Blood test

Yesterday I visited the nurse for a blood test. We had the usual red herring chat while she took the blood, and all seemed well. But moments later the weight of my head felt oddly unmanageable, like an orange on a toothpick. And then I was unconscious. 

I had a dream. It was a momentous and galvanising dream that lasted forever and ever and answered many of life's most frequently asked questions. I can't remember any of it.

I woke up staring at an abstract shape. I knew neither who or where I was, nor what or if I was. The nurse was patting my back. The abstract shape was my foot.

I sat there for quite a while sipping water while she listed some instructions. She said it was very important that I eat something right away:

"When you leave here I want you to go straight to one of the coffee shops at Notting Hill Gate. Buy yourself something to eat — a muffin and a coffee, whatever."

Hold on a second, I thought. I didn't want to get any part of this wrong.

Are you prescribing that I treat myself?

Orange. mocha. frappuccino!