March 21st, 2007


I remember when Whitley Strieber's book on alien abduction came out and the town was plastered with posters of what we've now come to think of as a "grey". You know, one of those silver-skinned dudes with the huge, black, almond-shaped eyes. That's when the archetype got a grip. Before then the popular idea of an alien was a funny little goblin with a fishbowl on his head or an aerial growing out of it.

Where do these images come from? Is it down to Strieber? Or Stephen Spielberg? Or is it just possibly because aliens really do look like that?

Whenever I'm at a loose end and Googling seems like a fun idea I wind up looking at the paranormal sites. They're my porn- ghosts, cryptoids, aliens, lost civilisations- all that kind of thing.

I learned some interesting stuff yesterday. Did you know that...

There's a huge alien base on the dark side of the moon?
That Armstrong and Aldrin were watched by alien craft from a nearby crater rim?
That Nasa routinely airbrushes alien artefacts out of its pix of the lunar surface?
There are no fewer than 17 alien races with representatives on Earth?

A lot of the people turning out this- er- information have doctorates or professorships in relevant subjects or they're retired military officers or former civil servants and you think, "Wow, impressive" but then you read them and you find that they don't do grammar or footnotes or any of  those other things that induce trust in the reader and that they'll cite a faker like Billy Meiers as if no question had ever been raised about his probity. It's disheartening. Where's the clever stuff? You've got the true believers on the one hand and the hardline sceptics on the other and there's nothing at all in the middle.

Because UFOs do exist, right?  Not all that footage is faked and not all of it can be explained as weather balloons and it would be really nice to know what's going on.


Clocks accumulate. 

There are three in this room- two of which actually work- and that's not counting the digital display on the set-top box.

There's one in the hall, one in the front room, one in the kitchen, two in our bedroom, three in the spare room, one in the bathroom and I'm not answerable for Joe's stash.

I've just been round the house, counting. 

Some we bought, some were gifts, some were given away free with orders over £50. 

The only one that's the least bit valuable is the only one that doesn't work. 

I like clocks. 

They've got faces, they make a noise. It's almost like they're people. 

Leaving this every day world