And  now  on  BBC  one  we  present  a  new  adventure  in  time  and  space  for  the  Doctor.  Doctor  Who  and  the  fingletoad  of  Teddyvisous  or  a  turnips  tail.

Doctor  Who

The  Fingletoad  of  Teddyvisous  or  A  Turnips  Tail

Written  by  Thomas  Morris

Twice uponce the Times far away in a distant land of maybe twice, daybreak fell over the prominence that stood surveying the diminutive town of Radox. The shafts of light rebounded off the burnished roofs and stung people in the eye. Many people sauntered into each other. As the sun picked itself up, there was a murmurings in the atmosphere. A murmuring of something… something mechanical, something from another world… something from another time. Seven thousand miles due west, there was a murmuring in the air, something mechanical, something from another world… something from another time, the sound of engines. The TARDIS dematerialised on a grassy embankment overlooking the diminutive town of Dove. The air was brisk and stunk of rotting goats. Pleasant enough all the same. Here at the town of Dove norman everyday life that cretins are normally used to does not apply. Here the skies are made of candy floss and are light pink. The grass isn't grass and neither are the peobles. In the middle of Dove is the town, on the left are the sneaky forests where Cretins and Dwarts live and on the right are more sneaky forests where Cretins and Dwarts live.
The natives of Dove were all making their way to work when I stepped out of the TARDIS. I waved a cheery hello as they stared at me and my strange blue box. I strode down the street confidently, my coat and multi-coloured scarf flailing behind me. Not all those who wonder are lost I considered as I fished for compliments. The dead goat smell subsided as I arrived at the local pub. "Unfinished words like these", the sign proclaimed and without a moments hesitation I decided to enter through the yellow cheese-shaped door. A thousand mile journey does begin with one single step I thought whilst thinking.

There were no birds in the skies on the planet Usirius, there were no flying insects at all in fact. There were trees, of sorts, they were more giant meat helmets than trees though, and the paths were made of rhubarb. At Christbus, there would be huge celebrations, and what with Christbus having just ended, there were still remnants of the festivities skulking around. The giant helmets, home for squirmly slugs, still had giant pieces of tongel hanging loosely around them. The roads were littered with sparingel straws and Magtoose oranges.
On entering the Doctor made his way up to the yellow bar and yelled for the bar keeper. No one arrived. The Bar was of medium size. There were about seven or eight starbles, and there were two Squan starbles, should anyone fancy having a game over a pintoon. The walls were a ghastly yellow and the floor luminous orange, quite tasteless the Doctor thought. There was a giant poster above the bar. On it was a detective wearing a Sherlock Holmes type of coat and hat, and a caption 'I find myself reconcerned with my nosebook and to the fact of Dokey and Winnie Dave whom edit towart the end of the nontonnth of Marge in Much Bladder Stweet, North Wold.' Anne Duffield! The Doctor mused to himself.
'Bar keeper…bar keeper…are you here?' he shouted
Levitating from the floor on a Persian rug the bartender greeted the Doctor.
'Ah, welcome to my pub matey, its nice having you here, it's very, I say, it's very nice having you here, can I sing you a song to pass the time?'
The Doctor smiled and waved him aside, striding up and down the bar he was deciding what drink to have
'What would you suggest bar keeper? Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler.'
'I suggest you stop walking on my bar', said the bar keeper simply.
The bartender drifted on his rug towards the Doctor who had jumped down. He leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially.
'If I was you sir, which of course I am not, for I am me, I would suggest a glass of Otagus Mooranus Juice, the testicular juices of the Otagus creature, it really is most exquisite.'
The Doctor turned his head to face the bartender very slowly.
'All right. I can resist anything but temptation,' he said smiling.

Outside, the Bumpily Stumpily world of Usirius was in full swing. It wasn't literally swinging, it was more of a gyratory motion, but the general vacillation feeling was felt by its populace, for they are not the most decisive of people. Mentioning of inhabitants reminds me, they were still all making their way to work, all with their blue cases filled with work for work.
'Yo Ho! Yo Ho! Tis off te wirk we'll goon,' they sang as they went on their way to work. Work for these people was many and varied, some were chartered accountants, others were masons, some were even solicitors. Yes indeed, Usirius was a very… well it was very anyway. Cars didn't exist on Usirius, no one had come up with the idea, well at least not yet. They'd invented the rocket, then they'd moved on to flying ships, and space cruisers, but with such technological advances, they'd forgotten about the smaller things in life. To this sad fact, it can be seen on Usirius that everyone has to walk to work. What of the physical make up of these Usirius people, or Usirians as they are known? Well they're entirely made of chocolate. Not in the sense that you are thinking though probably. You imagine the jollity of some creamy bar of chocolate but these Usirians are chocolate. Their cells are made of chocolate and inside beats a chocolate heart pumping chocolate round a chocolate body. Some people have scoffed that these people, this race of people have never existed. Most say they are mere myth. No one knows. But in a galaxy somewhere, at sometime these people featured here, on the planet Usirius exist. They are here, for the Doctor is here also. You'd trust what the Doctor says, wouldn't you? In the town of Dove there are not many houses. There are about 25, each shaped spectacularly different to the others. Some are keybloonerieth shaped, others like giant mushrooms, some are even invisible. However, only Usanmus Malgamus Trundos Carlos Manterburus the fourth would dare live in an invisible house, for it is most embarrassing when one is in the bath. There was a pub at the end of the street and there is a market in the town centre every Nogginday. There was a library as well, situated opposite the pub. For most Usirians, a trip to the library after being to the pub was just the thing. Inside were not books, well they are books, but not with paper and pleasant covers. No, these were like small eggs, and you'd crack them on your head and they'd seep into your brain, and you'd watch the story unfold from within.
Usanmus Malgamus Trundos Carlos Manterburus the fourth was sitting in the library cracking a rather cracking book he'd just found, "Snort Wife and Several Cretins", a tale of grumpty cretins and apples.

'Good menu, good menu, nice binding. Still, I'm not sure what to have. I remember I had the same problem on the moon. Great place but no atmosphere' proclaimed the Doctor, studying the menu in great detail.
The bartender was gliding around in mid-air on his rocking horse.
'Sir, sir, sir, I'd suggest you have the Soledo Mangawa, an amphibious horse, it is particularly fine, it comes with Cumgwa sauce and Araminta pondles', the bartender said. But before he could receive an answer his horse began moving, violently lurching up into the air. 'Whoa there! Be at peace with yourself, Halburt.' Halburt, his horse, was too busy riding off, taking the bartender with him. They crashed through the kitchen doors and were not seen again, but the myriad of smashing pots and pans was ocular enough, in an oral sense, so to speak.
The Doctor nodded readily and sat back in his chair, his legs sprawled out over reaching the other side. The smells of the bar were entering his nose, the smell of… well, he wasn't too sure, but it was fairly esurient. A pertigew sat in the corner ticking to itself. The Doctor pulled his own pocket watch and corrected his to fit in with Usirius time. As he closed his eyes, a smell woke him up. It wasn't one by the restaurant's own making, but a man standing over him. He was of average build, this being 12 stornes on Usirius, and wore bright bluegan trousers, a yillow shirt and a groon hat. 
'You sir, you with the hair, you know what's going on don't you? Eh? Do you? You've heard of Daft Maltese? His evil schemes, his monopoly on the chocolate business of the far galaxies. That's right man, they're eating people just like us!' said the man, waving a plastic camel.
The Doctor told him to take the weight off his feet and explain a little more, he'd been "out of circulation" recently, and needed filling in as to what was going on.
Malcon, as the man had introduced himself, explained.
'See… 'ere what's your name again?'
'It's the Doctor, D-O-C-T-O-R, ah,' said the D-O-C-T-O-R.
'Right, well, Doctor, its like this. Daft Maltese is this right evil geezer of whom us rebellious people want shot of. He's been scouring the Toblerone Galaxy for long enough, killing innocent people, its gotta stop!'
The Doctor nodded. If what Malcon was saying was true, it indeed should stop - people cant just go around killing people because they're bigger or better.
'You see, Malcon,' said the Doctor with his voice 'people just cant go around killing people because they're bigger or better. However, I have only heard your side of this story, I need facts, I can't work without facts.'
Malcon fished in his pucket and pulled out a prewspatier. Unhooking it he handed it to the Doctor.
'Look at this then if you don't believe what I is saying to you.'
The Doctor took the prewspatier (that's newspaper for the folks at home) and looked at the front page: DAFT MALTESE PLANS TO DESTROY USIRIUS YESTERMORROW MAUNING, PANIC WIDESPREAD, MORTGAGE RATES DOWN, HOUSES PRICES AT AN ALL TIME LOW, BUY NOW!
'Ok Malcon, I believe you. How many of you are there, how many of you rebels?' asked the Doctor, thumbing his thumb.
'Well, there's about 50 of us, some from the planet Spoon, that was destroyed last nogginday, then there's some from Huindao, that was destroyed tomorrow.'
The Doctor nodded and told Malcon that he should meet up with the rebels and discuss what they could do to try to save the planet. Malcon agreed. He was always grateful for support against the evil empire that Daft Maltese represented. As such a small group, they felt that they probably couldn't do anything. However, Malcon always told the story of Davern and Golioath. He would tell his rebels that Davern defeated Golioath by using a tiny pebble in a pair of pants on the beaches of Randy Minor. He would tell them that if something so small could defeat something so big, than why not again? If anyone was left in the room, they usually agreed with him. 

The space was black, the space was just like space, the space was space and in a section of space in space a space cruiser was cruising through space. This giant cruiser was called the Snicker, a huge, massive, enormous, great big gigantic space ship. Inside this huge, massive, enormous, great big gigantic space ship was the evil lord Daft Maltese. Daft Maltese was an evil being, totally clad in black save his helmet which was pink… and his shoes which were yellow. He had breathing apparatus attached to his face, a nose, but this wasn't visible due to his giant helmet. He sat in his big chair, nicknamed Arthur. A beeping emitted from his control panel on the other side of the room. Putting down his dolls he walked over and pressed the button that was flashing. The room he was in was very large, and very dark. There was a toy box in the far corner and in the centre of the room, a multitude of controls and displays for the Snicker. Next to the controls was a coffee machine. Next to the coffee machine was a chocolate machine and next to that was a machine that had sandwiches in and next to that was a coke machine.
'Daft Maltese standing here,' said Daft Maltese standing there talking with his voice, his tone a bitter, twisted, gravely high pitched squeak.
'This is Captain Huge, Daft Maltese, we are now in orbit around the planet Sydnee, we are ready to commence operation "suck 'em up", sir'. The voice crackled out of the speaker. Daft Maltese pressed another button and got a coke. He pressed another button and began speaking into a microphone.
'Very well Captain Huge, I shall beam down immediately.'
Daft Maltese pressed a button. He got himself a bar of chocolate and then pressed another button and began to vanish… slowly… still going… vanishing in a bright shaft of illumination… gone.
On the bridge, Captain Huge saluted Daft Maltese as he materialised on the bridge. It was a slow process and so whilst he waited he lit a fag and read a magazine.
'Daft Maltese is on the bridge, stand and salute him you scum,' said the Captain, placing a Nicorette patch on his arm. Everyone stood from their control panels and saluted Daft Maltese as he strolled down the gangway, down some steps, back up some steps, along another gangway, and down some more steps onto the control bridge.
'We need a lift in this ship,' he said, breathing heavily, clutching the hand rail, his gloves turning white. The bridge was huge and there was a central path that ran down the middle of the room. This path began at the very top of the stairs. The stairs went down one level onto a gangway, then down another level onto another gangway. The last set of stairs placed you on the control bridge. To the left and right of the central path are computer workstations with workers working. At the far end is a huge view screen and below this there are many and varied controls that operate parts of the ship, most notably the air conditioning and humidity controls, as well as the toilets.
'Sir, are you ready to begin operation "suck 'em up"?, we are ready and waiting sir,' said Captain Huge staring forward into space, his face solid as a Baneril gunt.
'Yes! Indeed I am Captain Huge, suck that planet of its vile inhabitants dry! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Ow!' said Daft Maltese punching the air with his fist and accidentally hitting the railing. The Captain moved across the control bridge to a control panel where there was a worker. He punched in some codes. The worker swayed and steadied himself up holding his beaten chest and typed them into the computer. The ship began throbbing with energy. A loud humming could be heard. From the view screen Captain Huge, Daft Maltese and his crew watched as the planet was wiped from existence. At first it looked perfectly serene, space was as it always had been… space. But for a brief second there was a cataclysmic bright blue beam, and with a flash the planet's inhabitants and its chocolate outer shell was completely removed. All that was left was a honey comb centre. A dead planet. Daft Maltese turned to his Captain in charge
'Excellent… absolutely marvellous, our beamed tongue has licked yet another planet dry! They have befallen to our awesome power, we truly are brilliant!' The Captain was continuing his constant stare upwards into space.
'Yes sir, a very good eradication of another planet,' he said, weak willed.
Daft Maltese furrowed in his most capacious pockets and retrieved his wallet, he put it back and pulled out some contraceptives, he put them back cursing quietly, he then found the diary he'd been looking for 
'At last!' he said triumphant. Looking through the days he turned to hunidweerty the segaplex of clouse. 
'Right, that's the planet Sydnee destroyed, what's next on the agenda?' He thumbed his diary some more and found gurty the reid of sweril.
'Ah ha! The planet Usirius, 4000 gundas! South North. Captain!' shouted Daft Maltese. The Captain ran to his side in a none-too-dignified fashion.
'Yes sir!' he shouted.
'I want incongruous speed to Usirius, I'm on a roll, lets get that planet dried,' continued Daft Maltese
'Absurd speed, let's go people!' shouted the Captain. The bridges crew all ran aimlessly around the bridge. Daft Maltese felt sure that they knew not what they were doing, but he was far to happy to go reprimanding them now.
'Sir, I suggest you retire to your quarters for a few hours whilst we make the trip. I shall inform you of our immediate entry,' said the Captain aside to Daft Maltese. The helmeted beastie nodded and stood off his roll, and made the way up and down the steps, along the gangways and through the doughnut shaped door, into his quarters, and into bed.

Little Rasher was his father's spawn and it were soon time for him to be evacuating spool and go into his ol' Dad's business of Spaking. Spaking was an interesting job that very few people on Usirius still did. Spaking were a farste dying commerce that were farste dying. 
'Its a farste dying business, dad,' said the young Rasher, a young lad. His Dad, Tim, replied quickly and astutely.
'None of dis nonsense, Rasher. All thy fathers before and before even before me were Spakers and that fact's a fact.' And with this note he pulled his wooden leg nearer to his timber chest. The two of them were outside in the park in the dark, out for the night for a lark. They had set up a tent and had built a small fire. They sat on fallen meat helmets and ate speans. They were just on the edge of the Sneaky forests. Tim was all wise and knew not to go into the forests for inside were iniquitous creatures that could get them into a lot of trouble. The stars overhead beamed down dimly. They were trying bless 'em, but they just weren't bright enough for anyone to bother looking at, let alone study. There were no astronomers of Usirius because no one seemed bothered by what lay beyond the streets at the end of the road where people lived. Some people thought about the stars, some even claimed there was a Gud. A supreme bean who'd created everyone on Usirius. And all the stars that shone so dimly from above were the souls that resided in Heven. Gud had created the world so many years ago, about 45 the Sposticals suggested. However the Pistians suggested that it was 46 years. This had been the debate for many years, about 54, and had come to a head in the Kit-Kat war of 5784. Neither side had won, however they fought for many years, about 63, but still neither side won. They eventually agreed to disagree, living happily in a pie chart society. The weekly funds from peasants who went to churche couldn't sustain them any longer. Though the money had built them planes and ammunition, it was no longer enough. So now these two groups were united under a slogan of faith: "In riligion we have faith in only what we do not understand, except in the case of a lucid dogma that contradicts an incomprehensible one. In that case we believe the former as part of the latter." 
There were, and are, a third group of people. These people didn't believe in either riligion. They said there was no Gud, and they had simply appeared one day by something else. The turd group of people, known as Sofierists, had decided that they had been created by a Cod. One all powerful being who had used his will to create the world. The Sofierists had their own churches, they had their own clubs and lunchboxes. Sayings also existed: "For countless, faith is a apposite replacement for knowledge, as death is for a arduous life." Other people didn't believe in these faiths and would often sneer at it:. "Like all religions, the Holy Religion of the 'Invisible Yellow Unicorn' is rooted upon both logic and faith. We have faith that She is pink; and we logically know that She is invisible, because we can't see Her," and on days of poor quality boredom they would make leafulls and handed them out in the town centre each one blazing "to become a riligion it is only necessary for a superstition to enslave a philosophy" and this is how these people viewed these udder people. Thankfully, since the Kit-Kat wars, the people on Usirius had realised something. No matter what you believe in, and no matter what you are, we are all the same and if we can't get on together and solve problems, how can anyone hope to? Small children in the play ground bickering over who won a race is what war had brought the people of Usirius to. Maybe war was inescapable, but it was beneficial. It showed those people what love was.
'Tell me again father how you got that wooden leg,' asked the young teen Rasher.
'Why must you arsk about my stump son?' he asked with a reassuring.
'Because, its one of my a favourite stories, I love to hear it Father. It's not everyone whose dad has a wooden leg y'know,' adolescent Rasher spoked. Tim sat staring at his juvenile son, 'My son's a spaker if ever I did see a spaker,' and he had.
'Dad. I want to be a pilot,' said Rasher with not a laff.
'You my son, are a spaker, now letz get that straight. You are no pilot whilst you be mine,' said Tim, with a devilish cough. Tim was fairly tall and had a dirt beard. When he ate he would store food in it for the next day should he find himself lost and hungry. His eye sight had been diminishing for many tears so he now wore lookings. With these attached to his head he looked a right git. The two Father and Son lay down on the pillows and quilts they had bought with them and stared at the stars. Soon Tim was asleep, his mind a bog of slush. Rasher, however, remained awake staring at the stars. One day he'd get out of this dull planet and visit them.
The next mauning Rasher was not in the slum that he lived. Tim awoke from his bet and went to the room where he got cleansed. Twas a big room actually, filled with lights on the ceilings and tiles on the walls. It was totally white with the slightest hint of red in the carapits. Usirians didn't need any toilets, so instead where the toilet went they had nothing. Some people didn't even need to bathe, so instead of having a bath they would put a spared bed for people visiting them at the weeklyends. Tim looked in the looking glass and saw someone stare back at him. It was the hag that he lived with.
'Where is our son, Mother?'
'Blast that spit,' said Rasher's mum with an accent.
For all those reading this, you may rightly have guessed that young Rasher has runed away from home. He found himself out on the streets of Usirius in the early hours of Juggintooth mauning.
'I'll show that stupid old stump,' he said to himself, for he was alone.

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