Questioning my sense of reality.
Mrs Vagabond and I watched the Sixth Sense. I knew nothing about it at the time, and got really into it - I watch films pretty innocently - I'm not one of those too-cool-for-school geeks who like omg totally saw it coming.

As a result it had the desired effect, and I enjoyed being scared and disturbed by it.

After the film, we went to bed, and had a minor disagreement. Not anything serious, and we soon made up.

As we lay there after making up, I realised that Mrs V had arranged to have me assassinated. Not only that, but she had arranged to do it tonight; and she was going to have me shot by an archer or crossbowman, so that it was silent and wouldn't awake the neighbours. I was terrified! The code word for the assassination was "Charly" but I couldn't figure out if this was to commence the job or to confirm it was done; basically I wouldn't bloody know until it was all over, I was absolutely bloody petrified and at that precise moment, completely in her sleep, Mrs Vagabond, eyes shut, shook me awake, and whispered, "Vagabond! Vagabond! 'Charly'!"

I FLEW out of bed - bollock naked - and (to my credit, I feel) rolled across the floor to the window, where I crouched under the protection of the sill, terrified and drooling, in what was, Mrs V says, an absolutely threatened, dangerous, completely animal state. I didn't know whether I was alive, or dead. I was genuinely questioning myself and reality.

She says it took her about five minutes of gentle talking and persuasion to talk me back.




As an epilogue/conclusion, I presume I must have been saying "Charly" or something in my sleep, and Mrs V had picked up on it.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 19 Sep 2012, 10:36, Reply)