3 Apr

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  He had bright green skin, bluish blood and couldn’t speak a word of any language known to man – but then he wouldn’t be able to, being an alien from the planet Zog.

He wasn’t too sure how he got here. Space travel was unknown on Zog, indeed space itself was unsuspected. Instead, they had a few convincing and cosy theories concerning their place in Everything (as they called … er, everything) in which gigantic animals were supposed to carry Everything on their backs and spend eternity striding through an endless forest looking for lovers. Proof of the actuality of this belief resided in the fact that every time those gigantic planet-bearing creatures shivered, it rained.

Who would need a better proof than that?

Then he arrived on Earth along a wormhole of his own making, possibly as a gift of enjoying a clandestine double whisky, when he had achieved an impossibly glorious high before fainting. Sentient beings on Zog did that very often – fainted, that is, as an accompaniment to whiskies. It’s how they had never got round to associating anything they did to the occasional and very welcome fattening of their lady folks, fattening, that is, until they eventually burst and produced a new little playmate. It all happened when they were off with the fairies.

That was most of the time, then.

And as his green skin shivered and shook at the glory of wibbling his share of creation, he found himself vanishing into a wormhole.

How long he spent in that peculiar environment would be anyone’s guess, but after that amount of time he found himself sitting in my front room, right in front of me while I was watching Pointless on the telly.

Anyone who’s had a green-skinned alien with his trousers awry standing in front of him whilst he was struggling to think of an obscure word ending in gar will know what I mean when I say I was confused and confibulated.

After all, green doesn’t match my décor at all.

The first thing I did was try to explain that green people were never welcome during Pointless, especially at Easter. I could tell he didn’t understand me so I jammed a babel Fish from Douglas Adams’ book into his ear, and we got on all right after that.

“Vinegar,” he said in perfect English.

“You what?” I asked, wondering if he was asking for fish and chips.

“Ending in Gar,” he said. “Vinegar ends in Gar.”

“So it does,” I enthused. “You’ve soon got the hang of this game!”

Then he blushed (violet, if you must know) and went on to explain they had a similar game, in 3D, on Zog television and he’d been taking a break with a bottle of high proof spirit before it started. “The idea,” he said, rather grandly, “is to think obscure.”

“So what are you doing here?” I asked as the pretty girls with the shortest skirts got eliminated as a consequence of being ill-educated and I found my interest in the programme waning.

“I have no idea,” he confessed. “I didn’t even know there was a here!”

“You’re not a new incarnation of Jesus, are you?” I asked, curiously.

“Who’s Jesus?” he asked.

“Everyone knows that!” I scoffed. “He’s the guy who was born in a stable of a virgin mother and who got executed for being too much of a goody-goody.”

He paused for a moment, scratching his head with a long finger nail until bluish blood oozed out, and he winced.

“That hurts,” he muttered.

“Why did you do it?” I asked.

“Well,” he said slowly, “we have fairy stories on Zog but we save them for the brats. You’re the first fully grown being I’ve ever met who seems to believe that they’re real!”

“Oh, I don’t,” I grinned, “it’s just that everyone else does and a fellow has to go along with the masses, doesn’t he?”

“Only if he’s a fool,” murmured the alien, and with no further ado he got sucked out of the room by his wormhole leaving me all alone and watching Pointless and wondering how come there’s an alien race that believes in impossible things like giant beasts carrying their world through a forest on their backs and actual proof falling in the shape of rain-drops.

© Peter Rogerson 03.04.15


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