From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 149)

There are days when I contemplate the notion that the tales of H.G. Wells and his like aren’t quite as fanciful as many may think. Writers like Wells aren’t generally my kind of thing, but Hope came across them recently and has been devouring them as eagerly as if they were toffees (currently her favourite kind of sweets). This, of course, meant that she wanted to discuss them with her godfather. As I’ve been at some pains to establish myself as a fount of all knowledge in her eyes, I quickly read one of Wells’ books, and found it not nearly as bad as I’d feared. I appreciate imagination, and he certainly has it in spades. But, never did I think that anything he might write would connect in any way to my life.

In his book, The War of the Worlds, there are extra-terrestrial beings in giant machines that have come to take over our planet. They’ve no interest in humanity, or the damage they’re doing, as they run rough-shod across London (obviously, being the centre of the world, they attempt to capture London first). They’re entirely self-serving.

Well, I believe I may have met one of them today. He styled himself as a Minister of the Crown but was entirely uninterested in anything said during our meeting. Rather, he was far more intent on getting to one of the Westminster eateries before it ran out of roast beef.

I wasn’t the main speaker at the meeting, more of a supporting one. Of late, there’s been a ridiculous idea that the SIS should report more to politicians (as if they could understand half of what we do). This chap was utterly uninterested in the process, and intently interested in fulfilling the desires of his stomach. The report being given was so very boring that I found myself beginning to imagine us all in one of Mr Wells’ books.

I suppose, on reflection, it provided me with some light relief, as well as reminding what incredible asses most politicians are. They may not be extra-terrestrial, but they’re far from human.