“Eh?” I blink at the screen.
It is all very bizarre. For years, I have been writing my Private Secret Diary at least weekly – yet according to the date on the screen, we have jumped forward in time by ages and ages since I was last here. It is crazy. One minute I am typing away and the next minute I have lost several weeks of history.
Two words flash through my mind. “Time slip.”
I try to make sense of it all, but my brain refuses to respond. It is clear that some sort of wormhole has opened and closed, putting this part of Norfolk in a different time zone. Woah!!! I am a big fan of science fiction, but this is a bit too close to home. I check out of the window to check that the world is not full of strange pyramid structures and ruled by giant ants, but everything seems OK unless they are using some form of docility/obedience implant on my head, like in the TV show ‘the Tripods’.
I check my head in vain. I think I am in the clear. But where has the time gone?
“For Christ’s sake, there are spots all over his arse and legs!” shouts the LTLP, brandishing the Baby at me.
I shoo her away, irritated by her priorities. If the UK really has time-slipped and in the process been invaded by giant ants driving tripods then I am not sure that I completely trust Gordon Brown’s leadership. The Community Bus stops outside the window to pick up one of the old folk. It all seems perfectly normal. But that is what they want you to think.
“Daddy I need a bit of a hand,” calls Child #1, who has been in the toilet for twenty minutes, undertaking her poo.
The Baby toddles over to the cooker and starts turning the gas on and off, on and off.
Things are getting on top of me a little.