Monday, December 11, 2006
Some of my Best Friends are Aliens
North Wenshire County Times
11th December 2006
'Some of my Best Friends are Aliens' claims, Jack Marshall.
12th December 2006
'Purple Aliens Ate My Mobile' says Dave Dooney
13th December 2006
Close Encounters with Alien Rivals - Is this War?
It is not exactly comfortable in Grandpa Jack's tent but it is quite exciting. The Parents have actually let me stay with him for a whole night so that I can experience the great outdoors. I have my favourite stars and planets duvet and Grandpa has a old hairy blanket from his army days. The tent flaps are open to let out the stinky pipe smell and I have my special 360 degree beam torch with us.
'When I worked for the special ops, Wilfred,' says Grandpa Jack, 'I was privy to a great deal of secret information about aliens.' I shuffle as close as I dare to the pipe. Outside it is black as black and a breeze is making the tent flip and flap. 'You must understand that young Dexter does not know what he is dealing with...' he snorts. 'Purple blobs! Kidnap! My aliens are just like you or me or your father or...' he seems stuck.
'...or Mr Bagnall, or Mrs Trundle?'
'Yes, yes, until they turn green and push out those extra arms and start that unfortunate brain sucking thing...'
Definitely, Mrs Trundle, I think.
'Young Dexter is INVITING trouble but I think I can talk to them...persuade them that he means no harm...' He puffs furiously and scratches his stringy hair. 'Should give 'em a call...it's Christmas after all...'
I blink and realise that Grandpa Jack actually means what he is saying. I wonder how to ask him. 'Are you a bit mad, Grandpa Jack? Or do you really know some aliens?'
He looks at me all poppy eyed. 'Who do you think made this crop circle, Wilfred?'
'Not the farmer, then?'
'I knew they'd come back one day,' he says and now I don't know who he is talking to.
He shuffles forwards and sticks his head out into the night. The wind blows his hat off but he just shakes his fist at it.
'That's right! Take my hat! Call it a token of trust, my friends!'
'Um, Grandpa? There is no-one there.' He takes no notice, just keeps shouting.
'Yes, that's right - put my pipe out! Why don't you come and talk to me?'
A blinkingly white light appears outside the tent. Grandpa Jack shields his eyes with his hand. 'That's it!' he cries, 'take me, not the boy!' I watch him struggle out of the tent, stand up, arms held high. The light burns his outline onto the tent wall. I shrink into my duvet. Unlike Dexter I do not fancy being captured and tortured by aliens. A grey furry hand extends into the tent. I squeak. I wait for the brain sucking to begin.This is it.
'Hello, BBC Look Northwards, you must be Wilfred?'
A human hand appears from behind the furry microphone, followed by a tall man in a puffy jacket. I nod. 'Do you mind if we just wait for the aliens with you?' He pulls a face. 'Bit cold out there!' He rummages inside a rucksack. 'Your Grandpa is speaking to the aliens right now, I believe - fancy some hot chocolate?'