Not Aliens

By Derek Proops

Agony Uncle

3 min read 7 June 2026

Extraterrestrial Encounter

Dear Derek, I'm not usually one to write into papers to get advice, and I want to be clear from the outset that I am a rational person. I have a degree. I work in IT. I do not own any crystals. I am telling you this because what I am about to describe is going to sound like exactly the sort of thing someone who owns crystals would say, and I need you to understand that it isn't. Three weeks ago I was walking in St Peter's Park in Ramsgate. It was a Tuesday afternoon, around half two. Clear day, not many people about. I was trying to clear my head after a difficult meeting. The first thing I noticed was the birds. There were quite a lot of birds in the trees to my left — pigeons mostly, a few starlings — and they all left at exactly the same moment. Not gradually. All at once. In my experience birds don't do that unless something's disturbed them. I looked around but couldn't see anything. Then there was a sound. I can only describe it as a low hum, not mechanical exactly, more like the sound a very large electrical transformer makes when you stand near it, but with a quality to it I can't quite articulate. It lasted perhaps fifteen seconds and then stopped. I'm not sure how much time passed after that. I looked at my phone afterwards and it said 2:47, which seemed later than I expected. I don't know if that's relevant. When I looked up from my phone there was a man standing at the far end of the path, perhaps 150 metres away. He was very still. He was wearing what I can only describe as a very shiny jacket. He looked at me — I'm certain he looked directly at me — and then he simply wasn't there anymore. I didn't see him walk away. I didn't see him go behind a tree. He was there and then he wasn't. I walked to where he'd been standing. On the path there was a single crisp packet that hadn't been there before. It was a flavour I didn't recognise. I still have it. The writing on it is in English but the flavour is called "Consensus." I have never seen this flavour before. I have checked every major crisp brand online. It does not exist. I went home. That evening my television turned itself on twice. I have a smart TV but I checked and there was no scheduled programme. Both times it turned on it was showing static. I don't have any channels that show static. I didn't know that was still possible. Derek, I have thought about this every day for three weeks. I've spoken to the police, who were not helpful. I haven't told my friends or family because I know how this sounds and I don't want them to worry. I believe I may have witnessed something extraterrestrial in nature. I am not saying this lightly. I have a degree. Expectantly, Bartholomew, 29, Ramsgate

— Bartholomew, 29, Ramsgate

Dear Bartholomew,

You have a degree. Yes. You've mentioned that. I have twenty two years in insurance and three marriages and I can tell you that neither a degree nor lived experience stops a man from absolutely losing the plot on a Tuesday afternoon in a park in Ramsgate.

I'll take your points in order because I'm a methodical person.

The birds. Bartholomew, I grew up in Dudley. Birds do that. A fox sneezes three fields away and every pigeon in the postcode has a collective breakdown. This is not evidence of anything except that pigeons are, and I cannot stress this enough, absolutely mental. They are not a reliable instrument.

The hum. You work in IT. You know what electrical interference sounds like. Ramsgate is a coastal town with infrastructure that was last meaningfully updated when I still had hair. You heard a substation. Or a boat. Or a very committed beekeeper. Move on.

The missing time. Bartholomew. You were trying to clear your head after a difficult meeting. You were miles away. I have lost forty minutes staring at a B&Q car park after a bad afternoon and I have not once considered that aliens were responsible. You were just in your own head, son. It happens.

The man in the shiny jacket who disappeared. Right. I'm going to be generous here and say that 150 metres, looking into whatever the Ramsgate afternoon light was doing, through what I assume were trees, a man in a shiny jacket could very easily step off a path and become invisible in about four seconds. People do not vanish. They just go somewhere you're not looking. This is not a supernatural phenomenon, this is basic geometry.

Now.

The crisps.

I'll be honest with you Bartholomew. I got nothing on the crisps. "Consensus" is not a flavour. I've never heard of it either and I've eaten a lot of crisps in my time including several I've deeply regretted. If you've genuinely checked every major brand and it doesn't exist, that is — and I want to be clear that it pains me to say this — a bit weird.

Send the packet to Walkers. Seriously. Their customer service address is on the website. Say you found it, you can't identify the flavour, could they help. If it's a prototype or a regional thing they'll tell you. If they write back confused, then you have something. Until then you have a crisp packet, which is not evidence of extraterrestrial life, it's evidence that someone had a snack.

The television. Get a new remote. Or a new television. You work in IT. You know smart TVs do inexplicable things constantly for absolutely no reason. My television once recorded forty seven episodes of Bargain Hunt without being asked and I did not conclude that I'd been visited by beings from another dimension. I concluded that the technology was annoying. Which it is.

Here's my overall assessment Bartholomew. You had a strange afternoon, you're a person who notices things and thinks carefully, and your brain has connected some dots in a way that is frankly more interesting than the explanation, which is: birds, substation, daydreaming, shiny jacket, weird crisp, dodgy TV.

You are not crazy. You are not being visited. You are a man in IT who needed a more interesting Tuesday than he got and his brain has helpfully provided one.

Send the crisp packet to Walkers.

Pull yourself together.

Derek

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