There’s still no word from Alison. This is most perturbing. I’ve emailed her and texted her, but don’t want to go much further in case she’s gone away for a long weekend and it looks like I’ve started stalking her in her brief absence. (But then why would she go away for a long weekend without telling me? I only spoke to her last week). Due to the way we met – in a bar where we were attending two different birthday parties which collided – it’s not like we share common mates who I can ask about her. I’ve met some of her friends, but don’t have mobile numbers for them myself. I can maybe dig out an email address for one or two, but wouldn’t dropping a line at this point seem panicky and almost obsessive? But maybe something has happened. I’ll see how the week goes.
I had another dream last night – this time the Oxford Street one. I’m stood about a hundred yards down from Oxford Circus itself – I think last night I was stood there just in my dressing gown – when suddenly there’s this ferocious roar. I wouldn’t say that the sound is like one made by an animal, but ‘roar’ is the only word I can think of that really covers it. It’s a combination of a boom and a growl, as if some close by explosion is ploughing its way into the earth. Then there’s a huge gust of wind, like the air being sucked up by that dreadful sound. For a second I’m literally torn from the pavement, hanging there in mid-air as the remnants of that noise buzzes past me. Then, as quieter normality tentatively reasserts itself, I’m dropped to the concrete but now all around is screaming. There are terrified cries from hundreds, if not thousands, of people.
I sleep at night, but wake up exhausted.
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