My first taste of fresh air in almost three days was a beautiful experience. It filled my lungs with joy – it was as if, in that moment, Bendaton didn’t reek of processed meat fumes, sewerage and Farmer Cockson’s world famous “Bendaton Blue” cheese. I was alive and that was all that mattered. I was enjoying the sensation when a couple of natives walked past me.

“Good morning” they said cheerily. I was braced for an assault so I didn’t return the compliments of the day. I was immediately wracked with guilt at my social faux pas and jogged after them until I caught up.

“Good… morning…” I panted. “Nice… weather… or… something…”

They didn’t look at my strangely or savagely. They didn’t even pity my rather rusty conversational skills or frankly laughable cardiovascular conditioning. They smiled and said it was indeed a very nice day.

“The sun is in the sky” said the first.

“God is in his heaven” added the second.

“And Dennis Brent is dead and probably dumped in an unmarked grave” they concluded in unison. They skipped away, holding hands in a disgusting display of clinginess and telling me I was the best they’d ever seen and they looked forward to seeing what I’d do at the street party. I was none the wiser when I returned to the shadows in which Ian Devine lurked to avoid being spotted by bounty hunters.

“Are there many bounty hunters in Firkinside?” I asked as we strode.

“You would sell me out for reward money” he replied coldly.

“Naturally, but I wouldn’t make a career out of it. Once or twice would be more than enough if your crime were one as serious as murder. I don’t suppose there is a published and binding reward on offer for information leading to your arrest?”

“There is not – the police seem convinced they will apprehend me without the assistance of greedy members of the public.”

“How dare you. I have never been called a member of the public before” I told him firmly. I promised I wouldn’t compromise his liberty, even for a small reward, and he took back his vicious insult. We were on good terms again and I asked him why the authorities believed him to be my murderer.

“Our little contretemps on that television broadcast has been taken out of context and the media portrayed us as being mortal enemies instead of the close… no not close… warm… no not warm either… reciprocal associates that we are in truth. They decided I had battered you about the head with a blunt object when you were sleeping, stashed your body in your cryogenic unit until I could hire a confidential waste container, then I put your frozen corpse into there and drove into the mountains and left you in a cave where you wouldn’t be discovered. I then put several items from your personal collection on eBay in order to have a supply of ready cash with which to bribe any detectives who got a bit too close to the truth.”

“It didn’t say any of that in the paper – it just said you’d killed me.”

“Does it? I don’t know where the rest of my plan came from in that case. Can we change the subject?”

“Yes” I said. “I want to eat. I’m quite literally very hungry and it is lunchtime.”

“But we must go to the Bugle offices first” insisted Ian Devine.

“No no - we must eat first.”

“Bugle first.”

“Food.”

“Bugle.”

“Food.”

“Bugle.”

“I don’t think you heard me, Ian Devine, I said food.”

“I take your point – it is vital to keep my strength up at a trying time such as this. You never know when I may need to go to ground and live off my reserves. Yes, I think our suggestion to go to lunch is an excellent one. Might I suggest we visit the north side of the High Street and dine at the Italian restaurant, the curry house, the new Thai place, the Horse & Goat, McDonald’s, Firkinside Fried Chicken and the pizzeria?”

“You are known in all those places – they may spoil my meal by invoking a police raid or some such and I would be left with the entire bill to pay. No, I must insist on a quiet eatery wherein no knowledge of your crimes has filtered and where we are guaranteed to be able to settle up in a sensible and itemised manner.”

“But I’m known in all the popular restaurants in the county. Most of them have special tables set aside for me. Some even named dishes in my honour.”

“Pasta Devine? Ian in a Basket?” I suggested wittily.

“No no – you misunderstand – they literally named a dish in my honour. It is larger than the standard dish and they had it specially made. It saves them having to supply two or three of everything.”

“Then where is there we could go and eat? I need sustenance.”

“You remind me of me more and more each day. Like a pet who begins to resemble his owner.”

“I am not, and never have been, and never will be, your pet, Ian Devine and you will, and never have been, and never will be, my owner, Ian Devine. Do I make myself clear, Ian Devine?” I demanded.

“Is your name Ian Devine?” asked a police constable who had cunningly snuck up on us by standing on the street corner and waiting until we walked past him without noticing he was there.

“No” replied Ian Devine.

“He’s right officer – this man is not, and never has been, and never will be Ian Devine. His name is…”

“My name is…”

“His name is…”

We were both stuck for a convincing lie. The awkward silence was getting too much for us.

“His name is Biffwad St Sebastian Muckergee” I said at last. It was quite a relief to get that out I can tell you.

“That all seems in order” said the constable. “Move along gents. Move along.”

“Dennis Brent” began Ian Devine when we were out of earshot. “Who is Biffwad St Sebastian Muckergee?”

“It was just a name I made up on the spur of the moment” I assured him.

“It doesn’t sound like the sort of name you’d make up on the spur of the moment. You haven’t been corresponding with foreign gentlemen have you? Perhaps following up a missing footage lead in a distant land without telling me?”

“Oh look!” I ejaculated as a distraction. “There’s somewhere we haven’t eaten for years.”

“The Dalek CafÈ!” he declared. “A capital idea. It is just the sort of place no one would ever dream of looking for us.”

“A ghastly restaurant but food is food to a starving man such as myself.”