Conspiracy Theory

I love conspiracy theorists. I want to believe they say. Well, Mr Mulder, I am your arch nemesis. Professor Moriarty to your Holmes. The Joker to your Batman. The Roquefort to your Edam.

Indigo Roth (the big purple one) and I had an idea. Like all ideas it was formed over a drink in the pub. "Conspiracy theories are the new religion", I said as I fell off my bar stool. "Quite right", he replied, helping me back onto my stool, deftly adjusting his waistcoat and flicking his tails over the back of his chair in one fluid motion. "So what shall we do about it?", he continued. "Give 'em something to think about?" we both said together.

We sealed our pact with a drink, my yard of ale clicking against his, his, well something-in-a-glass-with-a-brolly-in-it. He never explained what it was, but sometimes it gave out a puff of bluish smoke. Although that may have been the earlier Chicken Phal.

We started small. All good operations start small. We found a front garden of a house in Basingstoke. It had three gnomes. We started moving them around over intervals of several days. Then we added to them. By the time we finished there were over two hundred and fifty-four of them.  Our best evening was arranging them under the owner's jacked up car, like they were changing a wheel. Made the local paper. I believe the gnomes are still running a Kwik-Fit Tyres place.

Since then it has grown, taking most of our waking hours procuring materials, travelling, building strange structures and getting back in time for the day job. Some are arduous, some are just fun. Crop circles are always fun. You can do them when you're completely out of your face on beer and whisky. Just need to find a field with a decent crop.

The statues on Easter Island were Indigo's design. I said they should be more 'smily', he disagreed. He wanted moody and enigmatic. Maybe he was right. Either way it was bloody hard to get them in place with a old Vauxhall Viva Estate and a set of crowbars. We didn't put out the one with the porkpie hat, as that may have blown the game.

There has been laughter and tears during our times. I remember doing the Mysterious Nazca Lines in Peru. Middle of the night, there we were pushing our wheelbarrows around, lining them up on features in the horizon - got to keep the lines straight I said. Mine got a puncture and started going along all flop, flop flop. Indigo hit a llama, which lay on it's back in his wheelbarrow with all four legs in the air. When you look at the photos taken from the air you can see where we got in trouble. 

Now the Bermuda Triangle is one I really wish we hadn't started. Such a long way to go. My original plan was to have the triangle between Felixstowe, Amsterdam and Gothenburg like the dreadful 1980's British TV series. We settled on Bermuda as one apex mostly because it had much better hotels. The North Sea Triangle would never have been investigated by anyone who didn't want to get freezing cold, wet and miserable. So Bermuda it was.


Getting the crew of the Marie Celeste ashore without anyone noticing was hard. Sailing the ship back out two handed was tiring and once in position we sat down for a really decent fried breakfast and then the radar went bleep. We just got away in our stealth boat on the far side without anyone noticing.


Anyhow, time is getting on and I have a really good mock up of Pandora's Box to finish in my shed. The  llama needs feeding too [why my shed Roth? He'd have fitted under your bed perfectly well]. Indigo will be over later with the mysterious metal bits he cast for Roswell next week.