Rimmer peered blindly through the smoke that was wafting around the sleeping quarters. He waved his hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to clear the smoke.
He heard groans coming from the bunk area. It was Lister. He was lying on his bunk, moaning and groaning, with a smile on his face and told Rimmer that these groans were not groan of agony.
“I’ve done it,” Lister said in barely more than a whisper.
“Done what?” Rimmer asked.
“I’ve done it,” Lister repeated.
And he had. He had, at last, created a perfect Shami Kebab Diablo.