The tale that began with the novella Report on Sample 717, then continued with After The Lady Lord (as advertised in the sidebar and available in print and digital formats on Amazon sites worldwide) will continue and will be modified and will eventually appear as a full length novel, surely destined to become a timeless classic of sci-fi comedy and philosophy and revered for centuries to come on Earth and other planets beyond. And you get the sneak previews here on this blog. I do suggest purchasing the first two novellas in their original and printed form for their long-term investment and historical value, if nothing else.
Chapter 47 of the combined version, after the ending of After The Lady Lord, begins thus:
A bleak Winter came and went, with Edrig living reasonably contentedly in the emergency refuge for the homeless. He persisted with his policy of just telling the truth whenever any fellow residents or anyone else that he met asked him about his life. And so he became widely known as ‘The man from another planet’, although the title was invariably said with a smile and a shake of the head or a sneer.
He would stand looking out at the grey skies of Scotland and might be asked, ‘Ah… what will the weather be like on your own planet today?’, to which he would usually reply, ‘sunny’, often adding, ‘but not with your sun, of course.’
Having found his accommodation rather dirty he had suggested that a role might be found for him in keeping it as clean as possible, as means of repaying, at least partly, for the hospitality that Sample 717’s governmental charity was providing for him.
And so he became the man from another planet who cleaned the floors and the seats and sofas and toilets, and who would also often be found quietly washing pots and pans and cups and plates and cutlery as he gazed out of the window above the sink and admired the tracery of tree branches against the changing 717 sky.
And he would wander the streets quite often, surprisingly discovering that if he sat down by a shop window with a paper cup in front of him people would occasionally drop money into it, sufficient to buy some beer or coffee or a sandwich.
He was dressed in clothes from a charity bin at his lodgings. A thick pair of green corduroy trousers above heavy brown shoes. A loose denim shirt several sizes too big for him and a red sweatshirt that proclaimed ‘NFL 79’ in bright blue letters, for a reason that he was ignorant of. And on top of that he had a blue zip-up jacket that came equipped with a useful hood that could be tucked away and zipped into a little compartment beneath the collar.
And he was dressed in that muddled outfit when he ventured out one late March morning and walked the short distance to sit on the benches of the parkland that they called The South Inch, where he had once sat with Adrig.
He was admiring the multitude of colourful little flowers that surrounded the high trees and enjoying the warmth of the sunshine on his face, while thinking of old Adrig once again rather sadly, when a smartly-suited young man who was accompanied by a rather beautiful young woman walked towards him, then stopped just a few paces from Edrig and gazed at him.
‘Well hello!’ the young man exclaimed.
Edrig looked up and surveyed this man, taking in his short haircut, clean-shaven face, blue open collar shirt beneath a fine dark suit jacket above equally fine suit trousers and smart and well-polished rather pointy black leather shoes. Edrig was rather bemused by this friendly greeting from a man he did not recognise, and a man accompanied by such a beauty with long black hair above a smooth white face atop the most lovely delicate slim body dressed in a tight brown leather jacket and jeans.
He became even more bemused when the young man declared, ‘It’s Edrig isn't it?’
‘Huh?’ was all that Edrig could say.
‘Edrig! Don’t you recognize me?'
‘Huh? What! Adm!'
'Yes!' said Adm, 'It's me. Adm.'