of my handbag, a small gold card with shiny red writing, in a gothic font.
I hurry across the room and pick it up. What is this? Where did it come from?
The Amazing Brian – Hypnotist, Mind Reader, Spell Caster, etc.
I flip it over to find a phone number and address scrawled on the back in blue ink.
All of a sudden, mad images of last night flash into my head. Brian’s desire to hypnotise me, his attempt to make Meg tell the absolute truth, the fact that it didn’t work, all those peculiar, dizzy, anticipation feelings I was getting…
Oh. Feck.
Oh Feck.
I think it worked. It actually worked. Amazing Brian can hypnotise. Only he didn’t hypnotise Meg. Somehow... he hypnotised me.
Balls.
I’m not panicking. Honestly.
Okay, I’m totally panicking. Running around in little circles of distress, I’ve phoned the number on the Amazing Brian card about fifty gazillion times, only to get a standard voicemail answer service. I left a series of messages in which I tried my best to sound angry, though it’s been so long since I did angry that I’m pretty sure I ended the message with “ If you could call me back whenever you get a moment, I’d be very grateful, sir Brian. ”
I’m still naked, I’m late for work, my fiancé hates me and I appear to be under some kind of hypnosis spell thingy. Brilliant m orning. Really, just fandabidozi .
I speedily pull on the first clothes that come to hand, these turn out to be a pair of shapeless grey jogging bottoms and my old, too small Goonies Never Say Die t-shirt.
Fuck it.
After a quick comb through my hair, I make a run for the bus stop, thankfully reaching it just as the bus turns up.
Ignoring the other passengers’ glances at my frantic wheezing and odd attire, I take a seat, pull my mobile out of my handbag and call Meg.
“ Nghhgnh, ” she answers after a few rings.
“ Meg!! I shout into the receiver, causing a couple of old ladies to tut disapprovingly at my volume. I lower my voice.
“ Meg. Wake up! ”
“ Whathefuuuu? ” she groans sleepily.
“ Meg, ” I hiss. “ Wake up now. I need to see you. Now. ”
“ S’early Natty. Ugh. Ew. ”
“ Meg. I . Am. Serious. Wake up! ”
Hearing the sternness in my voice works because after a couple of sniffs and what seems to be the sound of her downing of a whole glass of water, Meg is awake.
“ Sorry, Nats. Fook, my head hurts. Why are you talking like that? Oh no. Has someone died? Has a celebrity died? Oh no , is it Phillip Schofield? ”
I want to get to the point and tell her to meet me asap, but this bizarre need to immediately answer her questions is too strong.
“ Nobody has died. Not a celebrity. Phillip Schofield is fine. I think. I hope . Listen - ”
“ Phew! Wow, imagine if Phillip Schofield had died. Then it would just be Holly Willoughby doing This Morning on her own. It wouldn’t be half as good, would it? They'd probably get someone really shit in as a replacement. Somebody like Paul Ross or Russell Grant. You know, I'm forever getting those two mixed up. “
Speak, Natalie!
I try, but it appears that I cannot leave anything unanswered.
I get a vision of watching a solo hosted This Morning . My answer is swift.
“ Yes, it would be shit. ”
“ Yeah - ”
“ Meg, listen, ” I snap. “ Listen to me carefully. Do not say anything. I am so late for work, I haven’t got long and I really need to get this out. Something has happened. I cannot tell you about it now because I am on the bus, and it’s really bizarro and I’ll sound like a total nutcase. If you understand what I am saying, you will get out of bed and meet me at Chutney’s as soon as possible. Do you understand? ”
Meg can obviously sense my desperation because she answers with a simple “ Yes. As soon as poss ” before gently clicking down the phone.
Right. Done. Okay. There is no need to panic. We’ll just find Brian, get him to make this hypnosis stuff stop, I’ll make things
I hurry across the room and pick it up. What is this? Where did it come from?
The Amazing Brian – Hypnotist, Mind Reader, Spell Caster, etc.
I flip it over to find a phone number and address scrawled on the back in blue ink.
All of a sudden, mad images of last night flash into my head. Brian’s desire to hypnotise me, his attempt to make Meg tell the absolute truth, the fact that it didn’t work, all those peculiar, dizzy, anticipation feelings I was getting…
Oh. Feck.
Oh Feck.
I think it worked. It actually worked. Amazing Brian can hypnotise. Only he didn’t hypnotise Meg. Somehow... he hypnotised me.
Balls.
I’m not panicking. Honestly.
Okay, I’m totally panicking. Running around in little circles of distress, I’ve phoned the number on the Amazing Brian card about fifty gazillion times, only to get a standard voicemail answer service. I left a series of messages in which I tried my best to sound angry, though it’s been so long since I did angry that I’m pretty sure I ended the message with “ If you could call me back whenever you get a moment, I’d be very grateful, sir Brian. ”
I’m still naked, I’m late for work, my fiancé hates me and I appear to be under some kind of hypnosis spell thingy. Brilliant m orning. Really, just fandabidozi .
I speedily pull on the first clothes that come to hand, these turn out to be a pair of shapeless grey jogging bottoms and my old, too small Goonies Never Say Die t-shirt.
Fuck it.
After a quick comb through my hair, I make a run for the bus stop, thankfully reaching it just as the bus turns up.
Ignoring the other passengers’ glances at my frantic wheezing and odd attire, I take a seat, pull my mobile out of my handbag and call Meg.
“ Nghhgnh, ” she answers after a few rings.
“ Meg!! I shout into the receiver, causing a couple of old ladies to tut disapprovingly at my volume. I lower my voice.
“ Meg. Wake up! ”
“ Whathefuuuu? ” she groans sleepily.
“ Meg, ” I hiss. “ Wake up now. I need to see you. Now. ”
“ S’early Natty. Ugh. Ew. ”
“ Meg. I . Am. Serious. Wake up! ”
Hearing the sternness in my voice works because after a couple of sniffs and what seems to be the sound of her downing of a whole glass of water, Meg is awake.
“ Sorry, Nats. Fook, my head hurts. Why are you talking like that? Oh no. Has someone died? Has a celebrity died? Oh no , is it Phillip Schofield? ”
I want to get to the point and tell her to meet me asap, but this bizarre need to immediately answer her questions is too strong.
“ Nobody has died. Not a celebrity. Phillip Schofield is fine. I think. I hope . Listen - ”
“ Phew! Wow, imagine if Phillip Schofield had died. Then it would just be Holly Willoughby doing This Morning on her own. It wouldn’t be half as good, would it? They'd probably get someone really shit in as a replacement. Somebody like Paul Ross or Russell Grant. You know, I'm forever getting those two mixed up. “
Speak, Natalie!
I try, but it appears that I cannot leave anything unanswered.
I get a vision of watching a solo hosted This Morning . My answer is swift.
“ Yes, it would be shit. ”
“ Yeah - ”
“ Meg, listen, ” I snap. “ Listen to me carefully. Do not say anything. I am so late for work, I haven’t got long and I really need to get this out. Something has happened. I cannot tell you about it now because I am on the bus, and it’s really bizarro and I’ll sound like a total nutcase. If you understand what I am saying, you will get out of bed and meet me at Chutney’s as soon as possible. Do you understand? ”
Meg can obviously sense my desperation because she answers with a simple “ Yes. As soon as poss ” before gently clicking down the phone.
Right. Done. Okay. There is no need to panic. We’ll just find Brian, get him to make this hypnosis stuff stop, I’ll make things
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