O, call back yesterday, bid time return!

Well said, my Lord Salisbury, well said. I feel for you. Let me admit from the outset that the disastrous results of the day were entirely my fault. You will, I am in no doubt, be on tenterhooks to know the outcome of my prediction that today - Friday - would be the day that Mrs QO reverted to type and opened the icebox in search of bourbon coolant. For those of you who have not followed the current experiment's progress in detail, there is a briefing here.

How bitter is the thought that my prediction was correct, but that by my own thoughtlessness the opportunity was cast away.

I had, during the day, become somewhat distracted by my recent interest in the enduring appeal of Bram Stoker's work for the current generation. Being a long-standing advocate for the oeuvre of that well-known Vampire Slayer, Sarah Michelle Gellar, I thought I'd give her a call to take her views. (I tactfully decided to avoid mention of Scooby-Doo which was, frankly, jejeune, I'm afraid to say.)



Acquiring her phone number was the work of a few moments and a laughably easy Apache exploit on her agent's server. We had an interesting conversation, though I must say I had to carry most of it, her contributions being limited to:

"Who is this?"
"The Quizzical which?"
"How did you get this number?"
"If I have to come over there with my pointy stick, you'll be sorry..."

I gallantly assured her that nothing could be further from the truth, but at that point she terminated the connection.

I was mulling over our enjoyable chat when Mrs QO arrived home.

"What a day. Do you know, since it's Friday, I think I could allow myself a tiny glass of something. Be a poppet and get me some ice, would you?"

Qui s'excuse, s'accuse. I can do no more than state the bare fact that, in my state of distraction, I bent down and opened the icebox door.

There was a blinding flash of light, a noise like that of a mighty wind tearing silk asunder and several sharp impacts upon my person... and then everything went dark.

************

It has taken some little while to type this entry, since my left hand is handcuffed to the hospital bed. Shortly after I came round, a nurse with the face of an angel and unfeasibly beautiful breasts came to attend to me, and explained that two officers of Her Majesty's Constabulary wished to interview me, as did a representative of the local electricity supplier. Seemingly the firing of my home-built MRI (and, I became uneasily aware, the fact that to ensure a steady power supply I had bridged the 30-amp fuse with an old screwdriver) had plunged several of the neighbourhood streets into darkness. It seemed, further, that several of my neighbours wished to visit me to make comment on the same point, particularly since the temperature outside is below zero and falling. I painfully raised myself onto one elbow:

"But where, nurse, is my dear Mrs QO? Has she not come to see her helpmeet in this medical durance vile?"

"Durance what, mi duck? Oh, she's here, she's just outside cramming some snow into her bourbon. Seems there's no ice at home, she said."

"Ah, thank you."

"Now don't you worry, we won't let any of them bother you until we've got the fridge magnets out."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yes, you poor love, you've got five fridge magnets stuck in your head. Doctor thinks he can get them out under local, not to worry. And we all love that one with the raccoon on."

I slumped back into the comforting embrace of the pillows. It was going to be a long and tiresome night.

"Nurse... thank you for your care, but... could you possibly do just one thing for me?"

"Course I can, love, what is it?"

"Could you just tell me.... I simply have to know... are those breasts real? They're... magnificent."

She straightened and gave me a level look.

"You'll never know, dear. I thought your wife looked as if she could do with a large drink."

I know, I know, it was crass. I should have known better. Her anecdotal assertion would have proved nothing; some tangible evidence would have been required, something I could weigh up with my own hands and eyes. It was terribly unscientific of me.

I felt rather strange... shock, perhaps... perhaps a little sleep would restore my faculties...