Terrorist Accusation and Wounding

Was living near the top of an enormous, silver block of flats - not shabby, but not particularly special, either. There were a hundred stories in the building, so the lift displayed percentages as you travelled in it.

I met a middle-aged Muslim lady, who insisted, grimly, on telling me that an Asian guy of my acquaintance was actually a terrorist plotting a terrible crime. I shouted at her and covered my ears, knowing that as soon as I knew even unsubstantiated accusations about any individual I would be breaking the law by not informing the authorities. To no avail... she succeeded in communicating her concerns and I knew I was already irretrievably embroiled in the matter.

This involvement seemed to have borne fruit before too long, since I soon found myself with various injuries. I kept smearing blood on door handles and cash machines as I went about my daily business - increasingly concerned that I should find medical attention, but finding this very difficult. Particularly disturbing was a length of thin metal rod protruding from a bloody wound on my left arm, which caused great pain when I caught it on things.

The Langham Code

I was reading an article in the 'Guardian' concerning the sad case of the comedy actor Chris Langham, who is facing charges of indecent assault. I got the impression that the writer of the piece knew more than he felt secure about putting into print, and this suspicion was confirmed by a note at the foot of the article explaining: 'If you wish to know more about a possible motive, fold along the dotted lines'. It was only when thus prompted that I noticed some faint dotted lines running horizontally through the typesetting. Naturally, I folded the paper as suggested to find that certain lines of type joined crudely up to form the phrase 'self-financed film project'.

I marvelled at this new journalistic technique, which presumably avoided legal difficulties, as well as explaining the appearance of certain apparently awkward or inappropriate words in the prose.

I did actually glance at an article in the Guardian on this topic while eating a sandwich in my car yesterday; it was days old and I had already read it.

The Rake

I became aware of a secret government conspiracy known as 'The Rake'. I was shown, as part of a trail of evidence, a poor colour-photocopy of a complex hotel invoice. It incorporated scribbles and marginalia, many quite chatty, but all full of impenetrable terms and code-words. Some mentioned parties and the word 'charlie'... I was slightly shocked - but these young, high-flying secret agents probably felt they needed to let off steam whilst deep in their covert assignments.