I'm remembering this morning in flashbacks: the bright, patterned curtains and the tinkling alarm; the gushing tap; the bootlaces; the blustering green trees against the grey sky; the drizzle against the windscreen and the commuters filing out of the station like lemmings.
I feel like I'm still dreaming. You're supposed to come back from a bank holiday weekend feeling refreshed aren't you? I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open. Friday, strolling down the warm High Street, swinging a bottle of Prosecco, seems like a long time ago.
No, it wasn't like that; I won it at the department quiz for knowing where African countries are.
It seems like an odd reward, now that I think about it. That's often the way with quizzes though, isn't it? Knowing who won Wimbledon in 1991 is somehow worth several hundred pounds on TV, despite it being an essentially worthless piece of trivia.
Maybe I am still asleep and I've constructed all this as some sort of crazy dream? It wouldn't be the first time. After all, I keep getting rung up by people who are adamant I've been in a car accident within the last two years.
"Is it possible that it gave me amnesia?" I asked the last lady on the phone, "Because I simply don't remember it."
She didn't find that funny. I suppose it's possible that call-centre engineers have to go through some sort of humour-vacuum before they're allowed on the phones. We're just two steps away from having conversations with robots, I reckon.
I doubt I'm still dreaming. I don't usually have flashbacks inside a dream - I have a feeling my brain is too simple for that kind of thing. It might know where African countries are, and it might sometimes be stretchy enough to come up with a funny song or two, but mostly it just reprocesses old memories at night-time like a silent cinema of snapshots from the past. Clearly what's happened today is that I've woken up before my brain has.
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