a man will beg
a man will crawl
from the sheer wreck of a hair-dryer
like a fly from a wall
To the people living in the village of 'Katcha Boti' in Pakistan, the scene from the heavens that night was terrifying and ominous. They had been sitting around their smoky braziers, sipping sweet-milky tea and chewing the latest village gossip until there was no flavour left, when they were driven out of their homes by an almighty bang like fireworks going off. The women (bless them) naturally thought it was a wedding celebration. Then the women wondered who's wedding it was? And then why the heck they hadn't been invited! After that things turned nasty when they started berating their husbands for not telling them about the wedding. For an encore they plodded back into their cozy little hovels feeling much better after having given their husbands a well deserved tongue lashing.
The men on the other hand were also having (more intelligent) thoughts. 'It's an invasion' they solemnly declared. 'The Indians are invading quick let's get our stuff!' (but clearly not intelligent enough). A little while later they emerged from their homes carrying sticks, sceptres, skewers, knives and cricket bats and headed towards what they believed to be the crash site. The women sardonically complained that the husbands were never usually this proactive when it came to domestic matters and let them be, and continued their whinging on the wedding front.
The children, having not yet been burdened with the yolk of adulthood, started playing 'Alien Invasion' - for that is what their imagination told them this was. It had all the hallmarks: big spacecraft looking thingy (check). Lot's of noise (check). Flashing lights (check). They were dressing up in black bin bags and swooping around like pretend spaceships acting out childhood fantasies: 'I'll be the evil Lord Doom come to pillage the earth and you Ali, can be the docile kebab walla' To which Ali replied almost in a sulk 'No I want to be Lord Doom and you can be the stupid kebab walla!' After that outburst the pretend Lord Doom and the kebab walla had fisticuffs ending with Lord Doom getting beaten by the kebab walla and crying. The mothers then intervened and told the children to behave and to stop being so childish and grow up a little, and then they continued with their wedding whinge.
Such was how the villagers of Katcha Boti were reacting to the entry of the unidentified flying object. An independent observer, from another planet, if they were to observe such scenes, would no doubt conclude that the children were the more advanced species. But I digress...
The spacecraft streaked through the atmosphere like skid marks in a pantyhose. The wake before it lit up visible like stretch marks on a fatty bosom. To a layman observer it didn't look as if it was falling or hurtling. In fact, if anything, it appeared to gloriously claim the sky as it's own. It was moving with purpose. With renewed resolve. With vigour. With control. And then it landed unceremoniously in the sands with an inglorious thud spewing forth a mini mushroom cloud of sand. It spewed forth it's contents too: a humanoid, who crawled out of the escape hatch; bloodied and bruised, and slowly dragged it's frame behind the nearest dune. The self-destruct device went off and the spacecraft summarily vanished in a puff of helium and some ozone molecules - the ozone molecules, now happy to be finally free, then linked up with their mates in the upper atmosphere for some CFC bashing.
A short while later the ragged and motley villagers arrived on the scene sporting farming implements as if they were on there way to some farmers road show. They looked around, decided they couldn't see a bloody thing, and stopped for a cigarette break. They were squatting and chatting and joking with each other - hardly the ferocious army come to ward off invaders. After a while and after some discussion, they had resolved that actually it was not their business to fight invaders, that was what the army was for, and they weren't paying their taxes for nothing. Some clever dick then interjected that actually they didn't pay their taxes. The one thing nobody likes is a smart ass especially village people, so the clever dick was shouted down and in no uncertain words told to go and have sex with his flock of sheep - so everybody mutually happy (apart from the sheep of course) they headed back to their wives for an episode of whingeing part II.
All this was being intensely followed by the humanoid from behind a snag in the sand dune. He was debating whether to say 'Hi!' or 'Assalam-0-alaikum' to these friendly folks. But then he thought that might fry their primitive brains for they did seem primitive. They were obviously farmers of some ilk and he knew from experience that the one thing you can't do to a farmer (no not milk him); the one thing you can't do to a farmer is reason with him. Having spent so much time with bovine company their higher faculties tend to decline exponentially every udder year - yes, that was a joke. The farmers trundled off leaving the humanoid to nurse his wounds. The current state of affairs was most unfortunate. He had a deadline to meet for the Lonely Galaxy Guide (his employer); the section on Earth had to be completed - under headings: 'People', 'Cost', 'Food', 'Women' (specifically whether it is possible to copulate with Earth women and more importantly whether you'd want to) and a final conclusion as to whether Earth is a planet worth visiting.
But the deadline was the least of his worries right now. His spacecraft up in smoke he was now stranded. Stranded on a planet that was regarded by the majority of the Galactic travelling fraternity as being rather dull. Dull as dishwater in fact. Stranded on a dull as dishwater planet was perhaps one of the worst things that could happen to such an exciting guy. For the Super-Fly was an electric-neon persona non grata. He was stylish. He was sexy. And he wore great shades. But being on Earth would score negative points in his 'coolest guy in the Galaxy' rating. What would his mates think! He had to get out, and get out quick.
To be continued...
