"Just park the bloody caravan!" said Geoff.
"Curb your filthy tongue!" said Marge, her left arm flicking forcefully in the direction of her husband's windpipe, swiftly curtailing the immediate prospect of further directive comments.
The alien advanced, the thunderous scraping of what vaguely passed for feet thrumming sickeningly through the frontal lobes of the elderly nomads.
"Oh bugger," said Marge.
"What?" said Geoff.
"I've gone into a stump," said Marge.
"A tree stump?" said Geoff.
"Yes," said Marge.
"Good," said Geoff.
"What do you mean, 'good'?" said Marge. "I've gone into a stump!"
"It could be worse," said Geoff.
"How?" said Marge.
"Never mind!" said Geoff. "Alien!"
"Can you see me back?" said Marge.
"See you back?" said Geoff. "We need to kill the bloody alien!"
"You are not the man I married!" said Marge, upon which she unlocked the passenger side door, booted her husband through it and hollered after him, "Just check I'm in the space!"
"You'll be the death of me, woman..." said Geoff, as he walked around the car and the caravan, making sure the wheels were aligned and within their allotted space. But wait! he thought. There is no allotted space! "There is no allotted sp-!" he started to call, upon which he caught sight of his wife, who was crouched beside the front passenger side wheel hub of the Silver Ghost Rolls Royce, loading a rocket into its launcher.
"What are y-?"
- at which Geoff turned (a little too quickly, instantly regretting his folly in anticipation of the whiplash that would inevitably ensue), saw the otherworldly beast that was now upon them, then heard the explosive boom of the rocket which had been launched by his spouse of 40 years from the weapon which, quite frankly, he couldn't remember either of them packing. The rocket rocketed (as rockets do) towards the unearthly creature, which had the appearance of an unholy union between a kite, some balloons and an anorexic scarecrow. The rocket hit the alien... and stopped. Geoff and Marge watched, with awe, fascination and a sprinkling of disgust, as the rocket sunk slowly into the alien, with a sound that was a cross between that of someone squeezing a pillow and the crunching of lots of tiny little bones.
"Oh my..." said Marge, as she absentmindedly loaded another rocket into its launcher.
"Marge, wait," said Geoff; "I don't think that's going to-"
Then the alien sighed, disintegrated and sprinkled shiny golden dust all around them.
"This is not how I expected our tour of North Devon to turn out," said Geoff.
"I told you we should have gone to Norfolk," said Marge.
"There are aliens in Norfolk!" said Geoff.
"That's not the point," said Marge. "And you know it."
Geoff didn't know it, but 40 years of marriage had taught him not to question such pronouncements.
The shiny golden dust drifted, in all directions, like ash, like snow, like the myriad minuscule particles of a disintegrated alien.
"So?" said Marge.
"What?" said Geoff.
"What's your plan?" said Marge.
"My plan?" said Geoff.
"For getting us out of here," said Marge.
"I don't have a-"
"Did you bring the map?"
"I don't think a map's going to-"
"You didn't bring the map."
"I really don't think-"
"Bag of frogs."
"You, Geoff!" said Marge. "Utterly!"
"But Marge, I-"
"Never mind..." - at which Marge extracted a contraption from her bumbag that resembled an oversized ballpoint pen with lots of buttons and flashing lights, pressed one of the buttons, and the world suddenly collapsed around them.
They were in a field of blackberries. Which was odd, as blackberries don't normally grow in fields. It would have been even more odd if the blackberries in question were handheld communication devices. But they weren't.
"I don't expect you've brought a Tupperware tub," said Marge.
"!!!" said Geoff.
Marge, evidently lost for words, merely tutted and sighed. She looked around.
"I've got some sandwich bags," said Geoff.
"Origami kite," said Marge.
"Actually that's not-"
- at which Marge shoved her husband to the ground, who suffered about 3 seconds of annoyance, before noticing the enormous origami kite flying towards them.
"Foolish alien," said Marge, as she got out a box of matches, lit one, waited until the paper alien was nearly upon them, flicked the match in its general direction, then passively observed the swift and devastating combustion.
Ash rained down, but thankfully only over a relatively small portion of the blackberry field.
Marge looked at Geoff.
Geoff raised his eyebrows.
"Get the sandwich bags out then," said Marge.
[ fin ]