Space man

It was not like any court I had appeared in before. The judge sat (at least I think he was sitting '“ if he was a 'he' or a 'she' or even some gender previously not known to me) raised above us all. Even though he looked like a giant octopus and had at least three eyes I am sure he was a judge because he had an impressive wig on his head.

He busied himself with dealing with various administrative matters. He had so many tentacles that this appeared to be an easy task. Perhaps the judge was really 'she' because there was a considerable amount of multitasking '“ sorting out what appeared to be documents, completing forms, pressing buttons on a giant console and making noises into what I took to be some sort of telephone.

I and several obese people, a small dog, a hedgehog and an unhappy goldfish in a polythene bag stood in the well of the court. We had all come here by the same route. I think there were more of us. I am sure I saw a horse and wasn't that the chairman of the local parish council who joined us after the people from the trailer park '“ and the butterfly?

It was my fault really. I had been looking at one of those forms that are sent out to worry solicitors (as if we did not have enough to worry about already). It was a business continuity checklist. That sounds innocuous but what it really meant was for us each to say how we would be able to carry on calmly doing the things that calm solicitors do when the sea water is up to the eaves, or when an earthquake of 8.1 on the Richter scale has razed the house.

We have to demonstrate that as the flames are licking around us we will continue to be able to dictate on our fire-proof dictating machines and pore over files that are filled with flame retardant paper and key in our all-important time recording units onto computer hard drives that can still operate from two miles under the sea or in the kind of heat that melts pig iron.

There is dying too to contend with. Our house is reputed to be haunted, so I presume I will be able to join the other spectres and haunt the NHSLA into paying up for my deserving clients.

Against the business continuity criteria my idea that I could keep my life's work on a portable hard drive in my pocket seemed to be a solution of sorts.

Taking a break from form filling I made the mistake of watching one of the TV programmes that prove that we have aliens living among us and that governments are covering up the truth. There was a time when these aliens concentrated their efforts on the inhabitants of US trailer parks but there has been a worrying shift recently: owners and drivers of UFOs, no doubt tiring of the limited conversational abilities of trailer park occupants (no disrespect '“ at the rate the fortunes of ordinary solicitors are going many of us will soon be welcoming the chance to live in a trailer park) are seeking more variety in the humans they choose to kidnap.

Now respectable airline pilots, bank clerks, nurses and policemen are all reporting sightings of saucer shaped objects which fly at impossible speeds and appear and disappear in an instant.

Alien adventure

And that is why it came to be my turn to be abducted. It was between Letheringsett and Holt, just on the corner by the bridge, where if the bells are ringing in the church you get an impressive Doppler effect as you drive by.

One minute I was listening to the dropping note of the bells and the next minute I had joined the small crowd inside the saucer shaped object that was sitting on the road. We moved off at break-neck speed and were soon travelling so fast that we could see the planet Thong approaching through the porthole.

The saucer (which had been quite comfortable in a National Rail kind of way '“ except it did not have a ticket inspector) let us out into a pleasant place that smelled slightly of fish that had passed its sell by date.

The traffic seemed to consist of small flying saucers that looked a little like bubble cars without wheels. They were all driven by the same sort of creature as the judge, but smaller.

Our saucer had arrived on the steps of the court. Disconcertingly it looked like the (now defunct) Cromer Magistrates' Court. Two octopi wearing policemen's helmets directed us inside. One of the fat people demurred and was given a quick swipe with a long tentacle. After that the rest of us, including the hedgehog and the butterfly, meekly obeyed.

The judge then opened his mouth (or one of them) and addressed me in quaint English. 'Forsooth Mr Barr, verily we have brought you here for a purpose.' 'How did you know my name?' I spluttered.

'Yea do not interrupt. Our tentacles reach a long way.' He waved one of them to emphasise the point. 'We have brought you here because in the intergalactic issue of Solicitors Journal you therein did refer to one of our kind Jonathan Djangoly. We want him back but we do not know his whereabouts.'

'That's easy,' I replied, and gave him directions to the Houses of Parliament, suggesting that the saucer could land on the terrace by the Thames. I added that he was very welcome to have him back, and would he be interested in Ken Clarke at the same time?

'I am deeply indebted to you,' he made a kind of bow, 'now if you are quick you can catch the 4.30 saucer back to your depressing little planet.'

Hours later I was back in my car and still between Letheringsett and Holt. I rang my wife to try to explain why I had been delayed. She sounded non-plussed and pointed out that I had only called two minutes earlier from the same location.

'It's a long story,' I said. And left it at that. Then I suddenly realised that I had left my pocket hard drive and my jacket on planet Thong. Now how do I recover from that disaster?