Unexpected Alien in Bagging Area

By Chris West

Two newlyweds, Bathsheba and Gabriel, are enjoying a drink in their local pub, deep in the Wessex countryside, when they are joined by a being from another galaxy. The alien informs them that they have been Chosen to perform a Pivotal Role in Interplanetary History.

 

Gabriel, being a decent sort of chap, gets another round in, but the couple aren't really interested in the alien's offer (in Wessex, newlyweds have better things to do). But their hand is forced, and they soon find themselves embroiled in a bitter war between two faraway planets who can't stand each other, because the inhabitants of one have absolutely no sense of humour while the others like nothing more than a good (or, even more, a bad) joke.

 

Things become even worse when it becomes clear that one group of aliens (the humourless lot) has more on its mind than conquering its neighbour – they have their cold, unblinking eyes (all eight of them) on a second planet, earth.

 

Can our unlikely heroine and hero outsmart them and save earth from invasion?

 

Enjoy this slightly bonkers, totally intergalactic but also very British comedy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris West
• Release date: Mar 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393867920

Chris West

Chris West is a bestselling business author, novelist and writer on psychology. He studied counselling at Norwich City College and specialized in Transactional Analysis. He lives in the UK. 

Book preview

Author’s Note

This story is a standalone . However, it does have a prequel, telling how plain old Gabriel Ash and terribly posh Bathsheba Neverdene got together – after a somewhat bumpy ride.

But no need to stop here and head over to that other book. There is no material in the prequel that is essential to enjoying Unexpected Alien – except, perhaps, to know that Gabriel had an encounter with aliens from a faraway planet, Znpft 49b, and that these beings have a very childish sense of humour.

Chapter One

They made an odd couple . He was tall and thin; she was short and rather plump. When she spoke, you could almost hear all those creatures on her family coat of arms: the gryphons, the lions rampant, the wyverns, the ypotrill. When he spoke, you knew he came from Dorset. Yet there they were, doing the standard newlywed stuff of sitting snuggled up to each other, fondling each other like teenagers at a party, kissing and generally revelling in each other’s proximity. All a bit embarrassing really, but that’s life.

It was summer, 2010, and they were in the beer garden of the Black Swan in Ughford (the locals pronounce it Yoog-ford) St Ethelburga. Music – if you can call the output of Platforms 9¾, the local glam-rock tribute band, music – was wafting out of the saloon bar, as it was a themed 70s Nite.

To those with more sophisticated sensibilities, the garden afforded a view across deep gold, freshly-harvested wheatfields to the 13th century church at Ughford St Clarence and, behind it, of footpath D2976 winding up Tan Hill – one of the couple’s favorite walks.

Tonight, however, the finest sight had to be the magnificent elm in the garden of St Ethelburga’s Rectory next door. On some August evenings, the Vale of Ugh (Yoog, of course) can fall perfectly still, as if it were contemplating its own beauty and had been struck dumb by it. The motionless trees begin to radiate an energy that is luminous, vibrant, almost shocking in its intensity.

Gabriel found himself staring at the tree, despite the rival visual claims of his beloved. He noticed a small light emerge from behind the elm-leaves.

At first, he thought it was just another aircraft. Walk on any of the hills that rise up on three sides of this picturesque Wessex village, and you’ll see endless vapour trails as people go about their (to you, if you are a walker, delightfully pointless) business of jetting from one smelly, over-crowded city to another. But this was moving fast for a conventional plane. And then it stopped.

It’s those clowns from Planet Znpft 49b, he said. His mind went back to his meeting with the inhabitants of a distant planet, back in those dark times when he had been Bathshebaless.

Ancient history. He looked back at her, and his soul began to fill yet again with –

Greetings! A third being was at their table. It was seven feet tall, bright green and wore a kind of coal bucket over its head. You have been chosen to perform a Pivotal Role in Interplanetary History, it added.

Oh, said Gabriel. He felt a little peeved – the alien was butting in on a private moment – but rules are rules in the Vale of Ugh. One has to be sociable, especially to anyone who has come 7.4 billion light years to see you.

From his previous encounter, he knew what these beings valued above all: jokes. Have you heard this one? he asked, racking his brain for a winner. Er... What do elves do after school?

I have no idea what elves do after school.

Their gnome-work. Gnome work – home work. Get it? No... Er... What happened to the frog’s car when it was parked illegally?

"I did not know frogs possessed cars. I thought that condition was reserved for the species homo sapiens."

No. Well, it got toad away. Towed... toad... Gabriel grimaced. Would you like a beer?

Thank you. I will have an Ughford Ales Old Undrinkable, please.

Straight glass or handle?

I don’t mind. Why are you Earth creatures so fussy about that sort of thing?

Gabriel turned to Bathsheba. And for you, angel?

Well, if they’ve got any more of that ice cream...

Coming up, said Gabriel and headed off.

I don’t believe in diets or any of that rubbish, said Bathsheba, turning to the new arrival with a grin. I’m Bathsheba. I’m afraid I’m even worse at jokes than my husband.

Good. I have a particular dislike for jokes. I think your husband is mistaking me for an inhabitant of Planet Znpft 49b. I am from Znpft 49a, where we are a lot less flippant.

Bathsheba nodded.

Our neighbours may have greater superficial charm, the alien went on. But we have something much more important: seriousness.

Bathsheba nodded again. I don’t like excessive flippancy, either. Though I do feel... how can I put it?... that the truly serious person must also understand joy. Deeply. She pressed her hand to her heart. Don’t you agree?

No, replied the alien.

Oh.

Silence fell.

The truly serious being must understand the nature of power and be able to exercise it, the alien said finally.

Bathsheba managed to keep the disappointment out her expression: her brother Lionel had friends who said stuff like this and she thought they were total fascists. But she couldn’t hide her next emotion as Gabriel emerged from the pub with another person beside him: embarrassment.

Hi! said her husband, in an appallingly over-cheerful voice, as he approached their table. This is Fred. Fred, this is, er, sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name...

Bfnkrqzt, said the visitor.

Right. Well, Fred was at the bar, and I know you guys like a joke, and Fred’s well – just Fred. The one and only, really.

Fred grinned. I’ve got a custard pie here.

Bathsheba was shaking her head, but Fred was one of these unstoppable types.

Why don’t we have a farting competition? Fred went on, brandishing the pie. Whoever does the weakest one gets this in their face!

That’s not a good idea, said Bathsheba.

Oh, come on. You were a sport back in our Young Farmers days.

I think we ought to ask our guest, Bathsheba replied.

Fred ignored her and nudged Bfnkrqzt. The Archangel has been telling me all about you guys. You like a good laugh. Do you want to go first?

No, said the alien.

Go on. A real trumpet! You can do it!

Bfnkrqzt pointed a finger at the young agricultural implements salesman and gave a kind of twitch. Fred disappeared from view.

Wow! said Gabriel. What a jolly wheeze! How did you do that?

Stop! Bathsheba shouted. Gabriel, this guy is not from the same planet as the last lot of aliens you met. They don’t have... the same sense of humour.

We don’t have any sense of humour, said Bfnkrqzt.

What have you done with him? asked Bathsheba, turning to the alien.

I have diminished his capacity to participate in the proceedings.

Meaning?

"If you look on the seat, you