Why do I always dream about situations that are worrying me? I see myself being pursued, occasionally caught; or trying to catch something or somebody. The experience is often unpleasant–I don’t seem to remember the nice dreams, I must get them–and I wake up in a bath of sweat or crying my eyes out. Just occasionally, I wake up feeling angry.

It was three in the morning, okay, I needed a wee while I was awake, and it might have been the reason I woke up, but I was so angry. I dreamt that horrible man had been bad mouthing me and no one would listen to my replies. He was stirring up a mob of people and they weren’t hearing me or what I was trying to say.

As I sat on the loo, I wondered why I was angry–surely, the flight response would have been better than fight? Instead, I seemed totally miffed that no one would listen to me, and I was going to make them listen if it killed me, and it looked as if that could have happened.

I went back to bed and thought about the Christian groups in the university, there were several. I had little contact with them because I wasn’t at all interested in fairy tales, however, enlightening they might be. At the same time I was tolerant as long as they left me alone–I suppose I feel the same about most things. Now I felt worried that they might not leave me in peace. It was comforting to know I had the university hierarchy behind me, however, it was the mob in front which were most frightening. Enraged Christians are as dangerous as any other group of maniacs. I thought about the librarian in ancient Alexandria being torn apart by the mad monks from a Christian monastery. She was apparently torn limb from limb, they also burned and sacked the library destroying one of the cultural treasures of the early Christian era. Religion sucks!

I tossed and turned for a while, sleeping when angry is not easy. I did go to sleep around seven, and Tom woke me at half past eight. I woke up crabby. I suddenly realised that Simon hadn’t arrived. I’d sort of expected him the night before, then in all the excitement, I forgot all about him.

I dressed and had some breakfast then sent him a text: ‘Where r u? C.’

An hour or so later, I got a reply. ’Where wer u lst nite? Tryd fonin. S.’

I responded, ’Call me, u twt! C.’

Moments later the phone rang. It was someone trying to sell double glazing. They seemed shocked at my suggestion–I suppose it might have been difficult, especially with the handset sideways.

I was sorting some ingredients to make a wholemeal loaf, when the phone rang again. I picked it up and let fly again. It was Simon who asked if it was safe for him to look over the parapet?

“I’m sorry, but I seem to be getting stupid calls.”

“Try the tabloids, that’s all we’ve had and it’s why I couldn’t come down. Your little friend appears to have stirred up everything again. Be careful, your double glazing person could have been a tabloid journalist checking if you were home. Now they know you are they might stake you out.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Watch you and take photos, so make sure you don’t look like a scarecrow or wear anything too revealing. They love those shots.”

“Hang on, I’ll have a look through the window upstairs.” I dashed up the stairs and sure enough, there was a strange car parked just up the road, presumably they are waiting for me to drive past so they can follow. How can such scum make a living? It’s immoral. I expressed this to Simon, who agreed. “What do I do?”

“Don’t have any lions handy, do you?”

“Lions, why?”

“If I remember correctly, they are rather partial to Christians.”

“How do you know they’re Christian? They could be born again devil worshippers for all I know.”

“Wouldn’t they have a goat with them?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” I confessed.

“Just be thankful, you’re not albino and live in Kenya.”

“Yeah, the sun would burn you something awful.”

“No, the witchdoctors have been telling people if they can get hold of a piece of albino, they will get rich. People have been cutting arms legs and goolies of the poor buggers.”

“You’re joking?”

“Tell that to the families of the thirty or forty people butchered so far.”

“Oh my God, that is so pathetic. I can’t believe people can be so stupid and gullible.”

“I’d have thought the evidence was sitting out in that car across the road. If people just got on with their own lives instead of wanting to point out the differences of others, they wouldn’t be there.”

“News of the Screws, I s’pose,” I said thinking out loud. “Why can’t they leave me alone, I’m old news?”

“Obviously not, however, maybe you should inform them of your accuser’s short comings.”

“He didn’t change sex, did he?”

“Neither did you, you were a woman with a urological defect.”

“Sure you don’t mean neurological–as in the bit between my ears?”

“Well that as well, but they don’t want to photograph that do they? They want to see you because they think you are sexy, an opinion I happen to share. From your description of your detractor, he’s an ugly bastard with little to recommend him. If you like I could make a phone call and get his legs broken.”

“No, Simon, much as I’d like to do it myself, that just gives him more credibility. He’s a total non-entity with a sociopathic problem.”

“Maybe you should tell them?”

“I don’t want to go anywhere near them.”

“Okay, call someone you would go near, call the Guardian or the Times.”

“Then I’ve invited them in, haven’t I?”

“Up to you, I have to go, there is still a financial crisis out there, which someone has to keep going.”

“I thought you were supposed to be solving it?”

“Oh yeah, I knew I was supposed to be doing something about it.” He rang off and I went to speak with Tom.

“What do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know, Cathy. They’re not doing anything illegal, so I can’t call the police.”

“Simon suggested calling the Guardian and talking with them.”

“You could do, but then you’ve made the first move, again. What did you do last time?”

“Spoke to Des.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, he spoke to the BBC and they were actually quite nice.”

“Speak to them again, see what they suggest.”

“I don’t know. Oh why can’t they go and leave me in peace?”

“There’s another car out there now, oh and two blokes walking up and down outside with cameras.”

“Oh shit, Tom, what do we do?”

“I think I’d better call the police, don’t you?”