Droning on...and on...and on...and on...and on...
Lies, Lies, and more damned lies...
HAMISH DIXON'S DIARY
Sunday, March 28, 2004

IN AND OUT OF THE BIN

Things are a bit of blur since my last entry.

I woke up a few days ago (Thursday, I suppose) to find myself surrounded by people I didn't know in white coats, who cooed sympathetically and talked to me in the third person singular or first person plural.

"Will Hamish be wanting a drink?" they'd ask, offering a cup with a straw, or "How are we today, then?"

When I tried to swat them away I found I was trussed like a chicken in an old-fashioned strait-jacket.

"It's for our own good," said a burly male nurse.

Dolores had had me carted off to a looney bin, I realized.

The disconcerting thing was, I couldn't tell if she had been justified. As I said, everything was a blur.

But she couldn't persuade them to keep me.

Apparently I'm not seen as a threat. So they gave me these little pills which go wonderfully with whisky, and sent me on my way.

For the time being I am going round in a benevolent haze, but it's clear Dolores is terrified of what might happen if I stop taking the medication.

Well, it's only a matter of time before we all find out, isn't it?



and on...and on...and on...and on

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