The events described in this story are fictional. The author makes no assertion about the lives of any of the real people whose names and identies she has used in the writing of this story, and makes no money from it.

'The One Where Alan gets Magical Powers'

(The Three Alans are sitting in their usual places at the local café. It is a generic greasy spoon, filled with formica-topped tables and red leatherette banquettes, but the Alans have several elegant and comfortable sofas, and a marble coffee table, for their own personal use.)

Alan C (sipping from a fine bone china cup): This coffee tastes weird.

Alan D: That's because it's tea.

Alan C: Oh. I'm sure I ordered coffee.

Alan D: Doesn't matter what you order. They give you tea anyway. That's all they'll serve in here.

Alan C: But the guy told me it was coffee. I said, 'One coffee please.' And he said, 'One coffee?' and I said 'Yes,' and then he went away and when he came back he said, 'There you go sir, one coffee,' and I said, 'Thank you very much.'

Alan D: Did you see him make it?

Alan C: Well, no. But I did hear a kind of bean-grinding noise. Also something that sounded very much like a milk-steaming noise, not to mention the very distinctive percolatey-type noise.

Alan D: Ah, well. They've got a tape player out the back, you see.

Alan C: Oh. But I swear I could actually smell coffee!

Alan D: Yeah. They pump it out through the air conditioning. But they'll always give you tea.

Alan C: Jesus, really? That's insane. Still, the sofas are just lovely, aren't they?

Alan D: Yeah, they are.

(Alan R coughs loudly. Nobody notices. He coughs again, louder still. Alan C looks up briefly, then goes back to his fake coffee. Alan R clears his throat ostentatiously for about half a minute.)

Alan R: For God's sake, are you two just going to sit there ignoring me all day?

Alan C: Oh, sorry Alan, are you ok? Did you want one of my cough-sweets?

Alan R: No, Alan, I do not want one of your cough sweets. I want to make an announcement.

Alan C: Oh, well great. Hey, Alan, did you hear that? Alan's going to make an announcement!

Alan D: Fine by me. Go ahead, Dad.

Alan R: Thank you. And stop calling me Dad. Gentlemen, I discovered something this morning. Something disturbing and yet profoundly invigorating. Something that will affect us all and change all our miserable little celebrity lives. But mostly mine. You see, whilst perambulating serenely along Marylebone High Street at about a quarter to eleven, I was accosted by an elderly gentlemen sporting a set of the finest yet most ludicrous foot-long nicotine-stained whiskers that I have seen for a very long time. 'Be you Alan Rickman?' he asked. 'Yes,' I replied. 'I be him. I mean, I am him. He.' And I asked him swiftly what he was about. To my surprise, he failed (as I supposed would be the case) to ask me to sign an autograph for his elderly aunt in the country. Instead, he looked me glassily in the eye and said: 'The force is very strong with you, young Jedi. Use it wisely.' Then he wandered over to a newsstand and attempted to buy a copy of the Sun with a plastic button and a tattered Polaroid of himself with Jeffrey Archer. So. What do you think of that, eh?

(Alans C and D exchange glances.)

Alan D: Well…

Alan C: Er, that's…

Alan D: So, what happened next?

Alan R: Don't you think that's enough? The man as good as handed me a light-sabre right there on the spot! Let me try and make this very clear for you. I… am… a… Jedi… Knight.

Alan D: Oh.

Alan C: That's really… great, Alan.

Alan D: Yeah - well done mate.

Alan R (sighs): Jealousy is such an ugly emotion.

***

(Alan D and Alan C are sitting in the living room of the Alans' house. Alan D is doing a jigsaw puzzle of the Marquis de Sade. Alan C is embroidering his initials in sequins on a pair of Marks & Spencers' underpants. From Alan R's room, smashing and swearing sounds emanate at regular intervals. Alan D and Alan C take no notice whatsoever. Enter Alan R, wearing a white terrycloth bathrobe and holding an obviously toy plastic light-sabre. His hair is ruffled and he is in a temper.)

Alan R: Has my agent called?

Alan D: 'Fraid not, Dad.

(Alan R sits down heavily on the sofa. He looks depressed.)

Alan R: I told her I can be a two-franchise man and I meant it. That Ian McKellen, thinks he's so special what with his Lord of the Rings and his X-Men 2. I'll show him. Once Lucas hears about my powers he's bound to want me in the next Star Wars film. I'm absolutely sure of it.

(Alan C comes over to the sofa and pats Alan R on the arm.)

Alan C: There, there, Alan. I'm sure she'll call soon. We think you're a wonderful Jedi, don't we Alan?

Alan D: What? Oh, yeah, yeah. Course we do, Dad.

Alan C: And if it doesn't work out, then… you're still a really, really great slightly sinister wizard!

Alan R: Mm, I suppose. My aunt Lavinia hasn't called has she?

Alan C: Er… no. Were you expecting her to?

Alan R: No, it's just I had a bit of an accident earlier with that Edwardian vase she gave me last Christmas. You know that hideous one with the hydrangeas on? The one I tried to palm off on Maggie Smith? I, er… I think there may be some kind of problem with the Force. It's a bit… temperamental just at the moment.

Alan D: Look - Dad. Alan. You don't think there might just be the slightest possibility that that man you met wasn't a reincarnation of Yoda, do you? That he was just an old drunken tramp who was talking out of his arse, under the influence of the entire six-pack of Special Brew he'd probably just had for breakfast? That… you're actually not a Jedi after all?

Alan R: Don't talk to me like that, you, you… second rate jester. Who wowed audiences at the RSC? I did. Who explored controversial issues such as incest, life after death and being nasty to cute little Harry Potter? I believe I did. Who did battle with Bruce Willis and would have bloody well beaten him too, if it hadn't been for that pesky string vest? Oh, I'm sorry - that was ME wasn't it? Now, I am going into the kitchen to practise my special powers, and I do not wish to be disturbed, is that clear? I've said it before and I'll say it again: I will not allow that Ewan McGregor to get one over on me…

(Alan R strides into the kitchen with his light-sabre)

Alan D: When did he say that before?

Alan C: Oh, that? Oh, no, that was nothing. It was a long time ago, he was drunk, Ewan was drunk. Hell, we were all drunk! It was just one of those evenings, you know, with the music and the moonlight and the wine… And the dancing, oh the dancing! But, er, we don't speak of it now.

(Alan D gives Alan C a funny look, but he appears to be very busy with his sewing. Suddenly there is an almighty crash from the kitchen, followed by a loud curse. The serving hatch in the wall opens and Alan R sticks his head out.)

Alan R: Er… Alan?

Alan D: Yes, Dad?

Alan R: You, er, weren't… very fond of that Lalique decanter, were you?

***

To be continued - maybe soon, maybe never!