It started when I resolved to have words with Miss Felicity Bobbins and marched up to her bedroom (she, having decided to stay at Brent Towers for a time, had been given the Frazer Hines Suite) and banged on the door.

“Miss Bobbins” I called. Silence. Ian Devine emerged from the elevator and tried to shoulder charge the door. Fortunately for my home, he ran out of breath before he reached his target and had to sit down. Wicks announced that he had a sonic screw driver if I wanted to open the door (signed by Jon Pertwee – the sonic screwdriver, not the door <g>) I told him that it was my house and I had keys to all doors. While we were discussing the matter (going rather further into the history of the Yale company than either Wicks or I would’ve chosen to do under the circumstances) Grantham merely turned the handle and marched in.

“Holy Moses” he exclaimed, “what’s that ?”

We rushed in (minus Ian Devine who was still panting) and saw what could only be described as a laboratory. Test tubes, flashing lights, two computers and endless jars lay before us.

“What can this mean ?” I asked.

“This must be where she makes her drugs” declared Ian Devine from the door way. “I am in the record industry – I know everything there is to know about drugs.”

“Well I’ve seen every episode of Jon Pertwee’s time in “Doctor Who” and I think that makes me a scientist” I replied haughtily. “And I possess the worlds largest collection of Tomorrows World recordings. I think this is some kind of dimensional research laboratory.”

“You don’t mean…” began Grantham.

“You can’t mean…” added Wicks.

“You can’t be silly enough to think…” waffled Ian Devine.

“I think Miss Bobbins’ strange behaviour can only be explained when you realise that she is an alien from another world and is trying to use this equipment to get home again.

“That is ridiculous” mumbled Ian Devine.

“She thought that BBC television went colour in 1966” I said smugly.

“Good lord – she MUST be from another planet” coo-ed my colleagues as one. “What do we do now, Dennis Brent ?”

“There is only one thing we can do.” I declared. They waited for me to finish the sentence, not noticing that I had already constructed a perfectly adequate one. People may criticise Dennis unfairly for many things (the bastards) but my syntax is as good as anyone in the niche publishing market place.

“Wooooooooooo” came a voice from behind us. It was Miss Felicity Bobbins and she was clearly in peculiar mood. “I never noticed three men in my bedroom before – are you new ?”

“It is us – Dennis Brent, Wicks and Grantham. Ian Devine you will already have met on the landing.”

“Ah yes – my soul mate Dennis. How are you today ? Your aura is sadly coloured – is your anus still sore ?”

“I demand to know what all this equipment is for” I said, ignoring her highly person question. My anus, for the record, is responding well to Doctor Flapjack’s treatment.

“Just experimenting” she replied and turned her attention to saying good afternoon to her flowers.

“What sort of experiments ?” I persisted.

“Have you ever thought how narrow this world is ?” she asked.

“No – it is a sensible size in my opinion.”

“This equipment is to help me expand my horizons.”

“I told you it was drugs” hissed Grantham.

“Nonsense – she is clearly planning to travel to alternative planets and / or dimensions” I hissed back.

“Good afternoon walls – have you been getting on well or is there still some hostility between you ?” she mumbled.

“Miss Bobbins, I demand proof of what you have been doing in this bedroom.”

“Woooooooooo, if you like. Would you like a drink first ?”

“Very sociable of you. We will all have small glasses of sherry” I told her. She smiled pleasantly and poured five glasses of red liquid from an unmarked bottle. I thought nothing of it at the time but, with hindsight, it might have been in some way connected with our subsequent plight. We sipped out small sherries and made small talk for a few minutes (I never knew Grantham’s second cousin was a lady vicar – I must keep an eye on him now that I know he has radical blood in him). Suddenly there was a flash and a shimmering portal opened in the bedroom. I was anxious that it didn’t damage the rather costly carpet and moved towards the portal. I felt a strange sucking sensation and let out an involuntary moan.

“Elkie”

Wicks grabbed my arm (in a sensible, manly way) but he wasn’t strong enough. I was being dragged towards the portal. Suddenly, Ian Devine was grabbing my other arm (the walls had become flexible and he’d managed to squeeze through the door frame) and Grantham had his arms around my waist.

“I’m quite prepared to accept that Ian Devine and Wicks are behaving in a sensible, manly way” I shouted, “but you, Grantham, are behaving like a h-o-m…” Before I could finish my insult I heard Felicity Bobbins yell and push us all through the swirling yellow portal.

The next thing I remember was waking up on a much cheaper carpet than the one I had in the Frazer Hines suite. I was naturally rather cross.

“Who has taken my carpet ?” I demanded.

“Just who the heck are you ?” demanded a blurry figure. As my eyes became clearer I recognised my brother Donald.

“Donald Brent ?” I gasped. “It’s me – your brother Dennis Brent.”

“I don’t know what your game is but that is a lie. I don’t have a brother called Dennis Brent…”