“This is a mad world- haven’t they heard of regeneration?” I spluttered. Ian Devine was being given neat glucose while Wicks and Grantham fanned each other with towels.

“What is ‘regeneration’?” asked Donald, genuinely baffled.

“I don’t understand what is going on” I wailed. My mental anguish was disturbed by the figure of Mr Penistone on Donald’s television.

“Ooh – it’s the Mayor, must turn the sound back on.”

“…and the Mayoress and I thoroughly enjoyed the hamster we were given by the Women of Bendaton. But enough small talk, I am here tonight not only to mark this very special night of television with a glass of Champaign but also to let you – my people – know that Bendaton is shortly to become the epi-centre of the Welsh exotic meat trade. With the generous assistance of Mr Cockgrip and his butchery business, we have secured Bendaton as the location for Wales’s largest exotic meat processing plant. This factory will be able to process hundreds of tonnes of meat every week and bring added prosperity to Bendaton.” The crowd cheered. It seemed a strange thing to make a broadcast about but Mr Penistone always was a rampant egomaniac.

Mr Penistone faded from the screen and a vaguely familiar BBC logo replaced him.

“And now on BBC1, BBC2, Radio 4 and BBC America, the BBC is proud to present the one thousandth episode of… The Tomorrow People.” Dudley Simpson’s famous theme burst from every one of Donald’s twenty one speakers and I whispered a point of information.

“I thought the Tomorrow People was on ITV.”

“It was” he hissed, “but when Thames lost their franchise the BBC bought the series. It was 1992 – they were very committed to science fiction in the early 1990s. That’s why Watt On Earth ran for three hundred episodes and made the Bakers multi millionaires.”

What followed was a rather exciting two hours of television I’m afraid to say. Excellent production values, first rate acting – this was clearly a show with the whole might of the BBC behind it. I was in tears by the end of the story (partly the scene where Elizabeth was revealed as Stephen’s half sister and partly because this being made so well was so unfair on we sensible people from the real version of Bendaton).

“That was better than sex, apparently” said Donald when the lights came on. Ian Devine had eaten his body weight in pop corn, Wicks and Grantham had been caught up in the moment and were holding hands for manly moral support. Felicity Bobbins was outside introducing herself to a whole galaxy of new stars.

“Does Blake’s 7 exist in this reality?” I asked.

“Oh yes – a fine show. Tom Baker was excellent casting” said Donald.

“Tom Baker?”

“Tom Baker – he played Blake. Very good he was, for the first few years. Then the rot set in.”

“This is remarkable. I don’t suppose he wore a scarf…?”

“Yes!” agreed Donald.

“I suppose some things are just meant to be” I sighed.

My team and I met up in the Frazer… Nicholas Young Suite to discuss our plight.

“We have to find a way back to our reality” I explained.

“Why?” asked Wicks.

“This place is peculiar.”

“They respect science fiction here” said Wicks.

“Yes but not the right science fiction.”

“But it’s well made – jolly good stuff” added Grantham.

“Yes but it’s not Doctor Who” I insisted. “Therefore it must be wrong.”

“Think of the possibilities – all those Dr Who stories that were never made and to which we alone know the plots” said Ian Devine, pound signs in his eyes. “We could write Talons of Weng Chiang”.

“We'd be even richer than we are now” agreed Wicks.

“And think of all the production documents for series that we’ve never even heard of” added Grantham. “Nine hundred and thirty two episodes of the Tomorrow People for one thing. Nine hundred and thirty two camera scripts…”

“You make it sound very tempting…” I conceded, wavering on my moral axis. “But it is the rules that people who go to a parallel universe have to escape.”

“Why?”

“Because that is what television tells us.”

“But all of those realities are worse than our own. This one seems better.”

“Yes but…”

“I was looking through Donald’s diary and he has lots of real friends – people respect telehistorians in this reality” said Ian Devine.

“Yes but…”

“He has parties, he has appointments, he has a wife.”

“Yes but…”

“There are a billion trees that I’ve never spoken too – Flicky likes it here. Woooooooo”

“Yes but…” I said for the fourth time.

“Well Dennis Brent?” demanded my colleagues. “Why do you want to go home? What is wrong with this reality?”

“Wooooooo – look out of the window” wailed Felicity. We rushed over and saw that, where there was an empty field in my world, here there was a gleaming exotic meat factory. This was obviously what Mayor Penistone was talking about.

“We can’t live next door to an exotic meat factory” I announced.

“We could rent a cottage” said Ian Devine. “Really Dennis, you seem to have it in for this reality without any reason what so ever.”

“Oh my goodness” I gasped, something catching my attention through the window. A column of rare animals were trooping into the meat factory. There were penguins, otters, zebras and, near the back of the line, one unmistakeable face.

“It’s Elkie” I blubbed, “they’re going to kill Elkie.”