The elegantly attired master Wedding Planner is standing in a slightly dilapidated banquet room surrounded by glum men in ill-fitting suits with their pockets turned out. Three men - Con, Schip and Vitja - are running in circles trying to beat off monkeys. Chicken Little sits calmly up the back knitting a sky blue beanie. There is a loud knocking on the door that everyone ignores.

PLANNER: I've summoned you here today because there's been a lot of malicious chitchat and it's time we got to the bottom of it. So, what's the deal?

FRASER: Well to be bloody frank, Frank, it's the colour scheme.

PLANNER: What of it?

FRASER: It's unrelentingly green and gold.

PLANNER: Everyone loves green and gold.

STRAKA: Sure, but we're thinking of adding other colours like, um, beige.

Loud knocking on the door continues.

MITCHELL: And purple

SCHIP: (Runs past with two monkey's clinging to his back) Red and white, eeeaaghhhhh!

PLANNER: I'm sure we can put some assorted posies on the tables to fix that. Scribble your colours on that green table napkin and toss it in the round file. I'll have my gopher look at it when he arrives with lunch.

Suddenly a harassed looking man climbs through one of the windows of the banquet room and emerges from behind the heavy drapery carrying a tower of green and gold noodle boxes and humming the tune to Up There Cazaly. He stops abruptly when he sees the others.

PLANNER: Buckles you look terrible - what happened?

BUCKLES: You wouldn't believe the queues in Beijing. (He puts the boxes on a table) Then, just as I'm walking up the driveway, some overcrowded bandwagons hurtling in the opposite direction nearly cut me down.

LUGT: (Fearfully) Anyone wearing blue?

The banging on the door gets louder. Buckles walks up to the Wedding Planner.

BUCKLES: I've got some bad news, Mr Westfield.

PLANNER: In a minute lad - I've just sorted a minor hiccup with the colour scheme.

COOLEN: Woo-hoo, there's a pearl necklace in my noodles!

BUCKLES: (Looking sheepish grabs the necklace and pockets it) Wondered where that got to.

PALMER: If I may. (He hands out folders to each of the assembled men) I've drafted a plan to reduce costs. We'll simply barricade off the front quarter of the banquet room and sub-hire the rest to another wedding party.

PLANNER: FFS Clive! (Tosses the folder to one side) That won't be necessary. I've done a deal with Rupert Fox. He'll take all the wedding photos for free and pick up the drinks tab.

POSTECOGLOU: Brilliant! Rupert Fox takes awesome pics. We'll be rushed for bookings with that portfolio.

PLANNER: Yes, well, slight problem there Ange. The agreement states the photos will be for the exclusive use of the Rupert Fox family.

Banging on the door is even louder. The monkeys have cornered Con and Vitja.

BUCKLES: (Now standing very close to the Wedding Planner) There's something I really need to tell you.

FOZZ: Eeek! Would you have a look at the way those noodle boxes are arranged on the table. What sort of negative formation is that?

PLANNER: Holger, see to the noodle boxes. Con and Vitja, for Pete's sake stop playing monkey buggers and sit down. Now, anything else?

MERRICK: Seating arrangements - the food will be stone cold by the time it reaches our mob.

PALMER: Not if you adopt my plan.

PLANNER: Shut up Clive. Actually, I don't see any way round it. Obviously Harry needs his own table, as does Robbie. Double ditto Arnie. We have to put Rupert Fox and his family over here because they're paying for all the photos. King László and his courtiers have to be across here because... well, let's just say there's some history between Rupert and the King and they're contractually bound to remain on opposing sides of the room.

HERBERT: (Forlornly) Where's my table on the seating plan?

PLANNER: (Coughs, embarrassed) Look, as you know there's some nasty business concerning your parentage. To be blunt we're not even sure if you are a member of the family. So I've assigned you a foldout chair while we toss up whether you get a feed.

Banging on the door becomes more insistent.

PLANNER: (Finally) What is that racket? Buckles sort it out.

BUCKLES: It's what I've been trying to tell you, Mr Westfield. There's been a stuff-up with the booking. Evidently the mob outside had the banquet room locked in years ago and they're calling us a bunch of interlopers.

PLANNER: They want in?

BUCKLES: They want us out.

Con collapses at Buckles' feet and the monkeys go in for the kill.

PLANNER: (Sighs) You know what we need? A good old-fashioned family sing-a-long! Chicken Little come up here and tap out a beat on those noodle boxes.

The Wedding Planner produces a fiddle and starts to pluck the strings. Everyone else links arms except for Herbert who stands a little to one side.

EVERYONE: We are family, I got all my brothers with me...

Banging on the door reaches a crescendo.

PLANNER: (Shouts) Louder people I can't hear you!

EVERYONE: We are family....

(The curtain never drops)