A Close Encounter

‘Where?’ I said, just to be sure.

‘Take me…’ he/she/it… possibly even them… said. ‘…to your larder.’

I pointed to the cube-like thing it had in its hands… paws… feet… appendages. ‘I think your… er… translation thingy machine may be on the blink.’

‘Please…?’ It looked confused.

I was now fairly certain there was only one of it, although there were probably more in the machine that looked as unlike any flying saucer I’d ever seen and I love 1950s SF films. I suppose that is why I wasn’t too put out by having, or - as it now seemed - failing to have, a conversation with what could only be an alien. ‘Don’t you mean: Take me to your leader?’ I said slowly and precisely, as if I was taking to an exchange student.

It shook its… well, the top bit of it moved backwards and forwards. ‘No, take me to your larder.’

I stood, head cocked.

‘I am hungry,’ it said.

‘Oh, I see,’ I nodded too. ‘Only you see, these days we don’t really have larders… well, I don’t. I have a fridge, I have a few cupboards, a freezer, but no larder.’

‘No larder?’

‘No.’

‘But I am hungry….’

‘Sorry, you’re welcome to see what I have in the fridge, or a tin of soup, beans on toast or something.’

‘I am hungry,’ it repeated and looked up at me. ‘No larder?’

I shook my head.

‘No president, no Prime Minister, no larder?’ It made a noise like a sigh. ‘I am hungry.’ It looked up at me. ‘No politician at all… I am so hungry?’

‘Prime Minister?’ I said. ‘Politician?’

It licked its… well, I suppose they could have been lips. ‘Politician… yes. I am hungry.’

I thought for a while. This time of night it wouldn’t take that long to get to London with not much traffic on the motorway. I felt in my pocket for my car keys. ‘Come on,’ I said to the… the alien, taking hold of one of its appendages. ‘I’ll take you to our larder.’ I was pretty confident I could, once in London, find my way to the Houses of Parliament.