David Haswell was not having a good day. Firstly, he'd been woken up that morning with a raging hangover and told that his boss's shuttle from Ganymede had been delayed and instead of having the day off as he had expected, he would have to come into work. Then there had been an inspection by the Managing Director and David, ill-prepared because of his expected day off, had muffed it badly.

Now this.

"Well, I don't imagine this is 1966, no," the little impish man was saying.

The only consolation was that the girl who was with him was very attractive. Despite his headache, and the fact that the girl he had tried to pull the previous night had emptied her drink in his lap, David thought he might be in with a chance.

"1966?" David laughed. "Nah. You're well out. Hi. I'm David."

"Polly," the woman replied.

"Pleasure to meet you. So, you two time travellers?"

"There's three of us, actually," Polly said.

A swarthy young man took that opportunity to emerge from the strange blue box.

"That's Ben,' the old guy said with a grin. "And I'm the Doctor." Then suddenly, his smile faded. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked if you were time travellers," David said.

"You know of such things?"

"'Course. The Boss is one, too. Doesn't stop her being late though. You know, I shouldn't even be in here today."

"She's here now," came an urgent whisper from a nearby cubicle. "Her shuttle just landed."

"Great," David muttered. "Now I'm going to get a chewing out over that inspection."

"Coo-ee," came a husky female voice from the other side of the office. "Your lord and master has returned. You can all stop panicking."

"Oh no," the Doctor moaned. "This is not good at all."

"What's the matter, Doc?" Ben asked.

"Doctor? Is that you? Ecky thump! Last time I saw you we were fighting the Terrible Zodin together. D'you remember? She was all 'I will destroy you all!' and we, well, there's young 'uns present, eh?"

"Hello Iris," the Doctor said wearily.

"Iris?" Ben and Polly asked simultaneously.

"Wildthyme," the woman said. "Iris Wildthyme. Bon vivant and raconteur."

"And currently in charge of the special projects division of Krazee Kleen, it seems," the Doctor said. "Why and how, if I may ask."

"Of course you may ask, you handsome devil you. Looks just like one of the Beatles. Well, not Ringo, but you know Ringo. But let's talk in my office, hmm?"

David followed them into the office and stood against the wall as all the seats were taken. He'd been in her office before, so he wasn't taken aback by the gaudy style of decoration she favoured.

"You see Doctor," Iris began. "On my adventures, I came across this company, Krazee Kleen, even though I abhor such blatant attempts at so called trendy spelling. They did get my clothes lovely and clean. Unnaturally so. So, naturally I investigated. And do you know what I found out?"

"That Krazee Kleen is a front for an alien invasion?" Ben interjected.

Iris looked at him with a smile. "He's an eager one, isn't he, Doctor. Do you want to swap? You'd probably like my companion, even though she does get diarrhoea every time we go into the future. Very good with not getting knocked unconscious though."

"Er, no thank you, Iris," the Doctor murmured. "I'm actually trying to get Ben and Polly back to 1966."

"Ah, the Swinging Sixties," Iris sighed. "I should go back there some day, now I've got rid of that old granny body. I could really enjoy myself."

"The story, Iris," the Doctor prompted.

"Ah yes. So I was investigating, wasn't I? Well, I found out that the Managing Director here is a Flaharganharn."

"A Flaharganharn?" the Doctor gasped. "I thought they were extinct."

"So did I. But apparently not."

"What are these... Flahara thingies?" Polly asked.

"Only one of the most dangerous creatures in existence. But their stomach acids do clean clothes beautifully," Iris said. "He's marketing his own fluids as detergent!"

"I don't see that there's anything wrong with that," Polly said. "It's not as if they're evil fluids or anything, right?"

"Well, apart from the fact that every two hundred years, the Flaharganharn go into a state of hibernation for a millennia. But before doing so, they must eat a colossal amount of food. He could be using Krazee Kleen to pre-chew his food for himself."

"That's horrible!"

"I just spoke to him this morning," David said with a shudder. "And he wants to eat everyone?"

"Well, they only do it every two hundred years," the Doctor said.

"But Krazee Kleen has been established for two centuries," David exclaimed. "I was at the bicentennial last night!"

"Oh dear," the Doctor exclaimed, wringing his fingers out nervously. "Is this inspection still going on?"

"I think so," David said. "They should be at the mixing vats by now."

"Mixing vat?" Ben grimaced. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Come on!" the Doctor said, getting up and running towards the lift.

They got off the lift on the next floor down and ran as fast as they could to where Iris reckoned the MD would be now.

He was overseeing one of the vats, bubbling with what Iris and the Doctor knew to be his own bodily fluids.

"Very good," the MD said, even though the smell was overpowering. He was starting to feel very hungry.

"This new batch should be even more effective than the previous one sir," a fawning technician said.

"Watch out!" came a screaming voice as five people came barrelling along the walkway above the vat.

It was too late. Iris collided with the MD and he toppled over the edge of the walkway, falling into the vat. The technician looked on in horror. In this raw state the mixture could eat through human flesh in picoseconds.

"Ooh," Iris grimaced. "Ecky thump! I guess that's me fired."