Gibber’s Creek Gazette, 12 November 1975
. . . and in the chambers of parliament, where tonight there should have been debate, there is only silence.
MRS WEAVER
Such a lovely evening! The aliens had loved her scones. She always did have a light hand with scones. And her strawberry jam, the first she’d made this season, and cream from Daisy.
The aliens had sat on her veranda and watched Bounce and all the other joeys, who had now grown into kangaroos, loping along from tussock to tussock with no sign of injury or weakness from being orphaned. The aliens had been impressed with that, for some reason, though Mrs Weaver had told them it was just good care and love.
Sometimes she wondered what had happened to that first alien, the nice one who’d repaired her house so kindly.
She and Reg had been the aliens once. People called them ‘reffos’, even with Warvinski changed to Weaver, and Reynaldo to Reg. Last night’s aliens didn’t look like that young man. Quite human, he had been, though of course that was probably a disguise. These aliens hadn’t told her what they’d come for, but they’d seemed happy when they left. She’d given them a parcel of scones and a pot of apricot jam.
It had been a lovely night. And now another election. She’d make scones for the meetings that always came with elections. You couldn’t have a good meeting without supper, and you couldn’t have a good supper without fresh scones.
Mrs Weaver, née Warvinski, would enjoy that too.