Does the English Channel pause for station identification…?

   Well, here we are again, at the start of another chapter of Sparky’s adventures in exile in an alternate dimension of long-lost TV broadcasts. Here’s how we got to where I’m about to tell you we’ve gotten to:

    After several failed attempts to release Sparky using her own special brand of off-white magic, Milady M’Dear made one last-ditch effort:

   Unfortunately, her effort shot Sparky clean over the last ditch, and clear across the Pond:

   Once in Ye Merrie Olde England of Ye Merrie Olde Telly, Sparky apparently had time to stop by Carnaby Street before butting in on David Frost and the cast of That Was The Week That Was:

   He then finagled his way onto an ancient episode of Doctor Who by passing himself off as a younger incarnation of Tom Baker:

   On an even older episode of the same program, Sparky (or at the very least, someone who shared his sense of the perverse) appeared to have gotten behind the controls of a Dalek:

   Whoever that particular denizen of the planet Skaro may have been, the effects of the alternate dimension seem to have made England even smaller than it is in our world, since Sparky certainly had no trouble getting around, and then some. After a musical interlude sitting in with The Who on Ready Steady Go! …

   …and a moment of quiet comic relief hanging around on Hancock’s Half Hour…

   …he managed to insinuate himself into The Avengers:

   Moose’s reaction to competition from an eternally youthful Diana Rigg (and a host of eternally youthful stunt women doing her action sequences) was not without a certain timelessness of its own:

   The fallout from this display of petulance and percussive maintenance was an uncharacteristic moment of mute pathos:

   The silence was broken by a question:

   This was followed by an answer, and more questions:

   Then, a familiar voice chimed in:

   Moose’s pedal application of force majeure had knocked Sparky into the chillingly Kafkaesque Cold War nightmare world of The Prisoner…and, even more chillingly, into a position of authority there:

   “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?” is all I have to say…to anyone who has a Latin phrasebook handy, that is. If any good at all is to come of this situation, we won’t find out about it until the next chapter…see you then.

Uncle Fun