London Quest

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The Trousers of Time

Picture the scene. In the middle of Camden Lock a group huddle around a Twister board on which a black cloaked figure is desperately trying to stretch his left foot onto the red spot. With every sinew in his body (although by his skeletal appearance he seems to have none) he strains towards the position and just as he seems set, his right knee buckles sending him crashing onto the mat. His opponent celebrates his victory, for he has beaten none other than the Grim Reaper himself. Seemingly unperturbed by his failure, Death picks himself off the canvas and reaches for a box marked Connect 4.

”Best of three?” he enquires.

So unravelled just one of the many surreal happenings that befell Dave Haggins and his merry group on their Terry Pratchett inspired adventure, ominously titled “The Trousers of Time”

Little did the group know what was in store for them when they arrived, on a brisk Saturday morning, at the scenic tea rooms overlooking the canals of Little Venice. After a decent cuppa or two the now divided teams set out in search of their first location, the house of a celebrated DJ from the 80’s well known for his love of the Euro-Dance classics of that unforgettable era. After a thankfully brief musical trip down memory lane the teams got down to business. But before he could help them he needed proof of their loyalty and authenticity. To quote DJ Diamond: “I don’t trust no-one who don’t know how to handle a Spectrum ZX.” So followed a rather peculiar challenge in which a member of each group had to prove their worth on the fiendish perils of that gaming classic “Chucky’s Egg”. Fortunately their seemed to many seasoned Chucky experts amongst the groups and all passed with much ease. With the formalities out of the way the main purpose of the day was explained to them.

A dear friend of Diamond’s had disappeared, and the DJ was concerned for his safety as well as his sanity. It transpired that Joe Harley (for that was the friend’s name) had been acting particularly erratically and seemed to be under the illusion that he was going to transform into the Grim Reaper in a matter of hours.

Disturbed yet intrigued by this frankly ridiculous story and with a profile and picture of the missing man, the teams went to visit Harley’s favourite drinking hole. There they sampled some of the many foreign beers and local ales on offer, all in the name of research of course.

Next they met with a mystic in a Moroccan shisha bar who enlightened them with ancient tales of the Grim Reaper and his infinite duties. As the pieces of the jigsaw started to fit into place a true picture was beginning to emerge. It seemed that Harley had made some form of pact with Death many years before and in return for prolonged life had agreed to take over the Reaper’s job after a period of 15 years. Time had run out and the transformation was about to begin. The mystic informed them that they would need to challenge Death himself to have any hope of saving the unfortunate Harley.

With Death humbled at the Lock but not yet defeated the teams were now on a race against time. The Reaper had rewarded their efforts with the ingredients of a potion that would reverse the transformation process and preserve Harley’s human form. They rushed to London Bridge where under the flying buttresses of Southwark Cathedral they were harassed by one of London’s infamous chuggers who despite his persistent requests for credit card numbers actually assisted the teams by recalling a crazed man he had seen but 5 minutes before.

Convinced that this was Harley the teams followed the Chugger’s directions and descended upon The George pub. There they were met by a shocking site. Death had beaten them to it. The hooded one was standing outside the ancient drinking hole beaming in triumph. He reached forward and with his bony hands snatched the potion from the group. Then a strange thing happened. He rubbed the ingredients in his hands and with a cry that mingled both pain and delight ripped off his Deathly Mask. Underneath was the very human face of Harley himself, unmistakable from the picture the groups had seen earlier.

They had succeeded and just in time.

With the rescue complete, celebrations ensued. Cake all round and a few bottles of bubbly to quench the weary Questers thirst.


	Quests: Downloadable case studies Past quests: Life on the Streets The Harry Red Affair The Arthurian Legend The Alex Coates Affair The Hooch Awards The Trousers of Time The last year Christmas Parties The Trousers of Time Picture the scene. In the middle of Camden Lock a group huddle around a Twister board on which a black cloaked figure is desperately trying to stretch his left foot onto the red spot. With every sinew in his body (although by his skeletal appearance he seems to have none) he strains towards the position and just as he seems set, his right knee buckles sending him crashing onto the mat. His opponent celebrates his victory, for he has beaten none other than the Grim Reaper himself. Seemingly unperturbed by his failure, Death picks himself off the canvas and reaches for a box marked Connect 4. ”Best of three?” he enquires. So unravelled just one of the many surreal happenings that befell Dave Haggins and his merry group on their Terry Pratchett inspired adventure, ominously titled “The Trousers of Time” Little did the group know what was in store for them when they arrived, on a brisk Saturday morning, at the scenic tea rooms overlooking the canals of Little Venice. After a decent cuppa or two the now divided teams set out in search of their first location, the house of a celebrated DJ from the 80’s well known for his love of the Euro-Dance classics of that unforgettable era. After a thankfully brief musical trip down memory lane the teams got down to business. But before he could help them he needed proof of their loyalty and authenticity. To quote DJ Diamond: “I don’t trust no-one who don’t know how to handle a Spectrum ZX.” So followed a rather peculiar challenge in which a member of each group had to prove their worth on the fiendish perils of that gaming classic “Chucky’s Egg”. Fortunately their seemed to many seasoned Chucky experts amongst the groups and all passed with much ease. With the formalities out of the way the main purpose of the day was explained to them. A dear friend of Diamond’s had disappeared, and the DJ was concerned for his safety as well as his sanity. It transpired that Joe Harley (for that was the friend’s name) had been acting particularly erratically and seemed to be under the illusion that he was going to transform into the Grim Reaper in a matter of hours. Disturbed yet intrigued by this frankly ridiculous story and with a profile and picture of the missing man, the teams went to visit Harley’s favourite drinking hole. There they sampled some of the many foreign beers and local ales on offer, all in the name of research of course. Next they met with a mystic in a Moroccan shisha bar who enlightened them with ancient tales of the Grim Reaper and his infinite duties. As the pieces of the jigsaw started to fit into place a true picture was beginning to emerge. It seemed that Harley had made some form of pact with Death many years before and in return for prolonged life had agreed to take over the Reaper’s job after a period of 15 years. Time had run out and the transformation was about to begin. The mystic informed them that they would need to challenge Death himself to have any hope of saving the unfortunate Harley. With Death humbled at the Lock but not yet defeated the teams were now on a race against time. The Reaper had rewarded their efforts with the ingredients of a potion that would reverse the transformation process and preserve Harley’s human form. They rushed to London Bridge where under the flying buttresses of Southwark Cathedral they were harassed by one of London’s infamous chuggers who despite his persistent requests for credit card numbers actually assisted the teams by recalling a crazed man he had seen but 5 minutes before. Convinced that this was Harley the teams followed the Chugger’s directions and descended upon The George pub. There they were met by a shocking site. Death had beaten them to it. The hooded one was standing outside the ancient drinking hole beaming in triumph. He reached forward and with his bony hands snatched the potion from the group. Then a strange thing happened. He rubbed the ingredients in his hands and with a cry that mingled both pain and delight ripped off his Deathly Mask. Underneath was the very human face of Harley himself, unmistakable from the picture the groups had seen earlier. They had succeeded and just in time. With the rescue complete, celebrations ensued. Cake all round and a few bottles of bubbly to quench the weary Questers thirst.
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