1am

It is fair to say I was fuming at Ian Devine’s campaign of selfish and pathetically anti-Dennis behaviour. Whether it was intentional or just the usual blubbery inability to care about anyone but his bulbous self, this is something one has come to expect from my temporary lodger. I decided there were only two courses of action open to me. Firstly, I could let down the tires on his tricycle or secondly, I could read an intelligent and fascinating journal to take my mind of Ian Devine and his contemptible behaviour. My choice of action should be obvious to you – I sent a telegram (via my satellite linked mobile telephone and telegraphic messenger unit – the 3000 model to trump Ian Devine’s pathetically inadequate 2999.9) to Felicity Bobbins and told her that Ian Devine had been worried that global warming would affect the air pressure in the Bendaton area and that he feared a knock on effect vis-à-vis his tricycle. Would she, therefore, relieve the pressure by letting all the air out of his tires. No one crosses Dennis without paying the price.

That done I sat back in my luxurious first class seat and took from my satchel the latest edition of “Modern Telehistorian Magazine”. It was a rare treat to come upon a fresh issue of this pre-eminent publication, this most sensible of journals, this zenith of technical periodicals. I had been saving it for a special occasion and as I tore off the brown paper wrapping I felt a tingle in my lap. No doubt it was caused by a build up of static electricity in my nylon under clothings. There is literally no other explanation. I took the beautifully presented journal out of its protective wrapping and gazed in awe at this last vestige of computer-free publishing. Every word had been typed on a proper typewriter, every letter had been set by hand and every sentence had been copied on an old fashioned Gestetner. Diagrams were drawn by hand rather than “produced” by machines. Photographs were free from distracting “colour” and you could almost smell the devotion of the men who produced it every quarter. It was by far my favourite publication (sorry Mr Hickman <G>) and one I took pride in having submitted several documents. I glanced at the contents page with one eye closed – so as to allow that eye the pleasure of reading it anew later – and saw that the letters page included a missing reacting to an article I had written in the previous issue. I turned carefully to the letters section and read the correspondence with mounting horror.

"Dear Sirs" it began, so far so good.

“I must congratulate you on the article written by Mr Dennis Brent in issue 127. It was a most entertaining read and I would appreciate it if you would pass on my regards. However, I feel it ought to have been stated clearly at the outset that Mr Brent’s piece was a work of telehistorical pastiche – nay fiction – as its subtly fantastical nature may have confused some of your newer readers into believing it to be genuine research.

In the unlikely even that this was, in actual fact, a serious article I feel duty bound to list the following errors and omissions so that Mr Brent may publish a revised piece (along with apology) in a future edition or supplement.

1. The 18th of August 1966 was in point of fact a Thursday and not, as Mr Brent claimed, a “Thrusday”.

2. The lowest rated episode of the first series of Adam Adamant Lives achieved 7.4 million viewers and not 7.$ million as Mr Brent asserted.

3. The shortage of camera men in September 1968 was not due to an outbreak of generic “food poisoning” at the British Broadcasting Corporation but a bout of Salmonella. If Mr Brent feels generalising is to be encouraged then perhaps he should find a publication which has a more relaxed attitude to precise information.

4. Richard Hurndall’s half-consumed snack from Story 6K was sold via an online auction for £24,954 PLUS postage and packing and not £24,952.50 plus £1.50 for postal costs as Mr Brent explicitly stated. Such information is available quite easily if one is prepared to actually research the matter.

5. His Maureen O’Brien conclusion was remarkably similar to that published in 2002 by Prof A. R. Finchly and yet Prof Finchly received no mention in the bibliography. Was this simple carelessness on Mr Brent’s part or did he seek to claim the work of another as his own?

6. The reasoning he uses in paragraph fifteen is spurious as there is no documented evidence that Frazer Hines is double jointed.

7. There is no such word as “sipple” in common usage. One can only suppose Mr Brent was either describing Miss Langford as “simple” or “supple” and upon that distinction rests the actual meaning of the sentence.

8. Matthew Waterhouse’s trouser accident took place on his third day of studio recording, as Mr Brent correctly states, but most serious historians now believe his claim that the stain was caused by urine and not lemon squash. Mr Brent ought to read Wristenhoff’s paper on those first five recording days as he may find it enlightening.

9. The earliest episode of “Z Cars” to exist in the archives as 35mm film is “19.09.62” and not “27.11.63”. The latter is in fact the third oldest 35mm film print which makes Mr Brent’s error exponentially worse.

10. In paragraph 28 Mr Brent refers to “the script”. Are we supposed to know which script this appalling loose phrase referred to? Was it a draft script, a rehearsal script, a camera script, a director’s script or some sort of transcription made after the fact? A little clarity goes a long way.

Frankly, I am bored of listing Mr Brent’s errors, omissions, mistakes, blunders, inaccuracies, erroneous conclusions and inadequate researches. Perhaps in future you would care to employ a professional researcher as proof reader or, better yet, only commission articles from those professionals.

Yours in sincerity

Ian F. Devine

I was all but steaming when I put down the magazine. Under those circumstances, who do you suppose would have been bottom on my list of people I wished to see?

“Hello Dennis Brent” beamed Ian Devine. “I apologise for my absence – I got lost in the first class bathroom. It really is awfully spacious in there and I turned left instead of right at the Jacuzzi pool and found myself… what is amiss, Dennis Brent?”

“I have just read THIS letter in “Modern Telehistorian Magazine”, Ian Devine” I snapped, pushing the journal into his portly face.

“Ah” he said pathetically. “Well, I have a right to my opinions.”

“You have insulted me in the press” I shouted.

“I have merely responded to an item you wrote. You have the right to reply.”

“Don’t worry – I will. Right here. You, Ian Devine, are a slapdash hack whose attempts to criticise my factual writings is laughable in light of your own wildly inaccurate scribblings. You have been published only by third rate outlets who were unable to come to terms with the Lofficiers, your conclusions about the relative merits of PAL and NTSC broadcasting systems are still laughed about in fashionable telehistorian coffee shops and you have yet to meet a door frame which you do not see as a challenge. You are, in short, the very antithesis of me, Ian Devine – a corpulent, imprecise, poorly respected and borderline h-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-l joke.”

“You have crossed the line, Dennis Brent” he said tersely.

“I haven’t even started” I warned.

“On the contrary – you have gone too far. You have impugned my honour. I hereby challenge you to a duel.”