Text "I never saw the flying saucers" (Gary Robertson)
I had never met the self titled leader of the Chucrh of Pure Thought before and so my palms were sweaty, making stains on my Fleet Street note book.
Relax, I thought, as the headlines, again, appeared before me "The Sun exclusive - At last the truth", and the cheque with all the zeros at the end of the £1.
Reverend Vicar Jesus O'Christ welcomed me into his office with a powerful handshake and bright smile. It was hard to believe that five years ago he was just a humble road sweeper. All that changed when the Holy Spirit disguised as a tramp came up to him and offered him a drink from a bottle (marked "Meths"), and he actually met God while in a dream-like state, from which he awoke with a headache in a Police cell.
"It's surely an honor" to be meeting you and taking this opportunity to warn the forthcoming generations of this", he paused neatly for dramatic effect, "invasion".
His eyes opened widely and he made the sign of the evil eye.
"It's true then", I said to keep the momentum going, "that you claim the minds of people are being taken over by aliens through music?"
"Yes, through the music of those aliens, The Rolling Stones."
I choked back the laughter in my throat. I asked him to elaborate.
"I have spent many years studying this. They are representatives of three alien races who want to take our planet over, already it may be too late. Thousands of people sitting at home, listening to", he spat the word out, "Rolling Stones records."
"But surely people sit at home listening to records anyway?"
"Yes, but these rhythms are addictive, people trapped by their record players, leaving the streets empty so the aliens can fly straight in, round us all up, can you imagine it, the whole human race captured?"
"But what will they do with us all?"
"The fit and healthy ones will become slaves, everyone else will be turned into soup."
Ugh, gross I thought.
"Jagger is the worst. He belongs to a race of used car salesmen. They exercises their mouths so much they've evolved thin bodies and large lip muscles because of all the talking."
Logical, I thought.
"Richards and Wood come from a planet without oxygen, they'd look strange walking around with breathing gear on. So they take their air in by burning certain minerals in their cigarettes. Also they can't eat the food so they drink concentrated nutrients disguised as Jack Daniel's."
Logical again, I thought.
"Watts and Wyman, they're the worst. Their race is extremely violent. They enjoyed inflicting pain so much they wore their facial muscles out, which is why they don't smile."
His voice was starting to rise.
"Believe me, it's horrible, boy. Soon they'll be driving down our main streets, herding us around, you do believe me, don't you?"
At this point he got up and grabbed me by my shirt collar, shaking me viciously against the wall. By now he was frothing at the mouth. Luckily I felt the red button that was set in the wall. I pressed it hard and within a few seconds the holy father was sedated in a strait-jacket and back in his padded cell.
As I drove out of the asylum I realised I had learned two things today. The first was why I found Rolling Stones music so good, and secondly the source of the Sun's exclusive news, and why it always seemed that its facts were so unlikely.
I wound the car window down and threw my note book out. Then I leaned down, pulled a tape out of the glove compartmnet and put it in the cassette player.
The golden tones of Mick Jagger calling for sympathy for the Devil made me relax, softly tapping my hands on the steering wheel.
I never saw the flying saucers.
Till it was too late.
Publication
| 1986 unreleased |  Charlie is good tonight nr. 5
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