The NON-CANONICAL PART OF The Secret Diary of Dennis Brent

Editor's note - December was supposed to be the final month of "The Secret Diary of Dennis Brent". I wrote the first draft and then got cold feet about the direction I'd taken it. So I started again and produced the version you will no doubt already have read to your children as they sat, agog, on your knee. I thought the alternative version long since lost but it surfaced in the basement of a Mormon church on an old backup CD and wasn't as awful as I remembered it being. It was obviously a mistake but not so painful a mistake as I had thought. So, via the split screen magic that has made 24 what it is today (the poor relation of an infinitely more popular annual on-line serial), we give you both versions of "Early December" in the original diaries of Dennis Brent.

30th November

I haven't written for a few days as work has been terribly dull. My equal co-manager Brian and I have been avoiding each other. He feels terribly silly over what happens and can't bear to look me in the face. If it weren't for him going out drinking every night with Elkie and Elka I'd worry about him. The flow of customers has petered out and I spend my day sorting and resorting the books. On my own. It's not as much fun doing it alone. It has given me time to think. I will admit to you - My Journal - that some of the thoughts I've had have been of a confusing nature. I keep coming back to the same, terrible, conclusion - I have never been happier than when I was "hanging out" with my equal co-manager Brian Creswell. He understands the importance of proper organisation. He knows the difference between a script and a camera script. He knows the complete Missing Adventures catalogue by heart. Good lord, he can even sort New Adventures into order while wearing a blindfold. He uses nothing more than the thickness of each book. He is an amazing man. I even suspect that the sense of loss that I felt when Elkie left me is as naught compared to the feelings I have when Brian avoids me. I am so confused. I've just spent an hour explaining all this to William Hartnell and I think I have, on balance, come to a decision. I will have it out with my equal co-manager Brian tomorrow morning.

1st December

I got to Outpost Bendaton at my usual, punctual two minutes to nine and stood behind the counter in preparation for Brian Creswell's appearance at the slightly less punctual nine o'clock. As was his way, he tried to avoid me by sneaking in through the rear cat flap but I'd nailed it shut the night before. I was resolute that he was going to meet me face to face when he arrived.

"Good morning Brian" I said in a businesslike manner.

"Ah... yes... Dennis... I..." he stammered.

"Brian" I snapped, weary of his Hugh Grant-esque nervous stutter. "Get it out man."

"So you've reconsidered?" he said hopefully. I didn't follow his train of thought at all.

"Brian - Mr Creswell" I began, "I've enjoyed working at Outpost Bendaton these past weeks and I have come, in that time, to regard you as someone I met on many occasions. Such is my enjoyment at our regular meetings that I am prepared to forgive you for being a h-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-l as long as you don't force it down my throat. H-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-l-s have always proved a pain in the backside for me and, although I could scarcely be less prejudiced, I find it hard when thinking about you. I meant TO think about you." Freudian slip number one I feared.

"What are you trying to say Dennis?" asked Brian.

"I would like nothing better than to carry on cuddling with you... WORKING with you but I'm afraid that the love between us... MISUNDERSTANDING between us has created an unpleasant situation which thrusts away at me... EATS away at me" I was becoming flustered. I may have committed Freudian slip number two.

"Dennis..." he began.

"I'm going to kiss you... MISS you Brian but I'm going down now... OUT now. I may need to pop back in for a damn good seeing to... REFERENCE but now I'm off." Having made me decision I promptly turned and walked through the door. Well, into the door actually as I'd been too distracted to open it. I remember everything going white and then nothing.

I woke some time later with an intense pain in my nose and Brian Creswell's tongue in my mouth.

"What on earth...?" I tried to say. I had his tongue in my mouth so it came out rather garbled.

"Dennis" He cried, you're alive.

"OF course I'm alive - what do you think you're doing?"

"The kiss of life - it's worked too. Oh I'm so happy"

"Obviously I'm happy that I - Dennis Brent - am alive but I fail to see what your... what your..." my righteous indignation tank was empty. Perhaps it was the concussion, perhaps it wasn't but I looked Brian in the eyes (which was rather a struggle with double vision) and kissed him. It wasn't as unpleasant a sensation as I'd been expecting. Indeed, it was rather nice (for an act of sinful deviancy). It was Brian's turn to look rather flabbergasted.

"Dennis... I..." he was doing a lot of stammering.

"No one must ever know about this" I warned. "I am a figure with considerable local influence - if you tell anyone I can guarantee you'll never open another televisual memorabilia shop in Bendaton."

"Whatever you say Dennis."

"And I want you to change my contract of employment so we are officially - as well as unofficially - equal co-managers of Outpost Bendaton."

"Whatever you say Dennis."

"When we are alone, in THAT way, you will answer to the name Elkie. That way I won't be committing any h-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-l acts."

"Whatever you say Dennis."

"Now, I would like a cup of coffee please Brian."

"Yes Dennis" and he skipped off to the small kitchen at the back of the staff room.

But the really interesting part of the day was finding a pristine 1965 Dalek Soap cake - it was part of an order of curios which arrived at the shop and Brian insisted I accept it as a token of his manly friendship. It has taken its rightful place in my Ephemeral Room (the place where I keep all merchandise which could, potentially, be used up - such as chocolate bars, breakfast cereals and edible underwear).

4th December

I have been asked to take part in the annual Bendaton Christmas Fun Evening. I suspected that it might have been another one of those pranks at my expense but I've checked it out and it's all above board. It is to be a pantomime based entertainment and I will be playing the male lead - Dicken. The script originally said "Dick" but that is rude hence me making the name more sensible and removing any innuendo. So my character - Dicken Fudgetunnel - lives with two pantomime dames - Connie and Anna Lingus - and the usual comical antics ensue. The role of glamorous oriental female lead - Kimona Sukmi - is still vacant and I'm hoping to persuade Elkie to join the cast. I've brought the script home to tweak it - I may dust off my wombat joke if the advance sales are good enough to warrant it.

7th December

My equal co-manager Brian has asked me to arrange the combined Bendaton DWAS Group and Outpost Bendaton Christmas Party. Normally, so he said, they go to the Elk and Bush for a pint of lager beer and a game of dominoes before going off to Nobbem and it's famous night club "Jizzard". This year, according to Brian, they want something different and I've been chosen to arrange it. I am in a difficult position - my ideal night would involve watching Evil of the Daleks (my friend Iain Devine having remixed the audio so it is in perfect 6.1 Surround Sound) and eating sensible bangers & mash. This would, for obvious reasons, be unsuitable for the DWAS chaps as they still foolishly believe the episodes to be lost. I would sooner eat my socks than visit a night club like Jizzard (and dominoes makes my head spin). I've put my thinking cap and I'm sure I'll think of something original and imaginative.

8th December

I told my equal co-manager Brian about my idea for the Christmas Party - a lively discussion about Doctor Who - and he rolled his sea blue eyes.

"Dennis" he said, putting a discreet hand on my knee and squeezing gently, "that's what they spend the entire year doing. Can't you think of something else?"

"What about a fascinating technical lecture?"

"Something fun"

"That would be fun."

"Fun for other people."

"We could get Paul Cornell up for a celebrity reading."

"It's not terribly Christmassy."

"A Doctor Who chess tournament"

"It's been done."

"With the twist that he who wins shall lose?"

"Dennis - have you ever had a proper night out?"

"I've had many fascinating..."

"Any evening you describe as 'fascinating' is, by definition, not a proper night out. Let me take you somewhere wild."

"I prefer sensible to wild."

"I know - it's time to let your hair down. There's a cool little place I know in Shagford - 'Flashers' - it'll be right up your street"

"It sounds awful."

"It'll be fun. I'll pick you up at eight."

My equal co-manager Brian would listen to no sensible argument against the plan. I am just about to put my second best suit on and join him in his Volvo. What have I let myself in for?

9th December

My head feels like it needs scaffolding. I fear I may have had as many as five pints of lager beer last night and I feel one step away from death. The "night club" proposed by my equal co-boyfriend Brian... equal co-manager Brian, was garish and surreal - much like Claws of Axos <g> Several of Brian's friends were there so I insisted we keep a discrete distance. Oddly he seemed to be in favour of such a move when he was around people he knew - he is terribly thoughtful. As the night went on, the various jolly people around us began taking their clothes off - I refrained from joining in (not because I am a prude, it was because my sensible tweed jacket would be a prime target for thieves). I can't even confide in you - My Journal - as to what they began doing once they were disclothed. I'm not opposed to fun, just the excesses of fun - why can't sensible fun be in fashion, just for once? My friend Brian seemed to enjoy himself - after seeing him writhe manfully around on the dance floor, his toned body hugged by his tight shirt and his sky blue eyes shining in the darkness - I felt I needed a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately the bouncers wouldn't let me back in to the "night club" and I had to spend the next four and a half hours waiting outside for my equal co-friend Brian to emerge. I don't think that the Doctor Who fans of Bendaton are ready for such a place. It's looking more likely to be a fascinating technical lecture after all <g>

14th December

I am writing this standing up as "Elkie" and I became intimate last night. I refuse to say any more on the grounds that I might incriminate myself.

15th December

Disaster - I haven't got time to write much but I am being blackmailed. My friend Iain Devine says a friend of a friend of an acquaintance of his saw myself and my equal co-lover Brian in the nightclub and he's threatening to tell the BBC Internet Message Board. He's after William Hartnell and, unless I can come up with a plan, he's going to get him. Life is so cruel.

A freak gust of wind caught me in the face and its drying power caused my eyes to water in a defence mechanism. Obviously. I went round to the back of the shop and picked up the flask. Naturally the coffee had gone cold after two days but it was the thought that counted. I took it home and put it in my cryogenic unit. Something within me wanted to preserve the last remnants of my time at Outpost Bendaton. With Brian Creswell.

3rd December

The time has come to put my mind to good use - Christmas shopping beckoned. I had a large number of presents on my list but, once I'd crossed out Elkie, Jennifer Morgan-Dalby and Brian Creswell, it left only Father, Mother and my brother Donald. Oh and my friend Iain Devine. I went to the local Bargainsave to pick out something special for my family and a remarkable chain of events unfolded.

Firstly, father. I toyed with buying him a jumper (two for five pounds - I could keep the nicer one for myself) but they only had Small and Extra Small and we Brents lean to the well built side. Then I considered a scientific calculator, an economy sized box of toilet rolls (fifty for three pounds), a stuffed moose (too many painful memories for me), a My Little Pony and a novelty Afro American style wig. But none of these cost effective items seemed appropriate for Father. In the end I decided to get him a bottle of sherry (I didn't even know the Upper Volta made sherry).

I only see mother once a year and, thus, know very little about what she likes. I took the advice of someone I once saw on television and bought her a bag of flour. It wasn't until I got home that I thought, maybe, they had meant flowers. I've decided to give her the bottle of sherry and father can have a copy of my new book. He'll like that. No he won't.

Next I had the straight forward task of buying something for my friend Iain Devine. The beauty of Bargainsave is that I could purchase a pie as big as my friend Iain Devine's head and still have change from a pound coin. The eat-by date was the 10th December but my friend Iain Devine has the stomach of a mountain goat. A very fat mountain goat.

My brother Donald, being such a bore, is a pain in the collar bone to buy gifts for. The annoying thing is that Outpost Bendaton has (drat - HAD) a marvellous chocolate Spock which Donald would've adored. I ended up getting him a gnome. It's not a terribly good gnome but it's the thought that counts.

Finally I bought some mince pies, a selection box and a six inch plastic Christmas tree. It came prepacked with decorations so I don't need to mess about with any of that nasty tinsel. I remember once, at school, being trussed up and dangled upside down during the festive season and it was all done with tinsel. I won't repeat where they found to hang the b-a-l-l-s.

I was stood in the queue to pay for my goods but there was no one there to take my money. I am Dennis Brent - I am not a man to be trifled with. I took the initiative and made use of the convenient microphone on the shopping assistant’s till.

"Excuse me" I boomed, my voice echoing around Bargainsave. "My name is Dennis Brent and I wish to be served. Please send a prole to the till. Thank you".

A small, harassed looking woman bounded over and took my basket from me. Before I could pay for my purchases, I was bundled out of the store by security. I stood outside the doors and shouted that I wanted my things. The security guard threw the basket at me and it was only my speed in dropping my head that prevented the basket striking me in the chest. I was considering writing a strongly worded letter of protest when a man approached me.

"My name is Roberts - I work for Bendaton FM. I heard you on the tannoy and I think you have a very good voice Mr Brent."

I explained that I had perfected my vocal skills in my days at the technical college - during our two acclaimed comedic revues. He suggested I join him for a try out at the headquarters of Bendaton FM (which, I learned, also serves the nearby villages of Shagford and Cymm). I think I have really fallen on my feet here - no sooner does Outpost Bendaton fall by the wayside than an even more exciting offer presents itself. My friend Iain Devine may have handled the members of several "boy bands" but I am going to be a genuine show business star <g>

7th December

I had an interview at Bendaton FM (or "Bendaton FM also covering the villages of Shagford and Cymm" as I will have to get used to calling it "on air" <g>). I have been offered the prestigious "drive time" slot of 3 to 5 pm and I am greatly looking forward to it. I have begun to draw up programme ideas - I'm going to have a "fact of the day" slot where the proles can listen to me telling them an interesting technical fact every day. There will be a recipe slot where the proles can ring in and suggest recipes that are suitable for the single gentleman (my diet is terribly dull). I will provoke controversy by having a heated debate every day on a subject of local interest - my first will be "Lichma Valley - beauty spot or eye sore". I am going to be the greatest thing to happen to Bendaton since they hired 'Midders in the Morning' (who has legally changed his name to 'Midders in the Morning' I was appalled to learn). I might even invite my friend the open minded vicar on for a religious spot. He'd put a few cats amongst the dogmatic pigeons and no mistake.

8th December

Note - it is 3 to 5 AM not PM. This is an even better slot as people won't be distracted by driving and will be able to give my programme their full attention.

10th December

Midders in the Morning gave me some useful tips on the eve of my broadcasting debut. He told me to be myself, to always look for the red light, to avoid 'dead air' and never to play 'God Save the Queen' by the S-e-x Pistols as a Bendaton bylaw made that song illegal in 1977. Anyone caught playing it can, according to Midders in the Morning, be banished from the village for a period of not-less-than a year. Midders in the Morning is my new best friend.

I can hardly believe my luck. I've just received a telephone message from Bendaton FM (also covering the villages of Shagford and Cymm) to let me know that television actor (and the fifth Doctor Who) Peter Davison will be my guest on my very first show. He is promoting his pantomime entertainment at the Regal Theatre in Thrustyn-cum-Hardy. I will ask him all manner of fascinating technical questions. I am so excited - it's like Christmas must be to prole children.

11th December

My debut was going very well - my friend Midders in the Morning gave me very good advice. I didn't play that record by the S-e-x Pistols, I didn't leave any dead air and my telephone-in about parking in Humpers Court had the phone lines boiling. Then Mr Davison arrived, looking rather dashing for 4.41 in the morning. I started out asking him about his casting for Doctor Who (paying particular attention to the exact times he quoted - I picked him up on thirty seven factual errors and the angry look on his face betrayed the frustration he had with his failing memory). Then, suddenly, he took a bite of his apple and began to cough. His coughing turned to chocking and I did the only thing I could.

"Let me through" I called, dashing over the desk and pushing a bystander to one side.

"Do you know first aid?" asked the crumpled prole.

"First aid?" I said without thinking, "No no - if he dies, I want him for my cryogenic unit"

The prole clearly didn't understand my long words and kept trying to squeeze Mr Davison's body. This was no time for American style 'group hugs'. Eventually some security arrived and bizarrely chose to bundle me out of the studio. Some paramedics arrived and Mr Davison's dangerous shard of apple was extracted. I saw my chance to get one over on my friend Iain Devine slip away as the life returned to Mr Davison's lungs. Don't get me wrong - I'm pleased he is still alive - but since everyone has to die at some point, why couldn't he have the good fortune to join my cryogenic collection?

Mr Roberts of Bendaton FM (etc) called me into his office.

"Dennis Brent" he began. "That was quite a debut."

"Thank you Mr Roberts" I replied.

"In fact, it was so successful I don't think we should even try to top it. You have reached the pinnacle of your broadcasting career in record time."

"Thank you Mr Roberts" I replied with some pride.

"Good bye Dennis Brent" he said.

"See you tomorrow Mr Roberts" I replied.

"No Dennis Brent - goodbye."

There were two security guards waiting outside Mr Roberts' office and they bundled me out of the building.

12th December

I feel hard done by over the radio station business - can you honestly look at my actions and see cause for dismissal? Neither can I. I consulted my solicitor immediately and told him I wanted to file a claim for unfair dismissal. His eyes shone, pound signs flashing in a cartoon manner. I explained exactly what happened. He made a quick phone call and his burly junior bundled me out of the office.

Life is so unfair.