Day 223 to 240

Day 223. So shocked was I by the faces and what I was hearing that I failed to notice the beauty of 222. As those around me blur and the man stops beating my chest I remember how happy 10.22pm on the 22^nd of any month when seen on a 24 hour clock used to make me feel. I hear a voice shouting, “He’s opening his eyes.” Who is?

Day 224. I look at the man who has just removed his mighty fists from my chest. I can feel a dull aching pain where he has been thumping me. His face looks nervous, worried and reminds me of someone. That’s it, I suddenly realise he looks just like Bernard Bresslaw in the scene from Carry on Abroad when he is caught ogling Sally Geeson in a bikini. Oh please god, don’t tell me I have come round in a Carry on Film. Their wooden stances, serious faces and no laughter suggests it could be true.

Day 225. Someone is pushing through the crowd. “Stand back I’m a Doctor.” It’s a great relief to see that it is not Kenneth Williams, Jim Dale or Leslie Phillips. Why is the tune to ‘Bless this House’ going through my head? Of course, Sally Geeson. Oh, and Sid James and Diana Coupland were in it, and that bloke who played the son who no one can remember. The Doctor kneels besides me and adopts the face people do when telling someone they are going to have to put down their pet.

Day 226. He talks to me in the soft voice people use when they are talking to someone they believe is simple or unstable. He is pulls back my eyelids and stares at me. I suddenly shake and he rolls me onto my side where I immediately throw up. I can hear a collective ‘euugh’ from those standing around. As I gasp for air and gather my thoughts I see two shiny boots appear in my eyesight. A voice says, “Now then, what’s going on here?” It has a familiarity, a sort of Jack Warner warmness. Suddenly it comes to me. Robin Stewart played the son in Bless this House.

Day 227. The Doctor is lifting me to my feet with the help of the Policeman. Slowly they walk me across the beach to a car. A blanket is thrown across my shoulders and it is then that I realise I have been shivering with the cold. One of the bystanders has gathered the clothes from the beach and hand them to the Policeman. “These are his,” she says. I want to explain that they are not but it seems too complicated and also I have the theme tune to Bless this House running through my head. Da da da da da da dah, Da da da da da da dah da da da. Wait a minute, that’s ‘Please Sir’.

Day 228. I am placed carefully into the back of an ambulance. The man who said he was a Doctor gets in with me carrying the bundle of clothes that were found on the beach. I try to speak, to tell him they are not mine, but just a rasping noise comes out. “Calm down old boy, calm down,” he says “There will be plenty of time to talk soon.’ The phrase ‘old boy’ jars in my mind. One of the ambulance staff places and injection in my arm and I slowly drift off thinking of Norman Potter and Doris ‘Rotten’ Ewell.

Day 229. A very kind gentleman is talking to me. As I slowly attune to his voice I realise he is asking me why I tried to drown myself. This is going to be hard to explain. I start by telling him that the clothes were not mine and that I have never seen the people in the photo. Another man comes into the room and leans into the gentleman by the bed. I hear him say “classic denial I’m afraid. This could take some time.”

Day 230. I am going through it very slowly as the gentleman by the bed takes notes. I have explained about being on the island, about trying to escape, about being kept in a room, about time travelling through the Time Transition Vortex Junction with Charlie. I left out the bit about being Marilyn Monroe because I don’t want to sound mad. Then I explained about being back on the island. Seeing the man in the sea and swimming out to rescue me. He looks at me with the kind of expression Peter Purves had when humouring John Noakes.

Day 231. I have been left to sleep. Clearly they do not believe my story. Every time I wake up I am asked the same questions and shown the same photo that I found in his wallet. I have now seen it so often that I am beginning to recognise them. I have to remind myself that I know them through the picture and nothing else. In my downtown I re-run old editions of ‘All Gas and Gaiters and pretend I am Robertson Hare. Oh calamity

Day 232. I have been taken to a new room. A rather kind woman sits opposite me. In front of her she has a spiral bound book which is propped us so it faces me. She is talking to me in a very slow way and I want to shout out at her that I am not stupid but I don't think it will help matters. She has asked me to say the first thing I see when she flicks over the first page. I prepare myself as she lifts the cover. I speak immediately. "I see the first page of the classic Rorschach test to help determine my mental state." She looks both disappointed and angry so I add, "oh and a rabbit with a knife."

Day 233. She is clearly tense with my answers. The only way for me to win this is to play the game. A game I believe to be akin to 'mental chess'. She stares at me and the silence tells me it's my move. I get up from my chair and lift the standard lamp in the corner to the middle of the room. In my head two thoughts - Knight to King's Bishop 3 and, who decided that this lamp would be the 'standard' ? Does it make table lamps feel short?

Day 234. Love the progression of the day but it would appear that my moving of the lamp has backfired and she is back to asking questions. "What upsets you?" She asks in the sort of caring voice that equates to nails being scratched down a chalkboard in my head. "Really tough meat," I reply, thinking - chew on that. This is not going well for one of us

Day 235. I hear her sigh. Finally she looks up. “What is the earliest time you remember,” she asks. “00.01,” I respond. “Pardon?” she says. “The earliest time I remember is one minute past midnight. 12.01am if you like,” I explain. Finally she smiles and starts to write frantically. Suddenly she shoots a question at me. “When did you first think you were the chosen one?”

Day 236. “What?” I stammer at her. She repeats tonelessly, “When did you first think you were the chosen one?” “What on earth do you mean?” I ask genuinely perplexed. “The time you chose,” she states, “It’s obvious. Just think about. 12.01am.” I sit in silence. Is she incredibly clever or am I being stupid

Day 237. After a silence that seems like an eternity my brain finally gives up on the puzzle. I don’t like losing but I have to ask. Her smug face signals that she knows she has won this round. Slowly she speaks. “12.01am. The significance of twelve clear, it is the number of the disciples, the one in relation is obvious. The one, when written, also represents the letter ‘I’ and so the end is ‘I AM’. I will ask you again. When did you first think you were the chosen one?”

Day 238. "My god," I shouted. "That's absurd. You asked me something like, 'what's the earliest time I could remember?' and I said it's one minute after midnight which is true. How you could come up with all that psycho babble about me believing I was the 'chosen one' is beyond me. She looks straight at me, smiles and then quietly says "thank you." The door to the room opens and a man in a blue suit and a police woman in uniform walk in.

Day 239. The man in the blue suit turns to the woman sitting in front of me and asks "So is he ok to be interviewed?" The woman smiles at me, "Oh yes. I gave him the perfect chance to claim diminished responsibility but he didn't take hit. He knows what he's doing and," she stares at me hard, "what he's done." She rises and the man and police woman sit down opposite me. What have I done? "If this is about me interfering with the space time continuum then I can only apologise," I offer.

Day 240. “I am Detective Chief Inspector Books and this is DI Ternep.” Before I could stop myself I had said it. “Wow, that’s a turn up for the books.” “Heard it before,” said the rather bored looking woman.” “Now Ternep,” said DCI Books, “Read him his rights.” As the words I had heard so often in TV crime dramas were spoken I began to realise that this was serious, they were not play acting. They obviously believe I have done something and, as he was a DCI, something serious. “Wait a minute,” I shouted, ‘What are you accusing me of?”