Dyspepsia Ruels KO! by Clive May (clive@cj4386.demon.co.uk) Dr Who is the property of the BBC. Francoise and the White Dalek are the creations of B K Willis, and are being used with his kind permission. The This Time Round is the creation of Tyler Dion after Kiel The Fourth Doctor, hands thrust deep in the pockets of the great coat, entered the TTR with K9 and Romana at his heels. He glanced around at the scatter of other selves, companions and off-duty villains, before sauntering over to the bar. Harry Sullivan was on duty. He was just sweeping up a few spare fingers and wiping away a few spots of blood - the detritus from Francoise's stint of duty behind the bar. The Navy Surgeon, come bartender shook his head sadly. They just would not learn. A little research into conversational Ogron would save so much umpleasantness - and incidentally save him the gruesome task of clearing up at the start of his shift. Why? He'd even provided a Ogron - English dictionary - open at the relevant spot; but it did no good. The entry said, in English: "Put it on the bill" Where the complementary Ogron phrase should have been was a warning in twenty point red letters which read: "WARNING! WARNING! On legal advice, this phrase has been omitted because it is the most foul insult that can be offered to a member of this species. Therefore This company shall accept no legal liability for: dismemberment, death, invasion of your home solar system or any other unpleasantness arising from use of this phrase in the company of the said Ogrons." "What can I get you, Doctor?" asked Harry tipping the bits and bobs into the bin. "Ah - something to eat I think? Do you have a menu?" Harry duly handed over a menu card. The Doctor squinted at the tiny writing. "The writing's too small; I can't read it. Do you have a signifying glass?" Harry looked blank. "Huh? I'm sorry, Doctor, that does not magnify." "Never mind," said the Doctor, helping himself to a jeweller's eyeglass from the Third Doctor's jacket pocket. He screwed it into his eye. His expression grew puzzled. "Tell me, Harry? What is Kickin Keith?" Harry looked blank. "Or," the Doctor went on, "Gordon's Zola?"" "Wasn't he a French writer?" asked Peri. "Or was that Emile Gordon?" "Hmmm? chilled greese?" the Doctor hazarded. "Ah! Here's one for Tegan - stronggenuff serbed with pommes a frights." Here's "Ah - The light of comprehension dawned like a shepherd's warning in Harry's face. "I think Mel must have done the menu again. She's not been the same since that fiendish Scrabble torture dreamed up by the White Dalek. Adric didn't have time to do them, and you just can't leave that sort of thing to Francoise. His notion of Chef De Cuisine is the head of a difficult customer, severed and lightly broiled." "I notice," said Romana who was perusing another menu card, "that she spelt carrot juice right - well, that is, if you don't mind it spelt with a "G", two "Rs" and a "T" at the end?" The Doctor set down the menu card in a huff. "I want a word with that young lady right now. Where is she?" "In the lady's room," Harry said, "Changing into her leotard for the Keep Fit session." A ripple of pure panic ran round the bar, affixing to each face a tremulous paleness. It dragged in its wake a fretful whimper. Several patrons got up to leave, the Sixth Doctor leading the charge for the exit. At that exact instant a loud roar of affront shook all the fittings in the TTR. It was followed a moment later by an ear piercing scream of surprise and terror. There wasn't even time to ask: "What was that?" before the door to the washroom burst from its hinges and sagged forlornly to the floor. Like a gazelle on speed, Mel cleared the sagging door in a single bound and flashed, naked as a jay bird, through the bar of the TTR at what was judged to be at least ninety five miles an hour. "Whatever's wrong with her?" asked the Third Doctor. "Oh. A touch of dyspepsia, I should think?" the Fourth answered. "You don't mean Dyslexia?" "Possibly." "Well. I never knew Dyslexia could have that effect on any one..." began the Third, then broke off and stared in amazement as a slightly rumpled but very, very annoyed leopard bounded over the ruins of the washroom door and took off after the fled Mel. "You know," observed the fourth Doctor sententiously to Romana, "the real difference between a leotard and leopard is not the T or the P, but a quintessential quality of wearability which the leotard possesses and which the leopard does not. no doubt, had the leotard consciousness, it would go into transports of delight at the very thought of being put on - whereas your average leopard on the other hand is likely to become a tiny bit miffed if you try and pull it on." Archive info: Doctors: Fourth, Third, Sixth. Companions: Romana, Mel, Harry Sullivan. Type: TTR humour. Summary: Mel mistakes a P for a T with terrifying results.