However unpronounceable her first name might be, she's the 'woman' who became Mrs Lister. Talkie gets personal with Dave's own GELF bride.

Name: Ech-ech-ech-ech-ech-ech-ech-ech Ech-ech-ech-ech-ech-ech-ech-ech
Occupation: Chief's daughter (Public appearances, having face on money, excessive waving, political marriages, etc.)
Qualifications: Excessively hairy back, hyperactive mucus gland, own crown
Distinguishing Marks: See above
Kryten's Comments: Daughter of the chief of the Kinitawowi, married Mr Lister in order for us to barter for an oxy-generation unit. The marriage was sadly unconsummated - Mr Lister changed the plan to "Leg it!" - which perhaps explains her violent attack on Starbug from her GELF ship while we were in non-space. The Kinitawowi are a friendly GELF tribe who thankfully don't have their sphincteral orifices in their faces. (Otherwise what would they have made of Mr Lister's cigar!) The fact that the first arrow did not hit any one of us was a very good sign - not skinning you alive the minute you meet them is one of their warmest greetings.

First questions first - would you like some toast?

Nechu fikk. Fach richyn bok-ech.

I'll take that as a no... and switch on the translation unit. Could you state your name for the record?


And now without the phlegm...

That is my name. Actually, it is my unmarried, maiden name. You may know me as Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Lister.

Tell me about life in the Kinitawowi tribe.

I grew up as the eldest daughter of our tribe's chief, Fachen-Mach-Ech-Noch-Ahach-Ech. A good, kind, peaceful man with the biggest collection of mounted animal heads you've ever seen. I grew up with only the stories of our illustrious history.



The history of GELF species is long and distinguished. Passed down, parent to child, generation to generation. My favourite part is where the brave first fathers of the GELF species are sent out in spaceships as crusaders, heroes. Indeed, our word for 'heroic' comes from the noble name of that vessel.

Which was?

'Gar Barge.' It was that ship that brought the first of our species, consigned to the long sleep, into these far reaches.

The bold spaceship Garbage?

Gar Barge, little toaster. 'Gar' has become our word for heroic. 'Barge' as in a kind of boat or ship.


There were dozens of species aboard. Alberogs and snugiraffes aplenty. Half-breeds created from multiple strands of DNA. Modern-day Frankensteins.

Wasn't Frankenstein the creator, not the monster?

What do you want from me? I'm a genetically-fused life-form housed three-million years from the nearest public library.

And I'll bet it's been a long time since you've had a really good bagel, too.

Also aboard were the first Kinitawowi. An admitted mixture of various Earth species, we nonetheless thrived from the moment The Gar Barge brought us to an oddly... bumpy landing in this sector.

The long sleep was broken and our people awoke. Outside the ship was an atmosphere - air, plants, water, those annoying buzzy little insects who wait until you're asleep to fly up to your ear.

I'd heard that the GELFs were blasted into space as the waste by-products of government research. That there were laws which prevented the slaughter of the creations - no matter how mucus-y they were. But a legal loop-hole the size of a Saturnian ring allowed them to blast their experiments out into space forever, as long as they were still alive.

My, don't you know a great deal.

I'm more than just a pretty grille.

You are wrong. We were heroes.

Even that lot with their sphincteral orifices in their faces?

Even them. Though I don't recommend inviting them to dinner. There was a tribe that took up near to our own asteroid with just that physical difficulty. Generally a very pleasant group - but you can never fully take seriously a being which quite literally talks out of its arse.

Tell me about the arrival of your husband, Dave Lister, and his crewmates.

Our lookouts watched their insect craft land in the Swamp of Waste.

Sorry, the swamp of what?

Waste. It is the grand hole where all Kinitawowi empty their bladders.

You know, this may be a first. I can't even think about toast now.


He and his people arrived with gifts, but even from the first moments we knew him as a worthy being. A grand leader of men. Clean, upstanding, decent, chaste and pure.

Yep, that's our Davey...

We fired an arrow to show our peaceful intentions. Sadly, it missed the head of the tall one with the large nostrils - usually, killing the most annoying of a man's team shows him that we mean only the best for him.

Being a man of such noble bearing, my father brought his party to his hut immediately. But how could this dynamic human be persuaded to join with us? I was the chief's spinster daughter, and I should be married. Here, finally, was a mate worthy of our family name.

The family name of 'Ech'?

Indeed. Though it is usually pronounced with a greater amount of mucus.

I'm a toaster. I don't produce mucus. I could maybe cough out some crumbs...

My husband's people were in need. There was a damaged component on their vessel. An oxy-generation unit. We have a few ships of our own, most of which are put to use scavenging the sector for parts. We had an O.G. unit, and offered it in trade for Lister's hand in marriage.

It was a beautiful day. There was I, the daughter of a chief; most untouchable of all females, raised with nobility and bearing; raised to clean daily, to only excrete where others cannot see. Finally, I had a mate who had lived by the same values.


I think you may have been misled...

The priest began with the usual rituals - songs, prayer, exhibiting his genitals - and then the service began. "Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech, do you take this man? Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech, do you take his name? Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech will you honour him? Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech, will you devote yourself to him, Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech-Ech - "

I get the feeling it was a long ceremony?

Seven glorious hours later we were married and taken to the honeymoon hut. Inside, my bridesmaids had burned a hundredweight of dung to create just the right atmosphere. It could not have been more perfect... until... until...

Until you tried to book a ticket on the Dave Lister joyride.

He was so reluctant. Trying to go directly to sleep! Clearly unaware that, as the groom, his duty was to service me thirty-seven times before leaving the hut. He fled to his crew-mates. We sent an Emohawk after them - to drain emotions for trade, salvage something from this soured deal - but it never returned. (An Emohawk, for your information, is a Polymorph spayed at birth and essentially domestic.)

Quick question -

No, I would not like a muffin.

No, no, no. My question is: how do you neuter a Polymorph? I mean, if it's forever changing shape, how do you locate its...

The daughter of a chief does not concern herself with such things.

Funnily enough, very few toasters are interested, too.

Eventually, my father demanded that we pursue them ourselves and commandeered a vessel. We were seconds from take-off before we realised the horrible truth - we had just given away our last oxy-generation unit. It was a year later when, finally, we managed to piece a unit together.

Then, we crampon McNugget gopher in spent Wales chocolate Coulthard.

Excuse me?

Spindle Lenigh. Rich banana, manipulating sponge fire.

Ah, hang on - the translator is malfunctioning. [Much tinkering later.] There, is that working? Try a test phrase.

You're a cheap electrical appliance only purchased for novelty value.

Well, um... that does seem to be working.

As I was saying, we gave chase and eventually caught up with my husband near a dimensional rip. Again, we fired on them - but, as I've said, that is a traditional Kinitawowi greeting. We were aiming for the wide-nostrilled one again.

Hadn't he left by then?

Okay, so our video communications were down. So much so that we couldn't transmit to them. I had to send a still scan - which actually proved a wise idea.

How so?

In the year since Lister left me, I must confess I became a little upset and... gained a little weight.

How much?

About 13 stone.

Thirteen stone?! That's an entire human being - or two Spice Girls.

I was so embarrassed. I'd become so much less attractive than the woman he met.

I doubt it would have made any difference to him.

You're very kind to say that. But he must have known. He and his crew fled in their ship. They lured us onto an ice planet - a crash landing which crippled the refrigerator and meant I had to eat all our remaining supplies immediately. A close call.

After that, it was a matter of machine hose afterburn. Nonsense ripped quest, indigo Cusack morris dancing after before turkey...

Well, the translation unit seems to have packed in completely, so we'd better finish there. Thanks for talking to me.


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