Personal Blogs

After Kelvin had been asleep for a few hours, I decided to go to the bathroom.  I don’t have to pee if I don’t want to, but it is easier for me if I do.  I extricated myself from him without waking him up.  I didn’t turn the light on.  It was so dark that light-intensification wouldn’t work.  The toilet doesn’t have a heat signature, unless some-one has just been sitting on it, and so infra red was also no good.  I was using microwave reflection (essentially a very short-range form of radar).  When I went to rinse my hands, I noticed some kind of weird pattern around the frame of the mirror above the sink.  Pattern is not really the word, because it seemed rather irregular. 

            I touched it with my fingertips.  The frame of the mirror was wooden (there are a lot of ‘natural’ surfaces around the ship – they are supposed to make it seem less of an alien environment) and each border was about two inches across.  The marks on the frame were letters.  I traced them with my finger, and ‘looked’ at them with higher-resolution microwaves.  The message spelt CARVE HER NAME WITH PRIDE – VIOLET. 

            I cried again, and was still crying when I got back into bed beside him.  I put my arms round him, hugged him to me, and let the tears run down my face and onto his naked shoulder. 

            Look it up if you don’t know what it means.

*

I’m putting together the front page of the next issue of Cosmography.  Everybody knows what is going to be on it.  What has Kelvin done now?  Has he gone out of his tiny mind?  What has that hideous woman done to him?  Is it witchcraft?  Possession? Drugs?  Hypnotism?  Blackmail?  I bet it’s blackmail.  Pamela Collins has some pictures of Kelvin doing something perverted, yucky, and humiliating, and has threatened to publish unless he pretends to be going out with her.  And I bet she is after his money. 

            They have started going to this disgusting bar on Deck 6 called O’Mally’s.  I don’t know if I can describe it properly.  It is dark, dingy, has no décor; the music is really old-fashioned, and all the drinks seems to have froth on them.  Pam the Tram drinks pints (plural).  She must be a dyke.  I must admit, though, to do the poor creature justice, the last time I saw her, she was in heels.  She walked as if it wasn’t the first time she had worn them, as well.  I know this sounds incredible, but I think she even had make-up on.  I got a few not-very-interesting pictures of them.  I was afraid at first that Pam the Tram would crack the lens, if not with her ugly countenance, then with her fist. 

            If there is something to this affair (if that is really what it is) then I wish I could find out what Kelvin sees in her. 

            Oh, my god – I have just realised something.  I bet she’s pregnant.  They must have gone to the Temperate Zone, had a roll among the dry leaves, and now she’s up the duff.  I wonder if the pharmacy has any testing kits?  How would I get hold of some of Pam the Tram’s wee?

*

Pamela and I are not only having a relationship, we are also about to start a joint business venture.  We were talking recently about our work and our plans for the remainder of the journey, and I happened to mention that I have spare capacity in my factory: spare space, and spare energy, mainly in the form of hot water.  Pamela asked me if I could spare any of my growing-space in the farm for a few herbs and things, to which I said that I could.  She said that she was thinking of starting her own range of bath and skincare products.  Most of the women on board had stockpiled their favourite products before embarking on the ship, but many of them are now running out and a sustainable solution is required.  At exactly the same moment, we both had the idea of putting the two ventures together and opening a spa. 

            Kerr McLean’s men are building most of it, and my brewery team will do the plumbing.  Pamela is going to do all the wiring: she is an electrical engineer after all.  We are going to have a big, society opening when it is finished.  Pamela and I will have to test all the facilities first, of course.  Pamela, who is very efficient and well-organised, has started writing a guest-list.  She thinks we ought to invite Cerise Vallance and her harpies.  I am wondering if I ought to invite Anna.  I have a feeling that Anna would not come, but some of the ladies might.  And I should invite Prudence. 

*

My name is Wayne Moxon.  I work for Mr McLean.  Mr McLean’s Scottish.  That means he is from Scotland.  I’m not from Scotland.  I’m from Garforth.  It’s my birthday soon.  I’m twenty-three now, but soon I’ll be twenty-four. 

            I couldn’t come here at first when Mr Stark asked me to come, because I had to look after my mum, but my mum died.  I had to look after my mum because my dad had died, and I don’t have any brothers or sisters.  Cheryl has two sisters and a brother, but I don’t.  Cheryl is my friend.  She’s nineteen.  She works in the kitchens.  I work for Mr McLean.  I work in his sorting office, sorting parcels and sometimes letters.  I don’t know why people are bothered about sending letters, because you can send messages on your computer.  It’s like sending a letter, but it’s on your computer.  You can send any message you like.  I tried to send a message to Cheryl once which had some rude words in it, because I didn’t think it would work, but it did.  Cheryl read the message, and she said there were some words in it she didn’t understand.  I tried to say to her what the words meant, but she told me to go away.  I don’t like it when she tells me to go away, so I stopped.  We had a cuddle after that, and it was nice.  I like Cheryl.  Cheryl’s nice.  Cheryl’s really, really nice.

            When we get to where we are going, me and Cheryl are going to get married.  I asked Cheryl to marry me and she said yes, but she wanted us to wait until we get to where we are going, and have a proper house to live in.  Cheryl lets me go to her cabin and sleep over sometimes, but she says her cabin is too small for us to live in.  And my cabin is too small for us to live in, too.  None of the cabins are as big as a house.  That is why we need a house. 

            I have to go back to work soon.  It is ten past ten.  It is time to go back to work at a quarter past ten.  My break finishes then.  My lunchtime starts at one o’clock.  I get one hour for lunch.  Then I have to go back to work at two o’clock.  I finish work at five o’clock, and then I can go and see Cheryl.  I mustn’t think about that,  because I’ll get too excited.  I’ve got letters and parcels to sort.  Look – this one is addressed to Mr Stark.  It’s got some labels on it.  This one says THIS WAY UP.  This  one says FRAGILE.  I had better be careful with this one.  It’s fragile and  it’s for Mr Stark.  I quite like Mr Stark.  I helped to move some stuff for him the other day, and he gave me five shillings.  I put them in my Leeds United piggy bank.  Mr McLean pays me five shillings per hour, and I work six hours per day.  That means I get thirty shillings per day.  Cheryl gets more than me, but I don’t mind.  We share our money.  We’ve got some saved up.  

*

My name is Darren Cartwright.  I’m an apprentice machinist.  I hope to be fully-trained soon.  I like anything to do with metalwork.

            I’ve been working at an industrial museum recently, in the workshop.  We make parts for the old machines in the museum.  We learn how to use the lathes, saws, drills, and all the other stuff.  It’s really good.  We learn about safety.  That sounds really boring, but it’s important.  I was using the circular saw the other day, and I nearly had my thumb off.  The supervisor went mad.  He told me I wasn’t listening to him and I was thick.  I don’t like that supervisor.  He’s a nigger.  I hate niggers.  It doesn’t seem right to me that a nigger works at a museum about British industrial heritage.  We didn’t have no niggers here in the Industrial Age.  There were only whites.  And there were jobs and homes for all.  No immigration: no unemployment.  You know there are loads more immigrants in this country than there are unemployed.  Stands to reason: if we got rid of all the niggers, Pakis, and all the rest, we’d have full employment. 

            The BFTB is committed to full employment for white, British workers.  That is why I joined.  I go to branch meetings once a week, and regional meetings once a month.  I prefer the regional meetings, because they have really good speakers, and we usually have an action afterwards.  The actions are brilliant.  We get to kick shit out of queers and Pakis and other scum.  Lefties and stuff.  We burn loads of books and sometimes we even set fire to buildings.  The Regional Organiser is called Richard Spalding.  He holds special meetings where only a few Party members are invited.  I got permission come to them a few months ago.  He said I was good racial stock.  He said I was “im-something” with the Spirit of National Socialism. 

            At the last meeting, Richard Spalding said he had been selected to lead a special mission, and he was picking us to be members of his special task force.  He said we would have the chance to fulfil our racial destiny.   He said we would be building a new nation on the ashes of the old order.  If we are going to build a new nation, I’m guessing there will be machinists required.  I wonder what kind of alloys we’ll be working with.

*

My mission of racial purification is about to begin.  My men will be going into suspended animation for the duration of the voyage.  The crew of the ship and I will remain active.  The voyage itself will take four years.  That is four times the length of time that Hitler spent imprisoned in Landsberg Castle.  I think I will take a secretary with me, and dictate my great work on racial politics and political destiny.   I must remember to ask for volunteers at the next regional Party meeting.  I have recently been reading an interesting pamphlet about Aktion T4.  I must include some of its ideas in my book.  

            I have decided what my name is now that I am the Führer.  I am called Wolf.  Those who address me must give the National Socialist salute, and say Hail Wolf!

            There is absolutely no place for women on this mission. 

James Holt here again.  Doctor Stark asked me to give another little talk to mark the fact that we have now started decelerating.  I’ll try to keep it as short as possible.  Believe me, I find this more distressing than you do. 

            Assuming that everything continues to go as expected, we will enter the Achird system in just under two Earth years from now.  Our ship will first take up orbit around Achird-gamma, before launching a number of small craft containing satellites.  We will also be able to communicate with the satellites left behind by the previous, unmanned mission. 

            The satellite network will provide the same services that they do on Earth: astronomical observation, weather-prediction, mapping, global positioning, and, should we ever need it, surveillance.  And, of course, communications.  There won’t be mobile phones on the new world, but we expect that each major colony and maybe a few of the smaller ones will have a satellite phone.  There will be an Internet (everybody gets to keep the workstation in his or her cabin) but we expect it will be a long time before we are able to manufacture electronic devices in large numbers.  The second generation might have to inherit a workstation, rather than buying one or receiving it as a gift, as they would do on Earth. 

            After the satellites have been launched, every person on board will be assigned a position within the ship based on where he or she wants to land.  Those who express no preference will be assigned a position by the drawing of lots.  The ship will then undergo a complex process, the details of which I won’t go into, which will break it up into a total of 114 manned and unmanned craft.  These will then splash down in the planet’s ocean – if everything works.  The manned craft are designed to operate as waterborne ships after splash-down, and navigating them should be straightforward if the satellite system is working.  When they make landfall, it will be up to individual colonies to decide if the ship is more valuable as a going concern, or whether it will need to be broken up to provide scrap for other manufactures.  They will be using nuclear power plants to begin with, which are designed to just “burn out” after a few years and never need de-commissioning, but there will be diesel engines as well.  The unmanned craft will stay where they are, just drifting, until they are towed to shore.  They all have radio beacons to enable them to be located. 

            I can see a few people yawning at the back and so I will finish there.  If there are any questions, please don’t all shout at once.  I would prefer to go back to my cabin and do something I enjoy more than this, such as banging a blunt, rusty nail into my right knee-cap by butting it with my head.   

*

I have started having anxiety attacks and recurring nightmares about what might go wrong.  This is very irritating, because it is not in my nature to worry about things that I have no control over.  I find myself touched by the simple serenity of my fellow passengers.  It is my fault that they are all here, and do not have ice cream, or chocolate, or rice, or red meat.  In my nightmares, I see hurricane-force blizzards, sulphurous eruptions, solar flares which blast us with deadly radiation, floods, droughts and failed harvests.  Sometimes I look helplessly around myself in the refectory, watching people innocently spooning fish stew and dumplings into their mouths, and I try not to imagine them frail, hollowed-out, helpless and just waiting for the end, too weak to kill themselves.  I would be lying if I were to say that I like all the people on board this ship, but I do not know of any among them who deserves to die a premature death, not even Cerise Vallance or that idiot, Colin Turnbull.

            The two things which distract me from these unhealthy thoughts are occasional visits to Anna’s women, and the daily routine of work.  I am determined to know everything that can be known about the new planet, and to plan the development of the new colony so that it will be able to grow as quickly as possible. 

            What the hell is that?  It sounds as if the hull has been struck by something.  Where is my pressure transducer? 

*

I was walking along a corridor when I heard the noise.  The pressure started to fall,  but not catastrophically.  I flipped into anaerobic mode in a matter of seconds, and investigated for perhaps longer than I should have done.  I went up several decks.  The passengers have no access to either the very bottom or the very top deck: these are the province of the crew only.  I saw and heard a few members of the crew running down the stairs as if their trousers were on fire.  They were talking about some objects having breached the hull.  That was consistent with my pressure readings.  I decided to look for Kelvin. 

            I checked the cams in his cabin, and saw that he was there.  He was clearly agitated, but appeared, to my relief, to have realised that, whatever was happening, there was not a thing he could do about it.  He was seven decks below me.  I ran down.  I mean I ran fast. 

            By the time I got down to Kelvin’s cabin’s deck, I had to slow down, because of crew members coming up the stairs against me.  An alarm sounded.  An announcement issued from the public address system.  We hardly ever hear anything over this public address system, other than warnings that, should we ever hear anything, we were to follow the instructions as if our lives depended on it. 

            ‘Attention please.  Attention please.  Ladies and gentlemen, attention please.  A number of objects have made holes in the hull of our ship.  We are losing oxygen.  I repeat: we are losing oxygen.  Go back to your cabins.  Each person must go back to his or her cabin, immediately.  Shut the door as normal and stay inside.  No cabins that we know of have been breached.  The oxygen and water supplies to each cabin are working, and you will be safe inside.  If you pass one of the trolleys dispensing emergency food rations, please pick up one portion – one portion per person only.  If you cannot, then the crew will deliver one to your cabin.  The ship’s intranet should continue to function.  If you have any fears or concerns, email them to the support team as usual.

            ‘Remain in your cabins until further notice.  We will repair the holes and will continue safely on our voyage, as long as the crew are not distracted from their task.’

            The message was repeated in French, Urdu, Spanish, German, Mandarin, Russian, Arabic, Japanese, and, eventually, every other recognised language on the ship, including Latin, Coptic, Nepali, and Welsh. 

            Before the Spanish broadcast was over, I was at the door of Kelvin’s cabin.  I knocked, more loudly than usual. 

            ‘Who is it?’

            ‘Pamela Collins.’

            ‘What do you want?’

            ‘I need to come in.  The door of my cabin’s malfunctioned.  I need to come in.’

            ‘Oh. OK.  Two seconds.’  While I was waiting, one of the emergency rations parties ran towards me, with spacesuits on.  I pointed to myself and to Kelvin’s door, and grabbed two packets.  The emergency crew assented.  Kelvin opened the door.  I shut it behind us.  He was in his underpants.  I took a number of pressure readings and ran some gas chromatography.  The atmospheric composition was fine for Kelvin.  I re-opened the file which stores my gravimetry readings, which is the most boring set of data I bother to acquire.  I could see the flurry of recent high readings which indicated the arrival of whatever it was that had hit us, but nothing afterwards.  

            Kelvin looked at the two packets of emergency rations.  We opened one of them.  It contained two tins of corned beef, two packets of vacuum-packed cheese, two tins each of baked beans and tomato soup which were self-heating, twenty-four tea bags, a packet of ground coffee, a bag of sugar, forty pieces of crispbread, a tub of margarine, a canister of dried milk, some jam, some yeast extract, a small bottle of lime juice cordial, a small bottle of blackcurrant cordial, some tissues, two sets of plastic cutlery, four paper plates, four paper cups, sachets of salt, pepper, tomato ketchup and brown sauce, and three bars of milk chocolate.  

            Chocolate is one commodity that we cannot make while in transit.  The shortage of chocolate is one of the most frequent and most boring topics of conversation on the ship.  As soon as Kelvin saw the chocolate, he was delighted.  This was not because he eats it himself, but because he believed that its unexpected availability would lift morale during the crisis.  

            I looked with satisfaction around Kelvin’s cabin, there as I was legitimately for the first time ever.  I heard the dying sounds of the protracted hissing of the door sealing itself.  We were locked in together.  Even if the crew fixed all the holes within five minutes (which they wouldn’t) it would take them many hours to pressure-test all the affected sections of the ship.  I was about to embark on the equivalent of hitching a ride from Penzance to Inverness with the most attractive truck-driver you have ever seen.  If I had to get out in Scotland still single, I would know that I was nothing more than a failure.  

            ‘Are you all right, Pamela?’

            ‘Yes, I’m fine.  I’m absolutely fine.  Have you got any booze?’

            ‘Have I got any booze?  I run a brewery and a distillery.’

            ‘I know what you run, Mr Clever-clogs.  What I asked you concerned the wherewithal within this cabin.’

            ‘This cabin has plenty plenty wherewithal.  Open the fridge.’  It was one of those fridges that Kelvin and Holt have been selling, except that it was sixteen times the size of the ones they sell.  Inside, it had a full selection of Kelvin’s beer, plus wine (Kelvin downplays wine as part of the ship’s produce, but it certainly exists, and some of it is very drinkable), and some of his dubious spirits, as well as fruit juice and water.  

            We each took a bottle of Black Mischief and I let it go straight to my non-algorithmic brain.  We took another, and another, and then we started to get somewhere.  When the bottles were empty, we carefully placed them in the recycling bin, as if suffocation and death were such remote possibilities that we need not worry about them.

            ‘How long do you think we will be in here for?’ he asked me.

            ‘Not long enough.’

            ‘I’m sorry?’

            ‘I want to ask you some questions.’

            ‘Some questions?  About what?’

            ‘About many things.’  (The phrase “many things” was copied from Kelvin himself.)

            ‘Starting with what?’  He went over to the fridge, and opened a bottle of that throat-burning whisky.  I didn’t attempt to stop him.  

            ‘I understand that, back on Earth, you used to have a companion android.’

            ‘How do you know that?’

            ‘Never mind how I know.  Everybody knows that.  Is it true?’

            ‘As a matter of fact, it is.  I am not ashamed.’

            ‘You are not ashamed of what?’

            ‘I am not ashamed of my companion android.’

            ‘Where is she now?’

            ‘I left her on Earth.’

            ‘Why?’

            ‘Because she was so advanced that she would have upset the objective of this mission, which is to regenerate twenty-second century technology from a twentieth-century beginning.’

            ‘That is a technological answer.  How did you feel emotionally?’

            ‘I was devastated.’

            ‘You were devastated.’

            ‘Yes.  I still am.  I think of her every day.’

            ‘Then why did you leave her behind?’

            ‘We live according to rules.  The rules said that my relationship with Violet was no longer possible.’  It was at this point that Pamela started to get angry.  She necked another beer very quickly, and then poured one of those abominable whiskies.  

            ‘The rules.  The rules.  THE RULES?’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘OK.  It was the rules.  Right.  I want to know everything about your relationship with this android.’

            ‘All right.’

            ‘Everything.’

            ‘Can I drink alcohol while I am undergoing this interrogation?’

            ‘Of course.  I would prefer it if you would. It will make you more malleable.’

            ‘I’d like a bottle of Light Brigade in that case. ‘

            ‘How did you feel when you took her out of the box?’

            ‘She did not come in a box.  She arrived under her own locomotion.’

TO BE CONTINUED.

            ‘Will the accused please stand?  Pamela Collins, you are hereby charged that on the night of 31 October 2137 you did wilfully break a camera belonging to Cerise Vallance, thereby committing criminal damage.  How do you plead?’

            ‘Not guilty, by reason of provocation.’

            ‘Pamela Collins, you are also hereby charged that on the night of 31 October 2137 you did wilfully assault Cerise Vallance.  How do you plead?’

            ‘Not guilty.’

            ‘Prudence Kathryn Zoë Tadlow, you are hereby charged that on the night of 31 October 2137 you did wilfully assault Samantha Dale and Cerise Vallance.  How do you plead?’

            ‘Not guilty.’

            ‘You may be seated.’

            ‘Your Lordship, I appear for both the accused.  I will argue that my clients only struck the alleged victims once they themselves had been viciously assaulted.  I will also argue in Miss Collins’s case that the breaking of the camera was a legitimate action in order to prevent Cerise Vallance from invading Kelvin Stark’s privacy.  The first witness I would like to call is Samantha Dale.’ 

            Samantha Dale was conducted into the courtroom and sworn in.

            ‘Miss Dale, were you present in the Temperate Zone on the night of 31 October?’

            ‘Do you mean was I at the Hallowe’en party?  Yes I was.’

            ‘Do you remember what happened that night?’

            ‘Lots of things.  I tried to get off with this bloke, but he turned me down.’

            ‘What I meant was do you remember a disturbance that took place?’

            ‘Yes.  Me and some of the girls were there with Cerise Vallance.’

            ‘Would you say you were there with any particular object in mind?’

            ‘I think the object Cerise had in mind was Kelvin Stark’s lunchbox.’

            ‘Indeed.  Would I be correct in saying that Miss Vallance had offered you and your friends some kind of inducement to impress yourselves on Doctor Stark?’

            ‘What’s “an inducement”?’

            ‘In short: money.’

            ‘Do I have to answer that question?’

            ‘You do have to answer that question, and you have to tell the whole truth when you answer.  You have to say whether you were offered anything and whether you actually received it.’

            ‘Cerise said she would give me 30 shillings and said she’d pay for new outfits for us, and for our drinks.’

            ‘And what did you have to do in return for this payment?’

            ‘She said she would give me the money if I’d get my tits or my arse out in a picture with Kelvin in it.’

            ‘And have you received this payment?’

            ‘Some of it.  Cerise was really pissed off when her camera was broken, but she said she’d give me 10 shillings as a consolation.’

            ‘And so you admit that you went to the party looking for Doctor Stark, and with the express intention of putting him a compromising situation and eroding his dignity.’

            ‘It was just a bit of fun.’

            ‘Miss Dale, you would be amazed at how many times we hear that phrase uttered in criminal courts.  What was Doctor Stark’s reaction when you and your gang approached him?’

            ‘He tried to ignore us at first, and then he asked us to leave him alone.’

            ‘And did you do as he asked?’

            ‘No.  That was when Cerise started taking pictures and I started flashing.’

            ‘Would I be right in thinking that you had been drinking alcohol that night?’

            ‘Yes: we were blathered.’

            ‘Can you remember how much you had had to drink?’

            ‘I had eleven double vodka and limes.’

            ‘And would you say that is a normal amount for you to drink?’

            ‘On Earth, I used to drink lager and black or cider, but since we left I have gone over to vodka.’

            ‘Indeed.  Well they say it gives you less of a hangover, do they not?  Miss Dale, I understand that you have a nickname.’

            ‘Do I?’

            ‘Indeed.  The one I have in mind is derived from the letters of your surname.’

            ‘Oh, that.  Yes.  That’s right. I do.’

            ‘Can you tell the court what it is?’

            ‘Drunk And Legs Everywhere.’

            ‘You might also be interested to know that we have managed to salvage some of the data from Miss Vallance’s camera.’

            ‘Oh, great.  She will be pleased.’

            ‘Please show Exhibit A on the big screen.  Miss Dale, would you mind describing to the court what is happening on the screen?’

            ‘That’s me, and Cerise, and Charis and Alicia.  That’s Charis and Alicia having a pretend snog next to Kelvin.  That is me trying to kiss Kelvin.  That’s me kneeling down and pretending to give him a blow-job.  That’s me getting up again, just about.  That’s me getting my tits out.  Now I’m shaking them.  Now I’m holding my left tit in both hands and trying to rub my nipple on Kelvin’s chest.  Now I’m doing the same with the right one.  Kelvin has stopped dancing and has his eyes closed.  Now I’ve put my tits away, and I’m standing next to Kelvin with my back to the camera, and I’ve pulled the hem of my mini-dress up and you can see my arse.  Now I have taken Kelvin’s glasses off and I’m rubbing them on my fanny.’

            ‘You are doing what?’

            ‘It is something I saw in a film my ex-boyfriend showed me.’

            ‘Let me get this quite clear.  You have grabbed hold of Doctor Stark's spectacles, and you are rubbing them on your naked vulva.’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘Might I ask why?’

            ‘I thought it would be sexy for him to see when I put them back on his face that they were all blurred with cunt-juice.’

            ‘I see.  I notice, Miss Dale, that you did not have to remove any underwear.’

            ‘No, I went fully prepared.’

            ‘With no knickers on.’

            ‘Well it is easier to flash your arse if you go commando.’

            ‘I could not have put it better myself.  Thank you, Miss Dale.  No further questions.’

            ‘Miss Johnson, do you wish to examine this witness?’

            ‘Before I continue, I would just like to confirm to Miss Dale that she is not the one who has been charged with an offence.  Can you tell the court what happened immediately after the sequence of pictures came to an end?’

            ‘Some-one grabbed Cerise’s camera.’

            ‘Can you see the person who did this seated in the court?’

            ‘Yes.  It was her.’

            ‘You are pointing to Pamela Collins.’

            ‘I didn’t know her name, but it was definitely her.’

            ‘Were you surprised when the disturbance started?’

            ‘Yes, very surprised.  We were only having a bit of fun.’

            ‘Did any-one else come onto the dance floor.’

            ‘Yes, Prudence Tadlow came up and grabbed hold of me.  She tried to pull me away from Kelvin.’

            ‘Did she strike you or threaten you?’

            ‘I can’t really remember.  It was all very confusing.’

            ‘Did you suffer any injury?’

            ‘I had a terrible bruise on my knee the next day.  I went to the sick bay about it.  But I can’t be certain how I got it.  Prudence might have kicked me.  She was wearing her diesel-dyke outfit and heavy boots.’

            ‘No further questions, your Lordship.’

            ‘Your Lordship, may I cross-examine the witness?’

            ‘By all means, Mr Mallard.’

            ‘Thank you, your Lordship.  Miss Dale, were you wearing high-heeled shoes on the night in question.’

            ‘Yes, I was wearing my “stripper” shoes.’

            ‘Your “stripper” shoes?’

            ‘Yes, they are strappy and have a built-up sole and seven-inch heels.’

            ‘You were wearing high heels and you had had eleven double vodkas.  It is conceivable that you might have got this bruise because you fell over during the evening?’

            ‘Well they don’t call me Drunk And Legs Everywhere for nothing.’

            ‘Indeed not.  No further questions.’

            None of the other witnesses added anything substantial to Samantha Dale’s testimony.  Mr Justice Fitzgerald considered his decision for thirty minutes before acquitting both defendants, on the condition that Pamela Collins compensate Cerise Vallance for the loss of her camera.  The court also ordered Cerise Vallance to take reasonable steps to seek Kelvin Stark’s permission before photographing him on the remainder of the journey.          

*

“Diesel-dyke” indeed.  Slapper!

*

If that slut-whore-bint touches Kelvin again, I’ll inject her with something nasty.