Adventures in Cardiff

By | 07/09/2019

What do I know about my current situation? I know I’m in Cardiff. But what am I here for? The place was my home once, but not any more. I know I’m in a cell, but why? And a cell is a self-repairing, growing, organic life-form. And I’m in one. Is this cell itself alive, living, growing?


Buds and budding seem in some way relevant. I know the basis of Buddhism is buds. Does this mean that I myself am budding, and that Buddhism is true?


I remember Cardiff’s tallest office block; its top floor was always fully lit, even at midnight. Why?

The answer comes quickly to me. It’s growing. It’s an organism, and the lights are on at night to warn oncoming aircraft that it is getting taller. And now, another mind-boggling insight… I’m actually in the topmost cell of that office-organism! I am aloft… and growing by the second!

Back to the home for the sane

But I find myself in the back of a vehicle with some sort of medical purpose. At journey’s end I’m taken into a familiar type of establishment, one for safeguarding the sane in an insane world.

Whitchurch hospital: Escape!

Allowed to wander, I push through high double-doors of semi see-through rubber and find myself in an airy, partially outdoors delivery area. Naturally, I walk along it and am soon walking through a suburb, complete with a row of shops. Well I never! I’ve escaped! No need to dig a tunnel here!

Hypomania: buying a suit

I see a tailor’s window, displaying some very smart suits. I go in.

“I’d like to buy a suit please.”

“Certainly. What colour?”

“White, the colour of angels.”

“I can’t do you white, but I can do you a nice light beige… may I?”

He takes my measurements and brings a suit from a rail. I emerge from the changing room, my wallet in my hand.

“That suits your colouring a treat, just the job.”

“You are a good man.”

“Thank you.”

You will lead a nation.”

“I…er….yes. That suit is £159 – a snip, to my mind.”

With a flourish I open my wallet and place a card on the counter.

“This is a Chester library card.”

“It’s an indicator of my infinite wealth.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t take it.”

I look in my wallet and pull out another.

“Do you take National Blood Transfusion Card?”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“I do not joke at important moments in history.”

I walk out of the shop and down the pavement. The tailor runs after me, overtakes me and jumps up and down in front of me. I brush past him and forge on.

Two uniformed officials come out of nowhere.

“What’s going on?”

“He’s nicking this suit.”

“Ok mate. Look, you can’t do this. Go back into the shop and give the man his suit back.”

Without further ado, in full of an interested group of lady shoppers I take off the jacket and trousers.

Back to the accommodation for the sane

At that moment a car stops and Matt and Marge get out of it. How id they know I was here? Am I being monitored, my every movement watched?They have a quiet discussion with the officials, and after I’m dressed again, they take me back to the accommodation for the sane.

I’m not sure what’s going on. Why am I here? Is life itself some sort of conspiracy? How am I ever going to achieve the things I want to when people are just on another wavelength?


I remember reading a self-help book once. It said the people who really got on in life were the ones who knew what they really wanted, wrote it down and pursued it.

My goals are quite clear to me: set up a successful business to provide water to the developing world and to be happily married. It’s up to me to make them happen.

And, God willing, I will.

That’s all for today, folks. Thanks for dropping by.