The Release of Time

As I turned over from the television page, I happened to glimpse the top of the paper, and noticed it was dated Saturday.

“Saturday!, I’m sure I picked up today’s paper.  I wonder if that’s a typing error”, I thought.

Although I’d never known the date on a newspaper to be wrong, but quickly checked all the other pages, and found they were the same.

“Christ!, they’ve given me yesterday’s paper.”, I said loudly.

I picked up the local paper, and again found it was dated Saturday.  I wanted to see some national news, as I had not read a newspaper, seen the television or listened to the radio for nearly two days, so thought I’d better catch up.  I hoped the local paper would give me an insight to the area, so it really wasn’t a problem it being yesterday’s.

“Surely they can’t be selling off Saturday’s papers.”

I was fussy in that I expected to get what I had paid for, and that really annoyed me.  But, couldn’t be bothered to go back to complain for such a small amount of money, and the local paper would still be of use.  I still had some doubt in my mind, as newspapers are sold on a sale or return basis, so there was no point in shops keeping old papers.  I had this urge to check further, so quickly turned on the television, only to find old black and white films, and the very end of the local news and weather.

It said, “Sunday’s weather will continue to be bright and sunny.”

I found that to be an odd comment, as it was already early evening, and there was not much daylight left.  A weather forecast, is as the name suggests, for predicting the future weather, not today’s.  Or could it mean it really was Saturday, and that the heat wave was to continue even longer.  I started to panic, and a veil of horror began to draw over me.  What was happening!, had I dreamt about going out, or had the tiring drive had more of an effect than I thought, or was I becoming ill, perhaps food poisoning, or a virus.  I didn’t feel ill, and couldn’t imagine dreaming in such vivid detail.  All possible permutations were going through my head; this was really weird, and my mind started racing.  The horror turned to fear, I became hotter, started sweating, and my heart was beating quicker.  I stood up, but I could see hazy, black spots dashing about; my head was swimming, and I fell back in the chair.  I began focusing on all the things I had done, and the panic began to subside, rather like when you’ve had too much alcohol, and your head is spinning, concentrating on a fixed object usually stops it, unless you’ve gone way over the top.  I recalled the long, difficult drive Friday night, I went to the inns on Saturday lunch time, saw Lingsted for the first time, went to the library, and then went out again Saturday evening, where I met Susan.  I couldn’t forget meeting Susan Saturday night.

          “Wow, what a night.”, I thought.

This morning I saw Lingsted again, then met the vicar, and of course Ruth, so it must be Sunday, too much time has passed.  Which of these events could be in my imagination?  I hoped it wasn’t meeting Susan or Ruth.  I was sure I’d met Susan twice, and Ruth twice.  I had also visited Lingsted twice, although the wild events of the first visit, were like a dream.

“Perhaps I didn’t visit Lingsted on Saturday, but today’s Saturday, no it’s not, it’s Sunday. How would I know were to go today, if I’d not been there before?”, I thought

My mind was swimming with dozens of thoughts, and no logical answer.  The only thing I could say was that there appeared to be a problem with time.  But that was absurd, time is one of the constants, the thing you can rely on.  It frequently goes too quick, and occasionally passes too slow, but it does continue to tick away, never stopping, never slowing.  The past can never be recaptured, and the future can only be pondered over.

“So how can I go back to a day I’ve already had?”, I said very slowly and deliberately.

At this point I seriously considered opening at least a couple of cans, but after some vigorous restraint, thought it may cloud the issue even more.