GRAMMS: ‘STARMAN’ - DAVID BOWIE. OUT.

TRIX: Huston we have a problem. Come in Huston!

TREVOR: Hello geez, this is Euston.

TRIX: Huston, this is not what we planned.

TREVOR: It is according to my timetable.

TRIX: Off course by two days and counting…

TREVOR: If you’re on a Connex South West to Croydon that’s about average.

TRIX: Huston do you copy? This is Trix Mckinnon, astronaut aboard Star Bucks Two. I’ve overshot the moon a tad to the square of ten and…

TREVOR: Come again, Bruv?

TRIX: That’s not Huston, Huston is it?

TREVOR: No bruv: this is Euston, Euston: five quid a cornish pasty.

TRIX: How in hell’s name did our communications pick

up your radio? Man, I thought Indesit was a good make.

TREVOR: So did my ‘Nan ‘till her curling tongs went for her beard.

TRIX: Can you call NASA?

TREVOR: I can’t get a number outside the UK. Cost cutting memo.

TRIX: I’m destined for an eternal orbit round the sun connected to an infinite life support system and you’ve got a freakin’ memo?

TREVOR: You’re getting faint, bruv.

TRIX: What’s your name?

TREVOR: Trevor. Or Samuel L. Jackson if you’re on You Tube.

TRIX: Describe the last sunset you saw, Trevor.

TREVOR: What?...Well...it was Tuesday before darts

practise...and...oh yeah, yeah! This shaft of golden

sunlight fell on a cardboard box outside of Qwiksave and

for a moment the wino geezer inside the box looked like

he had this halo…but in the end we saw it was more like

a nicotine ring round his fringe.

TRIX: (fading) Thank you for that lasting image of Earth, Trevor. Hang on to that radio, son: you’re my only hope. Goodbye Euston...goodbye...

TREVOR: Hang in there Bruv. Bruv…?

CLARISSA: Trevor!? Their dog crapped our path, again! I thought I told you to go round there. Giving me all that – ‘its just canine nature’. I’ll canine nature him and kick him in his doggy doo balls if he doesn’t stop messing on my easy maintenance patio.

TREVOR: Hello darl‘. Lovely to hear from you but must dash: geezer from outer space.

TREVOR: Boss, can I call NASA? There’s this geezer floating round the moon.

SUPERVISOR: That’s smashing, that is. Isn’t it about this time of year London Transport does the dope testing?

FX: RADIO STATIC

SUPERVISOR: Fat controller to staff room. Who’s the first-aider for control room 7? That bloke with multiple burns who does the fire-eating at Christmas? Send him in and tell him to bring snacks: we’re testing for dope. Can I have your badge, Trevor?

TREVOR: Why? I’m already busted down to traffic: get it?

OPENING. KEYS IN LOCK. DOOR OPENS

CLARISSA: Don’t you bother stepping through this door with your boss’s voice ringing in my ear about ‘drugs counselling’!

TREVOR: But darl I‘m not on drugs: I was talking to a space ship…

CLARISSA: That’s why you never decorate the flat: you just smoke George Michael ‘baccy ‘til it looks different. Well we’re finished: so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

FX: DOOR SLAMS. GARDEN GATE CREAKS. SLOW

DOGGED FOOTSTEPS (FADE)

V/O: Life support systems are positive. Shields holding.

TRIX: Is this the only in-flight entertainment? ‘Angling Top Trumps‘? ‘Trout caught on flies - four‘. Have I won or lost? Who can freakin’ tell?

FX: ALIEN ATMOS.

TRIX: Hari Krishna! Up here? You guys are really determined!

ZEN: I am of the planet Nexus. My name is Zen Annexia.

TRIX: Sounds like a slimming disease.

ZEN: May I cure you, Trix McKinnon?

TRIX: This is some sort of divine test, right? Listen, I don’t get religion: alien or terrestrial. ‘Bhuddist pantomime: he’s beyond you’! You see: no idea what that means.

ZEN: I can return you to Earth but you must prove your love of mankind by showing willingness to return as that which you hate.

TRIX: The world only really needs one David Blaine…

ZEN: No, Trix Mckinnon, son of Thelma and Chuck Mckinnon: you must return as an enthusiastic McDonald’s co-worker.

RIX: Is that even possible? Last time I was in McDonalds I said: ‘No, you have a nice day: after all, I’ve got a life.

ZEN: Which is precisely why we’ve chosen it for you, Trix. Or you could stay here forever. Hot and yellow every day; no intelligent life. A permanent Aiya Napia of the soul. But without the sex.

TRIX: Oh all right. All you get at NASA is locker talk and jogging. At least working in McDonalds I get to meet interesting brain surgeons and philosophers from the Middle East.

ZEN: Lie back and think of America Trix…or somewhere pleasant…

TREVOR: You’re me besh pal, Derek. Nobody else does me out-of-date lagers round the back of Tescos on a Friday. And only you believe there’s a geezer in outer space. Admittedly you think ish Captain Kirk but thash not the point.

TRIX: Trevor? You out there buddy? I’m coming home Trevor. Just keep that radio on so I can track the signal. Save me a Cornish pasty: I‘ll be home for supper.

TREVOR: That’s him! Listen up everyone, it’s the geezer from outer Space!

DEREK: I don’t believe it! Captain Kirk eats Cormish pasties…

FX: FLASHBULBS. HELICOPTERS. CROWD ATMOS.

TRIX: Here’s the man of the moment, Trevor Sprodworthy: single handedly guided me into orbit. You’re certainly playing your blues records backwards tonight: you’ve got your job back, your girlfriend back…and we understand she’s talking of tying the knot…

TRIX: Trevor? Trevor…?

DEREK: I can’t get it started.

TREVOR: (shouting) Relax: we’ve got an eternal life support system. And that’s just the lagers.