Bank Holiday Morning.

It’s Bank Holiday in the UK. He who says the Christians did naught for us has no calendar. I completely forgot that this fine grey morning. Went to bed at a reasonable time, got up with my alarm, ate, washed, dressed, bitched, got out of the house.

Train station: no free paper. Strange. I guess the delivery is late. Advance through barriers. Not many people, and it’s half past. there’s usually loads of the bastard things around. Ten feet into the tunnel. Empty, save one distant bloke. This is uncanny.

‘Hang on,’ say I to me, ‘I have the faintest idea I know what’s going on here. There’s been a lot of mention of bank holidays around, right?’

‘You’re probably fabricating these memories from the shards of a thousand others, but yes.’

‘I have a cunning plan.’

‘You’ll be late.’

‘Technically, I can’t be. Flexitime is a fantastic invention.’

‘All time is flexible. See flat 3-D space.’

‘How clever you are. Shut up and follow.’

Back home, congratulate myself on investing in expensive computer that boots to desktop in seconds. Search. Bank holiday is today.

‘Are you sure?’

‘It’s there in front of you.’

‘What if it’s lying?’

‘It’s a government website, why would it lie?’

‘I don’t know, we should torture one of them to find out. In the meantime, if it is a lie and you inadvertently take a day off work, apropos of nothing, someone’s going to be unhappy and worse yet you’ll fall behind. These deadlines aren’t getting any slighter.’

‘Did you see the tunnel?’


‘How many people were in that tunnel?’

‘One male human approximately one hundred meters away.’

‘Was he going to work?’

‘Unable to answer satisfactorily: I do not know the person nor his precise circumstances at 8:30 on a Monday morning on the 31st of August.’

‘But given the lack of people rushing headlong into an underground cattle cart as if it were handing out free orgasms and beer, alongside the present evidence before you, would you say that it is a reasonable conclusion to suggest that today is, in fact, a bank holiday?’

‘Given the evidence, yes.’

‘And this not some sort of highly improbable truman-show-esque mind-fuck wherein the world conspires to show you for a fool who did not ride the subterranean beer-and-orgasm cattle cart to work, and who did not ignore the website that told him that he could take a deep breath, oh-what-a-ninny?’

‘’If you’ve eliminated all other possibilities whatever remains must be the truth,’ so the saying goes.’

‘So you believe what you see?’

‘Only as far I can throw it.’

‘It will do. The cat is wet and screaming. If work want you they can call you. Where’s the towel?’


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