So, when I arrived home last night my wife was itching to tell me this story. A colleague she works with, who is all sorts of wonderful and amazing and who unfortunately through no fault of his own has found himself short of a job, this perhaps is another story I may dwell upon. Anyway the gentleman in question, whom I have never had the pleasure to meet is described to me as the most loveable, studious and polite Frenchman, this has endeared him greatly to my wife, he has perhaps a hint of Hercule Poirot about him for wont of a better description. On Friday the 21/12/2012 he is making his journey back to France to see his family for Christmas, and this is where the trouble begins. For Friday as many remaining Mayans and the rest of us are aware is crunch time for the world, and poor ‘Alain’ – said Frenchman has found himself in the centre of it all, quite literally. Alain comes from a small part of France entitled Bugarach and for some reason a rather eclectic group of believers has decided that Alain’s home turf has become a crux for the unravelling of this end-of-the-world Mayan prophecy, much to his anger and frustration, “I am very angry” he exclaimed to my wife.
The mountain which lives at the heart of Alain’s difficulty is believed to be one area that will be saved form apocalyptic devastation. It bears a passing resemblance to the feverishly sculpted potato creation of Richard Dreyfuss from ‘Close Encounters of The Third Kind‘, and, believe it or not is understood to hold within its deepest bowels a mothership.
Okay, so if that wasn’t enough to contend with. This belief is so widespread that poor Alain’s home town is now being descended upon by a potential and perhaps exaggerated estimate of up to half a million people, the result of which means the police have shut a number of roads in the local vicinity and to Alain’s exasperation three of them are the roads that separate him, his brother and his father from their respective houses. For on this unfortunate day chosen by Alain to make his return for Christmas the earnest believers will stand at the base of the mountain and wait for a number of the smaller ‘flying bowls’ (perhaps lost in its direct translation) to descend upon the mountain, wake up the mothership which will then transport on board the all believing local contingent and perhaps mistakenly some very unwitting, somewhat angry and bemused French persons, at which point it will head for the stars leaving the rest of us unbelievers to enjoy Christmas.
Unbelievable as all this may all seem, I do find myself worrying, what will happen to those poor souls who have travelled half the earth to be sucked up into the apparent safety of the mothership, and find themselves twiddling their thumbs and polishing their crystals the next morning? Or perhaps I should be more worried about the survival and sanity of humanity if it is all true and these poor deluded souls are the only ones left carrying the torch?
Merry Christmas to one and all.