MARTHA AND THE BURGER KINGS

So let's just recap, shall we? There's this bloke called Jodphurs, and everything gets a bit strange, and now they've stolen a car. Are we clear on this? He's sitting in the car now, with his alien friend Deng. Look. There he is. He's in the car.

"Just what, exactly, have you done Deng?"

"Well, Jodphurs, it was mainly just a bit of maintenance. The oil needed changing, and the brake fluid had gone, and the water for those little squirty things on the windscreen had run out as well. So, well, you know."

"No, Deng, I'm afraid I don't. I'd like you to tell me now. Before I press the wrong button."

"Oh there's nothing to worry about really. It's all perfectly safe. Apart from that one there. And that one, of course. I mean, it's not like I've really done anything drastic. What we have here is still, basically, a car."

"It's just a car which now happens to be equipped with a nineteen inch jet exhaust, an autopilot, and ejector seats."

"Well, yes. How does it feel? Looks like it's the first one on the block."

"What's this lever?"

"Hyperdrive."

"And these?"

"Satellite navigation systems."

"What about these things here? They look complicated."

"Those? Cup holders. Have you tried the stereo yet?"

"No."

"Good. I should stay away from it for a while. I tried to tune it earlier, and caused a small cockpit fire."

"Cockpit fire?!'"

"Okay, okay. Slip of the tongue. It's not a cockpit, it's still a car. I promise."

Inside the house, Anthea was packing for the trip. As she dropped clothes into the suitcase in front of her, she caught an evil glance from the Monk. She carried on. The monk was glaring.

"What?"

"You know what," relied the monk, "you know perfectly well."

"Yes, okay, what if I do? I'm not sorry. You've been hogging the limelight for far too long as it is."

"That doesn't mean you had to drug me. I had one lousy line in the whole of the last episode. My agent's just called, and she's livid."

"Not my problem."

"Do you realise I had to get the treacle out and replenish myself right there on camera? You know I have to do that when I sleep too long. I mean, what's that going to do for my image? I can forget those commercials I had lined up."

"Stop whining. You're up now, you can do this episode. This is going to be a good one, apparently."

"About time too. If you ask me, this serial lost it after all that time travelling started. And what was that about the doppelgangers? That wasn't funny or anything."

"Ah, but it set things up for later though, didn't it? Plotwise, like."

"Who needs plots? I did ten years on Crossroads without needing one."

"You were in Crossroads?"

"Yeah. Second plastic fern from the left, on the reception desk."

"Demanding."

"You ever stand around in a plant pot? You some kind of expert? Bloody amateur. Put on a dress and suddenly you're Dame Judi."

"I still have the bazooka you know."

"Oh, fine. Now you get back into character."

"Hey, have you noticed I'm getting called a 'she' instead of a 'he' now?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't worry about it."

"But do you think that means Reggie's gone for good?"

"How would I know? Ask wardrobe."

The Hamster was, at this time, contemplating life from the bottom of his sunflower seed dish. This dish was made entirely to scale with his three foot height, and situated in what had been Jodphurs' dining room. Suck. Another seed was vacuumed into his bulging cheek pouch, to binge on later when things got really depressing and he couldn't make it to the dish. He supposed, if he was going on this trip with the others, that he should stock up. Not that he wanted to go on the trip, you understand. He'd much rather stay in his nice new house than go off on some silly adventure with the others. He led a very interesting inner life. But they had insisted. Sort of.

"So, Blackpool it is then." Jodphurs looked around the car, as everyone nodded agreement. He put the car into gear, blinked as the vehicle passed through twenty-seven dimensions simultaneously, and then frowned as, with a loud pop from the exhaust, the car moved three inches up the driveway and stalled.

"What did I tell you, Jodphurs?" Deng piped up from the back seat. "Handbrake on, clutch in, select first and then enter instantaneous dimensional warp. You've got to get some revs up first."

"I'm hungry", said Anthea, "Are we there yet?"

"We'll find a burger place, or something."

"Use that button there, Jodphurs, next to the heated rear windscreen."

"Go on then. What is it?"

"Munchie detector. It'll teleport the whole car to the nearest eaterie", said Deng. "and it even dispenses those little lemon-soaked napkins for afterwards."

* * *

The Great Monk belched loudly, and another of the flies circling him suffocated on the fumes and fell to its death. They had never gotten to Blackpool, and now he was beginning to wonder whether entering the competition had been such a great idea of Jodphurs after all. Sure, the Palace was nice and everything, but eating two hundred cheese burgers in fifteen minutes had been a bit of an ordeal- even if it had made him, Jodphurs and the others the McMonarchs of New Englandshire for a fortnight.

A week after he, Anthea, Deng, the monk, and the Hamster had strolled into McDonalds for a milkshake, Jodphurs stood in the state room of Buckingham Palace, rather more pleased with himself than he had ever been before. At least, he assumed that he was pleased with himself- it wasn't actually a feeling that he'd had very much experience of. Yes, he thought to himself, as he looked in the mirror that morning- there was a man who had everything. A man with a crown on his head. A man with a brand new pair of white corduroys, and more socks than he could count. A good man with a good woman by his side. Martha might only have been a lowly McDonalds' cashier when he met her, but soon she would...

"Jodphurs..." The voice was smooth and feminine, like silk being dragged across a pool of double cream- "You know I love you, don't you?" Jodphurs turned around, and felt his morning bowl of frosties make a u-turn in his alimentary canal.

"It's just that, if you don't give me everything you have now, I'm going to have to shoot you twice with this large gun I'm holding." Martha waved the double barrelled Taser sadly, and added- "That would just split my heart in two." Jodphurs began to dribble slightly, and made a strange whistling noise.

"Why twice?", he squeaked, watching the gun's power meter move from FATAL to GRATUITOUS as its battery charged.

"I feel I need a real closure to this relationship", Martha answered, flicking her red hair back; "My therapist says that I leave too many things unfinished in my life."

Deng was in the banquetting hall, throwing cutlery at the Hamster (a habit he had picked up from Anthea). This Blackpool trip had turned rather odd. He wasn't entirely sure that he was enjoying himself quite as much as he expected to. Being an alien, he had very little interest in the Royal family- and he found it hard to believe that anyone else could have either, from what little history he had picked up. Apparently, the whole thing had been a sham since the war- the original family had carried on for a while, to keep the people happy, but once the young Edolph had settled in, just after the turn of the millenia, they were all shipped off to a camp somewhere and the dictator just used the Royal image to bestow gifts on those he favoured. Many Kings and Queens had passed through the palace since then- foreign businessmen, high-ranking officials, even a few worthy commoners (who had excelled at sucking up to the authorities) had played at being the nominal head of state for a week or two. Businessmen, especially, were often given the crown for a little while during trade negotiations, to sweeten things a little and help Edolph to squeeze a little more money into the country; and that is how, in 2040, the infamous King Ronald came along. In a creative and entirely illegal business deal, he bought the intellectual property rights to the entire Englandshire Monarchy, and sold it to his own fast-food conglomerate. The government immediately set up an enquiry to find out exactly who wasn't to blame, apart from the blameless Edolph naturally, and discovered that the deal had not happened at all and they were entirely free to exonnerate themselves. In a footnote to this "Scotched" report, the judge concluded- "While it is perfectly apparent that no one is at fault for allowing this deal to absolutely not happen in any way, it should be remembered that in a purely technical and specific legal sense, the Englandshire (nee British) Monarchy (and all its property and constitutional status) is no longer the actual property of His Edolphine Majesty's Government. Naturally, this does not mean to suggest that it now belongs to a foreign business interest- although, if I were to suggest that, I would be entirely correct." After a few abortive business ventures- the most memorable being the conversion of Windsor Castle into a drive-thru restaurant- King Ronald abdicated in 2045, and since then the monarchy had been assigned on a fortnightly basis, through a variety of promotional competitions. These included "Guess the number of french fries" (King Derek, of Birmingham), and "Nasal Nugget Balancing" (Queen Shirley, and family, of West Virginia). Now it was Jodphurs' turn to rule- after they had all warped into the burger bar for a joint milkshake and ended up entering the competition. Martha, who had taken their order, had helped of course; she seemed to take a shine to Jodphurs (which should have alerted them at the start), and half the cheeseburgers she prepared were just that- a thin sliver of cheese in a bap. This made things much easier, especially since this particular processed cheese is famous for disolving instantly upon contact with the mouth and having absolutely no physical mass at all.

Back in the state room- complete with a brass tourist plaque reading "Prince Charles discovered here with Jilly, the love zebra, by Chinese foreign minister"- Jodphurs tried the romantic approach.

"Martha, darling, love-muffin; you don't have to threaten me with that nasty gun. I'll give you anything you want- we could get married, and then you'll be my Queen."

"I don't think I'm ready for that kind of commitment, just yet." She seemed to be wavering.

"But snuggle bumkin, huggy moose, you'll have half of all I own- the Palaces, the crown jewels, the theme park- everything!'" Martha suddenly yanked the gun's power cord out of the socket on the wall behind her, as the red light on its battery pack began to blink the words INSTANT SPAM FRITTER. Before Jodphurs bowels could react to this development, she moved closer and deftly inserted the buzzing tip of the gun into his left nostril.

"Cut out that Moose crap, will you? I hate that. Listen- in exactly twelve days the Burger people will run the competition again, some old couple from Guildford will take up residence here, and I'll be left with half ownership of a Basildon bingo hall. Round up all this booty and put it in my van outside- I promise I'll only take one of your legs off." She was definitely sounding more aggressive; but at that point the discussion ended as Anthea struck her roundly on the head with a priceless chippendale and she sank to the floor, surrounded by the broken antique.

"Do you think they'll charge us for that, Jodphurs? Jodphurs?" Anthea looked her frozen friend up and down, as Jodphurs stared through her with the gun still dangling from his trembling nose. "I warned you about those white corduroys. Whatever you do, don't sneeze."

London, after the war, was a quagmire of radioactive ooze, but in the centre- reachable only by a couple of well maintained roads- was a small haven of untouched soil. On this island, by chance alone, stood Buckingham Palace and some surrounding gardens. This had been all that was left after the bombs. However, when Edolph had taken charge in the early noughties, he was dismayed to find that the country lacked any central government building in, what was still nominally, the capital. At first, his thoughts turned to the Palace- but the existing original Monarchy was still able to summon enough loyalty in the population to render that scheme untimely (it wasn't long before the family gave up the ghost and he was able to dispose of them, as it happened, but the young Edolph was an impatient man). So, he looked upon the rubble of London and came up with an alternative plan that was to symbolise just how insane, and yet also ambitious, the new dictator truly was. He sent a team of engineers, historians and architects into the toxic wasteland of Westminster, with a simple instruction. They were to locate each and every charred brick that had once made up the Houses of Parliament (including Big Ben), and take them to Buck's Island (as it had become known), for re-assembly. Right there, in the Palace back garden. The work began, and progressed slowly; so he had all the engineers shot and drafted in some new ones. Things didn't pick up, so he shot them as well- only he began to have trouble finding enough experts to replace them. By the time, ten years later, that the task was near completion, the chief architect was a man called Gordon who had once helped design a washing machine. The engineers were mostly made up of a team of retired metalwork teachers. Big Ben was reborn as a banana, and it was this misguided sillouhette against a pale evening sky which loomed over Corporal P. Barragioflash now, forty years later, as he reached for a custard cream from the glove compartment.

"Martha?" She had woken up, and was looking groggily over to Jodphurs. "Those curtain ropes aren't chafing, are they?" Martha shook her head slowly.

"But you can untie me, you know." There was confusion in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Did you mean anything you said to me before?"

"About the margarine and the jelly babies?"

"No, not that. The whole.. love.. thing, I mean. Or was it all just part of your plan to loot the Palace?"

"Honestly?", she asked.

"No."

"Well of course I meant it, cuddle-peach," she smiled, "but I wasn't going to let that get in the way of a business opportunity, now was I?"

"The thing is, Martha, we've just gone to the concierge to apologise about that chippendale we broke on your head, and, well, it turns out it was a fake." Martha blanched. "Everything in here is fake, apparently- Edolph sold all the originals to Argentina twenty years ago. Don't cry."

"I'm not, I.. Oh Jodphurs, I don't know what to do now. No burger job. No Royal treasure. No Paracetomol for this headache." (As a point of historical interest, it is worth noting that in the Great Englandshire of 2050, Paracetomol was entirely unavailable due to Government restrictions. In fact, Edolph banned all headache remedies apart from Junior Aspirin, on the grounds that that was the only one which tasted nice. This goes some way in explaining much of the extreme behaviour found common at this time).

"Why don't you join up with us?", suggested Deng, standing in the doorway, "Once we've finished our McMonarch tenancy we'll be off having wild adventures again."

"Will that cure my headache?" Martha inquired.

"No," replied Jodphurs, rubbing his forehead, "No it won't."

Corporal P. Barragioflash continued to wait, at the end of the approach road to the Palace, unsure of his next move. He hadn't been prepared for the sheer ingenuity of this group. They had bought some time, with this little Monarchy ruse, there was no doubt of that. Oh to be so close- not only to his prey, in the Palace, but also to his master. A stone's throw away, Edolph was ensconsed in Parliament, unaware of the magnificent prize that his humble servant Barragioflash was getting ready to deliver to his door. The Corporal shivered, partly with pride, but also with fear. It had occured to him, naturally, that the Rebel group headed by this man Jodphurs might have used this little Buckingham interlude to get closer to the President, perhaps plotting- who knows what? But no, Barragioflash re-assured himself, they would not be so bold. They had not even left the Palace since they moved in, and wouldn't for another week. The Monarchy served only one purpose for them, he was sure- it ensured their safety, by placing them in the popular limelight, and no doubt pandered to their disgusting 'patriotism' at the same time. He could not capture them yet- he had little to go on, and would have to face the public with this non-existent evidence. The arrest of a Royal family- no matter how temporary their status- would be far too big a story for the government machinery to whitewash altogether. No, he would wait, until he was ready, and they were out in the open once more- then he, Corporal P. Barragioflash, would strike.