Well. My day certainly started interestingly. I woke up in the middle of a field, dressed in nothing but a spacesuit, the taste of blood in my mouth and lying on a rather garishly decorated surfboard. Bearing in mind that I live in the north of England, near Newcastle. It rains all the time. In fact, it snowed in April the other week, just to put it into context.
On the day I woke up in the spacesuit, with blood in my teeth and the surfboard, the sun was shining brightly and I could see lemon trees in the distance. Toto, I am not in Gateshead any more.
And before anyone says it, this isn’t some Hangover situation. I remember everything I was doing the night before. I was in the Rose and Crown with Shaun and Peter, then we went to the Winchester for karaoke night. Carla sang… something. Amazingly, whatever it was. I sang This Love by Maroon Five and I was not good. In fact, I was terrible. But everyone laughed and we had a great time. I mean, I was in bed by ten. Of course, as embarrassing as this is, last time I checked I was in my Superman pajamas playing Assassin’s Creed before closing my eyes.
Then I woke up in my field. In my spacesuit. With my surfboard. I am now claiming it as my own as I’ve been lying on it for at least ten minutes and nobody’s come to claim it.
‘Scusami?’ I groaned as an elderly woman wandered towards me, leaning on a stick as she spoke. ‘Alieno?’ Even me with my non-existent Italian, I knew what she was getting at.
‘No, no. I’m not an Alien.’ I climbed to my feet, slowly. She took a shaky step back, before I finally figured out how to take the damn helmet off. ‘I’m from England.’
‘Eh, practically alieno.’ She grinned, wrinkles tugging at her lips to expose missing teeth. ‘How drunk were you last night?’ She spoke with a heavy accent, words flowing out of her like she was spitting at me. ‘Come to the house. We’ll fix you up. Looks like you were drinking red. We’ll show you real Italian drinking.’
‘I’m in Italy?’ She nodded, frantically with a gleeful smile. ‘Fuck.’
The Idiot in Tin Foil