Elsa and Zelta had just finished arguing about the new name for the staff changing rooms when Emma, the Principal Insulation Inspector, inquired after the Asian man with the placard. “What Asian man with the placard?” asked Ulla. Thankfully her mouth had been sealed with carpet tape. “We had him arrested”, proclaimed Zelta, “I got our best women to look into it, but all they could get him on was a minor parking offence. We managed to wangle it though – he’s gone down for 60 years.” “Nice work”, added Bella who had always admired Zelta’s ruthlessly mercenary business ethos and had subsequently developed something of a lesbianistic-daughterhood fantasy. Then Emma brought up Kevin. “ooo iz eving?”, murmured Ulla. “Britney asked for him again today”, noted Elsa, “so I shot her in the forehead with that gun the military gave us.” “But how come she remembers him at all?”, queried Zelta, “I thought the initial memory-expungment procedure ensured an 99.8% expungation ratio…” “No, the actual figure is 0.0263%”, explained Jella the Phrenological Manipulation Supervisor, “but when we told you that you threatened to sack us all – so I had to expunge your memory.”

“Oh”, said Zelta thoughtfully, “but… if the ratio is that low then I’d probably remember having my memory expunged, wouldn’t I?” “No, not if you received repeat doses of the expungent agent”, said Jella as she deftly administered a needles-worth of the aforementioned expungent agent into Zelta’s arse without her noticing. “Right, next on the agenda”, continued Zelta, “is the new name for the left-most toilet cubicle in section 9a of level 3.”

A couple of hours later, just as Elsa was preparing to end the proceedings, a meek voice spoke up from the back futons. It was Delia, the Aromatic Control Consultant: “I have a suggestion”. Delia’s only function in the Britney household was to oversee joss-stick deployment and to select appropriate odours to compliment Britney’s state of mind (as indicated by electromagnetic mood-sensors hidden around the building). Delia’s fascination with small scented rods originated in her childhood, when, after being blinded by a football, she developed compensatory super-nasal powers and was brought up by a pack of mangy street dogs. Lately her interests had broadened to include smelling salts, potpourri and amyl nitrate. She also lived in a wigwam.

“What is it?” asked Elsa. “I know it’s not within my sphere of operations”, begun Delia, “but I feel we should be seeking a long-term solution to the dream-problems. I have contacted a specialist in the field and they are keen to help. With your permission I will arrange for them to visit tomorrow night and observe the symptoms.” “You’re right”, said Freda (who had recently been promoted to Honorary Duchess-in-Waiting of Night-Watchwomen), “that’s not your sphere of operation.”

Freda paused for a second and then addressed Elsa and Zelta; “With your permission I would like to contact a specialist in the field and arrange for them to visit tomorrow night.” “Good idea, Freda!” said Zelta, “it may prove difficult to obtain a night-warrant for an outsider, but as the acting head of warrant-distribution I’m sure I can pull a few strings and persuade myself to waive the regulations temporarily.” “Yes, it is a good idea”, added Elsa, “but it may be dangerous to let Britney have another night without sedatives. However, as official chief of sedative-administration I’m sure I can bribe myself into accepting a formal request for extenuating circumstances.” The decision was made, Freda received another promotion, and Britney’s latest single was briefly interrupted by the sound of a Mongolian war-horn signifying the end of the summit.

The following morning, having been transformed by Team Beauty in a record 3.97 hours, Britney was left alone to decide on her clothing. For some reason the previous day’s conversation resounded in her mind, and it troubled her. Earlier, whilst looking at herself in the mirror for 23 minutes, Britney found she couldn’t concentrate. The usual absorbed trance of self-appreciation (and the occasional thought about cats), was disrupted by the memory of the pictures she had seen on the internet (and the occasional thought about cats). Now, faced with the already arduous decision of what to wear, Britney was plagued by doubt. Her choice of outfit had hitherto been a purely personal preference, but today she had become unusually concerned with what other people might think. Such considerations were altogether new to Britney, and she was scared.

To quell these disquieting thoughts she decided to have another look in the mirror. She was strangely reassured to find that she was still there. She checked her body parts - they all seemed normal. Her smooth shoulders were still smooth; her flaxen locks were still flaxeny; her petite little pert breasts were still little, pert and petite. They still wobbled in a tantalising manner when prodded. Then, just as Britney began to admire her own beguiling innocent eyes, she suddenly saw something she had never noticed before. She was Britney Spears.

In the atrium beneath the balcony the crowd was bubbling with expectation. Britney had only taken this long to get dressed once before, and that was when she wore a 12ft ribbed shell-suit shaped like a galleon. Gerta, watching eagerly from the central control room (via a satellite link-up from Bella’s nipple-mounted zoom lens), was a big fan of the galleon outfit and was keen to see it again. Bella, however, had her hopes on a PVC rhino costume she had designed herself. Freda, for her part, was confident Britney would either go for a paper-mache swim-suit or a satin-lined thermal exoskeleton. She had placed bets on both just in case. Meanwhile, down in the front row, both Elsa and Zelta were yearning for a see-through, all-in-one mackintosh made of air.

Suddenly Britney’s latest single was briefly interrupted by a remix of Britney’s latest single, signifying Britney’s entrance. The doors opened and the crowd fell silent. There was no cheering and no clapping. Freda regretted being so rash and resolved to give up gambling for good. Britney came before the spectators and slowly began to walk along the promenade. She was dressed in a hooded cloak of simple black cloth, and her face was hidden behind a veil. Her eyes were all that could be seen.