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The Perfect Welshman
“Igor…. I’ve cracked it!” said the Professor.
His hunched- back laboratory assistant looked up at his Master and let his tongue loll out of the corner of his mouth.
He stared back with the same look of loyalty on his lop-sided face, that a Pit Bull Terrier would give to its owner whilst sitting on a Vet’s Death Row.
“I’ve dedicated my entire working life of 60 years as a research scientist at this establishment, trying to create the perfect Welshman, and I am confident that after six decades of collecting the appropriate genetic material that my experiment will today FINALLY work!” announced the Boffin.
“ I just need to add this final ingredient to my primordial soup…!” he said pipette in hand.
As he squeezed the rubber top, a single solitary rivulet of clear liquid raced down the side of the test-tube, as if it somehow or other sensed the importance of the experiment.
The liquid solution bubbled briefly before changing colour to a perfect red, white and green.
“What was that secret ingredient?” asked Igor looking puzzled, like a Love island Contestant trying to count to ten.
“It came from Hollywood, Igor ….it was saliva from the real Daenerys Targaryen , which I bought on E-Bay….the Khaleesi from the Game of Thrones series…” continued the Professor.
“The Muvva of Dragggons!” slurred the assistant sounding like he could be the guest presenter of the Andrew Marr Show.
Just as he did so, the eyes and forehead of a spotty sixteen year- old youth, appeared at the circular window of the laboratory door.
“Ah….perfect timing…I see my new lab rat has arrived!” said the Professor.
“Get the door will you Igor!” commanded the mad scientist.
Igor dragging his right leg on the shiny floor surface, limped his way to let the tiny school kid in.
“Are you Professor Barry ‘Awkin?” asked the nervous youth.
“No…Professor Barry Hawking…..with a H….!” replied the Boffin without taking his gaze away from the effervescent test tube.
“Wot….H as in Heroin?” asked the youth eyes darting around the laboratory in the hope of a free sample.
“No…H as in Hydrogen in the Periodic Table!” said the Professor, one Dennis Healey eyebrow raised suspiciously.
“I don’t like to talk about that kind of thing….that’s private women’s business…!” replied the red- faced blushing youngster.
“Which school did YOU play truant from?” asked Professor Hawking sarcastically.
“Was it an all-boys school?”
“No… it was Allcrooks Comprehensive School and by the way, my future probation officer told me to introduce myself to you first!” said the schoolboy, offering his tiny hand up to the chest of the Professor.
“My name is Ken D’Offender….but my mates in my posse call me ‘Wee’!” said Ken in a high pitched voice like he was wearing former soprano Aled Jones’ designer boxer shorts.
“Wee Ken D’Offender?” queried Professor Barry looking down at the circular wet patch on the front of his school uniform, that would have struggled to fit AC/DC Frontman Angus Young.
“The Headmaster of my school, Sir Richard Nixon gave me that ‘nick’-name!” replied Ken
“ He told me if I was ever caught shoplifting to tell them I was just a Wee Ken D’Offender !” continued the youth.
“He was a great teacher….he taught me all about the age of criminal responsibility, even before my TENTH birthday….how to get into my house with a credit card in case I ever lost my keys… and I can hotwire any model or make of car without need to refer to the Dark Web!” said the youngster for the first time ever- innocently.
“So have you read and signed that Slimbec Laboratory disclaimer form yet?” asked the Professor.
“I CAN’T READ!” muttered the embarrassed 16 year old.
“Perfect!” said the Professor.
“Just sign here and here!”
Ken made an X just like he did when he voted for Brexit using his dead Nan’s Postal Vote.
“Do you understand that we give you £5.00 for every injection and £ 50.00 if you are foolhardy enough to enter my version of the Large Hydron Collider?” asked the Mad Scientist.
“It is cash mind you innit?….it’s just that my Polish mate had that mouse’s ear on his chest for a whole month but had a cheque he couldn’t cash because he didn’t have a bank account….!” Said Ken excitedly.
“Good job he was a Star Trek Fan as he kept asking the girls on the Estate if they wanted to see his Final Frontier!” continued the teen.
“Ah…I remember him now….when I tested the 3d printer for the first time…!” said the Professor.
“Everyone in the local swimming baths thought he was a Russian Spy for ages!” said Ken.
“Igor prepare the Collider and get it up to Warp Speed!” said the Nutty Professor.
“Yeth Mathster!” said Igor, who was dithantly related to boxer Crith Eubank.
No sooner than the machine had been turned on than young Ken was transfixed by the laser show of different lights and array of colours in the two human sized test-tubes at either side of the Collider.
“This is what H G Wells only dreamed about in his science fiction- this is science fact!” said the Professor proudly.
“What does it do?” asked the youngster looking at the words ‘Correct Change Only’ on the former Premier Inn Chocolate dispensing machine.
“Officially it is for Time Travel - because Genetic Research on Humans is banned!” said the Prof.
“Have you heard of the space time continuum?” continued the Boffin.
“No!” replied Ken.
“A Light Year?” probed the Professor.
“Buzz you mean?” asked Ken.
“Kinda!” said the Scientist.
“A Light year is a measurement of the distance between planets in our Solar System!” said the Professor sounding like Brian Cox.
“What like the distance between Leo and Virgo….I know that’s thirty one days!” said Ken proving that whilst there is in all probability intelligent lifeforms in our Universe -they don’t exist at Allcrooks Comprehensive School.
“If we wanted to send a man to the centre of our Milky Way Galaxy, he would be long dead before he could reach his destination- this distance is measured in light years….!” Explained the Professor.
“So why send him then?” asked Ken
The Professor shone his pocket torch through the school boys ears and a beam appeared from the other side.
“Never mind….ever heard of wormholes then?” asked the Scientist prompted by the torch inspection.
“My dog had them once- I remember him dragging his arse on my Mother’s living room carpet….she was NOT happy….he looked like a Tory MP in Wales struggling to hold onto his deposit!” replied Ken.
“Only a lot more slippery!”
“So what job are you working on at the moment?” enquired the schoolboy.
“If anyone in Authority asks, officially I am working on an experiment to see if I can create time travel!” said the Professor.
“Using Einstein’s Theory of relativity E= MC2, I am hoping to create the future today by using a wormhole to bend time and space and transfer a person’s genetic molecules from point A to Point B!” explained the Physicist.
Ken looked at both sides of the machine and noticed that the two hollow tubes either side of the machine were marked Point A and Point B but were separated by a rubber floor which looked like it had been lifted from a Costa Coffee machine.
“Who would be dull enough to let you experiment on them?” asked Ken.
There was a deathly silence in the room until the penny dropped with a heavy clunk.
“Didn’t you get my invitation sent to the school?” asked the Professor.
“Yes!” said Ken.
“Look at the date stamp on it!” said the Boffin.
“3 rd July 2020!” read Ken aloud.
“But that’s a year on in the future!” stuttered Ken.
“Precisely!” replied the Prof.
“That my young Friend is proof that my time machine works!”
“All I need now is to test it on a human being!”
Ken looked around the room and suddenly realised all eyes were trained on him suggestively.
“So why don’t you test it on HIM!” said Ken pointing at the hunchback.
“What and spoil his good looks?” replied the Professor sarcastically.
“Besides I said HUMAN!”
Igor didn’t flinch at the slur.
He was used to slurring.
“I need a youngster who won’t be missed by anyone, an orphan that goes to a delinquent school that doesn’t appear on any registers and could disappear without trace. Does that description remind you of anyone you know?” asked the Professor.
The blood suddenly drained from Ken as a cold shiver ran down his adolescent spine.
“No!” said Ken trying to bluff his way out of the situation, as he backed away slowly towards the door.
After all he had seen the film the Silence of the Lambs.
The rubber back of his plimsole daps suddenly stopped as he realised the Hunchback was blocking his exit.
“Going thumwhere?” mumbled Igor, as he covered the schoolboy unintentionally in slobber.
Ken was trapped and he knew it.
He had to make the best out of a very bad situation and tried to play along with his captors like he had suddenly developed Stockholm Syndrome.
“If I do volunteer for this experiment, how much do I get paid ? asked the terrified child.
“£150.00 in cash AND your name will appear in the Medical Journal ‘the Lancet’, with the epitaph Wee Ken D’offender (GP)!” offered the Professor.
“Doctor Ken!” boasted the youngster proudly.
The Scientist didn’t have the heart to tell him GP would not stand for General Practitioner but Guinea Pig or even more importantly, what epitaph really meant.
Ken noticed that Igor had locked the Laboratory door and was keeping the key around his neck on a piece of string.
Whilst not familiar with the scientist concept of ‘string theory’, he knew that his continued status in in this Universe would depend upon him getting hold of that piece of string with the key attached.
If there was ever a day that he would benefit from the Allcrooks School teachings of sleight of hand-today was that day.
As Igor bent down to inspect the left hand pod of the time machine, Ken relieved the hunchback of it’s wallet but couldn’t get the key without giving him ‘the hump’.
After all, habits of his lifetime were hard to give up.
Ken knew from Primary School experience that distraction is the best means of theft.
“What are you checking for?” asked Ken pretending to be interested.
“Flies…!” replied Igor.
“Did you see what it did to Jeff Goldblum?” replied the Professor.
“Of course!” bluffed Ken not having a clue about a film reference from 20 years before he was born.
Ken noticed that there were two footprints on the left cubicle floor.
Igor motioned for him to strip off.
“You have to be naked for the experiment to work!” ordered the Professor in a commanding voice.
Good job (thought Ken) that he hadn’t lifted the key off Old Hunchy otherwise where would he have stored it?
Besides, whilst he felt that Igor wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box, he was aggressively strong and didn’t want to get ‘his back up’ any more than it already was.
Ken knew that once he stepped into that machine he was as good as dead.
He had to find another way to escape rather than using the key that hung around Igor’s neck.
His own ‘back up’ plan if you will.
In times of crisis, it is the calm-headed that survive.
He thought back to his All-Crooks lesson on lock picking.
He stared at the size of the lock and down at his now naked self and decided on his plan of action.
He raised the stolen wallet in the air and motioned to Igor ‘look what I’ve got’.
Like a pet dog in a park staring intently at the stick in the owner’s hand, Igor’s one fully open eye was transfixed by the action.
Ken uttered the word ‘Fetch’ and off bounded the hunchback to retrieve the wallet from the far corner of the room.
In the same motion, the naked teenager ran at the door and tried to ‘prick’ the lock.
Due to his Napoleon-like stature, he was the perfect height, but sadly a few seconds grace was not enough.
Perhaps if he hadn’t suffered from premature ejaculation, he might have made his escape to victory.
The Hunchback grabbed him from behind with both arms and with legs waggling in mid-air Ken was forcibly restrained and then bundled into the left- hand pod of the time machine.
The Professor pressed a button and a silver shield ascended blocking any escape for captive Ken.
Even then Ken had the last laugh as he had lifted the Hunchback’s Wallet for the second time in the process.
Ken was trapped.
Naked and frightened he looked at his narrow surroundings.
The closest he had come to it was that time he was in a Premier Inn shower cubicle.
But this was ALMOST as dangerous.
Thankfully, he didn’t have Lenny Henry pimping at him through the glass mouthing ‘Katanga’ this time.
Suddenly to his left came a whirring noise and a small vial containing a red, green and white liquid appeared with the words ‘Drink Me’ above it.
Ken was in Wonderland.
He was half expecting the Johann Strauss music – the Blue Danube to be played over the tannoy.
Trapped in the cubicle, poor Ken got warmer and warmer.
Suddenly, the outer layer silver shield descended slowly to the floor, leaving a ‘Star Trek’- like glass pod made out of some Perspex material.
Ken banged on the glass and screamed to be released immediately- after he was well versed in ‘False Imprisonment’.
“It’s no good… that glass is unbreakable!” cackled the Professor, tailing off into an evil laugh.
Ken realised that the statement was true, as he had spent over two hours at the Weston Super Mare Sea Life Centre trying to break the glass once to steal a shark on a school trip.
“You may as well drink the potion now as later….after all… in that space no one can hear you scream!” said the Boffin quoting from the sci-fi film Alien.
Ken realised that barring a miracle he was never getting out of this predicament unless he drunk the contents of the test-tube.
After all he had once drunk Irn- Bru- How much worse could it taste than that?
Ken lifted the vial to his lips and stared at the Professor standing on tenterhooks awaiting the inevitable reaction.
“£150.00 in cash….no going back on your word!” said Ken.
“Yesssss, now drink it ALL up, there’s a good boy!!!!!” said the Professor.
Ken lifted his arm and opened his mouth wide.
He threw the solution into his mouth and swallowed the liquid without delay.
The taste wasn’t that bad he thought.
Nothing happened, except after a brief flash of blinding light he was now standing in the other right hand cubicle.
“It’s not working Master!” said Igor looking at the naked figure.
“Give it time Igor….it is like Heineken….it refreshes the parts other beers cannot reach!”
Ken laughed.
He was still alive.
The potion had no effect on him.
Just like the time he drank 15 pints of Stella Artois in the Vulcan Public House.
“Let me out! ”ordered Ken…..”I have done what you asked and I want my money!”
It started with a facial tic, followed by a full -on twitch and then excruciating back pain.
“Raise Pod B shield!” ordered the Professor and after staring at his assistant declared:
”This is not going to be a pretty sight!”.
As the metal ascended, the poor student kicked and pounded on the sides of the glass as the transformation began.
Behind the corporate veil, it was like a scene from an American Werewolf in London, as poor Ken metamorphized into the perfect Welshman.
Professor Barry Hawking looked down at the list of ingredients he had used to create the final solution.
The twisted genius was aiming for a Genius perfect Welshman.
In the past he had tried to create an Albert Einstein, but only ended up with Frank Einstein.
But today, he was sure he had cracked it.
He had extracted DNA from the voice box of legendary actor Richard Burton- to produce a gravelly speaking voice for his creation, whilst adding harmony from the hairspray used on former choirboy bobbed hair of Aled Jones.
He had taken a hair from the sideburns of 1970’s British Lion DR JPR Williams- to add fearless courage.
Cells from the liver of Poet Dylan Thomas gave him the ability to drink alcohol endlessly.
DNA from spittle found on the Westminster Parliament Conservative Front bench was found to be that of firebrand politician Aneurin Bevan which was then added to the mixture.
The hand to eye coordination of World Champion Darts Sumo Leighton Rees was added in bulk together with a dash of BBC Wales Boyd Clack to provide comedy genius.
With Colin Jackson sweat thrown in for good measure to ensure the creature could overcome any hurdle thrown at it.
The blackest coal dust from Big Pit was added too to give it the authentic Cambrian Gaea feel of Mother Earth.
Professor Hawking was confident that the final missing ingredient was the addition of the beauty of the Game of Thrones actress, Emilia Clarke and this would now perfect his creation- being not just the real Mother of Dragons but also the Old Testament Eve from the Garden of Eden- who would birth his Welsh Prodigy.
The Professor was so excited but nervous at the same time to see what the lowering of the second shield would reveal.
Had he in fact created the Perfect Welshman?
Igor and Professor Hawking stood transfixed as the image revealed itself.
It was a good job that Wee Ken D’Offender didn’t have access to a mirror.
The deadly duo stood mouth agape as they realised that Ken had not transformed into the perfect Welshman but something else entirely.
A fuller sized marginally female figure with black anthracite choirboy hair and a red dragon tattoo on its right-hand bingo wing.
The look of horror on the face of the scientist sent a seismic shock wave back to the former male schoolboy.
Ken could only utter the immortal phrase ‘What’s occurring?’
Looking at the flabby arms, Professor Hawking realised immediately that he must have put in too much Leighton Rees and Emilia Clarke to the mixture.
All he could do was to sigh disappointedly at the appearance of the perfect Welsh WOMAN, who could drink, play darts and rugby union internationally.
Nessa Jenkins.
He sobbed dejectedly
“I tried for Gavin (Henson) but only got Stacey”
