11pm

The blow to the head had done little damage as the gentlemen’s colour enhancer which I use to ensure the accurate continuity of my hair’s natural shade has a tendency to set and form a sort of plastic skull cap. This just goes to show that expensive personal products are not a patch on Bargainsave’s own brand of economy grooming accessories. I had, nevertheless, been rendered unconscious and the first thing my eyes saw when I awoke was the suddenly beautiful face of Miss Mifflin.

“Miss Mifflin” I said while she continued to slap me about the face in what I assume was an airline-approved manner. Cabin staff are trained to deal with emergencies. It may not always be pretty but whether it is trying to extract a chicken bone from an old lady’s throat or reviving a distinguished gentleman such as myself by medical pummelling they do not shirk. I was taking a moment to admire the thoroughness of her stroke (and the way her visible musculature rippled as she slapped away) when she addressed me.

“We’ll have to be getting you back to the first class section – you’re causing a disturbance” she told me soothingly.

“Are the proles so greatly distressed that they won’t fasten themselves in to their economy class seats until they are sent word that I am all right?” I asked rhetorically.

“Actually they’ve broken out into a spontaneous conga and the pilot says the constant shifting of weight distribution is bollocksing up all his sums. We think they’ll be less boisterous once they hear you’ve recovered.”

“You are an angel in human form you milky white Florence Nightingale” I said to myself.

“I’m sorry?” she replied, obviously I hadn’t only said it to myself. My thought memo had been CC’d to Miss Mifflin in error.

“I was merely paying you a well deserved compliment, woman, and nothing more although I do wonder whether you would ever consider wearing plastic antlers during moments of intimacy and…”

She slapped me and I realised I had once more been thinking out loud. I obviously had some way to go before I could consider myself fully recovered from the attack sustained at the hands of that mad vicar.

“Come on, Mr Brent, we’ll take you back to your seat and strap you in” said Miss Mifflin.

“Thank you, Miss Mifflin… I’d like to strap you down and get you in the mood with some richly comic anecdotes and a cassette tape of Dudley Simpson… I expect Ian Devine will be wondering where I am – he relies upon me so… I bet that uniform is made of a special material which doesn’t show up stains…”

She slapped me again. I resolved not to open my mouth again until I could be entirely sure that what came out was intended for public consumption. I saw the back of Ian Devine’s head (two of them, actually, which was a little worrying) and found my seat(s). Either my glasses had been affected by the fall or I was experiencing a little double vision.

“Dennis Brent” panted Ian Devine who had been playing the trilogic game and become a little overexcited at his progress.

“Good evening, Ian Devine… I’ll never forgive you for telling Terrance Dicks that I had a pash on Barry Letts… How are you this evening? Are there any messages for me… you would probably have eaten them if there had been you wobbly jam filled excuse for a telehistorian… only I was hoping the convention organisers might have been in touch with further details about the hotel reservations… look at that face – it’s like someone crossed the Moon with Ermintrude the cow.”

“Are you feeling all right, Dennis Brent?” asked Ian Devine.

“Quite well thank you, dear” I said, sitting down and rummaging through my first class goodie bag. There were several items I hadn’t noticed before including a mirror, a hair brush, a lipstick and book filled with men’s telephone numbers.

“How dare you” said a woman who hadn’t been sitting next to me a moment earlier. She grabbed my first class goodie bag, now strangely made of crocodile skill, and punched me in the eye.

“Ian Devine” I called.

“Yes, Dennis Brent?”

“Can you tell me where my seat is please?”

“Walk this way.”

“If I could walk that way I would’ve had to have gained four hundred pounds and employed a blue whale to stand in for my backside… thank you, Ian Devine, I am feeling light headed and uncoordinated.”

He took my by the hand, in a manly way, and led me to my divinely comfortable seat.

“I shall seek out the stewardess and ask her for a small sedative. I feel it would be preferable to binding you in the straight-waistcoat” said Ian Devine.

”Thank you, Ian Devine, a most pragmatic solution… Miss Mifflin is lovely. I would like her to come and live with me at Brent Towers… I do feel rather in need of a nap and a small sedative would be just the job… We could roll around on some duplicate camera scripts… Perhaps you would ask her for a small glass of warm milk too… Then, when the moment was right, I could take her up the archive.”

“Miss Mifflin… Miss Mifflin” called Ian Devine with rising urgency. “My colleague is unwell… Miss Mifflin…”

“I’ll tell you another thing” I said to the complimentary first class bear with the airline’s logo stitched into its chest, “there goes the finest man England ever produced. Witty, considerate, flexible and sensible. He’s like me only much much wider. It would only require thirty one people to die more or less simultaneously and he would be at the top of my list of people with whom I would like to spend the last night before the Earth was destroyed.”

“Mr Brent – here is a glass of warm milk and a small sedative” said Miss Mifflin, arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow when she saw me talking to what I had thought was a bear but turned out to be a jar of caviar.

“Thank you, Miss Mifflin, that’s very gracious… if she won’t wear the antlers, perhaps she’ll at least consent to visiting Canada with me on a photography holiday… I’ll enjoy my glass of milk… but would she agree to my choice of wardrobe?”

Then I slipped quietly out of consciousness.