Following a protracted lunchtime session at the Grievous Bodily Arms, Gary Allen was abducted by aliens and, due to a mysterious depletion in the available gene-pool on distant planet Zob, forced to mate - repeatedly - with a beautiful, silver-skinned princess. He was deposited back on earth, unsteady but otherwise unhurt, a mere hundred yards from the pub, but only after he'd been forced - at ray-gun-point - to hand over all the money from the pub's collecting bottle. Money that was to have funded the regulars' next outing. They'd been looking forward to that seal-clubbing weekend for months.
The abduction has done Gary's reputation no harm. Instead of being thought of as just another guy who could use a shower, he's been telling his story to anyone who realises just what thirsty work story-telling can be. And by the time he's repeated the tale a dozen times, it has assumed truly epic proportions. He'd been too modest, at first telling, to mention that the denizens of a grateful planet had asked him - begged him - to stay on and assume the mantle of Supreme Time Lord of Zob. "I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't tempted", Gary concedes, "but the beer was crap. Go on then, I'll have another pint. The strong one. Thanks".