And they seemed to be proliferating at an alarming rate. The Teutonic prospect was full of them. Logic and rationality were thrown out of the window as the legions of them advanced, ever closer to the autobahn. However fast one drove, and in the days of no autobahn speed limits our driver was ripping up the asphalt, the monsters were inescapable. It was the stuff of childhood nightmares, but it was no dream. The creatures were real.
And now they’re here. They first appeared on the television, comfortingly far away from our cosy rural location in the centre of the landmass. They had obviously mutated and developed sea legs. There they stood off the shore line. Seemingly permanent and unmoving. A multitude of malevolent now sea monsters putting down their anchors and laying siege to our coasts without ever being able to quite make landfall. This island race of Churchillian we-shall-never-surrender-ness had halted their progress and an uneasy truce had clearly been made in the corridors of Whitehall. We would tolerate them if they wouldn’t harm us.
It was never going to be enough and they must have made land one dark night and begun to reproduce like wildfire once more. They have marched inexorably across our green and verdant land. They have indeed invaded our own dear region. They have colonized hilltops in Suffolk, the vast expanse of the black soiled Fens and there are even some brazen enough to be visible in great numbers by the side of the A11 near Six Mile Bottom. They stand their, blinking. One day they will receive the signal and attack.
I’m terrified of them. For though they may only be wind farm turbines to most people to me they’ll always be Martian invaders.