Monday, 22 October 2018

Morphene: first job - Grandma and the Biscuits

Grandma and the Biscuits

Morpheen checked his reflection in a monitor – it felt about right … fairly androgynous, non-threatening, but not inclined to tolerate endless nonsense.

It would do.

Morpheen left his ship, which was now morphed into the appearance of the derelict camper van he’d bought (to acquire the legitimising paperwork) then sold for scrap, with identifying registration plates and the like all removed.

The scrap dealer had told his pal, hand cupped between his mouth and the pals ear, that he could sell lots of engine and transmission parts, the bed, fitted table, cooker and fridge for good prices … then he told Morpheen it was useless and he could only give him £60 for the van.

Morpheen bit his metaphorical tongue, and deduced that the homo-pseudo-sapiens had poorer hearing than morpheens.

Morpheen was about ready to leave ‘home’ and start his first part-time job, using the alias “Jim”. Thirty years to wait for rescue … work should be a productive way of passing the time, and help him to learn about the homo-pseudo-sapiens.

 £60 would go a long way with no rent to pay. It was bewildering that many poor homo-pseudo-sapiens apparently accepted their lifetime of slavery to the rich landowners, and apparently thought the very rich were in many ways superior, especially if they also chased the bag of wind in the popular sport, or sang in an egoistic manner. Lots to learn ...

‘Good morning’, said the mildly flustered lady as she opened the door.
‘Yes,’ said Morpheen. He smiled, wondering if this was appropriate. he looked up at the blue sky and sunlight.
‘Are you the young man from the job centre?’
‘Yes,’ said Morpheen. ‘I’d like to help you, please!’
‘Good, do come in.’

The young lady’s smile wore a bit thin as they entered a lounge and a groaning noise came from upstairs.
‘My mother,’ said the lady. ‘She isn’t very well.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Morpheen – they used this expression a lot on BBC drama, so it must be appropriate. ‘What is the problem?’
‘Well she’s getting old, and has terrible tummy pains.’

‘How can I best help,’ asked Morpheen when the lady, whose name is June, returned from rearranging her mother in the bed.
‘Well, I am rather tired. You could help me bring some shopping home from the supermarket.’
‘Very good, ‘said Morpheen. ‘I like shopping!’
‘You are funny!’
‘Is that good?’
June grinned and declined to comment.

Having got her shopping bags and list sorted, June prepared to leave.
Moaning and whimpering noises began from upstairs, and June climbed wearily up the stairs to check on her mother, again.

After a few minutes she returned.
‘I’ve just told mother I’ll be quicker than usual, with your help, but I think you’d better stay here, Jim, in case she needs the doctor.’
June pointed to the phone number by the telephone.
‘Okay. Should I go and tell her?’
‘Better not. She’ll panic if a stranger enters her room. She says she’s hungry and thirsty, but when I take her things she says she can’t eat or drink. Too painful.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Morpheen, feeling out of his depth.

There was continual moaning from upstairs as June bundled her bags out of the door, into the car, started the engine.
Then the moaning abruptly stopped.
Morpheen was pleased, but also surprised.
He’d thought the noises were involuntary, when in pain, but maybe it was really communication between mother and daughter. More research due when he got home.
Then there was the sound of sprightly footsteps on the stairs. June hadn’t mentioned the presence of other people in the house.
Morpheen heard mutterings – someone was talking to themselves. This felt reassuring, since Morpheen had to continually, to practice the language and hear a voice of his own species.

Clanking and whistling noises developed in the kitchen. Morpheen decided he’d better check that things were okay.

June’s mother was arranging a large and varied assortment of biscuits on a plate, and making tea with lots of sugar. Morpheen felt sure sugar was not a good idea for someone with severe tummy trouble.

‘Hello June’s mother,’ said Morpheen, ‘I’m Jim, the part-time help. June decided I’d better stay here in case you needed the doctor!’
‘OH,’ said Grandma. She looked a bit puzzled.
‘I’m really pleased that you feel better now. Do you want me to bring your tray upstairs? Or is it better for tummy ache to sit at the table for a while?’

‘She felt well as soon as I left home?’ asked June.
‘Yes. The tummy ache vanished, and she was able to eat some biscuits and drink tea.’
June’s daughter, Melani, joined in. she’d been to the pub to talk to her dad, who no longer lived in the same house.
‘No, she isn’t like that. Gran has serious tummy trouble, and tries not to bother anyone.’
‘I didn’t realise you were home,’ said Morphene.
‘Are you contradicting me, sunshine?’ demanded Melani.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ said Morphene, and left.

What strange people, thought Morphene.
Melani knows things, absolutely, that aren’t true.
‘sunshine’ despite its desirability, is an insult.
Gran is communicating things that she isn’t really conscious of.
Her physical pain is quite possibly in her mind, rather than tummy.
June is exhausted.
I might need a visit to the pub.
Oh to be a Wabbit ...


  1. Poor Morph. Trying to understand humans will be pure torture!~~~Jim was a good name choice. Manly. Perhaps Stone as a last name. Jim Stone...a rugged, manly man name. :)

  2. Do you have any particular Jim Stone in mind for our poor, confused alien visitor?

    No doubt a republican (or publican) with a large collection of isms? racism, sexism, climatechangedenialism ...

  3. Morphene is in for a terrible shock when learning about politics and how humans elect people of low intelligence into high office.

  4. I fear the truth is even worse :

    Highly 'intelligent' homo-alleged-sapiens have chosen to use their intellectual powers for unearned personal wealth (theft), and power (slavery) .


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