No, no, not a rat. A Siberian hamster, they said in shop. The confusion is as comical as it is absurd.

Welcome to Fawlty Towers – where the biscuits are stale, the tempers explosive, and the hamsters mysteriously resemble rats.

In this theatrical retelling of chaos incarnate, a health inspector named Schmutz is on his way, a rat is politely gnawing beneath the reception desk, and Basil Fawlty is clinging to dignity by the frayed hem of his wife’s disapproval. As Polly flails, Manuel mistranslates, and Sybil smirks icily through catastrophe, one thing becomes clear:

This is not a hotel. This is a nervous breakdown with breakfast service.

“Ballad of Fawlty Towers
(or: The Biscuit, the Rat and the Man chewing ice

In Torquay by the English coast,
There stood a man who tried the most
To run a hotel, fine and grand—
With chaos always close at hand.

His name was Basil, tall and terse,
A master of the bitter curse.
He dreamed of dukes with silent shoes,
But got complaints and German blues.

With Sybil sharp and always near,
He lived in matrimonial fear.
He muttered names like "little tart,"
While clutching his broken heart.

Manuel came from far away,
Confused by every word they’d say.
He smiled through rage and pastry storms,
And never quite obeyed the norms.

Polly painted, served and sighed,
A voice of reason misapplied.
She calmed the guests, ignored the screams,
And held together Basil’s dreams.

The Major drank, and the bell was cracked,
The health inspector soon attacked.
And just when peace seemed near at last—
A tail was seen. And all hell just passed.

A creature small, with silent grace,
Peered out beneath the lobby’s base.
The guests all gasped, the staff took flight—
Basil turned a shade of white.

“A hamster!” Manuel proudly claimed,
While Basil turned and wildly blamed.
“DON’T MENTION WAR!” he cried aloud—
And tripped into a German crowd.

The ladies screamed, the biscuit fell,
The rat, amused, ignored the yell.
He munched, he sniffed, then left with flair—
The only sane one anywhere.

So raise a glass to beds unmade,
To rats misnamed and guests betrayed.
At Fawlty Towers, rules are bent—
But what a stay! What an event!”
Malmö May 2025

Scene 5: "The Siberian Hamster Incident" is a pivotal moment in the play. A case of mistaken identity leads to a series of hilarious misunderstandings.

Act II, Fawlty Hotel – a cacophony of excuses, cheese, and absurdities. The chaos is palpable and the audience can't help but be entertained.

Lights up.

The lobby is a whirlwind of activity. Telegraph lines quiver, and the smell of overcooked cauliflower and lavender-scented cleaning products fills the air. A rat, seemingly the only creature not in a panic, sits beneath the reception desk. He nibbles on a piece of digestive biscuit, observing the chaos with a bemused expression. This uproar is not about him. Yet. It’s about a hamster, mistaken for a rat—a rodent, at any rate. Rodents include mice, rats, guinea pigs, hamsters, chinchillas, and gerbils. So he might be considered a cousin.

Polly, the flustered and overworked receptionist, rushes straight toward the audience, terrified, hands in the air.

"I said we weren’t to allow pets! Not even hamsters! And not the kind with tails – because they’re not hamsters!" Polly exclaims, her voice trembling with fear and frustration.

The two ladies (on the stairs, dramatically horrified):

"We saw the tail, didn’t we, Myrtle? It twitched, and the creature smiled. In a malicious way!" Myrtle nodded in agreement.

Manuel (waving a piece of cheese):

"He no rat! He is Basil junior! Very polite! He says gracias when I feed him! No, no, no rat. A Siberian hamster, they said in shop."

Basil (storms in, red in the face and wet on one foot after tripping on the Major’s ice bucket. The old man not only drank the place dry but also chewed ice cubes to "keep a cool head" – or so he claimed.):

"Listen! Emergency alert: The Health Inspector’s on his way – name’s Schmutz. Might be German. Or Swiss with something to prove. When he comes through that door: DON’T MENTION THE WAR!! Got it?" Basil shouts, his face red with panic, his voice a mix of fear and desperation.

Manuel (beaming):

"Which war?"

Sybil (rolling her eyes):

"All of them, Manuel. All the wars. All the rodents. All the cooks. Anything that upsets Basil. Everything."

The rat (looks up, chews slowly, thinks to himself):

"I just wanted to eat in peace. A bit of biscuit. A bite of marmalade. But those two-legged creatures – what a racket they make. It's like they're in a perpetual state of chaos!"

Basil (trips on a flower vase, points at Polly):

"You! Keep an eye on the hamster menace! You! (points at Manuel) Keep an eye on yourself! And you! (points at Sybil) Keep an eye on everything I can’t keep an eye on!"

(mutters as he passes Sybil, low but fully audible to the audience):
"My little Kommandant... sabre-toothed tart... Queen of pain..."

Sybil (without turning around):

"I heard that, Basil."

Basil (mumbles):

"Sorry, my little piranha."

Manuel (triumphantly, pointing at the rat):

"LOOK! Basil’s cousin is eating a biscuit! That’s the real rat, not Basil junior." Manuel triumphantly points at the rat, making a playful jab at Basil's family and the ongoing confusion about the rat's identity.

All heads slowly turned to the floor beneath the reception desk. The rat freezes.

Sybil (quiet, cold as gin without tonic):

"If that is a hamster, Basil – then I’m the Queen of Denmark."

Lights freeze. Everyone stares at the rat. He sighs and exits the scene with his tail held high.

Polly runs off, laughing at the absurdity. Her presence at the hotel was due to being married to Basil, not Sybil. If she had been Basil's real wife, he would’ve strangled her long ago. This line not only highlights the strained relationship between Basil and Polly but also the dynamic between Basil and Sybil, who is often the voice of reason in the chaos of the hotel.

The Major behind the reception nodded to her in sympathy. He and she were probably the only sane ones in the hotel. He saw this gig as a little supplement to his meagre pension, and besides, he lived there rent-free with all-inclusive benefits, and Basil's bar was well-stocked. He was always just the right level of drunk to survive. The Major, a resident of the hotel, serves as a voice of reason and a source of comic relief in the chaotic environment of the hotel.

As soon as the scene wrapped, the Major retreated to the bar for a dry martini – so dry that the olive floated on the surface tension. Of course, he wouldn’t drink alone; he usually had company from Donald.

Donald Sinclair was the co-proprietor of the Gleneagles Hotel in Torquay, Devon, England. He helped manage the hotel after a long career as an officer in the Merchant Navy and the Royal Navy. During the Second World War, Sinclair survived the sinking of the ships he served on twice. He thanked his divine patron among the gods, Pan, for his luck and often raised a glass in his honour.

Sinclair inspired the character Basil Fawlty, played by John Cleese, in the television sitcom "Fawlty Towers," which Cleese co-wrote. This was due to Sinclair’s allegedly stuffy, snobbish, and eccentric treatment of his guests, including Cleese and other members of the Monty Python cast.

The Greek god Pan is renowned for his connection to the wild, shepherds, and the unrestrained pursuit of pleasure, including drinking and sexual escapades. He is frequently portrayed as a satyr – a half-human, half-goat figure. Pan’s passion for music, particularly the pan flute he played, is also widely recognised.

Pan, as a god of nature and the untamed, was often depicted with a phallus almost as big as himself, reflecting his association with fertility and unbridled male sexuality, as well as his tendency to pursue nymphs. He was also a companion of Dionysus, the god of wine and festivities, which enhanced his reputation for revelry and pleasure.

It was lucky Donald was around because Basil was tightly controlled – both by his offstage partner, Polly, and his onstage wife, Sybil. The latter was a real battle-axe in real life, and Polly was not as sweet as her face suggested. Basil was a henpecked husband, not that he ever admitted it. By shouting and blustering, he gave the illusion of being macho. That wouldn’t fool an old military man.

Basil Fawlty is one of television history’s most iconic characters – a man desperately trying to maintain order, class, and dignity while failing spectacularly at every turn.

In short, he is a frustrated hotelier trapped in hell. A first-class hypocrite, snob, and disaster magnet. He runs the small hotel Fawlty Towers in Torquay with Sybil (whom he both fears and despises). Basil desperately tries to appear cultured, proper, and "upper class"—despite reality constantly undermining his self-image.

He's snobbish, obsessed with status, dreams of aristocratic guests, loathes "ordinary people," and feels mortified when reality reminds him of his lower-middle-class roots.

Basil is a simmering volcano prone to eruptions, swinging between nervous servility and sudden rages, often directed at guests, staff, or furniture.

He is passive-aggressive – especially towards Sybil, whom he calls everything from "my little nest of vipers" to "that golfing puff adder" – usually behind her back.

He is incapable of self-reflection – everything is always someone else’s fault. Usually, it's Manuel's, the guests’, or the weather. Rarely is it Sybil's, because he doesn't even dare think it.

As a character, Basil is a master of physical comedy—crawling, stumbling, flailing, and thrashing chairs with branches.

He both fears and resents Sybil. He sees her as superior and undermining, but cannot function without her.

Poor Manuel is a perpetual misunderstood and a perfect underdog. Basil shouts constantly at him, and Manuel responds in broken English. He's from Barcelona, you see.

Polly is the only one he respects – occasionally. She saves him more often than he realises. But then again, they’re married in real life, and he’s scared of her temper too, though she never shows it on set. She saves that for home. Best to stay quiet.

According to the Major, Basil Fawlty wants to be a gentleman but has the temper of a London cab driver and the bad luck of Mr. Bean.