by Ganymede & Titan

Series III - Timeslides - All scenes


OK, OK, OK...

Uphill, slight burrow to the left.

Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Owwww!



Hey! Four up with six to play!
This guy is hot, hot, hot, hot!

OK, Hole 13.

What am I doing? What am I doing?!

You're not following through is what you're doing.
Keep your head down and follow through!

- Why am I playing this?
- Because it's Sunday.

Time to relax. Time to chill. Lighten up!

I can't lighten up. I hate my life!

We seem to spend every day devising more
and more ingenious ways of wasting time.

I'm sick of it. I'm sick of table golf.
I'm sick of tiddlywinks show jumping.

I'm sick of stretching a pair of tights
across the room and playing Durex volleyball.

If you like, we'll kick
the golf in the head, OK?

How about a game of Junior Angler?

All the thrills and spills of freshwater fly-fishing
from the comfort of your living room.


Got it. Unicycle Polo.
We could have a quick chukka on Floor 14.

It's smeggin' stupid.
Two grown men on unicycles,

belting a beach ball up and down
a corridor with French loaves?!

It's pathetic. It's idiotic. It's... It's... It's puerile.

- Well, you invented it.
- I want a life.

This is worse than prison. At least when you're
in prison, you can look forward to getting out.

I want to live. I want a job. I want to meet people.
I want to meet girls. I want to make love.

Well, Junior Angler is the best
you're gonna get out of me, buddy!

Listen, man. Just get out of my face.


But don't come running to me next time you want someone to
play soapsud slalom down the cargo ramp.

You can carry your own damn flags.






(VOICES SING) # Happy birthday to you

# Happy birthday, dear Kryten

# Happy birthday to you #

Oh! What a lovely surprise.


Lovely service, Lister.
You should have come. Most uplifting.

What's wrong with you? Ah! It's November.

Nearly time for your bath.

Please, just spare me the good mood, I just can't handle it right now, OK?

- What happened to you?
- I'm sick of it, that's what.

I'm just totally, totally sick of it.

- Sick of what?
- I'm sick of you and your silly green suits.

I'm sick of your stupid flared nostrils.

Sick of the way you always
smile when you're being insulted.

I'm sick of the Cat, I'm sick of Holly,

sick of you, sick of me, and as for Kryten...

I'm sick of him. I'm sick of this ship,
I'm sick of this life. I'm just sick of it.

You're unhappy, aren't you?

Joining the Space Corps,
that's when it all went wrong.

If I didn't join up, I mean things
could have really worked out for me.

That's a tension sheet, isn't it?

I went to school with the guy who invented tension sheets...

Things certainly worked out
for him, all right. A millionaire at 26.

Fred Holden. He was in our dorm.

God, he was thick.
"Thickie" Holden, we used to call him.

"Hello, Thickie.", "How's your acne, Thickie?"
He always used to come bottom in geography.

He thought a glacier
was a bloke who fixed windows.

He can't have been that dense, can he? I mean he invented the tension sheet.

It's just the stuff they used
to use as packing paper.

All he did was paint it red
and cut it into small squares.

And you know who he married?
Sabrina Mulholland-Jjones.

- The model?
- How can that be?

The most desirable woman in the
western hemisphere and Thickie Holden,

a spotty little gimp who used to blow off the
bedcovers every time we had cauliflower cheese.

- He had a break. He got lucky.
- I suppose so.

- Did you go to school with anyone famous?
- Charles Keenan. He was pretty famous.

- What did he do?
- Ate his wife.

(BEEP) Sorry to interrupt, sirs, but I think
you should come to the photo lab.

Something quite strange is happening.

- (RIMMER) So these are just ordinary photographs?
- What did you do to them?

I just developed the film as normal, and for some reason they've come to life.

It's the developing fluid. It must have mutated.

At first, I thought it was just my roll of film,
but it seems to work on any negative.

There's some others I've developed as slides.

- Go for it.
- Lights!

That's Frank! It's my brother's wedding!

Yo! I'm in the photograph!

(FRANK) Excuse me. Could you stand aside
please. We're trying to take a photograph.

- I'm actually IN the photograph!
- Excuse me, you're blocking the shot.

I'm actually here at a smeggin' wedding!

- Are you trying to make trouble?
- Wow, man! I'm back on Earth!

- I'm in a photograph!
- Look, will you just clear off?

- Look! He can touch me, he can touch me!
- Squire, hop it.

(GROANS) He can even punch me! This is brilliant!

He's punching me again. Fantastic.
ALL right! ALL right! OK. I'm going.

I can't walk out of the edge of the photograph.

(KNOCKS GLASS) In-smeggin'...

- ..credible.
- Try another one.

(CAT) What's this?
(KRYTEN) It's one of Lister's.

I don't recognise this.

- Who are they?
- I don't know.

Oh yeah, I remember.
I sent off some snaps of me 18th birthday

and got someone's skiing holiday back instead.

- It's amazing. We're actually here.
- I know. Yeah, check this.

It even works in black and white.
I tried it with a really old one, too.

That's Nuremberg! That's Adolf Hitler, he was
leader of the runners-up in World War ll.

- I copied the photograph from one of your magazines -
- Which magazine?

"Fascist Dictator Monthly". He was Mr October.


Ignore him. He's a complete and total
nutter. And he's only got one testicle.

What's he doing now?! He's scuffling with Adolf Hitler!

You can't just stick one
on the leader of the Third Reich.

I nicked his briefcase!

Banana and crisps?

- His diary!
- Allow me.

I'll switch to translation mode. (BLEEPS)

"Things to remember - stop milk,
pay papers, invade Czechoslovakia."

A present here. "To Adolf. Love and hugs.
Staff Colonel Count von Stauffenberg."

That rings a bell. Von Stauffenberg...
He's famous for something.

Wait a minute, he is the officer
who tried to assassinate Hitler

by putting a bomb in his briefcase.

How could I forget that?

Yes! We've got ourselves
a smeggin' time machine.

So we can go anywhere
we want, absolutely anywhere?

Providing we have
a photograph of it.

So if one of us had, say, a photograph of a female-only
naturist beach in Acapulco,

full of bronzed, naked uninhibited teenage
temptresses, we could go there for a holiday?

- I suppose.
- Kryten, get my photo album.

Hang on. The thing is we can't move
outside the confines of the photograph.

- What we see is all we get.
- Meaning?

Meaning we can't get a picture
of Earth and go back there.

We wouldn't be able to move
outside the frame of the photograph.

Believe me, this beach shot
in Acapulco,

you wouldn't want to move outside the
frame of the photograph.

- So it's useless, then?
- No, not entirely useless.

Think of the famous people we could meet, the famous places we could go.

We could go to Dallas in November 1963,

stand on the grassy knoll and shout, "Duck!"

I'm sorry,
I must have bypassed my good-taste chip.

The possibilities are enormous, they're mind-numbing.

We could go back in time and avert major disasters.

What, do you mean, like persuade
Dustin Hoffman *not* to make "Ishtar"?

What about determinism, then? What about causality?
You can't just mess about with history.

- We'll just do something small.
- No such thing as 'small' when you're talking about changing time.

I'm only talking about changing
things so we don't get marooned in space.

Such as?

If I can go back and fix it so I don't join the Space Corps, don't sign up with Red Dwarf,

I can create an alternate existence, a normal existence back on Earth.

I won't be stuck with your ugly mush for the next three million years.

- How can you do that?
- With this...

and this.

It's ready.


# Om

# Om...


# Om...

What is this? Who is that jerk?

- It's me.
- You?!

Aged 17. That's me first band,
Smeg and the Heads.

What are you wearing?

It was all the rage, it's what everyone
was wearing, called "Sham glam".

Look at that collar!
You could go hang-gliding.

I used to think it was so cool. Come on.

# Om

# Om...

This is one of the first songs I ever wrote.

It was called "Om".

Nothing like a good old-fashioned love song, eh?

And to think, I genuinely thought we were
gonna be massive. God, I was stupid.

Who are the other two?

The whacked out crazy
hippy drummer's called Dobbin.

He joined the police force in the end.
Became a grand wizard in the Freemasons.

The bassist's called Gazza.
He was a neo-Marxist nihilistic anarchist.

Eventually, he joined a large insurance
company and got his own parking space.

#Om #

Wooh! Yeah!

Rock and roll! Thank you! Thank you very much.

For those who are interested, there are
some official 'Smeg and the Head' T-shirts

and signed Polaroids of the band currently
on sale in the back of Dobbin's car.

It's the orange Ford in the car park. The one
with the bald tyres and no windscreen.

we'll be back in 20 minutes with
our second so from me, Smeg,

and from Dobbin and Gazza, the Heads,
I'll see you later.

I'll catch you guys later.

(KRYTEN) What is this place?
(RIMMER) It's a pub.

"Pub". Ah, yes. A meeting place

where people attempt to achieve
advanced states of mental incompetence

by the repeated consumption
of fermented vegetable drinks.

Guys, guys. I'd like you to meet me, aged 17.

Sha-dy! This is totally shady.
It's beyond shady, it's surreal.

- These your mates, then?
- Yeah. That's Cat, Kryten, and...Rimmer.

Brutal tattoo, man!
What's it stand for? Heavy metal?

- Yes, indeed.
- And him, what's happened to him, his face?!

It's grotesque, isn't it?
Has he had an accident?

He looks like he spent three weeks with his
head jammed in a lift. It's totally shady!

Just sit down and shut up.

- So, how did you get here and what do you want?
- I've come to try and change our future.

Change it, aren't you happy being a rock star?
are the constant demand of them groupies getting you down?

- We don't make it as a rock star.
- What that's impossible. It cannot be.

How can I say this without giving offense.
You don't make it ''re crap.

Oh and how would you know, grandad?
You're too old to recieve what we're trying to transmit.

- I'm you, you dork!
- Too old and too crypto-fascist.

Will you shut up and listen? I'm trying to make you rich.

Alls you got to go down to the patent office
and register this as your invention.

- It's called a tension sheet.
- Ah-ah! That's immoral.

- That's Thickie Holden's invention.
- Ah-Ah. Was.

This is just that stuff they used as packing paper
painted red with 'Tension Sheet' painted on it.

- I know.
- It's a piece of crypto-fascist bourgeois crap.

It'll make you a multi-multi-multi-millionaire.

But I'm not into dosh. I hate money, I loathe possessions.

It's just so... so crypto-fascist.

Stop saying everything's crypto-fascist!
You make me sound like I was a complete git!

Look, I'm not breaking up the band. Music is me life.

He's right. You can't make him give up his music.
You heard the "Om" song. It's a masterpiece!

- See?
- Look, back off. I'm trying to give you a break.

Oh, give up. The guy's an idiot.

- He's me!
- Exactly.

I don't want a break. it's my future. I'll take me own chances, thanks.

If you take your own chances,
you'll wind up stuck on a spaceship

with him, him and him
for the rest of eternity.

You won't have a future.
Ugh. You think about it. C'mon.

You haven't got a copy of the "Om" song i can take back with me, have you?

- They're all in the car.
- Ah, what a pity.

I just can't get it out of my head. it's so catchy. #Om...

Keep writing those hits, kid.

# Om...

What a nice guy!

# Om...

- # Om... #
- What now?

Well, it'll take a few seconds for the timelines to
sort themselves out. and then we'll see if it's worked.

It's happening! I'm disappearing!

- What happened?
- Well, Lister altered the timelines

and lived an entirely different life.

Consequently he didn't join Red Dwarf,
consequently the Cat race never existed

and we never rescued Kryten,
so they've disappeared, too.

- So it's just you and me?
- For the rest of eternity.

No, thanks! Find him and bring him back.

- Anything?
- Got him.

- And?
- Tension sheet. Inventor of: D Lister, aged 17.

- Damn!
- and he died tragically in a plane crash, aged 98.

- 98?!
- His own fault, apparently.

He was making love to his 14th wife
and lost control of the plane.

- Have you got any photographs?
- Well, not of that, no...

No, I mean so I can go in and bring him back.

There's only one picture reference,
but you're not going to like it.

- Put it on.
- Now the show that shows the stairway to the stars.

- Heeeeeere's Blaize!
- Hello.

and welcome to the "Lifestyles
of the Disgustingly Rich and Famous."