[Cyclefrance]

Things were not going well (he’d seen that written somewhere before, he was sure). One minute he was at his PC writing furiously, then he was on board an Aurora with a load if people that although he sort of knew, he was sure he hadn’t really met before. Then there was this talking dog and what the hell was Monica Lewinsky doing there farting all the time???

To cap it all someone had stolen his prosaic licence – luckily, he always carried a spare in his back pocket. He took it out and turned it on (bet you didn't know you had to do that with it, did you...) – the mists of confusion began to part…

He could see a solution to all this. He couldn’t be in two places at once. Thank God for the prosaic licence.

‘Where are you off to CF?’ enquired Elspode.

‘Call of nature, old boy…’ and with that Cyclefrance went into the one of the Lear jet’s two loos. He chose the executive one, the one with the power socket, locked the door and opened his laptop, that he had concealed cleverly inside the bunch of onions that for some reason refused to leave his side. It was an old laptop and the battery was completely buggered (this is completely true!). He plugged it in and began to type: ‘Things were not going well….’

Anyway at least he wouldn’t be disturbed for a while. No sooner had he said that than the door handle rattled….

Slarvos didn’t like the way things were shaping – he had to do something and quick. The Cellarites seemed occupied enough, and UG was concentrating on his tequila – he’d counted five shots already that he’d downed. He quietly checked his handbag. The transporter was still there, thank God. OK this was it…

Slarvos farted three more times, as pungently as he could.

‘Jesus!’ exclaimed xoxoxoBruce, ‘can’t you do ANYTHING about that??’

‘Perhaps if I go to the toilet – it sometimes helps. Is that OK?

‘Anything that prevents that godawful smell is OK with me!’

‘ Oh, I think I can remove the smell if you give me a few minutes.’ Slarvos tried the first toilet door, the Executive one, turning the handle. Damn, it was occupied (good back-link, huh, or what?). The other toilet was free. Slarvos entered.

‘So what now?’ Sundae Girl tucked into a Walnut Whip she had been keeping for a moment just like this.

‘Hey, where did you spring from?’ queried Buster

‘Oh, I’ve been here all the time. Just had to wait for my turn to enter the script. CF said that as soon as I had reported back on the Walnut Whip situation in the UK he’d write me in.’

Buster seemed satisfied with that answer (oh, the power, the power!), and in any event he was being distracted by Sheila/Phtrethnog, who was becoming agitated and pacing up and down the aisle looking in all the seats.

‘What is it, Sheila?’

‘Where’s Slarvos?’

‘Oh, he went to the toilet,’ said Bruce

UG overheard and seemed to sober up suddenly (now downing his 10th tequila….) ‘Noooooooooooo!!!’

UG rushed to the toilet door. It was locked – he put his shoulder into it.

‘Not this one – the other one!’ UG recognised Cyclefrance’s muted tones, and turned to the door opposite. He gave one massive shove against the door and it burst open.

Slarvos had gone!

‘Damn, damn, damn’ (unusually docile language for UG). 'He’s made it to the ship this time. I knew I should have taken the transporter off him – dooohhhh!!'

‘This is no time to do your Homer Simpson impression, UG.’ ZippyT intervened and tried to galvanise everyone into Acton – no, no sorry , I mean action – Acton’s in the suburbs of West London. No one in their right mind would want to go there. Hmm, second thoughts, taking everything, and everyone, into considera-

CF’s second thoughts were interrupted by ZippyT continuing: ’Right everyone. Plan B!!’

As one cohesive unit, our gallant and ever-increasing collection of Cellarites responded in unison: ‘Yeah!… Plan B!…..!!…?? Plan B?…?? What the hell’s Plan B????’

Well not quite one cohesive unit, first there was CF who was still banging away on his laptop in the executive loo, and then, of course, there was Plthijinx who was part flying the plane and part listening to his CD, which was, coincidentally, playing the same track at that very moment as the one that CF was listening to via his laptop CD drive (haven’t gote one really – told you it was an old laptop) although neither was aware of this (well, that’s not true, I mean CF HAD to be aware, didn’t he – he was writing all this at that very self-same moment…).

Anyway, to carry on and keep inside the rules…

80’s icons Duran Duran were belting out one of their classics – the voice of lead singer Simon Le Bon as ever straining to reach the high notes: ‘If you're coming down to land is there…Anybody out there trying to get through … Bop bop bop bop bop bop bop bop this is planet earth…’


That’s it. I’m not writing any more. No, it’s no good, I won’t be swayed.

Loose ends you say? Before I end this episode, there’s the matter of loose ends? Oh, all right then. If you must. The way this story is going there are going to be quite a few, I can tell.

I suppose I can start tidying up a bit now. Let’s see. Aah, yes, over there in that corner. We can deal with that one - a bit of a loose end - there are others in a far worse state, but as you insist….


The 5 Lewinsky’s were being escorted by the police towards their cars (police cars – not the Hummers, don’t be silly, but wait aminute….). They turned the corner and as they did so 5 other Lewinskys were just getting out of their Hummer. Now this could be tricky. Was it the same 5 Lewinsky’s who were even now being escorted by the police, or some other Lewinskys? If it was the same Lewinskys and the other Lewinskys (the ones being escorted by the police) were about to meet themselves, then that could mean only one thing. As any one with even a modicum of Science Fiction reading behind them (or at least one who has seen that Jean Claude Van Damme time-travel film) will tell you – meeting up with yourself in this manner can have nasty consequences….

Harnog took hold of the situation in his nicely, fingers-crossed, manicured hands: ‘Cooeee, Harnog, is that you…?

‘‘Ooooh, it looks like my twin brother!’ The other Harnog rushed forward to embrace the first Harnog, realising all too late, that his twin brother was there with him already. They embraced (well one of them embraced a rather reluctant other). There was a strange squeaking sound followed by the largest fart you’ve ever heard, and then a very minsicule ‘plop’ and the two Harnogs disappeared, sort of into each other - gone!.

Well, as you can imagine, there was instant chaos. A melee of broken stiletto heels and unbroken stiletto heels as the remaining 8 Lewinsky’s rushed around in a complete flap, not sure which way to turn. Sadly, but in some ways fortunately, each of them chose the wrong way to turn. It was like a load of balloons going off (well sort of ) one after the other, until the final ‘plop’ as the last two Lewinskys merged and imploded, leaving two police officers bewildered and scratching their heads with the one hand, while the other was clamped soundly around the nose of each - what a smell….!!

Still, that's what life's ends up like sometimes - you know, a bit like a fart in an empty lift that someone has left. You enter, you smell it, it's not nice and it's certainly not yours - trouble is if you hang around too long and someone else turns up, you might have trouble convincing them it isn't. The two policeman conicidentally realising this about the same time, suddenly rushed to their respective cars and sped off into the night....

Oh, by the way, there is a failed logic to the final fickle fate of the farting Lewinskys. The first Cellarite to let me know what it is will get a free Walnut Whi-…… Oh…!... No, you won’t, after all. Seems that Sundae Girl’s just eaten the last one!