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By our Northern Correspondent Eric Strongitharm Oswaldtwistle.
Page 28
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Never let it be suggested that the Spagthorpe Motor Company isn't willing to experiment (isn't that enough negatives for one sentence?—Ed). The Stoat Works' latest masterpiece was intended to be the haulier's Holy Grail—a system for transporting goods instantaneously over long
distances. The teleportation device, known as the Spagthorpe Discombobulator, was ready for its first trial—sending one of Henry Sucksqueeze',, favourite fudge humbugs from one booth to another, the length of the Stoat Works.
The valves were glowing, the Van der Graaf generator was Lip to speed, the mysterious green liquid was bubbling, then—disaster! Apprentice Darren Acne, wondering where his lunchtime pea soup had got to,
absent-mindedly drove a Spagthorpe Huntsman into the "receive" booth of the Discombobulator. There was a skyrending crash, a terrible bang and an oddly leguminous smell, as the booth, the truck and the hapless Acne disappeared into the ether.
"What the bloody hell's happened to my humbug!" bellowed Sucksqueeze, just as two ounces of finest fudge dropped on his head from a great height, knocking him unconscious. He was thus spared the sight of an apparently
unharmed Acne and a grotesquely transformed truck hitting the ground in quick succession.
When the smoke cleared, the full horror of the scene was evident: the elegant lines of the Spagthorpe Huntsman had been transformed into a loathsome parody of a waggon, with hideous proportions and nothing in the right place. But SMC proprietor Sir Jos, quick to make the most of the situation, promptly sold the lorry—dubbed the Spagthorpe Hieronymus—to a tanker operator who had his aesthetic sense shot off in the war. "If he likes the Scania T-cab he'll love the Hieronymus!"
FLASH: Darren Acne has recovered Iron: his trauma in double-quick time, and is back on the afternoon shift. "I've never felt better!" declares Acne, as he walks up the factory wall to lick some pea-flavoured fudge from the ceiling.