“The earth is hungry. It waits to eat. I can see them. They are the appetite beneath the ground.”

Mark Strickson now regrets snacking on Daz before shooting his key scenes in the 1984 comedy-woodlice fest, Frontios.

And these unrealistic bugs are not the only threat to our bespectacled cricketer, rabid schoolboy and Australian android from the Ministry of Silly Walks. No, there's a meagre monarch, his gruff 'no man', an oaken Orderly and his whiskery chum from the Village People.

But help is at hand in the form of Mr Raaaaaange (science officer and prophet of doom), his comely daughter and, inadvertently, the chief snot-encrusted Tractator - a creature with a nose for a nonsensical plan.

But how offensive is a chicken* vol-au-vent (*other fillings are available)? More or less than an exploding hat-stand? And what is the colony leader doing in Joe 90's egg whisk?

Jim and Martin struggle to answer these questions, while trying not to come to blows over the usage of fingers and tools.

Listen here for the whole sorry saga.

"Suffering catfish!"

And they aren't the only ones suffering as Jim and Martin trudge through the lively four-part story The Time Monster, cunningly packaged as a six-part ordeal.

The Doctor dreams of the Master, the Master dreams of universal conquest and Jo dreams of a time when her alien colleague doesn't keep treating her like a particularly backward schoolgirl. Queen Galleia is icy, the Brig is frozen and Benton is a tad chilly in his birthday suit (well that's his excuse anyway).

Windows are left un-cleaned, Yates is doodle-bugged and Future Blackadder is swatted like a fly, while his countrymen flee from the Man-Sized Budgie of Ancient Lore.

All this and more padding than an Abzorbaloff cosplayer.

But does the story keep its head above the rising tide of plot inertia?

Listen in to find out.

"There are three physical gateways and the three are one. The whole of this domain, the ancient arch, the mirrors. All the gateways are one."

You what? Run that by me again...

Don't expect any more sense than this from anyone else, for this is Warriors' Gate - a tale with dialogue so oblique it makes Samuel Beckett sound like Dan Brown.

It's an odd sort of a place too, wherein suits of armour give history lessons, lion men fail to tip waitresses and everywhere could do with a touch of colour to cheer it up a bit.

The Doctor's flipping, Adric's tossing and Romana's turning away from her TARDIS chums. K9's lost his marbles and Rorvik's losing his rag as his bumbling underlings are set to lose the E-Space/N-Space Crew of the Year competition by some margin.

So will Jim and Martin stagger through the choking fog of befuddlement to reach the sunlit uplands of understanding? Or will what remains of their brains melt in the attempt?

Listen in to find out.

“It's all in there somewhere. Caramel, sherbet, toffee, marzipan, gelling agents, it's all in motion.”

No, not a description of Jim and Martin's stomachs on Christmas night but rather the innards of the Kandy Man, part-time lethal confectioner and full-time Bertie Bassett stunt double.

Yes, we're on Terra Alpha, a dystopian colony ruled over by painted Thatchalike, Helen A, and her gun-toting Hen Party, The Happiness Patrol.

The over-athletic Doctor plays the spoons, the occasionally-catatonic Earl plays the harmonica and horrid old Helen A plays with her Fifi - her hermaphrodite wolf-poodle, that is. We don't know what you were thinking...

The unrealistic streets teem with low-speed traffic and shambling work-shy drones while, underneath, pound-shop Yodas bark unintelligibly about Gordon Bennett.

And the TARDIS turns pink, as do Whovian cheeks when the Kandy Man appears while any Not-We are in the room.

So did Jim Y and Martin Z enjoy watching it? Or was the experience as hollow as Sylv and Sophie's laughter?

Listen in to find out.