I got a little side-tracked this week, I’m afraid; all in the name of recruiting more troops for the Morphid army though, I wasn’t lounging around on a beach or watching one of your television comedies, like ‘EastEnders’.

It all started when I was reading through some email applications that I’d had from prospective recruits. I’ve been impressed with the initial responses I’ve had; I’d barely set up an email account before I was being contacted by people who were keen to see that I quickly reached the climax of my task, that I had the stamina to continue through to the end and that I was able to satisfy all involved. Quite why they were so interested in my girth was more of a mystery but I took this to be an ancient Earth custom of goodwill.

Anyway, mixed in with these concerned missives was a mail from a gentleman called George Nwadu in a place known as Nigeria. He explained that his father had recently died and that he needed help in getting a large sum of money out of the country. I have no need for money myself but he also explained that he had a large entourage and that they may well be interested in becoming part of my army, if I would just help him with his task. This was enough for me and I offered to assist him in any way I could.

At Mr. Nwadu’s request, I took the first flight over to Nigeria. It was a long, slow trip; quite how you can stand to get around your planet without sub-orbital transit, I’ll never know. Mr. Nwadu was at the airport to meet me, just as he promised, and I was soon bundled into the back of his truck and heading to his country retreat. It was a shame that I couldn’t see more of the countryside as the windows in the rear of the truck had been blacked out – I can only assume that they were worried about the effects of the hot sun beating down on those from colder climes, which was very considerate.

Once we had arrived, all thought of the money was put to one side as Mr. Nwadu and his associates seemed very keen to demonstrate their prowess in combat, coming at me with a variety of clubs, guns and bladed weapons. They put up a spirited fight, and I was very impressed with their efforts, but they were really no match for my battle skills and Cerebral Hammer, and soon the compound was filled with the happy sight of splintered bones and oozing entrails.

That’s when it all started to go wrong unfortunately; I don’t know if there was a fault with their genetic replicators but they took far longer to resurrect than is usual in the Morphid Army. To be honest, I got a little bored waiting for them, so decided to make my way back to New York. Hopefully they’ll contact me in their own time and I can instruct them on the best way to improve their resurrection times – after all, there’s no point having an army where the soldiers stay dead for days at a time, is there?