I awoke on the fifth day of being in The Contra, bright-eyed for the first time since arriving here. My dreams had been full of hope, expectations, and excitement. We had sat in the woods away from the cameras and microphones until the sun had cast a dull orange glow all around us, and we had been called for supper. Supper—a word in itself which is very rarely used anymore, yet I found myself referring to it as being so, as if it was the norm and always had been.
My first experience of supper was somewhat pleasant, consisting of a dozen or more picnic blankets jotted around outside of our individual cottages to which we could help ourselves and socialise, in accordance with what was deemed acceptable by The Alia of course. Each blanket consisted of a different sort of food. There were mou
