"Deborah Tavistock's Problem."

"Riot at Halifax Town Hall."

"It Was a Dark and Stormy Night."

"Flying to the Sun."

HP, Cedric & the Flying Saucer in Camden High Street

By Alex Keegan


Sometimes, when I see people like HP, I try to imagine them as babies. I try to imagine some little pink thing, pride of the mother and all that, and then I think, how the FUCK did this thick monstrosity evolve from that?

Me and HP, we are standing next to a flying saucer in Camden High Street. A real shiny silver flying fucking saucer and HP, all he sees is this thing is over the limit, that one of its nodes is overlapping a disabled space, and there's a penalty charge. Unfuckingbelievable.

HP, You SCHMUCK. Does this look like a Volvo? Do you notice it's ROUND, and it's actually not on double-yellows as it's FLOATING? I mean you fat, dumb prick, doesn't a visitation from outer space even FAINTLY rattle that empty space of yours?

Doesn't have to be ON the yellows, Ced' (HP says) regs say it only as to be taking up the space or causin an obstruction. An this is, right?

It's a fucking flying saucer, HP. Full of little green aliens with ray guns and stuff.

It could be a trick, a test by Mr Tavistock. If we don't stick it wiv a ticket we might get docked a half-day.

Or we could RUN, I suggest. Hello? Officer's Mess, Padre Speaking… anybody in? Cry Havok! The Eagle has Landed. Wake up in there! Aren't alarm bells ringing between those lugs? To the tintinnabulation that so musically swells from the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells?

Look, Ced, I know what you're sayin, but I'd just feel better once I've slapped a forty on it, you know? Then we're covered, know what I mean?

So I stop. It occurs to me that the streets deserted (I mean apart from me and HP – PS where's the fucking police and the army?) I smile at HP, warmly like the morning sun. I think pretty thoughts: Five little kittens, invited out to tea, the moan of doves in immemorial elms, and murmuring of innumerable bees.

No argument, mate, I say. Respect. Good to see you on top of yer job. Nevra gen. Sorry for questioning you, quoth the Raven nevermore.

Oh cheers Ced.

So HP writes out the ticket, prolly "unauthorized hovering in a manner likely to cause obstruction", then he rips off the sticky.

There's no windshield he says.

Oh fucking really? The boy is sharp.

Where does I stick it?

Oh the temptation!

Wherever y'like, I says. So HP goes right up to the saucer (which buzzes like a cat's purr) and leans over.

ATTENTION! HOLD! Well, HP like FREEZES, I mean literally he stops DEAD. He doesn't MOVE. "Ced?" he says feebly, "Ced….?"

Better slap it on, HP, I says (this is funny). I mean Mr Tavistock might…

But I'm STUCK, HP says. My arms and legs don't, um…

MOVE? I said.

Yeah, that's the word.

Bit of a bugger, that, I said.

I'm not sure what would have happened next. This is yer classic impasse innit?  If I was a hero maybe I'd lasso HP and drag him away from there, but come on, it was FUNNY. If I wasn't slowly getting scared I'd have the mobile out and be taking pictures. Thinking about it…

So I'm just pulling out the Ello Moto when there's this like "tinkling" sound, really quite pretty (a bit like the noise in Star Trek when they dematerialize in the transporter) and then part of the saucer isn't skin any more, just like a void (as in avoid flying saucers, boom-boom!) all shiny-black like obsidian (or an elephants arsehole) and then there's this woman (well she's like a Martian, or whatever, but she's female) and Jee-Zus she is drop-dead gorgeous, incredible, legs all the way to her throat, and she's speaking da English (don't ask me).

She lifts her arm and covers her eyes, not like she's blinded, more like a gesture, you know, a greeting or something, then she takes her arm from her eyes and looks at him, HP with the most exquisite look  of LOVE you could imagine. What - is - your – name? she says and HP says, Horatio Percival, and then he adds sheepishly. "Brown". (Get it, by the way, why we call him HP? Never mind…

A – beautiful – name.

Oh fanks says HP

A – beautiful – name – for – a – won - der - ful – person.

Here, hang on, HP is a fat fuck with a sweaty arse who if he drops one clear the café. Beautiful?

Be – QUIET, she says (this to me). I didn't even say anything. Oh fuck is she reading my – and then she adds "Vanker" (so she's reading HP's too?)

OK, so I shut the fuck up. I even try not to think anything that might have Mary Jayne here whip out her laser. I'm trying to think of anything except being rude to powerful visitors. Like what's the name of Paris Hilton's dog (I always get confused there, dog, Paris Hilton...), what's the difference between a desk and a wife, silent was the flock in wooly fold, I'd like to take you on a slow boat to Macao, but it's no good, I keep thinking about this stunning blonde and the fact she thinks HP is a hunk.

Then I hear (inside) that I am being disrespectful, and I don't hear but "know" that if I do it again I'm going to get my soul in a bowl. This is not funny, because you can't stop yourself THINKING can you? Try not to think "elephant". See!

All I can do is sort of think respectfully, and think, please ignore me cos I'm a thick twat from Epping whose great claim to fame is to be a senior traffic warden, and, I may add, I was going to let you OFF your illegal parking.

Then my mind went sort of blank, pretty and full of music, but blank. Actually that's not true. I could still see and understand stuff  (well, sort of) but I couldn't COMMENT, at least not then.

This happened. Gorgeous puts her hands up again (over her eyes) and HP does the same. Gorgeous has the silliest smile break across her face. She actually starts floating and kind of swaying back and forth. Oh, and she's, she's –  (OK I got a hard on) and then HP is  
floating too, and he may be a lump, but HE's swaying (no, it had no effect) and if I'm not mistaken these two are virtually at it.

Now while I'm watching, the saucer just drifts upwards, I dunno, maybe twenty thirty feet? Then outside the black bit there are others, all what look like females and they are SINGING, I kid you not. Gorgeous Mary Jane floats a bit higher, and she's like  
conversing with these other girls, but old HP he's getting off on summat, like his big dick is in something very tight and juicy, then I click and think, oh no, it can't be, nobody gets that lucky.

Then HP seems to relax, he floats there, beneath them, listening for a while. He's like nodding as if he's holding this really deep and intimate conversation. I'm hearing, "on a star" like he can go if he wants, right now, tomorrow, or after the Arsenal game on Sunday afternoon, and I can sense he's seriously thinking of it. I mean be fair, group sex on tap, or the Arsenal, it's close, right?

Then I figure they must be giving me back my articulator cos I hear HP saying that these women, much as he loves them (well he said it) they seem to only want one thing, whereas he’s deep and likes pigeons, shove-ha'penny, and going up The Emirates to see The Arse. Maybe, he's saying, we should look on the last half-hour as something special, something, that maybe they should leave it as a wonderful memory, but then in a flash he adds, or you could pop back in the summer break?

Then the women sort of dissolve into the black bit, then HP drifts up to them, dissolves inside. Oh no, I'm thinking, HP is being kidnapped as a sex-slave (the bastard), but after maybe twenty minutes, he kind of bleeds back out into the day and drifts down to the double-yellow lines.

Then, as we watch together, (respect HP) the black bit stops being black and the saucer is a saucer again, then it's gone.

So, I says to HP, did you give them that ticket or not?

Alex once said he'd give his right arm to get to be sixty, or over. He now writes one-handed.