The Alien Abduction Episode

When were you last abducted by aliens? For me it was a pretty recent thing.

There are, I know, those amongst you who are disinclined to accept the veracity of my writings. Sad sceptics to whom such characters as my friend ‘Livid of Lovacott’, the world’s leading genetic engineer, my butler, Wellbeloved and my gardener, Boyes, are merely the fictitious creations of a picturesque delirium.

Others amongst you are of an altogether different, open and more trusting kidney. The former would call the latter ‘credulous fools’. The latter would pity the former for the arrid world in which they ply their cynicism, living by their wits, bitter and resentful, trusting no one.

Then, of course, there are the members of a third faction, a group who neither know nor care whether or not there is a word of truth in anything I write.

To each and every one of you I say this. Believe it or not, shortly after my refit in Germany I was kidnapped by aliens, taken aboard their spacecraft, dismantled, examined, reassembled and returned to Earth, unharmed and endowed with strange, new powers about which I will tell you one dark, romantic night over a glass of whatever you fancy. Now, read on.

It all happened very discreetly. I don’t know about you but I have always imagined that alien spacecraft were fairly large objects of considerable complexity, much like those portrayed in the marvellous 'Close Encounters of the Third Kind'. I still believe that, perhaps, some of them are. That is why I was so surprised when, one night, just after Wellbeloved had brought me my nightcap and I had settled down to read a chapter or two of the latest JK Rowling oeuvre a brass-coloured object, about the size of a ping-pong ball and with a sort of rim around its middle so that it resembled the planet Saturn, swooped down and hovered over my book. It emitted a faint hum, similar to that produced by a gyroscope. Resisting the temptation to swat the thing with my Rowling I watched, fascinated, as it hovered over the open pages, a beam of greenish light moving, rapidly, from side to side, apparently scanning the words written there. Suddenly, as though bored by what it was reading, the little orb turned its light on me. As it did so the book slammed shut and everything turned green.

I shook my head and quickly regained my senses. It was with some surprise that I found myself to be under the influence of a feeling of great tranquility and well-being. I looked around, expecting to resume my reading but found that I was no longer in my bed. Indeed, I was not anywhere that I recognised, nor was I in one piece and yet I just simply did not seem to care.

As I surveyed the relationship between myself and my surroundings I began to realise that something was awfully wrong. I found that my commands to my limbs did not seem to be getting through. I was able to move my eyes and I glanced around, searching for a reason for my paralysis. Great Scott! I was in bits again! Each and every one of my component parts was laid out, neatly and separately from its neighbour. Even my Rolex Oyster was there, also laid out neatly in bits. Straight ahead of me, in the distance, far beyond many of my most personal parts, I could see my feet, still encased in my splendid walking boots from Trickers of Jermyn Street. Clearly Wellbeloved had neglected to remove my footwear when preparing me for bed. I made a mental note to reprimand the bounder for this regrettable oversight, next time I saw him.

A multitude of what I can only describe as small pieces of light seemed to be flitting around amongst my parts. They resembled the light reflected from a watch-face on a sunny day, only they were three-dimensional and subtly, indescribably coloured. As I watched them it became clear to me that they were alien scientists and that they meant me no harm. Obviously they were communicating with me telepathically and I, in turn, began to respond to them in like manner telling them, initially, to kindly overlook my Trickers! Sensing my sophisticated humour, these benevolent beings began to tell me some jokes. Gosh! I have not laughed so much in my life, I can tell you!

Soon it was all over. The examination complete, I was restored to humanoid form and ushered into an adjoining room. There I found a sideboard, groaning with the makings of a most sumptuous breakfast. Eggs (fried and scrambled), bacon, fried bread, tomatoes, kippers, kidneys, toast, butter, marmalade, coffee and a choice of fruit juices. I helped myself to a lavish plateful, for I was ravenous.

I carried the feast over to a table, where I was surprised to find a morose, bespectacled figure with a napkin tucked into his shirt collar. He seemed familiar.

“Look,” he snapped, his voice both adamant and slightly effeminate, “I’m not jumping the gun but this needs to be said, OK?”

My suspicion was confirmed. This was, indeed, the Prime Minister, Tony Blair. It seems that the beings who controlled this spacecraft had brought him on board, created a clone, added an element of plausibility and sent the clone out to convince the world that the Gulf War had been legitimate. This party trick is to conclude with the announcement of a vote-of-confidence in the leadership which will, naturally, result in an overwhelming victory for the clone. He will then return to the spacecraft, to be replaced by a jubilant Mr Blair. A neat ruse, if it works.

Incidentally, it was only a week or so ago that ‘Livid’ came running into my house in a state of panic. Apparently, one of her frozen politicians, highly volatile, unstable and part of an unfinished experiment, had burst out of the freezer following a freak power-cut and had escaped from the laboratory. We spent several days making exhaustive enquiries all over Britain but nobody had seen this creature, ‘Clare Short’. With luck she will not prove to be a fly in the vote-of-confidence ointment.

I digress. Things are all back to normal now. I was returned to my bed and the small brass-coloured orb whirred away, dematerialising before it reached my bedroom wall. I am now in better condition than ever and, by way of thanks for my co-operation, I have been given these strange new powers. You may believe me, or you may not but I say this... just you wait for that vote-of confidence.

H