The Fortean Times UFO Research Team

Laurel and Hardy music. Our irrepressible team is here again. Warning: sometimes Prod and Tonto get confused with Dave and Doug, those LBC Radio Presenters who forged corn circles in the 1980s using roach ropes and dog-bollock chains.

FS: Fried Slice, Manager of the Fortean Times

VPM: Village Postmistress

Our three worthies are on yet another Fortean Times expedition to prove the non-existence of UFOS. On this occasion, they stand outside Brentford Leisure Centre gazing up at a disc-shaped object in the sky.

TONTO:    What’s that up there?

PROD:       It’s note.

VPM:         Is it scientific?

PROD:       It’s a load of old bollocks.

TONTO:    But it is not coming down.

PROD:       That’s what I said. Load of old bollocks.

VPM:         (echo) But it is not coming down

PROD:       It will, it will.

TONTO:    Looks like a turnip.

PROD:       It probably is.

TONTO:    It’s spinning.

PROD:       Some bloke with a good mid-wicket arm, brother.  

TONT:       What shall we do? We need help. We’ve got to trash it before the Fortean Times goes to

                 press today. These things can’t be allowed to stay up in the air.

VPM         Allowed?

PROD:       Phone the Fried Slice.

VPM:         The Manager?

PROD:       That’s him. They’ve usually got somebody spare on the UFO trashing team.

VPM:         He’s the Editor.

PROD:       There ‘ain’t no editor. Not no anyroad. There’s a Manager. He’s auto-load. So shurroop.

VPM:         (looks up) A turnip?

TONTO:    Christ, she’s fast.

PROD:       Get on with it, you North Midlands cupcake. Sometimes I think you’re not a proper broother.

TONTO:    (TO MOBILE) Is that the Fortean Times? Can I speak to the Fried Slice, please?

VOICE:     Who?

TONTO:    The Manager.

VOICE:     Oh right, him. He’s here.

PROD:       Is he there? Give me that phone.

FS:           Hello?

PROD:       ‘Owdoo.

FS:           Is that Bolton Wanderer?

PROD:       Listen, you muesli-munching little macaroon, we need some help, savvy?

                 This sodding turnip up in the air is not coming down.

VPM:         (looks up) Got it! It’s a searchlight!

PROD:       (to FS) Did you hear that? Beryl’s on form tonight.

FS:           Sounds like she’s doing well again.

TONTO:    Again?

FS:           I’ll buy that. A turnip. Good. Like that Bennett. He’s a turnip.

PROD:       That Bennett’s as daft as a broosh.

FS:           That’s right.

TONTO:    Let’s get on with it.

PROD:       Get on with what, sunshine?

TONTO:    (to FRIED SLICE) This one’s going to take some trashing. We need Murk. He’s clever.

FS:           Can’t have Murk. He’s out trashing alchemy in the Guardian this week.

PROD:       What about the Strutting Tuffty?

FS:           He’s out trashing the Ashby de la Zouch sightings. And his walking frame is in for de-greasing.

PROD:       What about the Brentford Polonius?

FS:           He’s out with John Harney trashing a Green Man sighting in Middlesborough.

PROD:       Well we’ve gotta do something. There’s summat ‘offer  the chip butty ‘ut in the Leisure Center.

VPM:        And it’s not going away.

PROD:       Beryl, hold thy tongue.

VPM:         Is it the lighting?

TONTO:    That’s just what we need.

PROD:       There’s never no lights in Brentford.

TONTO:    (scribbling) Can I quote you on that?

PROD:       Shurrup. (siezes mobile, speaks to FS) Phone the sceptical conspiracy will you?

FS:           Who dat?

PROD:       The Fire Brigade.

FS:           The bloody what?

PROD:       Gang of Fort. They’ll put down anything that’s magical, mystical, or any of that Chorlton-cum-                  Hardy southern yuppy bollox.

FS:           No can do. They’re all out trashing corn circles this week. Listen –

                 I want this thing reduced to urban legend by four o’clock.

TONTO:    Well bring in the reserves.

FS:           Who dat?

PROD:       The Magonians

FS:          They’re all out trashing Santa Claus for the Christmas edition.

PROD:       Well that’s a good thing.

TONTO:    That’s a very good thing.

VPM:        Santa Claus?

FS:           Got to go now. I am out all this morning trashing alien abductions. Do the best you can.

                 I want whatever it is trashed by 4 o’clock today. We’ve got to keep up the trashing schedules or

                 we’re done for. Taarah, babes in the wood!

BREAK FOR BACON BUTTIES AND UMBONGO DIET FRUITLICKS

VPM:        Father Christmas did he say?

TONTO     (MUNCH) Urban legend Beryl, Just an urban legend.

PROD:       (to VPM) You see forks see these films you see, they see these films, they do. (MUNCH)

VPM:         Urban legends?

TONTO:    I knew you’d say that.

PROD:       She’s fast tonight.

VPM:         What are they?

PROD:       Films, just films, Beryl. You see forks see these films. And TV,

                 and they start seeing things they see in the films. (with pride) How about that?

TONTO:    Remarkable.

PROD:       You see they see the things they see.

VPM:         Did he say babes in the wood?

PROD:       Aliens. babes in the wood. Don’t matter. Cinderella anything. Just stories

VPM:         Aliens? Cinderella?

TONTO:    She’s hot tonight.

PROD:       You see in realitoy they’re not there. You see in realitoy there’s no such things as the

                  things they say they see.

VPM:          I’m not quite sure I know what you mean.

TONTO:    That’s unusual.

PROD:       You see they get stuffed like Christmas turkeys with all this American stuff and they

                 don’t know dream from cold realitoy.

TONTO:    Why is reality always cold?

PROD:       Because it’s the truth. The truth is always cold. Didn’t you know that you little Leicester pratt?

TONTO:    Actually, it’s Leeds.

PROD:       Don’t matter. Everything’s got palm trees on it till you get to Wigan.

VPM:          Reality is cold?

PROD:       That’s right. And nasty, That’s the truth. If it’s not ‘orrible, it can’t be the truth, can it?

                 Realitoy is awful is realitoy.

VPM:          Why?

PROD:       Because it is. You can always feel the pain of truth and realitoy.

                 That’s your illusions all going, that is.  There you stand naked. The painful the more truthful it is.

TONTO:    (WINKS AT VPM) I didn’t know you were a religious man, Prod.

PROD:       Shurroop, you Sheffield yuppy.

TONTO:    Where?

PROD:       You only know it’s the truth when you are trembling with fear and guilt. And you don’t get many of those for a pound.

All them daft dreams fantasies and illusions and ufoars should be stripped from everybody.

VPM:                Is it psycho-social?

TONTO:    Jesus Christ.

PROD:       Don’t use them long educated weirds with me, Beryl,

                 Them that uses them’s not real persons. That’s not realitoy.

                 You’ll be seeing them ufoars if you go all sunday supplement. You’ll be like them forks that

                 see these films and TV programmes and they get all them ufoars and fairies and aliens

                 and God only knows what crap inside of ‘em. You see they’ve got a need to believe,

                 that’s what they’ve got.

TONTO:    Is there such a thing as the need to disbelieve?

PROD:       Shurroop, you Leicester dickhead.

TONTO:    It’s Leeds, actually.

PROD:       Stop trying to be clever-clever. In an case, only the working class is real.

                 There’s none of your ufoar nonsense with the working class.

                  It’s them educated bastards that does all the dreaming and the fantasies.

                  Heads stuffed full of that there over-educated roobish. You see they read all these books and-

VPM and TONTO (together)

                 They start seeing things that are not there in realitoy.

PROD:       That’s right. And they get confused. And it all has to be sorted out.

                 The fantasies have to be separated from the realitoy.

TONTO     But they enjoy fantasies.

PROD:       Exactly. That’s why they’re untrue.

TONTO:    The truth can’t be enjoyed?

PROD:       Of course it can’t. The truth is always terrible.

VPM:         Why?

PROD:       Because that’s the way of things. You see they have to be told.

                 They get what they see mixed up with the films and the TV, We have a mission

VPM:          What’s that?

PROD:       Get rid of the nut cases and there will stand the shining truth.

TONTO:    Well I never.

VPM:         That’ll be fun

TONTO:    Are you sure?

PROD:       We’ve got to get back to peasant truths, brother. Only the poor is real.

TONTO:    Can I quote you on that? I got a raise last year. Did I get more unreal?

PROD:       Very probably brother, very probably.

VPM:         I didn’t earn anything.

PROD:       Well go down on thy knees Beryl, and praise thy Protestant Lord.

                As you go up in price, you go up in ufoars.

TONTO:    You could sell that.

PROD:       Consumer expectations, that’s what them ufoars are.

VPM:                I’ll have to think about that.

TONTO:    (to PROD) Christ, you’ve got her thinking. Can you do it again?

PROD:       Sufficient unto the day, broother. Sufficient unto the day.

VPM:                I’ll get rid of it.

TONTO:    You will?

                SHE MAKES SIGN OF CROSS, TURNIP DISAPPEARS.

TONTO:    Jesus Christ.

PROD:       Beryl, I always knew you were a bit suspicious. We’ll have to dip you in the bloody pond, that we will. Can’t have this happen can we?

TONTO:    No!

PROD:       Nor Beryl, let’s start from the beginning shall we? When did this little sprite enter thy tiny breast, girl?

                (interrogation of Beryl continues next issue)

RAIN.

The Team pack up jam-jars nutterfly nets and knap sacks, and hail a cab to take them to the Fortean Times for a sceptical conference.