocodiles?

GLUTEUS: Any more jokes like that and I’ll add piranha as well.

LURKIO: (aside to audience) He’s really getting above himself now, isn’t he?

GLUTEUS: I heard that, Lurkio! Right, you’ve asked for this! (shows red card) Bath time!

LURKIO: (overacting) Oh no, please don’t feed me to the crocodiles and piranha! I’m much too young and handsome, to die! Have mercy sweet master! I beg of you! Let me live! (to audience) Pitiful isn’t it? Please let me live, master! There’s so much in life I still want to do!

GLUTEUS: Like what, for instance?

LURKIO: Carry on breathing, for a start. I’ll be good I promise!

GLUTEUS: All right, I’ll rescind the card this time.

LURKIO: Oh, thank you master!

GLUTEUS: But anymore disrespect and it’s coming out again.

LURKIO: Understood master.

GLUTEUS: Good!

LURKIO: (aside to audience) If he gets a big part next year – I quit.

SFX: Thunder and sound of rain.

GLUTEUS: Not more rain! I’m already soaked right through to my underpants.

LURKIO: I thought Roman soldiers didn’t wear underpants.

GLUTEUS: They’re for officers only. Now, let us return to my villa and get dried out.

Exit all (SR)

Enter Britney and Whitney (SL) singing, to tune of ‘We’re Going To Ibiza’.

BRI & WHI: ‘Woh! We’re off to sunny Bognus. Woh! We’re gonna get ‘ammered…’

WHITNEY: How much further is it to the Quikfix garage, Britney?

BRITNEY: It’s not far now, Whitney.

WHITNEY: Why didn’t daddy just order a stretch chariot to pick us up from home?

BRITNEY: Because the last time he did that, we ended up with an old dung cart pulled by an even older horse. So, this time we’re picking up our own transport.

WHITNEY: (indicating audience) ‘Ere, sis’! What’s that lot doing here?

BRITNEY: They must be following us, hoping to gate crash my hen party.

WHITNEY: If anybody tries it, they’ll get dragged away by the Bolsheviks.

BRITNEY: That’ll make their eyes water, sis’.

WHITNEY: (to audience) They’re Russian bouncers hired to keep out prols, like you lot.

BRITNEY: The only people invited to my do, are royalty and rich people.

WHITNEY: And beautiful people, like us.

BRITNEY: And we are beautiful, ain’t we?

BRI & WHI: Oh yes, we are!

WHITNEY: Ugly people can never recognise true beauty, sis’.

BRITNEY: (to audience) Don’t you know who we are?

WHITNEY: Let’s tell ’em sis’.

BRITNEY: I’m Princess Britney and this is my sister, Princess Whitney.

WHITNEY: And we’re on our way to pick up a chariot to take us to Britney’s hen party.

BRITNEY: That’s because I’m about to marry Prince Ralph of Wessex, innit!

WHITNEY: And I’m her best man – I mean, woman.

BRITNEY: Don’t give the game away, sis’. (to audience) I’ve even picked my own song for the wedding. Would you like to hear it? Well, you’re going too anyway. Let’s do it, sis’! Music cue 4: Britney & Whitney. After song ends…

WHITNEY: I’m thinking of entering the X-Factor, next year’.

BRITNEY: You’d be better going on The Voice.

WHITNEY: Why’s that then?

BRITNEY: ’Cos they’re not put off by looking at contestants faces while they sing.

WHITNEY: And you should go on Britain’s Got No Talent.

BRITNEY: Don’t you mean, Britain’s Got Talent?

WHITNEY: Not in your case.

BRITNEY: Rubbish! Our old music teacher said that my singing was out of this world.

BRITNEY: He said it sounded like nothing on Earth!

WHITNEY: On second thoughts, let’s not bother entering any TV talent show.

BRITNEY: Why not?

WHITNEY: TV wouldn’t do justice to our voices.

BRITNEY: You’re right – all great singers sound better live.

WHITNEY: Well, they wouldn’t sound much good dead, would they?
(laughs)

BRITNEY: Let’s go, sis’.

BRI & WHI: ’Woh! We’re off to sunny Bognus. Woh! We’re gonna get ‘ammered’ (exit SR)