Walking to the tube station this morning in the rain, it occurred to me that I'd feel rather happy if life was found on another planet. I also picked up an earthworm. Man, it was squiggly. It is as much an aliens I guess as anything. Then I wondered why I felt this way..Silly little mind of mine...

They could for example, be dangerous, infect us and kill us - perhaps without the intention to.

If I was writing about an expert, secretive government agent, in the first person - I'd probably start this:

The girl at the video store said that she would give me film recommendations.

Look, that's nice. My paranoia is playing up - thinking about it now - I don't need anything from anybody, let alone film recommendations. A gift of dependency is not a gift. Depending on other people, God knows, I know - you can't avoid it: The milk man who I run past in the early hours of the morning, you depend on him, you even depend on the fact that the milk he delivers isn't going to kill you.

You depend on the little green man, crossing the street, that no car will skip that red light and run you over - you know, you only die once. You hope that 'they' will follow the rules. You depend on that member of the public to come to your aid if you're someway held up in a store by criminals trying to rob the place.