How come the aliens are coming to get me?

Well, they are not, I hope. However, I watched a documentary on Channel 4 a few days ago, called "Confessions of an alien abductee". It was supposedly about a helpline set up to provide support for these victims, but it became a series of mini-portraits of a few of the abductees. One of them, a woman called Chantelle is allegedly the person in Britain who has been abducted the most times (about 1000). She looked very nervous and jumpy - a skinny, beehived, chain smoker, who reminded me most of all of a fragile rabbit - or one of those hairless, shivering dogs.

She found that the abductions often happen when she is enjoying one of her beloved KFC meals with her son. She notices that suddenly too much time has elapsed: "We're eating Kentucky. We've looked at the time. Suddenly 2 - 2.5 hours have passed by." As my husband drily obbserved, perhaps the aliens are trying to teach her to avoid take-aways. Also, unless you relish the idea of an abduction, surely this programme would put you off KFC? Whether you are in a sugar and fat-induced coma or taking part in an alien medical examination, KFC is clearly not a good choice.

According to reports, some aliens appear in people's bedrooms, pull their bedcovers off and abduct them. How rude. Clearly, these supposedly highly evolved beings, who have mastered technology far beyond anything we can imagine, have yet to learn some manners. Perhaps that is why they keep abducting the British and their American cousins. The Brits are a nation of people so polite, that if you step on their toes, they will apologise (the person, not the toes). Maybe the aliens are hoping to pick up a few tips.

But walking into people's bedrooms is not unheard of. I knew of a bloke who lived in Christiania (an independent community of hippies in Copenhagen), who once experienced  a couple of tourists bounding into his bedroom, as if they were walking around an outdoor museum. So, here is my thought: Perhaps the aliens think that our planet is a giant theme-park. In which case we should probably start charging - that is certainly one way to beat the recession.

Earth as a theme-park is the only thing that makes any sense to me. Otherwise, surely these aliens aren't as intelligent as they ought to be, if they have mastered technology and mind-reading? Wouldn't they have learnt all there is to learn about our humble species by now? Perhaps they suffer from poor administration skills and constantly lose their notes, or neglect to tell their colleagues, that they have "done" Earth.

Professor John Edward Mack (Harvard Medical School Psychiatrist) had an interesting theory, formed after studying several abductees. At first, he thought they were crazy, but as he studied more and more of them, he found that they were perfectly sane. He concluded that the only psychiatric condition to fit their symptoms was post traumatic stress disorder: He was of the opinion that they really had been abducted, and believed that aliens were carrying out some sort of alien-human breeding programme, as well as warning the abductees that they need to take better care of the planet. Intriguingly, the abductions often left physical traces, such as cuts that would tend to heal quickly. If you want to read more, go to http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2013/05/americans-alien-abduction-science

But perhaps (hopefully) abductees are delusional, in which case this may have been caused by post-traumatic stress from some other event or lifestyle. For example, the documentary featured one multiple victim, who had grown up with an emotionally absent mother. He claimed that an alien had adopted him and that he occassionally had sex with another. The interviewer's suggestion that he had invented the loving alien mother as a coping mechanism was dismissed outright. However, though he is married now, he is totally immersed in his alien experiences, claiming they happen once a month. Oddly enough, his wife isn't too keen on his alien lover.

More tragically, Chantelle, the beehived woman, said that if the aliens stopped abducting her, she would miss them. Like many abductees, she feels that the aliens are almost part of her family, and is torn between their world and ours. When asked which world she prefers, she said "theirs", without missing a beat. She then listed what she would miss from Earth: Her son, cigarettes, KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken) and the TV. I kid you not. Chantelle, clearly, is not leading a full and happy life. The idea of the alien abduction as a coping mechanism is certainly an interesting and relevant one, and the programme showed the victims talking about their belief that the aliens were looking out for them, keeping them safe.

Still, should you wish to avoid an alien abduction, you could do worse than visiting www.stopabductions.com - a helpful guide to making a "thought-screen helmet". This handy device will not only make you look, ahem, special, it will also stop aliens from reading your mind, or communicating with you using telepathy, meaning they will not want to abduct you. There has only been one hat failure since 1998. Of course, you will have to wear the hat all the time ; 0
Photos are welcome!

How come I am not getting any younger?

When did hubby and  I become old? Or, at least, not as young as we used to be? (Let us not exaggerate here!). Was it the moment we embarked on our honeymoon, aged 26 and 27? Looking over at my new husband in the car, I couldn't help but notice that his nose hair had suddenly decided it was obviously safe to relax and sprout, as he had successfully secured a mate.  Admittedly, that was pretty much it for the next 9 years. Until I looked in the mirror a few months ago and realised, to my horror, that I had started cultivating my own patch. Damn it! No idea how long that has been there. Have my friends just been staring at it silently for years, hoping I would notice myself? Perhaps I will get hairier, as my husband gets more bald. Just to balance things out. I'm not just being paranoid: By your late 20s, your body is already well on its way downhill, as your brain and lungs start ageing at 20, while skin starts ageing around 25. Hair starts ageing at 30, which could explain my own, perhaps overdue, discovery a few months ago. Basically, you just slowly start decaying.

Or was it the moment he went to pay for the petrol and returned with a packet of Werther's Originals? When I asked him why on earth he had bought those, he replied, rather smugly, "because they are smooth, creamy and uncommonly good". Clearly, the adverts work.

Was it when I realised that I was older than most of the audiences at the comedy gigs I attended? Was it when I felt stupid for using the word gigs? Or was it when shop assistants started calling me "madam", instead of flirting with me? Walking around certain clothes shops nowadays feels depressingly ageing, as I realise that the vast majority of customers are young enough to be my children - I wouldn't even have had to be a teenage mum.

Perhaps it was the day my husband returned from a field trip and ashamedly revealed his very badly torn trousers, declaring that he was too old to jump over fences and anyway, he had done his back in. Maybe the fact that I find myself groaning with pleasure when I sit down after a (not very) taxing gentle stroll makes me feel older than my years. Exhaling as I get up doesn't exactly help either.

The absolute low point so far: Sitting at the breakfast table in a hotel, wondering why my knickers were pinching me. Back in our room, I went to the toilet, only to discover the culprit: A small hairclip, neatly attached to the side of my knickers. That's when I remembered: As we were in a hotel room, and had only brought a few items and bags with us, I had laid out my clothes the night before and attached the hairclip to my knickers, thinking that I would definitely spot it, and thus not leave it behind. Sigh.....

I may as well give up now. Pass me the Werther's

How come your child is more important than mine?

We have 2 lovely, pretty, intelligent and well-behaved girls. Obviously, though, there are plenty of children who are prettier, more clever and better behaved (alright, at least as well behaved - our girls do seem freakishly "good"). Equally, there are plenty of children who are more plain, more stupid and who behave badly. That is just the way life is. In short, our girls, while we love them and are immensely proud of them, are nothing special. They are average, and have the same abilities and rights as everybody else. Some parents, however, seem to disagree.

Apparently, their children's needs are more important than anybody else's, and their offspring are also by far the most fascinating topic of conversation. These parents may as well wear a giant sign round their neck, which reads "My child is special, so your child can just fuck off!". A case in point: Today, at our usual drama group, I suddenly noticed that 2 of the regular girls behaved atrociously - aggressively elbowing and pushing in, willfully ignoring my request that they move back to allow everybody to see. Their mothers were either oblivious (deep in conversation) or indifferent. Appropriately enough, they reminded me of Cinderella's ugly sisters (though these 2 were perfectly pretty), as their greed got the better of them, and they started fighting each other.

After that, I noticed that actually these 2, especially one of them, were always out in front. In other words, other children always ended up looking at the back of their necks. I realised I just had not fully taken this in before. Outraged, I commented on this to a friend of mine, who wisely  pointed out, that some parents actually want their children to be pushy. And so with that in mind, this is a public service announcement:

Are you the proud owner of a precious princess? A cheeky monkey? Then it's time you grew up, so your child has the chance to do the same. The longer you allow them and you the illusion that the world revolves around them, the more damage you inflict on them. Sure, your pushy Paige or obnoxious Ollie may get to the top of the class, the front of the queue and may well become head of the marketing department, but they won't have any friends. Will that make you proud?
If however your child really does have a special gift and is destined to become a Nobel Prize winner, an Oscar winner or a president, then please do carry on. That way, one day, I will be able to say: "I knew the mother you know.....we were practically acquaintances."

On the other hand, your children still shouldn't push in front of others.

Service not included

It was early evening as we left the restaurant without tipping its rapidly diminishing staff. This never happens - both because my husband and I are too polite, and because the service in most restaurants is at the very least vaguely acceptable. But this time, the staff were so busy setting up tables for the next day, that they forgot about clearing ours and feeding us.

When I asked the till guy next to us, whether we could please have the kids' desserts we had already ordered, he didn't apologise, but to his credit, he did ensure that they were brought out immediately, and the rest of our table was even cleared in time too. Still no offer of dessert for us adults though. I did manage to secure a dessert menu which I perused for 10 minutes, before a slightly confused member of staff came up and asked whether she could help me. By this point, I wanted a dessert just to see whether I would actually get to eat it. I ordered the cheesecake, only to be given what probably used to be a cheese cake, but was now a rather stale imitation of one. I soldiered on, only to give up halfway through. And so it was that we left without tipping.

This isn't my only recent encounter with eccentric customer service. We went to a Coeliac fair (yes really) to buy gluten-free goodies. Unsure what to buy for lunch, we couldn't resist the prospect of a gluten-free pork pie. I can see that it doesn't sound that exciting on paper, and perhaps that should have rung some alarm bells. However, my husband bought the things, and we both tucked in. They were certainly very meaty. In fact, they were mainly meat with a tiny bit of pastry. And not much else. So, as I was struggling through this disappointingly dry pie, I innocently remarked to hubby, that mine contained gristle - just as the lady from the pork pie stall walked past. As we rounded the corner, still struggling to chew through it, pork-pie woman came over. "Is it a nice pie?" she asked, innocently. I was too embarrassed to do anything but nod, pretending I still had too much food in my mouth to talk. "Would you pass it?", she continued, rather tensely perhaps and clearly not wanting the real answer. Again, I nodded. "Oh good, I am only asking because I made them!!", she finished, foaming at the mouth and staring at me menacingly with her mad googly eyes. Okay, so maybe I made up that last bit, but why can't all our businesses provide the same excellent level of service as their North American counterparts?

For example: In 2004 we travelled around Canada, where restaurant staff were always checking how we wanted our food. Like the time we had lunch in some random café. I chose a burger from the menu, and sat down. My husband then proceeded to shout out various questions across the café: "Do you want ketchup?", "Would you like gherkins?" etc. I said "no" every time, assuming that what he obviously meant was "Do you want this added to your burger?". How wrong I was. When my lunch arrived, I discovered that, rather than assuming I wanted exactly what I had ordered, the staff had been checking whether I really did want all of the ingredients. So, I was faced with a rather dry-looking bun hugging a pathetically lonely vegetable patty. Cue minor melt-down. I had had enough of constantly having to re-affirm my orders. Perhaps I should be grateful for the bossy, "couldn't give a damn" attitude of European service providers - at least I don't have to make all those pesky choices....

Saying that, being given the finger by Eeyore in Disneyland Paris, because I dared ask him to pose for a photo, as he was walking off for his break, doesn't rank amongst my greatest holiday memories either. It may be situated in France, where the service provider is king, but don't they realise, they work for an American company?

Perhaps self-service is the way forward. Or perhaps the answer is to be rude back. Michael Winner had the right idea......