Chapman is drunk again.

This is nothing new. Chapman's been drunk for roughly seven-eighths of the time Cleese has been working with him; so far, he's managed to be remarkably productive despite it. There's something grudgingly admirable about that, but Cleese is in no mood to think about it when his stockings are itching and he has a sneaking suspicion that the underwire in his brassiere is digging a hole under his arm. This is one of the more unromatic problems with sketch comedy. He immediately resolves to bring it up the next time he's interviewed.

Palin pops his head 'round the corner, looking chirpy. "Look lively, gents," he says, "Eric's just found his Charlemagne sketch has been cut." Palin is inordinately cheery about this, but then he and Idle have been quarreling like little birds since the gay-magistrate debacle. Terry Jones is the only one who doesn't routinely get pulled into these first-form squabbles, really, but Cleese thinks this is probably due less to a peacable nature and more to Jones's feeling that the arguments just weren't worth his time.

"Why on earth do we put ourselves through all this?" Cleese mutters as Palin skitters away. Chapman shifts his knees, demurely crossing his legs, and says quite clearly in a tone of eminent reason, "Well, it's better than being put through a sieve."

Cleese laughs, startled, and by then it's time to start acting.

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