“Our first contestant” he said unsurely, “is Mallory Poundage – a sausage scraper from Shagford.” Applause petered out when they saw Ian Devine mount the stage. He was wearing a green ball gown with matching accessories and hair. “So – Mallory – why do you want to be Miss Firkinside?”

“I want to use the contest as a platform for charity work, especially with children and dogs” said Ian Devine in a falsetto.

“It says here that your Likes are ‘Charity work, fruit drinks and table football’ and your dislikes are ‘Air pollution, coal and murder’. What are your ambitions?”

“I want to help people around the world, encourage people to use non-fossil fuels and try to promote a non-murderous lifestyle.”

“Very commendable ambitions” congratulated Tim Flimsy. “A big hand for Mallory Poundage.”

Spattered applause.

“Next up we have Vanessa Tossingov – a mouse bagger from Crampdale.” Wicks wasted no time in getting on stage. The clock was ticking and we knew that Tomsin Baker wouldn’t last much longer.

“Please to meet you – I want to work with children, animals and stop people doing bad thing” gabbled Wicks.

“Vanessa lists her likes as ‘Fluffy slippers, garden furniture and whiskey’ while her dislikes include ‘Airports, UFOs and people who talk about chess’. So, Vanessa, what makes you think you’d make a good Miss Firkinside?”

“I would use my platform to help the needy and also encourage the opening of more donut shops in the Firkinside region.”

“Very commendable” said Tim Flimsy. “A big round of applause for Vanessa Tossingov.”

The audience, now clearly bored, gave Wicks the faintest smattering of applause.

“Our third contestant is Miss Tomsin Baker – a shop locater from Cymm”. Tomsin Baker walked gracefully onto the platform. The mysterious German scientist had certainly done a good job with her – the features were Tom Baker’s but the body was that of a very beautiful woman, probably.

“What makes you want to be Miss Firkinside?” asked Tim Flimsy. The clone merely stood and stared and grinned.

“Um… it says here that your likes include ‘scarves, teeth and blowing your nose’ and your dislikes include ‘Dennis Brent, noble savages and goats’.” Tomsin continued to stare and grin and not say a word.

“Erm… Miss Firkinside is a demanding role which includes much arduous travel around the Firkinside region – how would you cope with the demands of the role?”

Still she stared. It became clear that the mysterious German scientist could produce clones that looked like the originals but – thinking back – none of the clones had ever spoken. One little flaw which threatened the entire Major Plan. I crossed my fingers (not easy with false nails) and hoped Tim would put it down to nerves. Tomsin smiled at Pip and Jane Baker and they smiled back.

“Thank you Miss Tomsin Baker” said a flustered Tim Flimsy. “Our next contestant is Glenda Fisting from right here in Bendaton.” The crowd roared for the hometown hero and I strode proudly onto the stage.

“Glenda – no need to ask who the local favourite is – it says on my card that your likes include ‘herbal medicine, rice, and pornographic fiction’ and your dislikes include ‘smoking, death by dangerous driving and people who chew gum’. What made you decide to enter Miss Firkinside?”

“I wanted to have a chance to see the people of Firkinside and offer them inspiration. If I can win Miss Firkinside then anyone can achieve their lifetime ambition” I said, well rehearsed and slightly nauseous.

“That’s certainly true” joked Tim. The audience didn’t like it – I was their local girl and any mocking was taken as an insult against Bendaton. “Do you have a final message for the judges?”

“I’d like the say how much I respect and admire the judges and I know that they won’t let local popularity sway them in picking the right contestant as the winner.”

“Thank you Miss Glenda Fisting.” The crowd cheered me on as I went to stand with the other contestants. “Our final entrant is Vulva Vale’s Anna Lingus.”

The audience returned to their sleeping.

“Anna – it says here that your likes include ‘fishing, candles and Fireman Sam’ while your dislikes include ‘the number seven, Woody Allen films and famine.’”

“That is true” said Grantham.

“What – in your opinion – makes a good Miss Firkinside?”

“An ability to empathise with the common people, a nice bosom and a winning smile” said Grantham. “I mean personality – a nice personality. I was distracted for a moment.” Trust Grantham to make a h-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-l remark.

Tim Flimsy thanked the contestants for turning up, let the audience know that their ticket stub would be good for a 25% discount at the pork shop on Shagford high street and that the performance of an “Elvis Presley” medley advertised in the programme had been cancelled owing to him straining his groin during ‘Unchained Melody’. There was a break while the audience bought cheese based snacks from Mr Noballs (the local dairy snack magnate) and milled around the hall while Brent’s Seven met for a conference.

“It has to be Tomsin Baker – the rest of you look like pantomime characters” I said wittily. Wicks and Grantham scowled at me while Ian Devine grabbed a few handfuls of cheesy globes and filled his mouth like a hamster. “I was quite convincing but my speech to the judges should have ensured that Tomsin Baker wins the tournament.”

“Good thinking, Dennis Brent” said Grantham.

“Wise precautions” added Wicks.

“I like cheesy balls” announced Ian Devine.

“We have a winner” declared Tim Flimsy. “Her name is in this envelope.” There was a drum roll and all eyes turned to we five contestants. All eyes except mine. My eyes were fixed on Tomsin Baker and the bubbling which accompanied her untimely melting.

“This time I really think it could be the end” I gasped as she vanished before my very eyes.