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Time eunuchs part II

October 01 2026
Richard Fletcher, pen on paper. © Antropia Richard Fletcher, pen on paper. © Antropia

The second installment of the Pavement’s super sleuth O’Haggis’s adventure with the Time Eunuchs. Ludicrous piffle by Chris Sampson

The story so far: O’Haggis has time-travelled to 2107 for a secret mission, which you’re not allowed to know. However, after a bit of downtime in a Puddle museum, he was waylaid by Beak, Wyatt, Yew, Noyes, Eek-Hunt and Begone, a firm of solicitors who served him a writ, due to his 21st century’s anti-social behaviour spilling into their 22nd century.


Then he was banished to the 4th century BC, to Doggerland, the land bridge which once connected Britain to Europe.


Now read on… 


While in Doggerland, I was surprised to learn that, by a suspiciously convenient coincidence, their lost ancient language was pretty much the same as 21st century English, except for uj- manki-wolloph-a-bwunqi, a greeting seemingly inspired by too much sausage juice.


Their chieftain even called himself Andy Burnham. He was my guide around Doggerland. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his land was soon to be lost, due to rising sea levels.


Thank goodness such a thing could never happen in the 21st century, eh?


So, who were the Time Eunuchs? Andy clarified for me. Well, it turns out that, far into the future, a Time Travel Committee decreed that all Time Travellers should be eunuchs before they set off for other eras. Why? To prevent them shagging people in the past or future, and thereby risking babies being born to parents of two separate timeframes.


My eyes widened and I gulped. Little did Andy know, but my own parents were from different eras: my mother was Mary Queen of Scots, while my father had been Malcolm X, who had travelled back to Mary’s era via... actually, I had no idea how Dad had time travelled to the 16th century to meet Mum in the first place. No one had ever bothered to tell me, and – somewhat implausibly – I hadn’t ever thought about it until now.

The Time Eunuchs would surely seek to prevent my birth if they knew the truth, so I was keen to keep my origin story obscure. But if everyone in 2107 knew who I was, how could I hope to outfox said Eunuchs?

I would have to adopt a false identity, of course. And thus I posed as Tosspotula, a neo-Roman centurion, who was on holiday from the re-opened Coliseum in Rome, taking a fortnight’s breather in, erm, Croydon. Rome, btw, had reconquered Europe in the late 21st century and re-introduced its ancient uncivilised customs, such as fighting lions and crucifying enemies of the state. All at 2107 prices, of course. Christians paid extra at Easter, to see an actor portraying Jesus lugging a heavy wooden cross through Jerusalem, before being nailed to it.


Croydon, in contrast, was at last gentrified by the early 22nd century. It now housed multiple Gail’s bakeries and the Eunuchs’ HQ.


There I was able to impersonate Tosspotula. Thus, one night so quiet that you could hear balls drop – I mean, hear a pin drop – I snuck into Eunuchs’ HQ. It took a while to locate their scrolls, where I erased all trace of my origins. Thus, I was surely safe from the Time Eunuchs’ wrath and would never have to visit Croydon again! A happy ending if ever there was one.


But hold on. Wasn’t I marooned in Doggerland in the 4th century BC at the end of part one?


So how come I was able to zip back to 2107? It just doesn’t make sense.


And, like all of my misadventures, it probably never will.


So, what was the secret mission? Well, filthy communist lefties planned to restore Doggerland, raising it from the depths of the North Sea, in order to a) make it easier for asylum seekers to enter Britain and b) piss off all the right-wing James Blunts [rhyming slang] who hate foreigners, migrants, LGBTIQA+ people and anyone who wears odd socks on purpose.


Up yours, Adolf! Stick it up your Farage!

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October – November 2026 : Express yourself

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