JACK Flopp found himself dismissed from Loughborough University after failing to complete a thesis entitled Finding The Focus of an Elephant's Fart, something he claimed was essential to his studies in colonstery.

Now, relaxing at home and eating his 43^rd TV dinner of the day he pondered on the events at Woodhenge. He wondered too how he had even been accepted into the New World Order Party party.

He'd claimed scientific status and applied to join the party as scientific adviser. He'd written his application and CV in microscopic Braille print on the toe of an African tree ant to prove he knew a thing or two about science. The CV was never read.

He'd inquired if his application and CV had been approved and was told that no CV had been received but the girl opening his envelope nearly fainted when something like a huge ant fell to her desk. She'd immediately clouted it with the old, extremely heavy antique cast iron Remington typewriter she kept on her desk as a paperweight then hurriedly scooped up the flattened remains and consigned them into the paper shredder.

"Oh. Sorry," Jack had said into the telephone on hearing the news.

Major John Smith Beecham-Nurd told him not to concern himself about it and asked when would he be available to start work as nobody knew a blind thing about science anyway so it really didn't matter what he said - the fact that he was scientific adviser would mean everyone would simply scientifically accept whatever he said.

"We have a major event coming up in the next few days and your assistance could be invaluable," Beecham-Nurd told Jack in conspiratorial tones.

So Jack found himself at Woodhenge. He'd been roped into the pantomime cow act when the original person booked for the part reported in for the job with diarrhea and his tail end partner refused to work with him, citing articles taken from his Equity contract.

 

 

to be continued...