Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Delirium

Contending with a 100-plus temperature for seven consecutive days is quite consuming. One morning, I am typically jolted awake from sweaty and nightmare-filled slumber a little before sun up, and I shuffle from my room to get some of the Elixir of Lemsip Max I have in the kitchen. I am shivering and dizzy and it is still pretty dark, but as I pass the front door I make out the orange of Trevor’s ears through the frosted glass as he sits on the doorstep. Trevor looks slightly surprised to see the door open for him a good couple of hours earlier than he’s used to, and as I wait for him to go through his routine of various stretches I myself am surprised to see a strange car parked on our neighbours’ drive with its parking lights on. I check my watch in the gloom. 5.50. That is odd.

As I close the door after Trevor, a man’s shape suddenly looms on the other side of the glass and begins pressing against the centre of the door. My stomach lurches in fear and surprise, and I throw my weight against the door, scraping the skin off my knuckles in the process. In my panic, I can’t quite work out whether the door is on it's catch and properly shut now or if I really do need to keep my weight up against it. I don’t particularly want to trust my instinct that it is closed and take a step back, only to have the madman who is running around outside at 6am push the door open and deftly stab me. He is still clearly there, in his bloody baseball cap, fumbling against my door as I lean hard against, trying to calculate how much longer I can continue with this physical exertion before I collapse.

Just then, a newspaper squeezes through the letterbox by my waist, and the paperman goes on his way.

9 comments:

Sister Bridget said...

Well at least it sounds like Trevor has learnt how to behave himself! Although he wasn't much use protecting you from the evil postman!

fwengebola said...

You have your papers delivered? Are you the Duke of Westminister?

Sister Louise said...

Must be a freebie. Most paper delivery services have died a death now with the invention of the minimum wage and the internet. I used to work in news distribution hence the useless knowledge.

Huw said...

SL: It was the Independent actually. I suppose the fact that it seems to be delivered by a man in a car rather than a boy on a bike shows times are changing though.

fwenge: My neighbours get the paper delivered too! He did used to work for IBM though, so I reckon he's got some pennies stashed.

Curly said...

I hope you're feeling better mate.

It can be scary when you're ill like that and your mind starts playing tricks on you.

Knuckles will heal quickly, but ensure you re-tell the story as often as possible before they disappear and no-one believes you anymore.

deanne said...

Uggghhh bummer you have The Lurgy too? I just recovered, and mostly I'm now just full of incredibly green snot.

Tim-tambolini said...

Tee hee. That's funny.q

Kerstin said...

Postman can't be trusted. It's a known fact. You did the right thing. Carry on.

Will said...

Lemsip Max side effects: intense paranoia. I'll remember that next time I go tripping on cough medicine at Alton Towers.