Season’s greetings, Earthlings,

I trust that this missive finds you in good spirits, despite the cloud of befuddled confusion that seems to descend on most of you at around this time of year. I blame the climate and the lack of live reptiles in your diet. Were you to nibble on a couple of live vipers now then, you’d certainly have good reason to keep your wits about you during the cold winter months. But I digress.

Things have been quiet here at Bolster and Associates Investigations. As you know, Brent does not subscribe to the general view that this season is brightened up by the exchange of gifts and the consumption of luxurious food and drink. No, he is un affected by the atmosphere of goodwill and bon hommie that so many of you enjoy. Instead, Brent’s mood over the last few weeks is best described as sullen, and he’s much given to casting dark looks and making even darker remarks whenever words such as Christmas or yuletide are mentioned. Indeed, he has taken to hiding himself away at home, where he consumes dangerously large amounts of strong coffee. He’s found a brand of a coffee-like bean that’s drunk on Andel, and since most Andelian foodstuffs have been classified on Earth as biological weapons, he’s playing a dangerous game every time he opens the can. He couldn’t even grind the beans until he bought a suitably heavy hammer. Like many Andelian ingredients, the coffee needs to be stunned before it can be consumed.

I’m afraid you’ll get no yuletide greetings from Brent, but personally, I have come to appreciate many aspects of this season on Earth. On Gloabon, the government-mandated holidays are strictly observed, and everyone stops work early and packs up. In earth units, this extra free time would be the equivalent to approximately four minutes, and we used the time well, converging on the communal baths to take a dip and soak up the lovely glyphoforms that give our skin that lustrous green sheen. It is sad that you Earthlings are so unaware of the microorganisms that inhabit your body. We Gloabons appreciate our microscopic helpers, and as we like to say, you’re never alone with a symbiont.

Once our communal bath time is over, many of us like to relax with a really good spreadsheet. I like nothing better than a nicely filled table of data. And if that data needs a thorough reorganisation, so much the better. I find that humans rarely appreciate this simple pleasure, but then I have seen the cryptic crosswords that some of you revel in, and I know which I prefer. Deliberately omitting words and then disguising them with obtuse clues! Utter madness.

There are other distractions on Earth though, and thanks to my time as a liaison officer, I am fully trained in many of them. I miss the customs I grew up with, but I heartily approve of the human tradition of exchanging gifts. This year I have taken the bold step of purchasing a small token to give to Breamell. It was exceedingly difficult to choose the correct gift, but I’m sure she will appreciate the heated foot spa and massage device, which was built using Gloabon technology by the scientists at GIT. The spa uses AI to assess the mood of its user, and then generates a combination of sounds and smells to create a perfectly relaxing environment. It was designed for humans, but I have a cunning plan. To synthesis a delicious swamp environment, I’m going to add a jar of my own algal slime to the foot spa’s water. With Brent being away from the office, I seized the opportunity to grow a special culture of Gloabon algae in a jar on the window ledge. Judging by the smell, I’d say it’s almost ripe and ready to use, but it hasn’t quite achieved the level of dankness that I require.

I explained all this to the rather officious health inspector who came to call. Apparently, there had been complaints from the neighbours, who claim that the aroma arising from my little jar has been peeling the paint from their walls. So much for the seasonal generosity of my neighbours. I suppose it’s a case of goodwill to all men, but not to all intelligent lifeforms.

“Look at it from my point of view,” I told the inspector. “Gloabons have an exceedingly sensitive sense of smell, and the scent of cloves drives me to distraction, but do I complain when humans start handing out the mulled wine? No, I do not.”

Eventually, the inspector seemed to accept my argument. I believe that the force of my passionate and profound speech on the subject of equality and tolerance had such an emotional impact that it made him re-evaluate his whole reason for being. He was certainly looking a little pale as he left, and the muscles on the left side of his face had developed a noticeable twitch. I expect the moment had overwhelmed him, and I congratulated myself for my contribution to interplanetary understanding. What can I say? I’m a giver; it’s the way my mind works.

We’re all here to make a difference, aren’t we?

Thinking of giving and receiving, I’ve been dropping hints to Breamell for weeks, hoping that she might catch on and get me the gift I want. I’m hoping for pencils. You can’t go wrong with pencils, so long as they’re precisely the right size and shape, the graphite has the correct combination of durability and softness, the balance point is located exactly where I like it, and the eraser on the end has a lifetime guarantee, it’s all good.

Breamell is too practical and thrifty to splurge on a Stylus 5000 (to my mind, the best pencil in the Galaxy) but a Gloabon can dream.

Anyway, it’s time to go and feed my algal culture, so I’ll sign off.

I wish you all the best, and if you are abducted by a Gloabon research team over the holidays, please try not to resist. It only makes it worse. And remember, we didn’t invade, we merely welcomed you into the interplanetary family that is the Gloabon Empire. Besides, I understand that as an exercise in cultural sensitivity, the Gloabon snatch squads will be wearing humorous antlers when they materialise in bedrooms up and down the land, so that’s something to look forward to.

Enjoy your holidays, and if you’re at a loose end for a way to spend the time, I recommend stripping off and jumping into the nearest municipal body of water. There’s nothing like a bit of communal nakedness to foster a spirit of togetherness. It’s perfectly natural, so what could possibly go wrong?

Peace to you all, and may your stapler always be fully loaded,

Rawlgeeb

For those interested in this kind of thing, you can meet Rawlgeeb for free in Dial G for Gravity

books2read.com/dialg