The new Fawlty Towers play is a triumph, according to the Mail’s Jan Moir. But it got me wondering whether the original TV show would ever get made by the BBC today. And if it did, would it go something like this?

The cast of Fawlty Towers:Prunella Scales as Sybil, John Cleese as Basil, Connie Booth as Polly and Andrew Sachs as Manuel

Good morning, Major.

Morning, Fawlty. Papers here yet?

Sorry, Major. We’ve cancelled them. Nobody reads the papers any more. They get their news from TikTok.

Tik-what, Fawlty?

On the phone, Major. It’s an app.

App?

Next to Button B. Anyway, apart from you, Miss Tibbs and Miss Gatsby, none of our guests speak English.

Or the staff, either, by the sounds of it. Tried ordering my usual kedgeree from your new waiter, Fawlty. He didn’t understand a word I was saying, nor me him.

Oh, Marko, you mean. He’s from Bratislava. Or at least he says he is. Sounds Albanian to me. When I ask him for some I.D., all he’ll say is: ‘I know nothing.’ Still beggars can’t be choosers when you’ve got a business to run.

What happened to Manuel?

He went back to Barcelona, after Brexit. Biggest mistake we ever made, voting to leave the EU. Can’t get staff for love nor money these days. And ever since Covid, Polly’s insisting on working from home three days a week.

But you were all in favour of getting out of Europe, Fawlty. You voted Leave and used to have a picture of Nigel Farage next to the mangy moose’s head in reception. You can’t stand foreigners. Remember that unfortunate business with the Germans?

I’ve seen the error of my ways, Major, after the Home Office decided to pay us £50,000 a month to turn Fawlty Towers into an asylum hostel. More than outweighs the money we’d have got from weddings, holiday bookings and the odd Rotary Club dinner and dance. We’ve been struggling ever since that party of Russian oligarchs checked out last year.

That was all a bit sudden, if I recall.

Yes. I mentioned the war once, but I thought I’d got away with it. They took offence for some reason, said I started it. ‘No I didn’t,’ I said. ‘You did. You invaded Crimea.’

Crimea, Fawlty?

You must have heard of Crimea, Major. Weren’t you wounded in the Charge of the Light Brigade?

READ MORE: RICHARD LITTLEJOHN: Here's an idea. Why not fly boat migrants to Belfast, and buy them a bus ticket to Dublin
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Burma, actually.

Really, how fascinating. Can’t stand here chatting all day. We’ve got to get the Jubilee Room ready for the emergency meeting of the Torbay branch of the Palestinian Solidarity Campaign this lunchtime. Terry’s knocking them up a nice balti buffet.

Balti Towers, now, eh?

What? Oh yes, Major. Very droll. Will there be anything else?

Matter of fact, there is. I just stumbled across a ladyboy in the Gents’. Took me straight back to my days in Bangkok . . .

You can’t call them ladyboys, Major. If you were in Scotland you’d be arrested for hate crime and sent to jail for seven years.

What else are you supposed to call a man in a frock and full make-up?

The correct expression is ‘transgender’ or ‘transsexual’ or ‘transvestite’ or something like that. Anyway, it’s not the Gents’, it’s a unisex toilet. Fawlty Towers is Torquay’s premier trans-friendly hotel, full Stonewall seal of approval. Our toilet facilities are now open to persons of all genders, and none.

In that case, I’d tell Terry to go easy on the chilli powder in the balti.

(Enter Sybil.)

Baazzz-illlll!!

There you are, Sybil, my little Angela Merkin tribute act.

Shut up and listen, Basil. There’s a man in the Ladies’, wearing a frock and full make-up.

I know, the Major and I were just . . .

They were going to the Bibby Stockholm barge, but got held up by protesters at Peckham, so they’re stopping off here before catching the ferry to Ireland

Well, don’t just stand there, get rid of him. It’s supposed to be a safe space for women.

No can do, I’m afraid, my little Terf. We agreed that Fawlty Towers would become Torbay’s first trans-friendly hotel.

Not if it means men using the Ladies’ toilets.

But it’s the law, Sybil.

Not any more, it isn’t. The Government has just announced that single-sex lavatories will be a legal requirement in all new offices, restaurants and bars — and, presumably, hotels, too.

There wasn’t anything about it on TikTok.

How would you know? You spend all day staring at your phone watching video replays of Penny Mordaunt carrying that ceremonial sword at the coronation. You’re obsessed with her. You go soppy over anything in a skirt. You made a complete fool of yourself over that French antiques dealer. And don’t get me started on that Australian girl I caught you fondling...

I was feeling for the light switch...

From the next room? If you’re going to grope a girl, have the gallantry to stay in the room with her while you’re doing it. Think yourself lucky #MeToo wasn’t around back then otherwise you’d have been sharing a cell with Rolf Harris.

For the record, Sybil, I’m not obsessed with Penny Mordaunt, I just think she’d make a good Prime Minister.

In your dreams, Basil. She’s said she doesn’t want to be installed in Downing Street like a new boiler.

Better that than an old boiler...

What was that, Basil!

Nothing, my little coal-fired Baxi.

Well, what are you going to do about the unisex toilet?

I’ll get Mr O’Reilly to turn it back into separate Ladies’ and Gents’.

No, you won’t. He’s shoddy, he doesn’t care, he’s a liar, he’s incompetent, he’s lazy, he’s nothing but a half-witted, thick Irish joke. Why can’t you use those reliable Polish builders who put up Mrs Fotherington’s kitchen extension?

Protesters form a barrier around a bus reportedly waiting to remove migrants and asylum seekers from a hotel in Peckham, south London, to the Bibby Stockholm barge in Dorset

They’ve all gone back to Poland, Sybil, after Brexit. Apparently Poland’s on course to be richer than Britain in a couple of years.

After 14 years of the Tories, why doesn’t that surprise me? What have they ever done for the like of us? The highest taxes in since World War II, record levels of immigration...

Speaking of immigration, Sybil, we’re expecting another busload of asylum seekers this afternoon. They were going to the Bibby Stockholm barge, but got held up by protesters at Peckham, so they’re stopping off here before catching the ferry to Ireland. That reminds me, Major, you’d better pack your bags. Nothing personal, you understand, but we’re going to need your room.

But where am I supposed to go?

I suggest you make your way to Calais and catch the first dinghy back to Kent. With any luck, you’ll be safely tucked up in your old room within the week. Either that, or you’ll get an all-expenses holiday in Rwanda. I’ll ask Terry to pack you up a nice Waldorf salad for the journey...