I do remember, once, a few years ago, I was back packing through the foothills of the Himalayas. Now, how I got there is an interesting story. See, for several months I’d been having dreams, almost visions really about a small temple, miles from anywhere in Bhutan, where a sole monk lived. He said a single word. “Time”. He didn’t say it in English, he said it in the ancient dialect he spoke, but fortunately, my visions were subtitled. As an aside, the subtitle was inventor bit Sir Geoffrey Subtitle in 2006, to help his wife, Britney, to learn to read while watching war documentaries, physics lectures and Sesame Street.
Anyway, so after having woken up at 2 am from a vision, I decided action needed to be taken. Urgent action. So the very next day, I got up, packed a bag with essentials, sold all my remaining belongings, and went straight to the airport. I took an Uber, the drivers name was Jermain. He told me about his time playing football for many clubs, some good, some Tottenham. I refused to tip a man that would dare speak that name to me. I walked through the airport, admiring the little details, like the crown moulding, the large advertising screens, the Superdry store, and the cleaner in a sombrero. I approached the Air Bhutan desk and asked for a ticket.
”Sorry”, said the attendant, “We’re not a real airline” and promptly disappeared. Instead I chose to follow my instincts and flew Emirates to Dubai. From there, I rented a car. A Citroen Berlingo, and drove east into the sea. The car stopped working, presumably because all Citroens are poorly made, and not because I had driven like a twerp.
I spoke to a local called Norman. I think that was his name, I wasn’t listening. Anyway, he offered to take me for a ride in his helicopter. It was made of holiday gold, except for the windows which were basically sellotape and the little windows you get in envelopes from bills. On one of these I could still make out the residual ink of a letter sent to Gareth Gates. This made me sad.
After several hours I fell asleep, and, as seats made of gold are slippery, and the windows were essentially non-existent, promptly fell out. Surprisingly I did not awake from my slumber, fortunately, the helicopter was flying above a pillow repository in Northern India at the time, so I landed, rather conveniently on the roof, which was made of corrugated steel.
I awoke the next morning to a small porcupine licking my face. To this day, I still don’t know how it got on that roof. Or indeed, to Northern India. I checked the maps on my phone, and realised I was just an 18 hour hike to my destination. I set off immediately, scavenging bottles of Sprite and cooling apple pies from window sills as sustenance. The walk was long and arduous. At one point I broke my leg, but I used the in game editor to remove all injuries and carried on regardless.
It was dusk when I arrived at the monastery. A small simple building, with a stripper pole in the back, a 4 car garage, and a Holiday Inn next door. The monk waited for me, smiling at the door. “I’ve been waiting for you” he said, again, subtitled, “you have a question for me.”
”Yes, please. I need to know” my words, fizzing from the Sprite and reeking of apple and cinnamon. “I have travelled far, the journey has nearly killed me, I have sold all my belongings, but this is more important than any of that.”
”Ask me child” he replied.
I drew a breath. “How long is it between 6th October and 6th November?”
He relaxed, looked me square in the eyes and said “4 weeks, 4 days”
I wonder if the FM admin follows Miles…
