Through an alcoholic daze, Olaf Petersen gets chatty with Talkie Toaster.

Name: Olaf Petersen Occupation: Catering Officer Qualifications: Full collection of Delia Smith, Julia Child, Jamie Oliver, Gary Rhodes and Sven Magnusson videos. Some opened. Distinguishing Marks: 'Candy' and 'Denmark Forever' tattoos. Scar from recently removed 'I Love Lister' tattoo on inner thigh. (See below.) Captain's Notes: This drunken Dane was originally a catering officer in the kitchens. (Note: Check the purchase/usage ration for supplies of cooking sherry.) After his death, his tattooed right arm was briefly grafted to the hologramatical Rimmer's body thanks to a corrupted data disk. Lister saw him once more when he travelled back in time through a stasis leak. (Note: And killed Petersen's chances with two women returning from planet leave.) Petersen is also responsible for returning Lister's guitar to him in prison, one of the many reasons the Scouser retains his 'I love Petersen' tattoo on his inner thigh. (Note: Unsurprisingly created during a drunken binge.)

Good evening Mr Petersen - Olaf - would you like some toast?

Have you got anything that's more beer-flavoured?

You mean like, say, beer?

Yes - more beer! I've only had eleven pints so far. More beer! You are a lovely little toaster, you are. With your little dials and knobs. Lovely little toaster. Lovely lovely.

Thank you.

Lovely.

Thank you again. Now if we could talk a little about...

Lovely.

Yes, thanks, got that. Now, please, tell me how you signed up for the Red Dwarf crew.

It's very simple. I was... Oh, now, hang on, I knew it a minute ago...

I think it involved a house you'd bought?

That's right! I bought a house. Yes. A house. Very good. Yes.

You can't remember anything about it, can you?

That's not true! I can... It had a door.

A door?

Definitely. Another beer?

I'll have the skutters bring you one.

You're a very good toaster, you know. Speaking as someone who doesn't want any toast, you are fulfilling my every need in the grilled bread department.

Thank you.

Have you ever thought of dispensing beer?

No.

It'd be a great career change. There's so much variety. You know, there are so many different brands of beer, it's mind-boggling. The amount of different brands out there, why it must add up to... well, definitely more than six. Seven probably. Maybe even eight.

Any news on the house memory yet?

Oh, yes! I bought this killer place on Triton, just around Neptune. Great place, I mean finding-a-way-to-drink-while-still-asleep great. 25 bedrooms, 12 with en-suite bathrooms. Zero-gee squash court, snooker room, missile silo, hot and cold running beer...

Hang on, hang on - missile silo?

It's a converted military outpost. That's why the gym has 200 lockers and group showers. But it's great. I got it for a song, too, what with there not being any atmosphere on Triton.

Not oxygen?

Not yet - I'll have to walk round the place in a spacesuit. But you can attach a bio-feed line to a spacesuit and drink twice as much beer in one go. So where's the downside?

Anyway, I was working my...Ah, time for another beer, I think.

That's okay, I'll wait.

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh! That's better. Now, yes, as I was saying little Toaster pal of mine, I was working my way to Triton. I got to Mimas by working on Pax Vert, a nuclear waste dump ship. Those were good times, I'll tell you.

A well-stocked bar on the Pax Vert, right?

That's riiiight!

Figures.

I swapped to the Dwarf when I found out where they were headed. Overheard an officer discussing the jag in a reputable drinking establishment called The GELF's Head. Good place, nice atmosphere - when you've run out of money they'll let you suck the bar mat.

So I sauntered into the JMC recruitment office and signed up. Came aboard on the shuttle, went through clearance, puked in baggage claim, met Lister... and I can't remember much after that.

After working on board for a while...

Working?

You were a catering officer, right? A chef?

Only according to the official records - I hacked in, cos I needed access to the kitchens.

What for?

For my fully-legal, not-at-all dangerous, and certainly not damaging to your heath, still. I was making my very own moonshine. 'Petersen's Persuasive'.

Persuasive?

If you're sober, it persuades you to be drunk. And if you're female, it persuades you that Lister looks attractive. I say 'if you're female', but there was that one time we got really pally and had tattoos done...

Anyway, there was this minor explosion, and...

Hang on! You can't just start your story with 'there was a minor explosion'!

No? Okay, hang on. 'Once upon a time, there was a minor explosion in some ways connected to my not-at-all-illegal and barely volatile still.' How's that?

Just get on with it.

Nobody was seriously hurt... well, Armless Oakley, maybe. A bit.

How so?

We used to call him Longarm Oakley. But that just seemed cruel after the explosion. I told him, 'You should feel lucky. No more tennis elbow for you, bucko'. No pleasing some people.

So the Captain - who, by the way, has his own refrigerator in the kitchens. I saw it, had his name on and everything, pinned over the original door sign: 'Cargo Bay 6' - he brought me up to the bridge. And then... I don't know what happened. I think I blacked out. It's hard to say, it happens so often.

You were killed by a nuclear blast that tore through the ship. I'm talking to a recreation of Olaf Petersen, rebuilt by nanobots, and not actually the original human being.

Really? So how come I still have that other guy's hangover?

Thank you, Petersen. One final question - would you like some toast?