For me, the dawn (see above) was when an idea flashed across my mind that I envied the character of “The Master” in story 7Y. I didn’t immediately develop that point as I started a fascinating debate with myself about whether it was acceptable to (a) apply a faux-genuine production code to a non-canonical genre product and (b) whether my colleagues and I were correct in designating the audio plays as non-canonical genre products at all. Possibly as a result of my delirium, desperation and growing depression, I began to wonder whether the presence of authentic cast members and a licence from the BBC meant that these LPs were worthy of the canonical status which they had long since craved. Admittedly, their non-visual nature meant that camera scripts would be an impossibility but was there not a chance – just a slight but intriguing and intoxicating chance – that one or two of the “actors” had added legitimate hand written notes to their scripts? And that those scripts were housed in a written records archive and we might visit it for a week or two and uncover fascinating production information about…

…except that I was already in a written records archive and it was shortly going to be my final resting place. But, if the excitement I’d just felt about the possibility of researching these audio recordings was as palpable as I thought (and a quick physical inspection demonstrated that it was) then could I be permitted a deranged analysis of one of the storylines? Might I even, in my disorientation, take advice from one in the same way I would take advice from a proper television serial? Perhaps I could.

And so I imagined what would it be like to be given a fresh start as “The Master” had been in Perfugium. How would it feel to be given ten years to live as a popular and respected gentleman? To walk down the street without buckets of water being tipped on one from high windows, to be served in a shop without the assistant activating their microphone and asking if any of their colleagues were available to mop up a faecal stain that had just appeared near to their till, to be able to walk over a manhole cover without it “accidentally” giving way and forcing one to take an unscheduled dip in the sewer. What new joys and new experiences could a gentleman have if he wasn’t forever dodging trained dogs or swatting away genetically programmed wasps? How different would my life be if the ignorant, maggot ridden peasants didn’t have this inexplicable dislike for me?

But hang it all – I’m not a greedy man. As I sat in that vault by the light of my 20 watt desk lamp I didn’t pray for ten years of popularity. Not even one year of acceptance. Not even one month of only mild revulsion. But I did pray.

“To: God” I began, putting my hands together at the third attempt. “From: Dennis Brent. Re: Salvation. Message: Although we have never been close friends or even mixed in the same group of people I find myself needing to request a small favour. I admit we’ve crossed swords over your strange and unworkable ideas about “charity” and “the meek” but I’m prepared to let bygones be bygones. In fact, if you do what I want this time I will give strong consideration to pencilling some sort of charitable contribution into my diary for next year. That sounds like a fair bargain. What I’d like in return simply to know what it is like to not be the second most hated man in Bendaton. I’m sure you appreciate that Ian Devine is far more unpopular than I but that people are too scared to show it owing to their mistaking his enormous girth for physical strength. I blame Giant Haystacks. You and I know that Ian Devine couldn’t hurt anyone sensible enough not to resemble either a pie or an armchair but they seem to see him as an awesome colossus who could crush them with his weight-based fighting skills. So they take their frustrations out on me. Actually, I would wager that the manager of Bargainsave is more unpopular than me since he cancelled the ‘free mini-pack of cheese with every purchase’ offer. I’ve seen women cutting his tires with forks, although why they bothered I don’t know as I had already let his tires down earlier upon that blighted morning. I mean I’d already seen that his tires had been let down by someone else. I don’t want you to think I play any part in the fostering of hostile attitudes in Bendaton. I am an entirely innocent party and to prove my good standing I reported the women I saw using the forks and both are now serving prison sentences thanks to the evidence I gave in court. If you look here you can still see seventeen puncture wounds where they attacked me with their forks after sentence was passed. The judge really should start insisting that prisoners not be allowed to take weapons into court. It is just asking for trouble. Anyway, would it be at all possible for me to become a more popular person? I’m sure if I saw what life was like on the other side of the fence I’d find all kinds of ways to make things better for myself. Perhaps even for carefully selected other people as well. Obviously I wouldn’t consider general charitable work as they are too indiscriminate but within respectable circles I’m sure I could do a lot of good. So if you’re still there – and I pay my taxes so you bloody well ought to be there – are you interested in helping me, Dennis Brent, before I succumb to this painful hunger and die alone and unloved? Please reply by return of post. Yours faithfully, Dennis Brent Esq.”

I will say this for God – he’s extremely efficient. No sooner had I finished my prayer and begun waiting for him to prove he exists when I heard a loud banging sound. It sounded as if all the elephants in the world were trying to break the vault’s door down. I was nearly right <g>.