We have an alien in our house

I’ve had suspicions of his presence for a number of years but have never had proof. Then last Tuesday evening I discovered irrefutable evidence of his presence. I was feeling a bit peckish and decided to treat myself to an egg and bacon sandwich. My youngest son reclining on the settee also expressed a yearning for a bacon butty. He’s now eligible for Saga’s fifty plus club and halfway to buying his own flat!

At this point I should mention I was promoted to head chef some twenty years ago when making some forthright comments on my wife’s Cauliflower Gratin. One of the virtues of this unexpected promotion was the knowledge that all the goodies in the kitchen were at my disposal and I need never go hungry.

I laid out four slices of toast in a neat line (I’ve always been a bit on the pedantic side)I fried two eggs in the frying pan and grilled two bacon rashers in the microwave. I placed one egg on the first slice of toast then a bacon rasher on the second, then applied the same treatment to the last two slices of toast. Like any good parent I attended to my sons needs first. I brought two slices of toast together and sliced them in half and accompanied with tomato ketchup and a large mug of tea gently roused the young lad now in deep slumber.I plumped up the cushions to make him more comfortable and handed him the tray. He yawned and after a quick survey grunted his approval.

On returning to the kitchen mindful that my bacon butty would be getting cold. I was hungry and eager to sink my teeth into it. Imagine my horror on returning to discover the rasher of bacon had vanished, I looked on the floor on the ceiling in the dustbin and everywhere, the missing rasher could not be found. There is nothing more lifeless than a rasher of bacon which has been subjected to searing heat in a microwave oven. It can’t jump, shout, crawl or hide. We can presume the pigs brain had no capacity to direct the rasher he once owned and in all likelihood was also destined for somebody’s dinner table.

The following day my wife showed me the frying pan with the missing bacon rasher firmly fixed to the underside of the pan.

 To my mind in conjunction with other unexplained happenings, like the wife’s hearing aid found in the fruit trifle, disappearing socks and spectacles, even my birth certificate has disappeared, we definitely have an alien in our house! I lay in bed that night unable to get to sleep as I tried to figure out what was going on, why would an alien want my socks and birth certificate?

The following day my wife showed me the frying pan with the missing bacon rasher firmly fixed to the underside of the pan.

‘So what’s this?’ she demanded, hooting with laughter and flourishing the frying pan in front of my face. I became the target of much mockery but I wasn’t convinced. Unless someone can give me a satisfactory explanation as to how a rasher of bacon can detach itself from a slice of toast and leap across ten feet of kitchen and hide on the underside of our frying pan, I remain convinced, we have an alien in our house.

I peeled the rasher of the bottom of the pan and with it dangling from fore finger and thumb I draped it onto the bird table. ‘Wep-wep-wep-wep’ a familiar cry as a huge seagull swooped down and scoffed it in one small gulp. He stood on the bird table with a determined David Copperfield look in his beady eye. Not the more deferential look associated with the Dickens character. More like,
’Oy dickhead! One rasher won’t do, stop being so stingy, gimmee more.’

This particular seagull is a regular visitor to our garden and I think he regards me as his dad. He has the proportions of a triple-x Christmas turkey with the wing-span of a Boeing 737 and he relies totally on my generosity. He no longer hunts for his food  and doesn’t go anywhere near the sea, he’s the laziest bird on earth. He just sits on our roof waiting for scraps. He wouldn’t know a herring from a hamburger. The only thanks I get from this ungrateful squawker, he dumps on the car and freshly laundered clothes hung outto dry. I do wonder if there is some collusion with him and our alien- it wouldn’t surprise me. Another point that crosses my mind.

According to the statistics nearly half of the population will soon be obese because of the rubbish food we eat. Well, presumably all the pets and scavengers who rely on our left-overs will suffer the same fate. We will have rodents as large as Rottweiller’s and birds reverting to their dinosaur past. Imagine that! A 200ft gull weighing 70 tons perched on your bird table! He won’t be too interested in your bacon rasher, will he ? And how is it that people are supposed to be starving and reliant on food banks, the world is steeped in misinformation. It’s all spin, spin & fibs.

There is a deal of difference between being hungry or to be starving. There is enough protein fluttering around my place to feed Africa. In the bible they called it manna from heaven. If that doesn’t excite the taste-buds they can use those fancy sauces like ‘Chicken to night’ or one of the Master Chef TV gurus to frig about with edible gold leaf, Pestos and blow lamps. I reckon the Alien population are already preparing for change but why would they need my socks and birth certificate. I wonder if they are trying to clone me. I think I should warn the wife!