"Shit! What's that noise Tad?" asked Lynden, in a rather silly, over dramatic sense.

"It's a door opening, Lynden. Everybody knows that sound effect and anyway it said that it was a door at the end of the last episode," replied Tad, looking not very angry at all.

"Yes I know it's a door y'dick, I was just trying to make it a bit more dramatic."

"Well don't, you're very bad at it."

"Sorry." As Lynden tried to look as apologetically at Tad as he could, the kitchen door swung open.

"Fucking draft."

"I won't make a joke about the final copy looking OK?" [surreal...]

Suddenly there was a thud and in walked Big Man Tayls. That wasn't his real name of course. Boringly enough his name was Mark John Taylor, but who wants to be called that? His friends in the dull and tedious county of Gloucestershire, in a moment of extreme hilarity for them, had nicknamed him 'Big Man Tayls'. It could have been 'Big Mama Tayls', but then not everybody has an imagination like the Vance Productions' scriptwriters. Anyway, he was big certainly, a man probably, and wore a tail convincingly, but there would be no need for that this term as the fancy dress party isn't on anymore as a consequence of fancy dress parties being a pile of shit.

"Shaddap Lynden y'dick!"


"I said shaddap Lynden y'dick. And you can shaddit as well Tad or I'll fackin' squash you!"

"Sorry" said the pair of 'dicks' in unison, and in harmony - they had been practising for some time and Lynden was well known for his excellent baritone.

"Shaddap Tad! And make my breakfast. I'll have sixteen eggs, a pack of pasta, four yogurts, a toasted loaf, your stir fry, nine cups of tea - your tea - a jar of neat soy sauce, some chips, some rice, fourteen pints of cider, a chapati, some naans and a chicken biriani. I'm on a diet."

"Yes, sir."

"It's yes thank-you sir."


"Shaddap Lynden. What the fack are you doing out of your room anyway?"


"Oh yeah. That's really interesting - will you do mine? Am I going to live forever and ever?"

"Dunno mate, I was having a grin."

"Shaddap!" he turned to Tad, who was quivering, This was decisively odd for Tad, who was a known mad man, but seemed to be in a rather tame mood, "harry ap wiv moy fackin' breakfast y'cant! Naaowww!" Tad brought the trolley of food, which he had prepared in double quick time, over to the table, which wasn't big enough. It would have been even worse if their flatmate Phill Opielercurry had been there, playing on the Playstation as he normally was.

"So, what will you be getting up to on this jolly morning, Mr Mark?" asked Tad, again in a rather tame manner - perhaps this was the calm before the storm.

"Shaddap Tad! Don't talk like a Hampshire twat to me. Er, yeah..... well, my good friend Olympiakos is coming round after I've finished my breakfast. Then we're going for some light lunch at that new ‘EatAllYouCan!’ restaurant in town because I'm on a diet, then, we're playing waterpolo, we've got training, then I'll be starving so I'll probably come back and eat you, then basketball, a minor heart attack, some light lunch - perhaps just a couple of small cows because I'm on a diet - then I'll spend a couple of hours taking a dump, then I'm going out with the waterpolo team to pull."

"But you did that yesterday."

"Yes but they're good looking lads. Er, shaddap!... when I come back, Antoine Le Coque and I are cooking lunch for the lads in D3, and if I'm still alive I'll probably just fancy a curry."

"Which curry?"

"A curried ox."


"Shaddap! It's getting tedious! Where the fack are Phill and Selwyn anyway? And where that fackin' loverboy Joey Melville? Er, y'dick."

"Don't know."


As the three sat in the kitchen, wondering where their other three flatmates were, there was a tap on the window, no in fact, forget that - I'm not putting that shitty old joke about having to change the plumber in - er, there was a ring on the doorbell. What on earth were people doing leaving cups on top of things like that? No that wasn't very good either. OK, someone rang the bell, and before the three knew it, they had started episode three.....


1999 Vance Productions. 'The Flatmates' is a work of fiction. All characters portrayed herein are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental. Flatmates cuddly toys are now available at special price to all subscribers. Enquiries, and all correspondence should be by email to VanceProductions.