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It Wasn't Blancmange

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“Hurwurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!” cried Lady Constance, as she broke through the door into to Radio Prune’s new staff kitchenette. New to the staff of Radio Prune that is. The kitchenette itself had been locked and unused for many years, until Dave Lee and the boys had discovered it, during a search for rehearsal space.

Tim dropped his chipped mug in surprise at Lady Constance’s dramatic entrance, which was very impressive, all things considered.

“Oh, my God, what is that huge, horrible, amorphous blob?” said Graeme, trembling at what he saw before him.

“It’s like some kind of wild, uncontrollable, living blancmange!” said John, who had been planning to spend his tea break having a rant about the state of BBC premises these days or anything else really.

“And it’s coming for me. Help! I’m being engulfed,” said David, before he was reduced to making incomprehensible muffled sounds, as the massive form enveloped him.

“Don’t worry, my dear sweet boy, I’ll save you!” exclaimed Lady Constance, wobbling to the rescue. She grabbed a large, serving spoon off the worktop, in the kitchen and began to tackle the weird, sentient substance, that had leaked from the ancient BBC issue fridge. As Lady Constance chowed down the deadly dish, David slowly appeared from the centre of the fiendish foodstuff. The rest of Radio Prune let out a collective sigh of relief to see David was out of danger. A show without David to read out the credits was unthinkable.