Death in Stockdale (part Three)

Previously on Death in Stockdale:

Henry Hut has travelled back in time (by 1 hour) to save the life of his Friend Lemiwell Jones. He has teamed up with Chub, a young girl who knows Henry has travelled back in time and also has the ability to predict the future. To complicate matters (especially for the author) Henry has just discovered that the killer of Mr Jones is in fact … Mr Jones himself…

“I don’t believe it!” repeated Henry from last weeks episode.

Chub Shrugged for the sake of continuity.

Mr Jones dusted himself down and spoke.

“Henry. I knew it would be you. You have to let me in there. I have to kill that version of me before it’s too late.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” barked Henry, his arms outstretched to highlight his rage. “I’ve not travelled a hour back in time just to watch you die again. You are too important to this town to die twice. WE NEED YOU!” He pleaded.

Mr Jones shook his head sadly.

“No Henry. I have to die. It’s the only way to stop the madness that’s coming. Everything that happens… it’s all on me…it’s my fault.” Lemiwells face lost its determination and sagged a little.

It was at this point that Henry realised just how different the man in front of him looked to the one that he had wished good luck to just a few hours before.

“A year from now – today in fact – I used Professor Proctos time machine to come back here and stop myself from winning the election. All the things I wanted to do, all those people I promised to help. They were all dead. It was all my fault….” His voice drifted a little.

Henry frowned. “What? How can you be responsible for anything bad happening. You were... will be going to save the town from that rat bag Dr Malevolent. He’s the bad guy I all this.” He bargained.

“That’s what we all thought Henry.” Lemiwell choked back the pain of memory. “But it turns out that he is the only one capable of doing what is going to be necessary to save us all.”

“Bollocks!” swore Henry. “He’s a nutter. He want’s to stop my mum from making me dry Weetabix – he’s a fruit cake!”

“If only Dry Weetabix were the worst of our problems..” Said Lemiwell as he explained what the past/ coming year would have/had/did in store for Stockdale.

Chub listened impatiently as the two men jibber-jabbered about Zombies, dinosaurs, alien abductions and a mad old lady turned serial killer.

After a couple of minutes Chub stood between the two.

She pointed a dirty finger at Lemiwell Jones and said “You. Do what you came to do. Once it’s done you are coming with us.”

“but..” started Henry.

“Shut yer gob!” growled Chub. “Find a car for us to escape in. Once Mr Jones has killed…um .. himself(?) then we are all going to same Gus. Anybody has a problem with that then you can discuss it with my mates Lefty and Righty” She held up two sets of very sharp knuckles that may not have done much damage were it not for the fact they were coated in months of dirt and muck and for all their adventures neither Henry Hut nor Lemiwell Jones wished to get a tetanus jab.

Three short minutes passed before Henry heard the muffled BANG of a gun. His body twitched at the memory but he did not have time to react before the hooded figure he now knew as Mr Jones ran out of the town hall and toward the car Henry had procured for their get a way.

“Nice wheels” Said Mr jones.

“It’s Dr Malevolent’s.” noted Henry. “Seemed appropriate. I don’t trust him, but if he’s going to be in charge of this town he can start by walking the streets for a while. Where to Chub?”

Chub directed Henry to the edge of town. The car weaved in and out of traffic and before long it was clear where they were headed.

There was a sign by the road.

THE TOP SECRET HIDEOUT OF DR MALEVOLENT: NEXT LEFT – no salesmen.

Chub explained. “Mr Malevolent took Gus a few months ago. I was supposed to find the Professor but when I got to his house, you fell over me Henry. I thought you would be able to help me.”

“Why not ask for the Prof?” asked Henry.

“He’ll be there.” She said quietly.

The car pulled up in the car park.

The three of them ran inside the warehouse that was the (not so) secret HQ of the Doctor and his devilish plans of domination.

They were met inside by a large amount of darkness. Darkness that was broken by small flashing lights. Scientific lights on scientific machines that had large cables running out of them in all directions.

Henry, Chub and Lemiwell allowed their eyes to adjust and follow the path of the cables as they ran down the length of the warehouse.

That was until they came to a pair of feet.

Eyes stopped. Throats gulped in fear and dread.

Then ears popped at the single most glorious word they had ever heard.

“SCIENCE!”

It was Professor Procto. His arms filled the darkness as he spun in wonderment at the amount of technical gizmos and gadgets around him. “Isn’t it wonderful?” He asked nobody in particular.

“Where’s Gus?” Pleaded Chub.

“How did you get here?” Asked Henry at the same time.

“Over here.” Said the Prof, followed by “SCIENCE!” The latter response being aimed at Henry.

Lemiwell Jones followed in silence. It was just hitting him that he had caused his own death to save the future but something didn’t feel right.

The foursome followed the line of cables until they across a large metallic tube. The tube had a large glass window and inside was the body of Gus, Chubs mentor and only friend.

“Get him out quick!” Screamed Chub.

The professor unlocked the door to the large tube and together with Henry and Chub they helped the half naked man out of his strange prison.

Lemiwell stood back and noticed other lines of tubes reaching further into the warehouse. 

He followed the trail while the others fussed over Gus.

As he disappeared into the darkness his voice echoed back to the group.

“My God! Look at this!” said called back.

The group followed Lemiwells voice until they all stood together and viewed their worst nightmare.

They hadn’t known their real nightmares until this moment, as before them stood dozens of similar tubes to the one that held Gus.

Gus lifted his head to look upon the fate of Stockdale.

“My God!” repeated Lemiwell. “That’s Shabby… and his dog.”

“yes..” croaked Gus. “Dr Malevolent has been experimenting with cadavers. He planned on using my mind to reanimate these corpses and unleash them on the town.”

“The filthy bast….” Henry stopped mid-sentence as one of the many bodies in front of them twitched.

It was only a small movement, but when a dead body moves – nobody with any sense of self-preservation stands still long enough to see if it will do anything else.

“EVERYBODY OUT!” Exclaimed the Professor.

And out, everybody went.

The Professor joined them as they clambered into the stolen car.

“Let’s go before…” Started the Professor but he cut off by a huge explosion that cost most of the budget. (it really was a fantastic explosion, with fire of red and orange and flames and smoke and sparks and everything!!)

It didn’t take long for everyone to arrive back at Mrs Featheringays for tea and illicit Weetabix of the dry variety.

Mrs Featheringay listened, in that way that old ladies do, to the story of Henry’s time travelling, Gus and Chubs abilities and how the Professor blew up his nemesises…es(?) HQ and the troubling confusion of Mr Jones killing himself even though he was  still here to tell the tale.

“So we won’t be having zombies knocking on the door then?” She asked.

“No.” Said The Professor triumphantly.

“But the horrible Dr Malevolent is now in charge of things?” She continued.

“ah.. yes.” Mused Henry.

“But not for long!” Chirped Gus, who was feeling much better after his ordeal now he had eaten a bowl of irradiated wheat crumbs and had a nice cup of tea.

“What do you mean?” said Lemiwell, worriedly.

Chub shrugged in reply.

And Mrs Featheringay slapped Henry on the legs when he swore. “I don’t BLOODY believe it!”

And everybody laughed because it was the end of the story.

Death in Stockdale (part two).

Previously on Death in Stockdale:

Henry Hut has travelled back in order to stop the murder of his friend Lemiwell Jones who was shot whilst giving an election speech in front of the whole town. He has one hour to save the day....


"I don't believe it!" Said Henry, making sure to get his catchphrase in before he forgot about it again.

He bolted out of the professors room and flew down the stairs of Mrs Feathingays and out of the front door.

He didn't really have time to ponder the intricate nature of physics (specifically what happens when a moving object meets a stationary object) but nature being the fickle mistress that it is, Henry fulfilled that part of his destiny when found himself - face down in the pavement - having fallen over the crumpled figure that was....

"Chub." Said Chub, dusting herself down and raising to her feet.

"Eh?" Asked Henry, about as confused as confused can be.

"Me. My name is Chub and you are Henry Hut. No?" She shrugged. It was a thing she did.

"Yes... but..." Henry realised that he still sat on the ground and decided it would be best to get up.

"I followed you here. I need your help."

"How could you have followed me HERE?" Henry became slightly more confused that he was previously, which not an easy thing to accomplish.

"I know you can from the future. I lots of things. LOTS." Chub offered a small smile. It was not in her nature to smile. Life had not been the best of friends to this wandering vagrant. 

Having been kicked out of her home, Lenny Henry Tower, chased through the streets of Stockdale by hoodies and having her one and only friend kidnapped by a mad man was not really the best start in life for young girl (we won't even talk about the witnessing of a double homicide at the old abandoned fun fair).

Chub explained her predicament to Henry. She told him how she was taught to see the patterns in the world around her and this lead her to Mrs Featheringays front door in time for Henry to barge through.

"If all that's true," Blasted Henry. "Why didn't you bloody well move if you knew I coming through the door?" 

"I'm not an expert...yet." Chub look slightly embarrassed. "Anyway, I'll help you if you promise to help me free Gus."

"Who the chuffing flip is GUS?" Henry was running out of expletives and was forced to improvise.

"Gus is my friend. He showed me how to see the world as it really is. The patterns - everything is tied together Henry. Everything."

Henry Frowned. The clock was ticking and he didn't have time to argue with this little weirdo, instead he took her hand and together they ran to the town hall to save Lemiwell Jones.


Henry was not the only time traveller to visit Stockdale. The first traveller, who had come from Henry's future BEFORE he travelled back in time (very confusing but logical all the same) was hiding in Mrs Featheringays kitchen as Henry had stomped down the stairs just moments before.

He stood quietly in the shadows as Henry opened the door and fell on his face. Whislt all the commotion was occuring in front our unknown visitor, Mrs Featheringay herself shuffled into the kitchen from the front room.

Too old and frail to stand in a big drafty hall all day, she instead opted to stay at home and prepare some sandwiches and a pot of tea for everyones return.

"Ooh what are you doi...uurgk" She gargled as the shadowy figure grabbed mrs F and covered her mouth, dragging her in the living room where they could not be seen.


Time ticked and tocked, as it tends to do, as Henry and Chub neared the town hall.

Dozens of people were stood outside, finishing off their woodbines and stocking up on cough sweets (the kind that audiences always take before an important meeting to ensure that a fit of hacking up their lungs always starts just as something exciting is about to happen).

"Right." Whispered Henry from around the corner. "If you know everything - which one of these scumbags killed Mr Jones?"

Chub shrugged, as was her want. "I don't know EVERYTHING Henry."

"Then what DO you know?" He shook her, as if the answer would fall out of her pocket.

Something fell out of Chubs pocket.

Henry picked up a piece of paper.

"What's this?" he asked.

Chub didn't say anything. It was important that Henry figured it out for himself.

Looking at the piece of paper made Henry's face contort and wrinkle. "I don't get it. It's just a picture of a rabbit. What does that mean?"

Chub carefully lifted the picture from Henry's hands and turned it around before handing it back.

"Oh... it's one of those optical illusions... it's not a rabbit... it's a duck."

Chub raised her eyebrows expecting the soft of glow of enlightenment to hit any second.

"a duck....a duck?" mumbled Henry.

...any second now....

"Duck. oh DUCK!" and Henry ducked just as he saw his past self walk past with Lemiwell Jones.

Henry (the future NOW Henry that is) put his hand over his mouth. Even he knew that he couldn't interfere with his past self in case of causing one of those universe destroying events the Professor had told him about before he left.

"Good Luck Mr Jones." Previous Henry said. "Knock 'em dead!"

"Thank you Henry. This is were it all starts for us. Stockdale deserves a new beginning, a new future, a new..." Henry cut him off mid sentence.

"Save it for the podium Mr J." He said.

Mr Jones walked off to his spot inside the town hall.

"What do we do now?" Whispered Chub.

"What?" Questioned Henry. "You're the one who knows the future. You tell me!"

"I may know the future Henry, but you LIVE there!" She replied.

"Damn." she had him there. there was no arguing with logic like that.

Henry had to think on his feet.

"Erm..." he said "Give me a minute to think about it."

Back at Mrs Feathingays, the shadowy figure from the future-future had left Mrs F a little shook up but none the worse for wear. Having explained everything to her she made him a cheese sandwich and wished her visitor good luck and would he back for tea.
Her visitor had no reply.
Instead he had leaped over the back wall and made his way to the town hall to meet with fate.

Henry had a plan. He would not have said it was a good plan, but it was a plan and that better than no plan at all.

Chub was not convinced that Henry was coping very well with time travel but she needed him and she had to help Henry in order to save Gus.

"We will wait outside here" Said Henry. "When I see the killer I'll grab him before he goes inside. That way, Mr Jones won't die and I won't make the mistake of meeting my past self and everything will work out. Then we can go home." Henry nodded trying to convince himself that the plan didn't have more holes than a rusty sieve.

"but.." Chub was cut off before she could start. 

"Then... we can ALL GO HOME!" He repeated through gritted teeth.

"We just need to keep our eyes peeled for a man in a hooded toumphbloodyhell!" and Henry found himself on the floor again.

In a humpled, crumpled heap three bodies entangled themselves in knots before Chub managed to wriggle free.

Before her she saw Henry, his arms flailing and waving like a drowning spider. Surrounding him and equally failing to free themselves from the heap was the hooded man Henry has told her to look out for.

"HENRY THAT'S HIM!!" She screamed.

"Who, wha..." Said Henry before noticing the grey hooded top. Instinct took over and Henry threw a punch into the assailants head.

"Bastard." said Henry defiantly.

Henry jumped up, full of adrenaline and fear and rage and hope that he had saved the day!

"That's no way to speak to a friend now is it Henry..." said the killer standing up slowly. He turned to face Henry and Chub. 

Pulling down the hood of his top dramatically to reveal...

Mr Lemiwell Jones.

"But... I don't.... What the...." Mouthed Henry.

Mr Jones wiped a small smear of blood from his lip.

"We have to save the future Henry." Said Mr Jones.

"I don't believe it." Said henry....

Chub shrugged.


To be continued...

Death in Stockdale (part one)

The election was drawing nearer and the good folks of Stockdale had crammed themselves inside the town hall for last of the candidates speeches.

There had been lots of talk about who would turn up to speak. Rumours had spread like peanut butter about how the three main parties had all pulled out over confusions and arguments about the TV rights, but it seemed that nobody had bothered to inform any of them that tonights event would not actually be on the tele.

As a result there was not one single representative from the Cuntservatives, Blabour, or the Miserbale Lemoncrates.

This meant left just two men left to battle it out. Lemiwell Jones and Dr Malevolent.

The latter had won the toss before the night started and was currently finishing off his opening speech as our story enters it’s fifth paragraph.

 “..and is how I – Dr Malevolent will ensure jobs for all with my henchmen scheme, Free anti-aging cream for all over 65’s and a complete ban of people eating dry Weetabix! Thankyou Stockdale. The future is MINE… I mean.. OURS!”

Cheers ran out through the damp hall as the feckless sheep collectively remembered only the bits they wanted to here.

Lemiwell Jones stepped from behind his podium and gave a little nervous cough as he took his place before the microphone. “This is it.” He thought to himself. Followed by “…dry Weetabix? Why didn’t I think of that? Filthy buggers.”

A dry swallow and quick tug at his collar and Lemiwell began his speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen… Friends… Uuurrghh!”

A loud BANG had shot through the ears of all in attendance caused at least one person to faint and another to loosen their bowels.

Everyone looked around a little confused. This wasn’t the kind of speech they were expecting.

Lemiwell Jones fell to the floor in a heavy heap.

One of the floor managers ran up to him and checked his pulse.

“He’s DEAD!”

Gasps echoed around the room and somebody else fainted.

At the back of the room Henry Hut (truth wizard) staggered back in disbelief. “I don’t believe it!” He said.

A strange figure in a grey hooded jacket ran past him and through the door. Henry immediately ran after him knowing that this must be the killer and Henry had to catch the murderer of his friend and mentor.

“STOP!” Henry screamed as he gave chase but the killer had disappeared into the shadows.

Security had gathered around Dr Malevolent and ushered him through the back door and back to his secret HQ at the top of the moors.

“My god!” he wheezed, out of breath. “What the hell was that?”

His number one henchman, Barnabus, said nothing and continued driving at high speed.

The net hour was a blur. Henry had run until he got a stitch (it didn’t take long as, like most conspiracy theorists, exercise only ever got in the way of searching for the truth) and found himself walking aimlessly through the dark and empty streets. He hadn’t even noticed it had started raining.

He soon found himself outside of Mrs Featheringays house for wandering gentleman of which Mr Jones have resided for the past year or so.

He knocked on the door and was greeted lovingly by the lady of the house herself.

“Come in love.” She whispered, putting her arm around the now sodden Henry. “The kettle’s on… I’ll fetch a towel.”

Henry walked into the common room and found the imposing figure of Professor Procto stood motionless, his hands held on his hips. “It’s about time you got here. We have work to do.”

Henry flew into a furious rage. “There must be something you can do Professor!” He pleaded. “Don’t you have some sort of machine that can bring Mr Jones back to life… or …or … a time machine or murderer finder-o-tron or something?!?!”

Henry had never gotten a fix on the Professor. He never understood how a man of SCIENCE could be so dismissive of Henry’s theories and thoughts about aliens and chem-trails and “big pharma”.

The Professor said nothing but ushered Henry up to his part time room on the first floor.

Professor Procto usually slept in his laboratory at the University and only used a room at Mrs Featheringays in order to perform some of his more “experimental” experiments. (it had something to do with the University’s insurance against high explosives and multi-dimensional creatures on the rampage).

“Funny you should mention a time machine Henry. I have at least one in here. I only finished building it last week and not had a chance to use it.” He said plainly.

“?” questioned Henry.

Through the door of the Profs room they both entered and the Professor pulled an old dust sheet off a large shapeless shape in the corner of the room.

“I’m going to send you back in time to find out who killed Lemiwell Jones.”

Sobriety hit Henry in the face like a wet sock.

Questions had to be answered.

“But.. won’t travelling through time cause y’know consequences?” He nervously asked.

Procto Shrugged. “Could do.” He said.

“There are three main possibilities. First of all, by travelling back in time you may cause something to happen that wasn’t going to have already happened in the past (you now future) and this will result in a time split, creating two parallel time at the same point in space/time may cause the universe to implode due to the weight of it’s own impossibility.”

Henry stared blankly as the words washed over him.

“Secondly, there is the grandfather paradox. You may end up doing something that will stop you wanting to travel back in time in your own future (the now/present or then/past depending on your point of view) and the total impossibility of this will cause the universe to implode.”

Henry still stared..

“Thirdly, there is the theory of predestination. You always will be/were going to travel back in time. You won’t/have not been able to stop the killer as it has/will be going to have already happened. Even if I send you back to before the murder, it will already have will be going to have happened. So there is that to consider as well.” He shrugged again.

Henry remembered to breathe.

“It’s why I don’t really bother with Time travel.” Concluded the Professor. “It just gives you a massive headache.”

The prof flicked a switch by the plug socket and the machine turned on with an ominous hum.

He machine itself looked just like a poorly made door frame but with some blue and red wires sticking out of the sides and some very futuristic neon lights flickering up and down the edges.

The Professor frowned. "That's odd. It's looks like somebody has already travelled back in time."

"How can that be?" said Henry. "You said you had only just made the machine."

The Prof tapped on the keyboard of the strange machine and concluded thusly:

"It looks like somebody from OUR future has already gone back in time to before the murder. We are locked out of that time frame."

It was now Henry's turn to frown. "But if they are in the future and have not travelled back in time yet, why can't we travel back there first?"

Procto mused on this logical retort and replied "Even though they are in our future, they actually travelled back into our shared past. This means that they are already there. If they are already there in the past they must have already time travelled in the future. This means that we are unable to travel between those two points."

"eh?" (that was Henry)

"It's quite simple. Time is locked out by the travelling of somebody from the future(point A) into the past (point B) any time between those two points is locked by that journey. Because we exist inside those two points we can only travel back to point B and no further... I suppose this cause a fourth time travel consequence. Extrodinary."

Henry was getting a bit fed up of being confused. "So what do we do then?"

“ Carry on as normal... But remember Henry, whatever happens don't…” and with that, the Professor pushed henry through the time machine ….

And BACK.

Henry awoke to find himself trapped in the past facing a mirror image that was not his own. Fearing that he may be infringing of the copyright of other time travellers opening credits, 

Henry quickly realised he was actually looking at a poster of Albert Einstein.

Grateful of not having to get a lawyer (just yet) Henry looked around the Professors empty room (Henry had travelled in time but not space) and decided to utter his famous catchphrase:

“I don’t believe it…..”

But Henry did not have the time to not believe anything. He had to save Lemiwell Jones from a fate worse than death… well from death anyway.

TBC…..

It IS Unusual

Alright there boyo!

Thom Jones here.  No, not that name-dropping pop-fool on the Saturday night karaoke tripe:- Thom Jones, truth bringer extraordinaire, here to pull the wool from your eyes and hit you with the truth like a thunder ball!

Here, from my secret headquarters in Pontypridd, I'll be investigating the curious, the supernatural and the downright suspect business what the government doesn't wants you knowing about isn't it?!  well they wouldn't you see.  Them's all lizards!

Now first up, let's look at them there pyramids.  They say that dinosaurs died all natural like, and that we shouldn't go looking into the cause of their extinction because we'll never really know or something of that sort.  Well RUBBISH I say.

First off, there was all kinds of different dinosaurs like the T-Rex and them spittin' little cachs out of that fil'em.  Do they honestly want us to believe that all the kinds of monsters died out of the same thing at the same time?  My cousin, who's a floor screeder over in Newport got shingles once.  Did I suddenly get it too?  No.  So that's dodgy if you asks me.

Also, imagine if you will, a world where not enough dinosaurs were killed off.  All those gold barges that the queen rides up and down that sewer of filth The Thames, have to run off something right.  Well it's convenient that they died in time to turns into oil just in time for the jubilee and such.

No, if you asks me, Tutankhamen used the dinosaurs to build his pyramids then had them all hanged so's future Illuminati members could get petrol because he could see the way things was headed right.  Plus they hadn't as many Ford Fiesta's around back then...

Well, that's your lot for now then.  Remember, just reading this eye-opening piece will surely put you in grave danger, so look after yourself and if the men in black suits come a' knocking at your door then i'll carry on and sail this ship alone.

Ray Beers: Fire Safety

Hey you!

Hope thee's reet.

Now that all that winter's nearly over, that's no reason to let your guard down.  Let Ray Beers guide you once more through the perils and pitfalls of outdoor supping so that you too can feel safe and sound whilst getting rid of that pesky liver.

See ya next time!

Henchmen4U

This poorly made poster has been doing the rounds in Stockdale.

Over the past few months more and more have become disenfranchised by the lack of full time employment opportunities.

Even students have taken on the role of Henchmen to earn themselves some extra pocket money.

But what does Dr Malevolent need with an entire towns worth of lackeys?

What strange secrets and controversial experiments does he have up his sleeve?

Will anyone be able to stop him?

Should he be stopped?

How many unanswered questions is too many?

All will be revealed soon....

ps- only ten months until Xmas! hahahahaha

The Curious Happenings of Ian Cope. (freeview)

In a slight change from our normal posts, SINKINGSHIP presents a new way of reading blog posts.

We hope you enjoy this short story.

Sunday evening was a very special time of the week for Ian Cope. It was the one time of the week he could truly be himself.

For the rest of the week Ian had to wear a tie.

He wore other clothes of course, but having to knot a length of silk around his neck felt more akin to slipping on a noose.

Ian hated his job. If pressed, he couldn’t even tell what it was that did. He went to work every day and entered a building of some kind and sat at one of the many desks that melted into the many rows upon rows of grey, sad and desperate slabs of plastic.

He would sit there from 8:30am until 5pm, sometimes leaving for lunch, but sometimes not.

Once the small clock on the other side of the room reached 5 he would quietly get up, collect his coat and wander home without uttering a word to single human being.

Sunday nights were different.

Ian didn’t wear a tie on Sunday nights.

Instead he would sit quietly in his big armchair and stare at the TV in the corner of the room.

Pictures would flicker past his eyes at a rate of knots.

Visions of people form all over the world. Some happy and colourful. Beautiful happy smiling people full of life and laughter. Others were not so lucky. There were other people who were crying or just sad. People who had lost everything. Homes, possessions loved ones. Hope.

Ian could not relate to any of these people.

He found it strange that other people had such opposing reactions to the world around them. They all lived in the same world. Breathed the same air and presumably, watched the same TV as he did. But Ian did not cry. Nor did he feel the urge to laugh.

Ian was completely devoid of emotion.

It was Sunday night and Ian Cope sat in his chair and watched the world around fumble along without purpose.

“This is wrong.” Ian thought to himself.

“It shouldn’t be like this.” He concluded.

And with that thought Ian Cope concocted a devious diabolical and genius plan to put things right.

Lifting himself from the comfort of his chair a strange feeling crept through his body. It started at his feet as he took the weight of his frame. With each step he felt a pulse of energy surge through his body. First his legs became stronger. Each stride had more meaning. His arms began to pull him along as he walked toward his destiny.

Within seconds his head was electric with ideas and plans. By the time he had reached the kitchen and flicked the kettle on Ian was almost giddy with anticipation with the knowledge of what was to come.

A packet of custard creams was selected from the biscuit tin and Ian made his way to his writing desk in order to write down his amazing solution to the human condition.

“This is so simple I can’t believe nobody thought of it before.” Chuckled Ian as he placed the …..

To continue reading this story of intrigue and wonderment please send a postal order for £5.45 to: 

Sinkingship Productions POBOX 23455 Stockdale. 

The Kenny Lowell Show

Somewhere on the outskirts of Stockdale, a living is being made by and on the backs of the algae that collects around the edge of any urban pond.

Kenny Lowell fronts his titular and much-maligned 'problem-solving' show for the kind of folk who think teeth are a luxury and pear cider is one of your five a day.

Why does he do this  Is Kenny a paragon of virtue?  Is he a calming voice to the masses or a healer for those in spiritual need

Read on mucker and find out...

Professor Procto's Problem Page

Everyone has issues, where it be weight problems, relationship issues of creating a formula for the unified theory of everything.

Here at Sinkingship we want to do our part to help those less fortunate than ourselves and offer answers to those that ask.

The following letters of angst have been sent in by loyal followers:


Dear Professor Procto.

I have been in a dead end relationship for the past 3 years. My girlfriend doesn't understand me. She hates my friends, criticises my taste in clothes and refuses to share in any of my hobbies.
How can I rekindle that spark that shone so brightly in the early days of our relationship?
Yours - Sad and Unloved.

Dear S and U.
SCIENCE is the answer to this one.
I find that magnesium dropped into a bowl of water can create huge sparks and a loud BANG! if that's what you mean.
Because you come across as a bit of wuss I'm sending you a vial of my latest serum of MEGA-meta-testosterone (b12), which has had "some" success in mutating the sexual response in female leeches. I don't see why a few drops of this in your morning coffee shouldn't pique your partners interest in you. Just don't eat anything green for a couple of weeks... 

Dear Prof.
I have been out of work since 2012 after my boss found me drunk under the desk one Thursday afternoon. How can I get back into the world of full time employment?
Sincerely - Out of Pocket.

Dear OoP.
There are many jobs out there if you know where to look. You are obviously the sort who likes a tipple every now and then so may I suggest you apply to become a wine taster at a local vineyard or perhaps become part of a human trial experimentation subject?

Then again I always find a quick fix to cash flow problems can be resolved with a little SCIENCE!

I have a few experiments I wish to develop involving Mercury, liquid latex and/or the effects of high energy laser beams shot directly into the human brain.
If any of these sounds like they are up your alley, write back with a urine sample and I'll see what I can do.


Dear Professor Procto.
I woke up last Saturday with a banging headache... oh yes and an EXTRA ARM! I don't what you did to me when I agreed to help you move those boxes the other week but having completely lost my memory of any events since our encounter I can't shake off this feeling that you have violated me somehow with strange and unethical experiments.
What are you going to do about this extra arm? I can get any of my shirts to fit me and I glow in the dark.
HELP ME!

Dear H.
I'm sorry but I am not here the person you are trying to reach is no longer known at this address.
Good luck in your endeavours.
Senior Jamal De La Googlehiem III.

Well, it looks like that's all we have time for this week folks.

Remember SCIENCE is the answer!


SCIENCE!

STOCKDALE: After Dark.

Welcome to STOCKDALE: AFTER DARK

A new start for everyone's 2nd or 3rd favourite* fictional Northern town presented in blog form.

It's going to be a bit like "Hollyoaks After Dark" in that it will have the same crappy acting but with a little bit more cleavage and the odd swear word thrown in, to show that it's for the grow-ed ups and little kids should leave the room or be forever mentally scarred by the adult themes and accidently-on-purpose nip slips.

This'll make us or brake us I'm sure.

* maybe 4th or 5th....