meglycinessnip As the markets got conned by the Deutsche Desperadoes, floating aliens infested Peruvian gas stations of the Bloomsbury persuasion, multi-species sex orgies took place at Sloggers’ Roost, and a new apéritif with which to bamboozle your guests was invented. It was a normal kinda day.

In Peru, it seems, a floating alien spacecraft ‘with teleportation capabilities’ has been seen hovering and generally disturbing the life of peaceful residents in a remote area. The report goes on to say that ‘the gas station workers requested protection after the incident, and went on to accuse the Peruvian government of masking the presence of alien beings with a “perverse pyramidal power structure that keeps the ‘sleeping’ humanity controlled by a voracious consumer society.”

I don’t know about you and your experiences of blokes who work in First World gas stations, but I’ve yet to meet one who uses that kind of syntax. In the days when I had a regular filling station near me in London, the conversation rarely rose above Eastenders, last night’s footie results, and how much they’d like to give one to that but I mustn’t go further as this is a family column.

If this really is how Peruvian gas-pumpers speak, then we clearly have a lot to learn from their education system. You never know, perhaps hairdressers down there say, “Have you ever noticed how the superficial reflation of the crypto-capitalist economy in post-Soviet Russia is a quintessential example of the second stage dialectic in action – and perhaps demonstrates a resurgence in the bitter debate between Stalin, Lenin and Trotsky about the withering institutions of Tsarist repression?”

I’m also fascinated by how people who can spot teleportation capabilities in a trice wind up as gas station attendants. Does the Times of Lima, for example, carry situations vacant ads that read:

“WANTED: Redundant teleportation research engineers skilled in the art of automobile refueling and philosophy. Preference will be given to candidates with a thorough knowledge of Kant, Hegel, Wittgenstein, Descartes, Thomas Aquinas, Aristotle, Werner Von Braun, Black Holes, Worm Holes, Andy Warhols and the Buddhist state of Now.”

Nobody knows this, but ‘Peruvian Pipes’ is an anagram of Pepi Venus Pair. I believe I am the first person to have decoded this obvious message. You are not worthy.

I realise that, at times, my nature discoveries must sound like a sort of French rural version of a 24/7 live porn channel…..what with OAP doves, coypus, flies and every other life form constantly at it down here. But it is the way of the world to be fecund.

Today for instance – on my way from the car to the fridge after doing some shopping – I had to take evasive action to avoid two dragonflies humping in mid air.

I’ve never seen anything like it: this wasn’t so much Shakespeare’s Beast with Two Backs as A Copiously Copulating Couple of Mile High Drunks. The activity was so furious, I felt like stepping into the ring and shouting “Break!”

There is on major exception to all this sex mania on the property, and it is I. But as a smart philosopher (me) once wrote, “The fun is in the chase. The consequences are a result of not being chaste”.

Today I have been mainly harvesting grapes. They are for eating rather than mind-altering, and I have to say that – despite the very odd weather this year – they’ve turned out better than expected.

Here’s an idea with which to hold your newly arrived dinner guests spellbound before serving the Caelacanth caviar and suckling Panda courses.

Blitz some eating grapes, strain off the skins and pips, lace the residue with Stolichnaya vodka, put the mixture into a cocktail shaker with crushed ice, shake vigorously, serve into a champagne flute and then gently pour Cassis de Dijon into each glass.

Trust me, your guests will be spellbound. They will be legless, shitted of the face and arse over tit pissed. They will praise your caviar and Panda to the rooftops, remaining unaware that they’re eating cod roe and warthog. They will toast you in that Valpolicella you carefully poured into bottles marked Bouchard Père et Fils Vosne Romanée 2005. And most important of all, they will describe the evening as “historic”.

Earlier at The Slog: How Deutsche Bank conned investors with false “news”