‘Crispin’ and ‘Gibson’ did their best to fit in with life in Endland (sic) – staying at a Unheated Salvation Army Hostel and drinking sake out of bottles still in the brown paper bags. Of local customs – Fire Walls in winter, Spastic Bashing and plays by Harold Pinter – the 2 of them were meticulous observant and both adopted the habit of smoking a curly pipe. Anyway. All this disguisery did not stop them being beaten and threatened or having their clothes stolen many times and of curse no 1 would give them a job because in words of a Endlland racist song their skins were as black as de-nationalised coal. Only at Xmas time did anyone show them any niceness when a few of the other bus-drivers invited them round for Xmas dinner and a stripper or two.

New year 96 for the twins was a real fucking downer, to say the least, moving on from town to town and upon the road again like Jack Kerouac, and wearing only Co-Op Jeans (blah blah). Together in their misery P&S swore each other a mighty oath/New Years Resolution that if either one (1) of them were killed on earth then the other would marry Naomi and look after her forever. How the brothers wept when they said this and the sad cars thundered by leaving them to the hardshoulder and rain, just by the on-ramp to the M6 at the Toddington Services, Bristol. Of all this, of course, cos she wasn’t a telepath, Naomi herself was total ignorant.

Time passed, phone calls criss-crossed the world and babies were born, not much of it to do with this story or the lives contained herein. Only Naomi (long since neglected) on the whole planet thought much abt the twins. She tried to entertain herself in other ways – by getting addicted to heroine, by going to discos etc but none of it really worked. Each nite she sat in her kitchen, drinking instant coffee that she made with hot water out of the tap and trying to complete a 500,000 piece jigsaw depicting a field of blood, mud and barbed wire at the battle of the Somme and in which every piece of the jigsaw was shaped like the body of a dead man. Still she could only think of Porridge and Spatula and she couldn’t find ‘restful sleep’ ©.

One night, in her distress, Naomi called on the Gods for help, her hands shaking as she picked up the phone and dialled 0898 333 666 ETERNITY NOW and waiting through the various ‘obscene’ ads for other services until someone from ‘heaven’ came on the line.

LOVE CONQUERS ALL said the bloke on the other end of the phone.

THE POSITION OF THE PLANETS SHOW A GOOD PORTENT FOR SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH AND MASS PRODUCTION THIS MONTH

THE STARS ARE HOT HOT HOT FOR YOUR SEXLIFE THIS YEAR he added, in a thick Lancashire accent and a acting voice what bordered on the illiterate.