‘No thank you,’ Cocomo cut in.

Something about the planet and its pink ruler disturbed her; she couldn’t tell exactly what. She wondered how difficult it would be to hijack a hoverboard and spirit themselves off the planet. Following his recent divorce, Tancredi was also wary about subjecting himself to another cultural experience in an alien world. The Game Show Master sensed that Tancredi was unconvinced.

‘Bad sport!’ he said with a laugh. ‘Not going to play! Very well, if you won’t, at least be my guest for a game of lucky dip. It’s fun! It’s funety-tumpety tum-tum it is!’

He squealed with pleasure.

Moments later, as their host hummed what sounded like an advertising jingle, they passed through the entrance of the bulbous Game Show Hall, the centre of the planet’s activities. The hall was like a cathedral, but instead of seats there were rows of docking stations for the hoverboards. Each row was separated from the next by a giant conveyor belt, snaking around the hall. This carried a series of pipes which resembled a cross between a praying-mantis and an old-fashioned petrol fuel pump.

As the conveyor belt passed a recumbent board rider, the mantis device bent down and directed a tube into the open waiting mouth. It shuddered, then the recipient’s cheeks expanded as a creamy goo gushed into the proffered orifice. The mantis then bent low over the face, and wiped away any spilt slime that had slithered into the folds of the obese faces. The hall reverberated with hoots of pleasure as the rotund gluttons rolled around their mats after a feeding.

Tancredi noticed that each mantis had a sign which advertised the type of feast on offer. Names like Mighty Burger, Macro Potato and Bustin’ Bobbins Cherry Glupe enabled eaters to select their favourite feast. Each cheered as a fleshy hand was raised to arrest the feeding fountain; once filled they gurgled and hooted their sated pleasure. The hall rang with a gluttonous porcine noise; there were thousands of them present. The Game Show Master tooted a jovial burble as he entered to attract the feeders’ attention. His voice was picked up by a microphone which broadcast his greeting to the audience.

They moved to the centre of the hall, and arrived at a door embossed with a question mark, its period point in the shape of the letter ‘O’.

‘Here’s where we play,’ the Game Show Master giggled. ‘Have a go, we’ll wait outside.’

As Tancredi dismounted, his host handed him a torch and a pink cloak emblazoned with the same stylised question mark.

‘Lucky dip is played in the dark,’ he tittered, ‘it’s more fun that way. And this is a luminous Obesitas Game Show cloak for you.’

‘Can I play?’ said Tamany, trying to shush Kasbek’s incessant growls.

The Game Show Master shot the dog another disquieting look.

‘Unfortunately you wouldn’t be able to reach,’ he replied, his eyes twinkling.

‘I don’t think anyone should play,’ Cocomo cut in, ‘we’re not the sporty types.’