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My neck hurts like hell as I pull my head upwards. It feels like I’ve slept on it funny, and it creaks slightly as I move. I wince with the pain.
I roll my head and try to open my eyes, the light searing through my eyelids as I try to focus on what’s around me.
The first thing I see is the clothes I’m wearing. I’ve got loose-fitting trousers on, grey, with huge flared legs. They look like some sort of soft cloth, the sort of thing display boards in schools are backed with. Or a grey snooker table.
My feet are uncovered, but I can see that my toenails have been painted. I never paint my toenails.
I groan and look down at my arms, but they aren’t there. They’re tied behind my back, attached to the chair I’m sitting on. I’m wearing what looks like an orange blouse with a flower patter
