A group of Indian ladies is washing clothes at a stream. Pither, holding his bicycle, is trying to talk to an older, heavy-set lady.
Pither: ...and the pump caught in my trouser leg.
She carries on slapping the wet garments against a round rock in the stream, trying to ignore him. Pither doesn't seem to consider the possibility that she doesn't understand a word of English.
Pither: And that's why they were damaged...(No reaction.)...the pakoras...you remember...the vegetable fritters I was telling you about...They were in a Tupperware container, reputedly self-sealing, which fell open on contact with the surface of the road.
He looks for a reaction. She goes on dunking clothes in the water. She looks up at Pither and stares in an unfriendly fashion.
Pither: ...while I was cycling on the Grand Trunk Road... It was built 500 years ago by the Mughal Emperor Sher Shah Suri, you know. (He looks again for a glimmer of interest.) That shouldn't really happen to a self-sealing container, should it?
The lady wrings out the garments, puts them into a basket and carries them away from the stream. Pither waits for a few moments.
Pither (shouting after her): What do you keep your fritters in? (No reaction.) I think in future I shall lash them to the handlebars with adhesive tape. That should prevent a recurrence of the same problem. (To himself) Yes, well, that was a very refreshing break. (He stretches out his arms.) (To the woman) I can't stay here all day, though. I need to get to Dharamsala by nightfall. I have an audience with the Dalai Lama tomorrow, you know. (To himself, puzzled) How did I know that?
The next day. Pither stands outside the modest bungalow that the Dalai Lama resides in. This is indicated by a sign. The house is set in a lush hillside formed into terraces. There is a flower garden with water flowing down stone channels. Pither goes in.
In the interior there is a shrine to Buddha. Colorful Tibetan sacred paintings hang on the walls. Incense is burning. Seated is a man dressed as a 19th century Chinese Mandarin, with bright blue silk robes and a Fu Manchu moustache.
Pither: Excuse me, is this the residence of the Dalai Lama?
Chinese man (Chapman): Yes, yes… si, si. That is correctment. Blessings on all your future incarnations!
Pither: I have an interview scheduled with him this afternoon.
Chinese man: Yes, correct. Speakee, speakee. Me Dalai Lama.
Pither: But you don't look at all like his picture on the cover of his book.
Chinese man: No. He die. He have heart attack and fell out of window onto exploding bomb, and was run over in shooting accident. Nasty business. I his susscussor... how you say... succsussor.
Pither: Successor.
Chinese man: Successor, yes. I his successor, Mr. Lowan Atkinson.
Pither: But don't they have to wait for the Dalai Lama to be reincarnated and identify the child?
Atkinson: We modern Tibetans now. We dispense with formalities.
Pither: Oh, I see.
Atkinson: Your face very familiar from the BBC.
Pither: You watch the BBC then?
Atkinson: Oh, yes. Nearly every day. Everybody trust the BBC. You like drinkee?
Pither: Well, a drink would be extremely pleasant.
Atkinson snaps his fingers. Another Chinese, similarly dressed, appears and bows obsequiously.
Atkinson: Mr. Robinson, get bottle Corvosseer… Corvwoss… Some cognac.
Robinson: Yes, boss. (He goes.)
Atkinson: I want to extend my welcome to you to visit Tibet.
Pither: Thank you very much. I'll be there soon. It's on… on my itinerary.
Pither looks puzzled. He doesn't know why he's conducting this interview as Michael Palin would. Palin's personality is re-asserting itself. Even his voice returns to normal.
Robinson reappears with a tray of pastries, a bottle of cognac and glasses. Atkinson and Palin pour the cognac.
Atkinson: Well, old chap, buttocks up!
Palin: Rather. (They drink.) What about your personal plans, your Holiness? Do you intend to continue your extensive travelling?
Atkinson: Yes. I would velly much like to visit this Coron…worll…
Palin: Cornwall?
Atkinson: That's what I say! Coronworl. I hear much about Coronworl in your England. You must show me.
Palin: Well, certainly.
Atkinson: Perhaps you help us join…Bingo club?
Palin: Oh…Bingo.
Atkinson: Bingo.
Robinson: Bingo.
Atkinson: (Trying to get a grip on himself.) Bingo.
Robinson: Bingo! Bingo!
Three Chinese throw themselves out of a cupboard and throw themselves at Pither's feet, imploringly.
3 Chinese: Bingo! Bingo!
Atkinson: Contloll. Contloll selves!
Robinson: (Beating floor with fist.) Bingo.
Atkinson: Robinson! Contloll self!
3 Chinese: (under breath) Bingo…
Atkinson: (to Palin) So solly. Boys get velly excited.
Palin is slightly irritated but recovers his composure and tries to get the interview back on track.
Palin: How has Tibet changed since you fled to India?
Atkinson: Chinee come and build roads. Cut down forests and develop industry. No more useless yak herding! Tibet one big empty wasted yak pasture. No more! Chinee create modern industry, attract millions more people to settle empty land. Chinee build new buildings. Chinee no live in dirt huts like Tibetans!
Palin: But now the Tibetans are becoming a minority in their own land.
Atkinson: Chinee live in peaceful cooperation with ethnic Tibetan minority. Pleased to see them continue their cololful ethnic customs. Velly good for tourism, yes?
Palin: But the Chinese have destroyed six thousand monasteries.
Atkinson: It necessary to destroy antiquated feudal theoclatic rule. Tibetans now happy to live under plotection of Chinee constitutional law.
Palin: I can't believe what you're saying. Do you mean that you've given up on the idea of returning to Tibet and assuming a political leadership role?
Atkinson: Yes, it necessary I abandon all claim to power, acknowledge lightful Chinese lule of plovince of Tibet.
Palin: That's a stunning statement. (to camera) Well, you heard it here first.
Atkinson: Velly important that you bloadcast message to wold…worrold.
Palin: World.
Atkinson: Yes.
Atkinson and Robinson confer, whispering to each other in Chinese and snickering. They cast glances over at Palin who remains oblivious. The only words we can hear and understand are "English git".
Atkinson (to Palin): You put in good word, me and flends join really smart Bingo club Coronwold...
Palin: (annoyed) Well, it's not quite my line…
Atkinson: We all velly quiet...sit at back...only shout "Housey! Housey!"
He is obviously trying to control himself but it is too late.
Robinson: Housey! Housey!
3 Chinese (still on floor): Housey! Housey!
Atkinson: (with supreme effort of will): Contloll selves!
There is hammering on the doors and the sound of a Tibetan crowd outside.
Atkinson runs onto the balcony. Shot of a mob of Tibetan protesters. They carry placards that say things like "China get out of Tibet", "More than a million Tibetans killed", "Release the political prisoners".
Palin: I think we'd better end the interview at this point.
Atkinson: Please not go yet.
Robinson: (quietly) Bingo.
Atkinson: (to Robinson) Shut face! (to Palin) Please Mr. Bingo don't bingo yet... I mean Bingo...
Palin escapes as havoc breaks out. The Tibetan mob climbs the balcony.
All Chinese: Bingo! Bingo!