Sunday night. 10 pm.
I was immersed.
Soaking away the rigors of a brisk country walk in the warm womb-like waters of the hot tub. Kids in bed.
The crisp winter’s evening delivered a deep, clear black sky.
Here in the Peak District it’s a balmy two degrees at best.
As I lay in my bubbling reverie, I silently contemplated the immense inky horizon billowing endlessly above me.
Orion’s belt. The plow. An enormous milky moon silently tracking across the black sky, its movement barely noticeable to the human eye.
It didn’t take long for my mind to wander to less profound, more practical matters.
Gotta get the kid’s school uniform ordered ready for the return to school.
I need to pay the credit card bill.
Dentist. How long is it since our last visit?
I wonder when the holidaymakers will reclaim the ‘tub? (It’s not ours. It belongs to my husband’s business. We’re not that posh.)
Suddenly, from nowhere, streaking angrily across the sky like a burning fluorescent torpedo, was a freakin’ meteorite.
It lit up the night like a cymbal crash from the Almighty.
Now I know you’re going to say that I’m talking utter nonsense.
But I can tell you this side of the experience, you know it when you’ve seen a bloody meteorite.
My lukewarm gin and tonic rattled furiously like that scene with the T-Rex from Jurassic Park.
Like a drowning turtle, flipped on its back, arms and legs flailing, I attempted unsuccessfully to get to my feet.
What the hell……??!!!
Still gawping at the sky, I frantically grabbed for my phone, wet fingers slipping and sliding, and dialed my mother. (I mean, who else do you call?! NASA?) All caution of a potentially submerged phone evaporated.
“Sweet Jesus!” She hollered. “Bloody typical! Just as we’re sorting the sodding virus, the aliens decide to invade! Where did it go?! They’re worth a bloody fortune!”