Sketch: The Concorde Café
Setting: A small, retro diner-themed café called The Concorde Café. The walls are adorned with posters of the Concorde, vintage aeroplanes, and Elon Musk’s rocket. Three characters sit at a table:
- Nigel: A nostalgic Concorde enthusiast wearing a pilot’s hat.
- Marge: A retired travel agent, armed with her trusty guidebook.
- Trevor: A tech-obsessed Elon Musk fan wearing a T-shirt that says “To Mars and Beyond.”
Nigel: (sipping tea) Back in my day, you’d hop on the Concorde and be in New York in three hours. Three hours! Smooth as silk, no fuss.
Marge: (nodding) Three hours, Nigel. And they even served you champagne! These young ones wouldn’t understand luxury like that.
Trevor: (rolling his eyes) Oh, here we go. Concorde this, Concorde that. Who wants three hours when Elon’s “Rocket Ride” will do it in 27 minutes?
Nigel: (spluttering) Twenty-seven minutes? That’s not a flight—it’s a sneeze! What’s the point of travelling to New York if you haven’t had time to finish your peanuts?
Marge: (nodding sagely) Or flirt with the steward. Those were the days, Nigel.
Trevor: (leaning forward) Forget peanuts! Imagine this: you strap into Elon’s rocket, zoom up to the edge of space, glide across the Atlantic, and BOOM—you’re in Manhattan before you’ve even posted about it on Insta.
Nigel: (mocking) “Zoom up to the edge of space,” is it? And what happens if there’s a “re-entry failure,” eh? I saw that glowing debris over the Turks and Caicos. Lovely fireworks show, but not exactly reassuring!
Trevor: (defensive) That was a test flight! Elon says it’s 99% safe.
Nigel: (grinning) Oh, well, I’ll just cling to that comforting 1% chance of becoming space dust, shall I?
Marge: (giggling) Let’s hope he doesn’t serve dinner on board. You’d barely have time to unwrap a sandwich before they shout, “Prepare for re-entry!”
Trevor: (ignoring them) And another thing—you don’t have to queue at customs. You just land, hop out, and they zap your passport in space. Efficient!
Nigel: (snorting) Efficient? At least on the Concorde, we had time to discuss the wine list with the steward.
Marge: (nodding) And the jet lag! Proper jet lag after a Concorde flight—it was classy.
Trevor: (rolling his eyes) You lot are stuck in the past. Elon’s rockets are the future! In and out in half an hour.
Nigel: (grinning mischievously) In and out in half an hour? Sounds more like a dodgy takeaway than a flight!
Marge: (laughing) Or a quick trip to Basildon!
Trevor: (groaning) Oh, you’re hopeless. Hopeless!
Nigel: (leaning back smugly) Maybe, but at least I’ll still have my peanuts.
The Waiter:
The waiter arrives with the bill, looking annoyed.
Waiter: Who ordered the Elonjet Rocket Special?
Nigel: (pointing at Trevor) Him.
Waiter: (grumbling) Did you have to shake it? You owe us for the extra cleaning—your “rocket fuel coffee” exploded all over table three.
Marge: (to Trevor) 99% safe, eh?
Nigel: (to Marge) I’ll stick to tea, thanks.
All: (laughing as Trevor hides behind the menu.)
Verbal Alchemy 