Author's Note: Usually I write in a more elaborate style than this, which feels like I am skimming over the surface, but the TV show's format is simple in language and snappy in style, so I am copying that.
"Ah yes, Ted," says Dougal, pushing the loaded luggage trolley towards the airport doors, "You're here to stay. With me and Mrs Doyle and Jack. Forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever…"
When they get back to Craggy Island Parochial house they find it just as they left it – absolutely gutted of furniture.
"DRINK!" screams Father Jack and rushes off. He clatters up the stairs continuing to scream "DRINK!" Minutes later he clatters back down again and into the living room, looking confused and murderous.
Ted turns to Mrs Doyle. "Er…Mrs Doyle?" he says, "When they collected the furniture for burning, did they say when they were burning it, exactly?"
"Well, no, Father," she admits, looking up at the ceiling in thought. A spider drops onto Father Jack's head. He looks at it.
"So…so it might not be burned just yet?"
"I suppose not."
"Who did you give it to?"
"Father Larry Duff. He was doing a Thing there, and he said he needed lots of wood and other things to burn, so I thought it would be just perfect. I'm sure it'll all be tremendous fun!"
"You got through to him?!" Before she can answer, Ted whips out his mobile phone and dials Larry's number.
Out in a lonely field a crowd of people stands around a big stack of furniture. The bottom is piled with cellulite throws and other very flammable objects. The whole thing is drenched in Jack's stash of alcohol. Father Larry Duff balances precariously on a stepladder, a match lit at the ready. Just then, his phone goes off. Larry jumps in surprise. The step ladder wobbles and falls backwards, as Larry falls forward. The match drops and there is a WUMPH of eager flames.
"Oh no, no, no, he's not picking up!"
"Wait," says Mrs Doyle, "I think I know where he said he was going to take them!"
Frantically, Ted chorales Dougal and Mrs Doyle into helping him tie a yelling Jack into his wheelchair. Then he wheels him out to the front of the house. Ted, Dougal and Mrs Doyle get into the car. Then Dougal asks how they'll get Jack into the car, as it isn't wheelchair accessible. Ted shouts a few curses, and they all get out of the car again. After an interminable run all the way to the cliffs and then inland some, they stop at a row of thick gorse and, with much 'owing' and 'ah-ing' they push their way through. A large field borders another large field, which is blocked from view by a line of trees. From behind these trees comes the smell of acrid bonfire smoke, and a large column of black smoke rises into the air.
Nobody says anything – they are still trying to catch their breath, except for Dougal who, as usual, seems impervious to pain and exhaustion, and Jack, who has been given a free ride. Ted clutches his side with one hand, and face-palms with the other.
They arrive back at the house after dark.
"God, Ted, you look awful," says Dougal. He does. He can't catch his breath, and his face is sweaty and white and lined with pain.
"Well, there's one thing we can still do, no matter WHAT the conditions," says Mrs Doyle, with a smug grin. "We can all have a lovely cup of tea!"
"Mrs Doyle," Ted reminds her, seeming to recover somewhat. "There's no teabags."
Her face falls.
"And no tea pot either," says Dougal.
Mrs Doyle looks as if she has been punched.
"Quiet Dougal," hisses Ted, and the winces again.
"I was just saying there's no tea pot," Dougal protests, wide-eyed. "And no tray and no trolley and no milk jug and no sugar bowl and no teaspoons and no cups and no saucers…"
As he speaks, Mrs Doyle slowly crumples into silent hysterics and totters out of the room. "She's taking that a bit hard, Ted," remarks Dougal.
"Look. What. You. Did." Ted has a dangerous gleam in his eye.
"Ah Ted, she'll be fine. Stop worrying."
"Go and apologise!"
Dougal gives an exasperated sigh and disappears out of the room. Then he comes back in again. "Er, Ted?"
"What?"
"Ted, I can't find her. And the front door is open."
"Great. Brilliant. So who's going to do the cooking and cleaning now?"
Upstairs, Ted and Dougal lie where their beds would be, fully clothed, on the cold, hard floor.
"Ted?" says Dougal.
"Dougal, try and get some sleep," mutters an exhausted Ted. He's not feeling at all well, but the last thing he needs is a protracted and repetitive conversation about it with Dougal.
"She'll be back, won't she…?"
Ted turns to look pointedly at Dougal.
Dougal looks back, blankly. "Won't she?"