I STUMBLE INTO THE ROOM to find the Queen beating all hell out of her maid.
To be fair, the maid is asking for it. “The bones of your dead husband are dust!” says the maid. Whack! “Anyone who expects mercy from the dead is an idiot!” Thwock! “The best years of your life are withering away under the rigours of your insipid love!” Whump!
Well, this is a pretty carry-on. But there’s no need to call the cops or the Diary. The Queen in question is Penelope of Ithaca, waiting patiently for husband Ulysses to come home these 20 years and now taking a lecture in getting real from short-termist maid Melanto. And the fladge angle (conducted with a rolled-up newspaper) is part of