It was rather lucky that when the navy threw Peter-Bowman off their ship (conveniently contained within his phone box, he landed in exactly the same position as he had been in when he left. The Garfields thus remained in control. One of the remaining two Garfields decided to offer some advice. I'm not sure which one, as Peter-Bowman refuses to tell me. I don't blame him.

'Look,' said the nameless Garfield, ' You've been moping about in this phone box for far too long. The only thing to do is to go out and get into a fight.'

Peter-Bowman could think of no good reason not to, so he clipped his Garfields to his body in the appropriate positions, and left his phone box. This was in fact the first time he had left his phone box in a number of years.

You may not have yet realised it, but Peter-Bowman is an extremely slow acting man. It may well seem that he is in and out of his phone box in the manner of some sort of children's toy, but in fact, he rarely leaves the phone box. To leave the phone box makes him sweat like an ill iguana, and nobody likes to do that in public. For example - that incident with the deserted island in the middle of the sea. I expect you think that the moment that was over Peter-Bowman was out of his phone box and looking for a fight. This is very far from the truth. In fact, Peter-Bowman spent at least five years huddled in a corner of his phone box after that, hoping that he would never have to go outside again. It was only the call of the unnamed Garfield that drew him once more into the world. He would have preferred to play jacks with a friendly spider he found in the corner of his phone box.

Peter-Bowman headed towards the nearest fighting establishment. When he entered the pub, he ordered a beer. The Garfields had warned him of the need to fit in while he eyed up his potential opponents. Peter-Bowman spent some time carefully judging the strength of the cigarette machine and wondering if he could take it by hitting it below the change slot before the Garfields realised what he was up to and told him that cigarette machines were unbeatable.

'You want something a lot weaker then that. That'll kill you, straight off.'

Peter-Bowman bowed out to the greater wisdom of the Garfields, and let his eye roam the room for a bit. He considered the posters for awhile. It seemed unlikely that a poster could beat him. Peter-Bowman even went so far as to gently tap at a poster, testing it a little. His bruised knuckles indicated that the posters were probably too hard for him. A beer coaster might be the go. Picking up a beer coaster, Peter-Bowman suffered a paper cut. The Garfields were terribly embarrassed and hustled him out of the pub as quickly as they could.

'Sorry fellows,' said Peter-Bowman to his Garfields. I guess the thing is that I'm a pacifist. I'm just not made for this sort of thing.'

With silent grumblings, they all retired to bed. It was a long night.