Our adventure begins

We are all wearing different specs. But we don’t know it. We think we are all looking at the world through the same lenses. But we’re not.

You look at me and you think you see me – but you only see a bit of me. And somebody else looks, and sees another bit: a different bit. And so it goes on. And you all think you know me. But you don’t. You only know that bit that your specs show you.

And I only see a bit of you. And I call that bit ‘you’. But it isn’t.
I don’t know you.

What can we do about it?
Take our fucking specs off!


Sorry about that. I don’t usually swear. I haven’t taken my medication today; it’s all the excitement, preparing for the trip.

They’ve returned my passport to me, and Freddie has given me one week’s supply of meds. He won’t give me any more, in case I do myself in; no chance of that – ‘the purpose of life is living’ (remember?) But he is going to fax a prescription to Karolinska University Hospital. He has arranged for me to attend weekly to collect my pills - and so some doctor can keep on eye on me!
A small price to pay!

We’re booked on one of these ‘cut price’ airlines – coincidentally, the same one they used to deport Anastasia! You can’t specify which seat you want – it’s first come, first served. I’ve told Sydney (he’s never flown before) that if we sit together I want the window seat. He said, that was ok, as he preferred to ‘sit near the gangway’ in case he needed to pay a quick visit to the lavatory.

I warned him that he must only used the lavatory when the plane is over the sea. He said how would he know when we were over the sea? I told him he must check with one of the cabin crew.

The boy is such a worrier.