In late October 1995 I was unwinding on the M25 in my Land Rover Discovery, when I saw a bright light in the sky at Potters Bar. I had a sip of my strawberry Slush Puppy and pulled over to investigate.
A large silver disc descended from the sky with swirling green flashing lights underneath that lit up a couple dogging in a Ford Cortina on the hard shoulder and a bright white tractor-beam was directed straight at me. A synthesised voice spoke:
'Take me to your leader'
'Take me to your leader'
I took a final slurp of my Slush Puppy, lobbed it in a hedge and said
'that'll be me'.
They beamed me into the glistening chrome ship.
'We have come to 'earth' with a view to ravaging the planet's resources and enslaving humanity'
'that'll be me'.
They beamed me into the glistening chrome ship.
'We have come to 'earth' with a view to ravaging the planet's resources and enslaving humanity'
'Labour Party are you then?' I quipped. But the voice didn't respond. I carried on.
'listen mate, you're welcome to try, but you've just invited the UKs Leading Patriot and foremost military reservist behind enemy lines. Do you really want to try me?'
'listen mate, you're welcome to try, but you've just invited the UKs Leading Patriot and foremost military reservist behind enemy lines. Do you really want to try me?'
A probe extended from some sort of console and scanned me. My heroic exploits were then displayed on a screen: Agincourt. Bosworth. D-Day. Desert Storm. The time I peeled 700 potatos in two hours.
There was a long pause.
'Sorry wrong planet' said the voice.
There was a long pause.
'Sorry wrong planet' said the voice.
The next thing I know I'm back in the car listening to the B52s Flinstones song. I turn on the headlights, reprimand the doggers, and drive back to Wickford. As I drink a can of Tab Clear, I relax, safe in the knowledge I've saved humanity from a fate worse than death: Labour.
