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then: 'This babe you're going to meet is a star in the sack.'
    But I wanted to talk about something else:
    'Martin...?'
    'Mm...?'
    'I feel like a character in a Christopher Priest novel.'
    'But six months ago you felt like someone in a Martin Amis novel.'
    'No, that's not strictly accurate. I didn't feel like a character. I felt like an actor condemned to play a rôle in an early Martin Amis novel.'
    'Comic, then.'
    'Comic yes, but manic too. But with Priest it's sombre and unsettling.'
    'Wow, mate,' said Martin. 'I thought they were supposed to cure you in there.'
    'They can't cure you of reality,' I said.
    Then I knew who was waiting for me at home. Or at least I thought I did. He said he'd invited a few friends. I dreaded that one might be Ffion. But supposing there were Ffion and the Cybernurse; Martin Amis, Christopher Priest, B. S. Johnson; and Thomas Hardy for good measure? I mean, you'd go bonkers. Wouldn't you?
    On we drove, the sun shining through the windscreen.
    Oh, buddies, I write this with great reluctance, real pain.
    'You've gone quiet, mate,' he said.
    'Martin, I've got to get this sorted.'
    'Could you just run it by me again?'
    'Yes—I feel like a character in a Christopher Priest novel and did feel like an actor condemned to play a rôle in an early Martin Amis. I also feel a little like an Anthony Burgess or B. S. Johnson narrator...'
    I watched Martin's face as he negotiated the traffic: it was impassive.
    'What happened in that place, Charlie? What did they do to you?'
    'They corrupted my data,' I said.
    'Look, mate,' he said. 'I think you've been indoors too long. Here's the deal: come back, meet some new people, socialise, get into circulation again. Straighten yourself out.'
    'They encouraged me to write, in there.'
    'You're not in there any more, mate. Charlie, I know what you need. You need a good lay. Listen: this piece I'm introducing you to. She's Welsh, but don't let that put you off.'
    'Anthony Burgess's first wife was Welsh.'
    'Look, Charlie, do me a favour. Forget about the literary. Okay? You're reading too many books. Concentrate on reality.'
    'But, Martin...' There was a silence which he didn't fill. So I asked him: 'What do you want to do?'
    He gave me a puzzling smile but turned quickly back to concentrate on driving. He'd have to go .
    The automatic gears changed down with a lurch as we came to a nasty snarl in the traffic.
    'I'm scared, Martin.'
    He didn't reply. On we drove through the sunny afternoon.
    'Martin,' I said. 'I'm scared of what you've got for me at home.'
    'No worries, mate.'
    So, what was waiting for me? Was it the Cybernurse and Ffion? Was it Belinda? Was it Martin Amis and Christopher Priest? Was it Charles Dickens? Was it Charles Hawtrey? Was it Charlie Drake? Was it B. S. Johnson? Was it James Joyce? Was it William Joyce? Was it Uncle Tom? Uncle Tom's Cabin? Or was it myself?
    Buddies, I was flying on rice paper.
    'One of these friends I'm introducing you to,' he said, 'is a bit of a disappointment in the tit department.'
    'Oh...?'
    'Doesn't have any, mate. You know the type: has to stick a couple of bits of scrunched-up toilet paper onto her vest. Wizard in the sack, though.'
    'When you come up with these things, Martin, are they planned or spontaneous?
    'I shouldn't go down that road, Charlie.'
    I said, 'Have you seen anything of Belinda?'
    'It'll all become clear when you get home.'
    Had I been away too long? Probably. What had they done to me? What had they really done to me in that place?
    On we drove through the sunny afternoon. The sun beat down. So I was looking for a resolution. Could Martin help me? Could the people waiting for me at home help me?
    'And another thing,' I said to him: 'I feel, as if I have to justify everything I do.'
    'I thought,' he said, 'that they'd given you the full datacleanse? Let's recap: you said you felt like an actor playing a part in an early Martin Amis novel?'
    'Yeah.' I paused. 'The problem is that I'm not adolescent. I'm