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Triffid Day
When
a
day
that
you
happen
to
know
is
Wednesday
starts
off
by
sounding
like
Sunday
,
there
is
something
seriously
wrong
somewhere
.
I
felt
that
from
the
moment
I
woke
.
And
yet
,
when
I
started
functioning
a
little
more
smartly
,
I
becamedoubtful
.
After
all
,
the
odds
were
that
it
was
I
who
was
wrong
,
and
not
everyone
else
-
though
I
did
notsee
how
that
could
be
.
I
went
on
waiting
,
tinged
with
doubt
.
But
presently
I
had
my
first
bit
of
objectiveevidence
-
a
distant
clock
stuck
what
sounded
to
me
just
like
eight
.
I
listened
hard
and
suspiciously
.
Soonanother
clock
began
,
on
a
hard
,
decisive
note
.
In
a
leisurely
fashion
it
gave
an
indisputable
eight
.
Then
I
knew
things
were
awry
.
The
way
I
came
to
miss
the
end
of
the
world
-
well
,
the
end
of
the
world
I
had
known
for
close
on
thirtyyears
-
was
sheer
accident
:
like
a
lot
of
survival
,
when
you
come
to
think
of
it
.
In
the
nature
of
things
agood
many
somebodies
are
always
in
hospital
,
and
the
law
of
averages
had
picked
on
me
to
be
one
ofthem
a
week
or
so
before
.
It
might
just
as
easily
have
been
the
week
before
that
-
in
which
case
I
’
d
not
be
writing
now
:
I
’
d
not
be
here
at
all
.
But
chance
played
it
not
only
that
I
should
be
in
hospital
at
thatparticular
time
,
but
that
my
eyes
,
and
indeed
my
whole
head
,
should
be
wreathed
in
bandages
-
and
that
’
swhy
I
have
to
be
grateful
to
whoever
orders
these
averages
.
At
the
time
,
however
,
I
was
only
peevish
,
wondering
what
in
thunder
went
on
,
for
I
had
been
in
the
place
long
enough
to
know
that
,
next
to
thematron
,
the
clock
is
the
most
sacred
thing
in
a
hospital
.
Without
a
clock
the
place
simply
couldn
’
t
work
.
Each
second
there
’
s
someone
consulting
it
on
births
,
deaths
,
doses
,
meals
,
lights
,
talking
,
working
,
sleeping
,
resting
,
visiting
,
dressing
,
washing
-
and
hitherto
ithad
decreed
that
someone
should
begin
to
wash
and
tidy
me
up
at
exactly
three
minutes
after
7
A
.
M
.
That
was
one
of
the
best
reasons
I
had
for
appreciating
a
private
room
.
In
a
public
ward
the
messyproceeding
would
have
taken
place
a
whole
unnecessary
hour
earlier
.
But
here
,
today
,
clocks
of
varyingreliability
were
continuing
to
strike
eight
in
all
directions
-
and
still
nobody
had
shown
up
.
Much
as
I
disliked
the
sponging
process
,
and
useless
as
it
had
been
to
suggest
that
the
help
of
a
guidinghand
as
far
as
the
bathroom
could
eliminate
it
,
its
failure
to
occur
was
highly
disconcerting
.
Besides
,
itwas
normally
a
close
forerunner
of
breakfast
,
and
I
was
feeling
hungry
.
Probably
I
would
have
been
aggrieved
about
it
any
morning
,
but
today
,
this
Wednesday
,
May
8
,
was
anoccasion
of
particular
personal
importance
.
I
was
doubly
anxious
to
get
all
the
fuss
and
routine
overbecause
this
was
the
day
they
were
going
to
take
off
my
bandages
.
I
groped
around
a
bit
to
find
the
bell
push
and
let
them
have
a
full
five
seconds
’
clatter
,
just
to
show
whatI
was
thinking
of
them
.
While
I
was
waiting
for
the
pretty
short
-
tempered
response
that
such
a
peal
ought
to
bring
,
I
went
onlistening
.
The
day
outside
,
I
realized
now
,
was
sounding
even
more
wrong
than
I
had
thought
.
The
noises
it
made
,
or
failed
to
make
,
were
more
like
Sunday
than
Sunday
itself
-
and
I
’
d
come
round
again
to
beingabsolutely
assured
that
it
was
Wednesday
,
whatever
else
had
happened
to
it
.
