|Adjusting the levels before the London tourist season - the dome slips occasionally during Winter|
I spent last night in New York and flew back this morning.
According to my brain.
All that I did there was to leave. While wandering around the top level of a six-storey car-park which had only two cars parked on it a 1993 BMW 7-Series saloon in gunmetal grey drove up and a chap that I used to work with in about that era leapt out. He was wearing a military-green "bat suit" - the sort with webs between the torso and the arms and legs that help extreme sports twerps fly like birds. He was about to base-jump (from all of six storeys up) and I had to strap his parachute on for him before the authorities arrived.
I didn't actually see him jump because then my flight arrived (on top of the car-park roof where I was standing); a fully-chromed Douglas DC-3 (might have been a Dakota - I'm no expert on foreign aircraft) but with two sets of wings (these only in RAF blue), one set behind the other, and the jet engines from a Victor "V-Bomber". Boarding was immediate but the moment we took off I knew there was a problem because we were skimming low over the water of the harbour, barely managing to clear the concrete break-waters of the docks, at about twenty feet altitude. I'd left the base-jumper's large silver cup trophy on the forward wing of the aircraft and it had been sucked into an engine on the rearward wing!
Then I woke up.
Analysis on a postcard or a commment please.
No, really - please! I need to know what the heck that was all about.
|Storm clouds gather over the Palace of Westminstering while my chromed Douglas DC-3 circles preparatory to landing, probably on The Mall or Horseguards Parade.|
On a side-note, I am writing this enbloginatrix entry using my trusty laptop, sitting at my usual desk in the usual room, in the usual manner. Nothing has been re-arranged. The cleaners have not been in. Why then, am I convinced that the Sun came over the horizon about ten degrees northing of where it did yesterday? Not an "oh you're just marking it by the wrong tree" or "you're just sitting slightly differently to usual" but in a wildly different place? I'm not the world's most demonstrably solid definition of sane and sensible, but I am tuned in to the spins and flexings of the universe. I hug trees. I hug dogs. I occasionally even feed the sister's cats if she's out and they're persistent. I know one end of a screwdriver from the other. I can find my way around a lot of England without recourse to a map and compass. My breakfast included no alcohol. Why then, was today's sun presented to me out of place?
A blip in the Matrix?
A re-setting of my memory by some organic software routine doing housekeeping following a nasty accident with a base-jumper and an art-deco Douglas DC-3 overnight?
A land-slide mayhap that has moved Owl Towers one pace to the left, or something?
Father Nature skipping a few days in order to get in step again with Old Mother Time?
It really is most disconcerting - and fascinating, to me (only) - when my world-view hiccoughs.
It forces me to have serious conversations with myself in re the mental health of everyone else (and re-defining standards so that I am comfortable again and the world is even more barking).
I need to question my sanity. Miss Moneypenny? I think there may be a blocked drain in my head. Kindly get me a sanity-engineer on the telephone immediately.
Normal service will, like as not, never be resumed.
If I see a seagull flying backwards I'm going to ring for lunch early and then retire to the cellar with a greaseproof-paper packet of sandwiches, a sturdy dog and a hard-hat to await developments.