THIS IS STORY OF A MAN WHO THOUGHT IT WAS THURSDAY AND IT IS CALLED.
"THE MAN WHO THOUGHT IT WAS THURSDAY"
Grass is green, unless it as been scorched by the sun or painted blue by someone who as time on their hands and a over abundance of red paint. Sometimes days are longer than they appear to be especially in the summer when it gets darker later and lighter earlier. Seconds turn into minutes which turn into hours which become days that evolve into weeks which become months that eventually become years.
Once upon a Saturday morning a man woke up trying to remember just what the hell it was he was trying to remember, he looked out of his bedroom window at the carefully manicured expanse that was his garden and watched his pet cat trying to stalk a couple sparrows and thought to himself this is odd, went back to sleep woke up three hours later with a sense of bewilderment, Thursdays he thought what is about Thursday that makes me think it is Saturday. He went to his bedroom window opened the curtains and noted with some satisfaction that the tide had gone out.
A sense of urgency gripped Peter for that was his name and because of that people tended out of respect to call him Mike. The time was right he thought, looking at his watch he noted with some satisfaction that it was working, albeit 24 hours fast.The second hand was bent and actually moved anti clock wise and the hour hand didn't appear to move at all, but that was very probably because it was under his pillow in his bedrrom and the minute hand had long since dissapeared. Wednesdays he thought always Wednesdays just cannot understand what it is about Wednesdays he looked out of his bedroom window and the peak district looked green and pleasant in a disconcertingly familliar way.
One of the things he could not understand about Sundays was why people insisted on calling him Mike even though his name was Mike and not Peter as people had once upon a time insisted on calling him. Yesterday after a long telephone conversation he had agreed with his mother about the need to move on and find fame and fortune in the big bad world but first he needed a new horse as the one he had only had one leg and sometimes enjoyed pretending it was a cat so it could avoid work. He really missed his mother it was almost the anniversary date of her untimely death, fourteen years ago, he looked at his watch again and saw that this was so. This was the time of year he enjoyed most if he looked out of his bedroom window he could see the boats making there way across Breydon water www.waterscape.com very probably on there way to Norwich or maybe Lowestoft or possibly Beccles.
Thinking about what may have not happened yesterday may well help us remember what happened tomorrow. It was with this in mind that one Sunday morning he climbed out of bed, thought about horses and imagined there was Zebra's in his garden. Flinging open his bedroom window he noticed that the Black Forest was no longer black but a rather subdued shade of the colour brownish yellow, with just the tiniest hint of orange; Autumn he thought, yes i like Autumn especially when it is summer. He noticed from the bedroom window the seemingly never ending vista that is the sub Arctic tundra. Today he said out loud to no one in particular is Thursday.