Pauls Writing

What Ho followers, itinerates, ne’er-do-wells, casual visitors, family and friends. I bloggeth again. I have to say that I have been nudged, kicked and shouted at to put pen once more to paper (metaphorically speaking). So, here I sit, a wild-eyed loony living on the edge of reality, encumbering those of you with nothing better to do than read these diatribes, with yet more ramblings.

“Why the title?”, I hear you cry. I don’t really. I ‘m in my shed at the back of my house in North Wales and I can’t hear a bloody thing above the wind. “Why the title?”, you cry again, desperate to learn. Still can’t hear you, but I’ll tell you anyway.

The Truth really is out there! OK, it’s an X Files thing, but I think that most people will get where I’m coming from. I have seen a UFO! Not a light in the sky easily attributable to the police helicopter pursuing some errant hub-cap-nicking scally. Not the ephemeral reflection of a distant street light glimpsed through the branches of a tree. No, a real, live, actual UFO.

I got up a little late this morning (see how I slip so easily into the narrative and draw you, dear reader, into the minutiae of my daily life), mainly because I shared a couple of ciders with my son the previous evening and got into Inglorious Basterds for the fourth time, so did not have time to make any breakfast before rushing out to play golf. Consequently, I decided to stop off and grab a ‘Full English’ on the way to the course. I am still trying to determine the difference between a ‘Full English’ and  ‘Full Welsh’, it seems to vary from greasy spoon to greasy spoon. Anyway, I didn’t fancy foreign food at that time of the morning, so decided to stick with the ‘Full English’.

I settled myself down with the obligatory mug of steaming beverage – the description cannot be any more definitive as I still don’t know quite what was in the mug – and made the first decision of the day. Beans or tomatoes? Oh Lordy, Lordy, what shall it be? Little oval orange things that taste of tomatoes or big red squished things that don’t really taste of much at all? I based the decision on colour and went with Stellios.

“What has this got to do with Alien invaders?” you are all thinking. If you aren’t, you damn well should be! Or perhaps you have already lost the will to live. Stay with me, dear reader, all will be revealed in the fullness of time.

After what seemed an interminable period- remember that I am supposed to be playing golf at some point – I saw my breakfast appear from the kitchen. I don’t mean that my bacon marched out followed closely by the sausages and a little line of beans looking for all the world like a column of fat, fake tanned marching ants (although, on some sort of surreal plane that would be something to behold. It takes me back to that time in the Sixties ………………. ). No, it was on a plate, being transported across the dining room by a waitress broad of beam and bosom, a veritable galleon in full sail, ploughing before a full wind, hatches screwed down, gun ports tightly closed, all hands topside and clinging on to lifelines ….. I’m sure you get the picture. There I sat, in eager anticipation (and some relief as time was getting on), ready to attack the provender I was about to receive.

The plate was placed before me with all the grace of a figure skating rhinoceros (oh dear, another Sixities flashback) and I smiled in appreciation (and some fear, I have to be honest). That is when I saw it. The UFO. (“Oh, bloody finally”). An Unidentifiable Fried Object. I did not recall ordering anything of that colour, texture or shape. It was impossible to ascertain its fundamentals. Animal or Vegetable? Who could tell? It sat there, swimming in a pool of bean juice and vegetable oil (‘swimming’ is a figure of speech. It wasn’t doing backstroke or anything), daring me to jab it with a fork. As I had no idea how it was going to react if I did so, I decided that the best course to take was to ignore it. Eager to finish my food before the UFO turned into the alien from The Thing, grew legs and ran off back to the kitchen, I despatched the remainder of the breakfast at some speed. I was just in the process of mopping up the last of Stellios with the day old bread and margarine that had been so thoughtfully provided for the purpose, when the galleon returned. “Don’t you like black pudding?” she asked.

There you have it. Watch out for Black Pudding, it is an alien transport device. You have been warned!