come to Xehtar

Dave called me down into the garden to witness a curious thing: blobs of a clear jelly-like substance had formed (or fallen) on two of the plant pots on the decking. I was primed for this; upstairs, I’d been watching Doctor Who. I dared to put a lump of the stuff on my hand so that Dave could photograph it. It didn’t burn a hole in my palm or make any overt attempt to take over the world. No, it was cleverer than that.

It’s at such times, when the mysterious enters your life, that you ask yourself a simple question: how can I make money from this? An obvious answer would be to take the David Icke route: make up a whole mythology. His worldview of bloodsucking reptiles lording it over humanity is clearly based on a misreading of the 80’s science fiction TV series V (he thought it was a documentary). I think we have more substance to work with here. Literally. In fact, I’m starting to remember the curious sensation I felt when I balanced that blob of jelly in the palm of my hand. Memories of a distant planet… The terrible war against the giant prawns… The mushroom god is angry… Yes, yes it’s all becoming clear. The next step is to avoid, at all costs, having the strange jelly laboratory-tested. Scientists are so unimaginative. Before we’ve made any money at all they’ll come up with a ‘rational explanation’ for what we know instinctively is the spawn of Xehtar.

This is the kind of thing that happens when Mat’s away. He was breaking in his newly-straightened teeth on a stag do in Bath. Chad, Dave and I instantly became social lepers, and had to spend Saturday night in the Charles Napier, a pub which is small to start with, and which further discourages punters by providing remarkably few seats. Space is taken up by a pool table, and another table cluttered with books and stuff in carrier bags, like offerings in a church. Dogs ran about without - thankfully - feeling any pressing need to bark. There weren’t many other people in the place but those who were there looked as if they rarely, if ever, left. Although a group of hip young things turned up later to play pool, confirming the feeling of exclusivity which only a pub like someone else’s living room can bring. There were certainly no other vulgar reminders that this was in fact Saturday night. A good thing, too. I needed to work on recovering memories of Xehtar.