“Is this to be some kind of sick joke?” Gaz shouted as he stormed into the kitchen.

“Wha..?” began Joel.

“’Cos it’s not funny at all. You’ve been doing all kinds of weird stuff around the ship, and blaming it on me. You’re not gonna pin this one on me though.”

“I.. don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Joel.

“Really? Well come here and tell me what’s going on then.”

Gaz marched down the corridor with Joel in tow, a determined air about him. He stopped outside the bathroom and pointed at the door.

“Right. Look in there and tell me that wasn’t you.”

Joel looked at him, bemused.

“Why are you standing so far away?”

“It’s fuckin’ disgusting, that’s why!”

Joel pushed the door ajar, and peered inside.

“Jesus Christ!” he cried, slamming the door shut. He wretched, bent over double. “That wasn’t me, I’m telling you.”

“Yeah, right,” answered Gaz. “You’ve been building this up for ages. The washing up liquid’s gone, the chicken’s all been eaten, someone’s drunk my tea. And then you create a giant green turd, complete with chicken bones and tea bags. That’s not even funny, it’s all over the room!”

“It wasn’t me, I’m telling you.”

“Yeah, yeah. There’s banging doors,” mimicked Gaz. “There must be someone else on board. You must think I’m stupid.”

“It wasn’t me, I promise!” insisted Joel. “I wouldn’t do that!”

“Whatever. Failed practical joke. Rubbish. All I can say is that I’m not clearing that up. Here you go.”

Gaz thrust a mop and a bucket into Joel’s hands and stormed back down the corridor.

Joel peered around the door again and winced. A spade would be more useful than a mop, he surmised. He went back to the kitchen to find some more industrial strength cleaning equipment before entering the toilet, checking up and down the corridor for intruders first.