Facing an indifferent and probably correct world that no longer has the time, energy, inclination or tolerance for northern, bubble-permed men wearing Spandex catsuits and playing medium-tar heavy rock, Yorkshire band of brothers Saxon have reluctantly taken up the invitation from NASA to fly into space in order to fight in a long-running intergalactic war with some aliens. They have been in orbit since 1998.
Episode 9: The Unbearable Lightness of Being Weightless
"Damn the Space Agency and their chuffin' cutbacks," bawled Saxon frontman turned-explorer-of-time-and-space Biff Byford. "I don't know if I'll be able to face another mini kiev after this trip. Playin' chuffin' 'avoc with me internal workings they are."
The Yorkshire-bred purveyor of cut-price early-1980s heavy metal sighed mournfully and flounced from the mess. Ten minutes later, he was distrubed by a banging at the door of his quarters.
"Leave us alone yer great prannet!" he shouted.
"But Biff, we're under attack!" came a high-pitched cry. It was Randy Ham, Saxon's erstwhile keyboard player. "The shields are knackered and some hostile alien force is trying to blast us to buggery."
Biff raised himself up on his elbows. He looked longingly at the photograph of him on stage at the Wendlesham Hexagon, arms aloft, cucumber down front of trousers, fans going wild. Better days.
"Alright!" he groaned. "I'm chuffin' well comin through to save yer arses. Again. But let me tell thee, if this is those plonkers from Uriah Heep playing silly beggars again..."
To be continued very shortly.
