Au Secours – Moi Sortir d’Ici!

I had an accident and woke up in 2012 .  Now if I can figure out a way to get back home, maybe I can start to get my life back together again.  I have found that my brain was deeply affected by the trauma…and I keep speaking in French, then English and then back to French, to the point where I start to sound like a pretentious twat.  And I’m surrounded by other English twats all trying to speak French, but hindered by the genetic inflexibility of our orbicularis oris muscles. [Yes, Google it – I did!].  Another clue to my whereabouts was the cute guy who seemingly attached his vehicle to mine, bumper to bumper, for an endless amount of time on my first day here… I looked adoringly at him and he looked back nonchalantly waving his fist at me!  Oh how silly of me:  In my confused state I was idling along at 100mph… no wonder he was vexed!  So here I am, driving faster than my brain can manage and with the unusual aroma of garlic and goose fat wafting in my face…  hoping that I’ll be able to pull over for a cup of tea and a sticky bun at some time soon.  But in the meantime, in the time honored tradition of those intrepid explorers of yore (yes, as long ago as that!), I have left a trail of fruit cake crumbs for any interested search parties … I don’t know where the trail started, but at least I should be able to make my way back there.

I really have to get back to Blighty:  There’s a cup of tea and a Hob Knob waiting for me on a shelf  in a soup kitchen, somewhere in my future. Not to mention the potential to fulfill a life of random idleness…as I browse the charity shops, 99p shops and Weatherspoons pubs of London once more, in search of bargains!  Isn’t it funny how we all long so much for adventure, a change from our humdrum lives, and when it comes we revert to that great British past-time of complaining… Or as my Great Aunt Fanny referred to it, “simply informing people that they aren’t doing things the proper way!”

I am coping, but I need to get to the bottom of this mystery of  just how I arrived here and, more importantly, where exactly I am!  Of course, there may be a profound reason for my being here, and when I find that out I’m going to kick the arse of whoever thought this would be a good test of endurance!   In the meantime, I have contacted a podiatrist here who is going to attempt to replace my feet with coiled springs so that I can hop over the English Channel (ou, La Manche) and see my shrink.  Who knows, it could all go terribly wrong and I could end up stuck here forever,  avec (oh merde) only être proficient in un bilingue parlance.  Can you hear me Sam?

{Camera pans across a foggy landscape of hills and valleys, and lots of trees.  The road in the foreground is brought into focus now and  a lone man, wearing a beret ,  rides by on his bicycle.  Cut to a walnut orchard, trees set in military like formation, and camera slowly zooms in on a woman standing alone among the trees, in a hospital gown, staring out at the endless vista.  

Woman: “Am I dead or just dreaming?  And.. is there anyone out there who can hear me and thinks they might be in the same dream as me?   If so, you need help too…… but I can’t help you!”  

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