The Secret Diary of Dennis Brent - Volume II

10th February

I had the shock of my life this morning. I was in the middle of a dream where I found the design schematics for Bonnie Langford at the back of a cupboard when I opened my eyes and my friend Iain Devine’s enormous face filled my field of vision.

“Hoy” I called. “That’s not cricket.” He merely beamed at me.

“Good morning, Dennis Brent” he said. He took a small box out of his pocket and offered it to me.

“Is this a proposal, Iain Devine ?” I asked, my mind still cloudy from sleep.

“Ho ho ho” he boomed. “Richly comic, Dennis Brent. This is the ring you asked me to get for you from Mr Nutglove’s shop.”

“My ring ?” I gasped. “But how?”

“Over the years it has become necessary for me to acquire certain expertises in gaining entry to facilities which would sooner I didn’t have access.”

“You broke in to Mr Nutglove’s shop?”

“Yes but only to retrieve property which he had stolen from you.”

“What a clever Iain Devine you are” I said, overjoyed.

“Yes – I am aren’t I” he beamed again. Our lips quivered for a moment and I could swear our heads tilted towards one and other. Then my tea-is-made went off and we were both showered with boiling hot water. It’s never been the same since E-l-k-i-e urinated all over it.


11th February

I returned to Mr Penistone’s office with a briefcase of legal money. I noticed that he hadn’t had his desk repaired, merely slid a blotter over the chipped portion.

“Mr Brent – still disappointingly shit free I see.”

“Good morning Mr Penistone. Here is fifty thousand pounds.” I had taken the ring to a more reputable jewellery shop and secured a much better deal. I had taken Iain Devine with me to act as my witness. If they’d tried to diddle me I am sure that no one in Bendaton would’ve dared doubt the joint word of Dennis Brent and my friend Iain Devine. Two more upstanding members of the community you could not wish to meet.

“Sadly this all seems in order” sighed Mr Penistone. I showed him my latest statement, he did some sums and the end result was that Dennis was officially declared a debt free man. I whooped with joy and did a little dance. The best Mr Penistone could say through his tightly knotted teeth was “Let this be a lesson to you.” I immediately went round to meet my friend Iain Devine at the Elk and Bush and “stood” him a pint of real ale. We drank until gone eight pm and it was a happy and carefree Dennis who arrived back at Brent Towers some twenty minutes later.


14th February

I have spent most of the past few days in bed, recovering from the stresses and strains of recent life. I brought a big stack of previously unseen camera scripts with me and read them from dawn until dusk every day with only the dodging of the jet of hot water from the tea-is-made to worry about. I have decided to go ahead with my plan to write a proper “Doctor Who” novel. I have written to my friend Terrance Dicks to ask his advices. He is, in my opinion, the finest novelist in the English language bar none.


16th February

Terrance Dicks replied to my outline for “The Seven Doctors” with a rather tart note saying he couldn’t advise it. He suggested I come up with a new idea and, instead of sending it to him, I should send it to his friend Barry Letts. I immediately came up with a fresh proposal and sent it to Barry Letts. My new idea is to do a sequel to Keys of Marinus where the Doctor and his companions join forces with six of his other selves to find nine more keys on the planet Marinus. The Daleks having arrived to try and get the keys for themselves to power their new Time Eliminator weapon.


18th February

Barry Letts wrote a very encouraging letter back in which he said he hoped I continue to create new plots and that it might be better for me to send them to his friend Justin Richards. I immediately came up with an entirely new storyline (where Doctors 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8 and 11 join forces to battle the Daleks and the sinister Council of Masters – where Masters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 and 13 join together to take over the Universe). I sent it to my friend Terrance Dicks’s friend Barry Letts’s friend Justin Richards. I’m sure he’ll like it.


20th February

Justin Richards sent back a very encouraging letter which told me that my story line wasn’t quite what they were looking for (I obviously don’t conform with their narrow ideas about Doctor Who) but suggested that I should send any future ideas to his friend Jacqueline Rayner. I was about to come up with another amazing plot for a novel when I had an idea for a fascinating technical book. I put my fiction plans on hold while I start researching “Doctor Who – Blondes, Chemical Blondes and a Rainbow of Shades” by Dennis Brent. I telephoned my friend Iain Devine and he was most keen to join the project in a junior research position. A very junior research position. I must remember to stress that during our interview tomorrow.


21st February

I met up with my friend Iain Devine at the Elk and Bush. I was going to give him a proper grilling to discover his suitability for the junior research vacancy but I could tell from the furrowed brow which capped off his blubbery face that something was amiss.

“Is something amiss, Iain Devine ?” I asked caringly.

“Oh Dennis – disaster has struck.”

I sipped my half of real ale and asked him what was the matter. “My cryogenic unit’s fuse went last night.”

“Surely that is only a minor repair, Iain Devine” I told him.

“Oh Dennis – I wish it were that simple. The fuse caused the unit to thaw out. The water from the unit flooded my basement. The flood caused my entire fuse box to explode. This then led to my central heating blowing up which fractured my water tank and my entire home has been flooded.”

“Is this an excuse for not having your wallet, Iain Devine ?” I asked, eying my friend suspiciously.

“Not at all Dennis – I have my wallet here.” He emptied his pocket – one soiled handkerchief, one British Pie Society Diary, a signed photograph of Gary Barlow and, finally, his wallet. It was stuffed with fifty pound notes (as if that was meant to impress me). He handed me a note and said I should buy myself another half pint of real ale while I was at the bar.

While I was waiting for service, an idea struck me. “I bet my friend Iain Devine is wanting to stay with me while his house dries out” I said to myself. I weighed up the pros and cons (the first time “weighed” has been used about Iain Devine in a long time <g>).

Pros

1. We could have fascinating technical discussions
2. I would be working in the sewers if it wasn’t for my friend Iain Devine
3. The place is rather lonely without E-l-k-i-e and some company might be quite pleasant
4. He is cheaper than a burglar alarm. I have much valuable property and leaving Iain Devine in the house when I nip down to see Mr Dicksniff about a prescription or feed the ducks in Bendaton Park would be a weight off my mind
5. He is not a h-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-l (or if he is, he hasn’t shoved it down my throat)
6. I can try and twist his tastes away from Take That to someone more sophisticated like Slade.

Cons

1. He will cost me money as he eats like a pack of horses
2. He can be an awful bore
3. He isn’t my best friend any more – that honour goes to Midders in the Morning (who I haven’t seen for a while now I come to think about it)
4. He might be a h-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-l – I’ve never seen him “date” a woman
5. He might use my computer and, taking some of the open minded sites I visit out of context, draw childish conclusions
6. He belches publicly in the style of a prole

The columns were equal. Miss Toadfrump gave me my two half pints of real ale and I returned to our table.

“Do you have any alternative accommodation planned, Iain Devine ?” I asked.

“Well Dennis, I had hoped… since we’ve been friends for so many years…”

“…that I might recommend an hotel?” I asked, teasing my chubby colleague.

“Not as such – I was more hoping you could see your way to… possibly…”

“…asking my father if you can stay with him?” I was being terribly cruel <g>

“I’d prefer it if you might…”

“…let you sleep in E-l-k-i-e-‘-s stable ?” Bad Dennis <vbg>

His fat lower lip began to wobble pathetically.

“Would you like to sleep with me?” I asked heartily.

The Elk and Bush went silent. The “jukebox” suddenly stopped blaring out popular music, the dishwasher cut out and all conversations paused, often mid-word.

“Sleep at my house” I mumbled by way of a clarification. The “jukebox” sprang back into life and the silence evaporated.

“Oh Dennis – I would be delighted” beamed Iain Devine.


27th February

Iain Devine has been living with me for nearly a week now and it has been so much fun that I haven't had time to write so much as a word in my diary. We have been staying up past midnight discussing fascinating technical matters, watching his newly remastered DVDs of Fury From the Deep (with added footage which the proles don’t even know was recorded, let alone still exists in <cough> private hands <g>) and generally behaving in a carefree manner. It is just like it used to be when I was at the technical college and a beatnik student. My friend Iain Devine (who is now my best friend again since Midders in the Morning doesn’t answer his front door) and I have decided that we’ll be “housemates” for as long as it takes Iain Devine’s builders to repair his mansion. They say it could take years <vbg>


28th February

Disaster. I took a telephone call from my friend Iain Devine’s builders to say that the water damage was only superficial and he can move back in in a few days. I have been enjoying having him live with me so much that I bribed the builder to damage the gas, water and electricity connections to ensure that Devine Masions is uninhabitable for at least the next six months. Does this make me a bad person? I was feeling vexed as I mused this question by the very same Iain Devine suggested we visit the BBC Wales archives and spend the day researching. This soon put paid to my qualms and we had the best day I’ve had since the days of Outpost Bendaton.