Return to site

SNEAK PREVIEW!

You wanted it and you got it - here is a lovely preview of the first few pages of Professor Howe and the Shanghaied Scientists for your enjoyment. You'll laugh a lot!

JIP AND PAIN

There comes a point in every man’s life when his mind starts to make promises that the rest of his body is no longer contractually obliged to fulfil. It is a sad, shameful situation as old as time itself, and is normally accompanied by a wheezing, groaning sound, particularly whenever a flight of stairs presents itself.

Unfortunately for intergalactic bumbler and raconteur Professor Howe, that moment had arrived some time ago. It wasn’t that he was a shadow of his former self. He was several shadows, none of which could fit into the pair of trousers which he swore he bought only last week from the Army and Navy store in Camberley.

As he staggered around his small, beloved and increasingly tattered-looking flying saucer, he could not help but feel that his finest years were well and truly behind him. His glory days were now bundled up in a large cardboard box marked ‘You Should Have Been There’ and hidden away for safekeeping in plain sight just above the door.

He thought back to the saucer’s storeroom when he’d had the glorious extension – oh, that was when he was at the height of his powers! There was even a swimming pool, though its installation probably was one of the few times Howe would have admitted to making a mistake. He really hoped that no one would ever mention the pair of alien creatures who thought it would be hilarious to go skinny dipping in the middle of Professor Howe’s summer barbecue. The sight of a couple of Ambrosian Wolf Monsters without their chainmail was something that those present did not want to relive under any circumstances.

The one ray of sunshine on the Professor’s otherwise cloudy horizon was his latest companion: a bright young woman by the name of Belle Ringer. No one was really sure if this was her real name, but no one really cared. She was trying her best to keep the flying saucer and the Professor ship-shape and Bristol fashion.

Belle was a moderately attractive woman, in the loosest sense of the word ‘moderate’. She had an athletic appearance and naturally curly red hair and considered herself to be something of an expert with computer systems, as long as they used the programming language of BASIC. Unfortunately, BASIC was about as useful as a chocolate fireguard which, given that the universe’s demand for chocolate fireguards consisted of less than one customer, is not very useful at all. Intergalactic scholars have repeatedly studied why this near-useless computing language was inexplicably popular in Britain during the 1980s but, being a child of said decade, Belle was a big fan of BASIC. She believed one day it would change the world. She was, of course, entirely wrong, but it did not stop her being quite evangelical about the computer language. It was one of her more annoying habits. Actually, Belle had many annoying habits. Truth be told, she was one of the most irritating women on Earth.

Belle was not a bad person; she was polite, kind, considerate and had a sweet and gentle soul. However, her high pitched voice, her fondness for singing West End musicals, and her permanently sunny disposition, even first thing on the Monday morning, meant that most people simply could not stand the sight of her.

In the end, her work colleagues at Write-On Car Rental in East Grinstead got so fed up with her endless attempts to cheer them all up by singing Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah that they paid a shady-looking gentleman in a long trench coat to ‘sort her out’. They assumed the dodgy geezer would do something fairly inconsequential, and no real harm would be caused. Sadly, East Grinstead is something of a favourite holiday destination for intergalactic ne’er-do-wells, and before you could wish anyone a happy Christmas in Walford, Belle was whisked away to the outer edges of Slough, where no one had heard of Walt Disney.

If all that sounds implausible, it was. The script editor for the last series of Professor Howe was under a lot of stress at the time. He couldn’t think of anything better and had to bash the script out on his way to the airport, before jetting off for two weeks in a seedy hotel in Torremolinos. “Look, she’s only in this one story.” (At least that’s what he told his producer.) “Be thankful for small mercies.”

Anyway, where were we? Oh yes. The Professor stared down at the controls of his saucer and sighed, loudly.

“Where shall we go now, old girl?” the Professor muttered as he helped himself to another double chocolate-chip cookie from the cookie jar. Howe pressed a few of the buttons in front of him, which he maintained kept the saucer in flight through time and space. He could not help but notice they were all a bit shabby and that the knobs needed a good polish. It was almost as if they had been manhandled by ignorant stagehands who did not care for the glory of science fiction and would much rather be working on Match of the Day. The spineless cretins.

Before the Professor could retrieve another cookie, he was interrupted by Belle, who appeared next to him, clutching a glossy leaflet. Inside there were actual pictures – of people – exercising! The space traveller recoiled in horror. Never in his many years had he seen such misery. It was like sitting at the front of a torture chamber and being forced to watch – or being interviewed by Piers Morgan.

“Professor, I think it’s time you and I went to the gym,” announced Belle, who as per usual was perkier than a mountain top on a cold morning that had been recently sprinkled with fairy dust.

The Professor gritted his teeth. “I’ve told you before, Belle, I don’t want to meet this Jim friend of yours. He sounds ghastly.”

Belle started to giggle loudly and slapped the Professor’s shoulder. If there was one thing about Belle that got on the Professor’s wick more than her voice, it was her laugh. It made his skin crawl. You could strip paint with that laugh and if the script editor did not come back from the Costa del Sol soon, the Professor feared for Belle’s safety.

“Oh Professor, you’re such a silly billy at times,” replied Belle, still chortling. “I meant gym, as in gymnasium. You know, where people go to keep fit and have fun.”

“I always thought of the two as mutually exclusive,” muttered the Professor, as he grabbed the leaflet from Belle’s hands. Every page was like a dagger to his overweight soul. How could people inflict such pain on themselves, he wondered.

“Good grief,” he exclaimed, looking at one of the pictures an extraordinary angle. “Is that actually legal?”

Belle snatched the leaflet back from the Professor, much to his relief. “Look Professor, you know I like to stay positive at all times, but there is an elephant in the room and we need to address it.”

Belle and the Professor then turned around and looked at the African bush elephant who somehow was standing quietly in the corner of the compact and bijou flying saucer control room. And, as if on cue, it farted loudly, spewing its moral catharsis everywhere.

As the elephant vanished in a puff of sulphur dioxide, Belle was intent on getting back to the issue at hand. “I meant you, Professor Grumpy Pants. We need to do something about that belly of yours, or else there will be no room left in this spaceship!”

Suddenly, a letter dropped through the spacecraft’s letterbox and landed on the floor by the Professor and Belle. He’d installed it a couple of castings ago after a visit down to B&Q, and though he wasn’t great at DIY, the Sellotape was still holding it in place.

Turning his attention back to the letter, he bent down to pick it up. In an incredible feat of acting worthy of an Oscar, he didn’t flinch at the words ‘Cancellation Notice’ which could be seen in large red print on the front of the envelope.

Belle bit her bottom lip. This was not the first time the Professor had received such a letter. In fact, the box labelled ‘You Should Have Been There’ was full of them.

“Basil ‘Bloody’ Wade,” he sighed with all the resignation of a man walking towards certain and inevitable doom, before scrunching up the envelope and throwing it in the box.

“Are you all right?” asked a concerned Belle.
 

“Yes of course I’m all right,” he lied. He looked down at his hands almost with sadness and muttered something along the lines of “jumbo fishfingers,” and with great difficulty punched some coordinates into his ship’s navigational computer.

Sonny’s Gymnasium was the last place that Professor Howe had ever wanted to visit. He mentioned this a few times to Belle, while they waited in the gym’s large and bustling reception area.

 

The walls of the reception area were covered in large video screens, which replayed the latest chart hits of the day interspersed with motivational messages from its staff encouraging visitors to ‘hustle that muscle’ and ‘work it, don’t shirk it’.

 

For a man of Professor Howe’s vintage and appetite, Sonny’s Gymnasium was hell on Earth. The unrelenting techno-beat and pervading smell of cheap deodorant were the icing on the proverbial cake for the tired space traveller. The dayglo leg-warmers however suited his personality to a tee.

 

“Hi, I’m Craig, I’ll be your gym pal for today,” announced a young, slim man, who appeared as if by magic in front of them, clutching a clipboard.

 

The Professor took one look at the vision of youthful energy before him and wanted to run out of the building screaming. He may have wanted to run, but this version of Professor Howe hated running more than almost anything. Sensing his unease, and just in case an urge took hold, Belle grabbed hold of his arm to make sure this would not happen.

 

“Now when was the last time you visited a gymnasium?” asked Craig, as he started the pre-induction checklist.

 

“Never,” replied Professor Howe, proudly.

 

Craig looked up from his clipboard. “When you say never, do you mean…”

 

“I mean never, quite literally as a matter of fact,” the Professor insisted.

 

This was not going to be Craig’s day, he thought to himself. He had rather hoped for some hot young, impressionable lady to show around, not an old fart with an attitude problem, but being the consummate professional, Craig carried on regardless. “I think we better give you the premium induction experience then. Don’t worry – here we fight fat in all its forms. It’s nothing to fret about, just a gentle jog up the cardio-vascular hill to make you feel like a new man.”

 

Craig then turned to Belle and smiled. He had a bit of a soft spot for smiley redheads. Why wasn’t she joining the gym today, he thought. She looked much more fun.

 

“If you want to wait here, ma’am,” he added, laying on the charm. “We’ll have your grandfather back before you know it…”

 

He then motioned to the Professor to follow him. Naturally, the Professor was completely outraged, although that was more to do with the fact someone thought he was old enough to be Belle’s grandfather. He was old enough to be her great-great-great-great-great grandfather and could tell that folks these days didn’t appreciate the benefit of experience.

 

“Good luck!” said Belle encouragingly as the Professor was led away. “Remember you don’t want to get dehydrated, so drink plenty of liquid as you go. See if they have any carrot juice!”

 

The Professor turned back one last time and rolled his eyes. “Carrot juice?” he shouted. “What the blazes do I want with carrot juice?”

 

Before Belle could respond, the Professor disappeared behind the gym doors, leaving her with nothing but a reception full of young men and a pile of glossy magazines for company.

 

Nearly a minute later, Craig reappeared looking rather pleased with himself.

 

“Your friend was a-maz-ing!” he announced as he marched back into the reception area. He was clutching his clipboard like it was his comfort blanket and revelling in the results. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone throw themselves into a workout like that. I know it’s only been forty-five seconds but the results have been incredible!”

 

Belle put down her glossy magazine and looked over in the direction of the doors to the gym. Suddenly, a small man in a grubby jacket about ten sizes too big for him walked through and shuffled towards them. He was definitely wearing the Professor’s clothes all right, but something was wrong. The Professor was almost six feet tall, and this chap staggering towards her was barely five feet nothing. To make matters worse, he also kept tripping over his trousers, which were far too long for him.

 

“Oh, deary me, that wasn’t as painful as I thought it was going to be, Belle,” he said in a light Scottish accent. “In fact, I feel tickety-boo now.”

 

Belle looked at him suspiciously. There was definitely something different about him, but she could not quite put her finger on it. “Professor, is that you? Are you sure everything is all right?”

 

Her Professor had been such a larger-than-life figure, with a temper to match. Now he looked much more youthful, like a little boy who had raided his parents’ wardrobe with disastrous results, and he stank of scotch.

 

“You sure did fab-u-lous, buddy!” said Craig, giving him a high five. “I’ve never seen anyone sweat as much as you have just done. Look at you! You’re practically a new man.”

 

“Yes, I’m awfully sorry,” replied the Professor. “I hope I didn’t make you look foolish in front of all those ladies.”

 

“Hey, no worries my man!” Craig handed Howe a business card with his contact details, which the Professor reluctantly placed in his trouser pocket. “You can work out in this gym any time.”

 

The Professor tried to high five Craig, but at five feet tall he could not quite reach such lofty heights. Belle looked quizzically at the Professor, not sure what to say.

 

“Is there something on my face?” he asked her.

 

A strange thought suddenly occurred to Belle. How could she have been so blind all these years? She leaned forward and grabbed the Professor’s unruly blonde locks. One sharp tug later and she was holding a particularly cheap-looking theatrical wig in her hands.

 

“You never told me you wore a toupee?” she said.

The Professor stood there, looking embarrassed. The wig made no sense at all – he had a fine head of short, dark hair underneath.

 

“Let’s never mention this again,” he said quietly, staring at the floor.

 

Being a nice girl, Belle agreed and chucked the hairpiece away, put her arms around the Professor and led him out of the building.

 

“Is it tea time yet?” asked the Professor. “I do hope we’re having sardines. They’re my favourite, you know. Tickety-boo! Perhaps we could even watch that musical you keep talking about after dinner? What was it called again? You know, the one with the singing animals trying to get over the Swiss border to freedom?”

 

The Sound of Mews-ic?” replied Belle.

 

“No, no, no. That’s got cats in it. I meant the one with little white squeaky creatures.”

Edelmice?”

 

“That’s the one!” exclaimed the Professor.

 

Belle smiled. At last the Professor had started to come around to her way of thinking. For years, she had been constantly berated by her mother that she would never get anywhere in life by being polite, smiling and wearing pink polka-dot jackets.

 

“Men don’t like nice girls,” her mother used to tell her.

 

“They are all cold-blooded, heartless monsters who only want one thing and it’s not your shorthand speed.”However, like many daughters, Belle took great satisfaction in proving her mother wrong. She had been a firm believer in the power of being cheerful in the darkest of circumstances and maintaining those long, curly locks of hers, and now she had been rewarded. She had everything she had dreamed of – a strictly non-sexual relationship with a space traveller who wanted to watch musicals all day. Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah!

Buy your copy today to see how the story continues...