Something went wrong with my night-time waste beam.

Usually all our waste is beamed out into space whilst we sleep, creating big dung rocks for future species to populate. We passed one by accident once, and it had developed its own atmosphere and a race of crazy space beetles.

Anyway, this morning I woke up with a strange desire to despatch an away team from my cargo tube.

I left my quarters in a desperate panic, hoping to reach the transporter room before an unauthorised departure occurred.

I arrived to find everyone else had the same problem. The smell was terrible. Some of the crew didn't have such unwavering control as me. That's what makes a Starship Captain great. Good bowel control.

Scotty was emptying people in batches of five. I asked him how it was going

"I cannae keep up the pace, Captain. I don't have the power!"

I told him that I would go to the bridge and divert power from the shields to help him if he removed the klingons from my starboard bow, so to speak.

He squeezed me in, leaving an unfortunate ensign to relieve herself in the corner whilst I took her place. She was pretty. Especially when she was angry.

After Scotty beamed out the invaders, I sidled off back to my quarters to think about that ensign and get some more sleep.

He looked quite upset when I saw him later.

He said the diversion of power from the shields hadn't made any difference at all. He had only just finished cleaning up after everyone and now he was on his way to the bridge to shout at Spock for not doing his job properly.

I sweated nervously for a moment, then inspiration hit me. I performed a vulcan neck pinch on him.

I figured I could intercept Spock and get him to take the blame. He's three times as strong as me, which meant he might just be able to quell one of Scotty's legendary whisky fuelled rages.

"What are ye doin?" Scotty said, looking at me in utter confusion as I felt his collar.

I ran away and hid in a torpedo tube.

Yesterday I faced my oldest Nemesis.

The only man capable of mating with the same galactic panache as me.

I was on shore leave at the most infamous of Rijel14's universally renowned nightclubs; WaRp.

Anyone who's anyone goes there. I was lucky enough to get an invite. Lucky in the sense that I managed to steal Khans invite a few days ago without him spotting me. I had lunch on his battlecruiser and....well that's another story.

Anyway, I was at the bar waiting for a drink, listening to some Ferengi trader butchering 'Livin on a Prayer'. It wasn't long until a group of Klingons in the front row blasted him to oblivion, cheering raucously as his boots steamed conspicuously in the spotlight.

I took a long pull on my beer and glanced around the room.

The alien space talent on show was exceptional. Everywhere I looked there were orbital beauties of every colour and persuasion grinding their tubes against hungry wayfarers. I was just about to crack my knuckles and wade into the fray when my eyes fell upon a familiar sight. Shaking his enviably trim behind in the face of three knockout honeys, I saw the immaculately coiffeured bonce of my arch enemy.

Starbuck.

We had grown up like brothers, thrown together in the same backwater dustbowl, fighting over ladies, accolades and bears. We were like Tango & Cash, Thelma & Louise and Bonnie & Clyde all rolled into one.

But we hadn't spoken in years. Not since 'the incident'.

'Hey there Berk" he hollered.

"Like my Escorts? I bought them off one of the pirates in the Galactica's prison bays. They make great bait for snagging the real thing."

'No', I said. "I AM the bait, my friend. I got a worm so big I could fish for Jaws."

The girls laughed and I sneered to myself. Still got it.

'Don't pay any attention to them. They're programmed to do that. Check it out: Syphilis!!'

There was a chorus of sychophantic giggles from the ladies. Starbuck looked at me with disdain as I laughed along with them.

"What are you doing?"

"That WAS pretty funny. Syphillis. Heh heh. Look, just stay out of my way and let me get on with my sharking. I won't tread on your toes if you don't tread on mine, okay?"

I turned on my heel and sidled off into the crowd as Starbuck started telling the girls his joke about the Hitler and the Pope.

They laughed at the punchline a little too early. Always a dead give away on the cheaper model holographic escorts.

I learned that the hard way!

I have spent the last few weeks stranded in space.

The ships computer developed a fault. Maybe it was something with the bacon sandwich I accidently dropped into it's central processor during a particularly long game of hide and seek that Khan and I got into last month.

Anyway, the computer wouldn't go to warp speed without spending an hour running self-diagnostics first. I was late for every appointment for a 2 day period.

It only got worse.

Instead of the high tech cast iron & bakelite control panels I was used to, I wandered onto the bridge one morning to find they had all been replaced with what appeared to be a lone computer. It was rubbish. When I turned it upside down, all the keys fell out.

I still can't find the '#'

I asked the computer what happened, but there was no response.

Spock said the computer had developed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder combined with Alzheimers v5.0. To alleviate the problem, he had dug out his Sinclair Spectrum ZX81 to bypass the main system and use what little memory we had left. 48k to be exact. I could run 'Wonderboy' but not the gravitational field simulation software that Spock needed for his science project.

I tried to console him with the high score i got, but it didn't seem to work. He evacuated the ship and suggested that I try and sort the problem out, as I had caused it.

This morning I got my highest ever score.

No one was around to see it though.

Shame.