sorrow and deprivation, the dawn of a new
tomorrow. Why, we’ll have an Englishman on the moon by nineteen sixty and a
queen who’ll rule the whole wide world. Will you do it, Felix? Will you do it?’
‘Oh
yes,’ said Felix. ‘I will.’
And so
he did. And the rest, as they say, is history.
THE END
Oh no.
Sorry.
There
were two pages stuck together. And some crossings out.
That is not the end of the story.
‘Oh yes,’ said Felix, ‘I
will.’ He didn’t mean to say it, but it just came out. The truth of the matter
was that Felix was becoming very very uncomfortable. It now occurred to him
that he was getting in well over his head on this one. But old habits do die
very hard, so Felix went on to say, ‘I just knew you were going to say that.’
‘Of
course you did.’ The chap behind the desk’s head bobbed up and down in the
manner of a nodding dog in a Cortina rear window (whatever happened to them?).
‘So you
will therefore have realized that what we must do, must be done.’
‘Er,’
said Felix. ‘Mm, yes.’
‘Good.
Good. We have, of course, prepared the isolation chamber. It is constructed
entirely of wood so that no interference will reach you. A special bath of
sterile solution has been constructed to contain your brain, it will float
upon this, wired up to an electrical contrivance that will channel its
brainwaves through—’
And so
on and so forth and Felix listened, somewhat slack-jawed and all agape.
‘And
with your naked unfettered brain, world domination should be a piece of pork
pie, as it were,’ the chap concluded.
And his
words hung in the air like drying laundry.
‘A
piece of pork pie.’ Felix’s slackened jaw became all wibbly-wobbly. He was
indeed in this thing well over his head. In fact, this thing was going to cost
him his head.
This
man, this we; because it was definitely a we rather than a me, was going to do for him good and proper and Felix now knew for absolutely
good and proper and certain that there was about as much chance of he himself
really being one of these so called Alpha Men as there was of him piloting the
aforementioned English moonship.
‘Well,’
said the truly rattled Felix, ‘this has really been most interesting, but I
think I must be off about my business now. Things to do, people to see, you
know how it is.’
‘Things
to think,’ said the chap. ‘People to mould.’
‘That’s
not exactly what I said, nor what I meant.’ ‘We know exactly what you
mean.’
‘I don’t
think you do. Honestly I don’t.’
‘Let’s
get you down to pre-med,’ said the chap.
‘Oh no,
let’s don’t!’
And
then there was some unpleasantness. Felix rose to take his leave. The chap rose
to stop him, there was some pushing and shoving and then there was some
punching and running. The latter all the work of Felix.
Monday
morning and ten of that clock found a most worried Felix sipping at his tea and
declining his Bourbon biscuit.
‘Did
you have a nice weekend, Felix?’ Norman’s voice was that of the condemned
prisoner who asks the captain of the firing squad what tomorrow’s weather
forecast is.
But
instead of the usual, ‘Well, on Saturday I’m off down the boozer and what do I
see but someone wearing the very shoes I’ve had in my mind to put on the market
for months now,’ there came a dismal groan and a sad little voice that said, ‘Bad
news, Norman. Bad news.’
‘I
suppose you know my wife broke her leg?’
‘No.’
Norman
slumped back in his utility office chair. ‘No, Felix? What do you mean,
no?’
Felix
shook his head. ‘Well, how would I know? No-one told me.’ And then Felix
went on to tell Norman all about the Ministry of Serendipity and his escape and
his running along railway tunnels and falling down and taking the knee out of
his trousers and having to go back to the dry-cleaners to discover that a steam
iron had been left on his best ones and burned the bum out and how he was a
doomed man
tomorrow. Why, we’ll have an Englishman on the moon by nineteen sixty and a
queen who’ll rule the whole wide world. Will you do it, Felix? Will you do it?’
‘Oh
yes,’ said Felix. ‘I will.’
And so
he did. And the rest, as they say, is history.
THE END
Oh no.
Sorry.
There
were two pages stuck together. And some crossings out.
That is not the end of the story.
‘Oh yes,’ said Felix, ‘I
will.’ He didn’t mean to say it, but it just came out. The truth of the matter
was that Felix was becoming very very uncomfortable. It now occurred to him
that he was getting in well over his head on this one. But old habits do die
very hard, so Felix went on to say, ‘I just knew you were going to say that.’
‘Of
course you did.’ The chap behind the desk’s head bobbed up and down in the
manner of a nodding dog in a Cortina rear window (whatever happened to them?).
‘So you
will therefore have realized that what we must do, must be done.’
‘Er,’
said Felix. ‘Mm, yes.’
‘Good.
Good. We have, of course, prepared the isolation chamber. It is constructed
entirely of wood so that no interference will reach you. A special bath of
sterile solution has been constructed to contain your brain, it will float
upon this, wired up to an electrical contrivance that will channel its
brainwaves through—’
And so
on and so forth and Felix listened, somewhat slack-jawed and all agape.
‘And
with your naked unfettered brain, world domination should be a piece of pork
pie, as it were,’ the chap concluded.
And his
words hung in the air like drying laundry.
‘A
piece of pork pie.’ Felix’s slackened jaw became all wibbly-wobbly. He was
indeed in this thing well over his head. In fact, this thing was going to cost
him his head.
This
man, this we; because it was definitely a we rather than a me, was going to do for him good and proper and Felix now knew for absolutely
good and proper and certain that there was about as much chance of he himself
really being one of these so called Alpha Men as there was of him piloting the
aforementioned English moonship.
‘Well,’
said the truly rattled Felix, ‘this has really been most interesting, but I
think I must be off about my business now. Things to do, people to see, you
know how it is.’
‘Things
to think,’ said the chap. ‘People to mould.’
‘That’s
not exactly what I said, nor what I meant.’ ‘We know exactly what you
mean.’
‘I don’t
think you do. Honestly I don’t.’
‘Let’s
get you down to pre-med,’ said the chap.
‘Oh no,
let’s don’t!’
And
then there was some unpleasantness. Felix rose to take his leave. The chap rose
to stop him, there was some pushing and shoving and then there was some
punching and running. The latter all the work of Felix.
Monday
morning and ten of that clock found a most worried Felix sipping at his tea and
declining his Bourbon biscuit.
‘Did
you have a nice weekend, Felix?’ Norman’s voice was that of the condemned
prisoner who asks the captain of the firing squad what tomorrow’s weather
forecast is.
But
instead of the usual, ‘Well, on Saturday I’m off down the boozer and what do I
see but someone wearing the very shoes I’ve had in my mind to put on the market
for months now,’ there came a dismal groan and a sad little voice that said, ‘Bad
news, Norman. Bad news.’
‘I
suppose you know my wife broke her leg?’
‘No.’
Norman
slumped back in his utility office chair. ‘No, Felix? What do you mean,
no?’
Felix
shook his head. ‘Well, how would I know? No-one told me.’ And then Felix
went on to tell Norman all about the Ministry of Serendipity and his escape and
his running along railway tunnels and falling down and taking the knee out of
his trousers and having to go back to the dry-cleaners to discover that a steam
iron had been left on his best ones and burned the bum out and how he was a
doomed man
Similar Books
