War of the Worlds

This was the problem. This was the reason why we were all huddled together, hiding as the rampaging hordes ravaged our once so fine... quite good... actually rather mediocre land. Once we would have stood and fought, once we were mighty warriors prepared to fight and die to keep this land ours, now though there was the promise of something quite good on the telly later and the weather forecast had predicted rain.

On the whole, then, we thought it much better to stay indoors for a while.

After all, what is a mere invasion?

The Romans, the Vikings, the Normans, after a while they all settled down for a nice quiet night in, rather than all that rapine and pillage that tends to put people's backs up and create a fair few unpleasant looks in the Post Office queue.

Beyond that too, the aliens did seem rather nice – once you got use to the tentacles – and - when you think about it – how much actual difference is there between a firm handshake and an in-depth anal probing?

Mere cultural differences, that's all.

After all, if the Royal family can marry off a spare prince to... well, what we are told is an alien princess - albeit with a rather more scaly spine-ridge than some of his previous girlfriends - if the tabloids are to be believed - then why should we be too concerned?

Of course, there are some who say the Royal Family are already intergalactic all-conquering space-lizards, which – if true – just means that there will be less chance of a punch-up at the wedding reception than is usually the case at weddings in this country. This means, all in all and on the whole, that maybe this alien invasion will not turn out so bad after all.

Not only that, if the rumour that the aliens feed on intelligent humanoid brains does turn out to be true, they'll all be dying of malnutrition in a couple of months anyway.