A/N: A continuation of the slightly (okay, VERY) bizarre 1969 film "The Bed Sitting Room".

Overcoming - One Mutation at a Time

The population of England had always been stalwart, proud and with stiff upper lip got about their business come what may.

All twenty of them.

To be sure, they had started out with a few more than that - over forty million more, give or take - before the devastating nuclear attack reduced their numbers a bit. Well, quite a bit actually if the truth were told when, over a three year period, most of the population gave up their Earthly worries involuntarily after a nuclear was so terrible that the survivors could scarcely even reference it - much less discuss it. So reduced was the population that one man pedaling a bicycle supplied the whole of the nation with electricity, Ed Scrubpatch (a retired rug salesman) was left as Prime Minster, and Mrs. Ethel Shroake of 393A High Street, Leytonstone was found to be the next in line as Queen - her chief qualification was that A) she was alive and B) she had met the Queen once accidentally when she mistook the monarch for her Aunt Ruthie while not wearing her eyeglasses.

Still, things could be worse - which they shortly became, as the genetic mutations from the radiation caused people to be turned into common things which were decidedly NOT people. The aforementioned Ed was turned into a parrot, his wife Mertle in a dresser (although not until after she had been declared legally dead, much to her chagrin although she tried not to sound TOO disappointed), Lord Fortnum of Alamein into a decidedly unhappy bedsitter on an unfashionable pile of rubble, a police sergeant into a friendly border collie, and a nurse named Arthur who ironically had been changed into a rectal thermometer. The man who claimed to be the BBC simply disappeared one day - apparently having gone off the air.

But in true British tradition, they all took account of their stock in life and decided to get on with it as best as possible while being whatever they were. It was different, of course, to start with; but with time they came to accept, and even forget, much of their past lives that were like some distant show they had once seen on the telly, whatever a telly used to be. One simply had to adjust again, that was all.

Einstein said that God does not play dice with the universe, but what people don't realize is that his saying was misunderstood. What he had meant to say was that God doesn't play with regular dice; being omnipotent, they are as loaded as a crooked crap game on a street corner. Except in this case, the street corner was the whole of England and the dice happened to be stands of DNA. It was almost the same thing, except it wasn't.

"Mrs. Dresser?" Bed Sitter said as he contemplated himself in the quiet of the spring day. He called her that because he had become rather vague on her real name - and his own, come to NOT think of it. Names were of little consequence now, and hadn't mattered for some time. He had already resigned himself to the fact that he had fallen from a Lordship to a room that used to symbolize squalor. Even now, as one of the few building left standing, it was marginally better than living in the open. But standards still had to be met; he didn't pretend to be of higher station, which in this case would have been an extra bedroom or at least an attached bathroom.

"Yes, Mr. Sitter?" she asked. Positioned inside the one room accommodation, neither had to raise their voice to be heard.

"You'll forgive me if I ask something that might be considered personal, but...um...have you felt unusual lately?"

"How do you mean?"

"That's the damnable part of it. I can't quite put my finger on the problem."

"What's a finger?"

"It's a...a...you know, I haven't a clue. I'm quite sure that's how the phrase goes, but I admit to being a little baffled now at what it means beyond somehow indicating confusion. The point is, I don't quite feel myself lately."

"What do you feel like?"

"It's just that...that...oh, you know, it's probably going to sound a little silly."

"Oh Mr. Sitter, you can tell me. I'll keep it in strict confidence, tucked away neatly in one of my drawers."

"Awfully decent of you, really. Very well - I think I've got something growing on my roof."

"You mean like grass?"

"I don't think so. There's no soil up there, but I've got some wavy black stuff growing where a few of my shingles have come off."

"Please don't expose yourself, Mr. Sitter."

"Madam, I wouldn't even consider the notion. But I had a dream, and in it there was a thing that had some of that wavy black stuff on its top. And then I remembered what it was called - a man. Oh, dear me, I just remembered...that's where fingers come from! From a man's...a man's...oh, from somewhere on him I'm sure of it. Mrs. Dresser, tell me the truth - do you think I might...might...oh dear me, I'm almost afraid to say it. That I might be turning into a man?"

Mrs. Dresser didn't speak at first. She too had been having strange feelings. Definitely very un-wooden feelings, like at any moment she would start to be all soft and squishy. "I have been feeling a little off-peak myself lately. My drawers don't seem to fit so well, and I feel like I might have gotten a little shorter. Do I seem any different to you?"

Mr. Sitter drew in a deep breath, rattling the windows. "Oh, you still have that wonderful varnish coating I've admired for so long. Maybe it's all just poppycock; we did all go through a bit of stress after, well, you know...they dropped..."

"The thing." It was uncouth to use the actual 'B' word.

"...yes, the thing. I was...oh, dear me. I just lost another shingle. I imagine I'll have some of that wavy stuff coming up in no time. Please don't think me grotesque, Mrs. Dresser."

"Far from it, Mr. Sitter. A thing can't help it when something happens; it's out of our hands. Hands? I remember something about hands..." she said, and one of her drawers pulled out and fell on the floor. "Oh dear."

...

The black and white border collie clambered up the side of the quarry until it could reach the vantage point of the top. Why did the animals always seem to be on top of things? And why was the countryside so full of quarries? Spying a group of cattle standing in the distance, the collie raced off toward them. "Bawr rawr rawr..." he barked, trying to stir the cattle into movement. "Bawr rawr rawr move along rawr..." the dog sounded, before stopping mid-bark and standing on the spot, confused. What was that? His job was to keep things moving along, gathered up and in tight groups. That's what border collies did. They didn't talk.

He tried again. "Bawr rawr. Bawr rawr rawr. Woof rawr grrrr nothing to see here rawr..." he said before stopping again. He had the sudden feeling that he was naked and should be something called a uniform or something, and shivered. A soft whimper sounded in his throat, and he felt like he needed to shave...well...everywhere.

...

Ed Scrubpatch stumbled along, still a little shaky. He had just fallen out of a tree, having lost the ability to perch efficiently when he suddenly changed from a parrot back into a man. He was grateful for having not been eaten by his daughter and her two husbands; in their famished state they hadn't even noticed that they grabbed a chicken instead of a parrot. They must have ignored his previous green color and figured it was just the bird starting to go out of date or a trick of the light or perhaps some radiation aftereffect. But he had managed to fly away, and now dim memories were coming back to him of how to walk like a human again. He tripped over something that might have been something and barely managed to keep his footing as he staggered into a call box and crashed against the phone, which rang.

Instinctively, he grabbed the handset of the phone. "Hello, Hello? Is anyone there?" he asked desperately. The act of walking had come back to him slowly, but it would seem talking on the telephone was much more deeply ingrained.

"I'm here Daddy," a young woman's voice responded on the other end. "I'm so glad we didn't eat you."

"Penelope? Are you alright? Where are you?" That's right - he had a daughter.

"I'm here."

"Where's here?"

"Right where you are." Ed turned around in the confines of the small box but saw no one. "Please don't have your father on like that."

"I'm not. I'm the call box."

"Where's Alan? Is he there...er, here...with you?" Alan was her betrothed and really first husband, except that the doctor Bules Martin had interceded and married her first.

Penelope started to cry. "He's...he's...just outside. He's a fire hydrant standpipe."

"I think I tripped over him on the way in."

"I hope you didn't hurt him! I could call, but I'm...out...of...change," she sobbed. The whole box shook slightly.

"There there, precious - Daddy's got some change I can give you." Ed rummaged through his pockets and put all his change into the coin slot. He kept the handset to his ear, and he could here Penelope call a number. Alan answered, and the two lovers exchanged their professions of love while Ed waited; Ed thought that Alan really was the sort that made a good son-in-law - at least before he was turned into emergency fire-fighting equipment, that is. He supposed even that spoke well of his character, since it wasn't something frivolous like a plastic duck or diet water. Mertie liked him too. Ed wondered how well his dead wife was getting on; she really was a peach.

"Oh Daddy, thank you so much; I could just hug you!" The doors to the call box closed, opened, and closed again. "Maybe someday..."

"That's the spirit! I got changed back from a bird - no reason to believe the same won't happen to you." Ed looked outside and saw a standpipe wandering around, bumping into things. It had human legs, but was still the standard hydrant on top. "Of course it might take a bit. I'll love you the same even if you aren't a call box."

"Daddy, you always say the BEST things..."

...

Dr. Martin looked into the eyes of the police inspector, then plucked one of the man's eyebrows.

"Ow!" he yelled.

"Normal response. Part of the standard exam, you see." The inspector had just changed back from being a cricket bat. Not having anybody about with opposable thumbs had limited his usefulness as anything but a piece of wood, no matter how attractive his black and white check pattern had been.

"Easy for you to say."

"Yes, it was. Hardly any difficult words at all, really. Mind you, it's nice to be able to say anything at all again. As a kettle I couldn't even get up enough pressure to whistle. We'll have to take your temperature. Drop your trousers, please."

"Really Doctor! Is there no other way?"

"It's the most accurate, I'm afraid. Nurse!" While the Inspector bent over and gritted his teeth, Nurse Arthur came up, looking at the patient and the doctor at the same time - it was a skill he had even before the...well...certain things had happened, things that must have been terrible but were terribly vague. "Take the patient's temperature." The nurse extended his forefinger and aimed for the patient until the doctor stopped him. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, sorry, old habits. No, life-long ambition. No, no, wait...fulfilling my destiny!"

"Okay, just as long as you're accurate. As the whole of the National Health system, we have to maintain our professionalism. Proceed."

And so, one by one the residents of England returned to their humanity. Well, the alive ones anyway. The dead remained dead; to do otherwise would have incurred stiff penalties from the government, who had already gone through the labor (and even more importantly, the paperwork) to bury them. Mrs. Mertle Scrubpatch petitioned to have her status changed from dead to inconveniently alive, paid the fee, and filed away the 'temporarily alive' certificate until such time as it would be revoked by the grim reaper.

Penelope and Alan returned to each other and in happy union had somewhere between twelve and twenty-two children.

Oddly, it would seem that Frank "Legs" Callihan had remained a human for the entire time, and in fact had never left his bicycle for a moment. He was awarded the 'Tour de Wasteland' trophy for his efforts and was given every other leap day off.

The inspector gave up a life of police work to become an impressive clergyman, which wasn't difficult since there was only one other man of God in the whole of the country. The sergeant took over the role as the entire country's police squad and gave himself a promotion.

Mrs. Ethel Shroake of 393A High Street, Leytonstone moved from her previous residence to the crater that had been Buckingham Palace. When asked by the BBC (who it seems was back on the air, although his suit was now missing the upper portion as well) in an interview why that was, she replied "Well, it's the address, isn't it?"

The End

A/N: It really was an odd movie, courtesy of some of the lunatics that brought you the Goon Show. I just got the characters from the movie back to...er...ground zero, as it were.

The movie was mostly a lampoon of society and our insistence on keeping conventions when they may not really fit conditions anymore.