I am in a hospital bed, expecting to have a heart by-pass operation, and waiting to have my general anaesthetic. However, instead of losing consciousness, my perspective shift to looking down from slightly above me, and I join in conversation with the "surgeons", who don't actually carry out any surgery. One of them makes an ingenuously witty comment about an "important" teacher at Williamwood, and we all laugh heartily. After the operation, I look for my scar. Peculiarly, for heart surgery, the scar is on my left hand, identical to and just below my real scar. I then go to seek down the bald surgeon who made the joke. He lives in a flat with no name on the door, except a faint "Bob" written in the dust. He opens the door with a suitcase in his hand: he and his girlfriend are leaving. I thank him for his joke, and he leaves.

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