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 and everything. Everything.

When Norman went to visit his wife in hospital that evening he told her all about everything. Everything that Felix had told to him.

‘Well, I knew that was bound to happen,’ said Norman’s wife. ‘But, of course, no-one ever listens to me.

Norman raised a quizzical eyebrow to this and then shook his head. ‘Nah,’ he told himself, ‘not a chance.’

As for the Ministry of Serendipity. Well, who can say? You certainly can’t get a train to Mornington Crescent and that must prove something. Felix is still up and about and occasionally, very occasionally, phrases such as ‘I suppose you know who they nicked that idea from’ can be heard coming from his direction. But these are accompanied by much nervous over-the-shoulder looking and rarely go any further.

It’s a bit of a shame really, as he’s a harmless enough fellow. Of course, I knew it was all going to happen. But then no-one ever listens to me.

But they will.

Oh yes they will.

Because finally, in case you were wondering where all this has been leading, it’s now that my story truly begins.