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"All right, all right. There isn't actually a foolproof way to discover a Jeranovan mimic with small beer, marshmallows, and electrodes. Although Jeranovan mimics are as susceptible to electric shock as the next life form and beer is reasonably conductive, which I found out during a very odd evening with Nicola Tesla, lovely chap, by the way. Besides, we'd need a power source and I'm not sure what we'd do with the marshmallows. No, the point is that Jeranovan mimics are actually quite thick, they only fool you because they pick up what they're expected to do from your surface thoughts, and this mimic has spent the last hour trying to read mine, because I'm threatening it, and in the process, it's picked up something else. Something that goes round and round in the brain, something nobody from this time and place would know, and something that, sooner or later, it was pretty much bound to start humming. So, Controller-General, would you mind telling us where you stashed the real Controller-General?"
Four hours later, he discovers that the plan had at least one drawback. "Oi. Spaceman."
"Yes?"
"If you don't stop singing Rick Astley, I'm going to smack you one."