Inside No. 9 - Eighth Season

Oh, excuse me. I've just been draining a kidney.

You're Mr Parkway, I take it?

Er, Dr Parkway, yes.

You must be Mr Wilson?

Oh, call me Dick. Everyone does.

So have you ever been champing before?

Sorry?

Champing — camping in a church. That's what we call it.

Though it does have unfortunate connotations of someone

eating with their mouth full.

Ah, no, I haven't, actually.

My wife booked this as a Christmas present, but sadly, sh...

As I'm sure you're aware, it costs a pretty penny to preserve

these old buildings, and champing is our biggest money-spinner.

We let them all in, every creed, faith, culture -

as long as they pay their overnight fees.

Speaking of which...?

Oh, yes, sorry. I only have a card, I'm afraid.

I've got my swiper.

HE CHUCKLES

As you see, I've set up your bed here.

Some churches put a full-size Queen Anne in the transept,

but speaking personally, I don't think it's in fitting.

I said to Canon Berry man, I said, "We're not an Airbnb."

"No, Dick", he said, "we're a Prayer C of E!"

85 and sharp as a blade.

Many's the time I've seen him do a Wordle in two.

Ah, yes, um, I set up a little lounge for you here,

with some literature on the history of the place.

Fascinating. Did you know that in the 15th century...?

Uh, can I ask, um, do you spend the night here also,

or will you eventually leave?

Oh, I'll soon be out of your hair, don't worry.

I have to tell you that we've never had a booking

on Christmas Eve before! CARD READER BEEPS

Oh, thank you.

Your wife will be joining you later, will she?

No, she passed away in the autumn.

I am so sorry.

So sorry — I've charged you at a two person rate.

I'll void it and start again. No, no, no. No, please.

I just want to spend a peaceful night here

alone with my thoughts and memories.

Oh, I'm sure you won't be alone.

Merry Christmas, Dr Parkway.

And God bless us, every one.

SUSPENSEFUL MUSIC

Hello?

Hello?

DISTANT RATTLING

BAUBLE THUDS

SUSPENSEFUL MUSIC CONTINUES

HE GASPS

Mr Wilson...

...is that you?

DOOR OPENS

Oh, my God, it's freezing! DOOR CLOSES

I told you it would be.

It's a bloody church, what did you expect?

What did I expect on Christmas Eve night?

Oh, I don't know, a Radisson.

Hey, I told you, don't blame me.

Holiday Inn, maybe. Blame global warming.

Anyway, I asked that old bloke to try and get us some booze.

Champers for the champers. That should cheer you up a bit.

Hey, watch this.

Our lager which art in barrels, hallowed be thy ale.

Thy kegdom come, I will be drunk, at home, as in the tavern.

Give us this day our foamy head, and forgive us our spillages,

as we forgive those who spill against us.

Deliver us not into inebriation, for thine is the stout,

the bitter, and the lager,

forever and ever, barmen!

HE LAUGHS You're not funny, you know.

Course I am. Hey, do you want to see my little white balls...?

Ooh!

Oh, my Lord!

Not quite, I'm afraid. He arrives in the morning.

You nearly give us a bloody heart attack! Are you the vicar?

No, no, I'm Dr Parkway, Jasper,

and I'm afraid I have exclusive use of this church till 10am tomorrow.

Use? I should explain — my mother passed away earlier this year.

She's buried out in the graveyard.

I simply wanted to spend the night here in quiet contemplation.

Oh, well, we booked it on the website this morning.

That Dick, the man called Dick, he said he hadn't seen our email yet.

I'm Pierce. This is my wife, Posy.

Like the flowers. Yeah, because when her mam got pregnant with her,

the first thing she said was "Thanks a bunch.”

Ignore him, he's pathetic. I'm sorry about your mother.

We were supposed to be going to Lapland yesterday,

only they rang up and said there wasn't any snow.

How unfortunate.

Yeah. They said we could still go and they'd put us up in a shed,

but we thought, well, if it's not an igloo, what's the point?

Well, I hate to disappoint you but as you can see,

there's only one bed set out.

Don't worry about that. We've come prepared.

Sleeping bags at the ready.

We'll just set up here beside you.

Who wants a brew?

Oh, sorry.

WIND HOWLS

These biscuits are nice, Po. Do you want one?

I don't think they're for us, Pierce, they're like church wafers.

What do you mean? It's the Eucharist.

The body of Christ.

Oh, shit!

Sorry! They taste like rich teas, anyway.

The most boring of all biscuits.

Apart from them Nices which, ironically enough, are horrible.

I'll go and see if there's anything else.

There's got to be a kitchen somewhere. Yeah.

Especially with all these lady vicars now. Idiot.

HE CHUCKLES

CLEARS THROAT

So, are you a religious man, then, Jaz?

Not particularly, no.

It's the building itself I'm most interested in.

Oh, right, you're more like a history doctor, then,

Indiana Jones, Da Vinci Code stuff?

You could say that, yes.

"Doctor, Doctor, I've got a chip up my nose, a sausage in my left ear,

"a carrot in my right ear, what's the matter with me?”

The doctor says, "You're not eating properly.”

Tough crowd.

POSY SCREAMS

Oh, my good godfathers!

Who is it?

I don't know.

I just pulled back the curtain, and he were there.

I thought it was Paul Hollywood.

You wouldn't want him reaching out

and giving you an handshake, would you?

It's St Nicholas.

The original Santa Claus.

You mean the Coca Cola one?

Uh, a little before that, I believe.

Patron Saint and protector of children dating back

to around 300 AD, possibly even earlier.

What's his origin story?

It's not X-Men, Pierce!

Actually, St Nick was an "Avenger" in his own way.

Three small children were said to be lost one night,

after straying too far from their homes whilst playing in the woods.

As darkness fell, they came across an old building

belonging to a butcher.

He offered them food and shelter for the night,

and they eagerly accepted his invitation.

However, once inside, the butcher set upon the three boys,

slitting their throats one by one.

Bloody hell!

He then cut up the children's bodies

and laid the pieces in a salting tub,

preserving their flesh to sell as ham to the nearby villagers.

Seven years had passed when Nicholas, the Bishop of Myra,

was riding in the woods and came upon the house.

He demanded that the butcher open up his barrels of salt.

When he saw the contents, Nicholas performed a miracle,

restoring the three boys to life and sending them home

to their astonished parents.

Lucky for them.

The myth also explains why we now hang pickles

or gherkins as Christmas tree decorations.

Oh, we've got one of them! A big green one.

Posy calls it the Grinch's co... Pierce!

Yes, It's an unusual derivation, the pickling or preserving

of children's bodies in salt or vinegar. Mm.

Did you bring any crisps? I think we've got some cheese puffs.

Oh, right.

SUSPENSEFUL MUSIC

Would you be quiet, please? Sorry?

Would you please stop singing?

I'm trying to work.

Oh, yeah.

Sorry.

I'm just getting in the mood.

I'm looking for somewhere nice to hang my stocking...

How about round your neck?

Pardon? Uh, anywhere around the nave.

HE CHUCKLES

Have you not got one? I think I've got a spare in here somewhere...

HE SIGHS

They're a bit laddered around the gusset,

but you could pop a tangerine in.

That's very kind.

Shall I just hang them on the end of his bed? Yeah.

SINGING FADES

WET GURGLING

Is somebody there?

GURGLING CONTINUES

TIMBERS CREAK UNDER HIS WEIGHT

BEAMS GROAN

TIMBERS CREAK

SCRAPING

CLUNKING

SCRAPING NEARBY

Hello?

Only me! Just wondered if you might like to join us

for a little tot of Bristol Cream, eh?