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Discussion Starter · #1 ·
Well, I remember it this way, Rail. I guess you're too young to recall it. But we on the inside knew that Charles and Di's relationship was doomed fro the start. You see, Charles is a big HO railway fan. Likes nothing better than to fettle his Mallard on a Sunday evening, or to clean out his bogies with a monogrammed cotton bud. Diana was a slot racer from the start. Always was. A born racer with a ruthless streak. The two personalities can never really mix. Oil and water as the poets say. When the boys were born- Wills and the other one- Barry? something like that- Charles bought them a complete HO scale layout of the entire British Rail goods and passenger system and had it installed in a conservatory at the back of Buckingham Palace. Where it lay unused and rotting- just like the real thing, in fact. On the other hand, the first christmas present Di got for the boys was a handmade eight lane routed replica of the old Nurburgring circuit, fully landscaped and equipped with lighting, and a set of specially commissioned cars representing the entire grid of the 1967 Grand Prix. The boys, William and um, Larry? were on it night and day.
A few years later, when the 30th anniversary of the West Hamley Club came round, I suggested soemone special to start the formalities. A popular celebrity with a fondness for slot racing. I was enjoying a close relationship with the Di's personal Lady of the Lip-gloss and Intimate Underthings, Felicity Quykke-Shagge- someone who literally knew the Princess from top to bottom. I was sure I could use my connections to get Di herself to officiate.
She leapt at the chance. Brought the whole family. It was a great day at West Hamley- we managed to keep the press at bay, but Di gave a short but witty speech about the merits of the tripod set-up over the four-wheel contact chassis, gave a performance of Emerson Lake and Palmer's version of Fanfare for the Common Man on her portable keyboard (complete with knives), and opened the racing with a couple of flyers just outside the club lap record. Charles folded up the 40-page speech he had prepared on the need for agrarian reform, tucked it in his pocket and sulked quietly at the back of the club room. These damn cars moved too fast. You couldn't read the writing on the sides. His thoughts flicked back to the rusting train set at the back of the Palace.
Wills and the other one were in the thick of the racing. Not getting it properly hooked up, but having fun all the same. Di did more than her share of marshalling, and generally made herself popular, her huge eyes blinking at everyone from beneath that blonde fringe. Taking her place at Tertre Rouge for the main final, she found herself next to another guest, our visiting US pro-racer. Tall, dark, incredibly rich and very handsome, the two inevitably fell into conversation. 'Hey, your maj. The name's Pea. Doctor Pea.'

Inevitably, there's more.....
 
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tx, now I was a big Di fan. So I am enjoying this so much. But the racing pro discription does not sound like anyone we all know!!!!!!!

RR
 

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QUOTE Tall, dark, incredibly rich and very handsome

Definitely not me at 5'7", ugly as they make'em and deeply in debt.

The Only True Doc Pea
 
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'Hmm. Interesting. Maybe we should be working together. I'm Harry Porsche, Commander-in-chief, Special Executive Logistics Bureau Personnel Division Operations and Agenda, Slot Car Anarchists Brigade.' He paused, 'That Doc Pea is a fake at least one of those three statement in that last post was wrong'

'It must be one of them clone things' said Thumb.

'You may have heard of us', Harry continued. 'Popularly known as SCAB. Motto (page 215, para 12, subsection 312 of the official written constitution); No rules, let's race.
 
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'Hold on you two guys. Would somebody mind explaining what's going on here?'

. 'I'm hungry. Is that a banana in your pocket, Howmet? It wasn't there before said Thumb…' Some clown is pretending to be Doc Pea'
 

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Discussion Starter · #9 ·
'We know, Doctor' replied the princess, as her long eyelashes descended slowly over her limpid eyes. 'We have been following your career with great interest at the Palace. You have done much to enhance our favourite hobby over the years. Your 'Iso-polygon reverse flex' chassis interested us greatly. Your prescient design work for...'
'Well, your maj, modesty forbids and all that. But I'm rightly proud of my linear induction car which those stupid short sighted manufacturers turned down- and of course my intial discovery of the wheel, the heliocentric universe and the general principles of capitalism..'
'Excuse me interrupting Doctor, but that M8D on magenta needs attention. Overenthusiastic acceleration out of turn 4, I believe. But do continue. How do you find life in our modest country?'
'Yeah. Typical lousy brit driving. Weeell, in answer to your question, Princess, I guess it's pretty primitive. You're about ten years behind the wave slot-wise. Plenty of enthusiasm, but not enough incentive, if you get my meaning. And then there's the trade unions- you gotta do something about them, your maj. And this whole welfare state and National Health scam. Waste of honest taxpayers money. The poor people don't need handouts, they want persuasion...'
'I'm not sure I'm in quite the position to do anything about that as yet, Doctor, and my husband has some fairly strong ideas of his own. But about the slot racing scene, I have a proposition for you.'
'A proposition, huh? Well if I had a dime for everytime someone has said that to me my pants pockets would be weighed down to my ankles...'
'I find that a very inviting idea, if I may say so.'
'Keep your mind on the track, not on my pants, princess. I'm all ears, but that no-hoper on indigo is all thumbs. Haul his Chaparral out of the scenery, would you your maj?'
Without shifting the gaze of her bambi-blue eyes, deeply focussed on Doctor Pea's aquiline nose and close-shaved lips, Diana lanquidly reached out a pale, china- smooth arm, and with her long, elegantly manicured fingers lifted the stationary 2F from the trees and replaced it smoothly in indigo lane, sending it on its way with a delicate caress.
'To continue, Doctor. My ambition is to give my boys William and uh, thingie, the best start in life they could possibly have. Nothing is too much or too good for my boys. Charles drags them round cathedrals and country fairs. He tries to get them interested in his model train set. He wants them to have philosophy and cold showers. But I know the modern world, Doctor. The competitive modern world. I want a better life for them. I want them to be International Slot Racers. I want the future King of England to be the first World Slot Car Champion. And I want you to teach them, Doctor Pea.'
 

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QUOTE "Dr. Pea, in the Library, with a Ruddock controller"

This is a wrong statement taken out of context. The un-edited correct one should read:

"Dr. Pea, in the Library, rudely controlling the loud conversation."



The Mean, Evil,

Doc Pea
 

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Al Schwartz
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QUOTE This is a wrong statement taken out of context. The un-edited correct one should read:

"Dr. Pea, in the Library, rudely controlling the loud conversation."

You actually expect me to suggest that Dr. Pea could be anything but the very soul of exquisite courtesy and diplomacy? Really!

(I am, of course, aware that there may well be a penalty exacted for the above - something like close, high speed contact with a wall on the King next spring in Las Vegas!)

EM
 

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Russell Sheldon
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She was a huge Chaparral fan.



QUOTE Diana lanquidly reached out a pale, china- smooth arm, and with her long, elegantly manicured fingers lifted the stationary 2F

I thought it was a 2J?

QUOTE Yes go on, tx, I want to find out if the Evil Doktorrr gets the girl before she kisses the wall.

I bet she wishes she never kissed Jim Hall....



 

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Discussion Starter · #16 ·
'Hmmmn. That is an interesting proposition, Princess. But where I come from we don't mess around. What's the bottom line on this? I'm a busy man, your maj. I've finished my work here at West Hamley, but back home I've got a couple major revolutionary slot cars I need to patent. Then there's a guy in Barcelona with some big plans. He wants me to fly over and sort out the details. Then Walkinshaw keeps bugging me to drive an XKR at LeMans, and this Gorbachov creep needs my help in winding down communism worldwide. What can you offer, Princess?'
Diana leaned towards Pea in that inimitable way of hers; half innocent, half seductress. She lowered her head and peeked at the Doctor through her long and carefully tended lashes. At the same time she hunched her shoulders, and her satin blouse slipped a little further open under the pressure of her milk-white bosom, bulging like the sidewalls of a pair of Goodyear slicks under full cornering load.
'My my. You're a busy man, Doctor. I, on the other hand, don't have a lot on at the moment. As you can probably see.'
Doctor Pea wondered briefly whether he could still be beheaded for entertaining the thoughts that were currently lapping his brain at record speeds. But Diana stretched out a comforting hand and laid it gently on his inner thigh.
'Mrs Pea must miss you terribly, with all this travelling you have to do, Doctor.'
'Hgggghhhjaachhharumph. No Mrs Pea, your maj. No woman's been able to nail me yet!'
'I expect you've managed to nail a few women, nonetheless, Doctor. But you are wise. Marriage is a demanding institution. One that does not come naturally to all of us. It can be greatly disappointing to a young, ambitious woman. It can take only a very small thing to spoil everything. Charles is a well-meaning man, but he does have a very small drawback. Never believe what women tell you about men with big ears, Doctor! But I can see there's nothing small about you!'
'Oh-uh- thats just my spare Parma 5ohm. It has a big heatsink. Always carry it in my pants pocket for emergencies.'
'A Parma man! You prefer the forefinger stroke! How lovely! I still use my trusty MRRC. I find my thumb is far more responsive.'
At this she gave Doctor Pea's inner thigh a little tweak, her thumb gently circulating a very special pressure point.
'Crrrwchhhaffnafffnhucch.' Pea yelped. He stood up, looked swiflty around him, and back at the Princess.
'I think I can deal with all my little business ventures by phone, your maj. When do you want me to start?'
 

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Discussion Starter · #18 ·
Doctor Pea was quickly set up in the north by north west wing of Buckingham palace. The Royal Armoury in the Tower of London was given over to scratchbuilding workshops, and a large test track laid in the grounds of Windsor Castle. Each morning Pea would give the royal princes a tough workout; finger flexing and corner leaning. He took them through the basics of soldering, gear set up, tyre truing, then onto more advanced rewinding theory. The boys had a certain natural, raw talent. William took to the authoritative, no-nonsense style of his American master- so much easier for him to follow than the circumlocutions of his rather more diffident father. The other one- Gary, is it?- being younger, was harder to teach. But Pea persevered. Diana came regularly to the trackside to see how her sons were doing, and showed her concern that the younger boy was being overshadowed.
'Don't worry, your maj. I have plans. We just have to start small, and work him up. Trust me. I'll give him his own project to do. We'll soon have the boy up to scratch.'
'I do hope so, Doctor- or all there will be for the boy will be endless days and nights with his father on the- I can hardly bring myself to say it- on the toy trains! The HO model of the Surbiton Branch Line Charles has installed in the Richard III corridor- it's too too horrible!'
Pea stretched a comforting arm around the Princess's shoulder, making a quick reconnaissance of the fixtures and fittings of her netherwear. 'Quick release- hook and eye, rear and centre. But later!' she whispered, gathering up her petticoats and running swiftly to the door. But before the gothic oak portal closed on it's black iron hinges, the Princess kicked up a heel. One of her shoes flew off into the corner of the room, but Diana did not wait. The thud of the closing door echoed through the palace like a portent of dark deeds to come. Pea seized the patent leather pump and clasped it to his heart. 'The shoe! The shoe! It is a sign!' he thought. 'All I have to do is follow the shoe and she will be mine!'
'I say. I say, Doctor old chap. One seems to have one's finger caught in the hand throttle. Might one request a little assistance trackside?'
The querulous voice of Prince William, uncannily like that of his father, Prince Charles, Duke of Cornwall, heir to the throne of England Scotland and Wales, and model railway nerd, brought Doctor Pea back to earth with a jolt. What was he thinking?

Late that night, Diana tossed in her bed. A restlessness plagued her body- she could find no respite, no comfort, and no sleep.
For the fourth time, Prince Charles removed his mink ear muffs and scowled. 'I say, Di. I have to be up in Forfar at four-forty to open a fishpaste factory. If I don't get some sleep I shall get in a most dreadful muddle with my speech about organic architecture.'
'I can't sleep, Charles. I can't sleep in this bed any longer! I am in torment. Every way I turn I ache- I ache for something- something I don't quite understand. I need comfort, Charles. I need what every woman needs, Charles. You know what I want!'
'Oh for heaven's sake Di. I'll call for Fitztightly to bring up the latest Hello magazine if that's what you mean. But I have to sleep. I've been working on this speech for six weeks, and I'm sure the Forfar Fishpaste folk will learn a great deal by it. I can't let them down. I have responsibilities. Heavy lies the head that wears the crown you know, Di.'
'Charles, Charles, Charles! How can you be so insensitive? This bed will not let me sleep. I cannot rest comfortably here.'
'Don't be silly. I will sort this out. Fitztightly! bring up another mattress for the princess so that she may sleep!'
A small courtier in a very tight suit emerged from a dark corner of the royal bedchamber. 'Immediately, your Highness' he said.
The new mattress made little difference. Six inches higher up, Diana turned and tossed, her flailing arms dragging the silk sheets from Charles' side of the bed.
'I say. I'm most dreadfully cold, Diana. Still not sleeping?'
'No, you idiot!' 'Hush hush, dear! I will see to this. I am the future King! I can do anything! Fitztightly! Another mattress for the Princess's comfort!'
'At once your Highness'.
Charles turned his back on the Princess's anguish. He thought he had the answer, as he did for most things. But Diana, now a full foot further from the ground, still could not sleep. At regular fifteen minute intervals throughout the night, he called Fitztightly for more mattresses. The height of the bed rose, the mattresses became softer, but still Diana could not sleep.
At five o'clock, she could stand it no longer.
'Charles! This is the end! I cannot sleep here. I am leaving.'
Those were the last words Charles ever heard from the lips of his wife, as she ran helter-skelter down the corridors of Buckingham Palace to the arms of her American love, her guru of Scalextric, her avatar of advanced slot racing- Doctor Pea.
 
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