“Or a new wife” added Wicks.

“Or possibly a daughter” offered Ian Devine.

“Very sensible suggestions gentlemen” I congratulated “but we have catalogued every minute detail of Tom Baker’s life and no where did any of those suggestions show themselves.”

“It could be coincidence” chirped Grantham, ever the optimist.

“Or a typing error – like the time we found a script for the ‘Twit Dilemma’.” We roared at this convention calibre anecdote until our small cups of tea were almost cold. It was a richly comic moment and one I am pleased to put down on paper for My Readers to share. We had no record of Tom Baker having a niece, wife or daughter called Tomsin therefore Tom Baker had no niece, wife or daughter called Tomsin. It was a simple matter of fact.

“You don’t suppose it is someone attempting to cash in on his fame?” asked Wicks.

“That old has-been? As if anyone would stoop so low as to try and make money from a washed up old ham like that. I said as much in the introduction to my book ‘Dennis Brent’s Guide to Tom Baker’s Trousers volume two’”.

“The definitive work on the subject” congratulated Ian Devine.

“A marvellously comprehensive tome” added Grantham.

“I couldn’t put it down” said Wicks.

“It makes me glad to know that you enjoyed it” I said, blushing slightly, “and I will ensure each of you gets a signed copy of ‘Dennis Brent’s Guide to Tom Baker’s Trousers volume three’.”

My friends mumbled vague and insincere words of thanks. Obviously they couldn’t reciprocate and give me equally fascinating technical volumes and this caused them social anxiety. I understand – not everyone can be Dennis Brent (much as they want to be).

“Maybe Tom Baker is going to put on female clothing and enter the contest himself” suggested Grantham.

“Having seen some of the Shagford woman, Tom Baker in drag would be in line to win the tournament” I said wittily. We roared with laughter until the idea of a man dressing as a woman made us feel unwell. It was a strange tingling pain just below the abdomen. One day I’ll mention it to Doctor Flapjack – I often get it when watching television programmes after nine pm. I expect it is a fascinatingly rare condition.

“I think we should confront Tom Baker with our information – we can’t allow a man in lady’s clothing to enter Miss Firkinside. We wouldn’t want a man in lady’s clothing entering anything would we?” asked Wicks.

“No” we said with conviction. “That would be terrible.”

We piled into Wick’s Skoda Elite and raced to Tom Baker’s house. With our numbers advantage (assuming Tom Baker hadn’t cloned himself in the meantime) we would have the matter out with him.

I banged on Tom Baker’s door and demanded he give us an audience. The butler showed us into Tom Baker’s drawing room. Nine statues of Tom Baker, lined up in height order, greeted us. There was a framed portrait of Tom Baker over the fireplace, an entire case of autographed copies of Tom Baker’s autobiography (I know they were autographed because I snuck one into my sensible satchel for later donation to a good cause). Wicks, Grantham, Ian Devine and I sat down in the plush arm chairs. The lights dimmed and Tom Baker made his majestic entrance.

“Gentlemen” he said, followed by Tiny Tom and holding the Cheshire Tom in his arms. Three grins pretty much for the price of one.

“Tom Baker” I began, “I have reason to believe you have entered Miss Firkinside.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met her” he replied.

“Are you or are you not Tomsin Baker?”

“Welllllll” he moaned.

“Yes or no” I demanded.

“It depends what you mean” interrupted the mysterious German scientist.

“I mean will Tom Baker be dressing as a woman during the contest tomorrow?”

“He will not.”

“Then he isn’t Tomsin Baker.”

“Yes and no.”

“No – yes or no” I clarified.

“Yes I know – yes or no – but I know its yes AND no” he replied.

“How can it be yes and no?”

“Yes he is and no he isn’t.”

“So he is and he isn’t?”

“Yes.”

“Yes he is and yes he isn’t?”

“No – yes he is and no he isn’t.”

“He can he be and not be?”

“By being and by not being.”

“So he is both being and not being?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad I finally got that out of you” I said, relieved to have something even if that something was both something and nothing.

“I’m confused” whispered Grantham.

“It’s perfectly simple” I told him, “Wicks will explain it.”

“I… er… it’s….” stammered Wicks. “I think Ian Devine looks eager to join in the conversation.”

“Such a fascinating technical answer is rather difficult to put in laymen’s language” he told Grantham, “and I wouldn’t like to patronise you by oversimplifying it.”

“Oh right” said Grantham. “That’s ok then.”

“Professor – I think they’d rather like to meet Tomsin Baker” said Tom Baker.

“Do you think that’s wise?” asked the mysterious German scientist.

“It can’t do any harm – I’m fairly sure we’re planning to not let them leave this house alive.”

“Fair enough.” The mysterious German scientist clapped his hands and a panel slid back to reveal another laboratory. Out stepped a hooded figure in a cloud of theatrical smoke.

“What is this?” I demanded.

“This is Tomsin Baker” explained the scientist. He pulled the hood back and there stood half woman, half Tom Baker. “She is made up of Tom Baker’s genetic material, subtly adjusted to create a woman capable of winning the Miss Firkinside pageant.” Tomsin Baker grinned the legendary grin.

“It’s a man’s face on a woman’s body” gasped Wicks and Grantham. “We’re confused.”

“We cannot allow you to do this” I warned. “We are Brent’s Seven – we’re experts at stopping people. Well, person so far as this is only our second mission but we’re doing rather well so far.”

“I’m afraid this contest means a lot to me” said Tom Baker “and as you can see I have spent rather a lot of money to ensure my victory. I also spent rather a lot on this death ray gun and I’m going to have to test it. Which of you volunteers to die first?” he asked.

I put my hand up.

“Ian Devine” I said.

“Oh crikey” blubbed Ian Devine, “This time I really think it could be the end.”