The vehicle landed at 15.47 GMT, just over a mile from Kimmeridge, on the south coast of England. ‘Just in time for tea?’ murmured my companion, as we climbed through the long grass, insects rising in the summer air. There, already sitting on the ground, were the three extraterrestrials. As we joined them, I asked, ‘Would you like some water?’ ‘Or perhaps something stronger?’ suggested my companion. ‘Thank you’, came the grave reply. ‘We ourselves are thirsty, on such a warm day. And maybe something for our plants?’ The chlorophyll of the alien species blended well with the surrounding vegetation, its flowers a deep purple. When our visitor picked up one of the pots, it slipped and in catching it he grazed his finger. Red blood oozed to the surface. ‘Haemoglobin, I suppose?’ They nodded. Our hands clasped, both warm to the touch. It seemed superfluous to ask, but the beating of a vein hinted at the inevitable dual circulation system and arteries with their elastic proteins. One of them sniffed the air appreciatively; the world smelt beautiful as their and our nasal glomeruli registered the olfactory signals. As the swallows screamed overhead, the minute hairs in our ears and the auditory equivalents of the extraterrestrials acted in the same way, transducing the sound into a register of inner music. ‘Observe the pointed wings of those flying animals – swallows, did you say? – clearly migrants, just as at home.’ We strolled slowly back down the hill, towards the sea.