by Ganymede & Titan

Series VII - Tikka to Ride - All scenes




Hello? Testing - one, two, three.

Hello? Yes!

OK. Here we go. Ship's

I've decided to keep a journal of life
on-board ship and send it off in a probe.

Since turning 28,
I feel a new maturity about myself.

In fact, I can't even remember the last time
I tried to urinate on Rimmer from the top of D-deck...

No, wait a minute - Friday.
But apart from that one lapse,

Maturity wise, I'm practically
up there with Abe Lincoln and Moses.

Now, just recently we came across a craft,
piloted by ourselves from 15 years into the future.

We had a bit of an argument,
and they attacked us. See attached...

- Another lock!
- Incoming message.

Either you give us access to the
data we require

or be prepared to be blasted out of the sky.


Dead. But there may be a...


There may be a what? A way out of this?
Is that what you were going to say?

S...speak, Kryten.
How can we change what's happening?

We were no match. They killed us

and destroyed everything onboard ship,
including the Time Drive,

which meant there was no Time Drive for them
to have in the future to bring back into the past

to destroy the future of their
past selves in the present.

Put simply, by killing us they
killed themselves,

because once we were dead it was impossible
for us to become them in the future

and return in time to kill ourselves
in the past even though it was the present.


Oh, smeg!

Have you been trying to explain about
our future selves again, sir?

- I just thought I'd have one more go.
- That's the third camera this week!

The machines just can't take it, sir.

But I'm only trying to explain why Starbug's
damaged despite the timeline being erased

because this reality's unstable and anomalies have
merged from both dimensions to cope with the paradox.

Oh! Garbled, confusing

and, quite frankly, duller than an
in-flight magazine produced by Air Belgium.

Now, just state our position
and explain we're down on supplies.

All right! All right!

This is Dave Lister
of the JMC transport vehicle Starbug.

We're down on supplies. We need help. Out.

Oh by the way, we're in space.

Just passed a sort of reddy
moon a couple of days ago.

Coordinates enclosed.

It's about that shape. You can't miss it.


(LISTER) Ship's log update, Friday am.

The battle with our future selves
has had the most terrible consequence.

Wiped out? Kryten, man, they can't be.

I'm afraid so, sir. The laser cannon breached
the main water tank and flooded Supply Deck B.

- They didn't stand a chance.
- Yeah, but surely...

There was nothing we
could do to save them, sir.

So, you mean...

now we've got no poppadoms at all?

No poppadoms, no curries...
All the Indian food supplies have been totalled.

I'll have to survive without them, then.

- I'll have salads.
- Sir, you're in shock.

- You don't know what you're saying.
- After all, it's only curry.

Oh "only curry", the
enormity of it hasn't sunk in.

You must mourn, sir. Don't
you see? You must mourn.

- Me curries.
- Oh, sir.

Get it out. Cry like a baby.

What am I gonna do? Curry night
was the one little beacon I had.

It made me feel like a normal ordinary guy,
not some sad freak stuck in deep space -

no woman, no hope, no curry.

Worse still, a choice of only two alcoholic
beverages - Cinzano Bianco or advocaat.

- It's a human tragedy.
- No lager?!

Sir, there is nothing unmanly
in howling like a hungry prairie dog.

- No Lager?!
- All the supplies on B-deck were destroyed, sir.

There wasn't even any wreckage, no debris, zip.

God... A few beers and a curry,
it was the highlight of my week!

I used to look forward
to curry night, too, sir.

Seeing your little face
all happy and smiling.

Come rain or shine, we'd always make time
for curry night every Friday.

- Saturday.
- Sunday.

- Tuesday.
- Wednesday.

And Thursday. Always the same meal -
three poppadoms with mango chutney.

- Those little onions.
- Dill pickle.

That Day-Glo green mint sauce
that just doesn't wash out.

- And that weird red stuff that no one knows what it is.
- Then a shami kebab starter.

Followed by a chicken vindaloo, kamikaze hot,
with a fire extinguisher on standby.

And two scoops of kulfi ice-cream.

And two indigestion tablets.

Oh, life without curry?

It's like Laurel without Hardy,

the Lone Ranger without... that Indian bloke.


Perhaps you could learn to love pasta?

Pasta? You sick?

You know the news?
All the curry supplies have been destroyed.

We heard.

As a mark of respect, we thought on Sunday at
12 o'clock we could have a minute's flatulence.

It's nothing to you guys, is it?
Curries were my life.

God, some of the nights! I remember
once on planet leave on Orion,

I drank a yard of vindaloo sauce, you
know out of one of those long glass tubes?

And then went out on
the pull. It was a bet.

It's impossible for mechanoids to vomit, sir,
I believe it is safe for you to continue.

I went to this club, the Crazy Astro,
started dancing with this Space Corps nurse.

- Couldn't hear her name.
- Fido, was it?

- Lassie, possibly?
- She was very attractive, actually, Rimmer.

Very short skirt, little ankle bracelet, took out her chewing
gum before she ate her chicken in a basket. You know, class.

All right, so she had teeth that
looked like six half-open garage doors,

but it was nothing a cosmetic
surgeon couldn't fix in ten minutes.

- So what happened?
- I went over to her, leant in close,

asked her to dance...

- For a few seconds, she didn't answer.
- She was probably concussed.

A yard of vindaloo sauce? You must have had
breath that could shear sheep.

- We started to snuggle up...
- I'm not sure I want to hear any more of this.

Then all of a sudden... a rumbling in me stomach.

AlI I can remember is running.
Across the dance floor, through the crowd.

- Just made it.
- So you didn't get off with her?

Only thing I got off was
the loo about six hours later.

When I got back to the dance floor, everyone
was gone. They had to wait for me to lock the club!

God, nearly put me off curries for life. In fact, I
didn't have another one until the following night.

What an enchanting little tale.

Well, if you'll excuse me I'm just off to
glug a couple of yards of vindi sauce,

then if we do happen to chance across
Planet of the Snooty Sex Sirens', I can't miss.

Sirs, I suggest we carry out
a thorough inspection of the ship.

The altercation with our future selves
caused dimensional anomalies

which have expanded the cargo deck by 212%.

We should ascertain that
the new structures are stable.

(CAT) Time has returned to the point before
we discovered the time machine, right?

So what's to stop us going back on board the
Gemini 12 and picking it up all over again?

We have to avoid all forms of time travel.

It's the only way of breaking our destiny line and
ensuring we don't end up like our future selves.

Yeah, but surely we can use
the Time Drive if we're careful?

You know, if we don't abuse it
in the way our future selves did?

- You know, if we're sensible and mature.
- And do what?

Go back in time to an Indian
takeaway and order 500 curries.

Sir, the scheme is irresponsible,
moronic and preposterous!

All your hallmarks, bud!

One really big takeaway order once every
two years and our problems are over.

YOUR problems are over.
OUR problems are just beginning.

What about causality? Interfering
in the past, no matter how minutely,

always alters the present - cause and effect.

Look, I'm a curry-aholic!
I've only got two taste buds that work.

I need curry.

We can't afford to take any more chances.
I say the Time Drive stays where it is.

You know I'd rather wear sideways-pressed flares
and a clip-on polyester tie than agree with Goalpost Head,

but this time he's right.

Oh, OK. OK.

(KRYTEN) Since that completes
the B-deck inspection, sirs,

permission to off-line for the next 12 hours
while I discard some old cache files?

How come you need more memory?

Over the years, you've had more RAM
than a field of sheep.

My head is littered
with unnecessary information, sir.

The ability to sing the Bay City Rollers'
greatest hits is no longer a priority.

For the most cultural purposes, crooning
"Bye Bye, Baby" is more than sufficient.

This clean-up thing, how does it work, exactly?

I simply attach my RAM to the ship's computer
and download the unwanted files into its trash file.

Your RAM's in your head, isn't it?
So you won't actually be using your body, then?

- Why do you ask?
- Just interested.

Robotics, it's fascinating, isn't it?



- My heavens! I'm head Head!
- Shh!

- This is only temporary.
- I don't understand.

Look, I want to go back in time on a curry hunt.
Kryten said "no way". What do you say?

I can't go behind Kryten's head.
What would he say if he found out?

It's deceitful, wrong and dishonest.

I'm in! Those are emotions
I've longed to experience,

but first you'll have to override my guilt
chip and disable my behaviour protocols.

- OK. Show me how
- Press the skull release catch behind my right ear.


OK, here we go.

My guilt chip.

No behaviour protocols.

Just call me "bad ass"!


I feel great! Got all the beauty sleep
I needed. Stayed awake all night.

Hey, that smells good. What's for brekkie?

Waffles, sir, dripping in honey and jam

with three fried eggs on the sid, coated in cheese!

- That sounds about as healthy as jumping off a cliff.
- Healthy? Who cares? Pork away!


So, um...Kryten,
now that you've had time to think,

what about that curry
hunt to the 22nd Century?

Ooh, I meant to mention that, yes. I overreacted yesterday.
On reflection, I think it'd be quite safe.

- Safe?
- What about causality?

Causality? Well, OK, you know,
one event causes another, OK

but sometimes, you just gotta say,
"The laws of time and space? Who gives a smeg?"

Ah, I think what Kryten's
trying to say here is...

- You're smoking!
- Oh, is my generator overheating again?

- A cigarette.
- D'you want one?

- Of course I don't want one!
- D'you want me to go outside?

I think what Kryten's trying to say
is that it's OK to go back in time

and order a small lake's worth
of vindaloo to go, isn't that right?

- You bet your ass!
- OK, so let's navigate those reality bubbles and do it.

Kryten, can I have a word?

Look, what is wrong with you? You don't smoke,
you never say "bet your ass",

and you never use your groinal
attachment to stir anybody's tea!

- I didn't get any error commands.
- Yeah, because you've got no behaviour protocols, ya spanny

- Now, get a grip or we'll be rumbled.

So uptight.


What is wrong
with that demented Tonka toy now?

He's just got a bit of a bio-glitch in his transponder
calibrations. It's only temporary.

Hey, Mr Time Drive!

OK, Kryten,
we want the Taj Mahal Tandoori Restaurant

behind the JMC building in London.

- Back table. Quiet.
- I'll need a moment to acquaint myself with the controls.

- But you've used it before.
- Have I?

Oh, yes, of course I have. Sorry. Stupid of me.

Just programming it now, matey boy.


Nice landing, Kryten. (!)
That was about as smooth as Egyptian whiskey.

Apologies, sir. I'm not sure what I did then.

This isn't right. Where are we?

Well, according to the Time Drive,
the date is November 22nd 1963,

and we're in the city of Dallas.

How come? Gimme that thing!

I've always been a bit of a technical whiz
when it comes to these kinds of gizmos.

You're right. Dallas, '63. No doubt about it.


Dallas? Wasn't that that place
where that American king got assassinated?

- JFK.
- No, it was John something, not Jeff Kay.

J-F-K, not Jeff Kay, you gimboid. Like the
airport. I did a paper on him at school.

I wonder why would anyone would
wanna name their kid after an airport?

Heathrow Lister.
John, Paul, George and Ringway.