Today I bring you an unreported tale worthy of Fox Mulder, finally exposing a cover-up that goes all the way to the very highest echelons of government.
I refer not to the infamous Bitterne Triangle, a storied location where so many hopes and dreams are alleged to have disappeared. I visited that area on Wednesday and can report that it is entirely free of unearthly happenings: conk-heavy crooner Barry Manilow was wise to focus his musical memorial on another, more temperate triangle. I’ll admit that one of my preferred (or most used) local chippies has vanished, but I believe this can be explained by commercial forces and does not require any recourse to the paranormal.
No, even the most ardent conspiracy theorist will have been lucky to have heard even the remotest of oriental whispers about the scandal I am planning to reveal. I am only posting this in a public forum in the hope that it will deter shadowy forces from having me ‘disappeared’ following my shocking discovery.
Last night marked the start of the SHOCC ceilidh season, and I offered to give a friend a lift in my car from Bishopstoke – a modest hamlet, attested to in the Domesday Book – to the Hilt in Hiltingbury. The latter is much less exciting than its name might suggest, it’s basically a sports hall and is not connected to the Sword nor, indeed, to the Mailed Fist.
It was while making this apparently simple journey that I discovered the shocking truth that the Eastleight/Bishopstoke conurbation marks the site of an alien battlefield. It quickly became clear that a powerful alien weapon, of a nature beyond the ken of current human science, had been deployed there. The locals appear to be entirely unaware of the appalling damage wrought to local spacetime by this doomsday device – but the impact is all too obvious to the visitor from outside the blast zone.
As I drove from Bishopstoke to the Hilt, and again when I drove back, something of the order of 90% of the many turns that I was required to make, as I navigated the lanes of this part of Hampshire, were right turns. As any competent geometer can tell you, this is not possible in anything that approximates to Euclidean 3-Space: unless travelling in some form of spiral. While we have known, following the sterling work of one Albert Einstein, that we do not live in a Euclidean space, the curvature is quite modest at the scale of a few miles and in the relatively modest gravity well of the Earth. The only way this excess of right turns could be accommodated is if the very fabric of spacetime has been fractured across this whole region by the detonation of some form of dimensional bomb. Shards of unrelated space are now pressed together and my car was skipping across these boundaries: with the excess of right turns suggesting that the underlying spatial geometry is strongly chiral. This opens up the intriguing possibility that we could identify the epicentre of the original blast…
While the primary impact appears to have been to create spatial distortion, there was some weaker evidence for an effect on local time. On my own short journey, I did feel that time was skipping by small amounts – just a few tens of seconds or a minute or two here and there – but never quite enough to be sure of the effect: I will also admit that my instrumentation (the clock built into a Ford Fiesta) was not ideal for taking precision readings. When, oh when, will the car manufacturers listen to my pleas and produce a car with a decent atomic clock (and, indeed, engine) to properly measure relativistic effects? However, the political complexion of the local area does suggest that ideas from the past (including the distant past) may be leaking through into the present day. I would not be wholly surprised to encounter a Megaloceros wandering the Bishopstoke Woods, living on a diet of leaves and discarded takeaways…
I suppose some readers my question my veracity as a source, though regular readers will be aware that GofaDM is a beacon of truth and journalistic integrity in these de-based times. In the interests of full disclosure, I will admit that my own body is currently a battlefield between a cold virus, that has been working its way through my friendship group, and the plucky T- and B-cells of my immune system. The forces are evenly matched, with neither side yet able to achieve a decisive victory. Vicious fighting is now occurring house-to-house (or cell-to-cell) and, at this moment, the good guys appear to be in the ascendant. I think the virus may have been so shocked by my Terpsichorean grace on the dance floor that it has been forced into retreat. However, I can assure you that this infection was not interfering with my critical faculties or perception. The Bishopstoke spatial anomaly is real, sheeple!
While I know that many will will be tempted, I would caution readers against trying to visit the anomaly themselves. I had the advantage of a local guide, but there were still times when I felt that we might become trapped forever in the liminal space between our universe and somewhere else. If you insist on making the voyage, I might suggest setting up a base of operations at the Steam Town Brewery which lies at the edge of the abyss and fortify your spirits with a pint of their excellent Road Trip (as a stranger, they may try and sell you something calling itself Hop Party – but you will know better). For the price of a carry-out (or two), you may even be able to procure the services of a local guide…
Those with access to Google may complain that Bishopstoke is in the SO50 postcode area and dispute the validity of the title to his post. I would counter that this is merely further evidence to support my spatial disruption hypothesis and how deep the cover-up runs!